The War of All Wars

by J. Eric Booker

  Ten dreamy hours later without having one run across a single guard the entire way, their eyes spotted the palace far off in the distance—this surprisingly small, thirty-story building rested in the middle of a valley surrounded by jagged mountains. This palace’s exterior walls were three-dimensional movie screens that revealed peoples’ souls who were currently experiencing horrific nightmares of being tortured in a countless amount of ways.

  Only a moment later, they landed on the ground ten miles away from the palace, just before she made them both invisible. They next invisibly flew their way up to and through the palace, sneaking beyond the throngs of demonic guards lurking all about, all of whom remained oblivious to their presences the entire time.

  By the time they had entered the throne room, they had already observed that this golf-ball-shaped room consisted of millions of tiny TV screens—on each screen was a soul actively suffering in a unique-yet-horrific way than any of his or her counterparts—all of these souls must have “personally offended” this Arch-Devil! In the very middle of the room sat a sci-fi looking throne with little joysticks placed all over the armrests—for the moment, this throne that could hold a two-hundred-foot tall giant was empty.

  Finally yet importantly, there were two other exits, as well a dozen demonic guards posted inside spread along the walls—these guards were far different from any of the other guards in the city. Not only did they possess sci-fi weapons like staffs to laser blasters, yet each face literally transformed from one type of monstrous beast to another—each and every second.

  No sooner than the two had entered the throne room, a high-pitched alarm began to blare repeatedly!

  In the next moment, he had his swords unsheathed, while she had her staff ready. All the while, the two continued to fly straight and true for the throne itself.

  Meanwhile, the guards had just begun to teleport within striking distance of the two, of whom these guards had seen enter the room although the pair was invisible—though yet another “fierce battle” commenced, the two continued to fly nonstop for the throne itself, all the while parrying charged weapons and blasts…

  When they had neared to one hundred feet of distance from the throne, however, trillions and trillions of flying black insects instantly engulfed not only around the throne itself, yet formed a nearly solid circular perimeter an extra thirty feet.

  Despite the never-ending battle against the demons that had never stopped swinging or shooting for even a single second, Baltor was able to make out that these insects were buzzing flies of all varieties, and shapes. In the middle of all the flies, there sat on the throne itself “a really disgusting-looking creature” who Baltor and Nemis presumed to be the Arch-Devil Zebul.

  Everything below Zebul’s waist looked just like a two-hundred-foot tall man with pitch-black skin, but everything above the loin-clothed waist looked just like “a monstrous-sized fly”—head, two extra sets of limbs, and of course, a pair of fly wings.

  By the time Baltor had gotten “a decent look” at the Arch-Devil, he was only seconds away from plunging into the swarming flies—still he was very relieved that none of the blasts from any of the laser blasts had damaged his swords whatsoever.

  A split second before he entered “the cloud of flies,” he wisely not only shut his mouth, yet also his earlobes and nostrils, while instinctively swinging his swords all around his body as he continued to fly forward. At the same time, Nemis followed right behind, using the light from her staff to attract all the flies, and for them to become zapped to smithereens upon contact.

  Baltor was six seconds away from slicing the Arch into three new pieces, including its head, but it unexpectedly puked nearly a dozen gallons of its green guts out of its mouth.

  Despite his swords that deflected a good portion, as well his helmet that deflected another good portion, the small remaining portion got through; and as the very powerful acids splashed onto his face, through his closed-eyelids and onto his eyes, it painfully began to melt away Baltor’s facial tissue.

  Despite the unbelievable amount of pain his face now felt, as well the fact that he was now blind in both eyes, Baltor did not open a single orifice on his head, yet instead focused his mind for the upcoming attack that would happen in two seconds.

  Therefore, he was not aware that a chunk of puke had landed on Nemis’ extended right hand, nor did he know that as she was on the exhale when the acids began rapidly melting her flesh, which in turn instinctively caused her to suck in her breath through her nose and mouth, so she could yelp out in pain.

