Angel's Demon

2. Twenty-Two Years Earlier

2. Twenty-Two Years Earlier

Asmodeus paced up and down the training room.

“That b***h has got to go,” he said, “just like the last b***h who tried to worm her way into Satan’s life.”

“Yer’ll be wantin ter tread carefully me friend,” Rahab replied. “Satan may not thank yer if he still has plans fer her. Not only thart, but I think she may actually be able ter best yer, in a fair fight.”

Rahab had a point. Asmodeus knew it was quite possible she would be able to defeat him. Helena’s abilities continued to grow, while those around her stagnated. Tackling the problem head-on was not an option. So how was he to deal with the troublesome wench? What he needed was someone who was like Helena. What he needed was an earth-bound angel of his own.

“Ah, but how could I be held accountable if I was not the one to rid the world of that accursed woman?” Asmodeus mused out loud.

“What are yer plannin?” Rahab asked.

Asmodeus walked over to the weapons store and selected two macuahuitls — a type of wooden sword, from the time of the Aztecs, studded with obsidian blades down each side. He turned and threw one in Rahab’s direction. The old demon caught it in his left hand and hefted it from left to right, to determine which hand he preferred to hold it in.

“Nothing,” Asmodeus said, “absolutely nothing.”

Already Asmodeus was regretting having mentioned the notion out loud. Rahab had a loose tongue, and enjoyed gossiping, like an old fishwife. The less he knew, the better.

Rahab bowed to Asmodeus, and Asmodeus returned the bow. Their practice session had begun. It was time to focus on the task at hand.

They slowly circled around each other, holding their macuahuitls to the side, ready to strike when the time was right. Their feet were sure. Neither of them missed a step, or stumbled. Rahab may have been the master, but Asmodeus wasn’t far behind. As usual, Rahab let Asmodeus make the first move.

Rahab firmly believed that revisiting old weapons was a good idea, and they had not used these macuahuitls for a century or more. Anything that could be used as an extension of the body in a fight should be practiced with regularly. The physical body forgets, even when the mind does not. A weapon that the body no longer recognises as a part of itself is a liability, and likely to get one killed.

Asmodeus thought of Helena as he lashed out. Rahab easily deflected the move, and it annoyed Asmodeus. After all these thousands of years he should have surpassed the old demon. Why did Rahab continue to get the better of him?

Rahab turned in a tight circle, ducking down as he did so. He struck out to whack Asmodeus from behind, with the flat of the macuahuitl. A number of spectators laughed as Rahab paddled Asmodeus’s butt, which made Asmodeus angrier.

“Yer not concentratin, Asmodeus. Thart could have been a deadly blow,” Rahab said. “En yer lettin yer temper control yer actions. How many times have I told yer thart yer must remain calm?”

Asmodeus scowled. He did not appreciate being humiliated in front of demons who were beneath him. He swung wide with his weapon. Rahab deflected the blow easily, though the sudden deviation of his trajectory caused Asmodeus to lose his balance. He stumbled a few steps backwards before righting himself. Rahab could have given him another paddling. Instead he chose to stand perfectly still, an aura of calm surrounding him.

The small crowd of onlookers whispered among themselves. They knew the demons who were practising together were a close match. Asmodeus was distracted though, and this was cause for much debate. It was rare to see him so preoccupied with something that he could not focus on a fight.

Asmodeus slashed wildly from side to side, trying to catch the old demon off guard. He thought that if he was fast enough, and the motion was hard to track, he might just clip Rahab. It would be enough for him to save face.

Rahab smiled and blocked each movement of Asmodeus’s weapon. In a lightning-fast move, he thrust forward and hit Asmodeus in the chest, knocking him backwards. Arms flailing, and finding nothing to grab to stop from falling, Asmodeus landed heavily on the floor, the air whooshing from his lungs.

It took a moment for Asmodeus to regain his composure. Rahab was standing over him, not poised for attack, but with a look of consternation on his face.

“Yer not et yer best terday, old friend,” Rahab said, extending a hand to help Asmodeus to his feet.

Asmodeus snorted, before taking the proffered hand and allowing Rahab to haul him to his feet. For a brief moment he thought to strike with the macuahuitl still tightly held in his hand.

“Think twice before yer strike,” Rahab cautioned him, seemingly having read his mind. Asmodeus relaxed his grip on the weapon. “Yer must maintain control arv yer body as well as yer mind, both arv which seem ter be eludin yer terday.”

“You are correct, as usual,” Asmodeus replied. “Perhaps I should call it a day and return when my mind is not a maelstrom of rage. It galls me so that the strumpet did not show Satan the proper respect.”

Asmodeus hoped that the last part of their exchange would be what Rahab remembered when recounting the events of the day, rather than his thoughts of being rid of the b***h. He bowed to Rahab, signalling that their practice session was at an end, and tossed his weapon to the old demon.

Rahab caught the macuahuitl that Asmodeus threw at him in his free hand. He bowed in return. From habit, he inspected the weapons for any damage that may need to be repaired. Satisfied all was well, he walked over to the weapons rack and stored them in their proper place.

“Termorrow then,” Rahab said, “en make sure yer in ther right frame arv mind, er it will be more than a whack I’ll be givin yer.”

“Of course,” Asmodeus replied. “Until tomorrow.”

Rahab inclined his head as Asmodeus strode purposefully towards the exit. Yes, a plan was forming in Asmodeus’s mind. It may take years to come to fruition, yet he was certain this was his best course of action. After all, he could not be held accountable for a renegade convert. A smile flitted across Asmodeus’s face. Yes indeed, this was the way to proceed.

Asmodeus headed towards the heart of the Pleasure Dome, where souls were tortured and believers converted. He knew what he needed to do. He’d have to up the ante of his personal conversions, until he struck gold. He would venture into the mortal world and retrieve hundreds of mortals — thousands if need be — until he found the one. Surely if his original maker had created a dormant army, tied to the earth, they would number in the millions. Instead of twelve conversions in a hell-year he would aim for five conversions each hell-week. He quickly did the maths. That would equate to one conversion for every week in the mortal world. It would be a considerable trial for him, and sap him of much of his strength, especially if it turned out to be a lengthy exercise. He could no longer afford to whisper in their ear for months before bringing them to hell. He would have to bring them here unprepared, and hope that he could convert them before they went insane, or died.

For the first time in months Asmodeus felt that spark of insatiable desire, to kill or convert. Soon enough he would be rid of that vile woman — beguiler of Satan — and order would be restored once again. He laughed out loud, and those walking the corridors of the Pleasure Dome cringed, for they knew that sound well enough — the laugh of a madman.