“You know it doesn’t have to be like this, right?”
The
man - or, at least, the thoroughly desecrated remains of what had once
been a man - twitched in his chains at the sound of a nearby voice.
After so long of hearing nothing but the echoing screams of his fellow
damned and the snarling rage of demons, these honeyed tones were a
gentle balm. He immediately dismissed them as delirium, but then the
darkness shifted and a faint breeze stung at his ravaged flesh, and in
that moment he knew that she was real.
A
dark angel, porcelain skin swathed in the soft, black shroud of death…
“It
took me a long time to understand,” the girl said. “When I was
here, I mean. Here, or some place very much like it. The fire, the
scorched earth, the rivers of blood… Hell gave up its secrets a long
time ago, and now everyone knows what it looks like even if they don’t
end up in residence.”
Blade no longer possessed the capacity for speech, not least because
his tongue had long since been detached at the root. If he’d been able
to talk, however, he would’ve asked the girl to cut to the chase. That
was Blade all over. Never much one for polite conversation.
“What I mean to say,” Cassie St. Commons continued, with a scowl that
suggested she could read the chained man’s thoughts well enough, “Is
that all of this - all this flayed flesh and spilled blood, all this
drama - it’s all conditioning. You don’t need flesh here. It’s
a spiritual realm, and physical matter is just the outward
manifestation of your soul. I mean, look at me. You see what I want
you to see, projecting how I appeared when I was truly alive, the
black hair and the pale skin and the sigils and whatever else. My
spirit, though, it’s just… darkness. Or near-darkness. You know? That
indigo-blue-grey that sinks at the exact moment light fades away,
before twilight begins to glow.”
The
girl’s whole body soughed, flickering like black flame. “Dusk,” she
said, quietly. “That’s my name. That’s me.”
Blade settled back into his chains, blood and pain pooling beneath him
as it ever did. Cassie looked abashed.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You’re probably thinking that’s not very
helpful, right? I mean, a soul can be tortured just as much as fake
flesh. Maybe more. But I wanted to give you a message. They’re coming
for you, Eric. Your friends, and their companions. You know that,
right? But for them to succeed, you need to be ready. Trust me on
this, I’ve… been there. When the time comes you need to remember what
I’ve told you, that the flesh and blood is illusory and the spirit is
what’s important. Okay?”
Blade twitched. Cassie sighed. Hell was hot - that sounded silly, but
it really was - and airless, and it tasted and stank of such misery
that every part of her screamed in indignation that she’d put herself
through this. But she’d had no choice. Unlike some, she couldn’t just
stand by and do nothing - not when she was able to make a
difference, by slipping between the fabric of dimensions by fading
into the shadows of one world and re-emerging in another.
And
every world had shadows. Even Hell.
“Be
ready,” she said again. “And have faith.” Then, with a whisper of
black cloth she was gone.
And
once more, the man called Blade was left alone with only the sound of
distant screams for company…
The
war raged on the Hellish plains far below, but for one combatant the
greater battle had long since ceased to have any meaning. It wasn’t
that she cared nothing for her companions - indeed, the seeds of
friendship sown these past few days had been like a sudden flowering
at the heart of barren wastes long since bleached of colour - but for
Brunnhilde the Valkyrie there was now only one matter of importance:
Vengeance.
It
was nothing less than was due to her. Regrettable, then, and no less
unjust, that her unearthly foe was seemingly enjoying what would
surely be their final encounter…
“Your rage serves you ill, my sweetling,” the Gargoyle rasped,
wheeling in the scar-stained skies of the netherworld upon smouldering
wings. “I can see the blackness in your heart, pumping sharp as cactus
spine into every vein. Is it fire, burning bright? Is it ice, as cold
as night? Or is it plague and pestilence, the cancer of lost
innocence…?”
The
Valkyrie screamed and thrust wildly with her enchanted blade, the
angle of her flight guided instinctively by the winged horse upon
which she rode. Aragorn the Pegasus was a flash of dazzling white in
the blood shadows of Hell, a single splash of purity, and the sight of
the beast enraged the Gargoyle more than even Valkyrie herself. The
woman was a threat, of course, but she wasn’t an embodiment of an
ideal, not now she’d been tainted; the horse, on the other hand, was a
symbol, a true and blessed light in this unholy realm, a guiding star
marking the passage of these motley Magi. The Gargoyle knew that it
must die.
