by Sean Deville
Upon arriving here, Legion had tested the waters by attacking some of the guards, specifically the ones who had treated Damien discourteously. As effective as that violence had been, it had merely tightened the restrictions that Damien was confined by. So, as appealing as this prison was to a mind that could retreat within itself, the violent part would not remain quiet for long. Sooner or later, Legion would demand that there was a return to normal ways.
Somehow, Damien didn’t think that would be a problem. As he had said to Vicky, Damien had a feeling he wouldn’t be here for very long. If Damien was the one chosen by Lucifer, the fallen angel would find a way to protect his own…assuming of course that Legion’s murderous spree hadn’t pissed their father off.
There was another incentive to escape from here. The picture Vicky had handed him, the one drawn by her child, was full of intrigue. The tingling sensation that had been elicited by him touching that paper still lingered. Who was this girl in the great scheme of things, and why did Damien feel drawn towards her? Not to harm you understand. If anything, he felt a need to protect the child who was in so much danger. It was a compulsion that he couldn’t explain.
The hatch in Damien's door opened.
“Damien,” the voice insisted. This was inconvenient. He had just found the place of utter peace that was sometimes so elusive. It was a place of complete absence, a state of utter negation. Even the beating of his own heart was missing from that place. He was being dragged from that bliss back into the tedious world.
Damien opened his eyes.
“The police are here to question you,” the warder said. “We are taking you to the interview room. Are you going to cause us any problems?”
Damien sighed. You put a few guards in the hospital, and all of a sudden you were labelled a troublemaker. “No,” he said truthfully. There were so many ways he could make the lives of those guarding him miserable, but what was the point? None of them so far carried the corruption that Legion longed to eliminate.
The door opened, guards entering hesitantly. Damien stood and turned around, allowing two warders to apply the thick handcuffs to him. It was a precaution few prisoners had inflicted upon them these days, and with his previous displays, Damien would have thought the guards would have realised how futile such restraints were. Legion could break them, should he be roused. But Legion wouldn't be brought into battle because the guards now feared Damien. They had learnt quickly, replacing their callous bullying with a fearful respect.
It was good that they feared him, for Damien was the son of one who would soon rule the earth. It was a shame nobody believed him.
As Damien stepped out of the cell, he saw a further two guards waiting for him. Only one made any kind of eye contact. And this was no ordinary guard, for covering the man’s flesh was the black clinging cloak of possession.
“There is a demon here,” Legion whispered from within. Was the demon here for him, or was it a coincidence that the creature was here in this place? The host carrying the demon winked at Damien.
No, not a coincidence.
***
Damien sat in the same room in which Vicky had previously performed her mental examination of him. Surprisingly, he again found himself worrying about her. She had shown him respect, even a form of kindness which had been so lacking in his life. Although her examination had been to determine what form of future incarceration Damien would have inflicted upon his person, it had been clear that she had been concerned for Damien's well-being. If such concern had been evident in his younger years, Damien wondered if he would have still turned out like this. The seed that created him was sour though, so perhaps it was inevitable that Damien would have been the killer he was. Conceivably, he would have been worse in his atrocities, because without the harshness the hand of life had dealt him, Legion wouldn't have materialised.
Without Legion, Damien wouldn't have anything to blame the murderous inclinations on. He would have been a single troubled mind with full memory of every slice of viscera he took from his victims. And maybe, just maybe, Damien would have developed a taste for killing the sons and daughters of Adam as well as limiting his attacks to the sons of a fallen one.
The door to the interrogation room opened. As with the police station, the interview was to be conducted by Detective Sergeant Black, and Detective Inspector Hargreaves. Damien studied the two men as they entered. Whereas Black retained the self-important arrogance that Damien had detected from the very start, Hargreaves seemed filled with a nervous energy. It was possible that the Detective Inspector understood the power that was in the room with him. If Legion willed it, the restraints holding Damien would shatter and the necks of these two men could be broken before the guards outside could stop him.
The two police officers sat down across the table from Damien, Hargreaves reciting the usual legal mantra that started such interviews. No, Damien didn't want a lawyer in the room. Yes, Damien understood that he had the right to remain silent. Blah, blah, blah.
They should not have roused his meditating mind for such banality.
“Why don't we get on with this? Ask me what you are here to ask.”
“There are some irregularities with this case I was hoping you could clear up for me.”
“Happy to oblige.”
“We have heard back from both Interpol and Europol. They have several cases of unsolved murders similar to those we arrested you for, although they don't have your fingerprints on file. It's as if you never existed.”
“Although I was born on the continent, it was never home to me.”
“So why did you come to England?” Black asked.
“I'm assuming you have access to the psychologist’s report on me?”
“It hasn't been finalised yet,” Hargreaves admitted, “but we've been given a summary.”
“I followed the path of my father.”
“Your father Lucifer?” Hargreaves clarified.
“That's the one. Are you accepting that, or do you see it as a sign of my apparent madness?”
