Genesis of Destruction
It was a frigid Christmas Eve in Rome. A light snow fell, covering the majestic city with a gentle blanket of rime. In the sovereign state of the Vatican, St. Peter's Square with its grand obelisk rested in total peace and serenity, awaiting the celebration of the birth of the founder of the Christian Church, Jesus Kristos. The statues of angels and saints seemed to look on this peaceful scene on the eve of the Nativity, as the awe-inspiring towers of the Basilica of St. Peter touched the peaceful sky which rained down this mild snow.
But yet, in the dark shadows of the Italian capital, while the populace slept in preparation to the pilgrimage to the Vatican City, while children eagerly awaited the celebration and treats accompanying the holy day, there were those who wished to destroy their joy, their hope. Among the stone angels of the earthly capital of Jove's kingdom, a dark angel prepared to commence his war on Christendom. Away from the peace and sanctity of the Vatican, through the shades of the Italian slums, past the apostates who, rather than prepare for the holy day, satisfied their lust for drugs, alcohol and women, then into a long, torch-illuminated tunnel, which ran outside the city, then finally, the basement of a dark, gloomy castle. Here was the nest of the conspiracy, the genesis of the grand holocaust of the forces of Christ.
This dark, frigid basement of the castle projected an image of gloom and despair. A black-robed man, leading others in the same attire, entered the room from the tunnel, lighting the torches. As the torches were lit, the dim light revealed that there were two stone staircases descending from above. There were chairs arranged in a circle around a table, and at one side of the table, there was an onyx throne. On the walls were bookshelves, with books that had titles such as "Molockh's Tome of Summoning", "Mysteries of the Dark", and on a stand, a greatly dog-eared book called "To Raise an Army of Vampyric Wrath". The people all sat, and waited. Suddenly, darkness enveloped the room once again. Though the crackle of the flame was heard, there was no light; the very darkness seemed unnatural. Despite this occurrence, the black robed apostates remained calm. After a few moments, the torches returned to normal. The light revealed that a young man was sitting in the chair. He wore a long black coat, but unlike the others, he revealed his head. His face was long and thin, and his shoulder-length hair was pitch-black. His eyes were cold, with a supernatural malevolence that could have been born of Hell itself. At his sides were the legendary demons Samael and Mephistopheles in the form of perfectly accurate and deadly pistols. They had done this as the fulfillment of the oath they swore to Azaiel. In a scabbard, was the deadly katana Shinsureiyaamaru, filled with the essence of a Japanese demon.
The black robed cultists all bowed down, crying in unison,
"Hail Sephirothus Maleficum, the order of the Dark Knightriders! We are the embodied holocaust of the Christian disease! We pledge to undertake all paths for our cause! In the name of our leader, the Dark Angel Azaiel!" they cried.
Azaiel quieted his followers, and then conjured a scale model of the Vatican City. It was perfectly accurate, depicting the seat of the Catholic Church in perfect detail.
"Scion Dominic, have you secured the allegiance of Helhiem Reborn?" Azaiel asked.
"Indeed," he said, bowing to his master.
"Excellent," Azaiel said, bowing in return. Turning to his servants, who waited expectantly for his words, he said, "Until now, I have not given you the full extent of my plan. I waited because I wanted to see you prove yourselves. You have done so. Now, we will plant firebombs in several Vatican locations-the Swiss Guard barracks, the railroad station, the radio station, the barracks of the Papal Gondarmes, and finally, the balcony of the Sistine Chapel, where the pope will address the faithful. When they explode, in one swift blow, we will have dealt the symbolic blow of having the Pope die in total agony, and the pragmatic blow of crippling their military, communications, and transportations. Once the bombs explode, we will rush out from the alleys and tunnels that we have already dug, and then lock down the city. Once the city is secure, we will slaughter every person in the city. However, we will allow the civilians to have time to escape, leaving the priests. At that point, we will slaughter every one of them. Finally, we will set massive bombs that will flatten every building in the city. The tunnels from this castle to the city will be destroyed, giving us time to plan our next move." Azaiel outlined. "As a reward for this mission, you may take any relics or treasure you can find. You may also take any other…liberties of sacrilege you see fit." Azaiel finished.
He was greeted with a mighty cheer, of men drunk with the thirst for blood and destruction. They could not wait for the day that they could annihilate the Catholic Church.
"Now the only variable in the plan is whether the Norwegians can take Oslo. If they cannot, it will be very difficult to hold the city without their army, because obviously, the Italian army at the very least will assist the Vatican." Azaiel warned, though he had a way around that problem. "Now, with its seat destroyed, the Catholic Church will crumble, leaving us to deal with the Protestants. In time, we will come back and liberate Rome!" Azaiel roared with passion amidst another mighty cheer.
"This meeting is adjourned!" he screamed over the tumult. The Dark Knightriders rose, and exited through the dark tunnel, back to their homes, in wait for their mission.
When the room was empty, he pressed in a stone, opening a door. Behind it was an archaic elevator, powered by magic. He stepped into it. With his thoughts, he directed it to his room. It was elegant and lavish, in stark contrast to the dungeon below. Occult runes were carved on the walls, and there were myriads of enchanted weapons. His bed was large and beautiful. On his bedtable was a glass of magically chilled blood mixed with wine. He drank and sighed.
"Ah, Vladimir's Draught. There is no better way to relax," Azaiel said contentedly. Then he turned serious. "There is one thing I never told them. What will happen if Alucard gets involved in my plan? I would rather have it that he not. On the one hand, I want the chance to slay that pathetic traitor. How dare he prostitute himself to the Protestant banner? How dare he call himself VAMPIRE, let alone NOSFERATU! I, a half-breed between demon and vampire, hath far more right to hold that sacred title!" Azaiel roared, his anger ablaze now.
"That pitiful so-called "Nosferatu". He sells his power to Christendom! What will happen when they remember who he is? Or when he remembers! What is he compared to me, the son of a powerful vampire queen and the legendary demonic general Azazel, who was my father!" Suddenly, Azaiel smiled, and declared,
"But it is no matter, "Nosferatu", we will soon decide who hath the right to that sacred title.
"Godslayer Blade"-I think
Evil Tree of Life, Evil tree of the Dark God, something like that. Derived from the Kabbalah
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