Interim I - Pride

Interim I - Pride

“I have never much cared for the so-called ‘Black Princes of Hell’; to me they are a bunch of spoiled, quarrelling school children. The fact that I call them ‘Master’ is purely a courtesy and a custom of the environment in which I am forced to live.

“The depths of this lightless pit is ruled by the Seven and of those seven, none is more feared, more reviled, more mirthless than the Proud Prince, Lucifer; the First of the Fallen Ones.

“Lucifer once defected from the Angels, refusing to bow to the Creator’s second progeny. He was cast from the Holy Kingdom and sent through the fiery abyss. Instead of writhing in the tortuous pit like other souls before him, he relished it, savoured it and endured the very pain that was supposed to break his spirit; all to show that he was the strongest of all creation.

“That pestilent hubris had spread to the mortal realm granting them the holier-than-thou attitude that humans have now become infamous for in Hell. When a mortal believes that he is better than the world around him, that he is entitled to greatness, he sends a call to Prince Lucifer, the Throne of Pride.

“And Lucifer always answers…”

His footsteps echoed off the pine floorboards as he marched through the archway of the ‘State Library of Victoria’ in the bustling Melbourne city. The many avid knowledge seekers took no notice of him as his crimson-cloak whipped through the security system and into the main auditorium.

He lifted his head and stared at the marvellous man-made structure before. ‘A demon’s feeding pit,’ he thought as he continued striding boldly through to the wooden staircase and made his way upstairs, walking into the gallery room.

He stood in the middle of the gallery, his blood-red eyes scanning across the various art works on the wall until they fell upon Ben McKeown’s ‘Spring Street End’ sitting in the far corner of the room. In front of the coloured canvas stood an old man, his shaking hands clutching firmly onto a walking frame and talking to the man beside him; a man dressed in the blackest of black suits, speaking quietly and smirking proudly.

His crimson trench coat kicked against his leg as the red-eyed man made his way towards them, straining his ears to listen to their conversation as he moved closer.

‘… And why not?’ The old man asked indignantly. ‘I thought the Dark Prince would want a free soul.’

The pitch-black suited man crossed his arms and continued smirking. ‘Gerald, Gerald, Gerald,’ he said condescendingly, ‘well of course I want souls. But the value of your soul is greatly diminished, I’m afraid.’

‘And why’s that?’ The old man Gerald asked angrily. ‘I’ve lived a good life, I’ve filled my soul with family and friends and experiences. My soul has lots of value Lucifer.’

The suited man, Lucifer, let out a snort of derision as he produced a small scroll from the inside of his jacket. ‘Gerald Jameson,’ he read off the page, ‘widower, four children, owner of a once-successful, but now-defunct, textile factory and –‘

Lucifer turned around at the sound of the crimson man’s footsteps echoing closer. ‘Ah excellent, the Contractor is here.’

Gerald was very nervous at having two Hellions in his midst. ‘W-what is this?’

‘Gerald, this is Faust; Hell’s Contractor… ah… Lawyer if you will. All pacts and contracts are governed by him and his extensive knowledge of the laws of Creation.’ Lucifer’s professional demeanour soured. ‘Although, his tardiness is not appreciated.’

The crimson man, Faust, stared at the Prince of Pride boorishly and matched Lucifer’s dark, mirthless gaze. ‘Is there a reason you summoned me Lucifer?’ He asked curtly.

‘His familiar tone is unappreciated too.’ Lucifer sneered. ‘I have called you here, Faust, because our good friend Gerald here has requested a second opinion.’

‘On what?’

‘On the value of his soul and watch how you address me cretin.’ Lucifer snapped. ‘Your existence is only a courtesy I bestow.’

Faust ignored him and turned to face the old man, clearly befuddled by the situation, Gerald spoke. ‘I… I just wanted to exchange my soul so that my children can live long, happy lives.’

Faust ran his hand through his ebon hair and took a deep breath. ‘Okay, setting aside the fact that the irony of that statement will be painfully felt long after you’re a corpse in the ground, what you’re asking for is simply and mathematically impossible.’

‘Why?’ Gerald defended again, hitting his walking frame on the ground frustratingly. ‘I’ve lived a good life, a just life. My soul should be worth plenty.’

