Plague of Angels

  The butt end of the spear lashed out of nowhere, knocking him to the earth. He went sprawling, crying out in pain. The statue of Minerva in front of him changed from marble to flesh, clothed in a rich, white gown, her helmet gleaming bronze and her spear now wickedly pointed.

  “You dare,” said Nyx, poking the point of the spear at him just hard enough to draw blood from his stomach. Minerva would be so mad if she saw this, Nyx thought, holding the spear tip near his face. She never liked dramatic gestures. “You dare claim to bring back the rule of the Gods of Rome when you threaten the temple of our sister Nyx?”

  “But, but, but… ” Domitian was near-speechless. “This Nyx is no Goddess of Rome.”

  “LIAR!” screamed Nyx, and this time the spear tip went deeper, gouging into his flesh. “She is the protector of Emperors, sent by Jupiter himself to Tiberius to destroy those who threaten Rome! And you would destroy her temple?”

  “Forgive me, great Goddess!” begged Domitian. “Forgive me! I did not know!”

  “Forgive you?” Minerva’s voice boomed loud. “You must earn your forgiveness!”

  “How, Great Minerva?” begged Domitian. “What must I do?”

  “Take yourself to Nyx’s temple!” commanded Nyx. “Take this slut with you and do not leave until you have topped her three times in the inner sanctum! Then call back your wife and do the same to her with your slut watching!”

  “Yes, Minerva, my Goddess. I will!”

  “Then it is time for you to go after the true enemies of Rome. Those whose silly superstition about a crucified carpenter threatens the fabric of the empire!”

  “Yes! Yes, I will!”

  “Do as you are bid!” screamed Nyx. “At once!”

  Domitian was alone once more in the room, and all was silence. He looked around, his head whipping back and forth to see who else had witnessed. There was only his niece, still asleep in the bed. He shook his head, trying to clear it. For a moment he thought it had all been a dream.

  Then the pain of the spear wounds in his belly made him gasp.

  He clasped his hand to his belly and rose, unsteady, to his feet. Stumbling across the room, he grabbed his niece’s leg and shook it for all it was worth. “A vision!” he cried out. “A vision! You must rise and come to me at once!”

  100 A.D.

  Nyx sat alone in her temple, leaning against her statue, staring at the massive mural in the wall.

  Hell had been timeless, more or less. When you were there, you knew time was passing, but it didn’t matter so much. Only on the mortal world did she really feel the passage of time.

  One hundred years ago, Tribunal was born on earth.

  She missed Tribunal. Desperately. Her heart ached whenever she thought of Him. Her soul yearned for Him the way it had yearned for Heaven and the presence of God when she had first been in Hell. And even though her temples were flourishing and Nyx and the others were slowly turning the Roman empire against Christians, it didn’t seem like enough. She wanted to be with Him, wanted to cleanse the deluded followers of Christ from the earth, along with the rest of humanity. She wanted to take Tribunal in her arms in His true, Angelic form, and feel His presence and power envelope her. She wanted to be in his new Paradise and rule of Paradise and Hell by His side.

  And yet…

  The chorus of voices that rose in her head had become a river, just as Persephone had said. At any time she could dive into it and swim around in the hopes and dreams of those who prayed for her. Many who claimed to love and worship her were wicked. There were murders and rapists among her cultists, and senators that tortured slaves just to learn new ways to cause pain. There were hate-filled, power-hungry men and women that allowed others to starve so that they could have plenty. They would die and go to Hell for an eternity of torture.

  And then there were the other ones. The ones who were living exemplary lives. There were shopkeepers and farmers and tradesmen. There were butchers and wives and children. They were decent and would end up in Heaven at the feet of God, where Nyx herself could never go again. Some had already gone. And Nyx, surprisingly, was glad for them.

  But why do I give a rat’s ass about any of these humans at all?

  She was the Queen of Hell, put there by God, to dwell in darkness and misery, to punish the wicked and to walk in no higher sphere than the Earth, because she had dared defy God. She would never know His presence, never bask in His divine glow. She was cut off from Heaven, and closest she would know to it was the continuing dull ache inside her.

