Difference between revisions of "That Hellish Thing"

Hell, 1838.

In Hell's bleakest reaches, beyond Damnation's Door lay the Desolation of Realizations. Across this vast, grey plain all lies are laid bare, and naught but painful truths may be spoken here. No creature desires to come hither, especially among the peoples of Hell, to whom falsehoods are like meat and bread. However the Lords of Pride have found these wretched plains ever useful in the enforcement of covenants, and thus an oasis of truth sits in the heart of hell, for any with the desire to take advantage of its qualities.

In the heart of those plains, a trap had been sprung. Within a circle of falsesilver, barbed and burning, the angel Neviel the Whisperer was ensnared, seemingly without hope of heaven. He had been gifted with seven great prophecies by his Lord Most High, and now a lord of hell was attempting to claw it out of him like a carrion beast picking at a corpse with claw and tooth.

"Speak," Zorasto commanded the angel, shifting his huge bat-like wings. He towered over the messenger, his muscles striated geologically over his huge form, a sneer stretched across his horned, skull-like face. Had he not been in agony, the angel would have observed that such a dominating physical presence was one of Hell's favorite affectations, overplayed displays of physical strength for the sake of vanity that makes what should be beautiful into something grotesque, a mockery of paragons. But he, even he, faithful servant of the Ancient of Days, was not impervious to torment. His voice croaked and strained as the prophecy was ripped from him.

"In a hall in Aberdeen, there is a reprobate with one eye and three fingers on his right hand, a crofter who is only known as "Bloody Carson". Against all reason, his family will flower, and become ennobled. In six generations, two score and five years after the Great Reawakening, the Living Thunder shall embrace the second born Carson of that generation and he shall become elevated."

"The Living Thunder of Tarhunt? Of Tanaris? Of Thunaraz and Perun?"

"Yes," the angel answered. "The power of pagan gods shall be gifted to him and he shall become mighty. But that is not the greatest of his powers, for greater than might shall be the spirit that resides within. For one who can wrestle with their pains and subjugate them can transform them into wisdom and compassion that will be a blessing unto the world."

"Spare me the philosophies of the Crucified One," Zorasto stated, and again he lashed the angel with a barbed whip. The angel screamed.

"Pig-dweller, I know who thou art!" Neviel spat back.

"Indeed," the demon said with a mock bow. "Once I was Sorme-Astaro, who in ancient Assyria burnt whole cities to the ground, whose sword dripped blood without ceasing! Then I became Astaro-Dammu, who compelled the stars to scream prophecies, who found voices in the silent, dark places of the world! And now I am Zorasto, Defiler of Souls, who after death rose in the estates of hell and who now stands at the left hand of the demon-god Asmiak, looking down on the hordes of the damned!"

"Bloodletter, sorcerer, demon." Neviel noted. "I know thy cursed history. But I prefer to call thee as thou wert when my Sovereign walked the earth: pig-dweller. For as He did to the Legion, so did He do unto you: casting you, whining and wretched, into a host of swine, to stagger on the ground as drunken beasts before His infinite majesty."

Zorasto snarled and lashed out again at the angel with his flail, tearing at his spirit-flesh. Again the angel cried aloud. "I shall take this Living Thunder for my own!" the demon stated. "And all that wisdom and compassion of which thou boasts? I will defile it utterly!"

Neviel shook his head. "Ever shall the thunder elude thy grasp, demon, even if you rose four times higher than thy present station. For the wisdom that is the gift of the Most High is ever beyond the comprehension of those who scorn it."

"I crave not his tongue but his tempest, for with it I shall ascend to godhood!" Zorasto stated, and his burning hand reached up and brushed against Neviel's cheek, singeing it. "Thou hast six more prophecies. I shall enjoy ripping them from you."

"And each one shall further undo thee," Neviel said. "For it is the heart of the prophecy that matters more than the words, Zorasto. Meaning you may find, and meaning you may give to words that is not intended, and so make sport of them. But the true value of all revelation is in what it says about the heart of the Most High. Those who search for power and apocalypse will ever miss the meaning of the gift."

"I tire of thee, thrall of heaven," Zorasto said, turning around with a stretch of his wings. "I hope the crofter proves better company."

With that the demon lord departed for Scotland, shifting his shape to that of a twisted and unpleasant looking man -- the closest thing he could muster to someone of fair and trustworthy visage. When the one-eyed Carson was drunk enough, as it seemed he would be, his appearance wouldn't matter in the least. Just his words. With a proud, besotted Scotsman, his words would be enough to seal a devil's bargain.

