Supernatural: A Fijian Experience

The Devil’s Playbook: Pathways to World War 🔱 REVELATION Revelation 6:4 “Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make people kill each other.” ⚔️ RAGNAROK – Völuspá 45 “Brothers will fight and fall to one another, Kindred will betray their kin. Hard is the world, full of axe-age and sword-age before the world falls.” 👿 THE DEVIL’S DECREE “Do not start the war. Make them believe the other side already has.” I. THE SPARK No empire declares: “Let us begin the final war.” Instead the spark appears small: a cyber attack a murdered leader a drone strike a sacred place violated a satellite falling silent Each side believes the other moved first. No one pauses. Pride moves faster than truth. II. THE MISREAD MOTIVE In crisis, governments assume the worst. A radar glitch becomes a missile. A sabotage becomes an invasion. A terrorist becomes a state proxy. Leaders do not want to hesitate. Because hesitation looks like weakness....

Here is Oliver Slater’s account of what he witnessed. Slater was a beachcomber in Bua, during the sandalwood trade. He was sole survivor of the Argo shipwreck off Matuku in 1802. His journal noted the following: I awaken with a jolt to the gentle rocking of waves against my battered canoe. The first pale hues of  dawn  are unfurling across the horizon. Blinking salt out of my eyes, I lift my head – and catch my breath. Before me, where there was only endless ocean the night before, an  island  now rises out of the mist. Against the ember glow of sunrise,  tall palms and strange trees  silhouette black and gold. Tendrils of morning fog cling to a verdant mountainside at the island’s center, the peak crowned with a wreath of cloud. For a moment I wonder if I still dream: the scene is  unreal in its beauty , as if etched from an artisan’s wood carving – every outline sharpened in the high contrast of dawn. The shoreline curves invitingly, a crescent of b...

“By the blood of Christ and the oath of the Temple, let it be known: This house is sanctuary to the faithful, a fortress of the Cross. All who enter in humility and peace shall find rest in His embrace. But let no man defile these stones with the blood of the innocent. For upon such desecration, the Knights of the Temple—sworn in death as in life— shall rise from shadow and flame, to strike the blasphemer with steel unseen. His days shall be numbered, his body broken, and his soul cast into darkness without end. So swear we, the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ, until the last trumpet sounds.” ⛓️ Inscription-Style Curse Latin Version (Templar tone): “Sanguis Innocentium hic non effundatur. Si effunditur, Milites Templi resurgent. Gladium invisibilem ferent, et vindicta Dei super impios cadet.” (“Let not the blood of innocents be spilled here. If it is, the Knights of the Temple shall rise. They shall bear the invisible sword, and the vengeance of God shall fall upon the wicked.”) Hebrew ...

Hidden deep in the forests of Eastern Europe stood an ancient stone chapel, known only to the villagers as  Kapell Sion . For more than three centuries it had kept its vigil, built by returning warrior-monks of the Knights Templar. Its round walls mirrored the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, its altar aligned with the rising eastern star. Beneath its floor were hidden weapons—axes, maces, swords—consecrated with blood and prayer. Above its doorway, carved in Hebrew, was the warning: “Let not the blood of innocents be spilled here. If it is, the Knights of the Temple shall rise. They shall bear the invisible sword, and the vengeance of God shall fall upon the wicked.” For generations the villagers guarded this place in reverence. But peace ended when waves of refugees arrived. At first, the people of the village gave them food and shelter. Yet soon armed young men forced their way into homes, stripped crosses from walls, and declared Sharia law. To resist was mocked as hatred. Christia...

For generations the villagers whispered its name only in hushed tones— Kapell Sion . They said it was the northern echo of Jerusalem itself, a sanctuary built by warrior-monks who returned from the Holy Land bearing relics and secrets too dangerous for kings to keep. Its round stone walls were modeled after the Holy Sepulchre, its altar aligned with the rising of the eastern star. But it was not just a house of prayer. Beneath its floor lay weapons sanctified in blood and oath, and an inscription at its gate warned of terrible vengeance should innocent blood be spilled upon its stones. When Vera’s sacrifice stained the icon of Christ, the ancient covenant awoke. And from Kapell Sion’s walls, the Templar dead rose in spectral ranks, their vow renewed, their vengeance unstoppable. Hebrew Version (simplified, transliterated): “Dam ha-naki al even zo al yishafekh. Ki im yishafekh, anshei ha-heikhal yakumu. V’kherev Elohim yivla et ha-r’sha’im.” (“The blood of the innocent shall not be shed...

The road from Brighton to Wonthaggi was long and hollow that night. Penelope and Dassah drove in silence, the darkness pressing against the car windows like a weight. Their Aunty Anne had insisted they take a gift for their mother—a small, framed photograph wrapped neatly in paper. Anne’s hand had trembled as she’d passed it over. “She’ll know,” she whispered. Sleep dragged heavy at Penelope’s eyes. Just for a moment her head dipped, the car drifting before she snapped awake. In the rear-view mirror:  blue and red lights  slashed the night. Her pulse quickened as she eased the car to the shoulder. She nudged Dassah awake, both sisters sitting rigid as a shadow approached the window. The man was in uniform, but wrong. His hair waved in unseen currents, drifting like weeds underwater. His skin was pale and sunken, his eyes wide, unblinking. The nameplate on his vest glinted faintly: “Constable Ben Raloday.” He bent toward the glass, voice deep and hollow. “Do you know why I am s...