Deicide (Hellbound Trilogy) Page 4

  I thought of my own obsession: to kill our creator; to produce peace and equality. I knew it was possible. A question which had been bothering me came to the surface of my mind.

  “What was that dark matter you used against me? Could I harness it to destroy God?”

  EIGHT

  “NO.” THE ANSWER CAME FLATLY AND DIRECTLY.

  Annoyance prickled my skin.

  “Do you not think I’m capable enough to wield it?” I asked.

  The Perceptionist shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I say no because you cannot harness it to destroy Asmodeus. The reasons are two-fold.”

  I furrowed my brow. I was certain those mysterious non-elements were the key to killing my father. However, The Perceptionist could not be lying.

  “I can see you already understand that this dark matter is what might be called anti-matter by scientific minds,” he whispered.

  I nodded my head slightly to show that I did.

  “So you will know, then, that it cannot exist outside of The Void. You saw how it was dissolved by the elements you threw at it.”

  “It was not the only thing that dissolved,” I corrected. “They destroyed each other.”

  “Exactly. It is a simple mathematical equation: negative one, plus one, equals zero. Therefore, a negative element cannot exist inside a universe that is substantive. As soon as anti-matter touches existence, both cancel each other out and return to being nothing.”

  Sweeping a blank space before him, The Perceptionist began to make a new model to illustrate his point. It was a mini replica of the known universe, spherical in shape and around three feet in diameter. Inside, Heaven and Hell surrounded Earth, swirling in both sublime paradise and deadly fire.

  Separating the two ethereal realms was the barrier, swirling endlessly in its dark weave, keeping Heaven above and Hell below. The representation reminded me of a smaller version of Mary Magdalene’s map room, where I had first been taught about the barriers separating each of the main realms. However, in this version Purgatory no longer existed as a totally separate realm. It was now part of Heaven. This was a model of how things were at present. It was terrifying to see all of Creation squeezed into something you could lift above your head. I felt like a giant contemplating a toy. Without pausing, The Perceptionist shifted the model slightly to one side. Then, putting his hands together in front of him in a prayer position, but with the fingers pointing forward instead of up, he pushed his arms out. The movement caused a hideous ripping noise, as hundreds of thousands of new elemental lights rippled into life on one side of The Perceptionist’s hands and anti-matter shuddered into existence on the other. He was tearing The Void into two. From nothing, something sprang into existence on one side, and less than nothing was born on the other. For every new molecule that was created, its black antithesis was also made.

  “Be careful not to touch them,” he whispered.

  I shuffled backwards to remain clear of any stray pieces of the deep blackness. With morbid fascination, I watched as my master used his mind to shape the new dark matter into a long spear-like rod. The other positive elements he repelled away, making sure the rippling surface of his new anti-creation only touched space.

  “Your universe is made up of something. Earth, Heaven, Hell; they all have an atmosphere. Air has particles. Hell has heat. Every part of the God’s Creation has some kind of material that makes up its existence. It is not like this void, where I have created nothingness and then added a few elements to manipulate separately. The universe we see in front of us here is almost totally comprised of elements, with only tiny pieces of space in between. If you were to introduce dark matter into the atmosphere of the realms, you won’t be able to control it. You risk total annihilation of yourself and everything you love.”

  To punctuate his comment, The Perceptionist flung the spear he had made into the heart of the model of Creation. As the rod pierced the sphere, it chewed away at the fabric of existence. The hole it created made the rest of the elements cave in on themselves in a chaotic embrace. What had been the world became just another scatter of elemental illusion, without construction or meaning. The puddle dissolved away and The Perceptionist moved his hand to scatter the elements again. We sat alone once more, master and student. I saw the terrible risk I would be taking if I tried to control that weapon. Yet still, I didn’t want to let the possibility fall.

  “What if I were to contain it somehow, in small amounts, and introduce them to Asmodeus’ body? What if I was careful enough to draw him out into the far reaches of Creation, so as not to disrupt the fabric of the universe?”

