Commitment - Predatory Ethics: Book II

by Athanasios

“It is good to be back on this plane. I am grateful to my loyal lieutenants and am proud of the work they are doing for our cause.” He glanced approvingly at his behemoth second. “I am fortunate to have better men under me than you, Bernhardt.”

  “This isn’t possible,” Bernhardt gasped.

  “Come now, you doubt your fine predator senses, herr Hapsburg?” He addressed Bernhardt’s disbelief. “I am he. Do not doubt that.”

  “This is a trick. You’re a pretender.” Bernhardt saw the Fuhrer five feet from him. It was uncanny to be seeing a man who until now only still existed in newsreels and photos of WWII. Adolf Hitler was still despised throughout the world, decades after his suicide in a bunker, hundreds of feet below decimated Berlin.

  “Your belief is no matter,” he dismissed. “I am come to put our master’s house in order. Templars, Luciferians, and Freemasons have hijacked Lucifer’s plans for too long. It is no wonder our Redeemer has turned his back on us. He is repulsed by what he has been given to lead, and I don’t blame him.” He shook his head in utter disgust and disdain.

  “Teutons working for the Devil?” Bernhardt asked.

  “Yes, and he has rewarded our loyalty by allowing us vengeance on our despised fellow knights, the Templars.” The Fuhrer replied.

  “What do you want?”

  “What do I want?” Hysterical laughter peeled across the stone corridor from his thin lips. He was joined by his Reichsfuhrer but only puzzled looks were returned by the rest of their group. “You plotted and showed your thoughts before Lucifer, in Hell, did you think He would let such insolence lie?” he answered rhetorically. “You will answer for it by being returned to it.”

  “I’ll take it up with Him then. I’m through talking to his lackeys,” Bernhardt said with contempt. “He sends a freshly spawned fiend to take in a predator borne?”

  “You have verve, insolence.” The Reichsfuhrer answered, speaking for the first time, and drew his sidearm from a finely tooled and lacquered leather holster. He pulled back the Walther PPK’s slide group and pointed the barrel at the middle of Bernhardt’s forehead. All the while his Fuhrer watched with disdain and added as three shots went into Bernhardt’s head, one in the pineal gland and one in each eye. “You can tell him yourself.”

  As the echo of the shots stopped bouncing off the stone corridor Herr Hitler surveyed the corpse littered floor. “Very good. Our work here is done. Reichsfuhrer, have this place cleaned up. It is unseemly to keep it in this state. This is not a charnel house.” He turned and walked briskly past the rest of his party, followed quickly by Rolf Hess. After a few hisses and snaps of fingers three of their party went to the other end of the corridor at a run, yelling orders in German and screaming an enormous amount of schnells.

  Hours later one of the cleaning crew joined the rank of bodies burned in the facility’s incinerator. Tino Quentin then walked out to a new life. He was a new man able to do whatever he wished because he had been removed from any public record. Now his old Templars were gone.

  Time: March 7th, 1975, Restaurant, Les Amures, Geneva, Switzerland

  Simon was surprised at how nervous he felt. He had been sitting at a discreet table, out of the path of the restaurant’s traffic. He checked his watch and looked at another table, unoccupied save for a gilded “Reservée” sign in its centerpiece. Only two chairs were faced eachother, pushed before an intricate center table arrangement of red, pink and green roses, multicolored lilies, and angel’s breath fronds that spilled around the fine china place settings.

  He found it utterly ironic that he was trying this century’s social custom of dating with one of the most traditional women he had ever met. She was also a stunningly beautiful creature with a mind and strength of character Simon was completely awed by. Simon was happy to go wherever she would choose to meet. He was also relieved to think of something other than his obsession with the past. It had taken over his thoughts and emotions and he could concentrate on little else.

  In truth he was on his third Michael Collins and enjoyed the warmth it was giving his frontal lobe. He came half an hour early for the 7:00 PM rendezvous and now checked his watch’s pronouncement of 7:10. He nodded and realized she would probably be doing just what he was. He got up, out of the shadows and made his way to their allotted table, detouring through the bar. Once seated, he ordered another Michael Collins and informed the staff he had arrived.

