by Brian Rella
A hole. Inside him, in a deep place where his vital spirit had once been, there was nothing. And the hole hurt. It gnawed at him, driving a sense of madness through him as it pulsed and pressed him with one thought—fill the hole.
He beat at his chest, trying to stop the pain, but he felt nothing. No pain at his blows. All he felt was the hole within.
His mind had become unglued and corrupted. The hollow space inside that he could not soothe angered him, and his anger was unregulated, leaving his warped mind to inspire him to violence that ran rampant inside him, infecting his entire being, and gave him… purpose. His thoughts devolved into simple, depraved fragments.
Pain. Hurt. Murder. Kill.
Still pounding at the empty space in his chest that he could not reach, he took a step and felt the new sensations of his purpose. Stop the hurt. It burns…it burns like the Sun. Fill the hole. Release the anger! It burns! Stop the hurt!
His brain, disconnected from his spirit and infected by the evil of Kuriel, repeated the same cadence of commands to his body over and over. He had no desire to do anything but fill the hole, and his twisted thoughts only knew of one way to do so.
He followed in Kuriel’s footsteps, rambling behind him as if he were a shepherd, searching for a cure for his desire. The flesh of man will fill the hole.
The soulless man caught up to Kuriel and looked to him, compelled by the power of his master. “What have you done to me?” he said, his voice scratchy and monotone.
Kuriel gazed at his creation, and a guttural noise escaped him.
The soulless man trembled before him. “You are Dalkhu,” the soulless man wheezed, calling him the Sumerian word for evil spirit. And from that moment forward, the humans started to call him Dalkhu, the evil spirit.
Kuriel growled. “I am Dalkhu, Shepherd of the Soulless, and you are my servant. You will obey my law, for Dalkhu now commands you.”
“Yes, my master. Your will, is my law. I must fill the hole with their flesh and blood,” the soulless man said. He could smell the flesh ahead where the tribe slept, and he shifted on his feet, desire pulling at him to run at the people of the tribe and devour them. But the force of his master prevented him from running wildly into the encampment. His body ached with the hunger. Run. Flesh ahead. Feed. Fill the hole.
The voice of the Shepherd of the Soulless echoed in his skull, and he cringed at the power of his creator. Dalkhu’s command cut through him like a sword. “Do not kill them all. They are mine.”
“And what of me?”
“You will serve me. You will take what I give you; go where I tell you; eat what I tell you. You are mine.”
“Yes, my master.”
Dalkhu’s chest rattled with a gravelly sound and he released the soulless man. He ran at the human tribe, kicking up dirt and sand behind him. The sweet smell of man-meat overwhelmed him. The embers of their dying fires glowed white-gray in his vision. Around the flames he saw bodies, and he moved toward them, slowing his pace, picking his victim from the sleeping crowd. Finding one that smelled especially exquisite, he tried to lunge, but was held back again by the mental power of Dalkhu.
Dalkhu was pleased at his power over the man, and he grinned, and then the Shepherd of the Soulless set his creation free.
He is yours. The others are mine.
Silently the soulless man crouched, his victim’s neck shimmering brightly with the spark of his light. He paused, smelling the sweetness of the flesh, then leaned in, and opened his mouth. His black eyes rolled back into his head as he sank his teeth into the sleeping man’s neck. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth and down his throat. The hole inside of him began to fill. His meal awoke and screamed beneath him, but not for long. He could not scream with no neck.
The sleeping tribe came to life with the man’s scream, but they could not move, for Dalkhu’s presence paralyzed them.
The base of Dalkhu’s staff tapped the ground, and red vapor spilled from his muzzle. Streams of glowing red mist slinked through the slumberous victims. The paralyzed people inhaled Dalkhu’s breath, and exhaled the thick red murk of their spirit into the air. The thick crimson clouds hung over the tribe, and moved back to Dalkhu’s mouth like rolling fog, and he infused himself with dozens of souls until none were left.
