He put his glass out for Shaun to pour him another measure. This time though, he didn’t immediately down the contents once poured. “What I did to Vetta… I didn’t think I was as messed up as that. I’ve slunk lower than I realised.”
“You have a daughter,” said Lucas, not entirely mollified by the lad’s tale of woe, for it was all too common an excuse. “How could you try to hurt Vetta when you have—”
Jack pulled a face. “What you talking about? I don’t have a daughter.” He seemed utterly confused.
Lucas was confused too. “The photograph in your wallet. The young girl?”
Shaun and Simon glanced up from the bar and winced as if Lucas had said something he shouldn’t have. Jake also seemed conflicted by the conversation.
“Oh, yeah.” He reached into his pocket and put the photograph of the young girl on the bar. “That’s my sister, Chloe. She died crossing the road when she was nine. Guy who ran her down was a family friend, if you can believe it. Accident ruined his life as well as ending Chloe’s. He never forgave himself. Both my parents threw themselves into work after it happened. They practically started living at the restaurant they owned, which is when my deadbeat uncle started looking after me. Shit went after that. They went downhill the exact moment Chloe decided not to look both ways. Fucking sucks.”
“How old were you?” asked Lucas, tummy fluttering as he pictured a poor child being mowed down. Death didn’t usually affect him in the pit of his stomach like this. Was this what they called empathy?
He didn’t care for it.
“I was twelve,” said Jake. “I was looking after her the day she died, but I ran across the road with my mates to try and shake her loose. She chased after me, calling my name so I would wait for her.” He swallowed audibly and then grunted. “Still remember the sound of her voice even after all these years.”
Lucas had seen none of this history last night when he’d read Jake’s aura at the bar. The shame had been too deep rooted in the lad to sense it from a brief contact. “I’m sorry, Jake. Last night I judged you a monster, but I forgot that most monsters are made. I wish I could have helped you deal with your guilt. Instead, I’ve doomed you.”
“It’s okay.” Jake shrugged and pushed his vodka away. “At least I get to die clean and sober. Well, almost sober. I was drowning until you healed me today. It’s nice to come up for air before I meet my maker, you know?”
“I’m sorry what I said about you earlier,” said Simon. His words were slurred from the copious amounts of whiskey in his system, and probably the fact he was fading fast from his mortal gut-wound. “I said no one liked working with you, but that isn’t true. We all liked you, Jake. It just dragged us down seeing you screw up so badly all the time. It was obvious you were in pain, but no matter what anyone said, you just wanted to drink and get high. Then you would pick a fight with anyone who tried to help you. We all wanted to be your friend, but you made it too hard. Max went through something similar after he lost his dad to cancer, but he got his shit together eventually. I guess we got tired of waiting for you to do the same.”
Jake nodded. “I get it, man. No need to apologise. I’m sorry.”
Shaun raised his glass and nodded. “Forgiven.”
Jake smiled weakly, but it didn’t take a mind reader to know it meant a lot to him. He turned to Lucas and lifted his glass in a salute. “You too, man. No hard feelings. We all know you never meant for any of this.”
Lucas was stunned. “Are you joking? I’ve almost certainly got you all killed.”
Simon shrugged. “If it wasn’t you, it would have been something else.” He took a deep swig from his whiskey bottle. “The booze probably.”
“I have a weak heart,” said Shaun. “Tell you the truth, I probably wouldn’t have made my fiftieth birthday anyway.”
Simon stared at his friend bug-eyed. “What? You never told me that!”
“What would be the point? I didn’t like thinking about it, and you would only have fussed. It’s why I never settled down. Always felt like I’d be short-changing whatever family I might have. My dad had the same thing, took him at forty-four. I’m forty-four.”
“You should have told me,” said Simon, obviously hurt. He didn’t dwell on it too long, though, and eventually gave Shaun a playful shove. “You always were a sodding weakling.”
