Mammon, a demon of greed who had taught Man what it meant to covet, lounged languidly against a blackened and twisted tree that was as hard as stone and just as cold at the trunk. The tree stood atop a short precipice and it was just a step down on the other side of where Mammon lay that the ground cracked like skin gone too long without water and bled liquid fire. The knarled and serpentine roots fell over the short cliff to the other side of where Mammon lay and slipped in between the cracks to suckle at the flaming recrement and indeed the very branches of this great tree blossomed embers.
Overhead a blood red sun glared unforgivingly and beamed its harsh and smoldering rays against the blackened and scorched ground. And yet despite this brutal clime, life (or some mockery of it) managed to sprout and thrive with spiteful tenacity. Blackened and sharp edged grasses sprouted across the otherwise barren meadows and some other smaller but equally knarled and at once frigid and flaming trees grew as well.
Mammon did not take in these sights for they were the same as they had always been. In the land of the eternal, very little changed. The great tree that he laid against would never wilt, though perhaps it may grow larger very slowly and over time. Those smaller trees dotting the endless meadows would doubtfully ever exceed their height. Most likely they would be eaten or consumed by the roaming beasts or by their fellow trees. Stagnation was the norm here and renewal an unlikelihood.
And so it was today, a day like every day, that Mammon was disturbed from his contemplative (wretchedly boring) lounge by something burrowing up from beneath the ground and right under his rump! Goodness me! He thought , feeling a pointed something poking him obscenely. He stood up to take a look at what this disturbance could be. It was something gleaming and yes pointed that spun at a great speed and was cutting its way up and through the ground. And it looked like silver. Mammon’s eyes narrowed, his interest piqued and he got down on his reed thin hands and knobby knees loosely covered by tattered and once but no longer vibrant garments to further inspect this gleaming possibility.
This spinning silver protruded more as it clawed its way to the surface. It seemed to be perhaps about the size of his palm. Quite a decent sized chunk of silver and it had been so very long since Mammon had something to desire and steal away for himself. His punishment, decreed by God for his “crimes” against his little humans, was to be denied the pleasures of those shining metals on Earth. Those bright and sought after things that gave him the most joy. How he missed the soft and sweet tinkering sound of gold coin touching gold coin. But silver was just as good.
And oh look! The thing had popped out of the ground and was in fact a tank of sort with a large drill ribbed with saw like blades. Oh humans were such fascinating creatures with their dangerous curiosities and ever increasingly creative weaponry. And then more surprises! More moving machines of metal and gears began pouring out of the created channel and spilled onto the ground like so many ants. Mammon laughed with delight. Such novelties! He picked up the first one to spring up, the large drill tank and looked at it this way and that. The body of it was dull and the thread wheels were hideous. Those would have to go. He ripped off the thread and dropped it on the ground. The silver drill was harder to get off and he struggled a bit with it.
All the while little humans began emptying out of their tanks and metal carts with their little guns and bombs. Distantly Mammon heard their cries of glory: “We go to destroy our sins!” “For my children!”
With some effort he managed to separate the pretty silver drill from the rest and tossed the now crushed machine over his shoulder and held the drill in his hands. So pretty! And it was his! All his, no one would have his silver. Not even God could pry his little treasure from his spidery fingers.
Abruptly a ball of fire exploded in his face. Black soot covered his cheeks and stung his eyes. And even in his mouth! Now he turned his attention to the little humans that had stopped moving and were now circled around him in a planned formation. They were almost hidden in the sharp grasses that came up to the waists. Some, Mammon noticed had already fell prey to the deadly vegetation of Hell. Their abdomens sliced and bleeding, their limbs cut and weakened. But still they insisted on this nonsense.
Barge into Hell and attempt to make war on Satan’s own. Why the hurry he wondered, soon enough they and their ilk ended up here. Ravage their lush and bountiful landscapes with their greed (like the good acolytes they were) and rage and then come to Hell and conquer that as well eh? Well this land had already been scorched by Satan’s rage and his fire burned like the sun. What use were their guns in the land of fire and brimstone?
More shots were fired at him, hitting his face and his hands causing him to drop his treasure! Such rudeness. Such impudence! Mammon would have none of that. Even in Hell one maintained a certain decorum.
Humans. God’s precious little experiment. The novelty turned to annoyance. Mammon slapped a hand down and crushed his would be attackers. The remaining scattered away and moved to regroup. And still! The humans (so very dull looking in the flesh) persisted on with their battle, blasting their useless guns at him. A great, but mostly loud bomb blasted him in the back lurching him forward. He caught himself with his hands. His face twisted into something sinister and wholly vile.
Like a child that had discovered an anthill and became imbued only with the desire to kick and smash the determined little workers, Mammon milled the resistance with his hands and feet and swept their remains into his hands to be tossed over the cliff on the other side of his tree into the steaming and cracked ground. He dusted off his hands. Now that that little annoyance was taken care of he would play with the marvelous new toys they had brought him!