Conjectured to be the dread Necronomicon.
Papacy of the Roman Catholic Church: Alexander was stunned when news came to him of the true perfidy of the Danes and the Lubeck Explosion. The sudden war in Europe caught him unprepared - "negotiations were going so well with the Emperor!" he wailed. Still, he had been decieved. The later news that the Danish army under Jaenisch had destroyed the True Cross brought a chill to his heart. Recent revelations, including certain passages of text in a cruel old book brought by the Spanish to the conclave convinced Alexander that not only were in the Danes well versed in the schemes of the forces of Darkness, but that Kristatos may well be the "dark man" whose appearance had been foretold in the Secret Books.
Danish Empire: Kristatos, mewed up in the Fortress of the Pearl, lamented the disasters that had befallen Danish arms. Again and again, his eyes stray to a black-bound book sitting locked in a box of iron and brass. Victory could still be snatched from the jaws of defeat…
Danish Empire: Confounded by the sheer numbers arrayed against him, dismayed at the many brave Danish footsoldiers already lost, crestfallen with the sheer uselessness of the Burgundians and Wallachians as allies despite the decades of support in coin and blood given to those realms, Kristatos reached for the "black book" and … threw it into the hearth that warmed his chambers against the winter chill. He watched grimly as the flames, its ancient binding quivering and writhing, consumed it as it burned away. "This war was begun under God, and it shall be decided by Him."
A Barren Land, Under A Desolate Sky: A ring of stones stabbed from the desert floor. They were weathered and ancient, hollowed and fluted by the ceaseless wind. They stood in a sheltered dell between a ridge of broken black stone and two massive sand dunes. Here, cupped in the sand, the old bones leaned crookedly in the starlight. There was no moon, on this night it did not cross the sky. A man knelt on the cold ground at the center of the brittle monoliths.
"A mayyitan ma qadirun yatabaqqa sarmadi! Fa idha yaji' al-shudhdhadh fa-l-maut qad yantahi!"
His voice, nearly broken by the guttural sound, echoed off the black stones and trickled away into the sky. A whistle made of bone – acquired recently and at great cost – lay on the gravel next to a black book with a tattered leather cover. The man, his face shrouded by a hood, raised the whistle and blew on it.
The Danish Empire: “Fire! Keep firing until your barrels melt and the bronze ruptures!” Kristatos screamed over the howling wind. “I will do the rest.”
He turned, the Spear raised high above his head and on his lips there was a half-remembered chant – something he had once gleaned from the pages of the Black Book. Behind him, Oniko raged along the batteries of guns, lashing the men to a greater pace. The field pieces spoke again, belching fire. A second shell and then a third crashed against the leviathan towers. Green-black rock spalled and chipped, then a slab tore loose under the bombardment, plummeting a thousand feet to the floor of the valley. It exploded on impact, scattering crushed rock and shards of glass in all directions.