Made to Suffer (Journeyman Book 3)

by Golden Czermak

  Botis was pleased by this, revenge much better than a simple invite. There was motivation there, driven by powerful emotions and he wanted that fuel. “That is possible… if we have a Pact?”

  The man gulped hard and it felt like he had swallowed glass. “Yes.”

  “So be it...” Botis muttered as he entered.

  Smoke spread out inside the man’s body and an orgasmic feeling rose, penetrating his very muscle, bone, and soul. With a blink, his brown eyes became inflamed with red. Botis was inside, safe, and most importantly at full strength. He bided his time, being a patient demon, closing his eyes before collapsing into feigned unconsciousness.

  “Ah the Knights of old!” Dajjal said as he jumped down from the rocks, making his way toward them. He noticed Ronove had gone, but that was something he could address later, his attention returning to his forlorn guests, sprawled out on the salted floor. “Good thing we aren’t ghosts,” he joked, attempting to lighten the mood as the last light from the portals died. “In any case let me be the first to welcome you to the Earth. I imagine this is your first time here, all of you, so I apologize for the condition of your hosts upon arrival. You can't be too safe these days with all of these monsters running around. Consider it a security measure, until I am sure of your loyalties.”

  “Is that what you told the other Knights?” Purson asked, getting back on his spindly knees in his spindly vessel. “Assurance of their loyalties? Where are they now?”

  Dajjal laughed. “The others proved themselves disloyal to the cause.”

  Beleth rose, the barbed wire around his legs having melted away. “I find it hard to believe Baal would have been disloyal to the Infernal Tide and our kind. What you mean to say is your cause, swindler.”

  Botis grumbled, trying to push himself off the ground. But he was too weak and slumped down again.

  “Perhaps I did, Beleth,” Dajjal responded, not forgetting the formalities of addressing each other by name over insults. “Though it’s obvious you all have your doubts.”

  “We should,” Botis croaked, finally getting on his feet. The wind was cold against his naked skin but a fire burned brightly within. “Lucifer locked you away for good reason: YOUR disloyalties to demon kind. It was not us who betrayed him to the angels and lost us the Great War. I would not be surprised if their eyes were turning back for –”

  “Do not speak of Lucifer again!” Dajjal screamed, uncaring for the rest. “His time came and went, a bygone area of failure that is best left –”

  “Failure because of your betrayal! Lucifer is our Lord,” Purson challenged, though his feeble form could have been knocked over by the slightest shift in the breeze.

  Dajjal's eyes lit up brightly, like an ember exposed to fuel.

  “You may have brought us here, Dajjal,” Purson continued, “but you cannot tell us to –”

  A flash of silver made sure Purson was silenced, his body hitting the ground, though not before Dajjal had caught his head mid fall, raising it up for the others to see.

  “Anyone else care to interrupt me?” Dajjal spoke menacingly, as if challenging the others to come at him while he tucked his razor into his back pocket. Purson’s essence leached out of both the head and body, floundering across the salt as he was pulled in toward Dajjal. The others watched in horror as the vapors were taken into Dajjal's own body. Wings like a shadow sprouted from Dajjal's back; they flapped a few times then vanished once more in a rain of downy feathers.

  “A bit… dry,” Dajjal complained, smacking his lips. “Lucifer had his chance and pissed it away. Now it is my time. I shall open the doors to Hell and rule over there and the Earth.” He stared at the three Hell Knights as sparks danced through the night sky.

  Suddenly, following a loud snap, their naked bodies were clad in armor, each intricately designed with edges glowing like magma. Asmoday raised a hand, a spiky mace appearing in it, while Beleth manifested a long spear, tipped with ethereal gold. Botis stood between the two of them, holding tightly onto his oversized halberd.

  Dajjal shivered briefly, surprised there was strength enough to manifest their gear. He remained fearless though. “So what is your answer, brothers? Are you with me… or against?”

  Unwillingly, they all began to kneel before their self-proclaimed leader, glancing at each other with revulsion. Their true feelings came across in their eyes, no words necessary as the three made their choice before their armored knees even touched the ground.

