Interim II - Thrones

Interim II - Thrones

“Ye whom found’d mine work are accurs’d to know the atrocities that mine hands have wrought across the lands. Knowest, thou, that mine actions were to benefit humanity again’st creatures most afoul and through my benediction, I have rid’d the world of countless numbers of those beasts thou knowest as ‘demons’.

“I write withinest my journal to document the peculiarities that befell mine soul this eve; a chance encounter with an unsavoury band of cohorts whom ambush’d me in attempts to quell my blade.

 “Princes they didst claim but I paid ne’er mind to their self-indulgent rank but rather an O mysterious creature; the Princes refer’d to him as ‘The Contractor’.

“A peculiar being, clad in a long, crimson garb of unknownst origin, he didst say little, but his presence was O felt in the deep mounts of Eifel even in the black hearts of the ‘Princes’ so called.

“I write in’st mine journal for the finality of my life has been seal’d and the ‘Black Princes’ cometh for me and they shall take me, and take mine life.

“Ye whom read’st mine journal, fear not the Princes of Hell, for they are nought but trifling siblings; fear’st thou, the crimson man, fear’st the Damn’d Contractor, fear’st the man named Faust.”

From the Journal of Bishop Peter Binsfeld

Cir. 1603.

In the centre of Saint Peter’s Square in the heart of Rome with his back against the monolithic Egyptian-built obelisk was a middle-aged bishop, hunched over and gasping for breath. ‘Hunting, thou art a young man’s game,’ he thought to himself as he coughed and wheezed into the night air.

The aging bishop reached up his maroon vestment sleeves and pulled off the ring that sat on the middle finger of his left hand, laying it on his palm gently and inspecting it carefully. It looked like any ordinary silver ring; large and bulky, it seemed very plain were it not for the large sigil at rested on top: an eight-pointed star riddled with tiny symbols and illegible, time-worn writing.

He picked the ring up carefully and thought to himself; ‘how much more power can it hold?’ before a low growling alerted his senses. He quickly re-equipped his ring and focused his strained eyes through the darkened square, searching for the source of the disturbance. The bishop spun around, carefully checking his surroundings for an ambush before he heard a low and raspy voice address him menacingly;

‘I te invenimus, sacerdos!’ The voice said through the night.

The bishop raised his head to the tip of the obelisk and through the black, starry backdrop of Rome’s night sky, he saw a pair of hungering, fire-red eyes stare back at him. His vision sharpened and he could see the shadowed outline of a florid, gory-red demon dangling off the peak of the obelisk, swinging impatiently around its tip.

‘Thou has’d no business in this realm, demon,’ the bishop shouted angrily, ‘leavest now lest thou shall be smite’d in the name of the Holy Lord!’

The demon let out a defiant cackle. ‘Videbimus.’ It retorted and with a mighty leap into the air, it disappeared into a puff of black smoke before appearing on the ground right in front of the bishop instantaneously. It tackled the bishop to the ground with its outreached talons, biting and clawing at his flesh.

The panicked cleric struggled with the demon vehemently before he managed to throw off the thrashing Hellion and delivered a sharp kick to its hungry and salivating jaw. The demon whimpered and ran around confusedly before it shook its head and began yet another onslaught.

The bishop, better prepared this time, dodged the lunging demon and, with his left hand exposed, jumped onto its putrid back, pinning it to the ground and digging his silver ring into its decaying, red flesh.

The demon froze, stunned, as a bright, red light emanated from its skin. The bishop’s ring appeared to be drawing in the light, the demon’s life force, out of it as its formerly gore-red skin started to turn an ashen shade of grey. The bishop’s holy seal ceased and the he took a few cautious steps back and watch as the body of the once-dangerous fire demon crumbled into a pile of dust before being blown away by the night’s light breeze.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he inspected his sacred ring once again; the sigil on the ring’s face seemed to be pulsating with a faint, white light running across the engraved paths.

‘Well isn’t that a nice toy,’ said a snide, cocky voice behind him, ‘something like that is sure to look good on my elegant hand wouldn’t you say, Bishop Peter Binsfeld?’

 ‘Who doth go’est there?’ The bishop, Peter Binsfeld, asked, staring around wildly for another Hellion. ‘Who doth speaketh mine name?’

‘Down here.’

Binsfeld leapt out of the way quickly as the ground beneath him erupted into a large circle of flames. He watched in astonishment as, through the fire and the flames, a smirking young man wearing an unusual black suit with a matching black vest and black tie stepped through the inferno. The stranger dusted himself nonchalantly as he walked, swaggering, towards Binsfeld, extinguishing the roaring fires behind him with a simple snap of his fingers.

