Mother of Antichrist

"What kind of god is that?"

That question was in Latin. It was interesting to observe how Latin was while it was a living language. Of course, interaction was preferable, but I needed to wait for attending androids to finish cleaning and dressing me and Archer.

Time travel ritual as I designed it, had its charms, but it did leave named and messy afterwards. Chocolate bar imbued with Vril removed the aftertaste of Archer's essence from my mouth, and relived strain in Magic Circuits.

Meanwhile, a man and woman were standing just outside, gazing at the portal to my domain. It was the woman who had posed the question.

The woman, commanding even in her silence, was draped in a stola, the mark of Roman matronhood. This wasn't just any fabric; it was dyed in hues that whispered of power, perhaps the deep purples or crimsons reserved for those of imperial connection. The material, rich in texture, likely silk or the finest wool, clung and flowed in a manner that suggested both wealth and taste. Her waist was cinched with a cingulum, a belt that, in its simplicity, accentuated her stature, its tassels hinting at a subtlety of rank.

Her palla, a shawl that was both practical and a statement of elegance, was draped over one shoulder, its fabric boasting patterns that might narrate her lineage or the favour of the gods. The nodus hairstyle, her locks rolled and swept back into a bun, was not merely for convenience but a signal of her status, adorned with pearls and a diadem that seemed to whisper of her nobility.

Jewellery adorned her in a manner that was both statement and subtlety; a monile necklace that lay against her stola, armilla bracelets that chimed with her movements, and anuli rings that caught the light, each piece a testament to her influence and wealth.

"The way of Gods are not for men to know. That can take many shapes," the man answered. "It is better to be humble."

The man beside her, his attire simpler, yet no less telling. His tunica, a garment that reached his knees, was made of Egyptian linen, its earthy hues speaking of scholarly pursuits rather than the pomp of the arena. The fabric, while modest, was of a quality that suggested connections to the broader Hellenistic world.

His pallium, a garment simpler than the senatorial toga but chosen for its practicality, was wrapped around him in a style that favoured ease of movement, perhaps reflecting a life spent more in the realm of thought than in physical endeavours. This cloak, grey and subtly patterned, hinted at a mind attuned to the nuances of philosophy or the sciences.

The cingulum that secured his tunic was devoid of the ostentation common to the military or political elite, yet it was made of leather that bore the imprint of constellations, a nod to a scholarly interest in the heavens.

The man's monile, a necklace crafted from the finest gold, was not merely an ornament but a testament to his profession and a personal safeguard. Gold, revered for its association with the sun and divine wisdom, served as a conduit for celestial energies. Adorning this precious chain were several amulets, each with its own significance.

One amulet, carved from moonstone, aligned him with the moon's phases. This stone, believed to govern the hidden aspects of life and intuition, mirrored the moon's ever-changing nature, symbolizing the cyclical nature of fate and the ability to adapt to fortune's shifting sands.

Another piece, a small capsule of mercury encased in glass, paid homage to the god Mercury, the divine messenger. This amulet symbolized communication, the transmission of knowledge, and protection for those, like him, who traversed the boundaries of the known world.

A thunderbolt-shaped piece of fulgurite, born from lightning striking sand, represented Jupiter, the king of the gods. This token signified his pursuit of wisdom, justice, and his role as a guide amidst the realms of power and law.

Around his fingers, rings engraved with symbols and images held deep astrological and divine meanings. A ring fashioned from lead bore the image of a sickle, evoking Saturn's associations with time, discipline, and the inevitability of life's cycles.

Another, made of copper and bearing Venus's symbol, evoked love, beauty, and the importance of relationships. It reminded him of the cosmic and personal connections that bound the world together.

An iron ring, engraved with a spear, honoured Mars. This talisman of protection and strength fortified him against adversaries, embodying courage and guardianship.

Lastly, a gold ring adorned with the image of the radiant sun symbolized vitality, power, and enlightenment. It guided him on his path, illuminating his journey with the light of knowledge and truth.

Or at least it would be if they had actual magical power. But this was not World for it. Psychic power dominated this World, and tools that enabled it were more mechanically inclined. Wire and electricity, a pulse of Vril, such things matter more than symbols for the powers of the mind.

