Alright, here is my origin story for the nutcase Iron Mask. There are first two things I wish to make clear to everyone:
My character Iron Mask is based on the historical figure known as the man in the iron mask, a prisoner in France during the late 17th century. His real name and the reason for his imprisonment have never been revealed and every time he was seen his face had been concealed. But I must inform you that everything I have written about my version of the man in the iron mask is purely fictional and does not contain an ounce of historical accuracy. If you want real facts about this mysterious figure just Google him.
This chapter obviously takes place in France but since not everyone reading this story can understand French I will write it in English. You'll just have to imagine that they speak French.
France
July 15, 1669
In the small village of Cuzorn in the southwest parts of France, the streets were empty. There was no sign of life anywhere in the tiny community. Although it may seem distressful, those who knew what day it was did not find this bad. For today was Sunday and like every good catholic, the villagers had gathered in the church for prayer. Around 20 people were cramped into the small church, all of them directing their focus to the new visitor they had; Cardinal Armand du Jean.
The villagers had been surprised to say the least when the Cardinal had arrived two days ago, they could just not see why someone as important as he would grace such a small and insignificant village with his presence. Then, when Sunday pray arrived, he had insisted that he would lead the people in prayer as an act of friendship. Needless to say, the villagers were very thrilled by this and believed that this could mean good news for their village; except one man at the back of the crowd.
His name was Jacques DeMonde. He wore a black tunic and matching pair of pants, his long and black hair was tied back in a ponytail but the most striking about him were his black eyes. Both his irises and his pupils were as black as night. Right now, he was bored as hell. These pointless hours wasted in the church only served to remind him why his mother had done what she had done.
She had once, in a desperate bid to gain power, made a pact with dark and ancient powers. They gave her the power to seduce any man she wanted and in return she gave him her virginity. A year later Jacques had been born and had been praised as a miracle by the mortal cult that her mother had been part of. They had seen him as a physical manifestation of the dark powers they worshiped. Luckily that status had saved Jacques when he was five. His mother had been accused of witchcraft, which the cult would later joke was the understatement of the year, and had subsequently been burned at the stake. Although the cult did not even lift a finger to save Jacques's mother, they did everything in their power to get Jacques, their little 'saint', to safety; cost them half their members to do so.
He would grow up in Cuzorn under the supervision of the cult, who went into hiding with him. If anyone would have cared to memorize it, today would have been Jacques's 18th birthday. Two years earlier he had taken over the cult and decided that the time of hiding was over. He had sent his followers far and wide in search of promising recruits and mystic powers. Both of these goods were extremely difficult to acquire in these days, when catholic word was law. But Jacques was not to be deterred for he had a vision, a vision of calling forth the daemonic powers that lurked in every corner of the world and together crush both the pathetic Catholic Church and the upstart Muslim religion.
"… Pater, Filius et Spiritus Sanctus. Amen" the Cardinal finished and Jacques redirected his focus at him. The Cardinal was an unforeseen setback to his plans. With him present in the village, it would be hard to move around freely and organize his followers. Jacques suspected that the very reason of the Cardinal's presence here was because he was hunting for his cult. It had happened in the past, but Jacques had always been one step ahead of his opponents and he would continue to do so. The crowd started shuffling out of the church and Jacques allowed himself to be carried with it. Once outside, he caught sight of the Cardinal's personal guards, heavily armored soldiers bearing the emblem of the Vatican. Leading them was a man also wearing the same armor but without a helmet, showing his bald head and a short beard. Jacques diverted his gaze from the imposing man and moved slightly to the side of the crowd. Jacques suddenly caught sight of one of his followers casually striding down the street. Jacques quickly strode up to that person and whispered a single word in his ear.
"Midnight"
…..
