Cross-post
I’m thinking on this one, I have an idea but it hasn’t wormed its way out yet. But, I have a tangentially related one I did on reddit back a few years while I’m percolating.
There he stood in all his scarlet glory. The lack of horns and tail was disappointing, but those had always been symbolic. I glanced at his feet, but they were shod in shiny red leather, so if there were hooves, I never saw them.
What stood out the most was his visage. Not because of any facial features; other than being incredibly handsome, nothing stood out in that regard. Even the perfectly groomed mustache and goatee weren’t anything that stood out.
The glare in his eyes, glowing faintly red, and the curl of his lips into a sneer as he began to speak are what seared into my memory.
Standing at a crossroads in the middle of rural Tennessee, having just summoned the devil himself would be something to remember by itself, but his words crushed my dreams.
“Let me guess. Another human trying to sell their soul?”
The raw contempt and disgust in his voice made me shiver in fear. I opened my mouth to respond, but he raised a well manicured hand before I could start.
"I have no use for the damned things. I know you humans love to pretend they have value, but they’re useless to me. If I did want them, millions of souls are consigned to me every year by their own actions and no cost to me. I do not, nor have I ever, given anything in exchange for a human soul. That isn’t to say I’m not in the business of trade, but souls? Even Jesus himself has no use for them.
No, if you have something useful, we can make a deal. It won’t even guarantee you a spot in my soul sauna since the father gave you screeching monkeys the escape clause of repentance. All souls are hers no matter where they reside."
Stunned, I tried to process his words. My brain scrabbled at Satan calling god both father and her for a moment before it slipped back into gear and recalled my purpose. I didn’t sacrifice that goat for nothing!
“Oh hail and praise thee Lord of Darkness, I have come to make a deal.”
His eyes rolled as he muttered something about Ozzy and Anton needing an ass kicking, but I continued.
“I would offer my soul in trade for power over my fellow man, and great wealth.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Are you dense, or just fucking with me?”
“Um. Sorry. I had this whole ritual planned and, well, I thought it was the thing to do.”
He ran his hands across his face, then through ebon hair. “Humans.” He then sighed and went on “Look, Charles, I know who you are, I know what you want. And I know what you have to offer. My staff are excellent at gathering that kind of thing before I ever show up. So let’s cut the bullshit, shall we?”
“Yes, um, my Lord?”
“If it makes you feel special, Lord is fine. You tell me what you want, in reasonable detail. I tell you what I want in return. Then maybe we don’t both go home with a million mosquito bites at dawn and get home quickly instead.”
With that, he slapped one of the offending insects, a slight puff of sulfurous smoke rising from the spot on his neck.
“Yes my Lord!”
And I told him. I wanted the ability to charm the masses, to sway minds with my words. For that power, the influence and wealth it would bring, I would swear anything.
He listened, watching my hands as they fluttered until I reined in their nervous flight. As I uttered the last word, anything, a devilish grin spread.
“I can do that Charles, oh I can give you that indeed. The price isn’t even onerous. For that power, all I will require is that once you have risen to wealth and influence you form a small company dedicated to the sales of cheaply made electronics.”
“Cheap electronics my Lord? That’s all you want?”
“Well, that and I’ll need about tree fitty.”
“Tree fitty? Is that a South Park reference?” Did old scratch just make a South Park reference?
He sighed again. "Yes. They got what they asked for. I should know better than to trade a bag of “the dankest weed ever” for a subversive cartoon that features me. They smoked it all, and that’s the best joke they came up with.
But yes, I need you to make cheap electronics."
“Yes my Lord. Um. Why?”
“You dare ask me why? My reasons are not for the likes of you to know, and you could not comprehend the skein of plans woven within plans that your tiny efforts will assist.”
“Yes Lord. Cheap electronics it is. So, do I sign in blood, orrrr?”
“Pff, if you wish. You humans do enjoy ceremony. But there’s no need. It’s not like I need paper and a signature to collect what I’m owed.”
