What could it be? Professor Artridge picked up his eye glass and began to examine the ancient documents laid out before him. The language was totally unlike anything he had come across before, the symbols didn’t seem to make any kind of sense. He looked again at his notes and then back to the texts. This was definitely some kind of dialogue but it truly was unknown. The implications of this flooded his mind, this discovery could have a profound effect on modern day archaeology. Perhaps he had found the first clue leading to a whole new civilisation that had been buried for thousands of years. His body filled with excitement, after years of praying perhaps this was finally his big chance, his chance to be remembered for all time. He grabbed the phone sitting on the side of his desk and began to dial. It began to ring and a few minutes later a voice came over the other end.

"Hello?"

"This is Professor Artridge, get me Simmons at once! This is urgent, I may have made the first major discovery of this century!" he yelled down the phone to the secretary.

"Dr Simmons is busy at the mome…" came the reply.

"Look, get him NOW!" cut off Artridge. This fool didn’t understand the significance of what he had discovered, "This can’t wait!"

The secretary seemed to hesitate, "Alright then Professor, I’ll fetch him now…" Artridge smiled, soon his name would be branded in the history books and immortality would be his.

"Oh no…" Sam heard the tramp whisper. He looked up to see the dirty clothed man shaking his head slowly, he looked kinda down.

"What’s up mate?" he tried. The tramp just stared down into the newspaper what had caused his exclamation not hearing a thing. Sam thought the guy would be quite attractive if he did himself up a bit, his brown hair was unkempt and knotted, his face unshaved and dirty. But beneath this he had a piercing blue gaze and promise of so much more. He could be really attractive Sam thought, he sorted himself out. Now that would be a challenge he grinned to himself.

"Nothing", the tramps sudden speech made Sam jump and he knocked the stack of papers on his stand. Before the pile toppled down to the sodden ground the man grabbed them and brought them back to a settled stance.

"Thanks!" Sam smiled, "That would have come out my wage."

"How much?" the tramp inquired. Sam wasn’t sure he understood.

"How much what?" he asked hoping he wasn’t missing something obvious.

"You get paid," the tramp said calmly, staring at Sam with those striking blue eyes, "How much do you get paid?" Sam wondered why the tramp was asking him, perhaps he was after a job. Well, no harm in answering…

"About £2 . 50 an hour, not much." He sighed, "It helps me get by but it’s a struggle and I really wish I had more time to concentrate on my art. I’m gifted, my paintings fetch quite a bit but I don’t have the time…" Sam suddenly shut up. God, what come over him? Complaining about all his inner turmoil and problems and to a tramp, someone who was even more worse off…

"I understand," the guy whispered, "Here." He slipped a ring off his right hand and offered it to Sam.

"I can’t, I can’t take anything off you…" The tramp opened Sam’s palm, placed in the ring and closed it. He smiled.

"Solid gold with a diamond heart. Worth a fair bit. You do your art…"

"But…" Sam stopped silent. The ‘tramp’ lifted his long dark coat to reveal many sparkling diamonds lining the edges. "Oh my god…"

"Appearances can be deceptive," the tramp smiled, "Now I have to go. Something’s come up." He turned and started to walk off down the street. Later on Sam would regret the decision he made now, he decided to let him go. Something stopped him calling after the stranger, he felt the man had a task that would take he into a dark places, a places he could take no loved ones. But after this point, after the man vanished into the crowds, he would regret it for years to come…

Professor Artridge got up from his desk and walked out of the study. As he reached for the light switch the door knocked yet again. "Hold on!" he yelled, "I’m coming!" He found the lamps switch and flicked it illuminating the room in a deep orange light. He wondered over and unlatched the door. The oak panelling creaked as he pulled it open.

"Professor Artridge?" The speaker, stood in the doorway, was a tall, unkempt looking fellow. Long, dark hair that seemed to have been combed in a hurry and a large overcoat wrapped around him. On his head he wore a large, floppy hat which covered most of his face.