The valley that stretched out beneath Cuzorn was an untouched wilderness. Imposing trees and thick bushes obscured most of the landscape from the eyes of the villagers. Carved into the steep cliff face was a stairwell that led down into the valley. At the bottom of it was a small well that provided fresh water for the village. But that was not everything that the valley kept concealed from curious eyes, for there was also a cave network in the very cliff that Cuzorn rested upon. A few people knew of their existence but old superstition had created the idea that the caves were haunted by ghosts. As such they avoided the caves as much as possible but this belief had given Jacques's cult the perfect hiding place. At the stroke of midnight, dozens of robed people silently moved through the thick undergrowth towards the cave entrances. At first glance one would certainly have not noticed them due to the heavy camouflage that had been applied to them. Deep inside the caves, inside a large dome shaped cavern, Jacques was leading his followers in one of their rituals. All that were present were wearing red robes and had their hoods up to conceal their identities. The cultists formed a circle around Jacques who stood at the front of an altar in the center of the cavern. Of all the people present, he was the only one with his hood down.
"Brothers, I welcome you all to this hasty gathering. I am aware of the trouble this sudden and unplanned gathering may have for some of you but I assure you, the matter that I bring to you cannot wait until the next scheduled meeting" he announced when the last members had arrived.
"As you are all aware of by now, there is a Cardinal from the Vatican in our village. There is no doubt in my mind that he is here in search of us" he continued, pausing to allow the quiet murmur that began in his audience to end.
"But fear not, my children. For we have faced these sort of challenges in the past and have always emerged from them stronger than before. And the devil damn my soul if I am going to let that tradition end now!" he exclaimed, but paused dramatically and feigned thinking about something.
"That is actually a safe bet since he has already damned my soul" he added, causing a few snickers to rise from the crowd.
"However, we must not let our guard down. We must be prepared for this new threat that is already on our doorstep" he continued. But he paused slightly when he heard some strange sounds from the tunnels leading outside. Being half daemon had its advantages in the form of heightened senses as well as superhuman speed, strength and reflexes. Right now his heightened sense of hearing was picking something up. But it was faint so for the moment Jacques did not think much about it and continued with his speech.
"We must be ever vigilant against the Vatican's lapdogs and their ignorant slaves, for they would seek to destroy us and the mighty power that should rightfully sit where the blasted Pope is sitting right now! And so, my faithful followers, I ask of you to…" but suddenly Jacques halted in his speech and strained his hearing to the limit. There was a faint and muffled sound from the tunnel but it was unmistakable for Jacques; the sound of metal sliding from a sheath.
"To arms, my brothers! To arms!" he shouted frantically. The cultists looked puzzled by this outburst but years of service and obedience kicked in and they all rushed to the walls were weapons were hanging. Mere moments later, armored Vatican soldiers rushed into the cavern with a fierce battle cry. The cultists closest to the entrance were mercilessly cut down before they even had time to defend themselves. But thanks to Jacques warning the other cultists had managed to arm themselves in time and now counter-charged the Vatican soldiers.
The combat turned bloody and brutal fast, the Vatican soldiers had the cultists outnumbered and were more heavily armored but the cultists fought back with the fanatical rage of cornered dogs. But soon the Vatican's numbers and skill overpowered the cultists and pushed them back against the walls. The Vatican had lost about ten soldiers so far but had in return killed over two dozen cultists. Jacques had so far not joined the fray but had lurked at the outskirts of it, hoping for a chance to escape, but all the exits were now blocked. The Vatican soldiers advanced menacingly towards the remaining cultists and Jacques.
"Stop!" a voice called from the entrance. Both sides stopped from the commanding tone in the voice and all turned their gaze towards it. Jacques let out a low growl when he stared into the old and shriveled face of Cardinal Armand.
"This madness and heresy must come to an end now! But you do not have to sacrifice your lives for this evil that has corrupted your souls! Surrender now and your lives will be spared and you will all be given a chance of redemption!" Armand said. Jacques could only stare in disgust at the man who dared to denounce the very powers that gave him life. That disgust turned to anger when he saw in the eyes of some of his followers that they were actually considering his offer. Jacques boldly strolled out from the small group of cultists still alive. The Cardinal smiled reassuringly at him, apparently believing that he was going to accept the offer.
"You think you can defeat the divine powers we worship?" Jacques suddenly asked. The Cardinal looked puzzled by this, causing Jacques to smile wickedly.
