Foreword

This is the second story I've done online like this, the first Adventures in Real Life can be found here.

Be warned, this little vignette is nothing like the last one. Real life can be suspended here. The following story isn't exactly science fiction, not exactly fantasy, and certainly not a religious script. However, it borrows aspects of all three. I would ask readers to please not take any of this as any more than a musing--I make no claims as to any of this, especially in relation to religion, being accurate or even workable.

However, some might find the following tale interesting, as it deals with what happens from Here to Hereafter...

I. The Interrogation.

Darrus stepped to the side and the bullet shot past, tearing through dry wall and masonry over his shoulder.

“Now, I’ve warned you.” he said. “Stop that immediately.”

Rass put the barrel of the gun in his mouth.

“Come, come.” said Darrus. “I think we both know how empty a threat that is. Now, are you ready to act like an adult?”

Rass bit the barrel harder. Darrus knodded at Lemuel. Lemuel backhanded Rass, knocking the gun out of Rass’ hand and across the floor. Rass reached for it and Lemuel’s foot came down to the sound of crunching bone.

“No, you don’t deserve it any longer.” said Darrus.

Rass whimpered and Lemuel lifted his foot. Cradling the injured hand, Rass spoke around his tears. “Why are you doing this?”

“The question is why you are making me do this. Give me what I want and this can all end.”

“I’ve told you everything I know!” wailed Rass.

“I rather doubt that.” replied Darrus, his face as blank as ever.

Rass’ cries degenerated into sobs. After a moment, Darrus nodded at Lemuel and the larger man kicked Rass’ abdomen.

“I think that perhaps you do not grasp the seriousness of the situation.” said Darrus. “Now stand up.”

“I can’t!” howled Rass. “My leg is broken!”

Darrus went over to Rass. “Really, I ask nothing of you that you haven’t asked of another.”

Rass looked up at Darrus. “But…but that was a lifetime ago! I’ve changed! I have a wife, a family! Please, just let me go!”

Darrus nodded. Rass covered his face with his damaged hand, waiting for a blow that never came. Lemuel picked up the gun and handed it to Darrus.

“Lower your arm.” said Darrus. Rass kept it raised. Darrus shot him in the shoulder. The bullet tore through nerves and sinew, disconnecting the arm from Rass’ brain. It fell limply to his side, blood seeping from the wound.

“One thing your time in combat has taught you,” said Darrus, ignoring Rass’ moans of pain, “is to avoid asking certain questions. The question that I am expecting you to ask is not one of them.” He pulled back the hammer and pointed the muzzle at Rass’ remaining arm. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Rass’ sweat, blood, and fear could be smelled in the room. His mind raced, but ultimately went blank.

“It is something you think you already know.” said Darrus, his arm not moving a millimeter.

Rass’ mind grasped at straws. He heard the material of Darrus’ glove begin to crinkle, slowly pulling back the trigger.

“Who do you work for?” Rass blurted.

Darrus’ hand didn’t move, but he spoke. “Be more specific; who do you think I’m working for?”

“The Separatists!”

Darrus lowered the pistol. “Very good.”

Darrus snapped his fingers. Rass closed his eyes, bracing for a blow. Instead, his pain ceased. When Rass opened his eyes, his body was unharmed.

“Now.” said Darrus. “Do you remember a man you killed, back when you first brought Renquist to power?”

“How did you—“ Rass said, looking at his restored limbs. Darrus shot him in the hand, shattering it.

“Answer the question.” he said.

Rass squeezed the wounded appendage. “Fix it! Fix it, you bastard!”

Darrus fired six bullets in response; two into the wounded arm, one in each leg, two in the torso.

“Answer the question.” he repeated.

“I killed a lot of people back then!” Rass wailed.

“Yes. Yes, you did. This particular man looked much as I do. His name was Darius Briggs. You remember him now?”

“Please, fix me, I’m dying!” pleaded Rass.

Darrus shot him in the shoulder and said once more, “Answer the question.”

“No! I don’t remember him!” screamed Rass.

“The last words he said before you put eleven bullets in his skull were, ‘I’ll see you in Hell.’”

A look of realization showed on Rass’ pain-contorted face. “I remember him now.”

Darrus snapped his fingers. Rass’ pain ceased and he heaved a sigh of relief. Not a moment later, Darrus shot Rass with more bullets a gun that size should be able to hold. Pain became Rass’ whole existence. Just as he started to slip away, the sound of snapping fingers reached him, eerily clear. The pain stopped.

Rass breathed heavily, opening his eyes to Darrus, still holding the weapon. “What the hell are you?” he rasped.

“What if I told you that Darius Briggs never broke his word?” Darrus whispered.

Rass’ stomach sank. “Let me go! Let me out of here!”

“No.” said Darrus. It was a statement of irrefutable fact. “You’re not going anywhere. In fact, you’re going to be here for a very, very long time.”

II. Hell of a Day Job

Darrus left Rass to Lemuel and walked down the corridor. He'd expected to end up here since he was a teenager. It wasn't until he actually made it down here that he'd imagined being on this side of the whip.

Darrus was technically a demon now, but didn't much look the part. He'd always beem grim and severe, tall and gaunt. Like most former humans, Darrus had no tail, wings, or horns, had feet instead of hooves, and had skin that was a little paler than normal, as opposed to the deep red favored by the Archdevils.

The Archdevils were the original fallen angels, the ones the Big Man Upstairs had cast out of Heaven aeons before humanity walked the earth. They had been down here long enough that they'd learned to change their shape, a gift they'd passed on to a few. The Archdevils had one fatal flaw--they couldn't leave Hell until the Appointed Time. With the exception of the Big Man Upstairs, no one knew exactly when the Appointed Time was, only that it was after the Tribulation that would end the world over the course of seven years. This hadn't always been the case, but the Big Man Upstairs had cracked down after Noah's flood.

In the meantime, that's what the demons were for. The former humans could come and go between the worlds without much difficulty. They'd been doing so since shortly after humans had begun dying.

Darrus had only met one Archdevil, his current destination. His name was Cankerworm, and he was destined to come to Earth some day. In the meantime, he was on the third echelon of Hell's hierarchy, one of the lowest rank of Archdevils who reported directly to Lucifer himself.

Darrus had never met Lucifer and hoped he never would. Lucifer had been described as (appropriately, Darrus thought) the most singularly unpleasant being in the whole of creation.

Darrus' current location was one of the countless corridors that honeycombed the plane of torment. Dante had been right for the most part--some said that he'd had a source on the inside--but not all of hell was a blistering inferno. Of course, the Lake of Fire dominated the center of hell, and the rest would eventually be consumed by it after the Antichrist and False Prophet were defeated and cast into it at the end of the Tribulation. Once that happened, a cataclysm would begin, causing the rest of hell to collapse into the Lake, burning the damned for a thousand years while Lucifer was bound.

The Big Man Upstairs was the only one who knew what happened after that. Perhaps Lucifer did as well, but he wasn't talking. Darrus hoped he wouldn't still be around then.

Darrus entered Cankerworm's office without knocking. The office could have been out of any terrestrial skyscraper but for its lack of windows. The Archdevil could change his shape at will, and so chose to let each individual see whatever they expected to see when looking upon him. Darrus saw him as sixtyish, well groomed man in a gray suit.

"Darrus, you got the summons." said Cankerworm. His voice was supernaturally deep.

"Of course." Darrus replied.

"I'll make this brief." said the Archdevil. "There have been reports of a very unusual corpse in New Liberty, not far from your beat. The local Searcher doesn't know what to make of it and has requested assistance. I think you're qualified for the job."

"How unusual are we talking?"

Cankerworm shifted. "It could be one of the Big Man's lapdogs."

Darrus' eyebrows rose. "An angel?"

"Yes." Cankerworm sneered. He knew all too well what he'd lost all those aeons ago. "What do you think you'll need on this trip?"

