by Tim Hawken
I did recall. When Satan had forced me to fight the demon Balthazaar in the Pit, it helped save me.
“If Demons experience a great deal of suffering during the burdens, they are said to have visited the ninth circle.”
“So where are you taking me then? If these Nine Circles are just a myth, what is the Tenth Circle?” I repeated. “You said to Marlowe we were going to Smoking Gun.”
“Poetry,” The Perceptionist said.
“Excuse me?” I asked, confused.
“Poetry,” he repeated. “The people who named the place thought it would be poetic. It is in reality a torture dungeon. It is where a group of self-appointed revenge demons reap what they call ‘deserved justice’ upon the most evil souls in Hell. Since Asmodeus left, this group has sprung up as an underground power. It is where the strongest fiends here try to destroy the strongest evils, through a baptism of pain. They call it the Tenth Circle, because it is reserved for elite evil, where souls are brought to a new level of suffering beyond that which even the fires of torment can achieve.”
“And it’s in Smoking Gun?”
“Yes, but it is hidden. The gateway is in Smoking Gun. The Circle itself is somewhere in a maze of catacombs beneath the streets.”
“Why are we going there?” I asked.
“Better to show than to tell,” The Perceptionist said. “During our journey you must remember to try to use your new gifts. Always reach out to sense feelings with your hair.”
I sat, staring into space. This reminded me of my first ever day in Hell, when I was led through Damnation by Satan. It was a painful day; I hoped this time it wouldn’t be so horrifying, yet I suspected it might be.
“What is Marlowe getting a car for?” I asked. “Why don’t we just fly there?”
“The easiest way short term isn’t always the most convenient in the long term,” replied The Perceptionist. “In this instance, it’s better for us to remain inconspicuous. I have looked into our futures and seen the best path to fulfill my desired intentions. It is also best for me to change.”
I looked at him. He was an eye-covered humanoid. He had never worn clothes in the whole time I’d been in his presence. His lack of sexual organs made it seem superfluous in any respect.
“You misunderstand.” The Perceptionist stood from his chair, letting it clatter to the ground behind him. He raised his hands above his head and, closing every eye on his body, began humming a low droning noise. His body began to shrink, morphing to take a size more akin to my own. As he did, each eye retracted back into his white skin, like molluscs returning to their shells. Bleach-blonde hair sprouted from the top of his head, and ears grew from the sides. His mouth slowly pushed down toward his chin, as a nose burgeoned in the middle of his face. Finally two green eyes formed out of sockets below two fully formed, blonde eyebrows. It was incredible to watch the transformation. Within the space of half a minute, The Perceptionist had turned into what looked like an albino version of me. It was disturbing. He’d even turned his ears into the same red points as mine.
The Perceptionist brushed his hands down his chest and a grey suit folded out of nothing to cover his nakedness. He clicked his fingers in my direction and my plain clothing was transformed into a crisp black suit, the same cut as his own.
“Now,” he said, his voice the same audible whisper. “In this guise, we are brothers. You will call me Aldous while we’re outside.”
As he finished his sentence, Marlowe walked in.
“Hello Aldous,” he said, smiling at The Perceptionist. “The car is ready.” Marlowe turned to look at me. “Set to go, Michael?”
I simply stood there with my mouth open, looking from Marlowe to The Perceptionist, or Aldous as I was supposed to call him.
The pair turned without further comment and left the room. I had no choice but to follow. Exiting into the dark alley of Satan’s Demise, I saw a black Jaguar parked to the left. Marlowe was holding the door open for me, waiting.
I was still dazed from the spectacle inside. I should have been used to such occurrences by now, but even a small irregularity like The Perceptionist changing his form was unsettling. I slid into the car and sat in the back next to my teacher. Everything was happening so quickly.
Marlowe pulled out into the shadowy streets of Satan’s Demise. There was no sign of the Barghest; the streets were again eerily deserted. The car began to pick up speed.
