Beautiful Revenge. J Morris L

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Chapter Three: The quickest way to a man’s heart

      Deep in the bowels of Mastema’s grey stone mansion Nergal floated back and forth like a freshly caged tiger with ADD. The leader of Hell’s Secret Police and Bringer of Lucifer’s Divine Justice had been relegated to little more than a babysitter. Nergal knew that sentiment wasn’t entirely fair; the girl had potential, he could see that, and she was far easier to stomach that her brother had been. Damon had been arrogant and ignorant; he had thought himself greater than his father and that hubris had been his downfall.

      Nergal decided it was the surroundings that were responsible for his foul mood; being in Kaarl’s old room hours on end every day for three weeks had begun to take its toll. Perdition’s most famous traitor, the boy who had thwarted Nergal’s mission to help Damon, had lived in that very room. The place had become a constant reminder of his failure and the fact that Nergal was stuck with the boy’s father made it even worse. Like almost all of Perdition he hated Mastema; the good-looking, arrogant, quick-witted and lucky fool who somehow had retained his position despite centuries of tardiness, half-assed work and hastily covered mistakes.

      While Persephone examined Kaarl’s belongings the Cursed Accuser sat hunched over a glass panel. It served as a monitor and had been Kaarl’s only real link to the Mortal world before he had struck his deal with Lucifer.

      ‘This is another fine example,’ said Mastema. ‘Not quite related to our mission but –’

      ‘It’s a picture of a cat wearing shoes,’ said Nergal. ‘It is in no way whatsoever related to our mission.’

      ‘Well you haven’t asked me to look for new information for awhile,’ replied Mastema. ‘Seeing as we had some downtime I thought I might try and brighten our day a little. He does look rather dashing in his little shoes.’

      ‘That’s another thing,’ said Nergal. ‘You haven’t unravelled anything, all of your talk about hours of study and a formidable intellect was hot air. You just type whatever we ask into that “Google” thing and then click on the blue words. A monkey could do your job.’

      ‘I make it look that easy. You can’t do what I do.’

      ‘What was he like?’ asked Persephone. The question out of the blue stopped Nergal from solidifying and lacerating Mastema’s disgustingly handsome face.

      ‘I can’t say rightly,’ replied Mastema. ‘As far as cats go he is one of the better examples I’ve seen. It might just be the shoes though; I’ve developed a bit of a bias towards felines with good fashion sense.’

      ‘I meant Kaarl,’ said Persephone, putting a book back on its shelf. ‘We’ve spent a lot of time in this room but I’m still not getting a sense of the Demon he was.’

      ‘My favourite expression for him was “worthless waste of my seed”,’ said Mastema, ‘although “pansy” and “lily-livered Mortal lover” are close to the top spot.’

      ‘I didn’t ask what you thought of him,’ Persephone replied. ‘I asked what he was like. You hold your son in low regard yet he got the best of my father, my brother, Nergal and every other Demon sent up there to stop him.’

      ‘He had help in all that,’ said Mastema. ‘He had Gabriel and as if that weren’t enough, the Angel of Death and Destruction as well.’

      ‘Father believes most of it was because of Kaarl,’ replied Persephone. ‘He said Gabriel and Samkiel were little more than the muscle. I think he admires your son.’

      ‘That’s ridiculous, the boy is a traitor.’

      ‘Kaarl turned against the only master he had ever known and walked his own path. In spite of everything else that happened I’m sure my father can appreciate that, if only for the irony.’

      Distractions and sidetracking during the meetings had worn thin with Nergal. Normally it was Mastema who was the cause of the delays; clicking on the myriad of colourful things that popped up as they were meant to be researching. The fool had spent hours trying to order erectile dysfunction pills for Abaddon. Persephone had often stayed silent; besides the odd comment or question she had spent an inordinate amount of time studying Kaarl’s personal effects. It was unusual for her to veer off-topic and it was something that needed to be corrected before it became a habit.

      ‘If I may, Princess,’ said Nergal. ‘Our task is to find away to incite violence across the Mortal realm, not learn more about Kaarl. I’m sure your father’s patience wears thin at our lack of progress.’

      ‘Fine,’ replied Persephone, taking a seat on the bed. ‘What do you think our best options are so far?’

      ‘Religion is one,’ said Nergal. ‘Mortals have been fighting for hundreds of years over which God or Gods are the correct ones. Some even fight over facets of the same deity.’

      ‘They are still doing it,’ added Mastema. ‘Perhaps with a little encouragement–’

      ‘Like you’ve said, they have been doing it for hundreds of years,’ replied Persephone, ‘and we aren’t exactly getting record numbers out of it anymore. Next.’

      ‘Racism,’ said Nergal, glancing at his list. ‘Some Mortals hate each other based on skin colour or ethnicity. Others fight to the death merely because they were born on different sides of the same country. Perhaps we could foster that animosity?’

      ‘It’s not all of them,’ replied Persephone. ‘And from what we’ve seen most of it boils down to stereotyping, derogatory jokes and snide comments between like-minded people. Racism is a lifestyle choice if anything and it very rarely results in enough deaths these days to be considered profitable. Next.’

      As each option was discussed Persephone shot it down. Strategic political assassinations were a waste of the Horsemen’s talents and there was no guarantee they would work. Murderous riots weren’t a given and the next person to fill the power void might not be the right fit. Dictators tended to settle down after achieving the top spot, concentrating on maintaining their power rather than expanding beyond their borders. Surrounded by solid gold toilets, sex slaves and high definition TVs they often lost their appetite for war and that would not suit Perdition’s purposes.

      Nergal felt a twist in the place where the pit of his stomach would have been with each idea dismissed. Three weeks’ worth of Mastema was more than enough for the enforcer and he was in danger of losing his sanity. He had already lost his temper on a few occasions and Nergal prized his self-control. The Tempter of Men and Cursed Accuser had seriously damaged his calm.

      ‘Perhaps we could look elsewhere for answers or ideas?’ said Mastema. ‘We have Stalin, Hitler, Pol Pot and all of their kind right here, maybe we could learn something from them. I’m sure they’d appreciate a short break from the torture.’

      ‘A singularly stupid idea.’ said Persephone. ‘There is a reason why they suffer while the rest of the Mortals get to drink themselves stupid down here; they killed more innocents than Damned with their shenanigans and inadvertently helped the Hated One. Following in their footsteps is the fast path to failure.’

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