---

1839 Aberdeen Scotland

"Seven generations?"

"That is the standard bargain," Zorasto said, opening up the ink well and handing the man a fine red quill. "You are a man of letters, are you not?"

"Aye," Tristan "Bloody" Carson said with a slur as he cradled his drink in his half-broken hand. The tavern was silent around them, and people had slunk away from his companion in disgust, though none could see him as he truly was. Tristan Carson, however, did not care. As blasphemous as a frigate of sailors, part of him even enjoyed the faint whiff of Hell, shadow and brimstone, that lingered in his senses like strong tobacco. "Aye... I can sign my name wi' the best o' them."

His face smiling like a shark, Zorasto propped himself up on his chair and puffed himself slightly. "You will not regret the bargain," he said in a low, amused voice.

Tristan Carson swallowed the drink lustily, and the grinning demon poured another glass of demon rum from the black bottle he'd brought. "So... my family for seven generations. Why seven generations?"

"Tradition," Zorasto said. "Your offspring shall be my possessions, body and soul, for seven generations. In exchange, immortality shall be your due."

"And eternity in the prime of manhood!" Tristan Carson stated. "I don't want to get old, or be trapped as a bawling infant by your devilish tricks. Me own brats are bad enough!"

"The joy of treachery is not what I seek," Zorasto stated, playing with the bottle on the table, tipping it and rotating it in a circle. "Though that is a grand amusement, of course..."

"Eh?"

"I have received prophecy that one of your descendents will be someone to prize," Zorasto explained. "The covenant we are striking will bring him into my potentate, body and soul. The power he shall wield will be rended from his body and in devouring it, I shall shine as an infernal sun, rising to the depths of hell, striking down gods. And she who gifts it shall forfeit all right to retaliate."

"I dinna understand a word ye said, devil."

Zorasto smiled. "I believe I will enjoy watching you walk through the generations, cursing and spitting at the world, wallowing in the misery created by your enterprises."

"Ha!" Tristan Carson shouted. "Ye got that right! So once I sign your papers, I wi' be free o'you?"

"One service will remain," Zorasto said. "When the time is right, I shall ask you to deliver your descendant into my hands. Some years before the day of destiny, methinks, just to be certain. Free, he could still resist my efforts to take his power, even with the contract granting me advantages. 'Tis best to take no chances."

"So you wan' me to deliver the brat t' you?"

"Exactly!" Zorasto exclaimed. "But are you capable of such a cruelty?"

Tristan Carson eyed the rest of the patrons in the tavern and rose to his feet with a crooked smile on his scarred face. "Gentlemen and fellow cutthroats." he said. "Does any man here doubt that I am capable of the vilest iniquities and the wickedest cruelties?"

After a few seconds of staring down the patrons, one of the tavern goers shouted "No!". Tristan Carson strode to the man, and repeatedly punched him in the face, smiling.

"I believe this will work out," Zorasto said.

With blood on his knuckles and a contented expression on his face, Tristan Carson returned to the table and grabbed the quill from its place on the table. "Done," he said, as he put his scrawl to the paper.

---

1974, Vancouver, British Columbia.

William Carson hurriedly snuck into the house. The television was running: Eilly had been watching "Another World" before William had made his phone call, and two women were screaming at each other, culminating in the sound of a gunshot and a melodramatic music tag. Nuisance or irony? William did not have time to ponder the question. He practically bolted for the basement, where he hurriedly grabbed a pair of large steam trunks and hauled them up the stairs, hitting his head on the ceiling for one last, final time. Like a madman he rummaged through his closets, pulling down the three suits he had carefully ironed and pressed to do his work. He wrestled with his strongest desire: to take pictures of his wife and children, but decided that the fiction would be more credible if he left them behind. Once both pieces of luggage were packed, William turned around to leave... and spotted his oldest son Jack standing at the door.

"Dad, what are you doing?" he asked his dad.

A wave of shame fell over Jack Carson. His face reddening, he blurted, as if trying to convince himself. "Removing the dead weight from my life." And with that, he placed an envelope on Eilleen Carson's pillow, removed the wedding band from his ring finger.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jack Carson demanded, rushing at his father with fists clenched.

