The Demon Page 24

  As he walked, Dante toyed with the notion of destroying the lives of every person in Bethlehem to draw out Victor. The temptation was nearly overwhelming. The dark tendrils of power rose once again from Dante’s body and he felt the raw power coursing through his veins. This was new. Even when he was in the past, bolstered by Death’s own magic, Dante never felt this powerful. It was intoxicating. Was this how a god felt? He looked at his clenched fist and watched the waves of excess energy float away on the breeze. He had shattered Artemis’ jaw and snapped the archangel’s head back so violently it crushed the vertebrae in his neck. Given enough practice, Dante felt he could master this new power quickly. Then a new thought occurred to him; what if he did go to Hell? How would his powers grow if he were to take up the mantle of king? He had heard that a demon was at its most powerful when awash in the chaotic energies of Hell. How would that affect him when he had never been there? Once again, Dante allowed the temptation to turn his thoughts away from his intended course. With that kind of power, he could shape worlds, topple entire civilizations. What he did in the past was paltry in comparison. With him on the throne, there would be no new war to rival the likes of the last Great War. No, it would be a slaughter. Dante was the rightful king of Hell, whereas Damien, the previous king was a usurper who stole the throne from his own father.

  “Good old grandfather,” Dante muttered. His steps slowed, then eventually stopped entirely. He stood on the outskirts of the town, Staci’s home within view. His ring was pulling him toward the house, toward the blood stain on Victor’s blade no doubt.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Dante said to himself, turning away. “I will avenge you, my love. But not today. I will return someday and exact my vengeance upon that angel and everyone he has ever loved. For now, I must go and take what is mine. And for what I am about to do, I beg you forgive me.” He began walking back into town, black waves of power emanating from his body.

  “Such carnage,” Death lamented as he stared into a scrying basin next to Artemis. “My reapers will be busy for quite some time sorting out this mess.”

  Artemis scowled and waved his hand over the image of Bethlehem in flames. The image faded, mercifully hiding the butchered, broken corpses of the innocent townsfolk. “Only those on the outskirts of town survived,” the archangel stated. “But this was no act of war. Consider it akin to what happened in Manhattan. He is ready, and now willing, to take the throne of Hell. We shall help him settle in and call our first meeting to order shortly after. Once again, there will be balance. Each of the three thrones are filled and our worlds can move on. See to it, Death.”

  The skeletal figure nodded and disappeared into a portal to his home realm. Artemis was left looking over the basin, wondering just how he would keep Dante from lashing out. Perhaps after the demon has had a chance to calm down, he can properly reign over Hell.

  Death appeared before Dante as the demon walked away from the smoldering ruins of Bethlehem.

  “What is it, Death?” Dante demanded. “Shouldn’t you be busy collecting souls?”

  The reaper noted the lack of title in Dante’s address. The demon had apparently lost his respect for him. “I come to take you to your throne,” he stated. “If you are ready…”

  Dante nodded. “Take me to my kingdom, then.”

  Death knelt on the ground and traced a small sigil in the soft soil with his bony finger. The sigil resembled an altered pentagram made from five conjoining circles with a larger circle surrounding the whole. With the completion of each circle, red-orange flames sprouted from the outlines. Upon completion of the sigil as a whole, the flames turned black and a portal opened in the air above the markings. Death motioned to Dante to step through.

  The demon looked at the portal and the realm beyond, then looked to Death in puzzlement. It looked very similar to Earth, but with few differences. The reaper motioned again and Dante hesitantly stepped through. Instantly he felt the power in his body swell to enormous levels. More energy crackled through him than he had ever felt, but instead of wafting away on the breeze, he absorbed it, further fueling the massive reserve of magic at his beck and call. He was astounded at the new feeling within himself, but was completely unprepared for what lay outward. His whole perception changed with that first step into his native realm. The sky was ablaze with blue fire, lighting the world in a pale blue glow. It resembled the cool light of dawn on a brisk autumn morning. The grass beneath his feet seemed more like soft green flames that had turned into a plant. Demons and devils were at work tending fields and working at their various crafts. This was not the Hell that Dante had envisioned all his life. He had expected a cavernous, rocky dungeon filled with the screams of the damned, not this altered mirror image of Earth. Dante stared at a bustling village not unlike a small town on Earth. He gazed in wonder and awe at the beauty of this world, allowing the view to distract him from his grief. Even the demons he looked upon looked mostly human. Some had horns, or a tail, or even a pair of wings. He saw smiling faces, some of which possessed fangs, and there were even children at play. Mingling with the demons were devils, the twisted, evil looking creatures from myth and stories, but they were treated as equals among the other denizens of Hell. Devil children ran with the demon children and played games with them. Everyone here was equal in each other’s eyes.

  “Not what you expected of your people?” Death asked.

  Dante shook his head and realized his mouth was agape. “These people, these beautiful creatures, are all my kind?”

  Death nodded, and if he had any lips, they would have curled into a wry smile. The vengeful image of a demon on a rampage was gone, replaced by the visage of the proper ruler of Hell that Death had hoped Dante would become. Too long had the three worlds been in a strained peace. It was time there was a rightful king in Hell, one who would keep the peace.

