Chapter 25
Things had not gone quite as well as they had hoped.
"Which one is the demon?" Brother Martin called, swinging wildly at the demon-possessed cardinals and cardinal-shaped demons who surrounded him.
Abbot Edwin sighed. "The one with tentacles," he said, punching at the giant toothed worm that was in the process of devouring the lower half of his body.
The Abbot gasped in pain as the worm dug its fangs into his flesh, dragging its circular mouth farther up his body.
"No," the Abbot whispered as he beat at the pink, skinless demon-flesh. "Not like this."
"Hey!" shouted a familiar voice. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"
Flanked by two of her Sisters, Abbess Juliana stepped into the room, gripping a salt shaker in either hand.
"Damn it, Juliana, would you stop getting in my way?" the Abbot shouted, pushing his head out of the worm's mouth long enough to glare at her.
"Eat blessed salt, hellspawn!" the Abbess shouted, inverting the shakers over a drooling cardinal.
A second demonic worm burst from the shadows behind the papal throne. The shakers shattered on the floor as Abbess Juliana was slammed into the wall behind her Sisters.
"Mother!" Sister Margaret shouted, running over to the Abbess.
"It's impossible!" Sister Jael exclaimed. "They're everywhere!"
"Nothing's impossible," the Abbess wheezed, lifting herself slowly from the floor.
"That's not true," said Sister Margaret. "I do nothing all the time."
Laughter rose from behind the throne. "Blessed salt?" a voice snorted. "Fool! Did you think the Abbot was too stupid to have tried that already?"
"The possibility did cross my mind," the Abbess muttered, staggering to her feet.
"Mmmmph mph!" Abbot Edwin retorted from inside his worm.
"Our power has grown beyond anything you could possibly imagine," said the voice. "Behold."
A pair of human shapes stepped out from behind the throne, dressed in the ritual garb of the Luciferians. They hauled Pope Rural II along with them, gagged and with a knife to his throat.
"My God," whispered Sister Deborah. "They have the Holy Father!"
"You won't get away with this," Brother Theodore wheezed, punching feebly at the demon-possessed hands pressed against his throat. "Our Lord promised that the gates of Hell would never prevail against the Church!"
The demon laughed again, through the lips of the Luciferan standing on the Pope's left.
"But they already have! In the days of the Apostles, the lowliest Christian could command demons in the Name of his Lord. Today the Princes of Hell hold the Apostolic Palace in their grasp. Now the Desolation of Abomination is come. Now the prophecy is fulfilled that spoke of the Son of Perdition who would seat himself in the Temple of God! And this time, you will not stop us—not with your exorcisms and your prayers, not with relics or rosaries or holy water. For this is our hour, the hour of the power of darkness."
Sara stood inside a cramped cell in the brig of the Empire's new battleship, the Flame of Awesomeness. By this point, she considered himself something of a connoisseur of prison cells. In terms of lighting and aesthetics, this one was slightly better than the Abbey's dungeon or the confinement chamber in the Papal Palace. Nonetheless, the company left a lot to be desired.
"You lied to me!" shouted Sulayman. "All that stuff about the Pope and the medical industry—it was all a lie!"
"I didn't have a choice," said Sara.
"How many people have you gotten sent to hell before becoming human?"
"Is this really necessary?"
"How many?"
Sara lowered her head. "Four hundred ninety-one."
"Wow, that's a lot!" exclaimed Juniper.
Suddenly the Flame of Awesomeness groaned and pitched, throwing the four prisoners to the floor along with the guard stationed outside their cell.
"Constans—uh, I mean, Emperor—what's going on?" the brig guard shouted into his control station's communication panel, clinging to it as the ship slowly righted itself.
On the Flame's bridge, Emperor Constans lifted himself from the floor, rubbing his forehead. Most rulers would have had a guard fired for speaking to them in such familiar terms. But Constans was still getting the hang of this being-respected thing. When the defeated Saracens had first offered to pay him tribute money, he had almost turned it down. For some reason, this had made them extremely frightened. He had eventually humored them by accepting a sixth of the original offer.
Constans turned to the pilot. "What's going on?" he asked.
"It's the demons!" the pilot shouted. "They almost grabbed the ship with one of those giant black arms! We're retreating to a safe distance."
"What about the Sisters?" said the brig guard over the comm. system. "Aren't they doing anything?"
"Captured or possessed, all of them!" said the pilot.
"Uh. Do we have a plan?" asked Constans.
"I'm afraid to say this," said the pilot, "but we might have to use our disruptor cannon on the Palace."
"What? But there are people in there…" said the Emperor.
"What choice do we have?" demanded the pilot. "We can let those things spread further!"
"That's ridiculous!" Toby called from the cell. "They're demons. They won't be hurt by a hylomorphic disruptor."
"Shut up, demon-worshipper!" the brig guard snarled.
Standing at the back of the cell, Sara took a deep breath. It was crazy idea. But then again, that hadn't stopped her so far. And this time, it might save not just her but other people as well.
"Wait!" she called. "Emperor, can you hear me? I have an idea! Please, just hear me out."