by James Somers
“As wise as serpents, but harmless as doves,” I said, remembering the scripture.
“Well put,” he said. “Now take my hand as we continue. To enter Tartarus is treacherous to the mind. I know how to pass quickly in order to bring us to the place where Southresh can be found.”
“How do you know?”
“It has to do with my connection to him…so I suppose you would also possess the same ability. But there are many others in this place as well. Countless others. I do not know the boundaries of this Tartarus, only how to find Southresh among the others. And there’s no telling what we might see when we do find him.”
I steeled my mind for what lay ahead. I was trembling with fear, yet somehow excited by the prospect of learning more about who I was. I was on an adventure, even if the adventure was terrifying and deadly.
Oliver held the flame up before us. The dark void lay beyond.
“Focus upon the flame Brody and do not allow your attention to be drawn away from it. If we were to become separated in here, I would have little hope of ever finding you again.”
“What would happen to me?” I asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“But I do.”
“Madness.”
Madness
Dolls marched through the streets like an army now. Tom watched from a cathedral bell tower as Breed warriors acted as generals leading their troops into battle against the remaining citizens of London. The dolls appeared in human form, but they were taking over. Abductions were taking place in broad daylight without any reservations whatsoever.
It wasn’t the toll on human freedom that really bothered Tom. He’d been a part of this grand scheme not many days ago. It was still considered a triumph among most Descendants of the Fallen. Very few had pity for the mortals losing control of the crown jewel of their vast empire.
These things rightfully belonged to those with more power. At least that was the consensus among the Fae. Envy of the kind of love they had never known, the kind of favoritism they had only glimpsed from afar, had finally stirred them to action. Take what we want from the mortals. Claim our heritage.
These were the rallying cries used by Sinister and Black to control the Descendants of the Fallen. And, fueled by centuries of frustration, they eagerly took to the cause, giving overwhelming support to Black’s plan for an overthrow of humanity. First one city, then another. Like dominos they were going to fall, until the entire world bowed at their feet.
Tom still didn’t have much problem with the idea of taking over. He just couldn’t stomach it any longer under Black’s thumb. Even sacrificing all that he had worked for was worth it in order to defy the angel.
He looked out over London as darkness washed over the city. The cries of mortals resounded from every direction. By tomorrow, Black would have total control. From here he would begin to move on to other cities, one by one, until they all fell before him.
I held tight to Oliver’s hand as the wind picked up around us. We were moving forward, then up and back, then forward again. With the void around us, only the wind’s effect on the little flame testified to what direction we were traveling through Tartarus.
I heard howling, crying, even wailing as we passed through the darkness. Each pocket of sound passed quickly. Images also began shortly thereafter—scenes strange and horrifying.
One passed showing two men thrusting each other through with swords, neither willing to give up the fight as their lifeblood mingled upon the ground around them. Another replayed grisly scenes of children dashed against the stones of an ancient city while conquering soldiers tore through on their way to certain victory. An angel with tattered filthy wings hung himself by the neck over and over again in a maddening display.
All of these passed and were gone. I wanted to ask Oliver about each one, but I feared any disturbance might break his concentration, sending us spiraling into the same oblivion these creatures now inhabited. My eyes found each horrible scene in turn, and I realized these must be pockets of space or time where these angels existed—imprisoned without walls, but imprisoned all the same.
Blood and guts, the destruction of children, and amoral acts of every imaginable kind passed in seconds. Oliver advised me to close my eyes, and I did. How terrible a place, I thought.
“These beings generate what you’re seeing,” Oliver said. “Many of these atrocities were in their hearts and minds before man ever committed them. They’re devils.”
“I understand,” I said, trying to keep the images from my mind.
“Be sure that you do,” he said. “Remember this when we are with Southresh. What you will see is not real, though it will seem very much to be. It is only expression—his mind playing out around us. Madness.”
I could not tell how long we traveled, though it did not seem long. Then we veered toward a particular scene playing out in the void. I assumed it must be where Southresh dwelt in this prison, and I was right.
Oliver and I were then standing among a ruined city. Fires still burned among the hollowed buildings, their remains scattered as drifts of debris. Bodies lay here and there in various states of mutilation—their putrefaction a stench in our nostrils.
The centerpiece of the city was a massive cathedral towering over everything. A noise caught my ear. I turned toward my left shoulder and found one of the dead bodies standing next to me, staring with gray eyes, blood and puss pouring between rotted teeth as it smiled at me. I screamed, leaping away.
Oliver caught me by the arm. “No, don’t fear it,” he said. “Remember?”
I tried to calm down my breathing. The zombie cackled at me, reaching with grasping hands.
“It’s not real,” I whispered.
The creature lunged at me unexpectedly.
I screamed again, but this time my effort became more than auditory. The zombie burst into flame, screeching and writhing in the inferno my mind had foisted upon him. He became ash in seconds, the bones falling disjointed into a loose pile. The steaming skull stared up at us, and the cackling began again.
Oliver gave a sigh next to me, having now let go of my arm.