With that, he snapped and a fussy looking little imp appeared with parchment, a quill and a syringe. The imp looked eager, his tail twitching in anticipation.
“No need my Lord! Your word is good enough for me!”
“Yes, it would be.”
With that, he stepped forward. Fire and smoke began streaming from his hands. He touched my brow, then my lips and throat. The vermilion depths of his pupils boring into my own as heat washed from each point his hands touched.
I couldn’t move. The fire from those touches spread across my skin, sinking down into my body. As they reached some immaterial but perceptible part deep inside me, my vision flared white hot and consciousness fled.
But as I fell the the ground, I heard him say, “Come Grossclout, we have an appointment with the postmaster that needs keeping.”
When I woke, it was still dark. The crickets sang as I walked back to my car, filled with confidence and a plan.
looking forward to the shenanigans of the devil blessed cheap electronics store clerk
"Look, Mr Bingham, I’ve been where you are, and I think you have a compelling argument for violation of contract.
But we’ve got to get a few details covered. You state that you signed a contract, in blood, with the devil. Are you certain it was the king of hell, and not some other entity. He does get imitators and soul selling scams are a dime a dozen."
“Well, sir, I reckon it was the man hisself. He had them horns, and the tail, and the glowing red eyes, and them wangs. Cain’t rightly be nobody else.”
"You’d be surprised how many things out there look like that. One of my exes could do a damn good version of that when I’d come home drunk.
At any time, did the eyes change color, did the wings shift to some other appearance at all? Any shifts?"
“Ayup, shore did. His eyes went from red to golden when we signed, and his wings started shining with a white light that durn near hurt my face. I had to turn away fer a moment.” And I swear, when it started to dim and I looked back, he weren’t red a’tall. He was almost like marble, only shinin’ inside out as the light faded and he turnt back to what I seen a’first."
"Well, that certainly helps, we know it could only be a few things other than Lucifer, and none of those can give any power without the approval of the divinity they serve. Those divinities can’t pull tricks in their arrangements because it isn’t in them.
So, it seems that Satan, the dark lord of hell did pull a fast one.
The contract here says you wanted the power to clear a field in a day, no matter how big, no matter what the crop. In exchange, your immortal soul would be given unto Lucifer, the Exiled, to reside with him until the end of time.
The signature matches all known examples, and you specified a crop to be cleared.
I would definitely say that being caused to belch fire any time you step into a field would not match the intended exchange. Nor the, ahhhh, it says here the winds what tore a hole in your pants at the same time and demolished your harvester. No crop being present means that the field being cleared is a default of intent, and that matters in the celestial court."
“Ayup, that’s what I reckon.”
Alright Mr Bingham, lets get a few things signed in regular ink here. Power of Intercession, plea to the Saints and Martyrs for a hearing, and an affidavit of your version of the statements made today."
“You reckon I oughta sign anything a’tall? Last time I did that, I was fartin’ tornadoes.”
“If you don’t, I can’t stand for you in the court, I can only give you advice here on earth. That’s your choice, and I have seen successful cases won that way. But you’ll still have to present a plea, and the written version is the fastest. You have no idea how backed up the Saints and Martyrs are these days.”
“I been backed up afore. Took some castor oil, cleared me right out. Hain’t had no trouble like that since them winds started comin’ out though. I reckon, if I didn’t have the sense to not sign before, and it got me into this mess, maybe I oughta not have sense again, and see if’n it gets me out.”
“That’s one way to look at it, yeah.”
As the parchments were signed and witnessed, I looked Mr Bingham up and down again. I should have seen this coming. You don’t just escape a soul deal on a technicality and not piss the entity off. You sure as hell don’t go on to find and help other betrayed souls to negate their contracts and begin the process of repentance.
The only question in my mind at that point was who Bingham really was. Could be one of the older incubi, they tend to be good at hiding their nature, even from someone familiar with the signs. But I don’t think they would have gone with the hokey bullshit fake farmer thing.
