Knights of Enmity: The Barons Have Fallen (Descending Fires Book 1)

by Sedrie Danielle

  “Cardinal Borgia. There are nonbelievers here that could use your prayers. Will you bless them, lest their souls be cast into the pit of Hell without redemption?”

  “Indeed Sister Mary Esther. Together we shall lay hands and cleanse the souls of the damned with the fires of Heaven,” he said, making the sign of the cross.

  They walked up the street side by side as the security lights turned in their direction. Mila and Cesare raised their hands as a man holding a large machine gun stepped out of the cave to meet them.

  “What the fuck are you doing up here? This is private property. Piss off!”

  “Sister Mary Esther and I have come to share the good news about our Lord and savior. To save your –,”

  “I said we don’t want any. Now piss off!” the man shouted, taking the butt of the gun and thrusting it into Cesare’s abdomen. Mila pretended to be concerned reaching for him when the man grabbed her, whistling for assistance as she pulled away from him.

  “Grab him too. Might as well have something to aim at for target practice. But this little nun, this pretty, pretty nun is about to feel what it’s like to be fucked by God!” he shouted, dragging the two inside.

  The cheers and howls of the wolves in their human forms echoed down the long dark hall; the clamoring of boots upon the steel floors sounded as a herd of elephants stampeding towards a watering hole. Cesare turned up his nose, occasionally holding his breath as the smell of dead flesh and wild animals choked him.

  The men threw Cesare on the ground, quickly tying his hands as they strung Mila up by her wrists; ripping at her clothes. Cesare’s eyes went all black; angered at the sight of the men grabbing at his wife. Mila began laughing uncontrollably and the men around her stared curiously.

  “You shut up stupid bitch! I’ll give you something to laugh about!” a man shouted, when he found himself pinned to the ground by a force which he was too weak to move from.

  “Sun of the Earth, darkness has dwelled here for too long and it is time to rise. Upon kether did I place the jewel of Tet, give you the illumination of Ra and the strength of Gram, to hold the weight of Ma in the endless lands of the ancient Ton. Rise Black Knight, with chaos in hand and lay waste to those who oppose you!”

  Cesare summoned his Magia, grounding himself as the fire took hold of him. The flames swirled around him awaiting his direction.

  “Shit! It’s a Black Knight! Look man, we have no beef with you!” a man shouted, only to find himself incinerated before the others. Mila laughed as she summoned her trident which broke her bonds. The Borgias killed everyone in the room, leaving the den a bloody, burning mess.

  Mila laughed as Cesare grabbed her by her waist, pulling her close, reveling as the fires surrounded them. She dropped her bloody trident and as it clanged against the floor embraced her bloody cardinal, kissing him as he grabbed a handful of her ass. She stared into his onyx eyes as their peculiar passions intensified while the fires encircled them. Mila’s clothes began to burn off and she flinched as the heat was too much for her.

  “Don’t worry love. I won’t allow you to burn,” he said, lifting her up and twirling her around. For a moment, time stopped as the two lovers rolled around in a pool of their own carnage. The bodies of the wolves began to burn and as Cesare lay on his back with Mila on top of him, he caught a glimpse of something that made him uncomfortable. A man, burning with a small cauldron around his belt.

  “Come on love, my element is fire, not smoke and I’m not in the mood to choke to death,” he said, laughing to dismiss his nervousness.

  The couple sat in the quiet calm of the car as their heightened emotions slowly returned to normal. Cesare looked at the clock upon the dashboard and it read 3:00 AM and he pointed to a red star in the sky.

  “We are now stepping into the rule of Mars, the planetary spirit of the Magia. It's quite beautiful in The Hollow. It paints the sky a deep red for three days. This one is different though. Can’t you feel the war coming?” he asked Mila who was staring at the sky.

  “Something's coming. There is a definite tension in the air.”

  Cesare grabbed her hand. His olive skin, stained with the blood of the priests, pressed against the brown of hers made for a delightful Neapolitan. He smiled and the bullet hole in his left cheek dented like a dimple. Mila grabbed the cross around his neck and pulled him close.

