Introduction: The curse of the Human Spirit

Introduction: The curse of the Human Spirit


3:00 am, welcome to the witching hour.

A full moon had come arise, casting a vibrant beam which reflected against the glasses upon my face, tired and exhausted… Thoughts of sleep madden the mind. I sat amongst my study the crackling of the fire giving calm as the magick of the hour took hold. Smoke billowed out of the chimney the only sign of life amongst the abode of the forgotten.

Once long ago, I was one of legend, a hero one may say. Yet I prefer the word hope…

Time had allowed for solitude and such the hero of the New World lived a quiet life hidden amongst the many citizens of her people. Truth be told all, and all the home was but an ordinary house. Victorian in style, rather old, like that of herself it came with all the quarks, and inconveniences that accompany such.

I sat alone, bathed beneath the glow of an ancient kerosene lamp, such a soothing ambiance for one who was burning the midnight oil. Even after two cups of coffee I was fighting seduction of my bed. Humming amongst myself, in a feeble attempt to drown out the whispering of tantalizing words of perversion attempting to lure me away from my studies.

Sitting at my desk with my pen in hand, I had been a state of frustration for well over an hour, for once again I found myself suffering from a severe case of writer’s block. The document was far from finished.  After nearly ten years of work it had all led up to this moment, files after, files of data, and text scattered across her desk in the unsightliness of fashion. The time to put such insanity to rest had finally come, her life’s work leading up to this very moment, and in the feat of her inspiration her mind had drawn blank… such a feeling is enough to drive the sanest of minds, to the point of madness.

Upon countless occasions I found myself taking a sip of brandy to wash away the burden. This was to mark the fifth such occasion in the past two hours. Once again, my mind had drifted to a state of daydream, this state of illusion had become all the common when one is suffering from the critical illness of writer’s block…

A log had sparked causing embers to scatter, and fall to the carpet giving the shag rug a rather nasty sing.  I was quick to stop out its remains, my loafers taking aim at the fiery embers which smothered under foot.  Yet another scar of beauty amongst the many throughout the trail of years…

With the kiss of the flames, the spell had been broken. I had been gifted with the grace of inspiration once again, and I have learned that when the call of a muse is heard; it is best not ignored. I dashed across the room, downing the last of my brandy, a reward for the nerves as I snatched my pen in hand, and began to eagerly write.

The child of the human spirit brings hope for the future of humanity. Ignorance of the past, history forgotten, and dismissed has compelled me to pick up the pen and document the stories, hardships, and literature of my era to pass along my voice in hopes that it does not fall upon the ears of the def or enter the minds of the daft.

Now retaining to that of the authenticity of the history of the world of magick; I have taken all the necessary steps to research the subject at hand. This was not an easy task may I add for the antiquity of the Magickal Community has become somewhat lost and tarnished. History long since lost, buried, yet by no means forgotten… All of which I can assure you shall be further explained with detail and interest.

To best understand the realm of Magick one might consider taking a class on metaphysics yet simply it is defined as such…

Magick: the science and art of causing change to occur in conformity with will.

  • Aleister Crowley

With the muse empowering me from within my pen continued upon its journey, will and voice that of its own. This all but concludes my introductory statement however I feel that I should issue a noted warning from the Author.

This is a tale of sadness, horror, war, death and remorse not by choice of the author may I add but by necessity. I am forced to work with history and such deemed to wield my pen within the restrictions of its realms no matter how dark and grey they may appear. Yet within the morbid theme of war lies the magick of love, friendship, and hope. 

Now that the Introduction has conclude I hereby bring you:

The curse of the Human Spirit

A tale By

Raeona M. Wildman


The Old World: Last Breath

Earth’s last Breath

In her final moment she was beyond beauty

Glowing with radiance

She could hide her true self no longer

Shedding her mask

Soul bursting through the crust of her skin

Emotion set free

  • Mother Freyia’s Nursery Rhymes for the Sound of Mind



Prologue: Welcome to the New World: Empire Rising

Prologue: Welcome to the New World: Empire Rising


Such as most stories, we shall start at the beginning; the beginning of the end…

Yellow Stone National Park: December 25, 2055.

Mother nature has always triumphed in the presence of their child, and such when the Earth had enough of his war and destruction she decided to unleash a wrath unlike any humanity had seen in a millennium. Prophets of science had long since predicted the volcano’s eruption, yet their calculations were off by a few thousand years or so and none could have possible have fathomed the destruction that was soon to follow.

Fire struck the sky, an inferno of hell’s wrath, society had thought that the bombs of man would have brought the world to her knees, yet her curse was her last resort to rid her world of the parasite of humanity. The curse of god was swift, and just… a firm hand of fury which quickly swept across the Americas.

This day was marked by many names: The day of death and despair, some called it doomsday, the biblical Apocalypse or the deeded Armageddon… the names are but the same.

Myth has taken on several forms yet one saying stands out from the rest. To look upon the Earth and her death from the phoenix point of view. Meaning that death to her was that of the beginning of a new existence a transformation upon that of a global scale breathing new life.

