by A. L. Mengel
Paula screamed as Verkai held her tightly.
The demon still sat hunched in a crouched position, with its arm extended, as if exhausted.
“Do not say a word or make a move,” Verkai whispered to her, as she continued to look on, paralyzed like a statue – admittedly too fearful to make a move for fear of disturbing the Hellspawn. “Very few have witnessed such an event as this,” he continued, hugging her closer.
Nesmaron.
Once the demon stood and started to drip free of the plasma juices, he turned his head to their direction. He reached his arm closer to where Paula was standing. He was crouched across the blackness, across from Paula, the black armor on his arm stretched and extended out to her.
The monster pulled her free from Verkai’s grasp, and Verkai was frozen cold and still. He could do nothing to stop the power from Nesmaron. Paula gravitated towards the demon as it stood even higher, getting taller the more its limbs stretched out.
The arms and legs were lined with black fins that looked more amphibian gills than anything else. When he stood up completely, he towered over Verkai and Paula to more than double their height.
He was the demon incarnate.
A long, thick tail grew from his back, and the limbs and body filled from the spiny appendages from gestation to gargantuan, treelike muscular trunks. His chest broadened; his arms grew with muscle and veins. His fingers spiked as did his face – his face was elongated and spiked at the chin and the forehead.
Paula stared at the monster, walking up to him, and hugged him tightly around the torso. He put one hand on her back, tapping his spiny fingers, rubbing her back as her dirty blonde hair lengthened and darkened, and her form and figure began to fill out – her bosoms grew, and so did her height.
Nesmaron turned his gaze to Verkai.
Verkai instantly spilled to the floor in a heaped mess, writhing in pain, as smoke hissed and seeped from his body. The acid that was eating his aura from the inside out was searing through his inner being and left him piled on the floor in a darkened smoking mess.
And the door slammed shut, closing out all light as the blackness overtook and the monster bore his teeth and flames ignited in the walls. The monster held his creator in lengthy arms, holding her tighter and tighter as he screamed and dripped acidic saliva, and the two fell – they fell down deeper and deeper into the darkness as blood red shone through the darkness coating them in thick viscous bright red blood.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Jonas felt like he was floating.
He felt like he was floating down the bright white hallways of the sterile South Shore hospital, following his killer, just steps ahead. The mysterious dark-cloaked figure glided through the halls and around nurses, doctors and orderlies that were harried and full of chaotic activity.
And Jonas most certainly was floating. For when he looked down, he saw that he was not standing on the hard tile floor, but levitating above and down the hall. He was drifting forward, in a motion that he felt he could not control and didn’t want to stop.
He wanted to know this killer. He wanted to feel what he felt.
But there was too much pain, too much heartache that he still felt clinging to; he didn’t feel as though a transition would have been easy.
The killer turned and faced him, with a darkened face and smiled; the killer stood waiting at the door for his follower to catch up.
“Come with me,” he said. “Through these doors. Out there, that is where we will go and beyond…it has just begun, my dear child, just begun. You will see. Follow me, and you will see.”
But when the doors open the green mist poured in like a giant toxic cloud and filled the hallway, destroying all light and the darkness quickly overtook the hospital. It was eerily silent, and he could not see in front of him. The mist was so dense and dark, when he brought he arm up in front of his face, he could not see it. But he assumed it was there.
“Are you there?” he asked quietly into the mist. It swirled in front of him, as if mocking him. There was no sign of his killer. Just the tease of the mist. He continued his search for the mysterious man. “Hello? Are you there?”
He squinted his eyes and tried to get his bearings, but all he saw was the mist. He tried moving forward, but couldn’t feel the floor. He extended his arm to search for the wall, but nothing was there – just the gaseous swirling cloud.
Off in the distance, there was a clanking. It was a shrill, methodic sound, like a wrench being rapped against a steel pipe. It started quietly and slowly, but then got increasingly louder and more determined, until it deepened to a deafening boom.
“Who is out there?!” he called into the darkness. He lunged forward and lost his footing, falling into the mist but not reaching the floor. Instead he felt like he was floating.
The banging persisted, but he did not attempt to venture closer to the source. It kept on increasing in intensity.
And it sounded like it was getting closer to him.
The mist cleared somewhat, at least enough so Jonas could make out his surroundings. He was now able to return to standing, and felt the reassuring solidity of the floor once again.
He was no longer at the South Shore Hospital, he could tell that much. Where he stood was now vast and open and dark.
He tried to remember, as best as he could, what his killer had done. He closed his eyes and saw the hospital hallway, right before the mist came. He saw his killer open the door and then turn to him and smile. And then the mist quickly entered and overtook him – killing his senses.
And that had been it.
But recalling his movement down where the hospital hallway had been, as he remembered looking in the direction of Trauma-4, he now saw nothing that resembled a hallway filled with racing doctors and nurses pushing patients on gurneys. He saw a large, vast open space. When he looked up, the darkness seemed as though it went on forever, into some unknown distance, like the heavens in space, but without stars.
