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The sinister details contained in the scroll were not meaningless to the scholarly physician, who had acquired much forbidden knowledge through his translation of the Necronomicon. That shunned book was a veritable catalogue of the most frightening lore imaginable, and Philetas was disturbed to find some of its most diabolical references included in the text he had just read. Even more troubling was the vague connection between those ancient evils and the Great War of 941. Like many citizens of the empire, Philetas had heard of a centuries-old Byzantine fire weapon. But if what he had just read was true, the secret of even greater power had been unearthed prior to the victory nine-years earlier. The physician considered what to do next. Although the bizarre tale could be dismissed as the ravings of a madman, it could also be interpreted as treason against the emperor. Nevertheless, he found himself intrigued. Finally, he decided to hide it along with his newly translated copy of the Necronomicon.

Although Philetas tried to dismiss the scroll as a mere work of superstition, his darkest fears were confirmed a few evenings later at the home of a seriously ill patient. The man's name was Belisar, and he had been suffering from an unknown malady for almost a month. Death was at his doorstep, and he wanted to unburden his conscience before someone other than a family member or priest. In spite of his illness, he found the breath to relate a monstrous tale.

According to Belisar, he had been a naval cadet during the Great War of 941 and served aboard the flagship. Despite the optimistic proclamations of the emperor, he said, the warriors of Byzantium knew how close the northern pagans were to breaching the walls of Constantinople. It was clear the besieged city could not hold out much longer and unless a decisive victory was achieved soon, all would be lost.

Eventually, a decision was made to send out three squadrons of Byzantine dromons in a night attack against the invading fleet. Although the usual preparations were made aboard the flagship, it soon became obvious that something unusual was afoot. A canvas barrier was rigged to wall off the Greek fire machine from the rest of the main deck, and armed guards were posted to keep the crew away from it. Later, a keen-eyed sailor whispered about a number of black-hooded figures that came aboard after sunset.

Nor was that the end of the strangeness. After clearing the harbor, the admiral signaled his ships to fall back a full league. Once that was done, all crews were commanded to take cover below deck and, as Belisar subsequently learned, soldiers manning Constantinople's seawalls were sent to their quarters. What happened that night, he whispered, was not meant for the eyes of living men.

Some madness borne of curiosity must have overcome the young cadet, for he disobeyed the order and hid inside the crow's nest. A brief period of silence ensued after the sailors had gone below, then the sound of movement could be heard and Belisar cautiously peered down. Five aged, torch-bearing men emerged from the forward deckhouse. Although they wore the traditional vestments of Christian priests, the gold crosses around their necks were hung blasphemously upside down. Also, a crude pentagram had been drawn around the base of the fire machine. After muttering among themselves for a short time, the priests raised their voices in a droning, repetitive chant. It seemed to Belisar as if two words in particular were given special emphasis, and Philetas's blood chilled when the fever-wracked patient was finally able to recall them; for they were the names of two demonic entities mentioned in the Necronomicon.

The chanters ceased when a shrouded phantom suddenly materialized before them. Luckily for Belisar, his frightened gasp was not heard by those on the deck below. The priests then sank to their knees and a moment later, the Holy Emperor of Byzantium stepped out of the deckhouse. The young man could scarcely believe his eyes, but there was no doubt as to the identity of the noble figure, for he had been an honored guest aboard the flagship several times. The grim-faced monarch walked up to the dark apparition, then unwrapped the bundle he was carrying. It was an infant.

What happened next, the dying man was loath to relate. After making the sign of the cross several times, he muttered how the child was made to drink from a golden chalice the phantom held. Whether it contained a painless poison, or the sleep-inducing juice of the poppy, Belisar could not say. However, the victim appeared to be mercifully unconscious when it was placed inside the muzzle of the fire machine. The shadowy figure then vanished, and the others took refuge below. A moment later, the fear-stricken youth heard the sound of the oars being struck, and the great ship slowed to a halt. Along the horizon, the lanterns of the invading armada stretched as far as the eye could see. The cadet was mystified; at best, a single Byzantine vessel could incinerate two or three enemy ships, but only from very close range. How could the flagship alone destroy an entire fleet from miles away?

