A Divine Awakening.

By Anthoni C. Deymt

When a mysterious statue and pendant of alabaster material is discovered, Jason Xhosa did not expect the evidence point to Medusa of Ancient Greek Legend. What was even more suspiciously coincidental was meeting an old friend and comrade, Robert Kingsleigh by an abandoned church, refurbished into picnic gardens in London. With new allies in Zack Jameson and Sherine O'Neill, an ancestral spirit warrior and demonologist gifted in runeology, Jason soon finds himself resuing Taihashe Seil from the clutches of Thamuz, the Master of Torture from Hell. Jason finds himself involved with possessive spirits, malevolent demons and holy warriors as the Spiritual Realm slowly converge once more with the Mortal Realm, awakening old gods and mythological beings. Good and Evil need to unite to battle the threat of mythological usurpation that will destroy the Mortal Realm and the billions of people in a divine war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anthoni C. Deymt
• Release date: Jul 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005836245

Anthoni C. Deymt

HelloWelcome to my wonderful world of storytelling genius. I have been a writer for a while, but now breaking into the mainstream.I have done a huge range of jobs, and am a loving and (possibly too) doting parent, with a new baby expecting. I am also currently studying at Birkbeck College for a creative writing degree.If you like my work, please feel free to submit any comments or reviews and I hope you enjoy the escapism that is reading.

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A Divine Awakening.

Copyright 2020 Anthoni C. Deymt

Smashwords Edition

Cover Designed by Anthoni C. Deymt.

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Chapter 1 – Thamuz’s Ploy.

In the crypt underneath Saint Dunstan’s Church, London. The demon Thamuz, The Master of Tortures from the Spiritual Realm had created a crude laboratory. Looped electric cables with construction site grade task lights hung loosely from the wall fixtures. Thamuz cared not for sterility, cleanliness or anaesthetic in his study of human bodies, inside and out. Three hospital beds surrounded by metal trolleys with various surgeon tools and torture implements were placed centrally within the chamber. One was unoccupied, although recently used by evidence of black and congealed blood splatters on the covering. On the ground, there was a trail of the same substance that led to a crumpled cadaver, its rotting stench filled the room. On the far bed, restrained and mutilated was a live human, groaning and snivelling, it did not have much longer to live. The bed in the middle had an alabaster statue.

Thamuz had remained in his human form whilst remaining in the Mortal Realm. He bent down and inspected the stonework closely. He traced the lines with his fingers as he looked for any flaws. On one wall of the pentagonal crypt, a steel dungeon door recently installed opened and in stepped Mara, a demon queen flanked by her newest acquisition. Thamuz knew the visitor. It was one of his servants, with their own slave. The mortal that accompanied her was a stone-carver. Someone who may be able to confirm Thamuz’s thoughts on what the stone statue is constructed from. A polite and almost timid cough sounded.

Thamuz placed his sunglasses on as he stood up straight and slowly spun around to face the visitors. He swivelled only his head, a show of mystique and dominance over his underlings. Thamuz took the opportunity to assess how many sarcophagi were still unopened. They had all been moved from the centre of the underground room to the walls, increasing floor space for his experimentation. All the tombs had been opened and emptied. The previous occupants used for research and tests. Thamuz was developing an alchemical formula for the total conversion of mortals and mortal remains into mindless meat shields for his military coup of Hell. The open dungeon door let in the darkness of the staircase. The lighting decidedly dimmer. The damp scent of wet stone and stagnant air permeated his human sense of smell as the slightly fresher air temporarily provided a little relief from the decay. Thamuz’s gaze lingered on the tortured specimen. He smiled as he admired his handiwork and visually checked the specimen’s restraints. When his gaze reached Mara, he assessed her position and not for the first time, admired her female form, full-breasted and restrained by the black leather clothes she wore. The demon queen stood at a respectful distance with a middle-aged mortal just behind. Her newest enslavement.

My Dominus. You summoned us. Mara had a rough and gravelly voice as she addressed her master.

Thamuz was dressed in black overalls that covered all but his symmetrical and bland face. Anyone would think him middle-aged with short hair combed back and greasy.

This is your Stone-carver? Thamuz gestured towards Mara’s pet, inspecting it. The creature seemed very mature for a human, hair full and grey, but strong and vigorous still. He wore dark blue overalls cinched with a belt and a haversack, that housed the tools of his trade, attached to leather straps slung over his head and across his body like a record bag that rested on his hip.

Mara faced her thrall, her sharp teeth peeked over her bottom lip as she grinned, her face somehow remaining child-like and cute.

Yes, Dominus, as you recall I needed a replacement.

I do. We are still to thank Zack and Sherine properly?

Mara’s cruel smile stretched wider, her lips plump and a deep red that drew attention away from the pale red skin. Her thick hair curled around her face and gave the impression of naïve beauty to Mara. Thamuz knew she was anything but naïve.

Thamuz pointed at the stone-carver, the Master of Torture did not care much for the names of slaves.

You. Inspect that statue and tell me what you perceive.

Michael Mason bowed low as Mara had advised. So far, Thamuz ascertained that this statue had magical properties. Mara’s slave inspected the stone just as keenly as he did.