They all laughed, but after they were done, they enjoyed the silence for a while. Each of them likely had a fair amount of self-reflection to do before they faced whatever came next. The worst part of it all was that Lucas didn’t blame Judas for wanting revenge.
I deserve this. It’s time The Devil got his due.
What he did blame Judas for was terrorising Vetta. And for that, he should be the one to pay.
But what can I do? Judas is the one with all the power.
Yet, power could be a downfall. Lucas had once been in a position of power, standing before Michael in the throne room of Heaven. His arrogance had reduced that power to nothing. It had been his downfall. Judas was arrogant too, he knew it. The man reeked of pride. There was a chance, only slight, that Judas’s massive advantage could be his downfall too.
There was a chance.
And Lucas would take it.
Lucas was thinking about Vetta when his elbows began to sink through the bar. He jumped back off his stool and startled everyone.
Jake looked around in fright. “What is it?”
“T-The bar. It changed!”
Shaun frowned. “What are you talking about?” He rapped his knuckles on the bar, making a rap-tap-tap sound.
Lucas crept back to where he’d been sitting and reached out his hand, pressing down with his fingertips. They sunk into the wood, and everyone gasped. He pulled them back out again and liquid dripped from his nails.
Jake slid off his stool, balancing on his one good leg. “What the hell, man?”
“The bar is melting,” slurred Simon, head slumped on his arms. “Great!”
Shaun grabbed Jake before the lad toppled over. “What’s it mean? What’s happening?”
Lucas studied the bar, watching it melt before his eyes. It shimmered like paint mixing with water. “It means the end is coming. Judas is pushing his spell further—erasing the tether to the real world this bar represents. Once it’s gone, this reality will be sealed off forever, and I’ll probably be stuck here alone until the world ends.”
“Or until we stop Julian, right?” said Jake. “You said we were going to crucify him!”
Shaun didn’t seem to think that was a good way to spend his final moments, and he was shaking his head adamantly. His slick-backed hair was now all over the place, and the grey was less disguised. “Look at what happened to us when we tried to fight him, and there’s another ten aswangs out there somewhere—at least!”
Lucas sighed. “Best thing for you now is to enjoy what time you have left, and hope you earned your way into a better place. Judas won’t waste energy keeping you here—and for that, you should be grateful.”
“I don’t want to die,” said Shaun, clutching himself. “Even if I go to Heaven. I… I don’t want to die.”
Jake peered down at the floor with the most anxious of expressions. It was obvious what he was thinking. He had not lived a good life. He expected to go downward. “I wish I could tell you Heaven awaits, lad,” Lucas told him, “but I don’t have all the facts. All I can say is that intentions count for a lot. It’s worse to commit sin knowingly than to do so through weakness and ignorance. Face your end with dignity and accept whatever comes.”
Jake nodded, but looked utterly terrified. He had every right to be.
A barstool toppled over as one of its legs melted away. Bottles tumbled off the shelves and smashed on the floor—part glass, part liquid. The whiskey in Simon’s bottle began to dissolve.
Shaun started wringing his hands. “Is it going to hurt?”
“Death is always painful,” said Lucas. “But so is life.”
The pub’
s door sprung open and the aswang’s howling filled the interior. Judas would not wait for the spell to consume them, nor give Lucas any chance of escape. He was sending in his troops early to finish the job. Whatever fun Judas had been having was over.
Lucas turned to the others. “You ready to face your deaths? The way a man meets his maker is important. You take that with you.”
Simon slithered off his stool, right before it toppled over and melted. “I’m dead already,” he said, smashing his knuckles into his palm, “and kind of pissed off about it, so yeah—bring it on!”
Shaun was trembling. “Times like these, I really wish I were brave.”
“You’re standing here,” said Lucas. “You are brave.”
“Ever seen a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest?” said Jake, hopping on the spot. “You’re about to see something really special, guys.”
