In the Kingdom of the Beast

My lot in life has set a fire in the depths of my heart.  It has smouldered there for years, as I slowly and deliberately amassed the wealth and power needed for the fire to explode in a storm of vengeance, and consume the human race in its fury. I now have the means to exact bloody justice on the stupid, arrogant and greedy denizens of Earth. They will suffer and plead with me for death. No race, faith or creed shall spare them from the force of Armageddon, which I will release.”

Excerpt from “The Words of Judas, Angel of Death” transcribed faithfully by his humble scribe, Jonah, so his greatness may address the future.

Why Judas had chosen him as his man of letters, he did not honestly know. It was merely the lot that had been handed him by the capricious fates. Maybe it was his height. He was shorter than Judas, so, even though his height wasn’t remarkable, he could tower over and intimidate Jonah. Then there was his pretentious and archaic writing style; its biblical scale was like a narcotic to his master, feeding upon his pride and vanity, his sense of grandeur.
  His physical form had been warped, even from birth, as if his terrible future had reached back into his mother’s womb and prepared him for his destiny.
  He could recall, with painful clarity, his first contact with the knowledge of pure evil.. He was a student of philosophy, with aspirations of becoming a journalist. He had just set down in Rome, with the intention of writing a volume about devil-worship and the authority of the Catholic Church.
  His worldly mind was convinced that so-called Satanism had been practiced, not in fealty to pure evil, but as an act of rebellion against the church itself. Even as Communists must denounce Capitalism, anyone who wished to work against the church had to participate in rituals that were a mockery to its power.
  In his mind, all the pieces fit. He was sure of his facts, and so he marched around the Vatican for weeks, being referred from one priest to another. No one had the time to be disturbed from their devotions, so he, and his armload of scribbled notes, had found himself in the office of a young Jesuit, the newly appointed keeper of the vaults.
  He argued his case with much passion, but his words had fallen dead against the Jesuits calm certainty of his facts and his solid, passionate faith in the Church. He blustered and raved, accusing him of arrogance and of being a dinosaur. Finally the Jesuit, in a sudden cloud of anger and frustration, agreed to reveal the truth, and led him to the vaults.
  They wove deep underground, for what seemed like hours, through a maze of tunnels and stairwells, to an area most of the clergy did not know existed. With the turn of an ancient iron skeleton key, the chamber was opened and the deep red torchlight fell upon its contents; a legacy of depravity and cruelty whose mere existence had to be concealed from the eyes of common men.
Most of the clergy had no knowledge of what was stored there. There were rows upon rows of dark grimores penned by long dead monsters on the tanned skin of children in crimson characters of human blood. They contained entire lifetimes of mad secrets that should have followed their authors to the grave. There were pens carved out of human bone, with telling red stains on their tips.
  It seemed these medieval fiends practised a horrid form of medicine. There were jars of ointment comprised of belladonna and other hallucinogens that would be absorbed through the skin through the medium of human fat tissue. There were tinctures of dried human brain tissue that were extracted from the living brains of victims who were poisoned by massive doses of opium. They believed this increased the potency of the drug and rendered its users virtual slaves, totally dependant upon the substance for the rest of their lives.
  The cadavers of some of these sorcerers were kept in an adjoining mausoleum, so that none could see how they carved a hole in the back of their skulls just above the neck. This was to increase the blood flow to the brain and give them formidable mental powers.
  All of this impressed upon him the urgency felt by the early church, how they fought these abominations the only way they could and been villainized for the methods they used. The truth of their actions could never be known, lest the knowledge they fought so hard against would once again be known and used by new generations of evil.

“The human race is nothing more than a disease, a parasite that is slowly infecting the face of the of the world. The worlds ecosystem is under attack from these loathsome parasites as they poison the water, contaminate the soil and pour choking toxins into the atmosphere. The only way for any life on earth, this precious jewel, to survive is by eliminating these parasites while leaving all other life untouched. This must be done from within, by a human, and the fates have chosen me for this awesome task.”

From “The Doctrine of the Dark Angel” faithfully transcribed by Jonah.

