by Tim Hawken
Rather than reply to him, I walked towards the five remaining devils who were quaking in the center of the room. I gathered the elements of air about them tightly. They began to wail, as their half-devoured victims had.
“Silence!” I yelled. This time my voice was my own.
They ceased their cries, but continued to shake with fear.
“You think that revenge is your right, but it is not. You are covered in unjust blood. You are now my servants. Your existence from this point is beholden to me and only me. Flee from this Tenth Circle and tell all who will listen: Asmodeus has departed Hell and bequeathed the domain to his son, Michael. I am now Satan. Every soul in Damnation is to gather for a sermon at Mount Belial in two days hence, to hear my commandments. I am your Dark Shepherd. Seek out Clytemnestra. She is in the main building in the city center. Find her and she will lead the pilgrimage to the anointed place. Now go!”
I threw my hand out and let loose red elements from my fingertips. The firestorm shot out of the door from where we had entered the court. Without hesitation each of the five demons ran, howling from the room.
Once they’d disappeared from the courtroom I fell to my knees. I braced myself with my hands, before wobbling to the floor and lapsing into unconsciousness.
TWELVE
I JOLTED AWAKE. A sharp, white light filled my vision. I blinked and shook my head clear. Opening my eyes again, The Perceptionist’s eye-covered form came into view. The room was a blur of orange. I struggled to stand, but felt a hand gently hold me down. I looked up again at The Perceptionist, who was silently pushing green, blue and yellow elements into my body. My sense of exhaustion dimmed, and was gradually replaced with a regained sense of energy. The Perceptionist stopped the torrent of atoms flooding into me and stepped back. I flexed my fingers. I was stiff all over, but otherwise felt strong. The memory of the events in the courtroom came back to me and I jumped to my feet, looking around. We were indeed in the same room, except the blood and bodily remains had been cleared away. It was just my teacher and me standing in the courtroom.
“It will not help you to melt into an unconscious state every time you end an existence,” he said unemotionally. “You might have impressed upon those demons a sense of power, but if you are truly tested by someone great, you will fail.”
Anger prickled into me.
“I don’t want to be able to kill without a toll,” I snapped. “Even if it is to end someone as wicked as those creatures, it’s still wrong to take away their chance of redemption.”
“Your humanity is a weakness,” The Perceptionist responded. “How many chances do you want to give a soul to become what you think it should become?”
My head was swimming with questions. Was what I had done right? I had barely had a chance to contemplate. I had simply acted in the moment, caught up in the emotion of the events.
“That is your other weakness,” said The Perceptionist. “Emotion.”
I stopped and looked at him. He was a completely unemotional creature and that made him powerful. But did that make him happy? No, because happiness is an emotion, not a thought. No matter how weak it made me, I would never give up emotion. It was my reason for being, the love I felt for Charlotte. Without it, there was nothing.
The sudden thought of Charlotte made my lips tremble. I would go to any length to save her, to be with her. Was I losing my soul because of her? Or was she my soul to begin with? Yes, she was everything. My purpose was unmoved by what had just happened, in fact it was enhanced. I was now more powerful: a step closer toward being the ruler of Hell.
“We cannot stand in this room forever,” The Perceptionist said. “I will learn nothing more from sitting here, and neither will you. It is time we left.”
I looked to my elemental companion. This was an omnipotent being, but though he knew all, I wondered if he truly understood it. I shook my head and looked at the roof. A jumble of thoughts cluttered my brain. I had only two days until I had to deliver a sermon atop Mount Belial and I still had no real plan of what to do or say.
“Where should we go?” I asked.
“Forward.” He turned to leave the room.
We trudged back along the metal corridor from which we had entered. Winding up along its elliptical path, ideas were racing through my head.
“Do you think what we did back there was just?” I asked.
“There is no such thing as justice,” he answered. “Justice is a concept.”
“Then do you think what we did was good?”
“The only good is knowledge; the only evil is ignorance,” he said firmly. “All life is even. I do not judge, I observe. In this case what I witnessed, in terms of elemental activity, offended me. There was a set of brilliant lights being stifled by darker ones. There was no learning, nothing new; just selfish acts. I only wish to see beauty and that was not beautiful so I finished it.”
He said it with no emotion, no passion. I didn’t know what to say. What was next? I had acted upon impulse and sent demons into the world with a message. I had set a path and The Perceptionist had aided me, had even pushed me. Was this his plan all along?
“My only plan was to teach,” he said. “I made a promise to you to teach you the elements and I have. I only interfered as much I as have to enhance your learning. This is all. I do not normally step into the world of beings, but I have for you. You should be grateful. A favorable path has been set in motion for you. Now there is a choice: to follow, or to resist. To follow is to save Charlotte. To resist is to lose her. For you there is no choice.”
No choice. I was bound by my path. I was not disturbed by this, but rather comforted. At least I knew my aim. I had to charge toward it. The meaning made me feel confident, however, I was still unsure how to walk the right path.
“What is the difference between beauty and ugliness to you?” I asked The Perceptionist without thinking.
