This time the glow left Gerald outside of what appeared to be some
crumbled, abandoned fortress buried deep in a chasm. Gerald could see the
red skies and smell the blood and death in the air. A pair of Habbalah
were waiting at the old but still sound iron gates. "We were told to
expect you. Please follow us." Gerald walked along behind them, still
shaking from his encounter with the Princess of Nightmares. The fortress
twisted and turned in myriad ways, with many of the passages cloaked in
shadow or blocked by fallen rock and wood. Gerald soon lost count of how
many times they changed direction, passing damned souls and Band members
with furtive looks on their faces. Their way finally ended before a set
of iron-bound doors, with two Balseraphs guarding them. The doors were
opened without comment and Gerald was admitted into a shadowy chamber
with a stone floor smoothed by continual use. Torchlight lit the far end
of the room, illuminating a stone throne. Seated on it was an Impudite
covered in a black, hooded robe. Furtive green eyes danced around warily
in its' smiling face. "Well, hello there, Gerald Finkel. I am Alaemon,
the Prince of Secrets." Gerald had a skeptical look on his face.
"Secrets, big whoop." Alaemon shook his head. "Ah, I see. You think
Secrets is a weak Word, eh? I suppose you would have no cares if word
were to get out about the stash of cocaine you found in a car you worked
on, the stash you later sold those gang-bangers for some quick cash? The
police would find such knowledge....very interesting." Gerald blanched.
"Okay, okay, I see your point. I'll consider it." Alaemon leaned back in
his throne. "That is all I ask....or is it? Trust no one, Gerald
Finkel....not even yourself." Gerald was happy when the golden glow
spirited him away.
Gerald next appeared in another darkened room. This room's floor was
made all of white bones, held together by sticky tendons and crawling
with white, crawling grubs. Gerald recoiled, trying to find somewhere
else to stand, but there was nowhere else. There was forlorn souls
crawling around, occassionally being consumed by members of various
Bands. Gerald turned away after watching a Djinn absorb the Essence from
one of the souls crawling around. Unfortunately, he turned right around
into the smell of a corpse. It wasn't exactly human, Gerald saw. It was
like an amalgam of many corpses, towering over Gerald, with white bones
protruding from it at odd angles and smell and slime oozing off the
creature. The demons had all gone down on their faces on the ghastly
floor. The corpse creature laughed. "YOU?! *You* are the little man who
would presume to act as judge over the Demon Princes of Hell?!" The
creature laughed. "Know then that I am Saminga, Prince of Death! I am
unavoidable and all-powerful! If you choose my Word, you may enjoy
immortality after your death, mortal!" Gerald gagged on the stench and
began to puke, conveying his answer as an affected shrug. Saminga raised
a slimy fist, but Gerald finished puking and was gone in the golden glow
before Saminga's fist landed in the vomit.
Gerald reappeared in what seemed to be a large cavern. His stomach was
still churning from his trip to Saminga's ghastly realm. He found himself
standing atop a massive mountain. When he looked down, he saw that this
mountain was made of gold coins, with all sorts of precious gems,
artwork, and bundles of money from every country interspersed into the
mix. Similar mounds of wealth were arrayed all around him. Gerald's jaw
dropped, and that's when he heard the chuckle from above. Looking up, he
saw a rock ledge high in the wall of the room, upon which sat a
golden-scaled Balseraph. It smiled. "Why hello there! Admiring my horde
are you? I am Mammon, Prince of Greed. Pleased to meet you." The
Balseraph bowed sinously, then smiled snake-like. "If you select my Word,
you will be made an important part of my congolomerate, and have access
to such wealth as this and much, much more." Gerald looked at all the
money and felt temptation. He felt that weird, itching sensation in his
head again too. "I won't say I'm not tempted, Prince Mammon..." The
Balseraph waved a bat-like wing. "Mammon will do, friend." Gerald nodded.