Still observing design, gave me ideas for my work. The nature of magecraft was an imitation of natural Mysteries, in that way, it could be considered the science of magic.

"Balbillus, do not forget, I too bear divine lineage. Blood is mixed with ichor in my veins. Hear me, unknown god, before you stands Julia Agrippina, the daughter of the noble Germanicus and Agrippina the Elder, granddaughter of Julia Augusta, herself the daughter of the divine Augustus, founder of the Roman Empire. I am the wife to Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, the supreme ruler of Rome, guardian of its people, and keeper of its destinies. Sister to Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, known to the world as Caligula, under whose divine reign the Empire soared. Through my veins courses the legacy of Venus, who blessed Aeneas, progenitor of the Julian line, and through him to Romulus, son of Mars and founder of the Eternal City. By the might of my ancestors, from the god-like Augustus, son of the deified Julius, to my divine brother Caligula, I stand before you."

Agrippina, the mother of Nero, was not unexpected. The witches had spoken of me meeting her in the 14th century. In their part and my future. Not they knew that. If she referred to herself as the wife of Claudius, that meant that Nero was yet to take the throne.

Historical accounts of Agrippina were far from flattering, painting her as a poisoner, a schemer thirsting for power, among other, darker accusations. Yet, the wisdom of approaching such narratives with scepticism was well ingrained in me; history, after all, is often told by the victors or through the haze of centuries-old biases. However, dismissing these tales entirely would be foolish; there was usually some truth amidst the distortion.

The other person was also familiar to me.

History books knew him as Tiberius Claudius Balbillus, an influential astrologer in the Roman Empire, serving under Emperor Nero. His father, Thrasyllus of Mendes, was a renowned astrologer who had served as a close advisor to Emperor Tiberius, so Balbillus came from a lineage with a strong presence in Roman imperial politics.

But in the World from which Tohsaka Rin came, he was Nero's court magician, famous for his work of astrology, and for repelling several vampiric incursions into Rome. Some of his surviving works were highly priced and still studied in the Faculty of Astromancy. Holy Church had a differing opinion of him, due to his assisting Nero in prosecuting what was seen as a dangerous cult, the early Christians.

Agrippina's long speech was just about time for us to finish preparations. I opened the door, and beheld them with my own eyes, not through the screen. They could not see me, only white light hiding the interior police box. It was as much for their protection as well as to instil awe, for unprotected living human mind could be driven into madness by exposure. That was why I insisted that Andrew wear the googles I made.

Stepping through the veil of white light, I made my entrance into their ancient world, with Archer and Andrew close on my heels. The suddenness of our appearance caused Balbillus to retreat instinctively, his hand gravitating towards his amulets, seeking reassurance in their familiar touch and the powers they represented. Agrippina, on the other hand, displayed a brief flicker of surprise in her eyes—a momentary lapse that was quickly mastered. Her expression smoothed into a façade of grace and regal indifference, tinged with a hint of steel-edged welcome. Yet, beneath this veneer, I could sense the rapid workings of her mind, not just calculating but ravenous with ambition. The initial shock of our arrival was quickly supplanted by her scheming nature, pondering how to turn this unexpected encounter to her advantage.

Her boldness was evident, yet in the presence of unknown powers, Balbillus's caution might have been the wiser course. Despite harbouring no malice towards them, it was only prudent to be wary of the unfamiliar and the unseen forces at play. However, boldness has its own merits, offering the chance to seize opportunities that arise once in a lifetime.

"A star shines upon our meeting," I said in greeting. As the witches had said, in the future that was my past, it was an ill-omened star. For Agrippina was destined to be murdered by the order of her beloved son, and it was doom I would not relive her of. For I was but a traveller on river time and had no desire to alter its course. "Forgive my discourtesy, but my name is not for you. But when I walk among Man unknown, I use Master."

I used Magister, and not Dominus, to indicate teacher and not master of slaves. For both diplomacy and because witches had used it. Even if the other was closer to the true origin of that alias.