Michael circled the statue, examining every detail, tracing the contours as Thamuz did. The stone was smooth and so very white, it glowed with a brilliance in the darkened dungeon. The statue reminded Michael of his greatest work, left in his workshop gathering dust, the carved fallen angel began as white alabaster, but with patience, love and skill became as fresh and pure as a new moon on a clear night. It was, and still is, the most magnificent masterpiece he ever created. It was what saved his business. From the satchel on his belt, Michael withdrew the tools of his trade, a hammer, chisel, sandpaper and some polish. Conscious of Thamuz and Mara watching; he laid down the sandpaper and polish on the bed and set about chipping at the statue. The chisel slid off without leaving a scratch.

Why, slave, would anyone sculpt a statue of a pitiful human specimen in that position?

Err. Your Mastership. There is something about this I don’t understand. It is like a three-dimensional picture of a man. There are veins highlighted and slight marks that may have been skin blemishes. It is too realistic to be carved from stone. This man was in the midst of intercourse on his hands and knees and judging by the erect penis, instantaneously transformed into stone.

It is curious. It has been many, many centuries since I last saw the like. A new statue and not in my collection. There is still great power within the stone, within this specimen.

Great one, who do you know that may have this power?

It will come to me.

Michael had made the mistake of looking at Thamuz directly, forgetting his place due to his curiosity. Thamuz took off his sunglasses, his eyes were black but with an eldritch red flame in place of pupils and Thamuz allowed his gaze to focus upon the slave. With perverse pleasure, Thamuz telepathically bombarded Michael with images of torture, with him as the victim, beaming his thoughts directly into Michael’s brain like a television signal fills the set with images. Thamuz’s fiery eyes burned into Michael’s brain. Michael squirmed and sheepishly looked away as soon as he realised what he had done. His gaze shifted to Mara and was held fast. Mesmerised by the demonic beauty of Mara, the torturous visions faded and Michael recalled the first month of his enslavement. Each day was blissful, just to be near Mara, to smell her, begging to be touched by her. Mara had made it clear, with a lot of whipping, that Michael could not touch her without permission.

Two months ago, Mara first kissed Michael, but it felt like a lifetime. He was vulnerable, suicidal and bankrupt. He would have given anything and everything to achieve some success and he did. He sold his soul and freedom to Mara, whilst enchanted by her charm. The charm of a queen demon, a leader and matriarch of a sect of demons; the closest demons have to family.

A small part of his brain recoiled at the thought. There was one doubt that niggled at him. A belief that he was coerced. In recent weeks, Michael had seen those that came before him. He had witnessed lost souls in the abyss of the Spiritual Realm, ravaged, eaten and now bio-mechanical entities floating without purpose bewailing their fate. Perhaps suicide would have been better. Michael banished that thought immediately, he did not believe Mara would take too kindly to it.

Mara’s eyes were unyielding, they gave the impression they pulsated. Michael could not turn away from her. On countless occasions since their relationship had begun, Michael had caught himself with the need to and willingness to offer her choice of which body part of his to feast on. To devour and feed her needs. The exquisite pleasure he craved would be the reward, the hit of ecstasy he will receive justifies the loss of another body part. He relived the first and only instance of when Mara first feasted, first sated her appetite on his flesh. He recalled floating in a red void and screaming. Screaming, not in pain, but pleasure. His senses were so overloaded with agony, that his brain translated the feeling into bliss. He received a bionic replacement for his arm and acquired the need, like a drug addict, to feel that pleasure again.

It was only his creation, the fallen angel that saved him from utter helplessness and the only thing that keeps him, himself. When he carved her, he poured so much love into his creation a portion of his soul was also invested; there is still a part of him that is free. One day, he may reclaim it. Michael pulled his gaze away and continued to chip at the statue.

Thamuz witnessed this exchange and turned to Mara;

Interesting my dear. How has this one resisted your utter domination? Your previous slaves worshipped the blood you drew from them, worshipped everything you touched.

Mara lowered her head in humility and embarrassment when addressed by Thamuz. In the awkward silence, Michael’s tapping echoed around the crypt.

Another holds a part of his soul. It shall be captured before long and punished accordingly.

Good. Unforeseen circumstances are developing, and that would be intolerable.

Thamuz turned back to Mara’s slave who continued the examination. He circled the stone curiosity and knelt looking into the face of the test subject. Thamuz could see the pain in the eyes of the encased human, the only sign that it was not a statue, but a curse. The Master of Torture smiled as he revelled in the dark and sinister aura that emanated.

Thamuz stepped back.

Slave.

Michael stood straight, head bowed.

That pendant. What do you make of it? Thamuz gestured towards the small object on the bed, directly in the victim’s line of sight.

He watched as the human shuffled around the statue to the head and picked up the stone pendant. From his previous inspection, Thamuz knew the material of the amulet held remarkable similarities to the statue. The pendant showed a young female face. The hair was down and curled and there were shaded spots, like freckles on the person's nose and cheek. The carving was uncannily realistic, so lifelike that it could not have been carved by any immortal hands, let alone mortal. Thamuz took pleasure in knowing the eyes flickered because it was a prison and not an artistic trick. He could almost hear the endless screech of the figure’s terror.