“General Invictus, please report to the front office immediately.”
There was a collective murmur of apprehension as they lower-ranked demons looked over at their General’s desk. It was a large desk carved from magma rock with a smooth obsidian surface cluttered with all sorts of paper and assorted memorabilia from older movies and bands. A gleaming plaque with the name PHILAN V.INVICTUS, LTG was the only thing not covered by papers and figurines. The walls around the desk were covered in photographs and posters from movies such as LABYRINTH, THE HUNGER, and THE MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH. There were also several David Bowie posters, some of which had been autographed by the glam rock star.
The demon behind the desk looked like glam rock star himself. His maroon hair was voluminous and artfully messy, streaked with napalm orange dye here and there. His outfit, while following the dress code for the Demonic Armed Forces, had been accessorized in a glamorous way, and lightning bolt had been drawn under his left eye with makeup.
He was also asleep, or at the very least pretending to sleep.
“General Invictus, please report to the front office immediately.”
The General didn’t open his eyes, still leaning back in his chair and dozing.
“General Invictus, please report to the front office right now.” The voice on the other end of the intercom was starting to sound irritated, and the other demons in the room didn’t blame whoever was making the call. Lieutenant General Philan Invictus was notorious for his flippant attitude, always coming in late or missing meetings altogether. Sometimes they wondered how he’d become a General in the first place.
“General Invictus...!” The voice on the other end of the intercom was cut short, and there was a long silence. The demons looked at each other, nervous and wondering what had happened.
“Philan.” Someone new was on the other end of the intercom. His voice was soft, calm, and a little rough - a voice all the demons present recognized.
General Invictus still appeared to be asleep, although his forked tail twitched when the voice spoke.
“Philan, I know you can hear me. Come to the front office.”
Still no response from the sleeping General.
“I have your favorite DVD here with me, Philan. You know the one.”
Philan’s eye twitched at that, but he still showed no sign of getting up. The rest of the demons were convinced he was just pretending to sleep at this point.
“Oh yes, it’s that one. The 2-disc edition with added special features, signed by the starring actor himself.”
The General continued to pretend that he was asleep, although he looked tense.
“There also happens to be an open furnace behind me...”
Philan’s entire body went rigid.
“And I know you’d hate to lose such a treasured, rare, limited edition DVD to a simple furnace, just because you refused to come to the front office.”
“Okay, fine! I’m up, dammit!” Philan jerked to an upright position, scowling and storming over to the door. “Don’t you dare throw that movie into the furnace!”
“I’m so glad to see you listened.” The voice on the other end of the intercom rang with amusement. “I’ll be waiting for you at the front office.” There was a click as he ended the broadcast.
Philan muttered every curse he knew as he strode towards the front office. Once he reached the door he kicked it open, glaring about the room. “Okay, give me back that movie!”
A soft laugh came over from the corner, and Philan turned to see none other than Vincent Reinhardt, the only non-demon to reach the rank of General. Vincent was a tall and lanky man with a pale complexion and one glittering blue eye, the other covered by an eye patch of black leather. A ragged mess of blond hair fall about his face, and a katana hung at his hip. “Good to see you, Philan.” His voice was the same one that had come over the intercom. He held out a DVD in one gloved hand - a pristine, autographed copy of LABYRINTH, David Bowie’s signature on the front.
Philan snatched the movie out of his hands, looking down at it in relief. Thank goodness, not a scratch. “So, why was I called here anyways?” He sent a stern look at Vincent. That was one of the things he liked about Vincent - he could be rude to him, unlike with the other generals. Vincent just didn’t care.
“Take that up with Lucifer, not me.” Vincent crossed his arms. “He’s the one who asked that you be called down here.” He leveled an amused look at Philan. “He’s probably going to nag about you being tardy to the last meeting.”
“Figures.” Philan let out an annoyed huff.
Chuckling, Vincent turned towards the door. “Well, have fun meeting with Lucifer.” He said. “I hope you come out unscathed.”
“What, you’re not going to stick around to see what happens?” Philan arched an eyebrow at Vincent. “I’m shocked. You usually jump at the chance to see me get scolded.”
“Not this time.” Vincent opened the door. “I’ve got an appointment with The Book.”
Philan couldn’t stop the shiver than ran up his spine. The Book was kept in the deepest part of hell, and only those with special permission could access it. Not even Philan could go to The Book. It wasn’t just a book - it was its own entity, alive inside ancient pages. It held a complete record of the universe. Not a single detail was overlooked. Every star that burned in the sky, every being that lived and died...The Book knew all. “You going for another trip down memory lane?” He called after Vincent’s retreating form.
“Why else would I go see The Book?” Vincent didn’t bother turning around to face him, walking on without breaking stride.”
“But, I mean...I would think you’d want to forget most of that stuff.” Philan watched him go, eyebrows raised.
Vincent paused, turning around to face Philan. “One thing I always make sure of, Philan...” His blue eye glittered with something unfathomable. “...I never, ever, allow myself to forget everything that’s happened.”
Philan shivered. “Ah, well...good luck, then.”
Nodding, Vincent continued onwards. He passed several demons in the hallways, all of which saluted him as he walked past. Their composure was that of a calm soldier, but he saw the fear in their eyes.
They knew what he was.
He didn’t care.
He continued walking, reaching the top of a large spiral staircase that went deep into hell. Without a moment’s pause he descended it, going further and further into the darkest circle of the underworld.
The staircase brought him to a chamber lit by flickering torches, a massive pair of doors at the far end. He crossed over to those doors, and they opened before he’d even reached them, a soft silver light shining through from the other side.
The Book was expecting him.
Vincent walked through those doors, never once breaking stride. He entered a large stone room with stained glass on all sides, their colorful facets depicting all sorts of great battles and struggles throughout history. And in the center of such a room, upon a podium of some white stone, there was The Book.
It was a massive tome, bound in pure white leather and the pages as pale as new-fallen snow. Upon these pages were words written in an archaic language, words in ink blacker than the blackest night, ink that had never touched a pen, but had appeared on the pages without need of a scribe. Words were being written on the page as he entered, materializing before his very eyes.
Welcome, Vincent. It was a voice, and yet not a voice. It reverberated throughout the entire room echoing with an ominous sense of power. A lesser man would have gone pale from fright. but Vincent had come so often that he was past the point of being intimidated.
Have a seat. A chair of white stone appeared before him and Vincent eased down into it, leaning back and crossing his arms, as if this was a simple social call to an old friend and not a visit to the most powerful entity in the universe. Come to see your memories again?
“But of course.” Vincent’s voice echoed in the spacious room. “Why else would I come?”
For the secrets written upon my pages? Soft silver tendrils were reaching out from the book, swaying back and forth like blades of grass in the wind.
“We both know I have no desire for that.” Vincent said, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I come for my memories, you show them to me. That is all I desire.”
It’s a wise man who does not desire power.
Vincent just shrugged. “I already have all that I need.”
Well said. The tendrils reached out towards him, beginning to wash over his body, filling his senses. The usual, then? A quick reminder of your childhood, and then a more detailed reminder of everything important after that?
“Yes.” Vincent closed his eye, feeling the familiar sensation of the tendrils wrapping around his body. They began to show him quick images of everything from his birth up until he was around thirty, just glimpses flashing through his mind. Faces, places, people, events. He just needed a brief reminder of these, as they weren’t very relevant.
The display of images began to slow, and Vincent felt himself become fully immersed in his memories, remembering all the sounds and sights of that one moment where everything mattered.
Here was where the story began.
