Quote
"It's the bonds that keep us whole; they are what give us sanity when the world persecutes us, reviles us, or neglects us; they are who remain. They're there to remind us of who we are, who we were, and who we can be. Truly they are our greatest blessing, as they can be our greatest sorrow; they are our loved ones, after all." – Michael
Context
This book was written three years after its events took place. The book consists of four authors, each of whom is a firsthand eyewitness to the events that occurred three years ago. The reason why the book consists of four authors is so each individual as an eyewitness could share their perspective and experience. However, it's wise to note that despite having multiple 'authors,' there is a 'main author' among the four telling the whole story; the main author's name is The Narrator. The other three are there to tell us their 'perspective,' their reactions in certain moments to authenticate the story being told. Their writings are referred to as letters.
Introduction
I, Michael Mqobi Wolves, son of Blade Wolves and Madelyn Peterson Wolves, write this letter so that the world may know my story, the things I went through, and, of course, the things I have done. Over the last few years I have been a controversial figure; some refer to me as a 'monster,' others as a 'helpless man.' My intentions are not to persuade anyone to see me as either a 'monster' or a 'victim' but for the viewer to decide based on their own assessment.
My story is long and hard, so I shall begin where it is convenient. Five years ago I remember at the peak of my suffering and the dawn of my torment. I remember envying the dead for their sleep and silence, resembled a peace I longed for but could not obtain.
I remember, even as a sad, tormented, yet twisted soul, consistently fighting, fighting for my sake and fighting for my family. Courtesy of my predecessor, I suppose, for I was a man molded and forged as a protector for my family, told that my livelihood had no shred of meaning unless I became this protector for those I love.
'A man must do whatever needs to be done.' Those were words I knew even at the age of six.
I remember as a young lad not understanding yet asking myself, 'Could the rule really be whatever needs to be done?' If so, then what line needed not to be crossed? Or was there even a line to begin with? At the age of 13, I would find out the answer.
I will never forget the trauma and vulnerability I experienced at the age of 13, seeing a man's throat gutted in front of me as he and another man were brawling in a form of training with actual blades ordered by my father.
His blood sprung out to the floor seconds after being attacked, and his body followed. Before I knew it, a pool of blood lay before my eyes. I don't remember a day desiring the touch and comfort of my mother as I did that day; physically, I was trembling. Terrified, I looked to my father for comfort in hopes that he would indeed comfort me, but instead he rose up and ordered his men to dispose of the dead man's body and clean the area where his blood had spilled and was spilling as though nothing had happened.
And then he gazed straight into my eyes with a demeanor so cold and so unrecognizable, it was like I did not know the man who stood before me. He said to me, "This is what it means to be a man; this is our way, to kill or be killed doing whatever it takes to survive, for if you die, so too will your family die." Prior to that day I had seen the term 'protector' as a concept of heroism and nobility, someone who would sacrifice it all for those he loves yet would not go so far as to do the unthinkable.
That day my father distorted this notion, and he told me that if need be, I had to be a killer! Even a monster, if it meant protecting those I love. From that day till the day that he died, he would enforce those words till they became my reality, and they surely did!
When I was 16, I became a brilliant fighter in martial arts combat. I trained to the bone, fractured many bones, and had sleepless nights in agonizing pain. My weakened body hardened by the beatings I endured in training. This I did all to please my father; his approval meant everything to me. I loved and revered him so much that I wanted to be the perfect son I felt he deserved.
Gradually he groomed me to his image till he finally said I was ready to finally carry the full weight of the 'truth.' I remember how anxious yet happy I was that I had pleased him enough to make him trust me with whatever truth he felt I needed to know. One night he took me to one of his hideouts, a huge bunker located beneath one of our hotels that we own.
We entered the hotel, and we went straight to the parking lot on the ground floor. At that time the parking lot was empty; there were only cars surrounded by silence. We walked towards a door located far away from the elevator and staircase going up. The door had a big, noticeable sign that stated, 'Danger, do not enter.' I wondered why we were walking towards this door if it stated that there's danger behind it. Finally we reached that door. My father reached into his pocket, and he came out with a key and opened the door.
The sign on the door made me anxious; as he opened it, I could feel my heart pounding faster and faster.
