Author notes: thanks for all the reviews and feedback! Your responses are this writer's fodder. Keep your thoughts coming.
THE BELTHAZOR CHRONICLES
The Sweet Taste of Revenge
Raynor shimmered into his chambers in the Underworld. They were deserted, their gloomy interior lit by two flickering torches. In the light of the flames Raynor looked down at his hands and his face distorted in a grimace: his fingers were covered with dark stains. Blood. In the back of his throat he uttered a disgruntled noise. He hated a messy kill. It had been an unwelcome twist of fate that the wife woke up when he was about to propel an energy ball at the wayward banker. The man should have stuck to the deal he made with the Brotherhood. Only a quick stab with the athame kept the woman from crying the alarm.
Someone rapped their knuckles on the wall beside the entrance to announce their presence. Raynor spun around. In the doorway stood a female demon; her skin was tinged green and tufts of yellow hair sprouted from the tips of her ears. She wore a shapeless black dress that was tied around her waist with a silver cord.
"Hello, Yalha," Raynor said in greeting when he discovered who his visitor was.
The woman's gaze fell on his hands and she smirked. "Losing your touch, Raynor?" she asked while she entered.
Raynor grunted. "Never. How's the boy? Has he been good?" He scanned his quarters in search of a cloth to wipe his hands.
Yalha gave a snort. "Unfortunately, yes. I wonder why you bother with that hybrid. He's never going to be any use to us. He's been here for, what? Four years? And still he can't invoke even a sizzle, let alone a lethal bolt. I say kill him and write it off as a failed experiment."
Raynor shook his head and gave up his search for a towel for the moment. "I told you that it takes time," he said. "The boy has the potential, believe me. Perhaps," he cocked an eyebrow at Yalha, "it is the teacher, not the student, that's at fault?"
A glimmer of fear flashed behind the demoness' red eyes and she flinched at the veiled threat. "I'll keep trying," she murmured.
Raynor nodded with satisfaction. "That's all I ask. Where is he now?"
"In the study hall. Practicing his energy balls. I'll send him over." Yalha made a beeline back to the entrance.
"No, don't," Raynor said. He finally found a rag and scrubbed the blood from his hands. "I'll go get him."
A few minutes later Raynor strode through the rough-hewn tunnels of the Underworld. Occasionally he passed underlings or messengers that scrambled among the shadows on their way to fulfill their assignments. Upon Raynor's approach they scurried aside to make way but he paid them no mind.
It took several twists and turns before he reached the training caverns. Half a dozen large rooms had been set aside for younger demons to practice their powers. Although most of them were born with their abilities, it took careful honing of their skills before they had total control and could be sent out into the world.
When he approached the chambers, high voices reached him. Children's voices, taunting and mocking.
"Half-breed! Zap me if you can!"
"Wimp! Sissy!"
"Belthazor's a cry baby!"
Raynor clucked his tongue. Those damn kids were at it again; their favorite pastime was to ridicule young Belthazor with his human blood. And as long as the boy was incapable of defending himself, his fate was sealed. Demons preyed on weakness, and so far Belthazor had not shown much promise of becoming the powerful demon that Raynor was convinced he would be.
He reached the large vault that was used for fireball practice and peered into the dusk. The walls were blackened with the soot of countless energy bolts and lightning strikes and they seemed to swallow the light of the infrequent torches. It took a few moments before his eyes were used to the gloom and he could make out the scene before him.
Belthazor crouched in a corner; his back pressed against the wall. Three young demons, two boys and a girl, towered over him. Their expressions were contorted in evil grins and their eyes gleamed. Raynor recalled their names: Ralx, Zaltor and Naia. They were just a couple of months older than Belthazor but much more powerful. Belthazor's face was flushed a bright red.
For a second hope flared, then Raynor realized the redness was not caused by the boy's demonic form. It was the frustrated face of a human child who tried very hard to achieve something, and failed miserably.
Raynor gritted his teeth. As a toddler, Belthazor had morphed into his demonic body when he grew annoyed or angry but somehow that natural ability had been lost when the child grew older. One of these days the boy would have to relearn the skill and fend for himself. Or he was doomed to die a painful death.
"Hey!" Raynor yelled. The three demon children whirled around; their faces paled when they recognized him. Raynor dismissed them with a careless wave of his hand and they scurried away, their gaze not leaving him before they were safely out of the room.
Raynor knelt so he was at eye level with his charge. Fat tears shone in Belthazor's blue eyes and trickled down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," the boy muttered. He hung his head. "Mizz Yalha says I'm useless. But I try, I really do!"
