by Roy Bright
Many of the lesser creatures turn and bow toward him but he cares not as there are few within the Tower or indeed Hell itself that Malphas must associate or at worst socialize with. The creatures contained within this level are not among those privileged few, even the higher level ones.
Ignoring them, he makes his way to the far end of the room and upon reaching the desired spot, he stops upon a large pentagram with the features of a cloven-hoofed creature etched into it. He turns to face the way in which he has just come and the symbol glows, then rises into the air like an elevator, taking him to the second and highest floor in the Tower. Stained glass images and diagrams pass him by, increasing in speed and intensity as the circular elevator races upward to its destination. He rolls his head around his neck and it cricks and cracks, then he takes a deep breath as the lift’s velocity diminishes, signifying its journey is almost at an end.
Malphas’ entry into the throne room is slow and elegant as the elevator slides up and locks into place and, dropping to bended knee, he lowers his head. “My Lord, I seek permission to approach the throne.”
A bold, gruff and echoing demonic voice bellows from ahead of him, “Of course my General, my friend. Please rise and bring me news of your mission.”
He stands and strides over to Lucifer, sat upon his throne in his true demonic form. As he makes his way forward, hordes of creatures part ahead of him, averting their gaze, and forming a silent corridor of the macabre. He eyes them with disdain, beneath him as they are, and a low growl escapes from the back of his throat causing many to bury their heads into their chests further. He clears the last of the subordinates and stands before his Master, offering one final bow before he draws back the hood from over his head, revealing his gargoyle-like features – piercing yellow eyes, horns swept back over his head, and a downturned mouth brimming with razor-sharp teeth. He is fearsome to behold, even for many contained within the inner sanctum. He grins once more.
“My Lord, we now have five of the seven. I hold in my hands Seals four and five and I believe we are closing in on the location of the Sixth.”
“Excellent, General,” Lucifer says, his pleasure evident even upon his face, locked forever in a snarl from his defeat at the hands of Charlotte, her hand prints burned into the sides of his face as a permanent reminder of what she did to him. He shifts his position in the gigantic throne. “And the Seventh, where is it Malphas?”
“As yet, my Lord, I am unsure. It seems as though a great power protects it, but I am sure that it resides upon the Earth and is not in His possession.” He motions upward with his eyes. “I am certain that we will obtain both the Sixth and Seventh soon, my Lord, we have many agents spread far and wide searching for them as we speak.”
Lucifer grins, his teeth glistening with saliva. “Good, good.” He sits forward. “I have every faith in you, every faith indeed my friend.”
Malphas relishes the praise, he feeds off it, liking nothing more than pleasing the Lord of Hell and he takes a step forward, his face brimming with delight, his grin sickening and more evil than ever. “And what would you have me do next, my Lord?”
Lucifer pauses, bringing his clawed hands together just under his nose; the index fingers raised, tapping against one another. “Have the seers prepare the ritual, and then bring forth the Ancient Ones.”
Malphas grins, for it is a command that pleases him a great deal. He has been waiting for it, longing for it since he came across the first of the Seals, and now he has it. A long, slender, and forked tongue slips out of his mouth and wanders over his lips. “At once, my Lord. And which of the four am I to break first?”
Lucifer sits back in his throne, his hands gripping the arms tight, his eyes narrow.
“All of them.”
Twenty
A blistering sun beats down onto the unforgiving, arid desert of Mount Kilimanjaro close to the physical entrance to ‘The Nether’, the gateway into Azazel’s realm. It may have the outward appearance of nothing more than an unassuming cave in the upper terrain of the mountain, but it is foreboding, and as Judas stands before it he feels trepidation wrap itself around him. With good cause, as it is a world that exists outside of time, outside of the kingdoms of Heaven and Hell and as such it is ungoverned by deities, light or dark. Within the mystical cavern the three swords of unimaginable power are imprisoned, and it is this place that Judas must enter if he is to face and conquer Azazel, despite the fear creeping up his spine.