After opening it, I could see nothing but darkness inside. My father stepped forward, saying, "Let's go." I stood outside for two seconds and had to build the courage to walk in, and I eventually did. As I walked in, I could not even see my own hands because of the immense darkness, but before I knew it, light came to my eyes as Father found the switch and turned the lights on.
To my surprise, the room was empty; it was more like a passage heading to an elevator, which you could see in the entry. My father came back in my direction and pulled the door behind me, locking it shut. We walked straight to the elevator, which, unlike most, which had 'up' and 'down' buttons, this one had numbers indicating there was a code you had to type to access it. He typed the code, and it opened; we entered, and it closed.
The elevator went a ground down.
In just a second the elevator opened to a mysterious place, a much quieter place than the parking lot. What is this place? I asked him, and he replied, saying, "You will soon find out everything; let's go." Before my eyes was a hallway that was at least 8 feet in height, long enough for my father, a tall figure, to walk in without bending or bowing his head whilst walking, and he was 6'5 feet. Beyond the hall was a massive doorway. I remember walking, and I remember the place feeling so daunting and quite mysterious.
We walked and finally reached the massive doorway; behind it wasn't a hallway but a hall wide and vast enough for an assembly of approximately 300 people. And as I was admiring the size of the hall, as I gazed slightly towards the left, I saw a massive chair. I walked inside the hall, my eyes still gazing at the chair. I was able to see it in its entirety. This chair was black in color, its front legs were gold and were designed with birdlike features, and at the top of the legs, you could see their heads.
On the right leg, you could see the head of a birdlike creature, which looked similar to a 'vulture.' On the left leg you could see a birdlike creature similar to an 'owl.' On top of the chair, you could see a birdlike creature looking like an eagle stretching its wings, and like the two, it was forged in gold.
Behind this chair I saw a huge banner hung on the wall, much like in medieval times. On this banner was a sigil of a wolf's head. What is this? I asked myself, Father! What is this? And why does this chair look like…a throne? I asked him. "That's because it is Michael," he responded. I asked, "Whose?" To which he replied, "Mine." He walked towards this chair and sat on it. And he shouted, "Venite, servi mei." He shouted again, "Venite, servi mei," and when he shouted the third time, I saw a multitude of men coming from the direction we came, but it seemed they were coming from a different place in the bunker.
They came and formed a formation much like trained soldiers. After they had lined up to the last man, they began shouting Rex Lupus, dominus Lupus, rex Lupus, dominus Lupusfor more than 5 times. I believe that at least 200 men were standing there and chanting these words, which I could not understand at that moment.
I remained silent and in terror as the situation was both chilling and confusing; all these men had masks covering their faces, and they were all geared up in all-black combative clothing. After chanting, they remained in silence as though they were awaiting orders.
My father shouted words I could not understand in a tongue I wasn't familiar with at that time, but later I would soon learn that it was Latin. For about a few seconds he spoke to them; after he was done, something unexpected happened: they all turned their heads, facing me, turning their attention away from my father to me. No words could describe how frightened I was at that moment, but after just 2 seconds they shouted iuvenis lupus, iuvenis lupus, iuvenis lupus. After shouting, they again remained silent. My father rose up and said to me, "Let's go, my son."
We left the hall and entered a different room from the bunker. This room had a round table, which was made with Italian marble, and it had wooden chairs. What I noticed in the entry was the banner I saw back at the hall. My father said, Sit down, pointing at one of the chairs. I obeyed and sat. He sat on the main one, which was different from the rest.
He said to me, "Listen to me, Michael. What I am about to tell you and what you just saw, you cannot tell your mother or anyone about it." In ignorance I asked, Why? He took a deep breath and said, "I truly wish things were different, and I wouldn't have to shift the burdens onto your shoulders, but you are my son, a wolf; you will prevail."
He proceeded to tell me about his past, how he was trafficked at a young age, how the very same people groomed him into a weapon they desired and saw fit, and used him to do things irredeemable and unimaginable. There was a time when he felt his humanity stripped off, just completely morally stripped naked and with an overwhelming state of hopelessness. With his humanity stripped off, he became ruthless; this made him the perfect killing machine, so much so that he was given the name 'Blade.'
Now these people he spoke of were filthy rich and powerful individuals, yet they were sadistic in their nature. They believed themselves to be far superior human beings than most because of their socio-status and accumulated wealth. They were elitists who went even so far as to fancy themselves as gods.
