The Second Seal Page 12

  Although flawed, he deemed the stories of the Christian faith closest to the truth about what was about to unfold. Most of the old-time religions had given some insight as to how the world would end, but the book of Revelation seemed to be hitting things right on the mark. Maybe that part of the Bible truly had been given by God.

  So, the Bible would be his blueprint. Horn wanted followers, that much was obvious, and what better irony would it be for millions of Christians to abandon their faith in favour of the Antichrist. Stone suspected that prospect would give Horn particular pleasure.

  All, it seemed, with God’s blessing. After all, God, whatever it was, created the universe. If it wanted to, God could crush Satan and rid the world of everything that made living difficult. All through his years of writing, Stone had never been able to get past that contradiction. It was like a huge plot hole in his stories only he ever seemed to see.

  The new religion already had one convert, albeit one who felt he didn’t have any other choice in the matter. Stone had seen proof the Antichrist was real. He was willing to believe, and his thoughts were already being corrupted. Right now, he was an unwilling participant in this madness, but part of him whispered that as the weeks and months passed, his devotion to the cause he was helping build would grow. By becoming part of this he would become an agent in his own indoctrination.

  Now that the truth had been revealed to him, Stone was adamant God was clearly a son of a bitch. Disasters, war, genocide, torture, extinctions and betrayal had all occurred under the watchful eye of God, whatever name the people called him. It didn’t matter what religion you believed in, there was no getting around the fact that God could have made Earth a much nicer place to live. It was only in the last hundred years life had become tolerable. Human ingenuity had rid much of the world of hunger, pestilence, poverty and disease, but at the cost of ripping the ecosystem apart.

  Humanity had been given free will, but only ultimately to decide in the manner of its suffering.

  And all the time God remained hidden, no longer caring for his creation as the creatures from Hell threatened to unleash themselves upon the world. That was how Stone now saw it. If the texts were to be believed, some people would be spared in the coming tribulation. Why, he couldn’t say, but at least Stone believed now. How they would be chosen, Stone didn’t know either. None of the texts he had read gave him any insight into that.

  Could the number one hundred and forty-four thousand be taken as literal, or was that a red herring written by men with an agenda? That was Stone’s biggest problem. He was dealing with prophecy, but if any of the books he had studied all his life were indeed the word of God, how did he sift that out from the bullshit made up by human minds?

  That was a concern for another day.

  For the first time in his life, he was acting as a ghostwriter, with Horn’s name ultimately to be placed on the book being produced. That was why Stone had needed insight into Horn’s life and thoughts, which in themselves would need deciphering. It no longer mattered to Stone that he was helping the Antichrist. He had no choice now. Any notion that he could somehow infuse his writing with some sort of subtle rebellion wasn’t an option. He was here to write Horn’s new religious text, and he would move Heaven and Earth to get it done.

  As tantalising as they sounded, the rewards promised to him were obvious lies. All Stone could do was get through this and write to the best of his abilities and hope it was good enough. It was a bit much though, expecting one man to create something comparable to all the great religious books the world’s religions relied on. The one thing in his favour was he knew how to write for the reader. Stone knew how to make a story compelling and was well practiced in sucking the reader in.

  What religious book could say that?

  He would write Horn’s book and had chosen to do it as a story. Horn would be the hero, and this great magnum opus would regale the reader with the hero’s journey, interspersed with the teachings and the message the book needed to convey. Stone had already decided to combine various iconic imagery from the multiple religions already in existence. To have something familiar, to have something that spoke to a doctrine once followed, would hopefully smooth the way for billions to embrace this new truth.

  It would take months if he was honest with himself, as it would need constant revision based on Horn’s input. There was no way Horn’s ego would stand aside and let Stone get on with it, and there had already been signs of this interference. Stone had been through the contents of the USB stick he had been left, had discovered the notes Horn had left for him.

  The information on the USB stick had been disturbing to read. In isolation, the events across the world wouldn’t have meant anything, but when you put them under the filter of the bubbling apocalypse, one could see how the world was hurtling towards its end.

  There had been something else on the stick, a word document titled IMPORTANT, and Stone pulled that up now. It seemed some of the work had been done for him, the most important part of the book already written. The document contained the laws those who chose to worship Horn would be expected to follow.

  1) You shall worship no other but me and my father

  2) You shall not kill except in the name of me and my father

  3) You shall honour only me and my father

  4) If you desire it, go and claim it

  5) Balance personal rights with a duty to worship me and my father

  6) Kill those who blaspheme against the new order

  7) Maintain humanity under 500,000,000 in perfect balance with the universe

  8) Your labour is for the benefit of me and my father

  9) If a demon wants you, let it claim you

  10) God is dead, and on the seventh day you shall proclaim this

  It was the seventh commandment that struck him the hardest. There were close to eight billion people on the planet. For that law to come about would mean the deaths of over seven billion souls. What kind of world would this create? Stone knew the answer, had seen it in his nightmares. It was a world where only a select few could prosper, those with corrupted souls likely eager to accept their new part in enforcing this new reality. It was a world where the dead would be piled high, whole cities razed to the ground. Humanity would be decimated by war, disease and famine, stripped of its freedoms and forced to bow down before a being that saw them merely as cattle to be culled and tormented. A select few might still be allowed to live in luxury, given dominion and power over the world so long as they ultimately worshiped at the feet of Horn and his father. But they would suffer eventually, if not on Earth then in the bowels of the Pit.