  In unison, they leapt forward, rushing at the false messiah with all their weapons at the ready. A line had been drawn that night, right there in the salt.

  NO SOONER THAN Gage had stepped through the portal into the entry hall, Joey was on him with a massive hug. He hit him with such force it nearly sent the two of them onto the hard floor, though Joey made up for it with a big slap on Gage’s back.

  Gage winced… hard, adjusting himself in his favorite jacket. It felt uncomfortable due to his injuries, which he hadn’t mentioned to Joey. He didn’t know if he would for some time, so as to keep the mood light and happy. No doubt Joey would notice on his own after their next shirtless encounter.

  “Easy there, J!” Gage said. “Your man’s gonna get jealous if ya aren’t careful.”

  “It’s okay,” Marcus responded without a care. “I’m over him now.”

  “Hey!” Joey said with a light punch to Marcus’ suited shoulder. “I resemble that!”

  They all laughed as Adrienne came though, precariously carrying four ice cream cones with two scoops apiece in her clenched hands. “I know it’s cold as death out there,” she said as Joey went ahead and plucked two cones out of her hands. She gave him a disapproving look and he reluctantly handed one of them over to Marcus. “But I figure we all needed something to celebrate getting back together.” She handed a cone to Gage. “Birthday cake, your fave.”

  “Thanks, darlin’,” he said, giving it a messy lick, cream and sprinkles decorating his black beard.

  “Lord,” she responded, trying to wipe some of it away but only making more of a mess. “Reminds me of pancakes…”

  Joey tried not to hurl, focusing instead on his scoops of orange sherbet. “You know, I’m so glad we are back together; I just hated the last few days,” Joey blurted, sheepishly trying to clarify as soon as he finished. He peeked over to Marcus. “Hated being apart from the team, not the company I was with. Oh geez. I think I’m just going to shut up the rest of this morning.”

  Marcus chuckled and his beard seemed to grow even more bushy. “No worries, babe. Just don’t ever change.”

  Gage caught the ‘babe’ and kept the desire to run with that at bay; he could've had a field day.

  “Want to finish these over by the balcony?” Ady asked, already making her way there.

  “Guess that’s a yes then,” Gage replied, falling in behind her. He looked over his broad shoulder to Marcus. “Don’t get any bright ideas, Mister ‘Brace Yourselves’; we ain’t jumping off this time.”

  The team settled in beside an open bench, Ady and Gage taking a seat on the wood slats while Marcus and Joey leaned close to each other on the railing opposite. Gage extended an arm over to Adrienne, gently pulling her close as he looked out to the city.

  “It is good to be back,” he told them all. He meant it, having gone from losing his family to gaining a new one. “View’s definitely changed from the ones back home. Strange ain't it, and also wonderful, how ya never quite know where the road will go.”

  “Agreed,” they all said, raising the remains of their ice cream cones like champagne glasses for a toast.

  “So, are you all caught up to speed on the situ in the Otherworld?” asked Marcus directly to Gage and Ady.

  They both nodded, having read through some reports as they arrived earlier that morning.

  “Yeah, it sounds pretty damn grim,” Gage said, checking with Ady to see if she had anything to add.

  “So Fenran is pretty adamant about letting the world fall,” she st
ated. “Does he hate humanity that much?”

  “I’m not sure what to think exactly, Fenran always being a hurdle to navigate for myself,” Marcus offered, rubbing a crick in the back of his neck. “But I don’t think it’s as much his hatred of humans as his Elvish pride, if that makes sense.”

  “Perfectly to me,” she replied, eating the last of her cone. That last bit of sugary cinnamon was divine.

  Joey looked down. He was on his last bite, too, wishing he had another one. “So what do you think about this recent surge of Level Four anomalies? It’s like a Fifth is priming itself for the coming.”

  Marcus saw Joey empty handed and gave him what was left of his. “It’s scary shit,” he replied, “the Noctis have certainly been emboldened. I would love to know by what, or who.”

  “I have a feelin’ we’ll find out soon enough. Where the latest been?” Gage asked, admittedly focused on the Otherworld shenanigans.