  “You forget that Asmodeus created himself from nothing,” The Perceptionist said. “Like me, he spawned his own consciousness and formed a body afterward. He existed outside of the universe you know because he created it and then made himself a part of it. If you try to annihilate his spirit, he would find his way back eventually. There is no way to end him entirely, without him coming back again. If you risk fighting him with dark matter, you risk destroying everything you love for nothing. If you want to end his reign over the souls of existence, you’ll have to find another way.”

  “Tell me how.” I asked desperately.

  “You will come to solve the answer yourself,” he said, like it was an easy thing to do. “The instinctual reason you shut off from the outside will hold the key. By the time you leave here all will be set. Your journey will reveal the solution.”

  Clapping his hands, a rumbling wave of sounds whooshed around us. Millions upon millions of emotive molecules rushed to surround my body. I watched as every rainbow color of feeling gathered, ready to be commanded to their task. They sparkled with their eternal potential. It was time for The Perceptionist to show me how to become a split being.

  “When you get back to Hell, inform Marlowe that he has my permission to follow you,” he said. “The rest of our conversation from here will only be a part of your subconscious intellect. You will not even recall that you have done this, otherwise you will be discovered. All you will know is that you are on a set path, and it is the right one. Trust your intuition. Trust your friends. You will not do this alone.”

  Flaring emotion around his limbs, The Perceptionist stood. I mimicked his motion and prepared to weave the elements by his side. I needed to do this with him, so I would understand how to undo it when the time came.

  “We will see each other once more, Michael,” he whispered. “And that will be just moments before you take your last breath. I will not have time to say this then, so I say it now. I will miss you, my friend.” He reached out and touched an eyeball on his right hand onto my forehead. After that, all went dark.

  NINE

  I STUMBLED BACK INTO THE GREY KITCHEN feeling disjointed. My head was buzzing and my eyes stung. Struggling, I fell forward. The scrape of a chair sounded and suddenly Marlowe had me in his arms.

  “Michael?” he said, his breath hot on my neck as he fought to keep me up. “Michael? What’s wrong?”

  It was like his voice was coming at me from underwater, but I understood the meaning. I was not frightened. Trust your intuition. Trust your friends. The thought was more of a feeling than anything. Inside I felt completely assured, I just needed to regain control of my limbs. Searching around myself from within, I crawled to the surface of consciousness. I saw the light and reached out towards it with my mind, rising to the surface. Sensation came rushing back in like a gasp of air. Sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch: I was back. It was as if I had been battling a bad dream and had abruptly shaken myself awake. As I blinked my eyes, the dream faded away from thought and all that was left was a brick in my stomach. My surroundings flooded in around me. I had a feeling that something had changed but, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t grasp what it was. All I could remember were blurs of a conversation where The Perceptionist had shown me the dangers of trying to use anti-matter. Even that didn’t seem truly important right now.

  “Michael?” Marlowe s
teadied me on my feet and held me at arm’s length.

  I looked at him, and the world seemed normal again.

  “Marlowe,” I smiled. “I’m back.”

  “I can see that,” he said, looking concerned. “But are you really? All of you? What happened?”

  “I…” I paused. I didn’t quite know what had happened, but knew that I shouldn’t say it in those exact words. “I got what I needed. I’m fine, really.”

  And I was feeling fine. I felt great. The disorientation I had experienced just moments ago had dissipated and immense confidence filled me. I had a mission to complete. My wife and my friends were fighting for the same cause. The smaller answers would come as long as I pursued the end goal. I knew it. I felt it.

  Cautiously Marlowe let go of my arms. I grinned at him again, remembering something.

  “Your master said you were free to come with me,” I told him. “It would be an honour to have you join my inner council. I need people I can trust. We all do. Will you help us get rid of all divisions in this life, so we can have a chance at harmony?”

  “Of course,” Marlowe answered without pause. He stood to his full height, his hand gripping the sword next to him. “What is our plan?”

  I stared into space. No answers came. Racking my brain, a slight amount of nervousness crept into me. Before I came here, I had wanted to know how to create bodies for a resurrection. It was the crucial first step in our plan. This question was unanswered. I felt that it was only a hurdle, yet it was still one we had to overcome.

