this post was submitted on 15 Mar 2025
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"Look, Mr Bingham, I've been where you are, and I think you have a compelling argument for violation of contract.
But we've got to get a few details covered. You state that you signed a contract, in blood, with the devil. Are you certain it was the king of hell, and not some other entity. He does get imitators and soul selling scams are a dime a dozen."
"Well, sir, I reckon it was the man hisself. He had them horns, and the tail, and the glowing red eyes, and them wangs. Cain't rightly be nobody else."
"You'd be surprised how many things out there look like that. One of my exes could do a damn good version of that when I'd come home drunk.
At any time, did the eyes change color, did the wings shift to some other appearance at all? Any shifts?"
"Ayup, shore did. His eyes went from red to golden when we signed, and his wings started shining with a white light that durn near hurt my face. I had to turn away fer a moment." And I swear, when it started to dim and I looked back, he weren't red a'tall. He was almost like marble, only shinin' inside out as the light faded and he turnt back to what I seen a'first."
"Well, that certainly helps, we know it could only be a few things other than Lucifer, and none of those can give any power without the approval of the divinity they serve. Those divinities can't pull tricks in their arrangements because it isn't in them.
So, it seems that Satan, the dark lord of hell did pull a fast one.
The contract here says you wanted the power to clear a field in a day, no matter how big, no matter what the crop. In exchange, your immortal soul would be given unto Lucifer, the Exiled, to reside with him until the end of time.
The signature matches all known examples, and you specified a crop to be cleared.
I would definitely say that being caused to belch fire any time you step into a field would not match the intended exchange. Nor the, ahhhh, it says here the winds what tore a hole in your pants at the same time and demolished your harvester. No crop being present means that the field being cleared is a default of intent, and that matters in the celestial court."
"Ayup, that's what I reckon."
Alright Mr Bingham, lets get a few things signed in regular ink here. Power of Intercession, plea to the Saints and Martyrs for a hearing, and an affidavit of your version of the statements made today."
"You reckon I oughta sign anything a'tall? Last time I did that, I was fartin' tornadoes."
"If you don't, I can't stand for you in the court, I can only give you advice here on earth. That's your choice, and I have seen successful cases won that way. But you'll still have to present a plea, and the written version is the fastest. You have no idea how backed up the Saints and Martyrs are these days."
"I been backed up afore. Took some castor oil, cleared me right out. Hain't had no trouble like that since them winds started comin' out though. I reckon, if I didn't have the sense to not sign before, and it got me into this mess, maybe I oughta not have sense again, and see if'n it gets me out."
"That's one way to look at it, yeah."
As the parchments were signed and witnessed, I looked Mr Bingham up and down again. I should have seen this coming. You don't just escape a soul deal on a technicality and not piss the entity off. You sure as hell don't go on to find and help other betrayed souls to negate their contracts and begin the process of repentance.
The only question in my mind at that point was who Bingham really was. Could be one of the older incubi, they tend to be good at hiding their nature, even from someone familiar with the signs. But I don't think they would have gone with the hokey bullshit fake farmer thing.
No, it had to be something else. Maybe a greater demon, maybe one of the damned given privileges and power for the task. But it was definitely not the Mr Bingham that I had a friendly air elemental look into. Oh, it looked the part, but the real Mr Bingham didn't have that fake corn-pone drawl. And, while he definitely did fart tornadoes, he seemed quite happy with it. Had a little wind farm going, making nice income just from eating some beans every night and pointing the direction of the turbines when regular wind was low.
We would see, though. No way could it keep up the masquerade past the Celestial Gates. The guardians would sniff it out in a hot second.
"Mr Bingham, if you'll return tomorrow morning, ten a.m., I should have a response to your plea, and we can set up a time for a trip to purgatory to enter the Gates and have your case heard."
With the usual handshakes and malarkey goodbyes, I showed him out the door and made some prayers.
I'm going to continue this as a response to this comment because I don't want to hit the character limit, and I need a nap. Not sure exactly when I'll finish up, or how many sections it'll run.
I shouldered my way through the crowd and knocked at the side door of the gates. The peephole opened. "Oh, it's you. Again."
