Zox: Mission to Hell - Chap. 1
 

Chapter 1 – Priest-Warrior

The stonewalls of the Mission San Louis de Toulouse provided cool shade from the hot California sun, but the repeating pattern of arches let the friars enjoy some morning sunlight for their breakfast. It was here in the central garden square of the mission that Father Zox would read the Holy Scriptures, licking marmalade off the crusty pastries fresh baked from the kitchens. The servants knew from watching his interest in the croissants if he may be approached for fresh coffee or tea, or to leave him alone when his concentration was so focused, so intense, that the flies landed on the abandoned sweets with impunity.

He was not to be disturbed during these deep moments of thought: his rage at being interrupted had ended with servants being thrown across the garden with serving platter and silverware clanging, and glass shattering in flashing prism rainbows in the bright sunlight. He was not like the other friars. Father Zox was six foot one, and two hundred sixty pounds of muscle, capped by shiny black hair that draped about his shoulders. Under black eyebrows, his brown eyes were quick in battle as in reading. Thick, bony fingers could turn the pages of The Bible, or could twist a man’s head into the next world and judgment. Years of helping the Church to move to this wilderness, to build the mission, and just plain survive had made him stronger, whereas others of his original order had been killed or died from disease.

But today, men approached his peaceful reading in the sunlight, men without fear. Men of the church who believed that death would only bring them closer to God.

“Father Zox. The Cardinal is here. Cardinal Frascati.”

Father Zox looked up at the brown robed friars. Behind them approached the Cardinal, in traditional red.

He stood up, kissing The Bible and then setting it down next to his breakfast. “Leave us.” The brown robes bowed to Father Zox as he spoke and left the garden.

Cardinal Frascati was old. His white hair in natural waves combed back, and his wrinkled face projected wisdom. His slow but deliberate walk, with green eyes sparkling as he looked straight at the giant holy man, whose breakfast he interrupted, projected purpose. It was no matter that the giant Zox could kill him physically, when the Cardinal controlled the entire spiritual context that now took place. The Cardinal spoke.

“Good morning Father. God is good.”

“God is great, your Excellency. You received my reply?”

“Why else would I be here?” The Cardinal sat in the only chair in proximity, the one Father Zox had been sitting in. Standing, Zox turned to face the Cardinal as he sat. The old man continued:

“I am here to confirm your spirit that is in your letter. We must speak to each other. You must share your thoughts with me, with words. Then we will pray, and it will be decided if you…are the one.”

“Yes, your excellency. What would you hear from me first?”

The Cardinal looked about to see if anyone was within earshot.
“What you think this mission really is about. We have told you it is dangerous. We have told you it may even be futile. All that may be saved in the end is your soul…and even that is at risk, we do not know all the weapons the Dark One has at his disposal.”

“I do not fear to do the Lord’s work your Excellency. I bring glory to Him for even futile efforts, if they are efforts to chain the evil one.” Zox looked up to the sky as he spoke.

“Very well. You seem to have a good basis for controlling your fear. What about your strength?” The Cardinal’s face was grim.

Zox smiled. He opened his robe, there was a flash of sunlight, a sharp crack! and the sound of steel upon stone, as the small table next to the Cardinal was split in two from the top to bottom, the split separating The Bible from the croissant. The inward pressure from the two vertical halves of the split table kept it from falling over.

He had hoped for a reaction from the Cardinal, but here was an old man whose faith was strong. He hadn’t even blinked. The old man reached for The Holy Word, and opened it. He began to read to Father Zox:

“Job 1:12 The LORD said to Satan, "Very well, then, everything he has is in your hands, but on the man himself do not lay a finger."
Then Satan went out from the presence of the LORD.” He closed the book and looked up at Zox.

“This is all we can do for you. You shall see all about you tormented, suffering and lost, but you will not be touched by the Dark One. This will enable you to reach him and chain him. If you can.”

