by Jared Teer
“No! You told me to do the right thing!” shouted Jarvis and he grabbed the barrel of the rifle and angled it down.
“Fool!” shouted the Darion demon and he backhanded Jarvis in the face, sending him spinning to the ground where he lay motionless for a moment and then disappeared.
The leader cocked his head to the side and looked at the Darion demon questioningly. “That was subtle,” he said sarcastically.
“Sorry,” said the Darion demon.
The leader looked at the real Darion. “See what you’ve done,” he said. “You seem to have had a positive effect on your friend. You’ve set our delicate work back weeks. We’ll just have to step our efforts up a bit. That is, after we have some more fun with you!”
The other eight demons returned to their natural dark forms and surrounded Darion. Their eyes began to flame and Darion was raised off the ground. The leader changed as well, turning into the lean-built shadow with horned spikes, but now in black robes with black metal spaulders jutting with sharp spikes instead of fatigues. Darion was returned to normal as well. The leader’s eyes began to flame red again, and Darion prepared himself for another searing blast.
The leader traced his eye beams all over Darion’s body. Darion was at the mercy of the sadistic demon, his Essence nearly exhausted from the assault.
At that moment, a golden light shone as the sun in the crimson sky. The intensity in the leader’s eyes diminished as he turned from Darion and looked toward the light. The other eight turned their attention to the light as well, with Darion crashing back to the ground as they released their hold.
Darion managed to prop himself on one knee and looked toward the light. One of the demonic beings cried in rage and shot from the ground in the direction of the light. A golden ray shined down from the light and engulfed the demon. It cried in agony, suspended in midair by the ray. The others watched as their comrade withered to a frail, smoking husk in the beam and was sent crashing to the ground.
“Move!” shouted the leader.
The other demons shot from the ground in different directions, circling and zigzagging around the great light.
“Even the greatest stars can be brought low,” said the leader as his eyes began to flame.
Two large black holes appeared, one above and one below the light. The sphere of light began to resemble an hourglass as it was pulled apart into the black holes.
“Decoy!” shouted the leader, but it was too late.
Hughes materialized with his arms outstretched and palms extended right behind the leader before the demon had time to teleport.
“Solar canon!”
The ball of yellow plasma on his back rocketed the demon diagonally skyward, unable to resist its velocity. The ball exploded high in the air in a brilliant flash, sending the leader spiraling to the ground in a smoldering heap.
Hughes glanced down at Darion. “Funny,” he said. “I was sure you would have things under control by the time we got here.”
Darion let out a painful laugh. “What are you talking about? I had them right where I wanted them.”
“You don’t think I’d let Hughes have all the fun, did you?” said Adam Jones as he materialized beside Darion. Jones helped Darion to his feet. “You’re in pretty rough shape,” he said. “We’re getting you out of here.” Hughes materialized beside them.
“My friend!” said Darion. “Jarvis!”
“You can’t help him if you’re reduced to ether,” said Hughes.
The demons landed and surrounded the three Ascended.
“Well, well,” said one of the demons. “It’s our old friend The Hangman. It’s been a long time, Hangman.”
“Not long enough,” said Hughes.
The demon continued. “You’re probably safer with us,” he said to Darion. “The Hangman doesn’t take kindly to your kind. You might end up with a noose around your neck. Racism—such a deplorable human tendency.”
The demons continued to slowly circle Darion and the others.
“Get it right, Fallen,” said Hughes. “You mean demonic deception, not human tendency. I was a fool, and I was deceived. But I found grace.”
“You get it right, monkey,” said the demon. “You’re still a fool!”
