Deicide (Hellbound Trilogy) Read online

  Deicide

  Book Three of the Hellbound Trilogy

  Tim Hawken

  First Published in Great Britain 2013

  by Rethink Press

  © Copyright Tim Hawken

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Cover Illustration by Christopher Page

  “And there was a war in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back. But he was not strong enough, and they lost their place in heaven.”

  REVELATION 12: 7-8

  part one

  Resurrection

  ONE

  SITTING IN THE WAR-ROOMS AT CASA DIABLO, my closest allies surrounded me. Could I trust them all?

  Charlotte was at my immediate right, an angel fallen from Heaven back into my arms. To my left sat my most faithful adviser and friend, Smithy, the elderly pilot who was as wise as he was kind. Mary Magdalene, Clytemnestra, Marax and the Pure Seven made up the rest of the council. Twelve in total: twelve dark apostles, seated around a food-laden table for our meeting. An ostentatious throne sat empty at the head, its red cushions cold and dusty. I refused to sit there despite some protests from the others. Rather, I sat in the middle, so I could be amidst the discussion instead of directing it. All present had proven true to our cause so far, but their number unsettled me. Memories of the Last Supper spun in my mind. Jesus’ words came back to me in a whisper: ‘One of you will betray me’. Was I to have the same fate?

  I shook my head. No; I was in charge of my own destiny. I was a creator and a destroyer alike. Asmodeus had made me in his image: his true son. I was powerful, able to control the elements that made up existence. Unlike my hated father, I was intent on creating truth and freedom in the universe. All he stood for were lies and oppression. We had to stop him.

  Our first mission was successfully complete: the barrier separating Heaven and Purgatory had been demolished. With the help of the prophet Zoroaster, we had been able to destroy one of the two filters, which separated the realms of the afterlife. Our initial goal had been to take down the wall between Purgatory and Hell, but I could not stand to bring more souls into this fiery pit of sin. We had freed the innocent souls of Purgatory and allowed them to enter Paradise against God’s wishes: against Asmodeus’ wishes.

  He is not a God. I thought to myself. He is an abomination.

  Only one more obstacle remained: we had to bring down the gates of Heaven once and for all, so the lost souls of Hell could rise up to claim their own right of equality.

  “Our only way to Heaven is to go through Earth,” Clytemnestra growled in her demonic tone. Even now, the unearthly pitch of her voice seemed askew with her femininity. Were it not for her sharp teeth and black gums, she could have passed for human. She held a piece of uncooked meat in her hands, but did not eat. Shadows roamed up and down the walls behind her, where a row of fire torches cast their light about the room.

  “We cannot ascend to Earth without bodies to be born into,” she continued. “I have asked all the shamans and necromancers I can think of. They all say the same thing: there are Hellmouths where the entry to above is possible, but without an earthly vessel to contain our ethereal souls we would just be sucked back down into the abyss.”

  “What about possession?” Marax said in his subhuman growl. “It has worked for others before.”

  “Only in rare cases,” Clytemnestra replied matter-of-factly, “and it’s too problematic. There are families, priests. We cannot hope to possess entire cities. Only weak souls who are open to total control accept possession for any length of time. We do not have that. Most would resist and we would be confined to wrestling with their spirits.”

  “Michael can make us bodies,” Charlotte said confidently, leaning forward in her seat next to me.

  I gently wrapped my clawed hands over her fingers to silence her. My body was part demon, part human: a sign of defiance against our creator. My fingers were sharp talons. My ears curved into sharp points, tinted red on the ends. My teeth were that of a wolf’s. Charlotte’s smile was the same as mine: fanged and deadly. It did not diminish her pure beauty. The change had happened when she decided to hold hate against Asmodeus in her heart, so she could come to Hell to be with me. I loved her all the more for her commitment.

  “There are too many problems with this plan.” Smithy got to his feet beside me. He let his old eyes linger on each of those present. “We can’t take millions of hellish souls to Earth and hope to somehow sweep up to Heaven. There are too many innocents there that could be harmed.”

  “Most humans on Earth are far from innocent!” Marax snapped from his seat. The hulking wrath demon had once been the head juror in the tenth circle of Hell. His vicious pursuit of blind justice often clouded his thinking.

  “But some are,” Smithy pressed, raising his voice over Marax, “it doesn’t seem right. We’re not prepared. We would be marching into battle blind. And what do we do once we are in Heaven? Just charge the gates? It’s madness!”

  “Do you have a better plan?” Clytemnestra cut Smithy off. “Since Lord Michael returned, the barrier of Hell has been fortified even further from above. There is no way we can take a direct route to Heaven. We must use Earth.”

  “There is always another way,” Smithy bristled.

  “Then what is it?” Marax joined Clytemnestra’s argument. “You do nothing but find fault in other people’s ideas.”

