<span style="font-size: 200%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="color: #80FF00"><div style="text-align: center;">Munich, 8th November, 1939<br/>Local Warehouse</div></span></span><br/><br/><div style="margin:20px; margin-top:5px"><div class="quotetitle"><input class="button2 btnlite" onclick="if (this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display != '') { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = '';      this.innerText = ''; this.value = 'Hide'; } else { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = 'none'; this.innerText = ''; this.value = 'Show'; }" style="text-align:center;width:100px;margin:0px;padding:0px;" type="button" value="Show"/></div><div class="quotecontent"><div style="display: none;">Translation1:<br/><br/>The rotten bones are trembling,<br/>Of the World before the great War.<br/>We have smashed this terror,<br/>For us a great victory. <br/><br/>Translation 2: Hello!<br/>Translation 3: What's your name?<br/>Translation 4: Do your speak German?</div></div></div><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>Squinting his eyes against fumes from trash burnt in open pits along a deserted avenue, a boy no older than the age of 10, stopped short and raised a small hand to shield his eyes, exaggerating a few forced coughs. Looking up at the man who cut short his trip down the sidewalk of Ludwigstrasse boulevard, one of the city's four royal avenues, the boy simply watched the man, his skinny left arm holding tight against his chest quite a large Stretch & Bounce purple ball made of foam.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">''Halo!''</span>The man said, taking a deep but subtle breath. He noted that the boy suffered from a subconjunctival hemorrhage in the left eye.<span style="font-style: italic">''Wie heißt du?''</span>The man, dressed in solid black dropped an arm to his side, rifle in one, and crouched down to the kid's height level. The boy immediately stood one step apart. He looked confused and it didn't take that long for the man to feel terror in the boy's pounding heart.<br/><br/>Erlind, the man in question, smiled and took a swift glance at the dusty concrete sidewalk. A slew of masculine laughter emerged from within a group of Nazi soldiers who stood not too far away from Erlind. The man looked up at the boy and a white smile darkened his treacherously innocent looking features.<span style="font-style: italic">"Sprechen Sie deutsch?"</span>The man got up and a small laugh ensued from his lungs as a response to the boy's continuous silence.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"Take him, find his home. EXRACT the plague, and eliminate it."</span>The man ordered in German his fellow Nazis the moment a city broadcast of<a class="postlink" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-_ZjsifRvk"><span style="color: #80BFBF">Es zittern die morschen Knochen</span></a>echoed in the entire city of Munich.<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"Es zittern die morschen Knochen,<br/>Der Welt vor dem großen Krieg,<br/>Wir haben den Schrecken gebrochen,<br/>Für uns war's ein großer Sieg."</span><br/><br/>As Erlind began to venture a block away, he sensed the old scars behind the luxurious fabrics of his outfit opening back up, and then blood began to leak out from his ancient wounds. Furious, he clenched his teeth and felt disconcerted at that. This was not happening! He thought. But what confused him even more, is the method whoever was trying to summon him had used. Humanity forgot about his existence so there was no charlatan out there nor the slightest power in the world able to conjure him. A voice, sultry an feminine, spoke to him through his thoughts, invoking the essence of the thought-form. The energy in which only the special ones knew how to conjure through the dark arts.<br/><br/>A dark fog began to lift up certain materials that were used for the invocation. As the fog began to take a more unified shape closer to that of a standing tall object, a dark figure soon emerged taking the form of that of an old man walking on two sticks. As he advanced towards the woman, her voice said:<span style="font-style: italic">''You’re not Malachai.''</span>The old man continued to move on two sticks slowly and then stood still as a statue, at one feet outside the circle of protection.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"Below the layered skin, the blood and bones, and above the pulse, there is an undeceived Witch with a great knowledge. It shook me out of the cradle of my resting place, and dared to summon what she could not prevent. So tell me, Witch..."</span>The elderly man let go of the two sticks and shapeshifted into a younger version of the old man. One would say that he was no more than 30, dressed in nothing else but a grayish Toga of the darkest tones.<span style="font-style: italic">"Tell me..."</span>Erlind's cerulean eyes stared into the woman's as he slowly stepped into the circle which protected her from the entities that she may have mistakenly invoked.<span style="font-style: italic">"What is this power that you possess, to have mistakenly called for a fairly uncontrollable result, if I am not who you are looking for, Witch?"</span>He was clearly and openly mocking her, testing the waters, but his voice was calm. Was he angry? Absolutely. Furious even. But silently, he knew that the Witch was one of the Supreme. And not many of them were left in this time and age.