Angel's Demon

6. Flight LT191

6. Dog

With the dwindling numbers of those left to undergo conversion, Asmodeus was becoming increasingly frustrated. Many of them were full of hope, thanks to the man of the cloth who had somehow managed to deliver God’s word to them. He decided he would eliminate that little problem post-haste, and rid the others of any hope.

“Clean up the dog with the cross on his collar, and bring him to me, naked as the day his mother pushed him into the world,” Asmodeus told the guard. “Take away a man’s dignity and you reveal the base nature of the animal beneath.”

The guard nodded as he acknowledged his orders. He watched as Asmodeus headed towards the inquisitorial chamber that many were now referring to, in private, as Asmodeus’s bloody bathhouse. One lesser demon had made the mistake of jokingly mentioning it within earshot of Asmodeus, who promptly tore the demon’s head from his shoulders. Asmodeus then proceeded to scoop out and eat the demon’s brains before shitting in the empty skull and placing the head back on the headless body. The infamous act became known as the s**t-for-brains incident, and amused Satan greatly. He was sorely tempted to ask Asmodeus to repeat the incident, so he could witness it for himself.

Asmodeus whistled as he walked. Why he hadn’t thought about getting rid of the dog earlier was beyond him, and it was as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. The dog’s conversion he would do fully clothed. He knew instinctively that in this situation, being the one clothed would make all the difference to a man who was used to hiding behind the safety of his collar, and misguided beliefs.

Instead of heading straight to the chamber he had claimed as his own, Asmodeus decided to visit the room in which the instruments of conversion were kept. In here he would find items that could be used to break down the resolve of the dog.

Asmodeus picked up one of several large, empty, worn leather bags that were located near the door. He took his time finding the objects he was interested in. The room was a veritable treasure trove, and he became engrossed in the many fascinating relics and tools that were available for use. He would have to incorporate some of them into his repertoire. After all, variety makes a demon’s life more interesting.

The items Asmodeus chose made him cringe inwardly. He donned a pair of thick gloves to retrieve them from their resting places and carefully placed them in the bag. He didn’t like touching them. For now, he wouldn’t have to, yet when the time came he’d have to hold them in his bare hands and not show any sign of discomfort.

With a final glance into the place that held the staples of a conversion, and much more, Asmodeus closed the door and began the short journey to his favourite room. The things in the bag he carried barely made a difference to its overall weight. Size and mass were of little importance if you had the right tools.

The man Asmodeus referred to as a dog arrived just as he was setting the bag down on the ground, near the table where the standard instruments of conversion lay waiting. The guard had put a different type of collar around the man’s neck — an iron shackle — as well as wrist shackles, joined by a length of chain, and fetters around his ankles.

The guard pushed the man towards the chair in the middle of the room.

“No,” Asmodeus said, glancing towards the ceiling. “This one remains upright.”

Asmodeus clicked his fingers and the chair moved to the far corner of the room, well out of the way. The guard looked at the ceiling, to a large metal ring, to determine exactly where the prisoner should be placed. The metal ring snapped open and the chain between the man’s wrists began to rise.

“Wait,” Asmodeus commanded, and the chain stopped its ascent. He picked up two things he had requested, in addition to his usual tools — a hammer and a rusted iron nail from an old railway sleeper. The point of the nail had been carefully cleaned and honed. Asmodeus touched the tip and nodded, satisfied that it was sharp enough for what he wanted to do.

The man glanced at Asmodeus and swallowed reflexively. He knew that whatever was in store for him wasn’t going to be pleasant. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead and trickled down the side of his face.

“One hand behind the other,” Asmodeus told the guard, who quickly grabbed the man’s hands to position them as Asmodeus had told him to.

The man shuddered as the cold point of the nail was pressed against his clammy palm. Asmodeus hefted the hammer in his right hand and swung, deliberately missing the mark. The man cringed and Asmodeus laughed. His second attempt struck home, and the nail was forced through both of the man’s palms and into the meaty hands of the guard who held them.

An anguished scream pierced the relative quiet of the room. Asmodeus closed his eyes and let the sound wash over his body. It was a comfort to him, to hear the sweet roar of pain.

The guard pulled his hands free of the nail and tucked them under his armpits. He had not borne the full brunt of the assault, yet the wounds stung all the same.

“Continue,” Asmodeus said, waving a hand in the direction of the man.

The chain rose until it touched the inside of the metal ring, which snapped closed, like a Venus flytrap around a tasty morsel of meat. Even if he were so inclined, the man would not be able to escape. Asmodeus nodded his head towards the man’s feet. They would need to be secured to the floor as well. The rings to which the ankle shackles were to be secured were almost a metre apart. It was obvious that, naked as he was, all of the man’s body was exposed and easily accessible.

Having finished his task, the guard made a hasty retreat. He almost felt pity — a terrible weakness for a demon — for the mortal he was leaving behind. He knew that Asmodeus had something horrible in store for the man he referred to as a dog.

Asmodeus closed the door and turned to face the mortal. His flesh looked soft. This one had not experienced hardship during his short life, nor laboured and toiled. He walked slowly towards him, deliberately not looking the dog in the face. When he was close enough to feel the warmth of the man’s body, Asmodeus reached out and placed a hand on his chest. The man’s heart was beating slightly faster than normal, for a mortal. Given the circumstances, that wasn’t unusual. There was something else though. Something Asmodeus couldn’t put his finger on. He had not felt this sensation with any of the other mortals. Perhaps it had to do with his faith and belief being stronger than those who had come before him. A member of the church would have no doubt about the existence of Him.