"Then let us put it to the test" Jacques said before rushing towards the nearest soldier in the blink of an eye and ripped his sword arm from his body and driving the blade straight through his heart. He never even had time to cry out in pain. Before the first body had even begun to fall, Jacques had already wrenched a halberd from the nearest soldier to the left and swung it around in a decapitating strike. Directly after the head was severed Jacques pushed aside the body and rammed the halberd into the stomach of the soldier behind. One soldier came rushing at him from the right and swung his sword clumsily at Jacques who merely dodged it and moved close enough to rip the soldier's throat open with his bare hands. The noise of battle had resumed all around Jacques but he paid these no heed, his eyes were fixed solely on the form of Cardinal Armand at the doors.
With a bestial roar on his lips, Jacques charged towards him. Two soldiers tried to block Jacques's path but the first one was simply smashed aside like a ragdoll while the second one did not even have time to raise his sword before Jacques twisted his head 180 degrees. A crossbowman to the left tried to take a lucky shot at Jacques but he easily caught the arrow and threw it with deadly accuracy into the right eye socket of the crossbowman. A soldier with a two handed axe came at Jacques from behind while a halberdier charged him from the front. Jacques easily sidestepped both combatants, causing the halberdier to accidently impale his comrade in the stomach while the axe swing meant to cleave Jacques instead smashed the halberd. Now without weapon the halberdier backed away from Jacques who rushed forward with inhuman speed and smashed his fist straight through his chest. He then tore out the halberdiers heart with his bare hands.
He paused slightly in his destructive rampant to lick the blood from his fingers and savor the fear emanating from the few soldiers still blocking his path. He gave them a sadistic grin before he once again rushed forward and delivered a punch into the lower jawbone on the closest soldier, causing the neck to break from the violent twist of his head. Jacques snatched up the sword from the dead soldier and sliced up a neck artery in the soldier to the right before reversing his grip on the sword and driving it into the chest of the soldier to the left. Another soldier came at Jacques from the front but he simply leaped right over him. Jacques landed behind the surprised soldier and spun around to grab a tight hold of his neck and twisted.
A soldier with a mace rushed from the left while his comrade rushed from the right with a sword. Jacques moved towards the one with the mace first who tried to crack Jacques' skull open but he nonchalantly caught it with one hand and ripped it from the soldiers grip. The second soldier came up from behind and tried to decapitate Jacques who dodged under the blade and smashed his stolen mace in rapid succession into both his knees. He collapsed with a cry of pain but had not even touched the ground before his spine was broken from a second swing from Jacques. The other soldier had enough time to take three steps back and turn around before his skull was cracked open by Jacques.
The remaining soldiers had now had enough and retreated from Jacques. His robe was drenched in blood but it looked no different from what it did before. He slowly turned to face the Cardinal, who now looked on Jacques with fearful eyes and had his cross held protectively in front of himself. Jacques laughed maniacally at the pathetic protection the Cardinal had while slowly approaching him.
"You think a mere cross will stop me? Ignorant human, such pathetic things only work in fairytales and horror stories" Jacques said contemptuously. Jacques was now just 2 meters from the Cardinal but to his credit he dared to stand his ground. Jacques smiled devilishly at him but suddenly he found his way blocked by the bald-headed Vatican commander he had seen earlier outside the church. The man stared at Jacques, his eyes ablaze with anger and determination.
"Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further, monster!" he snarled at Jacques, who looked quite amused.
"I don't think quoting some bible gibberish will save you or your precious Cardinal" Jacques mockingly said with a huge smile. But that smile faltered when he noticed that the bald man was also smiling.
"No, but this will" he calmly said before drawing forth a pistol from behind his back and aimed it straight at Jacques's chest. Jacques reacted on instincts and dived to the side just when the pistol discharged. The bullet missed his vital organs but hit him straight in the shoulder. Jacques crashed to the floor with a grunt of pain and the Vatican soldiers pounced on him like a pack of scavenging dogs. The first one got his left knee shattered before Jacques took that soldiers sword and drove it into the groin of a second. A halberd suddenly pierced his left shoulder and pinned him to the floor… for about five seconds before Jacques smashed the halberd and jumped up with a savage roar. He grabbed hold of the halberdier and tore the soldier's throat out with his teeth.
A blade suddenly embedded itself in Jacques right leg from behind. He spun around and delivered a punch that shattered the soldier's skull before his leg gave way and he stumbled to the floor again. Another soldier came at him from the front but Jacques grabbed hold of both his legs and broke them like a pair of twigs. Jacques would have savored the soldier's screams of agony if not for the blunt object that suddenly made contact with the back of his head, causing the world to grow dark for Jacques.
