A storm crept in during the darkest hours of the night. It wasn't especially turbulent or noisy, but it brought enough rain to thoroughly soak the ground of the Montgomery Mansion. The downpour was rounding its first hour when the sodden earth in the back yard bubbled and erupted upward. A hand broke free. Clawed around a bit and caught hold of a root. A muddy arm emerged, followed by a head.
Slowly but surely a person crawled up out of the ground, completely covered in the wet earth he'd surfaced from. He got to his feet and felt the cold rain wash over his naked body. He tipped his head back, eyes shut, and let the rain rinse his face. It was so cold his breath came in white puffs, but he stood there in the driving rain, arms wide and palms turned up to the storm. It was icy but invigorating.
He gave himself a vigorous shake and looked around. Caught sight of the back side of the mansion and smiled. He was Armilus ben Belial, son and physical extension of Belial, and he was on a mission.
He let himself into the house through the back door, bypassing the lock with a wave of his hand that slid the bolt back. Once inside, the door shut behind him and the bolt snapped back in place. He paused for a moment to get his bearings then crossed the kitchen leaving muddy footprints on the black and white tile.
He didn't care. He was too captivated by the energy of the place and the giddiness of being back in the old place. He had many plans, but first: A bath.
—
The mud on the floor quickly drew Moyra's attention. She didn't know who had left the trail through the house and she didn't care. The only thing she cared about was the muck was drying on the antique hardwood. The halls were difficult enough to care for: Their age alone made it so that the old boards required pine oil soap and water, followed by a deep mineral oil rub. Damp earth was like acid to the ancient floor.
Hastily and irritably, she swept the largest chunks into the dustpan. Once they were disposed of she set to washing the floor. She had cleaned nearly half the trail when the intruder stepped out of the bathroom into the hall clad only in a bath towel. She looked up from her work ready to give the individual attitude, but seeing him, she froze.
He smiled.
The effect was amazing. He looked like something that would grace the front of a Christmas card: A muscular, perfect frame. Unruly golden locks dripping over strong, bare shoulders. The very picture of exquisite health and male beauty that toed effeminate without crossing the line.
Then he noticed the filthy rag in Moyra's hand. His features fell.
"Oh. Sorry. I must've done that." He started toward her, but his towel slipped, forcing him to stop and catch it. He fumbled with it but was having trouble keeping it in place. "I would offer to help you clean up, but...Well. I know Michael stays here. Does he have any clothes I could borrow? He won't mind. I promise."
—
Armilus admired himself in the full-length mirror that stood in the corner of the master bedroom. He smoothed the sharply pointed white collar of the silk shirt he wore and let his hand pet the slippery fabric down to his hip.
"Fits well," he noted.
Behind him, Moyra smiled alluringly. "Looks good, too."
He looked at himself again, assessing. "I'm not terribly fond of the red," he said, his hand wandering over the velvet leg of his pants. "But it's better than black. On me, anyway. On you red is perfect."
She knew he was just being diplomatic, but she was flattered anyway.
Armilus turned away from the mirror to look at her directly. "Would you let the others know I'm here and taking over in Michael's stead? I have a lot to do, and I don't have time to introduce myself around."
Moyra's head bobbed in a nod. She didn't question his authority. She had encountered him before though it had been a few years. She didn't know who he was, but she had felt his influence and it was both exhilarating and frightening. She knew he could control her if he wanted, and she appreciated that he bothered to ask her to do his bidding instead.
The mansion was claimed by Lucifer, but that stake had long been contested, ever since the Montgomeries started their illegal basement side business. The combined energies of Tate Langdon, Doctor Ben Harmon, and Father Jeremiah had pushed Armilus back the last time Belial had sent him, but Ben wasn't home now, and Jeremiah was distracted with family life.
Michael's inattention was the open door Armilus had been waiting years for.
First on his list was: Deal with the strongest individuals in the house. The ones who might oust him. Once he had them under control or vanquished, the rest of the souls would fall in line.
"Good. Now. Tell me, please. Where is Constance Langdon?"
...
Gray morning light slipped in through the cracks between the curtains and the walls of the bordello suite. The bright blades didn't penetrate far into the shadows of the room, leaving it cast in murky darkness the eye didn't want to adjust to. The bed creaked and swayed with the motion sex. Lilith rode Michael expertly. Her long nails bit into the skin on his chest. Both were covered in sweat.
Later, Michael sucked on a cigarette out on the balcony. He was still nude, uncaring who or what saw him in the broad, cold daylight. He didn't care one bit about the opinion of anyone who might voice it against him. As far he saw it, the world was his to parade about however he liked. The temperature didn't bother him either. His was a perpetual source of heat no natural chill could tame.
