Story

[AzariahWolf† 0]

A pair of men walked through the double doors into the large, high ceiling hall. The men at the door, dressed in red shirts with white paw prints on the back, ignored them entirely, even as they checked the badges of the people stepping in behind them. The men were dressed in the fashion of another century, and even then there was no direct parallel in history to what they were wearing. Heavy cloth robes, clearly having seen a good bit of action, covered worn leather armor. The armor showed its wear even more openly, and the wide gap of age between two adjacent straps showed clearly in several places. Even had anyone else seen them, however, it wouldn’t have turned many heads. There were enough other strange fashions being worn openly at this point to cover them, even as they stepped out into the wide maze of tables.

 

Before they could begin to mingle with the rest of the anxious crowd, however, they were headed off by another who walked unseen among the tables. He stood in a wide stance, holding a wicked-looking polearm across their path. He wore armor as well, the harsh angles and scratches on its surface suggesting stone more than they did metal. His face was covered by an ornate helm, shaped like the skull of some fantastic beast. He looked like a good match for both of the men, and like he could deliver a painful thrashing to either one if they tried to face him alone.

 

He seemed ready to deliver an ultimatum, but before he could speak he was interrupted.

 

“Let them enter. These two are guests in this camp.”

 

The speaker approached from behind the massive guard. He wore a fine white cloak about his shoulders, the pure color contrasting with the pitchlike color of his underlying armor. It looked far better than that of the men he had called his guests moments before. His face was of a thin, sallow complexion that made his piercing, unnaturally blue eyes stick out all the more, and his black hair, tied behind his head, caused yet more contrast to the man’s appearance. His smile was a thin, mocking expression that seemed at once scheming and polite.

 

“HE sends word for you,” one of the men said quietly. The man who had just appeared soured somewhat, expression shifting to a completely flat, nearly disinterested look.

 

“HE.” The word as repeated with equal emphasis, but none of the reverence, that the original speakers had used. “If HE wishes to make his point, HE should send more than you.” He turned to the man on the right. “Did I not withstand you and yours for days when you sought passage to Babylon? Only when HE dispatched another to aid you could you deliver HIS message, and even then my Legion was on your heels every step of the way.”

 

“It is not by might, nor by power…”

 

“Enough!” The man snarled this word, a lock of his hair pulling free from its binding and falling before his face. He took a moment to compose himself, brushing the hair behind a pointed ear as he stood back to his full, not insubstantial, height. “Before you deliver HIS message, I want you to see what you are dealing with.” He stepped away from them, leaving understood that he meant for them to follow after. They did so, stepping past the massive guard at the entrance, and into the oblivious crowds.

 

“This is no small encampment,” their host said over his shoulder. He waved an arm widely through the air, showing all of the men standing around. They stood about in clusters, some speaking among themselves, some guarding specific positions, and some watching every move their visitors made. All of them went unnoticed by the thronging visitors that came to buy, sell, and look at the art displayed throughout the room. “My own Legion is here, as well as two others, all of them answering to me by Lucifer’s direct orders. We hold this position every year, as we have for years past, and as we will for years to come. It is one of our most solid footholds, and only a fool would seek to break our grip here.” He whirled, his cloak tugging at the clasp as it whipped about behind him. He seemed quite pleased with himself as he watched them. “Would you like to see just how strong our hold is here?”

 

The two men looked to each other, but neither said a word before the man stalked away, again drawing the loose lock of hair away from his face. They followed in his wake, looking about the room with some interest, but neither reacting with emotion nor disinterest. They simply observed, until they stopped behind the man who was their guide.

 

They stood before one of the tables, a modest line extending from the artist’s chair back towards another table, stopping just before it reached the end. “This artist is a new one this year. Young, but very talented.” The man was smiling, talking to one of his customers amicably and utterly ignoring all three of them. The white-cloaked man tapped the binder on the left side of the table. It was a thick three-ring binder, with a censored image on the front and a content warning for minors. “On last count, he has created more than two thousand objectionable images, with content ranging from the lewd to the blasphemous. Yes, blasphemous; this man used to stake a claim to HIS sacrifice. When he left, he decided that he should do so in a strong, symbolic way. So, he began to draw lewd imaged involving anthropomorphized versions of HIM, engaged in… unspeakable acts with his other characters.”

 

The man’s sneer seemed to simmer from its intensity. He was clearly quite pleased with himself, even as the two men did no more than exchange glances the one with the other. There was some sorrow, perhaps disappointment, behind those eyes, but they did not speak with the man, even as he stood there, taunting them to respond. When they refused, he stalked away, waving for them to follow.

 

Several more times he showed them the depths of sin that each of the people were guilty of. They ranged from homosexuality, to pornography, frequent assertions of unfaithfulness, even pedophilia. After every stop the man would seek a reaction, and after every one the two men would look to each other, but say nothing to him.

