It all began when the hunger for more power, wealth, and fame engulfed him.

He knew he needed the darkest of all powers to seat above his fellows. The more his mind worked, the more he decided to be more deadly.

As his eyes peered into the night, he knew the battle was near over.

What more is needed to be done?

Absolutely nothing, for what they feared, he conquered. The blood of the dead men ran down the hills, like spring water rushing out from its source—rock!

Mike Dickson looked at Ohman Chrest and nodded, “It is over, they will rise no more, Manzus Kingston will be proud of our success in this horrifying blood bath battle.”

Ohman Chrest responded with a nod but greatly feared Mike, for his exploit was extraordinary, and marvel where Mike got the power of the Zus to move so swiftly to conquer.

The more he thought about this, the more his already weakened bones screamed for rest.

Suddenly, he became dizzy, and seconds later, dropped to the floor. He felt his spine breaking but wondered how long it would take for him to close his eyes unto death. It wasn’t long as his thoughts started running wild that he felt Mike’s firm grip on him, picking him up strongly from the ground, and from there, he can’t remember anything else or what happened.

An hour later, he knew this was now the third count that Mike saved his life on a mission assignment. As he stared at him closely from his lying position, he knew there was something strange about Mike’s powers, but the kind heart he possesses makes him different from all the black sword members.

“I can see you are awake, that’s good—” Mike said.

Ohman sat up gradually staring into Mike's eyes, “Where is this place?” He kept on looking around. “How did I get here?”

Mike smiled, and tapped him on his shoulder gently, “You slumped after the fierce battle, remember, never mind. I must be on my way home now—”

Ohman struggled to his feet, and looked around again, this time more carefully, “here is Sapowa, and how did you bring me here?” He was confused, but suddenly everything started coming back to him. His memory exploded, and everything became clear before his eyes.

How it all happened, and how he lost consciousness. He knew he would have died if Mike didn’t rescue him, and now he knew he owns Mike a debt.

Mike looked away, and then whispered, “If I didn’t bring you here, you would have died Ohman, and I don’t want to lose you—now listen, I am going home to meet my sweetheart, Stephnie. I have to go make love with her before dawn. She will soon be up from bed, and if she didn’t find me by her side. She will never stop asking questions, and you know what, Ohman? I don’t like questions. You can find your way from here.”

Ohman watched him disappear. And now, he was certain Mike was greater than the entire black sword members put together, and undoubtedly should be the next occult Grandmaster after, Manzus Kingston.

************

Mike Dickson in all his wildest imagination had never thought of sudden death. He knew it was the price he had to pay for belonging to the black sword mission, but he never had the slightest idea it would be very soon.

The oath taken by members of the black sword mission was very powerful and strongly established—powerful enough to make them invisible even on the surface of the earth. He knew it when he was initiated into the mission that made him possess the power to disappear and appear at will, and also with the swift impetus to destroy.

He was the sixth ranking among the ten powerful leaders of the cult, and he was very fearless. He possessed a calm disposition enough to conceal his chameleon personality. He had often wished for riches, and that dream had become a reality.

Ohman Chrest who introduced him into the cult was more than perturbed at Mike’s growth and swift ranking profile. Although Mike Dickson was two positions behind him, the decision of Grandmaster Hamman Cruizerdin remains unquestionable. More so, when it was obvious Mike was a force to reckon with in the black sword mission’s numerous assignments.

He had never lost a battle even the fiercest of them all, but why must his blood be spilled on the altar of Darkis?

Mike knew the decision of Grandmaster Humman Cruizerdin cannot be questioned. It was motivated by the secret great Grandmaster Manzus Kingston, who seldom makes an appearance at meetings.

Mike was extremely worried not about death. He knew he will certainly have a chair in the Palace of Manzus—the invisible world of the dead. His worry was about Terry—his three-year-old Son, and wife Stephnie, who knew absolutely nothing about him.

He had been deceptive to keep her off his many dirty secrets, and he had succeeded in doing that perfectly well with maximum disguise too difficult for her to comprehend.

Mike had been at home all day with deep unusual thoughts racing through his mind about his imminent death, and also why his blood should be required on the altar of Darkis.

He stood up in the sitting room. He walked around for a while and then walked back to his chair. His bones were aching now—he felt dryness crawling through them. His limbs were frozen—lifting it from the floor had taken him several seconds. His eyes were anguish, his face ashen, and his heartbeat was now extremely fast. So fast, he could hear it pound against his chest.

His eyes were clouding now as the thought of dying in his thirties burns within his heart, and for that thought alone, he gasps for breath. He dragged air into his lungs, and stretched out both hands up at least to get some comfort—comfort, he knew would be impossible. He could see the future through his eyeballs, the pains, and the upcoming agony.

