Holy Sheoly

by Hunter Blain

  The demon turned his torso to the side and made like he was trying to scream for help. Then his mouth went slack, dripping hands dropped to his sides, and finally, his eyes went glassy as gravity pulled him down.

  He landed in a thick line of bushes that decorated the outside of the house, and I went, “Hmph,” as I counted myself lucky at my fortuitous body removal.

  Releasing the reins which were loosely attached to the souls, I dropped down and walked to the cage. I could see from the corner of my vision that Jacob was swiftly pulling the line through, freeing the souls while I unlatched the cage. Stef and the two others dropped down, picking up the stones they had placed in a corner.

  We walked around to where Jacob was scanning the perimeter, and I looked at my ragtag group of twenty-three souls armed with nothing more than fist-sized rocks.

  “Remember,” I loudly whispered to the group, “If I can get my body back, I can kill every last fucking demon in this place. No prob.”

  Heads nodded enthusiastically, but Jacob simply turned his head slightly in my direction before continuing to keep watch of the backyard—er, continent, I mean. It was huge!

  Letting my gaze quickly scan the building, I located a small side entrance where a modest pathway was etched between the bushes.

  “Come on. This has to be where the workers go in and out.”

  I led the way to the thick wooden door and pulled on the golden handle, briefly marveling at the expensive material in my hand.

  Inside was a spacious, modern industrial kitchen that you could find at five-star restaurants or maybe at a king or queen’s castle. There were stations set up, as well as two rows of stainless steel tables. All of the kitchen equipment was stainless and spotless.

  On one wall sat a deep fryer, flattop grill, and six ovens large enough to hide in...or be cooked in. I gulped at the thought, knowing that was precisely what they were used for.

  An enormous two-door refrigerator sat along one wall, looking like it should have been a garage door instead. Next to that was an apparent vertical deep freezer that was half the size of the fridge.

  “Hey,” I whispered to Jacob. “Do the masters eat the souls or just the suffering?”

  Jacob leaned down to get closer to my ear. “Would they need all of this if it were only the suffering they sought?” His hand slid through the air, gesturing to all of the equipment made for cooking. I gulped.

  One of the rows of tables was covered in black gas burners of varying sizes. I had never seen so many in one place in my entire life.

  The other row of tables was assumedly for prep of some sort. On a far wall were knives of every size, including some that resembled saws that were two feet long. I gulped, again, as I mentally pictured souls being cut apart on the stainless tables only to be cooked on the gas burners and then the leftovers stored in the fridge or freezer.

  Knives!

  I snapped my fingers twice, getting the attention of everyone that had filed in behind me, and aggressively motioned to the knives on the wall. I had my own obsidian blade at the ready.

  Jacob was the first to reach the blades and grabbed the biggest tool off the wall—a two-handed meat cleaver—hefting it easily with a deadpan face. I wished he would at least give one of those overconfident creepy smiles you saw on TV. The blade of his weapon mirrored the length of the handle that appeared to be made of polished bone that resembled pearl.

  The other souls began grabbing whatever they could get their hands on, now that the most combat-effective person (besides me, of course) had chosen his weapon.

  Single-handed cleavers, butcher knives, and every other conceivable type of blade you would find in a fancy commercial kitchen were snagged as some souls began dropping their rocks.

  “Keep them,” Jacob commanded over his shoulder. “Use them first as projectiles before getting in close for the kill.” The hair stood on the back of my neck as he spoke, and I got the distinct feeling that he had been a Viking, gladiator, or maybe a Spartan. Whatever he was, I knew that he had been bred on violence, suckling on the teat of war, which had forged a callous indifference to killing. This was a man that accepted things for how they were and didn’t turn away from the ugly truths that most people sank their heads in the sand to avoid. But he also didn’t relish in it, either.

  Jacob gave me a tight nod before he motioned for half of the group to follow him out a set of doors that led to an apparent dining room. The other half followed me, though I got the distinct impression they weren’t as relieved as the first half had been with the giant of a man wielding the two-handed cleaver.

  I decided to let it go, as I, too, felt a little safer with him around. Lilith...how had they initially caught the Goliath?

  My group—including Stef, who was armed with a freaking bread knife—went through a single door that led down a hallway that was probably only meant for staff. I assumed that the mansion had several paths that were hidden from guests and the master of the house.

  I felt a little more confident that we wouldn’t run into anything that we couldn’t handle if my assumption was correct. Of course, that meant Jacob and his team were walking in the main areas of the mansion and would be more likely to run into something dangerous and powerful. My mind flashed to Asmodeus, who had been a Lord of Hell and had been truly terrifying. If I were to be honest, I didn’t even fully comprehend how I had killed the bastard. I had simply been so focused on saving my friends that my body had reacted on instinct.

  We came to a path that jutted off to the right, and I understood we were probably at the edge of the house, which would explain why there wasn’t another way going left.

  Stef walked up to me, crouching slightly, and whispered, “What are you thinking?”

  Shifting my gaze from straight ahead to Stef, I whispered back, “I’m trying to think where Baleius might be. If I had to guess, I would imagine there is a personal torture chamber or something.”

