The Scarlet Gospels (32 page)

While the Fallen One hung there, a hundred or more of the motes swarmed over his body, eating away at the stitches that fashioned the whole of the vestment's many pieces. They came apart effortlessly, revealing behind their sumptuous folds evidence of Lucifer's true nature. Beneath his robes, his entire body was encased in armor wrought from dark metal through which many colors ran like the surface of gasoline on water. Each portion of the armor was immaculately decorated with designs.

For all its exquisite appearance, of course, it had failed in the duty for which it had been forged and hammered: protecting its wearer. That fact, however, meant little to the Hell Priest: it was clear that he meant to have it. And this time the Priest had no need to instruct his creatures. They understood his will perfectly. While Lucifer's body hung before the killing seat, the armor was removed piece by piece from his pale, lithe body.

Harry continued to watch, transfixed, as the Cenobite brought a knife out of a long pocket in front of his left thigh. It was nothing like the other instruments of torture he'd worn on his belt. For one thing it was a much bigger blade, and for another it wasn't caked in blood and chunks of decaying flesh. This weapon glinted in the light. It was obvious to Harry that the knife had never been used. The Priest, it would seem, had been saving it for a special occasion. That occasion now found, the Cenobite slashed at what was left of his black vestments so that they fell away in a foul heap of bloodstained fabric and leather.

He was a patchwork of scars and abrasions, his body resembling—absurd as it seemed—the wall of a cell where countless crazed, raging souls had been incarcerated and all left marks of their presence there: scratches, designs, numbers, faces, there wasn't an inch of the Cenobite's nakedness that did not reveal some piece of testament. He glanced at Harry in this brief moment.

“Angels have a perfect anatomy,” the Priest offered. “Few of us are blessed with such a gift.”

The Priest then raised the virgin knife and shaved away an inch, perhaps an inch and a half, of the already-skinned muscle of his chest. It curled before his blade, offering itself without protest, the layer of pulpy fat dark yellow, the muscle beneath gray thanks to his bloodletting. Realizing halfway through that the cut was not going to be deep enough to expose the bone, he left off and went for a second slice, which exposed his sternum and a portion of his ribs.

Harry saw that the Cenobite's bones too had been subjected to the questionable horror of being scratched and inscribed in the same fashion as his skin. How that had been achieved was something Harry was neither equipped nor instructed to answer. All he could do was that which the Hell Priest had asked of him: watch.

And watch he did. The Hell Priest continued to saw through the flesh of his chest and on down to his abdomen, opening areas of bleeding muscle with every fresh descent of the blade. At his navel he finally cut the lengthy flank of skin free, and it dropped to the ground in front of him. The Hell Priest feigned indifference, but beads of sweat stood out on his face, gathering in the grooves of his scars.

He took the knife to the fold of excess flesh at his hip and cut off a large piece, which was entirely fat. It had barely hit the ground and he was cutting at the place again, digging deep into the flesh behind the wound he'd already made and using both hands on the knife to make certain the blade kept its course. He came back to the precious cut a full two inches deeper and was rewarded with the sight of blood spurting forth in tiny geysers, then running down the side of his shin. Once he'd turned the corner of his hip he stopped, his breathing hard and raw, sweat running freely from the places where his scars carried it to his jawline.

The Cenobite then turned away, casting his gaze instead on the now naked Lucifer. Each piece of the Devil's armor hung in the air an arm's length from that portion of anatomy where it had been removed. To Harry's eye there was a formal beauty in this, the corpse and its armor entirely static.

As Harry marveled, the Cenobite continued his brutal effort of making new adjustments to his own flesh so as to fit the Devil's suit: first a slice off his other hip, down to the red meat; then up to his arms, slicing away the flesh at the back of his triceps; and passing the knife from left hand to right and back again, cutting effortlessly with either. The area around his feet looked like the floor of a butcher's store. Cobs and slices of fatty meat were scattered everywhere.

