Heresy: The Book of Mammon

Chapter 15

Chapter 15



I love you.

It was the most painful three words that had ever been spoken to Valimaar. They cut through him like swords when he stepped through the gateway. It was the last time he’d hear her voice. Her eyes were lifeless as she was pulled away from the gate. He watched until he saw her no more. The bombs exploded and the ceiling collapsed. He knew it was the last time he would see her.

It couldn’t be helped. If anything, he did this for her. His death meant someone else’s life, and if it were hers, he was content. He stood at the gate. Before him the land of the dead stretched from his feet to beyond what his eyes could see. His darkest nightmares could not dream such a place. This was far beyond horror, it was far beyond fear. It was death.

Red skies glowed upon the horizon and bolts of lightning struck in the distance. Thunder rolled and boomed across the sky as he looked on in silence. Steam hissed through iron pipes that webbed their way through the landscape. There were hundreds of them. They coursed through jagged rocks and into shadowy buildings in the distance. Smoke poured from their roofs and into the crimson skies.

All around him, massive gears creaked on iron spindles turning this way and that. Metal clanged and rattled as chains rose and fell, and cogwheels grinded against one another. He could only imagine what such massive mechanisms were powering.

He stepped forward with his eyes ahead, and the smell of burning blood and oil poured forth. It stung his eyes and burned his lungs as he breathed in the sharp air. It was suffocating.

He watched as a ball of light glowed in the distance. It shot through the stormy skies and zigzagged between sharp crags and steam pipes. He slid his rapier from its scabbard and readied his pistol as the thing hovered ever closer to him. It slowed its flight as it neared him and finally stopped. It hovered above the burnt ground and danced about.

The light swelled in front of him, and it burst into several rays of piercing brilliance. He shielded his eyes from it, and a draft of warm wind blasted at him like a cannon.

“Hello Ithaca.” Its voice was squeaky and raspy.

He removed his hand from his eyes, and looked down at the thing that stood in front of him. It was a grotesque looking creature. It stood little higher than his waist, and brown, wrinkled, loose skin dangled from his porcine body. Its nose came to a sharp point and two yellow eyes rested above it, sunk into its skull. Pointy ears stabbed from its head in opposite directions, and shook as sounds echoed by.

He raised his sword at the thing, ready for its attack.

It raised its long arms that nearly hung to the ground, and covered its head. Valimaar saw its yellow eye darting about between its clawed finger in front of its face.

“Forgive me my lord. I was not expecting you. Please don’t hurt me!” Its raspy voice sent chills down his spine. They were not chills of fear, but rather annoyance. Its high pitch was like a knife on glass.

He lowered his rapier and stepped forward. “Who are you?”

“I am Erebus my lord, keeper of the gates. Welcome home.” Its ears twitched as its glowing eyes stared up at him. It smiled an array of jagged, yellow teeth. “It’s been a long time Ithaca. What’s happened to you?”

Valimaar scowled. “I’ve had a particularly bad day.”

The creature nodded and the smile faded. “Well then, I imagine you’d like to see how we’ve kept your home. Come with me.”

“I don’t have time for this. Can you take me to the Ecclesian gateway?”

The thing nodded. “Of course. We’ll be heading past your castle. I’ll explain what’s been done to it on the way.”

Castle? He had a castle? It didn’t make sense to him. What would one do with a castle in hell?

Erebus motioned for him to come, and spun on its gnarled feet. Its arms swung and its hands nearly brushed the ground as it hobbled along. Valimaar followed with his hand resting on the hilt of his rapier.

He looked on at the surroundings as they walked. This place was darker than any dream he could imagine. All about, men with no skin or eyes walked about. They carried rocks, or hammered against metal. All of them were busy with something. He felt like he were in a workhouse of sorts. Warped faces were embedded in the jagged stone that stabbed through the ground. As they walked, they would scream in high pitched agony. Eerebus waved his clawed hands at the things and they silenced. Above, he saw things flying about the scarlet skies. They had an inner glow about them, and looked like men and women, but he could see through them. The cried and screamed as they darted through the air like living smoke.

Erebus stopped at the edge of a cliff. Valimaar looked over and saw no bottom to the gorge. It was as if the land were split in half by an axe. Across the expanse the road started again. The creature stomped his foot on the stony ground and ruckus erupted through the air. He saw corpses rise from the darkness below, but they were alive. They held their hands up as if in praise as they shot from the void. They stopped at the edge of the cliff, and more came flying. Their hands locked together from one end to the other. They formed a bridge with no gaps in the surface, and large enough that an army could cross.

