Simon Green - For Heaven's Eyes Only

“You see?” Molly murmured in my ear. “You set the governments of the world free, for the first time in history, and the first thing they do is plot to stab you in the back.”

“Of course,” said Isabella. “They’re politicians.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” I said.

“This is our time, come round again!” said Dusk. It is our duty to take advantage of this situation, all this marvellous chaos and confusion, and take the reins of power for ourselves, as it was always meant we should. But not by replacing these governments and leaders. We’ve tried that, and it’s never worked. The sheep always rebel when they realise they’re headed for the slaughterhouse. No, my friends, we’ve always made better kingmakers than kings. The power behind the throne. Harder to detect, harder to fight, harder to find out what our true agendas are until it’s far too late. You can get much more done when you’re not in the public eye, and there’s no one to be horrified by the methods we use. And it’s always good to have a leader around to use as a fall guy if it all goes wrong and we have to make a swift exit by the back door.

“So we have become the latest generation of advisers, political consultants, focus groups, lobbyists, personal assistants. . . . We are the people who really decide what gets done. And now that the politicians have come to rely on us, now that they’re ready to listen to anything we have to say as long as it keeps them in power . . . it’s time for the Great Sacrifice. The final willing degradation of Humanity, a spiritual crime so great it will damn all their souls and give our lord Satan his final victory over mankind. Then we will dispose of the leaders and take their place as kings of the new Earth!”

The crowd went mad. They rose to their feet, shouting and screaming, pounding their hands together, almost out of their minds with excitement and anticipation. The whole room was full of a wild, vicious, malignant hysteria.

I looked at Molly and Isabella. “Is he serious? Are they serious?”

“Sounds like it,” said Isabella.

“What the hell is this Great Sacrifice?” said Molly. “Whom are they planning on sacrificing?”

Isabella glared at the howling crowd, her upper lip curled. “Look at them. Typical Satanists. The little men, the cheats and bullies who’d never rise to the top through their own abilities. They want to be king of Shit Heap, and take their revenge on the world and all those people who stand between them and the things they want, the things they think they deserve. The secret plotters and the backstabbers . . . They want power because at heart they’re cowards, afraid of everyone who has power over them.”

“The worst evil always comes out of small people,” said Molly. “Small-minded, small-souled, vicious little turds.”

“Satanists,” I said. “I do get it, Molly, really.”

And then the whole boardroom went quiet, and we looked up to find everyone in the crowd had turned around and was staring at us. Dusk pointed a dramatic finger in our direction.

“Intruders! Strike them down in Satan’s name!”

“Damn,” I said. “Ladies, I think it is time we took our leave.”

“Try to keep up,” said Isabella, already halfway out the door.

Molly and I were right on her heels. I slammed the door shut behind us and crushed the lock with an armoured hand. It wouldn’t hold off the crowd for long, but it should buy us some time. I spun round, and then swore dispassionately as a demon dog came pounding down the corridor towards us. I have encountered such things before, but this had to be the biggest I’d ever seen: a great mountain of night-black flesh almost filling the corridor from wall to wall, its hunched back brushed against the ceiling. The whole corridor shuddered under the thunder of its approach, great clawed paws slamming against the floor. Isabella glared at me.

“I told you not to come here! It must have smelled your torc!”

“Oh, sure,” I said. “Put all the blame on me.”

“I’d run, if there were anywhere to run,” said Molly.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” I said, stepping forward to face the demon dog.

It was almost upon us now, great slabs of muscle moving smoothly under its dark hide. It had a flat, brutal face, with flaring hellfire eyes and a wide slash of mouth packed with more vicious serrated teeth than seemed physically possible. It snorted and grunted hungrily as it ran, and already it was close enough that I could smell the blood and brimstone on its breath.

It came straight at me like a runaway train, lifting its ugly head to howl its fury: a terrible, primitive sound, all hate and rage and spite for everything that lived. A disturbingly human sound, rather than anything animal, because a demon dog only looks like a dog. I armoured up, the golden strange matter covering me from head to toe in a moment. And like that I felt stronger, faster, sharper, like coming fully awake after dozing all day. I never feel more alive than when I’m wearing the family armour, boosted far beyond human limitations, to defend Humanity from all the things that threaten us. But even as I moved forward to face the demon dog, I wasn’t actually sure any of that would be enough to stop several tons of advancing demon dog.

They’re not real, not natural. They’re physical constructs: made, not born, in special labs, created to be strong enough to hold and contain a demon out of Hell. A muscular machine possessed by a demon, trained to go for the soul. Fortunately, the shape itself limits what a demon can do. Because they’re possessing a dog’s shape, they’re limited by the natural laws of this world to take on the nature of a dog. Which means they’re vicious as hell, but not terribly bright. They fight and attack like an animal, with no thought of strategy.

Still bloody strong and hideously powerful, though.

So I ran straight at the demon dog and punched it right in its ugly face. My golden fist sank deep into its night-dark forehead, piercing the flesh and cracking the heavy bone beneath. The demon dog howled with pain and shock, skidding to a halt as it pushed me ahead of it. Molly and Isabella scattered to get out of its way, pressing their backs against the corridor walls we as passed them. I held my balance till we both came to a halt, and then ripped my armoured hand out of its head. Dark, steaming blood ran down the demon dog’s face, briefly catching fire as it passed over the flaring eyes. It growled deep in its chest and swung its head back and forth, throwing the blood off. Where the dark blood hit the walls, the surface blistered and bubbled. The wound was already healing, the dark flesh knitting back together.

And while the dog was busy thinking about that, I extended my right hand into a razor-edged golden blade and jammed it into the dog’s flaring left eye. The flames snapped out as the eyeball exploded, drenching the front of my armour in stinking gore, which ran quickly down to pool on the corridor floor and eat holes in the carpet. The demon dog jerked its head back, howling miserably, shaking its great head back and forth as though it could shake off the pain that filled its simple mind. I stood poised, waiting for my chance, and then lunged forward and sank my golden blade deep in its remaining eye. The demon dog reared up, slamming its head and shoulders against the ceiling and lifting me right off my feet. I clung to the dog’s head with my other hand and pulled my blade out. Long strings of dripping musculature clung to my sword, and I flicked them away as I jumped back from the demon dog.

The dog surged forward again, and I backed quickly away from it. Even blind, it could still smell where I was. The flat, brutal face slammed into me like a runaway car, the force of the impact lifting me up off my feet and carrying me before it. I forced myself down until my golden feet made contact with the floor again, and then I dug them in, gradually forcing the dog to a halt. My feet left deep grooves in the wooden floor, but it still took all my armour’s strength to hold off the demon dog as it forced its way forward. I punched the demon dog’s head again and again, the sound of rending flesh and splintering bone horribly loud in the corridor. Stinking dark blood drenched my armour, only to fall helplessly away, unable to affect the golden strange matter. But the wounds I made kept healing, and an eye suddenly rose up to fill the empty left socket, and caught fire. The demon dog could see again.