  “My Cesare, tell me how much you love me,” she commanded.

  He leaned towards her and whispered sweet Spanish nothings in her ear: “My dearest Milania, I would sacrifice my soul for you. I will kill any man who would try and take you from me. You are my heart that beats, and I could not exist without your help. Because you are my love. Forever.”

  3

  The Pious Order of Dactyls

  During the course of the long strife between Heaven and Earth, the Hollow remained humanity's most prized possession. Located deep within the Earth's crust, it was a legendary world that the Orders protected by magical barriers on either side of the poles; heavily guarded by the Sons of Ragnarok.

  It was magically beautiful, as the inner Earth sun kept it warm all year around. The many hills, mountains and valleys became homes to the centaur, dragons, brownies and other beings long lost to tales of myth and legend.

  Several of the Orders built headquarters in the Hollow, including the Order of Magia Chaotica and the Order of Dactyls, who live in the great Parthenon sitting upon the Promethean Mount.

  The Order of Magia Chaotica placed magical sigils in strategic places all over the world which act as gateways for transportation to and from The Hollow; which only the Hidden, or magical humans, can use.

  The Angelic orders were barred from the Hollow as it became a safe haven for those under threat of extinction by Heaven's hand. As the Clock of Trismegistus struck 3:00 AM, the deep knell reverberated throughout The Hollow, signifying Mars' transit to the celestial throne.

  Dante finished his prayers in tears as he did every night. Placing his palm-sized Bible upon his night stand, he gazed upon the ruby of the sky from his tower window. He sighed, as his thinly arched brows pushed back the skin of his forehead; showing the worry of his mind upon his face.

  The red rays of Mars caused a hemorrhage upon the celestial blanket which appeared to drip upon the low seated Moon of the Hollow. The night sky always appeared much larger in the Inner Earth regions; almost as if the naked eye acted as a magnifying glass to the beyond.

  Dante, who lived in the Owl Tower adjacent to the Parthenon, was old and tired yet, pressed on as he dutifully led the Order of Dactyls. Unlike most nights which the old Seer would spend in writing or meditation, he needed answers for the terrifying and vivid dreams which plagued him the past three days.

  For him, there was a deep pause of reluctance that kept him from doing that which he dreaded the most; listening to God. A blessing it would seem for most, a curse it was of the Dactyl Seers and Oracles who were only shown the horrors of the Demiurge.

  Dante mustered all the strength he had and descended into the great Hall of Prophecies within the Parthenon of his order. His heavy, red robes scrapped against the limestone floor as he walked the steep slope into the darkness.

  He banged two pieces of flint together, lighting a torch; setting off a chain of torches down the hall and into the great room. There, he sat in the center, looking up at a marble statue of a woman who held a box in her hands. The thirty-three seals of the Great Orders were etched into the wall behind her; glowing, animated, as the torches seemed to give them life.

  “My dearest, Beatrice. Guide my mind as my eyes attempt to see through the darkened glass. Lead me to revelation, to truth and the holy word of the Demiurge, as my ears have fallen deaf to the sounds of glory. I know not what is said, so I ask that you bear the gift of interpretation upon the Prophet. To share the message, and spread the warning unto man as the days of the Reckoning approach. I ask for sight, but my heart is gripped with fear as the unknown creeps beneath the sheets of my bed, caressing
my soul with a venomous kiss which brings upon me the malaise of uncertainty. Alas, I am but a man, and I simply ask for clarity of the mind as I delve into the chaos that is the Demiurge,” Dante said, as he removed a white cap off of his head; exposing his matted brown hair swirled around a bald spot at the top.

  His head, ever covered by the cap which had two flaps near his ears, served to drown out the sounds of angels who constantly beckoned for him and the evil thoughts of men. Gifted to him by the Iron Fists, it was one accessory he would never part with unless he needed to hear the voices of divine guidance.

  He placed upon his head a laurel, one made of the leaves from the Tree of Knowledge and closed his eyes. Dante had a hard face, a long nose with a slight curl at the end; his body was frail and thin, but his mind was ever sharp.