Erebus strolled along with his hands swinging about, and Valimaar took a cautious step upon the see of hands. They had no give in them, still, it was almost too twisted for him to continue. He had no choice, for he knew he couldn’t turn back. He walked across the bridge of flesh, and his feet found solid ground once more. Erebus stomped his foot again, and the rustle of skin sliding against skin erupted as the thousand hands collapsed into the void like a tidal wave upon the black ocean until they were gone.

The road before them was different. It was alive. Below his feet, spiders and scarabs crawled atop one another like a living earth. Centipedes wormed their way over the mass of legs and eyes but did not swarm his feet as he thought they would. The chitter of insect life filled his ears as they walked along. And with each step, Hell grew more twisted and grotesque.

“It’s been a busy millennium, but we’ve managed to keep up with our duties.” Its voice stabbed at him as it spoke. “We’ve kept your home in particularly good order.” Erebus motioned to his right.

Valimaar turned his eyes and saw the dark castle standing atop the jagged mountains on the horizon. Spires stabbed into the sky, and banners waved in the hot winds. An aura of darkness shrouded it, and storm clouds poured their rains upon its roofs.
“What do you mean my home?”

The Daemon stopped and turned round. Its bulbous yellow eyes stared up at him as if it were puzzled by what he’d asked. “This is your kingdom Ithaca,” it said as it raised its arms and motioned to the lands around them. “All of this is your home.”

Kingdom? The princes had their own kingdoms in hell?

Erebus turned once more and they continued on through the waking nightmare.

"We've done everything we could to keep it to your liking, I hope you're happy with the results," he said motioning to the surroundings.

Valimaar looked about as they walked and it grew ever more nightmarish. The storm clouds above rained blood upon him that dried as it touched his flesh. It's metallic smell hung in his nostrils as he walked with the Daemon. "What of my brothers' kingdoms?"

The Daemon chuckled. "You're brothers should be equally pleased with theirs once they return. Where have they been Ithaca? It's been far too long without them."

He found it odd that the creature had no idea of the whereabouts. Though, he assumed it was little more than a servant to the princes, or an overseer of the throngs of slaves that labored on as they marched over the scorched lands. The blood that rained from the skies soon turned to ash. It floated upon the warm air like snowflakes falling. All about, its white piles drifted in the gale and speckled the black rocks with its light fluff. It stuck in his hair, and against his waistcoat like honey.

The Daemon stopped and turned to him. "Has the awakening started? Is that why you're here?" Its eyes were wide as it looked up at him. It sneered a wicked grin at him, and he found himself gripping the hilt of his rapier tight.

Valimaar nodded.

The thing hopped on its gnarled legs and waved its hands in the air. "Finally, we're taking it all back!"

It was everything he could do to not slay it where it stood, but he couldn't. He was in the mire of mystery and dark dreams, and had no whereabouts of where or when he was. He would have to leave it be, for he had other matters to attend to. They walked along the living road of insects that continued to click and chatter at him. He felt thousands of eyes upon him as he marched through the nightmare. Fleshless beings stared at him as he passed. They said nothing, and did little more than look upon him. They carried all matter of things with them. Bones, flesh, hammers, chains, and sections of pipe. Not one of them had empty hands.

He looked out in the distance and saw the things erecting great structures. Buildings of bone stood in the distance, and their skeletal frames darkened the horizon. An entire hellish cityscape was constructed across the burning plains of this place. He found himself in awe of its likeness to the waking world. It was like these creatures were creating their own civilizations here in the lands of evil. They were not affected by the fires, screaming, or the torment. They suffered mortals as though they were little more than insects - a nuisance to their way of life. Much as they were exactly like that in the waking world, for humans had a way of tainting things with their stain. But life was as it always was, an insufferable charade of good deeds masking wicked men. The Ecclesiarchy was a testament to that.

"We've been rebuilding for a long time." The Daemon motioned to the rooftops that stood against the red expanse of the glowing sky.

"The battle wiped everything out long ago. We've done the best we could to restore it. We have much more that needs doing, but we're making progress."

Battle? That was interesting. Surely the sacrament spoke of it, if only he could speak to her once more, and tell her of the things he's seen, and of the information he's heard. Lady Elaine could find wisdom in the pages, but he knew, that was over. She would do what she could without him, just as he would carry on without her.

