The Third Seal

by Sean Deville

  Shepherd's Bush was the target chosen for the single suitcase nuclear device that had been squirrelled into the United Kingdom nearly a decade prior. With copious private housing and a large immigrant community, it was easy for Iranian sleeper agents to fake a life there with the help of false credentials and property bought with Iranian money. They installed themselves, just as Mohammed had done in Rome, waiting for the sign.

  As with America, the Iranians had foolishly chosen the UK in which to play their games. To attack one sitting member of the UN Security Council could be called brave. To hit two, both nuclear powers, was downright stupidity. Asmodai, the demon King riding the Iranian Defence Minister, hadn't been instrumental in the Iranians acquiring and deploying their suitcase nukes, but he played the delicious hand he had been dealt.

  Exploding in a basement below the streets of the city, everything within a two hundred metre radius was obliterated. The warhead erupted, super-heating the surrounding air and creating a rapidly expanding fireball that was unstoppable and like nothing that nature had ever intended be unleashed upon the planet. The nuclear blast obliterated the Westfield Shopping Centre as well as the surrounding area. Those closest to the blast became atomic dust, and that was perhaps the best death anyone could hope for.

  At the centre of the fireball, temperatures became nearly four times that found at the centre of the sun, producing a blast wave that ripped through the surrounding area.

  Nearly a quarter of a mile from the centre of the blast, the asphalt on Uxbridge Road melted within half a second of detonation. A second later, the roofs of the surrounding buildings were ripped apart by the explosive wave and 750 mile-per-hour winds, melting everything that would melt and burning everything that would burn. The fireball briefly shone nearly five thousand times brighter than the Nevada sun at noon. All trees and vegetation simply combusted into flames and soil erupted into superheated dust. Seconds later, the blast wave destroyed anything that was still standing.

  Those caught outside in the thermal radiation radius suffered third degree burns and the areas of their skin not covered became instantly scorched. Any creature unfortunate enough to look at the fireball was blinded as their retinas simply burnt out. Very few humans survived the heart of the blast, and those that did would wish they hadn’t. Nearly three thousand people were killed outright, and thousands more would perish over the coming days and months as radiation sickness and the thermal injuries took their heavy toll.

  The fire created by the nuke’s detonation rapidly increased in intensity, generating ground winds of hurricane force and boiling temperatures that would cook anyone caught in them. London, one of the greatest cities of the world, and arguably the birthplace of Western democracy, had just become a very different place.

  No democracy can survive such an attack intact. Further seeds sown for the world the Antichrist wished to create.

  ***

  The room around Damien shook with a force that threatened to bring down the ceiling. He was no expert, but surely only an explosion of significant yield could have that effect? London was not a place where one expected earthquakes. Both the officers with him performed the mandatory look above them, two of the ceiling tiles dropping from their fixings. For a moment it felt like the whole suspended ceiling would come crashing down, but Damien was spared that.

  “What the fuck was that?” Black demanded. Instead of asking stupid questions, Hargreaves already had his phone out. It took four rings before someone would answer.

  “It's me, what the hell hit us?” Damien didn't hear the response. “Well, find out, damn you!” Hargreaves added. His usual cool demeanour had frayed.

  “I'm happy to suspend the pleasantries if need be,” Damien said in a mocking tone.

  “Shut your god-damn mouth,” Black spat at him.

  “Hey, I'm just saying.” Damien watched in satisfaction as the Detective Inspector's face went ashen. Whatever had been said to him wasn't what he wanted to hear.

  “Bomb in Shepherd's Bush. Big one,” Hargreaves said, repeating the information that had been given to him. “We're needed.” Black didn’t need to be told twice. The man might have been a buffoon, but he understood duty and the commitment his job demanded.

  As the two officers stood, one of the guards opened the door, the one with the evil glow. The demon-possessed guard looked directly at Damien.

  “Time to go, Damien,” the guard said.

  “Back to my cell already?” The guard smiled and shook his head.

  “No. I think you know what I mean. Come on out, Legion.” The two officers barely had time to react to the words. They were witness to Damien's transformation. They backed away as Legion ripped the handcuffs apart, ignorant of the damage done to the flesh underneath. The officers were unable to escape the room due to three other prison guards piling in to restrain the prisoner, a foolish move considering the circumstances. Things were made worse for them when Agreas slipped out of the interview room, closing and locking the door behind him.

  Five against one wasn't going to be anywhere close to a fair fight.

  Agreas stood outside laughing insanely as Legion fought off the guards, Hargreaves and Black coming to their aid. The first guard to reach Legion had his neck grabbed in a powerful grip. Legion’s thick and muscular fingers dug into the meat, ripping out the throat in one powerful tug. The second guard brought his baton down hard, but Legion deflected it with a meaty forearm.

  Things worsened from there. With the first guard already dying, Legion delivered a devastating overhand right punch to the next closest target. The second guard’s cheek exploded as if someone had used a brick on him. Nobody could realistically recover quickly from such an injury.

  That made it three against one.

