Chronicles of Flames

Fifteen 🔥

The private conference meeting room felt more like a dark chamber of the Egyptian catacombs.

Maybe this was Ivory's own pyramid catacomb. Right here on the 7th floor, central zone 1233 of the State Union Building.

Five men clad in dark suits were seated round a shiny bronze conference table, silent.
The soft hum of the whirling AC filled the soundproof enclosure.
Their unseen-to-the-naked eye company were there too—the demons living in them.

These were the ones who controlled the political wheels of Ivory Island. And they were part of the same confraternity.

Seated at the head was none other than the Mr Drestor, who currently and supposedly, according to the news, was lying in a private hospital undergoing treatment.
All of that was a crafty ruse.

Sure, he had been initially caught off guard by Ella's resurfacing and attack, but he had long recovered.
The hospital lie was a guise to keep the public nose from sniffing out the covert meetings they had been holding.

Each and every one in the confraternity had sworn an oath of allegiance to the gods of the waters. They were to run the politics of this place as the gods wanted it. When the appointed time came, the gods would take their rightful place, and they, being faithful and obedient servants, would all have a large share in the spoil.

The naive people of Ivory Island were completely unaware of the stakes that had been placed on them. They kept on going about their lives as if this place would remain El Dorado forever.

The plan had been falling into place. Bit by bit.
Yes, even though a delay of the emergence of Lord Dagon had been caused by Ella's disappearance, seeing as she was the primary vessel, now, it seemed that her reappearance had triggered the gods to action once again.

The gods had summoned Mr Drestor shortly after Ella's attack and had given him instructions on what to do.

Unfortunately, those blasted Christians sprang up and disoriented things.

They'd tried their best to keep those holy fanatics at bay, but it seemed the more they tried to quench them, the more they thrived.

It was too bad that his former alliance, Mr Pegamon, and his own son, Jeremiah had turned their backs against him and camped with the opponent. They would be at the receiving end of the brunt when the flames come.

For now, it was time to make comeback plans. Fast.

"Men, we all know the situation on ground and what is at stake," Mr Drestor began in a gruff voice after a ceremonial clearing of throat.
"We really do not have much time left."

"That is quite understandable, Mr D. However, we have no choice but to wait till the time is right. This is a democratic nation. We can't possibly plan a coup," a man sitting on the leftward closest seat to him said. He was Hogan Criow, Superintendent of the media and broadcast sector of Ivory Island.

Mr Drestor slammed the table. "Wait? Hogan, wait is all we have been doing for over twenty-one years!"

"Uhm... I think I might have a suggestion. Mr D has already told us that we have a whiff of the vessel, his daughter's location again, which is to our own advantage. Why not go ahead, capture her, use her for what's to be done and then silence her without a trace?" the sly Frederick Kyle, Special agents commander of the Ivory Force, said.

"That will prove to be difficult, if not impossible," Mr Drestor announced in a tight voice. "In my last council with the gods, they informed me that using brute strength at this point will amount to nothing. She is now under the covering of our greatest foe. Apparently, she has met the Redeemer."
Murmurs of agitation arose; Fredrick clicked his tongue while Hogan rapped his fingers on the table.