“Apparent?” Black snorted, only to get a disapproving glance from his superior.
“Let's say I remain open to the possibility,” Hargreaves conceded.
“That's very refreshing to hear.” Damien sat back as far as the restraints would let him. “I don't know why my father felt the need to sire so many offspring, but I can hazard a guess. I'm assuming that is one of your burning questions, Detective Inspector”.
“Go on.”
“Mankind has reached the point where its very presence endangers the whole planet. There isn't much that can save the world. Even without nuclear war, it won't be long before we start one of the greatest mass extinction events witnessed on Earth.”
“That's a bit of a pessimistic stance if you don't mind me saying.” Hargreaves didn't mention that he was in agreement with this point of view. Humanity had reached a point of such advancements technologically, that one simple mistake could snuff out all life. Either that or they would erode the integrity of the biosphere that kept them alive.
“I would argue that it's more realistic.” In response, Black once again snorted with contempt. Damien could tell that the sergeant didn't understand the dynamic developing here.
“So, you killed your way across Europe. How did you get into Britain?” Black asked the question. Perhaps he felt the need to somehow be involved here. There was no need for the usual routine between police officer and prisoner, because Damien was willing to tell it all.
“Simple really. I swam.”
“Don't be ridiculous,” Black insisted.
“Well, to put it more accurately, Legion swam. I don't remember the crossing myself. You wouldn't believe the stamina that man has.”
“You're not exactly built for swimming,” Hargreaves pointed out. Long distance swimmers weren't usually muscular tanks.
“We use whatever gifts are given to us and adapt to the hurdles thrown in our way.” Damien was pleased with what he had just sai
d.
“Why so many dead in England though?” The number of deaths uncovered across Europe had amounted to less than a dozen. There were some very eager detectives on the European continent who would be happy to close some very disturbing murders they were still wrestling with.
“This country seems to appeal to my father.”
“What? So, you are saying the Devil has a boner for England?”
“Detective Sergeant,” Damien said disappointingly, “why is it that so many people get that wrong? My father is not the Devil. He is merely a fallen angel.”
“It's a reasonable question,” Hargreaves said, backing his sergeant up.
“Well, in answer to your flawed question, my father goes where the space between Hell and our world is thinnest. And I'm led to believe that changes over time. Not that any of that will matter shortly.”
“What do you mean by that?” demanded Black.
“Haven't I made myself clear? My apologies, I thought I had. We are at the beginning of the End Times. Soon you will all be experiencing Hell on Earth, and I will get a front row seat to it all.” Damien was quite looking forward to it actually.
“You will forgive me if I don’t share your enthusiasm,” Hargreaves replied.
“You have other questions?”
“Actually yes. The autopsy of your victims raised two points of interest.”
“Only two?” Damien couldn’t hide his smirk.
“Firstly, it is suggested that you eat the hearts of those you kill. Is there truth to that?”
“I believe Legion has developed a taste for that ripe meat, yes. I’m afraid I don’t know why. Legion hasn’t shared that with me.”
“There was also a question regarding your victim’s brains.” The green discolouration had flummoxed all the pathologists who were questioned on it. Nobody had seen or heard of such a phenomenon.
“Chief Inspector, I think you know the answer to that. It is not a result of anything I or Legion did. It is merely proof of why I kill who I kill.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning it is a by-product of having a fallen angel as a father.”
***
Agreas, Great Duke of Hell. That was what he had been called in the Pit, commander of thirty-one legions of the demonic spawn. Rarely did his duties allow him the delights of venturing to the surface world, for his minions were unruly, requiring constant vigilance. As futile as rebellion against the Fallen would be, there was always the threat of it. Demons, by their very nature, were incapable of obeying any kind of order or stability for long. Fear and punishment seemed to keep them in line. That, and the promise that they would one day be given free rein on Earth.
They had been made to be creatures of chaos.
That was why he ignored those in his charge who ventured to the surface when chance presented itself. The Fallen didn't seem to mind either, for those demons always returned with tales of their deeds, reminding the millions left behind of what the apocalypse would mean to them.
An orgy of excess, a frenzy of rape and murder. This was the promise that kept the demon hordes in check, the centuries passing by as a blur to those who had no concept of earthly time. While they waited, the brief visits to Earth helped sooth their suffering. It wasn't just the lost human souls condemned to eternity without relief. The demons themselves were constantly tormented, the harshest treatment being reserved for those at the very bottom of the demonic hierarchy.
There was another reason why the demons didn’t rebel against their overlords. They wouldn’t stand a chance against the Fallen Angels who had created them. Despite the Fallen’s limited numbers, the Great Kings of Hell wouldn’t fare well against their creators. What powers some demons were granted could not compete against the might of the desecrated heavenly host.
