by Sean Deville
“One has to keep up appearances. What do you need?”
“Mr Horn has been very generous to you. It is time to deliver what he has paid for. As you are aware, there was always a price attached to his generosity.” From one of the other rooms, there was a screech of pain from where the injured guard was being tended.
“Mr Horn should be here to discuss this with me, then,” Jonah said.
“My employer has more pressing matters to attend to. If you truly want a place in his new order, you will not ask for that again. Mr Horn decides when and who he meets. This money he provides you, is mere pocket change to what could come your way.”
“I’m just saying he needs to show me some respect.”
“Respect? Let me show you the respect you are owed. Wait there a moment,” Kane ordered. Leaving the case on the table, he walked out of the living area. The mutilated guard was in the bathroom, his friend trying to stem the bleeding. When Kane entered, the friend knew better than to try and intervene.
Jonah was surprised by the sounds of anguish that followed. Although the temptation was there, Jonah didn’t reach for the case.
When Kane returned, he was carrying a towel, blood-stained, and he dumped it next to the case. The towel unfolded, revealing four sausage sized fingers that had been pulled from the impudent guard’s right hand. Kane had considered using a knife to commit the butchery, but he figured a display of brute force would be more effective. Kane’s hand, the one that had caused the mayhem, had been wiped clean.
“That man is useless to me now,” Jonah insisted.
“He was useless anyway. You seem to think you have some power in this relationship. Let me be the one to clarify that misunderstanding.”
“Horn and I…”
“Mr Horn,” Kane corrected.
“Okay. Mr Horn and I had a deal, but I am not his lackey.”
“You have grown rich off my employer’s money. He owes you nothing whereas you owe him everything.”
“We are partners, goddammit.” Jonah was seething now.
“You are nothing. You were chosen because it was considered that you were useful. Was that a mistake? Should we end this now?” One of the fingers rolled slightly, dislodging itself from its brothers.
“Are you threatening me?” Jonah sounded incredulous. It was as Kane feared. The prophet had become confused as to his part in all this. It was time for Kane to reignite the flame of this man’s enthusiasm.
“Yes.” Kane let the mask slip. It was a cheap trick when he thought about it, but it was invariably effective. The whites of Kane’s eyes disappeared into a blackness that was without end. Kacey screamed, clutching onto her idol. Jonah barely noticed her. He was too enraptured by the display before him.
“My God,” Jonah whispered.
“You have been given an opportunity. Do not squander it.”
“An opportunity?” Jonah appeared mesmerised by the blackness.
“You are here to play a role. If you do your part, you will be rewarded beyond all your desires. If you fail, if you show any more of the contempt you have put on display here today, you will know more suffering than you could possibly imagine.” Kane opened the case and took out four bundles of bills. Placing them on the table with the others, he slid the towel with the fingers to the edge of the table so that they were close to Jonah.
“What are you?”
“Merely a messenger. But you are the great prophet. You should know from your Doomsday teachings what I represent and what is coming.”
“But that’s just talk,” Jonah blustered.
“Is it? What do you think, Kacey? Are the End Times real?” Kacey was obviously too distressed to answer.
“You mean…” Jonah finally seemed to be getting the message.
“The end of days is at hand, and you need to decide what part you want to play. Do you want a seat at the table of power in the final hours, or do you want to crawl through the blood and the ash as fire rains down on the streets? Do you want to be sitting by Mr Horn’s right hand or do you want to be dead in a ditch?”
“I can have that?”
“You know how wealthy Mr Horn is. Tomorrow you will hold a congregation addressing seventeen thousand people. But that is only the dress rehearsal. In mere days you will broadcast to close to a million, live across the globe. If you do as Mr Horn asks, you could be the prophet of the New Age. You could have it all,” Kane lied. “Why do you think you were chosen?”
“What do I have to do?”
“We will be changing the format of your presentation. The plans have already been made. All you have to do is speak.”
“I can do that,” said Jonah.
“It’s not only what you can do. It is also what you will ask from those fools who follow you.”
“And the rest of my money?” Jonah asked. The greed was there now, seeping through the cracks in his façade. He had accepted the display Kane had put on for him, as Horn knew he would.
“It’s yours, but not before you show me evidence of your follower’s devotion.” Bending down, Kane wiggled the towel with the four fingers. “Kacey knows what she has to do.” With those words, Kacey screamed again.
Kane knew he was going to enjoy this, a brief respite from the boredom.
***
Vegas was renowned for its excess and sin. It was thus an obvious place to go looking for the demonic spawn. Inquisitors stationed in the city were rarely disappointed by the workload they were tasked with. It was one of the few cities in the United States where it was deemed prudent to station an Inquisitor on a permanent basis. It would have been ideal to do that in every major city, but there weren’t enough Inquisitors to go around.
The Inquisitor presently stationed in Vegas was called Aadam. He was a result of the Order of Tyron’s breeding programme, bred by artificial insemination specifically to create his genetic profile. Aadam was born to a mother who had never seen him, his delivery by caesarean section. As traumatic as it might have been for the women chosen for the task, their needs were considered secondary to the urgent demands placed on the Order.
