later, ‘The Square Mile’, North Bank, River Thames, London, England
Charsoc detested the colour black. He detested the sombreness of earth. He detested the Race of Men. But for now, he was on his Master’s business and all his options were severely limited.
He wondered how Jether was reacting to the news that he had now entered the world of the Race of Men as one of them. He dug his nails deeply into his palm. The thought of Jether, however fleeting, incensed him. How much longer must he remain in this infernal inferior human body? Its blood pressure must be rocketing. He sighed.
The end justified the means. And his Master’s ends were no doubt different from the ends of the thirteen men waiting silently in the chamber.
He leaned back in his ornately carved throne and surveyed the thirteen, dressed in charcoal robes, who were seated around the massive polished table.
The Grand Druid Council of the Illuminati.
Thirteen Warlock High Priests.
The most powerful male witches and warlocks who existed in the world of the Race of Men, their ancestral lines steeped in the most heinous forms of satanic and occult practices dating back to Nimrod himself.
By night they engaged in iniquitous occult practices, the conspirators behind thousands of satanic rituals and abuses, child abductions, blood sacrifices, drug and human trafficking, ritual murders. They were the cold-blooded architects of the countless terrorist atrocities, assassinations and bloody coups that filled the front pages of the newspapers of the world.
By day they resumed their respectable existences in London, Berlin, New York, Washington, Los Angeles, Rome, Tokyo and Zurich. They were global financiers, intelligence experts, oil barons, newspaper magnates, CEOs in the military and industrial sectors, Vatican bankers.
The controllers of the Illuminati.
Thirteen ruling families of the New World Order who answered to only one.
Their grand master – Lucifer.
Their heads were bowed, their eyes closed.
The only movement came from the flickering flames of sixty-six black candles surrounding the golden Sigil of Baphomet in the centre of the table.
‘The Race of Men and their infantile sorceries ,’ Charsoc thought.
Sir Piers Aspinall, Chief of British Secret Intelligence, got to his feet. ‘It is our privilege to have with us on this momentous occasion Baron Kester Von Slagel, Lorcan De Molay’s emissary.’
He bowed to Charsoc. ‘Baron Von Slagel. If you would grant us the privilege of administering the Cup.’
‘The family has been chosen by our Master, His Excellency,’ Charsoc declared. ‘Before His Excellency’s choice is revealed, let us partake of the Cup of Diabolas.’
He removed his pale grey gloves slowly, one finger at a time, then raised his goblet.
‘As we drink the blood of those innocents that were sacrificed for the partaking at this table, we reaffirm our commitment to the Left-Hand Path. We vow to avenge Golgotha. We vow to erase the blood sacrifice of the Nazarene.’
He sipped the fresh blood of the newly sacrificed infant.
‘Golgotha.’
The thirteen warlocks held up their goblets.
‘Golgotha!’
They drank as one.
Charsoc nodded and two men in livery moved to the windows and pulled back the crimson velvet curtains revealing the characteristic grey gloom of London’s overcast skies. The men exited leaving only a strapping six-foot-six bodyguard by the door.
Aspinall glanced at the guard and raised his eyebrows to Charsoc.
‘Travis is one of us.’ Charsoc acknowledged Astaroth. ‘Special Forces.’
Aspinall nodded, then removed from his briefcase a black file marked Eyes Only with an Illuminati crest on the cover and handed it to Charsoc.
Charsoc gazed at the thirteen men around the table. Every eye was riveted to the file in his hand.
‘We have waited century after century. Finally the family has been chosen. The Prince will be placed into the family chosen by His Reverence himself.’ Kester Von Slagel
Charsoc detested the colour black. He detested the sombreness of earth. He detested the Race of Men. But for now, he was on his Master’s business and all his options were severely limited.
He wondered how Jether was reacting to the news that he had now entered the world of the Race of Men as one of them. He dug his nails deeply into his palm. The thought of Jether, however fleeting, incensed him. How much longer must he remain in this infernal inferior human body? Its blood pressure must be rocketing. He sighed.
The end justified the means. And his Master’s ends were no doubt different from the ends of the thirteen men waiting silently in the chamber.
He leaned back in his ornately carved throne and surveyed the thirteen, dressed in charcoal robes, who were seated around the massive polished table.
The Grand Druid Council of the Illuminati.
Thirteen Warlock High Priests.
The most powerful male witches and warlocks who existed in the world of the Race of Men, their ancestral lines steeped in the most heinous forms of satanic and occult practices dating back to Nimrod himself.
By night they engaged in iniquitous occult practices, the conspirators behind thousands of satanic rituals and abuses, child abductions, blood sacrifices, drug and human trafficking, ritual murders. They were the cold-blooded architects of the countless terrorist atrocities, assassinations and bloody coups that filled the front pages of the newspapers of the world.
By day they resumed their respectable existences in London, Berlin, New York, Washington, Los Angeles, Rome, Tokyo and Zurich. They were global financiers, intelligence experts, oil barons, newspaper magnates, CEOs in the military and industrial sectors, Vatican bankers.
The controllers of the Illuminati.
Thirteen ruling families of the New World Order who answered to only one.
Their grand master – Lucifer.
Their heads were bowed, their eyes closed.
The only movement came from the flickering flames of sixty-six black candles surrounding the golden Sigil of Baphomet in the centre of the table.
‘The Race of Men and their infantile sorceries ,’ Charsoc thought.
Sir Piers Aspinall, Chief of British Secret Intelligence, got to his feet. ‘It is our privilege to have with us on this momentous occasion Baron Kester Von Slagel, Lorcan De Molay’s emissary.’
He bowed to Charsoc. ‘Baron Von Slagel. If you would grant us the privilege of administering the Cup.’
‘The family has been chosen by our Master, His Excellency,’ Charsoc declared. ‘Before His Excellency’s choice is revealed, let us partake of the Cup of Diabolas.’
He removed his pale grey gloves slowly, one finger at a time, then raised his goblet.
‘As we drink the blood of those innocents that were sacrificed for the partaking at this table, we reaffirm our commitment to the Left-Hand Path. We vow to avenge Golgotha. We vow to erase the blood sacrifice of the Nazarene.’
He sipped the fresh blood of the newly sacrificed infant.
‘Golgotha.’
The thirteen warlocks held up their goblets.
‘Golgotha!’
They drank as one.
Charsoc nodded and two men in livery moved to the windows and pulled back the crimson velvet curtains revealing the characteristic grey gloom of London’s overcast skies. The men exited leaving only a strapping six-foot-six bodyguard by the door.
Aspinall glanced at the guard and raised his eyebrows to Charsoc.
‘Travis is one of us.’ Charsoc acknowledged Astaroth. ‘Special Forces.’
Aspinall nodded, then removed from his briefcase a black file marked Eyes Only with an Illuminati crest on the cover and handed it to Charsoc.
Charsoc gazed at the thirteen men around the table. Every eye was riveted to the file in his hand.
‘We have waited century after century. Finally the family has been chosen. The Prince will be placed into the family chosen by His Reverence himself.’ Kester Von Slagel
Similar Books