"You're not useless," Raynor told him, his tone gentle. He reached out and tipped the child's head up with a finger beneath his chin. "One day you will be the most powerful demon the world has ever seen. All it takes is a little patience."
"I want it now," Belthazor said. "So they will leave me alone." Another angry tear spilled over and dripped down his cheek.
Raynor chortled inwardly. Patience wasn't the boy's strongest virtue.
"What did I tell you about tears?" he said. The gentleness left his voice and a sterner tone replaced it.
Belthazor wiped at his eyes with the back of a small fist. "Demons don't cry," he murmured.
"Exactly," Raynor said. "We plot revenge against those who wrong us. Remember that lesson."
Belthazor sniffled and nodded.
Raynor pushed himself back up. "The Triad has received a new shipload of souls that need to be condemned. Want to come and watch?"
The child's face lit up. "Can I? Oh, Raynor, please, can I?"
Raynor chuckled again. It would be a good education for the boy. And obviously he found it entertaining. "Sure you can," he said. He straightened and held out his arm until he felt a small hand folding into his. "Let's go. We don't want to be late, do we?"
* * *
Another year passed. And on the eve of Belthazor's eighth birthday, the boy still had not learned to control his powers; even the rodents that cluttered the underground tunnels were safe from him. Although the young demon managed to conjure the occasional tiny fireball, he had no conscious command over it, or any other demonic talent. Raynor was beginning to despair he ever would. The Source was growing increasingly impatient and it was getting harder and harder to keep the boy from being vanquished. Thus, Raynor had taken it upon himself to tutor the boy.
"Focus, Belthazor, focus!" he urged the child during another teaching session in his quarters.
The boy closed his eyes and grunted. He scrunched up his face in concentration.
"Now morph."
For long minutes nothing happened. Raynor sat back with a weary sigh. Suddenly, the boy's body shifted and he changed shape. At last Belthazor showed his full demonic splendor. He was baldheaded, several inches taller than in his human form, with pointed ears and the red and black coloring that marked him as one of high blood.
The child's lids blinked open and black eyes, round with surprise, stared at Raynor. "I did it?"
"You did it," Raynor grinned. "Congratulations." It was the first time that the boy had consciously changed into his other self. And it was a skill he was going to need if he were to be the soldier Raynor expected him to be. His demonic form would be so much stronger; the child's body already showed the signs of the well-muscled strength he would gain when fully grown. "Now, change back."
Another moment passed, and the human boy stood before Raynor.
"Do it again."
"Again."
"And again."
Rapidly, the boy morphed from his human body into his demonic form and back several times. Every time it took him less concentration and effort. Raynor knew that once acquired, it was an ability that would never be lost again.
"Very well," he said at last when the boy swayed on his feet with fatigue. "We'll try shimmering tomorrow."
Raynor woke the next morning to an empty chamber. The small cot in the corner -Belthazor's bed- was deserted, the blankets crumpled in a heap on the floor. For a moment Raynor felt anger flare in his blood. Damn kid. He was supposed to practice shimmering today, not run away and play hooky.
He shrugged off the anger. The boy was young; by human standards he was still a child. Demons matured much faster. Raynor had known from the inception of his plan that it was a long-term commitment. One didn't create a mighty hybrid soldier in the short span of time it took to raise an ordinary demon.
A large, well-muscled demon entered his chamber. Raynor recognized him and was hard-pressed to conceal the cold shiver that ran down his spine. The demon was one of the Source's personal guards. His Praetorian watchers, the Source called them, displaying a nostalgic sentiment for the Roman era of his reign.
"He wants to see you," the guard grunted. "Now."
"Of course," Raynor said. He swung his legs from the bed and followed the guard while running down a list of possible issues in his mind. Why would the Source want to see him? All the schemes the Brotherhood had set in motion were being executed as he had envisioned.
He entered the Source's chambers. A vague, familiar scent hung in the air. Raynor paid it no mind; he was too surprised to discover Belthazor standing before the Source. What sort of trouble had the boy gotten into that the Source himself needed to deal with it?
"Belthazor?"
The boy's head whipped around at the mention of his name. Raynor could see the child was frightened but biting his lip not to cry. "I'm not sorry," he mumbled stubbornly and shook his head. Raynor frowned.
"See?" a female voice cried.
He spun in the direction of the sound. He recognized the woman; Darimia was a powerful she-demon and she stood in great favor with the Source. He couldn't make out the shapeless form that hunched at her feet.
