Danto came to his side. “Heed your own advice, James. Clear your mind of the evil.”
Thornton nodded. Shaken. He wiped his tears with his hand, then turned and looked back at Bev, who was again unconscious, rocking gently from side to side.
Rebecca’s cries had stopped altogether. She emerged from the corner of the room, out of the shadows, mumbling something unintelligible. Her eyes were lost behind a glossy haze. Danto, concerned more with her abrupt silence than with her breakdown, paced over to her. Gently, he grabbed the knit hood of her robe and pulled it up over her head.
“Come…we must go now.”
She nodded, suddenly composed. She looked at Danto. He shuddered. Something…there in her eyes, behind the glossy haze; an intelligence, deep in the blue that he hadn’t noticed before. It unnerved him.
“I will lead you both to the cathedral,” Thornton said. “Then, I must leave you both for a bit of time. Do nothing, and say nothing, and you will not be noticed. Understand?”
Danto and Rebecca nodded in unison. Thornton opened the door and slipped free of the room, Rebecca following close behind.
Gripping the doorknob, Danto turned and looked at Bev one last time. The sole light in the room brightened, flickered once, then went out, bringing the room into darkness.
From amidst the gloom, Satan’s green eyes stared back at him.
He closed the door.
~ * ~
Bev opened his eyes. The acids burst like mammoth blisters against his skin. The pain was excruciating, and he grunted insufferably, his voice torn to shreds from the harsh vapors assaulting his throat. He pressed his hands into the organic floor and leaned up. Looked around. Saw nothing but the dark bloody vista of his bowels; an infinite landscape of colon, kidneys, liver, and pancreas: all of his organs glistening like mountains in the distance, still functioning properly despite the supernatural stress placed upon them. He could hear the intemperate winds of his lungs howling down from the blackened heavens, carrying to him the agonized voices of the damned moaning from their eternal tortures. He looked around at his immediate surroundings, everything around him blurring into dull blotches of gray and pink. For the first time since coming to Hell, he was alone. He fell to his knees, then lay back down in the acids. There were no more games to be played. Satan had finally assumed absolute control of his mind and body. He breathed in the thick, putrid air, and prepared himself for the agony about to be thrust upon him in the war of the demons.
FORTY-FIVE
Danto, Thornton, and Rebecca treaded wearily through the empty halls of In Domo, their footsteps heavy, echoing hollowly. The chanting grew louder with every footstep forward—Danto could feel the choking rhythm of it in the floor.
“There has been a recent surge in the population here at In Domo.” A haunted expression came into Thornton’s eyes. “I can only assume that Allieb needs these bodies as sacrifants for the demons, and as well, to act as his witnesses to the drawing. There’s strength in numbers, and the congregation he’s assembled will act faithfully to his needs.” The trio turned a sharp corner and continued down a doorless hallway lit dimly by a queue of exposed light bulbs. ”You are going to see some very unpleasant things; the most important thing is that you do not react to the unfolding events. Just follow along with the ceremony, quietly and obediently, do not draw attention to yourself, and speak to no one. Should you create any kind of disturbance, Allieb will assume you have broken the trance, and will consider you a threat.”
“Trance?” Danto asked.
Thornton stopped walking, turned and faced the others. His shirt was darkened by sweat; his face, contorted with pain. A stifling quietness filled the hall. He whispered, “During the ceremony, you will feel moments of mental recklessness. Your mind will play tricks on you, leading you to believe that there is no other means of thought other than the evils psychologically imparted upon you. You must ignore these feelings—they won’t be any different than the impressions you felt upon arriving here. Allieb has diverted much of his energy into the drawing, and will continue to do so, thereby diluting his mental hold on everyone, and making these sensations easily combatable. Some of those in the congregation will undoubtedly find the strength to sever their psychological bond with him; I can only imagine the fear they’ll feel upon ‘waking up’ in the middle of hell.” He rocked his gaze back and forth between Danto and Rebecca. “Be strong. It is all I can ask. You don’t want to fall victim to Allieb’s fury.”
