Mad Gods - Predatory Ethics: Book I (28 page)

Kosta swung down onto the remaining man and broke his
leg at the knee, all the while pumping another shell into the chamber and
popping the used cartridge. The man tumbled down on his useless leg and looked
up, just in time for the shotgun butt to crush his skull.

The fourth man, still splattered with the blood of
third, shifted from under the body, and in a frenzy of screams, from an equal
number of blows, was reduced to a bloody, pulpy mess.

The two men still standing, both with bloody faces,
attacked in unison. Kosta brought the shotgun around, and with the barrel
against the first man’s chest, fired through him and brought both of them down,
simultaneously. The first man was nearly cut in half, both the top and bottom
parts of his frame making a meaty thump as they hit the floor. The remaining man
slumped forward, clutching his side, until two steps and a pump of the shotgun
later, his face was splattered everywhere.

Kosta felt the room go frigidly cold and looked up to
see a bald man, seated behind a desk, gesturing in the air and murmuring
incantations.

“No, stop!” Adam screamed. “Don’t hurt him!” At this,
the man cursed out loud, staring at his useless hands, then rifling though his
desk drawers. He lifted an ancient Browning pistol and fired. The shot missed
Kosta, who lunged forward and pushed Adam to the ground, then pointed the
shotgun and fired. The blast destroyed part of the desk, as well as the hand
that had been holding the Browning.

Kosta stood up and helped Adam to his feet. “Are you
hurt?” he asked. “Sorry about pushing you down, but I wasn’t sure he would hit
you.”

“I’m okay,” Adam replied. “It’s alright.”

“How dare you use him like that? He’s a child. How
dare you put him in such danger?” the man sputtered through clenched teeth.

“You have no idea what I’ll dare Supreme Tribunal.
The boy is safer here than any other place on earth. He’s with me and in his
father’s house. What could be better?” Kosta had the barrel of the shotgun
pointed at Balzeer’s chest and tried to pump another shell in the chamber, but
to no avail. As he rearranged the bandoliers of shells, crossing his chest, he
spoke to the head of the Church of Lucifer, the Antipope. “You’ve been quite
enthusiastic about trying to find your savior. I must commend you. Sending
Seekers was quite a feat and very impressive.”

“Choke on your commendation. Who are you to usurp
this boy’s birthright? He belongs here and his place is with us. You have no
right to change his destiny.” Balzeer felt a righteous anger fill him, unlike
ever before. He spoke for more than himself; he spoke for the entire world and
all of history, both present and future.

“The boy’s life has been preordained, who are you to
disrupt and throw all these precisely arranged lives into chaos? How dare you!
I curse you and I condemn you!”

“You can condemn and curse all you want. It means
absolutely nothing to me. I don’t care to play a part in this precision, which
you call destiny. Mine, yours or his,” Kosta nodded at Adam as he continued to
load the shotgun with shells.

A furious growl escaped from Balzeer and he stopped
clutching his right stump, reaching for the hand that still clutched the
Browning. When he heard the sound of the pump, filling the chamber with a
shell, he stopped and slumped back into his chair.

“As for who I am, that is really of no matter or relevance.
If I were of any notice to anyone, you would’ve been able to find me by now. I
don’t exist.” Kosta didn’t intend to be evasive or cryptic, he just wanted
Balzeer to stop talking.

“Adam, is there anything you want to learn from this
man?” When he was addressed, the boy stepped forward and looked at Balzeer, who
was slowly growing pale, either because he was in the presence of his God, or
because he steadily bled from his stump of a hand. He smiled at Adam.

“Your grace. I have waited all my life… we have all
waited for your coming, just as much as the Christians wait for their savior.
What can I for you to join us and assume your rightful place? What do you
want?” He managed to stand, then kneeled before the boy. “Anything you want.
Absolutely anything, just name it. I will move the earth and the mountains for
you.”

“Leave us alone.” Adam spoke with a conversational
tone and took Balzeer by surprise. He hadn’t expected that he would be so
articulate.

