by Matt Turner
“Ants that have been crushed underneath our might,” the woman sneered. “They mean as little to us as your catamite.”
Lao felt an odd rush of affection for the fiery look that blazed in Salome’s eyes. “Cain has captured one of the original Horsemen,” she said flatly. “One of the Seals imprisoning him has now been broken. He is now this much closer to being freed.”
“Do not speak his name!” Ahab snarled. “If you were in any other station, I would have you buried beneath hot coals for that.”
“What does it matter?” The fat man shrugged. “He is still bound by the other Seals, is he not? And even if he weren’t—” He leaned forward and smiled nastily, exposing a mouthful of yellowed teeth. “Surely the Prophets are a match for the old Master?”
It was all Lao could do to not burst out in laughter.
“He isn’t free yet,” Salome admitted. “But there is a chance. Please, Councilors, Giles was most urgent about this—we need to at least have a garrison there, minimize the risk—”
“If Lord Prophet Giles cares so much about this particular issue, then he is welcome to come preach to us about it himself,” Nero said in a bored tone. “Until then, the Kingdom has more important matters to worry about than whispers and rumors. I move that we discuss this matter at a later time.”
“Agreed,” the fat man echoed. The majority of the Holy Council nodded along with him.
“Please, Councilors,” Salome pleaded. “Even a single legion—”
“That would be too expensive in equipment and manpower,” Ahab rudely interrupted. “Far too economically infeasible. Furthermore, I would like to propose a new regulation that all female Prophets may only speak before the Holy Council when specifically addressed. Do I hear a second?”
“Wait—did you just say economically infeasible again?” the fat man sneered.
“No, your time to speak is over!” Ahab snapped. “We already heard your rebuttal, Caligula. Now it’s my turn!”
“I am the New Sun!” Caligula bellowed, spraying pieces of half-chewed steak across the room. “I am Caesar Germanicus, Emperor and ruler of rulers, beloved by Ptah and Isis, the strong bull, the light of the sun and the moon’s rays! You will refer to me as such!”
“You’re too fat to even properly shit, you tub of lard,” Ahab spat, and the argument began once again.
Sisera led the two of them out of the great palace of Pandemonium. As the bickering and squabbling of the Holy Council faded behind them, the Praetorian allowed a small smile to crease his face. “The days of the Prophets are ending,” he whispered under his breath, so quietly that only Salome and Lao could hear him. “You are empty relics of the past, and Hell is starting to notice.”
Salome did not deign to respond, but Lao could practically feel the undercurrent of fury flowing from her. They finally arrived at the street where Orr was still waiting. “Lao,” Salome said in a voice tight with frustration, “you can take the carriage.”
Without another word, she leapt up into the air—there was a sudden burst of light as the demon Leviathan extended his massive wings, knocking down Sisera and a score of Praetorian guards with a powerful gust of wind. Before any of them could do anything other than shout or scream in fear, the Prophet had flown high above the city and was lost in the dark clouds overhead.
“Crazy bitch,” Sisera spat as he got back up and dusted off his knees. “You have poor taste in women, whore.”
Lao allowed his eyes to linger over the Praetorian’s thick head of hair. Even with his gray locks tied back in a bun, the four-inch piece of metal that emerged from his scalp was still obvious.
“You shouldn’t underestimate her.” Lao shrugged as he climbed up into the carriage where Orr waited. “Do you remember what happened when you last underestimated a woman, Praetorian?” He tapped the side of his head and blew Sisera a mocking kiss.
The Praetorian’s face turned dark with fury as a fresh line of blood trickled down from the tent-peg that had sent him to Hell. “This isn’t over, whore,” he hissed. “One day, there will be a reckoning—”
Lao rolled his eyes. “God, you’re boring. Let’s get a move on, Orr.”
Orr slashed his whip over the line of slaves attached to the front of the carriage and they drifted out into the street before the Praetorian had a chance to expound on his threats. “Back to the Hall of Mammon, Lao?” the driver asked.
“Let’s take the scenic route,” Lao said. “I think that Lady Prophet Salome could use some alone time right now.”