‘Yeah, that doesn’t mean jack shit old man.’ Faust continued. ‘By asking for your children to live long lives, you are robbing Hell of the chance to reap their souls early. All for what, your old and used-up soul? Why should we take one ancient soul now, when we can take four potential fresh souls later?’

Gerald stared at his feet ashamedly as the Contractor proceeded to belittle him further.

‘And besides Gerald, you’re no patron saint. Your life is marred with sin; your first child out of wedlock, lust. The drugs and alcohol during your younger years, gluttony. And how many small companies have you bankrupted to get your business off the ground? Greed.’

‘What’s your point Contractor?’ Gerald asked meekly.

‘My point is that your soul belongs to Hell anyway and you’re old and you’re gonna die soon. So I doubt there’s any worry that you’re suddenly gonna turn into a saint there Jerry.’

‘M-my soul has plenty of value.’ Gerald replied quietly.

‘So you see Gerald,’ Lucifer added smugly, ‘strictly from a business point of view, you really have nothing to offer us.’

‘What was the nature of your deal with Lucifer anyway?’ Faust asked.

Gerald whispered something inaudible.

‘What was that?’ Faust asked loudly. ‘Speak up old man.’

‘Diabetes.’ He said slightly louder. ‘I want to cure my children of diabetes.’

Faust was taken aback by Gerald’s answer. ‘With… with your dying breath, you wanna cure your kids of diabetes?’

The old man nodded. ‘I’ve lived a good life Contractor, but the price of my hedonism is left for my children to pay. It’s not right; I’m the one responsible; I’m the one who should be paying.’

Faust stared at the sad old man in front of him curiously. Lucifer the Proud Prince stared at Gerald with a newfound interest.

‘Well, given such a touching testimony, perhaps we can reconsider our arrangement.’ The Black Prince said, smirking his trademark smirk.

‘What do you mean?’ Gerald asked hopefully.

‘It means that the value of your so –‘

Faust was cut off by the Black Prince’s loud throat clearing. ‘A word Faust?’ He said sternly.

Lucifer dragged Faust over into the far corner and stared at him angrily. ‘What in Hell are you doing?’

‘My job, Lucifer.’ Faust replied frankly. ‘We’re not supposed to keep anything from them if they want to sign a pact.’

‘I don’t give a shit what your job is.’ Lucifer spat. ‘If you tell him what his soul is actually worth, that sacrifice grows the soul, he may find way into the Kingdom of Light. Do you understand?’

‘I understand, but I don’t fucking care. There is no reason to take his soul; he is old, he will join you in Hell in due time.’

‘That is not your decision; I am the Black Prince of Hell, I shall decide whether to reap a soul.’

‘My duties and laws supersede your pri-‘

Faust’s sentence cut short as he felt the searing hot pain of the Black Prince’s hand upon his chest, burning into his flesh.

‘Now you listen to me you little shit stain,’ Lucifer hissed angrily, pushing his burning palm further into Faust’s chest, ‘you don’t ever fucking talk to me like that. Not in this realm, not in any realm. You may be ancient, but I am still more powerful than anything in creation. Do you understand me?’

Faust dropped to his knees as Lucifer finally let him go. Panting and wheezing he glared at the Prince of Pride as he straightened his pitch-black suit and walked back over to Gerald.

Faust growled as he picked himself up from the ground and dusted off his crimson trench coat, re-joining the Black Prince in his conference, his face contorted into a horrible snarl.

‘As I was saying earlier, Gerald,’ Lucifer began again, ‘I am willing to consider your offer.’

‘You are?’ Gerald said happily, his wrinkled eyes welling with tears. ‘Truly?’

‘Yes, your soul for the cure of diabetes for all four of your offspring.’ Lucifer stared at his nails nonchalantly. ‘I am nothing if not generous.’

Faust let out a sarcastic scoff met with a dangerous leer from the Black Prince himself. Gerald, the old man, nodded his head slowly. ‘I… I agree.’

Lucifer lifted his head back superiorly. ‘Very good then; I shall en-‘

‘Hold on,’ Faust interjected, ‘as the Contractor I need to make sure that this contract is perfect and respecting all jurisdictions.’

‘What jurisdictions?’ Lucifer hissed venomously. ‘He agreed to the pact with me, his soul shall henceforth belong to me.’

‘But is it rightfully yours?’ Faust asked. ‘He is making a deal and arguing about the value of his soul. This sounds a lot like greed to me, not pride.’