…..
In Paris, the crowd cheered as another group of cultists was hanged publically. From the high tower in the Bastille in which Jacques was held imprisoned, he watched with disdain as the ignorant mob kept baying for more blood and death.
"And they call me a monster" he muttered to himself as another group of his followers were dragged to the gallows while the crowd threw insults, rotten fruits, stones and anything else they could get their hands on at them. These 'trials' had gone on for nearly a week with new cultists being hanged every day. It seemed the good Cardinal was very thorough in his quest to rid the Earth of Jacques's followers. What confused Jacques about all of this was why they still kept him alive. He had expected them to butcher him back at the mausoleum after displaying his superior power over lesser mortals, but instead they had dragged him all the way to Paris; even tending to his wounds so that he would not die from blood loss or infection.
When they had finally reached Paris, the Cardinal had practically paraded the few captured cultists through the streets; except for Jacques, who was kept hidden from the public the whole time. He had then been locked up in this isolated tower with no contact with any other prisoner. At least the view is good, he would often think during the long days when his cult was slowly being killed yet he remained alive. Jacques was brought out of his brooding when he heard a key being turned in the lock to his cell. He slowly turned towards the door when it opened, revealing a dozen Vatican soldiers armed to the teeth. He smiled at them as he could practically taste the sweet fear emanating from them.
"Is it my turn now?" Jacques innocently asked while jerking his head towards the window of his cell. The soldiers said nothing, instead approached him cautiously and grabbed his arms and escorted him out of his cell. Jacques did nothing to resist them as he was led deeper into the castle, which actually confused Jacques since the gallows were in the opposite direction. After walking for about ten minutes through identical hallways Jacques was finally brought before a large door guarded by soldiers wearing the uniforms of the Swiss Guard. That fact surprised Jacques since the Swiss Guard served as the Pope's personal bodyguard and security force. If they were here that meant that either the Pope was here, this was for obvious reasons highly unlikely, or someone who was close to the Pope. One of his guards moved forward and whispered something to the Swiss Guard, who immediately stepped aside and opened the doors for Jacques to be escorted through.
The room he was brought into was large but had a gloomy and colorless feeling to it. There was no furniture to speak of, save for a large desk, and the walls were simply made gray stones with no intricate design or beauty on them. The only light in there was provided by a few torches hanging on the walls. At the other end of the room was the large desk with five people sitting at it and Jacques was brought before them and was forced to kneel. He took the chance to scrutinize his 'judges', as he assumed them to be. The one on the far left of Jacques was an elderly man wearing a ridiculous white wig, as well as a pair of glasses. The one next to him was that bald-headed commander from before, looking as cold and impassive as you could get.
Then of course in the center there was the Cardinal Armand du Jean who Jacques did not feel like scrutinizing any further. Seated next to him was what appeared to be a nobleman if you were to judge from his pompous and ornate clothing, not to mention the permanent sneer he wore as he seemed to look down on everyone around him. But the person that really caught Jacques interest was the one seated at the far right of Jacques. He had short brown hair and looked quite uncomfortable where he was since he nervously played with his fingers and seemed to have developed a strong interest in the barren wall to his own left.
"Tomas?" Jacques asked sweetly, causing the man to jump slightly in his chair and turn his head sharply towards Jacques. His face was gaunt and his brown eyes were wide with fear as he looked upon Jacques, his former friend. Jacques smiled warmly at him while glancing back and forth at him and the Cardinal.
"Now I understand how the dim-witted Papal lapdogs were able to locate us so quickly" Jacques said, but there was no trace of anger in his voice. Tomas looked like he was ready to bolt out of the room at a seconds notice.
"Fear not my son. This monster cannot hurt you anymore" the Cardinal assured Tomas after sensing the boy's anxiety. At that, Jacques fixed his gaze on the Cardinal.
"He is right to be fearful. Not of me, but of the powers that we both pledged our very souls to" Jacques said to the Cardinal before returning his gaze to his former comrade.
"I'm very disappointed in you. I took you into my family and gave you a chance to acquire great power, and you just throw it away that easily. Weakling human" Jacques said but once again he did not sound the slightest angry, instead he sounded humorously disappointed.