“That’s for fucking sure,” Orr muttered under his breath, though Lao heard him clear as day. “Right-o,” he agreed more loudly. “Scenic route it is.”
Lao was just about to suggest that they visit some of the higher-end brothels in the area—he had heard that there were several new shipments of arrivals from the Second and Third Circle, and he had found it was wise to size up and eliminate any potential competitors before they attracted Salome’s attention—when a great pain suddenly stabbed into his left eye. “Shǎ bī!” he screamed out before he could contain himself.
Orr glanced over his shoulder through the iron bars of the carriage window. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” Lao grunted. He pressed a hand against his left eye and thought of every swear he knew. “Keep driving, goddammit.”
“Rude,” Orr muttered, but he turned his attention back to properly motivating the contingent of slaves.
Lao knew what to expect; he had the visions countless times before, but they remained as unpleasant as ever. With a sigh, he closed his right eye and focused on his left—and just as before, the withered old crone appeared in his sight, as though she were sitting on the cushioned seats of the carriage directly opposite them. “Hello, Grandmother,” he quietly said.
It was difficult to tell—her mouth and features were so ancient and shriveled she could barely change her expression—but Eve looked as happy as he had ever seen her. “I bring joyous tidings from the Master,” she croaked.
“Prophet Antony has been captured, and one of the Seals has been broken.” Lao nodded. “I heard.”
“The Day of Judgment draws near,” she whispered excitedly. “He is stirring in Judecca, more powerful than I’ve ever seen Him. The Fourth Rebellion comes!”
“It won’t be as easy to get any more Horsemen,” Lao warned. “The Holy Council is as incompetent and ignorant as always, but the Prophets are on high alert. Giles in particular knows the danger. The Master may have trouble breaking the remaining Seals.”
Her brow became even more wrinkled. “Do not question the Master!” she hissed. A sharp pain prodded at Lao’s eye in warning. “The Master knows all and sees all,” Eve snapped. “You are useful to Him, spy, but do not ever—ever—question His judgment.”
Lao’s eye was beginning to water. “Fine, fine,” he said. “What does the Master wish of me?”
“You will bring Him the key to breaking the remaining Seals,” Eve explained. “You will bring Him Legion.”
“Legion?” Lao thought of the disgusting abomination and shuddered at the thought. “The Prophet? But they aren’t a Horseman—”
“Are you questioning His judgment again?” Eve asked in an eerily calm voice.
“No, no, I trust the Master’s will in all matters,” Lao said defensively. He hesitated a moment, then plunged ahead. “But how am I supposed to bring Legion to Judecca? It’s thousands of kilometers away, past all of Lower Hell—”
A new voice suddenly cut into the conversation—one so deep and powerful that Lao immediately pissed his expensive toga, staining it a dark purple. “O ye, of little faith,” it rumbled, and then said no more.
Eve bowed to the empty air as much as her ruined spine allowed her. “Long live God,” she whispered in adoration.
“Long live God,” Lao echoed uncertainly.
With that, Eve explained the plot and Lao’s part in it. “The destruction of the Holy Council will be useful, but it is far from necessary,
” she added as an afterthought. “Legion takes precedence over all.”
“What of the new Horsemen?” Lao asked.
“They have their own part to play,” Eve said. “And in the end, they will serve or suffer.” The image of her began to fade away as his connection to Judecca died.
“Won’t everything?” Lao wondered aloud.
Eve somehow contorted her decayed upper lips to show him a flash of teeth. “You’re cleverer than you look, Lao.” And then she vanished completely, leaving him with the echo of one last sentence: “But all is dust before the Master.”
Lao sat in silence for a few moments after that.
“We’re here,” Orr finally said over his shoulder as the carriage pulled to a stop outside the great gates leading to the Hall of Mammon.
“Thanks, Orr,” Lao said as he dismounted from the carriage. He strode into the hall, his mind firmly concentrated on the task at hand. If he was right, all Creation hinged on the outcome of the Master’s plans, and Lao Ai, former prostitute, current concubine, was at the very center of it all.
I will not fail, he vowed to himself. For the Master.