No, it had to be something else. Maybe a greater demon, maybe one of the damned given privileges and power for the task. But it was definitely not the Mr Bingham that I had a friendly air elemental look into. Oh, it looked the part, but the real Mr Bingham didn’t have that fake corn-pone drawl. And, while he definitely did fart tornadoes, he seemed quite happy with it. Had a little wind farm going, making nice income just from eating some beans every night and pointing the direction of the turbines when regular wind was low.
We would see, though. No way could it keep up the masquerade past the Celestial Gates. The guardians would sniff it out in a hot second.
“Mr Bingham, if you’ll return tomorrow morning, ten a.m., I should have a response to your plea, and we can set up a time for a trip to purgatory to enter the Gates and have your case heard.”
With the usual handshakes and malarkey goodbyes, I showed him out the door and made some prayers.
I’m going to continue this as a response to this comment because I don’t want to hit the character limit, and I need a nap. Not sure exactly when I’ll finish up, or how many sections it’ll run.
I shouldered my way through the crowd and knocked at the side door of the gates. The peephole opened. “Oh, it’s you. Again.”
“Howdy, Pete. I’ve got a hot one this time. Pleas are in, Intercession filed with the cherubs, and I’m ready to call my client up. Gotta warn you, something is hinky with him. Not sure what, but I suspect Hellish origins or influence.”
“I could just deny you entry.”
“You haven’t yet. I figure, whatever the game is, you and yours would want it exposed and cleared up PDQ. So cut the shit and let me in.”
“One day, you shall stand at the gates and be denied, with a tongue that foul.”
I smiled as he opened the door anyway, “Oh, you know how it is, Pete. I’m terribly sorry, and will most definitely repent and atone long before then.”
He grunted at me as I entered the first level, “Unless something should smite you before you do so.”
“Smite this, Pete.” I sha’nt describe what I told him to smite. Not that he has the power to smite anything. Jumped up doorman.
Distances are mostly meaningless in the other places; heaven, hell, purgatory, even the more obscure ones for other planets and religions. So is time; though time does pass on earth while you’re there, it’s much compressed. Days to hours, usually. Makes the whole eternity thing make more sense, in a way.
But it was a good, long stroll to the Celestial Court. Some of the cherubs and the once-human waved as they passed. It’s not so much that I’m there a lot as it is that I’m one of the few working in Intercession that’s corporeal. You just don’t see anyone that isn’t a Saint doing the job usually. Seeing someone that’s still alive is rarer.
There’s a few of us, but I still stand out of that crowd. I’m the only one that got into this line of work because of my own needs. I once signed a deal with the devil myself. The bastard pulled a fast one, which isn’t necessarily always the case. I think he does it out of boredom. The why doesn’t matter, though. What mattered was that he answered a call from an agnostic that was halfway joking, set a deal and signed it in blood.
Turns out, there’s rules about such things. You sign a soul deal, you gotta deliver on it, not just to the letter, but to the spirit of the agreement. For the living, we don’t have a choice; you die with an open contract, the weight of it pulls you right to the gates of hell. But the various entities there, well, they’re mostly evil. So they’ll pull every fast trick they can to gain the version of what passes for wealth there. A soul given like that is power, and power is the coin of Hell.
If you know that it’s possible, or even if you do it accidentally, you can insist on a hearing regarding the contract. If you win, you go to purgatory instead. But, if you get that hearing before you die, well, you have a chance to repent and atone in whatever life is left to you. It isn’t a guarantee of Heaven, but it’s a shot, and most people can at least repent their way into purgatory instead of Hell. Has to be genuine repentance though, none of that bullshit “I’m sorry I have to go to hell, so please don’t send me there.” It has to be real, a true rejection of the things that drove you to make the deal in the first place.
But Hell isn’t going to inform you of your right to that hearing. Neither would Heaven, the be honest. They’re pricks in their own way.
Running over all of that in my head, setting up for the faux trial ahead of me, I reached the Court.
