Chaos Theory – Prologue

Prologue: Dark Magic

5000 yrs earlier in a small Minoan hamlet

Two sisters, old women gifted with dark Magic, look into the future. They see the human race weakened. They form an evil plan to have their families rule the world and rid it of inferior beings. But a dark shadow hangs over them as a vision appears to them in their dreams: an army of genetically enhanced super soldiers with the power to destroy their ultimate goal.

Gathering their families together on a hilltop overlooking a deep valley, the two old witches motion to them. The children form a circle around a small stone altar. The women step behind in a second ring, and the men make yet a third. The two witches stride purposefully to the center and place a snake on the slab. The first witch begins to chant as she cuts her forearm with an enchanted dagger. “Adara mo’ke tali. Konoss rehu jek. Hiif polna menos kori. Konoss rehu jek. Kariff mo’ss!” The second witch drains blood from the snake and lets it drip onto the open gash as she answers back “Miisru eh-nu”.

Repeating the ritual on herself she raises her hand to her sister’s, locking arms over the incisions. They resume their chanting.

“Miisru eh-nu.”

“Miisru koss.”

“Kiv’sa pol…tu’ri kom’sa….konoss rehu jek.”

Suddenly, a bolt of light bursts from their joined limbs and strikes every man, woman and child gathered, searing their bodies with blue fire. The power surges, burning deep into the cores of their being. The bodies slump to the ground.

After a time, they rise from their temporary slumber, invigorated, imbued with superior strength and speed. They have evolved, now darkly vicious.

The two Witches call out in monotone “Kan’dara mo’ss re’kali. Mo’ss re’kali, ken’da hiif [The weak shall fall. We are the Infinite; it belongs to us.] Fe’nos tol.”

To which the Familiars reply “Fe’nos tol.”

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1980

The cries of the newborn child were silenced with a sickeningly quiet whoosh as breath expelled from his lungs. Blood pooled beneath the tiny body. The child’s sobbing mother pulled him to her chest as if to protect him from death’s icy grip. She looked up at her husband. Why? her eyes begged to understand. He backhanded her across the cheek as he reached for his dead son.

The fire licked and danced and finally expired, leaving a pile of ashes. The High Priestess collected them in a jar and handed them to the father.

“Fe’nos tol.” He led his sobbing wife from the temple.

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1982

His wife’s screams shattered the quiet of the night. Something tugged at his heart. Guilt. The fluttering of love for this child, only hours old. A second son had been born to him. A gift. But his sacrifice was demanded, it was expected of him. It was his duty.

He reached out to touch his arm in silent supplication. Not another one, tears ran unchecked down her pale cheeks.

He nodded sadly, the pain he felt searing in his heart as he held the sleeping bundle to him. The ritual had to be carried out by midnight. There were only minutes to go before his second son joined the first. Two identical jars, sitting side by side on the shelf in the nursery. Be strong, he willed, as he looked to his wife and sighed.

The next one will be free.

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1984

The cherubic face smiled up at him. His round cheeks and bright blue eyes, the soft blonde fuzz that adorned his head; he was beautiful. His son.

A lone tear dropped from his eye as he remembered that night. His wife had gazed up at him in wonder as she held her newborn in her arms for the first and only time. She was physically weak from the delivery and the doctors gave him no hope. Psychologically, she’d been scarred, long ago locking herself in her own mind.

He was overcome with remorse. Suddenly resolute, he made a silent vow to his dearly departed wife. I cannot right the wrongs I have committed. But I will do everything in my power to prevent The Coming…