An Immortal's Tale

An Immortal's Tale
The Man In The Black Suit
Part 11
"Cry Hallelujah"

The rain was heavy and cold, sticking Jon's shirt to his skin, slathering his hair to his scalp, and washing off the blood that was trying to dry on his face. The end of days. The Cult of Altur'rang was finally going after that which they'd always wanted to accomplish. The immortal's head swam with all the things that could go wrong, all the prophecies that had plagued him for eons, and all the time he'd thought he'd be prepared. He wasn't. That much was clear now. His feet lead him nowhere, night heavy over the city he loved. Lights painted the city in a cascading scene of never ending movement, hiding the still city through a falling curtain of thick drops of water.

This was too big for him, he thought, as he crossed another street. He caught his own reflection in a shop window and he stopped mid stride. He faced the man he'd become, the Paladin, the warrior, the wielder of powers that he was barely coming to understand. His skin was pale in comparison to the dark splotches and dots of blood on his face. Old words of even older priests played like staticy records in his mind and he tried his best to pick out the words he needed, but those were centuries ago. He needed help. Jon wiped the remaining blood from his face with help from the weather and adjusted his coat, turning to a direction, finally.

The Paladin didn't like taking cabs this late, drivers liked to ask questions and he wasn't in the mood to talk. He was to be the one asking questions and he'd get answers. If it killed him. Or if he had to kill. Two hours later he approached the thick mahogany door of the main church of Seattle, knowing documents would be able to spell things out, and knowing the ones guarding them wouldn't be so willing to give them up. It was late, but they'd be up. Jon's eyes focused on the doors before him, reaching out to knock when he saw the sliver of light seeping through the ajar door. Before his hand touched the shattered metal and wood that used to make up a handle he knew what had happened.

The scent of burning paper, cloth, and blood began to tease at the Paladin's nose as he entered the room. Sorrow began to wash through him as he took in the carnage. Gore and pieces of the men that guarded the sacred notes were spread everywhere, over every wall, and dripped from the ceiling. Still smoldering remains of the texts were scattered over the dark floor, not a word left to read. The two tables that were in the room were all but splinters, now, the pillars of stone had deep gouges and burns in them, the walls were missing pieces, too, heavy stones that had been in place for over a hundred years torn out and thrown around like they weighed less than nothing.

As Jon walked amongst the chaos, saying silent prayers for the men that had guarded this sacred tomb to find their way to heaven he came across something he didn't expect: a survivor. The boy couldn't have been older than fourteen years old, one arm ripped off completely, one leg cut off at mid-thigh, and the other at the knee, his middle torn open so badly his bottom ribs shown through like white fluorescent lights coated in red. The boy's face was lily white, decorated with his own viscera, eyes wide and pleading with Jon as he reached up with his only intact appendage. The immortal knelt down beside him, holding the clammy, cold, hand of the young man. "What's your name?" The boy's breathing was slow and ragged, like his speech, "My...name....is......Augustus..." Jon kept his face black and stern as he spoke, "Can you tell me, in a few words what happened?" Augustus nodded, his breath quickening, "The cult...destroyed.....all.....said...Paladin...must go....to.....to.......Bethlehem...if....to stop.....end..." Jon nodded his understanding, comforting the boy and giving him his final rights. "Please....stay...with....me?" Again Jon could only nod.

Jon walked away from the massacre that had been left for him, a message, and a demand. Augustus had only lasted another minute or so after he asked the immortal to stay with him until he went to heaven. Rage burned hot and hard, making his very skin feel like a pan left upon a stove for too long. He could only see red, but his reflexes were on high alert. He felt the pack of demons in front of him before he saw them. Six of them, all large, dangerous, armed and muscular, and all aiming to do him harm. The first one spoke, "We know of the Cult's plan. And we know how you plan to end it. We're here-" Jon's temper flared and he could hold his tongue no more, "And you're all here to throw yourself upon the mantle of sacrifice through a bloody and brilliant death..." The red, glowing eyes of all six demons narrowed at the man standing in the rain and threatening them, they must have thought him mad. The half dozen of them stood, full fledged demons, each near seven feet tall, each with arms thicker than the man's waist and accentuated with horns running the length of them, all in a state of amused shock.

Despite their muscular body their face was skeletal, skin from a conquered and eaten human stretched across it, held in place by several smaller horns all over their heads. The leader of the creatures spoke again. "You'll be the one to die, Paladin. We're full demons. Not petty little things that you've dealt with before." Jon's eyes finally found them, unblinking in the rain, and his voice lowered to a near growl, "And just the same I pronounce you guilty for betrayal of the truce. I sentence you to death. Now. DIE!" Muscles fueled with emotion launched the man forward, towards the new threat. Axes and swords, along with daggers, guns, and glowing orange power were unleashed and put to work. At the end of it all the immortal stood above a demon crawling away, all but one of it's limbs either ripped or shot off.

With each grunt of effort the thing pulled itself away from it's would-be murderer. Jon's heavy breathing was illustrated with each huff into the cold air, turning each one into a cloud of white. The victorious Paladin walked to the shoulder of the thing and with his foot turned it over onto it's back. "Finish me!" It growled at him. "I have something much more creative in store for you. What's your name, demon?" The thing answered with a growl. Jon's foot smashed down upon one of it's severed limbs. "What's your name?" He asked again as the thing screamed into the rain and the night, both which had seemed to have to turned their backs upon the seem, falling and existing in silence to the horror happening. The foot twisted, eliciting more of the creature's yellow blood to pour forth, making the point that he would not ask again. "JASSIOUS!!!"

With his answer the Paladin straddled the creature's shoulders and took it's head in his hands, staring deep into it's red eyes with his gold-rimmed grey ones. "And the fallen of Mark, Emmanuel, and Bauptiste, shall find their place in heaven. Jassious, I, Paladin Jonathan Ross, forgive your soul it's sins..." The demon began pleading, screaming and struggling, but to no avail. "And with that forgiveness give you permission to enter the gates of heaven. Cry hallelujah unto me and be saved, Jassious." "Never!" Jon's thumbs slid up and began to press into the demon's eyes, "Cry hallelujah unto me and be saved!" Another denial came as the eyes began to give way under the pressure. "SAY IT! CRY HALLELUJAH!" At last the beast did, over and over again. White light banished the night for a moment, blinding any who bore witness and the demon Jassious was gone.

The Paladin knelt in the mud, letting this new rage he'd found settle into him, become a part of him. He burned the five other bodies and went on his way, after a while. It was clear and obvious what he had to do. With a heavy sigh he found his feet and began walking again, rage giving way to sadness and solemnity. Morning broke in the Seattle International Airport and a young, blonde woman greeted Jon, "How can I help you?" He wanted to smile, to return her beaming look, but he couldn't. "One ticket to Bethlehem, please." As she nodded he turned to the TV playing the news nearby, reporting that a part of the world was burning, the sky was red as blood. The last image that flashed across the screen before Jon turned away was a man, bleeding from his head, holding a sign that said 'The End Is Nigh'.