by M.C. O'Neill
***
Quezz sped over the trees of Bonn’fyr Park towards the looming pyramid miles away. It would take very little time for her to close that distance, but she wanted to be sure to not attract more attention than she already had. Her diabolic mind raced as she beelined toward her master’s ark.
Stolas couldn’t contain himself, she grumbled. She couldn’t, in all truth, blame him either. That little maiden was so close to falling into her eternal clutches but Mavriel had to screw it all up. If she were successful in containing Quen’die’s soul, she would have had been promoted out of her lowly station as an asura and, with a little luck, have had the chance to command a legion or two. All in all, she concurred with the goetic. The opportunity to fell her was too delicious.
She hissed in frustration as her spit flew back into the air behind her. Tears were not a common occurrence, but she did want to cry. The primary reason for this was because she had missed her chance to deliver a mortal from grace, but also because the whole operation was blown and she had failed to stop it.
It was Cadreth, that lovesick fool. Forever she would curse the incubus, and she would not be the only one of her faction to do so. The punishment he’d receive back in the Nine would be legendary. Lucifer would do much worse to him than turn him to a mere larva. As for consequences, her master was so devious, that not even her imagination could compete with his plans.
Seconds later, the shadow of the Thelemic Ark Morning Star filled her view. Down below, the witless cordon of ADF armors milled about, unaware that they would soon need to wage a valiant fight against her and her kind. This mattered to her not as elves were weak and foolish. It would be a wonder if any of them could mobilize any type of force against her demons in time. She expected that they would just bicker amongst themselves like confused ninnies, just as they would about anything else.
Glasya would be livid, Quezz considered as she descended to the ground with a nimble squat. It was quite possible the president would take out her immediate frustrations upon her, and this fact made her a bit nervous, but she could not sit idly by and hope that the situation would just iron itself out. The battle in that courthouse was recorded and would soon be broadcast worldwide.
“Officer Quezz!” one of the wardens surrounding the ark greeted her with a salute. Word of the fracas had not yet hit the pointed ears of this cordon, it was apparent. Even if this bull decided to act upon the message, the fiend knew that she would just grab him and hurl him like a little ringball through the open sky. Upon imagining this, she smiled with silent and devilish glee. His final screams before he died from a broken neck would be fantastic.
Ignoring the bull, she sauntered into the swirling face of the ark. To the uninitiated, her entrance appeared to be seamless, almost as if the gigantic structure devoured her body without a trace left of her. Little did any mortal know that the massive door was all just an optical illusion. Any one of those idiots could wander into the bowels of an ark, but elves only knew what they saw and such a structure was visually beyond their puny understanding.
Being inside the ark was somewhat soothing to Quezz. Here, she didn’t need to bother with the mewling prattle of any of those tiresome elves. Here, she didn’t have to arrest her desires to kill their kind like slabs of waiting meat. Here, she didn’t have to wear a happy face (which was a rarity for her to wear anyway) for her adoring public. By the devil, how she hated their lot.
With even meter and stride, the asura swaggered up the monstrous stairs to the central chamber where the High President awaited. To either side of her rested the portals to the immense pod chambers that would house every single elven soul on Earth as they gelled in suspended animation, waiting for their deliverance to damnation. Sooner, rather than later, Quezz thought, these chambers would be brimming with their moaning bodies. As of that morning, plans would change without a doubt.
Silent darkness filled the immense central chamber as Quezz poked her fiery red head beyond its yawning threshold. The dread of Glasya’s anger filled her again, but the message needed to be sent no matter the cost. Once the population at large got wind of their true nature, there would be little time to act, and they were going to need the initiative. Those mortals may not get organized for a brawl, but they could still hide.
Glasya and Bastet were giggling in a huddle as they studied the glowing map on a wall deeper into the chamber. Quezz hated how the two sometimes behaved like a couple of teen elfmaids. Glasya was nothing but the entitled and spoiled sister of the big boss, and Bastet was little more than her pet assassin. The asura wondered if Bastet would be happy to kill the High President if given the chance.