His vessel full, Dalkhu moved away from the tribe, walking on into the night. One by one, his victims rose, their minds clouded by the loss of their spirit, and the hole they felt in their chests. Their brains screamed one collective thought over and over: Fill the hole. Fill the hole with flesh and blood.
They followed their master in a haphazard mob of collective hunger through the desert in search of the flesh to fill the emptiness.
From within Dalkhu the light he consumed was marred by the pure darkness of being. The light of the human souls he devoured darkened, forming a black ball of energy that hardened and moved up his torso and into his gullet.
He opened his mouth, choking the ball out of his mouth. It streaked with scarlet accents the color of its master’s eyes, and floated out of Dalkhu to find its home in the curl of his staff. An evil power settled in the stone, and the Stone of Serr’rah was born, empowered with pure dark energy to challenge the Creator’s light.
And the Stone of Serr’rah grew with the light of humans that Dalkhu consumed, and his soulless army grew. And Dalkhu swore to use the stone’s power against Him, and His creations; to rule over the land of the living, and destroy them all.
Dalkhu raised his head to the moon and howled into the night, calling to his growing horde of soulless to follow him, and the dead ones marched behind their master, Dalkhu, the Shepherd of the Soulless, in search of more souls to grow their ranks, and to send the land of the living to its eternal death.
27
ROY
October 28, 2015
Beauchamp, Louisiana
The center of Beauchamp was no better than the outskirts. Run-down, sagging storefronts lined both sides of Main Street. Most were empty, dilapidated structures that had seen better times. There was a hotel being repaired. Scaffolding went up its front and the third floor looked as if it had been damaged by fire.
Not fire. Watcher was here, Legion whispered to Roy.
“What the fuck is a Watcher?” Roy said out loud.
Offspring of the Fallen and the humans. Protectors of the land of the living.
Roy laughed out loud. “And you know there was a Watcher here how?”
We see his mark. Watcher was here.
Roy grinned. Legion was indeed a powerful and helpful servant. Delighted, he stepped on to the narrow stoop to the walkup apartments at the building toward the end of Main Street. He pushed the door open and the stairs creaked as he started up the first floor. His breathing was heavy and he cursed the place for not having an elevator. By the time he reached the top floor where Marie’s apartment was, he was panting and sweating. “Fucking stairs,” he wheezed, leaning against the wall to catch his breath.
He moved slowly to the girl’s apartment door and listened for any movement inside. “Legion, will you go see if our new friend is home?”
Legion rose from behind Roy’s back and slipped under the door. A moment later, screams rang out from somewhere in the apartment. “Oh, good, she is home.” He kicked at the door and the flimsy lock snapped. The door creaked open on its worn hinges and Roy stepped inside, already giddy with the prospects of a new toy to play with.
The apartment was scarcely furnished. An economy kitchen with a sink full of dishes and glasses stunk up the entryway. Beyond the kitchen was a living room that was also serving as a bedroom. Legion had pinned who Roy supposed was Marie on her back to the bed, her mouth covered by the demon’s black oily body, her eyes wide, and her thick legs squirming to get free.
Roy sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over the girl with a toothy grin. “No use fighting. There’s nowhere to go.”
Marie’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head trying to free herself. Roy grabbe
d her by the hair and pulled her head toward him. A sneer spread across Roy’s face. “Now stop all that fussing before you hurt yourself,” he snarled, tightening his grip. She whimpered beneath the demon’s grasp, her breath coming in rapid heaves.
“I want to ask you some questions and I’m going to have my friend here release your mouth so we can talk. But if you scream, I’ll have him give you something to scream about.” He leaned in close, inches away from her face, and licked Legion’s torso. “Am I clear?”
Marie stopped squirming, her eyebrows arched, and she nodded. “Very good. Legion?”