  So why should I care about the humans? Why should she care about anything at all? Tribunal loved her, and was going to give her Paradise. That was what was important.

  And yet…

  God took Tribunal from you, she reminded herself. Just as He took away Heaven. God cares nothing for you or these people or He wouldn’t have abandoned them all. He would have given them Tribunal’s real name and He wouldn’t have taken Tribunal away from me!

  Tribunal is right to want them destroyed. If God loves them so much, let Him take them all to Heaven and deal with them. Then the Earth can be ours and we can create a new Paradise!

  In the river of her mind, she heard a soul crying out for vengeance for the death of her child, murdered by another human for no reason.

  Nyx rose, spread her wings, and flew. Punishing the wicked was something she was very, very good at. And it never hurt to answer a follower’s prayer.

  113 A.D. – Rome

  “It is a corruption on Imperial Rome, Caesar,” said the old man. “Their belief is nothing but superstition. They worship a God who cannot be seen, whose teachings were taught by a criminal who died crucified. They tell lies of a Heaven and Hell that do not exist, and they do not sacrifice to the Gods as is appropriate. They must be outlawed, for the good of the nation.”

  Emperor Trajan shifted in his seat, and sighed. The man, a seasoned soldier and campaigner, liked nothing more than to be up and active, and days such as these bored him beyond belief.

  “My Caesar,” said the old man, “I am not the orator I once was, and I fear I do not have the words to convince you of the truth of the situation.” The old man gestured behind him, and a slim, pleasantly-muscled boy of fourteen stepped forward. Trajan sat up in his chair. “Would my Caesar allow my grandson to stay with him, and to speak further of these matters?”

  The young man smiled coyly at the Emperor, even as he knelt before him. “It would be most pleasurable for me,” he said, “To present you with my arguments.”

  Trajan nodded. “An excellent idea. And in fact, since I am having lunch soon, I will take this young man with me, and there learn of his powers of persuasion.”

  Persephone, disguised as the old man, bowed deeply. “My thanks, O Caesar.”

  “Why do I have to go with him?” Ishtar demanded inside Persephone’s mind as she rose in the young man’s body and followed Trajan from the room.

  “Nyx said I would enjoy it too much,” said Persephone, smiling and waving. “And remember, Nyx said you weren’t allowed to change back until he outlaws Christianity.”

  It was six hours later when Ishtar left the palace, walking gingerly and rubbing her aching jaw muscles. She/he made her way through the city to the temple of Nyx, bowed, and entered within. She minced up the stairs to the highest chamber, where Nyx lay in Persephone’s lap on an enormous bed, allowing the other Angel to feed her grapes.

  Ishtar came in, groaned, and winced as she sat down on the bed’s edge.

  “Well,” said Persephone, smiling. “Have fun?”

  Ishtar glared at her, then said to Nyx, “He is nearly convinced. I am to return to him tomorrow, to further persuade him.”

  Persephone laughed. “You’d best sit on a cool cloth until then.”

  Ishtar glared some more, then pleaded to Nyx. “May I please heal myself? He is… very vigorous, and very long lasting. And given to multiple actions in a single day.”

  “No wonder he was such a fine soldier,”
said Nyx, smiling. “And no, you can’t heal yourself. You—neither of you—take this seriously enough. Get the law passed, and then you may go back to Egypt and indulge in your own tastes.”

  Ishtar sighed. “Yes, my Queen.”

  118 A.D. – Rome

  Nyx, Ishtar and Persephone, disguised as Roman citizens, watched as the criminals were shoved out into the middle of the Arena. Most wept and cursed, some tried to look brave, and others just looked blank, as if death had already taken their souls, and their bodies were moving without volition.

  In the midst of them, one man stood tall and strong, singing and praying.

  “Fucking Ignatius,” muttered Nyx. “And fucking Romans for not executing him in Syria. They had to drag him across the empire to kill him. He did more damage on his way to his death than he did when he was free.”

  “Well, he’s not free now,” pointed out Ishtar. “And soon he’ll be dead.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Nyx. “Look at him. He’s happy he’s about to die. He’s singing, for fuck’s sake.”

