The Demon

by Rick Bonogofsky

  The archangel shook his head and sighed. “I also want to apologize for sending Victor to kill you,” he whispered when Dante couldn‘t hear. A deep sadness welled up inside him and he shook his head, opening another portal. He stepped through it and entered his private room in Heaven. Once there he pulled his ring out and slipped it onto his finger, changing his appearance to that which the angels knew. Sadness filling him, he went outside to see to his other duties.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Artemis stood over a large basin of water in his chambers. The images swirled around in confused ripples, revealing nothing useful to the archangel. When the water finally calmed, an image of the council room appeared. The entire council was seated and faint whispers floated upward from the image.

  “… if the war does come?” one council member asked. “What happens if we are caught unprepared?”

  “If the war with Hell does come to pass,” Ariel’s voice calmly stated, “we will have the leadership of Lord Artemis at the head of our armies. Do not forget that it was he who single-handedly slew the last king of Hell. The new king, Hades, fears Artemis just as much as the rest of the demons do.”

  “Hades is still young, though. He’s nothing like his father was. Remember, even an archangel can be killed. Anubis learned that,” another council member countered.

  Ariel shook her head and clenched her fist. Clearly the thought of Artemis dead did not sit well with her. Artemis almost smiled at the reaction.

  “Then he will be replaced by another,” Ariel stated flatly, burying her feelings. “You all know he trained with the best of our other archangels. Any of the others can command an army.”

  “None as well as he,” a council member said off-handedly.

  “Nor your father,” another council member added.

  Ariel stiffened. She had been in mourning for several days and the council was politely quiet about it up to now.

  “He would have become a great leader and an archangel if he was still around.”

  “Yes,” Ariel replied quietly, “He would have been great. Surely he was one of our finest warriors and strategists. Finding his replacement will be nearly impossible. However, we are forced to seek out others to take up his mantle.”

  Artemis frowned. Of course they would bring up Anubis. Anubis was the reason Artemis had come to Heaven all those centuries ago. Artemis shook his head. To these angels, it had only been a couple of decades. He had ordered his younger self’s commanding archangel to continue his training in a different region of Heaven. No one knew of the connection between the two beings. Some had come to suspect that something was amiss, but Artemis had seen to it that nothing was revealed. If his younger self knew anything of what was going on, time could unravel and everything he had worked so hard to keep from falling apart would collapse into ruin. Time was such a fragile thing. Keeping from altering his own past was a constant source of headaches for Artemis.

  He waved his hand over the water and willed the image to fade. None of the angels would be prepared for the war he had warned them all about. He knew exactly what would happen, for he had led Heaven’s forces against Hell’s armies himself. He had been on the front lines, fighting side-by-side with humans to defend Earth. But he was not the only one fighting. Artemis was accompanied by two other archangels while Heaven kept the others back in case the war was brought to the Pearly Gates. The three of them trained the humans and drove the demon hordes back into Hell.

  The memory caused Artemis to unconsciously run his fingers over the scars on his face.

  “But at what cost?” he whispered sadly. He walked away from the basin and slipped his ring onto his finger. Now looking like the archangel Heaven was used to seeing, he exited his room. He ascended the stairs out of the lower levels of the tower and onto the main floor of the palace. Angels milled about in small groups, talking amongst themselves. Their white robes swished along the immaculate marble floors as they went about their business.

  Artemis shook his head, knowing few of these angels would ever see the combat that was going to erupt within their lifetimes. Then again, Heaven’s armies were quite small. Being a peaceful realm, Heaven had little need for an established military. Almost all of the fighting was left to the seven archangels, Heaven’s most elite warriors. Each archangel had a small garrison of angels under his or her command, each housing nearly a thousand angels trained to fight, but there were only a few archangels in Heaven at any given time. Artemis was one of them. The six archangels he’d originally trained with were dead in his timeline, leaving Artemis as the last one. But in his own time, Artemis was no longer an archangel. Heaven was without a real army after the war. The leadership of the realm was still intact, but without an army; Heaven was defenseless.

