Mad Gods - Predatory Ethics: Book I

by Athanasios

  “Had you wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it when you first came in. Now, indentify yourself and your allies.”

  “Is this the bargain you require? You bring them to me and I’ll tell you my name?” the guard answered, seemingly tired.

  “Who are you and why do you want the books?” Martin countered.

  “We are Moriah. We are destiny. We make the world and history follow our plans. You are following our plans with your every breath and every minute of life. Even your deaths, pains and pleasures are planned,” the guard intoned. “Those in the Supreme Weakling’s Citadel will bow, as everyone in history has bowed.”

  “What do you want with the books and what shall I call you? Astor, Rothschild, Strasburg or Dupont? Are you part of the Dark Nobility? Why would this task fall on your frail shoulders? Don’t they already have copies of these books?” Martin asked.

  “They are codexes, which are unique, hand-written books. There are no copies.” The guard saw he would get nothing from Martin reached for his side and took out his pistol. As he brought it up, Martin saw a black blur move towards the guard, but it did not reach him in time and he heard the loud crack of a shot.

  At the sound, Martin instinctively cringed, all the while, cursing such a mundane thing, a bullet, would kill him. He lived through battling the foulest things, both in hell and on earth, and escaped with mere scratches and bruises. As the sound echoed Martin comically checked for wounds and quickly realized he would’ve already felt their pain. He opened his squinted eyes to see the guard dead, the left side of his head missing from the shot. Father Quentin stood over him, holding a gun.

  “Oh, Father, thank you for your timely arrival. I don’t know what this…” Martin was at a loss for a name and simply nodded at the dead guard, “would’ve done.”

  “There is no need to thank me, Father, I did nothing. The moment I saw his drawn arm, I moved to stop him, and if he had chosen to kill, you would be dead. Instead, he chose to end his own life,” Quentin stated in surprise.

  “How long have you been watching us?” Martin asked.

  “Oh, not long. Only since he told you about the return of the Great Ancient Leviathan.” Martin breathed a sigh of relief the Templar’s presence forced the intruder to remove himself. “What else did he tell you and what did he want?”

  “He referred to himself as Moriah. When I asked him about the Dark Nobility, he showed no recognition.” Martin continued, “Do you think he knew you were there?”

  “He could’ve. It always amazes me to find infiltration this deep in the Vatican. There are people who’ll do anything for money,” Quentin sighed.

  “This man was possessed, Father, not bribed. His body was taken hostage and I have never seen its like,” Martin stated flatly.

  “Are you certain? Possession, here in the house of Peter?” Quentin turned pale and fell into one of the chairs around the table.

  “Yes, I’m positive. He was lucid but never before have I seen anyone possessed who was that removed or dispassionate.”

  “I didn’t feel a chill in the air,” Quentin offered.

  “He was severed from any humanity. I’ve only seen it in mental. Sociopaths and psychopaths have this severed link to their emotions. This one never had the link to sever. He was cold and empty.” Martin went on, “He called himself Moriah and they are as far removed from us as we are from animals. I’ve heard their hands are in shadow; the ruling elite of the Dark Nobility.”

  Quentin interrupted Martin with his next question. “But how did they get into the Vatican, Father? They possessed someone who was blessed by the pope, himself. He wore talismans, in order to prevent evil ever coming this close.” Quentin was beside himself with concern.

  “The infiltration, of which I told you earlier, is only one manifestation. The corruption of our church is such that they were able to send someone within its walls. That’s why it is crucial we stop their plans to enthrone Lucifer.” Martin saw a reinvigorated faith in Quentin’s eyes.

  “Who are these filth and how do I remove them?” Quentin intoned.

  “‘This filth, you must understand, has evolved beyond us. Just as animals think of comfort and food, our concerns are money and success. Most people who draw breath are like this, but not they. They consider neither of these things. They have not thought about them for centuries, even millennia. They are part of the wealthiest, old families of which we know. They are another species, altogether.”

