Crimson (Prequel; Divinity Crisis Triology)

Chapter Nine: Wrath of Hell

          The anguish and turmoil had all led to that moment, strife, battles and bloodshed, five hundred years and counting.
That night, she came face to face with her nemesis, her moment of truth, the night to end the war, for her continuance, for her salvation, or her damnation.
And the time came.
“Not you Jerold” Belphegor stopped him by the doorway.
“You can't be serious” He laughed.
“Yeah I am... the plan is to pull Achlys demons away from him, you keep them occupied; try not to die”.
“He can't be serious” He turned to Hannah, yearning to her with his stable smiling but vexed grin, hoping she’d decipher an ulterior motive to Belphegor scheme
“He's right, can't send them to an empty house, we need to keep them occupied” She replied with a straight face, knowing how much she wanted him by her side but also she knew how needed it is to show him his level of importance
“Come on Hannah I'm just tryna help”
“All you've done is help!” She urged, her tone loud and her stare wide and fixed, “That didn't do much did it; I've got this now”
“I'll just stay back then” He exhaled walking back from the door, with a smile that in it, deep inside was hurt, “Belphegor, ohh what awaits you”.
“Glory awaits me Jerold, just seat back and watch, princess”.


          “Well hello... It seems Belphegor was really on our side after all” He smiled to himself as he heard an outbreak by the southern door, he took his glass cup in his palm, whirled its the content round, he took a long gulp till it was empty, he rose to his feet, slammed his palm loudly together, and took a deep breath.
It was time.
He armed himself, with swords, guns and a black, thin and long stick that poured fire as a button is pulled, he hindered the flow of supply of light through the mansion, and darkness took charge, then he blended, he became one with the shadows
“There are just five of them, seven max” He thought, they were creatures of the night, they had to their advantage better vision in the dark corners of his home, better senses.
He was silent, he was evasive and he opted to turn his disadvantages into strengths, “They're in my house now, I make the rules”.
He lurked in the dark, studying their moves, their steps, their plan, they walked through the southern door straight into the broad space that was the parlour, they cleared the dining and the liquor stand, when the lights went off, two proceeded up the stair, and the other two through the dining to the kitchen and to the northern door, and the last one who seemed to be the leader lurked through a pathway that led to the basement.
Paul had taken his blades that had the  magic imprinted in their makings to neutralize entities as likened to the ones he imminently faced, blades enchanted not by things of hell but things of the unknown, hunters wished they wield weapons as these, it had magic in it, one unseen, one unheard of, one unknown, and with it did he wage war.
He watched, he studied, he thought, deep and hard and deep in the dark, to scale through he needed a plan, he need them to play by his rules, he needed his eyes on all at hall times.
He crept along as he strategically place breadcrumbs to sway them in his path, he ran passed the demon, passed whence they stood, a drop of cup here, and random rumble there, from the higher ground he led them through to a hidden room. There he chose to flourish his schemes, there he chose to draw the line and face the demons, there he chose to be the battlefield.
The hidden room was one of the magic in the makings of his mansion, the mansion was built with purpose and foresight, spelled to be a fortress and battlefield for hunters, it had with it – imprinted in its foundation, spells and magic, against unnatural entities and with it the hidden room, one not built by the natural hands, a room that wasn't in the architect of the house, it didn't exist.
It appears and disappears.
It was subject to the imagination of the house owner, wherever it was, whenever, the castle remained the same, in size, the same in buildings.
It stored secrets, stories, enchanted artefacts, memoirs, supernatural weaponry, things the outer world had not the stomach to understand.
One consistency was that it was always a straight and broad room from the south to the north, there was a short gold painted barricade to view the beauty of the trees and bushes in the south and a tall glass to view the empty night in the north.
The room had a life of its own.
He lured them in, dark, broad and with a large hole right in the middle, they moved a step at a time, turning fast to a shake in the right and a fall in the left, they knew something was off, they felt it in their spirits (even as they were demons) but they relied on their higher senses of being to survive.
They could see the whole and a bright orange but red-like lights beamed from underneath, they stretched to see what was beneath the hole.
It was nought but battling fire and wrathful smoke.
Three demons stood at one end and two at the other side and when they least expected, wrapped in the thoughts of the raging fire, when they had – in their thoughts the basics of his schemes and retreated slowly from the hole.
Then did the he fall.
From above, roaring like a vengeful orphan to his parent murderers, his eyes bright in the dark as they saw nothing but anger, nothing but a merciless grin, emotionless and ready.