"Told you that freak was bad news," she continued and pointed an angry finger at Belthazor. "He ruined my Ralx. Look at him!" She nudged with her toe at the figure that crouched in front of her. The pitiful creature moaned in pain and from the awkward way he held on to his shoulder Raynor knew he was missing an arm. He recognized the faint smell in the air: it was the reek of burnt demon flesh.
Raynor's eyes widened. Darimia's son Ralx showed great promise and accomplished his first human kill at the age of six. Belthazor couldn't have wounded him, could he? Unless-
"Zapped him in cold blood, the little devil. Nine years of my time wasted."
"Silence," the Source growled and Darimia snapped her mouth shut. He tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair and stared at Belthazor. The young demon shifted uncomfortably beneath the heavy gaze. "Why?" the Source said at last, his question a command.
Belthazor shrugged. "He had it coming," he said with a defiant look in Darimia's direction. "He said I couldn't do it. I showed him wrong."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Raynor's heart swelled with pride. The boy's true nature was finally coming out! This was what he had worked for all these years. Of course it wasn't done: demons didn't take on each other while they were in the Underworld. It was one of the unspoken rules. Feuds were fought, grudges harbored, revenges plotted. But always the execution happened out in the world, not here.
The Source laid his head in his neck and howled. "Raynor," he gasped between bouts of laughter, "it looks like you have done a fine job with this half-breed after all. It took you long enough but I think I see the possibilities now."
"Yes, Master," Raynor said meekly. It was a struggle to keep the triumphant grin from his face and he lowered his head in a gesture of reverence. He winked at the boy from beneath his brow and Belthazor gave a shaky grin in return.
"Of course," the Source continued, "Darimia here will need to be duly compensated for her loss."
"Naturally," Raynor agreed. Ralx didn't possess the power of regeneration and a one-armed demon was useless. Darimia would lose her son. Fortunately, the Brotherhood was not lacking for funds. She could be bought off.
"That's settled then." The Source waved his long fingers and fire enveloped the unfortunate Ralx until nothing but scorch marks were left. With another wave, he dismissed the other demons.
Belthazor looked up at Raynor as the older demon steered him from the room. "I did good, didn't I?"
Raynor smiled. "Oh yes, you did good. You did very good. Just don't do it again. At least not here."
Behind them the Source chuckled beneath his breath.
Disclaimer: this story is based on the Spelling Television/WB Television Network series Charmed. All characters belong to their original creators. The story was written for entertainment only and no copyright infringement was intended.
THE BELTHAZOR CHRONICLES
The Sweet Taste of Revenge
Raynor shimmered into his chambers in the Underworld. They were deserted, their gloomy interior lit by two flickering torches. In the light of the flames Raynor looked down at his hands and his face distorted in a grimace: his fingers were covered with dark stains. Blood. In the back of his throat he uttered a disgruntled noise. He hated a messy kill. It had been an unwelcome twist of fate that the wife woke up when he was about to propel an energy ball at the wayward banker. The man should have stuck to the deal he made with the Brotherhood. Only a quick stab with the athame kept the woman from crying the alarm.
Someone rapped their knuckles on the wall beside the entrance to announce their presence. Raynor spun around. In the doorway stood a female demon; her skin was tinged green and tufts of yellow hair sprouted from the tips of her ears. She wore a shapeless black dress that was tied around her waist with a silver cord.
"Hello, Yalha," Raynor said in greeting when he discovered who his visitor was.
The woman's gaze fell on his hands and she smirked. "Losing your touch, Raynor?" she asked while she entered.
Raynor grunted. "Never. How's the boy? Has he been good?" He scanned his quarters in search of a cloth to wipe his hands.
Yalha gave a snort. "Unfortunately, yes. I wonder why you bother with that hybrid. He's never going to be any use to us. He's been here for, what? Four years? And still he can't invoke even a sizzle, let alone a lethal bolt. I say kill him and write it off as a failed experiment."
Raynor shook his head and gave up his search for a towel for the moment. "I told you that it takes time," he said. "The boy has the potential, believe me. Perhaps," he cocked an eyebrow at Yalha, "it is the teacher, not the student, that's at fault?"
A glimmer of fear flashed behind the demoness' red eyes and she flinched at the veiled threat. "I'll keep trying," she murmured.
Raynor nodded with satisfaction. "That's all I ask. Where is he now?"
"In the study hall. Practicing his energy balls. I'll send him over." Yalha made a beeline back to the entrance.
"No, don't," Raynor said. He finally found a rag and scrubbed the blood from his hands. "I'll go get him."
A few minutes later Raynor strode through the rough-hewn tunnels of the Underworld. Occasionally he passed underlings or messengers that scrambled among the shadows on their way to fulfill their assignments. Upon Raynor's approach they scurried aside to make way but he paid them no mind.