  Aside from keeping an eye on Dante, Artemis brought himself to this time period to increase the number of archangels in Heaven. He wanted them to be better prepared for the war, but it seemed the council was getting in the way of that. They feared the war as much as any other angel but no one believed it would be as devastating as Artemis warned it would be. To them, the thought of a war thousands of years away was better left for another time. The council talked and deliberated about minor preparations, but they never took it as seriously as Artemis wished they would. Even Ariel, Artemis’ strongest supporter, was not fully convinced the war would be as terrible as the archangel warned. Granted, she was preoccupied with her father’s recent death. Artemis could not blame her. He had lost family as well. Anubis had seen to that.

  Artemis frowned in frustration. Hell needed a better king. Osiris was the last great king of Hell. When Anubis took over, the threat of war was all too believable. Now that Hades was king, Hell was peaceful again, but it was a coward’s peace. Heaven’s council of angels were not threatened by Hades. They figured the young king would keep to himself, and they were right. Hades was unfit to rule but he was a direct heir to the throne. When Hades eventually stepped down his only son, Pluto, would take over. Artemis knew how the succession of kings in Hell would unfold. The peace between Heaven and Hell would last a few thousand years, then a new king would take the throne and attempt to expand Hell’s borders. Such was the chaotic nature of demons. Some could be peaceful, others murderous.

  After the war, however, Hell would need a new king. In Artemis’ own time, there were only two heirs to Hell’s throne. One heir had no wish to rule and the other knew nothing of his lineage. Artemis was unsure of how to find a new king of Hell. For millennia, the king was chosen through the bloodline of Osiris. Always the eldest son took the throne.

  Shaking his head, Artemis pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. In this time period, he needed to worry more about the preparedness of Heaven. Training the right archangel to lead an army could take several decades, even a century or two. Seven archangels simply was not enough. If Artemis could convince the council to increase the number to ten or twelve, Earth would be better defended during the war. Four archangels and their armies could stay in Heaven to defend the gates, as was the original plan, while the rest go to Earth to defend the humans. Most likely the council would deny the request, but Artemis owed it to himself and his archangel brothers to try.

  Dante walked along an empty road in the city of Istros. He had arrived early in the morning after teleporting himself closer. Walking all the way from Gaul would have taken far too long and he was eager to get home. The day was quickly waning and the stars began to glow behind the clouds through the light’s barrier. He was looking for someone – someone important only to him. The dark cloaked man kept a wary eye on his surroundings through the damp tendrils of his black hair His eyes glowed a dark red as they darted about, searching for his unwary prey.

  Death had remained silent, giving Dante no assistance in locating his next target. Hopefully the Reaper would contact him soon; the rain was beginning to wear on Dante’s nerves. The light drizzle had soaked his clothes and left him thoroughly miserable. Dante began to imagine just what he would do
to whoever he was sent to kill. Perhaps he would slowly flay the flesh from the person’s bones. Maybe a nice coating of acid or a slow burn. His hand brushed a small pouch he kept strung to his belt. The pouch contained several ounces of his favorite powder: a powerful and insidious poison. Once ingested, the poison would cause a severe burning sensation in the victim’s stomach. Within minutes, the victim’s organs would begin to liquefy in an agonizingly slow process. The organs would then ignite, burning the victim alive from the inside. The whole process could take anywhere from several hours to a week, depending on the victim’s fortitude. The worst of it, though, was the fact that the poison kept the victim alive throughout the entire process. Once there was nothing but ash, the victim’s soul would then be allowed to depart.

  Dante smiled slightly. As much fun as it may be to use it on someone, he wanted his task to be done and over with as quickly as possible. A simple sword thrust through the victim’s heart would suffice. Quick, simple, easy. No unnecessary suffering; little mess, then a quick getaway.

