The Devil May Care

It was the time of Myrmidon. A thousand years had passed and, in the caverns of Hell, the pulsating sound of drums announced the beginning of challenge.

Three demons, like Roman warriors, prepared themselves for their encounter with Lucifer. Chandar, the oldest and ugliest of Lucifer’s guards, clothed himself in a tunic stained with the blood of his children he had sacrificed in a pagan ritual for the favors of Lucifer. His breastplate was scarlet and etched upon it, as a reminder of his sin, were the images of his three children, their faces twisted in ghastly horror.

In the chamber beyond, Piffious latched an emerald breastplate over his green tunic. He had the face of a hyena, a grave robber that feeds on the dead. For it is known that only the hyena will dig up fresh graves and devour the warm flesh before crunching the bones to savor its human marrow. Piffious, like the hyena, was a grave robber of the vilest kind. When he was a man, he violated the dead for money, stuffed their gullets with sand and sold them by the pound to physicians of science.

Far from the guard’s quarters, Babbas, the youngest of the contenders, prepared for his battle with Lucifer. In his time of life, he had been a handsome man with dark hair and romantic eyes, but now his features reflected those of a demon, his body cursed with the shag of an animal. He wore a black tunic and his breastplate bore the silver image of Lucifer, for it was Lucifer himself who created Babbas’ sin. Lucifer knew of Babbas’ great love for Cassandra, a love so strong that he would kill for her.

In the days of glorious Rome, Babbas was then a young commander in the Emperor’s guard and desperately in love with Cassandra, his childhood sweetheart. They were to be wed on the feast of Hallows, a Roman celebration of harvest. However, in the caverns of Hell, there was also a ceremony taking place. As it is now, it was then the time of Myrmidon, and Lucifer was forced to prowl the earth in search of a hundred murderous souls to present to the elders of Hades to defend his throne.

In the image of a Roman soldier, Lucifer befriended Babbas and told him wicked lies of Cassandra’s adultery with a young warrior named Ethan, a captain in Babbas’ guard. Babbas, enraged with jealousy, commanded Ethan to lead his legion north through the Pass of Fools where he knew the enemy lay hidden in its cliffs. Ethan and his entire command met with death that day, and, before sunset of the same day, Cassandra would drink wine with Babbas, her goblet tainted with poison.

It was Lucifer who reported Babbas’ treason to the Emperor and Lucifer who told of Cassandra’s poisoning. Babbas was seized for his betrayal and condemned to the gallows. But in the middle of the night, prompted by Lucifer, a hundred of Babbas’ soldiers dragged him from his cell and buried him alive. Each soldier shrouded him in a shovel of dirt so that all were responsible for his murder. As Babbas gasped his last breath, Lucifer destroyed the soldiers in a bath of fire, then brought his prize of a hundred and one murderous souls before the council of Hades; the hundred who had murdered Babbas-- and Babbas himself. The elders were pleased with Lucifer’s deed and he was once again anointed as the Prince of Darkness for yet another thousand years.

Lucifer favored Babbas and planned to promote him from Den Master of Lies to a Captain in his legions. However, Babbas wanted more than to command the legions of Hades: he wanted revenge and spent a thousand years in Hell planning his vengeance, using the time wisely to study the failures of his predecessor, especially taking note of Lucifer’s sharp wit and cunning manner. When his plan to conquer Lucifer was flawless, he waited patiently for the drums of Myrmidon.

The drums had sounded.

Far below Babbas’ den, Lucifer paced anxiously in his cathedral of black crystal. His massive chest heaved with excitement. Like a great ox, his horns protruded from the sides of his head and his nostrils flared with the smell of challenge. "Who would dare challenge me," he boasted aloud. "Which of my Captains would be brave enough to step forth and defy me, the Prince of Darkness." His emerald eyes flared with anticipation. Perhaps it was all four of his Captains? The thought excited him. It would be a grave disappointment if there were no contestants. He looked forward to the court of Myrmidon and the faces of those who would dare to challenge him for his crown.

Admiring himself in a slab of polished iron, Lucifer was pleased. He thought himself even more handsome than the last time of Myrmidon. The centuries had been good to him. His flesh pulled tight against the frame of his face and his massive neck rippled, like a stag in rutting season. He smiled. Again he was pleased. His fangs were thick and long, a sign of power and wisdom. There was no one who dared to have greater fangs than Lucifer. Closing in on his image, he amused himself with flattery. "You handsome devil," he laughed.

The drums of Myrmidon quickened their pace. The time was near. "Wiffel!" Lucifer’s voice thundered through the cavern. A Druid, his chin and knees meeting with age, hurried through a maze of jagged rocks and stopped abruptly before entering Lucifer’s gallery of demons.

Wiffel feared the cavern. The demons were carved from giant black icicles that hung like daggers from the arched roof. "One day," he grumbled," a demon will fall and divide me in half. Then the master will have two of me to kick and I will be condemned to walk beside myself for all eternity."

Taking a deep breath, he charged under the gallery and around the jagged rocks protruding from the hard ash floor. It was a game of wit for Lucifer, who anticipated the druid’s movements. A demon stabbed the earth to the left of Wiffel. One fell behind, another in front. Wiffel changed directions. Lucifer laughed as three demons blocked Wiffel’s way. Squeezing through, Wiffel ran a few feet and, zigzagging, slid on his hands and knees to feet of his master.

"My horns and hoofs," Lucifer demanded. "They need grooming." The druid obeyed. He dropped to his knees, slipped a long-tooth comb from his pocket and gently stroked the shag of red hair surrounding the cloven hoof. He took great care not to tug. His nose was flat to his face. He feared that if Lucifer should kick him again, his nose would disappear between the hollow of his cheeks, and he would breathe his own phlegm all the days of eternity.