by N. J. Mercer
The scaffold-bearer who held the rope attached to the cross arm pulled it again, swinging the mighty beam so that it now dangled the almost lifeless Martin over the centre of the wormhole. The blood that dripped from his wounds painted an arc that extended across the stone floor and over the low wall, disappearing into the electrified purple ether. What the Disciples needed was a final boost of energy, one that would further accelerate the wormhole and allow it to bring forth the Demon King himself, because until now, it had transported only relatively minor entities from the worlds of Disorder. The perverse sciences practised by the Disciples dictated that the wormhole was to be fed with life force to achieve its highest energy state, and so they had presented it with Martin’s as it left his physical body at the point of death. The freshly nourished tunnel glowed more fiercely than ever after swallowing Martin’s soul, and it spun even faster. Martin’s dead body stretched and warped to impossible proportions until it was finally pulled to an incalculable length all the way from the hooked chain to the dimension that lay at the very end of the wormhole. It became so narrow in this process that it disappeared from view altogether – there would be no afterlife for Martin.
This energising of the wormhole was the signal for chanting to recommence, and it reached new heights of passion and intensity. The cathedral filled with fresh mantras and choruses, their increasing volume matched only by their progressive disorganisation. The whole affair appeared to have descended into a free-for-all as Disciples seemingly shouted whatever came to mind; somehow, the overall effect worked. Each dissonant voice fitted together to produce a depraved melody that defied logic and in doing so remained loyal to the philosophy of Disorder. This madness heightened the psychic energy in the cathedral further; increasingly powerful bolts of forked lightning started to crackle inside the spinning wormhole, leaping from its purple edges to the unknowable depths at its very centre. Some streaks of lightning even crossed the gap from the portal perimeter to strike Edward Devilliers at his lectern; the High Lord rocked his head back in ecstasy at this, and with outstretched arms he thrust his chest forwards to receive more of the stray, invigorating energy. Cultists writhed, gyrated and recited; some shouted, some screamed, some whispered. The electricity crackling through both the vortex and the body of Edward Devilliers became more frequent and powerful; the vibrating pulse of the portal was now a rapid pounding that shook the whole cathedral and coursed through every nerve ending of those present. Each hair on Boyd’s head and body seemed to stand on end, and his skin crawled as if infested with mites, a sure sign of high Presarium concentrations in the air. For the first time, he was experiencing what psychics perceived on a daily basis. He had been trying to avoid thinking of his friends all this time, just in case one of the psychic Disciples was to read his mind. But now he had reached the point where he could no longer control his thoughts, and all he wished for was that Johnny would find a way to put an end to the insanity he was witnessing.
**
Alien beasts from the world of Orbok, Demon King, continued to arrive periodically through the wormhole, their essence shaped as glowing clouds of speeding golden matter. Just as the Disciples had planned, they were drawn through the walls of the cathedral to the rooms in the abandoned wing of the house. Meticulous preparation meant that so far none of these creatures had materialised within the hall itself. These were glorious moments for the Disciples, they were moving closer to beholding Orbok, Demon King, and establishing their new age.
There was one of them, however, who was feeling unsettled following the ceremony, and it frustrated her that she felt this way at such an important time; something inside her was obscuring the path, asking questions that should not be asked. She had always considered her faith in Disorder to be rock solid, so why did she feel herself wavering? Surely, this should not be a problem – was it not said that Disorder rejected nothing; therefore, could it not be concluded that even her doubts had validity within the philosophy of Disorder? Her thoughts were going around in circles; she didn’t like it, although she knew why this was happening. During the offering, she, like her fellow Disciples, had felt elation at having moved closer to the goals of Disorder. The knowledge of her brother’s sacrifice had been acceptable, welcomed even, and then the chains were unwrapped. Something changed deep inside her. The sight of the pierced, broken man had produced a visceral reaction, one that rekindled the dying flame that was her old self, the thoughtful, caring sister with very human traits; and now, after many years, she was seeing the world through those eyes again. Elizabeth Devilliers found that she existed in a strange duality, the love of Disorder instilled in her through years of soul-corrupting exposure was unchanged – alongside this was the renewed presence of an earlier personality, driving her in a different direction.
Chapter 39
Edward Devilliers looked on approvingly from the stone lectern at the forces he had set in motion. As a powerful psychic, he could feel the energy around him far more intensely than anybody else present. To him the air was electric, saturated with Presarium, and his very substance resonated synergistically with each pulse from the portal. Lightning arced back and forth between the vortex and his body, lighting up the underground cathedral with brilliant white flashes that lasted for seconds at a time. Finally, he was satisfied that the wormhole, the corridor between Orbok’s world of Disorder and his cathedral, was ready. It had grown in potency ever since the beginning of the ceremony, and now it was strong enough to carry the essence of the living deity that was the Demon King.