‘I… I had’st been expecting thou, Lucifer,’ Binsfeld said bravely, ‘thou art done sending imps to disposeth of me?’

Lucifer stood before Binsfeld upon the sacred grounds of Saint Peter’s Square and chuckled softly to himself. ‘I thought I’d test your mettle against my lesser-demons,’ he answered, ‘and you, good padre, do not disappoint.’

‘The Proudest, Deceiver, Angel of the Bottomless Pit –‘

‘Oh God,’ Lucifer chortled, ‘I haven’t heard these old nicknames in eons.’

‘I shall smite thee,’ Binsfeld stated boldly, raising his ring to the Black Prince, ‘in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy spi-‘

‘Oh one moment,’ Lucifer interjected offhandedly, ‘you have more visitors.’

Binsfeld turned around as slowly, more and more circles of fire began appearing on the grounds of the Square, surrounding him and alighting the dark night in a demonic red hue.

As Lucifer did, many more young men wearing identical dark, pitch-black suits came walking through the fire until there were seven suited men standing around Binsfeld, each looking more formidable and punitive than the next.

‘The Seven Thrones.’ Binsfeld gasped.

‘Is this him?’ said the angriest looking man, ‘is this the shitsack whose been slowing down the flow of souls?’

‘His soul looks tasty,’ said the largest of the group, ‘I want to eat him.’

‘Do what you want,’ said the most bored looking, ‘I just want to be done here and go back to my throne.’

 ‘W-what,’ Binsfeld began as he trembled before the Seven Black Princes of Hell, ‘what dost thou want from me?’

‘I wanna crack open your skull and drink your brain!’ The angriest threatened. ‘Have you any idea how much you’ve set me back?’

‘Now, now Satan,’ Lucifer said, raising his hand calmly, ‘let’s not scare the old relic.’

‘S-Satan? The Wrathful?’

The angriest, Satan the Wrathful Prince, folded his arms angrily. ‘The one and only.’ He sneered.

‘You know,’ Lucifer said, smirking at the trembling bishop, ‘we haven’t had a chance to introduce ourselves have we brothers?’

Binsfeld watched as one by one the Demon Lords of Hell stepped forward and spoke.

‘I am Beelzebub,’ said the fattest of the Hell Princes, his deep and powerful voice shaking his many, wobbling chins, ‘Lord of the Flies.’

Binsfeld studied the Black Prince and thought to himself; ‘gluttony.’

A large crashing sound echoed loudly behind him as he turned to see the angriest with his fist deep into the pavement.

‘I am Satan,’ he said boisterously, ‘the Accuser!’

‘Wrath.’ Binsfeld thought again.

The most attractive of the young men stepped forward and in a charming and flirtatious voice announced himself to the bishop; ‘Asmodeus,’ he winked and blew a kiss to Binsfeld, ‘I bet you like what you see.’

‘Lust.’

Binsfeld’s attention was drawn to a loud yawn; he turned and faced the most bored of the young men as he spoke. ‘Belphegor,’ he said, yawning again, ‘look fellas I don’t need to be here; just kill him and bring me back a limb.’

‘Sloth.’

‘Such power,’ said the man with a judgemental look on his face, ‘this human possess such power. Why can’t I have such a trinket; it would help against those pesky angels.’

‘Envy.’

‘Quiet Leviathan,’ said the young man with a hungry look in his eyes, ‘I will have that ring for my collection of Holy Relics.’ The greedy man bowed before Binsfeld. ‘I am Mammon.’ He declared proudly.

‘Greed.’

‘And I,’ said Lucifer proudly, holding his hand towards the heavens grandly, ‘as you all know, am Lucifer; the strongest and most feared.’

‘Pride.’

Lucifer leered at his brothers as they all sneered and jeered at his introduction before turning back to Binsfeld and smirking brashly. ‘We are the Seven Black Princes of Hell,’ he announced proudly, ‘and you have angered all of us.’

‘W-what had’st I done to earn the ire of all seven Thrones?’ He asked meekly.

‘It’s your fucking demon-slaying,’ Satan growled, ‘you didn’t think we’d let you get away with killing all of our Hellspawns did you?’

‘I’m taking his soul,’ said Mammon, ‘it looks like it’s worth quite a bit.’

‘I’m not letting you take his soul back to be hoarded, Mammon,’ said Beelzebub hungrily, ‘I’m taking his soul; it looks delicious.’

‘No you won’t fat-ass!’ Leviathan protested. ‘I want that power… I need that power!’

The Seven Black Princes of Hell converged onto Binsfeld who stood his ground with his eyes closed; he whispered his last rites as he stood before them, awaiting death.