  Martin added, “They work for the return of their Prince, but in a much less obvious way. Earlier, I said that evil is advancing through very small steps, through tiny adjustments to beliefs and the world order, which are almost never noticed.”

  “As you said, yes, until it is too late,” Quentin said.

  “The surprising thing is how one of their own came to get these codexes. They are extremely secretive. Even rumors of their existence have been crushed, so whenever they are mentioned, it is like speaking of ghosts or demons.” Quentin nodded.

  “I will go to the Apostolic Testis and have them look for the Council of Foreign Relations, Trilateral Commission and the Dark Nobility, in each and every part of their scans.” Martin added, “The codexes, for which Moriah was looking, were right beside him. They were a few of the codexes through which you had chosen to look. Now, we must concentrate on these, since they were seeking them, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Quentin replied quickly, “Yes, I’ll wait for you here. In the meantime, I’ll start with the Sangrael Gospel.”

  “Father Quentin, how did your meetings go this time? Will you have the men and the resources necessary to assault their positions across the Atlantic?” Martin had nearly forgotten their primary objective.

  “Yes, once you and your Jesuits became involved, it gave legitimacy to my ramblings. What could’ve taken years, instead, took months.” Quentin removed an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Martin. “Here are the names of the men who have been sent to deal with our problems.”

  Martin asked, “Have they full authority of judge, jury and executioner?”

  Quentin answered, “They are the inquisition, reborn, and on reinforced leather soles, Father. None may stand against them, not even the police, government or military.”

  “I’ll return in a few moments. I wish we had telephone service down here…” Martin stopped short.

  “But we do, Father, there’s one just around the corner there,” Quentin answered, “but it only dials out and I would suggest you don’t use it. If they could get this bugger in here, we should assume that we are also compromised in other ways.”

  “Yes, good thinking. I am but a humble Jesuit; I had not even thought of that.” Martin looked apologetic. “I’ll return soon and we’ll tackle this together.”

  Quentin added, “I think this will be the first time the Apostolic Testis have been given directions about what to look for.”

  “Yes, if that’s true, then this will give solidity to most of their previously unfounded beliefs. Perhaps this will also do them some good.”

  TIME: NOVEMBER 27TH, 1963. DIGBY ISLAND, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA

  On November 22nd, the regular programming on every channel was interrupted for an unprecedented event in modern times. The 25th U.S. President was shot to death at Masonic Dealy Plaza. Though most people weren’t aware of the fact, there was a veiled significance, both to the location and the date of his execution. It gave Kosta an additional reason to accelerate his preparations and planning for unwanted visitors.

  Two days later, Kosta and Adam watched as Kennedy’s reputed killer was shot at close range. The police charged with his custody looked on. Debates about the Kennedy assassination would continue for decades. It was asked why an unknown shady character, like Jack Ruby, would want to kill Lee Harvey Oswald. Many said it was to keep him quiet and that Ruby was part of a conspiracy to bring down the President.

  Many theories flew around concerning Communists, mobsters and conspirator government age
ncies, chaffing under the moral individualist in the Oval Office. Maybe all of the theories were true Kosta thought. They were all true, so nobody could ever know who actually planned and succeeded in executing the President. However, he did not share his beliefs with Adam. He preferred to allow the boy to be a child; he need not worry about conspiracies and global entanglements until it was absolutely necessary.

  Soon enough, his life would be rife with it. Until then, Kosta vowed that he would shield him from it, so he could appreciate quiet and entertainment.

