Lucius Industrial Estate

In one of the smaller, abandoned warehouses, Valafar closed the door, Shamisel in hand. Gusts blew through the empty warehouse, but no windows were open. Now, his nose detected sulphur. He turned around to stand before a dimensional fissure, a gaping wound in the fabric of reality.

Valafar stared into the endless chasm; its colour a combination of black, crimson, purple and rose all intertwined, forming an unsettling image.

On the other side: Hell.

This fissure always reminds me of torn skin. Demons bleed through, infecting the Earth. Valafar was never comfortable looking at the fissure, his own skin felt alien. He gazed into infinity – the chaotic storm surrounding the tunnel maintained the eternal separation between the Earth and Hell. The schism was foreboding. Valafar had many theories as to their origins, their purpose. Heaven and Hell always build their earthly strongholds around these fissures. I take great pride in embedding demon after demon into Rumon, into this industrial estate.

Something landed on Valafar’s nose, breaking the fissure’s mesmeric control over him. A fly? More flies came through, thousands upon thousands haemorrhaged through. The cacophony of their combined wingbeats was sharp, painful.

Valafar smiled. He’s coming. The flies sought every vantage point, their eyes scanners. What they saw would be relayed back. Some flies sought out cracks in the wall, squeezing through forcefully. Even the external perimeter needs checking today.

The flies stopped beating their wings, landing in strict military regiment, legion after legion. Through the dimensional fissure, Beelzebub appeared. Stern and serious; Beelzebub was the inspiration for evil old men in art since the Renaissance. With long, discreetly dark grey  robes, there was the air of a statesman Beelzebub commanded, fitting for the hand of Lucifer.

Beelzebub walked down the pathway formed by the legion of flies. Valafar bowed. Beelzebub offered out of a ruby ring on his shrivelled left ring finger. Valafar kissed it; Beelzebub nodded. Standing up, Valafar knew his master bore news.

‘You have permission to engage Zerachiel.’ Beelzebub knew this was the news his apprentice desperately wanted to hear.

Valafar didn’t hide his delight, Shamsiel roared wickedly. The flies were spooked, flying around with chaotic abandon, some escaping back through the dimensional fissure. Beelzebub inhaled deeply, shaking his head. Don’t have time for this today. He clicked his fingers once, the snap louder than the deafening buzz. Order returned amongst the flies; they returned to their legions.

‘Damned flies. Get scared at anything,’ Beelzebub ranted.

‘Shamsiel shattered your control,’ Valafar remarked.

‘No surprise. The roar of a Watcher Blade is louder than my commanding voice overriding the flies’ tiny minds. It’s taken me centuries to achieve this level of control.’

Valafar noted the stillness of the countless number of flies. The Nazi’s have nothing on you. No wonder he’s the Lord of the Flies.

‘Your permission has conditions attached however, Valafar.’ Beelzebub had reset the subject. Valafar listened. Conditions? What conditions? ‘You do not have permission to engage Arakiel.’

‘Why?’ Valafar growled; Shamsiel’s surface temperature soared.

‘Lucifer does not know why Seraphiel is in Rumon. She’s one of Uriel’s finest.’

‘Uriel?’ Valafar muttered, confused.

Beelzebub noted Shamsiel’s runes flaring. Shamsiel wants to fight both Ramiel and Arakiel and, by extension, Valafar does too. ‘This Seraphiel has been a thorn in our plans for a while now. She’s been noticeably absent for months and now she’s suddenly resurfaced. She is not to be engaged!’

Valafar looked at Shamsiel, its runes shining a bright ruby. Arakiel? You hate that blade as much as Ramiel? The crackling of fire inside his mind was crisp. I see! It always interferes when you wish to clash with Ramiel, an irritating third party.

‘The second condition is a test.’ Beelzebub brought Valafar back from his thinking. Valafar wasn’t sure how respond. Another test? Haven’t I proved myself already? ‘In front of Lord Lucifer.’

Valafar’s skin went pale. Beelzebub saw him shake. As if he needed more pressure. ‘He’s coming here?’ Valafar stuttered, ‘Why?’

‘He wants to see the current return of his investment. He’s looking forward to seeing a Watcher Blade unleash its rage.’ Beelzebub placed his hand on Valafar’s shoulder. He simply nodded before departing. Not a word was spoken.

He passed back through the dimensional fissure, vanishing. His legion of flies followed, rushing through the gap in reality. Those on external duty piled back in through the cracks. These were the last to return to Hell, no trace of their presence remained.

Valafar was now alone with Shamsiel, its excitement barely containable. Valafar’s mind was in overdrive, he needed a plan to separate two Watcher Bladers by tomorrow to deliver to the Devil personally. How am I going to do that? Seraphiel’s not to be messed with as Saleos found out. Oh? Valafar’s back straightened. Now there’s an idea.


Interested? Want more? Here’s a link to the previous content earlier in the story available: SORScene – Zera’s Request and SORScene – Seraph trains Hani. More available at

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© Oliver Kerrigan 2017

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