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REVISED - The Underworld : Becoming (Part III)

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I've added to this (now old) chapter; I did little to explain exactly what happened to Private Wilson - one second he's a slightly crazy marine, the next he's a demonic servant. With that in mind, I've added an extra scene. Enjoy.

Some may have reacted with shock. Others with simple amusement. For his part, Private Peter Wilson stared in disbelief at the immense animated skull that lay before him. Nervous twitches were restrained by the heavy iron chains that held him in bondage before the great skull-visaged beast before him.
"I know of you", Wilson muttered, scorn dripping from each ord. "The Knights of Templar worshipped you... and were punished. Surely Hell is the only place capable of accepting you."
Baphomet's lips spred, exposing an expansive fanged grin.
"Ah, but Hell was never my domain to begin with. It's leaders were incompetant and complacent. Only when I wrested control from their foolish hands were Hell's denizens able to truly wreak havoc upon the mortal plane." The immense white eyes narrowed further, scrutinizing the captive human. "Even you, righteous child, cannot deny the power of the horde at my command."
Wilson turned away, spitting blood he had not noticed before. "Nothing can stop the light of The Almighty", he growled, his fear held carefully in line by his faith. "and no measure of evil can taint the souls of His chosen."
Baphomet began to laugh,a booming sound that resonated around the cavern. "Taint, man-child? My intention was not to taint. No, a simple conversion will suffice. And I am certain that you have much to show us in regard of the three invaders in our new lands..."
With a grinding noise of steel against stone, Wilson found himself hauled upwards into an unforseen shaft concealed in the ceiling of Baphomet's audience chamber. His screams of torment went unheard among the demonic populace as The Baphomet began picking his human subject apart... reconditioning him as it saw fit.
"You cannot conquer me!" He screamed. "My God is with me!"
But he could only hear Baphomet's voice. "We shall see, mortal. We shall see...".


The last of the skeletal Revenant beasts collapsed to the sodden shores, releasing with it the spirit of another tormented soul. The silence was a welcome respite from the frenzied bloodshed and violence that had preceded; Shredded demonic bodies littered the stinking ground behind, while the three human survivors trudged onwards, ever wary of the enemy.
"Where now, Colonel?" Hendry inquired, glancing at and admiring the considerable ammunition count on his plasma rifle. They had entered the demonic fortress withough meeting a single enemy. "Head on through?"
Colonel Alex McMillan thundered on a good few feet ahead of Hendry and Kalliope, his own rifle gripped tightly, reflexes on alert. "Look for gates. It looks like this is the only local structure, and there's only one way that reinforcements are getting here."
Kallope glanced at the hewn green-stone walls passing by her side. "Gateways", she muttered. "They should take us straight to your devil, yes?"
McMillan glanced over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. "Just keep an eye out for the gates. We're getting closer. I know it."
Hendry grinned tightly at his superior. "Following the trail, eh boss?"
"If you've a better plan then please, share it among the people. In fact," He turned on a heel suddenly, reaching out to hand Hendry his weapon in one massive, synthetic hand, "why don't you take charge? Hell, I'd be happy to turn over command to one so informed of matters in The Other Place."
Hendry immediatly raised his hands in a gesture of non-involvement. "Colonel, I was just asking! Christ..." He relaxed slightly as McMillan withdrew his rifle and turned away. "I'm following you, remember?" The Corporal muttered. "I just wanna get home." The Colonel shrugged, withdrawing his weapon and trudging on, his mind seeting with the the already-considerable loss of life.
Amazingly, the twisting corridors continued without incident. Only when they reached a mighty, rusted portculis across the corridor was their progression halted.
Hendry glanced at the grey, featureless walls around them.
"Now where?" he asked.
It was Kalliope's turn to shrug. "We wait," she growled. "The beasts know we are here, and we wait for them to come and get us".
McMillan grinned. "A thousand demon corpses wouldn't be enough to quench my thirst," he muttered under his breath. "Let them come for us."