It took several twists and turns before he reached the training caverns. Half a dozen large rooms had been set aside for younger demons to practice their powers. Although most of them were born with their abilities, it took careful honing of their skills before they had total control and could be sent out into the world.
When he approached the chambers, high voices reached him. Children's voices, taunting and mocking.
"Half-breed! Zap me if you can!"
"Wimp! Sissy!"
"Belthazor's a cry baby!"
Raynor clucked his tongue. Those damn kids were at it again; their favorite pastime was to ridicule young Belthazor with his human blood. And as long as the boy was incapable of defending himself, his fate was sealed. Demons preyed on weakness, and so far Belthazor had not shown much promise of becoming the powerful demon that Raynor was convinced he would be.
He reached the large vault that was used for fireball practice and peered into the dusk. The walls were blackened with the soot of countless energy bolts and lightning strikes and they seemed to swallow the light of the infrequent torches. It took a few moments before his eyes were used to the gloom and he could make out the scene before him.
Belthazor crouched in a corner; his back pressed against the wall. Three young demons, two boys and a girl, towered over him. Their expressions were contorted in evil grins and their eyes gleamed. Raynor recalled their names: Ralx, Zaltor and Naia. They were just a couple of months older than Belthazor but much more powerful. Belthazor's face was flushed a bright red.
For a second hope flared, then Raynor realized the redness was not caused by the boy's demonic form. It was the frustrated face of a human child who tried very hard to achieve something, and failed miserably.
Raynor gritted his teeth. As a toddler, Belthazor had morphed into his demonic body when he grew annoyed or angry but somehow that natural ability had been lost when the child grew older. One of these days the boy would have to relearn the skill and fend for himself. Or he was doomed to die a painful death.
"Hey!" Raynor yelled. The three demon children whirled around; their faces paled when they recognized him. Raynor dismissed them with a careless wave of his hand and they scurried away, their gaze not leaving him before they were safely out of the room.
Raynor knelt so he was at eye level with his charge. Fat tears shone in Belthazor's blue eyes and trickled down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," the boy muttered. He hung his head. "Mizz Yalha says I'm useless. But I try, I really do!"
"You're not useless," Raynor told him, his tone gentle. He reached out and tipped the child's head up with a finger beneath his chin. "One day you will be the most powerful demon the world has ever seen. All it takes is a little patience."
"I want it now," Belthazor said. "So they will leave me alone." Another angry tear spilled over and dripped down his cheek.
Raynor chortled inwardly. Patience wasn't the boy's strongest virtue.
"What did I tell you about tears?" he said. The gentleness left his voice and a sterner tone replaced it.
Belthazor wiped at his eyes with the back of a small fist. "Demons don't cry," he murmured.
"Exactly," Raynor said. "We plot revenge against those who wrong us. Remember that lesson."
Belthazor sniffled and nodded.
Raynor pushed himself back up. "The Triad has received a new shipload of souls that need to be condemned. Want to come and watch?"
The child's face lit up. "Can I? Oh, Raynor, please, can I?"
Raynor chuckled again. It would be a good education for the boy. And obviously he found it entertaining. "Sure you can," he said. He straightened and held out his arm until he felt a small hand folding into his. "Let's go. We don't want to be late, do we?"
* * *
Another year passed. And on the eve of Belthazor's eighth birthday, the boy still had not learned to control his powers; even the rodents that cluttered the underground tunnels were safe from him. Although the young demon managed to conjure the occasional tiny fireball, he had no conscious command over it, or any other demonic talent. Raynor was beginning to despair he ever would. The Source was growing increasingly impatient and it was getting harder and harder to keep the boy from being vanquished. Thus, Raynor had taken it upon himself to tutor the boy.
"Focus, Belthazor, focus!" he urged the child during another teaching session in his quarters.
The boy closed his eyes and grunted. He scrunched up his face in concentration.
"Now morph."
For long minutes nothing happened. Raynor sat back with a weary sigh. Suddenly, the boy's body shifted and he changed shape. At last Belthazor showed his full demonic splendor. He was baldheaded, several inches taller than in his human form, with pointed ears and the red and black coloring that marked him as one of high blood.
The child's lids blinked open and black eyes, round with surprise, stared at Raynor. "I did it?"
"You did it," Raynor grinned. "Congratulations." It was the first time that the boy had consciously changed into his other self. And it was a skill he was going to need if he were to be the soldier Raynor expected him to be. His demonic form would be so much stronger; the child's body already showed the signs of the well-muscled strength he would gain when fully grown. "Now, change back."