“Unity is beauty,” he answered. “Selfishness is ugly. When I see someone acting with wholly selfish intentions, the energies of the elements are offensive to behold. Their light becomes muddy and hard to see. Their luminance is encased within the body, instead of shining and branching out and touching others. Selfless acts are more beautiful to watch because the energy spreads out. It sparkles. When it is truly great, a multitude of beings are connected by one spirit. There is a wonderful glow that surrounds it. When a group moves as one, but with selfish intentions, this glow does not exist; it is nothing but a crowd of sluggish lights moving in the same direction. This makes it easy for one of these bodies to break away when their motives change. They are not caught up in the light of unity. They simply want and so continue within themselves to commit acts that satisfy their own desires, their own greed. This does not bond anything, or teach anything. It spreads ignorance. It is ugly and I do not like to behold ugliness. Right now you are becoming ugly, Michael. The light that shone outward towards Charlotte is dimming. Your intentions are moving away from a loving, selfless action, towards a selfish and petty revenge. Your path to Charlotte is true unity of the souls in Hell behind you.”
“But how do I do this?” I asked passionately. “Tell me.”
“I cannot tell you,” The Perceptionist said. “I have already interfered enough. My only promise was to teach you the elements, and that I have done. You have the power to rule. You are still weak, but you have enough to begin.”
The shock of what he was saying made my heart skip a beat. He wasn’t going to help me defeat Asmodeus. I had planned on his support. I stopped walking.
“But what am I supposed to do?” I asked.
“The true leader makes those decisions on his own,” he said, turning back to me.
“But I need advice,” I said, suddenly feeling very lost.
“In this you cannot have my help,” The Perceptionist stated flatly. “I have nothing more to learn from this experience. I must return to my own contemplations. However, as my last act as your teacher, I will take you to where you can begin
to be influenced by right the person.”
“Who?”
“Your pilot friend, Smithy.”
THIRTEEN
SMITHY. THE GERIATRIC PILOT who had flown me to Satan’s castle during my first day in Hell. He was one of the kindest people I had ever met, and I still couldn’t believe such a person deserved to be stuck in this place. My heart warmed as I pictured his smiling, wrinkly face.
Despite wanting to see him, I had no idea how or why Smithy would want to help me defeat Asmodeus.
“Focus on your goal, follow your instinct and the answers will come.” The Perceptionist read my thoughts.
“Can I not persuade you to come with me?” I asked.
“No. But at another point in time our paths will cross once more. For now, I will take you where you need to go. Come.”
The Perceptionist turned and continued to walk along the rusty path. He stopped at the space where the black waterfall flowed down before us. It ended in a murky pool at our feet, which did not grow with the water that ran into it from above. It simply rippled. The Perceptionist bent down and with his large, eye-covered hand drew a circle in the pool. He repeated the action ten times, and the flow of the waterfall began to reverse. He stepped inside the curtain of water and was raised off the ground toward the ceiling. I followed. The dark water drew me into its heat and pulled me up. I closed my eyes and was transported quickly to Oresteia. I expected music to greet us as my feet solidified onto the podium above; instead there was a deep cry. My eyes snapped open. All around, within the violet waterfall, demons of every kind were crowded. One of the juror demons who had fled the court was pointing at me from amongst the throng.
“There he is: the Soul Destroyer, Michael. He is our new lord!” He turned to the crowd and screamed, “Bow down to our new master, Satan, the one who owns our souls in this evil Hell!”
In silence, everyone in the room got to their knees and threw their arms in the air, bowing toward me.
I stood with my mouth agape, unsure what to do. I looked to The Perceptionist for support. He gazed out to the crowd with his all seeing eyes.
“This is what you wanted,” he whispered. “Welcome your newest converts.”
I drew air into my lungs. Pulling the correct elements around me, I turned my arms into flames and rippled the air in front of my mouth, to amplify my voice. With my arms extended in the form of a cross, the words boomed throughout the room.
“You are among the first chosen to bear witness to me. Yes, I am your new lord. However, I do not pretend to be divine. I am human like you all once were. I come bearing a hurtful truth. Go forth from this place and tell all who will listen. When the fires of guilt burn two days hence, Clytemnestra will lead you to the anointed place. I will then reveal this truth to you. Now make way!”
I stretched hands out before me and sent flames burning into the violet waterfall. It evaporated in a hiss of steam. As it disappeared, each waterfall behind it burst into a colorful mist, one by one. I could now see the thousands of demons gathered in the club, all looking at me in wonder. I felt powerful. Seizing the moment, I gathered air around me and floated above their heads toward the exit. They all began to bow and chant as I soared above them.
“Our lord, deliver us. Our lord, deliver us.”
I reached the exit and walked out into Hell. The same security guards were still at the door, with a huge line stretching out into the street. They all seemed oblivious to what had just happened inside. I spotted Marlowe standing with the car and continued my stride towards him. He opened the door without saying a word. The Perceptionist got in behind me.
“You have a flare for the theatrical,” he said, the sound of laughing birds tweeting around us, “Lord Michael.”
