Captain Schnither had reached the Mooar Mountain in whose belly lay hidden the foreboding chambers of his Dark Master, Abaddon the Defiler. He felt that he was stuck in some hideous déjà vu, and the thought of bringing news of yet another humiliating defeat to his master made him wretch. He landed on the twisty path that lead to the entrance of the mountain, preferring to tediously stumble and lurch up the rocky overgrown track as it afforded him a few precious minutes extra before he had to face Abaddon. The stump where Schnither’s left arm had been burned and ached, and the throbbing made him curse Cosain, who had maimed him thus. He could not ignore the unease that the pain in his wound was causing him, and he felt sure that this physical sensation was a bad omen of what he was about to experience at the hands of Abaddon. Schnither stopped again to be sick then wiping his mouth, he crept his way fearfully upward to the concealed entrance to the maze of corridors and dimly lit chambers which lay within the mountain. Schnither paused to catch his breath, wheezing and puffing putrefied air from his decaying lungs, before pushing aside the thorny briars, scrabbling along the side of the rock with his gnarled right hand until he found the lever which operated the hidden doorway into the mountain, and pulled down on it. A huge slab of rock slid sideways into the mountain, releasing a cloud of offensive gases, which caught Schnither’s breath and made him gag. Reluctantly, he moved forward through the opening, and the craggy door slammed shut behind him with a finality that jangled his already frayed nerves.
Schnither slid nervously through the corridors of the mountain, whose only light came from oily torches mounted here and there along the walls. While he was usually glad of the miniscule amount of warmth afforded by the torches in this darkest of cesspools, today he preferred the shelter of the shadows, and moved like a slimy black phantom through the shade.
Despite his best efforts, Schnither could not delay his arrival at Abaddon’s chamber forever, and with his stomach churning violently he finally approached the gargantuan doors. ‘Déjà vu,’ he thought. ‘Definitely déjà vu!’ Abaddon’s two thick headed guards stood at the doors as before, massive spears in their fat hands, but this time their wise-guy swagger had been replaced by sombre faces and nervously twitching eyes. Schnither could see that both sentries had angry looking red marks, one on his left cheek, and the other on his right cheek, and on closer inspection it appeared that… no, it couldn’t be… could it? In the centre of the second guard’s bruised cheek was an imprint of Abaddon’s ring; Schnither could clearly see the impression of the seal of the Atoner! Abaddon had obviously struck out at them simultaneously, a fist for each guard, but the second guard had been unfortunate to catch a blow from Abaddon’s ring finger! Had he not felt so nauseous, Schnither would have found this terribly amusing!
Schnither gulped – Abaddon must have already heard of the crushing defeat at the Otonno household, and was obviously not in a genial mood – the news he was about to receive would certainly not serve to salve his temperament. The guards looked at him in a manner loosely resembling sympathy, and without speaking they heaved on the great doors, which swung open on the murky room within. Schnither took a deep breath, closed his eyes and gave his head a shake in an effort to loosen up his practically paralysed body. He exhaled silently then stepped inside Abaddon’s chambers, and the guards slammed the doors shut behind him with great haste. It was eerily still, unnaturally quiet, and Schnither found himself holding his breath and straining his ears in an effort to gain even the slightest hint of where Abaddon might be. He did not have to guess for long, however, as the gently swirling mists within the room were violently ripped apart as Abaddon’s snarling form burst through in a barely contained rage.
“Schnither!” he boomed. “I told you not to fail me again! Did I not tell you this? Did you not hear me?” Abaddon’s voice was shaking with fury, his grey eyes sparking and flashing. “Can you not hear me, you pathetic little underling? Speak!”
Despite his terror, Schnither’s pride was dented by being referred to as an ‘underling’, and he straightened up before running his yellow tongue over his lips in a desperate effort to moisten them and permit him to respond.
“S-s-sir,” Schnither spluttered. “Sir, our ranks were… well, we did not retain the upper hand. That is to say, we were defeated. We fought hard but…”
“You fought hard?” Abaddon sneered. “You fought hard? There were hundreds of you, I sent hundreds of my demons with you, and yet six…” He recoiled as if the words he was about to say offended him. “…six angels were able to trample you, as if you were ants?”
“I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t say that… exactly, Master,” Schnither’s defence sounded puny even in his own ears, but he could not think of a single thing to say that would sound in any way suitable.
“Really?” smirked Abaddon. “Well, what would you say… exactly?”
“Well, Sir, Garshwell and I lead the attack. We were relentless, Sir, we hit those Heavenly warriors hard, we came at them from every angle… and we almost had them, Sir.”
“Almost? Almost?” thundered Abaddon. “If you almost had them, then you did not have them! They are all still out there, a very real threat to the success of my plans. And my plans will not fail another time, Schnither.”
Schnither hesitated, unsure of the wisdom of saying out loud what he was thinking. Finally, he decided that he couldn’t be in much more trouble, so he blurted out, “Cosain and his cronies think that all they have to do is get that girl and her family safely through tomorrow. They have no idea that we will bring their plane down on Friday, Sir – this plan is foolproof. Once the angels get off side tomorrow, we will make our move. And the end of the Wrens will be a mere inevitability. And…” he paused again. “And I practically removed Cosain’s sword arm, Captain, you should have seen…”
“Oh be quiet you lackey!” yelled Abaddon, who was obviously not impressed by Schnither’s best exaggerations.
Schnither’s jaw clenched in indignation as the work ‘lackey’ slapped him square in the face. He was incensed, but not stupid, and he kept his displeasure to himself.
Abaddon the Defiler paced his chambers for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke again, vanishing into and re-emerging from the smog at irregular intervals. His voice was quieter now, but the menacing undertone could not be ignored.
“This, Schnither, is your very last chance. I will not tolerate any more blunders from you. You have two days to prove to me that you are not an utter waste of space.” He spat the words, and Schnither clenched his jaw so hard that his rotten teeth were in danger of shattering.
“And just in case you think I’m joking,” said Abaddon with a sarcasm that was almost tangible, “I will leave you with this little reminder.”
Before Schnither had time to react or employ any avoidance tactics, Abaddon had pulled a short but devastatingly sharp blade from up his sleeve, and swiped at Schnither, deftly removing his left ear in one adept swoop.
Despite himself, Schnither screamed in shock and pain, and his remaining hand flew to where his ear had been only to find a mushy mess of flesh and blood. The anger and indignation that had been building within him threatened to overflow, but as wounded and furious as he was, Schnither knew better than to even consider taking on the all encompassing might of Abaddon the Defiler. Instead, he regained his composure, straightened his stance, summoned as much pride as he could muster, and slowly saluted his Dark Master.
“Yes, Abaddon, Sir,” slurred Schnither. “I will personally see to it that the Wrens are exterminated. There will be no mistakes. And no more second chances.”
With that, Schnither bowed low before Abaddon, and backed away from him towards the great doors, keeping a dubious eye on his assailant until he had exited the room and the heavy doors slammed shut behind him.
“You too?” asked the first guard, nodding towards the earless side of Schnither’s head, but he paid dearly for his inquisitiveness as Schnither pummelled him hard in the belly, leaving him gasping for breath.
Schnither tore through the leaden corridors at a gallop, building momentum until he burst out through the rocky entranceway like a black writhing tsunami, and shot into the starry night sky, leaving a trail of yellow ooze and curses in his wake. Yes, he would see to it that the Wrens were dealt with once and for all. And those haughty angels would pay dearly for what they had done to him.