First of the Fallen (Neophyte Series 1)

10. Among the Dead

        WHISPERS ECHOED IN THE dense blackness of a lone crevice, tucked deep in the ever expanding pit of a place all men fear to tread. Hopeless cries of lasting torment were muffled in this place, the pleas of a mercy that would never come gone unanswered and willfully ignored for all time. A dark presence lingered in a state of slumber, away from the grinding gears of infernal devices, the cracking and snapping of human parts and tearing of flesh hindering its rest.

    Countless events pieced together like a complex web within the ever winding mind of an ancient being, all interwoven, the outcome of each endeavor paramount to a sinister cause that was reaching closer to its climax with every passing moment. Though nothing could be seen, he felt the approach of a familiar being, an old comrade who had come to pay tribute.

    He could see without seeing, feel without feeling, a twisted grin forming as the whimpers of a horrified woman could be heard, muffled by the coarse stitching of her lips. Her body was bare, a heavy chain and iron collar locked around her neck as her master pulled her along like a dog. She had been left untouched and unsullied, the closest to pampered a human could ask for in the pit, though her elbows and knees bled, smearing a trail of her blood everywhere she was pulled.

    'Who disrupts my slumber?' said the deep penetrating voice of the beast within the darkness of the carven. 'I do not wish to be disturbed.'

    'I have brought you an offering, my lord; in exchange for but a moment of your time, if you would grace me with your company.' said the rather frightened servant. Suddenly, a flame ignited upon a rocky red floor, revealing the bare woman in the darkness, unscathed and frightened beyond rational thought. Though the flame gave sight to the ginger haired man that had brought the vulnerable and frightened soul, the shadowy figure remained in darkness watching, enticed.

    'A new arrival?' he asked enjoying the terror in her eyes as she glared into the darkness, trying to make out a shape or basic silhouette of the creature in the darkness.

    'Barely fit to be here. There is still hope in her, my lord.'

    'Bring her forth and state your business, fallen one.'

    The armoured Demon Lord stepped forth, the flames reflecting the mark of the old rebellion set upon his black breast plate, his great wings folded behind his shoulders. He then knelt before the beast, as was the tradition when approaching an upper rank, just long enough in duration to show basic respect before erecting once more.

    'Leviathan has been taken by the Traitor, my lord. I come for advice on how to retrieve her.' he informed but Satan seemed bored with the prospect, sighing with indifference as he eyed the leashed woman, inhaling her scent from the darkness.

    'Such incompetence; I am cursed with the aid of children, it would seem. Must I do everything myself?'

    'Michael intervened, my lord. Had he not, then we would have the Traitor in our grasp as we speak. This was not part of the plan.'

    'You have been given adequate means to secure him, Belial. Without Samael, Michael's cause will be greatly stunted. If Leviathan has failed, then you will find another way. The Neophytes' greatest weakness is there admiration for one another. Break one, and the others will follow. A seed of hate had been planted years ago—one planted unintentionally, but effective nonetheless.'

    'Revenge is often the best motivation.' Belial nodded his understanding of the Devil's suggested course of action.

    'The girl's bloodlust will be adequate to bring the Traitor to me. Nourish the seed, and bring me the Immortal.'