Demonworld Book 2: The Pig Devils

by Kyle B. Stiff

  “If Didi hadn’t warned me, Yarek would not have been able to get to you first. Can you imagine the hell you would have gone through otherwise? A cop killer thrown in among hateful prison guards! They would have been worse than the rapists and murderers in the other cells.”

  Wodan nodded slowly. “Thank you. And thank Didi for me.” He looked away for a moment, then said, “Why did they pretend to be Reavers?”

  “There are not many official records about my Reavers. For Udo, a best-case scenario would be that his Third Force men would kill the Hell Hounds, reveal the footage to the media, and the media would totally accept the fact that my Reavers were the killers. Facts stating otherwise would only trickle in later, too late for me to salvage anything. Yarek would be imprisoned, the Reavers would be decommissioned, and I would’ve been ousted by Udo. In a worst-case scenario for Udo, I would’ve proven that they were not my Reavers, but the stench of corruption would still hang about them, and about me; facts would be jumbled with media buzz-words, and I would lose popularity, influence, and funding. Udo would be a hero for killing a murderous band whose orders were completely off-record.”

  “What does the diary say?” said Wodan.

  “Your friend Rachek wrote in detail about her affair with Vachs. That, combined with media attention on their public friendship, their frequent outings... it casts a bad light on him. I’ve released all of this to the media.”

  “Will Vachs be impeached?”

  Sevrik pursed his lips, moved his head in a slow circle, then exhaled. “I doubt it. Already his masters of spin are working on the whole thing. A primitive with a fragile psyche latched onto him and fantasized about mingling with a powerful man; she said the wrong thing to a patriotic Guardian unit, who hatched a plot of revenge to kill her and the other outlanders… they were misguided nationalists who feared the wasteland’s influence on the people of Haven. That sort of thing.”

  Wodan felt a hot rush of anger and smacked the wall with his fist. “God’s death, Sevrik, they’re going to get away with murder! Again, Sevrik!”

  “Calm down, son!”

  “How can they be so untouchable?!”

  Sevrik reached through the bars of the cell, grabbed his shoulder, said, “We’ll get them, son. We will.”

  “How?!” said Wodan, hanging his head in his hands, shaking, impotent.

  “Wodan, evil like this cannot continue indefinitely. I will not allow it.”

  Wodan felt tears burning through his eyes. “Can you do anything to them... before... they have me killed?”

  Sevrik leaned back. How did the boy know they were planning on the death penalty?

  “I... I don’t know,” said Sevrik, quietly. “They’re rushing your trial. It’s going to be before Didi’s. Vachs has approved placing a conservative Judge on your trial, as a “concession” to the rival Stone Warren party. A former Guardian, even. It... it doesn’t look good.”

  Wodan saw the weakness in their civilization. The hypocrisy. In order to remain safe, one had to allow and accept small injustices every day. Eventually the thing grew and grew until civilization itself became an act of genocide. It took a certain sort of person to stand against that, but that person would eventually find themselves outside of civilization. In a state of nature… no, in a state of war. When that happened, the road to justice and injustice were both paved with blood.

  * * *

  State of the Polis Address

  Aegis Vachs had met a lot of stupid people in his life. He’d also met a handful of clever individuals, but he was beginning to believe that the Book of the Red was the first self-aware entity he had ever met. He found little pleasure in its lovely, lovely pages, but he did find… was it enlightenment? How angry, like a child, he had been when Cramer had given it to him, in lieu of the silly little thing he had wanted. His boys worried so much about his fling with the outland girl... what was her name? Ah, Rachel. How silly. He had looked down on the book, thinking it a tribal artifact. How wrong he’d been!

  It taught him nothing new, but that was the very thing about it.

  The pictures were dreadful. They were nothing compared to the words.