Wilson was greeted once again by impenetrable blackness when he finally regained consciousness. His hearing, however, was not spared. Indecipherable whispers were faintly heard, spoken from some seemingly great distance. They echoed about, making it difficult to discern the number of speakers. There could have been three or thirty; the private suspected that it made no difference. He was still bound to the cross, this time hanging backward at an angle. Tears began to sting at his eyes.
"Dear God", he sobbed. "Why have you forsaken me?"
"Because you were never one of His children". Baphomet's voice filled Wilson's mind once more. "His creations meant nothing to him. Just think, millennia of worship and prayer, and he was never listening!" A red glow began to emanate from the walls around him. "Illuminating, is it not?"
Wilson occupied an oval room, the cross upon which he was bound seemingly floating unaided in the chambers center. The walls - were they even walls? - were a sickly red, the colour of blood and the texture of flayed flesh, pulsing with a life force of their own.
"He was there for us all! He was there for his son, he who died for us all!"
There was a low, thoaty grumble. "His son? Jesus was a madman who died for his own crimes. Your God created you as an afterthought and left on a whim. Like the harlot Mother who cares not for her own child, he left your kind to evolve. And look at you now!" As the walls began to pulse faster, a section resembling some obscene uterus contracted wildly, pushing forth a bulbous, sickly yellow shape as large as Wilson's head. "You are weak!"
"Weak?" Wilson's grip on what remained of his sanity was beginning to falter.
"The great ones among you, those with the power to take a life, they care not for remorse. They are single-minded, strong and willful. These people have true power, true strength."
More of the yellow object was visible now; a bald, mouthless head, bony shoulders... and with a sound like ripping flesh, the creature was vomited onto the pulsing floor beneath Wilson, clutching something silvery to its chest.
"And you, human, were strong once. You embarked upon a mission of bloody slaughter before your arrest. Therapy and medication made you weak. Even joining the armed forces failed to re-ignite your bloodthirsty nature. A pity."
As the creature unfolded itself and stood upright, Wilson finally saw what it held; the rocket launcher, still gory and stained, that he had appropriated from the fallen demon.
"Still, there is hope for you yet My Child." Baphomet's voice had taken on a soft, paternal note. "They broke you, back on the mortal plane. But anything broken can be fixed. One must simply posess the correct tools."
Wilson began to shudder as he felt the icy cold fingers in his mind, invisible tendrils of psychic power searching through his brain, pushing thoughts here, nudging ideas there. Correcting the percieved imbalance. Pressure began to build, like some unfathomable force of gravity gaining mass at the core of his mind. A neurological black hole, threatening to collapse in on itself and take his sanity with it. A second touch, no less invasive as the last, started at his chest before spreading across his body, superheating his limbs and searing his lungs. An anguished cry escaped Wilson's lips as his eyes rolled, his brain ready to implode, his body feeling set to burst outwards in flames.
In his mind, something snapped.
In the next instant, the jaundiced creature clutched the private's left hand, enveloping it in heat. Wilson barely noticed as the skin bubbled, dripped away and pooled on the floor beneath. With one swift movement, the beast thrust the demonic weapon onto the burning stump, the metal heating and fusing with melted flesh. once-dormant living tendons and circuitry sought out Wilson's nervous system, melding and connecting, transforming the weapon into an extension of his body. In a gesture of finality, the Arch-Vile pressed its palm against Wilson's chest. His skin cooked gently, the smell of charred flesh adding to the sickly aroma that already filled the chamber. Moving its hand away to reveal an intricate pentagram branding, it stood back, its master satisfied.
"Child", Baphomet said softly. "You are reborn".
The former human opened his eyes; they were clear and without tears, his mouth set in a thin determined line. With a single thrusting movement he thrashed his limbs, snapping the wrought iron chains that held him in bondage. Standing fully erect, he glanced admirably at his newly bestowed weapon, then at the Arch-Vile before him.
"Yes, my Lord; I am reborn. Forever in your debt, and your humble servant.


It took near enough to an hour. The three marines were dozing, arresting themselves to the beckoning sleep, a reward of the battles they had faced. All three were made alert by the grinding of metal as the great portculis began to rise. Hendry was the first to come fully awake, snapping up his plasma rifle and virtually jumping to his feet as the iron gate reached its climb at the end of the corridor. All was darkness beyond the gate, and not for the first time, Hendry was cursing for a weapon-mounted torch; he dare not illuminate the area with a burst of weapon fire.
"Come and get it, you fuckers," McMillan yelled from behind. "Haven't we killed enough of your kind yet?"
A soft laughter began to emanate from the dark, sending shivers through Hendry and Kalliope. It eased into a soft humming, almost human...
"Ah, my Colonel", said the distant voice. The familiarity of it was striking. "Should you not turn back from whence you came?" There was humour to those words.
"Not a chance," McMillan growled. "Not until your kind are extinct."
Deep green flames burst to life beyond the raised portculis, and Kalliope strained to make out the figure stood by them. Rippling muscles covered the naked, human physique adorned only with a five-pointed star seemingly burned into its chest, undeterred by the nearby demonic chattering that began to echo around the haunted corridors. Human, but for the left forearm - it terminated at the elbow, becoming thereon the bulky, cybernetic implant employed by the feared Cyberdemons. The figure grinned at its former companions.
"Colonel, Corporal, and Private; I would join you, but it would seem that my new master has other work for me." The grin became malevolent as he stroked his rocket launcher prosthetic.
"But worry not, for there is ample time for us to conduct a... proper meeting. Until then." The formerhuman bowed his head before vanishing in a burst of flames.
"Wilson!" Hendry yelled, leaping forward and drawing his weapon.
But it was no use. The demonic defenders were almost upon them, and the time for action had come...

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Much better my dear, I love the way you explained what was happening in his mind, the whole Neurological Black Hole was genius. Exellent :)

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