Satan was closest as he lunged forward, his sharpened fingernails racing forward eagerly towards the bishops chest. ‘You are mine!’

In a whip of a red shadow, Binsfeld disappeared and Satan stood where Binsfeld once was with his arms raised foolishly into the air. He looked around angrily, growling and snarling before his eyes fell upon a crimson trench coat standing up against the obelisk and beside it, the Bishop, Binsfeld.

Binsfeld opened his eyes and found himself staring at the chest pocket of an unusual crimson-red coat, one of which he had never seen before. He looked up at its owner; another young man with blood red eyes and a head of impossibly-black, spikey hair. The stranger said nothing as he stepped in front of Binsfeld, placing himself between the bishop and the Seven Black Princes.

‘Get out of here now Faust!’ Satan shouted furiously across Saint Peter’s Square. ‘That meatsack is mine to kill!’

The crimson-cloaked man, Faust, lifted his left arm, displaying a large gash in his coat and pointing defiantly at the Wrathful Prince.

‘You owe me a new trench coat, Satan,’ he replied, ‘and it’s not gonna be cheap!’

‘Thou… thou save’d me,’ Binsfeld said quietly, ‘pray tell; what is thy name?’

‘I’m Faust,’ he replied curtly, ‘and don’t mention it. Now just stand there and shut up.’ He walked towards the group of angered Hell Lords casually and announced in a loud voice; ‘You are all in violation of the Balance; the very Laws set down by the Creator. Leave now before the angels get wind that you’ve left Hell without a ruler.’

The cohort of princes exchanged glances to one another.

‘This human is responsible for the annulment of many Pacts to Hell, Contractor,’ said Lucifer smugly, ‘it is only natural that we see to why our souls have not been entering the Fiery Gates.’

Faust raised a finger and waved it from side to side condescendingly. ‘Your silver tongue does jackshit to me Lucy; you’re free to walk amongst the humans, but while here, you will abide by their laws.’

Lucifer lowered his head and glared at Faust. ‘Don’t call me “Lucy”.’ He hissed angrily. ‘And don’t you dare defend this human; you live in our dominion, you work for us!’

‘Which is why you should listen to me when I tell you that if any harm befalls this human by your blackened hands, you’ll have the archangels down here faster than the next apocalypse.’ Faust sniggered at Lucifer. ‘Now are you sure you want to contend against your big brother again, Little Horn?’

Lucifer growled dangerously at Faust for a short moment before he composed himself and brushed his suit carefully. ‘You know,’ he said with a hint of malice, ‘you are absolutely right Faust; who are we to violate the Laws set down by the Creator. We will take our leave now and the bishop will remain unmolested.’

Faust looked around carefully at the Black Princes; each and every one of them had a disturbingly arrogant look on their faces and it made him feel uneasy.

‘However,’ Lucifer sneered, ‘I cannot guarantee that our pets will be so obliging; after all, demons are a fickle bunch. Wouldn’t you say, Faust?’

Faust’s head whipped around wildly as he heard what sounded like multiple low, rumblings surrounding Saint Peter’s Square.

He turned to Lucifer. ‘Don’t do this, Lucifer,’ he said in an angered tone, ‘you are violating so many laws here.’

‘That would be true,’ Lucifer replied coldly, ‘if we gave them the order to attack, not if they did so of their own volition.’

‘Well then call them off! You summoned the beasts in the first place!’

The Black Prince of Pride ignored him and smirked conceitedly at Faust’s loud booming voice.

The Contractor let out a frustrated sigh and ordered the bishop not to move as he sensed the surrounding pack of Hell beasts move in closer around them.

Binsfeld stood with his back against the obelisk as the Contractor reached into his crimson trench coat and produced a small bible encased in a silver cover adorned with runes. He flipped through the passages quickly and muttered something incomprehensible before he laid his free hand on the pages quickly.

‘No matter what you see,’ Faust ordered to Binsfeld gravely, ‘do not move from that spot.’

The bishop nodded his head firmly as Faust raised his hand to the air; from his fingertips eradiated a bright light that illuminated the entire Square, blinding the Black Princes and their menacing demons.

The light faded and all that was left was darkness. Binsfeld rubbed his eyes furiously and stood completely still against the cold obelisk as he felt the chilling, rotting breath of demons breathing down his neck. The beasts seemed to be oblivious of him being there as they sniffed the air around where he stood confusedly.

‘Find them!’ Binsfeld heard Satan command. ‘Search the entire city!’

The demon closest to Binsfeld did not move and continued walking around the obelisk, brushing past the bishop. He twitched nervously and stared at his sacred ring underneath his sleeves. Suddenly, he heard the voice of the Contractor echoing in his mind;

‘No matter what you see, do not move from that spot.’

