ysabara
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Jun 24, 2007
- Messages
- 104
This is my version of the Challenge Timelord set for the Voyager writers forum this month. It was a hell of a lot of fun....
You know how it starts…..
He fell to his knees, scraping his palms on rough pavement. A gas lamp flickered erratically above his head and he reached out and wrapped his stinging hands around it, using it to pull himself to his feet. One swift glance around assured him that the Beast had not managed to follow him. At least, not yet…
Something touched him on the shoulder and Jon spun about, his hand falling to the weapon he carried in his coat pocket. His fingers closed around cold metal.
“My Lord?” A man’s voice; soft, fearful.
Jon stepped back, the pistol a reassuring weight in his hand. Regarding him with anxious dark eyes was the young man Jon had seen in the third painting. He slipped the cowl from his head revealing loose sable curls. Jon palmed the pistol and withdrew his hand from his pocket, making sure the other man could see the weapon he held. The young man swallowed nervously, extending his own hands, palm up.
“I carry no weapon, my lord.”
“What sectant is this?” Jon rasped.
“Third sectant, seventh cycle. That which you seek is here, my lord. I summoned you…”
That which you seek is here…
“You summoned me?” Jon said dubiously.
The young man nodded eagerly. “I did my lord.”
“And just who are you?”
“I am Kostya, Blood Mage of House Elydian. I am the Summoner.”
“And I am the Summoned.” Jon whispered. He drew a shaky breath and slipped the pistol back into his pocket.
“We must hurry my lord,” Kostya said urgently. “That which follows you will not be deceived for long.”
“No. Not long at all.” Jon could hear the weariness that dragged at his voice.
“I have a carriage.” Kostya pointed. A hansom cab, pulled by two nondescript brown nags was drawn up across the street. The driver, a bulky figure wrapped in a multitude of brightly coloured scarves turned his head and Jon caught the gleam of yellow eyes and white teeth. As they approached the carriage the driver sprang down and hauled the door open. Jon fingered his pistol again as the driver’s teeth flashed in a sharp grin and he bowed his head.
“My lord.” His voice was a hoarse rasp.
“To St Sepulchre’s, Carlos,” said Kostya as he clambered into the carriage. Jon followed, sinking back against the leather squabs with a sigh. He was so goddamned tired…
The carriage lurched into motion. Two small carriage lanterns lit the interior, providing light enough for Jon to study his companion. Pretty, he thought idly. Very pretty and very young. Kostya smiled at him brightly; the air of excitement he was exuding was almost palpable.
“This your first summons?” Jon asked brusquely.
Kostya nodded.
“Jesus. Wasn’t there anyone with more experience available?”
The young man blushed, and then paled. “I’m sorry, my lord. The Ravage took the last master. There was no one else.”
“Jesus,” Jon muttered again. Kostya bit his lips and stared at his clasped hands. A headache was beginning to pound behind Jon’s eyes. It’ll be okay. The boy has to have some power. He managed to summon you, didn’t he?
The carriage lurched to a stop and the door was pulled open by the yellow eyed driver. As Jon dismounted he caught a glimpse of fangs. A minor demon then. He had suspected as much. The demon bowed, yellow eyes gleaming. They had halted before a set of heavy iron gates and Kostya reached inside his robe and withdrew a brass key that hung from a chain about his neck. The gates creaked open on rusty hinges and Jon winced as the sound sliced through his aching head.
The church of St Sepulchre was little more than a ruin. Fire had swept through it at some stage and although the shell of the building remained, the roof was gone. Jon followed Kostya across a courtyard of shattered stone and up the cracked stairs.
“I have performed all the required rites, my lord,” Kostya said, looking back over his shoulder at Jon. “I have summoned and bound the Dark Angel.”
“Oh?” Jon cleared his throat. “That’s…ah…that’s good.”
Kostya gave him an uncertain smile.
“Where is he? The Dark Angel?”
“At the end of the nave, my lord. Where the altar used to stand.” Kostya pointed towards the far end of the church. Jon squinted, unable to make anything out in the gloom. Kostya muttered a few words and a witch light flickered into existence and hovered over their heads. Jon let him lead the way down the aisle.
There was a pentagram traced around the fallen altar in red chalk. In the centre of the pentagram, a man was sitting on the steps that lay before the altar, a bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand and a lighted cheroot in the other. As Jon and Kostya approached he took a deep drag from his cheroot and exhaled the smoke in a series of rings. He lifted his head and gazed at Kostya with heavy lidded obsidian eyes as the mage came to a halt at the edge of the pentagram. His eyes slid to Jon and a lazy smile creased his mouth.
“Jonny. What kept you?”
“Oh the usual,” Jon replied. “Things to do, places to go. People to kill.”
The man grinned and tossed his cheroot out of the pentagram. Kostya gasped, his eyes tracking the lighted tip as it sailed through the air and landed on the floor.
