“Don’t quote movie lines, nitwit. Now tell me, where’s my satchel and my
cane?”
Balthazar pointed. “It’s on the first floor.”
Caspar ascended the stairs with Balthazar in tow. He carefully unlocked the door. He came to a narrow corridor, dimly illuminated by flickering lights. He moved along, treading silently. The corridor was furnished with oak wood with glimmering patterns upon it, several small burnt patches interposed in the design, here and there. This was perhaps because of the hexes beaming at other places than the intended target.
Witches are whining creatures with insane problems, he mused.
They indulge themselves in dark magic, enabling them to channel power, so strong and so deadly, that sometimes they evaporate into oblivion. Witches existed from the start of the mankind and used methods of manipulating humans into killing
each other. The witches were largely criticized in folklores and fables and had been known across the world. Though the true characteristics of the witch was never truly known. None of it was mentioned in books, televisions, or movies.
Witches aren’t really beautiful with smooth skin and sparkling eyes. They are mutants who practice occult and magic. They are usually ugly and skinned in their true form. It is only the exterior beauty that hides their abnormality that they mask with spells and crafted charms.
“It’s there.” Balthazar tilted his head toward the door.
Caspar opened it and went inside with Balthazar still following closely. He could see weapons, from wands and staffs to battle blades and gemmed daggers. Some were hanged by tight ropes, while others were placed inside glass cupboards. Some hung on the wall. The room was brightly lit, giving the weapons a steely shine. His eyes fell upon the table where his satchel and cane were kept.
He picked them up and strapped the satchel diagonally across his chest so that it rested against his hip. He picked up the cane, handed a dagger to Balthazar, and exited the room, carefully closing the door behind him.
“Where is the leader of this coven?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “What do you mean?”
“The leader. Every coven has a mistress who judges and issues the magic done here. Who is it? What is her name?”
“Delirium,” the gargoyle replied automatically.
“Oh. Hmmm...Listen, Balthazar, I don’t really know you, but when you escape from here, can you wait for me outside? This house is adjacent to a forest that stretches close to a flyover. I need you to be on the flyover and wait for me there. If I don’t come within half an hour, you have to go to Maple Street and find Socrates
Manor. There you will find Lazarus, my butler. You need to tell him that I am not going to come and I am dead.”
“I am not going to do that. I am not crazy.”
“Gargoyles are assets. I have assisted you. I now have full control over you. You have to listen to my orders and obey them for one day. That is the obligation gargoyles must abide by for the person who has saved them, or else their spirits won’t go to the land of peace.”
“Not every gargoyle is superstitious and believes that if they adhere to the duties requested by their benefactor they will go to land of peace.” He paused. “But I am not one of the dissenters.” He sighed. “What are you going to do?”
He winked. “I’ll find out that question’s answer, soon.”
***
Delirium was once a rookie in the early eighteenth century. In this coven, she was now the mistress. Behind the green hair and blue eyes, the mask she wore to hide her old age, was a crumpled old lady with one broken eye. She possessed a lean body, a womanly voice, and poisoned looks.
She never wanted to be a part of Manfred’s conspiracies, but she had no choice. She needed her coven to stand firm when the Morningstar was freed. No matter the outcome, she had to assist Manfred in getting what he wanted.
It had been just two days since he had arrived. He’d specified that he needed a demon slaughterer, Spring Heeled Jack, to be summoned. In return, the Morningstar would give his blessing. They had helped him, keeping the rookies in the dark as to
what was happening around and providing them with false information. Yet she wondered if such actions were prudent.
Tossing and turning, she found she couldn’t sleep. Putting on her twinkling robe, she walked to the common room. There she came across a tall, lean, bronze-eyed boy in a trench-coat standing close to the fireplace, trying to fiddle with the erupting flames.
“Hello, Delirium,” Caspar said coldly as he turned to gaze at the witch. “How did you escape?” She wasn’t shocked, but she did sound astounded.