Darrus thought for a moment. "The standard equipment should do, but I want a contact down here, someone who can tap straight into the Nexus and feed me information as I need it." The Nexus was Hell's overarching directory of knowledge, a database that had existed since before the written word. Access was instant in Hell, but a connection could be difficult to hold on Earth.

"I assume you have someone in mind?" said Cankerworm.

"I was thinking Odin."

Cankerworm chuckled. "You seem to have an affinity for the failed god."

"We have enough in common to have a bond, but enough differences to cover each other's weaknesses. We've made an efficient team in the past."

"So you have. Very well. Tell the false god he has my clearance to be your Nexus tap until further notice."

"Understood."

"Darrus, you're useful because you haven't failed before. Twenty years without a mistake is remarkable enough that you've made this far up the ladder in such a short time. It took Baal 800 years to get this far. But I'm still going to remind you that one slip up is all it will take."

"Don't worry about it. I was never one for failure."

"Keep it that way." The Archdevil's words followed Darrus out the door. He shut it behind him and made for the Hall of False Gods.

III. The Hall of False Gods

A few paces carried Darrus across Hell to the Hall of False Gods. It was a rather ornate doorway, Darrus thought, for a collection of colossal failures.

At the Beginning of Time, the Big Man Upstairs had made all the animals on Earth a paradise. The name of place varies, depending on who's telling, but the Nexus records it as Eden. Likewise, the action that caused man to fall from grace is disputed. The Nexus reports several attempts, but the successful attempt was the temptation of man via the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge.

The Big Man was known for being the forgiving sort, so he gave the humans a try at getting back into paradise, this one in Heaven; all they had to do was believe in the Big Man and follow his rules, and they'd get in. Well, Lucifer wasn't about to let them get in that easily. He started sending up demons to become false gods, keeping humans from believing the Big Man and ultimately dooming them to spending eternity in Hell.

Whenever a false god fell far enough out of favor to have less than 1% of the human population believe in him/her/it, Lucifer recalled the would-be deity to Hell, where they spent the rest of eternity in the Hall of False Gods.

He pulled the ten foot slab of iron open and stepped into a blistering desert.

A being the size of a house was there to greet him, slobbering from an enormous mouth lined with multiple rows of teeth. It snarled and moved as if to swallow Darrus whole.

"Osiris!" Darrus yelled. "Get your soul eater under control!"

A thirty foot figure grabbed the monster by what could best be approximated as its collar and pulled it away from Darrus.

"I am so sorry, Darrus." it said.

Darrus dusted off the sand the monster had kicked up onto his coat. "Don't mention it. I'm looking for Odin. Any idea where I might him?"

"He would be in Valhalla with the other Norse types, I would assume."

"That would make sense." Darrus felt something else had to be said, perhaps to make up for the embarrassment of Osiris' pet nearly getting his master in quite a bit of trouble. "So, how is Isis doing?"

Osiris sighed. "Not so well. I think that she might be having an affair with Quetzacoatl."

"That's a shame." Darrus turned to go, then considered what Osiris had just said. "Isn't he a snake?"

"Mostly."

"Makes me wonder about the mechanics involved." muttered Darrus as he walked toward Valhalla.

That the Norse gods stayed in Valhalla was a bit odd to Darrus. He'd never been a Norse mythology buff, but he was almost certain that the gods had dwelt in some other fortress. He didn't question it; not asking questions was one of the reasons he was valuable. The sand crunching under his boots changed to the creak of hardwood floors, and Darrus knew he was there.

Valhalla looked like a cross between a Viking Lodge and Sports Bar. Darrus wasn't sure at what point the big-screen televisions had been added, but they fit the general mood of the place quite well. The noise level was deafening.

Darrus' voice had never been loud. Like many separatists, he'd been a heavy smoker during his lifetime. His somewhat premature demise had kept him ahead of emphezema, but had given him a gravelly voice he'd kept after his conversion to his infernal form. Somehow, that voice carried across the din.

"Odin!" Darrus called. A bearded face with one eye looked up from one of the banquet tables.

"Ah, Darrus!" boomed back Odin's voice. "Come on, sit doon! Have some--"

Darrus took a step and was across the hall, within arm's lenght of Odin. He was also behind him. Darrus gave Odin a tap on the shoulder. "I think not."

"Ah realleh wish ya wudden do tha'." said Odin, turning to face Darrus. "Ah mean, any of us can, but yer tha onleh one who realleh abuses the whole 'no spacial constraints' theng."

"Call me efficient. Speaking of which, we have a job to do."

"Realleh? What sort?"

"You're my Nexus tap. Come along, I'll fill you in on the way. Try to keep up, I'm not walking the whole way to the corridor just because overwalking makes you uncomfortable."

"Ahl right."

"Oh, and I understand that you've got a reputation to defend and all, but when we get out of here, drop the accent."

"Aye."

IV. Weaver of Lies

Darrus stepped out of the Men's room in New Liberty Subway Station G14. Throughout history, demons had used simple doors as their portals to and from hell. Very few people would have noticed them at all, and Regulators, a class of demon skilled in the manipulation of free will, saw to it that those who would take note had their attention otherwise engaged.

Unfortunately limited to the confines of normal space, it took Darrus ten minutes to reach the appropriate destination. It was a run-down high rise, one of the endless slums that Rehnquist's iron fist had littered the world with. Darrus' destination was on the 39th floor, but the elevator was broken. He simply went through the first floor door to the stair and came out on the 39th; being not of this earth had its perks.

Darrus made his way down the dimly lit hall.

"Aye." said Odin's disembodied voice. Odin was tapped into both Darrus and the Nexus; they could communicate wirelessly with each other, and Odin saw and heard all that Darrus did. "I've been down here for 12oo years, and this how far they've gotten."

"You say that every time you see what Rehnquist's done to humanity." Darrus muttered.

"Aye. But that don't make it right."

"Why do you think I died trying to stop him?"

There was no response. Darrus arrived at room 3945, the room in question. He knocked.

"Who's there?" said a voice from inside.

Darrus replied with something that was a cross between a wail, a roar, and a word. No mortal throat could have produced it, and no written language had characters for the sound it made.

"I guess that'll do." There was the sound of the lock clicking. It said a lot about the building that that hall lights and elevator were out of order but that the door locks had been maintained. In fact, it said a lot about the city of New Liberty in general.

Darrus entered the room. Run-down was an understatement. Grayish sunlight poked through decayed venetian blinds and cast long shadows through the dusty air. There was a moldy mattress on the remains of a bedframe in one corner, a moth-eaten sofa against one wall and the shattered remains of a coffee table in the center of the room. On top of the crushed table and the drab carpetting it rested on was a disfigured corpse with some very unusual burn marks around it. A short, squat man stood in the corner. He had a white hair and mutton-chop sideburns with piercing blue eyes. A creature sat on his shoulder; Darrus couldn't tell if it was a cat or a lemur.

"Nigel?" asked Darrus. "Since when are you a Searcher?"

"I'm not." said the man. "I'm still a Weaver. Revis, the Searcher, was called away on other business, so they sent me here to make sure nobody who isn't supposed to gets an eyeful of this before I've come up with the official story."

Nigel was a Weaver of Lies, a demon who created myths, rumors, and urban legends, as well as explaining away what Hell didn't want humanity to know. Darrus and Nigel both worked in New Liberty, and so had crossed paths a few times before.

"What's the..." words to describe the animal on Nigel's shoulder escaped Darrus. He simply pointed instead. "That?"

"Oh, that's right! I finally got that familiar I've wanted for so long! It was a reward for starting that business about Chainer Jack."

Darrus paused. "The separatist vigilante Chainer Jack?"

Nigel nodded. "Mm-hm."

"Well, that's odd...I've seen Chainer Jack."

Nigel shook his head. "Not possible. I made him up."

"I'm not denying that. It looks as though someone's turning your legend into truth."

Nigel scowled. "Well, they're not taking Rapee-Cheep back!" He clutched the furry creature. Darrus hadn't met many Weavers, but they all had their eccentricities. It apparently came as part of the creative psyche.

