J Morris - Beautiful Revenge

A bright light burst in front of the Demon-Lords, sweeping away the darkness. They held their hands in front of their faces as their eyes fought to accommodate for the sudden change. When Mastema had recovered he dropped his arm. Through the bright spots that still danced across his vision he saw Persephone, glowing and smiling.

Bitch.

‘Welcome,’ said Lucifer, in the half-shout, half-whisper he used when he was feeling theatrical. ‘Welcome to the beginning of the end.’

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse stood behind the Light Bearer and his daughter. Mastema cheered and applauded along with his fellow Lords. He had to admit that the Horsemen looked impressive.

War was a giant encased in rusted red plate metal. Spikes covered his armour and skulls had been skewered onto them. Pieces of rotting flesh were still clinging to some of the remains. Famine’s face was hidden in the recesses of his hood. A flowing grey robe covered all but his skeletal fingers and a pair of balances rested on his shoulders. Pestilence was a decaying, bloated corpse. His skin was taut from trying to contain the mass of lard underneath and it glistened from the puss that covered it. With his sickly green eyes, long filthy finger nails and lack of clothing he was by far the most disturbing to look at of the four. Death was pale, and white-haired. The skin of his lower right jaw was missing and his mouth had been sown shut with thick, black stitches. Despite the exposed teeth and tendons the Horseman was still handsome, impossibly so. Mastema was instantly jealous but took some small comfort in the fact that he was better dressed than the Horseman. Hugo Boss trumped heavy plate everywhere but the battlefields of medieval Europe and renaissance fairs.

‘This is your first and last chance to see the Horsemen,’ Lucifer continued once the clapping had subsided. ‘These brave…things and my daughter will carry the torch of Perdition into the Mortal realm. With any luck they’ll burn the place down and scatter the ashes to the wind.’

‘Luck is not a factor,’ said War. His sonorous voice caused the visor of his helm to rattle. ‘You will get what you paid for, Light Bearer.’

‘Love it,’ replied Lucifer, giving War the gun-finger and a wink. ‘Love you, love the confidence . I have a really good feeling about all of this.’

The Light Bearer put a massive arm around his daughter’s shoulder.

‘And here’s the final little piece of the puzzle,’ he said, dropping a necklace and pendant into Persephone’s hand. ‘Your key to Heaven.’

Persephone looked at the jewellery and grinned. Nergal had taken it from the trio’s penthouse after the twins had been kidnapped by her brother. The Lord’s Tear kept its wearer hidden from Demons and it would be essential to her story’s credibility.

‘I won’t let you down, Father,’ she said.

‘I know you won’t, sweetheart,’ replied Lucifer.

He smiled and patted Persephone gently on her head.

‘On the off-chance that you do though, I’ll rip you apart with my bare hands and burn what’s left. No pressure though, the main thing is to just go out there and have fun.’

With a wave of the Light Bearer’s arms Persephone and the Horsemen faded from Perdition.

***

Persephone’s first feeling in the Mortal realm was searing pain. The runes under her skin pulsed with Demonic energy and she collapsed to her knees. With her first ragged breath she realised the Mortal realm stank. Wet dirt, vegetation and pesticides accounted for most of the stench but they were all unfamiliar to the Demonette’s senses. Underneath the immediate odour was the one Demons always complained about: Humanity. The Damned smelt bad enough but in the Mortals’ own realm the reek was pervasive. It hung in the air, even if no Humans were close by, like a thick cloud of filth, shame and sweat.

Persephone struggled to her feet, fighting past the blinding agony that ripped through her body. She wanted to scream but that was conduct unbecoming of the Princess of Perdition so she held it back.

One day Uphir and everyone else will pay tenfold for this , she thought. Father most of all.

The fantasy of that day of vengeance bolstered her resolve and Persephone finally managed to stand up straight. The blackness of the night sky was an impressive first sight. It almost made up for the smell. Had there not been stars to ruin the effect Persephone would have considered it perfect. Her father enjoyed fire; it was why he had chosen to light his realm with an entire sky of it. Persephone had always preferred the darkness that came after everything had burnt.

She had chosen a raven-haired, doe-eyed form for her work on Earth. Gorgeous enough to pull off either demure or wanton with equal ease, she had pieced the vessel together from images she had found on the Internet. It was her perfect answer to any number of situations that could occur in the Mortal realm. From everything she had gleaned on Kaarl he would prefer a shy beauty but the ability to raise pulses and diminish the capacity for higher thought in males was a necessary tool as well.

As the pain subsided a little and her vision cleared, the semi-blurred forms of the Horsemen began to take definition. A tall, buxom redhead in a tightly-clinging crimson dress was making her way towards Lucifer’s daughter.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ the woman said, adjusting her hemline as she approached. ‘But I wanted to try something a little different.’

Her face was striking with dark green eyes. The putrid tang that emanated from her mouth made it clear that Pestilence had decided to take up cross-dressing on his first ever foray into the Mortal realm. Compared to his breath the stench of Humanity was nothing.

‘Might be a bit of fun too,’ the Horseman added with a wink.

Persephone could tell that the seven-and-a-half-foot tall slab of muscle with the rakish blond hair and surly demeanour was War. The emaciated and lanky form of Famine looked ridiculous standing next to him. Death stood a little away from his brothers and was a cut above them all.

Gone were the pale complexion, black stitching and delicate features of his true form. Now tall, well-built and dark skinned, Death had taken his inherent and ethereal beauty and somehow grafted it directly onto a Mortal form that bore no resemblance to the creature Persephone had first met in her father’s dungeons. Even by her famously high standards the results of the transformation were breath-taking.

‘So why have you brought us here?’ asked Pestilence in his sultry, feminine voice. He glanced around at the seemingly endless rows of crops. ‘And where is “here” while we’re on the subject?’

Persephone took a few steps back from him to avoid concentrated blasts of his breath.

‘We are near a place called Storm Lake in the United States of America,’ she told the Horsemen. Persephone walked to one of the tall plants and ripped an ear off of it. She tossed it to Pestilence.

‘That is called maize, or corn or whatever. I don’t really care. Almost half of the world’s supply comes from this country. I want none of it to.’

The Horseman sniffed at the maize.

‘They have changed this,’ he said after a few moments.

‘They spray it to keep insects and pests away,’ replied Persephone.

‘No, not just that; the very essence of this plant has been changed. My usual methods will not work on this.’

Persephone scowled at Pestilence.

‘So, we are a few minutes into our mission and already you are of no use to me?’

Pestilence tilted his head, brushed a stray strand of his fiery-red hair out of the way and studied the plant.

‘It will just take a little time.’