The ground seemed to change abruptly as they continued. Below, the dirt glowed bright red as though fire burned beneath it. The Daemon walked across the rippling waves of heat that rose from the earth. It did not effect it at all. He took a cautious step forward, and the ground sizzled beneath his feet, yet he felt no heat from it. Pillars of broken bones stood all about the road. Atop their crowns, burning skulls lit the street. He looked down at his feet to see corpses of men and women. Their flesh was littered with sores and filth. Their bodies were sewn together with thick rope, and they knotted themselves in twisted, grotesque fashion. It turned his stomach to look upon such terrible things. The souls of the wicked were certainly being punished as far as he could see. Their faces cried in agony, and their bodies jerked in pain as he walked along the screaming road.

Ahead, he could see the gate burning its red light into the world around it. It was a mirror image of the one he'd stepped through in Lokken. All about it, the blue circles within circles spun and burned their bright lights upon the ground. He was finally going to leave this nightmare. A bridge stood before them. Constructed of corpses and bones. It spanned the flowing river of blood and liquid flames. The vapors from its steaming putrescence burned his nose as he walked. Still, the faces screamed in agony with each footstep. Arms and hands shot up at him, and their souls pleaded for his aid. He shook his head at it all. If this were the fate of the wicked, he couldn't imagine what his would be. For he was Ithaca, and this was his kingdom. Was he destined to spend his eternity in this hell? Such a fate was beyond measure. It was beyond comprehension. He'd only hoped that there was still time to redeem himself.

"This is where I leave you Ithaca." The Daemon spun on its feet, and pointed at the gate. "This will take you to Ecclesia. Good luck, and come back to us."

Come back to us.

The words tore his flesh. She'd said the same thing to him before he stepped through to this world. Her blue eyes haunted his thoughts. He could feel her flowing hair, and her soft skin beneath his palms. Her voice echoed in the dark expanse of his mind.

I love you.

Those were her final words as he stepped through. He would not hear them this time. He stepped forward into the light, and he felt something roll down his cheek. He'd never felt its touch before. He touched his face, and the moisture of his tear shined bright in the crimson light. Another step forward, and the darkness swallowed him.

Valimaar had seen darkness before, and it was no different this time. He stood in silence as he looked about the room. The red light from the gateway danced and churned against the dark stone walls of the catacombs.

He was relieved to find that the gateway was unguarded. Perhaps it was merely forgotten, or had little use by the Daemon army. Papal had told him of Celestine's plans, and he expected a terrible welcome on the other side, but the emptiness of the room was quite welcome. The carvings upon the walls were quite similar to those of Lokken, but not the same. Instead of screaming faces of men, he saw the laughing faces of Daemons. The eyed him as he stood and looked on in the light. They twisted and spun in his vision behind the gateway that warped the visions behind it. Upon the walls, he saw the same circles within circles. Their light was not bright like that of Lokken. It was dim and faded, and little more than a pale glow. They spun slowly in opposite directions, not like the one's he'd seen before. He knew these wards were disabled.

He hadn't thought of that before. If they were active, surely, he'd be dead. Or so he thought. He walked about the room, and placed the small bombs at each corner. They rested in the dark and he stepped to the center of the room. He pulled his horn of black powder over his shoulder, and poured thin trails of it to the fuses that lay upon the stone floor.

Again, he returned to the center. Again, he returned to the center. He knelt down to the stone floor and pulled his pistol. The hammer clicked and he squeezed the trigger. Sparks flew and the black powder trail burned and sizzled. He jumped to his feet and dashed out of the room.

He pulled his rapier as he sprinted through the dark shadows. It was odd to see the catacombs once more. He’d been there before, long ago, but he hoped he’d never return. The oppressing feel still weighed upon him as he ran down its dark corridors. The tombs which held the bodies of the dead bore into its stone walls, but they were empty. Where could the dead have gone?

The hum of machinery echoed through the length of the long hallway, and steam hissed much like it had in Hell. To him, this was every bit another Hell. Ecclesia was a terrible place, with terrible people. The heat of the air weighed down upon him like a pile of stone. Sweat rolled down his brow and burned in his eyes. His breath grew short as he sprinted, caring little for any that might be alerted by his presence. He knew there was little chance of his survival here, if any at all. What would it matter if he was captured? It was inevitable after all.

He turned the corner, and found himself in a hollow hole within the halls. Darkness swallowed him like a veil of black. He crouched down and waited. His breaths were hard and sharp. The heat was nearly unbearable. The blast rumbled through the halls, and dust fell from the stone ceiling upon him. The thunder of the cave-in coursed through the halls of the catacombs and was deafening. It continued. It grew louder. The entire place was caving in.