My father said to me, "Great power corrupts men that wield it; the misconception is that man can control it." I didn't understand those words at that time, but I continued listening. These men believed normal men were subhuman, their value could never amount to theirs, and as the gods they believed themselves to be, they yearned for control over these lesser beings. To control them, they made an organization that set their dreams in motion: to be worshipped as gods and exercise their power as the new masters of humanity.
Now, because of the powers that exist in the world, if they had executed their plans for all to see, then their dreams would not have come to fruition. So they executed their plans in secrecy, in darkness, by trafficking. Now, considering that they are merely men, they could not do everything by their own hands, so they needed people they could control to do their work and act as their image in countries where they wanted to exercise their power and to expand their newly formed empire. He said to me, "This is why we exist. I am a king, an image of the gods, a king amongst other kings. My dominion is here in South Africa; the other kings are located in other parts of the world."
I remember my heart beating tremendously; it felt surreal. I remember asking myself, 'Who is this man?' But little did I know what he was about to say next. He said, "Michael, you are my heir; after my reign, you will take my throne." I quaked in fear and confusion. Father, please, I cannot. Please, this is too much for me, I said, pleading with him. He said to me, "You assume that you have a choice in the matter; you will be my successor."
I rose up and said to him, If you force me to do this, then I will have to tell Mom about all of this.
He sat there as his gaze, cold as snow, pierced through me. A few seconds later, he looked at me and broke the silence by having a small laugh, and he said, "You and your mother! It seems allowing you to spend more time with her has made you weak! But allow me to explain the situation to you. If you do not succeed me, then the gods will kill everyone from our family, your mother, Nicolas, and Jordyn. Do you want that?"
What?! No, I won't allow anyone to hurt them, not even you, I responded. I saw him smile. "That's my boy," he said. "Protect them by ascending the throne when my reign ends." I covered my eyes and held my head, desperately wanting to break and cry, but how could I when all my life I had been taught that 'men do not cry' by the man in front of me?
The same man who had damned my life to a cycle of misery, that day I had a burning sensation bursting out of my chest, that feeling I would come to know as 'hatred' towards my once beloved father.
After a few minutes of silence, he shouted, "Ayer! Come to me." My eyes were wide open. I said to myself, "Ayer is in this too." I heard a few steps coming towards us. Ayer appeared, saying, "My master, you call to me?" Yes, I called you so that my son would find rest in knowing that he has your counsel, my father said.
"Master Michael, this must be a shocking revelation for you. I cannot imagine how you're feeling right now, but know this: I will indeed be on your side till my very last breath. You will always have my counsel, as your Sire has stated," Ayer responded. So you as our butler at home is all a lie? , a cover-up for what you do here? I asked him. He responded, "Partly true, I am a high servant to your sire; back at home I am a butler, which is still a form of a servant."
As I stood, I turned, looking at my father, and said to him, I will ascend your throne, but only for my mother and siblings. But know this, Father, though you have always been my hero...… You were my first love, but today you are my pain and my hate. I left the room and the bunker and found myself at home. I didn't say anything to anyone that day but went straight to my bed.
A few years later my father died in a car accident; it took so much from my family. Though I despised him, I still mourned him. Though as I mourned, there were responsibilities waiting for me, an empty throne to occupy. As promised, I ascended the throne. I watched myself slowly becoming the monster I dreaded and hated, slowly becoming Him.
My sensitivity to what was 'good' slowly faded, replaced by an overwhelming ruthlessness. For four years I wore the crown with excellence; I ruled as a man designed for this purpose. So much that the organization recognized this and gave me the title 'The True King' as a way of saying I am of the throne as my father's son, and I am for the throne for how excellently the crown befits me.
Over the years, Ayer, as promised, became my advisor and counsel, a high servant as he was to my late father. Truly his wisdom and foresight had aided me with the crown; often times I would see my late father in him as he was before the unveiling of everything.
Together we planned and executed abductions on behalf of the organization; we trafficked innocent women of all ages of adolescence but never young children. I was never proud of the actions we did; with each abduction, I could feel my soul deteriorating, haunted by the screams of the victims and covered by the blood of those who would oppose me. Yet still finding the necessity in all of it, for the lives of my family were more precious to me than anyone else's.
My destiny seemed but assured until three years ago, when the tides would shift.