  - Menace D’Ours D’Enfer - Depth of Correction VII: Wounded Rib III-

  TIME: DECEMBER 28TH, 1219. MONTSEGUR, FRANCE

  Not long after his induction into the position, the new Grand Master, Pedro de Montaigne, entered the gates of Montsegur. Only one man, his most trusted friend and seneschal, Armond de Peigord, accompanied him. Both wore their plain surcoats, emblazoned with the red cross over their mail. They wound their way through the refugees from the crusade, raging around the formerly affluent French county, and were viewed with suspicion and open animosity. The Grand Master could not tell if this was because the Templars were still allied to both Romans and Cathari, or if these unfortunates hated them for their continued wealth. They dismounted and ran to the easternmost wing of the fortress, asking Perfecti and Credentes where Simon could be found. Several told him, and finally, Pedro knocked on a stout door and was answered by the voice he remembered from the caves.

  Once he entered, the new Grand Master found Simon behind a table, close to the window, with a few cots arranged around the fire. The voice continued, coming from a corner behind the open door.

  “Seneschal de Montaigne, have you any news from your Grand Master? Have you heard if Natalie still lives?”

  De Montaigne lowered his head and shook it with regret. “I fear the worst, good Alumnos. Much has befallen our order. I am the new Grand Master; William de Chartres is dead, at the prompting of the Signatura and the Penitentiary. They would’ve dissolved the Order at the new pontiff’s urging, but Honorious did not want to deal with the chaos that would ensue if the Templars ceased to exist.”

  “How fortunate for your order that Honorious was not as rash as Innocent,” Simon stated from his position at the window. “It seems the good knights of Solomon are still of use to the Catholics.”

  “It was not fortunate for me, sir. I had to carry out the Pope’s edict. At first, I refused, but William ordered me to run him through so the Order could continue. In the church’s eyes, by granting aid to the Cathars, we have fallen greatly. So, don’t speak of fortune.”

  Pedro held back the outrage he felt at the ingratitude shown to him and his Order. William told him they could be far worse. Theirs were the death throes of the just and the right in the face of clearly less righteous, but more powerful, foes.

  “So, you’ve come to tell us about the calamity of your Order. I’m sorry to hear it, Grand Master. I am sorrier still that there is no news of Natalie. Have any of the other Sangrael heard anything?” The voice slowly took form as Alumnos mournfully strode toward the fire and sat on one of the cots.

  “No one has heard or seen her since the fall of Muriet. Some reports of a Sangrael came to us from Jerusalem, Constantinople, London, Antioch and Mystra, but they all were only rumors, or distant relatives who traded their lineage for position.”

  Pedro came closer and was only slightly taller than the sitting Alumnos. After several meetings with the giant, he had warmed to his honesty and calm and was no longer unnerved by him, or the scarred face he always hid within his drawn hood. “I am sorry, my good Parfait, but one of the last things William said was he regretted that we never found Natalie. The loss of one of the line — especially one who showed so many of the qualities of our savior — is a great tragedy.”

  “But not the only one here, amongst all this tragic life into which we’ve been born,” Alumnos sighed with a depth that broke upon his lips. “I am exhausted, Templar. I don’t want to do anything anymore. Anything I try only ends in disaster. I’ve muddled everything. Despite my best efforts it has all gone to hell.” Simon heard the resolute despair and rose from his seat. “Thank you for coming to tell us, Master de Montaigne. I would appreciate it if you give me some time with our friend.”

  To all appearances, Simon just dismissed one of the few men who answered to no man other than to the Pope. Pedro de Montaigne, and every seneschal he ever knew had always deferred to Simon. In their Order, he never held a position of authority, yet was always obeyed. So, with a nod, he got up and left the two alone, as he found them.

  “Alumnos, Natalie’s loss touches me as well, more than you know,” Simon said. “She was much more than the line from which she sprang and the Parfait she became.”

  “Yes, much more,” the forlorn giant added. “No one else accepted me as she did, and without question. Now, there is only you. She accepted me when I was but a beast in the wilds, naked and raging against any who crossed my path.”

  “You will always be with me, Alumnos, but tell me, who did Natalie accept, if not the same man who sits with me now? Who were you then? What were you called?”

