Solomon Ch. 1

Solomon: Chapter 1

Jacob was, quite frankly, getting tired of people trying to kill him. A magician's life was a dangerous one, especially given his specialty. He knew that and had been prepared for it.
Lately, however, it had gotten pretty ridiculous. Killing for a good reason was one thing. Mostly, Jacob included such things as revenge, self-defense, and the protection of one's family among acceptable reasons to kill another magician. Or any being really.
Killing because of ideology, however, seemed completely pointless. So what if he worked with demons? Magicians already had to worry about demons, angels, and all other manner of supernatural beings. Add to that the occasional deluded "witch-hunter" and what have you, and you've got enough problems. There was, Jacob felt, no need to add to that by having to worry about a random magician you'd never slighted shanking you because you said "abra kadabra" and he preffered "alakazam." it was stupid and petty: The sort of behavior Jacob usually thought of as being reserved for the mundanes.
Besides, Jacob reflected as he was led forth into his cell, it wasn't as if he worked for any of the demons he encountered. It was a very antagonistic relationship. Most of the time, at least. Normally, though, very antagonistic.
"You guys really should just try to chill out a little," Jacob said, helpfully.
"I'll hear none of your filth, heretic. Save your poison words for the Inquisitor."
Jacob was shoved roughly into a barren cell and iron bars were slammed shut as he stumbled in, trying to keep his balance despite manacled hands.
That was another thing that irked Jacob. These guys weren't just intolerant, they were downright silly about it. He was in an actual dungeon, for God's sake. And they had him restrained with iron manacles. Didn't they realize they were in the 20th century? There were wonderful tools like handcuffs and guns.
Furthermore, they handn't been quite smart enough to do more than a cursory search of his person, which had mostly consisted of emptying his pockets. He still had, for example, the ring on his right hand. A ring which, incidentally, happened to have a miniature, but fully functional, summoning circle etched into it. Jacob almost felt bad about the mayhem he was going to unleash here. Almost.
Just as Jacob was getting situated, another of the "witch-hunters" came to retrieve him.
"Move it, scum," he ordered, brandishing a sword in one hand and opening the cell door with the other.
Seriously, Jacob thought, a fucking sword. These guys were just trying too damn hard.
Jacob allowed himself to be led into the "court room." He took in the scene as he was escorted to the center of the room. There were rows of bleachers on either side of him. He was willing to bet that most of them had gathered to see the interrogation of their latest "witch."
"Order!" the judge-Inquisitor?-slammed the gavel on the table in front of him. It was things exactly like that, Jacob reflected, that was making him feel conflicted about killing these guys. The more he was exposed to them, the more he just felt sorry for them. It was like they'd gotten ahold of The Complete Idiot's Guide to Anachronistic Religious-themed Cults and followed the instructions to the letter.
The important one--the one who was an actual magician--slammed down the gavel again. "As official Inquisitor--" that answered Jacob's question from earlier "--I declare this trial to be at an opening." The Inquisitor stared down at Jacob from the tall chair and table. "You, Landon Burke, are charged with numerous heretical and blasphemous acts, cheif among them consorting and conspiring with demons."
You'd think they'd be overjoyed at a demon being forced to help a mortal against its will. But no, any contact with a demon that the demon walked away from was evil to these people.
"If you are found to be guilty of these crimes, we shall be forced to take action to save your immortal soul."
Wait for it. . .
"Namely, you shall be put to death by hanging. Only in this way shall your soul be saved from eternal damnation. However, if you confess and repent you shall be drowned. Your sins will be washed clean in that final fatal babtism."
Well that put the upcoming slaughter squarely in the self-defense bracket. Jacob strove at all times to avoid hypocrisy.
"You may now confess or attempt to defend yourself."
"Just to clarify," Jacob began. "You intend to kill me no matter what the outcome of this trial, right?"
"Yes. Unless you can prove to us that the you have been charged falsely." There was some snickering from the peanut gallery at that last comment.
"Right then. I do have a few things to say."
Jacob thrust his still bound hands in front of him, his summoning ring facing up. His voice had taken on a layered quality when he next spoke. It seemed to have split into sixteen separate voices, speaking concurrently. Each voice uttered four syllables, and thus he spoke sixty four syllables in the space of four.
A tiny speck apppeared on the center of Jacob's ring then leapt forward, growing as it travelled through the air and reaching full size upon landing.
The creature -- the demon -- had the body of a muscular winged young man and the head of a barn owl. It was epic in stature, standing well over seven feet tall. In its hands it weiled a sword of monstrous proportions which was fully engulfed in flame.
Jacob slammed his body into the floor as the creature swung its massive flaming sword, cleaving each of the two gaurds standing on either side of Jacob in half. The Inquisitor began an incantation, one that -- Jacob noted -- might have actually had an effect on the demon. That is, of course, if the Inquisitor had not had his head impaled by the flaming sword which the demon flung straight at him midway through the invocation.
The other members of the cult were beginning to scatter, but not nearly fast enough. The demon ripped the head off of one cultist and the intestines out of another as it flew forward and retrieved its fiery sword from the remains of the cult leader. It let out a primal scream of bloodlust as it moved in frenzy through the room, tearing apart the cult members with beak and sword.
As the demon continued its work, a severed head rolled over to Jacob, an expression of fear and confusion still on its lifeless face. The slaughter continued unabated. The screams of terror of the dying mingled with the roars of exultation from the demon, creating a discordant symphony. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the room were painted in the slick stickiness of blood and gore.
When the slaughter was done, the demon turned its attention to Jacob. Jacob, for his part, stood, slowly getting to his feet. The demon approached diliberately, hefting its sword as it neared Jacob. Jacob stared the demon down and held out his hands.
With a chuckle, the demon raised the firey blade and brought it down. . .
. . .destroying the chain holding Jacob's manacles together. The demon knelt at Jacob's feet. "What would you have me do next, my Master."
A glowing sigil flared up around the monster as it knelt before Jacob. It was a more complex version of the summoning circle etched into Jacob's ring, traced in light.
"You have done well, Andras," Jacob commended. "But your use to me has ended for now. Go back to Hell."
The beast let out a scream as it sank into the ground beneath it, fire and thunder accompanying its departure.
Jacob kicked aside the severed head that had come to rest at his feet ealier.
Fucking amatuers, he thought.

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Word Count: 1326. I'm a little behind on this chapter. I'll try to make it up over the next few.