by Shad N Freud
He watched impassively, completely unmoved as the black flames continued to flow along every surface, the silent flames accompanied by the occasional inhuman scream as another dagger was reduced to slag. The glass of the dead man’s container cracked as the flames began causing metal fatigue in the structural members before the small bunker collapsed, burying the remains of what had been one of the most powerful men in the world, eliminating the last of the Old Guard, and causing a tortured soul in Hell to scream in frustration as his last link to the world was destroyed.
His scream of anguish was followed by receiving two pineapples that day as Lucifer cackled sadistically in celebration.
Chapter Seven
Cenere looked at the untouched, non-descript tool shed that had been ignored by the undead. He looked over at Carl, then back at the door to the shed that looked like a good stiff breeze would knock it over. “You can’t be serious. This is the first layer of security that prevents any looky-loo from finding a research laboratory as steeped in secrecy as Area 51?”
Carl nodded, then pulled an envelope out of his pocket and used his lighter to burn the envelope before lighting a smoke. He then held up a simple, non-enchanted, non-encrypted key, and slid it into the pathetically simple lock. It clicked open and Carl opened the door. Within was a dusty collection of tools that had seen far better days, many in such a state as to be put to far better use as scrap metal. He steered his people into the shed and then turned a wrench on the wall ninety degrees. The floor beneath their feet rumbled and began sinking as the door creaked closed.
As the floor descended, they saw the thin veneer of crumbling tarmac that made up the surface give way to runed, reinforced concrete braced with steel structural supports. The walls were filled with small hollows that contained surveillance equipment, thermal sensors, ward emitters, and defensive turrets of varied and sundry makes and models. All of the weapons tracked their passage, indicators blinking red then green after performing active scans every other second. The walls were painted with depth markers and after only five minutes, they were several hundred feet underground. Finally, they passed the last set of scanners and were deposited into a vast underground complex.
And face to face with the first security team and all thirty of their weapons, the energy barriers crackling as they pointed their guns at the new arrivals.
“Submit identification for verification.”
Carl and the others removed their gloves and flashed their brands. “Cardinal Carl Beaumont, Grand Inquisitor of Greed and Sloth, Phi Kappa Epsilon, I am a meat popsicle. These folks are with me.”
The security team leader gave the all clear and deactivated one of the shield generators, allowing the group passage through the checkpoint, the barrier crackling back to life as soon as the beleaguered group cleared the marked lines on the floor. The security lead reached up and pressed the talk button on his shoulder mounted radio receiver. “VIP and six others passed through security check point. Sending a rover to escort.” He looked up at Carl, then came to attention, saluting. “Cardinal Beaumont, welcome to Drachenamboß. If you’ll follow this young woman, she will take you to the barracks where you may bathe. We have medics on hand if you need healing-”
“Sorry to interrupt, mate, but could you direct us to the nearest broom closet? We’ve got our own accommodations and right now I need a shower before I meet your boss.” Carl pointed at his people. “And they could use a change of clothes. Bullet holes and such, you understand.”
The security officer looked at them for a long moment, then turned to his subordinate, a young dwarf woman wearing tactical gear from head to toe, her face obscured by a balaclava and a pair of dark goggles. “Take them to the cleaning gear closet in section seven. Guard the door. These people are not to be disturbed until they exit their…accommodations.”
The dwarf nodded, saluted, then looked up at Carl. “Sir, if you and your people would follow me, please.”
Some ten minutes and four security check points later, the dwarf stopped in front of a broom closet, indicating the door. “Here we are, Sir. I shall be waiting outside if you need anything.”
Carl nodded, then opened the door, slapped the stone inside, and closed the door. He opened the door again, then strode in, dropping his coat on the floor as he walked in. “Jeeves.”
The butler rose out of the floor. “Yes, Carl?”
“Slap together some cold sandwiches and some soup. We won’t be staying long, as we’ve likely got a mission brief and debrief coming.” He looked over his shoulder. “Go shit, shower, shave, and grab a bite. Meet back at the front door in an hour and a half. Dismissed.”
The others looked at Carl in some confusion. He had never acted so…formal. So military. Cenere looked at Camilla, shrugged, and made his way to his room to go get clean, trudging up the stairs feeling completely exhausted. He wasn’t alone, as the fight they had left on the surface had been a hard one, the only members largely unaffected being Sachi and Krang. Carl seemed to have lost most of the pep in his step, as if he was simply going through the motions.
Carl quietly closed the door to his room as the others went about getting freshened up. He looked at his bed and saw a blanket hand crocheted by his wife and daughter. They had used mammoth wool, hawser-line sized yarn made of actual wooly mammoth fur from one of the farms that had been established in the frozen north to bring back the extinct species of armodons. The farms collected the shed winter wool to be spun for textiles, the fur softer than sheeps wool, and thus quite pricey.
He looked around the rest of his room at the decorations he’d placed there himself: a framed finger painting of Carl and his family in their crudely painted house, signed by a four year old Sophie with a backwards S; a trophy from Sophie’s soccer club’ championship win in New York when the girl was nine, sitting on his nightstand; a framed picture of the day Tristanna earned her Master’s Degree in English Literature; a bookshelf that bore seven books written by his wife, a series of novels about a plucky group of Super Heroes that served their country as a defense force that had been turned into a best-selling series of graphic novels which graced the shelf beneath.
