Timelines: What if Spain Failed to Control the World?

RGB said:

Nice work with the AARlander.

And a good interview.

And yes, stop updating, it's just getting too much to read

Click to expand...

ROFL thanks ! I don't know if i should be flattered or discouraged ! XD XD XD .

Status Report: Okay .. wont' be able to update tonight but there's a good reason . I kind of , in my stupidity , ran up the stairs and ended up slipping on it . So after a little ibuprofin and a little good ole cryin' (oh Gosh , except no because being emo is so unmanly) I'm going to have to postpone again ._. talk about bad luck this week =( ... Then again it IS summer and lots of people seem to be in a non-updating mood XD . Oh well , time to look up who the patron saint of bruised and battered legs is ! See you all manana .

May 2, 1583

The mirror was a gilded masterpiece and, more to the point, it was a rarity reserved only for the highest in the court of the Infinite Castle. A perfectly spotless surface re-conveyed the image of the beholder with crystal clarity and unadulterated precision. Nonetheless, Jesca’s maiden attending to her mistress could not help but appreciate the flawlessness of her master’s visage. Despite the scrutinizing perfection of the mirror, it was still unable to find a single blemish on Jesca’s slightly tanned skin or her wavy blonde locks. Even her sky blue eye… Oh yes… eye.

“Lydia, what do you think of our guests?” Jesca asked with a curious tone.

The young attendant gazed upward toward the sky blue circle that sat on Jesca’s face opposite to the patched one. She replied with a sisterly smile. “You’re asking about the one who called you Isabella,” Lydia noted unabashedly. As usual, Jesca could count on her trainees to be more and more adept at psychology and motives.

Lydia noticed how her reply widened the grin on her mistress’s face and she continued to fasten the dress around her frame. “If you’re asking me if they were sincere, I know that at least that the Duke was.”

“But do you really think I am who they say I am?” Jesca asked almost too casually. Lydia knew better, however, and already the young servant could see how Jesca stared at the mirror. It was a poignant image, perhaps, for a woman like this one to look into her reflection and wonder who it is that she is staring at.

“It would make sense,” Lydia began tilting her head to one side as she rounded Jesca’s neck to style the hair on the opposite hemisphere, “after all, when the old Jesca recruited you, you had an innate talent that most of us here could only dream of mastering.”

The stylist felt her subject sit motionless at those words. It was as if something Lydia had said brought Jesca into a pensive stance. “Her dream is almost fulfilled,” the mistress said quietly to Lydia. “When she died she told me that I should not expect to bring Infinite Castle to peace and prosperity in my lifetime just as she had not expected it in her lifetime when the title of Princess was passed to her. But…” and here Jesca seemed to lose her voice in the quiet of the room. She persevered: “But we might actually succeed, Lydia. Infinite Castle might be a safe and clean place finally.”

The young woman apparently finished with her duties just as her mistress expressed that hope to her. She looked forward towards the mirror in order to catch a glimpse of that window of the sky within Jesca’s left eye. “I hope so too,” Lydia said after a moment, “and perhaps when that’s happened you can finally go back to who you used to be if what Duke Antonio said was true.”

Her mistress couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “Finding out who I was before our old mistress and Lex rescued me is important,” Jesca said with a sigh as she got up from her seat. The regalia studded on her truly expounded the sincerity of her inherited status. “But,” she added as she turned to face the young woman who had so expertly dressed her, “Infinite Castle is my home and I have a mission to do.”

Lydia resisted the urge to embrace her. Although this particular Jesca had only been reigning for a few months, she could feel the currents of the old mistress in her but mixed with a youthful zealousness that the old Jesca had already depleted by the time of her death. It’s true that this one was the youngest Jesca to have ever inherited the position of Princess for Infinite Castle, but already she displayed a kind of courage that Lydia could feel would last until her later days.

“Thank you,” Lydia managed to say with an embarrassed smile.

“After all,” Jesca said attempting to diffuse the well of emotion in the young woman, “I couldn’t see myself with a Spanish noble title. Haha, Jesca de Alba sounds completely silly to me, don’t you think?”

Lydia couldn’t help but laugh at that as well.


The Banquet Chamber of Infinite Castle was a rival for any official’s court in the Ming land. Surrounded by colourful wall paintings and wooden carvings that combined the earthy darkness of wood with a comforting redness, the rectangular chamber was also illuminated by western style lamps and candelabra.

