War of the Damned Boxed Set

by Michael Todd

  Moloch sighed. “Yes, yes. Well, in honor of our tour, I have set up a delicious spread representing our locations. I have guinea pigs in croissants, wiener dogs on a stick, rabbit and potato pierogies—still fresh—and my favorite, Slovenian gerbil stew.”

  Baal licked his lips, looking at the table. “That sounds delicious. You went all-out.”

  Moloch waved his hand nonchalantly and plopped down into his large wooden chair. “Yes, well, I figured we would mark the next era of destruction with a little celebration. I’m so tired of doom and gloom. I figure there’s no way Katie has found out about our little plan, even if she did come out of hell alive and well. This should be nice and sneaky and entertaining.”

  “Are you using the small demons?” Baal grabbed a guinea pig sandwich and chomped down.

  Moloch flicked off a piece of fur that flew onto his shoulder. “You will see. Remember, we decided to go with minor inflictions of pain and death instead of full-on destruction. We want to be in and out as quickly as possible, just like the Leviathan. She taught us a lot about making a statement without getting pulverized…at least up until the end.”

  The demons laughed loudly. Moloch spread his arms wide, opening a window that allowed them to view anywhere on Earth. “We will begin our tour of Europe in the quaint little town of Manarola, Italy. There are no cars or roads, just a bunch of disgusting humans enjoying the beauty of their fishing town.”

  Baal leaned forward. “Nice, but it will be much nicer once it’s been renovated.”

  “Mwahahahaha.” Moloch chortled maniacally.

  The window moved as Moloch swished his hand, giving a panoramic view of the town on the Mediterranean. The skies were bright blue, and the ocean gently lapped at the tall stone cliffs. Bright, colorful houses peppered the side of the cliff, etched right into the stone face once thought impenetrable. Small boats bobbed in the small inlet below, which opened to the vibrant blue sea.

  Baal laughed giddily as he pointed at the town. “Look at all those little Italian people. Hanging their laundry, talking to their neighbors, and shopping at the market, all with no clue of what’s coming. Give it to ‘em, Moloch. Give it to ‘em good.”

  Moloch chuckled, cracking his knuckles. “As you wish.”

  He clapped his hands and a crack of lightning shot from the sky. Reality groaned and split in the small seaside village. The air shuddered, and a gate opened in the picturesque harbor. A dozen large demons came barreling into the harbor at full force. Each of them carried two huge wooden mallets that they swung with fervor. Boats exploded into shards of wood, and human bodies went flying over their shoulders into the water. They stomped up the hill leading to the town, smashing and crushing anything in their path.

  The stone of ancient buildings crumbled easily. Houses generations old fell at the demons’ feet. They dropped their mallets and began grabbing people out of their homes pulling villagers apart limb by limb and taking their time to have a bit of a snack before moving on to the next house. One large demon walked through the center of the pathway, his broad shoulders scraping the colorful houses. A small dog ran out and barked loudly, nipping bravely at the demon’s ankle. He slowly bent down and picked it up, putting the small dog in his palm.

  A woman ran from the house screaming. “Mio Mitzi! Il mio povero cagnolino. Lasciala bestia!”

  The demon looked down and lifted his thick leg. With a hellish chortle, he slammed his foot down on top of the woman, squashing her flat. He pivoted through the blood and bones and turned toward the ocean. The demon lifted the yapping dog to his eye. It growled fiercely. The demon cocked his fingers back. “Arrivederci.” He chuckled as he flicked the dog away. The pup’s squeal grew faint as it flew into the distance, eventually landing with a small splash in the sea.

  Moloch clapped his hands and laughed. “All right, that’s enough, my beasts. Let’s move on.”

  At once, the beasts dropped the mangled humans, marched back through the rubble, and leaped into the gate before it snapped closed behind them. They hadn’t decimated the town, but they had definitely done some damage. Moloch cleared his throat and popped a wiener dog into his mouth.

  Baal clapped excitedly. “Where to now?”

  Moloch swallowed and waved his hand, changing the view. “Give yer best round o' applause. We ur gawin` tae Portree, Scootlund!”