“You must do exactly as I say, when we get to Smoking Gun,” The Perceptionist said. “It will take precise timing to achieve what we wish. Do not question, just act.”
I nodded.
“Good,” he said. “No more questions for now. All will be unveiled shortly. Conserve your strength. You will be mostly just witnessing, but I may need to call on you to assist.”
I remained silent and inhaled deeply. With trepidation, I waited as we drove onward.
The dark streets around us soon became a shade lighter. We turned onto a highway, full of roaring vehicles. As we merged into the constant stream of traffic, some cars screeched past, honking their horns. Marlowe sped up to match the relentless pace around us. There was no music on the radio, just the hum of the engine and the rumble of vehicles. Marlowe and The Perceptionist stared ahead, not talking. It did nothing to calm my nerves. My imagination was running wild with gruesome images of what The Tenth Circle would be like. Blood and gore filled my thoughts. Charlotte’s horrid death came into my mind. I almost retched. I couldn’t dwell on such things, or it would drive me insane. It was much better for me to focus on how I would rescue my love from Limbo, rather than recall why she was there. My path to becoming the leader of Hell and commanding an army still eluded me. I knew I needed to display my power to the demons of Hell to gain their support. I knew I needed to incite the same sense of purpose in them as I felt, to get revenge against Asmodeus. However, the finer details of how were just a blur of ideas in my head. Nothing seemed like a good plan. I’d thought that over the days and weeks of training in the void with The Perceptionist, we might have spoken about it, or a strategy would have crystallized in my mind. All I had found myself thinking about was killing Asmodeus when I found him.
Just the thought of him at that moment made my flesh crawl with anger and my heart rage with hate. I looked outside to distract myself. We were driving over a towering bridge, which spanned across a river of lava. The acrid stink of brimstone wafted up with the heat haze, which rose from the flow. I stared down and watched the glowing magma churn below. Across the bank to which we were headed, the shining buildings of Smoking Gun jutted out of the earth. The mesh of flickering neon lights sent a chill through my spine. This was the devil’s playground. Casinos, brothels, bars, nightclubs and drug dens dominated the city. Nothing was illegal, nothing taboo. There was no such thing as too nasty, too sexual, too offensive. Hedonistic excess was central to the character of Smoking Gun, all set in a demonic backdrop of slick marketing. You could lose yourself in its savage delights if you wished. You paid only with your soul.
Our car slowed slightly as we came to the end of the bridge. Marlowe steered us rapidly to an exit and squeezed in behind a truck. We wound in a loop, down onto the main strip of Smoking Gun, slowing to a crawl as the traffic jammed along the street. I gazed out through tinted windows to behold the people and demons teeming along the sidewalk. A group of intoxicated, bullying demons pushed along the pavement near us, yelling abuse at weary onlookers and hooting into the air.
“Who are they?” I asked Marlowe.
He turned his head to watch the hulking monsters strut next to us.
“Football players,” he replied.
I watched as one of the demons, who was covered in short purple hair, walked up to a small but beautiful looking woman and grabbed her around the waist. She shrieked, struggling to get away from him. The demon pushed his black tongue down her throat and threw her down onto the sidewalk, before roaring in laughter with his cheering comrades.
“They’re pretty much
the same wherever you go,” Marlowe said, as he turned into a street on our right.
The buildings which soared above us on each side were made of black concrete and glass. There were no neon signs like there were on the strip, just dark, steel fire escapes clinging to the walls like metal spiders. We passed an overflowing dumpster, before entering a large open courtyard.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“We’re nearly there,” The Perceptionist cut me off.
I looked up ahead and could see a line of people snaking left to right through the courtyard. As we drew closer, I could see they were roped-in by a red barrier. At the end of the huge line, there was plain, white door. Above it was a small, red sign with white letters which read: Oresteia.
“This is a nightclub,” I said.
