Everything in Creation is governed and bound by Laws;

Heaven and Hell are no exception.

In times when Demons refuse to comply,

When the actions of the rogues jeopardise the balance,

Hell sends their ancient and most dangerous spawn;

The Contractor…

Interim IV - Wards

 

“The Thrones of the Nine Circles are not one to be kept waiting but my meeting with the Third Kingdom takes precedence. I am, after all, bound to them and as fated as I am to be a servant of the Wards, I shudder at the prospects of the ire of the Seven.

“Here I stand, staring out to sea on the eve of finality and yet I am troubled not by the end of days, but a proposition put forth by a mortal. No man, no soul can be capable of such benevolence. But why does this wish puzzle me so?

“I digress; with the world in such chaos, I have precious little time to fawn over the wishes of mere men.

“The Wards and Thrones seldom meet upon mortal grounds, but in the many experiences of my long and tiresome career, I have yet to find a peaceful occasion when the Seven Wards of Virtue and the Seven Thrones of Hell sit upon the altar of negotiations.

“Negotiations… how I hate adjudicating at such junctures but alas, it is forever my bestowed duties to attend for I am bound by the Laws of Creation.

“I am the Contractor… Wardenx Laurus.”

West of the city of Amesbury in the quiet fields of Wiltshire sat the famous earthworks of Stonehenge where a mysterious, handsome young man wearing a blackened suit and tie stood, leaning against the sacred stone formations.

He placed his pale, slender fingers upon the stoneworks, feeling the cold, rough surface caress his fingertips.

‘Humans,’ he thought, ‘they keep guessing and guessing and they’ll never know why or when this was put here.’

The handsome young man stared out to the English sun setting upon the horizon before taking a deep breath. ‘Brothers, the hour is upon us!’ He cast a quick, nonchalant glance at the many rings of fire that appeared suddenly upon the grounds. He watched as figures emerged from them one by one, donning the same uniform as himself, and each individual waved a hand in the air, extinguishing the flames and leaving nothing but a blackened ring of charred grass upon the earth.

‘You’re early, Lucy,’ said the handsomest of the lot, swaggering his way towards the stones.

The Throne of Pride, Lucifer, growled at being addressed so improperly. ‘Mind your tongue, Asmodeus, we don’t want the feather-hounds to see attrition amongst our ranks.’

Asmodeus, the Throne of Lust, flicked the fringe of his thick, black hair playfully and winked at Lucifer. ‘Only a jest, dear brother.’

‘Enough of your idiotic banter, where the fuck is that Contractor?!’ The angriest looking man punched his fist into the stone formation impatiently.

‘Patience, Satan,’ said the most bored, yawning loudly, ‘he’s probably out collecting souls for the dogs of Heaven.’

The Throne of Envy, Leviathan, scratched at his arms impatiently. ‘Where are those cursed Wards anyway?’

Lucifer raised his hand to silence the grumbled masses of his brothers. ‘They will arrive when the Contractor does; Contractor Laurus heralds their coming… soon.’

No sooner had the Prince of Pride finished, a bright white light shone from the heavens, casting a large glowing circle upon the grounds of Stonehenge and through the radiance emerged a phalanx of seven blonde men, each wearing a suit of pearly-white silk, led by a tall, built, dark-complexioned man, wearing a long, brown trench coat that fell beneath his knees.

‘You’re late, Contractor,’ Lucifer said, squinting from the light.

The dark newcomer, Laurus, reached into his pocket and extracted a white trilby hat, pulling it over his smooth, bald head. ‘I had matters to attend,’ he said, raising his hands casually.

 The fattest of the Thrones stepped forward, his lips moist from drool. ‘Matters like stealing our souls?’

‘Those souls were never yours, Beelzebub, they were intended to the Kingdom of Heaven,’ said the calmest looking blonde.

‘They would be ours were it not for the insufferable attempts of your lapdog, Azrael,’ Beelzebub, the Glutton Prince, replied, sending a shower of spittle at them.

‘Enough of this,’ Contractor Laurus interjected, ‘why have you summoned the Wards to the Third Kingdom?’

Lucifer folded his arms arrogantly as he spoke. ‘This back-and-forth that we’re having over the souls of mankind is starting to become tedious. I tire of our tit-for-tat antics when in the end, we’re only delaying the inevitable.’

The tallest of the Wards stepped forward. ‘The inevitable?’

Lucifer eyed his counterpart, the Ward of Humility, cautiously. ‘Yes, Raphael, the inevitable end which results in the remaining souls on Earth belonging in the possession of either Hell of Heaven.’

