Читать книгу Beautiful Revenge - J L Morris - Страница 11

Chapter Two: Better late than never

In Hell, as on Earth, the most memorable lessons are taught more often by failure than success. Lucifer’s son Damon had learnt his in the hardest, most brutal way possible; it had cost the boy his life. In front of the fiery Gates of Perdition, the portal from the Mortal realm to their own, Demons and Damned Mortals alike had watched on as the Lord of their realm incinerated Damon with a flick of his wrist. Those present would never forget the look of indifference on their master’s face, the glint in his violet eyes or the way his enormous black wings stirred the ash that had only moments before been his son.

Lucifer had seen hints that Kaarl was wavering and Damon had been sent to the Mortal realm to take the reins of Synergy. When Kaarl, Verin and Vetis had confirmed the Light Bearer’s suspicions and turned their backs on Perdition it had fallen to Damon to return the trio to Hell to face his father’s justice. The boy had failed spectacularly in both endeavours and paid the ultimate price for his shortcomings. Lucifer had sent a clear message to his realm as his words, and the specks that remained of his first-born child fell on the assembled masses. Failure was not something the Light Bearer would tolerate from anyone.

Three years had passed since Kaarl and the sisters had betrayed the realm, turning from Lucifer’s embrace and taking up Paradise’s cause. Damon had long since been dragged from his lightless cell and punished but the whole affair was still the main topic of conversation in Perdition. In taverns and alehouses across the stone city its residents argued incessantly over the fallout from the betrayal.

‘It’ll be another war,’ said an enormous Demon. His voice boomed across the crowded bar and his red hands dwarfed the tankard they held. ‘He has to make a big move soon and you mark my words, it’ll be war between us and Paradise that comes next.’

‘You’ve been saying that for two years now,’ a grey Demon shouted back from the pool table, ‘and nothing’s changed.’

‘That’s not true at all,’ said one of the Damned.

Dressed in the curry-stained baby-blue bathrobe he had died in, the man had a scraggly, hobo-like beard and was clearly very drunk. He slurred almost every word.

‘We are disappearing,’ the man continued, draining his glass. ‘Almost every day I hear of someone that’s lost a friend and never seen them again. I’m missing a few myself.’

The man pointed to the empty seat beside him and belched before attempting to speak again. The patrons nearest to him pulled the man away from the bar and out of the tavern before he could utter another word. The red Demon’s eyes narrowed as he watched the Damned drag their inebriated companion away.

‘Remind me why we come here, Nicor,’ he growled.

‘It’s close to home,’ the grey Demon told his friend, ‘easier to stumble back from when we’re done for the day. The ale is not half bad either.’

‘It seems like they’ll let anyone in though. Let’s find a tavern where these Mortals are either banned or know their bloody place.’

Humans were second class citizens in Perdition and, much like the elderly, they were expected to be seen and not heard. Mortals were Hell’s currency in the Game of Souls and claiming them was Lucifer’s top priority but once they were dead and Damned they became little more than background noise and a nuisance as far as the Demons were concerned.

Most of the Damned were content with the arrangement. After discovering Hell was filled with brothels and bars rather than fire and brimstone, being ignored or treated like dirt by the Demons seemed a small price to pay. In truth Hell would have been very much like their worst nightmares had Lucifer not seen realm-wide eternal torture as merely a waste of his Demons’ time. Never-ending torment was labour intensive and Lucifer saved that punishment for a special few: the Damned that had killed thousands of their fellow men and women before their descent. Their actions had echoed across history and they had deprived Lucifer forever of the chance to claim those innocent souls caught up in their wars and schemes. For that transgression they suffered far worse a fate than anything a Mortal mind could envisage.