The demon dropped to one knee and thrust his fist into the pavement, his arm stretching and elongating rapidly into and through the ground. The demon’s fist quickly covered the distance between them, traveling underground, and almost instantly burst up through the pavement in front of Hughes, heading straight for the underside of his chin. Darion barely had time to register Hughes’s lightning-fast reaction. Hughes simply leaned back slightly, narrowly avoiding the demon’s fist. Hughes grabbed the demon’s arm in both hands and jerked it, yanking the demon smack into the ground. The demon got back to his feet, playing a tug-of-war against Hughes with his own arm. The Fallen had a trick up his sleeve, literally. The demon’s rubbery, stretched arm detached from its shoulder and wrapped itself around Hughes like a coiling python. Hughes struggled to break loose, but the elasticity of the demon’s arm thwarted his attempts to snap free. The demon smirked at Hughes’s attempts—his eyes erupted with crimson flame and his coiled arm began to glow red.
The explosion was immense. The massive, black, mushroom cloud teemed with red lightning. The demons stood by, admiring the devastation.
By this time, the leader had recovered and approached the scene. “A beautiful display,” he said, “but ineffective.” He pointed into the sky.
Darion, Jones, and Hughes were hovering high in the air. At the last instant before the explosion, Hughes and the others managed to teleport to safety in the sky, leaving the coiled arm behind to detonate.
“Nice fireworks,” Hughes said to the demons.
“Indeed, Hangman,” said the leader. “Please, come down and let us discuss this dispute civilly.”
“I appreciate the gesture, Zadadach,” said Hughes, “but we must depart.”
“That is a pity, Hangman,” the leader, Zadadach replied. “You see, the festivities were just beginning and it would be rude for you to depart so hastily. Your friend Darion does look to be a bit under the weather. Perhaps another time then, Hangman. I’ll give Jacob your regards.”
“Leave him alone, coward!” shouted Darion, and he extended his arm toward Zadadach and shot a solar canon. The demon stood motionless as the yellow orb rapidly approached and merely swatted it away into the sky with a backhand slap when it came within range.
“Your young friend’s Essence appears to be nearly exhausted, Hangman,” said Zadadach. “Perhaps you were right. You should take him away before some calamity befalls him.”
“What about Jarvis?” Darion asked Hughes. “One of those demons hit him, and he disappeared.”
“He’s resting,” said Hughes. “The blow he received expelled him from the Oneiric Plane. He’s now in what is called NREM, or dreamless sleep. You’ll have your day, Darion, but now is not the time. Your Essence is nearly exhausted, and without it you’re no match for them. You’d be scattered throughout creation. We’re taking you back to the Halls of Glory.”
Hughes emitted a ring of light and teleported the three of them away.
They materialized in an open area of Jones’s office. The walls were a circular bookcase rising high like the inside of a steeple, the books interrupted by an oak door to the hall and one window across the room behind the desk. Hung around the office were all types of memorabilia—military plaques, old west antiquities, mounted trophies of the hunt, and firearms from various periods. Sky and Ray sat in two big comfy recliners in front of the desk; a big office chair sat behind it with longhorn cattle horns on top.
“What are you guys, stuffed animals?” said Jones, and Sky and Ray quickly rose. “Darion, Hughes, take a load off.” Darion looked frustrated and stood his ground.
“Please,” Jones said. Hughes touched Darion on the shoulder reassuringly and they both sat down.
“It’s a good thing we got to
you,” Jones said. He nodded toward Ray and Sky. “These two said you mentioned meeting a friend, and we were able to put two and two together.”
“Sorry about busting you out, Darion,” said Sky.
“I wish we could have come with you,” said Ray. “I would have wrecked the place.”
“Unless there were tyrannosaurs there, right?” said Sky.
“Dude, shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I was about to lay the smack down on that thing, but Darion beat me to it.”
“You sound really stupid right now,” said Sky. “The Grey was about to whup you until I—”
“Are you guys done?!” Jones asked as he walked behind the desk and plopped down in the seat. “You know the rules: Students aren’t permitted to become involved in ethereal warfare. But, thank you both, nonetheless. You can go now.”
“Yes, sir,” they both said. “See you later Darion, Mr. Hughes.” They dematerialized through the door.
“You guys want anything to drink?” Jones asked Darion and Hughes.
“I’m good,” said Hughes, and Darion shook his head.