He jumped to his feet, and sprinted once more. Behind him, stone crashed upon the floor, and dust engulfed the air. He recognized the color of the stone walls on either side of him, and he knew he was nearing the exit to the halls above. Dust and stone fell just behind him as he ran. Before him, stairs rose from the black stone floor to an open room brightened by torch light. It was not a comforting sign. Someone lit the torches. Someone spent time in these halls. He knew, he would not go unnoticed for long.

He ran up the stairs and dove through the door as the cloud of dust burst through and swallowed his vision. The cave in had ended and the fog enshrouded him. It was choking and hot, but he survived. He had no time to linger. He rose to his feet, and wiped the sweat from his brow. With shaky steps, he continued on. His legs burned from the running, and his breaths were heavy, but he continued. If there was at least a chance of surviving the intrusion, he would seize it.

The cloud of dust grew lighter as he walked through the twisting corridors within the bowels of the Cardinal City. He knew this place. Down the length of the dark, winding hallways, iron doors lined the walls. Each had rusty stamps upon their surface. He was beneath the Hereticus Administratum, and the very prion which housed Father Gordon. Its forgotten halls were little more than a dark memory to him, for he wished to never see this place again.

He turned the corner and crept through the shadows. He knew that the halls connected with the sewers, but there was a good distance between him and its tunnels. The cave in certainly alerted someone, for its thunder likely echoed through the whole of the Administratum. It was only a matter of time before they found him. His pace increased as he made his way through the labyrinth.

Footsteps echoed through the darkness of the halls. Behind and in front of him, he heard them coming. There was nowhere to go. He readied his pistol and stood in defiance of what it was that came upon him. Shadows revealed themselves in the dim torch light. They stood like men, but he knew, there were anything but human. What little skin they had was wrinkled and twisted like a stake was driven into their flesh and spun on itself. Deep holes bore into their bodies as if their flesh rotted away, and in the voids, maggots feasted. Their heads were not more than skin covering their face. They had no mouth or eyes, and the skin sunk where it should be. He knew them to be a horror. One that he himself had never encountered, but the Administratum had spoken of them. They were Ghasts. Flesh Golems.

His heart pounded beneath his chest. The running had left him fatigued, but he could not stop. He would not die like this. He slashed at the air in front of him, and his rapier tore through the chest of one. Maggots spilled from the room and melted to a bubbling puddle of dark ooze.

They came upon him, and he sliced with all his strength that remained. Their corpses fell to the ground and their flesh fell from them like sand in an hourglass. They clawed and punched. Fists drove into him, and their nails raked across his skin. Pain meant little to him. He pushed through the mass of them and spun on his heels. His pistol fired, and a Ghast fell to the floor with maggots pouring from the hole in its head.

With each one he fell, another came. Blood trickled from the claw marks, and his flesh burned. His muscles felt tight, and his vision clouded. He could not keep fighting forever. He looked on in defiance, and wiped the sweat from his eyes. He would fight until he drew his last breath.

The mass of faceless monstrosities slowed and eventually stopped entirely. He stood still. His chest rose and fell as his lungs struggled to catch his breath. They were immobile like stone statues as they stood in front of them. Their heads hung low to the floor and in the silence, he heard more footsteps. They were not from a force of Daemons, but from one person.

In the dim, dancing flames of the torches, light spilled upon scarlet robes embroidered in gold. They swished as he stepped forth through the darkness. Faceless head parted as the man stepped through the mass of flesh.

Valimaar stared into his eyes and he felt a burning rage boiling within. Father Atramedes smiled at him and held his hands out in greeting. “Hello Valimaar.” His voice carried the tune of darkness. It plagued his mind, and enraged his soul.

He lunged forward, the tip of his sword guiding him, and the bishop faded into darkness. Still, the Ghasts stood still. His eyes darted this way and that through the faceless crowd, and he felt cold steel touch the back of his neck. The click of the hammer snapped at his ears and sent shockwaves through his limbs.

“Shoot.”

His hot breath cascaded upon his flesh as Atramedes sighed. “I have different plans for you.”

He spun on his heels and in a fluid motion, he drove the sword through his heart. Atramedes gasped for air, and blood trickled out of his lips. His eyes met his and he grinned bloody teeth.

Twisted hands grabbed his arms and head. Their flesh was ice upon his skin. He wrenched his arms and legs, but their grip was a vice.
The bishop held the gun out in front of him. “Welcome home.”

Sparks flew, and sharp daggers of pain shot into his shoulder. The clang of steel rang in his ears as his sword fell to the floor. He felt blood gush down his arm, and the drips echoed as they crashed into the crimson pool below. Darkness took hold of him, and his limbs went numb.

“We’ve been expecting you…”

The world went black.

“Ithaca.”