“Sorry,” I said. “But he started it.”
Oliver simply stared at me.
“I know, I know. None of this is real.”
“Well, then,” he said. “Perhaps we should be on our way?”
“After you,” I gestured toward the cathedral dominating the landscape.
The zombie’s skull cackled on as we walked away.
Priests of some kind, wearing crimson robes with black sashes, were lined up waiting to enter the cathedral when we approached. To my surprise, each of them bore some gruesome instrument of torture in their hands. These they caressed like infants, touching the sharp points and razor edges delicately lest they do them some damage, instead of the other way around.
Oliver walked past them, barely seeming to notice the priests. I gave them a wider berth, still fearing, despite myself, that they might pack more reality to them than Oliver said they possessed. He paused at the door, holding it open for me, sighing again and shaking his head as he realized what I was doing.
I nodded and passed through ahead of him, but waited on the other side, wanting to be sure we didn’t end up separated somehow. He came through after me and led the way beyond the vestibule into the cathedral itself. The priests’ attention never wandered from their instruments of cruelty to us.
Oliver called back for me to prepare myself before entering. The warning was heeded again. However, I could never have hoped to brace myself sufficiently for what awaited us inside.
The inner sanctum of the cathedral was just as massive as I might have expected from viewing the exterior. However, there was no reverent worship within. No songs of joy and happiness rising high to the rafters to lift the spirit. This was Southresh’s cathedral of pain.
Now I saw for what purpose these phantom priests waited to enter. Now I saw why they caressed their individual instruments of cruelty.
They had come to worship an altogether different entity. And over them all the mad god presided as prophet and priest and king.
Countless priests had shed their robes, baring gray flesh without shame. Each of them now offered their tribute of pain unto the mad god. Their blood mingled upon the floor as they tore themselves over and over again, utilizing their tools for ghastly, unspeakable purposes, defiling their bodies in such horrifying fashion that I thought I might vomit at any moment.
A cacophonous chorus of woe resounded throughout the vast expanse of the cathedral, echoing over and over again from its stained glass and stone walls. I started to shut my eyes to the grisly scene, but Oliver stopped my hands.
His glare warned me not to allow my horror to show. We were here for a purpose. Any weakness on my part would be exploited by Southresh in order to enslave my spirit and destroy my mind.
“Become stone,” Oliver warned, then he turned to the center of the sanctuary.
Presiding over this malicious display of misery was the fallen angel we had journeyed to see. Southresh stood upon a pedestal of marble that had long ago been stained again and again by blood. He was, to my surprise, completely naked. His features were similarly gray like the priests. His physique was that of Adonis, beauty personified. Yet the soiled wings upon his back seemed to testify to Southresh’s true nature as that of perfection ruined and glory torn asunder.
I immediately recalled the scriptures pertaining to Lucifer himself as being perfect in wisdom and beauty until iniquity was found in him. Like the one who had led their rebellion against the Almighty, Southresh had been tarnished and undone before God by his heinous crimes. And in his separation from the glorious abode of his creation, this angel had become twisted and vile, contemptible to his very core.
My revulsion turned inward. Was this what I was? Had this creature sired me, and could I possibly be more than he had become? Was I nothing more than a devil dressed in human flesh? I stood there gaping, paying no more heed to the horrors around me. My spirit was sinking into the abyss of this realization.
Oliver must have noticed and understood what was happening. Perhaps, my thoughts were simply broadcast to him without my thinking about it. Whatever the case, he took action, turning on me suddenly, slapping me so hard across my face that I tasted blood.
“Attend to me!” Oliver shouted.
I’m not sure what that was supposed to mean, exactly, but it had the effect of getting my attention off of myself and back to the situation at hand.
“Well done,” Southresh observed from his pedestal, clapping delightedly.
Oliver glared at me a moment longer, warning me, then turned back to the fallen angel again.
“Mighty Southresh, I have brought you my report from London,” Oliver said.
“Who is this that you have brought to me,” Southresh asked, ignoring Oliver’s introduction.
“This is my new apprentice, my lord,” Oliver said, giving away nothing by emotion.
Southresh stared at me for a moment. A wicked grin played upon his lips. “An apprentice?” he said. “How delightful.” There was a pause before he continued. “You mentioned a report, Oliver?”
Oliver began to spell out the details of the conflict between his very few allies and the considerable forces of Black. Never did Southresh’s eyes leave my face. So penetrating was his stare that I thought I might be swallowed up by it at any moment.
Midway through the report, the angel interrupted him. “And what has been the role of your apprentice during this conflict in London?” he asked.
Oliver paused, considering the question. He didn’t seem sure that he should answer. But what else could he do?
“The boy is still learning, my lord,” Oliver said, dismissing the possibility that I possessed any real measure of power. “Desperate measures for desperate times, I’m afraid.”
Southresh cackled hysterically then. “What a liar,” he bellowed. “You surely are my son, Oliver.”
Then he quickly turned his attention back to me. “You look like your mother,” Southresh said more delicately.
“You knew my—?” I realized too late not to react to him.