Aside from the constant and still unexplained disappearances of the Damned very little had actually changed in Perdition. Immortal lives of sin and depravity had continued unhindered and most Mortals found new friends to replace the ones that had gone missing without a trace. Rumours and theories about Hell’s “next move” persisted but with each day that passed the rank and file grew more confident that whatever was going to happen didn’t involve them. Demon and Damned alike wanted to see Perdition win the Game of the Souls but no one wanted the duty of making it happen to fall on their shoulders. The lesson learnt from Damon’s demise was still fresh in their minds; with great responsibility came the chance for great punishment in service to the Light Bearer.

The sprawling city was comprised almost entirely of small stone buildings, surrounded on all sides by an endless sea of black sand. Soul Reaper tower however could be seen from anywhere in the realm; it almost touched the majestic burning sky that gave Perdition its heat and light. It was the workplace of the Fallen; the first of the Angels to turn to Lucifer’s cause during the Rift. Inside the immense marble structure, Hell’s highest ranking officials were about to learn they had no such hope of shirking responsibility. Perdition’s Board of Directors and most important employees worked ceaselessly within the Tower to bring Lucifer’s vision to life. While most of them toiled to keep his vast city running and made plans to claim the immortal souls of specific men, women and children, a select few had been ordered to attend a secret meeting. It would be their job to set the stage for the main event.

In his favourite black handmade suit, Mastema, Tempter of Men and Cursed Accuser, arrived at the meeting twenty minutes late; as was his custom. Making sure his jet-black hair was perfectly in place the suave Demon Lord shoved the massive doors open and strode into the boardroom. The glorious and fearsome sight of the Light Bearer and Son of Morning sitting atop his throne at the head of the blackened oak table caused him to misstep slightly. A colossus of white gold and black wings, the sight of Lucifer never failed to inspire and strike fear in equal measure.

‘You think it wise to make me wait?’ asked Lucifer as Mastema took a place at the table.

Although his voice sounded like a whisper it carried clearly to every corner of the room. The contrast of the soft honeyed words coming from the Light Bearer’s massive frame always unnerved even the most fearsome of the Lords. Lucifer’s raven-dark wings flared briefly and his violet eyes held Mastema’s black in a death grip.

‘My sincerest apologies, Master,’ replied the Tempter of Men, bowing before taking his seat. ‘With my new duties and the differences in time zones I made a mistake and it shall not happen again.’

‘My knowledge of the Mortal realm is somewhat limited,’ admitted Lucifer. ‘But I am sure that time zone changes are measured in hours.’

‘For the most part, my Master, you are correct. Some however are in half-hour increments which in fact makes me ten minutes early for this meeting in Kabul.’

‘We are not in Kabul,’ shouted Abaddon, King of Demons, Voice of Lucifer and Chairman of the Board.

In his blood-red robe with gold trim he stood at Lucifer’s right hand, well and truly sick of Mastema’s blatant disregard for protocol. In the centuries since the Board had been formed Mastema had almost never been on time for a meeting, forcing his fellow Lords to wait. The only exceptions had been when he knew the Light Bearer would be in attendance and even then he had cut it perilously close. Mastema had finally slipped and Abaddon almost frothed at the mouth as he prepared to take full advantage of the rare mistake.

Lucifer raised his hand to halt the impending tirade.

‘I know you enjoy making the Board wait, Mastema, and I for one find it hilarious; but not when you do it to me. You are long out of my grace and the next time it happens I shall remove you from your position and imprison you for eternity in the smallest cell I can find.’

A look of concern crept over Lucifer’s face.

‘And what would your poor wife do then?’ he asked. ‘Deumos is a beautiful creature and I find myself short one child. Perhaps I might be able to comfort her, to help her through the grief of her loss.’

‘I’m sure my wife would be honoured by your attentions.’ replied Mastema. ‘And I would not want to see her lonely and untended should I perish. I did however notice a strange burning sensation after my last tryst with her. The ointment for this is in the top drawer of my bedside cabinet if you find yourself with a similar affliction after sampling her womanly wares.’

