|
Huge, black candles on golden stakes burned in the dark throne
room and elongated Philip’s and Lucifax’s shadows. Whitish-yellow walls
surrounded them and disappeared into a thick blackness above their heads. The
sound of flapping wings caused Philip to look up. Bats.
Adorning
the walls were enormous paintings set in gold frames, but from where he stood
Philip couldn’t see what was on them.
With
cautious steps, he followed the cat up the red runner that stretched like a
dragon’s tongue through the hall and ended at the mighty throne. Here the light
was dimmer, and Philip could only see the outline of the dark, dark figure
seated there.
It’s him, he thought, trying to swallow
the lump in his throat. It’s the Devil.
“I’ve
returned, master,” the cat said, making a sign for Philip to hurry. He tried,
but he couldn’t; his heart was thumping so hard that it felt as though he were
being knocked two steps back for each step forward.
“Do come
closer,” said the dark figure. The voice was at once incredibly calming and
incredibly frightening. Like a field of flowers filled with bear traps. “Don’t be afraid.”
His
knees trembling, Philip walked the last few steps to the throne.
At this
instant it was, as if the flames from all the candles grew. The shadows contracted,
and Satan came into view.
He was
dressed in a black suit with a long, dark cape hanging off his shoulders. His
hair was slicked back and shiny as black silk against his bone-white skin. Two
spiky horns curved in a handsome bow beneath his hairline, and on his chin he
wore a carefully groomed goatee. And then there were the eyes … the terrible
eyes … They were so black that even the deepest grave in the darkest winter
night was like a well-lit ballroom in comparison. Philip stared into them and
felt the world entwining around him. This glance allowed you no secrets. Not
even those you didn’t even know had.
But
something was wrong. Fine chinks had formed in his black horns, and in several spots,
tiny flakes had fallen like chips of old paint. His dark eyes were dull and
bloodshot, and sweat glinted on his upper lip. Yes, something was very wrong,
and it was made even more obvious by the fact that the Devil was trying to hide
it behind his water-slicked hair and fresh-pressed clothes.
He’s ill, Philip thought. Terminally ill, even.
---
The Devil’s Apprentice is volume 1 of The Great Devil War-series.
|