Finally, it seemed, the Priest was satisfied. He let the knife drop among the scraps and hackings and then opened his arms, mirroring the position of the Lord of Hell.

“The King is dead,” said the Cenobite. “Long live the King.”

“Oh shit,” Harry said.

Watching the insanity before him unfold, Harry suddenly heard Dale's words echoing in his ears:
Watching isn't the same as seeing
. Harry had spent a lifetime looking. He had watched as Scummy had been burned alive. He had watched a crazed cult leader slaughter his entire congregation. And he had watched a demon drag his friend to Hell. Now Harry realized with terrifying clarity that he no longer wished to be the witness of such sights. This was not the world in which he belonged. Though Hell had come calling on more than one occasion, Harry had always dodged its grip and lived to fight another day. Today, he determined, should be no different. The gripping curiosity to see what came next left Harry in an instant and he decided then that it might be a good time to start running.

 

5

Harry, running as fast as he could, drew closer to the room's exit when an unsettling din began to fill the room. It was a sound that was difficult to make sense of, drumming that had no real rhythm but came and went from first one side of the cathedral vaults and then the other.

Harry didn't let it slow him down and, as is often the case, the way back proved a far simpler task. In no time at all Harry had navigated his way back into the antechamber at the bottom of the stairs. But, with the terrible din overhead, Harry could hardly feel victorious. He had left his friends in the hopes of keeping them safe. He now hoped with all his might that he hadn't jumped out of Hell's frying pan straight into its fire.

Harry climbed the stairs, preparing himself as best he could for what lay waiting at the top. As long as he kept his focus fixed upon getting his friends out of here, he wouldn't go far wrong. But he had to be quick; they all had to be out of this damn place before the Great Pretender downstairs could make his debut.

There was one last turn on the stairwell, and then Harry was at ground level. Emerging from the hole in the floor, Harry saw his friends standing with the Azeel at the other end of the cathedral, waiting patiently in front of the door.

“Run!” Harry shouted. “Everyone. Fucking run!”

All eyes turned toward Harry, who was winding his way through the forest of phantom forms that thronged the interior.

“Harry!” Norma shouted. “It's all over.”

“That's why we need to move! Quick!”

“No, Harold. It's bad,” Caz said.

“I fucking know it's bad,” Harry said. “You're not listening to me!”

Nobody moved an inch as Harry reached his friends and, running past them, grabbed hold of the ornate polished handle on the door to the cathedral.

“Harry, you're not listening,” Lana said.

“No,” Harry replied, flinging wide the door. “
You're
not listening. I said—”

Whatever words he'd intended to press past his lips evaporated like water on a desert floor. Harry's eyes widened when he saw what lay outside. As quickly as he opened the door, it was slammed with twice the speed, Harry pressing his back to it in panic.

“There's an army of demons out there,” he said. It was then that he realized what the source of the terrible din was.

Dale grabbed Caz's arm out of fear. Caz put an arm around him in an effort to provide comfort.

“Where the fuck did
they
come from?” Harry said.

“Hell, I'd guess. And they are calling for the Priest to give himself up,” Dale said.

“Okay. They're not here for us,” Harry said to himself. “This could work.”

“Work?” Lana said. “Are you completely out of your fucking skull?”

“That's beside the point. We have a very big problem in the basement, and there's an army outside that wants to take care of that problem. The biggest issue now is that we've had the misfortune of being stuck directly between these two fucking obstacles. So, all we need to do is step aside and let them cancel each other out.”

“Not your best strategy, Harold,” said Caz.

“Harry's right,” Norma said. “This fight ain't ours to stop.”

And, as if on cue, a series of loud cracks came from under the spot where they all stood, slabs of marble fracturing beneath their feet.

“Fuck me,” Harry said. “That'll be King Pinfuck. Listen, the ground's going to give any minute. We need to get out of sight and let whatever is going to happen, happen. The floor will be stronger close to the wall. Let's move.”