Abaddon’s rage grew with the grin on the Light Bearer’s face. Mastema had an uncanny ability for avoiding almost certain reprisal; one that never seemed to fail him. The King of Demons, and indeed the rest of the Board, eagerly awaited the day when his excuses and jokes were not enough to dodge punishment.

‘I call this meeting to order then,’ Abaddon said, once his calm had returned and it was clear no immediate punishment was forthcoming. ‘Asteroth, if you would?’

The Treasurer of Perdition, a short, fat Demon-Lord in ink-stained robes, stood to address the Board. There were a few members missing, Mastema noted, most prominently Samael, Bringer of Death and Destruction. The room smelt better for his absence and Mastema assumed the brute would be furious at being left out of something important. He made a mental note to rub the fact in as soon as he saw him.

‘I will not be going over exact figures in any depth during this meeting,’ Asteroth told the Board to their unconcealed delight. ‘But I do have handouts for those who are interested. Our esteemed Master has asked for the most basic of financial rundowns, just enough to give you all some background for today’s meeting.’

The Treasurer flicked through the parchments piled in front of him.

‘Our actual soul count is diminishing; funds have been leaking steadily from it for the past two and a half years. All gains from our last move in the Mortal realm have evaporated and we are cutting heavily into our savings. The projected soul count is abysmal and well short of what we’d need to make up for the losses. In short, our fiscal situation is dire and getting worse with each moment.’

Losing projected souls was bad enough; losing ones that were already in the coffers was unforgiveable. The Lords began eyeing up their peers, looking for a way to escape responsibility for the deficit and the certain punishment that would come with it.

‘Before you all start blaming each other,’ said Lucifer, ‘I want to tell you this is unfortunate but expected. Mastema’s son, who we all know is a hard worker as well as a traitorous dog, has a certain way with the Mortals. It seems Kaarl has a knack for getting them to walk the path of weakness instead of the one to Perdition. I do not know how he can do this whilst still sticking to their pathetic tenets of free will and choice, nor do I care.’

There was a malevolent glint in Lucifer’s eyes as they met Mastema’s.

‘If your little runt wasn’t running Perdition into the ground I could almost admire his accomplishments,’ he said.

Under Perdition’s banner Kaarl had driven the Mortals ever closer to Lucifer’s grip. The Board had lost touch with their prey; they no longer understood the creatures whose souls they were hunting. With Kaarl’s knowledge of them and their new, modern world he had been the perfect choice to lead the charge. He had been young, fresh blood in a battle that had raged since the dawn of Humanity; until he had chosen to defy Lucifer and fight for Paradise instead. The Light Bearer rose from his throne and each Lord struggled in turn to maintain his composure as the Master of Perdition strolled behind him. A few of them even flinched as Lucifer passed their chairs.

‘As for the decrease in the actual soul count,’ Lucifer continued. ‘This is my doing. You have to spend souls to make souls and believe me I am spending them well.

Although the Board would not dare to make a sound while their master was speaking a visible wave of relief swept around the table. A few of its members had heard of the disappearances but not of the scale of them. In truth they didn’t care; it was only the Damned after all. Issues in Perdition only became actual problems if Lucifer deemed them so and the fact that he was behind the declining numbers was a welcome revelation.

‘That is in fact the purpose for this meeting,’ said the Light Bearer. ‘To let you all know what I have been spending them on and where we will go from here.’

The Board waited in breathless anticipation as Lucifer returned to his throne.

‘I am sending the Four Horsemen to the Mortal Realm,’ he told them as he took his seat. ‘And the souls spent have been used to feed them.’

The Board were unable to hide their disbelief. Had Lucifer not been present they would have been in an uproar; instead they sat open-mouthed and wide-eyed, awaiting an explanation. Asmodeus, Demon of Wrath, had a reputation as a Lord of few words. He was the first to speak however when no further information seemed forthcoming. The towering and imposing Lord stood and waited for permission to address the Light Bearer.