  Black and the final guard tried to grab Legion together, coming around separate sides of the table. Black got backhanded, stunning him to the floor, the sense and three teeth knocked out of him. That gave the third prison warder the chance he thought he needed, unleashing a stream of pepper spray into Legion's face. It wouldn’t take long for him to realise what a mistake that was.

  The pepper spray just pissed Legion off.

  With Black scrambling on the floor, Legion took hold of the final guard. His vision momentarily blurred, Legion fought through the burning and lifted the third guard off his feet by the neck. Hargreaves watched in disbelief, the helpless guard dangling there, the life being squeezed out of him. This was not a small man, and yet Legion broke his neck and cast him to the hard ground as if he was dealing with a small child.

  “Unleashed I am. Happy is he who can walk in the spirit of his passion.” Legion almost sang the words, so enraptured was he to be bringing balance to the world.

  “Damien...” Hargreaves began.

  “Damien isn't here right now,” Legion said, bending down to Black who was starting to come round from his semi-conscious state. Legion barely bothered with the Detective Sergeant, twisting Black's head violently to the left, breaking the neck. The crack echoed around the room.

  “You can't get away with this,” Hargreaves insisted, despite the evidence to the contrary all around him. “Killing me won’t get you any closer to getting out of here.”

  “Kill you?” Legion said, genuinely surprised at the idea. “I have no wish to kill you, Detective Inspector.” As he spoke, Legion began to remove the prison garments he had been forced to wear.

  “But you killed my Sergeant.”

  “Because he was disrespectful.” The door to the interview room unlocked. “All these men you see before you owed me a debt for their arrogance.”

  “We must away,” Agreas insisted, standing in the door. Legion, down to his briefs, looked at the four men lying on the floor. The second guard, the one with the shattered cheek, was moaning loudly, still alive but in great pain.

  “Not before I show this one the true meaning of suffering,” Legion said stepping over to the injured warder. “When I came here, this was the guard who seemed to
take great delight in shoving his digits up my rectum. I wish to return the favour.”

  “And this one,” Agreas said, pointing at Hargreaves.

  “He is not to be harmed. He will tell the world of the deeds I performed here today, and his kind will learn to fear me.” Legion pointed at the last guard he had strangled. “Undress that body whilst I have my fun.” Agreas nodded in agreement, although it was obvious the demon was eager to escape the room.

  “It is important you watch what I am about to do, Detective Inspector,” Legion ordered. “If you try and run, I will be forced to break your legs.” Wisely, Hargreaves chose to remain in the corner of the room rather than make a break for it. There was an alarm sounding now, but not in any relation to the carnage that Legion had created. The atomic blast had resulted in a fire in another wing of the prison, necessary chaos to help in Damien and Legion’s escape.

  Legion bent down to the last remaining guard, and picked him up with unnerving strength.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Hargreaves advised.

  “Oh, but I do.” Legion bundled the man he was holding onto the table which brought fresh howls. Hargreaves could see the injury now. The guard’s cheek was sunk in, the eye almost loose in its socket. The zygomatic arch was crushed, part of the maxilla fractured and dislocated. To add to his misery, the mandible hung at an odd angle, the neck of the condyle undoubtedly broken. There would be immense pain and disorientation from the injury that would takes months to recover from.

  Legion was about to add to his woes.

  With no resistance, Legion pulled the man’s trousers down. Reaching into the soiled underwear, the huge hand grabbed hold of the warder’s genitals in a vice-like grip. That roused the guard, who started to buck on the table.

  “I am going to teach you the error of your ways,” Legion sneered. This one Legion would leave alive, but the guard would be less than a man.

  Legion began to twist his wrist violently, pulling at the same time. Blood burst between the killer’s fingers, the hand becoming slick. Hargreaves would never forget the resulting scream.

  “You truly are your father’s son,” Agreas complemented. With a final wrench, Legion ripped the guard’s genitals from his body and flung them at Hargreaves who wasn’t able to dodge the bloodied remnants. It was fortunate for the guard that he passed out at that point, Legion wiping his hands clean on the shirt that was already soaking up some of the arterial spray.

  “Remember what you see here, Detective Inspector,” Legion advised as he took the clothes that were handed to him. “You won’t catch me a second time. And if we should meet in the outside world, I will not be so lenient. Any police officer who comes near me will share this man’s fate. Let me do my work, and I will rid the world of an evil you couldn’t possibly understand.” Legion pointed a finger at Hargreaves. “Get in my way, and I will become that evil.”

  8.

  Inquisitor training camp 10 years ago

  Lilith never knew when her birthday was because it was never celebrated. She had vague memories from early childhood, but here the days blurred into each other marked only by the seasons and the sun. She was told when to wake up and when to go to sleep, so she had no need for a timepiece or a calendar. The priests were always there to tell her what to do.

  One thing the training instilled in them was a sense of time. For the last few years, Lilith had always woken up before the priests had come in to rouse them. All of the other Inquisitors in training were the same.

  The priests no longer beat any of them, they hadn't since the day in the forest. Lilith had been one of three students to elude them that day which nobody congratulated her for. Even though she felt no pride in the achievement, it was clear that she was one of the best the Inquisition had ever trained.

