Dufaii - The Patron Saints of the Damned Book I
Chapter 16 - Infernal Conviction

“Dufaii,

Your report on your meeting with the Lightbringer is troubling. As we feared, it is maddened ones playing games with maddened ones. Thus the result is just as convoluted as could be expected. I find myself doubtful about any of their claims to avoid war. Additionally, I do not trust in this incarnation of the Lightbringer or any of his attempts to win favor with me.

However, this feels very much like it is out of our hands. I have spoken with my counsel, and we have decided that your playing along with this little game is the best chance we’ll get at information which will help us be prepared. We cannot advise on a course of action, but I feel like it would be pointless to do so. You will do what you feel is right when issues arise. The plans I have in mind are being formed with your nature as a variable taken into account. I do not expect you to go against it.

I know you have trouble trusting yourself after what happened in the rebellion. Know that I trust you. And you’ve never made me wish I hadn’t.”

-General Hades (in official letter 24,000 to the Godkiller)

P.S. On the back of this letter, you will find the coordinates my spies have seen Ammon in with growing frequency. Be on your guard. The Ammon you are fighting will be mostly the same Ammon who was your partner for so many years. Therein lies the danger.”

-O-

Dufaii rose out of water to pink skies above. He spread his wings and felt them catch the slightly humid air. Of course, the humidity did not compare with that of the jungle he’d known, but the heat was harsher here and less bearable. It was evening … wherever he was … and the large body of water beneath him flowed gently. It was a river, almost a quarter mile in length. On either side of it were lines of trees that grew along the shore except where modern human structures stood. None of these buildings were particularly tall, except for the great metal bridge upon which many vehicles drove. The crowded world around him—all this technology and movement—were unfamiliar.

Dufaii took shelter amongst the trees and waited as he watched the river. It was two days before he finally spotted his former partner rising from the water as he had. From there, Dufaii began to trail him.

Ammon flew to the side of the river with more development, including a few taller buildings that rose above the trees. The small city seemed to be most heavily comprised of industrial complexes and what smelled like eateries with bright electric lights coming from them. It seemed a bit … dirty, with many mud-covered vehicles, areas heavy with litter, and human dwellings with rusty metal and plastic bits strewn across the yard. Ammon had camouflaged himself, as the two always had when they could have potentially been seen by humans. However, his aura was completely unshielded and so Dufaii was able to follow at a distance.

Judging by the scenery and the specific lettering used on building and signs, Dufaii felt certain that he was again in a section of the New World, in the northern hemisphere. The heat, humidity, and the flora made him think that he was in a Southern region of the United States—somewhere he hadn’t been since he and Ammon had individually annihilated the gods of the area.

Dufaii continued to follow across fields, pastures, and forests, and into an area that clearly had much more in terms of resources. It was a residential area, with large human dwellings that were much better kept than those he’d seen near the river. The vehicles seemed more uniform in age and color, and they shined from cleaning. There were professionally manicured gardens, and wild foliage was cut back wherever it could be.

It was at a white dwelling, indiscernible from the rest, where Ammon slowed and landed on the edge of a window. He opened it and then entered onto the second floor. The building was as big as three of Heaven’s barracks stacked together. Below, there were two black and rather large vehicles. It was not extravagant when compared to the palaces that Dufaii had occasionally entered during his war against the gods. But the large windows, the carefully maintained garden, the sparkling pool in the back, and the stonework that decorated the yard all seemed designed for showing a certain status.

The idea that the Champion could come from such a place seemed bizarre as well. The saints chosen by Heaven rarely came from wealth. To quote an old human saying that actually bore some wisdom, it was more difficult for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for the wealthy to become part of the kingdom of Heaven. Most heroes and especially saints came from more humble beginnings, with difficulties that built their character and made them formidable forces against the corruptive nature of the human societies that demons had helped to design. Of course … like the fabled werewolf, Saint Francis of Assisi … there were exceptions.

Dufaii flew close enough that he could peer within the home. Inside, many more electric devices made noise and light that were abrasive even from where he stood. This was not the only affront to his senses, however. Sensing an odious presence, he looked carefully until he perceived the aura of a camouflaged angel, on the roof of a nearby house. Of course … it made sense that one was here. Heaven was treating the Champion as a saint—complete with a protective detail.