Just a deep, dark black.
Peering ahead, what he assumed must have been quite a distance, he saw an flickering orange light that looked like it might be a fire. And surrounding that fire, he thought he saw movement. It also sounded like the banging was coming from there. His curiosity getting the best of him, he started to move forward towards the fire. When he reached his foot in front of him, he felt for the floor; it was there, but he did not move across it like one might normally. He glided, hovering and moving – not because his brain told his feet to reach forward, but rather as he was willed to come to the new location. As the flicker became larger in his view, he confirmed that it definitely was a large fire of some sort, like a bonfire. There were dark figures which appeared to be dancing around the flames.
And then he stopped moving.
He crouched down, in an attempt to conceal his presence.
While still at a distance, he was much closer to the fire, and saw something being carried in by two muscular figures. The figures moved several feet apart, and appeared to separated by what could have a been a body laid out between them on some sort of transportation device like a stretcher.
The figures set it down next to the fire, and Jonas felt strong winds start to blow. They came instantly and rapidly increased to such velocity that Jonas fell to his knees, and only then did he realize that whatever the ground was – was not grass, nor was it dirt.
It felt soft and spongy.
And warm.
He brought his hand up closer to his face and sniffed the slimy substance that slowly dripped from his fingers. Grimacing, he wiped his hands on his pants, and made a feeble attempt to stand against the winds. He sought something to hold on to and steady himself, finding nothing and falling once again.
He found that he could steady himself in a kneeling position, and saw that even with the intensity of the winds, the fire had gotten larger and was raging. The flames reached and fingered against a darkness that held steady; he could feel their searing heat and the intensity of
their roar.
But the flames now highlighted a third figure, standing in front of the fire. A giant beastly silhouette. Expansive wings stretched out from the center figure wide and far. The winged beast stood above the body lain on the stretcher.
The two smaller figures held the stretcher in front of the largest beast; they lifted it up several feet off the ground, and placed it on a stone slab which held the fire.
Jonas watched, mesmerized and glued to the action in front of him. He did not notice his killer was there too; he had return next to where Jonas was, and Jonas didn’t hear his killer’s cry for help until he felt a tight grip on his arm, pulling him forward and almost pulling him over.
The he was, the same mysterious man who had smiled to him in the hospital hallway, reaching up for him from a pool of blood. His eyes were deep yellow, and his hair was covered in blood in a dark, sticky mess.
“Help me!” he cried to Jonas, collapsing back onto the ground in a bloody mess. “Help me and help him!” He pointed to the fire, and Jonas saw the largest beast draw a sword, and touched the tip to the fire; the sword ignited in flames.
The figure on the table started to writhe and squirm.
“They’re alive?” Jonas asked, focused on the writhing man. “That man is alive?”
“You need to help him!” the killer cried, fervently pointing towards the fire. The sword was held high over the squirming body, and all three figures had their wings spread.
“What happened to you?!” Jonas called to his killer over the winds. “Where are we?!”
A storm raged above them as the sky turned red and lightning crashed as the thunder raged.
“He is all I have!” the killer pleaded. “He is the one I created! He is the one that resurrected me! I must have him alive!”
“How do we stop them?”
“You don’t understand! I no longer can! I tried to save him, I tried, for when the mist came, I saw! I saw that his only son betrayed him! He has been running from this demon for so many years, so many years and I am the cause of it!”
The flaming sword crashed down against the slab; the storm swelled and the fire spread on the writhing figure.
“No!” the killer cried. He tried to move closer to the fire, but Jonas saw that he was seriously injured. Jonas saw the greyish bone jutting out from the torn flesh of his killer’s leg.
The killer collapsed on the ground and sobbed as the fire swelled, burning the figure on the stone table. The three muscular figures flapped their wings and flew away, leaving the fire to burn.
“Take me to him!” the killer pleaded through tears. “Carry me over there, I must see him!”
“Is it safe?”
The winds died down, and from the distance they could hear the cracking of the fire. They even felt the heat.
The killer wiped his eyes, smearing his cheeks with blood. “Yes. They are gone. The deed is done. They will not return.”
Jonas bent down to pick him up. He tried as gently and gingerly as he could, easing his arms under the man. His killer winced in pain, but continued to stare at the fire. “Please hurry!” he said.
Carrying the man to the fire proved to be easy, and he quickly set the man down and helped him steady his feet. The man screamed in pain again, as the protruding bone moved. Shortly Jonas was standing right in front of the stone slab, staring at a body burning down to ash, in front of an altar of flames. His killer stood as close to the fire as he could, and extended his hand towards the fire.
He covered his eyes and sobbed.
“Who…is this…this is someone very dear to you is it not?”
He shook his head in affirmation, wiping his eyes once again. It remained silent save the crackle of the fire.
“I knew this would happen,” the killer started. “I knew this would happen but I did nothing to stop it. I tried. I tried and now look at me. A pitiful excuse of my former self. What I once was…what I once did…with him!” He looked down at the body and shook his head. “I didn’t choose him, he chose me,” he continued.
