Iron
Rev Entry
By Gregg Forge
"...so what you mean to tell me is that you
know the crucial secret to not only ending the war, but unmaking everything
that the Tyrant has ever created, which may completely obliterate every being
in creation?" the Princess of Nightmares whispered, the words
astonishingly calm in consideration of her potential cessation of existence.
"I
never said that," Kobal replied, his voice flat and heavy with eons upon
eons of pressing disdain.
"It
can't be something that backs your word, laughing boy," rumbled Belial,
the sixty-second cigarette butt dropping to the floor even as its successor
appeared in his mouth. "You ain't
cackling yet. And you didn't bring your
darling 'brother' with you, so it's not stupid, either."
Kobal
stood, stretching, before bringing his hand over his face. "You can't honestly begin to think that
you understand what makes me tick, let alone wrap your short-sighted minds
around machinations," he began.
Beleth's
eyes narrowed, causing the few servitors in her vicinity to flee. "You are being a pompous ass, and I've
patience for this," she stated flatly, rising to leave.
The snort
of contempt that answered her was enough to stop her in her tracks, and she was
about to lash out at the Infernal Jester when he commented in an inexplicably
'non-sequitor-ish' manner, "I've recently taken up philosophy."
Belial
rose, this time. "Kronos would be
pleased, maybe, but I couldn't possibly care less. Too much thinking on pointless subjects leaves me cold."
"You've heard of the question, 'Can the Tyrant make a rock so large
that He cannot lift it?' have you not?" continued Kobal, an unexpected
lack of humorous demeanor in his tone.
The Nightmare and the Hellfire halted in their movements.
The Prince
of Dark Humor leaned against a wall, examining his immaculate nails. "Remember way back when we were young
and stupid, and the Tyrant and I had a little chat, not unlike the one's the
Lightbringer had with him before we got ourselves into this Hell hole?" he
inquired. As they opened their mouths
to rebuke, he held up his hand.
"Shut up. Let me finish. The point is, God and I talked. There was something he told me. I've not talked about it, and I'm still not
telling anyone what it was all about. However,
a certain mortal's work did stir memories of this discussion, and, as such, has
given me cause for pause, reason to think of the past. And, as you know, I'm sick and damned well
tired of this war. I've got a little
project, and you can either help me with it, or you can oppose me and make me
anything BUT amused. However, for sake of expediting this endeavor, I'll need
each of your...'unique'..." Kobal managed to keep a straight face as he
parsed his word choice. "Your
talents would be invaluable."
"Be
blunt, Kobal," Beleth whispered.
"You
enjoy tormenting the Ethereals. I know
this, Beleth, and respect this.
However, I have need of your assistance in retrieving one of the Fae who
has, of late, interfered with my fun and managed to bring one of my operations
in Southeast Asia to the attention of Jordi.
This has cost me much time and effort, and, while I've no plans to
directly retaliate against the poor little creatures of nature, I DO wish to
deal with the infuriating little snitch."
"You
will stay out of MY Marches for a long time, if I assist, yes?" Beleth looked out into the realm she tended
with the most malevolent of cares, her Djinnish nature appallingly apparent to
the Impudite.
"If
you assist, and my aims succeed, I'll never send a servitor into the Marches
again," Kobal agreed, telling the truth at least partially.
Belial
chewed on the cigar he had freshly sung for himself. "And what, exactly, do you meed from me?"
Kobal only
smirked. "That which you do Oh So
Well..."
The
wailing screeches of the spirit's agony did nothing to brighten Kobal's
mood. His poker-faced calm was proving
to be unsettling, even to the long-experienced Baron of the Demonic Brazier;
the Laughing Prince was not known for having an appreciation for Belial's
preferred methods of torture, and he was not known for being a reasonable
critic. No appreciation for the
subtleties, he thought. Or even the artful way the flames lick at the
ethereal's flesh.
Kobal
leaned, slowly, over the heated metal work.
His nostrils flared, slightly, as he took a deep whiff of the work
before him. "It's rather as I'd always suspected," he finally
noted. "Creatures of sweetness and
light and the annoyingly fluffy side of humanity's subconscious smell like
singed sugar when they burn." He
stood back up, a thoughtful expression crossing his visage. "Rather like
an over-cooked custard. My brother
might like that. Roasted Forest
Ethereal with a creamy filling made from its own vital..."