Although the occasion was still a joyous one, the congregation gathered there was more muted. Heavier implications and confusion weighed on their minds. Lexington White, on his part, watched the Spanish delegation with some trepidation. Who was this man really, he asked himself, who had insisted just a few hours earlier that Jesca was in fact the deceased Spanish spy master? No, it was much more than that, he thought in his deepest thoughts. It was not just that prospect that bothered him.

“Did you see the way he looked at her?” someone said to his side. Nearly startled but never showing such surprise, Lex turned to find the young Lydia staring towards the foreigners. “It’s like he found a long lost lover,” Lydia added with a giggle.

Lex said nothing nor did his face move from being that stoically handsome pillar of strength. Lydia, like many of the younger members, was very adept at reading thoughts. It was perhaps this reason why his deepest insecurity was said in open air.

“Will the Princess be out soon?” Lex finally asked.

The attendant nodded happily as if anticipating the pride she had in the preparation of her mistress. Lex returned his gaze to the other side of the table. Although Jesca had insisted that she did not remember any of these foreigners, she also wanted to continue speaking to them and, thus, they were all to prepare for this banquet. It was a reasonable idea, Lex thought, but for some reason he hoped that she would have simply accepted the gifts and bid them farewell.

“Do you think it’s true, Master Lex?” the young Lydia persisted.

Lex cracked a little smile at the curiosity and looked at her curling a little joke. “Could you see your mistress as some heiress to an estate in Spain?”

Lydia bubbled childishly, “Maybe just a small castle in Zaragoza maybe.”

“A small castle in Zaragoza, huh?” Lex humoured the younger one, “maybe the one in Biel?”

Lydia giggled at the silly name. “Jesca de Biel, that one doesn’t fit either!”


Antonio seemed like he could barely stand these past few hours. To the others in his party, he always seemed either on the precipice of exultation or a strange depression. “She does not remember…” was the lugubrious undertones to Antonio’s jubilations. Despite watching the almost intoxicated demeanor of Antonio, Nia had her own emotions that were locked away behind the crossing of leather strapped arms along her stomach.

“How is this possible?” Renault had asked Nia earlier. She had explained that it would not be the first time agents would lie about whether or not they finished off their targets, but aside from that, she had no idea of the true story. Her explanation was half hearted, as was her stance even now. There was a tension that seemed to gulf her from the others and it was a discomfort that only her steely instincts could counteract.

“It’s entirely plausible that she’s suffering from some memory loss,” Renault had theorized to Antonio, “After all, the eye patch can’t be there for decoration. A head injury could do something like that.”

“If only we had Jakob here as well!” Antonio hysterically wished. He was checked by a comforting hand of the older Renault placed on his shoulder.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” someone announced, “The Princess of Infinite Castle.”

All eyes turned towards the hallway where the announcement had originated. Nia had not felt the same excitement as the others in that lady’s gorgeous apparel or her brilliance in the lighted atmosphere. Indeed, even with the patched eye it was no distraction to her beauty but Nia was not so affected.

Nia let her eyes wander to Antonio who watched with a nostalgic abandon. He was almost… pathetic. Nia tightened the arms across her stomach. Turning towards her seat in the same manner the others did, they all took their places. Despite her own dilemmas, Nia’s perception still substituted for her suppressed empathy. Staring at the rectangular distance between Jesca and Antonio, she could feel how harsh the disintegration of memory had affected them both.


With the gag in his mouth, the unfortunate guardsman at one of those myriad entrances to Infinite Castle could not pass his voice through the cloth oppressing his tongue and throat. The Ming operatives that held him down were stranger than those he had encountered on his incursions with the mistress deep into the Empire; no these were different. There was a different colouration to their eyes… and although hidden by cloth, he could see a hint of a common scar traced on one of their concealed cheeks.

“He wouldn’t tell us anything so we had to gag him,” one of the figures said from behind his mask in the native tongue of the region.

As that guardsman struggled against strong arms holding him against the floor, he quickly shifted his head to where his partner had been laying on the wooden planks hoping irrationally that he would somehow come back to life and warn the Princess. No, these agents’ aim was too true—and he would have thought himself lucky to have survived the initial volley of knives if he wasn’t sure that they simply wanted to keep him alive to get information from him.