“Do you know who I am?” Asmodeus asked, his hand still on the man’s chest.

“The Devil,” the man replied.

Asmodeus laughed. “You think too highly of me, dog. I am but a servant, though one my lord holds in high regard.

“Are you afraid to die, man of God?”

“No,” the man said. “He is with me always.”

“He is too frightened to show His face here. He knows that Satan would kill Him, if He ever ventured into this realm. Satan is lord here and He would be powerless.”

“You confuse power with mercy, Asmodeus,” the man replied.

“Ah, so you do know who I am.”

Asmodeus smiled and looked into the eyes of the dog who would be his. “You may call me Asmodeus for now. Later, you will call me master, though I have to insist that you only do so when no one else is around.”

“You may break my body, and it may be that I will call you master, for the flesh is weak. God will know, and He will forgive me those sins committed under duress.”

“We shall see, dog, we shall see.”

Asmodeus turned to the table. He didn’t want to delve into the bag just yet. Let the dog think this was going to be a regular run-of-the-mill torture.

Day two of the dog’s conversion saw little progress. Asmodeus was enjoying the challenge, though. Soon it would be time to open the bag and utilise one of the three objects it contained.

“Did you sleep well?” Asmodeus asked, knowing that sleep in such a position would not be refreshing.

The man lifted his head to look at the demon. His eyes were devoid of the emotion Asmodeus usually saw — no hatred, no fear. This was a man of conviction, and Asmodeus had to admire that.

“I see that you have been tended to whilst I’ve been gone.”

The floor had been cleaned, the man hosed down, and several of his wounds cauterised. Asmodeus assumed he had been given something to drink, as per his instructions. It would do no good for the dog to succumb to death by dehydration.

With his back to the man, Asmodeus reached into the bag and pulled out the first relic he would use. He took it and placed it on the floor at the back of the room. There was no way the dog would be able to see what it was or what was going on. Asmodeus sniggered quietly to himself and took a piss over the artefact. He would let his piss cool before presenting his trophy to the dog.

“What have we here?” a voice asked from behind him.

Asmodeus quickly straightened up and turned to face Satan. He bowed his head in acknowledgement, then smiled. “A cardinal, believe it or not. He has been poisoning the other mortals with his talk of …” Asmodeus chose not to elaborate. He knew how Satan felt about talk of God and he would know exactly what the cardinal had been telling those who had been in the cells on either side of him. Usually the sound that was carried through the ventilation system added to the despair of those trapped in the cells. The dog had been using it to sell God to those who had been willing to listen.

Satan stood before the naked man and placed a hand under his chin to lift his head. The smell of burning flesh accompanied the act, and the man’s eyes widened in pain. A small, strangled sound escaped his lips. Satan let his hand fall away. He had gained the man’s attention.

“I presume you know who I am?”

“The despoiler of innocence, evil incarnate,” the man replied through clenched teeth.

“Say my name,” Satan encouraged him. “I would hear it from your lips.”

The man didn’t look away, or lower his head. Instead he kept eye contact with Satan, showing no fear, though surely he felt it. “The Devil, Satan, Lucifer, Antichrist, Beast, Abaddon ... shall I continue?”

“I was always partial to Abaddon. It has such a nice ring to it, don’t you think? People have trouble spelling it though. Satanic rites and rituals hardly work when you’re summoning Abudun or Abandon,” Satan replied, giving the man a congenial smile, one that most found hard to resist.

Asmodeus watched on with interest, hoping that Satan would leave soon, so that he could be about his business.

“Do not seek to tempt me, deceiver. I am His, now and always.”

Satan, still smiling, turned to Asmodeus. “You shall have your work cut out for you, old friend.”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” Asmodeus replied. “Relics I think the dog will find interesting.”

“Come now, Asmodeus. He is not a dog, merely a misguided mortal. Tell me, mortal, what is your name?”

Satan’s voice was like honey, and the man found himself answering without hesitation. “Matthias.”

“And were you a gift?” Satan asked, referring to the meaning of the man’s name.

He found it ironic that such a gift had presented itself to him. Perhaps that thing up there was reaching out to him, in this small way. Was He worried that the time of Satan’s release was drawing close? Something to ponder on, when he was alone.

“My parents believed me to be, for my mother had been told she was barren and would bear no children.”

“And here you are,” Satan replied.

“Yes,” Matthias agreed, “here I am.”

Satan motioned for Asmodeus to follow him into the hall. He whispered to Asmodeus. Though Matthias tried, he could not hear the exchange. He would not know what Satan had in store for him.

When Asmodeus returned, he was in a particularly foul mood. This conversion — his conversion — was to become a public spectacle that Satan would preside over. Asmodeus was to continue his work up to the point where the dog was ready to be converted. It vexed him that Satan had chosen to interfere in his conversion, yet he could see why — conversion of a cardinal was quite the prize, and Satan wanted his brethren to see this accomplishment.

“Shall we begin?” Asmodeus asked. Matthias didn’t answer, though Asmodeus had not expected him to. After all, he was not as charismatic as Satan.