  He wandered near a busy tavern and heard the buzzing conversation of many patrons. Craving a drink, Dante slipped inside, avoiding the occasional look thrown his way. He slid into a chair in the shadowy corner in the back of the main room. After waiting a few minutes, a tired looking young woman approached Dante’s table.

  “What can I get for you?” she asked, painting a fake smile on her face. Her smile didn’t reach her brown eyes and Dante could tell she was not excited to work at the tavern. Her brown hair was slightly disheveled and her clothes looked like she had been wearing them for the last few days. It was possible she had even slept in them. She could not have been more than sixteen years old.

  “Honey mead,” he smiled, secretly conjuring a silver coin in his hand. He tossed in onto the table, saying, “Keep the change.”

  She smiled for real this time and walked off to get his drink, a slight spring in her step.

  Dante smiled after her for a moment, glad to make her evening a little better. His smile faded when he realized his mood had brightened. Just before she approached, he was in a foul mood, angry at the rain and the fact that he had been in the city for over fourteen hours without any word from Death. Why was he so affected by this girl? He could not remember feeling this way about anyone else. No, there was one other. There was that woman forty years ago in the first city he destroyed. Aside from the brown eyes, this woman looked nothing like the other one. The woman from forty years ago was at least a decade older, as well. Dante shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside.

  Moments later, the girl came back, bearing a pitcher and a mug. “Here you are, sir,” she said cheerfully.

  “I only ordered one drink,” Dante protested.

  “Well,” the girl blushed, “the silver would have covered about eight of these pitchers. I couldn’t accept all of the extra money, so I brought this instead.”

  Dante smiled and nodded his acceptance. “Thank you, miss,” he said. “By the way, what is your name?”

  The girl blushed again and said, “I am Staci.”

  “Very nice to meet you, Staci,” Dante grinned. “I’m Dante.”

  Staci grinned and blushed even more. She placed the pitcher and mug on the table and walked off. Dante watched her for a moment before pouring his drink. Certainly she was just an ordinary girl working as a barmaid. But for some reason Dante could not place, she had affected him in a way in which he was not accustomed.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a large, muscle bound man slamming a meaty fist onto Dante’s table, causing his drink to slosh over the edge of the mug. Dante looked up into the dark eyes of the man and glared, his anger from earlier returning. The man was nearly seven feet tall, with large muscles rippling over his giant frame. Several tattoos peeked around the collar and sleeves of his shirt. Thick calluses on his hands and tanned, leathery skin told Dante he worked outside most of the day. He was likely a carpenter or a stone mason - something that required an abundance of heavy lifting. More calluses on his knuckles told Dante this man was also an avid brawler.

  “Can I help you?” Dante growled.

  “You can stop eyeballin’ me woman,” the man grunted.

  Dante smirked. “So that is what this is all about,” he quipped and took a sip of his drink. Just as he brought the mug to his lips, however, the man slapped it away. The ceramic mug shattered on the wall, causing the rest of the tavern’s patrons to look around in shock. They saw the big man standing threateningly over a smaller man at the table in the back. Every eye was watching to see what the smaller man would do.

  Dante’s glare returned. He calmly stood and walked around the table to stare into the bigger man’s eyes. Neither backed down from the other. Finally, the big man brought a huge hand up to point a thick, sausage finger in Dante’s face.

  “You leave ‘er alone, little man,” he boomed.

  “And what do you plan to do if I say no?” Dante asked slowly, his ire dripping from every word.

  “I plan ta take ye outside an’ beat the stupid outta ye,” the big man threatened.

  Dante laughed. “Is that so?” He glanced around the big man’s girth and caught the frightened gaze of Staci. To her, he said, “I can’t promise not to hurt him, but I can promise he’ll stop treating you poorly.”

  His words earned him a solid punch to the jaw. His head snapped to the side and blood trickled down his chin, his lip split open. The wound closed, but the blood covered it up. No one saw it. Dante smiled again.