He fell and wrapped his arm around the neck of the first and kicked the second to fall straight into the hole and then into wild fire, then he twisted himself to stand before the first and close to the hole and as the demon attempted to kick him down, he caught his leg, held it by his waist, and as he saw the other three running to his rescue, he held him by his neck, turned fast and cast him down into the arms of the flames.
The last three caught up with him, they unitedly kicked him around, his machete and blades, far from reach.
They loathe him.
With every stare, every punch, every breath he took they loathe him even more, no one had successfully caused more harm on their subgroup of demons who wish to gain total domination over Lucifer and hell. He caused more harm than they could let pass, he had to meet his end.
He had to die.
And they so dearly believed they were the men for the job, they believed they were the demons for the job, but as they attack in all anger he too defended with anger, but with an added sense of wisdom and tactics, his anger as a tool to overcome fear but not rule his judgement as it did theirs.
In their hate and wrath, they strayed from will, they chose to inflict pain rather than kill, they thought it was an easy way out, the sight of him caused rumble in their belly, their hate could only grow, more and  more and more till they were blinded by it and in this lied a loophole.
He had to suffer, they had to make him suffer.
To feel the pain of their dead companions, those he burnt, those he beheaded, those he stabbed, deep inside their being, they had to make him feel it all.
Their endless pain.
And he sort that as a weak spot to exploit and very well, very fast did he as he twirled back the hands of one to weaken his grasp on him, then he forcefully stretched apart his arms, bursting himself free and without hesitation, he leaped to the air and dropped both his feet to the face of the first and he staggered backwards, knocking the other two that collectively restrained and tortured him into the hole, into the fire; into the stairwell to hell.
He stood to face the last man, with a smirk of victory and pride.
To show him – with his expressions that he had once again come out the victor, he was their nemesis, a pain they just can't get rid of, the little cat they just couldn't handle that had grown to be a beast.
He saw in the eyes of the demon, fear and anger, in his body trembling but within, a sense of firmness, believing that he was just a peon of a mortal but fearful as he had killed more demons, more of his own than he could imagine, but it all disappeared with the sounds of fast approaching march, heavily and many, it got louder and louder and just in a blink, they were all around him.
They had used the first five demons as an instrument to divulge his game plan, to draw from his strength and to keep him at their favour.
And they had succeeded.
Another day he had been caught off guard, he needed a plan and he needed one fast.
His life hung on it.
They had come for Hannah and him, but in her absence, his death was worth the wait, his death was much desired.
He stood in shock as he stared at the room of endless beings as demonic soldiers, gallant, fed-up and ready for war in their armour garment, all black, all masked and all with a greenish yellow gaze and smoke black aura, one that screamed darkness and damnation.
Not one, not five, not ten and maybe a lot more that thirty.
He was outnumbered but he stood fearlessly, knowing that even then, even in his death, he would take with him a few.
He was proud of himself, he congratulated himself, he was proud if his exploits.
He always knew, somewhere deep down that his end was one of the sort, in the hands of evil, fighting for good. He stood vigilant knowing his name would remain in the lips of men in his line of work, young and old, new and existing, they would remember him as the hunter that needed a lot more than twenty demons to keep down; to kill.
His thoughts now moved to Hannah, ohh Hannah, would I ever see you again he thought. He continued in this, recalling the jokes, the laughs, the fights, the moments, ones when he got close, even so close as to dare taste her lips, to dare hold her in her slender waist soft and twirl-y, he took a deep breath, blocking her from his thoughts, her tender firmness, her smile, her beauty, her body. He closed his eyes and said his goodbyes.
Then he roared against them.


          “Betrayal coming from a second-hand, tell me a new story?” Achyls clapped from within the dark as they approached, Belphegor behind her.
“My knowledge was for good not evil, Lord” He said, playing respect and fearlessness.
“Your knowledge was a waste, was lacking, I sort to change the world with it, something you were much of a coward to do” He said elegantly on his throne, unafraid.
“You ruined my life, you forced me into exile, and now; death knocks... one way or the other you're to answer” Hannah muttered, her strong stern fixed at him in readiness.
“I can hear your heartbeat, both your heartbeat, you're scared, but; who can blame you” His words were confident calm, his words were slow as he walked out of the shadows unhurriedly, “One way or the other, you've brought the last ingredient I need to be... lord supreme”
She angrily charged at him, jumping all the way through, over the space between them, over all obstacles and through the elated ground on which he stood and then to strike him by the neck with her elbow and with the much force she could summon but he raised his before him and to her torso and pat her backwards effortlessly and she fell hard.
