Demonic Designs (To Absolve the Fallen)

by Babbitt, Aaron

  The man did as he was told. The three of them ran past the hallway, and, seconds later, there was an explosion, followed by screams of agony.

  “Got ‘em,” Jeremiah observed. “We should finish them off to make sure no one follows us.”

  They walked back to the hallway and stepped inside, firing at will. There were two people still standing, but that was soon taken care of. After that short gunfight, the three of them took a few seconds to kill anyone who was only wounded. One guy begged for his life.

  Jeremiah knelt beside him and informed him, “It’s better this way,” before he snapped the man’s neck. “Now,” Jeremiah explained, looking to his guards, “judging from the gunfire, I think our rendezvous point is close. We need to meet up with Matt’s group directly. Follow me.”

  It didn’t take them long to find Matt’s contingent. They were in the kitchen, being held back by several men with automatic weapons. But, as Jeremiah and his escorts came up behind Matt’s adversaries, those who had Matt and his men trapped behind different appliances, dodging bullets, soon found themselves in a crossfire. The shooting stopped after about five seconds, and Jeremiah made his way, over the fallen, to Matt.

  “I left Dylan outside. I need to go back for him. Try to clean up the rest of this floor. It seems the demons are hiding somewhere on a higher level. We’ll have to find them, but don’t do any searching until I get back.”

  “I understand,” Matt said. “I’ve lost two.”

  “Well, you can have mine. Try not to get them killed. These guys don’t come cheap. Speaking of...where are the men from the roof?”

  “I don’t know,” Matt answered. “They were supposed to work the upper levels but I haven’t seen them or heard any gunfire.”

  Jeremiah rolled his eyes. “Well, I have a pretty good idea where they are, or at least, what condition they’re in. Stay on this level.” With that, he went back the way he came.

  As he got closer to the entrance, he had a sick feeling. A feeling that was substantiated when he got outside and he heard his name being screamed. He looked to the left, the direction the voice came from, and he saw Dylan struggling to get out from under a sickly-green looking creature that had him pinned. Jeremiah unloaded his guns into the creature as he hastened toward it.

  The beast seemed to be stunned a little by the onslaught of bullets, and it turned to see a pillar of fire flying toward it. It cocked its head in dismay, and Dylan rolled out from underneath it. The prophet got up and ran as hard as he could, but he turned in time to see Jeremiah collide with the monster.

  The initial impact sent the monster soaring. Jeremiah extinguished and, as the thing was getting up, said, “Ominal.”

  “Jeremiah,” it hissed at him. “Traitor. My master will make short work of you.”

  “We’re all traitors, Ominal. That’s why we’re down here. Yes, your master will have to be the one to deal with me, but I’m glad that you have no delusions. I will inform Mastema that you knew your fate when I see him.”

  In answer, the thing opened its mouth and spewed a green liquid at Jeremiah that was easily sidestepped. Jeremiah looked down at the puddle of ooze as it sizzled and burned away the grass on the ground.

  “Acid?” he observed, bursting again into flames. “How tacky.”

  Jeremiah didn’t move to engage the other demon. Ominal charged. It opened its mouth and threw acid again at Jeremiah who made no action to dodge it. As the acid hit Jeremiah square in the chest, it combusted, and the fire flowed down the acid stream into Ominal’s mouth. The stream ceased, but it was too late. Ominal’s head was already engulfed by the flame.

  “Burn,” Jeremiah commanded without any feeling.

  Ominal fell to its knees, its body already burning. Jeremiah closed the distance, and, when he got to the other demon, he ended its misery by pulverizing its skull between his hands. Jeremiah extinguished and looked over to where Dylan was watching, awestruck.

  “So, you’ve had your first battle with a demon. Invigorating, isn’t it?”

  “Damn it, Jeremiah!” Dylan screamed. “That thing almost killed me.”

  “But it didn’t,” Jeremiah responded, calmly. “Now, I need you to help me kill its master.”

  “It came out of that window,” Dylan indicated one on the second floor. “I think it was trying to escape until it saw me. I ran, but I didn’t get very far.”