  Some of the local villagers noticed the pair and came to greet them.

  “Welcome back to our world, Lord Death,” one demon woman smiled. Her warm greeting knocked Dante further off balance. These people obviously knew the reaper well and did not seem at all fazed at his appearance in their realm.

  “I thank you, miss,” Death replied. His tone was friendly and kind, not the usual dark tone Dante had come to know.

  “And who have you brought with you?” the woman asked, looking at Dante. Her red eyes, so akin to Dante’s own crimson orbs, grew large as she recognized his face. She fumbled in her pockets and withdrew a silver coin. Holding it up, she inhaled sharply. “You’re… you are the heir to the throne!” she gasped, falling to her knees. She bowed her head and the other demons nearby followed suit. The general mood shifted so fast that Dante was reeling. When they had first approached them, the demons were welcoming and friendly. Now they seemed terrified. One of them had even begun shaking in fear.

  Dante looked upon them, at first confused, then in understanding. Their last king had been a tyrant and must have ruled his subjects with an iron fist. Instinctually, he knelt down and gently lifted the woman’s face towards his with a finger on her chin. He stared into her eyes and said, “I am not the king you fear me to be.” Her fright softened into a relieved smile and she stood with Dante. The rest saw this and stood as well, every one of them relieved to see a kind king before them.

  “We must be on our way,” Death interjected. “Your new king must now take his throne.”

  Hell’s seat of power rested in a palatial tower situated in the glowing caldera of an immense volcano. The tower itself floated within the crater, great chains with links as thick as redwoods anchoring it. A single bridge spanned the gap, linking the tower’s entrance to the rim of the volcano. The bridge was the size of most highways that lay ruined on Earth, and held hulking obsidian statues of every king of Hell since the great Osiris himself along the half closest to the tower entrance. As Dante walked along the bridge, a statue was magically forming on an empty pedestal. He watched in amazement as magma flowed out of the stone pedestal and cooled in
to obsidian, slowly taking shape. Once finished, the new statue stood tall and proud, depicting Dante in armor fit for a king, and a hell-spawned crown on his head. He shook his head in awe and followed after Death.

  The great black wrought-iron gates twisted into what looked like a thorny rose bush stood before them, barring passage. When Dante approached, the gates twisted into each other, forming a thorny archway studded in ruby roses. Through the archway stood the tower itself, a ridged obsidian and onyx monolith with smaller spires and towers branching off the sides. Black marble gargoyles jutted out, keeping a steady vigil all around the tower. Some even came to life and flew on great stone wings to soar on the updrafts from the volcano’s super-heated lava. They patrolled the area and went back to their roosts. Dante felt all their eyes upon him as he entered the enormous oaken doors, swinging inward on well-oiled hinges.

  The great hall was immense, easily taking up nearly the full bottom quarter of the tower. Giant black marble columns lined the hall in two rows, supporting the lofty ceiling’s great weight. Dante’s hard-soled boots clacked loudly on the stone floor and echoed in the empty hall. Dark tapestries depicting great battles and scenes from tales hung from the walls, each one easily two or three stories tall. All the way toward the back of the great hall sat a grand throne of obsidian and ruby, the two glasslike stones intertwined to look like a raging red and black inferno. The throne stood to a height of just over ten feet and sat nearly four feet wide. The seat was cushioned in plush crimson velvet and the back rest was upholstered in a black fabric that seemed to drink in all light.

  Dante walked up the steps to the throne’s dais and ran his fingers reverently across the beautifully worked stone. He looked to Death and sighed. “This is almost too much to bear,” the demon muttered.

  “Do you feel the need to sit?” Death asked, amused at the demon’s awe. “Take the throne, Dante, and claim your birthright.”

  Dante looked back to the throne. The burning rage that had originally fueled his decision to rule Hell had abated, replaced by the desire to help the people of Hell - his people. He felt a cold, skeletal hand on his shoulder. He turned, looking into Death’s empty sockets. The reaper nodded, assuring Dante he was making the right choice. Dante slowly sat on the throne, feeling the weight of a crown being placed on his head. Death stood over him, pulling skeletal hands away, and moved backward down the steps of the dais.

  “You are king now,” Death intoned, pulling out the amulet Artemis had shown Dante. He handed it to the new king, and Dante slipped the chain over his head. Once the amulet came to rest over his heart, Dante felt a surge of power rush through his spine. The realm of Hell had just granted him the power to rule over his people. Death would have smiled and he said, “The third throne is now filled and our three worlds can finally be at peace.”

  Dante shifted to a comfortable position on the throne and relaxed. “So, no coronation ceremony, then?” he joked.

  “There will be, once the rest of your kingdom knows of your arrival. I shall send a messenger through the realm and there will be a grand feast in your honor.”