Carl’s eyes became blurry as he wiped them, fighting the urge to give in to his grief, his rage. He quickly walked into his bathroom and turned the water up to the maximum heat he could stand, focusing on the pain of the nearly scalding water as he scrubbed himself clean. Pain meant he was still alive. Pain was to be embraced. Pain was a weapon. Carl continued muttering that mantra to himself as the hot water hid the tears running down his face. He couldn’t afford to break down now. There was just too much at stake.
∞∞∞
Camilla stared at herself in the mirror, the angry red lumps where the bullet holes had been causing her to sigh as she pulled out a pair of forceps and a scalpel. While the Lazerus compound had saved her life, she could still feel the bullets that had been pushed out of her vital organs and were currently sitting near the surface of her skin. She sterilized her instruments with Hellfire, then got to work slicing open the small lumps with the sharp edge, reaching in with the forceps, digging out the 9mm slugs, and dropping them into a small metal bowl. After each, she pressed her thumb against the wound and healed it with Hellfire.
Most of the wounds healed over without a sound from the exhausted Scot, but some on the tenderer parts of her body, like the three she dug out of her right breast, caused her to hiss loudly, fighting the urge to scream a litany of Scottish curses. The one just above her groin pissed her off the most, as it had damaged her favorite tattoo: a Hello Kitty dressed like a devil, complete with a black and red bow, black and red gothic corset, tiny horns, batwings, barbed tail, and a naughty wink. She’d gotten said tattoo after a night of drinking with Sachi, who had a similar tattoo, hers one of a more angelic appearance but sharing the same naughty wink.
Camilla sighed and cut a red, angry scar in the middle of Kitty’s face and dug out the lead bullet with a stifled scream, the bullet still buri
ed partway in the pubic bone underneath. She breathed heavily before dropping it in the bowl, then screamed loudly as she healed the wound, smoke curling up as the hole sealed over, leaving neat little scar where the angry lump had been. She’d need to make an appointment to get the face fixed and sighed. She’d really liked that tattoo. And, worst of all, she hadn’t had a chance to show it off yet to…she blushed lightly as she considered the young man bathing in the next room.
Her hand moved of its own accord, gently caressing the small pink bean below her Kitty tattoo, an electric tingle running throughout her body as she bit her lip. That man was a sight to behold. And, she had indeed beheld him from head to toe more than once, feeling a faint jealousy for the friendly marble golems that had already enjoyed his “company.” She growled as she fought her libido and stepped into her shower, turning the water on as cold as she could stand and bathing quickly, doing her best to touch herself between her legs as little as possible as she cleaned herself, scrubbing the filth and gore out of her nooks and crannies. She didn’t turn the water back to warm until her teeth began to chatter.
Camilla sighed, then looked at the showerhead that had helpfully become detachable, the face of a winking marble golem sliding back into the wall. Camilla glared cutely at the now empty wall and gave in to her libido’s persistence, grabbing the shower wand and setting the massage setting before blasting herself with some very good water, moaning softly as she did her best to remember as much detail about the man she’d fallen for as possible.
Sure, he was arrogant, but Lucifer’s bald goolies, could the man sing. He was gorgeous, had a tight and lithe body with plenty of muscle, and his body hair intrigued her almost as much as his scars. She longed to grab that man by the back of his head and ride his face,but she was worried about the little rake’s reputation. She’d literally walked in on him fucking several of the golems - at a time, no less! - on more than one occasion. It ruined her desire to flirt with him for at least a day each time. That said, he hadn’t actually made a move on any women since she’d known him.
Her breathing became faster, heavier as she reached climax, her firm buttocks pressed against the wall behind her as her spine arched, her toes curled, and a primal scream escaped her lips as her body was rocked with multiple shuddering orgasms.
She slumped down to the shower floor and slowly came down from her intense haze of pleasure before she shakily stood up and turned off the water. She grabbed a soft, fluffy towel off the wall and quickly dried off as her stomach rumbled, signaling other needs she needed to handle. She smiled as she slipped on a fresh set of black and red combats, pulled on her boots, slung her weapons, and strolled out of her room, whistling a cheery tune as she made her way to the dining room.
∞∞∞
Cenere glared at the golem who had come out of the shower wall and tried to help “wash” him. He shooed her away as he reached for his shampoo and began lathering his hair, as well as everything below his navel. As he stood back after giving himself a good soap up, he bleated in surprise as he felt another golem grab his tail at the base and give him a gentle tickle. His leg came up into the golem’s groin in a vicious kick, actually cracking the marble, and causing the golem to look down in shock, then puff her cheeks out in an otherwise adorable pout.
He shooed her away as well and stood, reaching for his conditioner. He glared at the pair of hands trying to be sneaky and raised his foot to stomp on the face that peeked up out of the floor.
“Knock it off! I’m trying to be good right now!” He sighed as he considered the reason why. “Not that she’d really care.”