Dufaii took flight, closed the distance between the two buildings quickly, and landed behind the angel.

It seemed that his camouflage was a half-hearted job at best—as he could be seen as just a blurry form now that Dufaii was close. The loyalist’s folded wings were unusually steel-colored, he had tan skin over a muscular figure, and his red hair was cut short. His armor, steel plate-mail with a sword and kite-shield, was more suited to one of Michael’s warriors than Gabriel’s guardians. He was passively watching the child’s house. He had not reacted at all to an invisible force, not hiding its demon aura, entering the home.

The silver-winged angel turned to face him, but he did not seem daunted. He did not draw his sword, he did not fall into any stance, he did not even seem surprised that a demon had dropped right next to him.

Dufaii studied him for a moment and then said, “Is this … the Champion’s home?”

The silver-winged angel did not reply, either in words or in any sort of reaction. If he knew about the matter enough not to be confused by the question, it meant that this indeed was where the Champion lived. And this angel would have known that he’d just given this away … and yet he did not seem to mind.

“Did you not see that Ammon, the enemy of the Champion, just entered into that home?” Dufaii asked and pointed at the white house.

The silver-winged angel sighed heavily. “My only instruction was to keep the child safe from physical danger. The demon, Ammon, knows that if he kills the Champion or allows the Champion to come to harm, then he has lost this contest. The way I see it, the Champion is safest with Ammon close. So, unless you see a fire, I suggest you take up your criticisms with someone higher up.”

Dufaii found himself both irritated by the angel’s words. His logic was tremendously flawed, and his attitude left much to be desired. However, Dufaii had learned something. Such disinterest was as out of place for a guardian angel as this loyalist’s armor. He had come across enough of the naïve and idealistic angels with overt parental natures to know the difference. This was definitely a member of the ever-loathsome guard.

This new detail then begged the question of why. If Heaven simply wanted the best warrior for the Champion’s defense, why not station a member of the guard along with a guardian angel? And if they weren’t worried about the Champion being attacked, why station a warrior here at all?

Dufaii shook his head; he’d been gathering intel on this mission for only a couple of minutes and already nothing added up as it should have. Maybe it was exactly what he should have expected, given the players at work. Dufaii sighed forcefully and tried to let the inefficiency of it all go. At the end of the day, his job was simply to report these sorts of details … which was exactly what he intended to do.

Dufaii again took flight and glided slowly until he reached the window where Ammon had entered. It was still open. Dufaii stepped onto the thick stone windowsill and then looked inside.

Inside, Ammon—no longer invisible—stood over an infant’s crib. An electrical device played loudly from below, and the auras of two humans could be sensed as they meandered around it.

Dufaii stepped through the window and into the infant’s room.

Ammon did not react to his entrance, though it was unlikely that he would not have noticed at this proximity. He was occupied with animating a stuffed wolf toy over the crib. He twisted it and turned it with exaggerated gestures, while the human infant watched with bright and adoring eyes. Then he began to read aloud from a little cardboard book with illustrations—occasionally turning the book around so that the tiny human could see the pictures. This seemed a pointless gesture at the toddler’s age and apparent stage of development.

Regardless, Ammon read the story with gusto, speaking out the parts as if he were an actor in a play. Though he hadn’t been here much longer, he had arrived at the part of the well-known fairy tale where the woodcutter began to carve the wolves’ stomach to avenge the small girl and grandmother who had been devoured. It was the end of the story, well … one of several endings that Dufaii had heard throughout his time in the human realms. The purpose of these variations of the tale ranged from making them entertainingly gruesome, to benignly moral, to religiously symbolic, to perversely erotic. This version was harsher than some … but ultimately hopeful.

When Ammon was finished and the infant was asleep, he tucked the stuffed wolf neatly next to the infant and set the book on the bedside table. Then he turned and said, “My apologies for taking so long to lead you here. I hope you were not waiting for too long.”

A surge of old anger hit Dufaii from the inside. Blood rushed through his veins and his chest felt like it was in a vice-grip. He had to take a deep breath to draw on the calm he’d striven for in self-exile. Breathing slowly and calmly seemed to alleviate the pressure. Still, he felt … disappointment in himself for being so impacted by nothing. “You knew I was going to be here?”

