Baphomet the Lesser trudged through the infernal caverns of the Fifth Circle. Periodically, he glanced at the directions written on the stone tablet he was carrying, and wondered why whoever wrote it insisted on using cuneiform. He always thought it was unprofessional for demons to torment each other, yet it was a routine occurrence, especially among the lower ranks. "Well, no matter", he thought, as he saw a tunnel entrance flanked with stalagmites. Not far from the entrance, Baphomet stood before the grand desk of Morlock, Senior Vice President of Iniquity. That's what the little sign on his desk said, anyway. Morlock was absent-mindedly shuffling some papers and writing memos. It is unlikely he saw or heard Baphomet enter the room. Baphomet was unsure of what to do for a few moments. He looked around him and saw a small table with a piece of paper held down by a stylized stone skull. He went over and glanced at the paper. It said: For service, please blow Aztec death whistle. There was a helpful arrow pointing towards the macabre instrument.
Baphomet took the whistle, thought extra sinister thoughts, and blew hard. True to its name, the whistle emitted a ghastly, high-pitched shriek that sounded exactly like a burning person's dying scream. Morlock looked up with mild annoyance and shoved aside the stacks of paper in front of him. He peered down on Baphomet like a circling buzzard surveying a carcass. "Ah, pardon me. I was expecting you. How the time does fly down here", he muttered. Morlock was one of the elder demons. Twisted by millennia of evil, he resembled a cross between a dead oak and a prehistoric crocodile. The potted plant next to his desk was a corpse blossom. Morlock enjoyed the stench, and also because the scientific name of the plant, amorphophallus titania, means "giant deformed penis". "Here, have a drink", he said, "this rum belonged to Blackbeard. He's around here somewhere, but I haven't seen him in ages. Last I heard, he's a tour guide for the new arrivals. They always pick celebrities for that. Guys like you and me, we get stuck behind the scenes, so to say."
Baphomet sipped the pirate rum before venturing to ask, "pardon me, your malfeasance, why are we talking?" Morlock could not help but grin. "Oh, Baphomet. You're smart enough to know why you've been selected. Surely you remember your earthly life with Sennacherib in Assyria." Vague memories slowly coalesced in Baphomet's mind. Yes, it was coming back to him now. He glanced at the tablet, which suddenly seemed familiar. "Yes, that's right. The cuneiform message was intentional", continued Morlock, "I always like to add a personal touch when I summon someone. You were quite the bloodthirsty monster in those days. It was you who invented the idea of flaying enemy captives to demoralize would-be foes." It was all true, thought Baphomet. Time and hell had eroded his memories to a vague blur, yet enough remained for him to glimpse his mortal past with his mind's eye. "It was a most thoughtful gesture certainly, oh great one. May I ask why you summoned me here?", asked Baphomet.
Morlock leaned back in his chair and looked down his diabolical nose at Baphomet. He then lovingly stroked his pitch-black horns from base to tip. "My dear despicable Baphomet. You want horns like this, don't you? Well, so do I. Alas, hell is a strict meritocracy, and no demon gets his horns without a lot of hard work. I mean you must gumption, perseverance, and above all the vicious cunning required to be truly evil. I've been at this job since before the wheel was invented. It's grown tiresome, and I long to spend the rest of eternity fishing in a nice quiet lake of fire somewhere. I believe you have what it takes to be my replacement, and I can't retire from my post until I find someone suitable to fill it. Now, let me give you some details on your assignment. You are to return to earth, but in spirit only to begin with. You need to get some practice in corrupting mortals in subtle ways before you're fully reincarnated. Once you assume human form, your objective is to recruit an army of sinners. We've been outnumbered two to one down here for a long time, and the big boss thinks it's time for a fresh offensive to tip the scales in our favor."
"Ah, a most excellent plan. You honor me", replied Baphomet. "I request time to research for my mission."
"Good. Off you go then. Report to border control when you are ready to depart. They'll take care of the rest."
Baphomet took his leave and made his way to the library in the palace of Pandemonium. For many days, he perused ancient tomes to catch up on all that had transpired since he joined the ranks of Satan. It was a monumental task to read so much, yet he certainly had the time for it. Time is the one thing demons have in abundance, and they use it to increase their knowledge, which is what makes them so powerful and dangerous. He was most intrigued by a recent human invention called the internet. "Oh, what luck!", he thought, "this technology will allow me to reach millions of souls in a matter of days. With practice, I can probably get humans to corrupt each other to save myself the work." He needed a disguise that would entice the curiosity of a human, and so he chose to conceal himself within a magic lamp. He knew from his research that humans were unable to resist the allure of such artifacts. When rubbed, the lamp would release him and bind whoever rubbed it to him. This victim would then be patient zero of the plague Baphomet was sent to unleash.
He reported to border control as instructed and submitted his plan for their approval. In the blink of an eye, he was shot up to the surface, and barely a moment later, he was unleashed from the lamp. Although there was smoke and thunder, the human was disappointed that there was no genie to be seen. Baphomet could see and hear clearly, yet he was as insubstantial as a shadow and as invisible as air. He spoke but heard no sound. Even so, the human seemed to react to his phantom voice. Baphomet commanded the human to head home, and it was so. "This is going to be very hard work", he thought as he trailed the mortal.
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