Excerpt: from the novel Sorcerers’ Dynasty

Copyright 2017 Starborn publishing LLC

September, 2001, D.A.R.C. facility (Center for advanced research and development) deep beneath the Arctic ice rim

The new age of darkness was about to fall. It was the epoch of nightmares, demons, and hateful spirits, hatched out from the foul womb of mankind’s subconscious. And yet, there was nothing new except what had been forgotten. Since time immemorial, the world had always been merely a theater of illusion, albeit a very persistent one, ruled by a sorcerers’ dynasty.

A long shadow slowly crept from a dark corner of the laboratory and into the spangled light. From between the array of shiny consoles and computer monitors blinking gold, green, and blue, Dr. Nathaniel Martin proudly gazed upon his twin creations. More than any of his inventions over the long centuries, of these he was most proud. Though patents for his most his most brilliant creations had been filed under the property of his benefactor, Serenity Corporation, the sensory thrill derived from the sheer act of creation, and the idealistic notion one of his inventions may benefit mankind, had sufficed and sustained him. For, what were material wealth, comfort and fleeting fame, Martin pondered, next to the higher considerations of advancing the interests of his fellow man. Among his other ground-breaking inventions, he pondered the significance of one of his other great discoveries, the secret to human immortality. Would that his desire to share it with the world at large came to bear, Martin thought, but for the iron hand of his benefactor, Serenity Corporation. Though Serenity represented his master, Martin contemplated, throughout the centuries, it had shown itself to be unprincipled, ungrateful, and selfish, believing in nothing save its own material enrichment.

In cool deliberation, he stroked the silvered strands of his well-trimmed beard. Stepping from out of the shadows, he stretched his skeleton thin frame over the glass canopy.

They were as much symbolic as material flesh, he thought, one black, the other white, representing mankind’s inherent duality. Now, his decades of painstaking research had at last come to triumphant fruition. The doctor glanced at a young laboratory technician standing nearby, tapping figures onto the screen of a digital tablet.

“Congratulations, doctor,” the young colleague said. “Your advanced gene editing process created the first trans-human sentient beings. But now, you’ve successfully drawn the road map to mankind’s evolutionary future.”

A proud smile drew across the doctor’s countenance. Owl large brown eyes twinkled beneath gold rimmed spectacles.

“I believe you’re right,” Martin replied in a profound whisper. “Indeed, both specimens represent the next evolutionary step for mankind. They shall be placed with carefully vetted and deserving families,” Martin said. “Public records will be made to look legitimate. It will appear as if they were adopted. They shall be attended only by authorized technicians appearing as family physicians. They shall appear human. Their lives shall play out normally. No one, shall suspect anything amiss.”

Setting down the tablet, the technician drew closer to Martin.

“It shall be intriguing to observe how varying environments shall influence social development, and assimilation doctor.”

Martin’s slender fingers floated over the canopied glass like wild birds. His active mind churned with grand speculation.

“Yes, this experiment presents a unique opportunity,” Martin agreed. “After reincarnating with no memory of their past lives, the fundamental and hypothetical question of the ages shall be determined. Which factor ultimately determines human development, is it nature, or nurture?”

Ruminating deeply, he wondered if making his deal with the Archons, would, in the end, be worth it. Had he made a mistake? Would having agreed to resurrect the ancient spirits, bring about unforeseen, perhaps even disastrous consequences?

“I wonder which shall ultimately prevail to inherit the garden of Eden,” Doctor Martin speculated. “Will it be good, or evil?”

A sly smile drew across Martin’s haggard but handsome features. No one, he was quite certain, not even Serenity Corporation, or the Archon spirits, possessed knowledge there was yet another sarcophagus secretly buried deep within the Arctic ice.

Momentarily silent, Martin grew enamored with the vivid implications of his own speculative thought.

“Imagine, if my own spirit, in combination with that of the four Archons, were to inhabit one immortal trans-human machine, shall I, have become God?”

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