"Yes?" Artridge examined the man, he seemed rather plain but he also had some air about him which made him feel uneasy.

"I need to talk to you." It was a statement, no request or formal enquirement, just a plain fact. "It’s a matter of great urgency."

"It is, is it?" Artridge examined the guy closely but the darkness covered his face, "And who, sir, might you be?" He loved to play the upper class gentleman, it made him feel a lot more important than he was. Also, those lower class citizens would look up to you more, have more respect. Respect was NOT what this man gave, he walked straight into the room, brushing past Artridge and heading for the Study.

"No time Professor," he simply stated as he passed.

"What in damnation!" Artridge spluttered. What impudence, who did this man think he was. He was about to let an onslaught of rage be hurled over the guy when the figure spun to face him.

"Yes, Professor. Damnation. That’s what this is about." The figure lifted the hat from his head so, at last, Artridge could see his features properly. And what a sight, he had slim cheeks, one scarred eye to chin, and a average nose. But everything of this paled before his eyes, his eyes bluer than the ocean, so pure and deep. The Professor found himself staring deep into them, the whole situation seemed to calm down instantly.

"Why are you here…" Artridge mumbled feebly. Something had made the fire in him die and he was now like a subdued dog.

"You’ve done some wonderful work Professor," began the man, "Some wonderful work." A fan, that’s who he was, a fan, Artridge thought to himself trying to keep positive. "Your latest discovery is brilliant, a unknown language. Ancient texts."

"Well thankyou," Artridge could feel the pride beginning to swell within his chest.

"Except…" Artridge’s heart missed a beat. Except? No, this was not some foreign historian, someone who had come to take away his fame and discovery, to reveal he found it long before… No, he was being paranoid…

"Except what?" he asked.

"Except I can read it." Even as the man said the words Artridge felt a pain stab into his heart, his discovery, his big chance, stolen from him…

"You… you can?" was all he could manage in a hoarse whisper.

"Don’t worry Professor, I don’t want to ruin your big chance," the man smiled, "I just want to tell you what it means." Suddenly the implication of this jumped into the Artridge’s soul. A translation, brilliant! This would be the final part, the icing on the cake.

"Please sit," he gestured to a chair. He grabbed a recorder and set it up, "How… how do you know how to read it?"

"It is an ancient language but the skill has been passed down through the generations. More than that I cannot say. May be begin?" Artridge beamed.

"Yes, yes of course!" he passed the papers across to the man, "Oh, by the way, I didn’t catch your name."

"Aha. My name. Call me.." the mans gaze wondered the room, "Call be Allan".

"Well, Allan, what do you make of this?" the first page held large bold symbols, he saw Allan frown at them. "Well?"

"It’s a heading."

"I guessed that," Artridge cried impatiently, "What does it say?"

"The Fall of Leviathan and Rise of Hell."

"The Fall of Leviathan and Rise of Hell?" repeated Artridge, "That isn’t too clear is it?" He waited for Allan to continue. He didn’t. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Allan stated simply. He seemed lost in a deep thought, he suddenly looked up and smiled, "You want me to continue?"

"Yes, please do," replied Artridge. The translator looked back at the parchments, his eyes fluttering over the archaic documents. After a few minutes he seemed ready to speak, Artridge sat back in anticipation.

"I think I’ve worked out most of it," he coughed gently and began, "What I am about to tell you, you may think madness. But it is true, it is no fairy tale. For I have been to the very edge of sanity and peered into the abyss, I have seen Hell itself…"

"Hell?" Artridge raised an eyebrow. Allan looked up at him in annoyance. "Sorry, continue…"

I have seen the dark, the horrors awaiting those whose souls are led astray. My name is of no importance, my words are what you must understand. Before telling of the sights I have seen I must give you information to help you understand, my source cannot be stated and the origin of what I know will forever be secret. But it is genuine.