Turning back upwards, he did not see the masked men looking down at him any longer, but instead a single European looking man began crouching down to his face. The strange movement of this weird person sent shivers throughout the young guardsman’s body and moist fingers started to touch his cheek. Unable to see the other person’s face clearly through the glare of the lamp from behind, his vision began to be consumed by the dark shadow of the man’s face.

“Little one,” he heard the man say in a terribly voice like one speaking from under water, “The Lord of Acid has sent me to find the Princess and make her suffer. You will tell me where she is.”

The gagged man quickly shook his head adamantly, but already his eyes were betraying his fear. It was not long before the one above him brought his face closer and, at first, it was as if a kiss was landed on his cheek, but immediately after his nose was filled with an unctuous, horrendous stench coupled by a sharp burning on where those lips had touched him. This was the stench of his decaying flesh.


Father Julio Montejo awaited the arrival of his contact with a quiet heaviness. The chamber which he attended was thick with the recent combustion of incense. The aura this room and, indeed, the entire building was wrapped in a mysterious coil that justified one of the city’s names as being Byzantium. Mysterious and mystical, his surroundings stood in contrast to his rational background among the brightly lit universities of Rome. Nonetheless, the old feeling of this Orthodox place weighed on top of him like a comforting blanket of sacred oils.

The door opposite the table opened and the young priest immediately stood to his feet. “Welcome back to Constantinople, Father,” was the welcome from a familiar face.

“Metropolitan Andronikos; it’s good to see you again,” smiled the young man.

Despite being of different rank and of different sides of the Christian coin, the two embraced and gave happy smiles at their reunion. “I take it that your return to Madrid was a successful one?” the Metropolitan said in a heavily accented Spanish.

“I was able to meet with my master, yes,” Julio confirmed immediately procuring a letter from the table and handing it to the Metropolitan. Andronikos motioned for Julio to sit down as he himself handled the paper and took his own seat.

Breaking the seal of the Lord Chancellor of Spain, the Metropolitan also noticed that it was a different coat of arms adorning the imprint of the signet ring. Julio anticipated the curiosity and explained. “I’m afraid that our friend Cardinal DeWitt… has gone missing. That is his nephew’s insignia. He is handling the Lions and the Chancery while they search for his uncle.”

“Missing? So your prediction was right,” the Metropolitan curiously said while reading the official document.

“Yes, there is definitely a double agent working in the Silent Room, but I managed to meet with Jakob, the Cardinal’s nephew, in quieter venues,” Julio eagerly explained while holding out the mirror he had used.

“Still using that old trick, hm?” Andronikos chuckled after glancing at the object. He returned his attention to the paper though and a frown recaptured his serious features. Although Andronikos was perhaps not exactly an elderly clergyman, he nonetheless sported a beard and moustache that would have made many Eastern iconists proud to have represented.

Despite their age difference, it was a welcome friendship—there were not many Eastern clergy who had any warm relations with the West especially now that the Ottoman Sultan had decided to appoint clergymen who were completely against union with the Latins. Fortunately, there were some concerns that still brought both parties together.

“So what did you tell Don Jakob?” the metropolitan asked curiously as he kept reading the long document.

“Well, I explained to him about the appearance of the strange cult we’ve been tracking here and I also told him about your information on their involvement with the Sultanate. I think he understands that they mean to go for the Key that you have in your guardianship.”

“And did he believe you about your double agent theory?”

“Well, when I first explained it to him, it was as if he already knew that someone was leaking information but when I told him that information about the Timepiece was being leaked to the cult agents here nearly since one year ago, he seemed almost excited that I was able to tell him. It was like some huge weight was lifted from him.”

After the explanation, it did not raise any eyebrows from the metropolitan. Instead, there was that grim expression once more stapled across his features. “No help will come for decades,” Andronikos said sighing and sliding the paper on the desk.

Taking up the parchment, Julio sped through the Latin text. “This can’t be right…” Julio read. He skimmed through the explanations of the thinned operative status with the war in the Far East and the troubles at home.

“I can’t blame him, I suppose,” the metropolitan said as he ran his fingers through his own eyebrows soothingly. “We did not expect the Ottomans to even know about the Key of St. Andrew anyway. We too thought we were safe here in Constantinople right under the nose of the Sultan.”

“Well… There is another way…” Father Julio said looking up slightly.

“What do you mean?” the metropolitan asked with a squint.