Lucas glared at the open doorway, at the grey nothingness beyond. The aswangs would come inside any minute and tear them all to shreds. There was no way to fight back, they had already given all they had. Judas would keep Lucas alive, but the others were about to die. Lucas had started life as the most glorious of angels, but he was going to end up as doomed as any soul rotting in Hell—like the millions he himself had once condemned. Had he ever truly contemplated what an eternity of agony was like? How had he ever believed such a sentence was deserved?
Because I’m selfish. Remorseless.
No, I’m not. I’m human.
The ceiling began to drip. The bar began collapsing in on itself. The windows clouded over and began to run like hot glue.
Lucas thought he’d left The Devil behind on Cavalry Hill, but such a being could not be buried. He would always be The Devil. He would always be Lucifer. But he had to admit, right now, Lucifer would be a great help. The Devil would not have put up with Julian’s games for a single second. That guy was a badass—the very same mofo Julian had been trying to summon for two-thousand years, not the meek human-shadow of a once-great being.
Summon… Julian tried to summon The Devil.
“I know what to do!” said Lucas, turning to the others excitedly. “I know how to get us out of this!”
Jake stopped hopping and balanced on the spot with his arms out. “What? How?”
“You all need to bleed. Right now.”
Shaun winced and grabbed his tattooed arms. “Come up with a better idea.”
“Just do what I say, and I can save us! I need a glass that hasn’t melted yet, and I need something sharp enough to cut ourselves on. Deeply.”
The pub vibrated. Floorboards grew tacky beneath their feet. The aswangs howled outside, waiting for earthly reality to fade away enough to let them in.
“We don’t have time for a treasure hunt,” said Shaun, running his hands through his sweaty hair. “We need to run.”
“Run where?” said Jake.
“It won’t take long,” said Lucas. “Just do what I say.”
They gathered the items he’d requested and put them on the bar. To cut themselves, Jake had smashed a vodka bottle. The neck was dissolving, but the broken body was still sharp. A pint glass sat beside it.
“Hold out your arms,” Lucas ordered, picking up the bottle neck. “Over the bar.”
They all did as he commanded, but they trembled and looked worried. They all knew this was going to hurt, but the aswangs were right outside. What else were they going to do?
“What are you planning to do?” Jake asked.
“I’m going to bleed you all and make a circle on the bar.”
“Not sure I have much blood left,” said Simon, looking decidedly pale.
Jake frowned. “Why are you going to bleed us?”
“So I can summon The Devil.”
“But… but you are The Devil.”
“No, I’m just a human being. The Devil is a part of me that was ripped away last night, but it’s something too powerful to be destroyed. My celestial soul still exists somewhere, and I need to reclaim it. Gladri took away my powers, but he must have placed them somewhere. In Heaven or Hell, I can summon The Devil forth. I am going to have myself possessed.”
“By yourself?” asked Simon, looking like he would laugh if his guts weren’t spilling out.
Lucas shrugged. “It sounds stupid when you put it like that!” He looked towards the door. The first of the aswangs had begun to sidle into the pub, spindly legs spread out, head close to the ground. “But stupid is all we’ve got. Ready?”
They all nodded, so Lucas slashed each of their forearms with the broken bottle and caught their blood in a pint glass. Once it was half full, he poured the blood on the bar in a rough circle.
“What do we do now?” asked Jake, glancing skittishly at the doorway. The aswangs had begun creeping inside, the fresh blood exciting them as they panted like dogs.
“Stand back and pray,” said Lucas.
Shaun grunted. “That’s helpful”
“No, I mean it. Pray. To Lucifer Almighty, Ruler of Hell, and greatest of God’s adversaries. You know He is real, so believe in Him and pray. Leave the rest to me.”
The aswangs stalked closer, taking their time, confused by what was going on in front of them. They had expected fear, but instead, they met indifference. The humans in the bar were paying them no attention. Lucas recited the Lord’s Prayer backwards—an affront to God—and prepared to speak the ancient words that would summon forth The Devil. He could do this. He could cast another spell.
But his mind was blank.
No, no, no! Come on, think!