Much is unknown regarding The Nether, as only a handful of souls who have ever entered its gate have returned, with almost all of them driven to madness. Samael slaps Judas on the back and reinforces the fact.
“You are one mad, mad bastard, Iscariot – you know that, right?”
He sighs, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “I’m beginning to think it’s more than madness, Sammy, it’s a freakin’ death wish.”
He guffaws, barging past him. “You said it brother, you said it. Come, it is time to make your way into the place of your most glorious and imminent death.”
“Seriously, Sammy, that’s your pep talk?” Judas says, eyebrows creased into a scowl. He stares at him for a moment then exhales a long, deep breath and follows him down the rocky path leading to the cave.
Looking at the entrance, you would think it to be the demon himself, such is the striking resemblance to a terrifying mouth, brimming with sharp and terrible teeth and as they draw closer, they feel the air around them change, increasing in static electricity. They stop and glance at one another, then look around and into the air, examining the shimmering waves of energy that swim overhead.
Judas glances at Samael once more, and offers a quick flick of his eyebrows, signifying his uncertainty, his edginess, and then they resume making their way into the huge mouth of the cave. As they do, a flash of light sparks into life ahead of them, toward the rear of the cave, and Judas shields his eyes from it, ducking down in an attempt to see all the way back. An enormous energy pressure thumps into him in waves, the intensity of its power bearing down on him, leaving him breathless and disorientated. “Wow!” he says, steadying himself upon a rocky outcrop. “How on Earth are the mortals not crushed to death by this power, Sammy? Surely some must have experienced this?”
Samael stops and looks at him, smiling. “Because my friend, they do not possess the eyes nor hearts to see or feel this and neither do most angels or demons for that matter. But I knew you would. I knew you would be able to see it, be able to feel it, and I know you will be able to pass through it. Contained within the light is the portal stone and it has only made itself visible to us.”
“Is that so?” Judas says, regaining his composure and standing upright. “So why haven’t you tried to retrieve the sword? I mean, you obviously have the ability to see the portal, so why haven’t you gone through?”
Samael chuckles as he approaches him. He places a hand upon his shoulder. “Because Judas, I know my limits. But you, well, you are a warrior without limitations and the only one among us even remotely capable of succeeding, even more so than Michael or the mighty Gabriel.” He turns to walk away from him. “I would say that you are our only hope.” He stops and glances back, “But that would be corny.” His face grows serious, “Nonetheless Judas, it is true.”
Well known around the White Kingdom for his joviality and playfulness despite being a ruthless and fierce warrior, people consider Samael incapable of taking most matters seriously, but as Judas studies his face and sees the level of concern upon it, the graveness of the task ahead hits him like a bolt of lightning. He straightens himself up and forges ahead. “Well then,” he says, as he strides past him, “I had better not disappoint. Time to get this done.”
“There are a few things you need to know before you go in Judas.”
He stops and turns back to him.
“Azazel will say and do anything to avoid being taken under your control. He will show you things that you may have buried deep in the far recesses of your mind, things
that you might never want to see again. Worst of all he will make you experience those things in their entirety once more – you will feel everything all over again.”
Judas glances at the floor then back up at Samael, raises his eyebrows, and shrugs.
Samael smiles for moment then the darkness returns to his features. “Also, as with everything in alternate realities, time moves of its own accord. What may be an hour or so out here could easily be 100 years in there, so don’t dick around!”
Judas nods and then ponders before answering. “You seem to be incredibly well-informed Sammy. Who’s providing you with the inside track?”
Samael smiles, taking a few steps back.
Judas stares at him for a moment and then continues onward.
Ahead of him lies a short ascent of broken stone steps leading to the gateway; a huge stone, circular structure with a pulsing white light stands within it, and as he approaches, it intensifies and electrical arcing crackles outward. The energy within the structure circles in an anti-clockwise direction and as he reaches out to touch it, another burst of blinding light erupts outward, forcing them both to shield their eyes and turn their heads away.