  “On the duties of the Levi, the priest class,” he read. “They are the only ones who may approach the Holy Tabernacle. Any lower class who gains access must be put to death. Any sheep who sees the slaughter or the rites of sacrifice will bleat in panic and will spread the panic to others who have not seen. Anyone who gains access to the tabernacle who is not a member of the priest class must be put to death. The safety of the herd is paramount. This duty is holy. For the Levi is the hand of Leviathan. The mouth of the Beast must not know from whence comes the food, for the slaughter is a vision too-much in its essence.”

  And there, a picture of a woolly animal, throat slit by a pair of hands holding a knife, the blood rushing out. The face of the sheep looked vaguely human.

  “A prayer is a wish,” he read from another part. “He who wishes is a man. He who wishes, and is denied, is a man. He who wishes, and another fulfills his wish, is a great man. He who wishes and his wish is fulfilled, he who hears a wish and makes it reality, that is a God. That power belongs to God. A wish is a word. The word is with God, the word is God. In the beginning was the word. The word became reality. He who makes a word, then makes it real, is God. For the word is God...” the text rambled on, and Vachs understood every bit of it to the core of his being.

  And in the margin, a caricature of a man half-dancing, half-prostrating, before some sort of terrifying creature.

  He had never made a list of the virtues he admired, nor had he catalogued his own moral code. But to be so repulsed by a book, then to have it confirm one’s own unspoken code of living... this is, he thought, a form of enlightenment. A form of insanity. He was reminded of the truth he had always known.

  “The world is senseless. No joy is lasting. To be sane is to be dead, to be dead to the world. To go on living is an act of insanity. To be powerful is to revel in insanity. It is God’s alone, to direct reality. He alone is clean in his will. To feel joy is madness...”

  On, and on, and on.

  “One class to lead, one to say the word, one to direct. Another to enforce, to force the word into reality. To force the world to conform with the word. And yet a third, the larger part, to honor and obey and serve, in holy submission.”

  Holy submission. He thought of all the programs designed to increase voter turnout. When the dullards vote, razor-sharp virtues cannot be a part of political debate. How could they? Only a constant worry about safety, how safe is the world, how safe will I be, where are the wolves, please help me, that person looks like a wolf, et cetera. How mediocre were the two most powerful parties... he thought of how Shem Udo knew about the Dove, had kept him alive, had kept tabs on him. What a great agent of fear. How easy it was to seem a paragon of safety when you fought against such a controlled agent.

  Three classes of people? Aegis thought of Haven. There was humor! He had just written a note to himself to use the term “moral disarray” in his State of the Polis speech, in order to snag a few conservatives not willing to back up... what was his name? Timosina? Now, how crude – but how effective - that term sounded. Moral disarray! The right, the left, one hand not knowing what the other was doing. The world seemed so scary to the common citizen – but there was no real moral disarray, none at all! Pigs, wolves… sheep. No, it was far from disarray. He laughed, remembering that he’d allowed a conservative Judge to work on the case of… what was his name? Weedmo, the cop killer.

  It was perfect! Everything, just… perfect.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cheer Up, Barkus!

  Red clouds twisted into dust devils and dragged their claws through the sands of the wastes. The sky shone deep purple. Black clouds licked at the falling sun, slowly snuffing it out, promising cold. Scarred soldiers marched while commanders in motley armor shouted orders. Fires spurted in the distance, and hundreds of zeppelins swelled and shoo
k.

  A group of muscular slaves bent under the weight of a heavy wooden platform. They wore collars about their necks which were connected to wooden hooks placed around the platform. A group of Ugly stood atop the platform surveying their army. A map was laid out before them, held down from the wind by two kneeling slaves. Boris, dressed in shimmering black robes, pointed and whispered, “I should like to see those Smiths over there.”

  An Ugly nearby screamed out, “You! Take us there!” Immediately a slavemaster with a long stick ran to one edge and smacked it loudly. Men groaned beneath the platform, then it shuffled across the field.

  Barkus stood beside his brother. He looked tall and lean, and a black cloak hung limp from his shoulders. Happiness Joe Heffer stood on the other side, armored in dark leather shod with spiked iron and tufts of black fur jerking in the wind. His bodyguards glanced uneasily at the motionless Hand nearby.