His heart began racing as the demon circled back around towards him, still sniffing the air and pawing at the ground in front of Binsfeld, hungrily searching for the frightened mortal.

Against the Contractor’s orders, Binsfeld leapt forward and dug his ring into the demon’s side drawing from it the light of its life and watching its ashes disperse into the wind.

His victory was short lived as he became fearfully aware that all the creatures of Hell had become attuned to his presence once again. Time seemed to have slowed down as Binsfeld saw the pack of demons pounce all at once onto him; he felt the weight of an earth demon upon him, knocking him to the ground as the others converged.

‘Fuck!’ Faust shouted as he leapt towards the hungry Hellions, swatting them off with his impressive strength while avoiding the fangs and claws of the rest. He fought with all his might towards the fallen Bishop and found him huddled over, shielding his mortal face against the thrashing demons. Faust, with great difficulty, removed his crimson trench coat and draped it with much effort over Binsfeld before standing up from beneath the pile of demons and pointing a single finger to the heavens, ignoring the Hellions tearing through his flesh.

‘Messorem iudicium!’ He shouted.

At the sound of those words, the demons stopped their chaotic onslaught and arched their fetid heads towards the heavens as the sky let out a wrathful rumble.

‘Inferna mortem!’

The sky cracked opened with thunder, sending a giant bolt of lightning towards the ground and impacting Faust’s raised hand, creating a massive explosion of light where he stood and vanquishing all the demons within Saint Peter’s Square until all that was left were ash and smoke.

The Contractor stood, with his finger still raised in the air, glaring angrily at the Seven Black Princes of Hell as they watched him interestedly. His body swayed left and right and his legs gave way. Faust collapsed to the ground, drenched in cold sweat and slowly losing consciousness. He could see the collective footsteps of the Thrones of Hell walking towards him with a victorious swagger.

His blurred vision focused onto the nearest shape and he heard the mocking voice of Lucifer echo into his ears; ‘My, my, you are a curious one aren’t you.’

Lucifer stood up and dusted himself off before turning around and walking off into the night, his brothers walking closely behind him.

Before Faust’s vision blacked out completely, he could hear the covetous voice of Mammon behind him as the Greedy Prince stepped over Faust’s motionless body.

‘And to the victor, the spoils of war,’ he said victoriously, ‘consider it payment for all you’ve costed us preacher.’

Faust could hear him walk off towards the others and could only whisper two words back in a wheezy and heavy breath before his head fell to the ground, completely unconscious;

‘Fuck… you…’

‘Faust? Arest thou well?’

Faust awoke from his cold sleep to see the blurred outline of Binsfeld standing over him. ‘Yeah, I’m fan-fucking-tastic.’ He replied angrily. ‘Where’s my damn jacket?’

Binsfeld carefully handed Faust his crimson trench coat and, as Faust’s vision sharpened, he saw his favourite jacket torn and ripped to shreds. ‘Those demon assholes owe me a fucking jacket!’ He shouted into the night.

‘Pray,’ Binsfeld consoled, ‘let mine tailor repair’est the damage to thine garb. The man is’t of well renown; he hails of the western lands… Johann Swift.’

Faust spat on the ground angrily. ‘I know that guy; Tailor Swift is a no talent hack! He is useless!’

‘Good Heavens!’ Binsfeld exclaimed.

‘Oh come on, everyone knows this; Tailor Swift is shit at his job. Big deal!’

‘Nary, Contractor,’ Binsfeld replied in panic, ‘mine ring, it has’d been taken.’

Faust turned his head to the direction in which the Seven Demon Lords left; staring madly into the night.

‘They have it,’ he growled in a quiet and infuriated voice, ‘they have the Seal of Solomon.’ He stood up and cloaked himself with the tattered remains of his crimson trench coat, walking west towards the Tyrrhenian Sea.

‘Pray tell me,’ Binsfeld pleaded to Faust’s exiting back, ‘what would’st thou do?’

Faust turned around and in a cold, indifferent voice replied to the confused and panicked bishop;

‘There’s nothing we can do, Binsfeld; they have the Seal of Solomon and you have no means of which to defend yourself.’ He turned back towards his direction and continued walking. ‘It looks like you’re fucked.’

‘Wait,’ Binsfeld shouted as Faust’s silhouette shrunk into the night, ‘what should’st I do?’

‘Write a book about it!’ He replied before completely disappearing from sight.

Binsfeld dropped to his knees and stared at his ring-less hand ashamedly, chanting the last words that came out of the Contractor’s mouth;

‘Write a book… write a book… write a book.’

And so ends the Second Interim…