The Hade War

by Luke Carlisle

  THE HADE WAR

  Luke Carlisle

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  There was no light. There was no darkness. There was no room or great hall. There was no open space or swirling cosmos. It was neither day or night. Neither warm or cold.

  The two demons simply were. The master and his servant.

  “They gather,” The Living Hell slowly, deeply announced.

  “Yes master,” Nagra responded, head bowed.

  “They are a great threat to us.”

  “They are weak humans, my Lord. Give the order and I will see to them myself.”

  “I trust that you will, Nagra. Take Confusion and Fear with you. You will need all the help you can get.”

  “My Lord? They are mere flesh. They may be world leaders but to you or I they burn like anyone else.”

  “You don’t sense what is really at work do you?”

  Nagra raised his head a little but still did not look his master in the eye.

  “My Lord?”

  The Living Hell leaned in close.

  “You think I fear the talks? These so called ‘great world leaders’ and their discussions?”

  “You fear nothing, my Lord,” Nagra grovelled. “But if not these humans, then who do you speak of?”

  “The followers, Nagra. There is a resistance, quiet for now. But the man of a thousand pains is on his way.”

  Nagra spat.

  “They are shrouded. Protected by a thousand spears.” The Master continued.

  “I will break them! I will burn them my Lord!” Nagra declared.

  “And what of the Light? You fared… poorly last time.”

  “The Scottish rats!” Nagra hissed. “Their faith was colossal! We could never have seen it coming. Surely not this time?! Not Again?”

  “Your cockiness and assumptions cost you in Stirling. Have you learned nothing?” The Master asked as if speaking to a child.

  “Give me these pitiful humans and I will turn their bones to ashes!”

  Satisfied with Nagra’s malice, The Living Hell sat back in his throne.

  “Go.”

  Nagra burst into a screaming cloud of raging black birds. They encircled their master for several moments as an act of worship then were gone.

  “GAH!”

  Israel held a wad of tissues up to his bleeding nose while Manning examined his back. He prodded his finger into the bruised areas causing Israel to jolt every time.

  “Israel, you’re getting your ass kicked all too regularly these days. Is this a knife wound?”

  “It barely went in.”

  “I don’t think the depth of stabbing is what’s critical here. A knife entered your body tonight. How do you know it wasn’t poisoned?”

  “I don’t think that gang of drunks was advanced enough to have poisoned tipped knives.”

  “Some day they might be. What are these other marks?! Where you whipped or something.”

  “Pool cues.”

  Manning stared at Israel.

  “Israel, you know better than to be running in half cocked.”

  Israel tossed the tissues into the nearby bin.

  “I saved that guy. Are you done? Gah!”

  Israel jolted as Manning applied an ointment to one of the wounds. He continued.

  “And for your information the victim and I were the only ones who walked out of that bar. The cops arrived moments later and they were all hauled into the squad cars. At least a dozen guns were confiscated. I did my job.”

  “Who was the guy? How did it start?”

  “I don’t know. He bolted right after we got out of there and I didn’t see how it started. All I know is I was watching the game and the next thing tables and chairs are being knocked aside as one guy was having to fend off about ten assholes.”

  Manning sighed.

  “Just limit it to two or three guys next time, ok? Gimmie the coils, I can’t imagine what damage they’ve taken.”

  “They’re too heavy. I can’t move quickly enough. We can get rid of most of the wires. I only need the blunt, grapple and spear.”

  “You sure?”

  Israel waved his arms up and down. The wrist attachments felt like lead.

  “Very. It’s no good having weapons that slow you down.”

  “Take is easy the next couple of days ok? I’ll have them modified for you.”

  Israel unlatched the coils from each of his wrists and handed them to Manning who wretched and wafted the air from his nose.

  “For the love of… I’ll work on a different material for the insides. How much sweat has been absorbed into these?”

  “It’s not all sweat. A lot of it is my blood.”

  Manning grinned.

  The President of the United States arrived thirty minutes ago. The French and Russian presidents were just pulling up to a sea of flashing cameras. The U.K. Prime Minister was on route in a convoy behind the Canadians, Germans and Japanese.

  Despite the police helicopters overhead, squad cars on every street and armed forces holding down every which way to approach his location, Miguel still unzipped his fly.

  “What you talking about, moving?!” he asked his colleague Jessen. “New Belfast is where it’s at.”

  Jessen sighed. He sat on the stairs of the fire escape drinking a soda and gently rubbing the cracked and dry knuckles on both of his hands. They were tell tale signs of a man who was forced to wash his hands twenty times with cheap soap in one work shift. The sound of Miguel's pee bouncing off the side of a dumpster echoed into the alley behind the five star Fordway Hotel.