  “Come on,” Jeremiah said. “We are needed back at the party.” He approached the boy, and it was then that he noticed that Dylan had a nasty acid burn on his left arm, which he was cradling in his right. “Are you going to be all right?” he asked, indicating the arm.

  “I don’t know. It hurts like hell, but...I think so.”

  “I can work on it after we get out of this fray,” Jeremiah explained. “But right now, we need to go back in. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” Jeremiah said. “And you thought you weren’t a fighter.”

  They moved, briskly, back into the mansion. Dylan looked at the bedlam that Jeremiah and his bodyguards had left in their wake. He shook his head.

  “Is it worth it?”

  “What?” Jeremiah responded.

  “All of the death. Is it worth it to kill all of these people to stop an evil force? At what point do we become the evil force?”

  Jeremiah grimaced. “At the moment, I can’t philosophize with you, but I can assure you that it’s worth it. Eventually, these people would have been coming after you and people like you. Now, they are less that we have to worry about.”

  Dylan peered into the eyes of a dead man. “I guess. This Mastema, you said he was old and, I gather, powerful.”

  “Yes,” Jeremiah affirmed. “He fell with Lucifer. He was smart enough not to show at the Battle of Eden, but, after the disappearance of Lucifer and prior to Metatron’s ascension, he was the biggest demonic threat on the planet. He even tricked Abraham.”

  “He did?”

  “He persuaded Abraham that he was a messenger from God. He told him that, in order to demonstrate his faith, he would have to kill his son, Isaac. It would have happened, too, except that Gabriel showed up, ran Mastema away, and gave the misled prophet another sacrifice. Of course, the story goes that it had always been a command from God. It was an exhibition of faith, one way or the other, I suppose. Let it serve as a reminder that we demons are tricky.”

  It was about that time that they ran into Matt and his guards standing at the bottom of a stairway. They had their guns trained on the next level, and there were dead men all over the flight of stairs and at the top.

  “We think they’re up there,” Matt explained. “We haven’t seen any guards in a while, so I think they’ve run out.”

  Jeremiah looked to the top of the stairs. “Yes,” he agreed. “They’re up there.” He turned to one of the soldiers. “Give me your sidearm,” he commanded.

  The guard immediately did as he was told. Jeremiah took it, checked the ammunition, and proceeded to ascend the staircase.

  “Matt follows me,” he directed. “Next, comes two guards. Dylan follows them. Then, the other three bring up the rear.”

  They followed that order up the stairs, and Jeremiah peered around.

  “They’re waiting for us,” he announced. He pointed to a room at the end of a long hallway. “There. Fan out.”

  They stood at the door for a moment, and Jeremiah looked at the soldiers. “You won’t do any good in there. This is something Matt, Dylan, and I have to take care of. You make sure that no one else enters this room. And try to find your absent comrades.”

  “Yes, sir,” the highest ranking one replied.

  “Matt, there are two demons in that room. One is Mastema, and, honestly, I don’t know who the other is. Your job is to take care of the second one. Dylan, you’ll help Matt, but from a distance. I’ll jump in when I can, but I think I’m going to have my hands full with Mastema. No one does anything until I do. Understood?”

  They
both nodded, but Dylan looked scared.

  Jeremiah sensed the boy’s concern. “Don’t worry, Dylan. You are in good company, and you are one of the most talented prophets I’ve ever met. Remember, we fight for God.”

  With that, Jeremiah turned to the door and kicked it in, revealing an enormous room. It was tiled in marble, and it looked like a modernized throne room. There were two figures. One of them sat in what looked to be a throne on the far side of the room—about three hundred feet away. He looked older, and his hair was white, as was his beard. He was dressed, very formally, in a black suit, with a gray tie. The other stood beside him. He looked to be about thirty; he was not dressed as well. He was wearing jeans and a green turtleneck. What was striking about this individual, though, were his eyes. They were black, even in his human form; looking into them felt almost like looking into space.

  Jeremiah casually walked toward them. The two prophets followed. Dylan noticed that Matt had replaced his guns with one jagged, makeshift-looking knife. Jeremiah stopped at about twenty-five feet away from the throne. The prophets stood about five feet behind him.

  “Jeremiah,” the one on the throne greeted, almost happily, “old friend. It’s been a very long time since you’ve been in my house. What interesting company you’re keeping these days.”