  The beatings had stopped because they were no longer children and beating men and women who were close to becoming skilled assassins was perhaps a wasted pursuit. There was also the risk that one of them might suddenly defend themselves, so ingrained was their training now.

  Their reflexes were honed, their hands as lethal as their minds. Lilith's body had been primed and moulded to defeat the ever-growing forces of Satan. And now was the time for one of her final tests. It would likely be the most difficult one yet.

  There would be no hardship today, no twenty-mile runs, no forced starvation. She would not be expected to do endless body weight exercises until her muscles were on fire, nor would she be instructed to punch the bag until her knuckles were bleeding and raw. This was a whole different test altogether.

  She was seventeen now, and it was time to experience one of the many pleasures life could offer.

  The room she was in was not locked, and the door opened to admit Father. He looked frail now, his time on this planet hurtling towards its end. Lilith's class would be the last he would see graduate, eight students left, four men, four women, as if it had been planned that way.

  Father sat down wearily. He was used to pain, but Lilith could see the agony he was enduring. The cancer that had taken hold was claiming him rapidly, devouring his pancreas and likely already spreading via the lymphatic system. The Order had offered him treatment, had offered him pain medication, but he had declined it all. The chances of survival from this particular cancer were negligible, so there was no point prolonging the inevitable.

  “If God deems me worthy of such suffering, who am I to argue?” Father had been heard to say.

  His cheeks were sunken, the disease stripping him of his musculature. He had months left if he was unfortunate, weeks if he was lucky. Every day would bring a new agony, a true test of a warrior that would soon be standing before St Peter. Sleep was almost impossible until exhaustion was forced upon him. Then, instead of sleep, a weary unconsciousness would descend.

  “Are you ready, Lilith?” Father asked. He could remember the young girl who had once stood before him in the rain, her eyes filled with terror but also containing a determination that he had rarely seen. She had been the first to step forward to take the brand. The brand had been a test of faith in those who had spent their year of indoctrination with the nuns. A year underground, a year without fresh air or sunshine.

  The brand was also an added insurance against the demons. Though Inquisitors were genetically immune, it was always safer to take all precautions. The mark seared into their flesh was a barrier to possession, a defensive wall that no demon could penetrate.

  “Yes Father,” Lilith said, although for the first time since she could remember, she was nervous. The clothes she was wearing felt comfortable, the mattress on the room’s bed luxurious by the standards she was used to. She had spent two days in here already, the television in the corner of the room a window onto a world that made her crave her God more.

  What confused her was how the comfort made her back ache. To be here felt unnatural.

  “I meet each of you like this before their time. To have suffered so all your life can make it difficult to experience the pleasures life can provide. But experience them you must.”

  “I understand Father.” And she did. She had known for years that this day would come. “Who have you chosen for me?”

  “You know who.” Father smiled before a vicious cough ripped through him. He knew he shouldn't have favourites, but Lilith had always been the greatest he had trained. He had seen Inquisitors come and go, but few had the fortitude, the determination or the resolve that Lilith possessed. If every Inquisitor had been like her, Satan wouldn't have stood a chance.

  There was a knock at the door, and one of the priests entered. He carried a hamper, which he placed on a side table. Without a word he left. It was not a priest’s place to say anything, not today. Father stood, visibly wincing, his strength almost failing him. Lilith knew he would never give up so long as he could be of service. No matter what the Inquisitors he trained endured, it was nothing compared to the personal battles that Father had faced.

  He stepped over to the hamper and opened it
. Alcohol, sugar laden foods, treats that Lilith's taste-buds had never been exposed to before being sequestered into this room. Whilst she was here, she could have her fill. She could drink until she passed out, eat until her stomach swelled. Nothing would be frowned upon, not here, not in this oasis of pleasure.

  “You will find some attire in here that you might want to consider wearing. Men are visual by nature in their attraction, young men especially.”

  “As you wish Father.” The whole process confused her, despite her understanding the reasoning behind it. In six months, all being well, she would be unleashed upon the world. The realm of humanity was filled with temptation and desire. Better to expose oneself to that under controlled conditions where the results could be monitored. For most Inquisitors-in-training, this was merely another test. But occasionally it uncovered a flaw that had been missed in the earlier years. You had to experience hedonism to be able to reject it.

  Once they were released from this camp, once the razor wire and the watch-towers were a thing of their past, they would be on their own, controlled only by the virtue and the honour that swelled in their own thoughts.

  Inquisitors had to reject all pleasures of the flesh, because there led a road to temptation and corruption. But first they had to understand what it was they would be rejecting for the rest of their lives.

  “I want to say something,” Father said. Perhaps it was his own pending demise, perhaps it was a sudden burst of an old man's sentiment, but he felt the words had to be said. “You and Lucien, you will be some of the greatest Inquisitors I ever trained.”

  “We would be nothing without your guidance.”

  “I am merely a servant.”

  “One who has suffered for our Lord.” Lilith had respect for the man, despite the pain and the misery he had been responsible for. It had all been to serve her so that she could ultimately serve her God.

  “I go where he tells me to.” Father smiled at that, a rare event indeed. “He has asked much of me over the years. Soon I will be with him.”