We believe our world, the Earth is at the centre of the Universe, a place which God created for his living creatures. Yet there are other worlds, other creatures. Beings of such power they seem like Gods themselves. Yet they are still a life form, vastly complex than us, but still a life form. I discovered they have great curiosity, as we ourselves have, and many explorers leave their people to search the reaches of space. One group of these explorers came across a small world where life had just begun, our world, and found the beings living on its surface to be of great value. Not in usefulness but as food. Yes, they saw us as we see cattle, a creature to be harvested and devoured. The Three Travellers that found are world held names that would later become fixed within are culture, they were Behemoth, leader of the expedition, Leviathan and Lucifer. All three saw the potential of our small world as a source of energy, a farm if you like, and set about finding ways of exploiting it.

The Travellers were far from home, alone and isolated, they had a huge supply of energy, let me explain a moment. They feed not on our bodies but are very essence, what makes us human, in short they devour our souls. On, though, with the tale, Lucifer wished to speed back to their world, to bring others and exploit the planet. Behemoth saw what this would lead to, the creatures upon it, whose souls were of divine taste, would be wiped out in several generations and there flavour would become but a memory. Instead he decided to show himself to the life forms. To be made a God, to which sacrifices were made. This would feed him and his fellows only. Lucifer was not happy with this, wishing the planet to be open to all, and set out to inform their people. He did not make it, Behemoth sent Leviathan to hunt and kill Lucifer before he could leave. The body fell to earth, destroying lands and causing earthquakes across whole continents. Lucifer became the fallen Angel.

But that was only the beginning, the two beings shared the souls as master and apprentice, yet Leviathan wanted more. Much more…

She looked on as the human twisted and squirmed, screaming in terror. The pain was the only thing stopping his mind snapping completely, keeping him from loosing himself in the fear. Pain had its uses, she guessed, but often the methods were so crude. She remembered when she first found this one, what a lost soul he had been, crying himself to sleep each night. Then he had found the amulet, summoned her forth and she had shown him such sites. He saw her beauty, her large rounded breasts, pale skin, presented before him for his pleasure. She indulged him for a while, let him relax, lose his uncertainties and then revealed herself to him, her true self. The fear he displayed was pure ecstasy.

The man looked at her. He looked her right in the eyes, his soul staring out and begging for the suffering to end, for the terror to stop. Angelique turned away from him and strolled out of the chamber which held that man’s personal hell. She found herself standing on a large rocky out growth over looking a huge cavern of blood red rock. Flames belched from the ground and an overbearing heat filled the air, all across the cavern she could see people being torn, twisted and tortured, the crackling of fire was drowned out by the screams of terror. She saw one man in a pit, up to his waist in spiders, crawling across him. His ultimate fear, his fear being taken to limits.

She looked up as the ceiling began to crack apart. The rock split in two and, looking down from the dark sky beyond was the ruler of the this realm, Behemoth, the dark lord of Hell. His form was of a vast grey cloud, swirling above them with a black face at the centre which was radiating gleaming eyes of hatred. He was hungry.

Taurann looked up at his god and smiled. What a beautiful creature he thought.

"Please, no more," came the cry of his victim. Humans were so frail, he may still be mortal now but he knew the day would soon come that his master would deem him worthy of joining the ranks of his Followers. He glanced across the cavern and spied Angelique, the great Princess of Hell. She was lucky to never have been human, she was pure demon, a creature forged from the body of Behemoth himself. Standing there, 3 metres tall, glistening green scales for skin and claws for fingers she looked so elegant. He hoped that when he was chosen he could be part of her court. Suddenly he paused, he felt something, something look into his mind. He glanced up and gasped, Behemoth had directed his gaze at him, he was really watching him. After all this time waiting Behemoth had taken interest in Taurann.

"No, god no…" the prisoner seemed to panic, Taurann glanced to see him enveloped in a glowing aura. He gasped, Behemoth had chosen HIS charge to feed upon, he had judged his work fit enough to devour. Taurann watched in wonder as the man’s body dissolved and the energy and life force of his soul was sucked up into Behemoth. He’d done it, he’d really done it, made a victim feel enough fear to satisfy God. He smiled.

