HA SATAN (THE ADVERSARY): An Elena Duran/Corazon Negro Story 1/12
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@DIRECTVINTERNET.COM)
Mon, 16 Sep 2002 13:36:12 -0400
HA SATAN (THE ADVERSARY)
An Elena Duran-Corazon Negro Story 1/12
vmoreau@directvinternet.com & divad72@prodigy.net.mx
Island of Nod
Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean
March 24, 2013
August Medici, head master of the group of former Watchers called the
Hunters -- the faction formed by James Horton thirty years before -- rose to
his
feet as his four guests were ushered into the huge banquet hall. It was a
gesture of respect coming from such a ruthless man, and the quartet of
visitors grinned at each other in approval. It had taken days to arrange
this meeting, and this slight display indicated that their trip had not been
in vain.
"Gentlemen," said their host, a huge man well over six feet tall, his broad
shoulders stretching the limits of his impeccably tailored jacket, "welcome
to my home." He waved a hand to four empty chairs at the enormous table. "My
chef is preparing a special meal for us," he grinned, flashing white teeth
in contrast to a deep tan.
The four men said nothing. They all knew that Medici was a criminal. That
meant nothing to them. They only cared about the knowledge he had promised
to reveal to them tonight. Although the guests were the leaders of the
Watchers nowadays, they considered themselves businessmen, dealing with the
harsh realities of the world. If necessary, they would deal with the devil
itself in order to understand what was happening inside the Immortal's world
right now.
"I apologize for not greeting you at the airport," continued Medici,
resuming his seat. Two bodyguards, bigger even than the gigantic former
Watcher, took positions at his sides. Another pair stood guard at the door.
"However, my personal 'advisor' insisted I stay within this fortress until
our holy task would be done. And while I am not a coward, my 'advisor' is
very persuasive."
"We understand," said Anton Blanchard. Head of the Watchers in Eastern
Europe, he had visited Medici a number of times for business and was not as
intimidated by the Hunter chieftain as his fellows were. It was Blanchard
who had arranged this meeting in hopes of forging closer bonds between the
Watchers and the Hunters.
Medici nodded, smiling slightly at the choice of words. He beckoned to one
of the men at the door. "Some wine for my guests. They must be thirsty after
their long flight from the four corners of the world." The guard nodded and
disappeared out the door. "Forgive me for being a poor host. Please, relax.
We shall discuss your proposal after dinner. For now, you are my guests."
A bottle of fine red wine brought murmurs of appreciation from the four
Watchers. Medici maintained one of the finest wine cellars in the world.
"We are here to discuss the events of these past few days," said George
Kross, the African representative of the Watchers. A big, red-faced man with
beady little eyes, he spoke with a distinctive South African accent. "We
want to know why Immortals are disappearing."
"Afraid you'll lose your job?" Medici scoffed. Then he added, smoothly,
"Because of the Game." He folded his huge hands together, resting his elbows
on the table. "You Watchers know nothing really, don't you? A Thousand of
years of research, and yet, you don't have a clue."
"We hoped you could illuminate us," said Harley Taylor, the Watcher in
command in the U.S. since Joe Dawson had left the country, following Duncan
MacLeod.
Medici nodded. "My sentiments exactly. However, what I'm about to tell you
has a price." He shrugged, mocking them. "Are you willing to pay?"
"We are," commented Taylor.
Medici rose from his chair. "Let me relate to you gentlemen a bit of
Immortal lore unknown to the Watchers. It will make the situation you face
much clearer."
The Hunter chief walked over to the fireplace. He removed an iron poker from
the fireplace tools. Holding the metal rod in one hand, he slapped it
rhythmically into his other palm as he spoke. "As you are well aware, the
Immortals have always existed, playing their stupid Game that provides them
with all the power they need. The Quickening, as they called, is the elixir
of their lives. For millennia, you Watchers had believed--as most Immortals
do-that, in the end, there could be only one. Their credo. However, this was
not always so."
The Watchers shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. They had not expected
this.