‘Forgive me, my Master,’ he said once it was granted. ‘I was under the impression that they were a tool of the Hated One.’

‘God may have created them but whose tool they are is a matter of perspective,’ replied Lucifer. ‘When the End Times come they will ride forth, wiping the worst parts of Humanity from that realm and if we have done our jobs they will in fact be filling our coffers, reaping what we have sown. In essence that would make them mine, not God’s.’

‘Again I must beg your forgiveness,’ said Asmodeus. ‘But are we not far from the End Times?’

‘For now at least that works in our favour; were Humanity to be wiped out at this moment we would well and truly lose the Game.’

Lucifer leant forward and flashed his perfect white teeth.

‘Gabriel broke an ancient and almost forgotten law when he came through our gates on Kaarl’s behalf. It’s deliciously ironic really; God’s own champion has given us this chance to rip success from the jaws of failure.’

When Kaarl had turned away from Perdition and started to work for Paradise, Gabriel – God’s Champion and the Bane of Demons – had come to Perdition to threaten Lucifer, to force him into letting the fight between Damon and Kaarl play out by itself. The Angel had thought it only fair that the two face each other in the Mortal realm with no interference from either side. Although Kaarl had switched allegiances he was still making amends at the time and his place in Paradise was far from assured. Nergal, Lucifer’s Enforcer and the leader of Hell’s Secret Police, had been closing in. If Kaarl’s Mortal form had been destroyed he would have been sent back to Perdition and straight into Lucifer’s clutches. By coming to Perdition and threatening to expose Damon Gabriel had got his wish and unknowingly paved the way for the Horsemen at the same time.

‘Thanks to Gabriel’s lapse in judgement I have the opportunity to send the Horsemen to Earth on Perdition’s behalf,’ explained Lucifer. ‘They will not be able to consume nations as they would in the End Times but with the souls sacrificed I’ve ensured they have enough power to leave a mark. If all goes to plan they will start a chain of events that should more than make up for the hefty investment.’

‘So they are like mercenaries?’ asked Mastema, all propriety forgotten in the shock of the revelation.

‘In a way,’ replied Lucifer. ‘Gabriel weakened the barriers between the realms when he passed through my gate and his little tantrum down here made all manner of sub clauses and addendums to the Old Law null and void. We have more than enough lawyers down here so finding a way to profit from his transgression was child’s play. Long story short: the Horsemen have the opportunity to freelance for me before their final ride.’

With a snap of Lucifer’s fingers Nergal appeared beside the Light Bearer. In his true form he was a faint shadow; a wisp of smoke able to stalk through Perdition without notice in the performance of his duties. If the need for physical violence arose, something Nergal revelled and excelled in, he would solidify himself into a grey beast of teeth and fury with four arms ending in vicious scythes. Feared throughout Perdition, stories of his exploits terrified old and young alike. The Lords were no more immune to the unsettling effects of his presence than the rest of their realm.

While the Board considered the reason for his attendance the doors to their meeting room burst open. Persephone, Lucifer’s daughter, entered with a full complement of Nergal’s Demons in tow. All uniformly tall and broad of shoulder, their obsidian armour glistened and the vicious war-hammers normally strapped to their backs were at the ready. Samael, an immense mountain of muscle decked in skulls and a loin cloth, brought up the rear and slammed the doors shut.

While the Demonic soldiers took up positions behind the Board, Persephone made her way to her father’s throne. With hair and skin of gold, the girl was a sight to behold. Beautiful beyond words, she had black eyes, a vicious and inviting white smile and moved across the room with deadly grace. The Princess of Perdition gave her father a kiss on the cheek before taking a seat on his knee.

‘Hi Father, I brought the executioners just like you asked.’ Persephone pointed at Asteroth. ‘Can we start with the fat one? I’d love to watch his belly ripple and rupture under the hammer.’