"Well, I'll let you know, though I am sorely tempted..." The golden glow
surrounded him and he was gone before Mammon's shark-like grin could be
seen by him.
Gerald reappeared in a smoky chamber. As he looked around the dim room,
he could see various demons and damned souls sitting at tables, smoking
all sorts of strange concotions or popping pills of varying colors into
their mouths. Some were shooting up with needles. Most of the demons and
souls around here looked totally wasted, like some guys Gerald had seen
down on the street corners of home. ~Home? That's far from this place.~
He sighed and shook his head as a tattooed creature he recognized as a
Habbalite waved him over through the reeking smoke. Gerald sat at the
table while the Habbalite took a long hit of something, then leaned back
and smiled. In a somewhat dreamy voice, he said "What's the haps, dude?
Name's Fleurity, and I'm the Prince of Drugs." He offered a hand and
Gerald shook it. "Gerald Finkel." A puzzled look crossed the flat, pasty
features of the auto mechanic. "Hey...uhh....ain't you one of 'dem
Habbalites? You don't look like you're interested in punishing stuff,
just getting stoned." Fleurity chuckled and shook his head. "Not quite as
true as all that. You see, I *do* feel the need to punish you mortals,
but I choose a different method than most of my Choir. Instead of
attacking you directly, I choose to let you prove your weaknesses by
addicting yourself to my drugs." Gerald frowned. "Not every human is a
drug addict." Fleurity waved his hand nonchalantly, pushing over a tray
filled with assorted drugs to Gerald. "Yet. Besides, the Word of Drugs
entails more than just the stuff that street punks get high on. It also
includes all those convienent drugs like asprins, anti-depressants, and
other drugs which mortals frequently abuse. If you pick the Word of
Drugs, the Master's opponents will be too stoned to do anything to stop
him, and I'm sure I could set you up as a powerful druglord, comfortable
for the rest of your days." Gerald put a thoughtful look on his face and
Fleurity smiled nastily. Gerald thought a moment, then said "Uhhh...if
you say you punish mortals with drug addiction, then why do you look so
high yourself?" Fleurity frowned. "It is an amusing diversion. I can quit
any time I wish." Gerald shrugged. "Whatever you say. I'll think on it."
The golden glow surrounded him and he was gone, his tray of drugs
untouched. Fleurity frowned and began wrapping some of the drugs
together.
Gerald reappeared, coughing out the foul smokes of Fleurity's lair, in
what looked to be a library of some sort. From the high window of the
room he was in, he could see a pair of Balseraphs directing some damned
souls with a load of heavy-looking books over to a cart being pushed by a
Calabite. Lots of damned souls were busy frantically stacking and sorting
scrolls, books, and computer disks. The place seemed truly massive.
Gerald had a few moments to take it all in, then he heard a discreet
cough behind him. Turning, he found himself staring at a small elderly
man with white hair fringing a large, shiny bald spot. He had blue eyes
and wore a simple black hooded robe and sandals. Gerald grunted. "Oh,
sorry. I guess I'm here to talk to your boss. Know where I can find him?"
The older man sat down behind a redwood desk devoid of everything save a
crystal paperweight. In a voice that was calm and serene, he said
"Lucifer is not here. I am Kronos, the Prince of Fate." Gerald blinked.
"You?" Kronos didn't bother to repeat himself. "Fate is the embodiment of
all that is dark and cruel, all that potenial for evil in a person."
Kronos scrutinized Gerald for a long moment. "I see that your Fate is to
die a miserable wretch, forgotten by a disinterested society. Your Fate
may be mitigated somewhat when you select my Word." Gerald didn't really
like this spooky old guy and just shrugged. "Yeah, well, like I told your
buddies...." Kronos continued to stare at him until the golden glow took
Gerald away.
Gerald reappeared in an office that reminded him of a garage sale.