The young priest gave out a small laugh before teasing, “My dear Andronikos you must really be getting old, your memory isn’t as good as it was before!”


“We’re going to have to make an emergency landing!” one of the pilots screamed above the ring of alarms.

“Activate the backup programme!” Miss Obidos yelled back as she held onto the doorway into the cockpit. Already, the Siberian landscape was coming closer and closer to the view of all on that station of the aircraft.

“It’s no good; the entire memory core has totally disintegrated! None of the programming is making any sense!” the pilot responded as the shaking craft continued to destabilize.

“Just land us somewhere! And get the speeders ready!” was Miss Obidos’s response before holding onto the walls as she found her way back into the main cabin.


Commander Georgiev watched the dark apparition of the House trail through the Siberian sky with his camouflaged binoculars. Putting the visual aide down, he motioned to the rest of his squadron to begin moving. “Take the next pass and make sure to scout ahead. The hostages may have beacons on them, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a trap.”

“Yes, sir!” one of the lieutenants acknowledged before motioning for the other vehicles to begin moving.

As the Commander placed the binoculars upon his steady face again, he could not help but marvel at the beauty of the craft that was now pummeling towards the earth. It would survive, he thought, an object like that was meant to be a survivor.

“We’ll be in position in ten minutes at most,” someone from within his vehicle explained in Russian accented Spanish. “Would you like me to refresh you on the terrain?”

The Commander grinned while still holding the eye pieces to his face. “It’s been decades since I’ve done operations back here in Russia, Pavel, but that doesn’t mean my memory is as bad as yours.”

His lieutenant returned a smile to his commanding office although Commander Georgiev could not see him. “Perhaps,” the lieutenant began, “but here in Siberia, mountains and forests disappear and regrow in different places. Even your memory might not be enough.”

Placing down the binoculars quickly and shooting a glance down to his subordinate, both were exchanging silly grins. “It’s good to be working with you again, Pavel,” the Commander said.

“You too, sir. It’s not often we graduates of the Milevski Academy get to go on a ‘field trip’ such as this.”

The Commander let out a small chuckle. “Let’s get a move on then, Pavel; we don’t want to be left behind by our own men.”

“Yes, sir!”

Chapter XLIX: The Disintegration of Memories (coming soon)

Lotus-6 said:

Crazy Evangelion. Good work!

Click to expand...

Thanks ! XD

Grubnessul said:

wow, nice update. but poor Antinio, you're really harsh on him

Click to expand...

Perhaps ! But at least Antonio has a chance to have Isabella back ! We'll just have to see how big of a chance XD

Murmurandus said:

*breathless*

I almost catched up, almost...

Click to expand...

you can do it ! you can do it ! - holds out a cup of water at the edge of the lane -

Status Report:

Another update coming tonight ! I also wanted to talk about the past , current , and future projects of Timelines . As you all know I'm always looking to help make Timelines a better AAR as well as more appealing without compromising its core principles . The good news for this week is that the Canonization series is being picked up once a month by the AARLander and further negotiations will continue on that to maintain the livelihood and visibility of the Canonization series ! We've successfully interviewed anonymous4401 and we'll have that as our first issue on the AARLander .

As for our writer exchange programme that we tried with thrashing mad a while back , unfortunately with so many of the writers busy it hasn't become totally feasible though I hope if any writers out there who wish to write a guest chapter or make a guest bonus would let me know so that we can arrange something

Lastly for my future projects , I want to get more fan participation aside from whatever I plan on doing . I'm hoping that any fans out there who would like to make BATTLE MAPS , Character Portraits , Polls , etc !

As for project with fan participation I hope to come up with an Almanac of all the references in Timelines and maybe have a contest for fans to recount which ones they remember and algamize them together . So in other words I need your help to think up of great ways to increase readership , increase the quality of the work , and increase comments so feel free to drop suggestions or if you have any of the above suggestions already thought out just PM me !

May 3, 1583

The map on the wall was thick with dust and tattered in several parts, but this corporal destruction revealed a beautiful sight underneath. Thousands of tiny particles with differing and unique colourations brought together to form a unified image of the world as it was known peeked reluctantly from behind the tears of the superficial map like a bruised animal hiding behind whatever vestments of safety remained. Ever since the fall of Constantinople, the room which Father Julio and Metropolitan Andronikos now stood in had been harrowed and mostly purged by fire and plunder. The Icons of the Pantocrator had been half burned and left to disintegrate into memory—a memory further suffering under the Ottoman oppression.

