For English Press 9 Genel

Season 3 : Alakabul – Iteration

From the pages of Book of Malfeasance:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was One Above, it has been said. Well, who said the Word in the first place then? Despite our great age and wisdom, why can’t we know this?” asked Gregorius to the court, then turned the key on the wondrous coil-up gadget in his hand three times. When he raised his hand, the gadget took wing and started to fly around the court while singing like a real nightingale it was formed to look like. Even the most jaded ones in the court were affected by his wonders, with which he gave life to the unliving… This nightingale was not an exception. Escorted with the polite, perhaps somewhat envious but definitely sincere clapping, the nightingale landed in front of Michael’s Window, and continued singing until the key on its back stopped turning. Gregorius bowed his head, and continued speaking: “If there is any miracle, it does not lie with me, reverent eldest brethren. I am a simple reader of the Book of Lokman….

However, if I do not show you the wonder that lies on the next page, then I would be truly arrogant.” As such, those were the last words uttered by Gregorius at the court of the eldests, before showing us his gadget. The contraption he produced that had a bell glass, cogs, coiled springs, was feared by the entire eldest court, thus they decided that the parable of how it was thrown among his ashes should be spread. The truth of the matter was…”

2015 – 130 m below Marmara Sea. Marmaray tunnel & haven

On the small screen, minutes and seconds were counting down.


Ms. Manolya pressed the buttons with all her fury, then tried the number again when she trust the number she entered. Afterwards, turned her back and left the room suddenly, to the surprise of the few cainites in the room.

Master Ahmad, looked like he was talking to himself when he was staring at the mirror, but only those who could see through the shroud could see the spectre that had coiled on his shoulder.

The one person who could see beyond the Shroud, Mr. Hayati had his attention on somewhere else, on the web he was in, trying to benefit from foresight that was meant for others.

Also Ms. Lavanta was trying to conspire on how to leave the place, while in attendance to Mr. Erkan, Mr. Cengiz and Ms. Leyla’s words, who excitedly spoke with each other.

Mr. Cengiz continued his words with “… the second story I learned ended thus.”

Ms. Leyla prophesied with words that came from deep within “We shall all die here, without even being able to go outside” during her part of the conversation.

Ms. Işık, holding her phone in her hand, was trying to connect to her accountant while watching the frozen video on the screen, her eyes burning with rage.

Ms. Emma stopped looking for the primary blood that could save herself and others, and trying to connect to an bomb expert among the mortals in her service.

Mr. Şafak Victor also tried to connect to the most informed about the matter among the mortals he owned.

Ms. Kayra was cursing her sire while thinking “CAN!!!!”, also hoping she could reach him, thus solving the matter.

Mr. Marc was with the bomb expert he already brought in, with a stony marble expression on his face, swearing to himself he would show mercy to no one ever again between clenched teeth.

Mr. Tolga was looking at the wires in the exposed inner parts of the bomb, indecisive about whether he should cut the red wire or not.

Mr. Sadberk, with the worry of how he could loose all the potential he could reach that lies right beyond his fingertips and all his eldritch might, began the ritual that could save him from here.


Mr Hakan, with deep thoughts pressed the first of the buttons on the mechanism. Right afterwards, even though he did not touch any of the other buttons, a subroutine in the programme that meant “missing code attempt means failed code attempt” written by the mortal who set up the system activated… Afterwards… A sudden explosion that shook the domed construction they were in, shifting the load bearing elements, and a green light that spread with the force of the explosion… Ignoring the thin walls as if they did not exist, but deflecting like marble balls from thicker, specifically isolated walls, looking for an path outside, left the domed haven-town into the railing system next to it. Using the tunnels here, like a barrel of a rifle, the accursed light spread first to Üsküdar and Eminönü regions, then to the other districts.

And Mr. Erkan… as the woolen cardigan he once bought from the Merchants of the Crimson City slowly started to burn and turn into ashes on him due to the blast, glanced around with a surprised look on his face. Only the words “History and Iteration” and “Can” was going through his mind at the same time. Afterwards, ignoring the bodies of the cainites went into torpor due to explosion, the green light, the concrete chunks of the collapsing dome and waters of Bosphorus rushing in, the bodies of The Hunches strewn about, reached to the bell glass near where Ms. Kayra fell. When he threw the glass to the ground, the last wool fibers of the cardigan were already parching and curling. After he turned the key, which turned the tiny cogs inside the clock, first an emerald light, then pitch black covered the world.

A moment, in which, time stood still, universal constants collapsed… even light did not move… Some say time is a river, flowing into one direction. Others say destiny is a stone book, the letters inscribed on unchanging. Some say it is a labyrinth, going into multiple directions. Yet others say time is like a stormy sea, which you cannot be sure where you will come out. No one ever thought to ask the question to Time though. Time, if it would have a definition, would prefer it to be multiple choice.

Blindly, unsure of what he is doing, Mr Erkan turned the handle like he is trying to hit a target in a dark pool, blindfolded, with a bloody, sharp tipped pebble and thus he never, but never threw the Hunched Hebrew into the Grand Ma’s maw… Never went looking for Lady Ayşenaz. The glassy texture of this corner of existence shattered into jagged fragments, cutting through the web of fate holding it together that held it comprehensible. One Above, The First Word, perhaps sighing, once again changed himself and covered the mortal world with The Shroud yet again, remaking a new one above it.

From the pages of Book of Malfeasance:

“Contrary to what happened before, the taking back of the slaughter of the Hunched Hebrew, allowed the rituals that kept Grand Ma’s asleep regularly. Since in her statis, Grand Ma could reach in a more limited fashion from beyond the shroud to here, the corruption and depravity in the city continued without raging out of control, in hidden, covered corners and shadows. The Hunger of Constantinople was also on a more manageable level. Since the Hunches never declared Jyhad to surface, Mr. Can, the Sword or the Tower never received the details and intelligence that was doctored and prepared in a way that would goad them to overreact “by chance”. The Eldest court never decreed the Youngest Kindred court, the Efrad to be cleansed. As it happened before, only the insane, lunatics and those who were close to the gadget of Gregorius remembered what happened. Of course not precisely and not clearly. Except whoever actually touch the Gadget, others will remember the previous world as a bad dream… or the wisdom shown to them by their insanity. I will endeavor to learn more on this at their next court meeting.

Certainly everything did not suddenly became rose tinted. Like a gangrenous injury lying under the skin, never cut open by a lancet, Malfeasance continues to exist, festering and collecting pus. If the Youngest Kindred court be able to realize what they are dealing with, or can they notice the differences between the new world and the old one, covered with the Shroud, remembered in their nightmares and subconscious… We shall see… I wish back then Lord Michael had Gregor…”

With shaking, alabaster hands, the writer of the Book of Malfeasance turned a brand new, white page. He dipped his quill into his ink pot, and while passing over the page, a crimson ink drop fell on it, to the upper left corner, and the writer spoke, sadly: “Omen to bad… Blood will flow, probably.”