  Baal raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

  Moloch rolled his eyes and sighed. “Portree, Scotland. The largest town on the Isle of Skye. Home to some twenty-five hundred people. A booming port, and quite nice on the eyes.”

  Baal laughed at Moloch’s spiel. “If you ever get tired of being an evil demon dictator, you could open a tour company on Earth.”

  Moloch snorted. “And eat all my customers.”

  He flicked his fingers, and the two watched as a gate opened in the hills above the brightly colored port town. Two dozen smaller demons poured out of the gate, hissing and snarling, and ran frantically toward the town. One of the demons became separated from the group and rushed into an open field. A flock of sheep began bleating loudly as he flew through them, jumping from sheep to sheep and taking a bite of each. Moloch and Baal laughed loudly at the wool flying everywhere. The stray demon left a string of mutilated mutton in his wake.

  The other demons descended on the town and began attacking those in the streets. A dozen of them grabbed boulders and hurled them at buildings, blasting large holes in the colorful walls. Tourists screamed and poured from the restaurants, trying to get away as fast as they could. The demons were faster. The cobblestone streets were littered with severed legs and arms, and one head rolled down the hill.

  Moloch and Baal focused on the head, and they chanted as it rolled all the way down the street and plopped into the water below. They bellowed with laughter, tears filling their eyes. Baal wiped his cheeks and focused on a Scottish barkeep. The red-haired brute burst out into the street with a shotgun.

  Baal pointed at the guy, taking a big gulp of his drink. “Uh-oh, watch this asshole. He’s got a shotgun.”

  The man pointed his gun at one of the demons and pulled the trigger, taking its head right off its shoulders. He lowered the gun with a smile, proud of himself. Before he could bask in his triumph three demons were on top of him, tackling him to the ground. The man fell back, his shotgun going off. The buckshot flew through the gate into hell, and Baal and Moloch hit the floor as the pellets whizzed over their heads.

  Slowly, they climbed back into their chairs. They glanced at each other and burst into laughter. Moloch wiped his eyes and clapped his hands, signaling the demons to retreat. They made a run for it, dragging human snacks behind them and into the gate.

  Moloch sighed and slumped in his chair. “Oh, that was good. Two down, four to go.”

  He swiped his hand, and the picture changed. The gate was now showing rolling green hills studded with foliage. Bordering a lush forest was a medium-sized town at the edge of a large lake. Baal oohed and sat forward.

  Moloch smiled. “This is my favorite. Dobrodošli na Bledu, Slovenija. Or for the less worldly, welcome to Bled, Slovenia. This town is about double the size of the last. It was established in 1004.”

  “When?”

  “Long ago, by human standards.”

  “So?”

  “They take that shit seriously. The humans will take this town’s destruction personally.”

  “Got it.”

  “It’s also considered the most beautiful town in the world. At least, it will be for a few more moments. But my favorite part is that castle right there. It’s situated on a small island in the middle of the lake. Too bad it doesn’t have any protection.”

  Moloch rubbed his hands together and gathered hellish energy in them, then pushed them outward quickly. The air around the small village shimmered, and two gates opened simultaneously. One of the gates was right on the shores of the tiny island, pouring six medium demons out. The other was at the edge of the town, this one releasing four demons
so large that they trampled the trees as they walked.

  Sirens sounded as the six medium demons went to work. They ran through the droves of tourists climbing to the top of the castle to see the panoramic views of the mountains. They tossed humans from hand to hand, ripping their bodies in half just for fun. Four of the demons focused on the people, rending and biting their flesh for their afternoon snacks. The other two began climbing the tall tower atop the castle.

  The demons wrapped their thick arms around it and began to sway back and forth. Moloch sat on the edge of his chair, nodding his head wildly. “Yes, yes…and there it goes! Excellent.”

  The tower toppled, crashing to the ground in an explosion of debris and dust. People caught beneath the rubble screamed, and the demons did nothing but laugh. On the mainland, the large demons swung their long arms through the village, toppling the old stone buildings. They grabbed any living being they could reach and ripped each in half in their rage. A trail of blood led from the middle of the town to the gate. The demons destroyed everything in their path.