He summoned a crow from the ever-present nearby flock and silently delivered his instructions to it as it circled overhead. It gave a raspy caw and flew off with a loud clatter of pinfeathers. It always impressed him how much noise they made when they flapped their wings. When the whole murder of crows took off at once, it sounded like a firing squad.
The bird came back as he was finishing the cigarette. It cawed, but Michael plucked the information he needed from the bird's memory. He knew where Troy was at now. After a last hit from the cigarette, Michael tossed the butt over the rail and went back inside.
Lilith was asleep again. Michael didn't wake her. He just got dressed and let himself out. He had things to do.
—
( Music: Jesus Built My Hotrod – Ministry )
The thing Troy fought was once what he thought was a bear. He wasn't going to stop to assess it closely. The monstrously deformed thing was the size of a double-decker bus, had oozing boils on one side of its head, and it was trying to eat him.
It was the perfect candidate to test his new weapon out on.
He had fixed the tip of Belial's horn to the hilt of a machete. The machete blade stuck out further than the horn. Troy landed several good chops with the blade, but the huge creature didn't seem to feel it.
The beast took a swipe at him. Troy ducked under the massive arm and dove toward the huge hairy torso with the weapon out and poised to impale. He didn't think. He just lunged in and buried the blade and horn in the bear-thing's middle.
The ursine monster roared in pain when the machete sunk into its innards. It lashed out at Troy, smacking him hard upside the head just as the horn pierced its tough skin. The creature stiffened, convulsed a couple of times and then sank over to the side. Troy fell beside it, reeling from the heavy blow. His ears were ringing. His arm was covered in dark red blood. His makeshift sword was lodged in the bear-thing.
He rubbed his forehead and tried to will the ringing away. A shadow fell over him and he looked up, ready for anything. Michael stood over him, looking tousled and arrogant.
"If you're done playing around," he said. He grabbed Troy's unarmed hand and hauled him up off the ground. "We've got work to do."
—
"You're getting blood all over the place," Michael remarked.
Los Angeles sped by outside the car windows. Troy continued to pick at the congealed gunk, trying to get it out of the grooves in the machete handle before it dried there.
"Would you rather I burned it?" he offered.
"Why do you hate my car?"
Troy smirked. "It stinks. I know the fuel's made from corn these days but fucking hell. Does it have to smell like popcorn?"
Michael tipped his head. Sniffed. "I like it. Better than petrol. That stuff smelled like the bodies it was made from."
"All it took for the world to get on green energy was the apocalypse," said Troy.
"You don't really expect that to work, do you?"
"What? This?" Troy hefted the machete. "Sure. Why wouldn't it? Worked on that bear."
"Belial's hardly a bear. He's not going to just let you walk up and poke him with it."
"I was kind of hoping I wouldn't be taking him on alone," Troy pointed out. "This is more your fight than it is mine."
The car screeched to a sudden halt as Michael hit the brakes. He was braced against the sudden stop. Troy was not. He flew forward into the dashboard. The machete was knocked from his hand and fell to the floorboard.
"What the fuck?" Troy bleated, pushing himself up. His head, already twinging from the bear fight, now throbbed from colliding with the dash.
"It's our fight," Michael stated. "Even if you don't care about what's at stake, I'm quite certain your sire will insist you do your part."
Troy stopped rubbing at the lump on his forehead and squinted at Michael. "What're you talking about? I don't have a sire."
Michael snorted and threw the car into gear. They were on the move again. "Everyone has a father. Even the divine. Don't tell me you've never wondered who yours is."
"The orphanage said I was abandoned. Left on a doorstep."
"But you had a father at some point. And a mother. Not knowing who they are doesn't mean they didn't exist."
Troy fell into a fitful silence. He picked up his horn-blade.
"Do you want to know?"
Troy sent a sidelong glance his way. He didn't doubt Michael could tell him. He just wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Maybe later."
"There are only so many tomorrows," Michael said enigmatically.
Then he turned up the volume on the cassette player. The crispy sounds of vintage Motörhead's "Ace of Spades" filled the car as LA blurred by outside.
...
Author's Note:
Woo! Managed to sneak in another chapter. I'm into my second-to-last semester in college and we just finished the film! Like...finished-finished. It's got to make the horror film festival circuit before it'll be available for streaming. It's already been accepted into the first one. Double-woo!
I haven't had as much time for recreational writing lately as I like. I'm working on a book that's already been accepted for publication, so there's a deadline to shoot for. It's a nonfiction piece about a police officer I know who worked in the crimes against children department for seven years. Which...is real life horror.
In other news, someone who Knows Things told me I ought to cross-post/back this series up to Archive of Our Own. So, I'll be doing that when I can squeeze some time from somewhere.
Next time: Michael and Troy meet Armilus. 'Nuff said.