"Yes, well, be that as it may, I have a job to do." said Darrus, surveying the corpse.

It lay in the center of the room, atop the ruins of the coffee table. The room had a ten foot ceiling, suggesting that the body would have had to have been dropped from very near the ceiling in order to gather enough momentum to break the table so thoroughly. The corpse looked to be a thirtyish male with brown hair and a square jaw wearing nondescript brown leather clothing. This was clearly a deceased angel; the man would've stood about six feet, ten inches tall; his eye sockets were empty, but showed no signs of trauma--the eyes had simply disappeared. In addition, there were two wings burned into the flooring beneath his shoulders and a halo above his head.

"I'd heard that the eyes disappear when they die." said Darrus. "Not to mention the wings and the halo burning up."

"Aye." said Odin. "Nexus says that if you were to open 'im up, there'd be no organs inside."

"Somebody beat us to it." There was a four-inch hole in angel's side, directly below where a human ribcage would have been. "Check the Nexus on this, but I'm relatively certain that no weapon made on Earth can injure divine beings."

"That'd be correct." said Odin.

"So, something's running around with some sort of either celestial or infernal artifact, it would seem?"

"Either that or someone from Upstairs had him put under."

"Angels killing other angels? That's only supposed to happen once, and that was a long time ago."

"Agreed."

"Nigel, what do you think?" Darrus asked.

The white-haired man shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I'm a story teller; figuring out the truth was never my forte."

"Yes." said Darrus. "But it's mine."

Darrus inspected the room. He stopped by one wall. "Look here, Odin. The dust is considerably lighter in this square than the rest of the room. Somebody took something from here, probably luggage of some."

"Most likely a trunk."

"So I'd think. Something odd...there are no footprints in here." Darrus mused.

Nigel laughed. "Of course there's no footprints! You know we don't leave them."

"Yes, I do. Angels don't, either. But humans do. That means that whatever killed this...thing...was either divine or knew how to cover its tracks. In which case the trunk doesn't make sense..."

"Why cover your tracks so carefully if but leave it obvious that something's missing from the room?" said Odin.

"Exactly." said Darrus.

"You...you have a Nexus tap, I assume?" asked Nigel.

"Yes, yes." said Darrus, trying to concentrate. This didn't add up. Of course, a dead angel that the Nexus didn't know about was a new thing; all the previous angelic assassinations had been deliberately planned and executed by demons. This was random, and seemingly impossible.

Darrus paced around the corpse a few times. "When the cleanup crew gets here, tell them they can do what they want with the body provided they don't destroy it and enter into the Nexus where it's going. I don't anticipate needing it again, but I want it taken care of in case I do."

"Where are you going?" asked Nigel.

"I've got some contacts around New Liberty I need to pay a few visits to."

V. Human Remains

Before anyone becomes a demon, they are first a human.

Humans have many strange beliefs. One of them is that each individual is like a separate tree in an orchard. In reality, every family is a single tree, each member a branch; even when one branch withers and dies, the others continue to grow, continue to fork. Some become tinder, but before they were tinder, they were branches.

When Darius Briggs still walked the Earth as man, he'd had a son named Lucian. Lucian's mother, Viola Crowne, would have been Darius' wife, if marriages were a luxury that Darius and Viola could have afforded. But those were turbulent times; the stagnating world powers of the past were collapsing. First Asia, then Europe, then the Middle East, then the Moon colony; they fell like dominoes to Lawrence Rehnquist's forces. It seemed that World War IV was ready to break out, with Rehnquist on one side and all who opposed him on the other. But Rehnquist was brighter than that; a few carefully controlled genetically engineered viruses ravaged his potential enemies without a shot fired. The world fell, not with a roar, but with a whisper.

The insurgency had been strong then, right after the iron fist first crashed down on the world. Some people said it was the end of the world. Some people thought that Rehnquist was the Antichrist; now everyone knew that wasn't true--Antichrist was only supposed to get seven years in power, and Rehnquist had held onto his hold of all humanity for nearly twenty-one years. The insurgents had fought with everything they had. They'd fought in the streets, in the harbors, in the hills, the skies, and even on the artificial meadows of the Moon and Mars Colonies. Their courage was legendary.

But it wasn't enough. The reason Rehnquist had succeeded where so many would-be conquerors had failed was that Rehnquist had triumphed over the one human trait that not even Lucifer could best--free will. They called it a Loyalty Enforcement Facilitator. What it actually was was an electronic construct applied to base of the brainstem, with a larger unit filled with stimulants attached to the back. When the desired response was obtained, a wave of pleasant chemicals washed over the wearer. Whenever the wearer did something that was discouraged, misery overwhelmed the poor wretch's form.

Of course, it wasn't economical to equip every human in existence--somewhere near ten billion--with an LEF. Instead, just Rehnquist's police forces used them. The official rosters listed the human automatons with their frightening black armor and glowing green visors as "Loyalty Monitors." Most of the unaltered population referred to them as "chots." The higher ranking ones, called Enforcers, had cybernetic enhancements; the only time anyone escaped an Enforcer was if he was leading it somewhere.

All of this would merely have made Lawrence Rehnquist a powerful dictator. What made him legendary was his law code. There was only one offense--disloyalty. All former crimes were under the heading of disloyalty. Accordingly, there was one sentence--death. This was best illustrated when the Mars Colony declared independence from Rehnquists regime. Rehnquist understood that people would never choose his regime if there was an alternative--the Mars Colony would not be allowed to secede. Rather than attempt to retake the colony, Rehnquist launched a salvo of nuclear warheads at the colony. No attempt to negotiate was made; six generations of perra-terraforming was undone in the space of an afternoon as all life was purged from the surface of Mars. The estimated body count topped one billion, making it the largest act of genocide in history by a wide margin.

This was what Darius Briggs had sacrificed himself to try to prevent. So many other had died, seemingly in vain. The insurgency remained, underground; they had sworn to never surrender.

Once the whole of human territory was his, Rehnquist had had the entire Earth analyzed to deduce the prime site for his capital. The analysis had come back with a backwater former state capital in the former United States--Columbus, Ohio. Data showed that its topography was best suited to expansion while still having plenty of access routes. The small city was renamed New Liberty and expanded tenfold. The bloated metropolis rested beside an artificial lake created by a rogue cluster rocket from World War III, some sixty years before. The lake was officially named Lake Gustav, after one Rehnquist's lieutenants, martyred early in the takeover. Most of the populace referred to it as the Bay of Sorrows.

All this seemed like a dream to Lucian Briggs. His father had died in this mess, and he wanted nothing to do with any of it.

Except, of course, when he dreamed...

VI. A Night on the Bay

Darrus sat on a bench on the docks along the Bay of Sorrows, watching the sunset.

"I can't say that's something I miss." said Odin.

"I'm not here for the scenery." said Darrus. "There's someone I need to speak to, and he frequents this area at night."

"One of your contacts, eh?"

"Correct."

As the sun sank below a horizon made blurry by smog, lights began to wink on over the Bay. Most were ships of one form or another, hauling supplies for New Liberty down the re-routed Ohio River or else hauling the city's waste up it and out to sea. Darrus knew that for every light out there, there was another unlit craft; smugglers trying to avoid detection. Rehnquist's satellites and air patrols picked up on them anyway and showed the police submarines where to put their torpedoes. The lure of profits from a successful smuggling journey kept would-be entrepreneurs coming.

One set of lights caught Darrus attention. To a human, it would've been just another collection lights, probably mounted a ship. But Darrus could see in the dark, and knew that there was nothing connected to them.

"There he is." said Darrus. He reached into his coat and withdrew a lighter. He raised it above his head and let off three brief pulses of light. The lights pulsed back and began to move towards the dock.

"What is that?" asked Odin.

"A smooth negotiator." said Darrus. "His name is Leroy."

The lights were quickly drawing closer.