Feeling the asura’s infernal presence, their waifish tittering stopped to an abrupt halt. Glasya looked ridiculous, thought Quezz. Her hair was fashioned high up into the air like a big fat tulip bulb. Bastet, without a doubt, was having some fun with her haughty playmate while everyone else was out playing police officer with the smelly mortals.
“Oh, Quezz!” the High President chirped with snobbish mirth. “What does our little asura have for me this fine morning, hmm?”
Bastet dutifully laughed along with her superior and slunk behind her bulky shoulders like a shy kitten. From behind those perfect muscles, she peered at Quezz like a predator studying her kill. With her sneaky feline features, Quezz had always found the majordomo unnerving, as did many in her cohort. The High President had allowed her so many permissions, that they may have gone to her head. She was just an erinyes; a hitman, as far as the asura was concerned.
She straightened herself to deliver the bad news. Glasya’s rage had been known to be misplaced and killing the messenger was not above her. “The Prime Warden’s broadcast at the courthouse has turned into a disaster, Madame.”
In tandem, both Glasya and Bastet dropped the cheer from their faces. “And how do you mean by ‘disaster,’ Quezz? Did Venn’lith get mashed potatoes thrown in her hair before a live studio audience?”
Despite the absurd sarcasm, neither of the high demons cracked a smile. They both maintained their frozen, piercing glare at their delivery maid. Quezz was feeling the rare sensation of dread at that. It was best to remain formal with these two, she figured.
“The incubus Cadreth banished Prince Stolas before the manamirrors. As we speak, the fiend is coordinating a smear campaign against us to be broadcast all over the world. Our plan has been compromised.” Quezz closed her eyes like a tight vise for a split second. She wished in that moment that the two infernals before her did not exist.
Upon lifting her lids, she saw that the pair’s eyes were both shocked in disbelief. Even the impassive Bastet could not hide her surprise. “Why did he do that? I…”
“Madame,” Quezz stood at ever stiffer attention and bit her tongue. She could not divulge the grey maiden’s chosen status to Glasya as per Lucifer’s order. “A maiden named Quen’die Reyliss attempted to kill the Xochian. The Prince egged her on to complete the task, but Cadreth intervened on the sun elf’s behalf. Out of love, he claimed. The Prime Warden is pregnant with his baby.”
Glasya’s eyes were burning. Bastet felt the hellish chill emit off of her sharp shoulder blades and thus, stepped back for her own safety. The darkness in that inner chamber seemed to deepen to blackness around all of those present.
“So, Quezz,” she cleared her throat for effect. “You are telling me that we have our numbers dropping Merovais all over the earth. The very earth that we are, in fact, supposed to depopulate, yes?”
No matter who was to take the blame for Cadreth’s actions and the horror that would result, Quezz knew she had to answer and do so with due haste. The High President’s impatience served only to amp her rage. “Yes, Madame. The incubus reports that there are more progeny to be expected between us and the natives.”
As fortune would have it for Quezz, the wall map was crushed under Glasya’s fist instead of her face. The fixture was bashed about, but the light-borne image remained. Her scream echoed throu
gh the murky halls of the central chamber like a wind tunnel. It was such the sound that signaled the end of the world. With that, the High President doubled herself over in feral grief. Once she looked down, the asura realized she had stepped a good ten feet back while the goetic had her tantrum.
Bastet hissed like a cat by pure reaction. She too retreated, but much farther. The erinyes poked her head out from behind the plush cushions of a nearby divan. The look of fear and shock on her face was not very characteristic of her and this made Quezz chuckle for that moment on the inside. The asura was proud of herself to see that her nerve beat the cat-demon’s for once.
“And who shall captain the Sweetlight now that Stolas is gone?” the goetic challenged Quezz the second she stood up from out of her barbaric crouch.
“Perhaps we should take that up with Lucifer, Madame,” Quezz responded while trying to remain icy.
“Yes, Quezz, that would be the most logical of ideas,” Glasya paused with a cringe. “But, you see, my brother is nowhere to be found once again! Ever since we opened our doors he’s been incommunicado. Probably running around Atlantis in the possessed body of a duck or something absurd. Sometimes I hate his sense of humor.”