  “I was nine when my parents moved us for the first time,” Jessen explained. “It was for my dad’s work. It was always for work. We moved to a horrible town upstate first of all, then twice more in the next three years. I never got settled in a school or had any real friends. I had a really great childhood before that, albeit shorter than most people’s. Yunno how you just phase from one era of your life into the next without really noticing at the time? Well, I damn sure noticed. I had my youth ripped away from me. Sometimes I feel like all I want is to wake up tomorrow and be nine again, living in our first house, going to my first school with my first friends. I’ve spent my entire teenage and adult life desperately trying to figure out how I can go back,” Jessen continued, staring at his work hardened hands. “But I would never have enough money to be able to move back there and even if I did, let’s say I won the lottery or something and managed to do it, it wouldn’t be the same. I would wake up the first day expecting my mom to be downstairs making the breakfast, my dad outside working on the lawn. I would want to ride my bike up the hill to my best friend Pete’s house and watch all the old cartoons we used to watch on Saturday mornings, back when cartoons were good, about super heroes. But in reality all I would be is a twenty something year old child, alone and desperately trying to recreate his past by watching kid’s shows and reading comics.”

  Jessen flicked his soda can ring as Miguel reappea
red from behind the dumpster, wiping his hands on his shirt.

  “By the time I was eighteen we had moved thirteen times. I did what any kid would do in that situation, I found peace in heavy metal, alcohol and drugs. I found friends in bands who didn’t even know I existed, but when I put on those albums they becomes the closest things I had to a family. I got good at guitar but was never in the same spot long enough to join or form a band. It’s the only thing that ever made sense to me. It’s all I ever wanted to do.”

  “You mean you didn’t want to me a minimum wage waiter in a snooty hotel full of people who hate you because you are a minimum wage waiter?”

  “Believe it or not, no. In all honesty and realism I just wanted to be in a band.”

  “Mmm hmm. I bet you were really talented. Could have made it,” Miguel said sarcastically.

  “Yunno what I said I wanted to be when Mr Michaels asked me what I wanted to be doing in five years when he interviewed me for this job? I said I wanted to be in a band.”

  “They must have been pretty desperate for waiters. Not surprising at the rate people quit this crappy job. Today a lady complained to me that her knife and fork weren’t heated up enough for her to eat her meal. Sent the whole course back and demanded the cutlery be at an appropriate temperature for when her second pigeon came out. I carried the knife and fork around in my waist line for twenty minutes before bringing back the same pigeon, microwaved.”

  Jessen tossed his empty can over his shoulder into the dumpster. “You on much longer?”

  “Doing the dinner shift too man. You?”

  “Nah. That’s me done.”

  “And an alley covered in my pee is a better place to be than…?”

  “Home, inside that hotel, anywhere I’m supposed to be really.”

  “That’s depressing.”

  Jessen sighed. They stood in silence for a moment enjoying the brief slice of sun that fought it’s way into the alley everyday around the same time for only a brief passing minute. It was a rare occasion that sunlight could reach ground level of the city. New Belfast’s thousands of skyscrapers saw to that.

  “What’s got you all philosophical today?” Miguel asked.

  “I dunno. This upcoming week I guess. Makes you think what you could have done with your life.”

  “I wanted to be a chef. I’d like that. What about you? Nothing else ever appeal to you other than music?”

  A commotion far around the corner signalled the arrival of more world leaders.

  “Not a damn thing. I could never understand these teenagers in school who were choosing courses and colleges based on the fact that they knew they wanted to be engineers, doctors, I.T. consultants, accountants. What sixteen year old in their right mind dreams of growing up and becoming an accountant? My parents told me my music was just a daydream and that I had to focus myself on real goals. If you ask me I was the only normal kid in school. One of my friends knew he wanted to study actuarial science. At sixteen this guy wanted to evaluate financial risks for businesses.”

  “Wild,” Miguel contributed sarcastically.

  I met up with him a few months ago, we kept in contact online over the years. Decent guy, one of the few I could stand to see again. He’s miserable. He utterly hates his life. Yunno what he does for work now?”

  Miguel shrugged.

  “Actuarial science.”

  “Ha!”

  “The guy had sixteen years of enjoying life then spent every effort he had into making sure that when he was older he could sit at a desk all day long looking at statistics and business strategies for a living. He achieved it and he’s miserable.”

  “When I was sixteen I just wanted a girlfriend, man.”

  “Yeah. Yunno my parents sent me to boarding school? They finally figured that all the moving wasn’t good for my education and that settling me in one place was the answer. They wanted me to get the best education. Become a political missile surgeon or something.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Yeah. A boarding school five states away, chucked in mid semester with no friends. They didn’t even drive me there themselves. They had my uncle drive me. I was a terror from day one. I skipped every class I could. I didn’t do a single piece of homework. I started as many fights as I could. I kept setting off the fire alarms so many times that the fire engines stopped showing up. Then one day I lit an actual fire in the bathroom. No fire engines arrived. It was mostly smoke damage but still, it wrecked the place.”

  Miguel laughed. “For real?”

  “To be honest, while I hated it, there were times when it was fun just running riot.”

  “How long did you last?”