“How? You…How? That binding was cast in blood. Nothing can break it unless by my will.”
The man took a swig from his bottle. “You don’t say?”
He stepped to the edge of the pentagram and Kostya stepped back with a whimper of fear. The man scuffed his leather boot along the inner edge of the pentagram. He grinned and then stepped over the chalk lines. Kostya stumbled backwards, tripping over the edge of his robe and landing on his backside on the floor.
Placing his bottle on the floor, the man reached down a hand and hauled the frightened mage to his feet. “Blood’s not enough to bind me. What text were you using? Arnalio’s Demonica Invictus, I suppose?”
Kosyta nodded warily.
The man gave a derisive snort. “That ******* wouldn’t know a demon if it bit him on the bum. Semen, that’s the trick. You would have done better jerking off kid.”
“Luce,” Jon said. “Don’t be a prick.”
Lucifer, the Dark Angel, the Star of the Morning, flashed him a grin and shrugged. “I can’t help myself, you know that Jonny. It comes naturally.” He moved past the gaping Kostya to stand before Jon. “God, Jonny. You look like ****.”
“You don’t look so hot yourself Luce.” Lucifer’s pale skin was marked with livid bruises from temple to jaw and the fine lawn shirt he wore was torn and dirty. There was blood on his sleeve. He shrugged, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he looked infinitely older and endlessly weary.
“Jonny,” he whispered. “Asmodel is gone.”
Jon felt the words like a blow. Another of the Fallen fallen, and their goal seemingly no closer to being obtained.
“The Beast?” he asked hoarsely and Lucifer nodded.
“Rahalion. Who else?”
Rahalion, The Guardian of Heaven’s gate. The angel of the thousand eyes. The traitor Gabriel’s hound of doom. The Beast that was hunting them down, all the Fallen who had been cast out of Heaven on the strength of Gabriel’s lies. Gentle Asmodel with his shy smile…
Jon held out his arms and Lucifer stepped into his embrace, dropping his head against Jon’s shoulder. Jon felt him shudder and wrapped his arms around him tightly.
“I’m so ******* tired,” Lucifer whispered.
“I know. I know.” Jon stroked Lucifer’s dark head. He felt him sigh, his breath warm against his neck, then he pulled away. He pushed his long black hair off his face and gave Jon a wry smile.
“Yeah, well. **** happens.”
“Luce.”
“Don’t Jonny. Don’t say anything.” Lucifer picked up the bottle of Wild Turkey and swallowed the last few inches in one hit. He turned his black eyes on Kostya who was staring at them in bewilderment.
“So kid. What’s the deal with this summons?”
Kostya’s mouth worked soundlessly.
“Kostya,” said Jon gently. “You said that which I seek is here?”
Kostya nodded. “Yes my lord. It is foretold in the third stanza of the Arhk of the Trinity that the Holy Relic of Solomon, delivered into the hands of the Heart of Heaven will destroy the darkness that rides at the right hand of God.”
“Rahab es Anan,” Jon heard Lucifer whisper. The Heart of Heaven.
“No,” Jon ground out. “Not anymore. I will not reclaim that name until I stand before the last gate of heaven with Gabriel’s blood on my hands.”
“Knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door,” hummed Lucifer. He flashed a bleak smile at Jon before turning to Kostya. “What’s it say in that Arhk thing of yours about me?”
The mage swallowed nervously. “You are the Dark Star. The whisperer in the night. The seducer of men…”
“I wish,” muttered Lucifer.
“…the one who led the Fallen into darkness.”
“Jeezus! That old furphy again. Why do I always get the bad press?”
Jon grinned. Kostya looked confused.
“Well, go on,” urged Lucifer. “Don’t stop there.”
“You are the Great Deceiver, the Master of Lies. But by the power you command shall the Heart of Heaven subjugate the forces of darkness.”
“Subjugation? That sounds like fun.”
“Through you shall the Heart of Heaven achieve the redemption of Paradise.”
“Redemption? Nah, that sounds boring.”
Kostya blinked.
“You finished kid?” asked Lucifer. Kostya nodded.
“Well, that was a nice little story. Shall I show you the truth?”
“Luce.”
Lucifer smiled and uttered a word. The word, in the tongue of the Angels, scorched through Jon, igniting his bones to liquid fire. Kostya cried out and fell to his knees, shielding his eyes from the glory that was Lucifer. The Angel stood before them, great black wings sweeping the walls of St Sepulchre’s and rising up above the ruined ceiling. Black stars were reflected in his eyes and when he spoke his voice carried lightning and the clarion sound of myriad bells.
“Know this for truth…”
Jon glanced at Kostya as the last echoes of Lucifer’s voice died away. The mage was weeping, but the look he gave Lucifer was one of blind adoration. The Angel spoke another word and there was only a slender dark haired man standing before them, a scruff of black beard framing his thin, tired face.