Glasya scampered over to the scrying pool in the center of the chamber as if hoping the large azure image of her brother’s face would appear like a magical apparition and make everything right again. Her movements were so fluid, Quezz relished.
Her back rippled with tense muscles as she heaved in a terrific breath to clear her head. The animations on her flimsy gown were skittering with total chaos as they reflected her mood. “There is a contingent plan. If something like this were to happen, my brother informed me of an alternate course of action, but it will be long and bloody.”
The goetic spun around like mercury. “Many of our own numbers can expect to be banished as it will most likely set us into direct conflict with the earthlings. Personally, I don’t want to do this.”
“What are we to do?” Quezz shrugged her shoulders. “Why don’t we abandon the mission at this point?”
That was a terrible suggestion. The asura had uttered it out of fear and laziness. Although her goetic superior seemed to have come back to her senses, she may have just reopened a wound with that thoughtless advice.
“No! How dare you!” Glasya screamed at top volume, inches from her face. “We cannot give up! This opportunity is too rare for us to just throw away! From here we use brute force. Instead of deceiving the elven race, we shall drag them into these arks. One-by-one, if need be.”
Obediently, the asura remained at attention before her boss. She opened her pointed ears and listened. She wished in silence that she would come away from the chamber unscathed by the wiry claws of the president.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this!” the goetic screamed up into the high vault of the chamber. The residue of its timbre carried up to the capstone of the pyramid. “This will take forever. It’s precisely what my brother had warned against. We could be culling these miscreant elves for years with this stupid new plan. That’s why deception is always, always preferable to a stand-up fight! I should know this! I am the Queen of Assassination!”
Bastet cringed at her master’s wail and shifted her weight to the other side of the divan. More than anything, she wanted to hide under the pillows until this display of anger was over. In all hopes, her friend would not beat her later in order to release her stress and aggression on something. The erinyes knew that she was the president’s best friend, but she was also her pet, and was treated as such for better or worse. It was a sick and unholy arrangement sometimes.
Whenever Glasya wanted to play, Bastet would enjoy games with her. Many times the two would perform pranks and jokes on the other infernals, and this gave her a sense of pride and security. She loved it when they would play dress-up most of all. Whenever the president was feeling lonely or blue, she would pet her soft hair like an earthling would a plush kitten. Glasya, being Glasya, was not always the best of masters, however. At times when she was frustrated or enraged, and her focus of spite was nowhere to be found, the goetic would beat or torture Bastet from out of the blue. Char-marks ran up and down the erinyes’ tough back from numerous and unwarranted thrashings meted-out over the ages.
“We’ll have to use the behemoths,” the High President lowered her head. “Each one of these arks has one resting in its bellyhold. Ours goes by the name of Choronzon. It is one of the most powerful behemoths in all the Nine.”
“What should I do at this point, Madame??” the asura asked.
Glasya sprang back over to the wall map. Its glowing information was still discernible despite the destroyed frame. “I will coordinate the forces through the scrying pool. Once we have been synchronized, we’ll let the behemoths loose. They are the best option we have for scooping the elves up. From there, the beasts can makes passes throughout the land and devour the elven tripe until they are full. Then they go back out and do it again. Over and over and over and over.”
She turned back to Quezz. “You will be just another amongst the culling parties. Many of the elves will try to flee by water or air, and that can cause problems for the behemoths. You and yours will take matters to a more surgical level. I won’t lie; your duties will be dangerous as many of these willful mortals will try to fight back.”
Quezz took inventory of her powers and prowess. There was no elf on the face of the earth that could match her strength, and the red mana that they relied on was nothing more than a stunning bump to her demonic hide. “I am not worried, Madame. I can do this.”
“That is fortunate to know, Quezz.” Glasya let out a quick, feeble smile. “You will launch out with the other demons once the behemoths have been let loose. The elves won’t know what to make of them and the panic will be amazing! These things are absolute monsters!”
It was true, the asura agreed. The elves would not understand what would be happening once the arks unleashed these tremendous dragons. Before the Fall, the behemoths were kind and sagacious beings known as shedus. They were much like wise pets that many of the angelics had relied upon for their wisdom and were the most gracious of animals. As the rebellion in Paradise waged on, many of their numbers were spirited away by Lucifer’s forces as not a one of them would go upon their own will.
