‘Fine,’ replied Persephone, taking a seat on the bed. ‘What do you think our best options are so far?’
‘Religion is one,’ said Nergal. ‘Mortals have been fighting for hundreds of years over which God or Gods are the correct ones. Some even fight over facets of the same deity.’
‘They are still doing it,’ added Mastema. ‘Perhaps with a little encouragement–’
‘Like you’ve said, they have been doing it for hundreds of years,’ replied Persephone, ‘and we aren’t exactly getting record numbers out of it anymore. Next.’
‘Racism,’ said Nergal, glancing at his list. ‘Some Mortals hate each other based on skin colour or ethnicity. Others fight to the death merely because they were born on different sides of the same country. Perhaps we could foster that animosity?’
‘It’s not all of them,’ replied Persephone. ‘And from what we’ve seen most of it boils down to stereotyping, derogatory jokes and snide comments between like-minded people. Racism is a lifestyle choice if anything and it very rarely results in enough deaths these days to be considered profitable. Next.’
As each option was discussed Persephone shot it down. Strategic political assassinations were a waste of the Horsemen’s talents and there was no guarantee they would work. Murderous riots weren’t a given and the next person to fill the power void might not be the right fit. Dictators tended to settle down after achieving the top spot, concentrating on maintaining their power rather than expanding beyond their borders. Surrounded by solid gold toilets, sex slaves and high definition TVs they often lost their appetite for war and that would not suit Perdition’s purposes.
Nergal felt a twist in the place where the pit of his stomach would have been with each idea dismissed. Three weeks’ worth of Mastema was more than enough for the enforcer and he was in danger of losing his sanity. He had already lost his temper on a few occasions and Nergal prized his self-control. The Tempter of Men and Cursed Accuser had seriously damaged his calm.
‘Perhaps we could look elsewhere for answers or ideas?’ said Mastema. ‘We have Stalin, Hitler, Pol Pot and all of their kind right here, maybe we could learn something from them. I’m sure they’d appreciate a short break from the torture.’
‘A singularly stupid idea.’ said Persephone. ‘There is a reason why they suffer while the rest of the Mortals get to drink themselves stupid down here; they killed more innocents than Damned with their shenanigans and inadvertently helped the Hated One. Following in their footsteps is the fast path to failure.’
‘I didn’t mean our whole plan should come from them verbatim,’ replied Mastema. ‘But perhaps we might get some inspiration. Whatever we come up with will no doubt be cobbled together from many ideas. It seems the only way to address the bigger issue underlying all of this.’
‘What bigger issue?’ asked Nergal.
Mastema stood and arched his back. Hours spent over the glass panel had begun to take its toll and he didn’t want to suffer any permanent damage. Nothing ruined the effect of a good suit like bad posture.
‘The way the Mortals fight these days is the bigger issue,’ replied Mastema, shooting his cuffs. ‘In the good old days it was all sword on sword. Two Mortals, one death, and either the loser or the victor was ours nine times out of ten. Now they have these nuclear weapons and flying murder robots. A small room of Mortals can be responsible for the death of hundreds or even millions of their own kind. It may be a more efficient way for them to do things but all those souls will count against us if we haven’t secured them first. We’ll be shooting ourselves in the foot if we go about this the wrong way.’
Mastema grinned at the silence that followed his explanation.
These idiots had not even considered the implications of innocents dying by our hands, he thought.
Insulting Lucifer’s daughter would not have been wise but someone needed their face rubbed in the obvious.
‘I realised this before our first meeting with the Board drew to a close,’ said Mastema. ‘Foresight is one of the many benefits of a formidable intellect.’
He turned to Nergal.
‘Do you mean to tell me the leader of Hell’s Secret Police, a Demon whose job apparently revolves around intelligence, didn’t take this rather important detail into account? Who is the monkey now, Nergal? ’
The smoke began to flicker and take shape.
‘That’s enough,’ said Persephone before things escalated further.
‘I agree,’ said Mastema with a nod. ‘I think I’ve contributed more than enough today to warrant a break. I could kill for a sandwich right about now.’
Persephone snapped her fingers.
‘That’s it!’
‘What’s “it”?’ asked Nergal.
‘Food,’ replied Persephone. ‘An army marches on its stomach and the common folk riot when theirs are empty. We’ll make the powerful “haves” trade places with the developing “have nots” and sit back and watch the fun. One side will have all the guns and the other will have all the food. Mortals will sin to fill their bellies and die in droves soon after.’
‘A fine plan,’ said Mastema. ‘A veritable recipe for disaster, if you’ll pardon the pun. If we do this right, people will be beating their neighbours to death over a loaf of bread and countries will be fighting wars over fields of wheat.’
‘Pestilence, Famine, War then Death,’ said Persephone, her pointed teeth glinting as she smirked. ‘Someone was even kind enough to name the Horsemen after the steps. You two can take a break, Nergal needs to cool off and I want you to send Deumos in here. When you get back we’ll figure out how to make this happen.’
‘What does my wife have to do with anything?’ asked Mastema, ‘and who will make my sandwich if she’s in here?’
‘You don’t question my father’s orders,’ replied Persephone, her black eyes narrowing. ‘If you want to keep breathing I suggest you extend me that same courtesy. Now go.’
While Mastema walked off to find something to eat and his better half, Nergal wavered in the doorway.
‘What is it now?’ asked Persephone, taking a seat at Kaarl’s desk.
‘Your brother made it his mission to make the traitors suffer,’ Nergal told her. ‘He ignored the bigger picture and it proved to be his undoing. If he had he focused on the task at hand he might still be alive.’
‘And I would still be stuck down here in my room.’ said Persephone. ‘Instead Damon is ash and I get to go to the Mortal realm and fight on the front lines. I can find a way to use Kaarl for our purposes and break him when I’m done, the twins too. I’m not my brother.’
You’re just worried about being outclassed by a girl, thought Persephone, leaning back in the chair as Nergal drifted out of the room.
Kaarl had proven himself too much for even the best of Lucifer’s forces to handle and it was a realm-wide embarrassment. Using him to further Perdition’s goals would be a master stroke and hurting him in the process would be icing on the cake. Because the trio had been accepted into Paradise killing either Kaarl or the twins was impossible, at least with any permanence, but there were other ways to do damage.
It was common knowledge that Kaarl had never been in a relationship; although not much could be learnt from his old room it was clear that the boy was no romantic. To most this would have signified another dead end but to Persephone it was an opportunity. If she could find a way to make him want her, to lift him up before breaking him down, it would leave a mark in a place not easily healed. The idea of Kaarl’s first taste of true love turning sour and choking him sent a chill down Persephone’s spine.
Deumos knocked on the