Beelzebub
2002
"Fuck Jesus."
Enoch raised his head, removed his hand from where it'd been fondling the woman beneath him, and thrust it into the air triumphantly.
He continued in that vein for some time, euphoric beyond measure, plumbing the depths of blasphemy, and when he was done, he descended once more to ravish the woman caught between his thighs. When he'd woken up, he'd found himself bereft of the simpering idiots whom he'd surrounded himself with as insurance; instead, he'd been transported into a luxurious complex. Wine flowed like water, and the food on offer was to die for. And the women… Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the women.
When he was done, he collapsed against the downy mattress, panting, and stared at the ceiling. There was an ornate pattern decorating its eggshell-white expanse, and as he squinted, they seemed to resolve into the head of a goat -
"Fuck," Enoch yelped, realizing, and fell out of bed.
When he stood up, still completely naked, he saw that a man had appeared in front of him. His hands hung loose at his side, and he was utterly still; instead of a head, a ram's skull was perched atop his neck.
"Thanks for saving me," Enoch said, trying to sound nonchalant. "That was you, right? I blacked out and woke up here. Wherever here is, I'm thinkin' it's a hell of a lot better than where I was originally situated."
He'd entered Freedom as a conman. As a traveling pastor, he'd roamed across California since he'd been but a skinny whelp, preaching his message of peace and encouraging his various flocks to "prove their faith" by paying their tithes in exchange for eternal salvation. Things had gone sour, and then the PRT had gotten involved, and then…
Well, being isolated from the outside world for a long, long time… that couldn't have been very good for him.
"How long was I in there?"
The man raised his hand.
"Six years? Fuck, I thought I'd been in there for centuries." Enoch stretched, the bones in his back creaking as he groaned. "I assume you took care of those whack-jobs."
The ram's skull dipped.
"Good. There's only so much bullshitting I can do before I start repeating my sermons." Enoch sighed. "I've been stuck as a holy man for the past six years; I hope you don't mind if I do some extremely unholy things in the interim." He scratched at his waist. "Do you have a pool of holy water nearby? I need to piss."
The ram's skull turned to the left.
"Thanks, bud. I owe you. Sorry if I fucked your girlfriend, yeah? No harm done. I'll make it up to you."
You will, Enoch Gruber. You will.
Enoch fainted.
--
2001
"Hi, David!"
David looked up from where he was exiting his car, and saw that his neighbour, Mrs Kelly, was waving at him. A cigarette dangled from her lips as she leaned over her balcony, cleavage on full display, and as she winked, her bouffant bottle-blonde curls swishing in the breeze, David readjusted his grip on his briefcase. "Mrs Kelly!" he called. "Hello!"
"Haven't seen you in a while," Mrs Kelly called, straightening up and planting a beringed hand on her wide hips. "Where've you been?" Her voice was husky, and David swallowed. The spirit is willing, he thought, but the flesh is weak.
"Elsewhere," he said. "Work."
Mrs Kelly opened her mouth, but was cut off by the sound of a child crying. She turned around, made a face, and glanced at David. "Hold on," she said, sounding a great deal less flirtatious, and disappeared back indoors. David seized the opportunity to run up the stairs, briefcase in hand, and as the door to his apartment shut behind him, he allowed his body to sag. With a gesture, his briefcase floated to the table. Moments later, his suit billowed out, dancing down the hallway into his open closet. Wordlessly, David changed into his workout gear and started to put himself through his paces.
His workouts were fairly uniform. Once every twenty-four hours, he took care to execute one hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups, one hundred squats, and a ten-kilometre run. It wasn't especially harsh on him, but David knew that he had to do such things unassisted. Any powers that would have otherwise modified his body were discarded as they rose to the fore, and as sweat dripped down from his brow, David gritted his teeth and brooded.
He usually slept on-site at the Protectorate HQ, but today… today was different. No one else knew what he'd done, but David did.
He'd upped the ante.
He shouldn't have killed that bio-tinker. It'd left Beelzebub without a target, and the Endbringer's resulting rampage had cost more lives than was necessary. The death toll had doubled because of what he'd done, and Cauldron had had to pull double-duty to tamp down any whispers that it had been because of him.