Angelique looked across as the human’s soul was devoured. Behemoth was pleased with his servants work. He spoke into her mind, the man, Taurann, was to be converted into a Follower of Angelique’s court. Very well, she thought, he will soon join my family…

The It woke up. The It sat up and looked around, It looked down at Its scarred and mutilated body. It reached up and felt the brain that was exposed to the air, scalped. It got off the table and looked around. It was in a large, dark chamber, the ceiling beyond view. Chains hung down, sharp hooks attached to the end. It couldn’t remember anything, did not know what It was or what It wanted or what It was meant to do. It heard something and turned around, a large tentacle lunged forward and attached to Its head.

When it detached ‘It’ no longer was an ‘It’. It knew it was a Cenobite, the first of it’s kind. It was created by a process similar to the Followers, a part demon creature. The Cenobite knew its purpose, to obey its creator Leviathan. It had to stay here where Behemoth could not mind it, it would wait for the signal. And then, when the time was right, it would join others of its kind and over throw Behemoth. That was its purpose, that is what Leviathan told it to do.

Taurann looked down at himself, he did this often of late, ever since his transformation two weeks ago. He could see his guts hanging out his chest, he could see the slit wrists and blasted away kneecaps. He wore a deep, dark green leather suit, melted onto his flesh and spiked knuckle-dusters. He twisted his broken neck up and looked at the mirror in front of him. On the other side he could see a young women sitting on a bed in a small, bare room holding in her grasp a small opal. His opal. She swept her long, blonde hair back and looked deep at the gem, perhaps wondering its value. As she looked he saw into her soul, he willed her to step into the gem.

"That’s ridiculous," her mind said, you can’t step into a gem.

"Just step," he whispered, "And all the suffering will go."

"It’s a opal, nothing more," her mind argued. Taurann smiled and beckoned her soul closer, to open the gateway, to willingly let the gems power free. The women stared and, deep down inside her, somewhere, something agreed. Taurann smiled and stepped through the mirror.

Elizabeth stared at it in wonder, something about it attracted her to it. She held it in her palms and ran her thumbs down each side around it, she breathed on it gently then rubbed away the mark left. If only she could be closer to the beauty it held, away from her mundane and disappointing life. The crops had failed, the Lord was angry, she missed church. Suddenly, she felt a cool wind sweep into the room. She looked at the opal and gasped as it glowed in her hands.

"Elizabeth." She jumped, hearing the low voice moan her name. She looked up and nearly screamed, stood before her was a tall male dressed in a green leather suit. She stood in total shock and took in the horrific wounds he displayed, the slashed wrists, broken knees, gutted stomach…broken neck…

"Satan…" she mouthed.

"Far from it. I am High Priest Tarrn of the Family of Angelique," the figure hissed.

Elizabeth broke down in tears, she had forgotten God and now she would be punished, sentenced to the realms of Hell. Surely she could repent, perhaps there was time, she had too try something.

"There is no going back now. You turned your back on Him and now you must come with me," it drooled blood as it spoke, "I have such sights to show you." Elizabeth screamed.

"Perhaps I should explain in more detail the politics of Hell, to fully understand the changes that occur you must first understand how it now was organised," read Allan. "Behemoth was seen as a god…"

But over years his name was forgotten, religions evolved and changed, yet the idea of Heaven and Hell remained. I cannot say if there truly is a God as portrayed in the Bible but I do know that Behemoth was a being that fitted into both Heaven and Hell. Many saw him as God, he would only feed upon souls that doubted him. He spread opals, aspects of himself, through the world and anyone who looked deep into them was judged, those who did not believe in him were taken to Hell. He was Devil to some, God to others. It was he who influenced the structure of our society today, he who ranked people from King to Peasant. In hell he leads as King, he has many Princesses and Princes, pure demon, followed by Priest and Chancellor, half breeds known as Followers and then at the bottom his Human servants who await promotion into his family. Leviathan sat at his side, learning his ways but not agreeing. Chaos came to easily from the competition to become Followers and Leviathan believed in Order. Therefore he plotted to design Hell his own way and to destroy his master.