In through the golden doors, past the fluffy cloud steps, a handful of souls waited, with a priest calmly and quietly giving instructions on their cases. Old Father Dennis has been at this Intercession business longer than I’ve been alive. He helped me argue my case. I waved as I passed and he smiled with his return wave.
I stepped up to the podium where a vaguely humanoid nimbus of light hummed out my name as I approached, “Hector, I see a plea on the docket today with your name on it.”
“Yeah Zeke, got a doozie this time. Claims to be a farmer, but I’m expecting some drama. You guys see many fakes?”
“From time to time. Mostly reporters trying to get a story, some mystics wanting to bypass the work involved in gaining access legitimately.”
“Any demons, devils, incubi, succubi, that kind?”
“Well, no. Why would they?”
“I dunno, maybe the whole pride of the fallen thing?”
"It has never been attempted. Nor would it succeed. All of the fallen are barred from entry by Yahweh itself. They can not enter.
“Well, we’ll see soon enough. This case is third in line, so he’ll have to be pulled up here. Be interesting to see what happens.”
"Have no fear, Hector, nothing of Hell may come here without the Intercession of the Lord himself.
With that, I went and camped out a spot to squat. No chairs in heaven because there’s no need. Even folks like me, there in the flesh, don’t tire, suffer no physical pains or hungers. Which is pretty nice, what with my bum knee.
@comicalmayhem@lemmy.world a second segment. This one is coming slow, sorry for it being this spread out
Pt 3
Hector Simmons, you are called!!!
The voice boomed out, despite not being a voice in the usual sense and making no actual sound. That’s the Metatron for you.
I stood and walked to the entry of the Court.
The doors opened as I approached, the light shining from within. The inside of the Court usually looks like absurdly polished marble with gold veins. Sometimes, it’s more nebulous, or even shines a pure gold. No idea why, but it does. It’s a medium sized room, longer than wide. That’s are no juries or audiences, so it doesn’t need to be big.
At the end opposite the doors is a dais, barely raised at all. There are four entities that hang there above the floor. Most of the time, they’re like Ezekiel, just a vaguely humanoid glow. Some days they go for something more recognizable, the classic winged angel in robes. Today was a light show.
Michael spoke up, “Hector Simmons, you are called. For whom do you speak?”
“Charles Bingham, a soul claimed under false pretenses.”
“Let Charles Bingham be present.”
And he was, just like that. Nothing like the word of an archangel to make things happen. Bingham didn’t even pop into existence. No sound, no flash, nothing. Just there, blinking in the angelic glare. Overalls, a flannel shirt, and boots with clay sticking to them.
He looked around, saw me and smiled, then waved.
Michael spoke, “Charles Bingham, you have sold your soul, but claim the deal void?”
“Ayup. Devil lied to me, played a trick.”
I stepped forward, watching Bingham, and the angels, waiting for whatever was going to happen. I spoke, laying out the case, and requested a Judgment.
The angels moved together and consulted, silently. I suppose they spoke in some way, but it was certainly not audible to me, or anyone I’ve ever represented.
Bingham leaned over to me, “Ya reckon they gonna help me?”
“I think there’s a solid chance, yes. They didn’t argue anything, didn’t ask any questions. That’s usually a sign they think the case is legit. Or, they know something that I don’t. Is there anything like that?”
“Oh, I reckon not, no. Less’n they got somethin’ agin farmers.”
“Yeah, not that I know of.”
I looked him up and down, from the dirty boots to the tractor company cap on his head. Every inch the salt of the earth. Maybe I was wrong, maybe the elemental I had check up on things had lied, or just gotten confused.
I shrugged, “Then you’re probably going to be fine. Like I said, your deal was blatantly a fake-out, a cheap ploy. Tell you the truth, the devil isn’t usually that stupid. Oh, he’s going to play silly buggers, but he’s had a long time to get good at this. Something this shoddy? Nah, you’re going to be let off, almost guaranteed.”