  Sitting at the table, he smelled the freshly poured hops and nectar and swirled its contents to release more of the aroma. The scent was heady and prepared his taste for the more intimate coming drink. This seduction was cut short by his date’s finely timed entrance. Simon didn’t so much see or hear her, but felt her presence. It was a wave of electricity around the room; her mere presence demanded attention. It wasn’t sex appeal, though she exuded plenty of that, it was raw charisma. She smiled at the managers and nodded to every security man there. The powerful men of the restaurant, patrons who commanded multinational companies and some armies deferred to her. As she passed a handful of tables, men bent their heads in appreciation and acknowledgement.

  Simon was out of his own seat and pulled out the chair for her to sit. She smiled a toothsome grin that was at once breathtaking and terrifying. She was a lioness, unabashed in her power and grace, not caring who it frightened. “Such chivalry, Mr. Magus. I thought it died with the court of Aquitaine.”

  “It did madam, but I’m the only one who still practices it,” he happily responded. Now, how many women of any age could reference the 12th century Anglo-French court? Simon was newly star-struck with Melusine Rothschild again. “Do you cause such a fuss wherever you go?” Simon knew the answer from the knowing smile of her eyes telling him she didn’t pay too much attention to what lesser folk did.

  “You intrigue me, Mr. Simon Magus,” she said flirtatiously. “I’ve never spent so much time with anybody for centu…years. Let alone a vampire.”

  Simon did his best to hide the shock of her outing him but saw she had impishly registered the discomfort. “I’m impressed, Mrs. Ms. Rothschild. What shall I call you Mrs. or Ms.?” He asked trying to steer the conversation back to more mundane fare.

  “Melusine would do fine if I can call you Simon.”

  “Please do.”

  “You are quite an old one, the oldest I’ve ever seen.” He laughed pulling out a quizzical look from her, but she waited, with an amused smile, for an explanation.

  “To most people the subject of their age is a delicate subject, yet you’re going for a compliment aren’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m impressed by your longevity.”

  “I’ve been around for some time.” He looked up quickly. “Are you going to be crass enough to ask how long?” It was his turn to be impish.

  “Crass?” She laughed a throaty growl that spoke of languid evenings and luxuriant bed play. “Consider me crass then.” His age hung there and Simon decided to tell her.

  He lifted his drink and saluted Melusine with it. “To crassness then, my response is subtlety. So I’ll answer you thus. When I was barely shaving and standing among the full beards I heard of a teacher and prophet who drew crowds in Galilee. I took what I heard of his lessons and oration, added parlor tricks and basic spirit manipulation and gathered a following rivaling His. This teacher was a leader from the fanatical Qumranians, Nasoreans who lived in the desert and bathed constantly. At that time bathing was considered disgusting.

  “Upon finding Him I saw a large crowd listening attentively to His words. I did not see the fair-haired, straight nosed, jawed man depicted in so many icons but a stooped and hump backed little ‘Apiru I saw all around us. Despite the original competition with the Nazarene, I soon forgot the rivalry and wanted to learn at the Master’s feet. Alas, however earnest I was, His puffed-up first disciple Peter rebuked me and said there was no more place for disciples. I was crushed but was allowed to stay when the Teacher’s beloved Mary Magdalene said I was welcome anyway.”

&nb
sp; Melusine said nothing, her silence respectful, and her eyes demanding more, while Simon happily obliged. “The twelve disciples did not recognize or understand all of the Teacher’s friends or His lessons. Peter thereafter looked and spoke to Mary with contempt and disdain but never in front of Jesus. The posturing fisherman thought the Son of God did not see his deceit. I didn’t care because I was embraced by those closest to Him, His mother and beloved, the two Maries as they were called.

  “After the Messiah’s much publicized execution, and resurrection early Christianity barely survived. The remaining, fragile Church of Jerusalem still preached the true words of Jesus while the Gnosis, the true words of God, nearly died. The Sang Real, the Holy Grail was brought to safety and hidden away. The work of the twelve apostles brought the worship away from those who killed Him and taught it to the gentiles.