"I don't love you any more. Not you, not your mom, not Cr--"

Jack's fist struck William Carson flush in the face. However it wasn't the force of the blow that dropped him to his knees.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry," the man blubbered. "I thought I'd be stronger."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Through a gauze of tears, William Carson looked at his oldest son. He grabbed the teenager's shoulders. "Forgive me. I'm about to put you all through Hell, but it beats the alternative."

Jack Carson placed his hands on his hips and stared at his father, dumbfounded.

"This is going to sound crazy Jack," William stated. "But our family has an enemy, a powerful, magical one. Like a supervillain, only much, much worse."

"Huh?"

"You remember all those sermons at your mom's church about demons? I thought I was just humoring her, but it appears I owe Eilly an apology. There's one after us."

"Uh... what?"

William Carson sighed. "I don't understand most of it myself. But I need you to act like you didn't see me. You have to keep this from them. Make them forget me. Hate me. So they can live as normal a life as they can. Above all, you need to keep this from Craig. Above everything else, I'm counting on you to protect your brother..." William Carson stopped and frowned. "And just what are you doing away from school?"

"Uh... we had a soccer game against Tech," Jack admitted. "And after it was over, I skipped fifth period."

"Good boy!" William Carson said, and he hugged his son.

"Dad, this whole thing about demons..."

"I've seen him. I've seen his servant. I need to keep him away from you, no matter what the cost."

The door came open, and the hobbled man, a tall, rough-looking sort with a wooden leg, one eye and a claw for a right hand. He made a gesture with his one good hand, whispered an incantation, and Jack Carson was frozen in place.

"Leave the boy alone!" William Carson snapped. "I'm the second-born Carson. It's me that your Zorasto wants!"

The Hobbled Man launched a vicious left backhand at William's face, knocking the man into the wall. "Next time, you get the hook," he said ominously. "Take your belongings and go."

"You will NOT harm my son. The boy has already promised to play along."

Jack Carson felt as though he were being smothered in chains. He struggled violently within their grasp. "I'll kill you, you piece of--" he muttered, and the Hobbled Man twisted his wrist, tightening the chains. Jack screamed.

"It will appear to the world as though the father killed the son as he was in the process of leaving his family." the Hobbled Man said. "How unfortunate."

"Please, I beg you," William Carson said. "My son is still part of that curse you spoke of. That means he belongs to your master. He will not... uh... be pleased if you kill someone who could be of use to him."

The Hobbled Man growled. "Very well," he grunted. "Your son will live. But I will remove his memory of this." With that, the Hobbled Man cast another spell, and Jack Carson fell into a deep sleep. With a heart that was only slightly lighter from avoiding the grim necessity of that deed, William Carson left his home, never to return, never to see the face of his beloved wife again. Few men made such sacrifices for their family, and fewer still did so without thanks.

---

1983 Hell.

In a twelve foot wide circle of obsidian, where a wall would spring from the earth to block him if he ever tried to escape, William Carson sat, naked, emaciated with hunger, holding a paper and quill in his trembling hands. He had been commanded to write down every word spoken aloud by the angel in the circle of chains, to pass the time until the power of Living Thunder passed into him.

But Neviel had not spoken in the nine years that he had been there and William did not ever expect him to speak. William's eyes rarely left the man, for there was something about the man that gave him hope and strength. Indeed, he didn't even know from whence the man came, or what his importance was to the demon. He only knew that without his presence during his captivity, the darkness of the place would have destroyed him. He wondered what words he would speak, should he ever open his mouth.

And then, abruptly, the angel opened his mouth, and from it came the sound of thunder.

"He is worthy," Neviel stated, smiling. Without understanding why, the words came as the weight of a mountain lifting off from William Carson's shoulders, and he began to laugh as he scrawled the words.

It was not long before Zorasto appeared, fire and shadow emanating from his body in uncontrolled rage. "I have felt the coming of the Living Thunder, and it did not pass into the second born Carson!" Zorasto screamed at Neviel. "How dare you issue a false prophecy! Liar of Heaven, I name you! Thou art as fallen as I!"

"Nay," Neviel smiled, even knowing what was to come. "You did not take the second-born Carson."

"What?" Zorasto snarled, his wings stretching in outrage.

William Carson rose to his feet. "Wait a second. How could I not be the second-born Carson? There was my brother Mark, then me. Sure Mark died in that accident back in '56, but he was still born."

"And so was thy sister. Mark's twin, who died a few hours after her birth." Neviel stated. "Thou art the third-born Carson of thy generation."