“I’m sure you two have much to discuss, so make yourselves comfortable,” said Jones. “I’ll be in the library if you need me.” He gave a wave and teleported.
Darion stood as soon as he left and began to pace the room. “You know this is bull crap, Hughes. We could have stayed and fought. The three of us could have defeated them.”
“Are you sure about that, Darion?” said Hughes. “The stakes are very high, and you don’t know the rules. You running headlong into the unknown like that could have permanently jeopardized Jacob’s salvation.”
“Enlighten me, Hughes. What rules?”
“For starters,” said Hughes, “there are rules that we must abide by, that the demons must abide by, that were decried by the Creator. Most of the rules were established as a result of Enemy petitions to the Creator, such as the request for ethereal warfare not to take place on earth. Similarly, the Enemy petitioned for rules of combat that would allow them the opportunity to continue their goals of deception and torment, for without such stipulations the forces of the Enemy would stand no chance against the Host.”
“Hmph. Then why did we run?” said Darion.
“I’m getting to that,” said Hughes. “See, the demons are assigned to certain people, certain families. Have you heard the term generational curse? Well, the term isn’t quite accurate. A more appropriate term would be generational demon, or demons. A demon is assigned to a person, to a family, and continues afflicting those of that family until he is defeated. This is usually one alpha demon, such as Zadadach, who is accompanied by lesser demons known as The Lost. Per the Enemy petition, an alpha demon can only be challenged by a blood member of a family line … or, by one sufficiently affiliated with a family so as to be designated as a representative.
“The challenge is a one-on-one battle. If one defeats an alpha demon, the alpha demon is confined to hell for a generation, or until the Day of Judgment, whichever comes first.”
“And if one is defeated in the challenge?” Darion asked.
“If one is defeated,” said Hughes, “then one is likewise restricted to the heavenly plane, and one’s loved one is left to the mercy of the Enemy until another challenger presents himself.
“The rules don’t apply if one doesn’t adhere to them. If we had not arrived in time to help you today, after they tortured you, the demons would have scattered your molecules throughout the universe, which, depending on their power, could take far longer than a generation for you to reassemble.”
“Well, I’ll just challenge Zadadach then,” said Darion. “I’m sorry,” he added sarcastically, “do I qualify?”
“Yes, you do qualify,” said Hughes. “You’re not a blood relative, but you were close friends with Jacob in life, which very well qualifies you to challenge his afflicter.”
“Good. Then it’s settled. I’ll send Zadadach to hell and that’s that.”
“Do you think it’s that easy?” Hughes asked with a smile. “You’re a quick learner for sure, Darion, but Zadadach’s abilities are superior to your own, for now. You must be patient. I know it’s tough to know your friend is being tormented, but if you rush into this and fail, we may never have the opportunity to save him again.”
Darion shook his head and continued to pace.
“Also,” Hughes continued, “if you don’t heed my advice and challenge Zadadach before you’re ready, there is no going back. If he defeats you, the deal is sealed, and you will be helpless to intercede on Jacob’s behalf. Darion—”
“I got it, Hughes, okay. You don’t have to worry about me jumping the gun.”
“Good,” said Hughes. “We will do this the right way, and you will defeat Zadadach. Have faith.”
“Yeah, sure Hughes,” said Darion. “Tell me something, Hughes. What did that demon mean when he said something about you not taking kindly to my kind, that I might end up with a noose around my neck?”
Hughes sighed and rose to his feet. He leaned with both hands on the desk for a moment facing the window and then turned to face Darion.
“I hope you won’t think less of me for what I’m about to tell you,” he began in a serious tone. “I was once a klansman.”
Darion laughed. “Unbelievable. The Scottish type, right? Like the Highlander or something,” he said, knowing good and well that was not what Hughes meant.
Hughes smirked at the gesture and continued. “I wish that were so, Darion. Regrettably, I was the southern United States, racist, terrorist-type of klansman. I grew up in a racially divided time, Darion. I grew up in a racially divided place—Philadelphia, Mississippi. Ever since I can remember, I was raised to believe that I was superior to blacks. My parents were in the Klan, and so, they indoctrinated me. That’s no excuse, but it is what it is. I took part in the beatings of innocent black people. I burned crosses in yards. I burned homes. I burned cars. But I never killed anyone.