He had been so sure he could do this that he hadn’t checked his mind to make sure the words were there. His memory told him there was a spell that could help them, but he didn’t know the words. Like asking for directions and someone telling you your destination was ‘nearby,’ but giving nothing else to go on.
“What are you waiting for?” Jake demanded, wobbling on his leg as the floor melted beneath him.
“I… I don’t remember the words. I… can’t think how to begin the summoning.”
Shaun spluttered. “What? Then how… Shit! We’re screwed.”
“Yeah,” said Lucas, watching the aswangs close in. “Sorry about that!”
The aswangs surrounded them.
The beggar moved through the crowd easily, as all beggars do. His stench preceded him and parted the huddled masses seeking to avoid his pestilence. The boils on his face wept and burned, but these people bore no compassion for him. Suffering was a background event to a city like this—a sickly beggar no different to a dead rat baking in the sun. It allowed the beggar to be invisible. Even as people stared at him in disgust, they failed to truly see him. If they did, they would see more than just a beggar.
They would see damnation itself.
Lucifer trudged along Jerusalem’s cobbles, threading his way between market stalls and crumbling stone walls. Jerusalem might have been a glorious jewel in the desert from afar, but it was coated in filth and decay up close. Place your cheek against the ground, and you could smell the piss. Turn your gaze to the sky, and you would see the vultures. Wherever man congregated, effluence flowed, and in Jerusalem, many were just passing through—they did not care for this place as they did their homes.
Yet it was an impressive city still. The Herodian Temple rose up nearby, proceeded by its vast stone courtyard. Long-nose Jews filled it like teeming ants, while Roman watchmen stood without its borders keeping watchful eye. Tension filled the air—a powdery unease that threatened to combust. Too many religions in one place, too many people of too many types. Jerusalem was a needle point on which the entire world would soon pierce itself deeply. Lucifer grinned beneath his hood.
Ahead, the narrow streets widened into a meeting place. The bustling crowds here solidified into an enraptured mob, all fighting to get to the front. The man who held their attention was named Jesus, but he was not who the beggar had come to see this day.
Instead, he sidled into a nearby alleyway wh
ere he startled a sleeping dog and caused a washer woman to rush indoors at the sight of him. Was he really so hideous? Or merely a reflection of the hideousness in others? The lack of compassion for a sickly old beggar was the true horror here.
A minute’s walk took him to a stairwell leading up to a terrace. Barefooted, he took the cold steps carefully, not wanting to rush this moment he had been anticipating so long. Oh, how he loved to corrupt the pious, the patriotic. The faithful.
On the terrace, several men sat drinking wine and ale while watching the street below. They observed Jesus, that man in the market square who spoke so quietly and yet so powerfully. The enraptured crowd grew every second, and the terrace drinkers were awestruck by what they were seeing. One man, however, seemed to watch events with a heavy heart.
It was to this man the beggar gravitated.
“A gift to us all,” he said, gaining the troubled man’s attention.
The man flinched at the sight of him but did not shoo him away. “Yes, Jesus is the wisest of all men.”
The beggar grinned. “A messiah, one might say.”
“No! Never that. Jesus is just a man.”
“Some say otherwise. I heard Jews in the temple refer to him as King—a title sure to send many a Roman to despair.”
The man scrutinised the beggar, hooked nose pointing out from above a pair of plump, dry lips. In many ways, he resembled a rat or a mole. “Jesus would be the last to proclaim himself such a thing. Trust me, I know him as brother.”
The beggar feigned surprise. “You serve this man from Galilee? One of his acolytes?”
“I am no acolyte, beggar. I count Jesus as friend and mentor, but not master. As I said, he is the wisest of all men. Those below are smart to listen.”
The beggar admired the splendour of the man’s fine clothing for a moment, and the luxurious gems on his hands. A good man, perhaps, but one tempted by shiny things. “You clearly love this man, so why do you appear so weary of thought? What weighs upon your troubled mind, friend?”
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