5
“What a wassste,” Legion moaned as they gazed out at the flames of Hellfire. The massive lake of liquid fire roiled and boiled like an ocean in the throes of a hurricane; some of the great plumes of flame had to reach nearly twenty meters up into the air before they crashed back down into the shrieking, hissing inferno. “Ssso much flesssh…gone.”
Giles couldn’t help but agree. It was impossible to estimate how many workers had been trapped in the Hellfire circle, but considering the density of C District, the number had to be in the millions at a minimum. And add to that the loss of the Fourth Legion…it looked as though the Kingdom had shot itself in the foot. It was a flesh wound, easily repairable, but it still made him uneasy. The Holy Council’s policy of using maximum force against even the slightest whiff of internal rebellion had always worked in the past, yet he feared that the Kingdom’s true enemy would not be deterred by such tactics.
“That is the true fate of all meat,” Ellie said with a palpable sneer in her flat, mushy voice. “Nothing less than what they deserve.”
“You ssstill quessstion the sssupremacy of flesssh?” Legion mocked. “After Antony crussshed you? After your pathetic exissstence on Earth?”
Ellie tapped a button on the Hellhound’s control panel, causing a rack of flamethrowers to swivel toward Legion. “Aggressive behaviors such as yours are typically treated with psychotropic medication, behavioral intervention, or some combination of both,” the Prophet said flatly. “I believe that I have the tools to administer all of these treatments effectively. Shall we have a therapy session?”
You humans are freaks, Abaddon whispered into Giles’s mind.
They’re not human, Giles thought. But before Legion could do anything more than give out a threatening hiss, he snapped his fingers to get the two Prophets’ attention. “No more talk unless it’s about the mission,” he ordered. “Otherwise, I will personally oversee your re-education. Legion, find the Horsemen’s scent.”
Legion grudgingly jumped off from the Hellhound’s open-air passenger seating and landed with a heavy thud on the muddy ground—long uprooted by the mobs that had blindly fled from the Hellfire circle. Their unnatural body twisted and undulated underneath their crimson cloak as they lowered most of their faces to the dirt and began to sniff. “Thisss will be difficult,” their primary face complained underneath the curtain of greasy hair. “There are thousssandsss of sssmellsss here. Lotsss of flesssh.”
I need something with their scent, Giles thought. Abaddon, bring the two prisoners.
Do not give me orders, little ape, the demon within him sneered. But within seconds, two clouds of locusts appeared in front of the Hellhound. The insects stiffened and died, revealing two females, bound from head to toe in manacles and chains.
“What are thessse?” Legion asked.
“Companions of one of the Horsemen.” Giles leaped down from the Hellhound. He laid a boot on the throat of the darker one and gently pressed down. “Some of our soldiers found them hiding in the sewers, and I had Abaddon extract them just before the Hellfire came down.” And that is why I always have a backup plan, he thought. My enemies will never take me unawares again.
He stretched his mouth open wide, allowing one of Abaddon’s locusts to crawl up his esophagus and land on the face of the gagged woman. As the locust chewed away the strip of leather binding her mouth shut, he leaned in closer. “The one who led your pathetic little rebellion—her name was Vera Figner, was it not?”
The gag came away and the woman spat up at him. “Hale,” she shrieked. “John Hale! Hale!” Much to Giles’s astonishment, she was even able to buck up and down in her chains—the fact that she was even able to move as much as her pinkie finger while in them was incredible.
“That one’sss mind isss gone,” Legion said. “Let usss have her.”
“No,” Giles snapped. “She may still be useful.” He coughed up another locust and had it break the gag on the paler woman. “The Horseman who led you was named Vera Figner,” he said. “You will lead us to her.”
“Fuck. You.” The woman sneered; she displayed no fear despite the massive locust crawling over her bruised face.
“Your cooperation is not necessary,” Giles said drily. He snapped his fingers at Legion. “The Horseman’s scent should be on her.”
“Of courssse,” Legion said. They trundled over to the woman and pressed their main face just a few inches away from hers. She cried out in disgust as the Prophet’s many arms reached out to stroke her long blonde hair. “Do not be afraid, child.” Legion chuckled. They inhaled deeply, taking in her scent. “Join usss.”
