when we spot them.”
The message went out and a few seconds later his radio came alive again. “Sun-Ray Alpha Actual, this is Sun- Ray Prime. Be advised your earlier message is confirmed. Russian, British and Czech units all report finding humans in apparently menial positions.” The voice on the other end sounded as if it was trying to stop laughing. “Lead elements of the French cavalry division report they have found what appears to be a bordello staffed with humans.”
“Trust the French to find a brothel.” One of the troopers in the command Stryker looked around at the sordid streets of Dis reflectively. “That we should be so lucky.”
The vehicle procession started again, the crews scanning the ever-growing number of faces watching from the buildings. Eventually they came to a large open area, backed by a second wall, one thinner and lower than the great outer wall. From behind it, plumes of smoke, faint but discernable, were rising. The heat was noticeable, not quite burning his face but giving him the same feeling he had when he’s been out in the sun too long. Chisholm looked at his map just to confirm what his eyes had just told him. “This is it people. The other side of that wall is the Hell Pit. Now, our problems really start.”
Underground Fortress of Palelabor, Tartarus, Hell
Belial was in an expansive mood. In the five days since the demonstration of his new Great Tridents, the workshops had produced half a dozen more, each with a naga assigned to it. Perhaps the disaster at the second portal had been a good thing after all, it had left a good number of crippled naga that were fit for little more than power sources. They could all be used up in powering his new weapons. Entering the Great Hall of his fortress, Belial saw something that made him freeze in his tracks. A figure, only marginally smaller than he was, with great wings that stretched out. Most of his court was prostrate on the ground in front of it.
“Belial.” The great voice boomed out, shaking the stone walls of the fortress.
“I am here Messenger of Satan.” There was no mistaking who this creature was. One of the surviving Greater Heralds, a member of the Corps of Diabolical Heralds.
“No Belial, Not a Messenger of Satan. Here me now. Satan is dead. The Lord Abigor now rules in his place. By my Lord Abigor’s ruling, the war with the humans is over. The City of Dis has surrendered and even now the humans move in to occupy it. My Lord Abigor commands you to lay down your arms and surrender to the humans. The war is lost, the fighting must end. So says my Lord Abigor.”
The Greater Herald crashed a staff down on the floor, sending chips of stone flying.
“NEVER!” Belial’s voice thundered around the hall, causing a stir of alarm from the assembled court.
“It is His Infernal Majesty Abigor’s will.” The Greater Herald spoke what was to him a simple truth not to be countermanded.
“Abigor is a traitor, a coward who surrendered to save his own life. Now he is a mindless puppet of the humans. I say he is unfit to rule. I spit upon his will and his commands. If Our Rightful Lord Satan has died, then it is I, I who was his favorite, I who was the only one to strike a blow against the humans, I who shall assume his throne.”
“So you may claim. But Abigor occupies the throne and has been acclaimed as ruler of Hell. He has challenged any who might disagree not to argue it with him but to do so with the humans. Those same humans who have destroyed every army in Hell at trifling cost to themselves. They stand behind Abigor now. And I note that the Adamantine Fortress has already been the subject of their wrath. It looks a little damaged from the experience. Submit Belial. And make your peace with the humans. My message ends.”
Belial looked at the Greater Herald and then looked at the Great Trident beside him, one that had just been delivered and was fitted with a naga in place and was charged up. His foot reached out and he kicked it so the barrel was in line with the Herald. One closed contact and the bolt flashed out, striking the Greater Herald full in the chest. The creature went down, its chest torn open, its blood already starting to burn its flesh. There was an awed silence in the great hall, nobody, dared to kill the Greater Heralds. Unless they were human of course, they killed everything that got in their way, Greater Heralds included. But demons never killed the personal representatives of the rulers of Hell. Belial looked at the audience and measured his power. It was growing fast and had just been confirmed.
“So perish all traitors to Hell. Surrender? Never. My orders from Satan were to destroy human cities and that is what we shall do. This Herald of the Traitor Abigor has received my reply to his insulting message. Now the humans shall receive my reply to theirs. Their cities shall burn. Yulupki, the chorus is ready?”
“It is Sire, although two more days…”
“Will be two days too long. We move out tomorrow at dawn. Are the shrines at Okthuura Jorkastrephas ready?”
“They are.”
“Then there is no reason to wait. My first act as the new ruler of Hell will be to bring the humans to their knees. I say this again, their cities will burn. This is their legacy from Satan just as my supreme power is his legacy to me.”
Belial gazed around the great hall again, drinking in his new-found power and status. His planning and scheming had worked better than he had any right to expect. With Satan dead and Abigor a traitor, all hell would rally to him. From a humble and forgotten count to the Supreme Ruler, the Infernal Majesty of Hell, he had much to thank the humans for. Not that he intended to show any gratitude for their services to him of course.
City of Dis. Hell
The Humvee drove down the street, the center of a convoy of five vehicles. The first pair contained troops from DIMO(N), the fourth was a communications truck, the last contained more troops. The center vehicle contained Julie Adams and a mass of electronic equipment. Every so often, her mind reached out, amplified by the electronics and touched a mind she knew all too well.
“He’s here Jack. That building there.”
“Got it ma’am.” The convoy came to a halt and the troops started to dismount, their. 50 caliber M4s swinging into firing position with comfortable ease. It seemed a long time since the M4 carbine had fired the puny. 223 caliber round.
Julie dismounted also, touching her hat to make sure the tinfoil screen that stood between her and madness was still in place. These days, every cap on sale, be it a baseball cap or a British bowler had its tinfoil lining – and the days when a man or women was seen without a cap were also long gone. Building contractors were making a fortune, rebuilding houses, apartment blocks and office complexes with continuous metal linings built into their walls. Just one part of the way humanity was reacting to its new reality.
The soldiers kicked the door of the house down without any real effort. It was flimsy, a nothing when matched with steel boots. Inside a group of demons, some male, some female, cowered at the sight of humans with guns. They knew what guns were now, there wasn’t a family in Dis that hadn’t lost many of its males to humans with guns.
“Domiklespharatu. Where is he?” Julie rapped the words out, impatiently, angrily. She was carrying Desert Eagle handgun, also chambered for. 50AE ammunition. It was a very popular hand gun these days for people who liked semi-automatic pistols. People who liked revolvers tended to go for the Smith and Wesson 500. Then she looked around the house. It wasn’t what she had expected. She’d thought Domiklespharatu was a prince living in a great palace somewhere, not a hut that was barely more than a hovel. A slightly better hovel than those around it, agreed, but still a hovel. Across the room, one of the females gasped, another pointed to a curtain-covered doorway.
Julie went through it, brushing the dirty curtain to one side. “Remember me Domiklespharatu? Remember what…”
Then she stopped. It was Domiklespharatu all right, but he was as little as she had imagined as this house had been. He was cowering against a wall, shaking with fear, his eyes already beginning to glaze over. As she watched, he started to lose control of his bowels, urinating on the floor in sheer panic. And it was hardly surprising, Domiklespharatu was barely a half-grown kidling.
“It was a game, it was just a game,” he was whimpering with fear, trying to drop to his knees to grovel in front of her yet he had lost the muscle control needed to do it.
“Just a game.” Julie looked at him with loathing. All the misery she had endured for years was ‘just a game’. “And you think that made it all right.” She lifted up her Desert Eagle, feeling the comfortable bulk of it in her hands. She had dreamed of this ever since her tinfoil hat had brought her sanity back.
