Why must I hope for peace when I prepare for war? I was left with no options; my hand was forced, first by Hurona, and then by the Litch.

  -The Journal of the Bannerman

  “His holy war is won…For now,” whispered the Litch in his lavish chamber to his silver mirror, “the Bannerman lies dead… and you.”

  “You live in false peace,” whispered Reijl, “the fires of fate are churning…” He spoke softly, imperceptible to those who were not listening, “You were a means to an end, Heydrich… Ozymandias no longer requires you.”

  “H-have I not served him well?” Heydrich demanded of his mirror. Around him, the Shadows showed their wicked smiles and surrounded him, “true though. He continues to maintain this charade of mortal power… do I not deserve to run his Empire? Bormann… Rebellious Himmler. And now our Führer, too, has passed on. I killed the Bannerman for him!”

  “And when he returns, the Allfather will require you once more.” Replied the mirror softly as a Shadow gathered over the Litch’s dead heart, “have patience...”

  Dark clouds gathered over Germania, and the news spread quickly throughout the Reich. Adolf Hitler was dead, and the people waited with bated breath to glimpse their future. He had better not sidestep me again, thought the Litch as he gazed out over Germania.

  In the darkened caverns under the Capitol, the corpse of their Führer was quickly entombed in a gel-filled cylinder by the slaves of the Allfather’s catacombs. Two Sisters of Germania watched silently as the machine slowly spun up.

  “Servant!” Bellowed the Dead God, “Are you awake?”

  “Yes, master,” spoke the Führer’s spirit from the tomb, “Am I not dead?”

  “Your flesh rots…” Ozymandias replied, “But your service shall not end in a mere mortal death,” replied Ozymandias, “you… and your descendants shall become part of my holy machine.”

  “What have I-I become?” Asked the Führer, his eyes churning behind sealed eyes. He tried to scream, but his flesh refused, “no… please! Let me die!”

  Far above, in the conference chambers that overlooked a stark stone plaza, Edda G?ring, Ministerpr?sident, hovered over a stately conference table. Wehrmacht high command, members of the political elite, and High Priest Sievers of the Ahnenerbe shuffled into the hall and sat in dark high-backed leather chairs. Their starched uniforms fit poorly on engorged flesh. The Litch entered with the elderly Mother Superior Galba and helped her into a seat.

  Many eyed the Litch from the end of the table near Mrs. G?ring, as Ahnenerbe soldiers filled in the ancillary seating around the table. Their long black uniforms drenched the room in a dark cloud and cast long shadows towards the center of the table.

  On the table before Edda sat a thick binder stamped ‘top secret.’ An hour earlier, it had been retrieved from archives hidden deep under the city.

  “It is with great sadness,” Edda stumbled through stifled tears, “that our long-lived Führer has passed unto the halls of ‘halla. It is up to the men in this room to continue their legacy and expand upon his vision to expand our Reich into an Endless Empire. An Imperium… beyond the stars!”

  “Long live the Reich, Heil Hitler!” Exclaimed Heydrich before sitting back down expeditiously.

  How many knew, pondered the Litch coldly, who has hidden their blade from me, or have they pulled it out for all to see? Heydrich sat back in his high-backed leather chair, his eyes scanning the chamber from behind his antique golden mask. The Allfather, he thought, must choose my leadership over this errant son of the Führer.

  Edda snapped the folder closed and explained, “This is the will of our Lord,” and the crowd grew quiet, “details will be distributed shortly.”

  Heydrich excused himself and stepped away from the table, as did the generals and elites. The oligarchs of Germania spoke amongst themselves in a rapturous discussion to find more ways to engorge their fetid flesh. The Litch slowly made his way into a darkened room where he found himself before Sievers, the High Priest of Ozymandias. The old Priest’s eyes narrowed at the presence of the Litch.

  “My Lord,” Heydrich softly acknowledged the gaunt man before him. Then, hushedly, he whispered, “I fear forces work against us. They want a mortal on the throne… They will destroy our Ahnenerbe… We must stop him,” silence fell over the two as Sievers watched with beaded eyes in the dark.