Southresh cackled again. “Did you think, Oliver, that I would not recognize my own seed?”
“My lord?”
“Yes, boy,” he continued to me, “I knew your mother quite well. Knew her all night long, while she supposed her husband was there with her.”
“You tricked her!” I screamed, losing my patience completely with this game.
“Then I watched her wither to skin and bones by the time you were born,” Southresh said. “You were the one who killed her coming into the world, boy! You killed your own mother with your birth!”
“Liar!” I screamed in response, knowing too well that I was passing the point of no return in this situation.
Southresh cackled at my fury. What could I possibly do to him? He had nothing to fear from me. Already he endured this vile imprisonment by the Lord’s judgment. My wrath was nothing in comparison.
“Oliver, you disappoint me,” Southresh said. “Did you actually think you could deceive me so easily? You brought this whelp to me. Did you suppose we would enjoy a family reunion—father and sons around the dinner table, swapping stories of lost love and friendship?”
Oliver began to back away from the angel as his mad ranting became louder, filling the cathedral.
“Bow before me like the dogs you are!” Southresh bellowed.
All the priests turned to us now, their instruments of torture bloody but ready for more. They awaited the command of their master. Oliver grabbed my arm. We vanished from the cathedral, reappearing just outside down the street.
Oliver seemed surprised by what had happened.
“What is it?”
“We should have been transported out of Southresh’s prison, back to the void,” he said.
“What happened?”
He tried again, grabbing my arm. We reappeared this time about one hundred yards away. The look of fear in his eyes told me our situation. We were trapped.
Southresh’s laughter filtered out of the cathedral, filling every street in the ruined city that surrounded us.
“Did you really think I was powerless to stop you?” Southresh asked.
We looked around us, searching for him, but the streets were empty. His voice, however, was omnipresent.
“The servant is not greater than his master,” he said.
His voice seemed to penetrate my very mind. “You’re not my master!” I shouted back. “I serve Christ alone!”
The screeching wail that erupted from the cathedral at my proclamation did not bode well for Southresh’s temperament. The massive dome of the church exploded. Southresh erupted through it—a giant smashing his way through. “How dare you speak his name to me?”
From the demolished buildings, more zombies ushered forth, dragging their disjointed rotting corpses upon rotting limbs. Sewer covers popped away from the pavement, allowing more of the vile creatures to rise. All of them honed in upon us immediately.
“What do we do?” I asked. “Why can’t we leave?”
“We fight and hope to survive long enough to figure out how to escape Tartarus,” Oliver commanded.
Zombies approached on every side. There was no particular direction to go. After all, this realm was simply meant to confine this wicked spirit and contain his influence. The city around us was merely a construct of his mind. Wherever we ran, he would know exactly where to find us. But running might still buy us precious time.
I blasted a wave of staggering corpses in front of me with fire, summoning all my fear and rage in order to fuel my power. Oliver took his cue, doing likewise with more fire, turning decaying bodies to ash. At the very least, some measure of physical laws seemed to apply. We could destroy these fiends. But, as I quickly learned, Southresh could create more.
Emissary
Tom had been to Greystone before, but he had no idea
how to get there. It was a secret reserved to the Breed alone. Even though Charlotte had been the one to escort him at the time, she had placed a glamour upon him in order to keep the portal secret. Since that time, with their eventual parting of company, Tom had never entertained the notion of returning. After all, Greystone was not the sort of place that anyone, other than vampires, would wish to visit.
However, Tom also knew that Sinister had been sending an emissary back to his father, Tiberius, for some time. Once every month, this messenger brought news to the Lord of the Vampires in Greystone, showing him what progress was made by Black’s efforts in London.
Tiberius had long supported such insurrection. He wanted Black to succeed with his plans due to the promises of power in the mortal world that were given unto him by the fallen angel in exchange for his vampire warriors. Even his daughter’s disdain for Black and his plans for the human world could not persuade him. Some, Tom included, had even suspected that Black had some spell upon Tiberius, making him pliable to his cause against better judgment.
However, Tom knew the one thing that could break such a spell, if anything could. Charlotte’s imprisonment by Black would cut the ties that bound Tiberius unto the angel as quick as a heartbeat. Even when other vampires had shunned Charlotte as somewhat of an outcast, Tiberius had never lost his doting love for her. He had even confided his hope to Sinister of her coming to her senses and rejoining their clan. His friend had shared the encounter with him. Tiberius would not tolerate what was happening, once he became aware of it.
Letan was a coward, but he was no fool. Tom had never liked this vampire. He had long ago recognized Letan’s subtle manipulation of events in order to promote himself. It wasn’t exactly a bad trait. Tom could honestly say no better for himself. But in a fight, Letan excused himself often in order to attend to more important matters, as he called it.
Such had been his appointment as Sinister’s emissary. He had ingratiated himself to Tiberius in order to avoid the potential battles that lay ahead in such an aggressive campaign as Black’s takeover of London. Even among the other Breed warriors, Letan was known as a devious sort only concerned for himself.