Behind the elegant hardwood desk was a vintage Harley motorcycle, circa
1969. On the wall above it was a painting that looked like it belonged in
the Sistine Chapel. It even had the signature "Michaelangelo" in a
corner. There was a television next to an old 13th-century urn. The urn
was in a treasure chest piled with gold coins. Gerald looked around for a
moment, then whirled at a sound. "Hi!" Gerald looked to the wooden chair
behind the desk. Seated there was a Calabite, dressed in a three-piece
black business suit and black dress shoes. He had his feet propped on the
desk and was reading a book. As he sat it down, Gerald could see the
cover. It read "The Prophecies of Michel de Nostradame". The Calabite
smiled smoothly, offering a taloned hand. "I'm Valefor, Prince of Theft.
Please, have a seat." Gerald shook the talon, then looked around and
pulled up a piece of the Hubble Telescope to sit on. Valefor chuckled.
"Now you know why that thing kept having so many problems. My Servitors
kept stealing the parts." Valefor kept his smile in place. "I'd like you
to consider for a moment why you should select the Word of Theft. For
one, the thrill of the steal is something you couldn't even imagine.
Also, why should what you want be held by another? After all, you need
it, you deserve it, so why not take what you've earned? Pick my Word, and
no barrier will stop my Master's plan, plus I'll cut you in on some of
the biggest crimes your world has ever known!" Gerald kept his face
neutral, although some of this stuff *would* go for quite a fortune if he
ever got back home. "Sounds tempting. I'll get back to you." Valefor
nodded. "That's all I ask." The glow took Gerald away.
When Gerald reappeared this time, he was standing in what looked to be a
well-lit lobby of some sort. The floor was a black-and-white chessboard
pattern. A Lilim was seated behind a curved wooden desk in one corner of
the room, and as Gerald watched, two Calabites were escorting a chained
Impudite down a side corridor. The Lilim, a brown-haired beauty with wide
green eyes, waved to Gerald and pointed him to a pair of closed white
doors. "He's waiting for you inside, Mr. Finkel." Her tone was that of a
professional secretary, something familiar Gerald could grab onto in this
strange chaos called Hell. Gerald nodded and went on in. The office he
was confronted with was very well-organized, compared to the chaos of
Valefor's office. There were file cabinets set against the back and side
walls, with the odd plant or two for variety. A black carpet was set
under a plain computer desk of white plastic, complete with a
state-of-the-art computer, printer, and even a fax machine. If he didn't
know better, Gerald could have thought he was back home, in the office of
that damned insurance company lawyer who'd sued him for faulty work last
year, an allegation dropped because they had no evidence. Behind the desk
was a tall man, clad in a hooded robe of gray with a cloak of black. The
man's face was a white mask, but the eyes. Gerald shivered in fright.
Those eyes were as sharp as knives, but they burned and froze
simutaneously. The man gestured to a chair before the desk and Gerald
sat. The robed man said in a very precise and cold voice "You are Gerald
Finkel. I am Asmodeus, the Prince of the Game." Gerald swallowed. ~Their
boss said they can't hurt me....~ "So what game is it, huh? Scrabble?
Chess? Monopoly?" Asmodeus's face never changed, but his voice got
colder. "The Game is the weave of politics, the search for and the
destruction of traitors to Hell. Pick the Game and know that nothing
shall escape our penetration." As Gerald got up to make a reply, he felt
something was wrong. His back pocket felt oddly light. He reached around
and realized something. "Hey! My wallet's gone!" He did some quick
thinking and growled "That damned thief!!!" Asmodeus said "Thief?" Gerald
nodded. "Yeah, that creep Valefor. I was there right before I came here."
Asmodeus nodded, seeming somewhat satisfied. "Investigation will commence
then. Your help is appreciated." Gerald nodded. "Yeah, I appreciate
yours. I'll consider the Game well." Asmodeus nodded, then Gerald was
gone again.