  “I’d be willing to bet on that,” Stef agreed coldly.

  Looking right, I saw there was a set of stairs that led to a floor beneath us.

  “This way,” I said just above a whisper, turning right.

  We made our way down the metal steps, which clacked with each of our footsteps, making me cringe until everyone was clear. The group walked in a line behind me, hugging the wall with our knives at the ready.

  There were doors on either side of the hallway evenly spaced apart. Next to the frame were clear plastic plaques that had room numbers stenciled on them.

  Some of the doors had circular windows at head height, and I cautiously looked in one to see some sort of storage room. There were modern tools on the corkboard wall, all outlined in tape to signal their place. Looking down, I saw a big tool chest that stretched from wall to wall, and assumed this was the maintenance guy’s workroom. Or at least where he kept his tools.

  Pushing forward, we came to a section that had hellion script under the numbers, and Stef moved in closer to my ear to whisper, “What does it mean?”

  “I think they are names,” I answered as I pointed to the one closest to us. “That one probably says Bob or something.”

  “We should probably be quiet then, huh?” she whispered.

  “Ya think?”

  Just then, a door opened across the hall and a tired-looking demon stepped out as he fiddled with his blue work robes. Just like the demon outside, this one was much smaller and had more humanesque features, and was clearly not made for fighting.

  He sucked in a breath to scream when Stef lunged forward and stuck the freaking bread knife through his exposed neck. She yanked it out with a wet slosh just as the demon went to scream the lungful of air he had inhaled, only succeeding in forcefully expelling the air through the new hole in his throat and lightly bubbling the motor oil.

  Panicked hands trembled as they tried to cover the wound...which wasn’t bleeding as much as I felt it should have.

  Seeming to regain a modicum of his senses, the demon backhanded S
tef away, who clattered against the far wall with a clang.

  I took a striding step forward and grabbed the back of the demon’s head while plunging the knife under his chin and into his brain. But having learned from my last attempt, I twisted the blade while rocking it back and forth with a sickening scratching sound I knew to be the knife breaking the skull apart and maybe hitting the underside of the top of the head.

  The demon twitched as if being electrocuted while both eyes rolled in their sockets, and I slowly lowered him to the ground using my grip on the back of his skull.

  Once he was on the ground, I yanked the obsidian knife free, which made a quick sucking sound, and then dragged the convulsing corpse into his room.

  “Tell Uriel I said hi whenever he sends you to oblivion,” I whispered as I stepped back into the hallway.

  As I closed the door, I stole a quick glance of his modest quarters. They were big enough for a twin bed, medium-sized dresser, and a little desk with a cheap lamp on top. There was another door that I guessed was the bathroom, though I imagined it as one of those that had the toilet in the shower with the sink so close you could wash your hands without having to get up.

  After checking to make sure Stef was recovered, I returned to the front of the line and continued forward, trying to get a feel for the layout and design. My senses were on high alert, but still, nothing compared to the power I was accustomed to. Why’d I have to give the stupid nail to Uriel?

  Because it was the right thing to do, you coward, I mentally chided myself. I jerked my head side to side once to clear the thoughts.

  We came to another split, this one a four-way one, with countless doors down three of the corridors. To my left was another set of stairs that descended further downward.

  Motioning for the group to stay put, I took a few quiet steps toward the stairs while lowering myself closer to the ground so I could get a better view.

  I heard a distant wail from somewhere down the hall, and I knew I was heading in the right direction.

  Turning, I began making my way back to the group, when heavy footsteps thumped down the hall behind my ragtag team.

  Everyone turned and saw demons clad in armor wielding obsidian weapons marching toward us. They stood two by two and filled the entire width of the hallway.

  “Run!” I barked out as I turned around to both see and hear more thumps of marching feet down three of the hallways. This was a trap, and demons ready for battle were coming straight for us.

  “This way!” I cried out as the group burst into a frantic rush toward the stairs.

  I turned to lead and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw the most terrifying creature in all of Hell smiling at me.

  At the top of the stairs was Samael, who stood alone. He did not have the black stone armor of his demons. Instead, he wore his pristine white suit complete with a dress shirt that had several topmost buttons unfastened.

  He stood confidently with his hands clasped behind his back, armed with only a beaming smile. That smile—that stupid, self-assured smile—wrapped black tentacles around my heart and squeezed as comprehension exploded like a nuclear detonation; those who had followed me...were about to die.

  “No,” I mouthed with a quivering bottom lip, feeling the toxic failure fill my veins like quick-drying cement. My arms became heavy as I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop what was coming. I might be able to kill one demon before the others—which were now surrounding the group that stood in the center of the four hallways—slaughtered the souls like lambs.

  “It’s me you want,” I pleaded with the Lord of Hell.

  “Let me guess,” Samael started, his head tilting down as his smile morphed into one of predation. “You’re going to ask that I let these trespassers go. Well, let me save you the breath,” he said as he moved a hand from behind his back and dramatically held his middle digit pressed against his thumb for a moment, and then snapped his fucking fingers.