“I enlisted in the army at seventeen and served in Vietnam. During my time in the military, I became close with a few black soldiers in my unit and discovered that we’re not so different after all. I learned that what I had been taught back home was a bunch of BS.
“Well, when I returned to Mississippi after my enlistment, I knew that my old friends wouldn’t share that view. They wanted me to show them what I learned in the army—what I learned about killing. They wanted me to kill a black man.”
Hughes’s eyes began to flicker with a piercing golden light as he successfully fought back the tears. “A couple of them took me to the woods where others were waiting—restraining a black man. I had seen him around town before; it was a small town. He had a family, a wife and kids. They wanted me to put the rope around his neck as a sort of rite of passage. I couldn’t do it. I refused. They actually said the army had made me soft.” Hughes laughed halfheartedly. “One of the others attempted to put the noose around his neck. I grabbed him, ‘Hey, just let it go,’ I said. He ignored me, so I broke his jaw with a roundhouse elbow. I learned it in the army.
“They called me a nigger lover. They attacked me. My combat training kicked in and I lost it. They dog-piled on me—punching me, choking me, kicking me—but I had one of them underneath me in a choke hold of my own, Buck Jennings, the leader. When they thought I had had enough, they all got up. I got up to my feet too. Buck wasn’t as fortunate. I had snapped his neck.
“When they realized Buck was dead, the kid gloves came off. One of them shot me in the right leg, and then in the left as I twisted on the ground. They doused me in gasoline and strung me up. They let the black man go. As I gasped for breath, they lit me on fire. The pain from the fire was unbearable, but I passed out quick enough not to feel too much of it. In hindsight, my ascension could have been worse.”
“My God, Hughes,” said Darion as he looked down searching for words. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s life,” said Hughes. “We were all deceived
by the Enemy. It’s no excuse though. There is a point when all men know that the line has been crossed. I crossed the line long before that night in Mississippi, and I reaped what I sowed. I’m just thankful that the Creator had mercy on me for the fateful decision I made during the last moments of my life.”
“I can’t let Jacob cross that line, Hughes,” Darion said, staring down at his clenched fists.
“Then come,” said Hughes, “we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
CHAPTER 7
The Puppet Master
The sky was cloudless as the sun bathed the rolling hills of the Golan Heights. There was a light wind, and all that stirred were the cattle grazing near the water reservoir at the base of Mount Bental. The surface of the reservoir was a still, dark mirror. An ominous air began to rise from somewhere beneath the earth. The cattle could feel it and became unnerved, even mad. They tore through the insubstantial, three-stranded barbed wire as if fleeing from a phantom predator.
The face of the water began to ripple and froth. The earth began to shake. Bookshelves overturned and items fell from desks in the visitor center at the top of the mountain. There was a low rumbling, and an area in the side of the mountain 300 feet in diameter began to convulse and sink like a crater, with the dry grass and shrub covered earth beginning to split with fissures. Beams of intense golden light issued from beneath the crater and golden electricity crawled from the cracks. The electricity suddenly intensified, forming a dome teeming with golden filaments. There was a flash and a massive explosion. In the midst of the towering mushroom cloud, a single beam of golden light shot straight into the sky and disappeared.
On Polaris, in one of the many training chambers in the Hall of Destruction, the earth rumbled with every step as a golem advanced. Its feet were like hills and its digits like boulders. Its head was a wide hill of grey rock with a face with no features. The 400-foot-tall, stone humanoid had one goal: crush Darion.
Darion was undertaking his training with a new intensity. One month had passed since the demonic confrontation, one month that Darion spent in constant training in the Hall of Creation. Hughes felt that Darion had progressed sufficiently in Creative Applications, developing a firm understanding of the intricacies of bringing things into being to warrant introduction to the Destructive.