The demon uncoiled from around her mouth and Marie sucked in a deep breath and let it out. Roy placed his hand on her cheek, and stroked it. “Good girl. Now I was just visiting your parents and unfortunately they were less than helpful, so I fed them to my friend here. But before they died, they did say you might be of help to me. So what do you say, Marie? Want to help me?”
Legion coiled in the air above Marie, his many mouths chattering and snapping. She stared bug-eyed at the demon. It paused, seeming to look at her. The oily black skin and its crimson lips shifted and formed into the face of Steve. The image smiled and winked at her, then suddenly transformed back into the eyeless face of Legion and darted at her, hissing and snapping like a rabid snake. Marie yelped and started hyperventilating.
“Now, now,” Roy sneered, grabbing hold of her face with both his hands and pulling her toward him. “Don’t you get excited. You don’t want to end up like your daddy, do you?”
“N-No. Please…what do you want?”
“Good. I just want some information about your sister, hmm? Now, where can I find Jessie?”
Tears flowed from Marie’s eyes in long tracks. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.
“No, no. That won’t do. Legion, give her a kiss.”
One of Legion’s slick heads moved slowly toward Marie’s face, jawing at her. Slime oozed from its mouth and fell onto Marie’s cheek.
“No! Please! I don’t know where she is, but I know where she went!”
Roy motioned for Legion to stop. “I already know that, Marie. Now, if you have nothing else…”
“A man! A man with…with…with magic. He came…he…he turned me back. He turned me back! Maybe he knows…”
Roy was pensive for a moment. “Turned you back from what, darling?”
“I—she turned me into a…a pig and h-he turned me back and then he was on the phone with someone in his car and said he was going to Chicago and was going after her, and I swear, I—I swear that’s all I know… I wouldn’t—”
“Shut up,” he said.
The magic man again. Looking for her too? I can’t wait to meet him.
“Unfortunately, Marie, I already know this. So if there is nothing else you can tell me, then I’m afraid this is where—”
“No please…I told you everything…I—”
“I know you did, sweetheart, and now it’s time for us to move on and for you to evolve. But don’t worry. We’re going to be close. And you’ll be making a whole new set of friends when you join my team.” Roy lay back with her in bed as Legion swarmed around the room above them both. He turned his head sideways and whispered in her ear. “In fact, you’ll be with your father and mother again, and won’t it be nice to have the family back together?”
Roy giggled in her ear as a dozen mouths descended upon her. She screamed and whimpered and a bright red stain of her blood spread across the bed. Legion’s hissing and moaning soon drowned out her cries as he devoured her flesh and incorporated her into his being.
28
FRANK
October 28, 2015
New York, New York
From the plush leather chair across the desk, Frank gazed at all the books open and fanned out in front of Brennan. The priest scribbled furiously in his notebook, pausing only to glance up, find his place in one of the texts in front of him, and then back down, nose to the notebook again.
Frank had heard of exactly none of these books, he realized as he scanned their titles. Most of them were ancient shreds and rags of books that looked like they’d turn to dust if Brennan turned the page too roughly. The majority of knowledge of the Order was in this form; ancient texts that might have been sitting in a museum somewhere if they weren’t so powerful. Frank noticed most of the books were written in Aramaic or Enochian, the angelic language. He wondered what the priest had found in his journey back in time.
Brennan finally glanced up from what he had written and met Frank with serious eyes.
“I love it when you look at me like that,” Frank said.
“This is serious, Frank,” Brennan replied curtly. He looked tired, like he had been down here all night. He smells like he has been.
“So what is all this?” Frank asked.
“The boy, Frank. Is Jack here?”
“Yeah. He’s probably asleep already. We spent the day at the ward.”
Brennan searched Frank’s face. “Did you see your mother?”
Frank nodded impassively and offered no comment.
“Good, Frank. I’m glad you got to see her. And the boy’s mother? She’s okay?”
“Resting.”
“Good,” Brennan said. “And how are the boys adjusting to things?”