Gerald reappeared in some sort of sty. It reminded him a lot of his old
room at home, only dirtier. Clothes were strewn about haphazardly, heavy
metal music was blaring from boom boxes and speakers, food and beer was
standing or flung about anywhere and everywhere, and there were demons
and damned souls gyrating and bouncing in mad dancing. Gerald had
seen--and-heard--quieter riots. He pushed his way past a pair of gyrating
Shedim beating up on a damned soul and found himself standing in front of
a Calabite. The Calabite was clad in a t-shirt that might once have been
white, but was stained now with beer and food. Ragged blue jeans creaked
as the Calabite grabbed a 40-ounce, snugged a female Impudite to him, and
laughed. "Hey dude! Name's Furfur, Prince of Hardcore." ~Prince? I've
seen bums cleaner than this guy.~ "Gerald. So why should I pick the Word
of Hardcore?" Furfur grinned as Gerald was bumped into a seat on the
thrashed sofa next to the Impudite, who began caressing Gerald's face
with a giggle. Furfur laughed. "Dude, nothing beats Hardcore! We're the
most extreme of the extreme, the baddest of the bad! Ain't nothing we
won't do to win. We don't have morals or limits like the others. Just
pick Hardcore, 'kay?" Gerald removed the Impudite's hand and said "Tough
guys, huh? I'll think about it." ~I don't see any difference between
these guys and those damned punks out there at two in the morning on
Friday night, save that they're demons.~ The glow engulfed Gerald as
Furfur chugged his 40-ounce to the cheers and encouragement of his
Servitors.
Gerald reappeared in a rank alley. Garbage littered the streets, flowing
from old metal dumpsters. It looked like it was after midnight, and the
cold darkness almost seemed to have eyes. There was graffiti sprayed on
the walls. ~Ah, home sweet home.~ Gerald's ironic though was no less
completed when an older man showed up, clad in rags and leaning on a
stick. His white hair was wispy but his brown eyes were set in a face
creased by lines of cruelty and meanness. He approached a little too
rapidly for Gerald's taste. Gerald reached into the back pocket of his
suspenders and pulled out a heavy wrench. "Hey look, I don't want no
trouble, old timer." The old man stopped and looked up. "But the others,
they all want trouble with you, young man. Oh yes, you should hear what
they have to say about you when you disappear. You can trust me though."
Gerald raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Who the Hell are you, old man?" The
man chuckled. "You may call me Malphas. I am the Prince of Factions, and
your only real friend in Hell. Endorse my Word to Lucifer and you'll gain
my protection against all who would do you harm, and believe me, my young
friend, they are many, but I am powerful...." Gerald put the wrench away,
disturbed. "Yeah, thanks pal, I'll think on it." Malphas smiled as the
golden glow engulfed Gerald again. That smile turned cruel as soon as the
glow was gone. "Gullible fool."
When the glow faded this time, Gerald was inside what looked to be a
laboratory. The floor was metal, with black and red wires running
everywhere. Electricity crackled through strange machines, computers were
beeping and humming, and below him, Gerald saw massive vats of some
black, bubbling liquid. There were demons moving around, carrying wailing
souls off to large machines or down corridors to other parts of the
complexes. A Balseraph passed by, carrying a squirming soul in its' tail.
It pointed above Gerald. "He's waiting there." Gerald nodded and climbed
some steps to a higher platform, where he was hailed by an elderly man.
~What's with the old man motif around here?~ The old man's hair was white
and wispy, his blue eyes were obscured by thick glasses, and he wore a
buttoned-up lab coat. All in all, he looked like some sort of Professor.
