PROLOGUE
A foreboding mist crept over the ever-sleeping city of Venificus as a raven swept past a tree, and into the wood. The soil was wasted; grew on it weeds and yellow grass. Short remains of dead plants stood their guard over the weeds in the parched soil, as it cracked and drifted along with the mild, creeping wind. Standing on the ground were ten-foot long tombstones, engraving the names of their owners. Many stood tall, untouched. But others stood fallen, with weeds growing about them. Perched on a marble tombstone surrounded by long, parched grass was the raven, black as granite, a cunning look dwelled in its eye. It seemed almost human as it seemed to stare at the tombstones with relish. A few paces away from the tombstone stood a small, thick tree with dying branches and crisp, dry leaves. Underneath the scarcely sheltering branches danced a bright fire. The raven stared at it for a while; and then took off into the night.
On the other end of the graveyard, a dark figure stood silently, leaning on a falling tombstone. As the faint moonlight shone on it, its attire came into view. The visitor was dressed in a long, black cloak that swept across the weeds. The cloak was hooded, so as to conceal the face. A long, ebony wand protruded out of the sleeve of the cloak, as the hand on the inside clenched it with readiness. The visitor feebly advanced towards the little light he could see, atleast eleven tombstones away. Slowly skulking over the dead city, the visitor scraped against the soil, gripping at a bulge near the right end of his cloak. The light was close now; it was a fire. And standing by it were two other dark figures, dressed in the same long, black cloaks. They seemed to have noticed this visitor, and gripped their wands, prepared to defend themselves.
"It is me, Oberon", said the visitor. Out came a boy's voice, its very note menacing to the core. Out of the sleeve came out slowly a thin, sickly hand. Its fingers bony and long, its nails cracked. It advanced toward the hood, and slid it off. A face shone in the fire-light.
A long, hooked bulbous nose protruded outwards, almost rudely. Two small, cunning eyes, madly staring, seemed to adjust to the light. The boy's thin face was haunting, as it grinned underneath a wild moustache.
"Has the ritual begun?" he said, with an air of sarcasm to his voice.
"We shall start when the fire is larger, incase you would prefer a premature result?" said one of the hooded figures, it was also a boy.
"Mulciber, it is? Has not the Dark Lord taught you any respect for superiors?" said Oberon, a malevolent grin full of malice, distorting his already hideous face.
"If this is what you want, Sir…" said Mulciber. He raised his wand at the fire, and said, "Semino!" spitting jets of white light shot out of the end of his wand and hit the fire with a loud bang. The fire turned red.
"You may continue…" said Oberon imperiously, giving the other a patronizing look.
Mulciber perched next to fire, and started to chant. A mesmerizing chanting that rang almost like a song. He chanted with passion, he chanted with faith. The fire turned black, and then faded away, leaving the graveyard dark and cold. Out of the remains of twigs, weeds and pieces of wood formed a dark sapphire whisp of smoke, transforming into a short rotund figure, sapphire too, which whimpered and fled into the dark.
"Our work is done, sir…" said the other figure, revealing yet another boy's voice.
Oberon seemed to shiver. "Behold…" he said, his voice shaking. "The Orbis".