  Baal narrowed his eyes. “If I remember correctly, one of the heads of the Holy Roman Empire gifted that place to the Bishop of Brixen. He was an infected member of the church. I loved his sense of style. Torture was so unique back then. He introduced them to so many ways of dismemberment.”

  Moloch nodded. “Oh, yes, I forgot all about him. Well, it’s no longer the most beautiful place on Earth. Sorry, bishop.”

  Both demons cackled, and Moloch gave the signal for the demons to return to their gates. He closed the gates to hell but frowned and quickly counted the returned demons. One short. He had left one of the medium demons behind. He spotted it easily, thrashing around in a sea of mangled tourists. Moloch shrugged and clenched his fist tightly. The demon grabbed his head in pain and exploded in a shower of blood and guts.

  Moloch stood from his chair and did some stretches, readying himself for the last three towns. His talons nearly touched his toes.

  Baal wandered back to the table and tapped his claw against his lips. “Hmmm, I really like those wieners. Delicious!” He selected a few more snacks for the next part.

  Moloch groaned as he stretched his back. “Thank you. I learned a few things from the old days. All converted to much tastier proteins, of course.”

  Baal nodded. “Of course.”

  They both got situated back in their chairs, and Moloch swished his hand, bringing up the next location. It was beautiful, with lush green grass and stone cottages with thatched roofs. A gentle river ran straight through the center of the village. The whole scene was perfectly manicured, and the residents were all out enjoying one of the few sunny days.

  Moloch smirked. “Bibury, England. It’s one of those places I can’t wait to wipe out of existence or at least cause considerable damage to.”

  Baal considered the town. “Crappy little place with crappy little houses. What’s your beef?”

  Moloch groaned. “In the 1000s, late I think, a book was written about this town. Or at least the town was in the book. It was called the Domesday Book. I wrote the original Domesday Book, but that bastard William the Conqueror got hold of it and ended up using it to gain enormous power over much of medieval England. I’m still bitter. Anyway, this town was in it.”

  Moloch waved his hand and rested his chin on his fist. The gate opened outside the small medieval town. The demons poured into Arlington Row, sniveling and snarling. People, both residents and tourists, began screaming and running. The demons jumped and dove over old stone walls and onto thatch, taking the roofs off the houses. They burst from doorways and tackled people in the center of the streets. Moloch chuckled as a stream of blood ran down the main street, trickling into the River Coln.

  Baal clapped his hands. “The streets will run red with their blood. Take that, William the Shithead!”

  Moloch looked at Baal and chuckled. The demons ripped through the small town quicker than Moloch had thought they would. He raised his head, realizing they were doing more damage than he wanted. He snapped his fingers and sent the demons back toward the gate, shutting it quickly behind them. He leaned forward as he scanned the remains of the town, satisfied with what he saw.

  Baal grabbed one of the guinea pig sandwiches and tossed it at him. “Hey, wake up. We’ve got two to go, and I’m enjoying myself much more than I thought. You did your deed and wreaked havoc on England. What’s next?”

  Moloch picked his nose thoughtfully, trying to remember. Finally, it came to him, and he smiled. “Let’s do these two simultaneously, shall we?”

  Moloch swished his hand to the side and opened a second window. The one closest to Baal showed a wide-open plain with lush green grass. Perched atop a tall hill was a domed palace with a gold roof and cylindrical yellow towers. Moloch chuckled. “This was one of Lilith’s favorite playgrounds centuries ago. It is Sintra, Portugal, and is known as the Moon Cult City. They worshipped the moon goddess Cynthia, and when Lilith arrived there, she used her demon powers of persuasion to make them all believe she was the goddess in the flesh. It was actually pretty funny to watch. I chose this place because I know it will chap her ass.”

  Baal laughed. “You’re asking for trouble by picking on Lilith. I like it.”

  Moloch snarled, “That bitch is going to know she messed with the wrong demons. If she likes Earth so much, she can watch me destroy it piece by piece. I will take down every beautiful place she loves. Besides, there is no damn moon goddess. We all know that. The people are a bunch of nutbags running in the streets, throwing flowers and lighting candles. It’s ridiculous.”