She rose fast and again against him, this time running like a wild beast towards him, but even then he was unworried and confident, he avoided her right jab, her left jab, her kick to the knee (meant to destabilize), and as she turned, immediately and hurriedly, her body elated from the earth and her leg aimed to the side of his jaw, he ducked backwards and moved the one leg on which she stood.
She fell flat.
“If only you knew what enormous power imprinted in your DNA” He said walking slowly around her. He saw Belphegor fiercely coming at him, he just bent his index finger as though he had turned off a switch and he fell to his knee groaning like a wounded lion, rolling and gnashing, “Belphegor, ohh wise Belphegor, you know how insignificant you are against me... I won't tolerate your disrespect” He grumbled and snapped his finger and he groaned to silence.
“I don't need him” He exhaled, turning back to her, “All I need now is your heart; your angelic but human heart” He said walking towards her.
“Come get it”.
“Rest assured I will”.
He exhaled as she charged towards him, he smiled at her attacks, moving faster and striking stronger, he had siphoned the power of two of his brothers, in the pursuit of power and dominion he had in him the power of three princes, he had travelled higher, up the hierarchy, he was everything she wasn't, he was everything ignorance took from her.
And he made her pay.
With every failed attempt she grew angrier, with every failed strike she grew angrier, and then more and more and some more.
Half a millennia had led her to this moment, the day to end her misery and exile, half a millennia of fear and uneasiness, she could only affront herself, she could only belittle herself.
She chose to educative herself on her nature, her being, and now face to face with her enmity, she could only wish she had taken Jerold advice, she could only wish she had trained.
She could only believe Belphegor had given her up to him, the last and most important ingredient to gain utter supremacy... and there he laid helpless and still, the one backup she brought, unalive with a snap of a finger.
She was draining, she was demotivated, she channelled her anger to her every strike but her thousands of years old foe could predict her like a old cliché.
“Pathetic” He said holding her up by her neck, his other hand stylishly slipped into the hole of his slacks and he threw her to the wall, she groaned to her feet, torn, tired and bloody, she gaze furiously at him, exhaling and with it drips of blood and other fluids, she stretched out her hands, screaming with her every strength, her every being.
Screaming endlessly.
The waves of her out cry shook the her surrounding, shook the walls, the ground his throne, and as she screamed, her eyes went white and red bright feathers shoot out of her back but right back in immediately.
For that spilt second, she felt herself glorified, she felt herself lifted above the physical, she felt everything around, she felt everything unseen, she felt connected to power, power she never felt before – and she had had times of immeasurable power and will before, but she felt different, power she had no idea existed, power untold.
But what it gave her it also took back from her and maybe more as she fell to the ground, weaker and oblivious.
Achlys smiled, walking stylishly, surprised but understanding, “Ohh how ignorance kills” He said holding her up by her neck,  “All you needed was knowledge... too bad you lacked” He said stabbing his hands on her chest.
She gasped as she felt his palm massage her insides, his hands held that that gave her life and her lips move as to beg for mercy but no words were uttered.
She slipped her hand to her back, pulled out a short dagger and aimed for his heart.
He clutched him self as he staggered backward, taking short breaths and groaning in pain, he pulled out the dagger, smiled a little and covered the opening on his body.
He had moved on from shock, shock that she might have just stabbed him deep in his essence, causing hundreds of years of hard ruthless work to fall, vain.
He smirked at her knowing she had missed a crucial opportunity.
She had aimed for death but missed.
“The red-blade, can kill anything but it's creator, aim for the heart next time child” He muttered, “But... there will be no next time” He added straightening forward his open palm and she was pulled in by an unseen overwhelming force, he stabbed the dagger below her chest and moved it slowly upwards and just before it could go all the way through, he was no more and the dagger was left within her as she fell.
He had vanished.
Her vision blurred but she could see a man, one with white long feathery wings, elegant and shining, whiter than snow, and as she gazed at it, weak and dreamy, she could hear humming melodic songs, mild and sweet, it drew her fond of him, fond of his heavenly glory, and she could only hear one name, beating, singing and being praised, and as she stared she saw Achlys talking and being kicked around like a bullied child.
She was numb, she was dreamy and her vision was slightly compromised but she could understand on what she saw, though it was shocked her and was unbelievable.