  “My Gnostic Simonian churches soon preached His words from Caeseria to Antioch in Syria, Phrygia, Egypt and Rome.”

  “And you were there?” was her only question. “Your proximity to those influential people and times. To see how these abstract concepts took hold of hearts and imagination and became reality.” It was Melusine’s turn to salute with her glass. Simon graciously accepted and continued.

  “Years later I met the first disciple at Rome and through trickery and bald faced lies Peter bested me in front of the Emperor Claudius. That began the imperial assimilation that would end with Constantine’s adoption of Christianity as the Roman Catholic Empire. The Council of Nicea began the long history of intolerance that saw millions dead in the name of Jesus Christ. The persecution culminated in the Catharae Crusade but never fully went away. The Catholics reached an apex in their intolerance at Albi and Languedoc but continued their domination and bigotry well into the modern centuries.” He took a sip of his Tom Collins. “Is that enough?”

  Melusine assured him it was, with a smile and gentle nod of her head. “All this time I never knew,” Melusine explained. “I’m more impressed than ever. So you’ve been alone all this time.”

  “Not always alone,” he answered. “One does what one can.”

  “This Ursus you’ve been asking around about do you actually think he was the AntiXos?” she asked.

  Simon was again shocked at her knowledge and candor, and despite the surprise he felt, soldiered on. “Contrary to Biblical accounts there’s not just one. There’s one every time the stars align to release Him.”

  “Was He ever a She?” she asked.

  “No. I think the destructive aspect of this human projection has mostly always been male. Testosterone and all that.”

  “What about Shiva?” she countered.

  “The exception that proves the rule,” he said quickly.

  “Has your AntiXos been reborn yet?” She took a sip of wine. “Ursus and the Cathars died out centuries ago. Do you think our times brought Him back?”

  “I really can’t be sure,” he lied.

  “You’re not being entirely honest, Simon,” she quipped and made him blush at the discovery. “You do know. You just don’t want to tell me.”

  “I don’t think you would understand.”

  “How condescending. I’ve lived longer than you, Simon, and you’d be surprised what I can understand.”

  “If you’re going to tell tall tales at least try to make them believable. You can’t be older than me.”

  “In the years you’ve been around did you ever hear of Mother Rothschild, the Constant Widow, Melusine Anjevin, Asmodeus’s only Daughter?” she asked as their dinner plates were cleared away.

  “You’re proposing that you are she?” Simon doubted.

  “I am. How could I prove it to you?” She was earnest in making him believe. “Ask me anything and I’ll answer.”

  “The Constant Widow would know the 13 founding families,” he asked after a long contemplation of what to even ask.

  “Rothschild, Hapsburg, Goethe, Rockefeller, Warburg, Rhodes, DuPont, Guelph, Ghibelline, Giustiniani, Oltramaire, Astor, and Russell,” she said without hesitation.

  “What is the Windsor’s real name?”

  “Hapsburg-Goethe.”

  “Who is the demon the Black Nobility are all purported to be descended from?”

  “Would that include me then? Would that make him my father?” she asked.

  “I guess it would,” he replied.

  “Asmodeus,” she said evenly.

  “You certainly know your occultica. You know your Arcanum.”

  “Occultica? Is that even a word?” she answered with a chuckle. “Yet you’re not convinced.”

  “Should I be?” he answered semi-seriously. “We’ve been enjoying each other’s company. This is the first time in quite a while in which I have relaxed with a woman, and you want to convince me you’re a demoness, second only to Satan?” He looked at her for any registration of what he said. He saw none. She believed everything she said; it was true, or both. “You’re serious.”

  “Mmhm.” An eyebrow arched in emphasis was her answer, followed with. “Occultica? Another made up word, you’re quite the auteur.”

  Simon could not help feeling somewhat anxious at this turn in conversation. He nervously took a long drink of his whiskey and uncharacteristically added. “Really?”

  Melusine’s growling laugh came again. Earlier it was endearing and dangerously sensual, evocative, but now it was just plain dangerous. She saw his increased agitation and was disappointed. “Simon, you finished telling me you were a rival to Jesus and have lived centuries trying to make your Gnostic beliefs come true, and now you’re uncomfortable at my revelation?”