  I looked over to the table, where two glasses of red wine rested.

  “Perhaps I should fill you in on our situation?” I offered, motioning for us to sit. Settling back down opposite me, Marlowe sipped his wine as I explained the state of play. He interrupted at times to clarify who our allies were and what our options were moving ahead. I told him my history and of the events leading up to the liberation of Purgatory. In the end, we were back to the beginning of why I had come to see The Perceptionist.

  “I need to find a way to build bodies on Earth, that will enable our souls to be born into them,” I explained. “It wasn’t something our master could give me the answer to, but we will solve the problem.”

  Marlowe gripped his cup and took a thoughtful swig.

  “I’m not sure I have any answers for you,” he murmured.

  “I do,” a voice said from across the room.

  We both turned and Marlowe leapt to his feet in surprise. A gaunt man, with dishevelled hair draped around his face, stood shakily in the corner. He was dressed in bare rags. Ribs showed through his skinny frame, but his purple eyes glowed with power. It took me a moment to realize who it was.

  “I will build your bodies for you,” Germaine croaked.

  TEN

  “GERMAINE?” MARLOWE UTTERED IN SHOCK. “It can’t… You can’t.”

  “I can and have,” Germaine smiled a crooked grin and looked at me.

  From my seat, I nodded my head in a silent hello. I did not feel any malice coming from this man, yet Marlowe’s reaction kept me on guard. This was the quivering husk who had sat catatonic in the corner every time I had come to see The Perceptionist. Now he was standing in front of us, seemingly back from the dead. I looked to my African friend, but he only stared at our unexpected guest with trepidation.

  Turning back to Germaine, I studied him. He was hunched yet still quite tall, his frail body wasted away from inactivity. His legs were like two withered sticks, holding up a chicken carcass body. Dark brown hair fell in tangles around his shoulders. A short, patchy beard made it look like he had dirt covering his face. Still smiling, he showed broken rows of teeth. He looked like a beggar, although still quite youthful. I altered my vision to take in his elemental makeup. Cascades of emotion flowed all around him. His whole body was shades of rainbow desire: hunger, lust, ambition. I struggled to find the golden light of rationality but there was not even a sliver to be seen. It was as if he was the opposite of The Perceptionist: an animal in human form.

  “What you see is an illusion. A disguise.” Germaine stepped forward, jolting me back to my senses. “There is thought inside here. Perhaps too much.” He tapped his temple with long fingers. As he tapped, the rush of emotion moved aside to reveal a glittering mess of consciousness. There was no beautiful pattern like there was when seeing The Perceptionist’s mind. This was a chaotic tumble of gold. Germaine tapped one more time and snapped the window to his workings closed. He took another step closer.

  Marlowe moved forward as if to stop him, but I put a hand on my friend’s sleeve.

  “It’s alright, Marlowe,” I said, the calm of my voice echoing the ease I felt within myself. “There is no danger.”

  Germaine turned his mouth up in a grin again and cocked his head to one side as if listening for something.

  “Hmm, are you sure there’s no danger, Michael?” he said in a rough croak. “You’ve been fooled more than once before.”

  This time Marlowe did advance, drawing his sword and letting the tip come up to Germaine’s throat. The ringing of metal hung in the air.

  “How would you know that?” he hissed at Germaine.

  Holding his hands up in peace, Germaine spoke quickly.

  “I heard you talking, that’s all. I hear many things. Like right now.” He pulled back his ragged hair and hooked it behind his ear. “Your brain is whispering that you think Asmodeus has sent me. But you know just as well as I that The Perceptionist wouldn’t let that happen so close to The Void.”

  Marlowe shuffled his feet as if preparing to strike.

  “Wait, Marlowe.” I said softly. “I believe he is here to help us.”

  The two stood, facing each other, holding their ground. Germaine’s purple eyes were spilling over with power, yet he kept still. I watched on, waiting for them to relax of their own accord.