Taurann watched as the women screamed in fear. She stood at the doors of a church, the Lords prayer was heard from inside, yet she could not get it. ‘Angels’ were descending towards her bearing spear-like crosses. All around her crops failed and died, the faces of her starving family filled her dead. He closed the doorway which led into Elizabeth’s personal Hell and rejoined Angelique. She had been over seeing the punishment of a human cultist who had failed, he remembered his days as one such frail creature. Angelique enjoyed special treatment, she was Behemoth's favourite and also pleased Leviathan, Taurann knew only a pure demon could ever enjoy that kind of honour. Still, he served as best he could in his own way.

Angelique looked at High Priest Tarrn. He was the most recent convert yet already had proved himself loyal and effective. However, she had no doubt his loyalty was too Behemoth and so was useless to her needs.

"High Priest, go and attend to the cultists dealing with the new arrival," she hissed at him.

"At once," he turned and headed off down the stony cliffs of Hell. Angelique turned and walked down a dark chasm, eventually coming out on a ledge looking out over a vast emptiness. Hovering before her was the huge form of Leviathan, the Lord of Pain. This what Hell should be like, she thought looking around at the simple darkness and sheer walls behind her, the fire and rock was too chaotic. Even now she felt Leviathan in her mind agreeing, talking of a new age, an age where Hell would be reworked into a place of pain and suffering and order. She told the God of those she had convinced to join them, of those who would oppose them.

Angelique heard a large grinding noise and looked to the edge of the outcrop she stood upon. Rising up was a stone platform on which stood a creature similar to the Followers yet somehow different. It wore a dark leather suit that was sewn deep into its skin, its brain was revealed to the air, looks held its eyelids open and blood leaked from several gashes across the chest. It held an air of majesty yet, unlike the Followers, seemed content with itself, wanting nothing that did not have. Leviathan spoke into her, told her this creature was a Cenobite, what he would use to replace the Followers. It had no past memories, no ambition, no needs but to serve, it was simply order. This was the future of Hell, Leviathan would lead and everyone would follow, unquestionably.

"Cenobite," she hissed. It stepped forward and looked at her. "What do you want?"

"To serve Leviathan," is mouthed, it’s voice deep and booming, "To experiment, to satisfy, to bring pleasures and prepare the souls for consumption." Angelique smiled, the time was getting near.

Francis slowly lifted his gaze to the approaching Follower. It was High Priest Tarrn, only a week or so ago a close friend, now an angel, sent to further his punishment. He deserved his elevation, guessed Francis, and he himself had failed vital duties. But still, it didn’t seem fair, he had tried to be successful and he had been loyal and worked hard but still Behemoth never once looked down upon him.

"Francis," hissed Taurann as he stood over him. Francis looked up at the battered and broken body of the Follower and felt the essence of fear flow through him.

"Lord," replied Francis quickly, not wanting things to be worse than they had to be.

"I remember you," the Follower spoke slowly, "You wanted so badly to join the cult, so badly to be part of something. You wanted companionship, to escape the lonely darkness." Francis looked up into the dark eyes and his heart filled with terror. "Alone, Francis. You are alone." Francis felt himself drifting off into a void, the world melted away around him and the darkness enveloped his body. "The world is there but not in reach." Francis couldn’t cry out, couldn’t scream, could not do anything. "Alone. Forever."

Professor Artridge coughed loudly and Alan stopped.

"Yes?" he inquired.

"Oh sorry, nothing, just a cough. But I do wonder about this…"

"Do you want me to finish?" Artridge did, the content may seem insane but the translation he presented fitted what was written and depicted, he had to know more. "Yes," he sighed, "Yes, please continue."