“That shouldn’t concern you.” His nose flared outward. “What should concern you is that you are meddling with the wrong man.”
Delirium took a deep breath. “I don’t care how evil Manfred is.”
“He’s not evil, Delirium. He is the evil,” he replied. “You don’t have any idea what you are dealing with. Please, tell me, why did he want a demon slaughterer?”
“He’s going to raise the Morningstar and bring his kingdom upon the lands and seas. In return of our gratitude, he will grant us rewards and more powers.”
“He’s trying raise the devil?” “Yes.”
That makes sense, he thought.
He clenched his fist and then released it. He strode toward Delirium and walked past her. She whirled around to face him, feeling a tad perplexed.
“Thank you for the vital information you’ve provided me with,” he said as he neared the door
Delirium remained rooted in place without lifting a finger. She could have snapped her fingers and pinned him to the wall. She could have burnt him alive. Yet she did nothing.
“And one more thing, Delirium. Never try to trap me again.” His voice was sharp and cold. “If you value your existence, you’d do well to remember that.”
Pr
ince of Hell
Balthazar waited at the flyover. It was a long and narrow white painted road raised above the ground with grills for safety on opposite sides. The darkness engulfed the gargoyle, as he stood suspended in the air with a grumpy expression on his face.
He could see the big, house and its chimney in the middle of the dark forest. He wasn’t sure as to how much time had passed. Perhaps the thirty minutes were over, he surmised. He’d need to go to Maple Street. He turned about as a sudden wave of shock pushed at him.
Instead of a wooden house, he saw a big ball of fire. Wood, cement – even the stone was burning. Planks from doors and furniture and metal fell from great heights. The madness continued. Women were trying to throw themselves out of the windows, burnt with the magic on their face fading slowly. Witches hurried out through the doors, unsuccessfully trying to extinguish the fire and turning into ashes.
“Nice view,” a gravelly voice spoke from behind him. It was Caspar.
“You did this?”
“It wasn’t me. It was the rabbit,” he responded. “How did you...?”
“They had gelatin, explosives in canisters. I just lit them all.” “Oh.”
“You waited? Good. I have to go now.”
Balthazar pursed his stony lips. “Yeah, okay. You know, I can help you. You saved me, so as a superstitious gargoyle, I need to help you until you relieve me of my duties. So, you know...uh...would you need a gargoyle’s help?”
Caspar started walking, leaning on his cane. He looked back to find the befuddled gargoyle waiting for his answer. “I can you use an extra hand. After all, I am going to save the world.”
He wasn’t aware of the fact that some of the gargoyles can turn themselves invisible. Balthazar was one of the few. It was early morning, around six a.m., when they slipped into the city transport train and headed toward Maple Street. Caspar sat at the far end, away from several humans who looked drunk and baffled. The train was almost empty.
As it stopped, people got out one by one, until only Caspar and Balthazar remained. Balthazar was trying to entertain him b
y sharing some Russell Peters jokes. Unfortunately, he was feeling edgy as he leaned on his cane. He spent his time looking out the window to screen the end of the tunnels.
“You got a friend, I see?”
The voice was familiar. Caspar and Balthazar turned to face Death. He sat opposite to them, his slender arm comfortably wrapped over the seat.
“He’s my assistant,”
“I am not an assistant!” Balthazar argued.
“You do remember that I burnt a witch’s lair, don’t you?” Balthazar gave him an uncertain smile. “Assistant, it is.”
“Oh, how sweet! A husband and wife fighting over house issues!” Death muttered. “Listen, Snoop dog, do you trust your lad here?”
Caspar stared at Balthazar who was now visible due to the isolation on the train. They exchanged glances as if Caspar was trying to size him up. Was Balthazar loyal? Is he trustable? Or is he not? The sharp glint in the gargoyle’s eyes hinted that he was no trouble. He would offer no interference.