  “He won’t be for long,” said Persephone. “Here are the lions.”

  The lions had poured from the pits of the arena. And one of them, a lioness larger than the others, with dark yellow fur and wickedly long claws, headed for Ignatius. The other criminals scattered and tried to run. Ignatius continued his singsong prayers.

  The lioness stalked him, circling him at first, then starting to come closer. Ignatius seemed unconcerned. It drew closer and closer, until it was nearly on top of him.

  “Any time, now,” muttered Nyx.

  The lioness lashed out with a paw, opening four great slashes in Ignatius’s leg. The man yelled in pain and shock as blood began pouring from him. The lioness struck again, low on the other leg, hamstringing him and making him fall to the earth. He screamed louder as the lioness went in, ignoring his cries and feeble attempts to hit her as she buried her face in his belly. The screams reached a new, higher pitch.

  “One down,” said Ishtar. “Does it make you feel better?”

  “Yes,” said Nyx. “Now, if we can just get the rest of them…”

  120 A.D. – Arcadia

  A thousand revealers spilled out into the streets, laughing and dancing. Men and women alike, half-naked, heavily intoxicated, were deep in the throes of the Bacchanalia, and seething with desire for blood, sex, and whatever other pleasures they could find.

  “This way! This way!” cried Nyx, her body now that of a woman at the peak of ripeness, her large, bare breasts swinging as she led the crowd into the streets. “Follow me to the ones who will not sacrifice or celebrate! We’ll make them serve Bacchus, or they can die!”

  The crowd cheered and poured through the streets, laughing and singing. Some stopped to copulate in the road, others to vomit, but most followed her straight to the Christians’ temple. The building had started life as something else, but now the Christians were inside it, and they were praying behind the barred door.

  “Come ooooouuuut!” called Nyx, kicking at the door with her sandal. “Come out or we’ll burn you out!”

  The Christians went on praying, though their voices were strained. Nyx kicked harder, and the strength of it shook the doors on the hinges. “Come out!” she shouted. “It is the Bacchanalia! The Lord of Wine demands your sacrifice! Come out and pay him tribute you godless, superstitious atheists! Come out and give Bacchus his due!”

  The crowd around her roared their agreement, and men and women began banging on the shutters, yelling for the Christians to come out. Nyx could still hear the Christians praying inside.

  “Fire!” shouted someone in the crowd, and others took up the chant. “Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!”

  Fire, yes, thought Nyx. But not yet.

  She called to the men and a dozen strong ones came forward to hammer against the door with her. They fell into the rhythm of the chants, shoving harder and harder. Nyx joined with them.

  And on the seventh shove, she pushed with her full strength against the double doors of the small temple. There was a crack! from inside as the bar holding the door shut broke in two, and the doors swung wide.

  The Bacchantes charged in, laughing and yelling. Nyx stood aside and watched them go. The church filled with shrieks as the Christians tried to fight off the drunken mob. Men and women together attacked, pulling off their victims’ clothes even as they pummeled, kicked, scratched and bit them. The Christians fought back as best they could, but were hideously outnumbered. The Bacchantes dragged them into the streets, screaming “Fire!” and “Sacrifice!” The Christians, men and women alike, were thrown into the street naked, where members of the crowd, eager to release their energy and enthusiasm in rape, fell on them.

  Inside the church, men screamed. A half-dozen legionnaires were among the Christians, and they had managed to snatch up their weapons and began hacking their way out. Blood spattered and limbs flew as the legionnaires drove the drunken Bacchantes back. A pair of men fell to the floor, their guts spilling out. The legionnaires formed up in a tight formation and slashed and stabbed their way to the door. Their charged surprised the Bacchantes, who ran, fighting one another to get out of the door of the temple as the legionnaires advanced on them. Nyx was shoved aside, then to the ground, and then stepped on as men and women fled before the bloody onslaught of the legionnaires.

  When she rose to her feet, the legionnaires were right in front of her, and one of them drove a sword into her midsection.