  In the time it takes to blink an eye, swarms of flies were already roughly pushing and shoving their way past their brothers and sisters down her throat and into her stomach…she tried her very best to close her mouth, or to even scream, or even to breathe, but all actions were futile! The tens of thousands of flies that were crammed inside continuously vomited and/or ate her flesh…with hundreds of thousands more flies were entering by the second.

  Just before Baltor could launch his strike, however, Zebul and most of his flies had teleported into another part of the throne—and thus, both of his swords missed their target!

  The only flies left behind in this area were the ones who had just finished dining on Nemis—unfortunately, all that remained of her now was her skeleton, her robes, her cloak, and her staff.

  Only two seconds later, the last of the damage on Baltor’s face had healed. After opening his eyes and looking around, he couldn’t help but notice her remains. Anger and rage boiled his blood over.

  With a sneer, he looked back over at the Arch-Devil, and roared, “You son of a bitch!”

  “Ha ha ha…bring it on, bitch,” Zebul hissed back, now flying up into the air, as a fifty-foot spear suddenly appeared in its hand—not surprisingly, the pointy tip was glowing red!

  Meanwhile, though most of the guards did not do anything but stand in place, one had snuck his way up behind Baltor’s still-flying position—however, just as this guard swung its glowing-blue sword in order to slice off his opponent’s head, it missed!

  Baltor had, only a second earlier, teleported just next to the throne—there, without a moment’s delay, he pushed the one and only green button on the left armrest.

  The throne made an electronic, high-pitched noise, just before it slowly began to slide on over to the side, which just-as-slowly began to reveal that the rushing water levels were only inches below the hole itself, coupled with the sounds of rapidly-flowing water.

  “You son of a bitch,” Zebul hissed aloud, just before he magically disappeared in a flash!

  Strongly suspecting where the Arch-Devil was teleporting to next, Baltor had already teleported to the opposite side of the throne room, while still facing the throne and noting that the hole was now a quarter of the way open. He desperately hoped that the switch would not be reversible until it had opened wide for him to slip through, which was halfway open.

  In the beginning of the next second, not only had the Arch-Devil teleported back to the throne, with his back facing Baltor, yet he was just reaching out his free hand, in order to push the red button.

  At the same time, Baltor had flung the sword in his right hand with all of his might and power—straight at Zebul’s hairy arm!

  Only a nanosecond before Zebul’s equally hairy finger could touch the button, he surprisingly discovered—with a great amount of pain—that his entire arm had just been completely sliced off, dropping helplessly to the ground and flailing about!

  After averting his fly-head just a fraction, he peripherally saw Baltor’s other sword flying toward him, spinning rapidly around in tiny circles the entire time.

  In the next moment, the devil teleported to the other side of the throne, which entrance he discovered was now one-third open.

  After Baltor had closed all his orifices but his eyes, he teleported onto the very top of the throne—swords once again in his hands, he made yet another blinding cross-chop with both swords, in order to cut off the devil
’s head!

  Again, he missed, as the devil had acted like “an annoying fly” and teleported to the opposite side of the throne…but that’s exactly what he was counting on. He forthwith plunge both swords straight behind him right under his armpits.

  The tips of both swords plunged deep into the guts of the devil, which caused about a dozen or so gallons of powerful stomach acids to splash all over the place, including all over Baltor’s back—thankfully, the armor was magical and protected him.

  In the next moment, Baltor performed many simultaneous motions—first, he spun his entire body around on one foot while his other foot firmly braced into his shin, not unlike a ballerina. Second, both arms swung both swords all around his body in a variety of motions, making him look like a spinning top; and third, as a direct result of his swords, the devil’s upper torso and head was quickly getting sliced-and-diced to smithereens.

  Only a nanosecond before the devil was about to die—even if but temporary—he teleported to the entrance, in order to heal up.

  Meanwhile, not only had Baltor stopped his spin upon feeling that the air was void of flies, yet glanced over at the hole while noting that it was slightly less than halfway open. He leapt headfirst for it.

