September 29, 1870
Last night's sleep was withering. Ghastly visions of ancient wars, men in gleaming armor, and disfigured monsters beckoned me all night. My ears throb from the shrill voices that called out to me from unseen sirens. I was standing alone on the Elysian battlefield, surrounded by mangled warriors and eviscerated beasts from the depths of Hell. The sky was red and smoldering from the burning cinders. Then, from the fray, a hooded specter confronted me. He wore dark, sapphire cloaks, and held a magnificent white beard. From his robe, he drew forth the very sword that resides in our laboratory, and whispered "Take this, for the storm approaches."
"I do not understand," I said.
Then, his bony finger pointed to something behind me. "His storm!" he yelled.
I looked back and saw a monster cleverly veiled as a tall, thin man with smoldering green eyes; long nails, and a most dreadful black gas emitting from the ground below him. He screamed or howled—I do not know which—the strident alteration between a banshee howl and a lion's roar.
It startled me awake. My body was cold, trembling, and feverish. Yet, somehow, I managed to resume my duties for the day. We were given orders to rouse the weapons to observe the extent of their abilities. I was far too consumed by my nightmare, so I allowed Colin to handle the weaponry for which he was most eager and equally thankful.
The staff behaved exactly as predicted. Colin gripped it, and those gaseous orbs formed at both ends. Suddenly, arrows of hot electrical fire sputtered out in all directions. He poised the staff outward, anticipating a strong reaction, and a bolt of electrical discharge fired out, violently penetrating one of our steel locomotive engines. The hole it produced was smoothly cut and thorough. Astonishing! The behavior of this discharge—being the direction and intensity—can be modified simply by the bearer's will. The power of suggestion.
As Colin explained, "I merely thought of the staff as a pistol, and it fired like one."
Our experiment drew the attention of everyone, except Julian, who kept to his office. Even Stripe peered at us from his window, crossing his arms, and frowning.
The mace, we assumed, required lumber to measure its strength. Once the lumber was ready, Colin raised the mace high above his head and swiftly plowed it into the lumber. The wood did not simply shatter, it turned to pulp. There was a tremendous boom; the ground and the trees shook, and the shock threw all of us back. What was left of the lumber was mostly powder.
"Mjolnir," I overheard von Schlemmer whispering.
Then came the sword. I asked to handle it myself. If it were truly the sword from my nightmares, I felt responsible for challenging it. As I slowly approached it, my heart was throbbing. The shimmering blade enticed me—the polished fuller luring me into a state of mendacious serenity. I hardly recognized my reflection. My blood felt like electrical thorns surging through my body. Then, the moment my fingers grasped the handle, a piercing echo split through my ears. I knew this voice! It was the same one I heard in my nightmare.
"Ecce!" it yelled. "Ecce! Et redit est rex!"
I thrust the sword high into the air. The sun's rays struck the sleek blade, casting beams of light in all directions similar to the fire that shot forth from the covenant Ark. My mind was soon overwhelmed by all the knowledge and maneuvers of a master swordsman. I swung the blade with deadly ferocity; thrusting and hurling indiscriminately. It was a lethal dance. However, I must insist that I was not in control of my actions but rather influenced by some unseen force. I watched the sword spin in my right hand; gashing at the air; stabbing and hacking with the weight of a feather. These actions were so erratic and threatening, Stripe grabbed my hand, and relieved me of the sword. In the wake of that demonstration, I saw the surrounding boxcars sliced open as if they were made of butter and not iron. Everyone stared at me with condemnation, and yet none of us could explain what happened. I quickly and sheepishly returned to my office.
The sword was put back in the arsenal vault, which was safeguarded by a rather stern official whom Stripe appointed. He holds the rank of brigadier colonel. After the vault was locked, the man cocked his rifle and gripped the barrel as if he were ready to charge Antietam. I had never seen him before. He is older than I; older than Stripe for that matter. Short, barrel-chested, balding, and calculative eyes. Truly a career soldier.
"My god, sir," Colin said as he approached from afar. "What happened out there?"
"I do not know..."
"Where you possessed or something?"
"Maybe. It is hard for me to understand. I saw myself lifting from the ground the moment I grabbed it."
"I heard theories, sir. Some believe the craft is enchanted. That the diamond and the sword are capable of communicating with the afterlife." He paused, unsure if he should convey his presumption.
"Well, go on, Colin."
He stammered. "Well... maybe... and this is theoretical, of course... but maybe you were haunted by someone. They say spirits only haunt those who were close to them. Family members or ancient descendants who departed with unresolved dealings, or to warn us of danger."
I felt my eyes enlarging. "No... it cannot be," I said.
"Sir?"
"My brother..."
"Was he a swordsman?"
"The best I knew."
I darted at the vault, but a stern guardsman pushed me away before I could reach the doors.
"You must let me through!" I yelled.
"No one is allowed through except Dr. Kintobor and General Stripe," the guardsman rebuked.
"I understand, but this is gravely importance."
He aimed his gun at me.
"Your eyes, Charles," Stripe's words rattled. "I never saw eyes as white and lifeless as yours were this afternoon. They looked like solid white orbs. Made you appear like a corpse."
I was staggered in disbelief.
He sighed. "Julian suspended all tests relating to the weapons. I urge you to return home and rest. Brigadier Colonel Jame Dogge is Chief of Military Police," he said, gesturing to the guardsman, "and will ensure the viability of our lab this evening. Charles, after everything that transpired to-day, I will have to brief the Vice-President on the imminent danger posed by these weapons."
"I do not disagree, but I truly believe we are on the threshold of something marvelous," I tried explaining.
"Right, but are we ready to take that step? And if we are... should we? Man did not make these things, Charles. We do not know who made them, or why. And we certainly do not have any business meddling around with them."
"I have to believe they were sent here for a reason."
"What if that reason is our demise?" Stripe snapped.
He was correct. I had no answer for him and shamefully returned home as instructed. However, I simply cannot believe these magnificent weapons were forged against us. It is hard for me to render my feelings on paper, but a strange urge fills my heart. My lungs are invigorated. Something induces me to fulfill a vague providence.
I am now glancing at the night sky. The moon is full and captivating. I am drawn to it; roped into those taught, pale beams that now drench my office in a starry gleam. Just this second, a breeze passed over me from the open window. I am listening if anyone wishes to speak.