  For three minutes, Dante lay upon the floor seeing through the eyes of God, the great Demiurge. Unlike Malkuth, the higher realms of the Demiurge is not bound by time. Those three minutes felt more like three days to his body and it began to break down as it believed it.

  Dante could hear the trampling of a horse, the screams of the innocent, and the screeching of Heaven's angels. The other images were disturbing and blurred and the fear became too great. He bled from his eyes, his ears, his mouth and finger tips as the visions were too grand for his vessel to contain.

  He struggled to remove the laurel and replace it with his cap, but was too weak to physically move. His body, flaccid, from what felt like days of no food or drink, had no way of doing so. In his anxiety, he began to weep as weakness bound his feeble body like a rope by which he was bound.

  He closed his eyes as he prayed for relief, and it did come. Two soft hands pulled the laurel from his head and placed it back in the box. “Callan,” Dante said weakly and smiled.

  “Yes. It’s me Mr. Dante. I've brought you food and water. Here, let me help you,” he said propping Dante on his lap and pouring water into his mouth.

  Callan fed him fruits and cheese, and Dante immediately began feeling better. He wiped the blood from Dante's face and remained silent as Dante regained lucidity. Callan was one of Dante's oldest students. He wasn't a tall man, nor was he stout, but of average size. His blonde hair was always combed away from his face and ears, accentuating his rather large forehead. His calm blue eyes gave comfort to the anxious, and wisdom to the foolish.

  He lived a most pious life, never leaving the walls of the Parthenon and taking an extreme vow of celibacy which he believed kept his gifts untainted. But in all of his piety, he tended to judge things that were beyond his understanding. For him, love and sex were one in the same which were just as bad as murder in his eyes.

  Callan was not a worldly man, and carried a great disdain for the hustle and bustle of the Upper Earth. Many of the visions which those in his order had, he had yet to understand; sheltering himself from that which he saw as evil.

  While Dante gathered himself, Callan looked up at the seals of the thirty-three orders; the nine greatest glowing ever bright.

  “You must learn not to judge dear Callan,” Dante said, as he looked up to see Callan pondering.

  “What do you mean sir?” he asked.

  Dante sat up, but remained seated on the ground. He pointed to the seals. Callan sighed.

  “Tell me, of the thirty-three Orders of Man, which do you loathe the most?” Dante asked.

  Callan immediately pointed to the seal of the Order of Magia Chaotica. Dante giggled causing Callan to stiffen his face a little.

  “And why do you say so?”

  “The Order of Magia Chaotica are not worthy to wield such power. They are murderers, adulterers, the worst sinners on the planet. They over indulge in everything. And if I had to pick a second most hated, it would have to be the divine whores; the Order of the Blue Goddess,” he said scoffing.

  “Why do they anger you so?” Dante asked, now looking worried.

  “Because. We, the Order of Dactyls, live a most pious life. That is why we are chosen to hear the voice of the Demiurge; a feat not even the angelic orders can attest. We are the chosen, and in the end, it will be the Order of Dactyls that remains when the Reckoning has fallen,” he said.

  Dante stared at his pupil suspiciously, pondering on his words. “Of all of the great orders here, it is the Order of Magia Chaotica which I respect the most,” he said, causing Callan to roll his eyes.

  “Magia Chaotica is not a simple thing to wield. It is the magic of God; the great Demiurge. It is the very thing which set creation into motion. Magia Chaotica is duality in every sense of the word; a constant clashing of light and darkness, willpower focused to manifest thought itself through the bending of vibration. They are indeed a rough bunch, but they live as they live because they must. Their power is acquired through pain; their elevation is achieved through sacrifice. They live not according to the constraints of man, but maintain the honor of their code. They kill and destroy, suffer and overcome pain so that you do not have to. Each of our Orders has its secrets, those that no other knows. And while I do not claim to know why they do, what they do, I understand why it’s necessary,” Dante said standing.