Ever since he stepped out of the serpentine dungeon and into the clear light of day he carried with him a taint of evil that clung to him like a shroud of despair. The path of his life had been ever changed by this profound knowledge of evil and he eventually found himself in the company of horrible men, and then in the service of the very worst of them.
  So now he stood a few steps behind the crown prince of diabolical sorcerers, a madman who had coined himself Judas. With his jewel encrusted binoculars he surveyed the valley below, where he had sealed the entire population of a large city. The entire valley was scorched earth, and had become a massive tomb. With no food, they had begun to eat their own dead and would soon starve or die of disease. The despairing wails and howls would soon fall silent; the entire city would lay dead.
  His left hand rested on the hilt of a solid gold revolver, which had dispatched all allies he had used in his mercurial rise to global power. The lucky ones received a quick painless bullet to the back of their skull. The ones who he held in contempt received a far grizzlier fate. Some were sealed in cells coated on the floors and walls with hot elements. The burns inflicted were superficial but very painful. They would roll around and scream for days until they finally succumbed to death by thirst.
  He seemed to relish the suffering of those in the valley, it seemed to feed his power and help him towards his goal of total global genocide. He had been the author of many such massacres and each one excelled the last in its sadism and its originality. Even if he was saving the earth, as he was said to believe, he obviously enjoyed the job far too much.
  It was in the privacy of his chambers Judas had confided to Jonah the story of his humble beginnings as a street beggar in some now dead city. He was hungry, he was dirty and he was regularly spat upon. One day he spied a wonderful shaft of light that was a silver coin wedged into a crack in the dirty pavement. A group of ruffians then gathered around him and demanded he turn it over to them. When he clutched it to his chest and refused to part with it, he was beaten within an inch of his life. His battered and bleeding body lay on the busy street all day and night. The people who walked past ignored his plight, some even kicking his body out of their path if he was in the way.
  How that child could survive and become the man he now knew, Jonah didn’t know. He didn’t even know if the story was true at all.
         He was the only man Judas trusted. He played the role of the faithful scribe and could join him in his private moments and enter his sanctum at will.  Often he would dream of sinking a dagger through his ribs and deep into Judas’ heart as Judas tossed and turned in bed, troubled by fears he could never admit to himself while awake in the light of day. He didn’t though, perhaps because he was old and had become emotionally numb, or perhaps his master’s controlling, dominating nature had sapped the remaining dregs of his free will. So by the end of the day, all he could do was sleep.
         It was late one night when his slumber was disturbed by strange feeling, as if the laws of time and space had looked the other way, only for a moment, and someone had quietly slipped into the present, someone who did not yet exist.                    
         A tall Asian man appeared out of the shadows and moved to his bed, looming over him. His head was shaved like he was a Buddhist monk, and he wore a robe of spun gold inlaid with elaborate patterns of green and blue. He wore a religious icon of an unfamiliar faith around his neck. His features seemed serene and composed. Intelligent, wise eyes shone beneath his brow.
         “Quiet.” He whispered with a voice full of warmth and compassion, feelings Jonah had not felt for ages. He felt at ease with him immediately and didn’t shout for the guards. Instead he sat up silently in bed and heard the stranger speak.
         “This may be beyond your belief,” the nocturnal visitor began, “But I have travelled a thousand years to reach you. Those of us that survived this brutal holocaust were few in number, but once we rediscovered our faith and rebuilt what had been destroyed and relearned what we had forgotten. Then, we added to it. We now live in an inspiring utopia, in castles of gold and carved crystal. All malice has left us, there is no war, no crime and no want. All is shared gladly and all have a place in our society.”
         “Only recently we have mastered the art of projecting ourselves backward in time, and now have the ability to correct the past, including what is, from your viewpoint, the present. For centuries, we have looked back, and reflected upon the beginning of the great dark ages, which your master has brought about, and desired to change it. It has been known as a terrible and violent interruption in mankind’s path to peace and enlightenment. We believe we can correct this, like you would wish to correct the fall of Rome, or the horrors of your second world war. That is why I am here.”
