When Angels Fall (Demon Lord)

by Southwell, T C

  Bane came to a museum entrance, strolled in and paused to view the variety of ancient artefacts. Apparently this was a sentimental race. A few people wandered about, so he became invisible as he went to a lift at the back. The mirrors that lined it remained intact, since he had no reflection. He pressed the lowest button, and the lift descended.

  Bane stepped out into a dark room piled with dusty boxes and lined with shelves of old bric-a-brac. The farthest wall was a slab of concrete, and he described a pentagram on it, the stone turning to dust at his touch. He wrote the shadow runes, then described the second dark pentagram in the air and flicked it into the wall. A deep gong drone rang out as the ward lines sprang into existence. He wondered what these people would make of it if they ever found it.

  Bane Moved to an area where cylindrical towers discharged noxious vapour and smoke. Locating a suitable wall in a warehouse, he created the fifth ward.

  Colonel Maynart halted in front of President Randoman’s desk and saluted. Randoman’s office had been repaired, for the most part, since the quakes, but many of his ornaments had been smashed and the broken window was still taped. A few fine cracks snaked up the walls, and the city view now lacked several buildings. Much of the rubble had been cleared from the streets and the damaged structures had been taped off. Life had regained a semblance of normality, but it would take years to repair all the damage. The death toll had reached seventeen thousand, the morgues and hospitals were jammed with the dead and injured, and emergency services were stretched to their limit. The news reports covered all aspects of the disaster. Every day, more bodies were found in the rubble, and occasionally a survivor was pulled from it.

  The president put down his pen and sat back. “What is it, Maynart?”

  “Sir, we’ve had a disturbing report from Vardon, in Vockroy. It’s all over the news.”

  Randoman picked up the remote control and switched on the wall screen. The female reporter who had been covering the story about the gate from the beginning appeared a little the worse for wear, her makeup slipshod and bags under her eyes.

  “…A military patrol ship has reported discovering a massive monolith on the Vardon Plains, close to the Sea of Storms. Investigators have been dispatched to find out how it appeared and what purpose it might serve. We have the footage they shot.”

  The image changed to a towering block of stone on an expanse of tundra, a number of military ships and press vehicles parked around it and groups of people gathered at its base. A close-up view of the top of the megalith showed a pentagram of smoke or shadows above a deeply engraved pentagram in the stone, with several strange sigils within its lines.

  The reporter said, “Scientists are baffled by the shadowy pentagram, but an initial analysis indicates that it’s made from black fire, the same power used by dra’voren, many of which our intrepid stealth ships have destroyed in the Wastes…”

  Randoman muted the sound and steepled his fingers, frowning. “When did this happen?”

  “The patrol found it about an hour ago, sir, and since then some workers have found another pentagram on a warehouse wall in an industrial district, several thousand leagues away.”

  “And the experts have no idea what these… pentagrams do?”

  “No, sir, but, considering the power they’re made from, we can only surmise that they’re weapons.” Maynart hesitated. “Also, traditionally, pentagrams are evil symbols.”

  “So you believe they’re intended to… what, destroy the world? Corrupt people?”

  “We only have conjecture at this stage, sir. No one’s prepared to draw any conclusions, and even if they did, it would be pure guesswork. The only way to find out for certain is to ask the dra’voren who created them.”

  Randoman sighed. “And we have no stealth ships.”

  “Well, technically we have two, but we don’t know where Retribution is now, and, of course, Miraculous... There’s one ship still out in the Wastes, but they’re cut off now that the Great Gate is closed. Governor Predoran said he recalled it before he abandoned the city, but it didn’t return in time. Even if we had stealth ships, the dra’voren created these two pentagrams within an hour, so he’s moving fast, and we have no idea where he’ll go next.”

  The president nodded. “Get our best brains on this and search for more pentagrams. Maybe there’s a pattern to them, and we can work out where he’s going next. Since this dra’voren is mortal, perhaps we can kill him with conventional weapons. In the meantime, destroy the pentagrams. Explore any possible option. We have to find a way to stop this evil bastard.”