Ammon watched the cradle, seeming not to notice Dufaii’s anger. He replied, “Mr. Green let it slip … and I made my way here immediately. I’m glad you entered in time to see her react to the story. And she seems quite taken with that little toy.” He indicated with a nod of his head to where the infant held the stuffed wolf tightly between two chubby pale arms as she slept.

“I needed to try to figure out why the loyalists are here but doing nothing,” Dufaii said as he stared at the infant—failing to see anything endearing about the scene. Nothing made sense, and the variable calmness or disinterest of everyone connected to the situation made him feel like they could see a clear picture that he could not, which only served to frustrate him more.

Ammon gave a small chuckle and said, “You’re already trying to piece all the absurdity together. It’s like old times … you want to set up and deal with the immediate threat while I want to just wait and get a feel for things. Don’t get me wrong, though, the fine details are going to matter. I mean, take all this for example.” He pointed at some hand-stitched blessings and prayers on the walls, as well as an illustrated edition of a holy text.

Dufaii raised an eyebrow, unsure what the point of it was.

Ammon continued. “A religious upbringing creates a plethora of opportunities for motivating and influencing humans.”

Dufaii looked around and noted a few small and pedantic images of ‘angels’ around them. Given the involvement between both angels and demons with the deities of this world, it probably should have come of little surprise that some would integrate them into their myths and legends. Though this particular religion seemed to have been doctored heavily by a very involved loyalist. Rumor had it that the deity originally responsible for this specific faith had carried on a prolonged love affair with an angel. Regardless, Dufaii did not see why any of this mattered.

Ammon paused for a moment and then the colors of his body began to slowly blur like two differently colored pools of water being mixed together. It created a palate that was dull and beige at first, but then the color of his eyes lightened. His wings turned white and each feather became exaggeratedly heavy, round, and soft like they were made of clouds. His eyes continued to morph until they flickered with cyan … traces of madness appearing in the corners of his mouth in the form of a crooked smile.

Dufaii scowled and felt his tone become stern as he said, “What you are speaking of is manipulation. This is not a god that you are trying to destroy, nor is it a stupid human peasant with a lifetime of desensitization to higher thought. A human raised around demons and loyalists has the potential for far more intelligence; it will learn, adapt, and eventually realize it is being used or manipulated. Your focus is scattered—just like your mind—ever under the influence of Tezcatlipoca.”

Ammon stared at him, suddenly sobered. Then he nodded as if grateful for the rebuke that had shaken him out of his minor loss of himself. He changed his form again, this time so that he was a bit smaller. This form had no wings. His armor turned into a priest’s clerical shirt, pants, and collar. His eyes, however, remained black. “You’re right. I don’t know what came over me. What … I had been about to say … was that all of this religious background can be contextual for her to begin to understand our world. After she truly begins to grasp what is going on, I will be able to earn her trust.”

Why was Ammon just spelling out his plan? And was he speaking of exchanging a piece of his soul with this human’s, as he had done many times before? It would make sense. Why fight when he could just ally himself with the human?

“Will you even be able to make that decision?” Dufaii asked.

Ammon opened his mouth as if to say something, but then looked down at his feet crestfallenly.

Dufaii waited a moment, took a deep breath, and then softly said, “I’m going to stop you from playing out this sick game. The Ammon I knew would have never gotten involved with the machinations of the Lightbringer and the Creator. None of this makes any sense … and we both know that the loyalists are up to something with all of this.”

Ammon nodded and replied, “I thought you might try. Though … I also wonder what motivations higher powers might have for having involved you as much as me.” His tone was not accusing. If anything, he sounded almost as confused himself.

Dufaii shook his head and looked away.

-O-

Hades,

I thank you for your concern, but I will not be deterred by personal grief from doing my duty as your eyes in this Challenge.

It’s simply … difficult to watch this mortal endure a semblance of what we ourselves went through. I would have thought that its parents had undergone the same madness as the Creator. Punishments for mostly perceived slights are treated as entertainment, with the parents growing bored every few months and adapting a new form of physical torment.

Yesterday, I watched as they struck the child with a willow branch for nearly an hour. Every time she flinched, they started their ‘count’ again. When she once cried out in pain, they began again. When they got to the end of a count, but she wasn’t silently weeping … well … I don’t have to repeat it. It was corporal punishment … physical torture … on a small child. And when they were finished, they had the gall to mock her when she could not sit properly.