Leroy was a Will-O'-the-Wisp. Named after the first of their kind, Will-O'-the-Wisps were negotiators that had talked their way out of hell. A few made good on their claims and lived good lives, avoiding an eternity of torment. Most came back to Earth and lived the same way that always had. When death came around again, Hell told them they were out of luck. Will-O'-the-Wisps must wonder the Earth without corporeal form until Judgment Day, at which point they'll suffer the same fate as all other lost souls. A few of them had struck deals with individual angels or demons, trying to have some leverage at the end times. Leroy was one of them.

The three lights drifted over the dock and materialized into the shape of a man.

"Hello, Darrus." said Leroy. His voice was hollow, his features flourescent and unfocused.

"Good evening, Leroy. Do you know why I'm here?"

"Perhaps. I'd say it has something to do with the dead Lapdog."

"Correct." said Darrus. "Tell me what you know about it."

"Oh, not much." said Leroy, flickering for an instant. "Just that a dead Lapdog turned up in the Sable building, and no one seems to know how he died."

"And that's all you know?"

"Mm-hm."

Darrus sighed and withdrew a slip of paper from his pocket. "Corporeal form for 24 hours. It's yours if you tell me something I don't already know."

Leroy's blurry features took on a distinct look of interest. He looked left and right. "All I know is that whatever killed the Lapdog wasn't human. I can feel it when there's something powerful enough to let a human kill a Lapdog nearby, and I haven't felt anything like that in years. Whoever did this wasn't a local boy."

Darrus handed the voucher to Leroy. "Keep in touch."

Leroy took the paper and his form crackled into being, naked. "Hey!"

Darrus was already walking back towards New Liberty. He pretended not to hear.

"Hey! I didn't want it to start now! And I need clothes! And money!"

"I'm a demon!" yelled back Darrus, not turning to face Leroy. "Did really expect to get something at face value?"

Darrus left Leroy's angry screams behind. Leroy wasn't human anymore, and as such his free will was no longer complete. Darrus had no fear of retribution.

Darrus turned at the end of the docks and walked through a door on a tool shed. He came out of a men's room across the city. He stepped out into a brightly-lit rotunda. A sign suspended from the ceiling read "New Liberty Hospital for the Mentally Impaired." Darrus approached the reception desk.

"Good evening." he said to the receptionist. "I'm a family member of Ross Gibson. I'm just passing through tonight, so I'd really appreciate it if you'd let me see him."

"I'm sorry, sir. Visiting hours are over."

Darrus wordlessly handed a 20-credit note over the counter.

"Right this way, sir."

VII. Voices

The Big Man Upstairs talked to his creations fairly frequently. They weren't so good at listening.

According to the Nexus, Hell had confirmed the existence of at least one genuine prophet being on Earth at any given time for all but 34 non-consecutive years of recorded history. Human records were decidedly less optimistic.

The trouble was that, except under just the right conditions, a man who claimed that God spoke to him was more likely to be ostracized than followed.

When Ross Gibson was seventeen, the Big Man had started talking to him. To be more precise, it was the Metatron who actually did the talking (something about the Voice of God being so awesome it would destroy a human), but the messages were the from the Big Man. Ross had told his parents this; they'd taken him to have psychiatric examination. The examiners put him on all sorts of drugs. Since there was nothing physiologically wrong with him, the pills didn't do much, aside from make him irritable and suppress his apetite. By the time Ross was twenty, his parents had given up on him. That had been nine years ago; he'd been rotting in the NLHMI since then.

While most of humanity believed Ross was a raving lunatic, non-humans tended to have a more accurate view of the situation. He'd been discovered at nineteen. The appearance of a demon in his room had made him start to believe that maybe he was insane. Like everything else in his life, Ross had eventually come to accept it.

The nurse opened the door to Ross' room. It wasn't yet nine in the evening; Ross was still awake, sitting up on the bed that was the only furniture in the white room.

"How long do I have?" Darrus asked the nurse.

"Five minutes."

Another 20-credit note was pressed into the nurse's hand.

"As long as you want. This one's not supposed to be violent." The nurse shut the door, unlocked it, and left.

"Hello, Ross." said Darrus. "Do you remember me?"

"The name escapes me, but I don't get many visitors, so I recall your face. You're one of the demons, am I right?"

Darrus chuckled. "You know, they're recording this conversation?"

"Of course. Whether they actually listen to it is another matter." said Ross.

"It doesn't really matter, anyway. They can't hear me; you were correct, I am a demon. And you are a prophet."

"Actually..." Ross leaned over the bed and picked up the clipboard that hung there. "I'm a 'Type 2 schizophrenic.' At least, that's what they load me up with pills for being."

"I'm sure they do."

"'So often the wizdom of prophets is dismissed as the ravings of madmen.' -Neil Xavier." said Ross. Xavier had been a popular intellectual and author some hundred years earlier.

"Indeed." replied Darrus.

"So." said Ross, leaning closer to Darrus. "I know you didn't come here just to talk to me. Your kind never do."

"Making goodwill visits is rather contradictory to our nature, I'm afraid."

Ross chuckled. "Yes, I suppose so. My guess is that you're wondering about the dead angel in the Sable building, yes?"

"Word reaches you quickly."

Ross chuckled again. "Yes, that it does. Sometimes too quickly. Look, I know how this works--I scratch your back, you scratch mine. What are you going to do for me if I pass along some information?"

Darrus reached into his coat, pulling out a tube of white powder.

This time Ross let out a full laugh. "Drugs? Are you kidding me? I have all the drugs I can stand and then some!"

"This isn't a drug." said Darrus. "It's blinding powder. Smash the glass and the powder will get in the eyes of everyone around you, leaving them unable to see for a few hours."

"And how is this valuable to me?"

"I'm told you're supervised at all times. Perhaps you would like to disable that surveillance for some time?"

"To what end?" Ross seemed to be losing interest.

"I understand that you are let out for exercise three times a week. When you do so, you have only two guards to keep you from being a danger to yourself or others, and then only an eight-foot fence separating you from the outside world. It's an easily scaled fence, as well." Ross' interest was once again piqued. "Especially that part you found last week where the barb wire was damaged in that wind storm and leaves a hole large enough for a man your size to go over the top."

"You would offer me my freedom?"

"I'm a demon. We don't do freedom. But we do have a thing for insurgency. I only offer you a chance."

"I accept.

"What you want to know is that Heaven isn't going to do anything about it, aside from keep the humans uninformed. You were lucky that one of your Searchers found the body first, or you wouldn't even know about it. As it is, the corpse was forcibly taken up about 45 minutes ago--"

"What?"

"A trio of angels came down and took away their slain brother at around 8PM tonight. They had a brief scuffle with a demon waiting there, but he wasn't meant for combat and was quickly overpowered."

"Nigel." Darrus muttered under his breath. "What did they do to him?"

Ross shrugged. "Metatron seems to think I don't need to know."

"Odin, find out what happened to Nigel." said Darrus.

"On it...Nexus says he was outmatched from the start, so he ran for it. That bloody familiar o' his get away, too."

"Good."

"What?" said Ross.

"Never mind, continue."

"Because they have God up there, they know what happened, but seem content to have you do the legwork for them."

Darrus shook his head. He couldn't stand mind games, much less on this level. "Are they at least going to give me any leads?"

"Only that the one who did this doesn't call Heaven, Hell, or the Earth his home."

"Bastards." said Odin. "You'd think they'd at least tell you where to look."

"And that's it?" asked Darrus. "Nothing else?"

"Sorry, it's all Metatron's told me."

"Fair enough." Darrus tossed Ross the powder. He caught it and stuffed it into his sleeve.

"I'll be going now." said Darrus.

"Yes, I may do the same before much longer."

Darrus stepped out the door and back into Hell. He had an appointment to keep at eleven, and Cankerworm would want a full report before then.

VIII. A Night on the Town

The clouds over New Liberty had been promising rain all day. Around 9:30, they delivered.

"Figures." said Lucian Briggs, stepping out onto the street. He carried a guitar case in one hand.

"Ah, quit whining." said Jacob Radford, lugging an oversized bundle that contained a set of drums. "We did all right tonight."

