The Second Seal Read online

  Lilith had endured tear gas before, knew she could cope with it, but knew it would have an adverse effect on her performance. Already her eyes were burning, the lungs rejecting the toxin, a hacking cough demanding to be heard.

  She managed to turn around in time to see the first man appear through her tear-filled eyes. She got a shot off, but it was wide, her coordination completely screwed. The man fired at her, something hitting her chest, almost knocking her to the ground. It was a WATTOZZ cartridge, a wireless electroshock round, but it failed to penetrate her bullet-proof jacket. She fired again, taking the man high in the right shoulder, her vision all but gone now. A second man appeared wielding the same weapon, and his round hit her square in the face.

  And that was all she wrote. She felt something break in her mouth, the impact like a punch. Then the electricity hit her, and even Lilith couldn’t withstand that. She fell to the ground as more objects struck her. Then came the boots, revenge for what she had just done.

  4.

  Slough, UK

  Lucien stood alone and watched the children as they were dropped off at the school gates. He was well aware of how people would view him if they caught him watching children as they arrived at their school. He was here to investigate a missing child, and yet people were suspicious of lone males lurking around primary schools. That was why he kept his distance. The bus stop was an ideal place from which to make his observations.

  The Order of Tyron had mechanisms in place that informed them when children in the advanced economies went missing. The Inquisitors were not able to investigate all of them for worldwide, nearly twenty-two thousand children went missing on a day-to-day basis. That was too many for the Inquisitors to save, so the Order relied on their established network to prioritise the cases most likely to be caused by the foul scourge of demonic possession.

  The less developed economies had to fend for themselves. Africa, the Middle East and parts of Asia could not be defended by the Order. And neither was Russia, but only because the Order wasn’t needed there.

  This invariably meant Inquisitors found themselves in hot spots, areas with a higher than normal rates of disappearances. Lucien didn’t understand the mechanism behind it, knowing only that computer algorithms were used to constantly collate and sift data. Another example of his Order embracing the marvels of technology. Such an algorithm had led to Lucien being instructed to investigate the disappearance of a boy called Simon.

  And once again the technology had been on the mark. Like Lilith, Lucien had the ability to see the corruption plaguing humanity. From where he stood, he witnessed the evidence that one of the teachers of this school was indeed possessed, the black aura surrounding her. The teacher had appeared, standing by the school gates, bidding greetings to the pupils as they were unleashed by a gaggle of harassed parents. The face of the woman was all smiles and pleasantries, but the blackness around her undulated out to molest the most innocent. Lucien had seen that dark shroud too many times, knew what its presence meant. Right now, the demon was searching for another victim, its evil tendrils sampling the sweet purity it craved to destroy.

  Was this the demon that had been responsible for the disappearance of Simon, or was it working with others? Something told Simon it was the latter.

  Just by standing here he had already learnt a lot about this demon. It was disciplined, able to hide its basest impulses under a mask of trust. The blackness was particularly thick, meaning the demon was well entrenched.

  That was enough information for one day. The glasses he wore had already captured the unfortunate woman’s face. It would be mere hours before the Order gave him her name and address. With that he could hunt her out and dispatch the vileness within her. If he was fortunate he might be able to save Simon. The Order were always desperate for more recruits, assuming Simon met the strict criteria. There was no home for the kidnapped boy now. The mother had been slaughtered, the father long since absent. If he could be saved, and if he passed the test, Simon might make an ideal recruit for the Order.

  The Order of Tyron did not believe in the benefits of the country’s child protection services.

  Lucien was about to abandon his position when a woman walked past him. She carried the same corruption, but only the mildest hint of it. He had seen this so infrequently that he almost missed it. The woman had been touched by a demon, but had not yet been claimed. There was still a chance for her to be saved, but with each passing day, the evil trying to claim her would become stronger whilst she became weaker.

  Warning her would be useless for she would undoubtedly think him a lunatic. Still, there were other options.

  “Excuse me,” Lucien shouted, lowering the surgical mask he wore. As there was nobody on this part of the pavement, the woman stopped and turned around.

  “Yes?” She looked at him suspiciously.

  “Do you have the time? I think I missed my bus.” The tiny camera in the glasses he wore caught her face. Another identity for his Order to discover. Lucien could have asked her anything, he just needed her to turn around.

  “After eight thirty,” Vicky said, glancing at her watch. Lucien thanked her and let her go on her way. If he had time, if he could deal with this other scourge quickly, he might have the chance to save her from the demonic juggernaut hurtling towards her life.

  That was always the problem though. So many demons and so few Inquisitors.

  5.

  Moscow, Russian Federation

  Once again, he had been dragged away from one of the only things he now cared about. Major Dmitri Petrov sat on the hard chair waiting to be called in to see a man who Dmitri knew was afraid of him. Most people who met Dmitri feared him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. It wasn’t so much the face scarred by war or the way his lumbering bulk towered over most people. The fear was caused by the eyes he surveyed the world with. Those eyes told a story most people didn’t want to read.

