Deicide (Hellbound Trilogy)

by Tim Hawken

  “All this knowledge was a new way of looking at existence that The Perceptionist hadn’t contemplated. He was grateful to have Germaine as a companion. However, because Germaine had no ability to see the elements, The Perceptionist could not instruct him on their manipulation. He did not have the power of God in him like you do, Michael.”

  For the first time Marlowe took his eyes off of our guest and looked at me. He cleared his throat and continued.

  “What Germaine lacked in ability, he made up for with ingenuity. He realized that perception is a chemical process as well as a sensual one. He mixed liquids and potions to expand his sight. He ingested substances to grow his ability to hear and see the invisible world. Initially these drugs helped him. The elements became clear and, because he could sense them, he could manipulate them. His power grew. The elements of air, fire, water and earth bent to his command, then the other molecules of life followed. The Perceptionist was proud of his student. He showed that mere humans could rise above their bodily make-up; that potential was only bound by thought.

  Then, the cracks began to show. Germaine would become unresponsive for days at a time, muttering to himself, arguing with nobody. He would then snap out of it and launch back into his teaching, constructing creature bodies, creating souls, searching for the meaning to life. Every now and then he would slip, but he would cover it up saying that he was simply deep in thought.

  “One day the hallucinations started: he began shouting and throwing things. I tried to calm him, but he cast me aside like a doll, saying I was trying to steal his secrets like a common thief, that I was an ally to the demons in the room. But it was just him and me. There were no demons. He would have killed me, but The Perceptionist stopped him. It was a wakeup call to all of us. Germaine was pushing the limits too far. He needed rest. The Perceptionist stopped teaching and looked inside Germaine to find that his own thoughts were being projected back into him as voices from the outside world. He was indeed talking to himself, he just couldn’t distinguish that from actual external conversations. It was something not unlike what doctors on earth today term Schizophrenia.

  “Deciding he could find a cure, Germaine worked on his potions again. He stumbled upon a mix that stopped the voices, but they cut off his ability to sense the elements as well. He was devastated at having lost the precious gift he had gained. He wanted to stop taking his cure, but The Perceptionist wouldn’t let him, saying that if he could not control himself, he could not control the universe. Falling into depression, Germaine sat in this kitchen. His will to live faltered. He barely moved, he just scrawled notes on pieces of paper, trying to find a solution that would mean he could keep his wits while still expanding his senses. Nothing he tried worked. Just before he gave up, he found it. If he mixed the dose of his cure with a dose of the chemicals which had made him that way in the first place, he could maintain his powers while suppressing the voices. Or so he told us. Little did we know there was still one malicious voice that broke through the wall: it was the true devil within.

  “This voice convinced him that it was real, a keeper of the key to the universe. After all, Germaine hadn’t been able to see the elements before and they turned out to be real; why shouldn’t this personality be real too? The voice advised him to keep this information quiet, in case The Perceptionist found out and halted his training again. Once more, Germaine manipulated the elements. He wove new terrors that The Perceptionist hadn’t thought of before: bonds that shifted out of your grasp when you tried to move them and mutated to seek out your weaknesses. His ideas astounded the both of us. He was a genius. A mad genius. His potent thoughts were beginning to rival the creative ability of The Perceptionist.”

  I looked at Germaine and he smiled slightly at the compliment. But the change was only brief as he realized the darkest part of the tale was about to come.

  “One morning, Germaine came to me, excited.” Marlowe went on. “He said he might have found a key to unlock even more potential, but he needed me to go and find something: the Jewels of Blood, he called them. He said that The Furies in the Necropolis possessed them and that if I sought them out, I’d be able to convince them to give me just one. He mapped out where I needed to go and sent me off. I was just as excited as him to see if new things could be brought into the world. I should have been suspicious. I should have known something was wrong, but my enthusiasm blinded me from asking the obvious questions. His knowledge had always been accurate and he hadn’t had a lapse that we knew of in over a year. I barely made it to the outskirts of Satan’s Demise when I heard the scream in my mind.

  “It was my master. Something was dreadfully wrong. I rushed back, but as I reached the alley a silent force made me pause. It wasn’t a voice, but an intuition that said, Be careful. Be silent. With as much stealth as I could gather in my frantic state, I re-entered this kitchen. What I saw was ghastly. Germaine had trapped The Perceptionist in one of his mutating chains. Every time The Perceptionist moved to escape, the wrap that Germaine held him in adapted to hold him tighter.”

  Marlowe looked over to Germaine with death in his eyes. The man just stared back with sorrow. He hung his head as Marlowe resumed with acid on his tongue.

  “My master was paralysed on the ground while this monster was cutting out his eyes. One by one, he was amputating The Perceptionist’s vision. As he cut each eye out, Germaine sliced his own body with the same dagger and inserted them into his skin. All the while he was saying, Now we can see like you can see. I was overwhelmed with rage. Germaine was so distracted with his surgery that he didn’t hear me pull out my blade. I struck with so much anger that I sliced his evil head clean off his neck. As his shocked face bounced at my feet, Germaine’s spell was broken and The Perceptionist let out a wail of agony.”

