Brimstone: Fallen (Part 1 of ??)
The warehouse was emptier than he remembered. Multiple layers of dust have settled on all of the exposed surfaces, until the bare expanse of floor looked like it was covered in gray snow. The old couches were still present, but someone had shoved them into the far corner, war relics covered with off-white sheets full of crusty brown stains. The desks his family had used for generations were gone, as well as the steel containers and the great boxes that stored anything from butter knives to handguns.
He slowly made his way towards the couches, sending small clouds of dust into the air. Some of it settled on the hem of his pants and the tips of his leather boots, but most of it returned the cement floor. If It wasn’t here, then he would have to track down all of his father’s old acquaintances and beat the information out of them.
The white sheet crackled as he flung it aside, a feat that required more power than his slight frame suggested he possessed. The sudden movement sent a vast cloud of dust into the air around him, but he did not even sneeze. He lifted up the right side of the couch and ripped the metallic frame supporting the moth-eaten cushions apart; smirking as he found what he was looking for: a round silver pendant with the emblem of an angel’s wing deprived of almost all of its feathers. He fastened the silver chain around his neck, a smile of relief on his face. He had gotten lucky.
Fifty years ago, his instincts had driven him to hide his family’s heirloom, and he was glad he listened to them. If it had been stolen, everything his family had worked for would have been lost.
“I wonder how many people have died while I was away.”
~~~
The sun seemed to descend into the ocean as Ezekiel Stone watched. When he had arrived at the beach, it had been fairly high in the sky, its brilliant yellow rays heating the sand he was sitting on and unlike Hell, it was a nice warmth (the fact that it drove many young people to walk around in bikinis was a bonus). Now, the sun’s red-orange rays cast a pinkish tint onto the otherwise golden-brown sand, and there were fewer people. Even now, he got a few odd looks for wearing a sweater and pants to the beach, but he didn’t really care. It had been… a little over fifteen years since he watched the sun set over the ocean…
Rosalyn at his side, her head against his shoulder as they sat on the blanket. “Thanks for going along with this.” She said, her soft voice barely reaching his ears as the waves crashed against the rocks.
He just smiled.
“As if I’d deny you on your birthday.” He answers out loud, fifteen years later.
“How saccharine.” An unfortunately familiar voice whispers back, inches from his ear.
The Devil was lying on its side beside him, clothed in a pair of violently pink swim shorts and an equally nauseating green baseball cap. It smirked as the man winced. “Who knew a dead man could be such a sap? Lounging around on my time like a depressed puppy. It’s disgusting.”
“What do you want?” He stared into the pitch-black eyes of the Devil, grabbing a fistful of sand instinctively. Throwing it into his employer’s eyes would probably only make it mad, but the sand-in-the-eyes trick had actually saved his life once.
“For you to get back to work obviously.” It answered silkily, running a finger up the man’s arm and across his chest before stopping over his still heart. “You have a lot of work to do.” It whispered in Ezekiel’s ear, its breath brushing across his skin like fire. It felt kind of nice actually.
Ezekiel sat up, looking at the ‘man’ beside him with narrowed eyes. There was no reason for him to associate the word 'nice' with the creature beside him. Except maybe in the times before... “What happened to your looks?”
“My looks?” It echoed with a mocking smile.
“I thought Lucifer Morningstar was supposed to be the most beautiful angel in Heaven, but you… aren’t?”
“Hell will twist anything” The Devil answered, smile hardening until it was no longer a smile.
“I bet that hurts.” The man mused.
“Not as much as it will when someone sends your lazy ass back to my realm.” A video game token materialized in its hands, and it burned a small circle into the palm of Ezekiel’s hand upon contact. “Go.”
The man went without another word. The air around his taskmaster was starting to waver with heat, and though the Devil had no true power on Earth, it could easily make Ezekiel think he had just been shoved into an incinerator.