I was still deliberating on how best to present the gift intended for her son, the underlying motive of this voyage through the annals of history. The ring needed to be given in the past, ensuring its passage to me in the future. A direct handover, however, would undoubtedly raise suspicions.

"I am in a forgiving mood if you would also extend your assistance," declared Agrippina, her voice imbued with a bold fierceness. "Beneath the Palatine Hills lurks a pit of horror, a darkness so profound it compelled us to desperate invocation. Rid us of whatever beast, demon, or malevolent deity has spawned such an abomination, I implore you. Naturally, in gratitude, we shall honour you with feasts and sacrifices, great Magister."

Complications. I should have expected them. After all, Nero would not create a lineage of witches that worshipped me, just for a simple gift. Even if that gift was a magic ring. And Andrew was still yet to earn the name and legend of Praetorian, as witches had called him in the Black Forest. 

"I have answered your summons, thus I am inclined to honour your request. But allow me to assume a less conspicuous form," I announced, shifting from the guise of the Firstborn to that of a man. My repertoire of human forms was varied, yet each had its considerations. Rin Tohsaka was eliminated from the choices; his distinctly Asiatic features would be too uncommon and thus conspicuous in this era. Mercury, while a part of my array, appeared too youthful, making it odd to adopt the form of a boy who had not yet attained the toga of adulthood. That left the form of Ace—a strikingly handsome man with blond hair. His features, while akin to those of a Roman, might subtly hint at Germanic ancestry in this time period. Archer followed my example, assuming the form of Dwight, a tall, muscular blond man who, though broader, was still shorter than his Elven form. Andrew, being what he was, did not change.

The transformation startled them momentarily, but they quickly regained their composure. After all, the Roman gods were known for such feats, as depicted in Ovid's "Metamorphoses."

"Lead me to your problem, if you please."

The proud empress nodded, her demeanor unshaken, yet acknowledging the gravity of the situation. "We must tread carefully. It is unseemly for a woman of my standing to accompany men without a chaperone, but in this instance, the need for secrecy outweighs the demands of propriety."

"Then allow me," I offered, retrieving a Mystic Code from the folds of my toga. To the untrained eye, it appeared as nothing more than a short, silvery rod, its end capped with a gem that pulsed with an inner light. Yet appearances can be deceiving. This artifact housed the remains of a hanged murderer's hand, encased in mercury that had been solidified through Elven craftsmanship. To this was bound a minor demon, creating a variant of the Hand of Glory, refined by my own skills. Unlike its traditional purpose to illuminate, this version was designed to conceal, its light masking our presence rather than revealing it. I brought the rod to my lips and whispered the necessary commands along with the names of those to be encompassed by its effect. "Now, we walk unseen by mortal eyes."

Balbillus observed the Mystic Code with a blend of reverence and avarice that was unmistakably transparent. The astrologer, in stark contrast to the empress's composed and inscrutable demeanour, was an open book. His fascination with the arcane, coupled with the instinctive greed for knowledge and power that often beset those versed in the mystical arts, was laid bare in his gaze. Unlike Agrippina, whose motives and thoughts required a discerning eye to unravel, Balbillus's reactions were far easier to decipher; one hardly needed more than mundane sight to grasp the depth of his interest.

If ever the need arose to make use of Balbillus, I was keenly aware of the price his soul would command. And I was well-positioned to deliver on such a bargain. What amounted to mere trinkets to me were objects of unparalleled wonder to him, treasures beyond his wildest imaginings. Yet, at present, there was no need to leverage this advantage, no immediate use for him in my plans. So, I shelved that thought for later consideration, storing away the knowledge of his desires like a tool in a craftsman's kit, ready to be drawn upon should the occasion arise.

Unseen, unnoticed, and unremembered, we traversed the corridors of the imperial palace, guided by the determined empress and the anxious astrologer.

Initially, we took the well-trodden paths, but soon veered into servants' passages, and then onto seldom-used routes betrayed by dust and cobwebs.

Down, down, into the earth we went, where ostentatious architecture gave way to the simplicity of hewn rock, until we arrived at a passage ending with a heavy wooden door.

The astrologer pushed against it, struggling to open it. I nodded at Archer, who stepped forward to assist.