"A sister? Damn." William Carson muttered. "My parents never even mentioned that,” He wondered why he'd never found out about her, but his thought also turned to Craig, the real second-born Carson. So young, so much like his mother, whereas Jack had taken after him. William was not sure how -- perhaps the power of the plains, whose realizations, while an unbearable torment for demons, was the opposite for mortals -- but he somehow knew Craig would be a fit guardian for immense primal power. The thought made him smile with a father's pride, so that for a moment he was the happiest man in Hell.

Neviel turned to Zorasto and beamed in triumph: quite literally, as for the first time in his captivity, he shone with heaven's radiance. "Soon demon, you will experience a great triumph, and power unguessed shall be your mantle. However that victory shall not comfort you; instead, throne and crown will laden you beyond your ability to endure, for those who receive what thou desires in hell are doomed to its greatest miseries."

Zorasto drew his flail, its barbs a tentacled mass of shadow and flame, on which runes of torment were enscribed, and he smote the angel three score and two lashes, channelling his hate into each strike. However, they barely seemed to faze Neviel. When Zorasto lowered his whip, exhausted, the angel rose to his feet, elysian pride shining in his eyes as he spoke:

"Bloodletter, sorcerer, demon. Hear the words of the Most High. Thy reach shall ever exceed thy grasp and thy wings shall never bear thee skyward, save to lift you to heights from which thou shalt surely fall. Whatever door thou darest to open shall ensnare thee, so that thou shalt be always hindered in traversing into whatever place thou attempts to enter."

"Liar!" Zorasto snarled. "No door shall ever be barred to me!"

"Mastery thou shalt crave and yet that desire shall betray you and lead you into thralldom. You will be twice a prisoner, first of thy malice and then of thy designs, for twisted as they are, they shall twist about thee as well as thy victims. Long years shall you endure enshackled, screaming and cursing as Hell mocks thee."

"Cease your babbling, thrall!" Zorasto snarled. But his voice seemed diminished in comparison to the angel's. Neviel's final note resonated throughout the plains with the authority of His master.

"This is the second of the seven prophecies given to me by God." he said, and his pronouncement ended like the passing of a storm.

Zorasto was beyond livid. He answered the thunder of heaven with the firestorms of hell; an inferno raged about his form, reflecting his anger, spark and smoke rising from him like a pyre. William would have been immolated had it not been for the protection of the obsidian circle.

"I have had enough of thee, angel!" Zorasto roared wildly, nothing in his voice but rage. With a gesture he drew from the heart of the fire the Five Flails, Asmiak's demons of punishment, who bore black whips with falsesilver barbs fashioned in the shape of the ones that had smote the flesh of the Son of the Most High. "Beat him down!" Zorasto commanded. "Let Hell's hate embrace thee! Let it tear thy flesh with the rage we feel toward thy wretched Master!"

The strokes fell upon the angel as if they contained all the unchecked cruelty of the world, its miseries, its tragedies, and the rage they inspire, for such are the weapons of the Flails. Buttressed no longer by the words of the Most High, Neviel crumpled beneath their onslaught. William watched in horror as hell's hate was fully unleashed on the messenger. The Flails continued until Neviel was all but dead, a mass of red wounds marring the snow-white beauty of heaven.

"Do not believe this is over!" Zorasto shouted as he turned and raged at William Carson. "As for you, here you shall remain for the remainder of days, and the shadow of despair will devour you hour by hour, and you shall watch me rend your sons asunder and you shall worship me as I do."

William Carson looked at the fallen Neviel and somehow, seeing heaven's light still radiating from his broken form, found a hidden reservoir of strength. Hell had not broken him, not yet: if anything, the nine years of captivity had strengthened this man, this humble shoe salesman from Vancouver, and made him capable of things that he would never have thought possible.

"I'm not going to bloody worship you, demon," the Carson patriarch snarled, staring Zorasto in his elongated, skeletal face. He had never thought himself capable of such courage (not without at least five beers). "We Carsons may not be perfect -- and the one you used to bring me here least of all -- but we're not idiots. Worship is for creatures greater than ourselves, not just more powerful. And you're hardly greater than anyone. You're just a bully, and you ain't getting one hosanna out of me, that I promise you!"

William Carson expected to die in that moment, and he closed his eyes so that his deathmask would be peaceful, but Zorasto did not strike. Instead the demon cursed and raised his towering shadow over the defiant mortal, and the darkness that fell on William Carson was as cold and cruel as a winter storm. The Carson recoiled. "I may not be permitted to force worship upon you, or else it ceases to be real, but you are still my chattel! You wll never escape this place, until I am satisfied that you are utterly broken. Then I shall cast you onto the earth so that all mankind may see what a miserable creature I have made, a harbinger of all mankind for the time when earth falls unto my dominion."

