The shock troops of Hell, the fiends were built for devastation. Thickly muscled, they could snap a man in half without effort. Their mouths are filled with rows of serrated teeth, reminiscent of a mutant piranha. Backed up by an arsenal of sharp claws that grew like bony saws from the tips of their fingers, it wouldn’t take but a few seconds for one to rip you apart. I could only imagine what thousands of them could do. Actually, I could probably just look to Asmoday and get a pretty good idea. Longinus would know too, though I’d never have the sack to ask him.
My heart drummed a retreat, but somewhere in the abyss of my mind I realized there was something strange going on. Though I could hear them breathing, whistled breaths humming in rhythm, they hadn’t moved. The glimmers of their orange eyes stared straight ahead without blinking.
As close as I was to them, I could see the yellow-green bile that oozed across their leathery skin and smell the rancid stink of their unwashed flesh. If I could smell them, they most definitely could smell me, their natural senses far greater than mine.
I looked out across the sea of fiends, and other than the gentle tremble of the porcupine spikes extending from their bony faces, there wasn’t a hint of movement. It was freaky.
While my experience with the fiends was limited to the few encounters where they were trying to rip me to pieces, their current state seemed way out of character. They were obviously alive, so I had no idea what to make of it all.
Logic dictated that if they had wanted to attack they’d had plenty of time to do so. Deep down I knew logic didn’t mean shit when it came to the supernatural world. The rules weren’t the same.
Dread fiends weren’t wild creatures who acted on instinct. They were bred to serve, to kill. I couldn’t predict their response because it all came down to whoever had raised them, impressed their will upon them. So, while my presence might not incite them, I had no idea what would. It could be anything; a wayward fart could send them into a murderous frenzy.
A smidgen of confidence emerging at their continued immobility, I looked over their heads to the other side of the room. Well over two football fields in length, I couldn’t see anything clearly in the gloom, but I spotted an arched doorway at the far end, of course. A narrow path between the fiends led straight toward it.
No idea what lay beyond the arch, I tried to picture the layout of Lucifer’s chambers in the hopes of gaining some perspective. It wasn’t happening. The chamber was obviously built underneath, but I’d never heard so much as a whisper about it. Even with all the secrets Lucifer had shared with me, I’d never known about this place.
That meant two things: I wasn’t meant to know or they were built after Lucifer took off for parts unknown. It was likely the former, if recent revelations were any indication.
Either way, it meant that whatever was down here was here for a reason. Like a kid admonished not to peek, I suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to find out what was so important it had to be guarded by an army of dread fiends.
Have I mentioned I’m a tad bit on the impulsive side?
I put my gun away and covered it up with my shirt. Not sure what the trigger might be for setting the fiends off, I didn’t want to risk looking like I was there for a fight. Besides, if the horde woke up on the wrong side of the cave, it wouldn’t matter if I had a million guns. There just wasn’t a win buried anywhere in that massacre. It wouldn’t be but a couple of seconds before I ended up as a chunky, red coat of paint on the walls.
A quick tap to my head cleared that thought away before it could dissuade me. I drew in a deep breath and took one step into the chamber. Nothing happened. I took another and still nothing. By about the tenth step, my ass threatening to turtle, I had passed the point of no return. If they sprung awake then, I was dead.
My pretend optimism fueling my advance, I sped my pace and moved as nonchalantly as I possibly could while running my ass off. The orange shimmer of their eyes stayed on me as I passed, but they never turned their heads or moved to intercept me.
About ten yards from the archway, I nearly barreled into a wall of fiends that blocked the way. My attention on the ones behind me, I hadn’t noticed the ones in front. Breathing like a locomotive, I felt panic start to well up, but it subsided just as quickly when the fiends didn’t so much as blink.
The path cluttered, I peered over them to find a new way to the arch. There wasn’t one. Wedged tight against each other, the fiends formed a solid barrier. I thought about backing up and diving over them, but I highly doubted I’d make it. Ten yards is a long way. Ask any football team.
Flying crossed my mind, but that was a pipe dream. It went up in smoke the second it popped into my head. Images of me crash landing in their midst sprung up unbidden. Even if I managed to figure out how to fly, I couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t take offense to the use of magic. So, limited in options, there was only one more thing I could try.
Tentative, I reached my hand out and touched one of the fiends with the tip of my finger. The ooze felt warm as I yanked my finger back to keep it from being bitten off. The fiend just stood there.
A little braver, I did it again, this time laying my palm on its arm. Once more it did nothing. Its lack of response was encouraging. Thinking I could make it, I gave it a try.
My courage tucked between my legs, I squeezed between the closest two fiends, their stench making my eyes water. Neither moved, but their bodies were so rigid they didn’t even sway as I pressed against them. The greasy pus slathered across their bodies made it easier to slide past, though I felt like I was crawling out of an infected boil.
In the second rank, I slipped between two more and found myself surrounded in the third. Packed even tighter, there wasn’t any room for me to get by. Since it didn’t make any sense to go backward, it would have to be forward.
Careful not to bump the fiends, I gently leaned my shoulder against theirs and exerted some pressure. It was as though I were pushing against a brick wall. I’d managed to slide through a couple of inches, but they weren’t budging. As I got to my chest, it was like squeezing a watermelon through a dog’s ass; it just wasn’t happening.
Determined to get through, I put my weight into the move and I slid a few more inches but was unable to go further. While not quite the immovable object, they were as close as I would ever see. Worried I might wake them if I pushed any harder, I tried to back out only to find I was stuck.
Wedged between their arms, I had one elbow grinding into my spine while the other pressed into my stomach, the fiend’s hand grazing my crotch. Even as easy as I am, it didn’t feel good.
Unable to go either way without a jolt, I got up on my toes and tried to save some space that way. It didn’t quite work out as planned. Only able to lift up a little, I was still stuck, only less comfortably.
The stifling air was filled with the stink of dread fiend, every breath was torture. I could taste the decay. My stomach grumbled, compressed as it was between pointy elbows. To make things worse, an oozing pustule broke open on the shoulder of the fiend before me.
Yellow-green goop boiled out of it and ran like a putrid caterpillar down the fiend’s arm and onto my chest. It soaked through my shirt, its pulsing warmth lapping at my skin. Spurred on by the biochemical assault upon my sensibilities, I tried one last time to slip past, but I remained stuck. I pushed harder and then harder still, squirming to be free. They didn’t budge.
“Move damn it!” The words were out of my mouth before I’d even realized I said them.
To my horror, they did. The pressure suddenly relieved, I fell on my ass as the fiends stepped away, the room filled with a horrific symphony of snarls and rumbling growls.