  Dante nodded, getting a feeling that his life would change completely. Trepidation filled him for the first time since he came to Hell. What was going to happen next? How would he go about ruling Hell? Dante’s head swam with questions and he felt the weight of being king beginning to bow his shoulders. Then, he straightened, defying the crushing weight of fear, and smiled. The throne was his. He had the power to do whatever he wanted. His people would thrive, and he would have his revenge against Victor.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Dante ruled Hell with the care and compassion that was lacking during Damien’s reign. The world’s economy was never stronger and there were few rebellions. What little dissent that was felt was swiftly addressed. During the ten years since taking the throne, Dante brought a new outlook to the people of Hell. He made mistakes in the beginning, but quickly learned from his advisors: demons who had been at the king’s side since the days of Hades. Their information and experience were integral in Dante’s reign, and he held his power with a calm, sure hand. That was not to say that he was a weak ruler. Those few rebellions that did arise - several assassination attempts, and even a few coups - were dealt with by his hand directly. Dante was as hands-on as was possible when it came to doling out justice or punishment. Demons and devils thrived under his rule, as did all of Hell. His world was at peace.

  As time went on, Dante set out to discover more about his world. He quickly found that there were indeed parts of Hell reserved for the souls of the damned, where they would be endlessly tortured for eternity, called the Pits. These places became Hell’s very own prison for any would-be usurpers and rebels. Those whose crimes were heinous enough would be dropped into the pits to be continuously ripped to shreds, only to be healed shortly after for the punishments to resume again. Those who repented of their crimes were given a merciful, swift death at Dante’s hand. Others, whose crimes were not as severe, were imprisoned in Hell’s dungeons deep beneath the volcano. Within that decade, Dante sat in judgment of countless demons and devils intent on disobeying his laws.

  During that time, Dante kept a close watch on his first home, making certain Earth was doing well. As much as he liked his new home, Dante knew that Earth was always his true home. That was where he was born, after all. Earth was thriving as well. Pre-war technology was slowly coming back and the humans were moving on from the nightmares left behind. Telephones and general communications were online once more and electricity was freely available to all. For such short-lived creatures, the humans were quite ingenious as engineers and laborers. Earth was nearly back to its former, pre-war glory. Great skyscrapers were being rebuilt and entire cities were coming back to life. Manhattan was nearing completion, once again becoming the shining beacon of life it was in the past. Even the cities Dante had destroyed millennia ago were thriving again.

  The demon king was pleased with how well the humans were reforming their world. No doubt Death had a hand in some of it. Earth was looking somewhat as it had in the mid twentieth century, according to history books and those few left who were there. The satellites in the sky helped greatly with the communications and new power plants were being built. What few nuclear bombs that remained were being dismantled and repurposed to create new sources of energy. Scientists hypothesized that they Earth would have safe nuclear plants generating power for the masses within several years. Some dictators arose to claim some of Earth’s bounties for themselves, but news of people rising against them spread quickly. Earth’s inhabitants lived free, happy lives, enjoying the comforts of the returned technology.

  Dante was privy to many of Earth’s reformations thanks to regular meetings between the three rulers. Once every three months, Ra, Death, and Dante would meet on Earth to discuss important issues. Artemis would preside over these meetings and offer his own insights as needed. More often than not, the meetings turned into a social gathering with the world leaders becoming fast friends. When time permitted, the three would occasionally visit one of the three realms and have a feast fit for gods. And they were indeed the closest things to gods as the universe had seen for an incredibly long time. Only Artemis held any sway over them all.

  Dante sat on his throne, blackened armor gleaming in the firelight, as he listened to the pleas of the people approaching him for aid. Nearly every day there was time set aside to hear the voice of the people and it was almost always filled with cries of help. The people would express their general happiness, of course, but would invariably delve into what matters troubled them. It was usually petty, from more food for their village, or coin, or more guards to protect a city. Dante did as he was able in order to help his people, which was more than they ever received from his predecessor, Damien. And Dante was glad to help. These people lived under Damien’s boot heel for too long, then went without a king for nearly a century.

  It was during one of these gatherings that a prisoner was
brought forth for judgment. It was common for the king of Hell to judge the souls of the dead whenever Death funneled them in. If they were guilty of heinous crimes against the worlds, they went to the Pits. If not, they passed to their own personal pocket in Heaven to await reincarnation. The guards dragged a beaten woman to the throne, her raven hair covering her face.

  “What has she done?” Dante asked noncommittally. His bored tone almost amused the guards. They dropped the bound woman to the stone floor and she struggled to her knees. She shook her hair from her face and glared directly into Dante’s eyes. Her face was bloody from the beatings she had undoubtedly received at the guards’ hands, and her eyes looked tired, yet vengeful. She looked familiar to the king.

  “State your name, woman,” Dante commanded, leaning forward slightly.

  The woman croaked out a noise, cleared her throat and tried again. “My name… my name is Erin. Erin Sykes.”

  Dante’s eyes widened. He had forgotten about her.

  “She was sent here from Earth shortly before you arrived, my lord, and has been awaiting sentencing,” a guard explained.

  Dante looked puzzled. “I was not aware that you knew how to get here, Erin,” he mused.

  “I didn’t,” she replied indignantly. “I’m here because I was killed.”

  Dante nodded. “Makes sense. I don’t know of any humans strong enough to make the trip. I ask again, what have you done?”