         Jonah instantly knew why the time traveller had chosen him to manifest to. He was the only man on the planet who had access to Judas, the only man who could betray him. He thought for a moment, realizing this was his moment, the place in history where he could atone for his misspent life.
  “Very well,” he said. “Come with me, but be very quiet.”
         He swiftly rose out of bed, and dressed in his nightclothes, stealthily led the stranger down a short narrow passage that opened into Judas’ opulent bedchamber. The dim light from the windows glinted off a fortune in gold, silver and rare jewels that bedecked his personal palace. Classic Baroque paintings covered the wall, pictures of the infant Christ and female saints stared down in adoration upon the four- post bed where Judas slept, covered in the finest silk.
         He looked tranquil at peace, with a face like that of a child. He stirred and turned on his mattress as they entered, but did not awake.
         Slowly the visitor from the future crept towards the angel of death, slipping a sharp stiletto blade, dripping with poison, from beneath the folds of his robe. Suddenly, time and space changed once again, and there were two of the traveller. The second visitor grabbed the first roughly by his shoulder and spun him about. They were virtually identical, except that one was splendid and beautiful to behold, while the other was soiled and sickly. The dirty one pulled the dagger from the others hand.
         At this instant, the first visitor vanished. The other stumbled and choked, holding out his arm so Jonah could support him.
         “We must leave here.” He rasped between his coughs.
         Jonah didn’t understand what he had just witnessed, but he took the man and led him gently back to his own chamber.
         “Are you sick, can I help you?” he implored. The visitor coughed again and waved his hand in a gesture of futility. He was dying on his floor and there was nothing he could do.
         “I must tell you something.” He whispered, Jonah leaned closer to hear. “I killed Judas, then returned to the future, but there was nothing left. Trying to correct the past in my arrogance has
devastated all that we have built. The sky was pitch black with toxic clouds. The only light was a deep crimson red. There were vast ruins covered with poisonous green ooze. The forests and jungles were reduced to ash and humanity was long dead.
         “Judas was right about one thing, humanity was a parasite. When our growth was not limited by his campaign, we destroyed the earth and everything that lived. Even now the toxins I inhaled are eating me up from the inside, the radiation will kill me in moments.”
         “The bastard was right. If he fails then the planet is doomed.” With the last ounce of his strength he pressed the dagger he had collected from the floor into Jonah’s hand. “Do what you must and whatever you choose, know that you are forgiven.”
  The traveller grew still, his eyes sunk closed and he drew one last painful breath before he died in Jonah arms. He never had the chance to ask him his name.
  “What the hell is this?” Judas’ indignant voice rang out in darkness. He glared down at Jonah wrapped in his favourite silk sheet, and began his usual histrionics.
         “I have to put up with a lot from you, freak. This is totally unacceptable Why on earth is there a corpse stinking up my beautiful palace? The minute I fall asleep, you start with your pathetic little games. Listen you worthless piece of trash, if this ever happens again I’ll break you’re your filthy little hands!”
  To Jonah this all seemed like a dream, the dark angels lips moved, but his voice seemed far away, in a place where they couldn’t reach him. Passing over his master’s twisted enraged face he saw how this man had exploited his guilt and disillusionment about the nature of evil. He withstood this abuse for over a decade because in his heart he thought he deserved it. Then he could hear the screams of the dying victims of a mutated strain of the flesh- eating virus which could devour an entire body within hours, the staccato footsteps of thousands of death marches leading to mass graves deep within the jungle. All these voices and many more called out to him. They didn’t deserve to die, no matter what the future would hold.
         He quietly said a short prayer, then lunged at Judas and buried the dagger deep within his chest. The blade slipped between his ribs and pierced his heart. It took only seconds for him to die, but not before he let out a bloodcurdling scream. He fell to the floor in a pool of his own blood.
    At the moment of death, the body of the traveller vanished. Jonah saw this as a good sign. If the dead future was gone, then maybe a different one had been created. Maybe mankind was destined to recover from its trauma and find itself a middle path, where utopia could one day be attained.
         The alarmed shouts of the guards could be heard nearby. I t would only be moments before they discovered the body. He could run, but eventually be found and executed by Judas’ brainwashed and fanatical guards as a traitor and an assassin.
  No matter what was to become of him, he was sure of one thing; he was forgiven.