The
scattergun magicks of the witch Jennifer Kale were keeping the
Gargoyle’s demonic forces at bay but he was convinced he didn’t need
them. He was, after all, the General of Erebus’ legion, appointed by
Lucifer himself. And it was true what he’d noted, that Valkyrie’s hate
was blunting her effectiveness as a warrior. Grinning, the winged
fiend stole forth as his enemy’s blade sailed harmlessly over his head
yet again, his claws outstretched…
“Finally,” Valkyrie snarled. “I was beginning to wonder if your
arrogance had given way to something approaching intelligence. But
some things never change, do they Isaac?”
Suddenly cool as ice, the woman shifted her balance to the opposite
flank, her seemingly wayward strike no more than a feint. It was then
that the surprised Gargoyle realised that it was all a ruse:
the anger, the madness, the apparent loss of control. The scheming
little bitch. She’d been lulling him, tantalizing him with the belief
that he could ever have hoped to match the prowess of one like her. He
heard Aragorn snort, as if the stallion was in on the joke, and he
growled deep in his throat - but then Valkyrie’s powerful forearm
curled about his neck and locked tight, and the edge of her blade slid
along the underside of his crusted brow, a hair’s breadth from his
eyes.
“Would you kill me then, my love?” the Gargoyle asked. “Blind me,
bleed me, chip away at my stony skin in search of some spiritual
recompense? It will yield you nothing, you simpering whore. You cannot
forget. You cannot unfeel. I win, don’t you understand? Kill me
quick, kill me slow, kill me a thousand times, it can’t erase the fact
that I enfolded you tightly in my wings and held you down and
pleasured myself inside you whilst you wept and begged. I win. I win.
I win.”
Valkyrie leaned in close then, her blue eyes shining. “No,” she
breathed in her abuser’s ear. “In truth, we both lose.”
She
placed the flat of her hand over the Gargoyle’s chest, and when he
glanced down he saw that it had begun to glow.
“What is that?” he muttered, his malevolence suddenly curbed. “What
are you doing?”
“Just a little something Stephen Strange agreed to conjure for me in
the event that this opportunity should ever arise. I wanted you to
know what it felt like, Isaac. Not just rape in itself - I could
easily pin you the way you pinned me and sheathe my sword in each of
your nasty little orifices in turn if I wished to - but everything
I have felt. The physical pain, the violation of the soul, the
revulsion, the despair, the uncontrollable loathing for a world I once
adored and my place in it… I wanted you to experience it all, Isaac,
the way that I did. The way that I still do. From start to finish,
every tiny little detail, on continuous, magical loop.”
The
Gargoyle shivered. “Wait,” he rasped. “Stop. I lied. Do you hear? I
lied when I said that a person couldn’t unfeel. Because they can. Your
good Doctor, regardless of whatever he might have told you, he can
help you - and so can I. Together we can concoct an enchantment that -
”
“Fuck you, Isaac,” Valkyrie whispered. And then she let loose the
spell that Doctor Strange had entrusted to her with such heavy heart,
and in that moment Isaac Christians, the Gargoyle, finally understood
for the first time in his terrible, terrible life, just what it
felt like to be helpless and lost, with no mercy on hand to prevent
his suffering.
The
pieces on the chessboard of Hell were arranged thus: as Valkyrie and
the Gargoyle engaged in their private skirmish up above, and with two
more members of the Order of Nine presently unaccounted for amidst the
demon shoals that flooded the battlefield, so the remaining six heroes
made their stand in pyramidal formation. At the apex, levitating above
ground and scouring the surrounding terrain with wave after wave of
arcane magicks, there was the lissom blonde sorceress Jennifer Kale,
whilst below her there was the Yin to her Yang, the raven-haired and
dusky-eyed Victoria Montesi, young yet formidable keeper of the
ancient tome of doom The Darkhold. Maintaining a four-cornered
protective ring about Vicki - the most important member of the party,
as she was the one ordained to cast the enchantment that might destroy
Erebus and release Blade from his torment - were Frank Drake, Elsa
Bloodstone, William Talltrees and Craig Hollis, otherwise known as
Mister Immortal.