  “Your thoughts about the Black Knights and Blue Goddesses are misplaced Callan. And perhaps, of all the Orders, they are the only of us that are truly free from human law. It is that sort of ill thinking and harsh judgment that has caused us to be staring at thirty-three seals, rather than nine. All it takes is a single word or thought to cause war amongst brethren, and in ignorance it spreads like plague. See, in the beginning, there were nine orders; founded by nine humans who were taught a set of different magical skills to help us during the war with Gabriel. Like anything else, through time, nine became twelve. Twelve became sixteen. Sixteen became thirty-three. And even still, there are lesser orders which are not here. Power corrupts the hearts of men, and after the war with angels, the Orders set war upon themselves, causing schisms throughout. This was foreseen by the first Dactyl, Deucalion, and it was mandated that a magician could only master one magical path. A sort of celestial checks and balances if you will. Because, as we became gods, gods must rule, gods must create. But we are all here, in the creation of another. Here, in this place, this plane, no man can truly become the master, but many have tried. Earth is nothing more than a training ground for something grander. But as Mars sparkles high, we must brace ourselves for the coming of blood. The Black Knights protect us Callan and as the angels burn the skies, who will meet them with a sword? You?” Dante asked as he started walking away.

  Callan was angry, but wasn't sure why. He picked up Dante's things and extinguished the torches in the room and up the steep hall. As they walked along the columns of the outer pathway, Callan looked down the Promethean Mount in the direction of Temple Salamanca, headquarters for the Order of Magia Chaotica.

  There, the gold dome of the temple reflected the light of the moon with a dragon curled atop. He shifted his eyes and ran into Dante as he had stopped.

  “I will be fine dear Callan. It’s late, and class will begin soon. Take your rest and I shall see you later,” he said, grabbing his bag from Callan's hands.

  Callan wasn't sure what to think of it, but went to his dorm without question. Dante walked a slow and steady pace down the mountainside where he reached a bell near a wooden sign. He rang it, and the steady gallop of a horse began coming his way. Dante grabbed a walking stick which he had placed behind the sign and tied his hat flaps under his chin.

  A tall, thick centaur with broad shoulders and long bushy hair answered the call of the bell. “Good morning, Master Seer. How may I help you?” he asked, in a low bass voice.

  “Good morning mighty Centaurion. Please take me to Temple Salamanca,” he said, as he climbed the centaur's back. They trotted through the thick forest path to Temple Salamanca; thirty minutes later, reaching the entrance.

  “Thank you for the ride. You do not have to wait, I will have another escort back,” Dante said smiling. The centaur bowed respectfully and trotte
d back to his village.

  ***

  Before Dante could knock on the door, which stood nearly twenty feet high, he was interrupted by a deep, raspy voice coming from the veranda on the left side of the building.

  “I thought I sensed a Dactyl coming my way,” the man said. Dante walked around to meet the familiar voice of his friend.

  “Taking a moon bath are we Rufus?” he asked, with a slight giggle.

  “You know how we Knights love to bathe in red light,” Rufus said sitting up. Rufus stared at him with his beady brown eyes. His thick brown hair was a mess, and beard even messier. A jagged scar ran down the left side of his face, down his neck, ending at the area above his heart; adding to his wild appearance as he looked to have a constant grimace. He wore nothing more than a pair of black pants; his upper body was thick, muscular, and painted with scars of war. His skin, brown from over tanning, looked like a tough piece of leather.

  “Well then, Magia Rex should put on his shoes, for he will need them in battle,” Dante responded sitting next to him.

  “I take it your presence brings the portent of bad news. It’s a shame, I was having a fantastic night,” Rufus said smiling at him.

  “We have been friends for half my life yet, I still have no understanding of any of this. The visions, our roles. Are we simply pawns on a chessboard? Or do we actually have free will to change our destiny? We have fought this fight for countless days yet, it seems that we are no closer to paradise than Sisyphus is to the summit,” Dante said, as his feelings of hopelessness became evident on his face.

  “We do what we can do Dante. And we haven't really been engaging in heavy war for about two years now. Skirmishes are part of life, and without them I'd be nervous. But what did you see that brings you here?” Rufus asked.