  Boris looked down at the map. The two slaves holding it down averted their eyes and prayed for invisibility. Barkus and Heffer joined him.

  The map showed an island, a ring of mountians, a city. Key points marked in red. Hordes of arrows in blue and green. Four wide orange circles with chaotic radial lines extended. The map was labeled

  Haven of Infidels

  “Here, in the northwest,” said Boris, pointing. “Several power stations that must be bombed from afar. Immediately. One of these things is powered by something unnatural. We’ve been warned to stay away from the area completely once the area is demolished. Other power generators, small, coal-based, extending down here... here... here. Hit as many as you can. This will darken their city. That is of prime importance.”

  Heffer nodded. Barkus looked about idly, then back to the map.

  “Most of their soldiers, vehicles, and weapon stockpiles are stationed in the east, here,” Boris continued. “Bomb this from afar before you move in. Barkus, you will oversee this. They may scatter like dogs. They may put up fierce resistance. You, brother, know to fear their weapons. That’s why this is your area. Ultimately, whether you land or remain airborne is up to you.”

  Barkus stood silent.

  “Heffer, you land in the south... push your way up north and tear through the center. Angle your troops eastward, though, to help Barkus if you can. The center contains their political apparatus and more soldiers than in the north. Smiths are going to bomb that area before you hit it. They’ll be shaken. Run over them and crush them.”

  Heffer nodded, curling his lips apart.

  “The gods did quite a job in scouting the enemy’s land,” said Boris, tapping the map with his cane. “It would be a shame if we let them down now.”

  “If we let them down...” Barkus said quietly.

  “I think our reinforcements will soon arrive,” said Boris, turning away from his brother. He stroked the bundle under his robes, which meowed pathetically.

  The wooden platform drew near some zeppelins, slaves moving boxes, Smith overseers shouting and speaking into radios. Heffer pointed to a group of slaves moving a heavy, cylindrical metal object. “Beautiful,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Smith bombs,” said Boris, nodding. “If the zeppelin is our gun, that is its bullet. Who knows how long the Smiths have been sitting on this technology? Gentlemen, we may be looking at one of the greatest artifacts the Ancients have to offer us.”

  They watched the shells being loaded into the zeppelins, then Boris turned to face them. “The entire Right and Left Arm will be taking part in the assault. That means you two will keep the majority of whatever technology you find there. Conceal as much as you can from the Smiths that accompany you; we’re already massively in debt with them because of this operation, and I want to have enough resources left over to knock Filius Bilch out of Sunport after this.”

  He glanced quickly at Barkus. Barkus’s flat gray eyes did not waver, but they also did not challenge.

  “You’ll be reinforced by some of Utrecht Sera’s men, Leg berserkers who should prove useful. If you need fodder, use them first. Sera’s one of us, but we don’t want him knowing what we bring back, either. Still, he probably has spies in both of the Arms, so don’t do anything that will blatantly piss off any of the helpers.

  “I’ve given you as much of the Body as I can spare. Those boys will be desperate to prove themselves. I would give you more, but I know the Coil, and maybe even the Law, will move against me as soon as you go. I’ll need enough men to hold them at bay.”

  “We’ll have to hit their air fields quickly,” said Barkus. He seemed distant. He alone was not convinced that victory was assured. “I’m the only person here who’s seen their power at work.”

  “I wouldn’t worry so much,” said Boris, smiling wickedly, face glowing in the dying light. “You will have… other reinforcements with you.”

  A tremor of suspense had been writhing in the troops and slaves. Rumors of a divine manifestation had been spread. Eyes were constantly diverted to the horizon. Boris laid a hand on Barkus’s shoulder and, in that moment, the wind shifted suddenly. Shadows passed over the sand and dust kicked up into the air. A shrill cry went up from many zeppelin riders. The eyes on the horizon should have watched the skies.