I watched their eyes when they did this. There was some rage in the mother’s eyes, some bemusement in the father’s. Mostly, however, there was a sadistic gleam in both of them. They wanted the child to break … and purely on principal. What’s worse, there is nothing in the child for them to break … no rebellion … no anything. There’s only fear … and the growing realization of when she needs to express that she is afraid in order to satiate their bouts of sadism.

It’s barbaric and it’s … well, it’s the Balance at work. While not maddened, the parents are certainly corrupted—the exact condition of damned souls when they enter our realm. I know that what demonkind did was only to speed up the corruption of humans. I know we did not create the terms of this cruel world or our even crueler world below. Uncorrupted beings like that child will suffer a century at most … while our people would suffer eternally without the blood of the damned. But if it were only me below, I would say it wasn’t worth it. No child should have to endure what we did.

Yet … once again … I am comfortable in the mortal realm, unaffected by the very damnation I brought upon us all.

Please forgive my self-pity. I have issued yet another complaint about the absence of a guardian angel to help tend to the child. It is getting older. And the abuse is making it more fragile, not stronger in the least. It needs to be taken for training by the Archangels as soon as possible. Forget letting it age … the wait is only making the Challenge all the more impossible.

The child is no saint. I don’t understand what reason other than cruelty she could have possibly been chosen by the Creator.

-Dufaii

-O-

It was a day that should have felt like any other. A light bit of weather kept the sky overcast in the brisk Fall morning. At this time, Dufaii normally would have found himself studying the Human Champion or pondering Ammon’s actions. Today, however, just felt … different to him. So Dufaii found a grassy place outside the Champion’s very abrasively loud home. He closed his eyes and focused on the auras around him.

The parents were present—preparing to leave to their prospective places of employment. The Champion was preparing for elementary school, her … its … energy was evermore a shell of what it had been upon birth. She radiated fear, but this was nothing out of the ordinary. There was … a bit of resignation that had not been there a few days before. She had been injured in an accident which would inevitably leave scarring–from her jaw to her temple.

In a moment of personal weakness, Dufaii had intervened only a bit. He had snuck onto the ambulance that came to retrieve her and used one of his healing remedies on her face. It wouldn’t make the scarring go away, but it had helped the pain and minimized potential damage. Fortunately, Ammon had not been around to take note of this tactical failure.

In the end, the Champion was sent back home with her face in bandages. These surely hurt … but why had her aura grown so quiet so suddenly?

Ammon was in the home, as he often was—invisible, but likely still in the general shape of the priestly human he’d donned years ago. Today, however, there was something … unusually quiet about his presence.

Dufaii opened his eyes and stood. His form these days remained mostly invisible, so changing to avoid being seen was unnecessary. He put extra effort into quieting his aura, however, as he positioned himself to look through the back-kitchen window.

Ammon was there, of course, but something was off. Generally, he stood at-ease when around the humans—always seeming fascinated or, occasionally, morose. At this moment, however, he seemed not nearly so composed. Rather, he stood awkwardly—nearly lurching over the human family. This … this was familiar, though Dufaii had not seen it since taking this assignment. The spirits inside him—Tezcatlipoca and the humans that Ammon had split his soul with—had taken over.

Dufaii reached for his sword, but then paused. Was he really about to stop whatever was about to happen?

If Ammon were to hurt the child, he would forfeit the Challenge. This would all be over. Both the young human’s suffering, and that of his people, would be over. Demonkind would be free to at least escape this world. At least … those that did not choose to stay to fight by Ammon’s side when he inevitably refused to give up his obsession with killing the Creator. But at least half of demonkind would be free.

Dufaii closed his eyes and let his hand fall to his side. He watched with a sour pit in his stomach, ready for a gruesome end to this pathetic display of madness and cruelty.

To his surprise, however, Ammon did not act. He merely remained as he was … watching the family with a vacant stare.

A chill went down Dufaii’s spine … though he could not deny feeling a selfish bit of relief at not having had to watch the child torn to pieces. He continued to watch as the family finished their breakfast and prepared to depart.