What method of killing will Manzus’s invisible killers use on him?

Why do they want his blood?

Where?

In the altar of Darkis that breeds unbelievable evils.

It wasn’t supposed to be me? He fidgeted.

He felt a chill wind blow past him, and that got him shivering intensely. His chest heaving as he paused to catch his breath. He walked up to the large mirror hung beautifully on the wall, and peeped through it, and as he did, he saw a flicker of something in his eyes.

Was it fear or anger?

He wasn’t so certain, and it was gone as quickly as it had come. He spun around and walked away not wanting to be absorbed by the thrillers shooting out from the mystical mirror. He had made it mystical with the power of the Zus. It wasn’t ordinary as it were but engulfed with strangeness—strangeness that Stephnie didn’t even know about.

His time on earth will be up soon, and he knew it. His enormous wealth will be wiped away as suddenly as it came. And neither Stephnie nor Terry can do anything about it.

He knew their passage into poverty is imminent as the clock hung on the wall above his head ticks away—chiming audibly.

He had made several attempts to initiate Terry to sustain the power of his wealth and to make it a family patrimony. But, he feared greatly that, Terry; his only son can’t withstand being terrorized by the force of darkness.

He was prepared to have a surviving seed on the earth as he traveled to the great beyond rather than sustaining his wealth and putting Terry’s life on the line. Terry wasn’t ten years of age yet. He would have been able to survive the spiritual tension of the forces of darkness to have the mark of the mission at the initiation.

He felt remorse as his lips formed a thin line of anger. He placed his right hand on his forehead, now sitting down more confused.

The thought of ungodly wealth as vanity crawled into his head. He knew that was not true if only he could get Terry plugged successfully without death then his wealth can’t possibly be vanity.

He pushed the thought quickly as it came.

The wealth of Zus adds no sorrows, as the Grandmaster will often say.

He pondered Grandmaster’s words for a while, but he can’t understand if this was true or perhaps taking a twist for the first time in the history of the black sword mission.

Why must it be his time when he had barely started enjoying the wealth, he had worked so hard to acquire?

He can’t understand how he was chosen, and now he was about to be used as the sacrificial lamb.

He had seen wealth and enjoyed it, maybe not enough for a young man that still got years on his side. He knew he was still young, and why must, he die this young?

Was it the covenant taken?

He knew he is wealthy, he is a billionaire, but knew the only thing on earth money can’t buy, is life. He frowned at his flipping thoughts.

He cursed the day he took the oath and now, his bones screamed in agony. He walked back to the mirror again, this time; he looked even paler than before and more exhausted. His face was ashen as his thought slipped. But there was something in his face too. Certainly not guilt exactly, but something next to it—the cries of shed blood, in the past. The memories were all coming back to him in a rush.

The blood made him wealthy.

He bit his fingers and nods his head as the thought of death was now a burden in his heart. He felt tears from his eyes; he knew he was too strong to make it real. He can’t possibly cry, he thought passionately, trying hard to keep his composure which he considered more important to him now. With tears in his eyes, he felt it was a sign of weakness, and he never wanted that. The word coward must never mix with the blood that flows through his veins. He hissed loudly, and whispered to himself arrogantly, “Spirit of the Zus come to take me now, since it is only my blood that can keep the altar of Darkis for decades to come, in flames!”

Restlessness had suddenly begun to creep through him. He stood up and looked at the wall clock that was hugged directly above him, it was already 4 pm and Ohman Chrest had promised to visit by 3.00 pm, and it was already an hour ahead of time.

Why is he not here?

He had promised to visit by 3 pm, his thoughts ran wild again. He can’t imagine why everything seems to happen preternaturally. His Spirit was vexed as he sat down staring at the clock chiming away gradually.

Ohman Chrest had always been a good timekeeper. Always on time, but why is he not here?

He fidgeted on his chair and adjusted his sitting position again with eyes still fixed on the wall clock.

This was very unusual of Ohman Chrest, he pondered. Was he now taking him for granted?

He only hoped he had not suddenly become insignificant in the eyes of Ohman. He remembered how he had on several occasions rescued him from physical death, and got him saved from the sword of Tangula.

Suddenly, he felt chill winds pass through his nostril forcefully, and afterward, he heard whispers, strange whispers shooting out voices from the winds. It echoed past his ears. He staggered and caused the day he was born. He knew he had entered an irreversible covenant of wealth, and had sworn an unbreakable oath with his blood on the altar of Darkis, and that was a sealed covenant.

He was busy walking around his sitting room when he remembered he had his wristwatch on. He glanced at it; it was 65 minutes past the hour.