Another moment passed, and the human boy stood before Raynor.
"Do it again."
"Again."
"And again."
Rapidly, the boy morphed from his human body into his demonic form and back several times. Every time it took him less concentration and effort. Raynor knew that once acquired, it was an ability that would never be lost again.
"Very well," he said at last when the boy swayed on his feet with fatigue. "We'll try shimmering tomorrow."
Raynor woke the next morning to an empty chamber. The small cot in the corner -Belthazor's bed- was deserted, the blankets crumpled in a heap on the floor. For a moment Raynor felt anger flare in his blood. Damn kid. He was supposed to practice shimmering today, not run away and play hooky.
He shrugged off the anger. The boy was young; by human standards he was still a child. Demons matured much faster. Raynor had known from the inception of his plan that it was a long-term commitment. One didn't create a mighty hybrid soldier in the short span of time it took to raise an ordinary demon.
A large, well-muscled demon entered his chamber. Raynor recognized him and was hard-pressed to conceal the cold shiver that ran down his spine. The demon was one of the Source's personal guards. His Praetorian watchers, the Source called them, displaying a nostalgic sentiment for the Roman era of his reign.
"He wants to see you," the guard grunted. "Now."
"Of course," Raynor said. He swung his legs from the bed and followed the guard while running down a list of possible issues in his mind. Why would the Source want to see him? All the schemes the Brotherhood had set in motion were being executed as he had envisioned.
He entered the Source's chambers. A vague, familiar scent hung in the air. Raynor paid it no mind; he was too surprised to discover Belthazor standing before the Source. What sort of trouble had the boy gotten into that the Source himself needed to deal with it?
"Belthazor?"
The boy's head whipped around at the mention of his name. Raynor could see the child was frightened but biting his lip not to cry. "I'm not sorry," he mumbled stubbornly and shook his head. Raynor frowned.
"See?" a female voice cried.
He spun in the direction of the sound. He recognized the woman; Darimia was a powerful she-demon and she stood in great favor with the Source. He couldn't make out the shapeless form that hunched at her feet.
"Told you that freak was bad news," she continued and pointed an angry finger at Belthazor. "He ruined my Ralx. Look at him!" She nudged with her toe at the figure that crouched in front of her. The pitiful creature moaned in pain and from the awkward way he held on to his shoulder Raynor knew he was missing an arm. He recognized the faint smell in the air: it was the reek of burnt demon flesh.
Raynor's eyes widened. Darimia's son Ralx showed great promise and accomplished his first human kill at the age of six. Belthazor couldn't have wounded him, could he? Unless-
"Zapped him in cold blood, the little devil. Nine years of my time wasted."
"Silence," the Source growled and Darimia snapped her mouth shut. He tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair and stared at Belthazor. The young demon shifted uncomfortably beneath the heavy gaze. "Why?" the Source said at last, his question a command.
Belthazor shrugged. "He had it coming," he said with a defiant look in Darimia's direction. "He said I couldn't do it. I showed him wrong."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Raynor's heart swelled with pride. The boy's true nature was finally coming out! This was what he had worked for all these years. Of course it wasn't done: demons didn't take on each other while they were in the Underworld. It was one of the unspoken rules. Feuds were fought, grudges harbored, revenges plotted. But always the execution happened out in the world, not here.
The Source laid his head in his neck and howled. "Raynor," he gasped between bouts of laughter, "it looks like you have done a fine job with this half-breed after all. It took you long enough but I think I see the possibilities now."
"Yes, Master," Raynor said meekly. It was a struggle to keep the triumphant grin from his face and he lowered his head in a gesture of reverence. He winked at the boy from beneath his brow and Belthazor gave a shaky grin in return.
"Of course," the Source continued, "Darimia here will need to be duly compensated for her loss."
"Naturally," Raynor agreed. Ralx didn't possess the power of regeneration and a one-armed demon was useless. Darimia would lose her son. Fortunately, the Brotherhood was not lacking for funds. She could be bought off.
"That's settled then." The Source waved his long fingers and fire enveloped the unfortunate Ralx until nothing but scorch marks were left. With another wave, he dismissed the other demons.
Belthazor looked up at Raynor as the older demon steered him from the room. "I did good, didn't I?"
Raynor smiled. "Oh yes, you did good. You did very good. Just don't do it again. At least not here."
Behind them the Source chuckled beneath his breath.
Disclaimer: this story is based on the Spelling Television/WB Television Network series Charmed. All characters belong to their original creators. The story was written for entertainment only and no copyright infringement was intended.