Danto nodded, then peered at Rebecca, who remained oddly silent, gazing past Thornton toward the end of dark wall. Her blue eyes glimmered in the shadows, despite having no source from which to derive their glow.
“Rebecca?” Danto placed a hand upon her arm. “Are you okay?”
She faced him. Gone was the fear and pain and tears from her features, now replaced with a prepared, almost smug grin on her face. “I am.”
She looks different, Danto thought. Something isn’t right with her. Has she fallen victim to the psychological grasp of evil?
The chanting grew louder. Thornton rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling, contemplating the all-encompassing mantra. Danto watched him conscientiously as beads of sweat trickled down the sides of his angular face. “The Legion is near. Satan, help us.”
The insanity of his statement hit Danto like a speeding truck, and a surge of anxiety riddled his body. He took a series of deep breaths in attempt to calm the sudden, naked loathing he had for the seemingly inescapable state of affairs. He followed Thornton’s moving shadow into an adjacent hallway where a charge of red light splayed across their footsteps, emerging from a large columned archway not ten feet away. Here, with no barrier to mute the sound, the chanting voices were amplified.
Danto eyed the entrance to the cathedral, gripping his cheeks and wiping the sweat from his lip. There would be no turning back now. The Legion of demons was about to commence, and he would be here witness to it. The only uncertainty was whether he’d live to tell of his experiences.
Quietly, they stepped forward and stopped at the end of the hall, just beyond the arch. Thornton turned toward Danto and Rebecca. Both remained frozen, Danto’s mounting fear and aversion keeping his feet glued to the wood floor. They adjusted their hoods, hiding their faces as much as possible. Thornton pointed toward the center of the room, mouthed follow me, then paced through the archway, his near-silent footsteps absorbed by the murmuring chant of the congregation.
Side by side, holding hands, Danto and Rebecca followed the minister into the cathedral.
~ * ~
In the acidic pits of Hell, Bev Mathers screamed and cried and wailed in immeasurable agony, his voice one of countless millions paying their respects to the prince of darkness. Above, he could hear the rustle of his body as it morphed into something otherworldly, his hands and feet altering, his body shifting bizarrely. When he gazed down at himself he saw a ghostly image of what his physical body had developing into; yellow claws, thick like daggers, bursting from the tips of his fingers, blood trickling form the lesions; skin, thick like leather, blue veins flowing like branches beneath the milky surface. He tried to scream, but his familiar voice had vanished, exchanged for a strident wheeze barely recognizable by his own ears. He felt his body rise up from the mattress, and the dizzying lumber of it as it staggered across the dark room: Satan, familiarizing Himself with man’s physical form. Bev couldn’t physically see through his eyes. Yet, he maintained a delicate link with his mind, hearing all that Satan could hear; seeing all that He could see; perceiving a thin account of His meandering thoughts as they formulated a plan to take Allieb down, and retrieve his twelve demon hostages. His body stopped. Bev listened. Beyond the moan of the wind, he could hear Satan’s steer-like breaths oozing from his lungs…and then, the deafening roar of the beast, a physical being now walking the earth for the first time in over two thousand years.
FORTY-SIX
Oh my God…
The first thing that struck Danto was the sheer size of the
cathedral; he hadn’t expected the room to be so expansive. Roughly the size of his own church, the room ran at least two hundred feet from corner to corner—the nonappearance of furniture and other embellishments most likely exaggerated the room’s intimidating size, but also added to the dark, looming threat it sustained. Flat black paint covered every inch of the area, the floors, walls, ceiling, and columnar supports, creating a suitable camouflage for the hundred-plus black-robed attendees circling the midpoint altar. Dozens of perched candelabras were set up equidistantly throughout the room, igniting everything in a ghostly yellow radiance.