  “Mastema,” Jeremiah responded. “I am thoroughly enjoying the company you keep, too. Berith,” Jeremiah laughed, “how are you?”

  “You’re a disgrace,” Berith spat at him. “It will be my pleasure to banish you to Hell.”

  “I doubt it,” Jeremiah retorted.

  “Boys,” Mastema said, laughing. “Come now. This is not civil. Why have you come, Jeremiah? Are the rumors true; have you forsaken your brotherhood to join with Him?”

  “I would think the thirty dead men downstairs and the mound of ash in your front yard are evidence of that,” Jeremiah replied.

  “Oh, Jeremiah,” Mastema continued, looking sad. “Has it come to this, that we would be forced to fight one another?” He looked beyond Jeremiah to the two prophets. “But you have not completely lost your wicked ways. You bring children to a demon reunion. Your sense of humor, as always, is impeccable. What are they supposed to do? Buy you some time?”

  “I think you underestimate them, Mastema,” Jeremiah returned with a grin. “You know, it’s not too late to change your allegiance.”

  “Jeremiah,” Mastema replied, shaking his white mane, “my allegiances are sound. What should I do? Beg Him, on my knees, to forgive my ways? No. I’m not the one who is in the wrong. Furthermore, I think I like it better on Earth than I did in Heaven. I’m my own boss down here. I don’t have to explain myself or follow an uncaring Creator.”

  Jeremiah looked over his shoulder at the two prophets, then back to Mastema. “I’m sorry, my old friend, but your time on Earth is over.”

  Jeremiah became a pillar of flame. Berith immediately transformed into a nine-foot tall, black, hairy beast, with glistening fangs, claws that looked like metallic razors, and long horns. Berith leapt at Jeremiah but was intercepted by Matt. The two collided in midair, and, before Berith could react, Matt had already punctured him three times with the dagger. The demon roared in pain.

  With Berith occupied, Jeremiah stepped toward Mastema. The elder demon simply held out his hand, and Jeremiah was frozen where he stood. Mastema’s bushy eyebrows furrowed.

  “No, Jeremiah,” he said. “I think you may be mistaken.” He waved his hand, and Jeremiah was thrust by an invisible force against the opposing wall, leaving Matt and Dylan very vulnerable.

  Dylan seized his opportunity and focused his energy on Berith’s open wounds. Blood came pouring out, but the demon didn’t seem to mind. Berith slashed at Matt, catching him across the chest. Matt screamed but, nevertheless, moved in closer. His knife hand shot toward the demon, but it was caught in one massive hand. However, before the demon could react, two of Matt’s fingers went, knuckle-deep, into the beast’s right eye. Matt was dropped, and immediately fell to the ground. Mastema had diverted his attention to the knife-wielding threat. Matt’s body began to be crushed by the same invisible force that had thrown Jeremiah a hundred feet away. The prophet could not even draw in enough breath to call for help.

  Four shots rang out. The first rocked Mastema’s head backward; the next three collided with his torso, appearing to do little damage. Jeremiah was moving back into the fight, and he was already next to Dylan. His hand dropped the gun but remained extended. Mastema’s clothes began to burn.

  It looked like Berith was starting to recover, and he was lumbering toward Matt, who was still pinned to the ground. Dylan moved between the demon and the prophet. Berith, who, apparently, did not think Dylan was a threat, ignored him. As Berith passed, Dylan did something completely unexpected. He jumped onto Berith, threw his arms around the demon’s neck, making physical contact with skin, and commanded the blood to boil.

  Mastema, his clothes still on fire, returned his attention to Jeremiah who was already far too close. Mastema grabbed Jeremiah by the face and lifted him off the ground. Jeremiah, feeling Mastema’s fingers trying to crush his skull, concentrated everything he had on moving the fire from the demon’s clothes to his skin.

  Berith fell to his knees. His veins were melting. With one hand, he reached back and raked Dylan’s back, ripping skin and muscle. The prophet fell away, unconscious. Berith stood up, sorely wounded. He could barely make it to his feet. When he finally did, Matt, whose bondage had been lifted—thanks to Jeremiah—stuck his shard from the sword of Lucifer in the monster’s remaining eye. Berith fell and did not get up again.