The child went through the doors of the home, wearing its backpack. It walked toward the curb, where a school bus was just pulling in.

All the while Ammon, or the things controlling him, just followed. They walked with jerky uncoordinated movements behind the child, and finally entered the bus along with it. Of course, the real Ammon had never done anything like that.

Dufaii took flight and continued to follow the school bus. Through the back window of the vehicle, he could see the twitching form of Ammon standing over a couple dozen children. This … this was getting dangerous. It was all Dufaii could do not to enter in and eliminate this threat to so many innocent lives. He would not, however. He was in control of his empathetic impulses and would allow this creature to ruin Ammon’s plans as much as it could. The pain in his stomach from the prospect was a small sacrifice.

Still, however, Ammon did nothing. The things inside him only watched the Champion as she inevitably reached the school.

Dufaii kept his distance as Ammon followed the Champion into the school. He waited outside the window, perplexed as classes passed with nothing happening. Well … that was to say, on the part of Ammon and the beings inside him.

During the point in the day when the children were sent outside for the teaching staff to rest, the Champion was harassed by the other students. Eventually, this became a fight … in which something new did happen. As she and a friend were attacked, something changed in her eyes. They became dark, unfeeling. She had lunged for another child’s throat—being stopped by a teacher only moments before she might have done serious damage.

Only then did Ammon react, giving a bloodthirsty grin. Not any sort of sadism or enjoyment, but seemingly more out a sense of … accomplishment.

This development disturbed Dufaii—not for the sake of the child or even because he was under any illusion that Ammon had caused any of it. No, both Ammon and the spirits within had only watched. But … they’d known that something would happen, even when Dufaii himself had not. And it wasn’t Ammon who had figured it out, no … it was the things controlling him. Up until now, any speculation as to their sense of purpose or intelligence had been just that. Now it felt undeniable that they too were playing their own role in all this.

While Dufaii felt no better about the situation playing out before him, he felt vindicated for abstaining from interference. This was valuable information that Hades could use in the fight for Hell’s unity. He continued to follow the Champion and Ammon through the school.

With the fight ended, the children were brought inside. The Champion was isolated from the rest, and Ammon remained with her throughout the unproductive discussions with adults. It was only when the Champion was left all alone in an office that Ammon finally did … something.

Dufaii watched closely as the Champion picked up a small toy doll.

When she did, Ammon placed a hand on the doll as well. The object began to glow with yellow … an energy that passed from it into the hands of the small human who held it.

Dufaii froze in place. Whatever this was, it was not any sort of ability inherent to demons. What was more, he had … no idea what was going on. Not until he looked out the window to the same shock as the humans standing around. There … the child she had attacked rose briefly into the air.

Only too late did Dufaii look down to see the Creator pull the head from the doll—the thoughts reflected through her eyes betraying no awareness of what was happening just outside her window. The grotesque horror of the other child enduring the same violence as the doll.

Finally, alerted to screams outside, the child glanced out the window. She froze entirely at the sight. For a little while, she didn’t even breathe. Whatever emotions and thoughts her eyes might have projected dimmed. Even her aura became reduced to absolutely nothing.

Dufaii stormed forward and gently pushed the child into a nearby chair so she would no longer see the terrible carnage outside. In a single movement, he then turned on Ammon and slammed his fist into his former partner’s jaw hard enough to drop him. He reached forward—fulling intending on beating Ammon until his brain was damaged enough to stop working.

However, when Ammon looked up at Dufaii, all trace of the spirits within were gone. He looked around, visibly confused, and then back up. He shook his head and said, “It happened again, didn’t it?”

“Do you have any idea of what you just did?” Dufaii seethed psychically, as to not be heard. He picked Ammon up by the collar of his priest’s robed and threw him at the window.

Ammon caught himself and looked at the body below. He looked back down at the Champion, confused. It seemed he was trying to read her thoughts. But there was nothing to be read.

“You used some sort of magic to link that toy with the child out there. You made the Champion kill him!” Dufaii shouted, having no patience for waiting for his former partner to figure out the situation.

“I …” Ammon said, and then again shook his head like he was trying to dislodge something stuck inside it.

The Champion stood from her chair and began wandering listlessly toward the door. She left … though it was unlikely she had any idea where she was going.

