Star Trek: The Predicament About Demons

Prologue

A dark cavern sat six feet underneath a grave in New Zealand. A single secret staircase led down to it from inside a large tomb; a large, black cauldron took place at the center of the cavern; few torches were lit around to give little light; musty pillars lined the walls of the cavern as if to keep the ceiling from tumbling down upon those that knelt around a large cauldron. The few dozen individuals had on black cloaks, their hoods shadowing over their faces, protecting them from what little light was in the cavern--four knelt around the cauldron and seven stood around them with heads bowed. The four kneeling chanted words of an old, forgotten language, foreheads touching the cold, hard stone below them. In the cauldron at the center of the chamber was a pool of dark, crimson blood, from which was shed from each present - most of it was the blood of someone being long dead.

The Black Lodge was a cult long forgotten by the public, but not for the secret society that "protected" the world's oddities from prying eyes. Formed ever since the early 19oos, the Lodge had worshiped demons, only the strong being granted powers beyond imagination. It's greatest leader, Le Valliant, was a powerful demon himself. To some, he was considered a sorcerer. Valliant was always the most devoted--that's why he was the leader of the Lodge; the bearer of the greater power. But he craved for something more--bigger. What he craved was the world to be at his feet.

The chanting of the four progressed--it became louder, more pronounced. The fire from the torches shone brighter now, red lightning shooting out and hitting the cauldron, a thundering that drowned out all else. Not a moment later did the lightning dissipate. Not a moment later did a figure begin to slowly emerge from the cauldron.

He stood tall as he came out, the blood slowly shedding from himself and dripping down his limbs. He ran his long, slender, and bony fingers over his clean-shaven head, a thick, black goatee being the only patch of hair upon his face. He had eyes of obsidian rocks: pitch black and sharp around the edges. And his fingernails are as sharp as the tips of knives. Gradually the man climbed out of the cauldron with ease, stepping out gracefully and with precise steps. The blood dripped down his body and seeped onto the floor around him.

Two of the cloaked individuals standing are now at his side, a black robe held out for their master to fill it, and allowed them to slip it onto him as he held his arms out to either side of him. After the robe is on, they release the sleeves and step back, and he says, in an oily voice thick in Kiwi English: "How long?"

"Twenty-six decades," replied one of the kneeling servants, standing up as they spoke, their voice like a cold breeze sending shivers down your spine. "We have been awaiting your arrival, Master Le Valliant." A joyous tone could be detected in their voice; a grin forming at their words.

A chilling silence--a silence that did not bother anyone--washes over the entire cavern as Le Valliant looked around, eyes taking in everything around him. The fire-lit torches were dull in light now, making the cavern mostly enveloped in darkness. The stone walls that surrounded them were carved with markings... Markers that marked every day waited for the Black Lodge's master's return. And he knew, the world was not the same as before--a place that wreaked of fear; where he could torment those who dared mess with the intensity of his power. Speaking of which....

"What of Harry Ballard?" He turned on his heel, and grazed his eyes upon all other servants in the chamber that surrounded him in silent reverence. Twenty-six decades ago, Le Valliant had heard of Harry Ballard the archeologist; Harry Ballard the doubter of hope and truth. Twenty-six decades ago, Le Valliant had sought out Harry Ballard to show him the true power of all that was the Black Lodge; had sought out Harry Ballard to take away power beyond comprehension. But now, twenty-six decades later, Le Valliant seeks out to claim that power for himself once and for all.

"Harry Ballard no longer exists. He has taken upon a few identities as time grew on," spoke one of the kneeling. Le Valliant raises his brows in appeal to this newly given information. His lips quirk up into a devilish smile. "After your banishment--" They never got the chance to continue further before turning to ash. Distaste consumed Le Valliant's face as he glanced down disappointedly at the pile of waste.

"Never," he snarled, "speak to me like that." His gaze shot over to another cloaked person. "You; speak to me in the right mind, and never degrade me like this fool here!"

The called upon individual immediately knelt down and bowed his head in obedience. "After the events happening in nineteenth-century Earth, Ballard and Bernadette were consigned to the Secret Society of Supernatural and Inhuman Studies facility in northern New Zealand. Since then they're identities were terminated and they took upon new ones.

"He serves aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise," the servant answers. "He goes by the name of Leonard McCoy."