Silence, sudden and deafening, consumed the room that just moments before had been full of laughter and celebration. A single black streamer drifted lazily from the ceiling, each slow swish slicing through the still air. From the packed dance floor, a voice, shaky with fear, dared to break the silence.
“Wha…what was that?”
“Thunder?” another voice, barely audible, offered.
“You fool!” a third, booming voice cut through the tension. “It doesn’t thunder down here! Someone get up there and FIGURE IT OUT!”
—————————————————————-
“What do you think that noise was?” Moloch, Chief of Hell’s army, walked beside Amaymon, the King of the South, as they hurried to the Map Room with the rest of Hell’s hierarchy.
“I know what I hope it wasn’t,” Amaymon answered in an almost whisper.
The Map Room looked as though it had been carved straight out of the side of a mountain. In the far corner sat a huge obsidian table and chairs, quickly filling with members of the infernal court.
“Moloch!” Leraie, a Great Marquis, called from the back of the room. “You two, come here! Quickly!”
As Moloch and Amaymon approached, they overheard Prince Dumah whispering that the map at the front seemed to indicate their fears were true.
“There is no wa...” Moloch was interrupted by the large, rune‑carved doors creaking open. Everyone in the room fell silent, dread running through each of them. Instead of the Boss, a young, trembling demon stuck his head in.
“What?” Prince Belial scowled at him, though in truth he was relieved it wasn’t the Boss. “Do you want?”
The young demon, still half in the doorway, answered, “I…um…I was told to only deliver my message to the Boss.”
Before anyone could respond, the doors swung open as if hit by a gale‑force wind. Behind him stood the imposing figure of the Boss: tall, muscular, with dark hair framing his face. He wore a perfectly tailored suit, had piercing blue eyes, and a glow that had dulled over time but still spoke of days when he had been in the heavens. His hand landed firmly, deceptively reassuring, on the messenger’s back as he ushered him into the room. When they reached the head of the table, the Boss looked at the messenger inquiringly.
“Well…”
“Um…” Clearing his throat and taking a deep, shaky breath, the messenger leaned in to whisper his message to the Boss.
The entire room waited in full dread, hoping they were wrong in their assumptions. As they watched the Boss and the messenger, they saw the Boss’s eyes widen and then narrow into slits as he processed what he was being told. Straightening his stance and smoothing his suit, he replied, calm and confident, “A tombstone being moved would not make that noise down here.”
“No, sir. Not A tombstone. THE tombstone.” His voice was no longer a whisper, fueled now by sheer terror. “And the tomb is…empty.”
The Boss, who had begun to sit, shot back to his feet. The messenger flinched, and a collective gasp swept through the room. If any of the beings had blood, it would have run cold.
“Empty?” The Boss’s voice was dangerously low and calm. “As in, they moved the body?” His eyes immediately swept the room.
“No sir. As in there is an angel at the opening proclaiming that the Son of …” his words caught in his throat. “Um, He has been resurrected. Pulled from the grasp of Death.”
As the messenger spoke the Boss’ anger was visibly growing. Locking his eyes onto Dommiel, he asked, “Where are Hades and Thanatos?”
Dommiel wanted nothing more than to melt into the floor at that moment. How? he thought. “Sir, I haven’t seen them since before the celebration.”
“Find them, and the three of you meet me in my office.” The Boss was already walking toward the doors. As he reached the threshold, he turned and addressed the entire room. “And the rest of you had better get up there and get this under control. I haven’t had to end anyone in a very long time…” With that, he turned and disappeared through the doorway.
—————————————————————-
Pausing momentarily to take a deep breath and gather himself, the Boss opened the door to his office.
“Hades. Thanatos. Dommiel.” His voice was steady, calm, and sent a bolt of fear through each of his guests..
“Boss.” Each answered in unison.Circling to the other side of his desk, the Boss unbuttoned his coat and slowly sat in his chair. “Would one of you care to explain to me why I was informed that our guest of honor has decided to cut his stay short?”
Silence.
“Hades?”
“Sir.” Hades’ usually commanding voice cracked like a human male in puberty. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Sir, I HAD Him.” He looked down at a closed fist, then over to an empty palm. “And then… I didn’t.”