Their grip on her hair abruptly tightened, and the woman let out a cry as Legion unhinged the jaw of their main mouth. A black cavernous emptiness emerged in their body, as wide as a man’s shoulders, and their arms began to pull the helpless prisoner inside.
“Stop,” Giles snapped. A burst of locusts flew from his sleeves and landed on Legion’s body. “We may need her again, Legion, so release her. Now.” His locusts opened their pincers wide, ready to chew into the Prophet’s body in a dozen different places.
I’ll eat that thing from the inside out, Abaddon promised.
Legion moaned in disappointment, but their arms tossed the prisoner aside. “Very well, Gilesss,” Legion muttered as they re-attached their jaw. “But we ssstill hunger.”
“Control your appetite, freak,” Ellie mocked.
“You may have your pick of the dungeons when we are finished,” Giles allowed. “Until then, control yourself. Now, do you have the Horseman’s scent?”
“We do,” Legion reluctantly said. Their main face sniffed the air and smiled. “It ssseemsss they essscaped the Hellfire after all. The Horsssemen are clossse.”
“You have been very helpful,” Giles told the bound prisoner. “I may have your sentence reduced.”
She sneered up at him. “I want nothing of your mercy, Giles de Rais.”
She knows your name, Abaddon said in surprise. How interesting.
“You know me,” Giles said, making sure to keep his face as neutral as possible. “How?”
“All Europe knew of your crimes,” she said. “The things you did…the way you screamed and begged like a little bitch when the Church lit up your pyre…”
He could feel his heart pounding faster as the blood rushed to his face. Control yourself, he swore inwardly, trying to ignore Abaddon’s laughter. “I just saved you from a fate worse than death,” he said calmly. “You have an interesting way of showing gratitude.”
“Do you know how they finally caught you?” She chuckled. “Well, of course you do, but I’ll say it anyway! One of the children escaped from your dungeon! The great Giles de Rais, the most powerful lord in France, was beaten by a six-year-old girl!”
Legion raised a dozen eyebrows. “We did not know of your
tassstesss, Gilesss.”
She’s right, you know, noted Abaddon. What was her name? Marie? A shame the girl didn’t end up here after all. I suppose that now she’s forever out of your reach.
“Be quiet,” Giles whispered.
“You hunted her with what? A thousand men?” The woman was laughing so hard now that tears trickled down her face. “How many was it really, Giles? A hundred? Fifty? It’s not like you had any friends left by then, anyway.”
“That is enough,” Giles snarled. He snapped his fingers and watched as the locusts began to bloom around the two women, ready to transport them back to their prison within Dis. “I will deal with you later, wench.”
“A little girl beat you.” The woman grinned as the locusts spread across her face. “I think Vera will do even better. Before she breaks you like one of your children, be a good little monster and tell her Signy Crecy says hello.”
At last, she and the other woman disappeared with a flash of light, leaving only their mocking laughter ringing in Giles’s ears. “Legion,” he said in a tight voice, “you have my permission to deal with them however you see fit when I am finished with them.”
“You are mossst generousss, Gilesss,” Legion cooed.
Giles climbed back into the Hellhound and motioned for Legion to lead on. “Find the Horsemen,” he ordered between gritted teeth. “We will end this little rebellion now.”
“They are clossse,” Legion repeated, and they began to sprint into the darkness of the Fourth Circle as fast as their many legs would carry them.
Ellie quickly started the Hellhound’s engine, and the war machine rocketed forward, keeping pace with the monstrous Prophet.
This will be over soon, Giles tried to tell himself. I am in control. I am the master of my fate!
And yet here we are together in Hell, Abaddon snickered. Not even the roar of Ellie’s engine drowned out the demon’s mocking laughter.
6
Fritz had been an unrepentant asshole, but Simon still mourned the loss of the Zweihänder that the arrogant worm had given him. In fact, he had no weapon whatsoever, a fact that made him feel naked and vulnerable. It did not help that he was effectively a fugitive in a land that he did not know, surrounded by people he did not trust. I’d give my left hand for a sword, he thought for the hundredth time. Even a knife or one of the Kingdom’s strange guns would have been nice, but the warehouse that the Horsemen hid in contained nothing like that.