So
far they’d held their own against the relentless demon hordes. But how
much longer could that last?
“I
think I understand now.”
Vicki Montesi glanced sideways at Will as the Cheyenne Indian spoke.
Up until that point the warrior sometimes known as Red Wolf had been
becoming increasingly desperate, slashing away with a tomahawk in one
hand and his sacred staff in the other, but all to little avail. Now,
however, he was smiling, an incongruous sight considering that his
skin was awash with the blood of demons and that his previous anxiety
was entirely justified. Their mission was close to foundering as wave
after wave of unholiness crashed against them - but, suddenly, the
Cheyenne was inspired.
“I
know why I’m here,” he insisted. “And it’s certainly not because I can
wield a mean hatchet.”
“Then what?” Vicki asked.
Will turned towards the legions of the damned, an inexorable, churning
froth of wickedness, and his eyes darkened. “It’s because I can
channel what’s needed, right here, right now. Owayodata, the Wolf God,
the protector of the abandoned.”
“Your guardian can manifest here?”
“Not in itself. That’s why it appoints a champion in the earthly
realm, manifesting through me… but at my behest, perhaps it can
instead take possession of another.”
Vicki frowned momentarily, but then her eyes shot wide behind the
glossy black wave of her fringe. “Oh,” she said. “God, Will. Do you
really think that’s - ”
“Wise?” Will Talltrees raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you can excuse the
expression… what the hell, right?”
Vicki pursed her lips, then breathed deeply. What the hell indeed? It
wasn’t like things could get any worse…
Will closed his eyes and pressed the wedge of his axe blade to his
forehead, then began muttering beneath his breath. Victoria looked on
nervously. And then, some fifty feet ahead at the heart of what
appeared to be a demonic feeding frenzy, there was a sudden shudder of
flailing wings and spiked tails and blood-red, fleshless bodies - and
in the next instant there came a deep and mournful howl that rippled
through the Hellish earth itself like a seismic tremor.
Frank Drake brought his magically augmented shotgun Emily to
bear against a cluster of attacking demons and pumped them full of
silver laced with blessed, concentrated hellfire, reducing them to a
bloodied mist. Then he glanced across at his companion Elsa, who was
despatching fiends in a similar manner using a Colt .45 but who was
also brandishing a long-bladed katana to lop off heads and
outstretched claws with abandon.
“What was that?” Drake barked. His expression was concerned,
and rightly so; any sound that could drown out the incessant wailing
of demonspawn and curdle the blood more than it was already was bound
to be bad. However, before Elsa could reply, it was Craig who lunged
forward and clapped his hands above his head in delight.
“Did I say something about a nine-foot chainsaw earlier?” he said with
a grin. “Maybe it’s time for me to recalculate that…”
Up
ahead, demons were now screaming in fear rather than bloodlust as they
attempted to scramble clear of the explosion of fury that had flared
among them. Then, as all turned to look, an enormous form rose clear
of the masses - fifteen feet tall now, with an upper torso comprised
of broad shoulders, chest and rib-cage that tapered to a narrow waist
before widening again to accommodate massive haunches, and with
elongated arms and legs ending in gleaming, twenty-inch claws. It was
the beast’s head, however, that was most terrifying: thick-necked,
with a mane of the same shaggy, rust-coloured fur that swathed the
rest of its body, with eyes the general size and colour of throbbing
hearts and with a lengthened snout crammed with dagger-blade teeth.
Jack Russell, the Werewolf, his own not-inconsiderable savagery - and
physical bulk - now fortified by the manifested energies of the
ancient Wolf God, Owayodata.
Vicki looked at William again. “You know, if he’s still hungry after
he eats all the unholy scum in Hell, I’m definitely blaming
you.”