  Succeeding in causing Mastema’s skin to catch on fire, Jeremiah was dropped. Mastema, realizing he had, indeed, underestimated his foes, assumed his battle form. His human skin turned into clear, polished stone—diamond. The fire seemed to die a little from the transformation, and Mastema didn’t seem to be as affected by it as he had before, but it still burned on the demon’s exterior.

  “I’m done with these games,” Mastema roared. “Now, you perish, Jeremiah.”

  He bent down and began pummeling Jeremiah with his fists. Every stroke seemed to make Jeremiah weaker and Mastema stronger. The hits became more severe, and Jeremiah could not pull himself up off the ground.

  Then, Jeremiah heard his name called, and the sound of metal against stone came rushing toward him. His left hand intercepted Matt’s blade, and his right caught Mastema’s next blow. With haste to rival Matt’s, he pulled himself forward—toward Mastema—and implanted the knife in the demon’s head. Mastema staggered backwards. Jeremiah was on top of him in an instant. Having recovered some of his strength, he fueled the fire, and removed the blade. He reinserted it into his foe’s heart over and over again. The adamant flesh was no match for the metal of the shard. It cut through with only minimal resistance. In seconds, Mastema also moved no more.

  Jeremiah’s fire died, and he rushed over to Dylan, laying his hands on the boy. Dylan’s eyes fluttered a little until they were completely open.

  “Did we win?” Dylan gasped.

  “Don’t speak,” Jeremiah ordered. “Listen, you have to concentrate on stopping your bleeding.”

  “Not strong enough,” Dylan responded.

  “Yes you are,” Jeremiah said. “I can help.”

  He forced some of his own energy into the young prophet. Dylan gritted his teeth and yelled. Then, his eyes slowly fell shut again.

  “Will he be okay?” Matt asked.

  “If we can get him to a hospital, he should be.” Jeremiah turned Dylan over onto his stomach and examining the cuts. “I think he managed to stop his bleeding, but he’ll need surgery to fix his back. Luckily,” he added as he picked Dylan up, “Berith missed his spinal cord. Get him to my car.”

  Matt nodded and took Dylan from Jeremiah and ran to the door. He ordered the men on the other side to carry Dylan out. Jeremiah turned on the bodies of the two demons, and they burst into flame. He glared at them unti
l he was sure that they would be consumed without any more help from him. Then, he ran for his car.

  As he was leaving, he heard the sound of a telephone ringing somewhere in the house. If he hadn’t had more pressing matters, he would have answered it.

  ***

  “There’s no answer, sir,” the nervous woman told Patheus.

  “Apparently, Jeremiah was successful,” Patheus surmised. He couldn’t help but smile a little. “I was never too fond of Mastema, anyway. But I’ll admit that I didn’t see this one coming.”

  Metatron stepped out of the shadows. “Don’t be too satisfied, Patheus,” he recommended. “It is only a matter of time before he finds out where you’re staying. And I strongly doubt you’ll put up the fight that Mastema did.”

  Patheus was surprised by his master’s unannounced arrival. He bowed slightly. Patheus knew that he should measure his next words very carefully. “What should we do?”

  “Again, you use the word we, Patheus. Your existence on this planet is in jeopardy. I strongly suggest you start considering what you should do.”

  “Will he not eventually seek your destruction as well, Master?”

  Metatron smiled. “I would expect nothing less.” Then, he was gone again.

  “Sir?” the secretary asked. “Are you going to the house to assess the situation?”

  “I’ll wait a while,” Patheus replied, looking back to the paperwork on his desk. “I don’t want to be there if Jeremiah is still there.”

  ***

  Alex had been sleeping lightly since his return to the apartment. He’d persuaded Abbie to let him return when she learned that Matt was on his way. When he heard a noise, he woke, hoping that Matt was home but fearing that someone else was. He rifled through his backpack to find the taser pen. He grabbed it and went to his bedroom door. Slowly, he pushed it open and looked into the living room. Matt was there. He had his back to Alex. Shirtless, he was examining something on his chest. He had a tube of something in his left hand, and he rubbed the goo on himself with the right.