"That's all we ever do, Jake." said Lucian.

"Not true." said George Banks. George had a base guitar slung across his back, shielded from the weather by nothing more than a sheet of plastic. "Sometimes we do horribly."

"Very funny." said Lucian. "Why do we even do this? I mean, it's not like we can get famous off of music like bands used to."

"I don't know about you, but I enjoy these gigs." said George. "The fact that we make some cash on the side doesn't hurt, either."

"I just...I just feel like we're wasting our lives at this."

Jake laughed out loud. "Briggs, you're such a ham! I'm twenty-six years old, and I've seen shit in this business that most people plain old don't see anymore."

"Like what?"

"Well, there was that time that chick on Loose--" started George. Loose was a synthetic drug that had made a splash in the aftermath of World War III. It had a cocaine-like high.

"George!" cut in Lucian. "That was three years ago. I'd like to think we've gone through something that, even if it doesn't top it, is comparable to the junkie girl humping Jerry onstage." Jerry Meyers had been their original singer. He'd been killed by chots at a rave two years earlier.

"I miss Jerry sometimes." said George.

"Yeah, we all do." said Jake. "Anyway, I was going to say that I've seen two hundred people, all shoved in some dirty waterfront bar, drinking watered-down booze that's gonna give 'em hell the next morning, and every single one of 'em was having a hell of a time. That's what I do this for, not to get to third base with some downtown slut in the middle of a set, and not for the money.

"Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against somebody paying me to do something I already love. Cash is always tight these days. But I tell you what; going out and doing a show, making people forget their miserable lives for a few hours, that gives me (and neither of you shits better laugh about this) a purpose that most folks'd kill for."

"Amen to that, brother." said George.

"George," said Lucian. "Turn your bass over, the rain's almost eaten through the cover."

"Damn it!" said George. "You know, they say you used to be able to drink rainwater--"

"Yeah, just like you used to be able write songs that made fun of the government, too. If those days ever existed, they're long gone, my friend." said Jake.

The trio descended the stairs to the subway.

"I just wish people would come to see us, you know? I mean, I'm sick of being done with a show by nine o'clock so that some local favorites can play 'til dawn." said Lucian.

"Lucian, it's Wednesday night. Being the opening act is a good thing, especially when you're working stiffs like us." said Jake.

"Yeah, I guess." Lucian concurred.

Lucian wasn't really a working stiff anymore. Jake worked for the electric bureau of New Liberty, George for a steel foundry on the coast of Lake Gustav. Lucian worked as a lower-level administrator. He was a target for middle-management aggression. His job was to explain away the inefficiencies of the other bureaus of New Liberty. For instance, why power outages lasted weeks and New Liberty took longer to produce a square foot of steel than most cities took to produce a working automobile.

Lucian boarded his train, going the opposite direction from Jake and George. They shared a room, but Lucian lived alone at the borders of the uptown areas of New Liberty. He didn't like to tell his friends, but cash wasn't as tight for Lucian as it had used to be.

Lucian didn't have much in the way of family. He'd been an only child, his father killed by Rehnquist's up-and-coming regime when he was five. His mother had died when Lucian was twenty. She'd been working undercover for the insurgency since Lucian was an infant. Surprisingly, she'd died of pneumonia, rather than the usual cause of insurgent death--gunfire.

Lucian had seen his mother consumed and heard of his father being destroyed because of Rehnquist's government. He'd had enough. Lucian decided his family had spilled enough blood trying to bring down a regime that seemed indestructible. Lucian had simply resigned himself to his fate as an unfortunate citizen of Rehnquist's New World Order. He wasn't particularly loyal, but he wasn't an insurgent--Lucian Briggs just was.

Lucian stumbled into his small but tidy room around ten. He cleaned himself up, went to bed, and was asleep by half past.

At almost exactly eleven PM, Lucian Briggs began to dream.

IX. Dreamscape

When the Big Man made humans, He'd made them all in His image. But the insides...that was where the masterwork went. The brain, especially.

Humans had the wonderful habit of dreaming. The part of the brain that handled dreams also had the wonderful attribute of being totally independent of the part that handled memory. This was something Heaven had taken advantage of from Day 1 ( or Day 6, from a technical standpoint) and Hell had picked up on shortly after.

Part of Darrus' deal with the devil was that he was allowed to speak to his son. Meeting him in person on a regular basis was out of the question--proving the existence of Heaven and Hell to people defeated the purpose of faith, something neither side wanted. Appearing in dreams, however, was acceptable.

Darrus stepped through a door, and came out in a blurry, indistinct landscape. He saw Lucian up ahead, along with a few others. Lucian was the only one who was fully formed and unblurred. The girl standing just behind Lucian had no legs, simply floating above the grass. This was a happy dream; Darrus felt mild regret at disrupting it.

"Lucian!" he called.

Lucian turned. "Who are you?"

Darrus found that the downside to this method of communication was that his son very rarely remembered him. "I'm your father."

The other people vanished, as did the meadow. It was replaced with what Darrus recognised as the apartment Lucian had spent most of his childhood in. By now, Darrus knew that Lucian wasn't even conscious of the change, but somehow all their conversations took place here.

"Oh." said Lucian. "Yeah, I remember now. And you're from Hell, right?"

"You could say that."

"What brings you here, Dad?"

"I need to tell you that this may be the last time I contact you this way." A hint of sadness had crept into Darrus' voice for the first time since he had learned of his wife's death, more than six years earlier.

"What do you mean?" asked Lucian.

"I've been put up against something that could kill me."

"I thought you were already dead?"

"As a human, I am. As a demon, I'm very much alive."

"What happens if you..."

"I don't know. Reincarnation is what I hear, but even the Nexus isn't sure."

"What's the Nexus?"

"Don't worry about it." said Darrus. "Just in case this is the last time we speak, I want you to know how things worked out, that I'm a demon and all."

Lucian looked on without speaking.

Darrus sighed. "Ever since I was a teenager, I'd assumed I'd be going to Hell when I died. Your grandparents were very religious, and I could never meet their standards of virtue. Eventually, I decided it was impossible to meet it. By the time I'd left for college, I decided that, if there was a God, he hated me.

"I met your mother just before I turned thirty. She felt the same way I did. We dated for years, and eventually set a wedding date after you were born.

"Unfortunately, just before the wedding, a man named Lawrence Rehnquist covered most of urban America--that's what this part of the world was called then--with viral agents that devastated the population. Your mother actually got sick; I nearly lost her. That was when I decided I couldn't sit idly by and watch the world fall to Rehnquist.

"I joined the insurgency, but to no avail. We fought long and hard, but we just weren't enough; those damnable chots were so numerous that every time one fell, another replaced it before we could reload.

"At age 38, I was captured. One of Rehnquist's lieutenants, a man named Byron Rass, tortured me under the guise of an interrogation. The last thing I spat to that bastard through what was left of my face was that I'd see him in Hell.

"Then my wounds got the best of me, and I died. I'd spent the past twenty years believing that this was the end; eternal silence and dormancy. I was wrong.

"I arrived, my body restored, in a marble antechamber. Standing before me was a robed being, his features completely covered. The room had two windows, across the room from each other. Outside of one was a lush meadow sitting on clouds. On the other was a burning chasm. I can only assume that that meadow was the only glimpse I ever had of Heaven.

"The figure told me that I had failed for most of my life. But in those last seconds, I had so firmly believed that I would see Rass again that I had qualified for a dubious honor. Heaven was out of the question. However, I could choose whether to suffer the devil's wrath or to work under him. If I chose to serve him, I could negotiate the terms of my servitude.

"I struck a deal with the devil; I would serve him for as long as my descendants survived. Then, after the last one of my line was no more, I would serve him for that much time again. Assuming that Armageddon hadn't arrived yet, I would then reincarnate on Earth and be given another chance. If the end comes before my sentence is complete, I end like the rest of the demons, being cast into the Lake of Fire for a thousand years."

"You gambled with the devil?" Lucian asked, incredulous.

"You could say that. I'll end no worse than I would have."