  “Yes, sir.” The colonel shifted. “There is another matter, sir. There’s been a huge increase in the number of disappearances and murders, and a lot of people have reported seeing apparitions. It started after President Parsimon’s disappearance, and the premier of Braamon, Grath Deglan, is missing too.”

  “So, you’re saying it’s all linked to this dra’voren?”

  “That’s the general consensus of opinion, sir. Perhaps he’s using these occult symbols to cause the murders and visions.”

  Randoman snorted. “A dra’voren doesn’t need occult symbols to cause this kind of thing. It must be the fiends we now know are rife in Bayona, and probably exist all over the world. I’ve offered a generous grant to anyone who can come up with a way to destroy them.”

  Bane studied the image in his Eye. The site of the third ward was a mountain range in a remote region of Bayona. He sat on his couch in Retribution’s mess hall, Drevarin on his own couch beside him. Kayos and Sherinias were in the gazebo, but Bane preferred to be close to Mirra and the rest of his friends and family.

  Nikira had agreed to provide transport on their journey to Ashynaria’s domain, and most of her crew had volunteered to go along. Sarjan’s surviving crewmembers had joined Nikira’s ship. Retribution was the only ship in the gardens now. Drevarin had repaired Miraculous and hidden it in a forest just outside Darjahan. Sarjan intended to use it to hunt demons after they left, without revealing the ship’s presence, so they would not try to find it.

  Bane had taken a break to eat and rest after the fourth ward, and now he refocused the Eye to scan the area. Several dull grey warships were parked some distance from the site.

  Drevarin asked, “Is it not odd that there are no demons waiting for you?”

  “No. They will not fight me. They know they have no hope. The humans, on the other hand, have no such wisdom.”

  Mirra sat with Ethra and Sarrin, while Mithran, Artan and Grem occupied another table. Bane rose and went over to embrace his wife. She stepped back when he released her and forced a smile, then returned to her seat beside Sarrin, who placed an arm around her. He knew she feared something terrible would happen to him every time he left her side now, and intended to ensure nothing did, for a while, at any rate. She deserved a break from worry.

  Bane Moved to the windswept mountainside. Grey peaks brushed the clouds to his right and grassland stretched away on his left. He savoured the peace and quiet for several moments, and then a black ring crisped the grass to ash a few feet away. A writhing mud form rose from it, developed limbs and a head and clothed itself in a green shirt and black leather jacket and trousers. The demon formed a broad, bluff countenance with short dark brown hair and a well-trimmed beard.

  He bowed. “Demon Lord. I am Doyanar.”

  “What do you want?”

  “To tell you that all of my kind are in the mid realm; therefore, it is pointless to create this ward, since it will not bind any of us below.”

  “These people are clever,” Bane said. “They will hunt your kind. You will not enjoy being defeated so many times, and forced to regain your power from what little exists in the mid realm. It will be tiresome, I think.”

  “We will destroy their ships.”

  “That will be quite a feat, since they are invisible.”

  “There is only one at the moment, which you have hidden. We will destroy any others even before they are built
.”

  “If you return to the underworld, you will have plenty of condemned souls to torment.”

  Doyanar shook his head. “The humans will not prevail, and you will not hunt us down one by one. You would be here for the rest of your mortal existence. We will slaughter the humans until they stop hunting us. Rest assured, we will continue to rule this domain.”

  “You never ruled this world. You only hold dominion now because I cast down the dark gods who were your masters.”

  “For which we are most grateful. You did us a great favour.”

  Bane stepped towards the demon, which retreated, his sly smile fading. “You begin to annoy me, Doyanar. Beware that I do not banish and summon you, and force you to fight your brethren to protect humans. That will keep you busy, will it not?”

  “I will be defeated and released soon enough.”

