Messiah: The First Judgement (Chronicles of Brothers) Read Free

between the Second Heaven and earth.
    He gazed at the nova for a long time. Silent.
    Miles below, in the shadowy crypts of the sinister Shaman-Kings, the slow, pulsating throb of hell’s sinister war drums resounded throughout the lower penitentiaries of the damned.
    A lingering smile spread across Lucifer’s mangled features as he watched the steady grey-robed throng of ghoul-like men and women pour through two monstrous black iron gates that towered a thousand feet above the glowing red ground – the Gates of Hell.
    Hundreds of jaundice-eyed, demonic gorgon seraphim nested on top of the immense black iron gateposts of hell’s perimeter, their gigantic scaled brazen claws slashing at the posts, and red-hot flames issuing from their nostrils and ears. The gorgon’s wings were of beaten gold, their wingspans measured a hundred feet, and across their scaled heads, inscribed in ornate script, was written ‘The Souls of the Race of Men.’
    Lucifer pulled his violet velvet cape tightly around him. His gleaming raven hair, plaited in thick braids and interwoven with diamonds, fell over his broad shoulders, blowing in the scorching tempests that blew from the stark onyx crags of Perdition. The diamond satanic crown of state rested on his head, and his glistening white silk robes trimmed with werewolf fur fell to the floor, half concealing his jewelled sandals. The once-exquisite countenance had been scarred almost beyond recognition in the torrid inferno at his banishment from the First Heaven. Yet still, in the rarest of moments, the haunting beauty of aeons past was strangely evident: the wide, marbled forehead, the high imperial cheekbones, the passionate crimson mouth, the imperious sapphire eyes now shadowed deep in thought.
    He held out a sweetmeat idly to his favourite hellhound, the pampered five-headed Cerberus, who licked his master’s hand with his coarse tongues. Then Lucifer returned to his contemplations of the star.
    Balberith, his chief attendant, stood in the doorway.
    ‘Your satanic princes are returned from earth, Your Excellency.’ He bowed deeply.
    Lucifer nodded and, tearing himself away from his stargazing, strode through the doors towards the monstrous black onyx throne, the seat of Satan. He sat directly beneath the black crystal vortex that soared overhead. Araquiel, his courtier, held out his sceptre on a velvet bolster. He took it. Directly behind the throne lay the Golden Gates of the Black Necropolis which housed the great golden Ark of the Race of Men, manacled to the Black Sepulchre with monstrous iron chains. Lucifer’s trophy.
    Ahead of Lucifer towered the massive black iron gates of the throne room. His forbidding satanic guard, the Black Horde, stood at attention – a thousand of Lucifer’s dread elite generals of his High Command, fallen from the First Heaven in millenniums past with their renegade king. After their banishment, the glory of their bravery and honour had swiftly been reduced to a depraved and relentless savagery. The corridors of Perdition reverberated with dark muttered tales of their bloody torturing and butcheries. The terror of the inmates of hell’s penetentiaries. Their pale straw coloured eyes stared pitilessly out from their scarred mangled faces. Their black braided hair hung well below their thighs. Alongside the fallen horde, a pack of snarling black yellow eyed jaguars paced, chained to their depraved masters, their poisonous black fangs visible.
    Dagon, commander of the Black Horde, stepped forward, helmet in hand, his black-gloved hands on his sword and bowed. ‘I announce His Majesty’s satanic chief princes, the rulers of the dark world.’
    The iron gates to his throne room opened, and two monstrous princes entered, followed by ten regents and their guards. The gates slammed shut, leaving the twelve regents alone before Lucifer and the Black Horde. They fell prostrate before the gates.
    ‘I announce His Royal Highness, Prince Belzoc, champion of