‘Don’t you dare Fa-‘

‘And if it’s a deal of greed,’ Faust continued, smiling softly, ‘then wouldn’t the deal best be done with –‘

‘Me,’ said a loud and curt voice from behind them.

Lucifer closed his eyes and, without even looking at whom he was addressing, uttered only one name, ‘Mammon.’

Gerald rubbed his aging eyes with his shaking hands and stared at the newcomer; he was a young man with hollow black eyes and a head of impossibly-black hair, donning a sharp attire of a jet-black vest, jet-black shirt, jet-black tie and jet-black slacks; the Greed Prince, Mammon.

‘What are you doing here Mammon?’ Lucifer asked, finally turning to face him. ‘I found him first.’

‘Well, as the Contractor stated; I am here because this deal should not be struck with you, Lucy, rather, me.’

Lucifer growled. ‘Don’t call me Lucy.’

Mammon raised his finger and waved it side to side, letting out a sarcastic ‘tut’ as he so did. ‘Temper, temper brother, your pride goeth before the fall.’

‘Why do you need this antediluvian’s soul anyway?’ Lucifer spat. ‘Your cup runneth over!’

‘Ah guys,’ Faust interrupted facetiously, ‘if ma and pa are done fighting, I think the kid is getting freaked out.’

Both Black Princes of Hell interrupted their quarrel and stared at Gerald, shaking nervously under their gaze.

‘I was here first,’ Lucifer stated again, ‘I sign the pact.’

Mammon patted his vest pockets. ‘Well if it means that much to you,’ he stated condescendingly, ‘I guess I can give you a crumb.’ He took a few steps away, inspecting the painting before him.

Faust was bemused by the storm clouds over the Proud Prince’s head as Lucifer produced a parchment from his jacket and began instructing the old geriatric. His crimson trench coat whipped behind him as Faust wheeled around and stood next to Mammon.

‘That was generous of you, Mammon.’ He stated, staring at the painting. ‘Letting that little shit have a soul that should have been yours.’

‘Yes,’ he remarked, ‘I am good to my brother aren’t I?’

‘How ironic; the Greedy Prince showing philanthropy.’ Faust laughed. ‘The Bible’s got it so wrong.’

 ‘I hardly call that philanthropy; it’s just an old man and his relic of a soul.’

Faust shrugged. ‘His soul may be worth more than you think.’

Mammon turned his head and, with his cold, blackened eyes, stared straight into Faust’s blood-red retinas. ‘Explain yourself.’

‘Well,’ Faust began innocently, ‘think about the deal he’s making; his soul, for the betterment of four others, to rid disease from their lives.’

Mammon gasped softly. ‘The Sacrifice.’

‘I wonder how powerful his soul is now with that resolve.’ Faust stated offhandedly.

Mammon’s eyes burned with desire as he stared at Gerald Jameson, pressing his pin-pricked finger onto the Proud Prince’s parchment. The contract burst into flames and Lucifer closed his eyes, lolling his head left and right before his eyes shot open.

‘It’s done Jerry,’ he told the anticipating mortal, ‘no more diabetes.’

‘And… my soul?’ He said, quivering.

Lucifer opened his hand and placed it gently in the centre of the old man’s chest. A faint, white light was seen from the contact point and Lucifer slowly pulled his hand back, revealing a small, glowing, golden orb being extracted from Gerald’s chest.

‘No,’ Faust heard Mammon whisper, ‘it should be mine. No!’ Mammon threw Faust out of the way as he charged with unholy speed towards Lucifer; his hands outstretched, he grabbed the golden orb, Gerald’s soul, before the Proud Prince had laid a finger upon it. ‘It’s mine!’ He shouted loudly, as passers-by hurried out of the room nervously.

‘It is not yours!’ Lucifer stated, as the limp body of Gerald Jameson crumpled to the floor. ‘He signed the pact under my dominion!’

‘But under my discipline!’ Mammon returned.

‘I will have that soul back.’

‘Come and claim it brother!’

‘Girls, girls please,’ Faust added mockingly, ‘you’re both the prettiest in all of Hell.’

Lucifer pointed a shaking finger at Faust. ‘You, Contractor, rectify this immediately!’

‘Oh? You want me to fix this?’

Mammon turned to him and stared at him ominously. ‘Who has jurisdiction of the soul.’

