The Second Seal

by Sean Deville

  “That’s what I like to see. A scholar immersed in his work.” Horn stood in the door frame, the way to freedom still open. It remained that way as Horn came further into the room, a tantalising temptation. Stone looked at what lay beyond for several long seconds, the last vestiges of any hope evaporating. Even if he got past Horn, which was unlikely, there would be no salvation from this place.

  “You’ve left the door open,” Stone said before returning to his present book.

  “Maybe you should make a run for it,” Horn teased.

  “I don’t see any point.”

  “Don’t want to lose any more teeth, eh?”

  “Something like that.” A shiver ran through Stone. His spirit was already broken, so he would like to keep the body intact as much as he could.

  “So, you are going to be a compliant little pet from now on? No more stupid suicide attempts? No more outbursts?”

  “It seems like the only viable choice I have to work with.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that.” Horn reached into his pocket and gripped a USB stick which he dropped on the table next to Stone.

  “What’s this?”

  “Research for your book.” Stone would later open it on his laptop and find news and scientific reports from across the globe, evidence the gates of Hell were weakening.

  “About that,” Stone said nervously. “I was hoping you could give me some guidance on how to start.”

  “I’ve told you what I want,” Horn said. Stone wasn’t fooled by the jovial manner with which he said it. Disappointment wasn’t far away, and Stone knew what that would bring.

  “Yes, but it’s a book about you and about the world you are trying to create. I’m thinking I need to interview you.”

  “This isn’t Sixty Minutes.” There was anger now, Stone could hear it on the edge of the words being thrown at him.

  “I think it would help but I want to be guided by you. This is your book. This is your vision and your accomplishments I am to write about.”

  “All people need do is fear me and do as I say.” That had worked for him in business, and in what there was of his personal life. He had respect through fear. Fear of what devastation he could unleash; fear of what he could accomplish.

  “I might regret saying this,” Stone said briefly slipping his tongue into the gap in his mouth. “I don’t think that will be enough.”

  “You aren’t here to fucking think.”

  “But I am. Look, you picked me for a reason. I’m assuming it’s because you think I can write what you are after, but my mind doesn’t work like that. I barely know anything about you. If I am to relay your message to the whole world, I must understand the mind behind that message. That’s my missing piece.”

  Horn sat down, his face thunderous. “I’m a private person. That’s not what I want from you.” There was a Bible on the table and Horn picked it up and waved it at his captive. “This is what I require. A new Bible, the new word of a new living God.”

  “That’s not enough.” Stone managed to duck the Bible that was hurled at him, its cover ripping off in mid-flight. That Bible was three hundred years old.

  “The hell you say?”

  “Can I please explain my reasoning? If you totally reject my idea, then I can still do it your way. I just feel what I have in mind might work better.”

  “Tread carefully, Professor.”

  Stone stood up and moved to the bookshelf. He put a hand on some of the books, trying to draw strength as well as buying himself a few seconds of time to get his thoughts clear. “In the modern age, how successful is the King James Bible?”

  “It’s sold nearly four billion copies over the last fifty years,” Horn answered suspiciously.

  “Yes, it has, but how many of those have actually been read?”

  “Probably not that high a number.” Billions might have been sold, but likely only millions had been devoured cover to cover.

  “Exactly. There’s no point creating a book people won’t read. And you also have to ask yourself how many followers you want? How many people do you need to bow down to you instead of offering up resistance?” Stone hoped he was getting through to his new owner.

  “As many as possible.”

  Stone also wondered if he had successfully massaged Horn’s immense ego. Unlikely. If anything, Stone himself was being played. “Because there’s a war coming, right? A Great Tribulation and an end to all things. Let me ask it another way.” The teacher in Stone finally emerged. “How many will God save at the start of this, if the Bible is to be believed?”

  “One hundred and forty-four thousand.”

  “That’s right. Which means there will be billions left.” Stone had at one time scoffed at that figure, but even the ancient Aramaic texts that the Bible was based on stated this specific number. “Now many of those are going to die, so whatever is left you want on your side.”

  “They can serve or die.”

  Stone wasn’t surprised to hear those words. “Right. Well, when I write a premise forms in my mind, and then I run with it. I don’t know where the ideas come from, they just seem to develop. I’ve never once known where a book will end up because the books seem to write themselves.”

  “And this matters to me how?”

  Stone had never told anyone how he wrote. He liked to keep the process a mystery. “I have an idea of what you are trying to achieve based on the books around us, based on what I know. But those books aren’t you. Your mind, your thoughts are the missing part. I might think I know what you want, I might even have some idea as to how you are going to go about it, but I don’t know why. And that’s vital to know because this book has to go viral.” Stone walked along the bookshelf until he found the tome he was after, pulling it free.

  “Tell me more.”

  “How many people openly mock the Bible?” Stone asked.

  “Millions probably.”

  “That’s because the book we have now,” Stone said, pointing to the ruined copy on the floor, “isn’t the one originally written. It’s been doctored and altered over the centuries to distort the original message.”