“Right,” said Lucifer. “Let’s get on with it, shall we.”
Kostya scrambled to his feet, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “The relic is housed at St Semion’s, the Cathedral of Eternal Light. We can travel there through the catacombs.” He pointed behind the altar. “The entrance is beneath that stone.”
“****ing fabulous,” said Lucifer.
As they slid back the stone covering the entrance to the catacombs, he turned to Jon and said nonchalantly, “By the way, Jonny. I have something of yours.” He breathed a word and the air before him shimmered. With another word he reached out and grasped the sword that had materialised.
“Behold, the Nightbringer. Behold Espiratorix.” Lucifer bowed , his dark eyes shining.
Jon’s heart pounded in his throat as he took the weapon. As soon as he touched it the blade flared crimson, lighting up the interior of the church with a lurid red glow. Espiratorix. The sword throbbed against his palms.
“You did it,” he breathed.
“The price was Asmodel’s life…”
Tears stung Jon’s eyes and he blinked them back furiously. He didn’t cry. He never cried…
“Gabriel’s doom,” said Lucifer with a hard smile.
Jon nodded and closed his eyes. The sword’s light pressed against his eyelids. Then, with a brief prayer, he uttered a word and the light died. He opened his eyes again. The sword vanished from sight although he could still feel its presence; beloved, familiar.
Kostya stood at the entrance to the catacombs, his face wearing an expression that was both anxious and awed. “My lords?”
Lucifer looked at Jon. “Climbing the stairway to heaven?” he said.
Jon gave a despairing laugh. “One ******* step at a time.” He followed Lucifer and Kostya down the stairs, the mage’s witchlight doing little to dispel the oppressive darkness. A dank, foetid odour arose from below and the air was chill. A long stone corridor stretched into the dark. Stone shelves full of bones ran along the sides. The bones gleamed pallidly beneath Kostya’s witchlight.
“Charming ambience, isn’t it?” Lucifer drawled.
“How far to St Semions’s?” asked Jon.
“A league, maybe more. It will be guarded, my lords. There will be wards and hexes…”
“I guess we can assume that they know what they’re doing?” said Lucifer.
Kostya flushed. “Unlike myself, you mean?”
“Well kid, you haven’t displayed a working knowledge of demonology so far.”
Kostya’s flush deepened.
“Luce,” said Jon.
“Don’t be a prick. I know.” He flashed Kostya a smile and shrugged. “Can’t help myself. Sorry.”
As they draw nearer to the cathedral they could feel the power of the spells that warded it. The wards crawled under Jon’s skin, stroking his bones with sharp talons. He manifested Espiratorix and the sword pulsed, bathing them in a wash of red light. The stones surrounding them groaned and shifted. Dust sifted down from the ceiling and Lucifer sneezed.
“Okay kid. Time to do your stuff.”
Kostya stepped forward and stood before the iron bound oak door that led into the cathedral. He pushed back the sleeves of his robe, revealing a tracery of red and black tattoos running over his forearms. Placing his hands against the wood of the door he began to chant. Espiratorix pulsed in time to Jon’s heartbeat. The iron bands on the door began to glow cherry red with heat and the wood began to smoke. Kostya’s voice rose to a shout and he reeled back into Lucifer’s arms as the door disintegrated into a pile of ash and glowing metal.
Holding Espiratorix before him, Jon advanced into the cathedral, Lucifer at his shoulder and the mage, Kostya just behind him. At once he felt the spells that had been woven into the stones beat down upon him like a lunatic sun.
“Efini tal meseta,” Lucifer murmured and some of the pressure eased.
Jon took a quick glance around. There was an ornate altar at one end of the transept and it was there that Kostya pointed.
“The Relic is there, my lords.”
There was an angel standing in front of the altar, leaning upon a golden sword and regarding them from eyes the colour of moonlight.
“****ing fabulous,” muttered Lucifer.
The angel straightened up and gave them a wide, cold smile. “Jonny. And Luce. Long time no see.”
“Micah,” said Jon, gripping Espiratorix tightly and swinging it in a shallow arc around his head. The angel’s eyes tracked its movement.
“I see you’ve found your toothpick Jonny.”
Jon let the sword come to rest in front of him. Micah’s eyes narrowed.
“It won’t do you any good, Jonny.”
Jon just smiled. Lucifer stepped around him and leaned against a wooden pew staring at Micah without expression. The other angel tossed his long silver hair from his eyes and sneered.
“How’s it going Luce? And how’s that little friend of yours, Asmodel? I haven’t seen him around much lately.”
The wooden pew cracked and splintered. Lucifer took one step forward and Micah one step back.
“Hold! In the Lord’s name I command you.”
A priest, wearing a black cassock and holding an ornate silver cross in front of him appeared behind Micah. Hexes and charms hung all about him. Jon’s feet were frozen to the floor and he could see from the set of Lucifer’s jaw that he was in the same predicament. The priest curled his lips and spat on the ground before Jon.