The room quivered. Darrus sighed. "You're leaving dream state. I have to go."

"Dad..." said Lucian, his form becoming indistinct. "Good luck."

"Thank you, son." The room faded. Darrus was back in Hell.

"You, too." He whispered.

X. Two Nightmares

Darrus was suddenly hit with a wave of pain. He nearly fell over. Cankerworm's voice thundered in his head.

"GET TO MY OFFICE. NOW!" The Archdevil sounded furious.

Darrus had little choice but to comply. He overwalked to Cankerworm's office, clutching his head for the few seconds it took him to reach it. The pain subsided once he'd opened the door, but the malice in the air was tangible. As his sense returned to normal, Darrus saw that Cankerworm had abandoned all pretense of civility. For starters, his image had changed from the slick businessman to an eight foot monstrosity with curved horns and a whiplike tail.

"You called?"

"WHAT IN SATAN'S NAME HAVE YOU BEEN DOING?" demanded the archdevil, his voice supernaturally deep.

"I've been in Dreamscape for the last forty minutes, so if you could explain what the trouble is, I'd appreciate it." said Darrus.

"BECAUSE OF YOUR IMCOMPETENCE, A SEARCHER IS DEAD!" Cankerworm's form erupted into flame upon the last word.

"Explain." was Darrus reply.

"THE...THING...YOU'VE ALLOWED TO EVADE US HAS STRUCK AGAIN, AND THIS TIME IT KILLED ONE OF OURS! HALF AN HOUR AGO, THE SEARCHER REVIS WAS SLAUGHTERED!"

Darrus started. "Where is the body?"

"IT DOESN'T MATTER! YOU ARE OFFICIALLY DEMOTED; I'LL SEE YOU IN THE PIT BEFORE--" Cankerworm's words degenerated into a howl. After a moment, he spoke again. "YES, MASTER.

"YOU ARE LUCKY, DARRUS! ONE OF MY SUPERIORS HAS DECIDED THAT YOU SHALL NOT BE CHASTISED--BUT BE WARNED! IF ANOTHER DEMON FALLS TO THIS MENACE, LUCIFER HIMSELF WILL NOT BE ABLE TO SAVE YOU FROM ME!

"NOW, GO! GET YOUR NEXUS TAP AND RESOLVE THIS DILEMMA BY SUNSET, OR YOU AND YOUR NEXUS TAP WILL WISH YOU HAD NEVER BEEN REBORN!"

Darrus overwalked out of the office. "Odin, get back to the Nexus."

"Aw, Darrus..." came the reply. "I'm right in the middle o' a game o' chess with Thor!"

"Tough. We've got work to do or Cankerworm's going to throw us into the Lake of Fire. Er, wait. Move your queen to D6."

"Aright..."

"Good, he fell for it. Now move your knight forward and to the left."

"Aye, that's checkmate!"

"There. Now get connected! I'm going to get some protection, I'll fill you in on the details when I'm on Earth."

Darrus was standing in front of the Nightmatorium. The door was heavy and reinforced. The things inside were something less than pleasant.

Demons could go back and forth into dreams freely. Every once in awhile, they'd bring something back with them. The Nightmares were kept inside the Nightmatorium, where they were used strategically, usually to be deployed into the nightmares of others. Darrus had a slightly different fate in mind today. He threw the door open.

"Szziszzigji!"* he called out. "Come out, we have work to do!"

There was the sound of scales scraping against the walls. Darrus turned and saw a Nightmare rapidly approaching. It had three legs, placed at uneven intervals along its body. A four-fingered arm on the left had a tentacle beneath it; a three-fingered arm came from the other shoulder. A long, twisted tail followed it, but the head caught the most attention. It was nearly as large as the beast's torso and had a mouth filled with four inch fangs. Two misshapen eyes stared down from beneath curved, assymetrical horns. A blood red mohawk cropped up between them. The creature's flesh looked as though it had been made by laying greenish-yellow tape over a framework until it was several layers thick. The creature was twelve feet tall at the tips of its horns.

"There you are. Make yourself invisible." Darrus told the creature. "We're going to Earth."

Szziszzigji's head rolled onto its side. Darrus found himself wondering why they were going to Earth.

"Because there's something up there killing angels and demons, and it's up to me to find it. I need you for protection." he said.

Darrus felt satisfied with the answer. The Nightmare's method of communication wasn't quite telepathy, but it got the job done. Szziszzigji started to fade. Whoever had dreamed this creation up had had quite an imagination.

"Now, follow me." said Darrus, and they went through the door, back to Earth.

*Pronounced "Ziz-uh-Jee"

XI. Second Strike

Darrus surveyed the body of Revis. The situation was the same as with the angel, but in a subway restroom. If there had been any footprints this time, they had long since been tracked over. Hell had pulled some strings to make it look like an official police investigation was underway. Szziszzigji waited outside the door, behind the caution tape. A few passersby felt its hot breath, but dismissed it as output from a heating duct.

No one knew anything about Revis' death, aside from its cause. There were five puncture wounds in his chest, each a few inches apart from the others.

"If there was more than one possible perpetrator, I wouldn't think this is the same one." he said, surveying the damage. There were considerable signs of a struggle, the most obvious being a three-foot dent in a stall. "The angel had a single slash wound. This one has what look to be five stab wounds. It appeared that the angel was thrown or fell from near the ceiling, where it looks like Revis was shoved into the stall."

Darrus turned and surveyed the damage to the stall. Odin spoke.

"I think we can rule out this bein' a human with an artifact."

"I'm inclined to agree. Check the Nexus if there are any known artifacts that bestow unnatural strength."

"Hm. Quite a lot, actually."

"Now how many are known to still be on earth?"

Odin paused. "Two, but they're not even on this continent."

"Right, then. We're dealing with something divine. But what?"

One of the attending Searchers came up to Darrus. "Let us know when you're finished, so we can begin cleanup. We'll be doing an ocular examination as soon as the body's back in Hell."

"An ocular exam? Excellent. Odin, are all the observations I've made stored in the Nexus?"

"You bet."

"Good. Proceed with cleanup, give me the results as soon as they're ready."

"Understood." said the Searcher.

Darrus went outside to collect Szziszzigji. "Come along, we're going now."

Darrus wondered where they were going.

"Back home. The Searchers are going to perform an ocular examination on Revis, so maybe we'll have an idea of what killed him."

Darrus wondered how an ocular examination worked.

"They use the imprints of the short-term memory via the ocular nerves to see the last thirty seconds or so of what the recently dead saw. It only works on vision, for some reason. That's why angel's eyes disappear after death; the Big Man already knows what happened, and he doesn't need us figuring it out."

Darrus felt satisfied with the answer, and was ready to head back to Hell.

"All right, follow me. Watch your head."

They went through the door, back into Hell.

XII. The Last Moments

Two hours later, Darrus and Odin stood in the viewing room of Ocular Exam Station 404E. Szziszzigji waited outside, being too big to fit inside.

The ocular exam technician was a chain smoker named Garren. The place stank of cigarette smoke, although none of the three inside were particularly bothered, not possessing lungs.

"So, here we have it." said Garren. He sat before a board of buttons and knobs with half a dozen screens before him. "Upper left screen is left eye, upper right is right eye, upper center is the composite, what he would have actually seen. This is everything we got out of him, but there was some head trauma, so it's a bit blurry at points."

Garren pressed a button, and the screens began to play. Since only the eyes could be analyzed, there was no sound.

The view began with Revis' hand pushing over the door to men's room. Inside was a man in vibrant crimson clothes; an extravagant long coat and a wide-brimmed hat. Jewelry hung from his neck and fingers. He looked extremely well-to-do and more than a little flamboyant. Revis' clenched fist became visible, shaking at the man. Garren paused the playback.

"As these things go, he was probably yelling something at Red at this point. The shaking fist is a common mannerism." He started the playback once more.