Standing at his lectern, Devilliers felt intense sensations such as he had never experienced before; pleasure that no orgasm could match, alertness no stimulant could achieve, pain to which no torture could compare. He was enjoying himself; it was a shame he would have to be leaving all this, even if it was only for a few minutes … Arkkun was requesting an urgent audience. Faithful Arkkun had wisely allowed the ceremony to commence without interruption to a stage where the wormhole did not require the High Lord’s full attention. As he stepped away from the lectern, Edward Devilliers wondered exactly what it was that troubled his chief Disciple. He had already been informed that little Rachel, always unpredictable, had run away at the last minute, only to be found again by Mr Kreb and his hound. Mr Kreb, thought Edward Devilliers distractedly as he made his way to Arkkun, now there’s a fine specimen. His trusted enforcer, Kreb, was summoned several years ago through the wormhole to be his personal aide. Here to struggle with him until the kingdom of Disorder on Earth was established; loyal only to him, Edward Devilliers, in whose veins ran the blood of the demoness, daughter of Orbok, Demon King.
Edward sighed and shook his head as he walked through the large Gothic arch to the smaller administrative corridors at the rear of the cathedral where Arkkun awaited. After being on the lectern for so long it felt nice to stretch the legs; this was the sole reason why the High Lord had not bothered to summon Arkkun to him. What is the problem now? he wondered, guessing it had something to do with that persistent Agent of the Equilibrium; it was unfortunate, he thought, that this whole endeavour continued to flirt with failure. He consoled himself with the knowledge that despite all the hiccoughs, the ceremony was still on track; the sacrifice, a human soul, had now been offered. Martin had made himself useful after all. Keeping things on track was vital now; it would be generations before the positions of the celestial bodies (both within and outside this solar system) were in an ideal alignment for repeating this ceremony. On this particular night, the tide of Presarium flowing through the portal was just right, exactly as it had been predicted by past lords. If the flow was too weak then there would be no way that Orbok, Demon King, could complete his journey to reach Earth, and if it was too strong then any life force, including one as great as that of Orbok’s, would be torn apart by the currents. Indeed, tonight the conditions were ideal for the Demon King to manifest on Earth and touch the womb of each of the three virgins, making them carriers of his seed. A simple touch would be suffici
ent to implant his life force – so much more efficient than the human equivalent – and then the virgins would bear three kings; human–demon hybrids to rule Earth in the name of Disorder once again. Three kings to command each portal, another battle won in the Trinity War – the struggle for the alignment of the universe.
Soon, Orbok will be here in his full majesty to tread upon this world, thought Edward Devilliers joyously. It would be a dangerous time when the deity arrived; direct physical contact would mean instant death to all humans, except for the virgins, who had been chemically treated and blessed, and himself, of course, for he already had the blood of demons within him and was therefore immune to the death touch.
As he walked, Edward Devilliers listened with pleasure to the now distant, devoted chanting. It was a psychically potent piece called The Diabolicium, a collection of mantras imploring Orbok, Demon King, to appear. He was in a narrow stone corridor lined with numerous wooden doors, a far cry from the grandeur of the main cathedral hall where the ceremony continued without his presence. The fifth administrative chamber was where Arkkun would be waiting; Edward found the room and entered. He was in a small stone space that, despite its ancient origins, was now furnished and fitted out with the latest modern office furniture and electronics; carefully, he closed the door behind him. Inside the carpeted office waited Arkkun, although not as Edward had ever seen him. Arkkun the warp phantom’s physical form flickered in and out of existence. His molecules switched randomly between alternative energy states for a few seconds at a time. For an instant he would appear to be transparent, as if he were a projection of light, only to become solid suddenly or even disappear from view altogether. Edward raised one of his dark eyebrows at his old teacher’s predicament; there was going to be some explaining to do.
It took a full fifteen minutes for Arkkun to update Edward on the disruption caused by Johnny and his friends. On completing his account, he stood quietly as the High Lord of Chaos pondered. There is a powerful enemy in our midst, thought Edward, but one who has yet to perform a psychic feat that I myself would not be able to.
He was irritated at the invasion. He had complete faith in his own abilities on both the psychic and physical planes and so was not overly concerned regarding this matter, just irritated. Should the time come, I will personally cut down this intruder.
“How many more guards do we have to spare, Arkkun?” he asked.
“We have fifty remaining, about half of them armed. Five of them are lower grade psychics, four of them are my initiates; I will be happy to remove the stitching from their eyes so they may seek out and destroy the intruders.” Arkkun was referring to the practice of stitching shut the eyelids of new psychic initiates to encourage them to rely on inner perception over the five senses; in these dire circumstances, training would have to be suspended.
“Unstitch the initiates. Keep them as part of the ceremony for now; we still need to maintain the wormhole. Send the remaining psychics out with half the guards, Arkkun; the rest are to stay in the cathedral hall. The order is: ‘if they cannot stop this agent, then they are to resist him to their last breath’. I’m sure they won’t defeat him; hopefully, they can hold him off long enough to complete the ceremony. Only then will I be free to give my full attention to the eradication of this pest. I emphasise that the ceremony must not be disturbed! Orbok, Demon King – must not be disturbed!”
“Shall we send out Mr Kreb? With his beast? Together they would be quite able to track the intruder down. They are exceeded in ability and ferocity only by you, Edward.”
