The Judas Line

He’s my friend.

[Very well.] The gurgly voice sounded sad but resolute.

I waited in the dark, enduring the flashes of brilliant white light, waiting for the Primal to do something, anything. It grew worrisome, this waiting. I was sure Mike was in danger and the Primal was taking too damn long!

[What’s the phrase? Oh yes … Hold your damn horses. We are experiencing time differently. Only a few seconds have passed while I have made … adjustments that will allow you to do this …]

Roaring became my world.

And power. Oh, such power, like I had inhaled the sun. My body dissolved into liquid, its solid matter left behind on top of the elevator. Looking down, I saw legs as well as a torso, arms and hands composed of rippling water. Memories of flesh sculpted in liquid, liquid I could bend to my will. Inside my “chest” was a cold spot, so cold, in fact, that it was well below zero, but it remained liquid. The Primal, now quiescent, its power mine.

All around me I felt water, a connection to something that was part and parcel of my being. Water through the plumbing, traveling up and down the entire building … It was like feeling the hot rush of blood travel through your veins. I called to the water … and it responded.

Pipes burst. PVC, copper, it didn’t matter, water exploded through as if they were constructed of tissue paper. I continued to call, the invisible tether of my will pulling water to me. Within seconds I was bathed in crystalline sprays, which I absorbed, becoming greater and greater, sucking in more and more.

By force of will I kept the water from running down the sides of the shaft; instead I absorbed it all and began to rise, a liquid giant, a fluid behemoth. Above, the rectangle of light came closer and I could sense the monster above, its evil pulsing against my … self, my consciousness. I extended my senses and the fiend became a black star shining above. I could feel its anger, its endless capacity for hatred. Three souls glowed near the fallen. Each had a unique signature, an essence I could discern. Cain shone with vitality and magic, while Maggie gleamed with the fires of her passion.

Mike eclipsed them both with the Power of God made manifest; however, the dark star surged and flared with ravenous hunger, a spiritual black hole. It came to me that Mike couldn’t channel any more energy without burning to ash on the spot.

No way was I going to let that happen.

I rose high enough and looked into the hallway, every molecule of water adhering to my form, totally under my control.

“And you, little monkey, cannot channel the energy to dispel me!” The fiend roared.

I felt horrendous anger and contempt. “You’ve got nothing on me, dickhead!”

Chapter Forty-Six

Mike

Dickhead? Whoever, whatever had said that had certainly captured the monster’s attention. It spun, facing the speaker, its bulk preventing us from seeing who had insulted it.

“Begone!” I yelled, my hand flaring with the heat shimmer of power that sent burning pain through my fingertips. At that same moment Cain shouted another Word. This time Mephistopheles wasn’t prepared and was hurled twenty feet down the hallway, tearing furrows into the drywall with its three-inch black nails. It landed with a floor-rattling thud that felt like a mini-quake.

There in the shaft was a turbulent column of water, and emerging from that column was the figure of a giant sculpted entirely out of translucent pale blue liquid, a water-man whose subtly shifting features were hauntingly familiar.

With a feeling of dread I recognized him. Morgan. My friend was … water? Beside me, I heard Maggie gasp as she recognized him as well.

“That is not something you see every day,” breathed Cain in wonder.

Maggie’s voice was full of tears. “You got that right, boss.”

Bellowing, Mephistopheles bounded to its horned feet, tearing even more clothing from its bluish-gray flesh. “I am the right hand of the Morning Star!” raged the demon. “I am an Arch-Fiend of Hell, monkey. You can’t possibly hope to stand against me!” One great claw flashed and passed harmlessly through my friend, who frowned at the demon.

“You were the Arc Angel Maphriel,” burbled Morgan calmly, his voice like water rushing over rock, “one of the Powers who chose to side with Lucifer. That makes you pretty much an asshole.”

The demon bellowed in defiance, slashing again and again, even chomping at Morgan with its needle-like teeth, to no effect.

“You are a Duke of Hell,” Morgan said, sounding almost bored. “But you are my world now.” His smile was a gash of disgust. “Here I rule water, like the water in your body.” He made a small gesture.

The demon began to scream, then screamed louder, the noise piercing and vibrating in my skull. All three of us clapped our hands to our ears as Mephistopheles sank to its knees, pain racking its body. Its skin grew glassy with fluid as it threw its head back, bellowing in agony, more and more liquid building up. Its skin, defying gravity, became a watery shell.

It shrank, but only a little at first. As the fluid shell grew, the demon continued to … collapse, shrink in upon itself, the bruised-looking skin becoming wrinkled and shriveled.

One drop flew from the demon’s shell, then another and another until it rained toward Morgan, who absorbed the liquid into … himself, I guess. As Mephistopheles shrank, my friend grew until he had to lean over or pierce the ceiling.

As its body shrank the Julian demon’s voice grew softer, diminishing to a low keening, then a pathetic whine and finally a whimper. When the last drop of moisture pattered into Morgan’s substance, all that was left of the demon was a husk that flopped lifeless to the floor and began to quickly decompose. Its smell was sulfurous, nauseating, the stench of a rotting corpses and vomit, only a thousand times worse.

“You know what his big mistake was?” Morgan asked in a silky voice that flowed like a mountain stream. “Once he took Julian’s form, he was subject to the rules of this world, he should’ve remembered that. Then again, the fallen aren’t that bright.”

I stepped toward my friend, staring up at his watery, blue face. There was a certain … contentment reflected in his features. I reached out and slowly ran a hand into his chest. Cold, like arctic runoff. In the center of his torso rested a soft, glowing pulse.

“That’s the Primal, man,” he remarked, as if reading my thoughts. “It’s quiescent right now, but when I give its power back, it’ll wake again.”

“Morgan-”

“It’s okay, Mike. It worked out better this way, I think.”

Maggie stepped close, tears flying from her eyes and becoming one with his elemental body. “Aw, hell, handsome,” she sobbed.

“Hey, Blondie, I’m sorry I won’t be able to take you out.”

“You’re probably a lousy tipper, anyway.” Her words were brave, but her face had contorted into mask of sorrow.

Morgan looked over my shoulder. “Cain, take care of them both, please.”

The big man removed his glaciers and rubbed his strange eyes. “I will, my young friend. You have my oath on it.”

“Boss,” Maggie whispered, amazed. “Your eyes!”

I took a look and felt my legs wobble. A dark, soft brown circled the irises, a sharp border that hadn’t been there before. Those orbs were still unnerving, but the impact of their regard was lessened somehow.

Cain reversed his glaciers, looking deep into their mirrored lenses and gasping in shock, the sound almost a sob.