I sat there staring ahead into space. What had I just done? I felt like a fraud, declaring myself their ruler. I was nobody. But it was what I had chosen to do and I was committed now. There was no turning back. I hoped I was right. I hoped I was working towards redemption with Charlotte and would not be overrun in the storm which I knew would follow. If The Perceptionist was correct, Smithy would help me somehow. Just one step at a time, I thought to myself.
If only I knew what that next step was.
The car pulled away from the curb and I continued to stare into space. I was numb with the uncertainty that surrounded me. I looked to my teacher. Our time together was running short. Was there anything that I could ask him while I had the chance? All I could do was run the events in the club over and over again in my mind. Had I said the right thing? Would they come? Yes, I thought. I had only performed parlor tricks for them, but they would come, at least to listen to what this false prophet had to say.
I looked outside, to the skyline where Mount Belial stood. I could make out the dark silhouette of Casa Diablo. Behind it, the sky started to boil with light: the Fires of Guilt were coming. I closed my eyes and braced myself for visions of madness. No more mad than what is happening to me now, I thought. The roiling flames hit the car with a thundering whoosh, but the visions did not come with it. I opened my eyes again and looked around. The Perceptionist was sitting next to me peacefully and Marlowe was driving along as normal. I shifted vision and looked down, to see once again the same golden light of rational thought surrounding my heart.
“How do you protect against the visions with the elements of rationality and knowledge?” I asked, looking back to The Perceptionist. “I don’t understand why the visions would cease because of it.”
He turned to me.
“Look around at the fires,” he said. “Tell me what you see.”
I searched the inferno surrounding the car. There were red fire elements whipping about it a fury. Laced within them were all of the lights of emotion as well, with fear and hate the most prevalent, brown and black. The rest of the spectrum was there also, with different colors of thought mixed in. It was hard for me to decipher it all.
“I see emotion,” I said. “I see memory, decision, regret. What does it mean?”
“They are the ingredients of Guilt,” he replied. “Guilt is a powerful emotion, just like hate, anger, love and happiness. Your heart is the seat of all human emotion and where you feel the most intense passions. Pushing these molecules inside you amplifies any doubt that resides within you. The weave of guilt traces back inside your history and plucks out the darkest emotional charges within you. It then multiplies the intensity of lament a million fold, to crush away reason and just leave unadulterated culpability. While these emotions all interact as twins with human thought, the purest form of knowledge and rationality destroys it.”
“Why?”
“You can rationalize emotional guilt, because you completely understand why the choices were made. All actions which cause pain can be justified because they were the actions of an emotional being that did not understand everything. Once you truly comprehend why decisions were made or not made, there is no regret, there is just understanding. You know that things cannot be changed. You know that all is even and equal in the universe, that action and reaction is the way of seeking balance. Everything finds equilibrium in the end. Good and evil do not exist; there is just knowledge and ignorance. Pure knowledge negates emotion. By surrounding your heart with this element, you don’t have to make the reasoning yourself, it repels it automatically.”
I didn’t understand. However, I don’t think I really wanted to.
The Perceptionist sighed next to me.
“If I could feel the emotion of loneliness, this would be the time to experience it,” he said. “One day you may understand and we will be united. For now, accept the protection as my parting gift. Many of Asmodeus’ old minions still retain the gift he gave them. It is only fitting that you are equal in that.”
That explained why the demon jurors of the Tenth Circle had the same golden light about their hearts. How many others were not ruled by a forced sense of morality? I hoped I was able to control them. As I had the thought, a burning feeling welled in my
ears. I reached up and felt them. They had grown larger, and the point was more refined. I was glad my longer hair covered them. But why had they changed?
The slowing of our vehicle interrupted my contemplation. I looked outside. We were at Kingsford Aviation: the home of my dear friend, Smithy.
FOURTEEN
MARLOWE STOPPED THE CAR in front of Smithy’s rickety office. The scrap metal of decrepit planes was littered about the site around us. The figure of Smithy appeared on the porch ahead. He was holding a large, double barrel shotgun, which was almost as big as he was.
“Who are you and what do you want?” the old man shouted, without even a hint of fear is his voice.
I realized that we’d just arrived in an all black vehicle with tinted windows, unannounced. I wound down the glass and poked my head out, with as big a smile as I could muster.
“Smithy!” I yelled. “Is that anyway to welcome a fellow soldier who helped you do battle with Moloch?”
He squinted toward me, lowering his shotgun.
“Michael?” he ventured.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead. I’ve been a bit caught up with some trouble. Do you have time for a cup of tea?”
“Michael!” He launched off the porch and half hobbled, half ran to meet me. I opened the door and got out. I put my hand out to shake his, but he pushed it away and gathered me in a big bear hug, clapping me on the back heartily.
“How have you been old boy?” He laughed. “You look well, you look really well. Don’t worry about calling ahead, friends are always welcome here!” He stopped and looked at me. “You’ve grown your hair, mate,” he said. “I’m not sure about it; you look like a bit of a hooligan. But that’s alright, that’s okay. How have you been?”
“I’ve been, ah, well, maybe it’s better we talk inside,” I replied. I rapped on the front window of the Jaguar and with a low buzz it opened.