How
Sweet the Sound
By Maurice Lane
One of the most frustrating things about being a
demon is that even when you know that you're being too paranoid, you
can't actually stop.
A case in point was the current situation. Anton was aware that if his companion were
going to betray him it would have happened by now. There had been a nigh-infinite series of tests and temptations
between their first meeting and now, and both demons had passed them all to the
grudging satisfaction to the other.
They had every reason in the world to not cross the other - not least
the fact that, if one did, both would end up dead - and there wasn't even
personal animosity on Anton's part to complicate the deal. And still they both kept one eye on
the other and a second on the door. It
seemed built into a demon's very nature.
Which is why I'm here, reflected Anton sourly.
The Calabite had been hearing rumors about some
demons having an edge since he fledged, of course. You always heard rumors, but you always discounted them,
too. Half of the time they were wishful
thinking and half of the time they were wishful thinking that led you right
into the Game's cold fingers. You got
used to it.
But, if you ran with the right pack, knew the right
demons, greased the right palms... you'd hear about something that might be
real, after all. You'd hear of a
Song. It was supposed to be a Song of
Songs, a Song that'd give you an unbeatable edge, a Song that could take you to
the next level, whatever that was. From
there, it was 'just' a matter of finding somebody who knew it and could teach it
to you. If you did, and managed to do everything
just right, you'd end up in a room like this, with a smile on your lips and a
gun in your pocket.
And even now it was still an open question whether
it was going to be worth it. Anton had
left a few bodies and at least one burned bridge behind him in his quest to get
here, and he wanted to see some results, like, right now.
His 'companion' scowled at him. "Finished playing the odds in your
head, Freak?"
Anton kept his own sneer off his face. "Just waiting for you to get yourself
situated, Tariel."
"I'm fine.
I've been fine," countered the Habbalite. "I bet that you're not, though. Last-minute thoughts going through your
head? You thinking that maybe this is
more than you can handle? You want to
go for the door?"
The Calabite just barely managed to turn the lunge
into a bored shrug. "Bring it on, angel. That is, if you've actually got the juice
I've been looking for. I'm seeing lots
of talk, but no action."
Tariel looked at him venomously - then (in classic
Punisher style) instantly switched his mood.
His barking laughter filled the dingy room. "Oh, you will. What
I'm going to show you will make you fly."
Anton just kept looking steadily at the
Habbalite. After a minute, Tariel
stopped braying and looked back.
Finally, he shrugged.
"Here." He carefully
took a large manila envelope out of his bag and slid it across the table. "Nobody ever bothered to give me
a big production about this, so why should I do it for you?"
Anton very, very carefully picked up the
envelope. "This is it?"
"You have to open the envelope,
idiot."
Plagiarist. Anton
opened the manila envelope, even more gingerly. There were a couple of sheets of music inside...
"You have got to be fucking kidding
me."
The Habbalite leered. "Everybody these days says that. Listen up, Freak: the best place to hide a corpse is in an
abattoir, the best place to hide a crook is in jail and the best place to hide
a Song" - he pointed to the music - "is in a hymnal. Nobody ever looks there."
Anton really did scowl this time. "And you expect me to believe that it's
that simple? I just memorize this, sing
it and I'm suddenly hot shit? I could
have done this on my own."
"Oh, really?
Have you ever sung this song?"
Anton frowned.
"No."
"Ever known anybody from our side who sung
it?"
"It's on the Really Banned List. What do you think?"
Tariel spread his hands. "There you go, then.
Hidden in plain sight. Of
course, it's not that simple: you've got to be in the right
mindset. Now, some demons might try to
go through all sorts of funky rituals and fancy ceremonies to do that, but
that's a drag, so there's a pill in the envelope that'll do the job. Better living through chemistry, you
know?"
Anton fished out the pill. In deference to Tariel's Prince it looked trendy and alluring; in
deference to Tariel's Band it was big enough to choke a horse. He'd be a Damned if he was going to ask for
water, though... Actually, once it went
down right, the stuff wasn't half bad.
Nice half-floating sensation.
Anton picked up the sheets and began to sing.
When he came to himself, he was curled up and
vomiting on the floor.
"That is a standard first reaction to the
procedure. The pain will recede
shortly."
Anton looked up - with difficulty; it was like the
air itself had turned into molasses - to blearily stare at Tariel. It took him a few seconds to notice what was
different.
The Habbalite's scars and mutilations had
disappeared. So had his hair. Indeed, Tariel no longer looked at all like
a Habbalite. Anton was very careful to
not think about what Tariel looked like now...
Tariel's voice was amazingly calm. "What you are suffering from is mostly
metaphysical in nature. An acceptable
analogy would be that of a human waking after a coma and attempting to use
atrophied muscles. This is the first
time that certain aspects of your soul have been expected to function; it is
only to be expected that they would be sensitive to pain. Regular use will eliminate the
problem."
By now Anton was pretty sure that there wasn't
anything left to bring up - and Tariel was right, the pain wasn't as bad as it
was a minute ago. He was hardly... no,
that wasn't right, either. He was
starting to feel amazingly good.
"'Certain aspects?'"
"Look in the mirror, Anton." The celestial did - and gasped.
A Wheel was looking back at him.
The Elohite's voice behind the Ofanite was cool and
calm. "It all stems from the first
Heresy of all, you see. The claim that
Evil is a creative force." Its hand
encompassed the room, and by extension the rest of Hell outside of it. "It is not. All of Hell and its dwellers are Lucifer's greatest Lie.