“You don’t want anything? No toys or games? We’ll get
it, whatever is it,”

“He doesn’t want anything. You’re wasting the little
breath you have left,” Kosta told Balzeer. “Do you have any questions for him,
Adam?”

“Am I really cursed, like old Paula said? Damned,
from the devil and from Hell?” Adam asked evenly.

“You’re blessed. You come from a preeminent family,
the most respected from among the families of the Nobility.” Balzeer continued,
“What does this Paula know of the devil? Does she know that he is an angel who
was cast out and looked down upon by his heavenly fellows? That he is the
eternal foe of the Catholics, with their white-bearded geriatric and His
fair-haired second son?”

“Am I then? Am I from Hell?” Adam continued.

“You are not. You will rule it, but you’re not from
there. You’re flesh and blood, like me, however, you’re also divine, like your
father. You are Morningstar’s heir. Just as he now rules Hell, so shall you,”
Balzeer responded haughtily.

“Then I am. I’m from the devil, so I’m evil.” Adam
was shocked. He thought that Paula and the rest of Sao Paolo were crazy. He did
not wish ill on anyone — not even them. He only wanted to live his life
without people staring at or fearing him. He hated how their eyes made him
feel. Now, he found out that they were right to fear and to hate him.

“The devil is not to be feared. Evil is not what
you’ve been told, rather, evil is the freedom to do what you’ve been told you
cannot or should not,” Balzeer implored, attempting to make him understand.
“The devil was only cast out because he questioned why God was so distant and
indifferent to mankind. He was then called Satan, Accuser, but he was God’s
firstborn.”

“They’re right then. All of them are right to fear
me.” He muttered this horrific realization under his breath, hoping that saying
it would help him believe.

“Don’t worry about what they think or what they feel.
Do they care what their meals think or feel — their chicken, their pork
and their beef? Do they? Some do, but most don’t. However, they do care that
what they eat is delicious and that it fills their belly and makes them strong.

“Don’t turn your back on this power and this
strength. You were destined to rule on earth, as your father rules Hell. These
people are your cattle. If you wish to treat them kindly, then do so. Treat
them with as much kindness and care as you want, but rule them, because that’s
why you were put on this earth.” Balzeer had reached the end of his entreaties,
the end of his pleading. “You cannot give this up.”

“That is the most credible argument I’ve heard from
any of your kind. If I didn’t have this shotgun pointed at you, I’d applaud.”
Kosta was genuinely impressed at the reasoning Balzeer used to reach Adam.
“Telling Adam that he can rule, however he chooses, is brilliant. Kudos.
Congratulations. Why not, indeed?” Kosta couldn’t argue with this point and
refused to debate the obvious.

Adam was surprised. “You agree with him?”

“Yes, of course I agree with him, but I also see the
flaw, which he either does not see, or he does not care.” Kosta continued,
“You’re not alone. True change, or control over anything, is achieved if you do
it alone or with people — underlings — who are in tune with your
beliefs. Look at them and at him. Do you think you could trust him? After all,
he is the one who released the Seekers.”

“I only did that to find him, for which you are to
blame. If you had allowed him to be born as he was fated, none of this would
have happened.”

“I didn’t tell you to slit hundreds of infant throats
in order to accomplish this. My hands are clean of innocent blood, but awash in
the gore of the guilty, like you!” Six thunderous shots followed, each blowing
off a portion of Balzeer’s face.

Kosta’s hands shook with the effort of controlling
his rage. A soft, calming hand rested on his quivering arm and Kosta looked down,
stilled. Adam had not understood all that was said, only that this man had
never hurt anyone or anything that had not first tried to do them harm.

“God, I didn’t think it would get this difficult or
this bloody. I’m sorry, Adam. I’m sorry to have put you through all of this.
I’m so very sorry.” Kosta lowered the gun and rested it against his left side,
taking Adam’s hand in his right hand.