"This brave man is no weakling. He saw the evil that you really where and was courageous enough to abandon you and seek my help in stopping you" the Cardinal said. Jacques just rolled his eyes.
"Look, can't you just deliver my death sentence and be done with this, I'm late for dinner with my father and his employer!" Jacques burst out irritably.
"I can assure you Jacques, you will not die" the Cardinal responded. Now it was Jacques turn to be left puzzled by his opponent's answer.
"It is clear to us that killing you would not be of use to us, since your death could well enough make you into a martyr among those that oppose the church" the Cardinal said. Jacques heard how the doors opened behind him and a group of people walked in, though he did not turn around to see who it was.
"For this reason, we hereby condemn you to be forgotten instead. You will be imprisoned in a remote part of France were no one will find you, your very name will be erased from history…" the Cardinal said while pausing slightly as a group of four people walked into Jacques line of sight, carrying something with them.
"… and you will be forced to wear this mask for the rest of your life" the Cardinal concluded while indicating the iron mask that was carried by the four people. Jacques stared wide eyed at the mask, not sure if he was supposed to be happy that he would live or angry that he would be forced to wear that forever. Finally he turned back to the Cardinal, this time very angry.
"You should have killed me when you had the chance. You will come to regret this decision. If it is the last thing I do, I swear I will kill you" he hissed at the Cardinal. He made no indication that he had even heard Jacques but instead gestured with his hands for the four people to begin. So they moved towards Jacques with the iron mask held ready.
…..
The storm raged like the wrath of a god on the west coast of France. The rain pounded the land, winds strong enough to break trees swirled around and massive waves smashed against the coast. The sky was covered by dark clouds which blotted out the sun and cast the lands below it into darkness, broken only for a few moments when occasionally a fork of lightning would pierce the sky. But approximately four nautical miles out from the coast rose a small island with a single tower standing on it, defying the strength of the storm with its black stone walls. This place had been an outpost in ancient times and although it was still manned, the tower had started to fall into disrepair due to its remote location. It had never played an important role in history and was never considered important, so no one had ever expected an armored Vatican force to arrive there. The stunned watchmen still manning this outpost had been informed by a bald-headed commander that they were here to leave a prisoner. They were never told the prisoners true name and were instructed to keep him locked up in the tower forever. With that they had dumped a bound man onto the shore and set sail again.
...
How long had it been since that day? Ten years? He could not remember anymore as time passed in his small cell. Prisoner 5601, that was what they called him, for his real name was not known to anyone on this wretched rock. But his jailors had given him a nickname, one that really suited him perfectly; they called him Iron Mask, for he was forced to wear it at all time. Iron Mask himself had almost forgotten his own name, something like jack or jaque. But there was one name that was permanently burned into his memory; Cardinal Armand du Jean. He had sworn that the Cardinal would pay for what he had done and he was going to fulfill that pledge no matter what.
But first he needed to escape this wretched prison and he had been working hard on that point. Even though the Cardinal had broken Iron Mask's cult and destroyed all their gathered knowledge, Iron Mask had memorized many useful spells and rituals. One particular spell that he had memorized was one that you could fake your own death with. It essentially worked that it would 'detach' your soul from your body and shut off all the vital organs. You can still control your body so you can walk and talk as normal but your body will be, to all intents and purposes, dead. Of course, your body becomes paralyzed when you use the spell but it wears off after an hour or two. When you later break the spell your body begins to once again function properly. The spell however does not come without a risk. So far about twenty people throughout history had used this spell; only one of them had survived the ordeal.
Iron Mask was very hesitant to use this spell, given how volatile it was. But he was out of options, it was either the spell or rot away in this pathetic little cell of his. The storm still raged outside and drowned out all other sounds but Iron Mask was certain that no one was even near his cell at the moment. They all probably huddled together somewhere in the tower and prayed to their pathetic god. It was now or never for Iron Mask, so he kneeled in the center of his cell and began chanting the spell. The ancient daemonic words spilled out from his mouth like a stream of guttural curses. If anyone would have listened to them, they would cause the hair on your back to stand on end. But as Iron Mask kept chanting, a small whisper seemed to join in and soon more whispered voices joined in and chanted with Iron Mask. The very air around him seemed to crackle with dark and barely controlled energy. Sweat started forming on his brow as stiffness and pain started forming in his limbs, yet he continued chanting in the same strong voice.
