Leathig despairs.

New Freedom Chapter Eight.

Water dripped incessantly onto the cave floor, it was dark and oppressively dank, with shadows flickering over the undulating wet sides of the cave. The stomach turning reek of urine and faeces pervaded the close air.

The oil and hemp torch, lying at an untidy angle, had been stuffed into its receptacle.  Black molten pitch oozed onto the bars of the sconce where it gripped tightly before slipping under its own weight and falling into a pointed mess on the slimy uneven floor. The black, oily and foetid smoke retreated from the yellow flame onto the ceiling.

Leathig opened his swollen eyes, he was naked, hungry and afraid. Sweat ran down his face seeping into his long grey beard making it itch. Something scurried close to his elbow, he gasped, he could just see the long tail of the black rat as it receded over a leg bone lying on the floor.

His hands were tied behind his back, his left leg was uncomfortable below him and was beginning to cramp. He tried to move to make himself more comfortable, he couldn’t, his leg was tied tightly with rope to his right knee. No matter what he tried, whatever position he tried to move into, the cramps increased. He groaned and called out weakly into the gloom, a dull echo answered. He tried rolling over on his bound arms, no, he was tied to a rusted ring on the wall,

He called out in anger

 “release me,”

no answer.

Footsteps… ‘Who’s coming?’

The glow of the torch stretched along the roof getting closer, someone coughed, clearing their throat and spat noisily. The scrape of heavy boots on the floor and a huge shadow behind a flaming oil torch threateningly approached.

“You awake priest? Open your eyes, breakfast.”

A tin plate bounced off his bare foot and rattled on the stone floor, the contents spilling. The jailer placed a metal cup down, it made an empty hollow sound as it touched the rock. He couldn’t see, the flame of the torch was being waved in his face going from side to side.

“How can I eat? My hands are tied,”

he asked the shadow.

“Use your mouth.”

The jailer laughed, repeating his joke to himself as he and the flame receded.

He turned the corner, keys rattled, a door creaked and slammed, the lock turned. With that, the turnkey was gone.

Leathig searched again for any spark of power he might utilise to escape this pit, he found nothing but a slight red flicker of malevolence, as he reached for this, his stomach lurched, he would have been sick but his stomach was empty. While retching, he leaned back on the wall.

”Where is the comforting Angel I was promised? Where is my hope and succour lord?”

He appealed to the stains on the walls and the black filth on the  cave roof.

“Lord… Why have you forsaken me ?'”

Leathig lowered his exhausted head to his chest and slipped into hopeless despair.

                                                                         000O000

The Arch-demon Asmodene sat in his hall, the room was huge, with large deep fire-pits giving shadowed and flickering illumination. Large oil-lamps hanging on long chains, holding huge smoking torches lit the cavern. The chamber was six hundred feet in length, with marbled pillars reaching 200 feet into the vaulted ceiling, cherubs and imps were in combat on the ceiling high above. The dancing shadows animated the carvings.

Huge winged Dragon heads, with tongues protruding, topped the pillars.

Standards and shields crossed with weapons, swords, pikes, lances and deadly spiked maces lined the walls. From the heavy Iron studded double doors to the south, the floor was raised on three levels increasing in height until reaching the Demon, sitting on his iron chair in front of a massive flag bearing the hexagonal double triangle, one facing up the other facing down, the Sigel of Satan, lord of Hell.

Clasped in his black taloned fist, was an orb, dark green, nearly black. A swirling mist covered the entire face of it. The Demon gazed seeing Leathig in his cell three floors below. The priest was nearly ready, he was in despair, he had lost faith in his God. The demon seed inside him had already begun to change him, to convert his human genes to demon. He would soon be ready to take up the role Asmodene had prepared for him.  The Demon needed a leader for his army and Leathig, after his conversion would be the perfect choice.

Asmodene stood. Two black Azazel eyed him warily and moved from underfoot, Astorath and Asmodeth his mate, had been sitting at the Demon’s feet like cowed dogs. They wore black boiled leather armour which fitted tightly, with spikes round the neck and wrists and embossed with muscles all over, giving the appearance of great strength.

They were large and strong, over six foot tall when on hind legs. Black in colour and with yellow horns either side of their foreheads. The horns thick at the base were ribbed, and twenty inches in length. They curved and tapered to a point. Huge tusks curled either side of their massive maws. Their hairy feet were hoofed but with long razor like claws sticking out either side.

When Leathig was recruited, these ‘faithful dogs,’ would be his constant companions and protectors. Slinking slowly and with their heads down they made for the nearest wall and safety.

The Demon walked purposefully towards the iron door, his boot-heels tapping his progress. On reaching the door it silently opened.

He left the hall and descended the winding stairs to the ' Black Chapel', on entering, a Troll dropped to his knees in supplication.

“Master, I am almost done.”

The green Troll was tall and slender, with two red horns at the front of his forehead, his arms were very long  and reached to his knees. He had a wide mouth, with too many long and pointed teeth behind his thin blue lips. His sharp pointed nose with flaring nostrils protruded beneath his large yellow eyes. Held in his clawed hand, was a tear drop shaped orb, blue and green coloured with a sharp pointed base.

“If the master would condone to empower the orb, the task could be completed?”

The Demon grabbed the orb from the Troll and scratched his talon’s into the surface.

He breathed over it, vapour rose and coiled, heavy and smoke like,

“Give me the staff,” the Demon ordered.

Leathig’s staff was floating in a black vitriol pool, steam was rising and a grey vapour swirled and caressed the staff like a sickness. The Troll waded waist deep into the liquid and pulled the staff out, he grimaced as it burned his claw and dripped smoking acid onto the floor.

Asmodene took the staff and holding it between his knees he forced the sharp base of the orb into the shaft’s head. The staff resisted.

Asmodene, Arch demon and Fifth lord of Hell, opened his jaws and roared.

He called out in a strange and vile sounding language. A horrible and unholy incantation.  The air in the  cavern chilled, the Troll cowered, his eye's rolling and casting glances all around, while the floor of the ‘Black Chapel’ Lurched.

Again the Demon called out, and slowly the orb’s pointed base parted and invaded the staff head. The Demon forced the orb deeper into the split until only the globe of the orb could be seen. Reaching out he grabbed the Troll and pulled him closer.

“Mercy master,”

The Troll cowered and whimpered as  Asmodene grabbed his arm and ripped off his claw, tearing it away from the elbow. The Troll screamed.

The Demon breathed his foul breath onto the limb and crafted the claw onto the staff . The dead, but reanimated fingers curled round the orb. The Troll's skin, bone and muscle grafted into the wood of the staff, and became part of it, gripping tightly and holding the orb firmly in place.

The Troll scurried away nursing his torn and mutilated limb, dripping what passed for his blood on the floor, he whimpered.

“Be still,” said the Demon

“it will grow back soon enough.”

He raised the staff, it rippled with evil.  Asmodene sneered,

“Oh yes. A good job and well done.”