The elderly man smiled and spoke in a mild, mellow voice. "Greetings,
young man. I am Vapula, the Prince of Technology. Welcome to my
laboratory." Gerald nodded. "Uhh...nice to meet you." Vapula nodded
sagely. "You should have an interest in this place, young one, being a
mechanic and all." Gerald nodded. "Yeah, fixing stuff was always my one
real talent." Vapula positively beamed. "Excellent, excellent! Come over
here!" He turned and gestured towards the vats. "Down there is my latest
project. A demon...or an angel...immersed in that substance will be
drained of Essence and rendered helpless. Of course, it is only in the
experimental stages right now." There was a loud explosion from somewhere
in the lab and Gerald jumped. A male Impudite in a lab ran in and waved
his hands. "Just a minor setback sir!" Vapula sighed and gestured. That
Impudite was grabbed by a couple of Djinn and hauled towards a line of
demons being herded towards the vats. "You see, the Word of Technology
encompasses true change and mobility, offering humanity the potenial for
development and growth. There may be the occassional unpleasant
side-effect, but it is bound to happen." Vapula shrugged. Gerald nodded.
"Stuff happens." Vapula nodded. "Yes, that's it exactly! I think your
enlightened mind will make the right decision!" Gerald chuckled. "Me,
enlightened, I don't think so, but we'll see." The glow carried him away
before the Impudite's little bath in the vats.
Gerald reappeared this time in a large waiting room. ~Huh? Asmodeus's
place again?~ As he looked around, he realized that wasn't true. This
floor was solid black instead of chessboard-patterned. There were fewer
chairs and no secretary. There were two Calabim, one stationed on each
side of a massive black door in positions of military alertness, rifles
at the ready. One of the Calabim looked at Gerald and nodded. "You are
the visitor we've expected, sir. Please enter." They opened the doors,
admitting Gerald into a room, and then closed the doors behind him.
Gerald found himself in an office lit by soft red lights from two lamps
at the far end of the room. The floor was hard, but there was an
expensive-looking red carpet over much of it, with plants on small
tables. A bookshelf filled with books lined one wall, while before Gerald
was a black, military-style desk, utilitarian. A Balseraph reared up from
behind it, blood-red scales agleam. Its' six green eyes took him in, then
it bowed. "Greetings Gerald Finkel. I am Baal, the Prince of The War,
Supreme Commander of the armies of Hell under Lucifer. You look
uncomfortable. Would this form suit you better?" The tone was precise and
neutral as, to Gerald's amazement, the creature before him blurred and
became a handsome young man dressed in a U.S. military uniform! He looked
surprised at Gerald's amazed look. "You mean they didn't tell you that we
demons take corporeal form to accomplish our tasks?" Gerald shook his
head. "Nah. Vapula, Asmodeus, Malphas, and Kronos all looked human! So'd
Lilith for that matter." Baal shook his head. "I hate such games-playing.
For your edification, Vapula is a Habbalite, Malphas a Shedite, Asmodeus
a Djinn, Kronos a Balseraph like myself, and Lilith is or was human. It's
hard to classify with her." He paused. "This is why you should pick the
Word of The War. We do not play games. We are professional soldiers. Pick
us and know that the Master's mission will be carried out with precision
and strategy." Gerald nodded. "Thanks for the enlightenment pal. I ain't
never been a military man myself, but I'll consider it. Hey, how many
more Princes are there anyways? I've been to Vapula, Asmodeus, Lilith,
Haagenti, Kobal, Malphas, Mammon, Fleurity, Valefor, Andrealphus,
Saminga, Alaemon, Belial, Kronos, Beleth, and Furfur already." Baal
nodded. "One more then. Nybbas awaits you. Farewell." Gerald was engulfed
in the warm glow again.
Gerald came out of the warmth of the glow this time in what looked to be
some sort of news studio. He saw demons and damned souls rushing around,
setting equipment up. One of them, a pretty young Lilim, nodded at him
and disappeared. Moments later, she returned with a tall Impudite. The
Impudite was dressed snappily in a three-piece Armani business suit, with
handcrafted leather shoes and his eyes behind mirrored sunglasses. Before
Gerald could say anything, a female Habbalite rushed forward and put a
microphone before him. He saw a camera come on as the Habbalite said
"Fresh from the studio, the newest major name in Hell: Gerald Finkel!