Dufaii nearly went to follow her, but paused when he finally received a reply that he was not expecting.

With nobody around to hear, Ammon said, “It seems the beings inside me provided me with an opportunity.” Now it was he who followed the Champion out the door.

Dufaii felt his heart begin to race. Something was happening, and his former partner was taking some kind of advantage with this. But, for the life of him, Dufaii could not figure out the play in mind. He followed the two of them out, clenching his hands into fists as he tried to figure out how any of this could play to Ammon’s advantage. More importantly, how could he counter it?

They followed the Champion as she left the school—slipping by the panicked adults in all the commotion. Thoughtlessly, she walked down the street until she reached a small public park. There, she found a bench and just … sat.

Dufaii wasn’t sure what he should do. He had all the time in the world, but his mind was drawing blanks. Should he be arming himself? Should he be reading the child … or keeping a lookout for some hidden piece of the puzzle?

Ammon, however, simply approached the child and let his camouflage fall away. He sat down on the bench and simply began to speak with her. It looked like an interaction between and an adult and child should have. There was listening, compassionate nods, and softly spoken words. It was … everything the child was missing in her life. And Ammon was giving that small amount of decency to her.

Dufaii felt so stupid. In the few short years since first arriving in this place, he had lost sight of the fact that Ammon had always intended to win her over. It was … what he was good at—people. And it was the one thing which terrified Dufaii the most. Had he ever even stood a chance at making a difference in this. He could only watch as the scene unfolded.

Ammon reached to his chest—a silvery glow just past his fingers. Just like many humans before, he was going to offer to share his power with her. It was … over.

To Dufaii’s surprise, however, something seemed to stir the Champion from her haze. She stared at Ammon, fear momentarily flashing in her eyes, and she ran away—in the direction of her home.

It seemed that this wasn’t over yet. But even with the gift of a little more time, what could Dufaii hope to do against Ammon in an arena where he felt the least suited? There was nothing he could think of.

Ammon walked toward him and shook his head. “I was a bit premature, it seems.”

Dufaii felt like he would throw up. Mostly from his nerves at nearly having lost everything, but also a new anger had begun to boil inside him. “The Ammon I knew once grieved that he would have to kill the adult, corrupted versions of the children he once called nieces and nephews. Now a child is dead, and you wish to recruit another in a war that doesn’t even involve her kind.”

Ammon sighed. “Maybe I have changed … but don’t think I am blind to the casualties of this war. It’s an unforgivable sacrifice for a cause I know I must believe in. Do you even remember what that feels like, anymore?”

Dufaii grit his jaw and nearly retorted something venomous. But then he stopped. At the beginning of all this, he had determined to act as the ambassador of Hell. But did he really believe that opposing Ammon was what best served his people? No, and it was why he had not acted throughout any of this. He didn’t want to choose … he was afraid of finding out what he knew deep down to be right.

-O-

General Ammon,

I inquired into the reasons for the Godkiller’s involvement with your challenge. I understand that you welcome him but … well … a number of us are concerned about the logistics of his presence. He still commands great respect from the people, and even more so for not involving himself in the politics of our world. General Hades, as well as stating publicly that any plans of revolt ought to be divorced from plans to kill the Creator, openly admits to having discussed this with the current incarnation of the Lightbringer. She wanted someone she could trust around, and she goes way back with the Godkiller.

However, it was they who ultimately wanted him to be there. I say ‘they’ but it is this incarnation, Mr. Green in particular, who I distrust. If he’s so keen to support you should you win the challenge, why is he creating unnecessary hurdles against you? For that matter, why has he kept his support tentatively with General Hades? Speaking to the Creator … and even to one of the Archangels … I don’t trust him to ever be on our side. Or anyone’s side but his own, for that matter.

You know something bad is coming, and we believe you. Why put up with the unnecessary obstacle of the Godkiller or this Challenge? If you were to command us into battle tonight, a great many of us would be at your side. We have enough people still on our side to stand a chance. And we don’t need the Lightbringer, either. Getting three-quarters of Hell, though … I’m not sure that even in winning the Challenge so many could be convinced. Why risk the forces we already have, especially now that another demon hero is positioning himself to oppose you?

I trust your judgement, I’m just … concerned.

Your comrade,

S.T.

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