‘As ordained by the Laws of Creation, Lucifer,’ Raphael shook his head discouragingly at the Throne of Pride, ‘we are powerless to act without His guidance.’

‘That’s bullshit,’ Satan shouted from behind his brother, ‘you can act however the fuck you want, you’re just too much of a coward to do anything!’

‘We are not cowards,’ Azrael replied in his brother’s stead, ‘we are patient.’

‘No, you are patient! I’m sick of this bullshit chess game we play; now we play for keeps!’

Raphael stared at the Seven Princes of Hell with a troubled look upon his normally-calm face. ‘What are you saying, Lucifer?’

Lucifer took a few steps backwards, back towards his brothers, and opened his arms, declaring proudly and in a loud voice; ‘by the Laws of Creation, I, Lucifer, the Throne of Pride of the Demons of Sin, ruler of the Nine Circles of Hell, invoke the rites of the Apocalypse!’

The Contractor, Laurus, casted a curious eye at the White Wards of Virtue as each pearly member shuffled uncomfortably in their own space.

Raphael wore a displeasing look upon his face, ‘so be it.’

‘By the Laws of Creation, I, Raphael, the Ward of Humility of the Angels of Virtue, governor of the Kingdom of Heaven, invoke the rites of the Apocalypse!’

The angriest Throne stepped forward, ‘by the Laws of Creation, I, Satan, the Throne of Wrath of the Demons of Sin, ruler of the Nine Circles of Hell, invoke the rites of the Apocalypse!’

‘By the Laws of Creation, I, Azrael, the Ward of Patience of the Angels of Virtue, governor of the Kingdom of Heaven, invoke the rites of the Apocalypse!’ said the calmest Ward.

‘By the Laws of Creation, I, Asmodeus, the Throne of Lust of the Demons of Sin, ruler of the Nine Circles of Hell, invoke the rites of the Apocalypse!’ he gave the Wards a seductive wink as the rites left his lips.

‘By the Laws of Creation, I, Uriel, the Ward of Chastity of the Angels of Virtue, governor of the Kingdom of Heaven, invoke the rites of the Apocalypse!’ he said, ignoring Asmodeus’ cheek.

The fattest of the Thrones waddled forward, ‘by the Laws of Creation, I, Beelzebub, the Throne of Gluttony of the Demons of Sin, ruler of the Nine Circles of Hell, invoke the rites of the Apocalypse!’ he said as his jowls wobbled.

Another Ward stepped forward, looking upon Beelzebub with disgust, ‘by the Laws of Creation, I, Samael, the Ward of Temperance of the Angels of Virtue, governor of the Kingdom of Heaven, invoke the rites of the Apocalypse!’

‘By the Laws of Creation, I, Belphegor, the Throne of Sloth of the Demons of Sin, ruler of the Nine Circles of Hell, invoke the rites of the Apocalypse!’ he let out a loud, wearied yawn.

The most determined of Wards stepped forward, ‘by the Laws of Creation, I, Gabriel, the Ward of Diligence of the Angels of Virtue, governor of the Kingdom of Heaven, invoke the rites of the Apocalypse!’

‘By the Laws of Creation, I, Mammon, the Throne of Greed of the Demons of Sin, ruler of the Nine Circles of Hell, invoke the rites of the Apocalypse!’

‘By the Laws of Creation, I, Michael, the Ward of Charity of the Angels of Virtue, governor of the Kingdom of Heaven, invoke the rites of the Apocalypse!’ he respectfully bowed his blonde head.

‘By the Laws of Creation, I, Leviathan, the Throne of Envy of the Demons of Sin, ruler of the Nine Circles of Hell, invoke the rites of the Apocalypse!’ Leviathan sneered at being the last to speak his rites.

And finally, the last Ward stepped forward, ‘by the Laws of Creation, I, Ramiel, the Ward of Kindness of the Angels of Virtue, governor of the Kingdom of Heaven, invoke the rites of the Apocalypse!’

Raphael and Lucifer locked eyes and both fell to their knees, raising their hands to the sky as they shouted in unison; ‘Apocalypsi incipiat!’ They slammed their hands down onto the grounds of Stonehenge and turned their heads towards the Angelic Contractor, Laurus.

‘The stones have been cast,’ said Laurus, ‘Apocalypsi incipiat!’

The 79 major stones of Stonehenge began to emit a strange blue light as they shook violently until one of the major stones disappeared underground as though it had been swallowed violently into the Earth.