The Treasurer’s eyes widened and the other Lords looked close to begging for their lives or attempting to escape. Lucifer’s harsh laughter echoed throughout the boardroom.

‘Calm yourselves,’ the Light Bearer told them. ‘My daughter merely jests. Nergal’s men are here to ensure secrecy. My plan is almost ready to be played out and I cannot risk Paradise finding out about it before it is underway. These warriors will be following your every move from now on, to ensure there are no leaks. Guard your tongues outside of this room; one careless word about any of this means death for you and your families.’

Again with the threats to families, thought Mastema. What need did a Lord have for a family if he was dead? The idea of his life ending was sufficient motivation for the Tempter of Men and he was sure the same was true for his fellow Board members. Killing families seemed excessive and highly unnecessary but Mastema held his tongue on the matter. It was something to contemplate in silence on the golf course, not to be questioned out loud.

‘I have asked many of you to take on additional duties,’ the Light Bearer said. ‘You have been working in secret, ignorant of each other and the parts you play. Now that you know our aims we can go forward as a group.

Lucifer snapped his fingers and pointed at the Cursed Accuser.

‘Mastema, you were late so you can go first. Fill the Board in on your assignment but be brief, we have a lot to get through.’

‘Of course, Master,’ the Tempter of Men said as he rose. ‘I have been tasked with unravelling the secrets of the Internet. Kaarl found a way to bring it to our realm but we have lacked an expert amongst our ranks. Therefore I have been studying it intensely to fill that role. Thanks to my diligence and formidable intellect I now have the ability to answer any question we might have about the modern Mortal and its world.’

‘Really?’ scoffed Pyro, the Lord of Deceit. ‘Even for a braggart like you that is a big call.’

‘Any question,’ repeated Mastema, placing his palms on the table. ‘You give it to me, I can answer it. You name a subject and I’ll tell you anything and everything you need to know about it. If you’d like to start wagering against my abilities, I welcome all challengers.’

‘I knew I kept you around for something,’ replied Lucifer. ‘Have you learnt anything important from your studies?’

‘Mortals enjoy kittens that talk, pornography, and giving each other updates on their boring and mundane existences, seemingly in that order. Pictures of food that they are about to eat also rate highly.’

‘He is lying,’ shouted Pyro. ‘No one is that stupid.’

‘It also seems there was a great conflict between pirates and ninjas. Reports were sketchy as to which side won and I recently found evidence that suggests it may be still going on.’

‘Fascinating,’ said Lucifer, as he motioned for Mastema to sit. ‘From now on you shall be working closely with Nergal and Persephone. I understand we lack the knowledge to move this…“Internet” from your mansion to a more secure location so that will have to do as a meeting place.’

As the other Lords began recounting their new duties Mastema quickly put together the pieces. The Horsemen and Persephone were being sent to the Mortal realm to start a war, one that would consume their entire world. Although not mentioned specifically, it was also clear that the majority of the Mortals would need to be forced by fear or frustration into acts of depravity before their deaths. It was often the innocent more than the sinful that suffered and died during wars and Perdition could not allow that to happen. Those souls would be lost to them forever; more tallies against them on a board that was already heavily skewed towards the opposition. The details of how they would do it, the most important part of any plan, had not been finalised but the overall goal was obvious.

It was an ambitious play, one Mastema would have been proud to be a part of had he not been so sure it would eat into his golfing time for the foreseeable future. With his role already discussed and the overall objective clear, the mystery was gone and Mastema soon lost interest in the meeting.

‘Give me some of those budget handouts,’ he whispered to Asteroth as Abaddon outlined the projected timeline for the venture.

‘Of course,’ the Treasurer replied. ‘At least someone besides Lucifer recognises the significance of my work. How many do you need?’

‘I’ll probably need the whole stack,’ said Mastema, patting his stomach. ‘The executive bathroom is out of toilet paper and I had a large breakfast.’