Tattooed

Chapter 1 The creature crouched amongst the rotting flesh and fungal blooms of the catacombs. Tortured cries and bestial growls echoed up through the tunnels from the lower levels where horrors the human mind was incapable of comprehending were being visited upon captured souls. Xoatyl sat back on his haunches with his twin phalluses hanging down between his legs, a good third of their length curled on the ground. His senses were honed for the slightest sign of company. Dark shapes soaring below the glistening rock of the ceiling cast great shadows that swept across the space beneath, though they couldn’t break Xoatyl’s concentration. He’d wait until the inferno his home was famous for to die out before he gave up his determined vigil. A creature the size of a mouse, all scales and teeth, scurried across one of his feet and over one of his c***s. Xoatyl skewered it with a claw and deposited the tiny morsel into his mouth. With a single crunch it was gone. In this fashion he was able to keep hunger at bay. A stirring in the mists that swirled and eddied above the bone-covered floor caught his attention. This was no lower life form. This was a creature shorter in stature, but larger in size; a monstrosity of festering sores and matted hair that ambled into view, its dozen eyes directed on the path ahead. Several subordinate creatures scampered and yapped around its bulk as it moved. Even as Xoatyl watched, one of their number was crushed by the sheer weight of their master, no more than a smudge on the ground when the nightmare lifted its foot. Xoatyl’s black top lip curled and a low growl rumbled at the back of his throat, drawing the new arrival’s attention. “Xoatyl!” “Baaleel! I knew if I waited long enough we’d meet again.” Baaleel’s entourage surged forward, hissing and snapping at Xoatyl. With a swipe of his massive arm Xoatyl swept the first of the ranks away, sending them tumbling head over claw into the shadows. “A-a-and what a p-p-pleasant surprise it is,” Baaleel stuttered. Xoatyl began to circle the heir to the throne of Hell. He made a dramatic sniffing sound and started to chuckle. “Come now, Baaleel. I can smell your fear,” he said. “You reek of it!” Baaleel snarled. A thick string of dark grey saliva oozed out from between his cracked and jagged teeth. Xoatyl grinned. A flash of burning flame flickered in his eyes. Without warning he lunged at Baaleel, causing him to recoil and his minions to surge forward again, making a show of protecting their master, despite being ill-equipped to do so. Having regained his composure, Baaleel opened his mouth and emitted a deep gurgling sound. “You’d be unwise to try anything, Xoatyl.” Xoatyl leaned in until his face was centimetres from Baaleel’s, the stink from his mouth nauseating, even for one who dwelt in the pit. Then he continued circling his quarry. “I won’t be trying,” replied Xoatyl. “Surely you didn’t expect to doublecross me and get away with it. I don’t care who your father is. Souls are hard to come by when there are so many hunting for them.” Baaleel continued gurgling as Xoatyl came full circle. “I told you I’d present your harvest to my father and did I not do exactly that?” replied Baaleel. “You also told him that it was you who harvested them.” “I certainly did not!” Xoatyl glared at Baaleel, the flame flashing in his eyes once again. “No, you didn’t. Nor did you tell him where you did get them. And when he assumed they were yours, you did nothing to amend the error. I spent centuries gathering souls, working long and hard so I’d be promoted, and you, you worthless s**t pile, took away any chance I had within the space of a few minutes.” The army of midget creatures surged forward, but this time Xoatyl meant business. He raised a foot and slammed it down with enough force to shake the ground. Whatever he didn’t crush was sent scampering into the shadows. “I’d be very careful if I were…” Baaleel didn’t get the opportunity to finish his sentence. With one swipe of his mighty clawed hand Xoatyl opened Baaleel’s throat. When he brought his hand back, inflicting another, deeper, wound, chunks of reddish-grey meat and a torrent of blood spilled out over Baaleel’s bulk and splattered on the floor by his feet in a glistening mess. A third s***h severed his neck to the bone. Baaleel’s head was so large and heavy that the few muscles and ligaments attaching it to his body snapped and the bloodied head dropped to the ground. Immediately the scavengers came scampering and slithering out of hiding to feast on the unexpected meal. Xoatyl stepped back and allowed them passage. Larger creatures from above swooped down to pick at the flesh, their lightly furred bodies soon becoming dark with blood. A fitting end to a pompous fool, thought Xoatyl. For several minutes he watched, almost mesmerised, as the grey bones were slowly picked clean by a swarming congregation of fur, skin, and scale. His reverie was shattered by an agonised roar that tore through the slurping, snarling, chewing sounds of feasting. Several of the creatures looked up from their meal, only temporarily distracted before continuing their feeding frenzy. Xoatyl knew it was only a matter of time before Baaleel’s remains were discovered. It was also certain he had no choice but to flee. He was no match for Satan’s wrath. To stay would be foolish. There would not be death. Nothing as pleasant as that. Instead the Dark Prince would invent new tortures to punish him with, unceasing torments that would last the rest of eternity. A second roar reverberated through the tunnel, sending everything that could move speeding into the nearest cracks and shadowy corners. Xoatyl, determined not to be held accountable for his sin, turned on his heels and headed for the upper levels. Running along one corridor after another, Xoatyl wound his way upwards, towards the world of humans and animals. Passing through the outer circles of hell he encountered demons of many kinds terrorising freshly gathered souls. He passed other demons preparing for the journey to the world above, trance-like as they pinpointed those whose faith and devotion to their religion was so all-consuming they were like beacons, attracting the denizens of Hell like moths to a flame. Xoatyl laughed to himself when he thought of the faithful millions, on their knees in prayer to an absent God, unknowingly drawing havoc towards themselves. Soon the stench of the world above grew strong in his nostrils. He was close to the border. Once he was free and clear of Hell he’d be out of Satan’s reach. Naturally, there’d be soldiers, demons from the Fallen One’s own personal guard, but they were no match for him. He knew their strengths, their powers, but better still he knew their weaknesses, and he’d dispatch them as easily as he had Baaleel. Later, when things had settled down, he’d return. He’d find a quiet corner of Hell to shelter in and he’d wait. He’d bide his time until an opportunity arose. And then he’d take it.