  “I wandered most of my life. I was born into a family terrified of me, and you can see why. They never named me, so people, wary of me, gave me the name of Ursus — a beast that attacked without provocation. Understandably, they were frightened, but the name was not accurate. I kept to myself and never wanted to attack anyone. I only defended myself when some young errant decided to prove himself and slay the ravaging beast.”

  “Is that how you got your scars?” Simon asked.

  “No, not like that. My mother gave me these.” He pulled back the hood and Simon did not flinch at the sight of the scars, left by both fire and the whip. He looked like a demon from the depths. In fact, all he needed to complete the image were fangs and horns; his proportions were terrible enough. Hair had long since stopped growing on his scarred head and, mercifully, the marks were not too close to his eyes.

  “I grew too quickly. They brought me to the monastery at five, and there I was given to the monks, but not before she was told she must remove any connection she had to me. They made her whip me to banish the evil, which had turned a five-year-old into an adolescent.”

  Alumnos/Ursus went on recalling his past, as though he was reading a fable. “She did not need to be convinced. She took the leather to me without hesitation. All the while, she never shed a tear, but her eyes were wide with terror. While she was ripping my flesh off in ribbons, I broke free. I don’t know how I did it, but the pain of the blows, combined with her maddening terror, empowered me enough that I ran without heed. I ran headlong into a blazing fire, which I thought was an open door. Even naked, I caught on fire and ran, screaming, into the woods.”

  Simon let Ursus continue, not wanting to halt his story. “Thankfully, they didn’t go after me, believing I would either die, or return to the hell from which they assumed crawled. I stayed away from people.” He covered his face with his hands. “I was mad and welcomed foolhardy knights, who believed they could make a name for themselves by killing me. At this point, I actually believed I was the beast for which I had been named. I lost count of how many men I sent screaming to hell, I would’ve, had I known how to count. Then Natalie came.” His face brightened at the mention of their first meeting. “She looked at me with a mysterious expression. Something I had never seen before.”

  “How old were you, do you remember?” Simon was curious about the date of their meeting.

  “I don’t know, but at the time, I was fully grown,” Ursus replied.

  “How had you survived that long?” Simon asked.

  “I found plenty to eat, and as I said, there were many who offered themselves up to me. Robust knights would last quite a while in the cold of the woods.” Ursus continued, “Natalie saw the bones of the fallen and could see I had committed many sins and crimes, but she did not care. She looked at me with an expression I did not know; later, I
learned it was compassion. She loved me without question and without condition. She saw evidence of the depths of depravity in which I lived and loved me anyway.” As he spoke, his face revealed no emotion.

  “Did she ever tell you why she was so instantly taken with you?” Simon wanted to learn all he could about this odd relationship.

  “She did once, but only after many promptings. I asked her why she loved me and she finally answered that it was because she saw herself in me. We were far beyond soul mates; we were one. When she was with me, she felt complete and needed no one else. I could never believe how lucky I was, or that such a woman cold love a brute like me.”

  Sometimes, Simon sensed an amorous tone in Ursus’ description. While he wasn’t certain about the true nature of their relationship, he didn’t care if they had been lovers. This didn’t matter. All he knew was that they loved one another and Ursus truly grieved. He wanted to hear more. Talking about Natalie, with someone who knew her, obviously helped the big man, so he offered his own recollection of her.

  “I can remember when she came to me, when she was not allowed to become a Perfecti. It was the only time I ever saw her angry.” Simon stopped and noted a silent chuckle escape from Ursus’ burned face. Though his lips never curled into a smile, and some might have found his amused expression ghastly, Simon welcomed it. “What’s so funny?”

  “I saw her angry many times, and usually after I hurt or killed someone. Then, she was always cross, and I didn’t blame her, but it was my nature to defend. She would always say she did not want her life to be more precious than the smallest animal, but to me, it was more precious than anyone foolish enough to harm us. I would tell her that one could not stop a guardian animal.