  “Enough!” I said finally, slapping the table with irritation. After returning to Hell, I had enjoyed a blissful few days reuniting with Charlotte. Now the sharp reality of our situation hung in the air. We were all trapped here, hoping to somehow overthrow a powerful enemy, without any idea of how, or when, it would happen. On top of that, all of the demonic souls in damnation were restless. They had heard that the wall to Purgatory had been dismantled, but the ringing reply was not one of joy. The question being shouted loud and clear in the streets was: what about us? Something had to be done quickly, or the tension in Hell might boil over to something even more sinister. It was no environment in which to be mounting an attack.

  Another problem remained. In the past, Asmodeus had infiltrated Hell in disguise. He had made himself into the Bishop John Joseph and gained our trust. How he had done it was still a mystery. The fact that he could do it again weighed heavily on my mind.

  “Smithy is right,” I said firmly. “A blind charge is not the answer. I cannot create millions of bodies for a mass resurrection to Earth anyway. Unless a soul is implanted into a womb it is impossible to fuse a soul with a new, fully grown body.”

  “But you were reborn to Earth when you went back for Gideon,” Charlotte said softly next to me.

  I looked at her, surprised. It was easy to forget that I had shown her my memories. My wife now knew me more intimately than I ever thought possible. She knew my thoughts, my desires. She even knew my greatest fears, ones I would never voice aloud. Her blue eyes shone with knowledge; they gleamed with certainty. She had been lost in Limbo for so long that I couldn’t believe she was finally at my side again. Sometimes in bed I awoke with a start, grasping to make sure she was still there. I would never let
her leave again. I would never leave her.

  Mary shuffled uncomfortably, clearing her throat. I had lost myself in Charlotte’s gaze. Reddening with embarrassment, I looked down. Mary had confessed her love to me while we were in Purgatory with Zoroaster. She was a close friend and it wasn’t fair to throw my connection with Charlotte in her face. Mary was over two thousand years old but, where most humans’ emotions grew weary with age, hers had only become stronger with time. Her deep red hair and emerald eyes made her look like a goddess of passion. In a sense she was.

  “It won’t work again,” I answered slowly. “I was reborn into my own body, not one manufactured after the fact. Asmodeus is the only one who has been able to replant his soul into a new vessel and he is fractured. His mind is not stable.”

  “But it’s possible,” Clytemnestra pushed. She placed the piece of meat she was holding into her mouth and started chewing.

  “With time,” I confirmed, “with help.”

  Clytemnestra raised a dark eyebrow, but before she could ask the question, Smithy interjected.

  “We have another issue we haven’t discussed yet.” The pilot was still standing. He moved across the table and leant over to take a pot of tea in his hands. As he poured the steaming liquid into a cup, he looked to Mary.

  “Mary, there is the question of how we get to Heaven from Earth once we manage a resurrection. We can’t just take my helicopter, that’s for certain.”

  Mary laughed at his joke, her hearty amusement easing the tension in the room.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Smithy,” she said. “And the answer is I’m not completely sure, but I do have some theories. I believe there may be a way. I’d like to do some more research first.”

  “If you believe with conviction, it will become truth,” seven voices chorused from across the table.

  I looked over to the Pure Seven. They had been sitting perfectly still until now, eerie to behold. They were like seven gothic statues, each a single color of the rainbow. Each color represented the sin that they had chosen to become completely. Lust was blue, Wrath red, Pride violet, Avarice yellow, Envy green and Sloth indigo. Even though they were individuals, they always spoke as one. They were all perfectly formed angels, with claws similar to mine. None of the angels ate, except for the orange, Gluttony. Now that it was animated, it took food from the platter in front of it and constantly shoved it into its mouth. It swallowed without chewing, gorging itself upon everything at hand without spilling a morsel. Once, the Pure Seven had been followers of Zoroaster, pledged to discover real truth in the universe. Now that Zoroaster was in the other realm, they deferred to Mary. It was curious that Asmodeus had not already driven Zoroaster out of Heaven, but the old prophet had said that unless he directly opposed him, Asmodeus could not cast him out without losing the support of the good souls there. I only hoped that he was still with our cause, gathering an under swell of support for us. I couldn’t rely on that however.

  “I think the world has had enough blind faith,” I said to the Pure Seven. “We need objective proof. I want to seek the truth as much as you, but we need to know, not just believe,” I turned back to their new master. “Mary, what do you need?”

  “To go back to my map room and consult a bible.”

  “That book contains nothing but lies!” Marax rumbled from his seat.

  “You would be surprised at the amount of truth in there if you care to look,” Mary said curtly.

  “Do what you need to do, Mary,” I said to her. “Does anyone else have anything to add?”

  Clytemnestra nodded gravely.

  “You’re already aware there is unrest brewing in the streets, Lord Michael. We must do something to stop it; otherwise there will be a riot. It doesn’t take much for demons to resort to murder and rape.”

  I bowed my head. Did they not understand that we were doing all we could? The masses weren’t stupid, but they could be ungrateful. It was also a reminder that perhaps some of the souls in Hell did deserve to be trapped here, but I had to believe they could change. I wrestled back my anger. If I was to lead these people I had to make them trust me. If I kept them in the dark we would never see the light together.

  “Very well. You and Marax take the Pure Seven and spread word that I will give an address on the Great Lawn at week’s end. First, I need to try to make a friend see reason and come to our side.”