The man turned to face Revis. He was wearing sunglasses, despite the gloom of the subway station's weak lighting. There was an arrogant smile on his face. Darrus estimated the man was about eight feet from Revis. Revis' hand disappeared for a moment, coming back with a gun. The man's grin widened, and his arms stretched across the room, grabbing Revis at the elbows. Revis was thrown across the room, slamming into the stall. The view blurred.

"This is the trauma I mentioned." said Garren, lighting up a new cigarette.

Though the view was blurred, two red blotches with a skin-colored space between them became visible. It appeared that Red--whatever he was, he was certainly not a man--was standing over Revis. As far as Darrus could tell, Red reached up and removed his glasses. Behind them were two points of glowing light. The blurry face moved rhythmically, suggesting that Red was saying something. It replaced the glasses. Then the hand became distorted, its fingers several inches too long, and plunged into Revis' body. Revis looked down at where the fingers had entered his abdomen, then the screens went black.

"They weren't stab wounds, after all." said Darrus.

"Damn, no artifacts is right. That bastard killed 'em both with his bare hands."

Garren turned in his seat to face Darrus and Odin. "The question now is, what the Hell is Red? I've been working this station for almost 200 years, and I haven't seen anything like this before."

"I don't know." said Darrus. "But I'm going to go talk to the Archdevil and see if he knows what this thing is. Odin, you check the Nexus. I'll meet you in an hour."

Darrus stepped into the hall. "Szziszzigji, come along! It's time for a visit with the boss. And this time, we'll see who does the yelling."

Darrus overwalked to Cankerworm's office and rapped loudly on the door. It swung open on the third knock.

"Darrus." said Cankerworm, back in his humanoid form. "You'd better have some progress to report."

"Do I ever." said Darrus. "Call up a screen, and I'll show you what the optical exam from Revis found."

Cankerworm gestured at the wall and it distorted into a screen. Darrus used the Nexus to call up the clip of Revis' last moments. Cankerworm watched intently, shaking his head once or twice.

"Now," said Darrus. "The question is, what is the thing attacking Revis? The ocular exam technician hadn't seen anything like it in his 200 years down here, and neither had Odin or I. The Nexus also turned up empty. However, I find it highly unlikely that such a powerful lifeform exists and we don't know about it. Which makes me ask if you know what we're dealing with."

Cankerworm sighed and the door slammed shut. "It's not something we like to speak of."

Cankerworm stood up and paced behind his desk. "Back during the Long, Long Ago, before Hell, or even Earth, in a proper sense, existed, all of existence was united. We were Angels, the Big Man's only creation and favorite sons. Then he made the Earth. And humans." Cankerworm sneered. "When we saw how we'd been relegated to servitude, while He showered them with love and affection. We refused to be used like that!

"Lucifer became our leader. The thing is, there was more than one kind of rebel in that war. The ones you hear about were the ones that wanted to get rid of humanity and start over. But there was another sub-faction. They didn't care about the Big Man in the slightest. They thought there was no one more qualified to run their lives than they themselves. They fought beside us with the hope of dethroning the Big Man.

"Well, Michael and his ilk outnumbered us two-to-one. After the battle was over, we were sorely defeated. The Big Man cast Lucifer and his loyalists into the Pit as punishment. But the others, they had no more loyalty to Lucifer than to the Big Man Himself. So He sent them to the moon; it would be their prison, just as Hell is ours.

"We were bound here after engineering the fall of man, but we've found ways out. Likewise, one of them seems to have found his way to Earth."

"'The one who did this doesn't call Heaven, Hell, or the Earth his home.'" mumbled Darrus. "The prophet was right."

"Yes, he was. We call these things Furies. Your mission has just grown considerably less complicated, Darrus. Find the Fury, and get rid of it. Do we understand each other?"

"Nearly. Will my weapons work against it?"

"It's of the same substance that you and I are. They'll work."

"Right. Any idea where I'll find it?"

"That's up to you."

"Understood." said Darrus. He walked out of the office. "Szziszzigji! We've got something very nasty to take care of back on Earth. Come with me, I'll tell you all about on the way there."

XIII. Unleashed Fury

Darrus' best hope was that, now that he had figured out what he was fighting, Ross Gibson would volunteer more information. Now that he fully understood what was going on, there was no time for bribing the nurse. He needed a direct audience with Gibson.

Darrus came in through the closed door. Szziszzigji remained invisible, coming out the opposite direction into the hallway.

"Metatron said you'd be coming back." said Gibson. "Did you bring the Nightmare, as well?"

"It's in the hall. Do you know what I'm hear to ask you?" said Darrus.

"Yes, but I get migraines if you don't go ahead and ask it anyway." Gibson replied. He was reclining on the bed.

"I've figured out that the killer is a Fury. What I need to know is who and when it's going to attack next."

"You want to catch it occupied, perhaps?" said Gibson.

"You could it put it that way." said Darrus. "Now, who's the target?"

"I'll have to ask." Gibson leaned back, then sat bolt upright. "Oh, my."

"What? Who is--"

Darrus was cut off as the door behind him was ripped from its hinges. A sinister chuckle met Darrus as he turned, gun drawn, to the doorway. Red stood in it.

"Well, another demon." said Red. "I suppose this will be a two-for-one!" A wicked smile spread across his face.

"I don't think so." said Darrus, firing a round straight between Red's eyes. The skin rippled like water and the bullet passed through the other side of Red's head. He laughed.

"Oh, but I do!" said Red, taking a few confident steps toward Darrus.

Though Darrus took the appearance of a gaunt fortysomething, he had superhuman strength and speed. Darrus jumped backward, landing behind the bed. He leapt forward, catching Gibson in his free hand, then jumped around the Fury and out through the door. They came out of a door to a 27th story apartment across town. Darrus dropped Gibson to the floor.

Gibson vomited and shook his head; his clothing and hair were slightly scorched. "What happened?" he whispered.

"Humans weren't meant for demonic means of travel. Don't think this is a freebee, Gibson. I just saved your life and broke you out of that asylum."

Gibson rolled over. "I'm not exactly in a position to help you...plus that thing is still after me."

"I'll take care of the Fury. As for reimbursement of my effort, you're a prophet; you'll know how to repay me. Now excuse me, I have a job to do." With that, Darrus went back through the door and came out into the same building's hallway.

"Damn it!" he yelled in frustration. "That thing must have destroyed the door!"

Darrus tried again, this time trying for a shopfront across the street from the NLHMI. The western wing had been levelled and a large dust cloud was rising.

"Odin!" Darrus yelled, running across the street. "Get a full team of Guardians up here ASAP! Our friend has a bit of a temper!"

Darrus came to the fence and simply jumped it--ten feet, straight up and over. He reached into his coat, coming out with a coiled net.

"On it!" said Odin. "18 Guardian Devils on their way, estimated time of arrival is 90 seconds. Keep it busy 'til then."

"Will do!" said Darrus, following the source of the dust cloud.

"WHERE IS HE!?" rumbled an inhuman voice as he got closer. "YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME, HUMAN!"

Darrus didn't like where this was going. The coverup alone was going to be a monumental task, not to mention actually removing the Fury itself. By Cankerworm's description, the thing was at least as powerful as an Archdevil--considering that it had already killed an angel, probably more so. There was no sign of Szziszzigji anywhere.

Finally, Darrus saw the Fury. It was fifteen feet tall and swung its arms like wrecking balls, yet still had the same approximate shape. It looked almost as though a gigantic socialite was systematically demolishing the New Liberty Hospital for the Mentally Ill. It's back was to Darrus.

"Darrus!" said Odin. "Cankerworm says he wants you to take it alive!"

Darrus sighed and threw the net at the fury. The net spread over the entire form and bound it to the ground. Infernal nets don't miss or break.

The Fury roared. It became indistinct and flowed out through the holes in the net, reforming in its humanoid form on top of the now useless trap.

"Tell Cankerworm he can up and get it himself." said Darrus.

"What have you done with the Prophet?" demanded the Fury.

Darrus had at least another 45 seconds until the Guardians arrived. He knew that even with their help, this was going to be difficult; it was suicide alone. The key was to keep the Fury occupied long enough for the Guardians to get into position.