“Hell spawn. The power of God commands you.”
Jon closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. When he exhaled every candle in the cathedral blew out. Only Kostya’s witchlight and the red glow of Espiratorix provided any illumination. The priest shrieked and brandished his cross before him.
“The power of God commands you.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” drawled Lucifer advancing upon Micah.
The cathedral shuddered and in the distance came the baying of hounds. Micah’s face lit with triumph.
“Rahalion comes.”
“Oh ****,” breathed Lucifer.
The cathedral shook again and one long sustained howl rent the air, like the toll from a cracked bell.
“What you gonna do now, Jonny boy?” taunted Micah.
The mage Kostya moved forward, his face intent. He was chanting something under his breath; Jon could see the words as they emerged from his mouth. They hung in the air in front of Kostya’s face. Jon felt his own face pale. Lucifer grabbed the young mage’s arm and shook him.
“What are you doing kid?”
“I’m buying you another step on the stairway to heaven, my lord.”
“Don’t do this,” Lucifer urged, his voice low.
Kostya smiled and began to chant again.
“You condemn your soul to eternal damnation,” shrieked the priest, backing away from them. The angel, Micah, was also moving, stepping away from the altar with a look of fear on his face.
Kostya looked at Jon. “Go,” he hissed and Jon nodded.
“Come on Luce.”
They pushed past the mage and moved up the steps to the altar. Kostya raised his hands. The tattoos on his arms writhed across his skin and the words he spoke hung before him like a black curtain. He brought his hands together with a clap that echoed throughout the church like thunder. With an unearthly scream the priest pitched face down on the floor, blood pouring from his nose, his mouth, and his ears. Micah dropped to his knees.
Kostya opened his mouth and swallowed his words back down again. His body arched and his arms flailed wildly. Both he and Micah screamed together, the angel’s body bending backwards until his head touched the floor.
The back wall of the cathedral blew open and the Beast, Rahalion, strode down the aisle. The angel had the body of a man but atop its neck sat the skull of a dog. The long, bony snout, opened and closed displaying rows of sharp white teeth. Shadows lurked within the hollowed out eye sockets. Rising up from its back were wings covered in hundreds of blue eyes. The eyes watched them, the expression in all of them one of inimical hatred. Rahalion spread those wings and roared. It began to pace towards them. Kostya screamed again, echoed by Micah and Rahalion came to a dead stop. It tipped its head and shrieked, pressing against some invisible barrier that it was unable to penetrate.
“Hurry,” moaned Kostya from between clenched teeth. “I can’t do this for much longer.”
Jon turned away, casting his eyes around the altar. His eyes wandered over the painting that hung on the wall behind them, recognising it as one of the pictures he had seen in the cellar. At the foot of the painting sat a bundle of what appeared to be old rags. Lucifer bent down and picked them up. His eyes widened and a look of amusement crossed his face.
“Oh my,” he grinned. “Here’s your Relic, Jonny boy.” He shoved the bundle into Jon’s arms. Jon juggled the bundle and his sword for a moment before disappearing Espiratorix and clutching the rags to his chest. He could feel the power that emanated from them, soaking through his skin like warm water. The Holy Relic of Solomon gave an unholy shriek and Jon started, pulling back the rags to reveal a pair of blue eyes in a face contorted with infant rage.
“Holy ****,” he muttered.
“Exactly,” said Lucifer.
At that moment Rahalion gave another piercing cry. Jon’s head whipped around to see Kostya’s despairing eyes trained on his.
“I can’t…My Lord forgive me.” The mage closed his eyes and with one last wild cry collapsed. Lines of fire ran across his skin and his flesh blackened and burned. Micah echoed his cry, his body convulsing as his flesh charred. Rahalion began to stride towards them.
“Jonny. Go. I’ll hold him back.”
Jon shook his head. “Luce, no. We’ll go together.”
“There’s no time.” Lucifer pushed Jon towards the painting. Jon placed his hand on the frame and looked at Lucifer. His throat felt tight. He let his eyes say what his voice had never been able to and saw the colour fade from Lucifer’s face and then rush back.
Lucifer reached out and touched Jon’s cheek. “Damn you Jonny,” he said in a choked whisper.
“Too late. I’m already damned, remember?” Jon drew Lucifer against him in a fierce hug then released him. He tightened his grip about the Relic and stepped towards the painting. As he did so, Rahalion sprang and Jon’s last sight was of Lucifer, the Star of the Morning, throwing himself upon the Beast and knocking it sideways. He thought he heard Lucifer’s voice as the darkness rose up about him.
“I’ll find you Jonny. I’ll find you.”
Jon swallowed hard. One ******* step at a time, he reminded himself.
Tumbling into the next landscape, Jon found himself flat on his backside. He had done it. Given that the Beast would be close on his tail, he held the Holy Relic of Solomon clasped firmly in his arms. He looked down and gently lifted a wrap from the corner of the baby’s swaddling….