“I do,”
“Who the hell are you, eh? What makes you question me?” Balthazar scoffed. “Hmmm. I am the one who decides whether you live or not,” Death said
coldly. “I am Death.” His expression was thunderous as he assessed the gargoyle. “Death? Oh, Death! You are Death, aye? That’s...I am sorry. You know,
I...am...so...so sorry. High five – what about it, eh?” He swallowed a lump. “Please, don’t...Pl – Please don’t kill me. I meant no disrespect.”
“That is what I needed to hear. Good.” He slammed his palms together, rubbing them as if to make them warmer. He faced Caspar. “You completed the job. Good. Burning the house filled with frustrated women who practice magic was brilliant, but there’s something else that’s come up. I need you and your little friend to come with me. There’s someone I need you to meet.”
“I can’t,” Caspar objected. “I have to do something else.”
Manfred Croft – he had to stop him before he killed the other three he had referred to. Though he had no idea in how to begin his search. He had an idea, but he couldn’t anyone to interrupt his plans. Not even the one person who could take his soul.
“I can’t execute any more of your duties right now. Something has come up that I want to get rid of.”
“I know who you are talking about, Caspar. Manfred Croft.” Casper swallowed his next retort, burning with hatred.
“How do you know about him?”
“The one who is going to meet us knows something about Manfred. Something more than you and I know. If you have some grudge against him, you can fulfill it. Avail yourself of the vital information he is going to provide you.”
His path grew clearer. He’d wanted a start to his search and had promptly gotten one.
“All right, who is the guy we are meeting?” Caspar grinned with excitement. Death looked around to make sure there was no one around. He opened a
portal with many colors intertwined together. Several hymns hummed and buzzed. Death was the first go through the gateway with Caspar and Balthazar in tow. The portal imploded into pure smoke once the three were on the other side.
Instead of a narrow staircase, they were now within an apartment. It reminded Caspar of his apartment, though this one was well furnished. He noticed old vintage pistols hanging on the walls. The floor was polished and glistening. A fireplace was burning, the iron grills keeping the flames in place. A red sofa was placed opposite to it. Two lamps were inches from the arms of the sofa and a Persian carpet covered the entire floor.
Something that resembled a skeleton, wearing a dark suit hovered near the yellow flames. The figure turned around to face the visitors. To Caspar’s surprised, the being had skin, though it was almost inside the raw bones of his body. Its eyes bulged out of their sockets and its hair was oiled and slicked back as if it were pasted upon the back of its. He was cold. The aura around him was chilling, causing the hairs on the back of Caspar’s neck to rise.
“Hello, Death,” he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. The tone was blatant and sour. “You brought Mr. Socrates and . . .” His eyes narrowed as his gaze fell upon Balthazar. “Who you might be?”
“Your humble servant, Balthazar.” The gargoyle bowed his head, though he knew he was never a humble servant to anyone.
“That is good. I hope Mr. Socrates has desired a pet for himself.” Balthazar gave him a crooked smiled, holding back the distaste bubbling
inside him.
Caspar stepped forward and said, “What do you know about Manfred Croft?” “Straight-forward, I see. Death, perhaps you made a deal with the right
person.”
A knowing smile broke out across Death’s face as he walked to the sofa. Caspar followed, while Balthazar remained in the same spot, unmoving. Caspar slid onto the sofa as Death stood close to the dancing flames.
The old man extended his hand toward Caspar. “I am Capernaum.” “He’s a demon,” Death added. “One of the ultra-demons,”
“Ultra-demon? I thought they were just the Seven Princes of Hell.” The seven Princes were the rulers of Hell. Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, and Lucifer and so on.
“Well, you can count me as the eighth one. Lucifer is no longer the Prince. He is the King now. A King who is trapped in Purgatory,” he said. “But I suppose we are not here to discuss that official matter.”