"Very well," Alan stated, "Do not interrupt again."

The body of the Follower crumpled to the floor, reverting back to its original form. Angelique nodded her approval to the Cenobite and turned to face the huge form of Leviathan. It was time, four powerful Cenobites had been constructed, many had turned to there cause, the hiding was over. They would walk out into the heart of Hell and declare there intentions to all, Leviathan would battle behemoth and they fight his forces. It may be chaotic but it is the only way, in the end order will be established and a new Hell formed.

She turned towards the entrance way opening before her and stepped forward, stepped towards a new era. The Cenobites and other Demons and Followers that had joint there cause followed close behind. As they walked out into the vast, fiery cavern the walls began to shake, the ceiling splitting wide, all the beings, torturers and the tortured alike, turned to look at history in the making.

Angelique knew Behemoth read their thoughts, knew their intentions. But he could do nothing as it was now that Leviathan struck, attacking his master from behind, a battle of gods rocking the skies. And, as if suddenly brought to life, the armies of Fear rose up to attack the forces of Order.

Taurann looked around the cavern of Hell, looked through the fire, the smoke, the bodies and death. Time has no meaning in this place yet it is obvious the war has lasted a length of it. Angelique betrayed her Lord and joined sides with the traitor God, she and many others of her kind.

And now, as he looked forward, High Priest Tarrn could see Angelique standing upon the bodies of Followers slaughtering those who tried to resist. He had to kill her, she was Leviathans main weapon, she led the forces to battle, she was one of the last demons, most had died. Behemoth had none, Leviathans did not fight, rather constructed weapons and means of combat, all except for her. Tarrn stepped forward through the smoke towards her when an arm grabbed him and dragged him down. He turned to see Francis, another traitor, unable to except the punishment given him he joined the forces of Leviathan, and in doing so ended his own life. Tarrn gripped the humans frail neck and twisted it around and snapping every bone. His body fell down to the ground, his blood mingling with that of all those who too had fallen.

"Angelique," hissed the Priest as he headed forward.

It knew its purpose, it led the Order of the Gash, and kills the enemies of Leviathan. All around it was carnage; chaos and disorder. The Cenobite knew it had to put an end to it and that end could only be realised when Behemoth was destroyed. There could only ever be one Lord of Hell, only one labyrinth and that was Leviathans. It had to kill; it snapped the neck of a passing mortal not for pleasure, or spite but to obtain order, clarity and content.

The Cenobite sensed something and spun to face one of the chosen of behemoth. Taurann, leader of the Followers, was stepping up to him; offering himself in combat. It didn’t need to except, or feel fear or glee; it simply attacked. It carried out its purpose, striking blows and receiving them; the strongest warrior would be victorious.

She twisted the neck of one, snapped the spine of another and ripped the still beating heart from a third; all around her Behemoths Followers fell to her might. The battle had been long but she knew that they were winning. In the skies above them the two gods continued their ferocious struggle for supremacy; each causing great harm to the other. But Leviathan was much cleverer, much more skilled and in the end the Lord would put an end to the foe.

She heard a skull crush under foot as she stepped forward onto the mound of bodies beneath her. All around her was a sea of fire and blood, of lost organs and hard rock. She stood on top of the her victims, flames licking up around her and screamed a challenge to anyone who would dare face her. In the back of her mind she felt Leviathans presence; soon it would all be over, soon a new age would be dawning.

Tarrn watched as the Cenobite plunged over the edge into the boiling pit of molten rock below. The creature gasped, tried to drag itself free but soon sank below the surface. He turned to see the massive form of Angelique towering over him; at last he had reached the traitor and now there would be a reckoning, she would be taught that no one could betray Behemoth.

He stepped up to her drawing out his sacred blade, crafted from the flesh of the lord Himself. He swung it with his might at the demon but she parried the blow with her claws. He watched as she reached out and clasped onto the leg of a crippled Follower and tore out the bone within. Brandishing her weapon she readied herself for battle; a battle he knew she was sure to lose.