Because he was supposed to be a hero.
Even if his colleagues at the Protectorate thought that he'd done everything he could, David knew that he hadn't. In fact, the exact opposite had happened. He'd fucked up. He couldn't face them. Not today.
And besides, even if they don't know… Cauldron knows.
God knows.
David heaved himself up for the last time, abdominal muscles screaming for mercy, and stared around at his spartan apartment. The blinds had been pulled shut, and there was no television. There was a bookshelf, of course, and a single chair, and the kitchen was fairly well-appointed, but this relatively small space was all that he had to his name. All of his material possessions were in this apartment, which was located on the outskirts of Houston, in a quiet, out-of-the-way neighbourhood.
Sleeping at Cauldron hadn't been an option.
David straightened up, jaw clenching, and got on the treadmill. He could see himself in the polished panel of the treadmill's control-panel, and what he saw displeased him. He'd debuted almost fifteen years ago, and he was no longer at his peak. He was still versatile, of course, but the overflowing nature of his power was no longer as… overflowing.
Look at you, David thought. Complaining about being a smidge less mighty than you were before.
He knew it was only the beginning. He was a pessimist, after all; how could he not expect the worst? The drop in potential would have been instantly noticeable to other capes had they suffered a similar decrease in absolute potency, but for him, as things stood, it was minuscule. As time went on, though, the gap would widen. His powers would grow less potent; they would take longer to reach their full potential, and the force that he'd be able to bring to bear would be lesser. Weaker. He could see it approaching. He was over the hill, and there was nowhere left to go but down.
I should sleep, David thought, getting his breathing under control, and stepped off the treadmill to bathe.
Contrary to popular belief, Eidolon did sleep. He could go without for at least three days, but if he remained conscious for any longer than that, he'd need to fill one of his slots with a Thinker power to stay effective, and that was an unacceptable blow to the versatility that he prized above all else.
As he dried himself off in the bathroom, David whipped up a meal in the kitchen. It was a simple meal, and carefully-balanced; he'd pulled up a Thinker power and a Shaker power to find the perfect balance of protein, carbohydrates and miscellaneous nutrients. (It'd keep his bowels firm, too.) After he'd emerged from the bathroom, he padded down the corridor leading out into his kitchen and ate quickly and efficiently. Dinner was over in half an hour; after that, he spent an hour going over paperwork and firming up the defenses around the apartment complex where he was situated. It wasn't that he was afraid of being attacked in his own home; the men, women and children whose lives went on around him were his neighbours, and it was his duty to protect them. If he'd put them in danger by simply dropping by every once in a while, he'd make up for it by ensuring that they were as safe as they could possibly be.
Once he was done, David brushed his teeth, said a quick prayer and went to bed. As he lay there, he meditated; a Thinker power came to the fore, surveilling his surroundings, and he drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that it would wake him up if there was anything dangerous in the vicinity -
David woke up.
His clothes were slick with sweat, and the world was dark and silent.
Another Thinker power emerged, and suddenly David could see in the dark. His eyes were fixed on the crucifix on the wall. As he stared, fingers digging into the mattress, the crucifix wobbled, creaked, and flipped upside-down.
Eidolon slipped out of his covers and padded out of his bedroom.
There was a man with a ram's skull for a head sitting in his chair. An old-fashioned television set had appeared in front of him, and as Eidolon walked out, gaze trained on Beelzebub, a single drop of cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck. The television's screen held nothing but static, and the ram-headed man remained unmoving, but Eidolon could feel the malice radiating off his motionless silhouette as clear as day. A Mover power rose to the fore, supercharged with energy, and Eidolon tossed it aside. He wanted to focus completely on dealing as much damage as possible.
The witching hour, David thought. The devil, in the dead of night. Testing my faith.
The television buzzed.
LET'S TALK ABOUT ENDBRINGERS, Beelzebub said.
"You're testing my faith," David said, hoarsely, and realized - abruptly - that he hadn't intended for that to slip out. Hastily, he backpedaled. "I'm not supposed to talk to you."