  The apocalypse would come to pass, Stone could see no way to avoid it.

  24.

  London, UK

  “You can’t expect me to believe that.” The British Prime Minister sat back from his desk, the landline handset gripped in his pudgy fingers. If this was a joke, it was in poor taste.

  “I can assure you it is the truth,” the Pope insisted. They had met in person once before, and Jones was reminded how capable a fellow the Pope had been. But to state that demons were running rampant in the world was pushing the boundaries of plausibility. “I have also arranged for a package to be sent for you. It will be delivered by Vatican courier, and should be considered for your eyes only.”

  “But…demons?”

  “There is worse news.”

  “Worse than cacodemons rampaging through the villages of this sceptred isle?”

  “Yes, Mr Prime Minister, worse than that.” The PM sighed. Had the Pope gone senile? Clearly not. Such a phone call would not have been permitted if the Pope was ill. His own people would keep the Pontiff out of the public eye. It wasn’t as if the man on the end of the line could simply pick up the phone and have a chat with world leaders. Those calls had to be planned, scheduled, even if things were made last minute as this call had been.

  “I suppose you better lay it on me.”

  “I have it on good au
thority that your own Home Secretary is a victim of demonic possession.”

  “Oh, now really,” the Prime Minister blustered. “This is beyond the pale.” The PM had no love for his Home Secretary, someone who would invariably try and eventually oust him as Prime Minister. But he wasn’t going to sit here and believe the man in charge of law and order in the country was a bloody demon.

  “My mission is not to convince you of anything,” the Pope conceded. “I am a messenger. Only you can decide what to do with the information I give you.” There was a wracking cough from the other end of the line, the PM pushing the receiver away from his ear slightly. “I give you this truth as I will to other world leaders.” That made it a little more bearable, thought the Prime Minister. At least he wasn’t the only one being ranted at by one of the most respected people in the world. Some of the previous Popes would have been easier to dismiss.

  “And you say you are sending me proof?”

  “Yes, Mr Prime Minister. Not of your Home Secretary’s possession. I cannot prove that.” Only those with the rare ability to see the demonic aura could witness such possession. “However, you might find something of use with regards your political rival.”

  “What on Earth could you mean?” As much as this all sounded ridiculous, that last part did pique the Prime Minister’s interest.

  “Let us just say that your beloved Home Secretary has some secrets locked away in his past. Should they be revealed, it would be unfortunate for the future of his career.” The PM sat forward now, the possibility to remove a political roadblock a cause for muted celebration.

  Although tiny, the Vatican City state was the world’s oldest government on Earth with its own intelligence services. Some considered the L’Entita, or The Entity, to be the best and most effective counter espionage service in the world. It had to be if it was to protect the Vatican’s interests servicing the billion-plus Catholics across the planet. It was also riddled with devotees to the Order of Tyron.

  The Entity listens and it watches, collecting data, the Vatican’s apostolic nuncios and its diplomatic staff the principal intelligence gatherers for the Holy See. A silent unseen army of spies that provides the Vatican with vast amounts of information. Most of that is used to protect the emissaries of God, but some of it is simply stored away in case it someday becomes useful.

  Like right now.

  “Please tell me it’s nothing to do with children. That’s the last thing my government needs.”

  “It’s nothing to do with children,” the Pope said reassuringly. “But I do think it would warrant his resignation.” If the Prime Minister refused to believe the truth about the demon realm, then at least the information he was about to be supplied should see the demon removed from a position of power.

  ***

  The evidence the Pope presented to those he contacted came in two forms. The first consisted of a series of hand written affidavits from important figures in the Church, both alive and dead. Each came with a letter of guarantee from various Popes, including the present one. These letters stated the dangers of the demonic threat as well as an assurance that such a threat was real. There were also hand written accounts of people’s actual experiences with Satan’s little helpers, all from people who knew that one day their letters might be released to the world. The letters came with translations, of course, because the Catholic Church was an impressive beast, its congregation on every continent.

  It was clear, however, that this wouldn’t be enough. There were a series of personal video recordings recounting much of what had been in the letters, the videos available with subtitles in various languages. To release such videos to the wider public was unlikely to have a beneficial effect. They would either cause panic, or be significantly mocked by those who would fail to believe the warnings. There was no scientific evidence provided to prove the existence of demons because most people couldn’t see their manifestation. That would always be the biggest flaw in the proof the Vatican could provide.