"Bold words demon." William Carson fought through the cold to manage one last gesture of defiance. "Doesn't erase your failure, though."

Zorasto screamed, muttered something unintelligible, a curse about undoing Armageddon and a string of blasphemies directed at the Most High. "I have a hundred schemes in motion!" the demon proclaimed. "This one has occupied enough of my time, for now." he said. Then he departed in a fury of fire and smoke, believing that he had left William Carson and the broken angel to languish in their twin solitudes for years to come.

But William Carson felt a slight relief as the shadow lifted from him. He turned to his fellow prisoner, who lay writhing on the ground. "Sorry," he said. "Wish I could help."

The slender angel moaned and then, to William's astonishment, lifted himself to his feet despite the pain of his broken and beaten body. "Your spirit of defiance does more for me than you can imagine," the angel said. The fair lilt of the angel's voice, on which a faint echo of heaven's song could be heard, was like meat and drink to William, by far a better meal than the stale bread and brackish water that his prison provided for him. He sighed and found comfort in the voice, for although the angel could not hide the pain in his voice, even the agony of the ascended held delight.

"You speak?"

"I have long whispered to thee, third-born Carson, though I spake to thy soul and not your ears. No need do I have for words, unlike that vain posturer."

William Carson chuckled. "I don't like him much either."

Neviel nodded. "Know that thy spirit is thine own, for all souls are a gift of thy Creator, and not a commodity to be bartered, despite your tales. That is a lie that comes from the demon Belial, who has ensnared many with that belief. Zorasto merely emulates the lords of the All-Hells."

"So Jack and Craig are free from him as well?"

"Verily, at least in some measure. Some courts and principalities may respect the contract, but no more than that. In making his bargain Zorasto overreached his authority. as demons are wont to do."

"My wife is dead," William said. "Or was that a lie of Zorasto's?"

Neviel began to straighten and strengthen his limbs. "It was not." he said sadly.

"And my sons?"

"Their lives will ever be filled with peril and pain," Neviel stated, and within William's mind, images of times yet to come danced. The man gasped as he felt waves of emotion rush over him: his grown sons, kicking ass, fighting a good fight. "Death shall prowl at their feet like a wolf, joy will be great, but fleeting. In time, glory shall be showered onto them. They shall be proclaimed as heroes, and all who call them by that name will speak truly, though neither shall love the word." He smiled at William and said in a low voice. "Do not despair. Have faith that heaven compensates for their pain and rewards those who courageously pursue justice."

"I have no faith in heaven," William said. "Just look at you. Heaven left one of their own to be tortured by that pig?"

Neviel shook his head. "Judge not the unjudgeable until all things have been revealed, mortal."

"Screw that," William Carson replied. "Screw all your games and wars, and good vs. evil crap. I don't need faith in heaven. I have faith in my boys. Zorasto isn't going to know what hit him." He sighed. "I just wish I knew I was going to see them again."

"You shall."

"Is that your third prophecy?"

"I do not need the words of the Most High to tell me of what is obvious." the angel stated. "No prison can hold one who possesses thy spirit. The will of any man who would pay the price that you have paid cannot be restrained forever. Verily, you shall see them, though the price may be greater than thou knowst."

William sighed. "Do you offer any words of hope that don't come with a catch?"

"In a world that is fallen, no such words may truthfully be spoken." Neviel said. "But take heart! For..."

"Look," William Carson said. "In the nine years I've been trapped in this godforsaken place, the one thing I haven't missed are the sermons that Eilly used to drag me to. All I know is there's a big demon out there who's out to-- well, conquer the world and transform it into Hell-- and my boys are on the front lines."

Neviel looked out in the desolate plains of the plains with the insight of his prophecies and the whispers of truth that came to his ears. "Not all of his designs will fail. Indeed, Zorasto will cause a great deal of trouble. Any being who would raise a fist at heaven is not to be underestimated. Yet do not be troubled. For I share thy faith in thy sons, and moreso in the heroes that shall gather around them, valiant men and women who will oppose the darkness, both without and within."

William Carson nodded and went back to working on a thin crust of bread. In hell. despair isn't an emotion, it's part of the geography. Navigating from despair to hope was hungry work, even for a Carson.