The
Calabite stoking the grill looked up, nervously, at the Prince. "This IS the one you were looking for,
right?" he asked, hoping his inquiry didn't bring about offense. Belial
may have guaranteed his safety, but that was a promise that had rung hollow for
others, before.
"This
is the informant that interfered with what was my most entertaining bear gall
bladder trade scam. The primates were
fully buying in to the rumors of enhanced virility." Reaching into his jacket, Kobal pulled out a
fondue fork and lightly jabbed at the dying Seelie, only to find that the burnt
section was proving impenetrable.
"Hmm. Hardens like a candy
she..." he began, before stopping in mid-thought. A light gleamed in his eyes, and the corner
of his lips twitched, slightly.
"That's it..."
As if he
weren't nervous enough already, the Destroyer mused, making sure to position
the burning grill between himself and Kobal. Not that it would do much good if
the Prince were to truly want to destroy him...
Kobal
reached, effortlessly, over the fire, and patted the Calabite on the head. "You keep the gnome fires burning; let
me know when the gnome on the range has finished, and I will see to it you are
rewarded. I have a few things that need
doing..." With that, Kobal was gone, leaving a now-baffled servitor of
Fire to finish his cooking. The shrieks
and wails tapered off, even as the stench of burning sugar continued to work
its way through the Marches.
"You
are SO outta your skull, Kobal," Loki laughed, "And I want you to
know that I appreciate that in an evil sadistic bastard that didn't do as much
as they could have to assist with my own people but still know what it's like
to have the boot of Heaven upside your ass."
"Thank you," Kobal beamed, "That means a lot from a
washed up never-was who hadn't had an original prank or thought since his
inception. I really appreciate it!"
The two
sized each other up, ritualistically.
"So
you want me to find you some fresh young figment, in order for you to destroy
Heaven. Mind explaining how you plan to accomplish this?"
Kobal
shook his head. "You saw the
movie. You were there. Much as I hate
to admit it, that talking monkey had a good deal of insight into how this
could've worked. Mind, he must be on
some serious crack to make YOU an Angel."
"Stupid mortal didn't even ASK my permission to use my name,"
Loki muttered, amusedly. "Still,
if this works, I'll be right there paying you some serious essence. Only fair, since I won the last bet..."
"Don't push your luck, ethereal," Kobal laughed,
humorlessly. The conversation was
ended.
A little
shellac, and some cheap paint, and it was undistinguishable from a typical
example of its craft. One quality lawn
gnome, solid, heavy, but strangely reeking of burned sugar, the piece of statuary
was placed in the hands of Kobal's best servitors, with but one mission...
Make sure
Heaven takes it.
Inside, an
ethereal figment struggled to escape, its presence masked by the one infernal
Force used to stabilize the gnome's corpse into a modestly mild Relic. Though subtlety infernal in origin, as far
as most resonances and observations could tell, it seemed to hold no purposes
other than to hold the pudding-like contents of the gnome's innards in place,
and maybe sit in some garden as a piece of morbid decoration. The panicked spirit within turned the gaudy
construct into a theoretical paradox bomb of potentially world ending
proportions; one of the fundamental rules of reality is that Ethereals Can't
Enter Heaven.
It's not
as dramatic as, say, making a Malakite Fall, but causing God's Ineffable
Omniscience fallible and thus the underlying structure of all arguments of the
known Universe's existence to collapse upon themselves makes for a fun way to
pass the afternoon.
Besides...the Lightbringer SHOULD have the lower hells ready to resist
the inevitable implosion of the universe, should this succeed. What did you
think he was doing down there? He's known about that little Reality Caveat, the
whole time. He's just been trying to
find a loophole himself, to ensure survival...
Of course,
a good portion of this hinges on the Servitor's ability to make the statue
interesting enough to take to Heaven, and not so Interesting, in the Proverbial
Chinese Sense, that a Superior is immediately invoked.
But that's
why he picked his best servitors for the job.
And that's why, if you fail, there'll be more to pay than Hell.
The
Laughing Prince will NOT be amused.