On the Wings of Hope: Prose (Chosen)

Trick

"Hmm, is that really that place? I am, as these mortals usually say, boggling," asked the Imp, continuing to look through a hardly noticeable door opening. "They didn't even give us some charts, just told that we should 'react in accordance with the situation' – and how should we react if someone decides to disassemble us here and now, damn it?"

"Seems like it's the place," perplexedly shifting from one hoof to the other, answered the Fiend. "Do you see lots of equipment that is stationed there? That must be the control chamber. Damn, shivers are running through my horns in anticipation of what we are going to achieve there!"

"Oh, sure, sure," the Imp twisted his ugly face. "You'll have to get in there first! The door is locked, you see? Most certainly it's protected by some magical wards to keep such fools as you away and at bay..."

"Don't you be such a coward!" the Fiend interrupted him. "Just kick it, perhaps it will even open for you in gratitude!"

"I am no coward! I just don't like all of this. We didn't even see any guardians on the way here. Shouldn't this place be protected from prying eyes at least for a little? It looks as if they are luring us into a trap..."

"Weakling!" the Fiend spat out on a floor and kicked the door by hoofs with all possible force. The door obediently opened, letting in such not so welcomed guests. "You have almost lost all of your hoof-power, brother, I tell you! You see that? Easier than a fried turnip!"

"I don't like this at all..." the Imp accurately entered the room while continuing to mutter. "Wow..." he uttered a couple of seconds later. "So many devices! Just look at that!"

"This must be it!" the Fiend confirmed his exclamation. "This has to be it! I knew that everything would turn out well. Now we will figure out how to turn off a security system out here and, as these mortals like to say, the matter is all in a boiler!"

"In a hat, you blockhead!" laughed the Imp. "Always you are thinking about boilers and sinners!"

"There is nothing more appealing to my eyes than a sinner inside a boiler, brother! You stay here on a guard and I shall look around."

"That's frightful – to stay on guard," having made a sour and ugly face, uttered the Imp while going back to the door. "If some damn shit happens – you are the first to game."

"To blame, moron!" the Fiend answered him with a courtesy. "You, as far as I can tell, didn't study a human language to perfection too. That's why they no longer send you into human worlds – you would grow such games there... people under your unkind guidance will surely stop sinning simply because they wouldn't understand what you are trying to offer them."

"All right, all left, you got me," the Imp giggled, having stood up near a door. "So, have you found something?"

"So..." perplexedly said the Fiend, continuing to go around and looking at devices and terminals. "Or not so..."

"What's there?" the Imp was curious. "Something of sin-terest?"

"Something, or maybe nothing... One thousand of imps!"

"Aye?" replied the Imp. "Did you call for me?"

"Nay, I am just saying that figuratively as people got used to thanks to our efforts," bitten the Fiend. "Don't distract yourself, watch the flanks!"

"I am standing, I am standing..." the Imp confirmed unwillingly.

"One thousand of imps!" the Fiend swore once again, inspecting the control panel. "All inscriptions under buttons here are written in some unfamiliar language! It looks like that thing... an ancient angelic dialect! Did you learn old angelic?" he looked interrogatively at the Imp who was scratching his horn.