“The most popular nightclub in town,” The Perceptionist agreed in his deadpan whisper. “And the gateway to the Tenth Circle of Hell.”
NINE
MY CHEST CONSTRICTED with anxiety as our car pulled to a stop in front of the Oresteia nightclub. Not knowing what to expect when entering this Tenth Circle made me so nervous that I was shaking. It was as if being kept in the dark was worse than anything The Perceptionist could have told me. Sensing my fear, my master put his hand on my shoulder.
“No harm will come of us if you follow my instructions.”
He clicked his fingers and Marlowe exited the vehicle. The tall African strode directly to the front of the snaking cue, which wound to the entry of Oresteia. Two security guards stood at the doorway. The first was a towering behemoth with the body of a gorilla and two ghastly heads – one a snapping hyena, the other almost human, except its skin was yellow and reptilian. This second face spoke to the patrons in the line as they entered the club; at this distance I couldn’t hear what it was saying. The second doorman was short, around five foot high and slight in build. He looked like a black cat standing on its hind legs. He worked in fluid, feline movements, clipping and unclipping the rope barrier as he let patrons through and all the while he held a clipboard with a second set of red arms, which grew from his back. The limbs angled up and curved over the creature’s shoulders, like two deformed wings ticking off names as people entered. It was this demon whom Marlowe approached. He whispered something in the creature’s ear and indicated our car. The cat started shaking its head, but Marlowe pulled a brown paper bag from his pocket and handed it to him. Looking inside, his eyes grew wide before he looked back at Marlowe, nodding furiously.
Marlowe walked back to the car and opened the door on my side.
“You’re the future ruler of Hell,” The Perceptionist said as he motioned for me to get out. “Start acting like you are supposed to be treated with respect and you will be.”
I exited the car with as much dignity as I could muster, smoothing out my black suit as I stood to my full height. All eyes in the queue watched as The Perceptionist got out behind me. He looked at them with indifference. I tried my best to mimic his attitude. Marlowe closed the door for us, and started to get back in the car.
“I’ll be here when you return, Master Michael and Master Aldous,” he said, loud enough for the crowd to hear.
Without a word, The Perceptionist, in the form of Aldous, hooked his arm around mine and guided me toward the entry of Oresteia. The cat bouncer opened the side V.I.P. rope for us to enter. There was a mutter from the crowd, but the hyena silenced them with a loud bark. I could feel a tremor of emotion seep through my hair, coming from the creatures standing in line. I concentrated a little harder and thought I could sense a feeling of collective indignity, but it was so faint as to be barely distinguishable. The security guard’s second, reptile head looked at us as we passed through the ropes. He said in a smooth English accent.
“No killing inside. No fighting. No raping, or you’ll be ejected,” as if it were a matter-of-fact thing to say when entering a nightclub.
We walked down a long, black corridor which had tiny pinpricks of light coming from the ceiling, like small stars on a dark night sky. There was not a sound in the corridor expect that of echoing footsteps. There was a group of people in front of us, walking quickly toward the end of the corridor in silence. As we approached the other side of the corridor, I could see a glowing white waterfall cascading silently where there would normally be a door. The group in front of us walked through without breaking stride.
The Perceptionist turned to me as we neared the waterfall.
“As we go through the entry,” he said, “turn immediately to the left, go up the three stairs and walk to the back of the room. There will be two orange demons getting up from their table in the far corner. Sit down as they leave. Do not make eye contact with anyone, do not talk to anyone, do not stop to look at the club. We will have plenty of time to take in the scenery once we sit down. Is this clear?”
I nodded in reply. We were now at the gushing, white waterfall. It was eerie to watch the water tumble down into the floor in front of us without making a sound. Holding my elbow, The Perceptionist led me through. I expected fluid to soak us to the bone, but as we walked through the curtain of water it felt more like a warm breeze blowing down over us.