  “I shall confer with the Allfather, " groaned the High Priest. We will see what he wills,” Heydrich glowered and tightened the silk straps of his mask, “do nothing until you hear from me!” Sievers snapped, his fingers mere millimeters away from the Litch’s golden mask, before politely excusing himself. A servant stood by the doorway, holding a note on a silver platter, “urgent business…” He motioned to Heydrich, “Continue as planned. I will take care of the rest.”

  At the edge of the Chancellery, on a long service road turned runway, a jet plane hummed in preparation. Speer took a long look back at the plaza before boarding the plane that rushed him southward towards the eagle’s nest on the old border of Austria.

  The heads of the Wehrmacht exited the long conference room, and the Litch eyed the crowd as he said goodbye to Edda and Mother Superior Galba, who nodded softly at her friend. For a moment, his eyes locked with the head of the Schutzstaffel before turning to the door. Heydrich glared, but none noticed.

  Outside, the Litch bid farewell to the Mother Superior of Germania as her heavy Opel limousine door closed. Droplets of rain stained Heydrich’s charcoal coat, and soot gathered on the brim of his hat. He looked up and felt the rain fall on his cheek. Instinctively, he reached for his face and felt the deep scars beneath the golden mask he wore to hide them. The night was falling on the first day of the new Reich, and the young Ahnenerbe agent called for a car to take him to his castle south of the city.

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  That night, Heydrich's mind wandered in his sleep. In the depths of the night, his eyes opened to a collection of children lying on crowded cots beside him.

  “Where am I?” He grumbled as he rubbed his weary eyes and looked around. His stomach dropped as he felt a sense of familiarity dawn upon him; the camps. An emaciated boy in a tattered striped uniform lay next to him. Heydrich tried to rouse the boy, but the child remained motionless. A few moments later, two guards came to take the boy away, and Heydrich tried to speak.

  “Silence!” They spat at him, and one of the guards slapped him.

  “I am your superior officer!” Heydrich exclaimed, “I’ll have you executed!” He seethed at the guard whose face was clouded between disgust and amusement.

  “Him too,” the guard said as a third grunt grabbed Heydrich by the arm. Despite his protests, Heydrich could not escape the camp guard's iron grip. He tried to tell them he was in charge, but each protest only seemed to frustrate them further.

  “Skip the chamber. We can feed this one to the fire,” the guard grunted angrily. Heydrich protested, but he was unable to overpower them. They brought him to the chambers Heydrich had inspected and approved, then to an oven, “in you go, rat,” the guard grunted as they threw him in. His skin began to burn and flake off as he screamed for help. Heydrich’s eyes boiled as the intense heat instantly blinded and scarred him. He tried to claw at the heavy iron door to no avail.

  “I often find,” a voice noted coldly in his mind, “That tools of destruction are often turned against their masters.”

  Heydrich screamed from the unbearable, searing pain before the fire faded, and he was left huddled before a great churning machine.

  “Tomorrow,” Ozymandias echoed, “the boy will take his rightful place as Führer,” Heydrich begged for relief from the pain of the fires that still licked at the flesh of his mind, “silence, Litch! You are but a pawn in my machinations,” Heydrich begged for mercy, “tomorrow, you will deliver the boy to me. Do not disappoint me.”

  The Litch awoke in a panicked sweat. Slowly, he touched a hand to his cheek and felt his deep scars before reaching for his golden mask.

  Later, as Heydrich stepped outside, he saw two Ahnenerbe guards standing outside with a young boy dressed in a blue uniform. In his breast pocket, he could feel the edges of his service pistol. Who would stop me, thought the Litch, the Allfather would have no choice but to promote me?

  “My Führer,” he saluted the young boy with a hollow smile on his face.

  “Where are you taking me?” The boy scowled. Heydrich could see caution in his demeanor. He wore the uniform of a naval officer, impeccably starched and formal, despite the early hour. Alois’ dark brown hair and eyes were framed with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that aged him. The future Führer’s Ahnenerbe guards stomped their feet in salute before crossing towards Heydrich’s car. Rain fell on the two of them as they stood in the driveway of Castle Greybach; Alois stared at his captor with disdain and growing frustration.

  “A benefactor of the Reich has requested a meeting in preparation for tomorrow’s ceremonies. He wishes to introduce himself to you,” replied Heydrich after a pause. He could see that the child did not believe him, but both recognized the futility of refusing the Ahnenerbe's request.