She saw his wings, broad and lengthened out, it was white, it was feathery, it was shiny, it was celestial, she could not believe her eyes, she saw his white robe clean itself  immediately after it was stained with the dark of the demons essence, she saw his long pearly black hair, scattered before his face and behind, she saw his stern face and white glowing dot in his eyes.
She could feel his being, she could feel his strength, she felt connected. She felt related.
She saw the prince of hell, the power seeking, power hungry demon with the power of two absorbed in one crying out loud and helplessly, as little effort he put in against her did the pearly winged man put in against him.
It was as a professional kickboxer against a teenage bully, his physical and unseen mind manipulation was useless against him. The winged tall man commanded his essence, commanded his being, commanded his soul, tossed him around the room without a touch, with a flick of a finger and a nudge of his neck, leaving parts of him all round the space.
She look to Belphegor as he regained consciousness and crawled to whence she laid, they were both surprised, they were both leering though hers dimmer still, and they were both dreamy and they both listened in.
“I've heard of your schemes and I've ignored as you're deemed – as my brother says, naive, you're becoming a threat... I'm here to nullify the threat” He spoke elegantly, slowly and authoritatively and then he placed his index and finger on his forehead as he was drained and weak, he screamed and cried as he slowly weathered from the sole of his feet till there was just... nothingness.
He turned to her and walked slowly as though he would be accommodating and friend but as she stared into his eyes she could only see disgust hostility and hate.
She could feel the tension rising, she could feel the power she felt connected and it grew stronger and stronger and more and more, she could feel a beam of light in her, a slow wavering beam of power, one time high, the next low, like a continuous deep breath in and out.
She could feel something in her that felt new, something she had not felt before, like a virus but for the better and also the worst, a new kind of power, one she was afraid would consume her, swallow her and keep her locked within herself.
As he got closer and closer even more hastened and wrathful and as she was weak and seemingly paralyzed, she just shut her eyes and obeyed her crying instinct, her instinct that told her there was a way out even though she knew not one, and as she was oblivious, she just submitted to her earnest urge.
She closed her eyes in fear and screamed.


          The room was filled with an aura of endless darkness.
The room was empty, was silent but even more closer filled with the highest of emotions.
Belphegor felt alive, he felt free, felt safe, he felt whole again.
Hannah was afraid but healing, she new there was a new evil but she didn't want to believe, she won't believe there was something that strong, that mighty and that emotionless and as she staggered to her feet and stared forward.
She felt powerless, she felt drained, weak, sad, as she stared at Jerold mounted on the wall by his own long blade, she felt more than she could explain and at the same time nothingness.
Then came the rollercoaster of emotions. There was regret, there was pain, tears, grief, there was remorse... love.
The one man, the one human that was with her through pain and good, through war and the little peace. The man who cared so much for her that he waged war with beings more powerful than he was, a man he walked into war beside her, though he was weak, though he was human.
She saw the love and hate she had for him hung with him, she saw a dead potential, a dead ally, and maybe, just maybe... a dead lover.
She looked to Belphegor as she was sure he too was burdened by his death, his foe, the man that stood against everything he believed in and work for was dead and he wasn't blissful, rather he was sad, silent, detached.
Not for the same reason she was. Whilst she felt pain for a companion, for hating and leaving him behind when all he wanted was to help her, was to fight for her freedom, whilst she felt sad for a love lost.
Belphegor felt pained for his dead foe, the fights and angry remarks, being on each others throat, the only human that had brought him fear and uneasiness, a human that brought him thrills and challenge, that kept him feeling alive, he always looked forward to their encounters, their fights, their battle... but now, it was no more.
He was dead and not by his hands... as much as he wanted it to be.
Hannah walked to stand below him, whence he was hung like a price, she fell on her knees and bent her face to her palms as she reminisced on the past, on the good times, the team up, on his act to defend her, she relived showing off her strength and the fun of making him feel weaker.
She remembered his carefree nature, not caring nor was he bothered by her enormous glory, she remembered his comedy, his humour, his freedom and now, all she could do was kneel and relive the past, the good old past.
She cursed herself for the way she treated him, she cried, she felt a burning in her throat, in her chest, her heart, one she wished would end but knows would last her entire eternity.
She knew now how much she cared, how much she wanted him, how much she loved him.
There was a strong stomp on the ground and the bang of metal on the hardwood came after and she look up slowly on her knees, “Don't cry love, takes more than death to get rid of me”.