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By Stuart Sands, aka Spanish Jonn, aka Jon Jonnz
The figure that had identified himself as Axl Gotterdammerung raised one eyebrow in surprise. “You
know who I am? Identify yourself immediately! What are you doing here?” The tone of that voice would
brook no argument. Despite his condition Torsten snapped to attention, right arm thrust up and forward in the classic Nazi salute;
“With respect sir, I am under orders not to identify myself or disclose my mission, except to my pre-arranged contact.”
“Commendable. However you and your comrades were supposed to have already been dealt with before anyone was brought down to me. No matter, I was feeling peckish in any case.”
With that Torsten.s eyes filled with a mixture of disbelief and stark terror as the shape of Axl Gotterdammerung seemed to melt and fold in on itself, the features blurring, until in the place of the man now squatted a foul lump of oozing black matter. With lightning speed it whipped out a pseudopod of darkly iridescent filth that attached itself to Torsten.s
face, with a ghastly sucking noise.
Hardigan watched helpless from the far side of the room hypnotised in horror, as he desperately tried to push himself further away from the obscene spectacle, his shoulders digging into the stone of the cell wall, his heels skidding against the roughly finished floorboards. He lifted his hands to cover his ears, mewling piteously as the sound of Torsten.s screams; a bubbling, gurgling wail filled his head, and scoured his soul.
The rest of Torsten.s body was now drawn to the formless shape in the centre of the cell, his arms impotently beating against the rubbery surface of the thing as it enveloped the still struggling form of the German, like some gargantuan amoeba.
Within moments Torsten had been completely absorbed, and before falling into the welcome arms of unconsciousness, the last thing Hardigan saw was the profile of Torsten.s face pushing out against the skin of the creature, his mouth open, seemingly to implore Hardigan for help.
Hardigan snapped his eyes open. The scream on his lips stilled as he saw the face of the man that Torsten had called the Bishop standing over him, arms folded over the barrel chest.
“I am glad you have decided to rejoin the land of the living,” said Gotterdammerung, pausing to light a new cigar. “I trust that my little display will mean I do not have to expend any further energy in trying to convince you to co-operate.. He turned away from Hardigan, took a couple of steps and looked to the ceiling whilst exhaling a long plume of smoke.
“Frankly Herr Hardigan, I couldn.t really care less about you, or any of your other barely evolved ape kind. I have, how do you say? Far bigger fish to fry. However, a friend of mine has invited me to acquire certain information that you have, and I would be remiss in my duty if I failed him. I will allow you one hour to compose yourself, and then I expect my questions answered immediately and in full. Have I made myself clear?”
Hardigan nodded, and managed to stutter
a reply; “P-p-perfectly, how-however I don't know how much help
I will be to you, I am only a researcher and I.” His words
were cut off, as Gotterdammerung turned back towards him, the end of
his cigar blazing cherry red clamped between his teeth, his lips
pulled back in a rictus grin.
“One hour Herr Hardigan,
and then we shall speak again.”
-----------------------
As he left the cell behind him, the creature that was using the shape of Axl Gotterdammerung smiled at the thought of what was to come. The gall of one of these humans - even one that had thoroughly discarded it.s humanity as Robert Hubert had - daring to even presume to step into the shadow of one such as his patron unbidden, let alone contemplate treason. He walked down several corridors, coming finally to a bricked up doorway, with only two missing bricks allowing egress. However, this was enough for Axl Gotterdammerung, as he once more changed to his natural form, and via a flowing pseudopod insinuated itself into the space beyond.
A number of corridors later, and the shape of The Bishop morphed out of the formless blob that had entered the chamber. As he busied himself lighting candles situated at strategic points around the room, a light footstep caused him to spin round. Reflexes heightened over millennia caused the whip like pseudopod to halt its deadly course mere inches from the immaculately dressed figure that stepped from behind an ornate Japanese lacquered screen. As the
pseudopod withdrew back into the form of Axl Gotterdammerung.s arm, the figure smiled a greeting.
“Hello my pet, how proceeds the day.s work?”
“Well my Lord well. One of the idiot Nazis was allowed to see me, but he has been. disposed of, and
our unwitting messenger is now suitably prepared and awaiting his questioning, in a most receptive state.”
“Excellent. Excellent. Please excuse me one moment.”
From an inside pocket, the figure withdrew a slim cell phone, pressed a single button, waited a moment and then spoke into the phone as if being hundreds of feet below the permafrost of the Antarctic was no impediment to the signal. “Please let Ramona know that I wish to discuss certain matters with her on my return, and she is to await my pleasure.” He replaced the cell phone inside the perfectly tailored jacket and locked eyes with Gotterdammerung, all trace of the
earlier smile wiped from the imperious face.
“I trust that events here will not require my personal attention, as it seems they might elsewhere?”
“No my Lord, no. I can assure you that everything is being dealt with exactly as you stipulated. There will be no mishaps.”
“Good, I am so very pleased. Carry on then my pet. Carry on.”
And with those words, Stephen Alzis turned on his heel; one perfectly manicured hand tucked into his outside jacket pocket and stepped behind the lacquer screen, and out of sight.
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