Some of the mothers were so devoted they gave birth more than once. It was a whole secret world within the Catholic Church, women willingly giving themselves to the cause of Christ. This was another reason why the numbers of Inquisitors were always limited. The need for secrecy and to never see the children birthed meant that the available pool of brood mares would be forever small. Yet another reason to recruit from the children rescued in the field wherever possible.
Aadam had been here a year, replacing an Inquisitor who had fallen. Ironically the Inquisitor Aadam had replaced hadn’t been killed by the despised demons, but had died of a freak accident. Inquisitors were human after all.
So far, in Vegas alone, Aadam had dispatched forty-one demons. He too was of the opinion that their enemy was becoming more numerous and more difficult to deal with. There had been a time when he could go whole months without uncovering evidence of their corruption, but those days were gone. Aadam didn’t mind, as the surrounding desert was more than big enough to accept the ever-increasing number of bodies he deposited there.
Presently Aadam was stalking demon number forty-two, although there was a strong chance that he would be unable to deal with this particular fiend.
Every day, Aadam spent several hours hunting for his prey. It was a ritual from which he never relented, and was how he had found the bulk of those he had killed. He knew where to look for them, demons drawn to the establishments that peddled drugs and bare flesh. When they weren’t killing and terrorising, those from the Pit craved the sensations their human bodies could provide. He found them in the casinos, in the bars and strip clubs and lurking around the many schools. He was helped by the computer algorithms that collated local crime reports, determining likely demonic activity.
The Inquisition was always watching.
As with so many he found, it had been by pure chance that he uncovered the latest demon. Stan
ding in the lobby of a hotel, Aadam’s senses had prickled to a possessed presence. With his peripheral vision, he had spotted the demon standing boldly in the centre of the hotel lobby. The man the demon rode was well dressed and an imposing figure, not someone the average person would want to get into an altercation with.
From afar, Aadam watched the creature, careful not to draw any attention to himself. The observation told him a lot. The suit worn told Aadam the demon had access to significant financial assets, the material cut to allow for the concealed carry of a firearm. Whereas some demons had difficulty hiding the excitement they felt at being amongst humans, this demon looked bored and well used to living amongst humanity. To Aadam’s intuition, this was a demon who had been on earth for a prolonged period. There was none of the nervous twitching he sometimes witnessed, none of the leering nature that he often saw.
This demon was acclimatised and restrained.
This was reinforced when an attractive woman arrived to greet the demon. The woman drew heads as she moved across the lobby’s marbled floor, a centrepiece to a thousand warped and depraved fantasies. The demon barely reacted to her. Despite the show of overt sexuality from the woman, Aadam saw the hesitation and the unease beneath the surface of her demeanour. It was evident she wanted nothing to do with the demon she had been sent to greet.
What did she know about this man she was meeting? Could it be possible that she knew what was wearing this man’s flesh?
Casually, Aadam touched the arm of the spectacles he wore to start recording everything he saw, the tiny camera impressive with the detail it could capture. In such a crowded place, it was impossible for him to act, despite the burning need to kill this defiler. The black shroud surrounding the possessed man undulated and spasmed as it caressed everything it touched. The thick blackness was not the most powerful Aadam had ever seen, which confused Aadam. The demon’s presence and manner indicated a creature of power, and yet the aura showed that this was a demon of a lower rank. This was no great king or prince. And yet in those few minutes of observation, Aadam concluded that this was one of the most dangerous demons he had ever encountered.
It would not be easy to kill.
Better to hold back and ensure the demon had no idea he was being observed. There was no chance of that, not in a lobby so vast, and not with the surveillance skills Aadam had learnt and mastered. He could move through most crowds unnoticed and unremembered, blending into the background. Aadam was a grey man, unremarkable in appearance, and easily forgotten.
The demon didn’t spot him.
He watched as the demon was led away by the woman, heading towards the elevators. Aadam followed in order to observe the pair and was there to witness them as they slipped through metal doors. Aadam didn’t need to watch the readouts to know what floor the elevator was heading to. This hotel had private elevators for the penthouse suites on the top level, another perk for the rich and famous who didn’t like to be harassed by the presence of those they felt were beneath them.
So not only was the demon in possession of wealth, he was also here to visit someone of substance. It was clear that this required further investigation. If he had been in law enforcement, he could have gone to the front desk and demanded to know who was staying on those floors, perhaps obtaining the security feeds and guest’s identity. Aadam was not in law enforcement, although he did police the land against the Satanic invaders. He didn’t have a wallet full of fake credentials and wouldn’t have used them if he did. People weren’t that easily fooled. Besides, he could hardly be anonymous if he was flashing an FBI badge around.
There were other, more covert ways to obtain the information he desired. He would wait for the demon to re-emerge and follow it from the hotel. Likely there would be a car waiting for the creature, the registration another vital clue as to the demon’s identity. There were also ways to remotely break into the storage servers holding the hotel’s surveillance recordings. By the end of the day, Aadam would hopefully know who the demon was pretending to be and who he was visiting. Whether he got to kill the demonic bastard would depend on where the fiend went after leaving the hotel.