Lucifer had made certain to befoul and curse the poor, benevolent beasts into hideous monsters that were nothing more than a mockery of what they once were. What were once wise and loving had become pointless eating machines of only the barest intelligence. Many of the infernals were terribly frightened of them as they were unruly and unpredictable. Their devilish emperor would often use their guts as an object of punishment for those who had dared to defy him. Cadreth, Quezz assumed, would find his eternal home in one of their rancid bowels.
“We must assemble the gondolas and strap them to their backs,” the goetic turned her attentions toward the cowering form of Bastet. “Then we will have our squadrons pilot the blasted things the best we can. I’ll have Buboe take the reins of Choronzon.”
Quezz met Glasya’s attentions as well. The asura’s’ eyes grew wide as she knew her master was feeling salty. “Yes, Madame.”
“Good. Be ready for the alarm. When it sounds, launch forth and grab the first elf you see then deliver it back to the ark,” the High President was sliding over to the divan in slow, skulking movements. “Simply throw it in a culling portal and repeat. As you can guess, this is going to take a very long time. Now, be off and be at the ready!”
“Yes, Madame,” Quezz turned about-face and made her way off to the legionnaire’s chambers to await her orders. From behind her, she could hear Bastet utter a sorrowful whine.
Glasya pulled her pet up by the nape of her long neck. The whimper of protest rose to a moan of pain. The erinyes knew that her master would have another stress-relieving session with her body as the scratching post.
“Please don’t hurt me, Master,” she begged as the goetic ooz
ed behind her.
With a steely index finger, the High President raked a sharp nail down her back. The pain burned through her flesh. “Owww!”
Tears of hopelessness only egged the goetic on. Sometimes these things had to be done, or else she wouldn’t be able to think with a clear mind. “But Bass, I have to hurt you because I love you so much! Don’t you get it?”
With a heavy silence, Bastet lowered her head in shame as her master escorted her by her dark cornrows toward her personal chambers. The erinyes knew that today’s beating would be severe as her makeup was already running down her sharp features in anticipation for it.
Will You Meet Me in the Air?
Officers of the courts ran toward the rotunda from the side entrance of the Circle of Law in a panic. Unlike the regular variety of municipal wardens, these armors were not adorned in the imposing and bulky plating, but were bedecked in less-conspicuous blue cloaks and badges. From the looks on their faces, these wardens must have seen a wraith.
“Someone put the Circle on high alert!” a member of their contingent alarmed to nobody in particular as they emptied into the spacious central chamber. “One of the Aldebarans busted through the door and nearly killed an AYP warden!”
Tam’laa’s father approached the three officers with a raised hand. “Hang on there, wardens, we saw it all. You must mean the one they call Quezz.”
“Don’t care what it’s called,” the warden shook. “She just started running at top speed toward our station and then launched herself right into the side entrance doors! The place is a total wreck!”
The old colonel raised his identification to the flustered warden for posterity. As the wicked cat was out of the bag, he didn’t care for it to be reopened by any more court bulls who were not in-the-know. “Colonel Banda Na’rundi, Gonduanna Defense Forces. Royal Casters.”
“Good morning, Colonel,” he flashed his own badge back at the gold elf. “Warden Ty’myss, Officer of the Court. What happened here?”
Na’rundi composed himself with a huff. He figured he would give this officer the short version of the story as he wanted out of that circle as soon as possible. “It appears we have a small civil war brewing within the ranks of our most gracious guests, Warden. The first blow of it was struck right here in these halls.”
Noticing the black streak of sewage-blood marring the highly-polished marble floor, Ty’myss nodded in its direction. “What in the Nine is that stuff? It stinks like it came right up from there!”
“It did, Warden,” the colonel affirmed with a curt nod. “That fragrant puddle you smell before you was Prince Stolas. And if you’ll kick back for a moment and watch this live exposé, you’ll learn that the Nine is precisely where he was from.”
