by Robin Ray
CHAPTER 22
Mud.
Has anyone in the history of mankind ever awakened in the morning and thought to themselves, Gee, it rained all night? Why did I sleep inside on my warm Craftmatic bed instead of outside in the cold mud? When weekend warriors drag their 4Runners through the plowed fields at 80 mph, as a badge of honor, they often delay washing the thick mud off their vehicle’s chassis, a true sign of suburban bad assery. Pigs love mud. Female wrestlers make a ton of dough ripping each other’s clothes off in slippery, oily, stage-occluded mud. Napoleon Bonaparte once said he made all his generals out of mud. Maybe that’s bad assery at its finest. Ivan Turgenev, author of ‘Fathers and Sons’, once said, “We sit in the mud…and reach for the stars.” Right. Who’d dare tell that to K’Hassat the Demon, and to his face? After all, he was a vengeful, angry soul, and unless they were faster than Superman, it was best to avoid his destructive wrath altogether.
K’Hassat had been imprisoned in the 4th level of Hell for eons. It had been so long he can’t remember when he was defeated and transferred there. Legend has it that he’d been in 4th Hell solitude for 10 million years. Some say longer, some lesser. Doesn’t really matter. The takeaway was that, while imprisoned there, planets have been birthed and destroyed without his knowledge.
In terms of space, Hell Level IV was larger than the 3rd but smaller than the 5th, with Level VII being the ultimate in size. Each circle was so huge that they’re immeasurable by human standards. Any attempt to define the size of Hell, or Heaven for that matter, would render the curious philosopher catatonic, confined to a padded room the rest of their dribbling, confounded days. It wasn’t easy, and it sure cost a lot of lives, but when the demon K’Hassat was finally captured and exiled in his own section in Level IV, the heavens rejoiced for centuries, and every book that mentioned his name was burned, whittled to dust, made to evaporate in evanescence like a geyser’s formless steam.
Mud. That’s pretty much all the interior designer of Level IV had in mind for its decorations – muddy floors, muddy walls, muddy rains, muddy clouds, the stench of mud forever tainting the mud-moistened air, muddy edible plants, muddy wastes, muddy silence. K’Hassat, standing at nearly 20 feet, was a hulk of a brute. Even though weighing in at over 2,000 pounds, he made Usain Bolt, the world’s fastest man, seem like a snail in quicksand. Because he perpetually trudged in mud, his speed had been reduced to a crawl. Doesn’t matter. What was there for him to chase – clumps of mud tossed in the air from his booming footsteps? After about 1,000 years or so, that’d get pretty tiring, not to mention, repetitive.
Like everyone else in hellish confinement, K’Hassat had no clothes. Apart from particularly muddy, scaly skin and bright, phosphorescent eyes, he was almost human-like in form. Because the sun could barely be seen in Level IV, the 20-foot demon had very little to do so he slept all day, waking only to chomp on a few muddy leaves from the plants sprouting sparsely in the endless muddy fields.
On one particular day, K’Hassat thought he was having another of his terrifying nightmares, the kind that would keep anyone awake for days. He’d been plagued with them for centuries and there was no panacea. The only cure he found was to stop sleeping altogether, but after a few days of attempting that, he’d eventually lie down in the mud and doze right off. But, one day, not too long ago, a bright shimmering blue light the size of a Volkswagen awakened him. The light also emitted a low frequency hum, kind of like the rumbling empty stomach of a starved elephant. Sitting up, the demon studied the light with extreme curiosity. Many things came to his mind: was he being pardoned after all these years? Was he being transferred to a more populated section of Level IV? Was he being graduated to Level III or re-sentenced to someplace higher, like Level V?
“Who are you?” he finally cried to the floating orb.
The ominous light flickered, emitting nothing more than its distressing hum. Getting up, K’Hassat trudged carefully towards it, circling around it trying to discern its make or origin. Slowly, he reached a finger towards the light. It felt warm; however, when he got too close, it emitted a spark of perhaps 1,000,000 volts which made him instantly recoil. Angry, he bent down, scooped up a handful of mud and started to fling it at the orb.
ZAPP!
An arc of lightning shot from the light and singed the demon’s wrist, causing him to drop the muddy projectile.
“I mean you no harm,” the orb spoke with a powerful, crackly voice.
“Who are you?” K’Hassat asked, bewildered.
“Who I am is of no importance,” the light responded. “I need your help, K’Hassat.”
The demon eyed the orb with intense curiosity. “For what?” he asked.
“The secret necromancy of soul removal,” came the reply.
The demon shook his head. “I have no knowledge of that.”
Just then, lightning started bursting forth from all points of the orb. Frightened, K’Hassat stepped backwards. After a few seconds, the lightning subsided; the demon breathed a sigh of relief but kept his awareness heightened.
“I don’t wish to add to your agony, K’Hassat,” the orb continued. “10 million years of this purgatory…wouldn’t you like to return to the First Circle?”
K’Hassat’s heart skipped a beat. Leave Level IV? After all these years?
“I’m listening,” the anxious demon said. “What do you want from me?”
“How do you remove souls?” the light begged.
“I’m forbidden to speak of such things,” K’Hassat replied, fear elevated in his voice.
“Even if it means finally escaping this Hell?” the orb asked.
K’Hassat thought about that for a moment – escaping this Hell. Three little words that was a symphony of joy to his ears.
“Follow me,” he instructed the light.
Trudging through the mud for roughly 10 miles with the giant glowing orb close behind, K’Hassat quickly arrived at a cave so large that Lambeau Field could fit in it comfortably.
“In here,” he told the light.
Sloshing down a slippery mud path, they came to a chamber whose ceiling was four times as high as the demon. Walking across the mud-filled room, K’Hassat reached both of his hands into a slot in the far wall and pulled the two huge doors of a hidden cabinet open. Floating in the middle of the faintly-lit cabinet was a rotating device comprised of a 7” tubular steel blade the width of a child’s pencil attached to the hilt of a 5” black handle containing two switches.
“Anima Furabatur!” the orb gasped, its voiced filled with incredulity.
“The Soul Keeper,” K’Hassat added.
“I have traveled far and wide for this device,” the light cried. “Just being in its presence fills me with unmitigated dread.”
“As well it should,” K’Hassat boasted.
“Bring it,” the glowing spectrum of light ordered.
“I can’t,” the demon replied.
“What do you mean you can’t?” the light queried in a stern voice.
The demon demonstrated exactly what he meant by reaching for the instrument. Immediately, powerful lightning emitted from it, singing the giant’s hands.
“I see,” the orb continued as K’Hassat trembled in pain. “Then I’ll retrieve it.”
Just as the orb was about to enter the cabinet, K’Hassat positioned himself in front of it, effectively blocking the light’s path.
“Do you agree to release me to Level I?” the demon asked threateningly.
“Yes,” the orb answered. “I am bound by tradition to tell the truth.”
“Why should I trust you?” K’Hassat barked.
Lightning bolts shot out from many points on the orb, some of it singeing the ceiling, the rest boiling the mud on the ground and the wall behind the demon. Getting the point, K’Hassat reluctantly stepped aside. The light swooped into the cabinet, completely engulfed the tool, and flew off into the air.
“Remember me!” the demon yelled, punching his fist upwards as the orb disappeare
d with the Soul Keeper through the muddy ceiling.