Medici smiled, emphasizing each phrase with a whack of the poker. "At the
very beginning of human civilization, there was no Game, no Quickening, no
rules. We humans-mortals-lived along with Immortals in a place called Mach'
azareel-some scholars called it the city of Tell Halula." Medici made a
pause, scanning the wide-opened gazes of his guests. "Of course, you knew
this place since Sunday school, only you heard about it under the name of
the Garden of Eden."
Slowly, Medici circled the table, stopping briefly behind each Watcher
chief. None of the four appeared very comfortable with Medici standing
behind them.
"As you know, the Quickening describes the act of an Immortal draining the
life force of another by beheading. The pleasure derived from such
cannibalism, as I call it, must be beyond description. More important,
however, is the result when it involves an Immortal who obtains the life
force of a more powerful one."
"We already know this," Kross said, drinking from his wine glass. "What else
are you trying to tell us?" he asked, even though he didn't look like he
wanted to know the answer.
Medici's eyes seemed to glow as he spoke. "Please, let me finish. This life
force consumed in such powerful way gives the winner all the powers of his
foe. It is as if a child suddenly becomes his father, with all of the adult'
s vitality." He looked harder at the Watchers in front of him. "My point is
this: the first Quickening was a mistake, gentlemen, a glorious discovery.
Immortals were not born, were not meant, to kill each other. They choose
that way of life in order to become supreme rulers in this world. The Game
is a façade, a masquerade invented by the most powerful of all Immortals
ever. The one who right now desires to end her Game."
"What?" asked Adrian Cohen, the Watcher chief of Asia who had thus far kept
silent. "Are you saying that this 'thing' that invented the Game is still
alive? We thought Methos was the oldest living Immortal!"
"And you were wrong," answered Medici. He returned to his seat, still
holding the poker. He smiled at the four men, but his eyes were cold, icy
freezing. "Methos is old, older even than he pretends to be, but there are
others, and they called themselves: the Ancient Gathering."
Harley Taylor was shocked by the sudden revelation "Older than Methos? And
we never knew? The Ancient Gathering? How-?"
Medici laughed, a full-bodied, deep sound that echoed in the chamber. "You
Americans are so naïve!" He tossed the poker to the side. "The original
Gathering consisted of seven Immortals who ruled in Mach'azareel twelve
millennia ago. However, not all of them survived the centuries. Even though
they were masters of incredible powers, they could still be killed. The one
who performed those murders is the same one who invented the Game. As you
can see, even Immortals are mistaken. There is no 'there can be only one'
rule. It is really just a Game." Medici paused. "You must be hungry. I
shall order dinner prepared." He waved a hand gesturing at one of his
guards. "By the time my story is finished, it will be here."
"No disrespect, Medici," said Kross, "but my stomach's been feeling kind of
jumpy these last few minutes. The combination of your wine and your
revelations, I guess. Mind if I go the bathroom?"
"Of course not," answered Medici. "Ken, on your way to the kitchen, please
show Mr. Kross the facilities."
Kross wobbled out of the room, his face a pasty green.
"Kross never could handle wine," remarked Cohen.
"I'm sure he will be fine," Medici said smiling. "To continue, after the
Immortals discovered the secret of the Quickening, they departed their ways
into the ancient world. However, the damage was done. Methodically over the
millennia, they had almost exterminated themselves. The easiest method to
prevent further disaster was by coloring the legends."
"How do you know all this is true?" Taylor asked. "We Watchers have lived
for a single goal through the centuries, to observe and record, but never
interfere. What you said could destroy our brotherhood. Everything we
believe would turn out to be a lie."
Medici grinned. "Think about it. Just think. If indeed there is going to be
a very final Gathering, because at the end there can be only one, then why
Immortals still being born? Right now as we speak, new Immortals are being
born all over the world. Why? Because there is no Game. Their ranks simply
expand because that is the way it should be. Look; if the Game ends
tomorrow, the next day new Immortals would be born. You see? There can be
more than one. Hell! There will always be more than one!"
"Which leads us to what?" Taylor asked again. "I know there's a point to
this, Medici, but I ain't sure what it is."