Frank grew impatient. “Yeah, everyone is just peachy, Brennan. I took the boys for ice cream and tomorrow we’re going to the park to throw the ball around. You gonna get to the point or you want to ask me if the boys ate their vegetables?”
Brennan sighed and sat back in his chair. He drew his notebook close and rubbed his chin. “Okay, Francis, here it is. This is why the boy is so important. This is why I need you to train him. And protect him.”
Frank leaned forward, and Brennan began:
“Do you know the Book of Razmus?”
“Never heard of it, professor. Who’s Razmus?”
“Razmus was the first human to resist the Fallen. When the Fallen began to grow in numbers, subjugate humanity, and mate with humans, Razmus conspired with Watchers to fight against them. ”
“Got it. Okay, and?”
“He wrote a testament to his experiences and visions with the Arch Angel Uriel. He’s the one who gave us the translation of Enochian, the language of the Angels, into English. He’s also the first human who rose up against the Fallen and helped defeat one of them. You remember the stories about Dalkhu and the Army of the Soulless?”
Frank thought back to his education at the Temple. He remembered his classes…and how much he hated them. He did vaguely remember the story of some nasty, evil bastard called Dalkhu and how he ate souls or some shit, but he couldn’t recall the Book of Razmus. There were many human prophets through time; Enoch he remembered, maybe a few of the others. Some were false and some were real, but mostly Frank spent his time in school learning spells and how to fight so that he could hunt and kill the Fallen, leaving the studies to guys like Brennan who lived for the books.
He did remember most of these accounts of visions and talking with angels were discarded by the major religions because the feeling was they were untrue and spoke of magic and witchery, which had been cleansed from the major religions many times. Burning people at the stake for witchcraft had been a favorite pastime of organized religions over the centuries, he knew.
“I remember bits and pieces, but you’re the expert. Tell me.”
“Fine. I suppose you don’t remember much about the hierarchy in His kingdom—”
“Whose kingdom?” Frank snarked.
“You gonna let me tell you or what?”
Frank grinned. He enjoyed giving Brennan a hard time.
“Christians believe in a hierarchy of celestial beings. They believe in the mystery of the Trinity, who are at the top of the Kingdom of God—God the Father, Jesus the Son, and The Holy Spirit. The mystery is that all three are actually one God and one being. Beneath them there’s a hierarchy of angels that were created during the beginning of the u
niverse. You following?”
Frank nodded and paid attention. He did kind of like this stuff. It was like comic-book mythology to him.
“Angels can’t move in the hierarchy. They are fixed in position and relationship to God. There are arch angels, cherubim, seraphim—”
“Okay, got it. Keep going. I don’t need to know everything, just the highlights.” Frank kind of liked this stuff, but not as much as Brennan.
“Fine. So about eight thousand years ago, a lesser angel, named Kuriel, was sent by God to watch over His new creation—mankind. After spending time on Earth, he realized that God really had created something special in humans, and he became jealous. What made humans special was their souls.”
“Why is having a soul so special?”
“Because the soul allows mobility in the hierarchy of His kingdom. Do things that please God, and you move closer to Him and up the hierarchy. Do things that displease Him, and you move down the hierarchy. What’s more, man could redeem himself. In theory, a sinner can be forgiven and move closer to God by repenting. Remember the stories of Jesus and how he accepted and forgave prostitutes, tax collectors, adulterers, and all the other sinners if they were truly repentant? It’s all centered around free will. Humans can choose to be God-like or choose not to be, but they can go back and forth and, in theory, as long as they are sincerely repentant, and the sin isn’t a mortal sin like murder, they can stay in God’s good graces in the end.” Brennan paused and looked at Frank’s expression, presumably to see if there was any understanding on his gruff mug.
Frank grunted in acknowledgment. He didn’t buy into any of this. Whatever he was, whatever the Fallen were, he had trouble believing there was some kind of good, all-knowing God behind it all. If that were true, where was this god now? Was he enjoying this battle between his creations, like some kind of sporting event?