  Bane shrugged. “So be it. Fight the humans, then, I care nought. You, however, will not be amongst those who remain. Begone!”

  The demon crumbled into a noxious heap, and Bane contemplated Doyanar’s words. He was right, sadly. Creating wards when all the demons were in the mid realm was like closing the barn door after the cows had stampeded. It would prevent them from taking people below to torture, and new demons would be trapped, but it was impossible to get rid of the thousands already in the mid realm. The holy fire in the churches would keep Sherinias’ worshippers safe, and demons would have little interest in them, anyway.

  Sherinias would probably abandon this domain as soon as she was mature enough, and perhaps join Drevarin in his, if she accepted his suit. Although Bane had said he might return, it seemed unlikely, for the original path was far behind them. They would not be passing this way again, and, once Ashynaria was freed, he only wanted to go home. In most worlds, demons spent most of their time in the dark realm, but, for some reason, here they preferred the mid realm. Perhaps it was because there were so many willing allies amongst the populace, and so many droges. Their forms could be rescinded, sending their souls back to the Land of the Dead, and maybe Sarjan would hunt them too.

  Bane shook off his gloomy thoughts, described a shadow pentagram and hammered it into the ground, followed by the runes, and finally created the second pentagram. The deep chime rang out as the ward lines sprang into being, sealing the underworld off from demons. He did not envy the humans their demon-infested future.

  The warships approached, and he became invisible and walked away a few paces. The vessels slowed, probably searching for him, and he wondered if they had the scanners that could detect him. One of the ships fired a silver cylinder with a muffled bang followed by a hissing roar, and it shot towards him. Bane raised a curving shield with a sweep of his hands, but the projectile struck the ward with a monstrous boom, throwing up cascades of soil, rocks and burning grass. Clods and stones rained down, bouncing off his shield, and he waited for the smoke to clear, curious. The wind whipped it away, revealing a deep crater of raw earth. At its centre, suspended within the web of ward lines, the solid pentagram and runes remained, formed from fused soil, the shadowy pentagram above them.

  He snorted and dismissed the shield, turning away. “Imbeciles.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Circle of Light

  Bane stood with Drevarin atop the roof of the Great Hall in the centre of Darjahan, which afforded a panoramic view of the city. Two days had passed since he had created the wards, and most of his vigour had returned. The hall was an impressive white marble structure whose high, domed roof was made from translucent material that resembled cloudy crystal, and a broad promenade lined with blocky geometric shapes led to its tinted glass and copper doors. Numerous less formidable buildings surrounded it, presumably libraries, government offices, museums and such. The hall had survived the quakes relatively unscathed, only having suffered a few cracks in the walls and ornamental pillars.

  Sherinias had chosen today to appear to her people, and Sarjan had contacted several reporters and informed them of the upcoming visitation. Apparently the invitation had been taken as a warning, for the square was empty save for several hundred white-robed priests and priestesses. Flying traffic passed by in the distance, and numerous bright vehicles were parked several blocks away. People armed with image-capturing devices hid amongst nearby ruins, for safety, Bane assumed.

  “So, it appears the populace still think we are destroyers.”

  Drevarin nodded. “Unfortunate, but the journalists will spread the word, and people will see Sherinias via those ingenious devices.”

  “I doubt a display of power will sway these people. As far as they are concerned, four people with strange powers entered their world and did weird and horrible things, like evicting them from their holiday resort and closing their ancient and heretofore never closed Great Gate.”

  “At least her worshippers have come, and Kayos must fulfil his promise.”

  “I think it is a waste of time.”

  Drevarin glanced up. “It begins.”