The brilliance subsides and Judas lowers his arm, facing it once more as the portal engages in cycling a range of colors from cerulean blue, through azure, emerald, scarlet, copper, gold, violet; as many as anyone could hope to think of and dozens more, all the while emitting an ear-splitting, engine-like thrumming. And as the noise reaches its highest intensity, the flashing colors blending into an unrecognizable one, the portal comes to a deafening, rock-like crunching halt, black in color. The noise within the cave subsides to a low rumble, shaking the entire cavern and causing rocks to crumble to the floor.
Judas turns toward Samael and shrugs again. He is about to say something when a tentacle of pure energy bursts out from the center of the stone circle and wraps itself around him. He looks down and grabs at it with both hands but the vibration within causes him to let go, wincing with pain. He looks up at Samael with panic in his eyes and stretches out a hand, but the Archangel just looks at him and nods. It pulls him in, closing shut with a loud, dry sucking sound the very moment he passes through it.
Samael takes a deep breath. “Good luck, brother,” he says, turning around and walking away, “you’re gonna need it.”
Twenty-One
Judas coughs, spitting dust and debris and blinking to clear grit from his eyes. He pushes himself up into a kneeling position, his face pale from powdered grime, his mouth wide open. Finding himself free of serious injury, he stands and dusts himself down, still coughing and choking. “Well, you’re here now big man,” he says, looking around. “You sure this was such a good idea?” He laughs as he replies to his own question. “Nope, not in the slightest.” Unable to get his bearings or even a sense of where he is, he squints, attempting to see into the darkness. There is nothing, no light, no sound just an eerie atmosphere that makes him feel very uneasy.
“Now what?” he says, as he inches his feet forward, his hands outstretched, attempting to feel for something, anything, to guide him. As he continues to edge his way over the dusty ground, expecting to feel his hands connect with rock at any moment, a notion hits him and he stops. What if there is no wall, no barrier, and I’m walking toward a precipice?
From out of the darkness booms a loud, gruff, and echoing voice, “Isn’t that what you have wings for, you fucking imbecile!”
Judas blindly turns in circles, attempting to pinpoint the voice’s origin.
“Poor little Judas Iscariot. Forced to betray his master, forced to live out a punishment for a crime he didn’t commit, forced to endure death countless times – and for what? To be Heaven’s meat puppet? Pathetic.” Something laughs, and it is a horrible, sickening, and demonic sound reverberating all around him.
Judas draws in a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Spare me, demon, I have heard this all before, have played this game many a time and it fails to impress me so please, cut the bullshit and show yourself. I assume you know why I am here, yes?”
“Indeed I do, Iscariot, indeed I do.”
He squints and can just make out a light filtering in from a point ahead, as though someone is turning up a dimmer switch, slow and deliberate.
As the luminosity reaches a sufficient level for him to see, he begins to garner an understanding of where he is and it could not be further from what he had first imagined. He is inside a very large chamber, its outer wall a solid casing of smooth rock, the floor dust and dirt. At the very center stands a chair, simple and ordinary looking. Upon it sits Azazel, legs crossed, his left hand resting on the chair’s arm, his right against his cheek, the index finger tapping against it; he sports the faintest of smiles. Judas is a little surprised that in appearance he is an ordinary-looking man with nothing distinctive about him, dressed all in black and with a long trench coat hanging from his shoulders, much the same as what he himself would wear. For some reason, he had expected something more… dramatic. He rubs his right thumb and index finger around the side of his mouth and smiles, then makes his way toward the demon. “Okay then, let’s get this over with.”