“We have to go somewhere where they’ll never find us.
Somewhere very far away,” he said as they walked away from the carnage.

“They’ll still have television and radios, won’t
they?” Adam looked eager, his eyes bright with hope, making Kosta smile,
despite himself.

“We’ll make sure of that.” They continued back the
way they had come, unhindered by any who might have regained consciousness.

- Paper Trail -

TIME: FEBRUARY 20TH, 1963. SECRET ARCHIVES, VATICAN

Brother Quentin was absorbed by codexes. The pages he
turned were not paper, but vellum, handwritten by long dead brothers of long
dead orders. Whenever he found useful information, he thanked those long
forgotten and thought about the current brothers to whom he answered. Their
predecessors were very helpful; his current brethren were more secular, if such
could be said of a religious order.

The Apostolic Penitentiary dealt with the world of
man and had not dealt with the unseen world for decades. Their ancestors were
of a time when the unseen was everywhere, just past the edge of the firelight.
Now, unless the danger was political the church would do nothing. Those who
manned the wheel demanded proof.

At each point in his research he would return and
petition his superiors for direct involvement.
 
He showed newspaper clippings, which on the surface
referenced the discovery of body parts, but upon closer inspection, compared to
Vatican records, were indicative of demonic occurrences. Tissue samples were
brought, tested and positively matched to Vatican-authenticated samples.

Still, this prompted no action. Brother Quentin
appealed to them directly, using audiences with a few of the governing heads,
even the Major Prefect of the Penitentiary, Cardinal Raimondi, but was politely
refused, again, and again. Evil was not an abstract, the Major Prefect
empathized; evil was real. It revealed itself through the murder of millions in
the Second World War. The Nazis brutality in World War II gave way to the
covert evil of modern times. The dark, malevolence could not last in the open
light, rather, it hid from scrutiny. It briefly lived in the open light of Nazi
rule, but slipped back beneath the waves of world attention.

At present, Quentin had fifteen different instances
of a demonic presence, tested and verified by the Vatican’s own forensics. All
occurred in the San Francisco area. A few were found in a pattern, leading from
Sao Paolo, Argentina. This was where Cardinal Colletti, as well as a
Luciferian, were found dead, barely a year before.

At the very least, all of these instances, no matter
how slim their connection warranted further, and more importantly, direct
scrutiny. Quentin was confident that once the situation was addressed, he would
be able to have complete control over whomever they assigned to the task.
Quentin had either trained or served with every one of their field clerics.
They would follow his orders without question.

He also enlisted the help of two select figures in
the church — Jesuits who had been fighting Luciferians for most of their
careers. Cardinal Augustin Bae, as well as his champion, Father Lancaster
Martin, told him they would help in any way they could.

Quentin also had the collated findings of Sister
LaParee’s Apostolic Testis. They scanned all the newspapers and found many
unrelated stories, which pointed to a suspicion Brother Quentin nurtured since
the previous February.

A bank robber from Massachusetts had finally been
captured. A sometime writer had seen a midnight duel between a lightning-fast
grandmother and a man, retired from the British military. A waitress was caught
in the end of an alley, having sex with minors. A file clerk reports gross
prejudice and bigotry in those whom she serves. A San Francisco bookstore now
carries openly homoerotic literature. A department store closes its doors for
fumigation, after many complaints of rotting odors.

Individually, these people had no connection. The
Apostolic Testis found one. They all saw someone who should not be there
— someone outside perception. He lived apart of public awareness, though,
for centuries, he was written off in hushed, fearful tones. The Vatican housed
an entire case in their Secret Archives, dedicated to writings concerning him
and his many incarnations.

His past hardly mattered. He was prophesized by
legion. The most celebrated 16th-century Frenchman, Nostradamus, got his birth
wrong. When he reached adulthood, he was to enslave the world.
St. John’s
Revelation
spelled it all out, and Brother Quentin would use St.
John, Nostradamus, the Apostolic Testis, and any means necessary, to move the
church against him.