  “Bolivia,” Adrienne told him, “a report came in late last night, or early morning; hell, I’m not sure what to call that time of day. All I know is I can’t sleep through it to save my life – which is why I was reading those reports.

  “Seems like someone had a field day out there,” Joey said between loud munches. “Traces of hellfire and sulfur in the middle of the salt flats. Even fur, feathers, and other parts of monsters. Whatever went on out there, the demons didn’t want anyone noticing until it was done.”

  “Excuse me, Marcus?” came a voice from Marcus’ comm, this time affixed to his chest as a lapel pin.

  “Yes, Henry?” he replied, shrugging while looking to the others questioningly.

  Gage had a suspicion that he already knew what he was calling about. A few short seconds later, he found out he was right.

  “It’s the compass,” Henry said excitedly. “It’s… awake.”

  “SO, HOW DO YOU do it?” Adrienne asked Marcus inquisitively, her curiosity getting the better of her as they neared the labs.

  “Do what?” he asked.

  “The comms,” she said, poking at his pin. “Every time I see you, it looks like something different. I highly doubt you have a different one for each and every situation, so spill it.”

  He smirked, lifting the index finger of his left hand. On it was a tattooed symbol: three lines above a downward pointing chevron, surrounded by five simple dots.

  “Spell?” she asked, eyes about to fall out of their sockets. “Transmutation?”

  “You got it,” he answered with a corroborating nod. “Told J that I’d always been fascinated by witchcraft and spell casting, even forced him to watch one lecture during the Assembly. But alas, the call of artifacts and paperwork took hold of my life.”

  Adrienne laughed, agreeing with him on that front. “Yup, I’m in a similar boat, though threat of vampires made my choices for me. I would much rather be the tinkerer.”

  “Yeah, for sure,” he replied. “I never became a mage because of it, focusing on simple spells in my spare time plus honing a couple really cool ones like transmuting. My brother on the other hand…” His voice fell off, obviously not ready to discuss such a personal thing.

  She hoped he would be able to tell Joey about it one day. “It’s okay,” Adrienne told him, rubbing his shoulder. “We’re here.”

  The large doors to the lab slid open and the team stepped inside, Henry there with the compass spinning wildly in his hands.

  “Wow,” Marcus said while the team surrounded Henry like eager kids, Gage leaning over the most and managing to get in everyone’s way. “Adrienne, did it do this back in the Astral Plane?”

  “No,” she answered, watching as the shard moved erratically in all directions. A stray glint off the overhead light shone in her eyes. “It was incredibly compass like, pointing in the direction of the Seal. Nothing at all like this.”

  “Strange,” Henry observed, gently nudging Gage away. “This could mean that we’re still waiting on it to adjust.”

  “Or it could mean that it’s picking up on more than one of the remaining Solomon Six,” Marcus speculated, pointing east. “If you notice, the crystal seems to hover that direction before swinging around the opposite way where it repeats, among the random jitters.”

  “I see it,” Henry confirmed after observing it more closely. “Keen eye, Marcus. That could definitely be the case.”

  Joey gave it his own once-over, approving their findings with a prominent nod.

  “Well, we know that the Ring of Dispel is in Ireland,” Adrienne said, “which should take care of the easterly direction. For me the only questions that remain are where exactly is it pointing to on the other side and, of course, to what?”

  “We can definitely try to figure that out, the direction at least. I’ll leave all the treasure hunting to you.” Henry moved to a bench at the far end of the room, a good fifty feet away. There, he set the compass down on a glowing rectangle in the surface of the counter. Beams of light danced around its edges, growing brighter wherever the compass would hover.

  Gage lumbered over, setting his hands on the edge of the work surface. His huge fingers reached over the top, interfering with whatever Henry had started.

  “Oh sorry!” Gage apologized as Adrienne rolled her eyes.

  “I’m going to start calling you Joey,” she said in jest, though quietly. Thankfully neither of them heard what she said.