Life after death…

Legends, with no truth held within their solidarity, myths passed by generations to follow. History shall see them as such, and no one will know the what truly happened upon that faithful day.

History has concluded within its record that darkness soon followed. Cast forth by a cloud of shadows. A veil of toxic smog that now hovered over her body, smothering the light from sight. Sunshine, freedom, and the pursuit of happiness all soon vanished… Under the shadow of night, which forever loomed over the Earth and her entirety, so it remained for a total of five years. When the cloud finally withdrew, the damage was astronomical.                                               The exact identities of those whose lives had been taken by that of the great umbra, their faces, and souls remain but a mystery. Erased; buried in the ashes of the fallen world. Records of the time are scarce yet from what I could find, they calculate that the total death toll was approximately three billion thirteen thousand eight hundred and fifty-two; give or take a few hundred or so. Humanity was now an endangered species.

Once upon a time, there lived a planet of blue, the sky full of plentiful air and her body full of life. That was a lifetime ago and such now her world had turned toxic, the atmosphere poisoned the air all but scarce, life but a dream… a nightmare…

Toxicity had taken claim to the Earth the balance between humanity and the host world had been distorted after years of proclaiming his dominance, she could endure his oppression no more; no longer afraid of her abuser Earth had finally cast humanity adrift.

Abandoned, her children were forced to flee their world of lost empires. Relinquishing their claim upon their home. Taking a final glance at the sky above, humanity hung his head in remorse. It was time for the child to leave home. Claiming what was left of their technological empire and retreating to safety. Humanity took not to the sky, yet down, deep into the underworld the caverns of bomb shelters built upon generations of fear of the inevitable destruction.

Dwelling into the soil, humanity built their new empire the city of Folkvangr.

Adaption is the key to survival, a well-known fact as such that the human spirit dies not easily. Humanity does not crumble and crack under pressure instead they flourished, blossoming and blooming with life. Humanity had been reborn. The regime of mankind would rise once again… According to my research approximately 150 years after the earth’s destruction humanity and the clustered city of Folkvangr had reached its population limit… Revived from the dead, no longer week nor was he feeble. Humanity had grown to be a strong and formidable people. It was during this time of progress that Folkvangr could no longer sustain that of his people.

Options were limited, to return to the surface was but to invite death upon one’s self, yet it was a cause that the new found elected leader (Emperor Freyia) deemed all but necessary. Drafting an excavation into the unknown, they were to be the first to set foot into the new frontier. Diverging humanity into the new age of science and exploration, it was safe to say that they knew not what to expect yet nothing could have prepared them for what was yet to come; for not soon upon arriving upon the surface did they realized that they were very much not alone…

Welcome to the New world…

Earth, reborn and full of life. In the absence of humanity life had managed to thrive; and such resided a new dominant species. Evolution had taken hold casting forth from the pit of hell a race of surface dwellers. Human in appearance their size gargantuan in the presence of humanity. The true survivors of the apocalypse.

Mutationem: Latin word meaning a changing.

Chang is the progression of all life, yet mankind saw no such beauty in the eyes of the rivals, Marking the indigenous creatures as demons vile, and evil. Named simply as mutants…

Earth had been resurrected, her air breathable once again; such nature flourished. Trees long since grounded, dug thick twisted roots that had took hold of the earth transforming a once barren landscape of sand, dust, and ash, into a sea of green, and prosperity.

Life had taken hold once again…

Mother Earth lived and thrived in the absence of oppression. Animals thought to have been long since extinct now roamed freely no longer under the constant threat of man and his toxicity. Rivers of dry cracked soil and dust had been rejuvenated and purified now flowing fresh and clean; streaming across the prosperity of the new world that had come to replace the barren ashes of humanity’s lost civilization.

Truly such an act was the work of a miracle, or perhaps the will of magick … This was the coming of the Age of New Earth, known by the people of their time as the New World.

Beauty had a way of corroding beneath the heavy leaded feet of humanity. The planet was doomed to that of their tirade from the moment her child had awoken from their underground hibernation. The return of humanity was far from welcomed in the watchful eyes of the Earth. She pleaded and wept in remorse tears streaking down from the sky for she begged humanity to change that of their venomous ways. Sadly, the cries of Mother Earth fell upon deaf ears for the ways of her child was too deeply driven into the heart of instinctual nature. The cycle was doomed to reset, and such the inevitable was concluded.

War had taken the planet by force, casting the New World once again into the realm of shadows. Humanity had been under siege for well over a decade for it appeared that humanity had found a species as stubborn to face death as that of himself. The war between humanity and mutant had begun casting the shadow of darkness upon New Earth once again…

Blood stained the dawning of the new civilization. Humanity had suffered a great loss; death seemed to be the curse of its species, and such the fatality toll to its people had reached to the unfathomable level…

I went over the calculations twice to make sure that my data was not flawed, much to my dismay the records for that era are all the accurate. Over twenty million perished during the war… there was to be no burial, their bodies left to rot upon the soil, for which they fought to proclaim.