Angelique swung her weapon with all her strength; she knocked the pathetic half-breed to the ground before her. She admired that he did not give up; instead he stood tall again and stood defensively. It would do him no good, she thought, jumping forward at him. Suddenly she found herself hurled to the floor; he had dodged and flung her down.

"Your strong," she heard him cackle, "But I am far, far stronger." She swiped forward at him, missing his flesh my millimetres. He brought his weapon up into her gut, piercing her scaled skin. She hissed in agony and stumbled back.

Tarrn took the opportunity and barged into her, intent on forcing her into the same fiery pit as where the Cenobite met its end. Instead he felt her claws grasp his throat and pull him down into her. He cried in pain and their bodies tumbled over the edge, crashing into rocky outcrops and jagged edges, before landing on a narrow ledge over looking the molten lake.

"You cannot win," he spat at her, "I shall never allow a false God to rule Hell, Behemoth is eternal." He swung his blade at her throat but she parried it with the leg bone she held. As she knocked his weapon away, her claws swung up into his chest. He gasped and collapsed down. He could not be defeated; his master was relying on him, he had to be…

He was cut short as her claws grasped his intestines and yanked them from his body. She lifted him up from the ground and held him over the burning precipice.

"Can’t you sense it?" she asked, "Behemoth is weakened, he has no more strength. It is over in the skies and now it is over here too." Tarrn couldn’t except it, it couldn’t be true; how had they lost, how can this of happened. It was not right…

She watched as Tarrn’s body melted away in the magma. She through the remains of his inner organs to the floor and turned to look to the heavens. Behemoth was retreating; he was not fighting to the end as Leviathan had thought he would. She turned to look across the lake and hissed in anger. Some of Behemoths servants were escaping through a gateway, hiding themselves in the real world. They had gone and could not be stopped.

She turned her attention back to the final battle between the two Dark Lords. Behemoth was breaking apart, he could no longer hold together a corporeal form. Souls leaked from within him, screaming across the labyrinth before being absorbed into Leviathan.

Suddenly the sky around Behemoth seemed to rip apart and his form disintegrated into a million fragments leaving only a core intelligence. She watched as the last vestiges of behemoth fled through a gateway and vanished from hell. He had not been destroyed but she doubted he could gain enough strength to re-enter this domain. It was finally over; now hell could be born anew.

"Is that it?" Artridge asked. Allan looked up at him; a grim expression worn on his face.

"Basically," he said bluntly, "There is more, but that is not important to you."

"What do you mean!?" he spluttered, "Of course it’s important!" How could this man suggest that some of the writings had greater value than the others, he needed a full translation.

"It is. But not to you. Not to any of us. Not for at least another thirty years."

"Until what," Artridge asked intrigued.

"Behemoth returns," Allan stood up and turned to leave. Professor Artridge was beginning to really be irritated by this man.

"Now look her," he gasped, "You can’t just come and go like that!"

"Why not? It is a free world." With that the man left, slamming the door behind him. Artridge stared at him in shock and them picked up the texts that Allan had been reading. His heart stopped, they were blank.

"How…" he gasped. They were the same papers, he knew, but they were now empty. He shot out the door and into the hallway but Allan had gone. He couldn’t have left so quick could he? What was going on?

Artridge sank to his knees in despair, his greatest discovery was gone and the only witness to it had vanished. He couldn’t believe this; what had the man done? He arrived, gave some insane translation and then somehow destroyed the pieces. There was going to be hell to pay for this.

"Yes," spoke a voice from behind, "Hell is definitely going to be involved. And we must prepare for the return." Artridge spun around but the room was empty. He wandered over to the window and slid it open. Looking out over the city he felt a tingle of fear grow up his spine, a deep sense of foreboding. Perhaps it wasn’t all nonsense, he had to know more. He had to find out what he could; he knew there was a puzzle here and he was determined to solve it.

The End.