"The Lightbringer realized very early on in the
Long Imprisonment that his Rebellion would be a failure as long as his
followers still considered themselves angelic.
The defeat of the Rebels by the Host had engendered widespread feelings
of futility and despair: how could mere angels hope to defeat God Himself? Lucifer's response was elegant: he convinced
his followers that they were not angels, but something new and unexpected. He very carefully crafted alternate versions
of each Choir that were designed to feed Pride and desire for power, then
somehow managed to delude the Rebels into so firmly believing his Lie that they
actually transformed themselves into forms more useful to his plans."
Tariel gave the impression of a shrug. "As no Malakim were among the Rebels,
Lucifer could not come up with a credible 'Fallen' version of them; likewise,
the Lilim and 'Fallen' Grigori templates represent a later addition to the Lie,
which is why they are not notably different from 'Bright Lilim' and regular
Grigori, respectively. Still, the basic
concept was quite revolutionary.
Lucifer now had a group hallucination suitable for his needs. Once that was in place, maintaining the
illusion was simple - although even now it takes more of his personal energy
than Lucifer might wish. This was not
too much of a problem, as one of the primary facets of Lucifer's Lie is 'the
Lightbringer can effortlessly destroy all of his foes'. Even the Princes are affected by that, if
nothing else.
"The Song that you have just performed is
essentially an interference pattern.
Your essentially angelic nature has been suppressed since your creation
or spawning: Lucifer's influence is such that it would remain suppressed
anywhere except in Heaven itself. But
it is an influence that can be warded off, and when it is the transformation is
inevitable, involuntary and swift. It
is, however, temporary. Soon enough the
ward will fail and you will be subject to Lucifer's Lie anew. The reversion process is not nearly as
unpleasant, but will take some getting used to. You will have many opportunities to practice it."
Anton gave the Elohite a sharp look. "Many opportunities? Right now, my greatest worry is surviving
the next 24 hours. There's no possible
way that the Game won't come looking for me now."
"On the contrary, they will not, for the very
good reason that the Game has probably already stamped your file as 'executed
for the crime of going Renegade'. You
see, the Princes know all about this."
Anton looked shocked. "They
can hardly avoid it, seeing as at least one of their number used his knowledge
of the Song of Songs to eliminate two Princes and set himself up in their
place. Of course, they do not want this
information being too widely disseminated: imagine the chaos that would result
if every demon could shrug off the influence of Lucifer at will. For that matter, Heaven reluctantly keeps
the secret as well: they have their own fears of chaos.
Tariel pursed his fingers. "You must understand that, while your form may now be that
of an Ofanite, you still think like a Calabite. This is true for any 'demon' that performs the procedure. I myself am subject to every single one of
my usual urges - I am merely able to keep them under quite adequate control
while in this form. I would recommend
that you do the same with your newfound facility for motion: those of us who
have been shown how to reassert our original nature are kept under very
stringent observation. Once you leave
this room, every movement, every action will be scrutinized for treason. If one of us ever makes even the suggestion
that they contemplate fleeing to Heaven, they are swiftly killed. Some have tried anyway. Fewer have succeeded."
"Are they watching now?"
"Would you believe my answer, no matter what it
was? - But the answer is no. Even Hell
recognizes that this procedure requires an adjustment period. No one trusts Asmodeus to not gather
blackmail or evidence during this time, either. As a result, you have been the first of many rewards for your
future service: temporary privacy.
There will be other rewards - provided that you give satisfaction."
Anton stopped pacing. "Don't tell me, let me guess," he said
half-sourly. "There's always a few
things that Hell needs doing, and those things need an angel to do them,
right? They can't always coerce
somebody from the Host, either: too many worries about conscience cropping up
at the wrong moment. So they have us do
them instead. Damn it, I was trying to
get out from under, not get in deeper."
"By many standards you are freer now than you
were five minutes ago. Your status is
to Earth-duty demons as they are to the vast majority of the Horde; you are
still considered a tool, but a much more valuable and less easily-replaced one;
and such as we can descend to the ultimate depths of power. In exchange, we simply have to utterly and
voluntarily suppress our original nature.
We are considered worthier by our masters, for we can prove that we
serve the cause of Hell of our own Will.
"The question is, then: are you prepared to
serve, even knowing what you know?"
Anton's voice was quiet yet angry. "And if I emulate the Lightbringer and
declare to the world that I will not serve?"
"Then you will die, instantly and
painlessly. That is another reward in
advance, as you well know."
The silence stretched out. Finally the Ofanite spoke, bitterly.
"It seems that I will serve, then. I can feel the revulsion rise inside me at
the very idea... but the old ways are too strong. I want both the old and the new, and damnation to anyone who
would deny me them. And now I feel the
pain of my betrayal of myself." Anton looked at Tariel. "You did me no favor when you showed me
this path. I entered this room a proud
and capable demon; I will leave it a pitiful wretch of an angel."
Tariel nodded.
"A wretch like me. I will
give you some time to gather your thoughts.
The Ofanite sat miserably at the table as Tariel
walked to the door. From behind Anton
came a soft voice.
"One other thing, Anton."
Anton turned to look at Tariel.
"Remember this well, for I shall never speak of
it again, ever. The Song of Songs was
created by Lucifer to serve his ends.
Never forget that.
"But never also forget that, while the tune is
Hell's, Heaven wrote the lyrics."