"Away from here! What business have you with him?" Darrus yelled back.

"I've come to prove to Yahweh once and for all who rules existence!" the Fury returned.

"That's generally a bad idea." said Odin.

Darrus made a mental note that the Fury called the Big Man by his ancient name. That meant it probably hadn't been on Earth for long.

"And who are you to challenge the Allmighty?" Darrus returned.

"I am Karobim, Patron of the Moon, champion of the Furies!" He puffed out his chest.

"The Furies live on the Moon. How did you get here?"

Karobim smiled. "Humans now live on the Moon, demon. It was a simple trick to ride their own craft down to Earth. I have lived amongst these swine for 240 phases, and now have decided to fulfill my potential as ruler of all!"

"240 phases..." said Odin. "If he's talking about phases of the Moon, that'd be about two years."

Darrus remembered what Cankerworm had told him about Furies. They were too proud to live under the Big Man, too proud to fall with Lucifer, too proud to take orders from anyone. Their chief attribute seemed to be arrogance, and this one was far from humble. If he could somehow use its overconfidence to his advantage--

"Guardians have arrived, Darrus. They're fanning out now. Just keep him still for a little bit longer and they'll have him." said Odin.

"What right have you to rule over a creation you did not forge?" demanded Darrus, stalling for time.

"My birthright as the perfect creation!"

"And how do you know you are perfect?"

"I bear the mark of perfection!" With that, the Fury removed his sunglasses. Behind them pulsed a pair of eyes that glowed like suns.

"DARRUS, THIS IS CANKERWORM." throbbed the words in Darrus' head. "THE EYES. AIM FOR THE EYES!"

Darrus let off two rounds, one for each eye, before Karobim realized what was happening. The Fury tried to get out of the way, but the bullet meant for its right eye hit the left in passing. A wave of energy shot out of it, hitting Darrus in the chest. He was propelled backward by the sheer force of impact, throwing him across the street, through the fence, and then through the window of the shop he'd come out of. Demons were extremely resilient, and the impacts hadn't hurt him, but the energy blast was of a different nature--his entire chest felt as though it had been set aflame.

He lay slumped agains the counter, panting. It was just before six AM, so the shop wasn't yet open. The rational side of Darrus said this was a good thing; the damage could be explained as simple vandalism. The cautionary side of Darrus said that he should be careful; he had just injured the Fury, which had probably enraged it very greatly. The rest of him knew that no matter how angry and injured the Fury was, he was more so.

"That bastard..." he heaved, "is going to...regret that." Darrus hauled himself upright. He reached into his coat and pulled out a roll of tape. "Fixes anything...they say." he said to the roll. "Let's see...about that."

Darrus laid strips of the tape across his chest. Everywhere it touched, the pain ceased. In a matter of moments, he'd torn off the tape and leapt from the storefront, back to where Karobim was continuing to erase the NLHMI from existence.

"Odin!" he said, running back for the area of fence his passage had uprooted. "Are the Guardians in?"

"Aye, and they're havin' trouble. Find that Nightmare and get him involved!"

Darrus stepped onto the asylum's lawn. "Szziszzigji! Get him!"

Darrus felt a sense of satisfaction mixed with bloodlust. Szziszzigji was still here, somewhere, and had heard the order.

The Guardian Devils looked like chots, but were far more durable than their human counterparts. A hail of bullets fell constantly on the Fury, but had no effect. It swung wildly with one hand, covering its damaged eye with the other. It had to be at least thirty feet tall at this point. The few people on the street at this time had stopped to stare. Cars slowed as they passed.

"Get the eye, Szziszzigji!" Darrus yelled.

He felt the satisfaction increase.

Darrus saw pieces of the asylum wall crumble upward. Szziszzigji must have been scaling the walls, getting close enough to the Fury. Darrus saw the Fury turn its back to Szziszzigji and utterly crush a Guardian.

"How many Guardians are left?" Darrus asked.

"Twelve. The bastard's killed five and trapped one under a good twenty tons of rubble." said Odin.

Suddenly, a combination of a hiss and a scream filled the air. It was deafening. The Fury's unoccupied arm swivelled back, as if trying to pull something off its back. Szziszzigji materialized, straddling the Fury's shoulder. Its third, longest leg swept around and kicked the fury in its remaining eye.

This time, its entire form exploded into light. Darrus leapt backwards, but it wasn't far enough. Everything in half-mile radius was consumed in the light. When the dust settled, only rubble remained.

XIV. Payback

"Next." said the bank teller. Ross Gibson stepped up to the counter.

"Hello." he said. "My name William McKinnison, and I've lost my card."

"You'll need your account number and PIN in order make a withdrawal or transfer any funds." said the teller.

"Yes, I know. The account number is 3753-7563-1007-3254. PIN is 4487."

The teller entered the date into her computer. "Yes, that checks out. Your balance is 43,284 credits. What would you like to do today, Mr. McKinnison?"

"I'd like to close my account, I'm afraid." said Gibson.

"Would you like a check, cash, transfer to another account, or a combination?"

"I'd actually like a check for 27,586 credits, another check for 187.4 credits, and the rest in cash."

"Very well, that will be a moment." said the teller.

Half an hour later, Gibson crossed the street to the clothing boutique. He walked out twenty minutes later in new, less alarming clothing. The cashier had been more than a little bit surprised when a man with clothing that looked like a burnt hospital uniform had handed her a check that had been out in advance with the exact cost of his purchase, but had taken it in the hopes of getting him out of the store. Gibson took a subway across town to a car dealership, where he bought a black sedan for exactly 27,586 credits, after taxes. He filled the tank and headed downtown.


Lucian Briggs ran out of the bar in terror and tripped on the uneven pavement. It had been George's idea that the three of them should meet for lunch. Now Lucian wondered if he was the only one of them who was still capable of regretting the decision.

He'd heard rumors that the place they'd chosen was a hotbed of separatist activity, but the food was good and cheap. Halfway through the appetizers, a chot raid had struck the establishment. No questions were asked, but countless shots were fired. Lucian was almost certain he'd seen Jake take one in the forehead. He didn't know what had happened to George. Lucian knew it was only a matter of time before the chots came outside to take care of those still in sight. He tried to stand, but couldn't; his ankle screamed in pain.

"Please, God, no..." he whispered through tears. Lucian had never been religious, but there was no one else who could help him.

A black car pulled to a stop in front of him. Leaving the engine running, a man got out, threw open the passenger's side door and grabbed Lucian under the shoulders.

"My name is Gibson, I'll explain later." he said.

"Wait, my friends!" yelled Lucian as Gibson slammed the door shut.

Gibson got in and pulled the car out into traffic. "Are dead. And you would be, too, Lucian."

Lucian looked at Gibson in disbelief. "How do you know my name?"

"Your father and I met each other on a few occassions."

"How is that possible? He died when I was five, and you can't be more than a few years older than me--"

"It's...complicated." said Gibson.

The car was silent for a few moments. Lucian started crying.

"Lucian...I lost someone important to a chot raid, as well. His name was William McKinnison. He died a few nights ago." Gibson had never actually met McKinnison; Metatron had simply provided him with a name and account number to get him on his feet.

"I just lost my two best friends." said Lucian. "And why did you save me?"

Gibson sighed. "I think there's a lot of potential in you that's wasted. How would you feel about joining up with me?"

"For...for what?"

"Truth, justice, etcetera. Just to be absolutely clear, I'm talking about full-blown insurgency."

"I...I...I don't know...there's a lot going on right now--"

"Fair enough. I know you'll make the right decision." Lucian was too overwhelmed with grief to notice the confidence in Gibson's voice at the second sentence.

"Where are we going?" asked Lucian.

"A hotel towards the edges of New Liberty where the accomodations are nice and the staff don't ask questions. Don't worry, it's on me."

"Why are you doing this for me? I mean, we've never even met--"

"Let's just say," said Gibson, "that I owed your dad one."

THE END