  The screams shattered my sanity as I sprinted toward the Devil with my blade in hand. I was deafened by my own battle cry as I slashed the air where my enemy stood. He didn’t even move as the knife shattered against his neck like striking a steel beam with a handheld mirror.

  I didn’t even pay attention to the broken weapon as I released it from my grip and swung my other fist to smash into Samael’s jaw.

  There was a flash of white across my eyes as my hand broke on impact. I thought the white I saw had been my opponent moving, but then I understood on a fundamental level that it was my body reacting to obliterating my entire hand with a single strike.

  Bringing my busted left hand back, I struck his neck with the open palm of my right hand, and it felt like I was trying to break through a concrete pillar with a bag of cotton balls.

  Without missing a beat, I yanked my right hand back while swinging my left elbow in a vicious arc toward his nose. The bone and joint of my arm crumbled to sand as another white flash blinded me.

  While still in combat mode, I lowered my right fist while turning my body and landed a hook on his ribs, which only succeeded in audibly cracking my knuckles.

  Twisting my body in the opposite direction, I brought my left knee up into his crotch, but his package might as well have been a metal statue’s and didn’t even freaking budge.

  My knee went numb and I knew I was going down, unable to support myself. As I collapsed to the ground, I tried one last thing that I knew wasn’t going to work but had to do anyway. I slammed my head into his gut and immediately blacked out from the impact.

  The feeling of weightlessness lasted for several seconds before the dominating sensation of tumbling flooded my universe. It felt like I was a wet tennis shoe in an industrial dryer.

  But...at least the screams had stopped.

  20

  I blinked awake and moaned as agonizing consciousness returned, almost making me retreat back into the darkness again. The mere thought of Stef and the other souls I had been leading forced me to embrace the electrifying pain and awaken.

  My left hand throbbed up to the wrist, while it felt like nails had been hammered into the knuckles of my right. The pulsing pain of my left elbow rushed in either direction of my arm, trying to both meet up with the throbbing at my wrist and climb up toward my shoulder. The entire arm ignored all commands, yet was content to deliver wave after wave of nauseating pain signals to my head. Lilith, I freaking hated how the soul mimicked the body. They had better offer unlimited massages in Heaven, ranging from a light drag of fingernails to elbow-deep trigger point therapy and everything in between ’cause this was bullshit.

  I pushed myself up on my knees with my barely functioning right hand, and immediately gasped as my left knee informed me that it, too, was busted. The pain on the entire left side of my body made me woozy. It was as if my knee and arm were long-lost best friends running into each other at the airport, excitedly embracing and combining the agony I felt.

  My left leg shot straight out as I fell to my right side, propping myself up on my only working elbow. I shuddered with quick, shallow gasps that verged dangerously close to manifesting as screams.

  Heavy, spinning eyes tried to take in the scene around me, and I was vaguely aware that I was in a spacious room of some sort. My first instinct was a throne room that felt right at home in a fantasy television show with dragons.

  There were incredible stone pillars that lined the room and were decorated with long, flowing red banners with black pentagrams at their centers. I scrunched my aching brow—which I immediately regretted as I remembered my failed headbutt—and just stared at the stereotypical satanic imagery. I kind of had the impression that Samael was more sophisticated than that, at least judging from the vast reading room he had adorned with only a simple fireplace when I had first forayed into his kingdom.

  With a groan akin to that of a drunkard after a night of debauchery, my head wobbled around to see I was at the wide base of perfectly carved stone steps. They wrapped around in a half circle and were cov
ered in red carpeting that led up to a creepy throne. I called it a throne, but it was enormous and crafted from the bones of hundreds of corpses. Ribs lined all around the back edges and bent away like tree saplings in a strong breeze. It sort of reminded me of a demented peacock’s feathers. At the end of the armrests were human skulls that had been polished to an almost reflective surface. There were red cushions on the seat and back that appeared to be made of lush velvet.

  The throne was empty.

  Something tickled at my attention and I lazily looked up to see an upside-down cross with a body clad in angelic armor pinned to it. Its reddish beard defied gravity and stayed in place, aided by the helmet that went down to the jawline.

  “Oh fuck,” I drawled, realizing it was my body strung up. The head was covered with the celestial helmet and my eyes were closed—and I was freaking upside down, so didn’t immediately recognize what features I could see—but that reddish beard stood out like a laser pointer in a room full of cats. At least I knew where one of my friends was.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Samael purred from behind me. I didn’t even bother to turn around, knowing it would (if you’ll excuse the phrase) hurt like hell.

  The soles of custom loafers clacked on the stone before crossing onto the red carpet, muffling the footfalls with the transition. Movement came into my peripheral vision and I slightly pivoted my head to see the white shoes and sockless feet below elegant pants the same ivory color.

  “Really?” I asked, painfully gesturing my chin toward the pentagrams, throne, and upside-down cross.

  Samael crouched down, placing his elbows on his knees as he whispered so only I could hear, “It’s all for show. I couldn’t care less about the imagery, but...my people like it.”

  “Heh,” I chuckled weakly. “You are the Father of Lies, even to your own subjects.”

  Samael’s smile broadened at my reference to one of his many titles.