The darkness deepened in his cell and Iron Mask could feel ancient and malevolent eyes peering at him from beyond the mortal world, curious as to whom it could be that dared to try to harness but a fraction of the energy from their world. Iron Mask's voice became more labored as he felt his body violently reacting to the corrupting magic he was channeling into his body. His heart rate accelerated to the point that Iron Mask thought that it would any minute explode from his chest. He felt his lungs painfully constrict themselves as the very air seemed to be sucked out from him, but not once did he falter in his chanting. Finally Iron Mask concluded the spell and the pent up energy in the air around him seemed to be sucked right into him. He was smashed to the floor and was soon in violent convulsions as his body tried to reject the evil magic that was shutting it off. He tried to scream in pain but no sound would come out from his tortured throat. He fervently clawed at the stone floor as his body was consumed by pain. Finally Iron Mask lay still and his body began to 'die'. The darkness once again receded to their corners while Iron Mask could faintly hear the sound of daemonic laughter echoing in his small cell.
…..
After another hour the storm ended, having spent all its furious energy. Sunlight once again warmed the land but it would not last long as the day was almost over. The sun was already starting to disappear behind the horizon. The watchmen at the tower did a quick sweep of the small island to see if anything had washed up on the cliffs before continuing their daily routine. The captain sent one of his men to check up on the prisoner. But when he got there, all he found was a stiff corpse; or so he believed. Iron Mask would have smiled at that moment if he had been able to, his body was still paralyzed. That look of pure shock on the young soldiers face was priceless for Iron Mask. The soldier stumbled back out of Iron Mask's cell and ran away, probably to fetch the captain. All that was left for Iron Mask was to wait in his deathlike state until he could move his body again, then he would escape this damned island and finish off the Cardinal. It did not take long for the soldier to return with the captain and a handful of other soldiers.
"See, I told you he was dead" the young soldier said. The captain looked thoughtful for a while before addressing his men.
"Alright, you take the body and dump it outside while I write a letter to inform somebody of his death" he said before walking away. The remaining soldiers picked up Iron Mask's body and carried it outside where they unceremoniously threw his body in a secluded part of the island and then simply walked away. Soon Iron Mask was left alone and all that was left now was for the paralysis to wear off. Iron Mask decided to pass the time by thinking up all the horrendous ways he could kill the Cardinal and his lackeys. Suddenly he heard a croaking sound to his right. He could not move his head or his eyes yet but he could make out what looked like a crow at the edge of his vision. What the hell does it want, Iron Mask thought irritably but then he noticed that more crows were gathering around him. He was starting to get an uncomfortable feeling from seeing all the crows that were starting to swarm around him.
At that moment a crow landed on his chest and seemed to stare straight into his eyes. For several moments Iron Mask and the crow had their gazes locked onto each other, then the crow started picking on his body. Taking that as their cue, every other crow swarmed Iron Mask and started picking his body. Now Iron Mask realized with growing horror what the crows wanted, they wanted to eat him. On reflexes he tried to smash the crows away but his arms would not even twitch. Even though Iron Mask knew it was pointless, he still tried to move his body in an effort to make the birds go away. Get away you corpse-eating defilers, Iron Mask tried to shout but neither his tongue nor his mouth would move to produce the words. There was nothing Iron Mask could do but wait in despair as the crows ravaged his body.
…..
If Iron Mask could weep he would have drowned in his own tears by the time the crows were finished with him. There was nothing but bones left of his body except for his head which had been protected by the iron mask. As the sun dipped behind the horizon and plunged the world into darkness, Iron Mask discovered a new depth of despair and hopelessness that he had never experienced. This time there was no spell that could save him and there was no one that would come and save him. Iron Mask was just about ready then to end the spell, thereby ending his own life since his body was destroyed. At that moment however, he noticed that one crow was still remaining. It was perched atop a stone and was staring at him. Iron Mask fixated on the crow with his most intense and hateful glare, as if hoping that by staring hard enough he could make the crow burst into flame.
