The Legion of Lost Souls
It had been millennia since they had walked the Earth.
Humans had changed. This world had changed. Things moved faster, colors seemed brighter, and sounds rang louder. Still, something fascinated them about this odd new realm. These people did not cling to their unwavering faith, in hopes of their savior rising to deliver them from iniquity. No. They did not crave salvation. They believed in material possessions—objects of no real consequence.
And they embraced the one thing they were only too happy to arouse.
Sin.
They saw the way women—and even men—spied them with lustful gazes.
They noticed the poor and sick on streets, and how the more fortunate looked down at them with disdain and disgust.
They cringed as they watched humans shovel massive amounts of foul-smelling food into their mouths without even coming up for air.
There was no modesty or decency here. People spewed their vulgar thoughts without censor or shame just as fast as the words popped into their convoluted minds. And when they weren’t reveling in the desires of their flesh, they were whoring themselves to feed their other addiction: power.
This was a strange land, indeed.
And they loved it.
Their plan was to spark chaos in every corner of the world. A whisper of malice, a touch of fear. And all Hell would break loose, just as they had planned. The men of their time seemed simple in wealth and worldliness, but their convictions for their Creator were strong. But these people were devoid of any substance beyond their own selfishness. Evolved, yes. But tragically weak in faith.
This wouldn’t just be easy. It would be fun. And that’s exactly what they planned to have. A little fun before they ripped this world to shreds.
“Hey sugar, can I buy you a drink?”
They looked to the source of the voice—a weary-looking woman old enough to be this body’s mother—and a slight frown dimpled their forehead. Whore, they thought. Even in tragedy, sex was still on the menu.
It had been mere hours since The Many had bathed in the blood of Uriel’s little human puppets, yet these people acted as if the carnage was no more than a dream. They had manifested and stumbled into the darkened, nearly empty establishment to conceal their identity from lingering sycophants, expecting to be met with intense mourning. But there was none of that from what they could see, aside from a few head shakes and heavy sighs towards the television screens on the walls. Gang violence, the headlines had boasted to describe the massacre. Their massacre. One of the deadliest in Chicago to date, but still…they had been reduced to gang violence.
They had to do better. And they would.
They gave the woman a once over from the top of her straw-like hair to her unflattering, too-tight clothing that seemed more appropriate in size for a toddler.
She smelled of strong wine, dirt, and ash, and her face was caked with rouge two shades too dark for her complexion. She reeked of desperation and self-hatred.
Perfect.
Under their intense stare, she shifted on her scuffed, heeled shoes. Turn and flee, her niggling instincts told her. No, stay and play, an odd, otherworldly voice coaxed in rebuttal.
They wouldn’t let her go just yet. After all, she did traipse over for a reason. And they hated to let a perfectly good, vulnerable soul go to waste.
“Yes,” they uttered, their combined voices sending a shiver up her spine. Her bloodshot eyes widened with worry and intrigue. She would not turn away, because the evil in them called to the corruption in her.
She raised two fingers to a man behind a dark wooden barrier—a bar. Moments later, he returned with two small glasses of dark liquid the color of tree sap. They pushed them both in her direction. They didn’t need to imbibe. They were already drunk with glee.
The woman downed them both within seconds.
“So what’s your name?” she asked, her raspy voice boasting the beginning of a slow and painful death attributed to her many vices. Lucky for her, they would do her a favor and speed it up a bit. Maybe.
Something roiled inside them, like hot daggers stabbing their guts, then an odd, unfamiliar sensation. One that made them clench their teeth to bite through waves of lightheadedness. They coughed, noting the tang of metallic and putrid bile that tainted their tongue. Pain. They felt excruciating pain. That shouldn’t…that wasn’t supposed to happen…
Legion.
He was fighting them. He was trying to take back control.
They smiled, tasting the blood that now stained their teeth.
He had his chance. Now it was their turn.
Now the fallen would reign.
“More,” they rasped, gripping the bar to support their weight. “Another round.” Another twist in their gut. They could feel their insides being shredded by flame-tipped fingernails. He was strong, but together, they were stronger. The same could not be said for this body though.
“Are you ok, baby?” the whore inquired, noting the sweat beading on their forehead.
They pushed off from the bar, forcing their back to straighten despite the agony twisting their torso. “Fine. I said, more!”
The bartender frowned at their terse demand but hurriedly filled the two small glasses.
“And more for all of our new friends. Now! And don’t stop pouring,” they nodded towards the human patrons feeding their weakness and misery with cheap whiskey. It was late morning, and from the smell of them, they’d been here since dawn.
Like before, The Many slid the glasses to the seasoned prostitute. Reluctantly, she picked up the first glass with a shaking hand and touched it to her cracked lips. When the bartender tried to back away, they caught his hand, pinning it to the bar.
“Where are we?”
The robust, yellow-skinned human frowned, but answered. “New York. Queens.”
Queens. What an odd name for such a drab, dejected place.
The bartender tried to pull away, but they admonished him with a taunting tsk.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
“Hey asshole, I won’t stand for any trouble in my bar.”
“Trouble?” they grinned, baring their teeth. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“The what the fuck do you want?” the bartender spat, although the fear in his eyes contradicted his brusque tone.
“We want your world. Your reverence. Your souls. We want the crown. But for now, we’ll settle for a little chaos.” They pushed a glass of amber liquid towards the shaken human man. “Now drink.”