31. Devil in the details
There is an angel in Hell. It seems that he's been there for a while already. Or maybe not, just got a lot of attention. His once green jacket is hanging in dirty, bloody tatters. His lips are cracked and swollen, one eye forced shut by a purple-black bruise. The other one is fixed on the imposing figure of the Lord of Hell, sitting on a throne of bones.
The room is smaller than Satan's official audience hall, more private. There is an office desk in the corner, with a turning chair and a desktop computer. The only other pieces of furniture are the throne and the rack in front of it. They are alone there - the angel and the personification of Evil.
Until another demon enters the room and bows deeply. "My Lord, you called for me?"
"Ah, Duke Musdur," Satan smiles. "I've been told you are the expert on extracting information from angels."
"That's correct, your Lowness." They glance at the angel bound to the rack. Silvery bonds prevent him from healing himself or daring a miraculous escape.
"Good. Because it seems everyone here is a self-proclaimed torture expert, but when it comes to extracting actually useful information, it's all false advertisement."
The demon circles the angel, appraising him. They study the deep bloody gashes on his back and the welts on his torso. The gashes look a bit like claw marks of some animal with burning paws. Three fingers are missing on the angel's left hand.
"With all due respect, your Lowness, you should have called for me right away. I prefer working with fresh material."
"You will work as I tell you," Satan snarls.
"Of course," Musdur says hastily. "Just tell me what kind of information you wish to extract and I will get to work."
"This angel presumably knows the location of the traitors Aziraphale and Crowley," Satan says, leaning back on His throne.
Musdur nods. "I offer absolute certainty. If he possesses the information, I will extract it. If he doesn't, we will know that for sure after I am done."
"Good. Get to work, then."
"First I must assess the situation and make some preparations. But I will get to the actual interrogation shortly."
"Fine, but don't take too long," Satan says impatiently, His hand resting on the handle of a whip.
Musdur turns their attention to the angel - a sharp, clinically precise focus. They open a little suitcase they brought with them and take out sharp steel scissors. They cut the remnants of the green jacket and white trousers and remove them piece by piece until the angel is fully naked. He shivers a little, goosebumps rising on his sweaty skin.
Musdur hmms and pours a bit of liquid from a bottle on a cloth. He starts cleaning the dirt and blood with it, examining every part of the body thoroughly, sometimes even using a magnifying glass.
Satan taps His hand on the handle of the whip impatiently, but Musdur does not seem to perceive that. As they are nearing the end of the examination, they take a good look into the angel's eyes. The one that's open, at least. They shake their head as if reminded of something and unable to pinpoint the memory. Then they shrug and lean into their suitcase for a long, sharp needle.
The angel tenses, as if having some prior experience with the tool. His breath quickens.
Musdur tilts their head. "I believe you know the question," they state. "The location of the traitors Aziraphale and Crowley. Do you want to give any statement about that before we begin? Not that I would take it as truth, but it's good to have a reference point."
The angel stays quiet, pressing his lips into a firm line.
"Very well," Musdur nods. "We will set that as a reference point."
Then they start working.
The needle is moving under the skin, a precise, intense point of agony. The angel is trembling, cold sweat running down his temples, but he doesn't make a sound.
Musdur doesn't seem bothered by that. They work systematically, moving up from toes to fingertips (where available).
"I see no results," Saran interrupts.
Musdur blinks, as if they have forgotten about His presence. They take a deep breath, refocusing themselves, and only then turn away from the angel. "My Lord, I have barely started. I beg for your patience. Absolute certainty about the extracted information takes time. I do not want to keep you from anything else you wish to do, I can call you at a later stage when I'm closer to the goal if you want. This is just the foundation we are going to build upon, but it needs to be laid properly."
"Ugh, fine," Satan mutters. "I'll work on something, let me know when you get close." He moves from the throne to the chair behind the computer and turns it on.
Musdur sighs in relief and turns back to the angel. "Where were we? Right, foundations…"
When they are finished with the needle, every nerve in the angel's body feels raw, oversensitive. There are tears running down his cheeks, mixing with drops of sweat. He has not screamed yet.
Musdur glances at Satan, but the Lord of Hell is not paying attention. He's got one hand on the keyboard and the other one on the mouse and both are clicking furiously.
"Take that, bloody paladin!" He mutters under His breath at one point.
Musdur seems fine with that. They lean over the suitcase again and take a cylindrical tube. It is full of needles, a little shorter than the one they worked with until now. These needles go in one by one and they stay .
The angel remains quiet as the first one pierces a nerve.
With the second one, he whimpers.
With the third one, he whimpers again.
With the fourth one, he screams.
Satan looks up from the computer screen but Musdur shakes their head: "Not yet."