  The room he was in was warm, the furnishings modern and unnecessarily expensive. The only thing ancient was the emaciated secretary who would stop occasionally to send Dmitri worried glances. Normally the visitors to this place would be held under her withering glare, but then most people weren’t Dmitri. She was more than a mere secretary. People like her were the backbone of this place. They were the ones who made it work, who kept the bureaucratic machine marching forward. The man he was about to meet would probably be lost without her.

  Directly in front of him was a reinforced door. Above it a light changed from red to green, an irritating buzz indicating something had changed. The Receptionist sighed with the relief she felt.

  “You can go in now, Major,” she said. Dmitri said nothing in response. Instead he stood and took the three steps to the door, pushing it open without knocking. He let it close behind him.

  This room was even more opulent, a reflection of the position its owner held. Alek Popoff was not a man to feel intimidated. You didn’t rise to be the Director of the FSB by being easily cowed. But Dmitri knew from previous encounters the Director would be infected with a nervous energy. There was no need, Dmitri was excruciatingly loyal, but unlike the average person on the street, the Director knew exactly what Dmitri was capable of.

  There were whole filing cabinets filled with reports on the atrocities Dmitri had committed over the last twenty years of his loyal service. Dmitri would never face punishment for the vile acts he committed because every one of them had been authorised by the Russian state.

  He was a hammer, and hammers were used to break things.

  “Thank you for coming, Dmitri.”

  “You call, I arrive. What will you do when I eventually retire?” Dmitri asked. He didn’t wait to be invited to sit, pulling back the available chair so he could position himself opposite his superior. The chair was uncomfortable and deliberately so, but Dmitri barely noticed. It would not do for a visitor to feel comfortable in this room. Popoff would want his guests to be constantly reminded who was in charge here. That was if yo
u were given permission to sit.

  Dmitri needed no such permission.

  “Men like you never retire,” Popoff countered. On the desk in front of the Director rested two full shot glasses and a vodka bottle three quarters full. Popoff passed one of the glasses across, and Dmitri accepted it gladly. “To your health,” the Director said, before pouring the liquor down his throat. He poured himself another glass but didn’t ask Dmitri. Dmitri had never accepted more than a single drink in his twenty years of service, no matter who sat in the chair opposite him.

  Dmitri had once been renowned for his tolerance and his borderline alcoholism, but the days of trying to destroy his own liver had ended two decades prior.

  “What do you need me for?”

  “Never one for pleasantries are you, Major?”

  “Such nonsense is for those who still think there is a meaning to any of this,” Dmitri said gravely. Popoff could understand why someone with Dmitri’s experience could feel like that.

  “Then to business. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, things have been quiet of late.”

  “I don’t mind. It gives me more time working on my car.” Dmitri had two remaining passions in his life. One was his love of restoring old cars, specifically American muscle cars. He was presently working on a 1968 Chevy Impala, a project that seemed without end. Getting the parts was somewhat of a challenge.

  “That might be about to change. I had a visit the other day.”

  “You are the Director of the FSB. People visit you all the time.”

  “Yes, but they don’t normally come from the Vatican.”

  “I see.” There could be only one reason for a representative of the Catholic Church to come to see the Director of the Russian Security forces.

  “It was a warning. Our Catholic friends seem to think the demon spawn are getting stronger, coordinating.” The Director threw the second drink down his throat.

  “Good,” Dmitri said, although his demeanour didn’t alter. “More of the Hellish bastards for me to kill.” That was Dmitri’s other joy, ridding the world of demonic spawn.

  “You are perhaps the only person who could be pleased by such news.”

  “Don’t forget my men,” Dmitri added. “They too will be thrilled to hear this.”

  “Well I’m placing you and your team on standby alert. Do you have any objections about working outside Russia?”

  “Would it matter if I did?” Dmitri and his men had only ever been deployed within the Russian borders and its immediate neighbours. It had been deemed prudent for the existence of the Wolf Squads to remain a secret to the wider world.

  Wolf Squads were teams of elite soldiers specially trained to act against any demons that threatened the Motherland.

  “Not really. You are a loyal soldier. You go where you are told.”

  “Indeed, but only because I choose to.” Any other man who spoke like that would be at risk of signing his own death warrant. Popoff let the insolence slide without comment.

  “The Vatican representative sounded worried when I saw him.”

  “That’s because there aren’t enough of us,” Dmitri warned.

  “I know, you’ve been saying that religiously for a year now. But your own success worked against you.” Men like Dmitri were Russia’s version of the Inquisitors. All because of the chaos that had erupted in 1972. The events of Experiment 4563 would never be reported in any of the history books, but its lessons had not been ignored by the Russian state.

  “Just because we became efficient at dealing with these demons, doesn’t mean we deserved to have our funding cut.”

  “I am not the man you need to be telling. Besides, the President has today reversed that decision. I have persuaded him we need more men like you.”