Caspar leaned upon his cane, anger rising within his eyes. “My patience is a tad thin, Capernaum. So if you have something to say, tell me now, because I don’t have time to chit-chat with you.” He looked around. “And if you want to chat, at least make your ambience more appealing. Your house seems more like a morgue.”
“He’s born like that,” Death explained. “It’s no worries.”
“I hope so.” Capernaum’s stare was singular and deadly. “Mr. Socrates is getting irritated so we will come to the point.” He took a deep breath, carefully considering his words. “Manfred Croft is trying to raise Lucifer.”
“Boring!” Caspar jumped to his feet. “I already know that.”
“What you might not know is how he is trying to bring Lucifer Morningstar from Purgatory, his eternal cage.”
Balthazar raised his hand. Everyone’s attention was drawn to him. “I thought that every means possible in awakening Lucifer has been banished or long forgotten?” he asked nervously.
“Not likely, gargoyle.” Capernaum rolled his eyes. “As a member of the Templar’s Order, I learned about Manfred’s intentions from the beginning. I later learnt that he’s using the forbidden way, which is known to only a few of us.”
While Death’s face was pale, it was now an even lighter shade. His eyes were weary, slightly obscured by the shadows of the room as he tried to contemplate the situation. Caspar noticed his uneasiness.
Caspar’s eyes narrowed and resembled the slits of a snake. “You know about this? About the forbidden way, don’t you, Death?”
Death remained quiet, but his eyes said too much.
“Might I ask, what is the forbidden way?” Balthazar queried. “I should have known!” Caspar replied.
“What is it?”
“Combining the elements of four transitions of djinns into one talisman,” Capernaum explained. “Forlock’s, Ifrit, Marid’s, and Kuffle’s,”
“Why now? If it was known by the few, why didn’t they use them a long time ago to bring back Lucifer?” Balthazar inquired.
“Because patience is the mother of might,” Caspar said. “It has happened . . .” He was not talking to Balthazar but to himself. “Manfred chose the right time. Djinns were almost extinct. The people...yes! I should have known! I should have! The people, the humans we thought were humans were actually djinns who lost their powers and their energy after the period of extinction, so they followed the ways of human-kind, living between them and being like them. They were the last.
“Aaron, a college boy to everyone, was actually one of the Kuffle’s or Marid’s. Perhaps he was one of other two, but...but
. . .” He raised his finger, pointing madly. “But they were the last of their kind. Their remaining essence, if used together and condensed into one small fucking stone, will allow Lucifer to rise.”
“Yes, you got that right,” Capernaum replied.
Death was stunned. His lips quivered. His striking hair was no longer luxurious and he found himself in deep thought. “Only the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse knew about the forbidden way. I mistakenly slipped the truth to Capernaum one day, so he knows as well.”
“Mistakenly?” Caspar raised his brows in suspicion. “I think, perhaps, Capernaum has slipped, as well,” he replied forcefully, “to other people.”
“What are you implying, Mr. Socrates?”
“I am not implying. I am saying that you can be a traitor.” “Then you are wrong,”
“Am I?” Caspar chuckled arrogantly. “Tell me, why are you trying to prevent the rise of the creature that created you in the first place?”
“I have my reasons.”
“I am sure those reasons can be disclosed.” “I don’t think they can be.”
“Shut up!” Death growled, the fires blazing bright. “We are on the same side, so don’t act like idiots.”
Caspar took a deep breath to calm himself down. Shaking his hand to let the blood flow, he clasped his cane loosely. “What is your reason behind such prevention?” he asked with exasperation.
“I am trying to save myself,” Capernaum replied. “By betraying your own race?”
“Lucifer is not a demon. He is the creator of demons, but not a demon himself. He was an angel, an archangel, Mr. Socrates. He loved God. God loved him. He doesn’t...He doesn’t care about demons, like us. He doesn’t care about my brother, Leviathan, or my other brothers. For the time being, he is using us.
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