  The breeze died away, and a sweet, flowery fragrance invaded the still air. Great banks of white clouds rolled in to encircle the city, leaving a hole through which sunlight poured. A preternatural hush fell, as if the world held its breath in anticipation of this celestial event. The clouds took on a soft, yellowish glow, and the air became thick with static power as silent lightning flickered amid the billowing vapour. Bane almost expected a host of angels armed with trumpets to herald Sherinias’ descent, but the winged meddlers evidently did not rate the occasion as worthy of their presence without the offer of many favours that Kayos would not grant. Their presence would not impress these people anyway, he mused, since they had tried to shoot the last one. A circle of rainbows appeared, arching outward from the column of sunlight to fade away into the distance, and soft exclamations came from the ecclesiastics. Some pointed and clicked tiny devices, and the men and women of the press spoke into their instruments.

  Bane muttered, “I hope Kayos does not overdo the light show.”

  Drevarin raised his brows. “How could he possibly overdo it?”

  Bane winced and squinted as a column of blinding white light shot down through the gap to bathe the centre of the plaza, making most of the people cover their eyes with pained cries. Several of the men who operated the image-capturing instruments lowered their devices, grimaced and clutched their eyes, even though they were quite far away.

  “Like that,” Bane said, blinking bright spots from his sight.

  Drevarin rubbed one eye. “Ah, well, he just wants it to be impressive.”

  “There’s a subtle difference between impressive and preposterous.”

  Bane squinted at the searing column, able to make out a shining form within it. Sherinias was radiant, as if white fire lighted her from within, her diamond dress a cascade of scintillating sparkles and her eyes aglow. A soft smile curved her lips as she stepped from the light to stand upon the air about four feet above the ground. Tongues of lightning crackled from the clouds and hammered into the city all around the square, and a barrage of thunder boomed and rumbled on its heels, making the ground tremble. The column of white fire dimmed, and the priests and priestesses fell to their knees and cried words of welcome and worship. The reporters jabbered, and Bane caught snatches.

  “…After that incredible light show… It’s the girl from Cloud World… Appears to be a sort of projection … It was a bit blinding, but now…”

  Sherinias raised her arms in a sweeping motion, bright mist flowing from her hands and arms in a rippling curtain. Kayos was certainly channelling a lot of power through her, Bane thought. The result was spectacular, however, and the ecclesiastics were agog. Sherinias spread her hands when her arms reached shoulder height, and lightning arced from her fingertips to strike several pillars. The reporters’ spiel became a frantic gabble.

  “Now he is going to scare them stupid,” Bane remarked.

  “I think it is most appropriate.”

  “Of course you do; you are a
god. To us, it is a pretty light show. To the unbelievers, it is a terrifying display of raw power they will doubtless assume is intended to intimidate them.”

  “How else will she convince them she is a goddess?” Drevarin asked.

  “I do not think she can. These people are clever, not wise. They will simply decide that some destroyers use the light. That way, they do not have to admit that creators are real, and can maintain that she is really their enemy. They hate to be proven wrong, I think. They will cling to the explanations that best suit their purposes and support their idiotic theories until their dying breaths. When people are this advanced, they become arrogant. They do not like to admit there is anyone more powerful than them. I understand now why most gods prefer their people to be a bit more… innocent, or rustic. They are humbler.”

  The goddess lowered her arms and took another step forward. The worshippers stretched out their arms to her, and a woman at the forefront cried, “We love you, Lady! We will worship you forever! May you always protect and watch over us! We ask for your blessing.”

  Sherinias smiled, inclined her head and opened her hands in a slow, graceful a gesture of benevolent benediction. Soft, healing light streamed from her fingers, and the people basked in it with glad cries and clutched their breasts as if trying to absorb it. The lame stood straight and the blind cried out and turned to gaze at their neighbours. The aged threw away their walking sticks and the deaf cupped their ears and wept. The distant journalists clicked their little boxes and babbled into their instruments.

  The goddess raised her face and lifted her arms. The white fire swept up into the sky, carrying her with it, and the rainbows winked out. Another barrage of lightning hammered into the ground, followed by a mighty rumble of thunder that shook the earth. The clouds swirled as if in a hurricane, then dispersed, and the worshippers clasped their hands and swayed, chanting.