“They say that this was a replica of the map they had in the Augusteum,” the metropolitan said. It was a sight indeed for the two to reflect upon with their candle lamps high in the air.

The wall itself was nearly three times as tall as the men standing and although this particular complex was concealed underground, the roof seemed to curve upward into the kind of dome interplay that was so prevalent in the architecture above ground. It was a testament to the richness of the city before its fall.

“They must have resorted to a scroll map when the borders during the Ottoman attacks shifted greatly,” speculated the young priest. Father Julio looked towards his companion and received a downcast nod at the notion.

“Come,” Andronikos said, “If you want to continue on with your plan, it’s further down the hall.”

Indeed, Father Julio thought, unlike the Silent Rooms of the West which inspired a Spartan feel to their construction, those in the Eastern Christian tradition were pregnant with awe and mystery. It was as if the very shadow was the cloak and the surrounding stone and earth dusted into a musky mystique. One could feel the sacred beauty of the thousand year empire in this hall.

“So how did you manage to get us back in here?” the younger one asked stepping over broken and half burnt remains of chairs and desks.

The Metropolitan huffed a small chuckle from behind his beard. “You Latins are always trying to know everything, can’t you just accept that we’re here now?”

The young priest grinned and said, “Well at least we’re not like you Greeks; if you don’t understand something you put it behind a veil, chant around it with incense and call it a mystery.”

Both shared a good laugh at that and trudged forward. Many times the younger would have to help his older companion with the footing as even the stones on the floor were cracked and uneven. To say that their friendship was a common one would be a large misunderstanding. Indeed, most of the others on both sides of the Great Schism shared not just a common Apostolic heritage, but also a terrible animosity. However, Julio and Andronikos shared the hope that one day this scandal of Christianity would end and it was probably for this common wish that this Castilian priest and this Thracian bishop were spelunking through the ruins of the Byzantine Empire’s quietest of rooms.

“The Patriarch…” Andronikos had to pause to be helped past a crack on the floor, “was surprised at this idea of yours. Admittedly so was I, Julio, but it was because we did not expect it to come from Madrid in this way.”

“I’m sure you’ll agree it’s a perfect plan though, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” conceded the older one. “Setting up a Patriarchate in Moscow would certainly solidify the Orthodox faithful there.”

“And provide a safe haven in exile for the Key,” eagerly added the young priest.

“Is the safety of the Key that important for you all?” Andronikos asked.

Julio paused to think about the question as he held his lamp forward to see the upcoming debris. Despite being a long hall, it was also a labyrinth of impassible furniture and—to some morbid extent—unburied remains of the last Byzantine soldiers who died to protect the secrets of the Room. Indeed, if they had not stayed to make sure that the complex was put to the torch, the Ottomans might have easily found what was hidden there.

“We also have hope,” was the curious reply from Father Julio, “at least some of us do that reconciliation will occur. Some of us dream that the successors of Saints Peter and Andrew will live as brothers again and not as rivals. The East has much to teach us and vice versa; the Eastern tradition is rich in beauty and mystery and it is the perfect complement to the steep rationality and philosophy of the West. Our Lord prayed that we should all be One and some of us wish to stop treating you as enemies.”

Although Andronikos glanced at his younger friend, he could not help but raise his beard in a heartfelt laugh. It was comforting words although mixed with much bitterness, he thought. Where were they when the Ottomans came? Where were they when the Hagia Sophia was turned into a mosque? It was in this newer generation, however, that he found greater hope.

“His All Holiness Jeremias has already made the necessary arrangements and we should be heading for Moscow before the decade ends.” Andronikos explained. His change of subjects seemed to signal his tacit agreement with the younger one.

“Good,” Julio remarked. “So long as we secure the Key first we should have no problem on that schedule. Six years is a bit too long for my taste, but I understand how things work here in Constantinople.”

Both shared another brief laugh but they had finally reached the far end of the hall. The tall imposing stone barrier was adorned with a cross almost as tall as the ceiling and made of some light metal which glimmered radiantly even in the meager lamplight of each clergyman.

