Solomon's Lock

Knowledge and victory carry high prices

I had been following The Unnameable for the last four years. The demon had never been hard to follow during that time. Its wake of destruction and chaos were impossible to miss. Catching up to him had always been the problem. 

Each village he struck was without warning. Pillars of smoke rose from the Hellfire that turned homes into skeletons of ash, littered with piles of bones. The people who died in the conflagration were the lucky ones. After manifesting, it would Call to its minions and allies, bringing them forth from the ground. Those demons and devils would make torture their play, with suffering their leisure. I lost count of the number of men and women flayed, with their innards strung out like garlands for the druidic solstice.

Children always had it the worst. They would be torn apart by the smaller, petty demons too weak to prey upon anything that could fight back. If they were not torn apart, they were corrupted. Adopted by succubi, these children would become thralls to the creatures who stripped them of their mortal parents. There were occasions where their charmed whispers caused the child to murder their own parents, stripping the youngest of their innocence and sanity all at once.

I had tracked The Unnameable, witnessing the blood, smoke, violence, and death that bespoke the very nature of the evil one would expect from a demon. Horrors all, I admit. It was mitigated some when I could arrive at a town soon enough to banish and destroy the straggling imps and lesser demons, before blessing and laying to peace those whose death would have profaned their souls. These were the small victories that made the struggle easier. I could see hope in even them.

Hope is a dangerous thing, though. It leads us to pursue what we believe is our righteous course, and persevere through the darkness. My hope had pushed me to research the most obscure arcanum and the most esoteric theology, looking for a way to a lasting victory. No more individual survivors, no more Dismissals of the lesser imps and infernal homunculi. It was not enough anymore, not after three years.

In the fourth year, I found the solution. Amidst crumbling scrolls and dusty tomes, I found the cure for the disease that had blighted the land. It has been hidden by the Church, and the usually amoral alchemist cabals deemed it too extreme to be allowed for dissemination amongst its academia. I had found it, and the answer terrified me: the cure may have been more horrible than the disease. In my hand I held the formula for Solomon's Lock.

The Seal of Solomon is said to give one the power to command demons of Hell, and the genies of the desert. Solomon's Lock was a method of destroying the un-destroyable. I read the ritual, and its cost. A chill ran through me and in that moment, I knew that true evil existed. This wasn't the evil that even The Unnameable was capable of, but it was the solution to ending his reign of terror. Hope would not carry me through to victory, but I decided that I would commit to my course and make the sacrifice that would finish his existence.

I found a young child in the neighboring country. I paid to have him secluded in a small chapel, and educated for the next eight months. He was to learn the rudiments of alchemy and religion, the two sciences that could bind and control the forces of Hell. I made sure to never make personal contact with the boy, to prevent the taint of my knowledge from corrupting him. The very knowledge of Solomon's Lock had left me spiritually dirty enough that it would have tipped off The Unnameable to my plan.

The boy was educated and purified and disciplined according to the spiritual and arcane traditions that would let him serve as a bulwark against evil. I made sure that word got around that this boy was the key to sending it back, or destroying it forever. Its agents would have ears throughout the countryside, and I would eventually force it to come to me, instead of chasing it ever again. It would see that I had taken an apprentice, sequestered him, and armed him with the knowledge to command and destroy it. The game became one of waiting.

Demons are not simple creatures. They are cunning and patient. They come in all guises and in all forms to afflict mankind with suffering. However, they are elemental in nature, lacking that creativity that comes from man's free will to choose good or evil. This ability generally puzzles them: they think their influence corrupts mortals, when it's really the mortal who chooses to become corrupt. Their influence can be great, but it is always a final choice for a demon's victim. It knew I had been strong enough of will to hunt it and not choose to become it, and now knew I had trained another to defeat it with me.

It was twelve days ago that the confrontation happened.

The chapel was surrounded by a warding circle, designed to protect it from evil. An elementary precaution that something like The Unnameable easily ignored, as it stalked through, not noticing the signs and sigils, nor paying attention to what amounted to a needle-poke in a boar's hide. The boy walked out from the chapel, ritually purified and cleansed in a way that would make alchemists of threescore years jealous of his natural talent. The Unnameable staggered through the wards, slowed but not stopped, as the boy began reciting holy verses in defense.

The conflict reached a stalemate. The child who had not been taught to fear the Darkness, and the demon who once walked in the Light. Neither of their resolves wavered, each intent on destroying the other. 

I strode out of my hiding place and moved behind the boy. It knew who I was, even though we'd never met eye to eye. It also knew that it could not let its attention waver in the battle of wills it was having. I saw a brief flicker of uncertainty, and maybe fear, in its eyes. It sensed what was on me, hung about me, and what I was capable of. When it realized the magnitude of what I was capable of, it began to work some diabolic magick at me. 