Ahead, the now-gigantic Werewolf was now tearing through the demon
hordes with an almost mechanical efficiency, leaving behind a wide,
blood-strewn path in his wake - and something else. The last of the
Nine as yet unaccounted for was Cain Marko, the Juggernaut. As
fearsome as he was, Cain had been engulfed in fiends as soon as the
war had begun. Now, as the Werewolf cleared the immediate battlefield,
the man’s huge body lay uncovered. He wasn’t moving.
Craig swore, preparing to rush forward, but Elsa reached out and
blocked him with her sword. Craig whirled on her, furious.
“Don’t try and stop me!” he snapped. “I know what the rest of you
think of him, but he’s my friend. I’m not going to let him just - ”
“Craig, look. Look.”
Elsa gestured with her Colt. Craig looked. And then his eyes widened
and his grin returned, twice as broad as before, as he witnessed
something that he of all people shouldn’t have deemed impossible, but
which he’d doubted all the same. The Juggernaut was rising. Bloodied,
battered, resembling for all the world a boxer who’d been bludgeoned
mercilessly for fifty rounds straight but who just wouldn’t stay
the fuck down, Cain Marko was getting to his feet and coming back
for more.
A
single demon that had escaped the carnage wrought by the Werewolf now
skipped forward, all claw and fang, only for a massive hand to reach
out and close around its head. Cain lifted the fiend and stared it in
the eye.
“Nothing stops the Juggernaut, motherfucker,” the big man snarled.
“Now go tell your buddies.”
And
with that he hurled the demon skyward with all his might, all the way
towards the distant, milling throng that was slowly but surely being
driven back to the foot of Erebus’ Keep.
“Jack’s carved us an opportunity,” Vicki cried, eyes as black as crow
hearts as she strode forward. “Let’s not waste it, people.”
They surged forward then, renewed, sprinting along the path that the
Werewolf and now the Juggernaut were clearing for them, cutting down
the straggling Hellspawn on either flank with guns belching
concentrated hellfire and with slashing blades and with luminous
spell-bolts and magical flare. The Order of the Nine, disparate souls
in truth and scattered across the battlefield, but nonetheless united
in a common cause. Heroes, storming Hell itself for the lost soul of
one man few of them had ever called friend, but whose fate as a
plaything for eternal tormentors was not just, and would not
be accepted.
And
then they were there. They arrived at the foundations of the gigantic
Steppes and they stared up into the swirling mists of black and red,
knowing that they could never climb that far or penetrate the Keep
itself but also knowing that they didn’t need to. They simply needed
to be in range for Victoria Montesi to cast her spell, the one gleaned
from a special page of the Darkhold, to put the final stage of their
plan in motion.
Victory almost belonged to the Nine.
So
why, in the name of all that was unholy, was Lucifer - a third of the
malevolent royal Triumvirate of Hell, now drifting lazily through the
carmine skies - staring down at the events unfolding way below and
laughing…?
“All is lost,” Erebus hissed, marking the approach of the Nine in
despair. “Filthy, cancerous, human bastards. All is lost, and
the blame falls upon you, Blade…”
The
God-King of the Vampires turned away from the battlefield below and
stalked back into the red shadows of his castle. Observing the
inexorable annihilation of his troops from the vantage of an
overlooking balcony, Erebus had all but forgotten about his prisoner.
He’d certainly been too distracted to be aware of Cassie St Commons’
covert visit a short while before. Now he returned to where Blade’s
remains were snared with chain and unholy bonds, his intentions plain.
If all was lost, then one thing remained in his power before
the Triumvirate deemed it necessary to mete out punishment for his
failures.
The
humans would not get what they’d come here for.
“I
would have gloried in your agonies for all of time, mongrel,” the
demon lord spat. “A thousand curses on those who force me to waste
such - ”
Erebus faltered as he entered the torture chamber where Blade had been
entertained in recent times. The man was no longer bound. He was also
no longer the steaming wreck of pulp that the God-King had last laid
eyes upon. He was whole again, or as close to it as made no
difference… and he was free.
“What is this?” Erebus raged. “What is this?”