  Baal smirked. “Am I sensing a bit of jealousy? Perhaps because there are no cities for you?”

  “No. Besides, when I take Earth, all the cities will be for me. If they don’t worship me out of desire, they will out of desperation.”

  Baal was silent for an awkward moment. “Okay, then. Where’s the other place?”

  “Giethoorn in the Netherlands, also one of those places close to the bitch’s heart. During one of her quarter-life crises, when she was trying to figure out who she was, she lived there. She thought it was quaint and sweet. It’s one of those places that doesn’t have roads. You have to get everywhere on foot or by boat through the little canals. It’s a fucking joke. Supposedly, she fell in love there, but Lucifer found out and ended up filleting and frying the guy in the pits of hell or something.” Moloch tried to look bored at that point, but Baal knew he was trying to cover his spite.

  “So you selected these two to pick a fight with Lilith?” Baal asked.

  Moloch shook his head. “No. I selected these two to get under her skin. By the time she finds out they both will be ravaged, and there won’t be a damn thing she can do to save them.”

  Baal thought about that, looking carefully at Moloch. “And don’t you think that will bring her wrath to your doorstep?”

  Moloch shrugged. “Meh, who cares? What’s she gonna do, come back down here and do her ice queen magic? What is this, fucking Frozen on tour?”

  Baal was obviously apprehensive about taunting Lilith, but Moloch quickly changed his mind. “Go on, Baal. Be my guest. You can open the gates to both of those. It’s not often that you get to do the fun part. I’m tired anyway. You know how opening a gate takes it out of me.”

  Baal smiled and jumped up. He cracked his fingers. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  He closed his eyes and began to sway back and forth as if a symphony were playing. He brushed one arm to the right, opening a gate at the top of the hill where a castle stood. He waved his left arm, opening a larger gate in the middle of the small village of Giethoorn. Moloch chuckled as Baal danced around, his large feet shaking the ground beneath them.

  In Sintra, tall ogre-like demons poured out of the gate carrying all manner of weapons. Three of them immediately attacked the castle, bashing their spiked clubs into the stone walls. Chunks of buildings fell, and people began to run. The ogres squashed them right and left with their l
arge horned feet. One of them stomped down on the walkway, killing at least a dozen humans. He bent over and picked up a screaming woman, staring at her with his big red eyes. She screamed even louder, and he grimaced, quickly biting off the top half of her body.

  The other ogres ran down the mountain, taking boulders and trees down with them. They picked up the large stones and rolled them at the city below like bowling balls. One smashed into several houses and then proceeded through the center of the town, rolling right through a church where service was being held.

  Moloch threw his hands into the air and cheered. “Strike! Eleven more to go for a perfect game.”

  Baal was relieved to see Moloch coming out of his bad mood. He pointed at the Giethoorn window, laughing. “Look at them swim!”

  Several of the people ran from their homes, screaming as demons chased them out. They dove over the wooden bridges into the canals and began to swim as fast as they could. Little did they know that demons didn’t mind the water at all. The water boiled as though it was infested with a swarm of piranha, and soon the canals ran red. The water calmed suddenly. The only thing that came back to the surface was a dress shoe and a clump of hair.

  Terrified people ran in all directions as demons piled out of the gate. It was a grand finale to the European Tour of Horror. Beautiful towns all across the continent were just pawns in Moloch’s game. They had captured the imagination of humans everywhere, and their destruction would strike a deep blow. Their destruction would move humanity to fight back. It would draw the mercenaries from their homes. It would even bring Katie from hiding. Moloch was getting really tired of her. He hated to admit it, but he was actually afraid of her. He was ready for change, and only he could make it happen.

  By the time Moloch stepped in and called his demons back to the gates, the beautiful landscapes of Sintra and Giethoorn were covered in blood and gore. The streets were empty, and the only sounds that could be heard were the moans of the wounded and the echoing cries of the orphaned. Sirens blared, but no one came to help. The terror had been real and poignant, albeit short—exactly what Moloch and Baal had been trying to achieve.