You know how it starts…..
He fell to his knees, scraping his palms on rough pavement. A gas lamp flickered erratically above his head and he reached out and wrapped his stinging hands around it, using it to pull himself to his feet. One swift glance around assured him that the Beast had not managed to follow him. At least, not yet…
Something touched him on the shoulder and Jon spun about, his hand falling to the weapon he carried in his coat pocket. His fingers closed around cold metal.
“My Lord?” A man’s voice; soft, fearful.
Jon stepped back, the pistol a reassuring weight in his hand. Regarding him with anxious dark eyes was the young man Jon had seen in the third painting. He slipped the cowl from his head revealing loose sable curls. Jon palmed the pistol and withdrew his hand from his pocket, making sure the other man could see the weapon he held. The young man swallowed nervously, extending his own hands, palm up.
“I carry no weapon, my lord.”
“What sectant is this?” Jon rasped.
“Third sectant, seventh cycle. That which you seek is here, my lord. I summoned you…”
That which you seek is here…
“You summoned me?” Jon said dubiously.
The young man nodded eagerly. “I did my lord.”
“And just who are you?”
“I am Kostya, Blood Mage of House Elydian. I am the Summoner.”
“And I am the Summoned.” Jon whispered. He drew a shaky breath and slipped the pistol back into his pocket.
“We must hurry my lord,” Kostya said urgently. “That which follows you will not be deceived for long.”
“No. Not long at all.” Jon could hear the weariness that dragged at his voice.
“I have a carriage.” Kostya pointed. A hansom cab, pulled by two nondescript brown nags was drawn up across the street. The driver, a bulky figure wrapped in a multitude of brightly coloured scarves turned his head and Jon caught the gleam of yellow eyes and white teeth. As they approached the carriage the driver sprang down and hauled the door open. Jon fingered his pistol again as the driver’s teeth flashed in a sharp grin and he bowed his head.
“My lord.” His voice was a hoarse rasp.
“To St Sepulchre’s, Carlos,” said Kostya as he clambered into the carriage. Jon followed, sinking back against the leather squabs with a sigh. He was so goddamned tired…
The carriage lurched into motion. Two small carriage lanterns lit the interior, providing light enough for Jon to study his companion. Pretty, he thought idly. Very pretty and very young. Kostya smiled at him brightly; the air of excitement he was exuding was almost palpable.
“This your first summons?” Jon asked brusquely.
Kostya nodded.
“Jesus. Wasn’t there anyone with more experience available?”
The young man blushed, and then paled. “I’m sorry, my lord. The Ravage took the last master. There was no one else.”
“Jesus,” Jon muttered again. Kostya bit his lips and stared at his clasped hands. A headache was beginning to pound behind Jon’s eyes. It’ll be okay. The boy has to have some power. He managed to summon you, didn’t he?
The carriage lurched to a stop and the door was pulled open by the yellow eyed driver. As Jon dismounted he caught a glimpse of fangs. A minor demon then. He had suspected as much. The demon bowed, yellow eyes gleaming. They had halted before a set of heavy iron gates and Kostya reached inside his robe and withdrew a brass key that hung from a chain about his neck. The gates creaked open on rusty hinges and Jon winced as the sound sliced through his aching head.
The church of St Sepulchre was little more than a ruin. Fire had swept through it at some stage and although the shell of the building remained, the roof was gone. Jon followed Kostya across a courtyard of shattered stone and up the cracked stairs.
“I have performed all the required rites, my lord,” Kostya said, looking back over his shoulder at Jon. “I have summoned and bound the Dark Angel.”
“Oh?” Jon cleared his throat. “That’s…ah…that’s good.”
Kostya gave him an uncertain smile.
“Where is he? The Dark Angel?”
“At the end of the nave, my lord. Where the altar used to stand.” Kostya pointed towards the far end of the church. Jon squinted, unable to make anything out in the gloom. Kostya muttered a few words and a witch light flickered into existence and hovered over their heads. Jon let him lead the way down the aisle.
There was a pentagram traced around the fallen altar in red chalk. In the centre of the pentagram, a man was sitting on the steps that lay before the altar, a bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand and a lighted cheroot in the other. As Jon and Kostya approached he took a deep drag from his cheroot and exhaled the smoke in a series of rings. He lifted his head and gazed at Kostya with heavy lidded obsidian eyes as the mage came to a halt at the edge of the pentagram. His eyes slid to Jon and a lazy smile creased his mouth.
“Jonny. What kept you?”
“Oh the usual,” Jon replied. “Things to do, places to go. People to kill.”
The man grinned and tossed his cheroot out of the pentagram. Kostya gasped, his eyes tracking the lighted tip as it sailed through the air and landed on the floor.
“How? You…How? That binding was cast in blood. Nothing can break it unless by my will.”