  “Got another one in you?” he taunted. The big man slugged him again, this time harder and connected with Dante’s cheek. Again, blood poured down his face, covering the closing wound. The big man punched him again in the stomach, then he dropped an elbow to the back of the demon’s head. Dante’s feet were kicked out from under him and he hit the wooden floor hard. He felt a huge foot kick him in the ribs, breaking several of them from the force of the blow. When the beating stopped, Dante calmly stood again, brushing the dust from his clothes.

  “I thought you said you’d take me outside for this,” he quipped. The big man shook in rage and grabbed Dante by the throat. His other hand grabbed Dante’s groin and the demon quickly found himself sailing through the air. He crashed through a thin wall and tumbled into the street. By the time he was on his feet again, brushing the mud from his clothes, the tavern’s patrons were gathering outside of the building, forming a large circle around him. The big man shouldered his way through the crowd and approached Dante.

  “Ye proud o’ yer words, little man?” he growled.

  “Always,” Dante countered. “Just as you should be proud of your throwing arm. That was quite the toss.”

  The big man swung at Dante, but this time caught nothing but air. The demon had stepped backward, getting clear of the huge fist. He could feel the wind from the swing. A second swing accompanied the first, forcing Dante to step to the side to avoid it. Dante snapped a kick to the man’s ribs and smiled as he felt two hard snaps. The big man staggered under the force of the blow, but grunted through the pain. Before he could swing again, Dante kicked his knee, shattering the kneecap and bending the leg backward. This time, the big man howled in pain and clutched at his ruined leg. Dante then punched the man in the jaw, breaking the bone under his fist. The man fell to his good knee and clutched at his broken jaw.

  “Do you have anything else to say?” Dante demanded, all mirth gone.

  The big man tried to move his mouth but only managed a pained gasp. Tears of pain welled up in his eyes as he looked upon Dante in fear.

  Dante drew his sword and brought the tip to the man’s throat. “I want you to beg for mercy,” he growled. “I want you to grovel and kneel before me.”

  “M… mercy…” the big man whimpered through his pain. “Pl-please… mercy.”

  Dante smiled, an evil glint in his eyes. “Then I shall be merciful.” He raised his sword and brought the point down, piercing the big man through the skull. His body twitched
twice, then went deathly still.

  The crowd was silent, shocked to see someone so brutally murder one of the city’s hardest workers. Staci screamed and ran through the crowd. When she finally reached the big man, Dante had wiped his blade clean and put it away. She knelt by the man’s side, sobbing on his corpse. Dante looked at the spectacle and shook his head. Seeing her so bereaved brought feelings of regret to his mind. He did not regret killing the big man, but he felt some small bit of remorse at bringing Staci to tears. He brushed those thoughts aside and turned to walk away into the night. Surely the town militia would be searching for him soon, so he wanted to be gone before they showed up.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Dante sat atop a building, watching the city lawmen scurry around in search of him. He found it amusing that they rarely looked up. Smiling to himself, Dante walked over to the other side of his building and jumped over the short gap to the building next to him. He landed on the roof and continued his walk, rooftop to rooftop. Within ten minutes, he was across town from the tavern and the dead man. He was hopping down from the roof of one building when he felt a presence in the back of his mind. Once again, his shadow moved of its own accord and twin purple lights appeared in place of the eyes.

  “Lord Death,” Dante greeted. “Do you have the information I need?”

  The shadow nodded and enveloped Dante in darkness. When Dante opened his eyes again, he was in the ghostly realm Death called home. The Reaper stood in front of Dante, skeletal hands folded in the voluminous sleeves of his cloak.

  “You did not need to kill that man,” Death stated.

  “I felt it was in my best interest to do so,” Dante bowed.

  “He was not meant to die this night,” Death admonished. “You have disrupted the flow of this town’s timeline.”