Instead of disappearing like usual, the fallen angel watched the sunset with narrowed eyes. “That’s one thing you got right, you self-righteous bastard.” It admitted grudgingly, almost remembering its true form before it was devoured by fire, pain and hate.
Almost.
~~~
“You really suck at that.” A child’s voice remarked from somewhere around his left hip. Ezekiel looked down, eyebrows raised. “What? I’m right.”
The man looked at the plastic gun in his hand with something approaching disgust and handed it to the kid. “Be my guest.” He put a token, The token actually, into the machine and watched the child take position. The boy had to stand on his toes to be able to see and point the plastic gun, but he seemed able to hit more targets than the man beside him. Ezekiel told himself it was due to the unreality of the situation, he adjusted his aim for wind and movement. ‘It’s not like he could hit the eyes of damned souls.’
Leaving the child to the video game, the dead man continued his investigation. Teenagers gathered around certain games, challenging each other and themselves. The shabby arcade seemed to house a few adult regulars as well, men and women who wandered in alone and wasted no time going to their preferred machines. He went to one of the younger men at a pinball machine and inserted a quarter into the one next to him. Since this was a game he was very familiar with, he did a lot better. “Come here often?” He asked when his neighbor cursed the machine and its finicky left button.
“Every other night.” The young man answered, eyes never leaving the machine. “Why?”
“Most of the people here seem to know each other well. I was just wondering if there was another new guy that wouldn’t beat the pants off me at racing.”
The young man snorted, eyes flicking towards Ezekiel’s face before returning to the pinball machine. “Only the kid and his big brother but they learned pretty damn quick. You might want to try the dude with blue glasses instead -he sucks at racing.”
“Thanks man.”
He finished the game and continued to drift from machine to machine. He was in the deepest corner of the arcade when he noticed the scent of burning flesh. He ran towards the scent, ignoring a woman’s shrieks as he accidentally knocked over her cup of tokens. He was too late anyway.
The soul had left the body of a teenage punk beside the packman machine, its throat burned to the bone. “Shit.” Wincing, he closed the kid’s eyes and searched for a piece of ID, hoping that nobody would look over for a few minutes. He found no ID, but he did find an odd blue mark on the back of the kid’s hand. ‘A stamp?’
It was a picture of an angel, but most of its feathers were missing.
He slowly made his way towards the couches, sending small clouds of dust into the air. Some of it settled on the hem of his pants and the tips of his leather boots, but most of it returned the cement floor. If It wasn’t here, then he would have to track down all of his father’s old acquaintances and beat the information out of them.
The white sheet crackled as he flung it aside, a feat that required more power than his slight frame suggested he possessed. The sudden movement sent a vast cloud of dust into the air around him, but he did not even sneeze. He lifted up the right side of the couch and ripped the metallic frame supporting the moth-eaten cushions apart; smirking as he found what he was looking for: a round silver pendant with the emblem of an angel’s wing deprived of almost all of its feathers. He fastened the silver chain around his neck, a smile of relief on his face. He had gotten lucky.
Fifty years ago, his instincts had driven him to hide his family’s heirloom, and he was glad he listened to them. If it had been stolen, everything his family had worked for would have been lost.
“I wonder how many people have died while I was away.”
~~~
The sun seemed to descend into the ocean as Ezekiel Stone watched. When he had arrived at the beach, it had been fairly high in the sky, its brilliant yellow rays heating the sand he was sitting on and unlike Hell, it was a nice warmth (the fact that it drove many young people to walk around in bikinis was a bonus). Now, the sun’s red-orange rays cast a pinkish tint onto the otherwise golden-brown sand, and there were fewer people. Even now, he got a few odd looks for wearing a sweater and pants to the beach, but he didn’t really care. It had been… a little over fifteen years since he watched the sun set over the ocean…
Rosalyn at his side, her head against his shoulder as they sat on the blanket. “Thanks for going along with this.” She said, her soft voice barely reaching his ears as the waves crashed against the rocks.
He just smiled.
“As if I’d deny you on your birthday.” He answers out loud, fifteen years later.