The man took a swig from his bottle. “You don’t say?”
He stepped to the edge of the pentagram and Kostya stepped back with a whimper of fear. The man scuffed his leather boot along the inner edge of the pentagram. He grinned and then stepped over the chalk lines. Kostya stumbled backwards, tripping over the edge of his robe and landing on his backside on the floor.
Placing his bottle on the floor, the man reached down a hand and hauled the frightened mage to his feet. “Blood’s not enough to bind me. What text were you using? Arnalio’s Demonica Invictus, I suppose?”
Kosyta nodded warily.
The man gave a derisive snort. “That ******* wouldn’t know a demon if it bit him on the bum. Semen, that’s the trick. You would have done better jerking off kid.”
“Luce,” Jon said. “Don’t be a prick.”
Lucifer, the Dark Angel, the Star of the Morning, flashed him a grin and shrugged. “I can’t help myself, you know that Jonny. It comes naturally.” He moved past the gaping Kostya to stand before Jon. “God, Jonny. You look like ****.”
“You don’t look so hot yourself Luce.” Lucifer’s pale skin was marked with livid bruises from temple to jaw and the fine lawn shirt he wore was torn and dirty. There was blood on his sleeve. He shrugged, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he looked infinitely older and endlessly weary.
“Jonny,” he whispered. “Asmodel is gone.”
Jon felt the words like a blow. Another of the Fallen fallen, and their goal seemingly no closer to being obtained.
“The Beast?” he asked hoarsely and Lucifer nodded.
“Rahalion. Who else?”
Rahalion, The Guardian of Heaven’s gate. The angel of the thousand eyes. The traitor Gabriel’s hound of doom. The Beast that was hunting them down, all the Fallen who had been cast out of Heaven on the strength of Gabriel’s lies. Gentle Asmodel with his shy smile…
Jon held out his arms and Lucifer stepped into his embrace, dropping his head against Jon’s shoulder. Jon felt him shudder and wrapped his arms around him tightly.
“I’m so ******* tired,” Lucifer whispered.
“I know. I know.” Jon stroked Lucifer’s dark head. He felt him sigh, his breath warm against his neck, then he pulled away. He pushed his long black hair off his face and gave Jon a wry smile.
“Yeah, well. **** happens.”
“Luce.”
“Don’t Jonny. Don’t say anything.” Lucifer picked up the bottle of Wild Turkey and swallowed the last few inches in one hit. He turned his black eyes on Kostya who was staring at them in bewilderment.
“So kid. What’s the deal with this summons?”
Kostya’s mouth worked soundlessly.
“Kostya,” said Jon gently. “You said that which I seek is here?”
Kostya nodded. “Yes my lord. It is foretold in the third stanza of the Arhk of the Trinity that the Holy Relic of Solomon, delivered into the hands of the Heart of Heaven will destroy the darkness that rides at the right hand of God.”
“Rahab es Anan,” Jon heard Lucifer whisper. The Heart of Heaven.
“No,” Jon ground out. “Not anymore. I will not reclaim that name until I stand before the last gate of heaven with Gabriel’s blood on my hands.”
“Knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door,” hummed Lucifer. He flashed a bleak smile at Jon before turning to Kostya. “What’s it say in that Arhk thing of yours about me?”
The mage swallowed nervously. “You are the Dark Star. The whisperer in the night. The seducer of men…”
“I wish,” muttered Lucifer.
“…the one who led the Fallen into darkness.”
“Jeezus! That old furphy again. Why do I always get the bad press?”
Jon grinned. Kostya looked confused.
“Well, go on,” urged Lucifer. “Don’t stop there.”
“You are the Great Deceiver, the Master of Lies. But by the power you command shall the Heart of Heaven subjugate the forces of darkness.”
“Subjugation? That sounds like fun.”
“Through you shall the Heart of Heaven achieve the redemption of Paradise.”
“Redemption? Nah, that sounds boring.”
Kostya blinked.
“You finished kid?” asked Lucifer. Kostya nodded.
“Well, that was a nice little story. Shall I show you the truth?”
“Luce.”
Lucifer smiled and uttered a word. The word, in the tongue of the Angels, scorched through Jon, igniting his bones to liquid fire. Kostya cried out and fell to his knees, shielding his eyes from the glory that was Lucifer. The Angel stood before them, great black wings sweeping the walls of St Sepulchre’s and rising up above the ruined ceiling. Black stars were reflected in his eyes and when he spoke his voice carried lightning and the clarion sound of myriad bells.
“Know this for truth…”
Jon glanced at Kostya as the last echoes of Lucifer’s voice died away. The mage was weeping, but the look he gave Lucifer was one of blind adoration. The Angel spoke another word and there was only a slender dark haired man standing before them, a scruff of black beard framing his thin, tired face.
“Right,” said Lucifer. “Let’s get on with it, shall we.”