  “The book you will write has to be pure.”

  “Exactly. Because if it’s not, if I botch it then it will be no better than the abortion I now hold in my hands.” Tentatively, Stone walked forward and placed on the table the book he had pulled from the bookcase. Mein Kampf. “Read by millions, but only because they felt compelled by fear than actual desire. And where is Hitler now?”

  “Dead.”

  “Your light has to encase the world. Your word, your truth has to enrapture them or else it will be rejected.”

  “Okay I get your point.”

  “Will you work with me on this, Mr Horn? Will you help me write the best book I can?” There was a pause as Horn steepled his fingers under his chin. For Christ’s sake, help me out here, Stone begged silently.

  “I suppose I can. You know, Professor, you surprise me. For a moment there, I thought I had made a mistake in choosing you. I thought I was going to have to ask Kane to remove one of your limbs.”

  “From the evidence I’ve seen, you aren’t capable of making that kind of mistake.” As Horn rose, Stone briefly thought he had said the wrong thing, but a genuine smile finally erupted over his master’s face.

  “I think I’m beginning to like you, Professor.”

  “I can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”

  “I never needed people to like me,” Horn insisted.

  “No, but you will need them to adore and worship the ground you walk on. You have to become everything the other religions of the world have failed to deliver.” Fear wasn’t enough because fear would incite rebellion. To do this, to create the world Horn needed, Stone had to create a religion from scratch. And to do that, he needed to base it around a figure that would inspire awe and devotion. People needed to view Horn as a living god.

  This was no small undertaking.

  “I have one final que
stion,” Stone added.

  “Of course you do.”

  “How long do I have to do this?”

  “I expect the first draft within two months.” Two months? That was asking too much, but Stone kept that to himself. Instead Stone said the only thing he knew he could.

  “Okay.”

  There was another question burning away in Stone’s mind, but he hadn’t dared ask it, not yet. He felt is might be misconstrued as somehow being impertinent. He wanted to know the history of the Horn name. It could not be a coincidence that the Antichrist was called Giles Horn. Giles from the late Latin name Aegidius, which is derived from Greek aigidion meaning "young goat". Horn, from Daniel 8, chapters nine and ten.

  Out of one of them came another horn, a little one, which grew exceedingly great toward the south, toward the east, and toward the beautiful land. It grew as high as the host of Heaven. It threw down to the earth some of the host and some of the stars, and trampled on them.

  Stone had always considered that part of the Bible to be the definitive attempt to reveal the identity of the Antichrist, and now here he was with the proof. To think he had been blind for so long to the truth that was staring right into his soul.

  It was important though, because it would help forge the belief in the prophecy which would be central to the religion that would need to be manufactured around Horn. Stone hoped he was up to the task, because his life would be exceedingly unpleasant if he wasn’t. There was no way he was going to be granted a quick death if he failed.

  Stone would succeed or suffer the dire consequences.

  13.

  Strait of Hormuz

  The super tanker the Herald of Faith was still ablaze though it was now partially submerged. It was still also leaking burning oil which sent a black plume of smoke into the air blocking out much of the sun. Only some of the crew on board had been rescued, nearly a third of them being killed in the explosions that crippled the giant super tanker. Some of the ship’s crew had died in the initial explosion, others had been killed from smoke inhalation as they found themselves trapped in the sinking vessel. The worst fate was for those who became covered in burning oil.

  Being burned alive was a particularly unpleasant way to go.

  Overnight the situation in the Persian Gulf had worsened considerably. Whilst the battle in the air between Iran and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia seemed to have calmed, things had escalated in the waters of the Persian Gulf. There had been several violent engagements between the navies of these two opposing countries, the Saudis trying to stop the Iranians mining the sea lanes. That had led to explosive exchanges and the loss of more lives.

  America had yet to enter the conflict. The Herald of Faith was an effective warning and blockage to the American carrier fleet in the Arabian Sea. But in case anyone got any stupid ideas, Iran was determined to keep the world’s most powerful ships out of its territorial waters. They let it be known that any American ship found in the Persian Gulf would be a prime target. It wasn’t the wisest threat to make, but bluster and foolish pride were all part of the insanity of war.

  Ironically, this acted for the benefit of the Americans. So as not to endanger thousands of lives and several billion dollars worth of naval power, the US had no desire to send a carrier fleet into harm’s way. They had learnt from previous war games that the Iranian navy, although weak and hardly worth mentioning on paper, was an effective force when faced against a carrier fleet in the restrictive waters of the Persian Gulf. So, even if public opinion had demanded a show of force, the Americans knew they had to keep their vessels in safer waters.

  Should a shooting match occur between the US and Iran, the Americans would do it from a safe distance using their jets and their cruise missiles, with the Iranian air defences virtually now non-existent. Still they held back, the US President intent on at least trying to salvage something via a diplomatic route. That would change, because as distant as they were from Iran, the Americans were soon to learn their homeland was not invulnerable.

  Far from it. Shock and awe was coming to the United States. And when it did, the world would be forever changed.

  14.