Viewers, as you may know, Gerald here has been on a whirlwind tour
through Hell, interviewing each of the Demon Princes and representatives
of all the major Bands to determine which ones will be suit the
mysterious plans of our enigmatic Prince Lucifer. Now at last he has come
to Perdition to interview the King of the charts himself, our own Prince
Nybbas! Gerald, how do you feel at this moment?" Gerald blinked and
stammered out "Uhhh....well, its' an honor. I'm a little confused but..."
The Habbalite cut in smoothly. "There you have it folks! We'll have the
interview live in five minutes right here, so don't change the channel!"
The camera cut out and Gerald was quickly shoved into a sofa set against
a green backdrop. Demons and damned souls dabbed his face in powders and
sheen while he struggled to ask questions. So it was that five minutes
later, he found himself across from the Impudite in the sunglasses as the
cameras began rolling. The Impudite smiled for the cameras. "Greetings,
all my loyal viewers! I'm here with that handyman extraordinare, that
King of good taste, Gerald Finkel." He turned. "Gerald, you see, is
mortal, handpicked by our Lord and Master Lucifer for the purposes of
selection a certain type of demon for an as-yet unspecified mission." He
turned back to Gerald. "Now he's come to me, Nybbas, Prince of the
Media." Gerald nodded, sweating under the hot lights. "So you control
television?" Nybbas laughed. "Television, newspapers, movies, babe, I've
got it *all* covered! Gerald blinked. "That strong huh?" Nybbas laughed.
"Oh yeah, I make dreams and I break them. Pick the Word of The Media and
your career is set babe!" Gerald nodded. "I see. I'll let you know." He
vanished in the glow and Nybbas turned to the camera. "You saw it here on
Perdition News Network folks. Gerald Finkel, having made his tour of all
the Princes, has now been taken by Lucifer to make his decision! Updates
at 11!"
Gerald floated for what seemed like ages in the warmth of the glow this
time, carefully mulling over all of his choices. He had definite ideas
about who he liked and didn't like by now. He felt safe here, so he was
startled when he was dragged out of the glow abruptly, back into the
chamber where he had selected between the Bands. Lucifer was back, as
were all the Demon Princes, Lucifer nodded. "Welcome back Gerald. Now
comes the time of decision. Which do you choose? Make your choice without
fear of retribution." Gerald nodded and looked over each Prince. Finally,
he said "I choose Nybbas. Let's face it, people are slaves to the news,
the sports and entertainment channels. I think that a demon would have to
be where the action is." Nybbas crowed as the other Princes glared.
Lucifer nodded. "A Lilim of the Media it is. Prepare for transformation."
Gerald gaped. "What?!" The Demon Princes looked startled too. Lucifer
waved a wing. "You didn't think you'd be leaving Hell, did you?" Gerald
pulled his wrench. "But you said..." Lucifer nodded. "Oh yes, I said no
danger to your *soul*, but it won't be *your* soul anymore Gerald."
Lucifer turned to Lilith and she nodded. Lucifer turned back and said
"Farewell, my friend." With that, a beam of light tore through the auto
mechanic's body. He fell in a dead heap and Lucifer dragged forth his
naked soul....which he tore asunder. The shreds flowed into Lilith's
hands, which glowed with dark-green light. Slowly, the assembled Royalty
of Hell watched as the soul fragments went into a new Lilim. When it was
complete, Lilith smiled. "Behold Estravel, Lilim of the Media!" Estravel
looked around for a moment and spotted the dead body, still clutching the
useless wrench. She pointed and said "Do I know him?" Nybbas put his arm
around her shoulder. "Nope. Come with me, babe....I'll make you a star!"
Estravel shrugged and followed, putting away a nagging sense of betrayal.
After they left, Lucifer said "Just an object lesson in subtelty and
charm, Servitors." The light flared and was gone, leaving the Demon
Princes of Hell to marvel at...and fear...their Master anew.
Back to the INC Mainpage.
EDG <[email protected]>
In Nomine Collection Curator