But as the two kept their stares locked with each other, Iron Mask's vision started blurring for him. It only lasted for a few seconds but when his vision cleared again he was not looking at a black crow anymore, he was staring at a skeleton with an iron mask. Iron Mask was completely dumbstruck by what he saw and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was once again staring at the crow. To say that Iron Mask was confused by then would have been the strongest understatement. A thought suddenly struck him and he carefully reached out with his magical senses and touched the essence of the crow. What he discovered was that its essence was not only dead, it was a corrupted replica of his own daemonic essence. Iron Mask suddenly understood what was happening; the crows had eaten his flesh, but it had been tainted by daemonic energy. That energy must have transferred itself from his digested flesh into the crow's bodies and corrupted them, thereby creating a link between himself and them.
Intrigued by this turn of events, Iron Mask decided to test this link out. He focused hard, imagining all the crows returning to him. He waited for about one minute until the crows were once again swarming around him. Iron Mask would have been exalted by this if only his body was still in one piece. Unintentionally he thought of how good it would be if only his flesh was restored. But as that though formed in his mind, the crows suddenly sprang into action. They all flocked him and covered his skeletal remains under a living carpet of crows. This caught him by surprise as he had no idea what they were doing. But then he saw that the crows were starting to melt, first only one or two but soon more were turning into what looked like liquid darkness. Iron Mask looked on in curiosity as his bones were covered by this strange darkness. He propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look, but stopped suddenly when the implication struck him; he had moved his arms!
He looked upon his arms in alarm and saw that the liquid darkness had solidified into a new pair of arms for him. He looked upon the rest of his body and saw the same thing; the darkness had rebuilt his body, with black clothes and everything.
"It's not possible!" he whispered to himself in wonder. He stood back up on his feet and took a moment to admire his body. Everything looked so real; the black leather clothes, the slightly tanned skin and even the worn nails. He flexed his fingers in front of his face to make sure that it was real. If only I had more crows like these, he thought happily. In answer to his thought, he soon found himself standing in the middle of a maelstrom of crows. He stared in amazement at the thousands of crows that came at his command. Finally grasping what great powers that had been bestowed upon him, Iron Mask laughed in madness and joy. His laughter echoed across the small island and it sent the watchmen manning the tower running for their little makeshift chapel as they believed the devil himself stood at their door.
…..
It was only a few minutes to midnight but despite the late hour, there was still activity in a mansion on the French countryside. In the large and luxurious library, four people were gathered. Standing at a bookshelf in the far side of the library, seemingly deeply scrutinizing its contest, was a bald headed man in full armor and bearing the emblem of the Swiss Guard. Seated in the middle of the room in comfortable leather armchairs next to a coffee table was an elderly man with a white wig wearing a pair of glasses and a richly dressed nobleman, both of them were engaged in a conversation about taxation. Finally, standing next to the open fireplace was a middle-aged man dressed as a monk with his brown hair in a monk haircut. All of them were waiting anxiously for the last person to arrive; the one that had requested this meeting. No one in the room was speculating what this meeting was about, for there was but one thing everyone in this room had ever had in common.
At that moment, the doors were opened by an elderly butler who graciously stepped aside to let the last guest to enter; Cardinal Armand du Jean. He had aged quite a bit and the telltale marks were plainly visible with his gray hair, his wrinkled face, his sunken eyes and his hunched posture. He slowly walked in and the butler closed the door behind him but remained inside to attend to any requests the guests would have. The other four people in the room turned their full attention to the Cardinal who despite his weak exterior seemed to fill the room with his aura of authority.
"I take it you all want to know about the information I received just a few days ago. It is very simple, Jacques DeMonde is dead. So from now on his name is forbidden from ever being uttered again, all proof of his very existence shall be erased and his crimes shall be forgotten. History and the rest of the world will never know of his existence" the Cardinal explained. A mixture of relief and puzzlement came over the gathered people. The monk clad man at the fireplace was the one to address the puzzlement that they all shared.
"With all due respect Cardinal Armand, but would it have not been easier to just send this information with a letter to us instead of requesting this meeting?" he asked, causing the other three to nod their heads in agreement. What they did not expect was to see the equally puzzled face that the Cardinal got from that news.