  The very moment before he had arrived at the hole, his swords pointed straight out in front, just before his body plunged into the deep waters that instantly sucked him down the tube.

  CHAPTER IX

  After Baltor had been blasted like a powerful bomb out “the final pipe” nearly one year later (if time were to exist), these waters henceforth turned to steam and dissipated into this rather-foggy environment—the Ninth Plane of Hell! Barely was he able to see the backdrop of the black mountains versus the dark, dark-red skies.

  Just after having landed and somersaulted on the ground, but a few seconds later, his eyes began to feel like he was “hallucinating in a very bad way,” although they had remained open the whole time and his physical feet now stood on solid black dirt! In fact, he had to rub his eyes with his hands and reopen them, just to be sure that this was real and not another dream—it was real.

  Spread throughout this chaotic plane, besides the backdrop, existed an unknown amount of temples, as well an unknown amount of impaled souls all on fire! Strange but true—no guards or monsters were seen anywhere.

  Now the reason why the quantities of temples and souls continued to remain “unknown,” was because the actual numbers literally changed each and every second! In other words, sometimes there was only one temple with a thousand souls surrounding it—sometimes a dozen temples with a hundred thousand souls—sometimes hundreds of temples with billions of souls—yet on each and every doorway of every single temple was inscribed the very same rune, looking indisputably blasphemous in nature.

  Though it was unbelievably difficult for Baltor’s mind to concentrate, thanks to all the craziness he saw, his feet had just begun to run at top speed toward that one temple that never disappeared.

  As soon as he arrived at the front steel gates—perhaps seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, or even years later—those gates automatically opened up for him!

  Upon entering the courtyard of this temple, Baltor discovered that area consisted of another labyrinth, with three different routes he could choose from—straight, left, or right. Without a second thought, he chose straight.

  After running through this winding hallway that felt like minutes, hours, or perhaps days later, he finally arrived at another 3-way intersection—left, straight, and right. He continued to go straight.

  Inevitably, this passage opened up into a great hall, consisting of white-and-red marble walls, three very large pebble pathways, and small pools of smoking lava that the pathways surrounded. Though he counted out twelve other exits on this main floor he could choose from, the path directly ahead of him led up to a white, marble staircase that descended down…this is the direction he went.

  It was while he was descending these steps—hundreds—thousands—or even millions—that he strangely noted to himself that he still hadn’t seen a single guard yet. Before he had reached the bottom of the stairs, what felt an eternity later, he discovered that this tunnel only went straight for about one thousand feet.

  At the end of this tunnel, there stood a gargantuan underground cavern, in which the walls were magma. Ninety-nine percent of the floor happened to be a massive lava lagoon, other than the two paths that circled around the lava itself, and up to the far side of the room, where existed a throne bearing these magnificent qualities—sleek in design, blood-red in color, and not too surprising, occupied.

  The occupant, which Baltor automatically presumed to be the Chief of Devils Azalea, possessed the head of a goat with two long spirally horns, a crown of jagged thorns, a five-pointed star imprinted on its forehead, and cloven hooves for feet. As for the attire, she wore black robes, as the gender was obviously female by the well-defined breasts protruding through the very thin material.

  Using a woman’s hollow-sounding voice, Azalea sounded “nice and pleasant” as she greeted with a smile, “Come closer…”

  After looking at both paths he could choose from—right or left—and seeing no guards on either side, he chose right. As soon as he had begun to walk around this lava, he noted that these extreme temperatures actually bothered him quite a bit…nearly three thousand degrees, his mind tabulated!

  Seconds, minutes, hours later…who knew…yet Baltor finally passed beyond the lake when the two paths merged into one—thirty feet away from the throne. He continued to walk forward, with the intentions of stopping ten feet away.

  Halfway to his destination, however, his feet unexpectedly found themselves immobile…not from his own doing. Instantly, he dropped to his hands and knees, but again, not of his own doing, but by Azalea’s far-more-powerful willpower!