  “Who?” Charlotte asked, sitting up straighter.

  I drew in a long breath and stood. “The Perceptionist.”

  TWO

  “I WANT TO COME WITH YOU,” Charlotte said, grabbing my arm.

  It was now just her, Smithy and I left in the war-rooms. The rest of the council had gone to spread the word of my impending public address; it would at least buy us some time. Smithy stood calmly to one side, waiting for us.

  “I know you do,” I whispered. The truth was, I felt nervous letting her out of my sight. “But I need to go alone. The Perceptionist is a fickle creature, I don’t want to upset him in any way.” Charlotte pouted, sighing her acknowledgement that she knew I was right. “Smithy will look after you while I’m gone. I trust him with my life. He can take you on a flight over the city and show you your new home from the skies.”

  “I’ve already seen it through your eyes,” she reminded me.

  “Then see it through your own,” I persuaded her. “I need you to make your own mind up about things. I need an honest opinion not clouded by my perception. Please, go with him and learn about this Hell we live in. I’ll meet you at Mary’s when I get back.”

  Smithy stepped forward on cue, his face splitting into a fatherly grin.

  “I’ll take good care of you m’lady. We can even go to the casinos and have a flutter if you want,” he winked at her cheekily.

  “No trouble,” I cautioned him. “You know how much she means to me. Just stay in the air and keep her safe.”

  “Aye, Aye, Captain.”

  I looked to the clock on the wall. It was not a normal timepiece. Instead, it was split into six sections, a single black dagger revolving slowly around to each point. The marks represented something more important in Hell than time. They showed when the next wave of The Guilt would wash through the underworld. That horrible control mechanism Asmodeus had created was still alive and torturing the souls down here. I still hadn’t been able to formulate a mass solution for it. I was safe since The Perceptionist had built a barrier of reason around my heart. I had painstakingly done the same for Charlotte, but it had taxed me. The Pure Seven saw the truth of their actions and so felt no guilt. Mary was the same. Smithy, of course, had refused, saying he deserved the shame of his sins. I wondered if he was right and I should have left us all open to it, but I could not afford to be lost into the oblivion of forced remorse, risking exposure every time the fires swept through. The clock was almost to the next mark.

  “Smithy, you’ll need to wait for a little while until you leave,” I said, indicating the time.

  He nodded in appreciation. I turned away and leant in to kiss Lotte goodbye. She kissed me and whispered in my ear.

  “I’m stronger than you think. I can look after myself.”

  “Then please look after Smithy for me, my warrior.” I hugged her tightly. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Leaving the room, I strode out into the foyer of Casa Diablo. Renaissance and romantic era artworks stared forth from the walls. It sometimes disturbed me that my taste in art was so similar to Asmodeus’. I could not bring myself to take down the pieces of genius. The medieval weapons once on display had been removed by the demon caretaker, Azazel, and replaced with statues of previously conquered gods like Zeus and Odin. Sometimes I wondered if they were all simply forms of Asmodeus, given a different name. Either way, he would one day be a part of mythic history just like these deities. The tall oak doors to the foyer sat open, giving way for me to walk down the long rows of steps to The Great Lawn. This was the scene for my original sermon, where I had reluctantly announced
my claim to the leadership of Hell. I hoped that my next speech would be as successful in galvanising the intentions of the population of this forsaken place. At the edge of the Great Lawn, a new suburb of Hell was being constructed. Half-finished concrete edifices sat like grey ghosts, waiting to be occupied. Structural steel beams protruded upward from the larger buildings, in readiness for more floors to be added. They looked like twisted metal crowns. Workers milled around every site, hammering, digging and building. Before, the Forest of the Damned had covered the mountainside, but I had released the tortured souls of suicide from their wooden prisons and cleared the dead trees to make way for development. Now, new homes were being built for them and the other damned people pouring into this domain everyday.

  Clytemnestra had dubbed the development Hope. If we could fulfil the change it represented, none of us would have to hope any longer; we could just be. At the foot of the mountain our city shone with its neon lights and blazing red streets. The suburb of Smoking Gun gleamed in the middle, its casinos symbols of the sin that had trapped everyone here. I would love nothing more than to tear them all to the ground, but I had to let people make their own choices. If I forced ideologies on people, it would only serve to make them cling to old, comforting ways. True revolution of the mind would only come from reason and debate, not violence and terror.

  Flares of color started to burst around the horizon and a roar of flames crackled to a deafening howl. I watched calmly as the firestorm of The Guilt exploded over the city. Death, smoke and horror blasted upon Hell. It may have been my imagination, but it seemed The Guilt had become more intense since we brought down the barrier of Purgatory. The chorus of tortured souls wailed into the sky, trapped in the visions of every sin they had ever committed. I closed my eyes and fixed my attention to their sorrow. This is why I was doing what I was doing. Nobody deserved this, day after day, year after year, millennium after millennium, forever. Finally, the assault passed and Hell simmered back down to its normal, yet still terrible, self. The lights of Smoking Gun shone once more.