  “There are no men like me,” Dmitri said standing. “You would be wise to remember that.” The Director’s hand twitched towards his empty glass.

  “Gather your team, Major,” Popoff ordered. “I will need you ready within twelve hours’ notice.”

  “Don’t worry, Director,” Dmitri said dismissively. “We are always ready.” When Dmitri left the room, Popoff couldn’t resist pulling a bigger glass from one of the desk drawers. The Major was right, there were no other men like him. And the world was both better and worse off for that fact.

  6.

  London, UK

  There were four nervous prison guards in with her, Bob one of them. Despite the display of brute strength previously witnessed, Damien hadn’t engaged in any further acts of violence against the prison staff since his last meeting with Vicky. That didn’t stop all four prison officers being outfitted with pepper spray and batons, fresh rigid handcuffs applied to Damien’s wrists. Once again, he was shackled to the table which left Damien unable to get comfortable.

  The plastic cup that had held the cherry Coke Vicky had brought lay crumpled and drained on the table. Bob had objected to the gift, but Vicky had insisted. Damien had needed to stoop his head down to the table’s surface to get the liquid into his mouth, and he had slurped at it greedily.

  There were no procedures available on how to deal with someone as strong and as unpredictable as Damien. The prison officers and the prison warden were making it up as they went along.

  “This is all unnecessary,” Damien advised. He tugged on the handcuffs for effect.

  “I am sure you can understand people’s caution, though,” Vicky said. “You have hurt people since your arrival.”

  “If Legion is triggered, these handcuffs won’t hold.”

  “Well that’s okay,” Vicky said calmly, “it’s you I want to talk to.” Damien looked back at the guards.

  “People are right to be afraid of me, but there is no need now.”

  “I would like to believe that.” Vicky had to admit, despite Damien’s size and despite his history, she didn’t feel as apprehensive about being in the same room with him as when they had first met. There had been a noticeable shift in his attitude.

  “When I arrived, I was treated discourteously,” Damien pointed out. Vicky looked briefly at Bob and saw Damien was telling the truth.

  “Is that why you attacked the guards? A form of protest?”

  “Remember, it was not I who attacked the guards. It was Legion. He does that sometimes when I feel threatened or slighted. As long as there is a modicum of respect, he stays satiated.” Except when he is cutting the organs out of his screaming victims, thought Vicky.

  “I can understand that.”

  “Besides, I feel it would be disrespectful to you to continue to act in such a manner. My message to my captors has been made,” Damien said, winking at Bob who glowered back.

  “It does make your stay here more difficult for you, though. It can’t be pleasant being segregated away from everyone.” Damien had been in isolation away from the other prisoners, not for his protection, but for theirs.

  “Not at all. I have no aversion to being alone. I’ve been alone most of my adult life.”

  “Except for the times you killed your victims.”

  “Even then,” Damien corrected. “Remember, the murders were done by Legion. I never got to know the children of that fallen whore. I found them and pursued them, but I never remember these bound hands ever touching them.”

  “Still, we are looking at possibly the rest of your life here. The court is likely to impose a heavy sentence. Even you don’t want to be alone forever, surely.”

  “Assuming they find me sane enough to stand trial.” There was a mischievous glint in Damien’s eye. “How about that, Doc, am I crazy?”

  “I think it’s too early to make any kind of judgement on that.” Vicky had to admit the split personality would likely sway both her and the psychiatrist she was working with, to advise that Damien wasn’t fit for normal prison life.

  “You are such a tease.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” Vicky couldn’t remember the last time she had met anyone so unconcerned about their fate. It was like Damien didn’
t care. “I do have a question for you.”

  “Fantastic,” said Damien. Clearly, if he’d been able to, the prisoner would have slapped his hands together in delight.

  “You said the people you killed were a blight upon the world, and that they were all sired by Lucifer.”

  “Correct. And I killed them because I am the only one worthy enough to be his son.”

  “And yet you just referred to Lucifer as a whore?”

  “I am worthy to be his son, but he disappoints me with his prolific hedonism.”

  “That sounds confusing.” It wouldn’t be the first time one of her patients was trapped in cognitive dissonance.

  “Not at all. I am worthy of his lineage, but he is not worthy of my devotion.”

  “There’s something else I’m wondering about. Something regarding those you killed.”

  “Ask away,” Damien said. He seemed eager to cover the subject.

  “Well, the thing is, how did you find them?” With rapport established, now was the time to explore the fantasy world Damien lived in. Vicky already believed Legion was a truly separate personality. Now she wanted to know how deep the rabbit hole went with regards to Damien’s madness.

  “An intelligent question although it is hard for me to explain.”

  “Try for me.” Vicky almost reached across the table to pat Damien on the hand but she resisted. Bob would probably suffer a heart attack if she did that.

  “I can sense them. Even from far away. It’s like I’m drawn to them, as if I was meant to find them.”

  “Do they have the same ability, do you think?”