Angel's Demon

7. Work Like a Demon

7. Work Like a Demon

Invitations had been sent far and wide, to those deemed worthy enough to attend the grand event of a cardinal’s conversion. Asmodeus had taken his time with the dog, sometimes leaving him for hours on his own, while he worked on converting others. He pushed the dog just enough to chip away at his resolve, and now, the day before the final conversion was to take place, he was to push a little harder.

The relic Asmodeus had placed at the back of the room on the second day of the dog’s conversion was sitting exactly where he had left it. Asmodeus picked it up carefully and carried it to the small table. His dog was thirsty, his master having decided he should have nothing to drink for twenty-four hours. Asmodeus would let him drink now, until his thirst was sated.

“I bring to you the Holy Chalice,” Asmodeus said. “Drink from it that you will be restored.”

Matthias looked through blackened and swollen eyes at the cup that sat on the table. He could see the liquid inside was not blood, yet he was not certain it was water either.

“Do you really think I’ll believe that is the Holy Chalice of the last supper?” Matthias asked, his voice a crackle through parched lips.

“You will see the truth of it when I touch it to your skin. It will resonate with you.” Asmodeus picked up the worn, metal cup and placed it against the dog’s skin. “Do you feel it?”

“Yes,” Matthias replied, though there was no joy in his voice. A holy relic such as this should not be in the bowels of hell, to be defiled by the likes of Asmodeus.

“Then you will drink,” Asmodeus said, holding the cup to the dog’s mouth.

Matthias turned his head to the side. Asmodeus sighed. That small spark of resistance was becoming annoying. He had enjoyed it at first. It was part of the challenge of conversion. Now, knowing that he would not be the one to complete the task he had set about to do, it was a chore.

Asmodeus set the cup back on the table and headed towards the open door. He clicked his fingers at a passing demon, to catch her attention. “You there, I need your assistance.”

The demon looked behind her, hoping Asmodeus was talking to someone else. She became flustered and pointed to her chest, even though she realised no one else was nearby.

“Does it look like I’m talking to someone else? Perhaps a fly on the wall?” Asmodeus scowled. He took a deep, calming breath, listening to Master Rahab’s voice in his head chide him for losing his patience. “My bite may be worse than my bark, but it is not you I wish to bite today. Think of this as a rare opportunity to watch me prepare a mortal for conversion. You could learn a lot from me.”

“Yes, Asmodeus,” the demon replied, in a voice too meek for someone whose soul was meant to be evil to the core.

Asmodeus extended his arm in the direction of the room he had come from, inviting the demon to step into his lair, something even the boldest of demons would think twice about. Yet she had been invited to assist, though many would argue that it was a command and not a request.

“Your name is Anzuriel, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, Asmodeus,” she replied again.

“You can speak freely in here,” Asmodeus said. “I will be asking much of you, and I’m sure you will have questions. However, you must not discuss anything that happens in this room with anyone else, ever. Do I make myself clear?”

Anzuriel nodded her head slowly. “Yes, Asmodeus.”

“You are to hold this dog’s mouth open, until I can insert a gag.” Asmodeus demonstrated what he wanted done. He punched the dog in the stomach, hard enough for him to gasp for air. As Matthias opened his mouth, Asmodeus inserted the fingers of both hands to open the dog’s mouth wider, and prevent him from closing it.

Anzuriel nodded her head. “Let me put my hands between yours. You can let go then and I’ll keep his mouth open. I’m not worried about a few teeth. I’ve been bitten by worse.”

Asmodeus smiled. Yes, he thought to himself. I’m sure you have. Perhaps I’ll do some biting myself, after we’ve finished here.

When Anzuriel had her hands in the dog’s mouth, Asmodeus quickly removed his. He wiped them on a towel, before picking up a metal mouth gag, designed to keep a mouth open. Anzuriel quickly removed one hand, then the other, as Asmodeus inserted and expanded the gag in the waiting mouth.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Anzuriel asked.

“Plenty,” Asmodeus replied. “The dog’s thirsty and I’d like him to have a drink. He’s being stubborn, hence the gag. Yet I think he’ll still resist.” Asmodeus sighed. He thought he’d timed it well — Anzuriel would think she was being a big help. “Pinch his nose closed while I pour the wine down his throat.”

“Wine?” Anzuriel asked, as she clamped her fingers over Matthias’s nose.

Asmodeus slowly poured the contents of the cup into the dog’s mouth. Matthias shook his head from side to side and some of the liquid spilled to the floor.