"I did not set this meeting up, Tomas. I received a letter, stating that you all were gathering here to discuss this incident and requested my presence" the Cardinal explained. Everyone in the room looked at one another for clarification bit none of them could.
"If you did not set this meeting up, who did?" Tomas asked no one in particular. Just then, the clock struck midnight and a soft knock was heard on the door. The butler in the library stepped towards the door and opened it, only to stare into the horror stricken face of his dead colleague. The body collapsed into the library but before the butler even had time to register it, a hooded man in black clothes swept in and rammed a sword through his chest. Everyone else in the room was frozen in shock, except for the bald-headed commander who drew his sword and charged towards the mysterious assassin. In response, the assassin pulled out a pistol and fired it straight at the commander. The bullet shattered his left knee and he collapsed with a painful cry to the floor. The mystery man nonchalantly pulled out his sword from the lifeless butler's chest and closed the door behind him.
"Please gentlemen, take a seat and relax. This is my meeting and it would be highly rude of me to force you all to stand" he said in obviously faked politeness. No one in the room made a move, causing the mysterious figure to chuckle slightly.
"So you are the one that requested this meeting in the first place!" Tomas exclaimed suddenly as he took a few bold steps forward. The mysterious figure stared intently at him. Even though Tomas could not see his face behind the shadow of the hood, he could still feel the man's cold and hateful eyes drilling right into him and seemingly burning his very soul. Tomas backed up fearfully, only stopping when his back came into contact with the wall.
"Yes, it was me. I thought it was fitting that you all were gathered here for this moment" the mysterious man said.
"And what moment would that be, if I may ask?" the Cardinal spoke out. The mysterious man turned his head towards him and chuckled slightly.
"Well I thought it would be obvious. This is the moment were I fulfill the promise I made to you all in Paris eleven years ago!" he said. He then reached up with his hands and pulled back his hood to reveal the iron mask he wore over his head. At first they all looked confused by this but then they started piecing the information together. Eleven years ago, Paris, a promise and an iron mask. As the truth dawned to the assembled people, the very air seemed to be knocked out of their lungs as none of them even made a peep.
"Jacques?" Tomas asked weakly. When hearing this, Jacques burst out laughing while slapping his knees.
"Yes, know I remember my name! Jacques, it has been so long since that name was uttered I had practically forgotten about it!" he said cheerfully. But as suddenly as his good mood appeared it vanished and his earlier dark demeanor returned. Jacques turned his eyes towards the Cardinal, channeling all his hatred into the glare.
"But I never forgot your name, Cardinal Armand du Jean. For ten years all I could think of was how I would make you pay for destroying my cult. And since my early release, I have spent a year tracking you all down and making preparations for this day" he hissed at him.
"How can you even be here? We were told you were dead!" the Cardinal said, finally finding the will to speak. Once again Jacques laughed, his earlier anger seemingly gone like it had not even existed. Instead of answering the Cardinal, he raised his sword and pointed it at the Cardinal who involuntarily took a few steps back. But suddenly Jacques reversed the grip on his sword and plunged it straight into his own heart. The gathered people let out a collective gasp, except for the bald headed commander who had nearly fainted from the pain and the blood loss, but Jacques himself did not even twitch from that. After a few moments, when they realized that the blade was still in Jacques's heart but he himself was still standing, they all looked at him as he was the devil incarnate.
"It's not possible!" the Cardinal said fearfully while raising his cross like a shield in front of himself. Jacques began to snicker slightly but gradually it rose it strength.
"Oh, I can guarantee you; this is very possible!" he said between the snickers. Suddenly he burst out in a truly evil and psychotic laugh that chilled all of them to the bone.
"AND IF YOU THINK THIS IS SICK, WAIT UNTIL YOU SEE HOW YOU WILL ALL DIE!" Jacques shouted at them while laughing hysterically. In answer to that statement, every window was shattered by thousands of crow pouring into the library at their master's call. The people gathered did not even have time to recover from their chock before they were swarmed by their feathered killers.
"And for your information, Jacques DeMonde is no more. I am hereby known as Iron Mask!" Iron Mask said seconds before his guests were buried under a living carpet of crows, then came the screams of pain. But above the screams and croaking's, the sound of an immortal madman laughing echoed across the mansion.