Imagine Agreas’s surprise when he was commanded by one of the Fallen to venture to the surface world. Cowering in the Pit before the ethereal presence of Lucifer, Agreas had knelt, head bowed, as orders were relayed to him. It was perhaps ironic that the Fallen were trapped so thoroughly in Hell. Unlike their demonic creations, the Fallen were unable to walk in a human’s footsteps whilst the gates remained firmly locked. That was all by God’s design. Whereas a demon could possess a human host, the Fallen could only enter an earthly body for brief moments whilst the gates remained sealed. Lucifer, despite his lowly position, had mastered that more than any, tainting hundreds as they copulated with unsuspecting women.
Rumour had it that Lucifer had become addicted to the brief control he could conjure.
“You will go to Earth and give my son a message. You will know when the time is right.”
Lucifer had guided him to the right host, the human's mind weak and ripe for the taking. Agreas hadn't even needed to use force, the human’s genetic code allowing the demon to slip right in. When the gates finally broke, unlucky souls such as him would be the first taken, creating an unstoppable army to control the world.
Agreas woke up in the body of an overweight prison guard called Colin Flynn. The man's thoughts had represented his low intellect. Right now, the only evidence that a consciousness had ever existed prior to Agreas's arrival was the distant sound of Flynn’s primal rage. This was the guard who had winked at the prisoner called Damien.
The human world was not as Agreas remembered it, and he instantly despised it. Strength and intellect had once been humanity’s driving forces. Respect was once given to those who could outfight or out think their opponents. Now the planet was weak, ruled by people called lawyers, bureaucrats and those who had learnt to manipulate money. Agreas could remember a time when such people were despised, spat on where they were tolerated, disembowelled where they weren’t. The lowest of humanity rose to the heights of its civilisation. Whereas once leaders were the first to go into battle, now rich men sat in safety whilst other men's sons and daughters fought their petty wars for them.
There was little to respect now, despite the advancements of mankind’s so-called civilisation. The demons were going to love every minute of their unhindered rampage. The technology humanity had created would make the apocalypse so much easier.
Even the wars mankind fought now were barely worth talking about. In days of old, men had fought for glory and their God. Now they fought over pieces of paper and toxic black sludge. Agreas saw nothing that he liked about God's chosen species, and it was perhaps not surprising that God was willing to stand aside and let this pending apocalypse unfold.
Whilst Colin Flynn was a physically strong man, he was also markedly unhealthy. High blood pressure and the beginning of a heart arrhythmia, all partly due to the vast quantities of alcohol the man drank. His expanding gut would have swelled further over the coming decades, but the apocalypse would intervene in that decline. Agreas was here temporarily, so it would be for another demon to ride this body through the Great Tribulation. That was all assuming he survived what was about to be unleashed.
Agreas saw into his host’s thoughts and memories, everything laid bare. This was not a soul that would be welcomed into heaven. Colin had done things in his life, terrible things. If his secrets were ever discovered, he would find himself locked up with the very prisoners he guarded, an unenviable fate for any prison warder. Strange then that he had chosen such a profession. And nothing he could endure here, in these prison walls, would match what awaited Colin in the Pit. Oh, how he was destined to suffer.
No matter, this vessel served the purpose Agreas required. It also gave the man a glimpse of the eternal torment that soon awaited him.
The mind Agreas owned told him something else. Damien was in danger, despite his power and his size. By assaulting the prison guards, Damien had broken a cardinal rule that required payback. There were ways to get at prisoners, including those held in solitary confinement. Fellow prisoners could be bribed, food could be tainted. Crushed glass in the food delivered to Damien’s cell was definitely on the cards. Agreas couldn’t be here twenty-four-seven. A message was to be delive
red, but there was no point if Damien ended up dead.
If the opportunity presented itself, an escape might be warranted.
Outside the interview room, Agreas listened to the mindless chatter of the three other guards. The demon played the part expected of him, laughing and nodding when appropriate. Having assimilated the knowledge in the mind of his host, Agreas was well versed in how to pass as human. He could blend in better than most demons, his rank and status in the underworld a reflection of his discipline and focus. This was no mindless foot soldier. His purpose was to serve the Fallen, and he understood well that it would be foolish to disappoint.
So many of the higher ranks of the demonic armies had been missing from Hell of late. Although Agreas knew it wasn't wise to get his hopes up, it was beginning to feel like this was finally their time.
“You will know when the time is right to intervene,” Lucifer had told him. Agreas wondered how obvious the sign would be and when it would arrive. Would Damien be alive long enough? He didn't have long to wait to receive his answers.
***
There were so many prime locations to choose if you wanted to inflict damage on the British capital. Did you attack the heart of government, or the financial centres like Canary Wharf and the City of London? Perhaps a direct assault on its heritage and iconic structures. With one device of limited yield, the Iranian agents had one shot.
In reality, the original target the bomb was meant for was ignored.
Politicians and bankers might have been prime fodder for those intent on revenge, but the demon who had orchestrated this attack wanted more than that. The detonation was designed to instil fear and to show the British people that their political masters couldn't defend them. The attack was timed perfectly, the unplanned death of the country's Prime Minister an unexpected and ideal precursor.
The shock was aimed at average, everyday people.