Devilliers shook his head. “No, Arkkun, we will not yet play all our cards. Mr Kreb is to remain in and around the cathedral.”
“As you wish.”
“By the way, how are you? Can you use your psychic ability any more as a warp phantom?”
“I am weakened, lord; my powers have become unpredictable, and they fluctuate as I have never known them to.”
Devilliers nodded with a frown, unsure how useful his lieutenant was going to be in any confrontation. “Send out the men,” he ordered.
With those words, he left the fifth administrative chamber to rejoin the ceremony. Poor Arkkun, thought Edward. Johnny’s psychic spear had struck him just as he was about to shift his physical form through space–time, thus inflicting a warp injury. Now Arkkun would spend the rest of his life as a warp phantom, to flutter in and out of existence, to be there but not really be there. That was the lot of a warp phantom. Edward felt sorry for his old teacher, to be suffering such indignities in his latter years was unfitting; he did find himself a little amused by the unfortunate flickering individual – undeniably, there was a wicked streak within Edward Devilliers. He returned to his lectern.
The ceremony was already in full flow. The High Lord’s presence produced a renewed fervour amongst his followers, who chanted and gyrated their naked bodies harder than ever in the presence of their spiritual leader. Edward was proud of them, his Disciples. He looked expectantly to the centre of the spinning purple portal, waiting for the first signs of the manifestation of Orbok; something would happen soon – he could feel it. As he stared, entranced, into the portal, he thought about Johnny’s intrusion. The attack on the cathedral complex had not been altogether unexpected; there was never any doubt that the Equilibrium would send agents to stop him sooner or later. He had gone to great lengths to try to disguise his activities; the location itself and the energy from the portal would have provided adequate cover for a while. To activate the wormhole, the corridor to the worlds of Disorder, meant harnessing huge amounts of psychic power which would have been impossible to hide indefinitely. It was only a matter of time before he was found. In fact, it was not he who had been slack, by leaving it this late to intervene in the ceremony it was his enemies who had not been paying sufficient attention.
Who is this agent? he wondered. Usually these matters could be left solely to Arkkun; this time, the old man had come unstuck. He looked up to the high balconies of the cathedral’s viewing gallery and mezzanine; he opened his senses. Arkkun was there already, projecting his orders as a psychic message to his initiates who passed it on verbally to the guards, causing as little disruption as possible to the ceremony. The guards and psychics could be differentiated from most Disciples by the simple fact that they were the robed and clothed ones. There were a few others performing specific tasks who also wore some form of dress. The majority of the gathered were required solely to participate in the ceremony and were therefore naked except for the leather masks stretched across their heads. Edward’s eye wandered around the hall, and he noticed the proportion of flesh on display become more prevalent as the robed guards were dispatched to start the hunt for any interlopers, leaving the nudes behind.
Standing at his lectern in anticipation of Orbok, Edward Devilliers felt a gentle, subtle psychic disturbance in the atmosphere which quickly disappeared. It did not possess the essence of Disorder and should not have been there. He looked around the cathedral urgently to see what it could possibly have been; he did not see or sense anything unexpected, the ceremony was proceeding as normal. He looked up to a balcony, towards the flickering form of Lord Arkkun, also a potent psychic; his old teacher seemed oblivious to the disturbance he had just sensed. Anxiously, he turned to the shadows that lay beyond the Gothic arch behind him, towards the hidden form of Mr Kreb, who was lurking there. Kreb, who also possessed powerful psychic perception, appeared unmoved, his eyeless face expressionless. There was no acknowledgement of the disturbance from him either. Nobody’s noticed! The disturbance had been very subtle and short-lived; he started to doubt if he had actually felt anything himself. No! There was definitely something there. How could they have missed it? The fools!
He cast his careful eye over the proceedings once more; his mind moved amongst the gathered cultists. What was that disturbance? The ceremony was continuing unhindered. Edward looked on solemnly as the Disciples chanted, rocked and gyrated. The wormhole spun as fast as ever, c
rackling with energy, throwing off bolts of electricity. Then, from the blackness at the portal’s very centre, there emerged a pin-point of brilliant light; there was a collective gasp from the gathered. It was the first sign of the manifestation of Orbok, and the sheer joy of the moment fuelled the dance of the Disciples. Edward Devilliers’ features softened again, and he even managed to smile. He raised his arms into the air. “Ente gresgnit artum!” he cried out, and blue-white lightning leapt from his body and into the wormhole to be absorbed by the sacred glow at its centre, increasing it in size fractionally. A renewed madness gripped the cathedral chamber; the chanting shifted to a higher pitch. He moved his attention momentarily to the three virgins, they were breathing more quickly and mystic winds from the wormhole tossed their hair. Their bodies were undergoing physiological processes never intended by nature; the resulting biochemical changes would allow them to receive the Demon King’s essence. The brightness at the centre of the spinning wormhole grew steadily and was starting to take on form; no longer a single point of light, it was now an irregular glowing shape. This slow transformation was space–time being moulded into a region that could accommodate the physical presence of Orbok; only once the glow had taken on the dimensions of the Demon King’s body would he be able to occupy it and complete his journey to Earth.
