The Last Soul

Author's note: I own nothing. Rating will go up in later chapters, but for not just R. This is not a child Pornography thing,'cause I don't swing that way. We all clear? can you hear me now? Good!


...Well, this was a disgusting situation. The air was chilled as it touched his skin; the cenobite allowed himself a moment to simply feel it. It was a different breeze that blew through Hell, one much less… fresh. His eyes shut in a moment of calm amongst the sea of his irritation.

There was no point in this, surely. Humans lived, they died, they opened the box, and they were tortured forever. That was their affair, their world. That was a world he walked upon the shroud of, and other than brief skirmishes was bid to avoid the inner weavings. Never had a task such as this been required of him. Never. Still, it was such a small thing… a very small thing… He smiled despite himself. It would not take long. The street lay abandoned before him, wreckage burned still from whatever massacre the humans had unleashed on themselves in the early morning hours.

Suddenly it seemed… not right. There should be the sound of weeping in the distance, the scent of blood in the air. There was nothing. No spirits in torment… he would have felt them. No pain…
Nothing. Eyes widening he looked about him, feeling as far out as he could.

“What have they done…?” He whispered, frost laced the smoky air. Only a warm breeze answered him. He walked down the roads, looking with a wide eye upon the destruction around him. The trees were only shadows on the ground; buildings lay like matches about his feet. A dark dust swirled gently about his feet.

They were gone. It had ended. Staggered he stopped, feeling that this required a moment’s reflection, moments awe… and fear. The humans were gone; they were no more, no more souls opening the box, no more offerings to hell, no more purpose.

No more necessity.

No reason to be, no need to fulfill,

No task, no…

The task that had seemed so small now had the edges of desperation. And to think, he had scoffed. Such vanity. He hissed, sharpening his senses. The stakes were far higher than he had imagined. He had to find the survivors, if there were any. Leviathan had demanded no less than ten souls. Five male, five female. Now he could see why. Topec braced and began to sprint.

So few souls had ever seen this, seen him run. He closed his eyes to sharpen his other senses, effortlessly avoiding rubble and fire, the only sound the slapping of his boots in the dust. Able to feel the different energies he made a line away from the apex, knowing survivors would be found outside the danger zone, if there were any.

Buildings began to emerge; his dodging became wider, leaping to avoid things such as fences and wilting shrubbery. He paused, catching his breath. His eyes opened to see what was around him. There were buildings now, and human shaped shadows lay against their walls. Puzzled he ran his hand down one, watching it rub onto his palm. Still to close. He decided, and went further, until there were no shadows anymore, and the actual bodies began to appear. He walked silently through the carnage, images fixing into his mind, trying to peace together what had done this. Nothing in his memory was offering an explanation. Eyes melted, limbs lank, skin withered and leathery, the smell of death somewhat muted by the fires burning in the distance.

He heard fluttering. On a shingle stripped rooftop an Archangel was weeping with trembling wings. In its hands lay cradled an infant, no more than a few days old by the look of things. He observed it for a time, until it too noticed his presence. And the two seemed to nod to each other, no quarrel lay between them here; both knew where the blame was to be laid.
“And so the children of Eden destroyed Eden.” Topec toned. The Archangel nodded, laying the infant gently down on the wood.

“Where does that leave you demon? Now that the world you depended on has gone, whither will thou flee?”

Topec smiled. “Flee?” He relied. “I will not flee; there is nothing that has the power to bid me retreat here. The world has been laid bare, stripped of all moral and reason, yes, but still it is a world of the flesh. Nothing has changed.” His eyes narrowed, “What caused this?”

“Greed.” Moaned the Archangel, “Greed, envy, desire and gluttony. The mighty sins laid low the children of the Lord.” Xipe Topec nodded, he turned to go. “Wait!” Cried the Arcangel, “Why are you here? With no one to summon you? Is it that there is still a chance? Still a soul in their given shape of clay? Wait! Wait I ask you! Oh wait! It was not to end like this!”

“Careful, little bird.” The demon replied. “Careful what you ask of me, and what you say of meaning. Greater ones than you have fallen for little more than that.”

He left the angel then, moving further in, sensing that it longed to follow but feared corruption. There was little change in the scenery; a broken city gave way to a ruined suburb, to country, to suburb again. Always the cities were the apex, and the country lead to no fresh hopes. The death was there as well. It was a radioactive shroud that covered the world, and smothered all life beneath its weavings. After a time he stumbled, surprised he looked down to see the cause. So preoccupied with finding a soul, he had failed to notice some of his more immediate surroundings.
The indent in the ground was one of many. It was a graveyard, old and twisted from time, falling into ruin. The names on the headstones now illegible, the soil loose with little grass to keep it from eroding away completely. He turned to depart, and stopped abruptly. There! It was so faint, but in the vast nothingness it was blinding to him, he whirled to face it. There was a broken down church, and it was coming from inside. He advanced until the cracked door blocked his entry. With a gentle twist his hand turned the old iron knob.

Sobbing. Suffering. It was like water in the desert and he drank it into him greedily. A little boy, no more than six, curled into his mother on the front pew. As for her, she had been dead a time, several hours seemed accurate. Still he clutched her, crying pitifully under his breath. The faint mewls gave him pause, he shielded at the door.
Innocent. Could he take an innocent? It was against Leviathans Law, but this was hardly normal circumstance. He remained at the archway. Children grow, he reasoned. Innocence is fleeting. If I leave him here, he will not live to loose it. Should I take him, it will only be a matter of time… He stepped through the door. The windows were already shattered, and he progressed silently until he was able to look down over the pew.

The child looked up at him, eyes big and teary. His sobbing turned into a hiccup. He seemed for the most part unharmed, but the demon could smell the taint on his skin. It would only be a matter of time. He stretched out his hand.

The boy looked at it, seemingly without understanding. But then he shifted, probably realizing in some small subconscious part of his mind that this figure was bigger than him, and could protect him. His small hand slipped into Zipe Topec’s cold one. “Mister.” He managed hoarsely. “Take momma too?” His tiny fingers squeezed desperately. “Momma too?” He repeated.

“She is beyond my reach.” The demon replied. The boy looked back at him silently, uncomprehending. Topec reached out, laying his other hand upon the woman’s face, sliding her lids down over her eyes. “Another had already taken her hand.”

The child began to whimper anew. Without warning he launched himself at the cenobite, wrapping his arms around the leather covered legs and wailing into the folds of cloth. Topec looked down at him silently, his eyes as cold as the shadowed side of the moon.
He stood still and allowed the child to calm himself, reaching down only once he felt the smaller body sliding to the floor.

The Cenobite exited the church, child silent in his arms. The cross on the crumpling steeple shook in the wind; it creaked and swayed, then broke off and fell into the yard.