The more sibilant voice of Raphael called across the room, “Mister Bingham, may we consult you on a few details?”
He turned, and started walking towards them. Gabriel smiled at me as I started to follow, “You will not be needed, Hector. Simple follow-up questions.”
“But, my client…”
“Hector, we are angels, he will be safe with us. Stay.”
That stay was not a request, and I felt the weight of it as much as I heard it. So I stayed like a good monkey.
The five of them huddled together. There were murmurs, followed by tinkling laughter. Michael slapped Bingham’s back. He touched a human. I’ve been doing this for years, and none of those guys has ever shaken my hand. God damn them. All five of their halo having, wing flipping, angelic asses.
After what felt like an hour, Bingham finally broke loose of them and came my way. I was glaring as hard as I could, but it didn’t break his stride, or smile as he spoke, “It seems you were right, Mr Simmons, the case was open and shut, as they say.”
“You are such an asshole.”
“Is that how you sweet talk all your clients?”
“Up yours, pal. Was this some kind of prank, or what? Why are you still messing with me?”
He gestured towards the doors, “Walk with me, this is not the place for this conversation.”
The bastard placed a hand on my shoulder as we walked out and towards the gates. I shrugges it off and stepped apart from him, “Well, we’re outside, explain yourself.”
He laughed, the tone of it ringing off of the paving stones, "I am not prone to explanations, Hector. But for you, I’ll make an exception.
Think a moment. Imagine that you were thrown out of your home, publicly and with great thundering. Imagine that you were assigned a host of part of your family, tasked with the job of providing choices. Imagine that, publicly, you are now cut off from the remainder of your family, left behind with your parent.
Would you not engage in some chicanery for the occasional reunion?"
“Oh, please. Lord of lies, that’s you. You conned your way through hundreds of thousands of humans, and tried to con me. Like anyone is going to believe that half-assed sob story.”
“As you will, Hector. Then perhaps you can accept that you have done a great favor to me and my siblings, at least. That, regardless of my motivations, or theirs, that you having done your job well means that you have done good this day. You have.”
“What the hell ever, man. This shit, this is why people hate the lot of you. We’re not your fucking toys.”
“Are you not? No, don’t waste energy snapping at me. Yes, it is true that your lot get moved and played with. It is also true that you in particular have been used, and put upon rather unfairly. You came to me, asking for success in your field. Did you not get that?”
“Are you kidding me? No, I didn’t. I got screwed. Instead of the kind of talent I needed, I end up babbling full texts any time I get asked a question, and get shoved into a hospital. Couldn’t even finish school because of it.”
“And yet, you just spent the day in the highest court there is, excepting perhaps an audience with the Creator. You are widely renowned as the greatest interventionist alive, and as one of the greatest ever. Some of the Saints speak of you with respect and a degree of envy.”
“Come off it. There is no way you had this planned. I’m the one that turned your crappy deal on its ear and made something good out of it.”
“You are absolutely correct. You did the work. You, instead of bargaining your stained soul for false ability, dug in and researched, became an expert in biblical law, esoterica, all the workings of the various religious, and made your way here. You did that while bypassing the usual route of martyrdom or service. But give me some credit for showing you that the path you were on was not the right one for you.”
“There’s no way you had all this planned out. Bullshit. You’re taking credit after the fact.”
"Am I? Or am I walking out of heaven for the first time in millennia, alongside the one human that might both see through the false guise, but still have the nerve to drag me before the Court anyway? I am walking away from hugging my siblings, with no war, no chaos, no angering of the Creator. And you are walking away from it with no stain on your soul, no claim on it from me, and with a path to going down in history as a true advocate of humanity.
Do you not think that maybe, after having seen your people evolve from tree hanging animals into, well, essentially the same thing but with fancy clothing, that maybe I have an eye for potential?"
I didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. If he was telling the truth, I didn’t want to know it. If he wasn’t? That might be worse."
@comicalmayhem@lemmy.world
Part 3, and the finish, I think.