“That’s not wine,” Anzuriel said.

“If the blood of Christ can be wine, so can the piss of Asmodeus.”

Anzuriel laughed. She had not thought Asmodeus would have a sense of humour, and was pleasantly surprised.

“Hold his head still with your other arm, will you?” he asked.

“Sure,” Anzuriel said, “but I could use that chair,” she nodded in the direction of the chair that was usually used to restrain those being converted, “to stand on. I’ll be able to get a better grip on his head then.”

“By all means,” Asmodeus replied. He sat down the cup and clicked his fingers. The chair slid across the room and came to a halt directly in front of Anzuriel. She stepped to the side and dragged it a few steps closer to Matthias, before leaping onto the seat.

“Shall we try again?” Anzuriel asked.

Asmodeus nodded. Anzuriel used one arm to firmly hold Matthias’s head against her chest, and her free hand to pinch his nose.

Eventually the dog swallowed the liquid that had been poured into his mouth. Matthias had resisted the urge to swallow for as long as possible, in an act of defiance. He could feel the piss, as he now knew it to be, poisoning him. It was not the sort of poison that would kill, it was designed to weaken him … and it was working.

In his head, Matthias was screaming. He raged against what was happening to him, and how a holy relic could fall into the hands of such despoilers.

Asmodeus and Anzuriel continued with their work, torturing the man who was helpless to defend himself. All the while they recited passages from the satanic bible, weaving their evil intent throughout Matthias’s body. His mind registered pain, as cuts, burns and bites were inflicted upon his flesh, yet he ignored it. Instead, he focussed on harnessing the maelstrom of rage in his head and channelling it into prayer. Matthias hoped that God would hear him and be merciful — release from life, so that he might be saved, was all that he asked for.

“Time to try something else,” Asmodeus said. “It won’t be long before the dog is standing on the precipice, and we must keep him there, until Satan completes the last stage of his conversion.”

Anzuriel watched as Asmodeus reached into the bag and pulled out a length of cloth. It was old and musty. Why this ratty piece of linen was significant, Anzuriel didn’t know. She did know that Asmodeus wouldn’t have chosen it if it wasn’t important. She was surprised, then, when he used it to mop up the s**t, blood and piss — none of it their own — that was dirtying the floor.

“Cleanliness is next to godliness,” Asmodeus sneered, “and we are not godly.”

Anzuriel was confused. Asmodeus grinned at her and tapped the side of his nose with one finger. It was a gesture he had learned from some of the shady mortals he’d had dealings with over the last few centuries.

Matthias paid little attention to what was going on around him. He was trying desperately to retain a grip on his sanity. The voices in the shadows of his mind kept talking to him, telling him how worthless he was, and that God didn’t care for His creations anymore. The voices offered Matthias two choices — a better life, where everything he did would have an impact or make a difference, or eternal pain and suffering. He shook his head from side to side, muttering that he had made a difference in the past and that no life was worthless.

Asmodeus laughed. Everything was going according to plan. He would bring the dog back to reality for a moment, to watch him wail at the desecration of another holy relic, befouled by the dog himself.

As Asmodeus began to wrap the soiled linen around the dog’s body, Matthias regained control of himself, and remembered where he was, though not why he was there. His body alternated between tingling, shivering, and burning. He was confused about what was going on. He felt cleansed and despoiled at the same time.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” Asmodeus asked.

“It is like the chalice … only different,” Matthias replied. “It is something that does not belong here, just as I do not belong here.”

“Trust me, dog, you belong here. Never doubt that.”

“What is it, that you wrap about me?” Matthias asked. “Is it to be my death shroud?”

Asmodeus laughed. “You are correct that it’s a shroud, though not yours. For several hundred years, mortals have revered the Shroud of Turin as that of Christ. As usual, your belief has been misplaced. We took his life, and everything we knew that mortals would come to worship in years to come. The chalice, as you call it, the shroud … and one other thing.”

Matthias wept. The son of his Lord had been cloaked in this cloth, though it was no longer pure, clean, and blessed. Even in its unclean state, he did not think he was worthy of wearing it.

“Add your tears to the robe, dog,” Asmodeus said, laughing. “It’s not as if you’re going to do any more damage to it.”

Tears continued to roll down Matthias’s face. He slipped back into the place in his mind that had once been a haven of solitude. The voices in his head were preferable to what was happening to his body though, so he welcomed them when they started talking to him again.