"The lesson is quite simple, Mr. Taylor," answered Medici. "All older
Immortals must die in order for Lilitu to reign the youngest ones."
"Lilitu?" whispered Cohen. "Who is she?"
"The One. The Only. The source of the Game," said Medici closing his eyes,
as if receiving an inner vision. "Until now, the Immortals had been engaged
in a secret battle to the death. It's an Endgame, a blood bath. And in such
a fight, there are no compromises."
"Kross has been gone for a while," commented Blanchard.
"I'm sure Mr. Kross will be joining us momentarily," spoke Medici. He rose
to his feet. "Ah, supper has arrived."
Three mammoth bodyguards entered the room wheeling a gigantic rolling
serving table. On it were three vast silver platters covered with immense
lids. Lifting them off the cart, the attendants placed a platter in front of
each of the Watcher chiefs.
"What about Kross?" asked Cohen. "He should be here."
Medici smiled and nodded to his men. Each lifted the lid of a platter. The
horrified screams of the three Watchers rebounded off the walls of the room
for several moments. Kross had returned, but in pieces. The shocked look on
his face, staring with open eyes from the tray in front of Blanchard,
indicated his death had not been a pleasant one.
"While I recited my little tale to distract your attention," said Medici,
"my 'advisor', an expert in reading thoughts, probed your minds. It was not
very difficult to ascertain that Mr. Kross had been planning his own
deception for months. He schemed to infiltrate the Hunters and learn our
secrets. Afterward, he had visions of destroying us."
Medici grinned savagely. "His trip to the bathroom was the result of an
overwhelming suggestion placed in his mind by my 'advisor'. She thought it
best to deal with Mr. Kross outside. It would have been inhospitable to
butcher him during our talk." He gestured and the covers were replaced on
the platters. "You gentlemen came here mainly for the same reason as Kross
did."
At that moment, the main door opened and a gorgeous black woman entered the
room. In her left hand she gripped an elaborately carved wooden staff. She
had high cheekbones and ruby-red lips. Her thick black hair fell in two long
braids nearly to her waist. Her honey eyes blazed with an intense inner
fire.
"In any case," she said smiling to the Watchers, "you know now too much
about Immortals to leave here," she declared as the table was cleared.
"Gentlemen, may I introduce you Princess Naema, one of the members of the
original Ancient Gathering, and my 'secret advisor'?" said Medici mocking at
the Watchers.
"Oh my God!" Taylor whispered. "What are you going to do with us?"
"Can't you guess?" Naema answered. "Lilitu needs both the Watchers and the
Hunters to fulfill her plans. I'm here to take full command of both
organizations. Of course, you four are expendable."
========
Glastonbury, England
March 25, 2013
His hands trembling with fear, Myrddin desperately clutched the printouts he
had retrieved five minutes earlier. "I do not like this," he declared, his
voice growing louder and graver with each word. "I do not like this turn of
events one bit!"
Myrddin's bearded face shone by the light reflected by the monitor, his long
gray hair whipped around his broad shoulders. He looked far older than the
forty-five years he'd aged before his first death.
All around him, the black wolves that shared his kingdom howled in response.
Myrddin could sense the wolves' emotions and force them to obey simple
commands. He urged them to sit and relax, then started pacing, waving the
handful of papers in the air and shouting in impotent rage.
"Look at these!" he screamed. "Look at these reports. Yesterday night two
Immortals vanished without a trace in Mexico, five in New York, one in
Argentina, three more in Berlin, four in Amsterdam and two in London!
Disappeared without a trace! No bodies. I crosschecked their names from the
official police reports with my encyclopedia. Every victim had been in
contact in one way or another with Elena Duran, Corazon Negro and Zarach
Bal-Tagh!"
He sighed in despair. "A strange plane landed yesterday night in London
right before the attacks in that city. The aircraft came from somewhere in
the Pacific Ocean. Several of the airport crews that were in contact with
that flight are dead and the rest have no memory of the trip. Something
terrible arrived on that vessel. It brought to our land some kind of evil
force, a thing that threatens the existence of all Immortals here. A horror
that swiftly approaches Glastonbury. Today in the morning, three Immortals
vanished in Liverpool. According to the police reports, some kind of war
party attacked them."