Cenere never would have thought that his reputation as a rake or his nigh legendary prowess among female Inquisitors, who were probably the biggest gossips on the planet, would come back to haunt him. While he’d gotten a few downright electrifying kisses from the Scottish belle in the next room, she seemed to be keeping her distance. He frowned sadly as he not so gently butted his head against the marble tiles of his shower. He’d grown tired of getting his wick wet with all the girls he could play "Will It Fit?" with, as there had been absolutely no challenge. Cenere could literally walk into a bar, turn around, and walk back out with his pick of the litter. He’d tried having sex with a real woman and had nearly washed out of the Inquisition because of it. And, to be honest, he hadn’t really liked it all that much. He’d loved it.
His petty lusts before had been all fine and dandy, and he’d certainly tempted plenty of girls into his bed. But there was one woman he had in mind, one absolutely gorgeous creature that enthralled his senses, burned him with a passionate need to be near her, and absolutely terrified him all at once. Not because she could probably bench press an engine block from a ’57 Chevy or her downright lethal aim with that grenade rifle of hers or even her downright vicious temper when angered. He was afraid of the one way she could utterly destroy him. By saying no.
He’d always laughed at the chumps that were scared of talking to girls, even going out of his way to help some of his friends with that unfortunate malady to get laid while at Sinisterem. But now, the shoof was on the other foot and he found himself absolutely poleaxed by the beauty that had somehow cooled his ardor for other women. Even the golems weren’t doing it for him anymore, and he was scared that he might just catch a terminal case of monogamy, a fate that had once caused him to wake screaming in terror. Now, it didn’t seem quite so bad.
He knew that there was one major roadblock to any happiness he’d ever feel with Camilla, however. An empty spot in their lives he’d never be able to fill. Children of their own.
Male tieflings were rarely seen in society because they shouldn’t Be. That’s right, capital B. The reason, of course, was that unless Fate steps in to give the genetics involved a helping hand, it should be impossible for a tiefling to conceive male offspring. Partly because Mephistopheles, the father of tieflings and their patron Archduke had ruled it so. Petty jealousy aside, he felt that there should be only one male: himself. Tieflings in Hell tend to discover that they have a bit more lee-way when it comes to rank, and Mephistopheles feared a prophecy uttered by a dying foe, a seer that had foretold his doom: “When a male tiefling’s seed bears twin fruit, the days of Mephistopheles shall be numbered by the days of the children’s lives.”
As such, he’d deliberately crippled his own children, making the few boys that were born mules. Simple wishes could not surpass the Archduke’s curse and only Fate could cause a boy to be born. This led to male tieflings being protected by their clans, as the boys tended to be portents of change, whether good or ill.
Regardless of whether the legends involved had any merit, no male tiefling had ever been a father by birth. And from the occasional conversations Camilla shared with Sachi when they didn’t know he was nearby, he could tell that above all else, Camilla wanted to be a mother. She had grown up in an orphanage and wanted nothing more than to ensure that a child would sprout from her loins, be raised by her, and give her grandchildren to fawn over. Sachi, on the other hand, had made it clear that she planned to get her tubes tied after this accursed mission was over, because the very thought of having a parasite grow within her for nine months, ruin her figure, then have a large amount of influence over the rest of her life terrified her.
He felt a gnawing fear in the pit of his belly, one that told him he wasn’t good enough for the gorgeous, amazing woman in the next room. He stepped out of his shower, toweled off quickly, slipped into some clean combats, then put his shoofs back on and made his way downstairs as he heard a scream from Camilla’s room. He sighed, guessing that Camilla must be availing herself of one of the golems, and rolled his eyes, strolling downstairs to a nice spread of deli meats, breads, and various condiments.
He quickly put together a hoagie sandwich, grabbed a baggy of homemade potato chips, and sat down with a frosty bottle of pop, eating his sandwich as he ruminated on the previous battle, the fact that he’d nearly died. He was tired of being a child, and decided it wa
s time to grow up. He looked up to see Camilla walking down the stairs, her hair still rather damp, and rolled his eyes before taking a long sip from his bottle. She slapped together her own sandwich and sat across from him, giving him a somewhat shy smile. He smiled back, his much sadder than hers.
They both looked up as Zeke set his heavy plate of cold cuts on the table, stuffing fistfuls of meat into his mouth and swallowing them whole. He washed his meal down with a quart of grain alcohol as Sachi stared at him. “You know, Zeke, chewing your food does prevent indigestion.”
Zeke took another big swig of his booze, giving her the bird in the process and causing the group to laugh. Jin strolled into the room, feeling rather chipper, and grabbed himself a platter as big as Zeke’s and a two litre bottle of orange soda. Carl finally came down the stairs and stared at the tableau, smiling faintly as the group ate, laughed, and blew off steam after a horrific battle. It reminded him of his days as a junior Inquisitor under L'Orange, when he was loaned out to the same precinct as his friends from Sinisterem, Jimmy and Bourbon. He shook his head as he noticed the group was looking up at him expectantly.
“Gang, I hate to interrupt, but we have business to handle before he lay our heads down for the night. Let’s move out in fifteen.”
∞∞∞