Zox put his large hand over the old man’s wrinkled and frail one, and said “I can. I have faith in the protection of the Lord.”

“Very well. Let us pray.”

From the upstairs balcony, the brown robed friars looked down at the garden, and watched the Cardinal and Father Zox kneel in prayer.
They had come running when they heard the sword of Zox cleave the table. Now Zox was holding the sword pointed to the ground, his forehead bent down on the handle, grasped by both hands, praying. They began to whisper.
“Cardinal Frascati is cardinal in pectore. He is a special envoy of the Pope.”
The other friar replied:
“Then Father Zox has been given a special mission!”
The two friars looked at each other with questioning faces.

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The Mission Chapel walls danced with dim candlelight, but even in this light, the crucifix on the wall behind the altar shone with a golden brilliance.

Father Zox was kneeling before the altar, in battle dress: a steel Marquis shaped shield with the black holy cross impressed on a yellow background, a copper helmet with steel wings close to the sides above his ears, black leather boots with steel soles, his sword: shining polished steel, with an ivory handle wrapped in copper wire, his breastplate steel with copper and gold inlay, and a red cape hanging back from his broad shoulders.

The Cardinal was standing in front of him, praying. The friars of the mission were all chanting in rhythm. One of the altar boys was swinging a metal globe, filled with burning incense. Cardinal Frascati was praying in Latin, out loud, and touched Father Zox on the forehead.
“benigno numine, abyssus abyssum invocat!”
He pushed Father Zox backwards by the forehead, the Priest-Warrior lost his balance, and fell back, disappearing into the floor of the chapel.
Everyone in the chapel genuflected the sign of the cross over their chests, including the Cardinal…

Zox: Mission to Hell - Chap. 2
 

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Chapter 2 – Guardian of Hell

In sudden darkness, Zox fell on his back, landing on what felt like stones and rocks. He scrambled to get up, and regaining his balance, noticed a dim red glow in the distance. Shield and sword returned to default positions. His eyes began to adapt to the darkness. He could make out boulders, hills and gullies that angled downward towards the red glow. There was nothing else around him but inky blackness, so he began to weave his way through the dark wasteland to the dim light.

He was almost there, and could now see the light was coming from a cave, but his instinct stopped him. He could smell a beast. An animal spoor that was so strong, he must be in its home territory whatever it was, and it had to be large. He crouched down and slowly crept towards the mouth of the cave. All senses alert, every sound, every movement scrutinized in adrenaline heightened awareness.

The odor was strong! It had to be close. As he approached the cave entrance, he now realized he was still some distance off. The cave opening appeared to be as tall as several men high. This new sense of perspective made the next thing he saw more foreboding.

A large silhouette in contrast to the reddish glow of the cave light was cast on the rock walls. It was the shadow of a great canine, larger than any wolf, or even a lion. It came out of the cave and into view.

Not one pair, but three pairs of eyes, reflecting red mirrors of acute vision, all turning to face him, three pairs, for the beast Cerberus had three heads. Each was head panting, licking chops, or baring fangs in deadly menace. It quickly assessed its prey, but was also angry with the violation of its territory, evoking both predatory and defensive responses. In a few leaps it was within range of Zox, he had no time to take cover, to run, or even plan an attack!

The side heads howling and growling, the center head opened it mouth wide and prepared to sink its fangs deep into him, now, it was only instinct that could save him, this would be too fast for his brain to respond.

Swinging from right to left and upwards, his sword sliced the bottom tip of the attacking heads chin and the tip of its nose. The beast yelped, and reared back, which prevented the other two heads from attacking. Cerberus yelped and ran in a circle, bending down to paw at its truncated nose and chin. Blood stained its paws. Zox now had time to climb the nearest boulder.

The beasts two other heads now had regained control of the legs, and it came back with the side heads growling and barking, the center head could only keep licking it bloody maw. It reared up on hind legs, and put front paws on the boulder Zox had climbed.