Kostya scrambled to his feet, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “The relic is housed at St Semion’s, the Cathedral of Eternal Light. We can travel there through the catacombs.” He pointed behind the altar. “The entrance is beneath that stone.”
“****ing fabulous,” said Lucifer.
As they slid back the stone covering the entrance to the catacombs, he turned to Jon and said nonchalantly, “By the way, Jonny. I have something of yours.” He breathed a word and the air before him shimmered. With another word he reached out and grasped the sword that had materialised.
“Behold, the Nightbringer. Behold Espiratorix.” Lucifer bowed , his dark eyes shining.
Jon’s heart pounded in his throat as he took the weapon. As soon as he touched it the blade flared crimson, lighting up the interior of the church with a lurid red glow. Espiratorix. The sword throbbed against his palms.
“You did it,” he breathed.
“The price was Asmodel’s life…”
Tears stung Jon’s eyes and he blinked them back furiously. He didn’t cry. He never cried…
“Gabriel’s doom,” said Lucifer with a hard smile.
Jon nodded and closed his eyes. The sword’s light pressed against his eyelids. Then, with a brief prayer, he uttered a word and the light died. He opened his eyes again. The sword vanished from sight although he could still feel its presence; beloved, familiar.
Kostya stood at the entrance to the catacombs, his face wearing an expression that was both anxious and awed. “My lords?”
Lucifer looked at Jon. “Climbing the stairway to heaven?” he said.
Jon gave a despairing laugh. “One ******* step at a time.” He followed Lucifer and Kostya down the stairs, the mage’s witchlight doing little to dispel the oppressive darkness. A dank, foetid odour arose from below and the air was chill. A long stone corridor stretched into the dark. Stone shelves full of bones ran along the sides. The bones gleamed pallidly beneath Kostya’s witchlight.
“Charming ambience, isn’t it?” Lucifer drawled.
“How far to St Semions’s?” asked Jon.
“A league, maybe more. It will be guarded, my lords. There will be wards and hexes…”
“I guess we can assume that they know what they’re doing?” said Lucifer.
Kostya flushed. “Unlike myself, you mean?”
“Well kid, you haven’t displayed a working knowledge of demonology so far.”
Kostya’s flush deepened.
“Luce,” said Jon.
“Don’t be a prick. I know.” He flashed Kostya a smile and shrugged. “Can’t help myself. Sorry.”
As they draw nearer to the cathedral they could feel the power of the spells that warded it. The wards crawled under Jon’s skin, stroking his bones with sharp talons. He manifested Espiratorix and the sword pulsed, bathing them in a wash of red light. The stones surrounding them groaned and shifted. Dust sifted down from the ceiling and Lucifer sneezed.
“Okay kid. Time to do your stuff.”
Kostya stepped forward and stood before the iron bound oak door that led into the cathedral. He pushed back the sleeves of his robe, revealing a tracery of red and black tattoos running over his forearms. Placing his hands against the wood of the door he began to chant. Espiratorix pulsed in time to Jon’s heartbeat. The iron bands on the door began to glow cherry red with heat and the wood began to smoke. Kostya’s voice rose to a shout and he reeled back into Lucifer’s arms as the door disintegrated into a pile of ash and glowing metal.
Holding Espiratorix before him, Jon advanced into the cathedral, Lucifer at his shoulder and the mage, Kostya just behind him. At once he felt the spells that had been woven into the stones beat down upon him like a lunatic sun.
“Efini tal meseta,” Lucifer murmured and some of the pressure eased.
Jon took a quick glance around. There was an ornate altar at one end of the transept and it was there that Kostya pointed.
“The Relic is there, my lords.”
There was an angel standing in front of the altar, leaning upon a golden sword and regarding them from eyes the colour of moonlight.
“****ing fabulous,” muttered Lucifer.
The angel straightened up and gave them a wide, cold smile. “Jonny. And Luce. Long time no see.”
“Micah,” said Jon, gripping Espiratorix tightly and swinging it in a shallow arc around his head. The angel’s eyes tracked its movement.
“I see you’ve found your toothpick Jonny.”
Jon let the sword come to rest in front of him. Micah’s eyes narrowed.
“It won’t do you any good, Jonny.”
Jon just smiled. Lucifer stepped around him and leaned against a wooden pew staring at Micah without expression. The other angel tossed his long silver hair from his eyes and sneered.
“How’s it going Luce? And how’s that little friend of yours, Asmodel? I haven’t seen him around much lately.”
The wooden pew cracked and splintered. Lucifer took one step forward and Micah one step back.
“Hold! In the Lord’s name I command you.”
A priest, wearing a black cassock and holding an ornate silver cross in front of him appeared behind Micah. Hexes and charms hung all about him. Jon’s feet were frozen to the floor and he could see from the set of Lucifer’s jaw that he was in the same predicament. The priest curled his lips and spat on the ground before Jon.
“Hell spawn. The power of God commands you.”