  “No worries,” Henry replied, half smiling but also serious. “It’s still too jittery now, but I can have the team do some detailed analysis on the pattern, see if there’s indeed a point where it lingers more often or for longer periods. Once that’s acquired, we should be able to trace a line out west and check it against your archives to see if the path crosses anywhere of importance. With luck, there should be some valid spots along the way. Preferably one.”

  “Thank you for working on this, Henry,” Marcus told him, shaking his hand.

  “I’ll get them started on this after dinner,” he replied gratefully, returning the compass to its enclosure on the far end of the bench. “It’s my pleasure, Marcus. You have done more for me since I came, injured, to New York than many have for me over my entire life. I’ll remember that.”

  “As will I,” Marcus replied.

  THROUGH MUTED SHEETS of rain, the sun strained to warm the sky as it sat low on the eastern horizon. Like some mountain, a sprawling structure rose above the green ground, its tan façade the very definition of Elizabethan architecture. To the north of the former priority, now a stately home, was an expansive garden, filled with baroque scalloped parterres, topiaries, and gilded water features that could amaze even the most austere heart. Stables still slumbered toward the west while the Wiltshire countryside sprawled out to fill all the spaces in between.

  A loud bang came, shattering the peace; Dajjal had suddenly materialized out of thin air. He was covered in blood, a lot of it, issuing profusely from head to toe. Gravely injured, he fell wholly to the ground, lacerations everywhere whose edges gleaming faintly with lingering curses meant to amplify the pain.

  How had it come to this: the new leader of the Noctis already on his back with goals lost like a miscarried dream?

  The cramping in his gut wouldn’t leave, caused by teleporting but no doubt enhanced by his cursed wounds. Rolling over, he tried to push himself up but shaking, planted half of his bearded face in the soggy soil. As he lay there, rain washing over him from above while the muddy ripples splashed at his eyes and nostrils from below, flashes from his recent battle surged out of memory – rapid bursts of light, sound, and feelings took him over as…

  Beleth tore out of the gloom in his purplish armor and came at Dajjal. With long spear in hand, he jabbed at him many times while Dajjal deftly avoided each one, until chance allowed him to make contact – Dajjal trying one of his finger snaps at the time. The spear’s golden tip sank into Dajjal's right arm and out the other side, sending streams of amber light dancing while the entire thing burned like a ravaging fire.

 
With his right arm now dead, Dajjal spun around, narrowly avoiding another strike. Wasting no time, he rushed at Beleth while the spear was lodged into the ground, as fast as his legs could carry him. With all the force of an enraged typhoon concentrated in his remaining fist, Dajjal struck Beleth’s armored face and with a resounding boom the whole thing came apart in an eruption of maroon metal, magma, and man.

  Flickers of light like a distant candle coalesced into a blinding flash, another memory taking over…

  Asmoday, his armor severely damaged, launched strike after powerful strike at Dajjal. The demon was knocked to his knees and Asmoday, brandishing his mace, zoomed in for the kill.

  “Prepare to die!” he screamed as his arm came down for the deadly blow, but in an instant, shadowy wings extended from Dajjal’s back, swooping around to protect his front. They were hard like steel and when the mace made contact, it splintered and was gone.

  “Enough of this!” Dajjal yelled as the wings swiftly parted, blowing Asmoday away. “Enough of YOU!”

  With a flick of his good arm, his razor was summoned to have its way with him. A streak of silver raced at Asmoday, slipping in between the slits of his visor. There was a wet squish and Asmoday stiffened while the blade dinged the armor from the inside, mincing its way around his innards. Liquefied remains trickled out through his armor and Asmoday dropped to his knees, staining the white salt around him with his own death.

  Suddenly, Dajjal’s stomach dropped and the world became black; more memories coming.

  “Stop moving!” Botis commanded as he lunged at Dajjal with colossal halberd swinging. Landing a grave swipe across Dajjal’s chest, the mighty blade sliced through those black wings that had so easily repelled Asmoday like they weren’t even there. Then it dawned on Dajjal why this Hell Knight had been holding back.

  Somehow, this fiend had emerged from Hell at full strength, letting the others have their way with Dajjal in order to weaken him to the point of submission, just before making his own moves.