FASCINATED BY THE SECRET of the Sigillum Dei, LaVey completely forgot about the other relics stolen from the British Museum. The archaeological artifacts, the inscriptions, the ancient fragments — everything seemed insignificant before that revelation now pulsing within him. It was as though the universe itself had bent down to deliver him a sign, a divine — or demonic — calling.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, could compare to that sensation of power. The metallic glow of the inscription seemed to move of its own accord, and LaVey, seized by an unshakable faith in his own lineage, convinced himself that he was the son of Samyaza, the fallen angel who had defied the heavens. Even though the last scroll, deciphered the previous night, pointed to another name, another descendant, another "chosen one," he laughed, dismissing the contradiction.
A name is only a name... I have the blood... — he muttered to himself, wearing a smile that blended arrogance with spiritual intoxication.
He celebrated the discovery with a monumental drinking spree, consuming bottle after bottle until the empties became trophies of destiny. He collapsed onto the basement sofa and fell asleep with the glass still in his hand.
When he awoke, the clock read eleven in the morning. His body throbbed, his head felt as heavy as lead, and the metallic taste of dry wine still clung to his tongue. He lay there for long minutes, struggling to remember the dream that had disturbed him throughout the night.
HE WAS IN THE ARMORY of an ancient stone mansion, the floor covered with Persian rugs and the air saturated with a dense chill. There was another man there — slightly shorter, with a long white beard, eyes of sinister serenity, and a dark robe that seemed to absorb the surrounding light.
Master Dee wanted to show me something... — LaVey thought, feeling a shiver run down his spine.
He closed his eyes and frowned, trying to capture the details of the vision. The man in the dream was raising a round, flat object with his left hand. Its surface reflected the swords hanging on the wall to his right, creating a silvery halo that shimmered like liquid fire.
With a sudden jolt, LaVey sprang from the sofa, his heart pounding. He rushed to the corner of the basement and grabbed the round, flat package he had received from the curator of the British Museum — the same one he had avoided opening for fear of recognizing what lay inside. He tore through the plastic with his fingernails, and when the object gleamed beneath the pale light, his lips curled into a smile of ecstasy.
He stood before the gift of the angels.
A black mirror, a polished anthracite disc that reflected not the face of the one who gazed into it, but something far deeper — essence, truth, damnation.
— The sacred blood flows through my veins, Master — he proclaimed, lifting the object with both hands like a priest officiating the rite of his own apotheosis.
Suddenly, the shrill ring of the telephone shattered the silence.
— Hello! — he answered, his voice trembling between fear and anticipation.
"...It is I..." — said a deceptive voice, slow and almost hypnotic.
— Who's there?
"...Your true master..." — the voice replied, deeper now, like distant thunder.
LaVey froze.
— Who is speaking? How did you get my number?
"I have many names..." — the voice continued, pausing for a moment — "...but you may call me Samyaza."
The air seemed to thin around him.
— The king of this world? — LaVey stammered in disbelief.
"...The very one. And by now you must already know how I obtained your contact information..."
— My... father?
"...Yes..."
— How may I serve you, my lord? — he asked with the insane devotion of a man who had just found a god.
"...For now, simply listen to me..."
— I am at your command.
"...The eagle has betrayed the pact. Your father made an alliance with her, and in doing so signed his own death sentence. You have been betrayed by the only person you ever loved..."
— That's a lie! — LaVey shouted, his eyes blazing and his face red with rage.
"...What would I gain by lying to you?..." — the voice replied, cold and relentless.
— What must I do? — he asked, almost breathless.
"...Temporarily obey the eagle's orders. Carry out the sacred marriage. Once you leave the marriage bed, you will be hunted. Kill yourself and survive. That is what you must do..."
— Must I... kill myself?
"...Do not be foolish. Let another pay that debt and move through the darkness, for your enemy will lead you to the treasure. Follow her footsteps and claim the prize. All shall fear your power..."
— Which enemy? Who will lead me?
"...The one who stole your life..."
— That cursed woman! — LaVey roared, clenching his fist so tightly that his knuckles turned white. — May I kill her?
"...Everything in its proper time..." — said the voice, and the line went dead with a sharp click.
YOU HAVE BEEN BETRAYED BY THE ONLY PERSON YOU EVER LOVED...
The sentence echoed like an eternal judgment, a wound that would never heal. The poison of Samyaza's words now coursed through his veins.
LaVey buried his face in his hands, his body trembling. He felt rage, pain, and a dark euphoria mixed in equal measure. Vengeance burned like fire in his chest, and the "gift of the angels" shimmered before him, reflecting a face that was no longer entirely human.
— Thank you, Master... — he murmured, raising the black mirror as though it were a sword. — This gift has opened my eyes. I am more than that worm. I am greater than the Ipsissimus. I am Samyaza's heir! — he shouted, his voice reverberating through the damp basement walls.
And in that moment, beneath the twilight gloom and the distant sound of London bells striking noon, LaVey swore that he would do what he had been destined to do.
Because that was exactly what he intended to do.