Anzuriel watched Matthias with interest. Although she could not get inside his head, her familiarisation with body language told her that his struggle was not with the flesh, but the mind. He was losing it. Asmodeus would need to tread very carefully if he didn’t want to push the mortal over the edge.

The moment they were preparing for — the final conversion — was fast approaching. It was time to move things along. Asmodeus would leave an everlasting reminder of who it was that had lead this man to the path of sin.

“Fetch me the bull,” Asmodeus said, clicking his fingers twice to make sure he had Anzuriel’s complete attention.

Anzuriel looked at the various tools, knives and other paraphernalia on the table but could see no bull. She looked at Asmodeus questioningly.

“The brand of a bull’s head,” Asmodeus said.

The head of the branding iron was no larger than Anzuriel’s palm, and was cold to the touch. She picked it up and blew on it gently as she walked over to Asmodeus. It began to glow, red-hot at first, then white-hot.

Anzuriel offered Asmodeus the handle of the brand. Instead, he closed his hand around the head of the brand. His flesh sizzled and burned, though it didn’t appear to faze him in the slightest. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose.

“There is nothing like the smell of burning flesh,” Asmodeus sighed, “Even my own.” He opened his eyes and looked at Anzuriel. “Thank you for warming this up for me. I have been away from the warmth of the fires for far too long.”

Anzuriel nodded her head in acknowledgement. The fires were to demons as the sun was to mortals. Without it, a deranged malady sets in … a dangerous thing for a demon, particularly if Satan became aware of it.

Asmodeus knelt on the ground before Matthias and thrust the head of the brand on the top of Matthias’s right foot. He smiled broadly as a scream echoed throughout the chamber. The smell of burning flesh was intoxicating, and Asmodeus felt giddy with rapture. He lifted the brand and surveyed his handiwork. The foot was beginning to swell, and the skin around the blackened horned bull’s head was an angry red.

Happy with the result, Asmodeus stood and returned the branding iron to the table. He looked over his shoulder at Matthias, who was sweating profusely. “Think yourself lucky, dog, that I didn’t brand your balls.”

The final holy relic that he had decided to use for this conversion was hidden under a cloth on the table. Asmodeus lifted the cloth and admired the artefact — the smoothness of a surface that had been worn down over the centuries, the dark lustre. He picked it up and cringed inwardly. It may have been a thing of beauty, yet it was still holy, and that disgusted him.

“This is the last of the gifts I have for you,” Asmodeus said as he turned to face Matthias, holding up the final relic.

Matthias’s brow furrowed. He was trying to imagine what the small, dark rod-like thing could be. There was no doubt in his mind that this was something holy, but what? He sifted through the catalogue of relics in his mind, trying to place it, and drew a blank.

“You don’t know what it is, do you?” Asmodeus asked. Matthias shook his head. “That’s hardly surprising, given it is a small part of a greater relic that was split into hundreds of pieces.”

Matthias still didn’t have a clue as to what it was from. A rod or staff, perhaps? Could it have belonged to Moses?

Asmodeus pressed the artefact against an open wound on Matthias’s chest. He watched closely as the wound began to slowly close, flesh knitting together. It was a marvellous thing to be able to heal a body, then tear it asunder again. It was a pity that this small object didn’t have the same restorative effect on demon flesh.

The door behind Asmodeus opened. He turned to look who was interrupting the last few hours of his work, before the final conversion took place. It was the ugly little messenger whom Satan was so fond of. Asmodeus found the grotesque monster almost as disgusting as the man who was hanging up before him.

“What do you want?” Asmodeus bellowed.

Creature stood erect and proud, knowing his mission was an important one. “Master says to ready yourself. In an hour, you must be in the great dining hall. The man must be in place before his guests enter.”

Asmodeus snorted and waved Creature away. Soon this would be over, and he could go back to finding what he was looking for, amongst regular mortals. All this bother for one man, simply because of his occupation, had become tiresome. First, however, he’d ask Anzuriel if she would like to retire to his room, for a private meal and whatever else took their fancy. He hardly thought she’d reject the offer, given his status.

“Anzuriel, would you mind watching the dog while I get cleaned up and make final preparations for the ceremony? I hardly think Satan is going to be impressed if both of us turned up covered in s**t-stained rags.”

Anzuriel laughed. “Sure, no problem.”