  It came down to believing the word of others. And even with the integrity and the trustworthiness of the people involved, for some people that would never be enough.

  25.

  Slough, UK

  Lucien finally turned to the child. Spread-eagled on the altar, Simon watched in horror as the killer came towards him. Encased in the grip of a mind-ravaging fear, all Simon could do was whimper. Lucien wondered what he must have looked like to the boy. Was he viewed as saviour or another messenger of death?

  Now the final demon was dead, Lucien had wiped and sheathed his blade. His black clothes hid any blood, and he had removed most of it from his waterproof gloves.

  Although bare above the waist, the boy wasn’t naked which was a blessing for the child. Sometimes the demons did ungodly things to the most vulnerable, but this had been purely about summoning. Ramp up the fear and then kill the child as sacrifice, a blood offering to strengthen the portal and allow the demonic passage to the waiting and willing flesh.

  Likely one or more of the demons he had dispatched had been brought here by this method, the farm house’s owner the instigator of it all. How many times had Lucien encountered those who were rich, famous and powerful in the grip of the lies whispered to them by Satan’s messengers? They had so much, more than most people could dream of, and yet their greed and their lust made them crave unreasonably. When they couldn’t get it by earthly means, sometimes they turned to the Pit for help.

  Fools. The world was filled with such fools.

  It never ended well for them. Human emissaries were rarely spared possession, and when they were, they found the knowledge that demons existed too much for their frail minds. Lucien would later discover the property’s owner was a crime boss who had been running rings around the British police for years. That explained the thugs guarding the property. In hindsight, Lucien had been lucky. If the guards had been properly trained, things wouldn’t have gone so easily for him. Lucien liked to think God was looking out for him, but that would be presumptuous. God left humanity to their own devices. He held no favourites.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” Simon begged.

  “I’m not here to hurt you,” Lucien answered. He checked the boy over, finding him fully intact, physically at least. There was no telling what had been done to the mind, or what lasting damage lurked there. Lucien knew how the child felt, had burnt those fears away with the help of the Lord’s training. “I am going to take a knife out now, but that is only to release you. Do you understand?” The boy nodded, lips trembling, mind frantic. Even with the warning, Simon cringed away when the knife reappeared.

  Lucien steeled himself for one of two things that would happen now. Once the ropes holding the limbs were cut, either the child would try and flee, or he would see Lucien as his saviour and try and embrace him. Lucien would prefer it not to be the latter for he did not enjoy such intimate human contact.

  It was the latter, Simon leaping off the altar to hug himself into his saviour. Inhaling deeply, Lucien let the boy have his moment, the kid’s breathing calming. Shifting the boy, Lucien carried him over away from the bodies and put him on the ground by the door.

  “You killed them all,” Simon said in astonishment.

  “Yes.”

  “I saw their eyes. I saw my teacher’s eyes.” From one of the walls, Lucien pulled down a velvet curtain and draped it over Simon’s bare shoulders. Blood trickled from the wound over Simon’s heart. If Lucien had left it any later, the boy would now be dead.

  “You would be best to forget what you saw. These were sick people who liked to hurt others.”

  “They can’t hurt anyone anymore.” Simon’s eyes had become glazed, the shock kicking in now. Lucien helped him sit down before the boy fell.

  Now was the moment of truth. From a pouch on his belt, Lucien took out the small genetic testing kit. It had been developed especially for the Inquisitors, the world’s genetic labs having little interest in the specific gene Lucien would now search for.
Simon did not object when Lucien pressed the end of the test kit to the bloody trail meandering down to the boy’s navel.

  “I want my mum.” Simon sounded drowsy now, the adrenaline that had flooded his system all used up.

  “I’m sure you do,” Lucien said.

  “They killed her. They killed her in front of me.” Hysterics were once again threatening now, the boy not having the strength to deal with the inflicted trauma. At least Lucien didn’t have to tell the boy his mother’s throat had been slit, the body left for the flies to feast on. He was never comfortable with that part of his mission.

  The test kit soaked up the blood eagerly.

  “What did I do?” Simon asked.

  “What do you mean, Simon?”

  “Have I been bad?”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.” There it was, the guilt that was already forming in the boy’s heart. He was a victim, but his gentle nature was searching for a reason as to why such things could happen.

  “Then why did they do that to me?”

  “Because they were bad, Simon. Some people want to do horrible things.” What else was there to say?

  Lucien wafted the test kit in the air, the colour on the indicator gradually changing. Positive. Simon was the owner of the genetic trait that made him immune to possession. Would he be Inquisitor material though? That was for others to decide. Lucien’s job now was to remove the child from this charnel house and take him to a place of safety. There, Simon could be assessed and cared for.

  In a way, Lucien hoped those who made the decisions would deem Simon unsuitable. Such a shy and frail boy deserved better than the duty Lucien was forced into.