  A few hours later, Heydrich and the child arrived at the Chancellery plaza. Alois stepped out of the car and was swiftly whisked into the depths of the stately building by Ahnenerbe jackboots.

  In the shadows, dark-robed priests in woven black robes watched their approach. Sievers waited in the central chamber. Above him, the ominous eyes of Ozymandias watched from a golden effigy atop his machine. It formed the central point of a vast machine that spread out along the floor around a small walkway made of heavy stone, the motherboard of the Golden God. On either side, machines turned ceaselessly. It had been a long time since Heydrich had gazed upon the inner workings of his master.

  “Where are you taking me?” Asked the future Führer, “what is this place?” He begged as he resisted Heydrich's strong arm.

  “This is my home,” the Dead God spoke. The voice of Ozymandias was an infinite cacophony of unified voices, the machines below chattering the syllables that poured from his eternal power, “I have summoned you… to give you my proposition. I was once the God of Kings, an endless being, before I was defeated at the hands of my Father, my brother… my sister,” there was a sinister growl from the depths of the machine, “I was, I am, and forever will be… Ozymandias. My powers, though limitless, are not yet realized… and I must rule through mortal hands.”

  The young boy was confused and scared. His hands were shaking, “why am I here?”

  The Dead God laughed, “your father, in his way, served me. Now that he is dead, you shall take his place as my servant on this earth. In return, I shall keep you safe,” Ozymandias offered.

  “Am I… not safe?” The young boy asked tepidly. Though he could not see it, the Dead God smiled darkly.

  “No,” he stated, “You are not. Snakes gathered in the grass, waiting to strike at you and take power for themselves…” Ozymandias spoke as his machinations hummed and blood poured down from unseen hatches into the gears and rolling tapes, “Violent and cruel men will try to overthrow you… Accept me as your God, and together we shall spread across the stars. Refuse my offer, and I know that you shall surely die.”

  Heydrich glowered at the boy, his mind shaken, and in the dark, he could hear the call of his dark Masters. In his coat, his pistol waited.

  “Take the chance…” Something whispered in his ear. Heydrich’s hand did not hesitate; he reached for the gun and pulled it on the boy, but as he did, he could feel a warmth gathering around his stiff, starched collar. His weapon dropped onto the ground. The infernal machine’s clicking was interrupted by a gunshot in the dark. The muzzle flash illuminated Heydrich’s scarred face, and Alois could see a stream of blackened blood pour out of the Litch’s neck.

  “He is but the first would-be usurper,” Sievers whispered into the boy’s ear, “we can protect you. My Priests serve the true God and earthly servants. Should you choose… we should serve and protect you,” the High Priest's beady eyes narrowed as he watched the boy’s expression of shock and fear turn to anger, then relief.

  “Ozymandias, God of Kings, you shall be the God of my Reich… Our Empire… Our Allfather,” the boy declared, commanding the attention of the Golden God. High Priest Sievers smiled insincerely.

  “Go… child,” Ordered the Dead God, “rest… Tomorrow you shall address their people as Führer… Know that your service to me has only just begun.”

  Sievers escorted the child from the chamber and sent him to the offices upstairs, where a set of Sisters in long black robes waited to extract samples from the child to begin preparations on his future tomb as Sievers politely stepped away and returned to the pits below.

  “Bring to me the flesh of Heydrich…” The Machine sprang to life as Sievers returned, “I have need of my Litch, yet.”

  Sievers gazed into the black abyss below, and from the void, he heard the violent, mechanical speech of his Lord, “should my son fail… Should Project Sarx be delayed- Heydrich is necessary for our perpetuation,” the Dead God spoke. His Priest’s mouth fell agape, “of Terminus…” Muttered the Dead God, calculating the future, “dead branches spurned to life.”

  “He turned against our Führer…” Gasped Sievers, “He should be burned, destroyed.”

  The Allfather laughed, “He has done what I need of him. Bring him to me unless you wish to join him… He shall be a most faithful servant in our coming war against Hurona and her children.”

  Death watched from the shadows, the soul once more in their bony grasp slipped through their hands like sand, “I shall have this one back…” Death snarled.

  “One day,” replied the Dead God. His High Priest looked around in confusion, for he saw only the darkness, “priest…” Snapped the Machine, “fetch the data tapes for Project Atom,” his voice groaned throughout eternity, “there is still work to be done.”