The two heads zoomed in, both sets of jaws showing fangs set to impale him. He stepped back, forcing the heads to reach up and over the boulder. He ran to the left and with sword swinging to the right, grabbed the front right paw of the beast. Now only he had only to deal with one head at a time.

The beast shook its paw, and tried to bite him again, but his sword was too swift: he stuck the right head straight in the nose with the sword, all the way to the hilt. With a loud yelp, the beast shook its head back, the sword sliding out with a bloody slurp. Zox dropped off of the paw, and using the continued inertia of his fall by gravity, swung his full weight down on the sword across the beast’s toes. In one clip, the toes went flying. Again, Cerberus yelped, but now it ran away towards the cave, limping, the right head now alternating licks between its nose and it amputated toes, the center head licking its still bleeding nose and chin. The left head, growling, was guiding the animals retreat into the cave, and into the distance. Zox could hear the yammering and yelping fade away into the distance. On a bended knee, he prayed thanks…

Zox: Mission to Hell - Chap. 3
 

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Chapter 3 – Into Hell

He stepped over the pools of blood from the three-headed beast he had almost slaughtered in fierce battle. His heavy black boots were spattered with the beast’s blood and wisps of brown fur. He entered the Gate with slow and heavy steps from the darkness and into the reddish-orange glow. Beneath a sweaty and bleeding brow, his eyes were wide as his gaze surveyed Hell.

A great mesa spread before him, its eroded and burned walls rising from the reddish plains that were strewn with jagged spires and immense boulders. Here and there were black, smoky clouds that occluded the mesa; where they were large, lightning bolts would shoot down, blasting some target too small to be seen from his distance. He was obviously seeing for miles.

The mesa walls were pock marked with caves. One of the black clouds dazzled a cave with an electric arc. Squinting, he tried to focus on movement: some brilliant red creature had been disturbed by the bolt, and had emerged from the cave, apparently flying with broad skeletal wings and a long barbed tail. He held his shield close and began walking towards the mesa with his blood stained sword pointing forward.

He knew that millions of souls had entered this way: the dusty trail he walked had been pulverized over eons of those who had been prodded and dragged into this realm. The sides of the trail were littered with broken and discarded sandals, bits of clothing…and bones.

The dryness of the dust and heat stung his nostrils, with narrow eyes he scanned for the inevitable approach of the defenders: he was wide open on the vast plain, no cover could hide him.

But the distant red beast flying about the black clouds of the mesa took no notice of him; it was flapping about, disappearing into the clouds. One of the caves began to glow with the orange-yellow light of fire: lava began pouring out the mouth of the cave and spilled down the walls of the mesa, splashing molten globs. Where it landed on the plain below, it began to form a pool that oozed like an immense amoeba searching for food, dissolving boulders as it grew.

He continued, face grim, muscles gleaming with sweat in the increasing heat. It seemed hours, but he was getting closer to the mesa. The dark clouds were now drifting directly above him, catastrophe waiting to descend. Lightning bolts electrified the air, he could smell the ozone. He became aware of a constant, deep rumbling and vibration: the source of the lava must be near.

Now he could make out a stairway that zigzagged up the steep side of the center if the mesa. He was still miles off, but it was obvious that the top of the stairs led to his ultimate target. The stairs had been richly carved with gargoyles, dragons and skulls. The top of the stars was covered by an ornate stone archway of creatures and twisted faces frowning with fanged gapes. There were no guards to be seen. Could this be a trap? But then, what need would Hell have for defenders? Who would want to approach this place of the hopeless, of the condemned?

He arrived at the foot of the stairway, and without hesitation, began to climb…

(shaking head, eyes blinking)
 

(yawn) OK folks, reread my story this morning, and that's what i get for screwing up my meds last night. This is more fantasy than Gothic. I thought that since the hero was going after Satan it would be appropriate. It is ok with me if the moderator deletes this thread. Shouldn't have posted here. Sorry all.

hmmm, still here, and no complaints, so here is Ch. 4...