"Howdy, Pete. I've got a hot one this time. Pleas are in, Intercession filed with the cherubs, and I'm ready to call my client up. Gotta warn you, something is hinky with him. Not sure what, but I suspect Hellish origins or influence."
"I could just deny you entry."
"You haven't yet. I figure, whatever the game is, you and yours would want it exposed and cleared up PDQ. So cut the shit and let me in."
"One day, you shall stand at the gates and be denied, with a tongue that foul."
I smiled as he opened the door anyway, "Oh, you know how it is, Pete. I'm terribly sorry, and will most definitely repent and atone long before then."
He grunted at me as I entered the first level, "Unless something should smite you before you do so."
"Smite this, Pete." I sha'nt describe what I told him to smite. Not that he has the power to smite anything. Jumped up doorman.
Distances are mostly meaningless in the other places; heaven, hell, purgatory, even the more obscure ones for other planets and religions. So is time; though time does pass on earth while you're there, it's much compressed. Days to hours, usually. Makes the whole eternity thing make more sense, in a way.
But it was a good, long stroll to the Celestial Court. Some of the cherubs and the once-human waved as they passed. It's not so much that I'm there a lot as it is that I'm one of the few working in Intercession that's corporeal. You just don't see anyone that isn't a Saint doing the job usually. Seeing someone that's still alive is rarer.
There's a few of us, but I still stand out of that crowd. I'm the only one that got into this line of work because of my own needs. I once signed a deal with the devil myself. The bastard pulled a fast one, which isn't necessarily always the case. I think he does it out of boredom. The why doesn't matter, though. What mattered was that he answered a call from an agnostic that was halfway joking, set a deal and signed it in blood.
Turns out, there's rules about such things. You sign a soul deal, you gotta deliver on it, not just to the letter, but to the spirit of the agreement. For the living, we don't have a choice; you die with an open contract, the weight of it pulls you right to the gates of hell. But the various entities there, well, they're mostly evil. So they'll pull every fast trick they can to gain the version of what passes for wealth there. A soul given like that is power, and power is the coin of Hell.
If you know that it's possible, or even if you do it accidentally, you can insist on a hearing regarding the contract. If you win, you go to purgatory instead. But, if you get that hearing before you die, well, you have a chance to repent and atone in whatever life is left to you. It isn't a guarantee of Heaven, but it's a shot, and most people can at least repent their way into purgatory instead of Hell. Has to be genuine repentance though, none of that bullshit "I'm sorry I have to go to hell, so please don't send me there." It has to be real, a true rejection of the things that drove you to make the deal in the first place.
But Hell isn't going to inform you of your right to that hearing. Neither would Heaven, the be honest. They're pricks in their own way.
Running over all of that in my head, setting up for the faux trial ahead of me, I reached the Court.
In through the golden doors, past the fluffy cloud steps, a handful of souls waited, with a priest calmly and quietly giving instructions on their cases. Old Father Dennis has been at this Intercession business longer than I've been alive. He helped me argue my case. I waved as I passed and he smiled with his return wave.
I stepped up to the podium where a vaguely humanoid nimbus of light hummed out my name as I approached, "Hector, I see a plea on the docket today with your name on it."
"Yeah Zeke, got a doozie this time. Claims to be a farmer, but I'm expecting some drama. You guys see many fakes?"
"From time to time. Mostly reporters trying to get a story, some mystics wanting to bypass the work involved in gaining access legitimately."
"Any demons, devils, incubi, succubi, that kind?"
"Well, no. Why would they?"
"I dunno, maybe the whole pride of the fallen thing?"
"It has never been attempted. Nor would it succeed. All of the fallen are barred from entry by Yahweh itself. They can not enter.
"Well, we'll see soon enough. This case is third in line, so he'll have to be pulled up here. Be interesting to see what happens."
"Have no fear, Hector, nothing of Hell may come here without the Intercession of the Lord himself.
With that, I went and camped out a spot to squat. No chairs in heaven because there's no need. Even folks like me, there in the flesh, don't tire, suffer no physical pains or hungers. Which is pretty nice, what with my bum knee.
@[email protected] a second segment. This one is coming slow, sorry for it being this spread out