“Who was he?” Jonas asked.
“He was a brilliant and loving immortal. He was a sinful demon. And here he met his destiny. A destiny that was determined when he came for me. A destiny that was determined when he killed me. He killed me, but he came back for me. He knew what he was doing when he came for me. He knew, that I can tell you for certain.”
“And what happened of those monsters that were here?”
“Those were no monsters,” the killer said. “They were demons settling a debt. He was destined to pay for what he did, for coming for me, and that is how he met this fate. And now, trying to save him, I have mine. For I used to be what he was.”
“What he was?”
“Yes. I sit here before you in pain and destined to die. I do not know how much time I will have left or if I will be able to be saved. The clock has begun, and if I don’t find a way to raise him up I am destined to die and spend and eternity in Hell. And I will not be able to be resurrected again.”
Jonas looked at the body in the fire before them. It was breaking down quickly into ash, the skin was dripping off the bones and the bones were splitting and cracking in the heat. He stared, mesmerized.
“It won’t be much longer now. Once the fire dies down and he is only ash, I must take him and bury him. But I need him to be resurrected. I need him to survive.”
“Who is he?”
“He is my creation, Jonas. I killed him like I killed you, but I did so very many years ago. And he came here, and was betrayed by his only creation…”
Jonas held his killer more tightly, and looked down at his broken leg. “Maybe we should get that taken care of,” he said. But the killer paid him no mind.
“His only creation put him right into the hands of Asmodai. You, on the other hand, left your protégé alone and scared in the mist, outside the offices looking for you, where this beloved immortal used to go so many times. You left him there because I entered your thoughts.”
“Uriel?”
“Yes, Jean Carlo. The one you stole from me. But how do you think you remembered the hospital? You remembered because I called you here. I needed you here to help me. I know because I killed you.”
“How did I steal Jean Carlo from you?”
“I took his life, Jonas. He ran to you. I let him run. But now he is scared and alone and waiting for you, but you are here with me. I know where your loyalty lies.”
“So you are saying that this is Jean Carlo!?” Jonas stared down at the body with wide eyes.
The killer shook his head. “No,” he said. “This is the one who resurrected me, and now has paid the price for it. All because of his the one he created. I tried to protect him. I tried my hardest, but Asmodai won. He always does.”
“And who are you?”
“I used to be just like him, but now I am going to die,” he said. He paused smoothed his dark hair, and stared down at the body before them, a tear streaking through the blood on his cheek. He looked over at Jonas, and stared him in the eye. The flicker of the flame caught his face, and he seemed to glow.
“My name is Darius,” he said, as tears weaved their way down blood stained cheeks.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Jonas couldn’t hear Jean Carlo calling his name out, over and over again through the green swirling mist that overtook the offices of The Astral. Neither did Sheldon, but Sheldon was close by and would be making his appearance soon. No one heard Jean Carlo stumbling over the coffee table in the waiting room, or crashing into the glass door and spilling out onto Ponce De Leon in a shower of broken glass.
But what Jean Carlo could hear – above all else – were the sounds of feet. Many feet that were taking steps in unison, like the sound of a military regimen.
He waved his arms in front of him in a feeble attempt to part the mist and see the source of the commotion, but all he did was move the mist around and it seemed like it got denser and angrier.
“Run
!” a mystery voice screamed, right in front of him, startling him until he fell backwards through the broken window. A bloodied female face matted with stringy yellowed hair, appeared from the mist and warned him with wide eyes. “Get out as fast as you can! It’s them! They are here!”
She screamed, and a phantom arm grabbed her face around from the side, and pulled her back into the mist.
The army sounded closer now. So close, in fact, it sounded like the soldiers were marching right on the street in front of where Jean Carlo lay.
He struggled back onto his feet, gingerly brushing the glass from his pants, and stopped when he heard a voice.
“Good Evening, Mr. Castillo.”
Standing in front of him was a short, fat paunchy old man. He couldn’t quite remember where he had seen this man before, but he knew he looked familiar. Where did he know this man from?
“What have you done here to my door?” he asked, stepping forward as the glass crisped and crunched under the man’s heavy shoes. The man stopped and scanned the doorway, observing shards of glass still hanging from the edges of the frame. He glared down at Jean Carlo sternly. “Sir, let me pass!”
Jean Carlo stood aside, and the man squeezed by, seemingly un-phased by the blinding vapor. The old man crept further into the offices, and snapped around to see where Jean Carlo was standing. “And another thing,” the man said. “Don’t snoop in my fucking office again!” The man screamed at the top of his lungs, and his head detached from his body as his did so, fireballs shot from his eye sockets as the skin and fat bubbled up in the searing heat; it slowly dripped and melted off his body into a steaming lake of melted skin on the floor. His skeleton tried to open the office door.
Jean Carlo turned to run from the boiling mess and was stopped by a hulking beast standing in the doorway. The beast reached behind his back and drew a giant steel weapon which had a long barrel like a cannon and fired it at the screaming skeleton.