  “Look,” Germaine said. “We can play this game and pretend that you’re in control here, Marlowe, or we can admit who has the real upper-hand.” To prove his point, Germaine leant forward and pressed his neck into Marlowe’s sword. Instead of piercing his skin, the blade melted backward, turning to vapour. Instantly, Marlowe roared and charged at Germaine, but before he could get his hands around his neck there was a cracking sound. Marlowe was stopped in his tracks, held by elemental bonds, which Germaine flexed with his mind.

  “Stop!” I jumped to my feet.

  Before I could do anything, Marlowe let out another cry and a green light splintered out of his mouth, into Germaine’s chest. Flying backward, the frail man hit the far wall with a thud. Marlowe advanced quickly, drawing his hand through the air as a new sword appeared from nowhere in his fist. He held the tip to Germaine’s throat again.

  “Both of you stop!” I repeated.

  Germaine began to cackle with insane laughter, holding his sunken belly as he looked up at the towering African. Abruptly, he stopped short and was perfectly composed.

  “You’ve learnt a few tricks old friend. Please, I do not want to harm you, Marlowe,” he said. “Although I can’t blame you for wanting to hurt me, after what I did.”

  “What?” I said, stepping forward for the first time. “What does that mean?”

  Marlowe sheathed his sword slowly, never taking his eyes off Germaine. A flash of pain spread over Marlowe’s face, as though he was remembering a past trauma. He gained control of his emotion before clearing his throat and staring stark hatred at the man on the ground. At the look, Germaine recoiled further against the wall, hanging his head and bringing his hands up to cover his ears, like he could hear the African’s loathing and wanted to block it out. Without shifting his deadly gaze as much as an inch, Marlowe told me the reason for his savage reaction:

  “This beggar tried to murder The Perceptionist.”

  ELEVEN

  GERMAINE SLUMPED DOWN ON THE GROUND against the wall, relaxing a little now that Marlowe had put his weapon away. I was still trying to process the exchange of power between the b
oth of them. Germaine had controlled the elements. Marlowe had broken their bonds. There was still so much I didn’t know. Marlowe’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

  “Michael, do you recall that Germaine was The Perceptionist’s student?” he asked, glaring down at his subject.

  “I do.”

  “Well, he used the lessons bestowed upon him to try to kill his teacher.” Marlowe stalked back to the table, never taking his eyes off Germaine, who remained silent. He picked up his glass of wine again and took a sip. I eased back into my chair, feeling that any immediate threat of them fighting again had passed. I waited patiently for a proper explanation. Marlowe sat down slowly, his eyes glazing over, as though he was gathering a scene in his mind. After a few moments he focused once more on Germaine, shaking his head in disgust. Finding the right words, he began to tell the story of how this strange man had come to Hell.

  “I had been with The Perceptionist for nearly a hundred years, guarding his domain, when a man with violet eyes walked casually into Satan’s Demise. He was dressed like a French aristocrat from the 18th century, with jewels embroidered into his coat. He seemed so out of place in Hell that I didn’t approach him at first. He looked clean. From the building tops I cautiously followed his progress as he made his way steadily toward this alley. When the Barghest arrived I thought he would be consumed. The hellhounds circled him, but he calmly took a flask from inside his coat and sprayed water into their midst. Afraid, they ran away. I understood then that this person was more than he appeared. He knew things that others before him did not.

  “I stepped down to confront him. He did not even flinch at my approach. To my surprise he announced confidently that his name was Germaine and he wanted to exchange knowledge with the only being worthy to teach him: The Perceptionist. Naturally I scoffed at his demand, but then I heard my master’s whisper fill the air, Let him come. Over the next few years Germaine took up residence in these rooms. I learned that he was once a famous alchemist who had lived five lifetimes on Earth before being killed by thieves hoping to steal his secrets. Germaine had no special powers, other than the extraordinary knowledge that he held in his head. He was an expert on every subject, from history to music and, of course, alchemy. He could play the violin like The Devil. He told The Perceptionist of the world and of the ways of man on Earth. He spoke about the psychology of humans, how we are motivated by greed and desires, but that we are unique from other animals because we have the will to suppress these traits if we have proper cause. He spoke about jewels and their special properties, how they could bend wills and cause wars. He told how he had cheated death by discovering the elixir of life.