  Germaine let out of groan of his own from the corner then, as if adding to the story. Marlowe paid him no attention. He now had his gaze fixed on mine.

  “I had to pluck the eyes out of Germaine and put them back where they belonged. The Perceptionist healed slowly and we contemplated what to do with Germaine’s head and body, which I kept separated so he couldn’t re-form and attack again. I wanted to burn him and scatter him to the winds, but The Perceptionist couldn’t do it. He needed to know why his student had turned on him. We pieced Germaine back together and watched him regenerate. It is the curse and the gift of Hell that our bodies can do this. The screams were like music to my ears. I hated him for hurting the one I had sworn to protect. But then the screams turned to whimpers as he realized what he had done.

  “Germaine confessed about the voices. He apologised. He wept. And then the voice began to speak for him. It was as though its personality had possessed him. It told of its plan to overthrow Germaine’s body and laughed; it was going to rule the universe with a fist of blood. That’s when The Perceptionist reached out and found the thread of thought that made his student into a puppet. He tore it out and ripped it apart. Germaine’s brain began to collapse; the voice had been a part of him, after all. All the voices, every thought he had ever had, turned in on him. I never thought I could feel sorry for Germaine after what he had done, but in that moment I pitied him. He was devoured by his own ideas, and the purple light that had shone so brightly in his eyes went out. He was gone.

  “The Perceptionist tried for decades to revive him, but could not. He said that too many doors had been thrown up against the outside world that could never be reopened. He gave up, and left him there to remind himself to never take on another student. To never interfere with Creation again.”

  Marlowe stopped, letting out a sigh. He reached out for the wine bottle, but it was empty. Again he looked over to Germaine.

  “I don’t know how you found your way out, Germaine, but I’ll be damned if I ever trust you again. Time might have helped me forgive your actions, but I cannot forget them.”

  I sat back in my chair, looking from my friend to the man in the corner who was barely a bag of skin and bones. His eyes told me ev
erything I needed to know. They told me that he was powerful and dangerous. But they also showed me he had control, for now.

  “Nor should you forget,” Germaine said, frowning. “We must remember the mistakes of the past or we have learned nothing. I was wrong and I know it.”

  Marlowe stirred, but I halted him with a glance. I wanted to hear what Germaine had to say. I signalled for him to continue. He propped himself up a bit straighter against the wall and then pressed on.

  “I have had a long time to dwell in my mind and sort the lies from the facts, the true voices from the false ones. They seemed so real, but in the end I discovered that the only voice in there was my own. As much as I didn’t want to take responsibility for these thoughts, where else could they come from but inside of me? I have always had a particular way of thinking. It’s hard to explain, but I have always looked at the world as an obstacle. It was how I knew that the voices were mine. They talked about conquest and dominating what can’t be controlled. They never spoke about anything new, not in all the time I was in there. All that time I ran away and they called after me. I am sorry Marlowe. I was wrong.” He looked at the African with pleading eyes.

  “I was trapped inside that embrace of madness, fighting against the evil. At first all I could do was shut them out; I created a maze of emotion in my mind to separate off the insanity. I burrowed inside myself and hid there. But now I have conquered the voices that wanted to conquer me. They have no sway over me anymore.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “Your voice was the first true voice I had heard in a long time, that first time you came here with the Prophet Phineus.”

  I looked at him, probing too see if he was telling the truth.

  “Oh yes, I’m being honest,” he nodded quickly. “Your power roused me. Even then, before you knew who you really were, I could feel it. It sang through my skin and penetrated to the middle of the labyrinth in which I hid. The vibration of your energy was like a signal to me. It showed me that the outside world was still there waiting. I could feel your sway, even after you left. Power is attracted by power. Ever since then, I have used that connection to feel my way out, using it as a guide to come back to the surface. Now I am here and I want to make amends. I want to redeem myself. I can help you achieve what you want. The knowledge I have can help you.”

  “Why should we trust you?” I asked.

  “Because I know more than anyone what it’s like to be trapped and I want the same thing as you do: freedom. I don’t want to dominate. I want to let things go.”

  I looked to Marlowe, who shook his head with dark eyes. There was only one way to find out for sure. I walked over to Germaine and leant down. Placing my hands on either side of his head, “Let me in,” I said.

  Closing his eyes, Germaine opened the gates, and a terrible crash of thoughts welled up into me. In flashes, what Marlowe had told me came to life in vivid detail. Screaming commands to do others harm shouted in my ears. Pleading whispers to kill myself hissed through my veins. Sweating, I dug deeper, through hate and anger and confusion. Twisting through the chaos I finally found what I was looking for: the calm centre. The truth to who Germaine was. I found hope.

  Please, his steady voice said with conviction. Let me build your bodies for you. Let me show you I can be the man I once was.