Before it could finish a syllable, I opened Solomon's Lock.

It is important to note that the nature of a human soul is that it is capable of free will. We choose to be good, evil, or somewhere in between the extremes. It is what frustrates angels and confounds demons. No matter how corrupted (or how pious) a soul can become, the opportunity for redemption or damnation exists for a human soul. There is no irredeemable act, so long as choice and free will remain. Even the corrupted children mentioned earlier in my accounting can still be saved, if you can find them and help them choose. They still have their immortal souls, which gives them the free will to see salvation.

My blade drove through the back of the young boy, piercing his heart, and exiting the front of his chest. The runeblade, carved with the formula of Solomon's Lock ran black with ichor, protruding there. It was not a trick of the holy barrier's light that surrounded him. It was the result of my destroying his immortal soul. The same chill ran through me as when I originally read the formula. The same chill that understood the one, true evil act there was in Creation. The one I had committed.

The hole in his chest, instantly suppurating more black filth, gaped and began drawing in The Unnameable. There was no struggle. It was just instantly pulled into the boy's chest, as his body fell to the ground. His eyes were vacant, not just because he was dead, but because there was no soul left to ascend or descend to an afterlife. No redemption nor damnation for him to choose. It made my next act no easier.

I carved his heart out, now a black stone that reflected no light. It wasn't anything but a prison anymore for The Unnameable. Wiping my runeblade clean of the ichor, I finished reciting the formula the boy had unknowingly begun. Then I drove the blade into my own chest, digging down to hollow out my own heart, and replace it with the black stone. One soul to trap it, and one more required to close Solomon's Lock, and destroy it. I knew I wouldn't even get the luxury of damnation when this was done destroying my own soul to end its destruction.

That was twelve days ago. I still draw breath. I still weep. I still am chilled. I am become true evil, but I am not destroyed. What am I now? And what about it?

# # #

Author's Note

Originally submitted to a flash fiction contest (defined as 500 - 1,500 words) back in October 2015 with the prompt, "Use the phrase, 'A chill ran through me and in that moment, I knew that true evil existed.' "

Word count is 1,498.

The entry was submitted under one of my pseudonyms, Adam Locke.

(25-Feb-2016: Submitted to the "Souls" competition, run by WC user Devi.)

(28-Feb-2016: Winner of an "Honorable Soul" award from the competition.)

(11-Mar-2016: Submitted to "The Devil Made Me Do It" competition, run by WC user Taylor, at the request of WC user Takeshi Yamada.)

(27-Mar-2016: Did not place in "The Devil Made Me Do It" competition.)

Reviews

[M. L. F.]

Hmmm... Very Tolkien like write... I think your writing has a great sound to it. Sounds weird right? But great writing has a rhythm to it, one that most people don't even look or know to listen for. But you have it. Keep writing... :)

[Redwarrior123]

Great story! Really captivates the reader. Loved the detail. The struggle that the main character went throu was well thought out good job. Really interesting read.

[Archos]

Wow! This is amazing! It is written in a way that doesn't allow to lose attention for an instant. The atmosphere is great and the ending is simply stunning! I see nothing to criticise here, I'm sorry. Great job and thanks for sharing!

[Tsubaki Kuro]

what a beautiful story filled with amazing details. It is truly amazing story, I love it. Great job. 100/100

[Takeshi Yamada]

I remember reading this before you submitted it to the competition. Like Haley, it sucked me right in and I remember saying this:

"It sucked me in immediately and I read the whole thing despite needing to shower and get ready to go to the city." It takes one hell of a story to stopped this sharp-dressed man from showering. Bravo!

I will say additionally that this story made me a bit nostaligic for Lovecraft again. For some reason, I loved the paragraph that began: "It is important to note that the nature of a human soul is that it is capable of free will." Very nicely written and thought-provoking!

Thanks for contributing your latest addition to my Favorites library. :)

[A Shared Narrative]

Lovecraftian prose is some of my favorite. I attempted some about a year back, an experiment in serialized fiction for a solo game of "Elder Sign."

I may just post those up, and then see if I have my notes from the rest of the game, in case I want to finish it (or just start a new game entirely).

[Haley Paterson]

The pacing of your story flows really nicely, and the exposition doesn't feel clunky at all. You have a knack for creating suspense- I found myself wanting to know what happened as soon as I started reading. I do think, though, that the death of the boy could have been a little more moving if he had been named or if an emotional connection had been shown between him and the narrator. All in all I really like your style, it's really professional and thorough.

[A Shared Narrative]

That means I failed to communicate my intent to you, as a reader, and I'm sorry.

It was an intentional device to make sure that the tragedy/horror stayed focused on the narrator and his choice, instead of on the loss of a character, or a relationship between the characters.