‘The first hour is signalled,’ Lucifer declared proudly, dusting the dirt from his hands, ‘unleash the Horsemen that we may be done with this farce!’ He sneered confidently at Raphael, whom matched his look with a cool head.

‘Lest you forget, O proud one,’ Raphael replied knowingly, ‘you hold the soul of the Red Rider, but we possess the souls of the rest.’

‘Upon the falling of the last stonework,’ said Lucifer, lifting his nose to the Wards proudly, ‘it will be the final day and upon that day, your armies and your Horsemen will fail to be of use to you and your family shall settle the score with mine.’

‘Upon that day, Little Horn, our armies will have worn you down.’

Lucifer turned his back to the Wards and summoned a large ring of fire before him. ‘Come, brothers, it is time to let cry the drums of War,’ he gave one last glance over his shoulder at the denizens of Heaven, ‘we will see you in seven days, feather-hounds.’

The Seven Black Princes of Hell retreated into the flames, disappearing into the night. As the flames died down, the remaining Wards of Virtue surrounded Raphael obediently for orders.

‘What now, brother?’ said Samael.

Raphael laid his hand upon his chin in thought. ‘Now, we wait for the Red Horseman of War to sweep the Third Kingdom, for it must be he whom be without sin that casts the first stone.’ Raphael walked amongst the rock formations to Laurus who had his back against one of the glowing, blue earthworks.

‘Contractor,’ he said to Laurus, ‘will you rouse the remaining Horsemen?’

Laurus shook his head. ‘I can’t do it, I’m afraid. War must come first, then Famine, then Pestilence and then Death.’

‘We hold only two of the remaining three,’ said Gabriel, ‘why did you announce to Lucifer otherwise, brother?’

Raphael hung his head solemnly. ‘Forgive my sins, but we now know that Hell is not in possession of the Soul of Death either.’

‘Then the good soul must be out there somewhere; out there in the Third Kingdom,’ said Uriel.

Raphael set his hand gently onto Laurus’ shoulder. ‘Although we are now at the End of Days, may I ask of you, one last task?’

‘And that is?’ Laurus replied.

‘Undoubtedly, as the last day draws nearer, the humans will look to you for absolution. Should you find one possessing the Soul of the Grim Reaper, will you guard it with your life? Will you lay down your cloak upon the Altar of Sacrifice for the victory of the First Kingdom?’

Contractor Laurus, the Saint’s Contractor, laid his dark hand upon Raphael’s and stared into the Ward’s brilliant, blue eyes. ‘You have my word, friend: when I find the Reaper’s Soul, yours will be the only one whose hands I deem worthy.’

‘The Kingdom of Heaven owes you a great debt of gratitude, Contractor.’

Laurus flicked his cap and smirked proudly at the cohort of awed Wards that stood before him. ‘Don’t mention it,’ he said, as a ray of light shone from the heavens and transported him away from Stonehenge.

‘How do we proceed now, Raphael?’ asked Ramiel.

Raphael stared towards the sky and watched as Contractor Laurus disappeared amongst the clouds. ‘Now, dear brother, we wait and hope that the good Contractor finds the soul before the Thrones.’

‘Do you think it wise, Raphael? That we sit and wait?’

‘What else can we do, Ramiel?’ Raphael folded his arms worryingly. ‘All we have now is time… what precious little left of it.’

Contractor Laurus’ feet touched down onto the rocky shores as he felt the sea spray lap against his feet. Taking no notice of his dampened treads, he marched up the shore towards an extravagant hotel and up the marble steps onto a large, garish balcony.

The balcony was awry with littered furniture, upturned tables and flower petals strewn messily all across the floor. Not a single soul was nearby save for one; a young man with short, ebon hair, wearing a long, white wedding coat that had splashes of bloodstains upon the chest, sitting on the dusty ground in the centre of the balcony.

Laurus approached the man and stood over him, staring at him puzzlingly. The young man looked up at the Contractor with bloodshot eyes filled with fresh tears.

‘H-have you th-thought about my deal?’ he said to Laurus, sniffling madly as beads of anguished tears cascaded down is cheeks.

‘I have,’ he replied, holding out his hand, ‘I’m ready.’

The sea winds played their music peacefully through the night as the young stranger shook the Contractor’s hand.

Contractor Laurus, the Saint’s Contractor, stared out towards the horizon for the last time as he saw a fiery, red streak march across the skies, carrying behind it a tail of unholy flames. The streak flashed overhead and the once peaceful night was marred with the distant screams of humans.

The War had just begun…

And so ends the Fourth Interim...