Venn’lith Mitlan was wrapped with an elegance only she could pull off in such an austere black cloak nearby. Djaenn was amazed to see that the angelic’s healing forces had left not a mark from Quen’die’s beating upon her smooth face. “Oh gods, my baby! Your face is still perfect! All I need to do is even out some of the base and…”
“Ith’s okay, Djaenn. Juth make thure my thades are on thtraight,” the Xochian lisped as she was still shaking from the brutality of that morning. The odd thing about it was she wasn’t as bothered with the loss of her teeth as she would have expected. In the back of her mind, she was shopping for extravagant dentures to replace her lost ivories. She bounced back and forth between silver and gold. Perhaps even a platinum grill was the best fit for her? Could she still get cavities in her new fakes, she wondered?
“All right, kiddo,” Quay’liss Dalian moved into the Prime Warden’s impromptu dressing area with a sure stride. “We go on in five. I’ll take the lead, honey; just nod your head when you agree with something I say, okay?”
Venn’lith nodded her head with a slight bob as to not disrupt Djaenn’s business and Dalian thought it was so cute. “Yeth!”
Mavriel ushered Quen’die over to Tam’laa and her father. The maiden was still quivering also from the fallout of her violent breakdown as well as from the surge of nervous energy in that rotunda. Something big was on the verge of happening and once that report hit the flow, the world would never be the same. Everybody in the circle that morning could feel it altogether, even if they were not aware of what had just happened. It was a collective feeling. The blanket of doom was too thick to be ignored as the sixth sense of survival was infecting everyone.
“Look, Mavriel,” Banda halted the angelic. The look on the colonel’s face was grim. “I can hear the protesters outside. We won’t be able to get Dee out to Ferd’inn’s coach. We waited too long. They’ll tear her apart the second they see her go out there.”
The maiden raised her head to her guardian; as slow as a megasloth. By the look in her eyes, it was apparent that she did not register those words, and even if she had, they did not matter. “Mavriel, we need to go.”
“She’s right,” the angelic nodded. “Continue to your villa, Banda. Go with Dee’s father. The crowd will not be any the wiser. I have the plan for us all worked out. Leave now before this report is unleashed. You may find the traffic disagreeable.”
Na’rundi gave a short smile to the angel. “Very well, Mavriel. It was good working with you. We will keep in contact later tonight. Hopefully, this will all put an end to this situation.”
The angel’s eyes cast down in sorrow. He slightly shook his blond head in prescient disappointment. “No, Colonel. This will only mark the beginning of a much greater trial. I fear your visitors will not leave so easily.”
“And I fear equally that you may be correct,” the gold elf considered with a stern tone. “All of elfdom will need some great assistance. Probably by this very afternoon.”
He turned about-face as if he were still barking out drills to his platoon back in his days as a sergeant. Tam’laa laughed to herself at her father’s instinctive militarism before she looked back at her friends and waved them a subdued farewell. Savoring the goodbye, Quen’die wondered for a moment if she would ever see any of them again.
Lights from the mirrors burst to life with a chorus of manasong. They were much louder than the mundane illumination at a common home, as their luminosity required much more power. The sun elf and the newsie were at their marks and the broadcast was ready to enter the flow, live and in real time. The proverbial fan was about to be covered in flying filth.
“Good morning Atlantis!” Dalian began as usual. The rest of her special report would not be as chipper. With each and every word she conveyed to the public, the infernal agents all over the world would hear them as well. One of the recording techs off to the side was backing up the transmission in double the redundancy as he knew this production was history in the making. It had to be preserved at all costs. It was either going to spark the fight for victory or the demise of every elf on Earth. There would be no easy way out of it after it hit the flow.
“Dee, look at me,” the deva held both of her wounded cheeks in his gentle hands. For a moment, Quen’die could feel them soothe her burns along with the manapatches. “I have a way out of here for both of us, but we need to be quick about it and you will need to be very brave.”
Although she was still dazed by that morning’s drama, Mavriel’s words were lucid and she didn’t like the way they were intoned. “How do you mean?”