  “Well, yes,” he answered. “I’m human.”

  “No, you’re not. That was established. I thought you would be one of the few who wouldn’t have an issue with my past.”

  “I was once human.”

  “I’ve lived as a human far longer than you,” she countered. “I’ve been in this existence with everyone else so why are you looking at me like I grew horns and a spiked tail?”

  “Can you? Do you?” he asked.

  “No. Lower-ringed fiends do that and really dumb and unimaginative people see that when they conjure the higher lords,” she replied with irritation. “Back to my question. Do you really think this time has brought Ursus back?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s it? A simple affirmation without anything further?”

  “In truth, I think he’s returned and will not do what he’s destined to. He doesn’t want to. He only wants to live an ordinary life.”

  “He unfortunately won’t be allowed. It is not his decision to make.” Melusine was adamant. “I have spoken to him, have you? Do you want to?”

  Simon only managed a weak nod of his head in affirmation.

  “That’s a, yes, Simon, you do?” These cows were a chore to manage, Melusine thought. Even after more than a millennium of life this one was still a child to his emotions. “I’ll come to your dreams soon and introduce you. I’m sure you and Ursus will have much to catch up on.”

  “Why are you doing this then?” he asked.

  She laughed again and made Simon’s hackles rise.

  “He asked the same thing, but he didn’t know who I am.” She thought for a second and added. “Why not? I have nothing to fear from you, Simon. I certainly don’t have anything to fear from a boy, no matter who his father is. I think I could learn—we could learn something from all this.”

  “There’s no ulterior motive here?”

  “We don’t always have to have one. The Dark Nobility are not all monsters.”

  “You’re Black Nobility, not Dark. The descendants of Asmodeus are beyond Dark or Predators aren’t they?”

  “Very astute and correct, Mr. Magus. What I said still holds true, however, we’re not all monsters.”

  “If any of your press is any indication, I would think that wasn’t true of you.”

  “Is everything they write about vampires true? Come now, Simon, everybody ha
s bad press, even the human celebrities do. There’s not a week that goes by that Elizabeth Taylor’s or Elvis’s obesity isn’t plastered all over the magazines. Judy Garland isn’t allowed to die in peace from all her drug-addled excesses. Jacqueline Kennedy is hounded every day incessantly. We’ve all suffered bad press.” Both let the conversation lapse and let the topic die in the air. Each took a sip of their respective drinks and Melusine broke the silence first.

  “This was fun,” she genuinely shared.

  It was Simon’s turn to laugh. The small chuckle was an honest understanding and sharing of the moment. He understood Melusine was being genuine and his open laughter also started her laughing. It kept going for some time.

  “The Constant Widow had fun,” he started and sent them both into more laughter.

  “I know. I don’t know where that came from. I don’t say fun.” Melusine reached across and put her hand on Simon’s. “I really don’t. You bring out a side of me I thought I would never see again.”

  “Speaking of that, when do you want to do this again?”

  “Another date?”

  “Is that what this was?” Simon asked. “Do vampires and demon descendants date?”

  “Apparently they do.” Melusine chuckled. This time it was endearing, a bubbling caress to the ears. To anyone looking at the two, they would say both were smitten.

  TIME: March 15th, 1975, Templar Chapter House, New York, U.S.A.

  Anicée did not like North America at all. It was too new with most structures only being at most less than a couple of centuries old. She didn’t dwell on this abhorrence but concentrated on the task at hand. It took weeks to track down and make plans to bring back the Eternal Consort. Last week a fortunate stroke of luck gave them an opportunity they could not pass up.

  A disenchanted Freemason had been made Grand Master of not only his house but of the Templars as well. This was highly unusual and many said it was in fact unique. The two organizations were only linked in rumor, the Templars never even being mentioned in anything but history. Now they were thought of as one and the same with newspapers and magazines naming them interchangeably. Next to stories about Phnom-Penh’s struggle in Cambodia and exposés on the Soviet Bloc were stories detailing the demise of both orders. Their long histories were detailed in easy to digest bullet points of no more than two sentences each. The entire article could be read at a long bowel movement just before your ass fell asleep on the bowl.