War of the species, man vs. mutant brought on by that of humanities own arrogance, such an exhausting game… one that waged one for countless decades.

Tired and haggard; it seemed that there would be no end to the insanity yet sacrifice comes not without chance and such in the case of humanity it eventually came to reside in the hand of victory.

The day was a November twenty first on the 70th year of humanity’s resurrection; it was upon that faithful day that humanity reclaimed dominance and hold upon the New Earth. A false claim it may have been, for humanity had abandoned their rights to the planet long, ago. Yet victory is for the persistent such persistence and humanity tend to go hand and hand.

Walls; twelve of them; one for each new world territory serving as a barricade from the mutant threat.  Scientists and architects took to the design and after countless acts of trial and error they finally found the perfect mix of strength; their structure built out of iron, steel, and the most impenetrable of alloys. Such came to rise the great barriers; serving as protection for humanity.

Towering the walls were a force to be reckoned with. Dominating and omnipotent reaching to the sky above they cast shadow upon the enemy shielding humanity in the bubble of their world.           Humanity, and mutants divided and for the better… The curse of bloodshed between the two seemed to have come to an abrupt silence. Ushering in a new state of serenity unlike any seen in well over a century. Peace had come to the heart of mankind and humanity flourished once again.

Humanity had become far too comfortable in their new home and empire. Never had there been a time of such prosperity, and for nearly two decades there came to be not one mutant attack. Times had changed, and the warriors of humanity soon came to forget that of their past. The mutant threat came to be but a distant memory. No longer was humanity under sieges and life had become all but tolerable, such led to the inevitable growth and prosperity of their newfound economy.

Times of peace such are short lived in the cold callous heart of humanity; they give rise to false hopeless dreams that are prone to that of the delusional mind.


Two eyes in the dark

Candle light

 Moon light

 It creeps through the night

 In fright

Out of sight

Heart beat

Drum beat

It walks when we sleep

Hear it creep

Hear it creep

– Mother Freyia’s Nursery Rhymes for the Sound of Mind



“War is peace.
Freedom is slavery.
Ignorance is strength”

George Orwell, 1984.


“ Ambition lies within the heart of the beast ”
-Kane T. Metis

Doctor Kane T. Metis

In the beginning Doctor Kane T. Metis lived far from a life of luxury. Born September 17, 110 to the nation Tanzanite. His mother Kansara Teval Asmid and father Reggie Kriston Metis did everything they could to make possible for the success of young Kane. Going so far as to uprooting their simple lives, to migrate to the land opportunity. The family of three immigrated to the Delphic Regime, when Kane was but a young child. There they quickly found residence in the welcoming capitol of Ashar. The three of them lived a rather standard life, like many of the proud nation. Grunt work was all but common and such Reggie had taken work at the local water treatment plant, leaving Kansara to tend to that of young Kane.

Kane T. Metis became a soldier of the Regime at the age of 18. In exchange for his service to that of his country, he was offered the education of a lifetime. Such opportunity is not easily surpassed. After years of attending University Under City of the Elite (UUCE) Kane T. Metis attained his Doctorates in the field of cybernetics; all at an impressive age of 24. His work within the community along with his devotion to his passion had earned him quite the respect alongside his fellow peers, and it was not long until he captured the attention of Empress Nyx.

War had consumed the great Delphic Regime and the need for soldiers was great. Doctor Metis was soon drafted upon a mission of top secrecy serving the will and testimony of his commander-in-chief. Such an assignment would haunt him till his dying days. Returning from the war in the year 139 a now sullen Doctor had become a changed man, his devotion to his country had vanished… Science, and solitude were his only desires. The Empress sought pity upon her child and such granted him asylum at Bearthorn Collage of the Magical, and Devin (BCMD) where man continued to work on his research.

The time residing at Bearthron was none to pleasing to the estranged Doctor. It was a rather dark time in his history, and one that he spoke little of. What he was willing to convey was the fact that the opportunity allowed him to focus on his research, and to do so undisturbed by that of the raging war of mankind; for such the case, he was grateful.

Chance had favored the good Doctor. It in the year147, the Doctor Metis had been offered an opportunity of a life time. One should take into consideration that the Empress is not a woman of grand gesture, yet she saw promise in the not so young man of science such she charmed him out of seclusion by building a monument in his honor.

Metis Laboratory Institute was founded by Empress Nyx who managed, and oversaw the construction of M.L.I. It was not long until the institute became the technological beacon of hope for that of the new world. The good Doctor worked at M.L.I.  for a total of 8 years where he taught, and assisted in some of the greatest industrial advances of the decade. Yet age had crept upon the man, no longer was he young, and such to preserve his knowledge he took on a portage. His final act before hanging his hat up for retirement.

Retirement came easily to the man, for after all serving one’s country comes with such luxuries. The Regime was more than grateful for his contribution, and such they supplied him with comforts that only the privileged could fathom. His humble abode was far from the shack of a house he had during his childhood. Aged, and comforted to a life of leisure he lived alone in a sturdy log cabin that was truly quaint, and quiet. The perfect sanction to spend one’s retirement.