  Nyx screamed in rage. The sound was not human, and it froze Bacchantes and Christians alike. Nyx lashed out with her fingernails, now talons, catching the closest soldier’s throat and tearing away flesh, muscle, and windpipe. The man collapsed, gurgling, to the floor.

  Nyx was so surprised, she took another thrust to her stomach. The second soldier twisted the blade and agony blossomed inside Nyx’s guts, even as the realization came.

  I killed one of them, thought Nyx. I can KILL them!

  The sword thrust at her belly again. Nyx grabbed it by the blade and tore it out of the wielder’s hand. The man had just a moment to stare in shock before Nyx, her teeth suddenly razors, stepped forward and bit deep into his neck, sending hot blood up like a fountain. His companions stumbled back in horror. Nyx grinned, switching to her true form as she attacked. With her fingernails and teeth she ripped off limbs and tore apart flesh. Blood spattered and splashed over the walls of the church. Nyx screamed in delight and kept going.

  The six legionnaires fell in seconds. A dozen more Christians followed moments later. She worked her way through the crowd, pulling the raping Bacchantes away and murdering the Christians with her own hands.

  In less than an hour, all the Christians were dead, their temple was on fire, and Nyx was winging her way through the sky towards Greece. She would tell Persephone, then they would tell Ishtar.

  And on the way, she would deal with one of the Christians’ biggest rabble-rousers.

  It was near dawn when Nyx and Persephone came screaming out of the sky like two hawks, diving down on the home of Polycarp, Bishop of Smyrna. Both were clad head to foot in their black, scaled armor, their swords blazing with black Hellfire and their whips leaving trails of black sparks.

  “Now!” shouted Nyx. “Now we will destroy them all!”

  She pulled in her wings and reversed, and Persephone did the same, their spiked heels aiming for the roof. Nyx’s plan was to break through the roof of the house, terrorize Polycarp and kill everyone in his house. Then, they were going to flay and crucify him as a warning to the others.

  They were nearly at the roof when the wind took them. Both Nyx and Persephone could easily fly through a gale, but this was different. This was a divine wind and it picked the two of them up and threw them into the sea like a pair of albatrosses shot from the sky.

  “Asshole,” muttered Nyx as she paced the room, drying her hair. “Dog fucker. Pig fucker. Goat fucker!”

  “God, you mean?” said Ishtar.

 
“Of course God! That… that…”

  “Shit-licking bum-boy of a beast-fucking swineherd?” suggested Persephone, shaking the water out of her wings.

  “Yes!” said Nyx.

  “You knew it was going to happen,” said Ishtar. “You’re the one who told us that we can’t attack them directly.”

  “It didn’t happen in Arcadia!” protested Nyx. “I killed a temple full of Christians and nothing stopped me!”

  “Really?” said Ishtar, her eyes lighting up. “We can kill them now?”

  “Yes!”

  “About damn time!” said Ishtar. She thought about it. “Why now, though?”

  “Because the rules have changed!” snapped Nyx. She stopped then, realization washing over her like the sea had a few hours before. “Fuck! Shit! Fuck!”

  Ishtar and Persephone stood back, watching closely. For the next hour, Nyx proceeded to destroy everything in the temple while screeching like a fishwife and swearing in twelve languages, including two only heard among the demons of Hell.

  When she finally ran out of steam, she glared at the other two Angels. “The rules haven’t changed. The agreement is: `They shall go unfettered by Angels. They shall have free will and free choice, and they will choose for themselves which actions to take. No Angel shall order, compel, or lay hands on those who build my church. Not everyone is helping to build the church. And the ones who aren’t, we can kill.’”

  “Ooh…” Ishtar rubbed her hands together. “Can I kill some of those disgusting men you’ve made me fuck? And their toad-like offspring?”

  “Do what you like,” said Nyx, “Just don’t invite reprisals against your temple.”

  “Isis’s temple,” grumbled Ishtar.

  “Whatever,” snapped Nyx. “We need people to oppose them. We need people to fight and kill them, so keep building up Isis’s temple. I’m going back to Rome. One of my priests was embezzling, and I am very much in a mood to make an example of somebody right now.”