“If you’ll do the honours for me, Julio, as you can see I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Father Julio placed his light source on the floor and reached into the pack he was carrying. From the pack, a long metal strip was extracted although it remarkably weighed very little in the hands of its wielder. The bar itself was like some parallelogram although definitely wider than it was tall. The metal on it shone with the same brightness as that of the cross. Father Julio walked up towards the symbol in front of them and slightly to the side. Just as he was told earlier by his friend, there was a slot dug into the side of the cross’s shaft. Placing one end of his metal bar into it, he slid the object into the side of the cross and slid it through to the other end until it snapped into place forming the familiar slanted bar of the Eastern iconic representations.

The snap of the material binding together once more brought about a soft rumbling and Father Julio instinctively stepped back. On either side of that now inserted crossbar, the wall depressed into itself and slid out of place. Two hallways were now visible where a solid wall had been earlier. “Amazing!” the younger one called out as he retrieved his lamp from the floor. “But which one are we to take?”

The metropolitan tapped his younger friend’s shoulder with an avuncular affection. “When Our Lord was crucified one thief mocked him and went to Hell,” the older one explained pointing to where the slanted crossbeam leaned downward, “and the other who accepted him went with Him to paradise,” he finished while sliding his pointing arm to the door which was next to the upward portion of the crossbeam.

“And what happens if you accidentally go into that other door?” Julio asked off-handedly as they entered through the proper entrance.

“I suppose you’d meet with what we used to call ‘ygron pyr.’”

Father Julio took a moment as he followed his colleague through the labyrinthine hallway to understand what his friend had said. “Wet fire…” he whispered quietly, but his breath soon returned to him sharply. “That kind of thing still exists?” he asked while taking a step to catch up with his older companion.

“You may live in a world of muskets and cannon,” the Metropolitan said with a hefty grin, “but here, in the depths of the once greatest city in Christendom, there are secrets a millennium old. We may not remember how to make the stuff but here in these halls there are a few traps with them.”

“I’ve only heard about it from the emigrants arriving from Greece; the ‘Secret Weapon’ of the Byzantines,” Julio recited. “But the world’s changing,” he added. “The world is no longer like that map of the disc around the Mediterranean in the Silent Room anymore.”

“Indeed… your colours run throughout the Americas, Africa, and dot Asia. Half of Europe is turning Spanish,” the Metropolitan recounted neutrally.

“Soon, the Italians, Austrians, Bohemians, and English will be officially part of Spain as well,” the younger one interjected, “it’s been several decades and I believe the Emperor will further centralize his control…”

Andronikos was troubled but hardly surprised, “The others in Europe will not stand for it; neither will the Ottomans.”

“It will be a daunting task, no doubt,” conceded Julio, “but I think the men of the Silent Room are preparing for just that event. The entire eastern front including the large Ottoman menace: it will either break the Spanish domination in central Europe or solidify it forever.”

As they talked, their lamps illuminated a spiraling staircase which they now descended. Their footfalls were hampered by the deep suffocating earth around them and the darkness loomed ahead. Already, Julio could see the prelate become tired.

“Perhaps we should rest here for now?” Julio offered when he heard no response to his geopolitical analysis.

At those words, Andronikos stopped immediately and merely turned to nod at his companion. Both of them taking a seat at the step they were on, Julio passed his water skin to his friend.

“Why is all this so important to you?” the prelate asked the young priest after taking a sip of the cooling liquid. The sweat was already present on his brow.

Julio did not answer immediately nor did he take his eyes off of the dark void that was present in the bent spiral ahead of him. There had been many thoughtful questions asked that afternoon and this was no exception. As someone who has worked but briefly in the Silent Room of Madrid, he did not feel he was fully equipped to answer the question holistically, but he did understand his own convictions.

“A sense of stewardship, perhaps,” was Julio’s response. “An imperative to protect and secure. I don’t think it’s that we believe that we can save people from themselves; I think we merely wish to give them the best chance possible to do so.”

Andronikos wiped his brow to hide his concerned look. A young energetic man such as his friend seemed to punctuate the zealousness of the relatively young nation rising into a global empire.

“Do you worry?” the older one asked, “about failure?”

Replacing the water skin into his pack and rising to his feet, Father Julio extended an arm to his companion to help him up as well. His answer came easily. “Not at all,” he said, “I put my trust in God just like the rest of us in the Silent Room. We are both firm believers in a Divine Design and Plan, my friend, and although it’s—as you delight to remind me—a mystery to all of us, we can rest assured that no matter what occurs—even if we fail—it is for some greater purpose.”