Unlike the rest of the house, the cathedral had been meticulously attended to. Along the opposite wall ran a balcony perhaps eighty feet long, etched columns at every six feet fitted with four-foot pentagrams. Lining the balcony’s edge at equidistant points between the columns were glossy black chalices, burning with sulfur, yellow smoke oozing from their rims like boiling milk. The altar itself was an impressive display: dressed entirely in black cloths, the platform it rested on spanned fifty feet from end to end, lined with burning candles whose black wax glowed eerily in their flickering glow. All Danto could wonder was, who lit all these candles?, then bore in mind that here at In Domo, Allieb doubtlessly possessed a crafty means of “making things happen.”
Thornton led Danto and Rebecca to the circle of hooded subordinates, breaking the line to allow them a connection. Danto grasped a woman’s hand to his left, her palm and fingers petite and calloused. His right hand held Rebecca’s left, who in turn latched on to the hand of another incognito member of Allieb’s cabal. No one paid them any attention, it seemed, and Danto and Rebecca both aimed their frightened gazes toward the floor, impersonating the postures of all those in attendance.
Danto clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering, realizing with trepidation that Thornton had already slipped away from the circle. Through his pursed lips, he took a deep breath and began whispering the repetitive chant: “Magnus es, domine, et laudabilis valde.” The congregation droned on and on, with no end in sight, and after every sixth repetition, they would stop and acclaim their loyalty to the dark side: “Hail Allieb. Hail Belial.” Every so often Danto would squeeze Rebecca’s hand to reinforce his support, but she would remain absolutely still, moving not even a hair’s breadth despite the frequent comings and goings of anonymous individuals.
Keeping his gaze down, he continued patiently with the event’s progression: a dark affair that seemed to last forever. He wondered how long it would carry on before the actual drawing of demons began.
Before all Hell breaks loose…
The chanting commenced for an indeterminable amount of time, the Latin phrase repeated over and over again until it had embedded itself deep inside his head. Eventually, no one else moved into the locked circle, and no one moved out—the ring was complete it seemed, every member of Allieb’s cabal now in their respective positions. After an interval eulogization of Hail Allieb, Hail Belial, an unexpected roar abruptly broke the chant, pervading the cathedral as though a crash of thunder had found its way inside the house. Danto felt the floor vibrate beneath his feet, the harsh, multi-layered tone proving its possessor’s origins not of this earth.
Now Rebecca stirred a bit, her hand and arm trembling with noticeable fear. To Danto’s left, the woman remained motionless, grip cold and steady, head bowed, seemingly tranced and unaffected by the monstrous presence. A cold blast of air filled the room, tousling his hood, sending chills down his spine. The flickering candle flames swayed in all directions, showing no particular route from which the draft had come. The air seemed to thicken. His head began to pound, keeping him from falling deeply into the persistent trance. He waited in distressed silence, peering up through the tops of his eyes at the circle of black-hooded individuals who dutifully awaited the first phase of the drawing to commence.
~ * ~
Away from the cathedral, Thornton walked a narrow hallway leading toward the west wing of the mansion, its indirect length lit by only one exposed bulb in the ceiling. Although he’d traveled through this hallway many times in the past, he still managed to bypass the only door dividing its length.
Bathed in near darkness and easily overlooked, the door offered access to Thornton’s final destination.
The basement.
He stopped. Turned back, and faced the door. He folded his hands and said a prayer: this time to God, begging for His forgiveness.
He grabbed the rusted doorknob; a tiny shock struck his damp hand.
He closed his eyes.
Turned the knob.
He opened the door and peered down the length of steps, their distance steeped in murky darkness.
Without hesitation, he drew a deep breath, then proceeded down the stairs. About halfway down he noticed a vestige of red light being thrown up from somewhere below, enough to allow him sight of his feet as they tackled the rest of the wooden steps.
Given the circumstances, he thought the basement to be strangely silent.
He reached the bottom landing. Shuddered.
Then, turned into the basement.
In all his time at In Domo, he could only remember being down here once before, two weeks ago, upon Allieb’s capture of the first vehicle, a thirty-year-old man who carried the demon Belial. Thornton himself had escorted the man down here, locked him in a cage and hurried away before his remorse in doing so made him act out of character—a single tear or thought of regret might’ve raised the demonologist’s suspicions of him. Afterwards, Allieb demanded that he steer clear of the cellar and focus his efforts on the gathering of the vehicles.