  Tehran, Iran

  These humans were so easy to manipulate. They were naïve, belligerent and quick to anger. They claimed to be civilised, but their society was a façade, an attempt to try and hide their true nature from themselves. They were subconsciously feminising the male of the species through chemicals in the water, along with fashion and the judgement of social media. This was not an effective way to remove their aggressive tendencies, and it wouldn’t be enough to save them from the war hurtling towards them.

  The war spurred on by a Great King of Hell and the forces he ruled over.

  Baal wasn’t the only king to walk in human form. There were others—Asmodai for example. Unlike Baal, his host was ideal, a perfect suit of meat for the demon king to wear. It was as if the bloodline of the fifty-two-year-old man had been created specifically to hold Asmodai at this time, the possession occurring months ago. This was no eons-long manipulation of the gene pool though, it was pure luck that someone of the correct genetic profile had risen to such a powerful position. And Satan had decided to exploit what the fates provided.

  In Islamic tradition, Asmodai was known as Sakhr. Legend told how Solomon defeated Sakhr, casting him into the sea. That never technically happened. Instead Asmodai was cast back into the Pit, which was why he was more than happy to be back here in his old stomping ground. Revenge was something to be savoured and there was so much for him to be vengeful for. Although the war he now helped instigate was so far limited, he was looking forward to the day when he could unleash the judgement of the Fallen upon the people whose lands had once been ruled by that pious fool Solomon.

  Asmodai wouldn’t be happy until the whole of the Middle East was turned into glass. And the leaders of the various countries would help make that vision happen.

  What was particularly ironic was that Asmodai was the voice in the night that had implanted the idea of the different layers of Hell in Islamic thought. And right now, he was instrumental in bringing Hell to the whole of the Middle East. Slowly at first, testing the waters, using the power base his vessel had spent decades building. By the time he was finished, he was sure the apocalypse would begin right here in this collection of proud countries ruled by fools.

  World War Three had to start somewhere.

  The meat suit Asmodai wore was known for his ruthlessness as well as the power he wielded. The name the human took was important, Muhammad Yamani, Yamani mentioned as one of the certain signs of the twelfth Imam's reappearance. To some it would be astonishing to see how all the prophetic pieces were starting to slot into place, but not to Asmodai. Everything was as it should be, because that was what Satan had been working on for a millennium.

  The twelfth Imam was a messianic figure considered to be the twelfth appointed successor to Muhammad, a sign the day of judgement was at hand. Then there was the host’s rank of Brigadier General, a position of power that pleased the demon king immensely. Such authority, such opportunity. The general had nearly a million men and women under his control, and the ear of the country’s leaders into which he could whisper his lies.

  And how Asmodai whispered. Already Iran was massing troops on the southern border it held with Iraq, special forces troops infiltrating deep into Saudi Arabia. The Saudis were already countering these movements, their more technologically advanced army ready to repel the pending threat.

  At first the civilian and spiritual leaders had been hesitant to Asmodai’s manipulation. The demon didn’t come right out and insist on war with Saudi Arabia, instead he started slowly, sowing ideas in egos that were readily stoked. It was pitifully easy to do, the hatred between the two sects of Islam matched only by the rivalry the two countries held for each other. Iran wanted to be the supreme power in the region, but it could not accomplish such with Saudi Arabia standing in the way. So Asmodai also worked behind the scen
es, funding the rebels in Yemen and Iraq, tightening a noose around the enemy’s throat.

  There was a bigger game involved, of course. A regional conflict in the Persian Gulf was not enough. Ultimately there was another country that would need to be brought to its knees. Israel. But it was not yet time for that. First the world would need to burn. The Jewish state was one of the last pieces of the intricate game about to unfold.

  And the intelligence Asmodai learned from within the mind of the Brigadier General filled his black heart with hope. The Iranians had long ago implemented contingencies against their greatest enemy, the United States. They had never acted on those contingencies, for there was no denying what the Americans would do in response. Asmodai didn’t care about that, and had already activated sleeper agents across the world. Soon the fate of thousands in Rome would be learnt, a crime that would shortly be surpassed in the great American cities of concrete and glass.

  The world would wake up to witness its greatest ever terrorist atrocity. It would blame a proud nation that was mainly innocent of the deeds the unwitting agents would unleash. As with Baal, Satan had sent Asmodai here to this place for a specific purpose, and he was enjoying himself immensely. Already pieces were being moved that would see more powerful countries pulled into this Middle Eastern exchange. The strings were there to be pulled.

  Billions would die, swelling the ranks of those damned to an eternity in Hell. Whilst the future couldn’t be seen, Asmodai was hopeful he would please his master. And the humans…well they didn’t stand a chance. They were merely pawns in a cosmic game played relentlessly since the rebels had been cast out from the heavens.

  15.

  New York, USA

  Mohammed could not believe the size of the city he found himself. Rome had been old, lethargic and a city he could have lived his life in. But New York was immense, a vast edifice filled with misery and anger.

  He’d been here less than an hour and he already hated the place.