‘Oh yeah, sure, no problem; let me look that up for you shall I?’ He reached into his trench coat and pulled out a small, silver bible, leafing through the pages carelessly. ‘Let’s see; ownership, ownership… ah here it is.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Section 126 of the ‘Pacts to Hell’ ante bellum;

“Should a soul’s ownership come into contest from the Rulers of Hell”, that’s you two idiots, “after a pact is successfully enacted, then the disputing parties have but two choices: to surrender the soul back to its original, mortal owner, or to go to war over the possession of the soul.”

Well there you have it girls; give it back or go to war.’

Faust snapped the silver bible shut and stared at the two Black Princes in amusement. ‘So are you gonna give it back to him or not?’

‘It does not belong under the banner of Pride.’ Mammon spat.

‘I was talking about the meat sack.’ Faust retorted, jerking his head indicatively towards Gerald, still unconscious on the ground.

Mammon’s eyes narrowed. ‘Never.’

‘Oh okay,’ Faust stated, ‘then shall I let cry the dogs of war?’

Mammon stared at the small golden orb in his hand and then back at his brother, Lucifer. With a frustrating roar, he rushed over to Gerald and plunged the glowing soul back into his chest.

With one last angry look at Faust and Lucifer, he turned around haughtily and made his way down the steps of the gallery and out into the busy Melbourne streets.

Faust smiled softly to himself but his glee was short-lived.

‘You,’ Lucifer accused angrily, ‘you cost me a soul Contractor!’ Lucifer ran towards Faust, his hand blazed an ominous scarlet glow as it flew through the air, racing towards the Contractor.

Faust stood his ground and, without a word, he darted forward with lightning speed, grabbing the Black Prince around his neck and lifting him off the ground. Lucifer’s mortal body dangled in the air, flailing and thrashing about, cursing madly at Faust as he brought his head closer to the Proud Prince.

‘Now you listen and you listen well you little shit,’ Faust whispered dangerously, ‘the fact that I call you master is merely a courtesy that I have bestowed upon you. Don’t think that just because I live in your realm, in your brothers’ realm, that you own me. I am older than time itself and you’d do well to remember, that if I were so inclined, I can rest your head against the Brimstone Throne of the Dark Palace and break your demonic neck in front of all your little minions. Do you understand me, you fucking prick?’

Lucifer continued kicking wildly and cursing, testing Faust’s temper. ‘I didn’t fucking hear you.’ He growled, closing his hands tighter around the Black Prince’s neck.

Lucifer let out a small whimper of agreement before Faust threw him onto the wooden floor of the gallery. He pulled out the same silver bible from his pocket and flipped it towards the back pages, reading its contents rapidly.

‘Eieci te de regno et misit in abyssum!’

Lucifer let out a choked scream as his body suddenly burst into flames. Faust watched as the Proud Prince became engulfed by the inferno, leaving nothing behind but a small pile of ash as a remnant of his mortal self.

Faust stooped down and shook Gerald awake. The old man’s wrinkled and watery eyes fluttered open.

‘I’m gonna make this short old man,’ Faust said impatiently, ‘I got you your soul back and I don’t want you to squander the gift I’ve given you. Use this second chance to live your life better; spend the little time you have left on Earth with your kids, fill your life with love and happiness. You get me?’

Gerald nodded weakly. ‘But what about my kids?’ He asked concernedly. ‘What about the –‘

‘Hell still has to uphold their end.’ Faust interjected. ‘They made the blunder of the pact, not you so your family is still cured.’

The old man’s watery grey eyes began to well even more with tears. ‘Th-thank you Contractor.’ He said, taking Faust’s hands into his own and squeezing it tight. ‘Thank you for giving me a second chance with my family.’

Faust shook his head dismissively. ‘Don’t mention it. Just… no more deals with Lucifer alright? I don’t think he’ll be too pleased to see you again.’

‘But what about you? Wouldn’t he be waiting for you back in Hell?’

Faust stood up and corrected his crimson-red trench coat with a superior look upon his face. ‘Now don’t you worry about me, Jerry, they may enforce the Laws of Hell, but…’ he said as he turned around and made his way out of the gallery.

‘But what?’

Faust gave Gerald a confident wink. ‘But I’m the Contractor, Gerald, I am the fucking Law.’

And so ends the First Interim…