  Letting my hands fall limp, I fell backwards. Germaine gazed at me steadily. Marlowe rushed next to me, propping me up.

  “Michael? Are you there?” he said with deep concern.

  “Yes,” I answered. “We both are. It is not comfortable inside his mind, but he is sane. I believe Germaine is with us.”

  “Are you sure? Are you sure he is in control?” Marlowe asked.

  “No,” I admitted.

  I had entered others’ heads before: Judas’ and Smithy’s. This time was different, though. It was not cohesive or ordered. Germaine’s insides were a knotted jumble that only the owner could truly find his way around. I knew that deep down he was a kind soul, but layers of filth were streaked all over. I would have to be careful that this tainted side didn’t creep into dominance again. At least he knew that he was at risk of losing it as well. Somehow it made me feel better.

  “We must have faith in some things if we’re to overcome the faith of others,” I said to them both. “I choose to rely on people. We have to give people the opportunity to be better than they were. Otherwise we are just like Asmodeus.”

  Marlowe did not seem convinced, but he helped me to my feet before assisting Germaine to his.

  “You can help us, Germaine,” I said. “And I will help you in return. I can help keep the voices at bay. We will get you to realize your full potential.”

  “Thank you,” he replied. “The best thing for me is to stay busy. So let us start gathering the things we need.”

  I looked at him quizzically. I had not expected him to need anything but the elements.

  “There is only one type of thing I actually require,” he smiled. “We need go to The Furies and find the Jewels of Blood.”

  TWELVE

  MARLOWE’S CHAIR CLATTERED TO THE GROUND as he leapt to his feet and drew his sword.

  “You really are insane if you think I’m going to fall for the same trick again.” Marlowe said icily.

  I could see the anger that he had been holding back burst through his normally cool demeanour. Germaine stood as still as a post, his purple eyes steady on mine.

  “Michael, it is not a myth. The Jewels of Blood are not something I made up.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” Marlowe cut in.

  “I have never been so clear,” Germaine snapped. “I might have been tainted back then, but I tell you, this is the only way.”

  I held out my hand and covered the tip of Marlowe’s blade with my fingers. Watching Germaine to see if I could perceive any deception, I probed into him. I listened. There was nothing but him in there. No other voices echoed out to me.

  “How, Germaine?” I asked, content that he was indeed telling the truth. “Why do we need these jewels?”

  He looked to Marlowe who was still shaking with rage. His whole body was tensed into a ball of death, ready to strike.

  “I can build bodies without them, but we would be powerless inside them once we get to Heaven. You, Michael, would still have your gift. Yours is built into your soul, but not the rest of us. The ethereal bodies we are in now can be manipulated. I was able to take elixirs to help my perception here in Hell and I still went mad. A body of true earthy flesh could never heal from that. It could never regenerate. Without this you would be leading a pack of lambs to slaughter. You need troops who can withstand Asmodeus’ forces on an even plain, not be torn apart like bread and sent screaming back to Hell.”

  I turned his words over in my head. He was right that we had to maintain our souls encased in flesh when we entered Heaven. To change that would simply have us sucked through the filters of sin and returned to Damnation. Still the plan had holes, ones that needed to be filled. Mary said she might know a way to help us ascend to Heaven. There was one other question at the forefront my thinking, however.

  “How would these jewels help us?”

  Germaine licked his cracked lips and shot a glance at Marlowe, who held his sword firm.

  “They are made from the bloody tears of The Furies, who are primordial Goddesses,” he explained in a rush of words. “You might have heard them called the Erinyes as well. The Furies were created when the world was new. They were formed accidently from the pure blood of God, before he split his soul. Their female forms bubbled up from God’s softer side, but their hearts were hard as stone. The story has been twisted into Roman and Greek mythology. They are patrons of female revenge. What I believe is true in these myths is that when these Furies cry, the essence of what makes them powerful seeps out in their tears – the Jewels of Blood. It weakens them greatly, so they hoard the Jewels. They ingest them again to regain their strength. If we can tease out just a handful of drops
I can make some of us part gods, like you.”

  “If their blood would work, then why not mine?” I pressed him, needing to be sure.

  “Like I said, your power is in your soul. Your blood has traces, yes, but you are still part human. Any strands of the element needed that I could siphon out would just weaken you and then be diluted further inside the others.”

  “And if we got these jewels, we could make stronger bodies for all the souls in Hell?”

  Germaine let out a half-cackle before stopping himself.

  “No, you misunderstand. We can gather enough for a small force, maybe five or six of us. With that many we at least stand a chance at overpowering Asmodeus long enough to break down the walls between Heaven and Hell.”

  “How?” Marlowe cut in.

  “I have no idea,” Germaine replied evenly. “That is for Michael to show us. The bodies are what he needs me for.”

  I held my breath, sifting through the ideas that were flooding my brain. There were possibilities, but the path wasn’t clear. Deep from within I felt a shift inside. A warmth spread through me. My intuition told me Germaine was right. Action was needed to move us forward and this course would help our momentum.