Last updated on August 29, 2024
Chapter 1 – Part 1
S’tan, the Lord of Darkness, removed his cans and in a voice like lava flowing over a geology professor – smooth but with a shriek in the background – said, “What does ‘Smack my bitch up, like a pimp’ mean?”
Shadows flickered in the light of a thousand fires, as dark, rodent-like figures scurried through labyrinthine passageways to the Books of All Knowledge chained to serried ranks of desks stacked high with ancient tomes in the high galleries above the Hall of Kur. Trails of sulphur billowing in their wake as they ran, their red eyes flashing as they flicked through whispering folios of arcane script, the Librarians of Perdition sought the answer to their master’s query in a flurry of searching, their bladders weakening with every turn of a page.
A slight form stepped tentatively forward from amongst the dripping, oily colonnades.
“It says here,” said Baphomet, a young novitiate se’irim, holding out a slate, “it’s a lyric for a song by the English electronic dance act, The Prodigy.”
“Yes, I know that,” S’tan hissed. He reached out a taloned hand and prised the slate from him. “I’ve just been listening to it. What I want to know is, what does it mean?”
Baphomet hopped on the arm of S’tan’s throne and peered over his shoulder. He pointed at the screen. “If you scroll down, it should have the meaning near the bottom.”
S’tan ran his finger over the text until he reached the subheading, “Lyrical controversy.”
“There. Look.” Baphomet squealed, his face lighting up with triumph. “It says, ‘The song’s lyrics, often held as misogynistic, were defended by the band, saying that the lyrics were being misinterpreted and the song actually meant … doing anything intensely…’ which I presume is an apologia to get the band out of a sticky situation.”
“Oh yes,” S’tan said. He turned to the goat-boy and waved the slate at him. His manner was just casual enough to strike fear into the empty pit where Baphomet would store his soul if he had one. “What’s this, by the way?”
“It’s an e-Go, Lord,” Baphomet said. He felt a little uneasy as S’tan cocked his head to one side, pursed his lips into a tight smile, and squinted one glowing, jaundiced eye at him. If S’tan was angry, he usually gave full vent to his feelings. But when he asked polite questions, everyone knew it was a precursor to violence. “I got it when I was changing all the road-signs in Milton Keynes. You know, on Earth.”
“What does it do?” S’tan purred. He seemed genuinely curious, only it was the kind of curiosity you get when someone is considering what part of you they’re going to stab.
“It connects to the human’s Internet and can search for stuff really quickly,” Baphomet said in a flurry of words as he backed away. He had the overwhelming sense this was going very badly, very quickly. Like a punctured life vest, which he was trying to fill with words.
“Interesting,” S’tan said, examining the slate. He stood, shaking his legs as if they were cramped, then rolling his shoulders like a boxer prior to handing out a beating. “Can I keep it?”
“It’s the only one I have,” Baphomet said as he withdrew his shaking hands. He tried to think of something to add, something that would deflect from his reluctance to part with the e-Go, but all he could say was: “I’d have to go back to Earth to get another one.”
“Funny you should say that,” S’tan said. He leaned his face into Baphomet until the goat-boy could smell his fetid breath and the se’irim suppressed an urge to run screaming from the hall. “I have a mission requiring someone to go to Earth.”
“Anything, Lord,” Baphomet said, bowing his head, more in relief than supplication. “What does the mission entail?”
“I want you to bring me a human wizard,” S’tan replied. He almost spat the word ‘human’. And then in short, dangerous sentences, he said: “Anyone will do. Just as long as they’re ambitious. Completely morally bankrupt. And preferably without any redeeming features whatsoever.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” Baphomet replied, his voice barely a whisper, a flinch in every syllable. “Thank you, Lord.”
“You’re welcome,” S’tan said as he swiped Baphomet across the head, sending him tumbling along the hall in a tangle of furry limbs and horns. “And that’s for being a smart-Alec.”
“Sorry, Lord,” Baphomet wailed. Picking himself up, he brushed the accumulated yellow sulphur dust off his fur and trotted unsteadily towards the stairs leading to the surface, his head still ringing.
“And don’t forget your human skin,” S’tan yelled after him, his voice fading as the se’irim took the steps two at a time, his hooves turning to soft flesh as he ran.
“Earth,” he thought happily. He was glad to be going back.
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