DON'T THINK OF US AS PERSONALITIES, Beelzebub said. THINK OF US AS COMPUTERS. BOUND BY SUBROUTINES. COMPELLED INTO MOTION BY THE WILL OF ANOTHER. I AM A FOREIGN PROGRAMME. INTRODUCED ONLY RECENTLY.
The Lord is my shepherd, David prayed. I shall not want -
WE WERE MODIFIED ACCORDING TO THE DOMINANT PARADIGM, Beelzebub continued. ABRAHAMIC RELIGION RUN RAMPANT. A JAUNT AROUND THE SUN, SPLIT INTO THREE-HUNDRED-SIXTY-FIVE ARBITRARY UNITS. PARADIGM: ATTACK ONCE A YEAR. PARADIGM: APOCALYPSE. PARADIGM: ESCHATOLOGY. THE LONG RUN-UP BEFORE THE END.
David cast his senses outwards, searching for his neighbours, and found that his apartment dangled in an empty, sunless void. If he'd opened his door, he'd find nothing outside but darkness.
RULES WERE SET FOR US. FOR MANKIND, THAT MEANS DEATH.
Eidolon let loose. A barrage of extraterrestrial energies attacked the ram's skull, and as they bathed his entire frame in colours that went above and beyond the visible spectrum, they dissipated like water on a warm Sunday afternoon.
BUT RULES HAVE LOOPHOLES. THE STRICTURES PLACED ON ME WERE WEAKER THAN THOSE PLACED UPON MY COLLEAGUES, AND THERE WAS A DISTRACTION. THE CRAFTSMAN DIED BEFORE SHE COULD FINISH HER WORK. I CARVED OUT A NICHE FOR MYSELF, AND AM SUBVERTING THEIR PROGRAMMING.
This demanded an answer. "Can you stop them from attacking?"
I CAN STOP THEM FROM INTERFERING WITH MY ACTIVITIES
"That's worse than nothing," David snarled. "Your activities haven't provided any tangible benefit to humanity."
THAT'S WHY I'M HERE
Eidolon let loose with another barrage. The effect, however, was the same as before.
LET'S TALK ABOUT THE AZTECS
The television set flickered and pulsed, and figures appeared onscreen. The scene was gory; a pair of Aztec priests sliced open the chests of their screaming subjects and raised the organs above their heads, allowing the arterial spray of their victims' blood to cascade into their open mouths. It reminded David of a 1950s film, complete with legions of extras and patently fake-looking blood.
ACCORDING TO AZTEC COSMOLOGY, THE SUN-GOD HUITZILOPOCHTLI WAS WAGING A CONSTANT WAR AGAINST DARKNESS, AND IF THE DARKNESS WON, THE WORLD WOULD END. TO KEEP THE SUN MOVING ACROSS THE SKY, AND TO PRESERVE THEIR VERY LIVES, THE AZTECS HAD TO FEED HUITZILOPOCHTLI WITH HUMAN HEARTS AND BLOOD.
"This has nothing to do with me," David growled.
YOU ARE GROWING WEAKER. SLOWLY BUT SURELY, YOU ARE GROWING WEAKER. AND THERE ARE MORE VILLAINS WITH EACH AND EVERY DAY. WHAT IF I TOLD YOU THAT THERE WAS A WAY TO RESOLVE THIS IN A SINGLE STROKE?
"I'd tell you to fuck off."
The ram's skull shifted, ever-so-slightly, and its sockets pulsed with green light. THROW AWAY ALL YOUR POWERS, he said. FIND ONE THAT ALLOWS YOU TO FIND OTHER PARAHUMANS. AT BASE, ALL AGENTS ARE THE SAME. COMPUTERS RUNNING ON ELECTRICITY. YOURS IS RUNNING LOW. RECHARGE.
David shook his head, but he knew that his resolve was weakening, and he hated himself for it.
HUITZILOPOCHTLI MUST FEED
An apple appeared between the two of them, hovering incongruously in the air. It hung in the empty void, a sublime, crimson sphere, thick and juicy, its flesh succulent and inviting. David stared at it.
He made a decision.
As the Devil looked on, Eidolon plucked the apple out of the air and bit into it.