If that weaselly little creature hadn’t interrupted him, Asmodeus would have completed the final part of the unholy trilogy he had devised. True, the last object could heal flesh. What most demons didn’t know was that if placed internally it slowly corrupted flesh as well. Not in the same way as cancer or other diseases. Rather, it changed the desires and needs of those who were afflicted, to the point that they were more susceptible to conversion. The downside was that once an object was used in this fashion it could not be retrieved without killing the host. Asmodeus had tried it once, to see what happened, and while he could retrieve the relic, its power of influence was spent.

“On second thoughts, there’s something you can do apart from watching him. I will not have time to put this,” Asmodeus held up the small object, “somewhere it is likely to cause him damage, rather than healing him. Perhaps you could take care of that for me?”

“Of course, Asmodeus.”

“You might want to put on a pair of gloves first,” Asmodeus advised.

Anzuriel picked up the gloves that had been resting on the table and put them on before taking the artefact from Asmodeus’s hand. She cringed as she touched it.

Asmodeus headed towards the door. He stopped, just as he was about to close it behind him, and glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t disappoint me, Anzuriel.”

When Asmodeus returned, Matthias was a changed man. The spark of resistance had gone, and he was muttering nonsense to the ceiling, a sly smile on his face.

“Where did you put it, for it to have had such an impact?” Asmodeus asked.

“Put what?” Anzuriel replied, feigning ignorance. She knew well enough what he was talking about.

“The slither of wood from the True Cross.”

A brief flash of surprise crossed Anzuriel’s face before it returned to a mask of calm.

“Oh, that … I put it back on the table. I could feel it, even through the gloves I was wearing. It was repulsive. I don’t know how you could stand to hold it.”

“Then what did you do to him?”

Anzuriel’s eyes darted from left to right as she considered whether or not she should tell the truth. If she said the wrong thing, and displeased Asmodeus …

“Tell me what you did!” Asmodeus commanded.

Anzuriel took a deep breath and decided to tell the truth, blurting out, “I f****d him. I’ve never had a holy man before. I wanted to find out what it would feel like, to have a rod of God inside me. How was I to know that he’d enjoy it? I thought they were meant to be celibate.”

Asmodeus laughed, and the hearty, yet eerie sound, boomed around the room. He’d been approaching the conversion all wrong. Torture had only reinforced Matthias’s faith. The key to his corruption was to pleasure his flesh. Maybe he’d try a bit of both — pleasure and pain — from now on. If someone responded better to pain, then that’s what they’d get. If it was pleasure, well, there were lots of demons who’d be more than happy to help in that department.

“Thank you for your honesty, Anzuriel. I would have smelled a lie. And now it’s time for the dog to heel, and heed a new lord. One that will reward loyalty, and punish disobedience.”

Anzuriel wondered if Asmodeus was referring to himself as Matthias’s lord, or Satan. She knew better than to ask.

The shackles and fetters that bound Matthias opened. Anzuriel stood on his left side, linking her arm through his to support him as he took the first few tentative steps of a limited freedom. Asmodeus hooked his left arm through Matthias’s right arm, and together the three of them set off at a slow pace to the great dining hall. They encountered no other demons on their way — the first gong summoning those who were to attend the historic event had not yet rung out. None would dare enter, or be caught in the corridors leading to the great dining hall, until the gong had sounded.

On rare occasions such as this, Asmodeus imagined everyone else was gone. The complete lack of demons, lesser beings and the constant buzz of activity was unsettling, but in a way that Asmodeus found delightful — it wasn’t often that the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

“It’s too quiet,” Anzuriel whispered.

“Does it disturb you?” Asmodeus asked.

“Yes.”

“It won’t be quiet for long. You should savour it while you can.”

As they made their way to the great dining hall, the darkness of the bowels of hell gave way to a warm, inviting light, and heat. They were close to their destination. Asmodeus pulled on Matthias’s arm, forcing him to walk faster. From the corner of his eye, he could see his dog twitching — a tic in the face, the jerk of a hand. His grip on reality was wavering.

Asmodeus was glad when they arrived at their destination. He wasn’t entirely certain that this man would survive the next few hours. Perhaps Anzuriel had pushed him too far. If Matthias died, she would pay the price for his death.

The two demons ushered the limping man through the enormous blackened ivory doors of the great dining hall and onto the dais. There they sat him on a hard, stone three-seater bench, just as the first gong sounded. Asmodeus leaned down to whisper in Matthias’s ear.

“Do not displease our lord, dog.”