The Boss’s eyes rolled slowly as he took a long, deep inhale. “Thanatos, Death… was He not dead? I mean, that WAS the soul of the Son of G…” He cleared his throat, unable to speak the Holy Name in his lair. “The human soul of the HUMAN we had nailed to that cross?”
“Yessir. It was Him, no doubt,” Thanatos answered.
The fire that silhouetted the Boss surged, almost as if it were a starving mouth drooling at the thought it was about to be fed. As if sensing an unspoken threat, the two hellhounds that had been lying unnoticed in the corner quietly got up and locked eyes on the Boss’s guests.“Dommiel. Dommiel. Dommiel. My gatekeeper…”
“Sir.” Dommiel’s eyes were glued to the floor, tears threatening to start falling down his face.
“Dommiel.” The hellhounds took two slow steps forward, but the Boss nonchalantly held up a hand for them to halt.
“Sir. I do not know how He got out. No one came in, and no one left. I swear on my existence.” As he finished, he looked up and locked eyes with the Boss. The Boss held his gaze for an uncomfortably long time before abruptly inhaling and standing. “Well, lucky for you, I need everyone on duty to fix this.” All three let out a sigh of relief as the Boss continued. “However, if I even THINK that one of you has failed me again, the Lake will get fuel for its fire.”
“Yessir.” All three began to head for the door.
“Oh.” They stopped as the Boss had a follow‑up. “I assume I do not need to tell you what this means?” He sat back down and rested his chin in his hand, staring into nothing.
Thanatos, Hades, and Dommiel all looked at each other, then shook their heads. “No sir. We are aware.”
—————————————————————-
Maps of mortal misery glowed on the walls as Hell’s council muttered over their failing Earth campaign.
“THREE HUNDRED YEARS.”
The Boss’ roar shattered the air. Doors exploded inward as he stormed the dais, eyes blazing. “Three. HUN-dred. YEARS. Why is this problem still breathing?!”
A duke in the back stammered, voice cracking. “Sir, we’ve burned through Rome’s best. Nero crucified them. Torched them alive to light his gardens. Even nailed their leader upside down.”
The Boss leaned in, lips curling. “Poetic. Go on.”
“Caligula toyed with them. Marcus Aurelius fed them to lions. Now Diocletian’s empire-wide edicts, mines, beasts, fire, skinning. The horrors that have been poured out on them should’ve crushed it.” The duke swallowed. “It didn’t.”
The Boss’ fist cracked the table. “Details.”
“Latest census,” the duke rasped, no scroll needed, the fear of being ended had burned the facts into the demon's memory. “Year 100: thousands. Year 200: two hundred thousand. Now? Six million. Ten percent of the Empire.”
“WHAT?!” The growl rattled stones. Everyone's eyes hit the floor as the Boss demanded, “Plans?!”
Silence responded. Blue fire flickered in his gaze, his fits clenched, and just as he was about to explode...
“Sir?” A steady voice cut the shadows.
A duke sneered. “Who’re you? How'd you get in here”
The Boss flicked a finger, pulling the source of the voice closer. Light pinned the figure, a lean messenger, eyes sharp. “Boy? How did you ...you know what? I don't care, these morons haven't given me a solution. Speak. This can’t get worse.”
“Stop the persecution and killing, or at least slow it.” He began
“Are you daft, boy?” a Mammon interrupted him.
“I was wrong. That is worse. However, let him finish!” The Boss insisted
“See, if we place moles in the heart of the movement, then we can use them to kill themselves. Then, in turn the whole world will turn against them as they proceed to do everything that…He taught against.” After a slight pause, he decided to add, “Plus, I have already managed to plant the idea of relics in their minds.”
Blank stares. A king snorted. “Relics?”
“Dead saints’ scraps. They hoard them, pray to them. Venerate or practically worship them. Idolatry and hypocrisy will rot them from within.”
Silence stretched. The messenger’s confidence cracked, for a moment he feared he may not leave the room.
Boss tilted his head. “Rank?”
“Messenger, sir. I know I wasn't authorized but, as I watched things top side get worse, I slipped up and whispered in a few ears, planted things where I could.”
“Name?”
“Shamziel.”
“Well done, kid. You’re General Shamziel now. Run it.”
No one dared object.