If it went straight to the airport, he would likely need to allow another Inquisitor the pleasure of removing this particular abomination from existence. That was okay. Las Vegas gave him an almost inexhaustible supply to feed his growing craving for slaughter.
10.
Scotland, UK, 2 years ago.
The Order of the Chosen had been greatly diminished in numbers. Now that Horn was fully in charge, his identity cast in hardened steel, there was no need for the sacrificial ritual that he found so tiresome. None of the remaining members of the Order objected despite their love of the evening’s events.
Although the men of the Order had their power, they were only here by Horn’s good grace. None of them would dare oppose Horn, for they had all seen what had happened to the German, the three demons tearing the big man apart with their minds. Conversely, none of them wanted to be forced into retirement. As rich as they were, sitting on a beach with drinks decorated with tiny umbrellas whilst they awaited the arrival of the apocalypse held no desire. They were men of action, men of dedication and service. They had risen to the greatest heights imaginable for the purpose of assisting Satan to rise again.
Once more those left in the Order of the Chosen met together in conference, with Horn at the head of the table. Vine sat to his left, Balam to his right. Beleth, the senior demon of the three, was placed at the other end of the oval shaped table. Apart from Horn, there were nine human members left in the Order. Any servants present had been dismissed for the night, the lodge guarded by armed and serious men. Nobody else could hear what was to be discussed in this room.
The three Kings of Hell bristled with the energy of this place, their powers growing with every day that passed. One slight setback was that Vine now resided in a new body after the old one had perished.
The death of Vine’s former host had shocked them all. Neither nature nor Satan had any part in it. By whatever intelligence apparatus guided them, a member of the accursed Inquisition had struck a deadly blow, detecting and killing the man Vine had been riding, a sniper’s bullet blowing open the skull. Not even a Great King of Hell could defend himself against such an attack. That Inquisitor had survived the encounter, which was a further bitter pill to add to the setback.
Vine had returned to claim another host, the money and assets he had once governed back in his control. He wasn’t as comfortable in this body though, and would take some time to get used to it.
“Why did you choose a woman for your new meat suit?” Horn asked Vine. The woman had been difficult to take, despite the genetic profile that allowed for possession. But Vine was slowly winning the battle, the human mind fading as the possession solidified itself.
The very idea of a woman sitting around this table had once been unthinkable.
“For one such as me, there are so few viable candidates,” Vine admitted. “I have an acquired taste, and I learnt long ago to choose those bodies that were truly right for me. This was the best candidate that could be found.”
“We’ve all been in incompatible hosts,” Beleth added. “They can be such an irritation.”
“Do we know yet how the Inquisition uncovered your identity?” Horn asked. He had no pressing concern for his own safety, for he was protected by his well-trained security forces. Then there was Kane, a formidable ally to have on one’s side. Still, a well-trained sniper lurking in the shadows was always something to be wary of.
His best defence, however, was his anonymity. So long as Horn stayed in the shadows, his enemies would remain ignorant. He was confident that nobody that could threaten him knew who his father was.
“No. The Catholic Church has their eyes everywhere. The Inquisitors are dangerous, but their numbers are few. When the gate is finally swung open, they won’t be more than an irritation and will be quickly dispatched.” Vine was confident in his assumption.
Horn had been warned about the Inquisition early on and he had secretly vowed to rid the planet of them.
The three demons in the room would not actively engage in the preparations for Armageddon, for their part in the great plan was pivotal. They had learnt their lesson, choosing to stay in the safety of the little-known island off the coast of Scotland. Here their power was at its greatest and they would be guarded by a loyal branch of Horn’s security forces. It was unlikely that the Inquisition had uncovered the identity of Horn, for he did not possess the tell-tale black aura that was such a giveaway where demons were concerned. Horn, like most of the men around the table, was fully human.
“And if they kill more of those who sit at this table?”
“Then we will adapt,” Beleth advised Horn. “Only you are of any real importance.” Numerous nodding heads agreed with this sentiment.
“I still say we need to deal with these damned Inquisitors,” Horn insisted. Several times he’d raised the idea of actively hunting down as many of them as they could, but he had been advised against such actions. They were formidable and difficult to find. And if they detected that they were being deliberately attacked, that risked them discovering that the End Times were upon them before Satan’s minions were ready.
“We will. Plans are already being put in motion. But they are too well hidden and too well funded. Their spies are everywhere. Now is not the time to go after them. We believe them to still be ignorant of what we are planning. As dangerous as they are, our own spies tell us the Catholic Church is blind to you and what you represent. Let the Inquisitors play their games until we are ready.” Though Beleth spoke, Horn knew that these were the words of Satan himself.
“We should get on with business. I will hear each of your reports in turn.” Horn looked around at the other humans, some of whom were still nervous to be in the presence of their promised master. Despite their power, all of them were stripped of their egos and their importance when in the presence of Horn and his three protectors. “I would ask that Europe please go first.” The remaining men were not referred to by their names, but by their areas of influence.