Belisar was once the verge of climbing down the mast when a rumble like a thousand charging cavalry horses began. Within seconds it felt like an earthquake, and the young man held on in desperation as the lofty crow's nest began to sway. Below, the great apparatus of the fire machine took on a strange phosphorescence, and from it seethed a glowing green mist that rose to a dizzying height. A strange noise began to emanate from the swelling miasma, and Belisar swore it had the aspect of deep, mocking laughter. The tainted fog roiled like an angry storm cloud and within that chaotic movement, it seemed as if a monstrous, inhuman face was struggling to manifest itself.

With a clap like thunder, the towering form collapsed back into the fire machine, and the terrified witness screamed as a blinding flash of light seared his eyes. The air was scorched by the unbelievable heat of it, and for a moment he thought the ship would be incinerated. In spite of his pain, Belisar was determined to behold a sight no man should see. The huge bellows of the fire dispenser, which normally required the strength of four sailors to pump during an attack, were moving by themselves as fast as a hummingbird's wings. A deafening roar erupted from the mouth of the machine, then a solid stream of fire burst high into the air before falling in the center of the distant fleet.

Like a living thing, the irresistible conflagration seemed to stretch out tentacles of searing death. Thousands of enemy vessels exploded into flame, and Belisar knew that countless men were screaming their last breaths in the midst of that holocaust. To the half-blinded youth in his perch, it seemed as if the Bosporus had become a sea of fire, and the sky above it turned a glowing red. The young man cast a look behind him. Though it was after midnight, the Byzantine fleet was clearly visible. Further to the west, the great city seemed to hunch fearfully beneath the unhallowed glare, as if awaiting the smite of a fiery hand.

The sheer power of that inferno was like a mighty gale, and the waters churned as if in the throes of the worst winter storm. Horrified beyond all sanity, Belisar screamed a prayer from childhood over and over, for it seemed as if the gates of Hades had finally opened. Then, without warning, the arc of flame disappeared and the roar of the fire machine was choked into silence. For a long moment the stricken man was sure he was dead, but after feeling a cool breeze caress his face, he struggled to his knees and offered thanks to the Almighty. In the distance could be seen thousands of slowly ebbing fires: all that remained of a once-mighty fleet. Thankfully, the awful sea of flames was gone, and the night regained something more akin to its customary gloom. The fire machine sat silently on its base; a wisp of smoke and a dull reddish glow the only evidence of its infernal activity. Dazed and sickened, Belisar managed to climb down the mast and slip below deck before his absence was discovered. Soon afterward, the order was given for the fleet to return to port.

Great religious ceremonies were held the following morning in gratitude to God for His deliverance, and the emperor himself ordered a city-wide celebration of the great victory. Promotions and rewards were heaped upon the victorious warriors of the empire and the honor of a Triumph, the great parade handed down from Roman times, was bestowed upon the commander of the Byzantine fleet. Then, only a day later, the Patriarch of Constantinople announced the death of a royal nephew who had succumbed, it was said, to a fatal illness five-months after birth.

Belisar stared with horror-widened eyes after finishing his story, and a long moment passed before the physician realized his patient had died. Philetas knew that fatal sickness often resulted in wild, morbid ravings. Nevertheless, the dying man seemed to be of sound mind during his final hour. There was no longer any doubt: the deathbed confession of Belisar confirmed the blasphemous hints contained in the anonymous scroll and the Necronomicon. The physician had translated that book merely in hope of finding a key to the Philosopher's Stone: the magical orb capable of transmuting lead into gold. Although he had tried not to dwell upon the diabolical knowledge contained in the accursed tome, he now realized that monstrous evil actually existed.