Satan shrugs and returns to whatever He was doing.
With every needle, the angel screams again and Musdur savours those screams, closing their eyes like a connoisseur taking a bite from a delicious meal. It does not influence the precision of their fingers as more and more needles pierce the angelic flesh and the screams merge into one long wail.
After spending all the needles from the tube, Musdur takes a step back and admires their work. Needles are sticking from every part of the angel's body, from under his nails, even from the stumps of the missing fingers.
"So," they say, "let's try again. The location of the traitors. Take your time."
The wailing turns to moans and whimpers as no new pain is added to the one flaring in the angel's body. Musdur nods encouragingly.
The angel presses his lips together.
Musdur smiles. They run their hand along the angel's body, almost like a caress. A caress that moves the embedded needles, a wave of agony running along its path.
The angel screams and writhes in the bonds, but that jostles the needles even more and he keeps screaming until he sags in exhaustion.
Musdur licks their lips simultaneously with the salamander on their head, like tasting the screams.
Then they lay their hand on the angel's shoulder again, light and gentle. They move it just a little, as if starting another caress along the needles.
The angel trembles like an aspen leaf in the wind. "N-No… P-Please…"
Musdur smiles. "Where are the traitors?"
The angel sobs and presses his lips together.
Musdur runs their hand along the hurting body. Along the needles sticking from it.
The angel screams. "Beta Andromedae! They're at Beta Andromedae!"
Musdur smiles to themselves and withdraws their hand, making sure that the angel hears them. "Good, good. We are getting somewhere. Setting it as a new reference point. Very good job… what's your name?"
The angel sobs. "Z-Zadkiel," he whispers, the good eye boring into his tormentor.
"Very good job, Zadkiel," Musdur says and continues the caress.
Zadkiel writhes and screams with the touch. Blood is seeping from the gashes on his back and running down his legs. Musdur watches it, not looking too pleased.
"A bit too soon for the blood phase for my taste, but we are doing well, so... fine," they mutter.
They run their hand along the needles a few more times and then take a knife from the suitcase. It is small but highly polished and looks very, very sharp, with a little curve at the tip of the blade. The handle is ergonomic and textured for better grip.
"No! No! I told you! Beta Andromedae!"
"I know," Musdur nods. "I took note of it, don't worry. You are doing very well."
And then the knife cuts into flesh. And deeper.
It cuts to the bones. The curve at the end is ideal for cutting into the sensitive outer layer of periosteum.
It keeps cutting into the bones in the right leg, moving up to the ribs while Musdur's other hand continues the caressing movement along the needles on the left side.
Zadkiel's scream does not sound like one made by a human-shaped being.
"P-Please…" he sobs when Musdur withdraws. "I lied! I lied! I don't know where they are! Musdur, please…"
The demon's smile is full of sharp teeth. "Good, good. New reference point. You are doing very well, Zadkiel. Just a little longer."
"No! No, please! I can't…"
But the blade cuts again.
There is no reprieve. The blade moves to the left side. The body under Musdur's hands is reduced to quivering flesh, slick with blood and steeped in so much pain there's no other thought left.
It goes on and on until finally, Musdur withdraws.
It takes some time for Zadkiel to become aware of his surroundings.
Musdur waits.
"Good job, Zadkiel," they say when they are sure that the angel can perceive them. "Very, very good. And because you did so well, I'll allow you to tell me what I want to know."
The angel watches him without comprehension.
Musdur only touches one needle, sticking out from the angel's neck. "The traitors," they say gently while Zadkiel weeps. "Aziraphale and Crowley. I'll allow you to tell me where they are now. It's a limited offer, though."
They lower the blade and touch the angel's chest with it. It is heaving with broken sobs.
"Eden!" Zadkiel cries out. "They are in Eden! Please…"
The demon caresses his cheek, touching no needles this time. "You are doing wonderfully, Zadkiel. This reference point is very close, I can feel it. Just a little longer, so we can be absolutely certain."
The relief in the angel's face is exchanged for pure horror. "No! No! I'm telling the truth! They're in Eden! Please! Plea…"
The blade pierces the flesh again and the pleas turn into inhuman screams.
Satan is watching.
He turned His attention from the screen to the angel some time ago and is now watching idly, leaning His chin on His hand. He seems interested in what's going on, not interrupting Musdur anymore.
It goes on for a while before Musdur withdraws the blade almost lovingly and caresses the angel's cheek again.
"Aziraphale and Crowley," they say when some of the pain clears from Zadkiel's eyes. "Where are they, Zadkiel?"
The angel sobs. "Eden! They are in Eden! Please, believe me! It's… it's in a reality bubble… no miracles… you need a jeep to get there! Please..."