  Four great dragons crashed into the earth. Men ran screaming, trampling one another, praying in confusion to the terrible gods among them. The dragons were quivering towers of muscle, thickly armored, serrated wings flapping, reptilian eyes flashing like iron on the forge. Boris raised his hands, laughing, screaming, “Hail! Hail! Hail!” and, on a whim, Barkus turned his radio on and held it to his brother’s mouth so that others could hear his laughter.

  The first flesh dragon was red. Great muscles quivered on its flanks like maggots on the dead. Its face was full of fury and its mouth stretched wide to show uneven rows of teeth. Sparks fell in a shower from its mouth as it scraped its coarse tongue along the roof of its mouth, then electric flashes danced along its teeth and neck, then down its arms, causing the sand to jump with static charge as it gripped the sand. The dragon whirled on an ammunition crate that a group of slaves had abandoned in terror; the dragon opened its mouth wide in a terrible howl, then a bolt of lightning arced forth and incinerated the thing in a great explosion.

  The second flesh dragon was black, covered in long scales and spikes like thick swords edged in dark blue. It tucked its short wings at its sides, then charged back and forth in a blur. Its mouth was held shut by restrictive tendons and its eyes glowed a sickly, piercing yellow. It suddenly stopped its whirling charge and tensed up, then the spikes along its sides rose up fiercely. The sand was blasted in a wide circle as many long spears shot from the beast and embedded themselves in the earth, shaking with violence.

  The third flesh dragon was long and serpentine. It coiled about itself, scales flashing dark green and black. Its mouth came open, its thick, wet tongue rolled out like a fat worm, then it vomited out a dark, sticky mist. The monster disappeared in the black cloud. The mist rolled about, expanding, then suddenly the beast shot forth in a strange coiling charge. A group of men scattered before it, but the dragon slapped one man aside easily, shattering nearly every bone in his body.

  The fourth flesh dragon glared at the Ugly horde imperiously. Its armored hide was thicker than the other dragons’ scales. It was dull brown highlighted with flecks of gold, and its eyes burned red. It sat on its haunches and flexed its powerful wings slowly. Great claws on its fingers extended from sheathes, in and out. No one could see even an inch of space between its scales, but the flesh dragon offered no show of strength. Thus it seemed stronger than all the others.

  The Ugly horde gathered around the monsters in a wide ring, fearing to draw near but inspired by the divine appearance. They knew that the gods themselves had come and would lead them to paradise – then give them the means to destroy paradise. The new and glorious ritual filled them with wonder. They raised their fists, fired their guns in the air, and cried out, “VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VI
CTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY!”

  Boris turned his brother and said, “Our faith was tested when it seemed like the gods had all but retreated from the wasteland. But look, Barkus! Here are their most powerful kin, ready to ally with us! We are entering a new age, brother. A new world! We have survived where others could not. We have made compromises. We have lost much. I know your faith has been shaken. You know them to be monsters, more so than any other saint in our ranks. But now daring is called for, brother. Once, we lived in the shadow of the demon. We lived by their edict, we adopted the virtues from their book. Now, we must follow their example. By their example must we live!”

  Boris held Barkus’s arm with one hand, then cast his other hand over their screaming army, their zeppelins, their hideous gods. “A new world awaits us. This will be an age of pioneers! We must map out unexplored cultures to take from, to extinguish! We must find new ideas to snuff out, new enemies to crush alongside the old! Will we be masters of the new world, Barkus? Will we continue as we are now, slaves and little masters of little slaves? Or will we risk? Just like when we murdered father so long ago. Will we risk?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Trial of the Superman

  A crowd gathered in the snow about Debate Focus. Granite pillars draped in blue streamers framed the wide, rounded pit of stairs that led down to the court. Here, hundreds of years ago, political and cultural debates were held in public; because of the acoustic setup, anyone could be heard speaking from the center. These days, Debate Focus was used to bring justice to the greatest criminal cases. Brightly colored clothes peeked out from cloaks of gray, white, and black as the crowd milled about, awaiting the spectacle that the media had dubbed “The Trial of the Superman”.