 

Finally, he reached his last target. “Ah, yes. Perhaps in this tour you thought that there were no true men of the Way to be found. Here is one, sure enough.” The man stalked up to him, placed an unseen hand on his shoulder. The young man had a boyish face, eyes that avoided direct contact with those of anyone else in the area, a quick apology ready on his lips for any perceived offense rendered. His eyes darted around the dealer’s room, seeing more than many others who walked there. His hands fidgeted nervously, and he clearly had his eyes on one of the dealers.

 

“This young man is our star subject. He has been a Follower of the Way for years, and yet he never ceases to amuse us. He comes here, enjoys the convention to be certain, but leaves without even the barest attempt at approaching anyone with his faith. Now, this would not be near as funny if he didn’t so often consider it.” The man stepped around so he could look at the young man’s face, the eyes still darting about to be sure no one thought he was staring at them. “He met this artist earlier recognizes her, hopes that she might be comfortable enough for him to approach her on the subject soon. Always there is an excuse though; she is busy, too many customer. He ignores the fact that she has not had anyone at her table for an hour, that her commissions are all labeled closed. Another excuse; perhaps someone else will take that risk. Another thought; if I don’t try, no one can ever accuse me of failing.” The man turned to his guests, his expression something between a smile and a snarl. “He could not be more spineless if he were an octopus! Wolf indeed!”

 

The two men exchanged their customary glance, and finally one of them spoke.

 

“Is the tour concluded?” he asked. It was the man who had earlier been challenged about the earlier engagement on the road to Babylon. He tugged one sleeve of his cloak, shrugging his shoulders to loosen them.

 

The man in black armor stalked towards them, hunched over and sneering wildly, like some feral animal. Another few hairs had been shaken loose in his sharp monologue, and he now looked like a man in need of several hours of rest. “What do you think? I have shown you how hopeless this situation is, and you have stood about like you have no sense! HE may have sent you here, but two of you cannot hope to contend with three Legions!”

 

“Then let me deliver HIS message.” For the first time since they had arrived, the black-haired man did not speak. He waved for him to continue, although he turned his back dismissively.

 

“My message, sir, was to be delivered when we arrived. It was to tell you that HE has dispatched all of the combined forces under the command of four High Angels to strike this position in ten minutes. Surrender, or this battlefield will be wrested from you forcibly. As you saw fit to ignore HIS message until you had gloated before us, let me alter the message slightly; four Centuries of Angels are on the march. Fall back, or be removed.”

 

The man turned about, his face fully revealed in a snarling, bestial rage. “You have deceived me! As guests of my camp, you are prohibited from acts of war!”

 

“I never asked you for parlay, neither did I comment on you calling us guests. I came here to deliver the terms of surrender, and you delayed me until you have no chance of surrender before the coming storm. Your foolish pride has undone you.” The Angel drew his sword, casting aside his cloak and preparing for combat. His fellow did the same. “Cast away your weapon, and I will not strike you down.”

 

The Demon growled as he cast his own cloak aside and drew a massive two-handed weapon of his own. “I will not surrender! This position is secure!”

 

“Then tell me, why did you have dozens of your men guarding each of the people you showed to me? If they are so beyond hope, you would have left them, but you didn’t. They were under guard, as though any small chink in your defenses would cause you to lose the battle for their souls. HE has told us HIS plans for this place. All of the people you showed to us are Chosen by HIM, and many more. Fear, for thus saith the LORD: I have many people in this place. HIS Spirit goes before us; HE as spoken to HIS own in this place, and HE has moved in the heart of HIS Child, whom you called weak. The excuses remain, but his fear is being quenched. Your hold here is ended.”

 

In a rage, the demon leaped at the two angels, but the speaker skillfully parried the massive blade, pulling it about to strike skillfully through his opponent’s defenses. The demon staggered, injured. Around them all, the sounds of battle started their chaotic roar. The first day of the battle for Anthrocon’s soul had begun.

 

And HIS will never fails.

[NovaCaine† 0]

Battle for Anthrocon xD ahaha that's awesome so whom are you assuming is the demon they fought? Uncle Kage? aka Samuel C. Conway? >_>

Just a bit confussed is all.

 

I'm guessing you don't like the con itself either?

Anyway, was a good read.

[AzariahWolf† 0]

I like the con, I just think that it's due for something like this. As for who the demon is, he's an unnamed demon. He isn't any human, nor is he possessing anyone. He's just tasked with holding down the position.

[Direlda† 0]

Nice story, Azariah. I enjoyed reading it. ^^ Am I correct to assume that you are the Follower of the Way mentioned?

[AzariahWolf† 0]

He is based on me, though not a direct parallel.

 

Thank you for reading. As much as anything, this was just written as a reminder to me that God's plans don't fail. I think a lot of people here need to remember that. We do go to these conventions for fun, but at the same time I feel like we need to be more incident and willing to approach others with the Gospel, regardless.