  Now using a man’s hollow, deep voice, the Chief of Devils greeted, “Greetings Sultan Baltor Elysian the XVth. You may now rise to your feet.”

  Baltor found that he now had the power to rise, and so he did. He then responded, “Greetings Chief of Devils Azalea, or whatever your lordship or ladyship likes to be called.”

  In that female’s voice, Azalea answered, “Titles and names aren’t very important to me…I have many more important issues to deal with, besides titles. Not a single one of my Arch-Devils disputes the fact I rule over ALL HELL and will forever do so. You may call me Azalea. ”

  “Thank you, Azalea—like yourself, titles and names aren’t important to me, so you may call me Baltor. Besides, as I’m sure you already know, I am no longer a sultan anyway.”

  Once again sounding masculine, Azalea said, “I know, Baltor. So…let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  Baltor nodded his head in complete agreement.

  Now sounding feminine, Azalea said, “Okay. You came here to rescue Trendon Harrn—your maker and master. So that the two of you can stop the Vompareus, so that they will not conquer everybody and everything…including, as Tiamat and a couple other Arch-Devils stupidly believe, the very hells themselves. Right?”

  Baltor nodded.

  Now sounding masculine, Azalea said, “Trust me…that’s not going to happen. I rule my Nine Planes quite effectively, as well one other universal plane I own, but I allow all my evil underlings to form their own opinions—hey, free will, man. Right?”

  “Can’t argue with that, Azalea,” Baltor answered.

  Now sounding feminine, Azalea continued, “I have witnessed almost every action you’ve performed since birth, except the conversations you and Trendon privately shared, including all the transformations you’ve done into the vompareus in your far distant past, so I know all-too-well who you are. I even know your innate nature that you still try to hide and deny, your evil nature, Baltor—I know everything about you. I can see it in you so clearly, of which you struggle with every waking moment, even when you were the ruler of an entire planet. Fighting against your strongest temptations to rip peoples’ necks
open and suckle upon their blood and powers, in order to quench your vampiric thirsts…yes?”

  “Yes, that’s true,” Baltor answered.

  Now sounding masculine, Azalea continued, “And yet you’ve somehow managed to retain your humanity, your pursuit for justice for all, your goodness…even when you entered my throne room, you chose the right path—not the left. This is an unspoken test for all that I allow to come and see me…those who choose that path such as yours inheritably have good traits in their subconscious mind, while the left…evil. Most of my other visitors around here choose the left.”

  Baltor replied, “Okay.”

  Switching back to feminine, Azalea asked, “So…you want to rescue Trendon Harrn, huh? Well, I’ve got a little game for you Baltor. If you win, you and your master can go about your business. If you lose, your existence will once-and-for-all be extinguished—let’s call this game, ‘my personal game of good vs. evil.’”

  Baltor asked, “What game are you proposing?”

  After laughing and sighing in a masculine tone, Azalea answered in a man’s voice, “You will fight to the death. ”

  “You?”

  Switching back to sounding feminine, Azalea laughed a dozen times before answering, “No…if you fought me, you would lose in the first second of our duel. You will fight your cloned anti-soul—named Rotlab. He is equally skilled in martial arts as you are, has superhuman and magical powers just like you, and guess what, he too is a vompareus I have personally controlled since his inception one hundred and twenty years ago—though you are much older and more experienced, I have allowed him to eat three times the meals you’ve eaten! You two will fight to the death in front me…winner takes all.”

  “I thought Dreeak the dragon was my anti-soul…”

  After laughing one single time in a very masculine tone, Azalea countered in the same tone of voice, “No…you were mistaken. So do you agree to my proposal?”

  “How did you clone me?”

  Now sounding feminine, Azalea answered, “Ah, very good question with a very easy answer….ha ha ha, from the blood you cried out onto your bed sheets the very night your wife died. I took them. ”