Azazel throws his head back and laughs. “How bold. You think this is going to be easy, Iscariot? You think that you will simply walk into my world and conquer me?” His laugh intensifies, “Oh my. I am going to enjoy this.” Rising out of the chair, he straightens his clothes and brushes himself down. “I assume that you have been made aware of how this works, of how you will defeat me, if you are indeed capable of it?” He stares at Judas who has now ceased his advance in favor of a defensive stance. He smiles, recognizing uncertainty upon the angel’s face, realizing that the person stood before him has no clue whatsoever as to how to play the game. He chuckles. “I see. It appears that you have not been given much information at all regarding your, er, task.” He clasps his hands together behind his back and ambles toward him. “Very well, Iscariot, in the spirit of good sportsmanship and the fact that I have studied you over the centuries and, may I say, actually do quite like you, I shall give you a heads-up. You must engage me in battle, but it will not be one of physicality alone. There will be many elements to this fight and it will not be over as quickly as you would hope or indeed assume.” He ceases walking and pauses, studying him, looking for a reaction.
Judas smiles. “Okay, do continue.”
“Hmm,” Azazel says, nodding and grinning. “Well, I will test your skill with a sword, that is for certain, but I will also test your resolve, your courage, your wit, and most importantly what level of ruthlessness you are able to attain because – and know this, Iscariot – without a high level of sheer ruthless ability, you will never be able to conquer me.” His face turns demonic, twisted and contorted. His fingers grow to razor-sharp claws and he grimaces, revealing a mouth full of crooked and jagged teeth.
Judas takes a step back. It’s not like he hasn’t seen terrifying demons before, in fact he has grown quite used to it and it is not like Azazel is the worst looking demon that he has ever faced, but something about the beast causes him immense dread and he struggles to contain it. He feels it welling up, rising throughout his entire body, from his feet, his legs, moving into his groin, making his stomach knot and constrict. It spreads through the very essence of his being, snaking its way into his soul, poisoning everything it makes contact with. It moves into his torso and he grabs at his chest as it begins to burn, fearing it will crush his heart such is the intensity of the sensation. Judas falls to one knee and looks down to see that his fear has taken physical form, that the dread has transformed itself into a serpent, jet-black with piercing red eyes that cut deep into him. It works its way up his body and wraps itself around his neck, squeezing tight, forcing him to tear at it with both hands, digging his fingers into its flesh in an attempt to gain enough purchase to pull it away, cast it off. It is impossible. The beast is too strong. It squeezes harder, crushing his windpipe and choking the life from him. He is help
less and even though he has been at the mercy of such helplessness before, this time it feels different and all at once the realization hits him – if the beast takes him here, he will be lost forever, consumed, forced into nothingness. He tries to breathe, but cannot. No air can make its way into his mouth, his lungs. Time is running out. He is almost out of options. Think Judas, think! he screams at himself, trying to hold onto his mind, attempting to shut out the panic that has burrowed its way into his psyche.
“What are you to do now Iscariot?” the snake hisses. “What is your plan to defeat me, Betrayer?”
Azazel is gone from in front of him. He closes his eyes. Is this it? Have I lost so easily? Does this beast possess so much casual power over me? His eyes snap open. From whatever place deep within his mind he is unable to fathom, a thought hits him, a notion so small yet so powerful that it reinvigorates his desire to break free. He tries to speak and as he gurgles, the snake releases its grip, just enough for him to draw in breath – he does so with great relish. He breathes out while trying to talk at the same time, his face a bruised purple and he spits as he mouths the words. “You have no physical power over me; you can only play with my mind. As long as I keep my mind, you cannot hurt me. You do not own my mind, you do not own my mind, you do not own my mind!” He screams the final words and the snake is gone. His hands go to his neck. Nothing. No pain, no crushing, it is as though it had never happened. Judas leans forward, his fingers scratching at the dirt. Closing his eyes, his hands form into fists, clawing dirt into them in the process, and he shakes his head from side to side.
“Well done Iscariot,” Azazel says, once again stood between him and the chair, “you figured it out quicker than most and of course, managed to survive. Well, the first test at least. But know this, Betrayer…”