Beyond lay what they described as a pit of horrors.

And it was an apt description.

The chamber was circular, its walls made of simple brick, with spaces that once might have held torches.

But it was the centre of the room that disturbed the most.

A pile of human bones, rising higher than us, made it clear this was a pit filled to overflowing.

The remains of thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands, were here. Adult bones mixed with those of children and even toddlers. When I approached for a closer look, I could see that many were gnawed on.

This macabre scene was more than a burial site; it was a testament to horror and despair, a place where the darkest of deeds had been committed. The air hung heavy with the echo of anguish, each bone a silent witness to the terror that had unfolded in this hidden chamber beneath the imperial splendour.

With another whisper, I extinguished the Mystic Code torch. Its demonic light should not interfere with the investigation, but why take unnecessary risk?

Archer moved first, his actions deliberate as he sniffed at the bones, then touched them with a bare hand. I held back, recognizing that his talents made him uniquely suited for this initial examination. His almost bloodhound-like nose for the supernatural, coupled with his gift of psychometry, rendered him particularly adept at uncovering the truths that lay hidden within these grim relics.

"It's the reptilians," Archer stated in modern English, ensuring that only I and Andrew could comprehend.

"Are you certain?" I inquired, sticking to the same language for privacy.

"Their stench is unmistakable, and there's an echo in the bones. When they feed, they assume their true forms."

"Even babies," Andrew interjected, aghast, his gaze fixed on one of the smaller skulls with horror.

"They find that part particularly tender," Archer responded with a grim tone.

"That many... So it's either been over a long time, or it was a massive feast," I observed, surveying the mound of bones.

"The first one. The bones span different times. But there's no hoarding, no rite. Just a midden. Convenience, and casualness, that's what made this horror."

This revelation painted a chilling picture of predation, not ritualized or for any dark sacrament, but rather an act of convenience—a disposal site used repeatedly over time by beings whose disregard for human life was as profound as it was horrifying.

To be honest, they were not human, so expecting them to care about human lives was perhaps misguided.

And even humans killed humans with ease, often for reasons far less primal than sustenance.

Philosophically, it would be hypocritical to condemn them solely for their diet, yet perhaps I was something of a hypocrite myself.

"Well, what have you found?" the empress demanded, her patience evidently wearing thin with our conversation in an unknown tongue.

Revealing the truth about aliens was out of the question, but it was relatively straightforward to frame our discovery in a way she could understand. "Monsters have infested Rome. Serpents that steal the faces of men. This is where they feed."

"If they can be anybody," the astrologer inquired, "where should we look?"

"Look high," I advised. "For if you could wear any face, you wouldn't choose to wear the face of a slave."

"High?" the empress murmured, pondering the implications.

Our exchange was interrupted by a new voice.

"What are you doing here?"

Turning, we saw an officer of the Praetorian Guard, a high-ranking one, torch in hand.

"Take care how you address me. I am the Empress!" Agrippina declared with authority.

"Empress? Just meat, like any other human," the creature retorted.

Then, in a grotesque transformation, the scales replaced the skin on his face, his hands turned into reptilian claws, and his mouth widened unnaturally, revealing crocodilian teeth as he lunged at Agrippina.

I merely watched, confident in Archer's ability to resolve the situation.

My confidence was rewarded; in a moment, the creature's lunge was interrupted by three iron swords that pinned the monster to the wall, saving Agrippina.

Quickly regaining her composure, Agrippina declared with authority, "We must see the emperor."

"Yes, the emperor must be informed," the trembling astrologer agreed.

"Informed?" Agrippina pondered, her strategic mind already turning. "First, we must see if he has been replaced."

Her response was eminently practical, a demonstration of her quick adaptability and deep understanding of the stakes involved. This wasn't merely about alerting the emperor; it was about ensuring that the person they were alerting was actually the emperor himself, not another imposter like the one they had just encountered. Her acumen in considering this possibility spoke volumes about her experience and the depth of her political savvy. I found myself quite impressed by her grasp of the situation, reflecting on the necessity of verifying the identity of those in power, especially in a crisis where anyone could be wearing another's face.