  “About a month and a half. I was expelled after the toilet fire incident. My parents flipped when I arrived home. I bailed and stayed with what few friends I had. Moved every couple of weeks. Never went back. They both died a couple of years later in a stupid boating accident. It was weird but I found it real hard to deal with even though I hadn’t seen or cared about them for years. Life already sucked, but the final nail in the coffin was the day they sent me away. Every single day of my life I wonder what I would have been if my dad had a normal job, where you just lived and stayed in one town like any other normal person.”

  “You could have been president,” Miguel jested.

  Jessen laughed. “Yeah maybe it would be me going into these peace talks this week.”

  “Ha, yeah. Although I suppose technically you will be there for some of it. The ceremonial lunch takes place in the Gallery Suite in our luxurious Fordway Hotel, famous for it’s ass heated cutlery.”

  “Nah man I’m ‘not to come into work for the next few days.’”

  “What you mean?”

  “Security. CIA or something. Employees with any hint of a stain on their record aren’t working tomorrow.”

  “What they find out about you man?”

  “That I was expelled from one of the nations top boarding schools for vandalism, assault and arson.”

  Miguel laughed. “Couple of broken windows and you can’t even serve coffee.”

  The two men sat in silence for a moment then the door beside them opened. A stressed Mr Michaels held the door wide open.

  “Miguel, you’re really pushing it! Get back to work. Jessen, piss off.”

  “Yes Mr Michaels sir! Back in to work Mr Michaels sir,” said Miguel as he hurriedly entered the back of the kitchen, giving Jessen a nod goodbye. The door closed behind him. Jessen sighed alone in the alley. He tossed the soda can in the open garbage can. Standing up he pulled the hood of his hoody up over his head. He wore the same one every day, rarely washing it.

  “Yes Sir. Pissing off Mr. Michaels sir.”

  “I hate this band. I hate that drummer. I hate that singer. I hate that guitarist and his beautiful guitar. I hate that awesome solo he just played. I hate that I like this song.”

  Jessen stood at the back of a large open planned bar watching the metal band playing with hate filled envy.

  “I’m better than you,” he thought. “But damn it you are good. I hate you.”

  “Thank you guys, you have been awesome! We have been Embers Of Earth and we’ll be back again real soon!” The singer applauded the crowd of 300 or so people.

  “That’s all I ever even wanted. I didn’t ever want number one hits or groupies or fireworks. I wanted this.”

  Jessen turned and sat at the bar, ordered another beer stared up at the TV screen for a few minutes. He wasn’t even aware of what was being shown. He was looking straight through it, lost in his own world of hate. A vigorous bump in the back jolted him back into the hear and now.

  “Sorry man! So sorry! I didn’t see that little step up to the bar.”

  Jessen turned to see the singer of the band standing behind him.

  “Great. This douche bag. With his beautiful hair and awesome man beard,” Jessen inwardly cursed. “Yeah, no problem man,” he lied.

  “Hey buddy could we get two more of what he’
s drinking please.” The singer patted Jessen on the back. The bar tender brought over two more beers, one of which was placed in front of Jessen.

  “Uh, it’s ok-“ Jessen started.

  “Nah nah, you paid into a gig and had the lead singer hit you from behind, that get’s you a free beer.”

  “Uh, thanks.” Jessen accepted the beer. “Great, you’re nice. I hate that you’re nice.”

  “Good set,” Jessen found himself saying completely against his will. “What am I doing?”

  “Thanks man. Tore the ass out of my pants on the first song. Don’t think anyone noticed except our drummer.”

  Jessen laughed. “Damn it! I laughed! Son of a bitch! Don’t laugh at this guy. End this conversation!”

  The rest of the band joined them at the bar, ordering drinks as they literally surrounded Jessen. They talked among each other about the gig like he wasn’t even there for a minute or two. Jessen pretended to be watching the TV again but was listening to every comment, all of which were praise for the sound guy, lighting guy and the crowd.

  “I hate this. I wish I could explode. Take them all out,” he thought. He downed his beer.

  “Thanks man, gotta head on,” Jessen said without a single shred of emotion.

  “Cool, bro, sorry again. We’re playing again in a month or so. Should have some new stuff ready that we’ve been working on. We’re about to record our first album.”

  “Awesome, can’t wait to hear it!” Jessen replied, standing up. “Damn it! Why Jessen?! Why?!”

  “Later man”

  “Yeah, later.”

  Jessen started to walk away but stumbled down the small step the singer had tripped over before. Two of the guys in the band caught him and set him upright.

  “Oh my word. Get me the hell out of here!” he cried inwardly. “Thanks guys.” He cringed. Pulling his hood up he left the bar into the cool night air.

  Ding. The sound of Jessen Hade’s dinner that evening, the previous evening and the evening before that. Jessen turned up the TV and got up off his bed, which was also his couch. He had long since lost any distinction.

  “…For what is set to be one of the most, if not the most important meetings of nation leaders the world has ever seen. Security has been tight for five blocks around the Fordway Hotel for several days now…”