Myrddin squeezed his hands together, crumpling the papers between his
fingers. "A war party, indeed," he declared, dropping like a stone into the
chair fronting his main computer monitor. His features were distorted with
rage. "Hunters! Who else?"
Haunted eyes stared at the earthen walls of his underground hideaway. Then
Myrddin dropped the faxes to the floor. He put his elbows on the desk and
let his head fall into his hands. "Liverpool is not far from here. The war
party has probably already entered the town. I am not a fool. Lilitu wants
to kill me, and she directed the Hunters to locate and destroy the most
powerful Immortals around the world. Almost two thousand years of existence
puts me in that category. The Hunters are searching for me."
Shaking his head in despair, he dropped his left hand onto the computer
keyboard. "First, these trio of maniacs tried to destroy me into my lair.
Now, I find myself being stalked by the Hunters. It doesn't seem fair. All
I've even wanted to do since the death of my beloved Arthur was to sit
quietly and work on my great encyclopedia. I have no desire to be engaged in
any manner in the Game."
The wolves grunted in agreement. Despondent, Myrddin sat motionless in front
of the unblinking monitor. A minute passed. Another. Slowly, he
straightened.
"My wishes," Myrddin whispered, speaking to his monitor, "obviously mean
nothing to Lilitu. However, it's time she learns that I am not that easy to
eliminate. A Druid never surrenders. The Hunters may have great skills.
Nonetheless, to destroy me, they must enter my lair. And here, under the
earth, I reign supreme."
Feverishly, Myrddin started typing on the computer console. His fingers
dashed across the keyboard with astonishing speed. "A quick diagnostic check
of the system is in order," he declared, his voice picking up strength with
every word. He nodded in satisfaction as successful check status messages
flashed across the screen.
"The systems are all on-line and functioning perfectly," he said after a few
seconds. "The sensors and sound units are performing at maximum efficiency.
The backups are ready. The series override is set."
Myrddin pounded on three keys. "The walls are shifting, locking into
pattern, in an endless repeating loop. Thirteen exits have been closed,
leaving six open. The traps set off by the three idiots Lilitu sent first
are in place once more. The wall they destroyed has been replaced," he
added, remembering the blank look on the workmen's faces after he'd wiped
all memories of this particular job from their minds. "All traces of their
passage have been eliminated."
He jumped out of his chair as if propelled by springs. Ten steps brought him
to the wall of the chamber. Spreading out his fingers, Myrddin pressed four
hidden switches at the same instant. Without a sound, a slab of the brick
wall slid away, revealing a glowing panel of electronic lights. Reaching
inside, Myrddin turned on five switches. Smiling, he pulled the fake section
of brick back into place, making sure it snapped closed. His second line of
defense was set.
The main screen continued updating, showing the constantly changing
positions of the walls and the readings of the other detectors. He nodded
with satisfaction, noting the immediate response. "It is a plan worthy of
the great warrior Arthur Pendragon himself. Brash and bold and filled with
trickery." Myrddin chuckled. "Some lessons are never forgotten."
He looked to his pets. "Now, I must download the entire encyclopedia onto my
offsite backups," he confided to the wolves. "No matter what happens to me
or my lair, the complete information bank will be safe in five other
locations throughout the world."
A minute later, the job was done. Myrddin felt quite pleased. "A fool", he
whispered, "knowing he is object of Lilitu's affection, flees, trying to
outrun her wrath. A stupid choice, for no one can escape the inevitable. A
wise man confronts his enemy. Only by facing your worst nightmares can you
defeat them."
Myrddin settled back into the chair in front the main monitor. Anyone
entering the cave would set his master plan into operation. There was
nothing more to do but wait. The Hunters would come today. He felt certain
of it. Their reception, however, was going to be different that any they had
ever encountered. The Hunters were going to be surprised. Or so Myrddin
hoped.