Musdur smiles. "Very well, Zadkiel. I believe you."
Zadkiel weeps with relief.
Musdur turns to Satan and bows. "That was the truth, my Lord. I vouch for it."
Satan claps His hands thrice, as in appreciation of an artistic performance.
Musdur bows again. "Would you like to take over, your Lowness?" they ask. "I could bring some refreshments."
"Hmm…. Very tempting," Satan drawls, looking at the angel's quivering body appreciatively. "Trying for a promotion, Duke Musdur?"
"Oh, I wouldn't dare…"
"Because it so happens that Prince Beelzebub failed me where you succeeded."
"Oh. Well…"
"Alright, Musdur. I will take a turn and then I believe we deserve some refreshments. Take care of that." Satan gets up and brandishes His whip. "Just something small, because then we have two traitors to deal with."
"Yes, your Lowness." Musdur takes their suitcase and leaves. They do not turn back at the crack of the whip and the pained scream of the angel.
There is a little kitchenette down the hall from Satan's office. Musdur enters it and looks around. They sniff the water in the coffee machine, then pour it out and replace it with fresh one from the tap. They sniff it again and pour it out as well. They use the water from a little plastic bottle in their suitcase instead.
"Two sugarzzzz, one third of milk."
Musdur looks up. "Lord Beelzebub?"
The Prince of Hell is looking more dishevelled than usual, with a big pustulent sore across their whole cheek and their blouse's collar dirty.
"Make sure you get it right or He won't drink it," Beelzebub says and turns to leave.
"Err…. Thank you!" Musdur calls after them, but they are already gone.
And then Musdur wonders if Beelzebub was telling the truth. At the end, they prepare the coffee with two sugars and one third of milk.
When they get back with the coffee and a selection of biscuits on a plate, Satan has already ruined almost all of the delicate work. The needles are out or broken, the angel's torso criss-crossed by deep, bloody lashes from the whip. Musdur tries very hard to not let anything show in their face.
"Coffee, my Lord," they announce, laying the tray on the computer table.
Satan nods absently. He doesn't look at Musdur though, still focused on the angel. Zadkiel is not screaming anymore. His eyes are glossy and his head is falling limply to his chest. Satan cracks the whip once more and elicits a little jerk from the bleeding body. Only then does He turn away and look at the refreshments.
He takes a biscuit and one of the coffee cups and looks expectantly at Musdur.
The demon takes the hint, together with a biscuit and another cup.
"How's the coffee?" Satan asks.
Musdur takes a sip and nods appreciatively.
"I've been told there are no work benefits here, you know?" Satan scoffs. "Don't know what this is, then."
Musdur shrugs, indicating that they don't know either.
"Anyway," Satan continues, "we will need a good jeep. And enough explosives to tear down a thick wall. Hm…" He looks at the coffee and then smells it. He seems satisfied, because He takes a sip. Then He gets quiet.
The silence stretches.
It seems as if Satan lost His train of thought. He watches the cup in His hands wonderingly.
"What… Where am I?" He asks then. In Enochian.
Musdur spits out the brown liquid they have been holding in their mouth and wipes it out carefully with a cloth. "Fuck, we did it!" they mutter.
They turn to Satan, who's looking around with a confused expression.
"Who are you?" Satan asks.
"Wait here," Musdur tells Him shortly, in Enochian that's a bit rusty.
And Satan waits.
Musdur hurries to Zadkiel. "Hey… Hey, egghead…"
The angel doesn't react.
Musdur touches his cheek gently. "Zadkiel?"
The angel moans and his one good eye slowly focuses on the demon's face. "Please… no more…" he whimpers.
"No more, I promise," Musdur soothes. "It's over, fledgeling. We did it, He drank it! You were amazing…"
Slowly the meaning of the words registers in Zadkiel's mind. His whole body sags with relief.
"Sorry I didn't get here sooner," Musdur sighs. "Nobody just calls an expert right away, no, they have to try themselves first…"
"'tis fine... " Zadkiel whispers through bloody lips. "It was all rather… amateurish… until you came..."
"Oh, I bet."
"You were… impressive… Five stars…"
"Oh, thank you! A pleasure to torture you. You were wonderful too. But now we need to get you out of here. Ready?"
Zadkiel nods. "Please."
"Good. I'll wait for you in the Escalator headquarters. Take as long as you need, okay?"
"See you there..." Zadkiel whispers, barely audible.
Musdur brushes his temple with gentle fingers. "See you, fledgeling."
Then they take the long needle.
One quick stab at the base of the skull and nothing hurts Zadkiel anymore.
Musdur's fingers linger on the body for a moment. Then they bend down to the pile of green tatters to collect a little golden pin, stained with blood.