He knew…he knew all along my intentions to destroy him. Why didn’t he stop me then?
The basement had once been home to Allieb’s array of torture devices, many of them utilized to carry his primitive experimentations to new horizons. Years earlier, an excess of chains, whips, racks, and swings had been installed at various places in the cement playing field, exploited during In Domo’s untried years. If one looked closely, the ghosts of Allieb’s past debauchery could be seen in the bloodstains on the porous cement floor. Later, under anticipation of the drawing, Allieb had his workers mount cages against the walls, thirteen in all that would be used to detain the vehicles upon their capture; despite Allieb’s awareness that Satan wouldn’t allow His own vehicle uncomplicated entry into one of the cages, he placed it there anyway…a bit of wishful thinking, and perhaps brash confidence, on the part of the demonologist. Of course, the cage remained empty, alongside the enclosure that had once held the demon Belial’s vehicle.
The other cages, they were a different story.
Sighting them, Thornton put a hand up to his mouth in an attempt to stifle the scream trying to flee his lungs. There was an appalling odor in the air, a palpable discharge of feces and rot that assaulted him like a blow from a fist. The surging heat down here was intense, and yet, when he paced forward, deeper into the dungeon, pockets of icy cold air parted the heat like a knife through soft butter.
The basement was huge, nearly the size of the cathedral sitting directly above his head. The cages were staggered throughout, anchored to various places in the walls. The shadows within each of the cages were eerily silent and motionless.
He could hear them breathing, a chorus of tempered growls, like dozing animals in the zoo. Within a few of the cages, he could see the ghastly glow of their eyes contemplating him. In the others, dark misshapen silhouettes.
God help me.
He paced to the nearest cage, on his left.
He peered inside.
His eyes fell upon a naked child, perhaps five or six years old, curled fetally against the cinder wall. He gazed at the twitching arms and legs that looked like whittled broomsticks: skeletal, and wasted; the head, bowed down between the folded legs, displaying a straggled mess of hair; the purple lesions covering the translucent skin like leeches. Despite the vulnerable appearance, the demon-child righted its head and spread its legs, rev
ealing its long-lost femininity. She peered ferally at Thornton, then sniggered in a deep, masculine voice, emaciated hands clawing the rear wall, as though trying to get away.
“The wolf is mine,” she growled. “You…can’t…have…it.” Distrustful yellow eyes peered at him. She faced the wall, clawing more furiously. “No! No! You can’t have it, you bastard!”
Thornton made the sign of the cross. Behind him, all around him, the other demons began to stir from their slumbers, their untamed drones mounting into sputtering snores. He peered fearfully over his shoulder, then slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out the vial of holy water. The girl-demon shot him a fierce glance, the eyes gleaming, pinning him in utter repulsion. She was now scraping at the wall ferociously, screaming: “The wolf is mine! You can’t take it away from me!”
“Who are you?” Thornton asked, his voice barely a whisper.
“I’m the pig that feasts on child!” The child’s lips were now cracked and bleeding, the mouth bowed into a grotesque frown, blood pouring from the nose in a stream.
Danto raised the vial, recited a prayer: “God, Lord of all creation, I call upon your might to cast this demon aside like a thorn, make it fall from Heaven behind your power. Strike terror in this beast laying waste in your firmament so that it may not arise again from its burning…”
The child howled. From behind him, a few of the sequestered demons snorted loudly, like a herd of unfed pigs. The ghostly red light in the room brightened, and Thornton could not establish the source from which it came—it appeared to emanate from thin air. He raised the vial of holy water, covered half the opening with his index finger, and sprinkled the contents at the demon.
The demon wailed a thousand voices of agony as it climbed the cement wall and perched itself in the upper right-hand corner of the cage, where it writhed and recoiled in fear and pain. “Stop! Stop! You baaaaastard!”
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