“Here, put your arm around my shoulder and hold on to my waist,” her angelic instructed. “Now close your eyes…”
Gravity was a memory. The weight of the world that she had felt on her shoulders was gone just as it was below her feet. She felt tremendous and she could no longer keep her eyes shut. Higher and higher, she saw the bewildered faces of the wardens, lawyers and even criminals populating the Circle of Law level-by-level pass ever below her. A scruffy-looking convict on the tenth floor balcony pointed at her and shouted, “Hey! You go, maiden! Whoo-hoo!”
Glass from the upper dome of the structure shattered as Quen’die shut her eyes against the raining shards by
protective reflex. When she reopened her lids, she was met with a view of the blank-white sky of that overcast day. Pivoting her head about, she saw that her feet touched nothing but the air and she and the angel were soon high above any structure the city of Corosa had ever hoped to reach.
While in midair, the one thing she marveled at was how fresh everything smelled. Despite her lack of a bath or a waterfall for the past three days, the absence of pollution and population treated her to an olfactory sensation she had never known before. For her whole life, all she had been breathing was stale oxygen, and Mavriel was treating her to the real stuff. This was the exact atmosphere as the Creator had imagined it for the people and for all of life in general. There was no static buzz jarring the nose from charged mana, no oils or fragrances or stinging perfumes, no stifling sweat or huffing stress from commuters packed together like rats. This was just pure freshness and she loved every second of it.
“Okay, Mavriel,” she yelled into the deva’s ear. The wind was deafening to her senses so far up in the sky. “I just have to get a pair of wings! This is too capital! I definitely wanna be a deva when I grow up!”
Mavriel laughed at her endearing naiveté. “All right, I’ll get you an application when we hit the ground.”
The Circle of Law was far behind and below them. The maiden could see everything Corosa had to offer underneath her feet. Nanna’s flatblock, her adept’s school, the docks and the beach all looked so small from her lofty vantage point. Further down in the distance rested the gloom of the pyramids. In midair, she kicked off the dirty slippers the dungeon had supplied her and watched the ugly red footwear slowly spiral down into the city below.
“Can we stay up here forever?” she whispered into the deva’s ear.
“I wish we could, Dee,” he answered with a soft hiss. Even though the high wind was roaring in her face, she could hear the angelic with perfect pitch, as if his voice was projected in her mind.
Before she was able to enjoy her strange and new perspective of everyday life in full, Quen’die could feel their altitude dropping in her innards. Mavriel was preparing for his final descent as they made their way toward the docks district. The maiden truly did not want her flight to end, but she also accounted for the short time they had left to deliver her to safety. Already, small flights of the infernals were whipping through the midmorning sky towards their assigned arks. Some of them above, some of them below. The word was out as Venn’lith and her crew was alerting the world.
“Do you see them?” Mavriel warned with a grim moan. “The demons are getting spooked. This is going to get hot once they remobilize.”
Her joys of open flight melted with his caveat. “Yes, I do. Whatever it is I need to do next, you can count on me. I just need your instructions.”
Smells of the ocean salt and brine began to fill her nose stronger and stronger with each foot of their descent. Face’s small house stood before them in the clear light of the day and she felt strong knowing that she was going to be amongst good friends for this trial. As they flew closer, she could make out the warm glow of that crowded house and readied herself for the next phase of their plans.
A large form lumbered out of the shanty’s front door. Over seven-and-a-half feet of pure muscle stretched in a display of power. Quen’die remembered how the big lout had swung her comparatively smaller frame about on the dance floor at that party, which seemed so long ago as it may as well have been on another planet.
Changing his surly face to one of gleeful surprise, Warehouse waved with happy energy. As Mavriel and his ward touched the ground, the big Zobbo boomed, “Yeah!”
“Hey Warehouse!” she beamed back. Although she had always liked the Zobbos, and working with them was a blast, she had never felt so happy to be at their doorstep. For some reason, Mavriel picked the right place and the right time.
Soon after touchdown, Face and Cheatsheet joined their taciturn comrade. “Hey, Red! You made it! Have a nice flight there, convict?”
Quen’die looked up to her heavenly warden and smiled from the wonderful memory of sailing through the unblemished atmosphere like an eagle. How could she answer Face’s question with any proper account, she asked herself? There was no other feeling quite as fantastic to compare it to.
“Yeah, it was all right, but they didn’t serve an in-flight meal.”
