Chapter IV

The winds were starting to create a screeching howl as they tore through the Spears Monument. It was time for somebody to leave.

DEEGAN MADE HIS WAY ACROSS THE BLACK SAND. He had prepared for this mission in the only way he knew how . . . he listened to some old classical music, and tuned out the rest of Hades. Strangely, for a man so at home in Hades, Deegan hated the noise. Of course, anything was better than the utter silence of desperation that every evolved soul was introduced to, in Purgatory.

Across the dunes and hills, and forced emptiness of the Torn Valley, was the first place one sees when the proper lessons have been learned on the earth plane. The soul is then given the choice: To stay in Purgatory, and wait for Gods grace; or to take the one-way trip across the black, sharp sands of the Torn Valley.

Once across the dark expanse they stand at the foot of Hades, a bright excited city of ecstasy and indulgence like one can hardly imagine. As far as Deegan was concerned, he could create his own silence in Hades, but nobody was going to force it on him.

The question to wait in the loneliness and desolation of Purgatory was not much of a decision at all. It took him only a few hours to reach his decision. As the Angels that protect Purg had noted about him, ‘leave that one for Lucifer . . . he was lost before he was found.’

Deegan didn’t see himself as a monster, nor as a morally deficient being.

But, there was no reason he should wait and beg for a love that he would easily be able to find in Hades. Besides, he thought, who needs to serve a jealous master?

Nobody.

Still, he did abhor the noise. It never stopped until you walked outside the large metal gates. Once you had made it to the Spears Monument, most of the music and frenzied excitement had been replaced by the sound of the wind hustling through the now broken statues and sculptures. It was a hollow, unrelenting screech . . . almost like the earth they were standing on was crying, begging to be put out of its misery.

Deegan tried to put his most recent discussion with his estranged girlfriend out of his mind. She had been pressing him for something that he couldn’t give her. She wanted his heart. He only had half of one, and it sure wasn’t going to some lost soul in the city of Hades.

Though he didn’t tell her, she was beneath him. She would not ever be able to relate to him, and he certainly did not wish to take the time and effort to try. Sure, the sex had been ravenous and incredible . . . but then again, sex was just another of the many luxuries that Hades offered everyone who entered its gates.

His parting words to her had been, “Don’t worry, Sara. You’ll find somebody else to need.”

That had almost stopped her heart. “When are you coming back?”

“Not coming back,” he had replied without the slightest hint of emotion. “Everything is going to change, very soon,” he said softly, as he left his apartment for the last time.

She was silent.

He looked around as he walked toward the door, “You can keep this place, all the stuff. Live here, light it on fire . . . I don’t really care. Dobray noch,” he said, wishing her a good night in Russian.

If she hadn’t been crying, she might have answered.

Anyway, all that was behind him now. His new assignment was clear: Find the renegade Angel called Mavet. Bring him in if it’s at all possible. If not . . . rip the cunt in half. Perhaps he would keep a souvenir or two. Deegan didn’t discuss it often, but he had a bit of a taste for human flesh. It had caused I him more than a bit of trouble when he was back on earth.

Hopefully, he would be able to curve his appetite for the duration of this mission. But there was no way to tell how long that was going to take.

Once at the Spears Monument, he was to go to the actual spears—three of them—that had been used to impale the captured Angels . . . long ago. Deegan was well schooled in the events that led to the first assault on God. The history of the Spears Monument is first and foremost among the souls that inhabit the city of Hades.

As he walked among the fallen pieces of cold, grey artwork he considered the foreshadowing significance of such a chaotic display. Bits of grey marble and dust mixed with the tiny, sharp grains of black sand from the Torn Valley.

It was all lit, ominously, by a handful of oil fueled torches that were now placed around the monument grounds haphazardly. It was like a huge party had just ended, the power had been cut off, and nobody had stayed around to pick up the garbage. This place was a violent mess.

There were burn marks and traces of carbon from the enormous fire that had incinerated so many of the citizens of Hades. Oh yes, the Angels still had some fight left in them. Like Rome long ago, Hades had forgotten that we are all vulnerable to attack from within. The perimeter is not always so secure as we may all believe.

Like in most things, the danger lies within.

Deegan kicked a small chunk of granite. It skidded a couple of meters before it bounced off of the torso of some mythical monster. All of the giants and beasts that had once stood here were now reduced to detritus and decay.

He continued on to the center of the monument, where the spears were still standing.

There were three of them, pointed upwards at different angles, their sharp points facing the black sky above.

He took a deep breath, tightened the dark brown trench coat around his body, secured his wire-rimmed, black sunglasses, and cleared his throat.

Time to get this thing started. He I leaned toward the three slightly waving spears and let his weight carry him close enough to start the cyclone. by piece, fragments land tiny shards of reality started, piece by piece, to dissolve around him as he felt his body vibrate. He felt like a guitar string as everything disappeared around him. Suddenly, all he saw was silver melting into blackness.

Like water pouring over dark rocks.

Somehow he was breathing, though he couldn’t actually inhale or exhale. In a way, he was suspended in some place that didn’t even exist.

As quickly as it began, the molecules of the earth plane started to form around him. He could smell a deep wood smell . . . almost like cedar. Like the shattering of a porcelain dish being played in reverse, all of the pieces started to take form. He was in a cathedral somewhere. He took a desperate breath. In the air he could taste and smell a hundred things that he hadn’t sensed in a long time. There were candles burning nearby, but where he was standing was dark and quiet.

In the background was the practiced song of a church choir. They were so pure and delicate in their Latin words that Deegan wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was almost sweet, like honey or nectar.

He took a deep breath and studied his surroundings. “Mr. Prost, I presume,” the voice said from his left.

Deegan turned to see a short, strange man. He nodded as he tried to figure out how all this was going to work.

“Welcome to Earth, Mr. Prost,” Uriel said, and just then he worried that maybe this was a horrible mistake. They had all opened a box they could no longer seal. There are times, when looking at the entire scope of human existence, when decisions are made in haste that may have ramifications beyond our ability to conceive them. Uriel knew, as did Michael, that they had just opened such a box. It was a ticking clock, now.

This was literally: Hell on earth.