“How saccharine.” An unfortunately familiar voice whispers back, inches from his ear.
The Devil was lying on its side beside him, clothed in a pair of violently pink swim shorts and an equally nauseating green baseball cap. It smirked as the man winced. “Who knew a dead man could be such a sap? Lounging around on my time like a depressed puppy. It’s disgusting.”
“What do you want?” He stared into the pitch-black eyes of the Devil, grabbing a fistful of sand instinctively. Throwing it into his employer’s eyes would probably only make it mad, but the sand-in-the-eyes trick had actually saved his life once.
“For you to get back to work obviously.” It answered silkily, running a finger up the man’s arm and across his chest before stopping over his still heart. “You have a lot of work to do.” It whispered in Ezekiel’s ear, its breath brushing across his skin like fire. It felt kind of nice actually.
Ezekiel sat up, looking at the ‘man’ beside him with narrowed eyes. There was no reason for him to associate the word 'nice' with the creature beside him. Except maybe in the times before... “What happened to your looks?”
“My looks?” It echoed with a mocking smile.
“I thought Lucifer Morningstar was supposed to be the most beautiful angel in Heaven, but you… aren’t?”
“Hell will twist anything” The Devil answered, smile hardening until it was no longer a smile.
“I bet that hurts.” The man mused.
“Not as much as it will when someone sends your lazy ass back to my realm.” A video game token materialized in its hands, and it burned a small circle into the palm of Ezekiel’s hand upon contact. “Go.”
The man went without another word. The air around his taskmaster was starting to waver with heat, and though the Devil had no true power on Earth, it could easily make Ezekiel think he had just been shoved into an incinerator.
Instead of disappearing like usual, the fallen angel watched the sunset with narrowed eyes. “That’s one thing you got right, you self-righteous bastard.” It admitted grudgingly, almost remembering its true form before it was devoured by fire, pain and hate.
Almost.
~~~
“You really suck at that.” A child’s voice remarked from somewhere around his left hip. Ezekiel looked down, eyebrows raised. “What? I’m right.”
The man looked at the plastic gun in his hand with something approaching disgust and handed it to the kid. “Be my guest.” He put a token, The token actually, into the machine and watched the child take position. The boy had to stand on his toes to be able to see and point the plastic gun, but he seemed able to hit more targets than the man beside him. Ezekiel told himself it was due to the unreality of the situation, he adjusted his aim for wind and movement. ‘It’s not like he could hit the eyes of damned souls.’
Leaving the child to the video game, the dead man continued his investigation. Teenagers gathered around certain games, challenging each other and themselves. The shabby arcade seemed to house a few adult regulars as well, men and women who wandered in alone and wasted no time going to their preferred machines. He went to one of the younger men at a pinball machine and inserted a quarter into the one next to him. Since this was a game he was very familiar with, he did a lot better. “Come here often?” He asked when his neighbor cursed the machine and its finicky left button.
“Every other night.” The young man answered, eyes never leaving the machine. “Why?”
“Most of the people here seem to know each other well. I was just wondering if there was another new guy that wouldn’t beat the pants off me at racing.”
The young man snorted, eyes flicking towards Ezekiel’s face before returning to the pinball machine. “Only the kid and his big brother but they learned pretty damn quick. You might want to try the dude with blue glasses instead -he sucks at racing.”
“Thanks man.”
He finished the game and continued to drift from machine to machine. He was in the deepest corner of the arcade when he noticed the scent of burning flesh. He ran towards the scent, ignoring a woman’s shrieks as he accidentally knocked over her cup of tokens. He was too late anyway.
The soul had left the body of a teenage punk beside the packman machine, its throat burned to the bone. “Shit.” Wincing, he closed the kid’s eyes and searched for a piece of ID, hoping that nobody would look over for a few minutes. He found no ID, but he did find an odd blue mark on the back of the kid’s hand. ‘A stamp?’
It was a picture of an angel, but most of its feathers were missing.