He barked orders while leading his group to a side of the cathedral, behind two large pillars. By the time they'd reached the pillar nearest to them, the floor was solid beneath their feet.

The din of the approaching army seemed to be coming from both sides of the cathedral. Harry knew that any minute they would be sharing this ground with a great weight of unholy flesh. He just hoped his friends would survive the fallout.

 

6

The assembly of demons burst into the cathedral with a mingling of veneration and terror. The fog that had concealed most of the building from the outside had left them unprepared for the scale of what awaited them inside. In response, some were so overwhelmed they lost all control over their bodily functions; others dropped to their knees or fell facedown on the slabs, reciting prayers in countless tongues, some simply repeating the same entreaty over and over.

Harry and company had retreated into the shadows, ready for whatever came their way. Every member of his party knew some powerful defensive trick, which they were all quite ready to unleash if the enemy got too close.

But they needn't have worried. The last thing on the mind of this imminent force of demons was a few human interlopers. As the swarms of soldiers filed in, Harry and his friends retreated farther to one of the smaller side chapels, and they gratefully settled there, watching the number of demons entering the cathedral continue to swell, the presence of those at the door forcing the pace of the demons that had first entered. These soldiers had no desire to be pressed on into this mysterious place, with translucent towers and spiraling staircases, against their wills. But such was the size and curiosity of the crowd passing from behind that they could only advance before it and while they advanced let out cries of protest, which were only audible above the murmurs of the assembled masses as incoherent shouts, which were summarily ignored.

Those who had first come into the cathedral and were at the head of the crowd reached the middle of the structure where the violence from below had cracked the marble slabs and weakened the floor. Their collective weight was more than the compromised slabs could support. There were a series of cracking sounds as the fissures spread across the floor in all directions, then dropped away beneath those demons who were forced to venture over this uncertain ground. The din of their cries was loud enough to draw the attention of the leader of this damnedable army: the Unconsumed.

He carved his way through the crowd without meeting resistance, and when he reached the front of the horde the master demon raised his arms and two blazing spirals of light erupted from his hands, rising into the air a dozen yards above his head, where they burst like a vast parasol of iridescent fire, their ridges speeding on past the raw-edged circle of light to burst against the pillars or the walls—whichever they encountered first.

The blaze quickly silenced most of the crowd, but it left unrebuked and unhushed the swelling numbers at the beach, all of whom were being pressured from behind by yet more of the Unconsumed's shapeless army, a vast throng still streaming over the gargantuan tree they had laid over the pristine lake, creating a bridge over which they passed.

The consequences for those already crowding the beach weren't welcome; many had to walk in the shallows of the lake, obliged to venture farther and farther out as the mass of people increased. The Quo'oto was perfectly aware of their situation. It rose to the surface now and then, rolling over sideways as it did so, and, unseen amid the chaos of the assault, silently and routinely snatched several hors d'oeuvres that were stumbling through the water. Inside, of course, there was no knowledge of the mounting chaos on the beaches. The freshly silenced crowd only listened to the words of their leader.

“Silence!” the Unconsumed said, his voice carrying around the interior. “Let us all remember that this is a holy place. There is a power here greater than any below Heaven, and we owe our lives and our devotion to that power.”

There was an uncomfortable moment before the first whispers began: “Lucifer, Lord Lucifer.”

At the wall of the cathedral, saved from being crumbled by the great mass of demons who had followed the Unconsumed, Harry, his friends, and a small gathering of demons watched as the idol of this great crowd—who were by appearance and number members of every conceivable order of demon—spoke to his followers.

“I fought for you, brothers and sisters,” he said. “When you were taxed and every cup of marrow you brought to your table was snatched away again and a great portion of it taken before it was returned I protested. I wept for you, and begged that your agonies be heard and attended to.…” He paused, surveying his congregation. “Do you want the truth told? Well?” he said. He had dropped his voice low, to a whisper that nevertheless carried with unnatural force across the cathedral, the proof of its reach in the power of the reply, which came from all directions.