Settling into that thought, both continued to travel down the staircase with a lighter step. Opening up at the bottom of the stairs, the hall was only one part of some labyrinthine construction. Following his companion, Father Julio peered with squinted eyes into the darkness. One turn after another and already the dizzying effect of this Byzantine of complexes made him weary much faster than he thought.

“Andronikos, where—” as soon as he asked, he realized that his guide had turned a corner and was gone. “Andronikos?” he called out a bit louder. The walls sucked in his voice and it was muffled against his throat.

But that did not stop the other voices from shuddering towards him. With a flash, Father Julio turned around with his lamp high anticipating some agent or creature to have appeared: nothing. Turning around again, he was faced with only unending hallways. Already his memory of the way back had left him and he was alone at one of the bends of that underground place. He stood perfectly still for a few moments with his heart racing and his mind numbing against the pressures of the oppressive cavern. There was a sharp, grating noise in the air and he could barely hear it as it became louder and louder. It was coming from this direction, he thought as he turned to his right! Louder and louder it came until the familiarity struck him; someone was sharpening a blade.


Tom could not bear himself to lie down or find a comfortable area of which to rest. The entire room, in its complete darkness, smelt of copper and rotten flesh and was moist to the touch. Already his clothes and hands were beginning to acquire the stench. He did not know how long it was that he had been in that room but he already reluctantly felt his way around its entire perimeter.

Like a huge square, it surrounded him into unbearable anguish. There was nothing but torturous and putrid darkness and disgust. He cried; he cried in such a way that it was like he was still five years old. His tears coated his useless eyes as he groped in the dark hoping for some relief. They streamed down his cheeks and he could barely hear them drop from his chin and onto the wetness of the floor. In between his splashing footsteps, he could hear his tears make a small blip of noise as he walked.

Despite his wailing, the noise seemed to be absorbed by the gelatinous like surroundings and his voice made as much sound as some muted dream-like plea for help. Considering the largeness of the room, Tom decided that he would at least inspect the center and hope to find some clue of escape. Choosing a corner of the room and walking as carefully and straight as he could, he treaded into the abyss with tense breathing.

Already, he could not tell how far he had traveled or if he would reach the other corner or some wall, but he nonetheless inched his feet forward one after the other. After perhaps ten minutes of meticulously tip toeing his way across, he felt something solid tap against his outstretched arms. Solid but soft, he shuddered and recoiled at the feeling—there was flesh hanging in the air in front of him!

Perhaps it was morbid desperation, but with grit teeth, Tom reached out again towards that object. Probing its perimeter lightly, he could feel the largeness of the hanging object. Larger than any human being, and moist yet firm on the inside, he began to understand the nature of his imprisonment.

To test his hypothesis, he rounded the hanging carcass and stepped forward a few paces once more. Once again, his hands reached out to a similar hanging slab. This seemed to confirm his theory, he thought, he must be in some thawed off meat locker… As he came to this realization he heard something in the surrounding blackness. A whisper at first and then a gurgling laugh.

A distant moaning perhaps and then gone. Tom froze in absolute terror at the roving apparition. Hearing nothing after a minute or two, he hoped that it was some trick of the mind—but no… right next to his ear he heard the whisper so closely that the abominable breath even seeped into his nostrils as someone said next to him: “MMnn… Fresh Meat!”

Chapter L: Butcher (coming soon)

Morpheus506 said:

Gotta love some Greek Fire. That'd be a valuable weapon for the Panzerkardinal, were he still around!

Click to expand...

Haha , now he should shoot fire too ? hmm ... XD Thanks for stopping by ! Hopefully we'll get some more people dropping a line . Readership is up but comments are at an all time low ! Where have all the flowers gone ? =(

Myth: Hahahah yes it's true you totally pegged that one ! Gosh darnit , I knew I couldn't evade you all the time , Mr. Myth ! Truly Prince of Predictions strikes again ! Glad to see you catch up though ! I've been missing you especially now that you have your cool new avatar XD

Grubnessul: Haha even boring comments are welcome ! But thank you Grubnessul you've been one of my longest standing fans and I truly appreciate it ! And Kill me , eh ? Hum Hum .. well maybe this offsite youtube video will change your mind !