J Morris - Selfish Beings

A self-satisfied smirk crept across Mastema’s face.

‘Wipe that smug look off your face; “smartest” in a group containing the likes of Samael is hardly an accomplishment. As I was saying, you are the smartest of the Demon Lords and if you did away with the condition that someone else had to be seen as the ideal candidate for travel this would not be a problem at all.’

‘I know you, though, Mastema,’ Deumos continued before he could reply. ‘This complaining will not stop until you have a plan and none involving you going to the Mortal realm will be suitable. I should let you batter your head against the wall your stubbornness has built, but in the interests of not having you moping and moaning for the next week I will help you.’

Mastema did his best to turn his scowl into a look of surprise.

‘My dear wife, I was only looking for your comfort and support after a trying day in the office. Do not trouble your pretty head with the challenges of a man’s world. I will, no doubt, think of something.’

As Deumos turned to leave the room, Mastema added quickly, ‘Of course, if you have already thought of a potential solution I wouldn’t want your effort to have been wasted. Your wise counsel is always welcome, my beloved.’

‘Kaarl,’ Deumos replied.

‘What does that worthless waste of my seed have to do with this?’

‘Kaarl has spent his life studying every aspect of the Mortals; he finds them fascinating. You and your fellow Lords are so entrenched in the old ways and that is why you are losing souls. The last time any of you walked amongst the Mortals they thought the Earth was flat and you could sail off the end of it. Humanity has changed and your strategy needs to change with it.’

Mastema considered his wife’s advice for a moment. Whilst it sounded good in principle, the fact that it involved Kaarl, Mastema’s youngest son, was a concern. Kaarl had always been different from his brothers. Not “apples and oranges” different, “apples and I wish you had been a miscarriage” different. Whilst they liked to torture the damned, perfectly normal for young demons, Kaarl preferred to talk to the fallen Mortals. When Kaarl was younger his brothers had a duty roster, so at least one of them was always following him, savagely beating any damned soul he had the inclination to speak to. As the boys grew, they became interested in Demonettes and spent their free time balancing fornication and mayhem. Kaarl spent his time in his room studying.

‘Talk to your son,’ said Deumos. ‘Learn what humanity has become, how their world has changed. With a new awareness of your prey and its environment, perhaps a solution will become more apparent.’

He decided he could at least give it a try. After Kaarl had proven to be the waste of time Mastema knew he was, he could devote the rest of the week to solving his problem in earnest. If he dismissed Deumos’s solution out of hand he would not hear the end of it. He didn’t need to ask whether or not Kaarl was home; the boy was almost always in his room. Mastema did, however, need directions to get there. He had come to realise early in Kaarl’s formative years that the child was destined to be feeble and useless and had pretty much ignored him since then. Kaarl, for his part, did not mind; the boy liked solitude so a father-son relationship in which neither of them ever talked to each other was mutually beneficial.

Mastema followed Deumos’s directions and found himself outside a door in the bowels of the grey stone mansion. He rarely ventured that deep into his own home; the kitchen, dining room, den and master bedroom were all at the front of the building and he had never felt the need to visit any of his offspring or servants. As he reached the door, Mastema noticed a strange noise emanating from the child’s room. When he opened the door, a wall of sound hit him. Kaarl was at his desk, completely absorbed in a book, and Mastema was instantly reminded why he hated the boy.

All Demons had the ability to shape shift; most chose grotesque or powerful forms, beasts of terror that induced fear and exuded ferocity. Kaarl’s preferred form was what a Mortal would call a very attractive young man. Sandy-blond hair, dark brown eyes and classically handsome features. Mastema was tempted to backhand the child then and there but decided it might not be the best way to start a conversation. Especially not if he wanted something. Kaarl finally noticed the presence of someone else in his room and reached out to touch a glass panel on his desk. The sound instantly stopped.

‘What was that noise?’ asked Mastema.

‘It was Tool, ‘Prison Sex’.’

‘I have heard tools being used and prisoners having sex and that sounded like neither.’

‘It’s a Mortal band, Father. They are called Tool and ‘Prison Sex’ is the name of the song.’

‘Do not call me Father,’ Mastema told him. ‘Sir or Your Supreme Ruthlessness will suffice. If that is what Mortals consider music, times have indeed changed. I’ll admit I like it a lot better than what they listened to in my day. It is much more visceral than the lyre or flute.’

‘Why are you here?’ asked Kaarl.

‘This is my house,’ Mastema snarled. ‘I go where I wish. Who are you to question my reasons, boy?’

‘I didn’t mean any offence. It’s just that in the five hundred years since my birth you have spoken to me twice, hit me on countless occasions and never been to visit me. I was just curious, thought maybe you had the wrong room.’

‘Well, unfortunately for both of us, I don’t,’ said Mastema, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. ‘My wife seems to think you may be able to enlighten me on changes that have occurred in the Mortal world since last I was there.’

‘When was that Father?’

‘I told you not to call me that, and by their definition I believe it was around 325 BC, “the good old days”, as we called them.’

Kaarl’s face lit up with youthful enthusiasm when he realised how much had changed in the period his father wanted to know about.

‘I don’t need to know everything,’ said Mastema when he saw the expression. ‘I just want the main developments, to fill in some gaps in my knowledge.’

‘Perhaps if I knew why you needed to know it could help,’ said Kaarl. ‘There have been so many mortal advancements since that time: automobiles, nuclear weapons, space-travel, medical science; the list is almost endless.’

Mastema gave Kaarl a quick rundown of the situation, leaving out Lucifer’s ultimatum and finishing with Deumos’s suggestion that a fresh perspective might help. Kaarl smiled and pointed to the glass panel on his desk that he had used to stop the music.

‘First thing you will want to know about is that, then.’

‘What is it?’ asked Mastema.

‘The Internet,’ said Kaarl. ‘It is a store of almost all of humanity’s knowledge, a way for them to communicate with each other, trade, share information and much more. In fact, on an almost daily basis they are finding new ways to use it.’

‘How did you get it?’

‘One of the Damned I managed to talk to without my brothers interfering was an engineer of sorts. He constructed this terminal for me and a device to be placed in the Mortal realm that would help me to connect. When Vetis last went up I gave her the device and instructions from the engineer. I’ve been online ever since.’

‘Why would he do that for you?’ asked Mastema. Although Perdition was not quite the place humans imagined, it was still rare for one to help another without forceful coercion or something to gain in return.

‘Boredom, I guess,’ said Kaarl. ‘There is only so much drunkenness and debauchery one can partake in before they get restless. I think he wanted a bit of a challenge and allowing data to travel between realms was a major one.’