Jon closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. When he exhaled every candle in the cathedral blew out. Only Kostya’s witchlight and the red glow of Espiratorix provided any illumination. The priest shrieked and brandished his cross before him.
“The power of God commands you.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” drawled Lucifer advancing upon Micah.
The cathedral shuddered and in the distance came the baying of hounds. Micah’s face lit with triumph.
“Rahalion comes.”
“Oh ****,” breathed Lucifer.
The cathedral shook again and one long sustained howl rent the air, like the toll from a cracked bell.
“What you gonna do now, Jonny boy?” taunted Micah.
The mage Kostya moved forward, his face intent. He was chanting something under his breath; Jon could see the words as they emerged from his mouth. They hung in the air in front of Kostya’s face. Jon felt his own face pale. Lucifer grabbed the young mage’s arm and shook him.
“What are you doing kid?”
“I’m buying you another step on the stairway to heaven, my lord.”
“Don’t do this,” Lucifer urged, his voice low.
Kostya smiled and began to chant again.
“You condemn your soul to eternal damnation,” shrieked the priest, backing away from them. The angel, Micah, was also moving, stepping away from the altar with a look of fear on his face.
Kostya looked at Jon. “Go,” he hissed and Jon nodded.
“Come on Luce.”
They pushed past the mage and moved up the steps to the altar. Kostya raised his hands. The tattoos on his arms writhed across his skin and the words he spoke hung before him like a black curtain. He brought his hands together with a clap that echoed throughout the church like thunder. With an unearthly scream the priest pitched face down on the floor, blood pouring from his nose, his mouth, and his ears. Micah dropped to his knees.
Kostya opened his mouth and swallowed his words back down again. His body arched and his arms flailed wildly. Both he and Micah screamed together, the angel’s body bending backwards until his head touched the floor.
The back wall of the cathedral blew open and the Beast, Rahalion, strode down the aisle. The angel had the body of a man but atop its neck sat the skull of a dog. The long, bony snout, opened and closed displaying rows of sharp white teeth. Shadows lurked within the hollowed out eye sockets. Rising up from its back were wings covered in hundreds of blue eyes. The eyes watched them, the expression in all of them one of inimical hatred. Rahalion spread those wings and roared. It began to pace towards them. Kostya screamed again, echoed by Micah and Rahalion came to a dead stop. It tipped its head and shrieked, pressing against some invisible barrier that it was unable to penetrate.
“Hurry,” moaned Kostya from between clenched teeth. “I can’t do this for much longer.”
Jon turned away, casting his eyes around the altar. His eyes wandered over the painting that hung on the wall behind them, recognising it as one of the pictures he had seen in the cellar. At the foot of the painting sat a bundle of what appeared to be old rags. Lucifer bent down and picked them up. His eyes widened and a look of amusement crossed his face.
“Oh my,” he grinned. “Here’s your Relic, Jonny boy.” He shoved the bundle into Jon’s arms. Jon juggled the bundle and his sword for a moment before disappearing Espiratorix and clutching the rags to his chest. He could feel the power that emanated from them, soaking through his skin like warm water. The Holy Relic of Solomon gave an unholy shriek and Jon started, pulling back the rags to reveal a pair of blue eyes in a face contorted with infant rage.
“Holy ****,” he muttered.
“Exactly,” said Lucifer.
At that moment Rahalion gave another piercing cry. Jon’s head whipped around to see Kostya’s despairing eyes trained on his.
“I can’t…My Lord forgive me.” The mage closed his eyes and with one last wild cry collapsed. Lines of fire ran across his skin and his flesh blackened and burned. Micah echoed his cry, his body convulsing as his flesh charred. Rahalion began to stride towards them.
“Jonny. Go. I’ll hold him back.”
Jon shook his head. “Luce, no. We’ll go together.”
“There’s no time.” Lucifer pushed Jon towards the painting. Jon placed his hand on the frame and looked at Lucifer. His throat felt tight. He let his eyes say what his voice had never been able to and saw the colour fade from Lucifer’s face and then rush back.
Lucifer reached out and touched Jon’s cheek. “Damn you Jonny,” he said in a choked whisper.
“Too late. I’m already damned, remember?” Jon drew Lucifer against him in a fierce hug then released him. He tightened his grip about the Relic and stepped towards the painting. As he did so, Rahalion sprang and Jon’s last sight was of Lucifer, the Star of the Morning, throwing himself upon the Beast and knocking it sideways. He thought he heard Lucifer’s voice as the darkness rose up about him.
“I’ll find you Jonny. I’ll find you.”
Jon swallowed hard. One ******* step at a time, he reminded himself.
Tumbling into the next landscape, Jon found himself flat on his backside. He had done it. Given that the Beast would be close on his tail, he held the Holy Relic of Solomon clasped firmly in his arms. He looked down and gently lifted a wrap from the corner of the baby’s swaddling….