As we passed to the other side, my senses were assaulted with thumping music and flashing lights. I almost paused in shock, but felt the hand on my arm tighten and pull me softly to the left. With my head down I followed my feet across ebony floorboards, over to a small set of steps. We leapt up the stairs and I lifted my gaze to the back of the room. The distance across the floor was only short, but it was packed with bodies. Demons, half demons and people were dressed in glittering dresses or formal suits. They all crushed together, bouncing to the beat. The music pumped all around us in deafening volume. So as not to make eye contact with anyone, I focused on the back wall. I spotted the set of orange demons The Perceptionist had described earlier. They were starting to gather their things. My companion increased the speed of his step and I followed. The group of demons stood and exited, leaving a free table in the crowded club. Just as we neared the table, two tall women and a short purple demon went in to sit down. The Perceptionist quickly slid in front of them and pulled me down into the softly padded corner.
The short demon angrily shoved his face into The Perceptionist’s and growled, “This is our table, you peasant. Get up at once.”
The Perceptionist calmly looked at him. “This is our table, friend,” he replied in a whisper which was impossibly clear above the deafening music. The demon stepped back a pace.
“Allow me to get the three of you a drink for the confusion,” The Perceptionist continued. He lifted his hand and the empty glasses each of the three were holding filled to the brim. “Now kindly leave us.”
A look of fear spread across the demon’s face at The Perceptionist’s simple display of power. He turned and ushered his female friends away from us.
“That was easy.” The Perceptionist looked at me. “I’m happy you followed my instructions. If we’d been a half second later, there would have been an unfortunate accident for him. Now we wait here. Don’t get up until I say, but feel free to observe the domain.”
I leaned back into the wall for support. It had taken all the concentration I could muster, to focus on getting to the table without trying to take in my surroundings. Now I had some breathing time, I looked around. We were seated at the back of the room with our backs to the wall, slightly elevated above everyone else. I looked out to a whirling spread of color. The club itself was a gigantic circle. About ten feet in front of us there was a clear waterfall, which shimmered down from the roof, following the circle of the room all the way around. Behind it there was another curtain of water also ten feet in, then another, and another. Each waterfall formed a bigger circle around the next. It was hard to gauge how many waterfalls there were, since they all blended together and somehow enabled you to peer right through as long as you looked directly ahead. If I looked at an angle, the fountains split into a rainbow wall of color. I could see th
at the first waterfall was red, the second was orange, the third yellow. After that it was a blur, but if I concentrated hard enough and focused my line of sight above the heads, I could see right through the center. There was a wide, circular dance-floor, jammed full of dancing revellers who surrounded a DJ playing inside a final black waterfall. It sparkled as he whirled around inside. The DJ had a full ring of turntables around him. He spun constantly, changing records and pushing buttons. Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo and Violet.
As I continued to look around, the layout of the club slowly became more obvious. There were seven waterfalls in all, each a color of the spectrum. I was able to see through if I looked dead ahead, because the colors would blend to create white light. The effect was wonderful, although confusing if you moved your line of vision too quickly. As I looked around I could see a distinct difference between the levels of disfigurements of the demons in each area. Where we now were, between the white waterfall entry and the first red waterfall, were mainly humans with the occasional demon. However, inside the first red curtain were all demons of similar deformity. Each was a different size and shape, and looked individual, but many traits were similar. They were hideous to behold, each had twisted crimson ears and jutting fangs, which stuck out of their mouths at odd angles. Their bodies were mottled shades of red all over. Some had an extra head, or arms, or legs, but the theme of their disfigurements was the same. Rather than dancing together, they were moshing instead, slamming into each other violently to the beat.
I reached out with my mind to see if I could get a sense of feeling from them. At this distance it was incredibly difficult, but maybe because it was a group of people together I was able to feel it: anger. These were Wrath Demons! So this is what I would become if I let my quest for revenge consume me. I turned my head away, back to The Perceptionist, startled.