“Just an encouraging whisper from a friend,” Blade rasped, obviously
unused to his newly re-grown tongue and vocal chords. “A friend I
didn’t even know I had. She reminded me of a certain truth I’d
forgotten, one which you beat out of me. It’s not about who has the
strongest fist, Erebus. It’s about who’s got the strongest will.”
Blade advanced slowly, his legs weak beneath him. He wasn’t the proud
man he’d been once - he didn’t stand as tall or as straight, and his
poise wasn’t as cocksure with those narrowed eyes and telling smirk -
but he was getting there. He was The Daywalker, the hunter, the slayer
of all vampire-kind. He’d slaughtered thousands in his time, reduced
these bloodsucking bacteria to ashes wherever he found them, and he’d
saved the world from this one nasty son of a bitch, Erebus… but he’d
never been able to finish the job. Now, now -
“You posturing fool.”
Erebus
swept out a clawed hand and ripped away a bloodied chunk of Blade’s
newly matured flesh, the blow sending the slayer crashing backwards
into the wall on the far side of the room. Blade staggered and fell.
But then he began to rise again.
“You can’t defeat me.”
Erebus slithered in and bit off one of his enemy’s hands, swallowing
it whole and then licking his lips with a dozen black tongues.
“You can’t destroy me.”
Blade
struggled to his knees, only for Erebus to strike him down again,
tearing away one of his legs at the knee.
“You can’t do anything but die. Die. D - ”
“You know, the irony of me appearing right at this moment?
Absolutely priceless.”
Erebus whirled at the sound of a voice at his shoulder and found
himself staring into the face of a scrawny fellow with scruffy blond
hair whom had appeared out of nowhere. The man was grinning. He was
also holding a shotgun, with both barrels aimed between the God-King’s
eyes.
“This is Emily,” said Craig Hollis, cheerfully. “As in The
Exorcism Of Emily Rose, right? It’s a movie buff thing. By the
way, my friends send their regards.”
And
then Craig pulled the trigger and blew Erebus the God-King’s head to
smithereens with a burst of blessed hellfire, filling the torture
chamber with a mist of screaming demon blood.
Blade staggered, eyes wide. “What…? Who…?”
Craig tipped an imaginary hat. “The Amazing Mister Immortal, at your
service,” he declared. “I’m your handy-dandy replacement. Your soul
man, if you like. Because a mutual acquaintance of ours, the quite
delectable Miss Victoria Montesi, she’s a lady with a plan. Now, I
reckon we’ve got the luxury of, oooh, all of about thirty seconds
before the Lord of the Fangs here pulls himself together and remembers
what he was doing before I arrived, so… can you give this back to
Frank for me? Tell him he was right. It did come in useful.”
Craig threw the shotgun to Blade, who caught it in the crook of his
good arm. His lost hand and leg were already growing back and the torn
flesh of his chest was knitting back together, not healing in a
physical sense but reconstituted by the power of the mind. Cassie had
been correct. Unfortunately, what was true for Blade was also true for
Erebus. Even as they spoke, the God-King was recovering.
“Wait,” Blade muttered. “Damn it. I don’t understand. What did Vicki -
”
But
it was too late. In the next instant, Blade vanished, fading away to
breath and shadow just as unobtrusively as Craig had arrived. The
blond man looked on sadly.
“See ya,” he said, quietly. “Wouldn’t want to be ya. Or, then again,
maybe I would.” And then he turned, sighing, already knowing that he
would see Erebus behind him, freshly risen and understandably pissed
as all hell.
“An
enchantment from the pages of The Darkhold,” the vampire lord hissed.
“The bartering of one soul for another, even without the consent of
whomever that original soul was forfeit to.”
“Pretty much.”
Erebus’ eyes burned like distant stars, trembling with the barest hint
of the fury that now consumed him. “And so Blade is taken from me, and
you, little one, are left in exchange. Do your companions value
you so poorly that they’d willingly sacrifice you thus?”
Craig shrugged. “Well, I am quite annoying. And I have really
bad gas. Honestly. Never let me eat cheese before lights out, it’s
just frightful. In fact - ”
Erebus reached out and closed one clawed fist about the prattling
human’s head. “I shall feast on your soul for what you’ve done here,”
the demon whispered. And then his talons hooked, not just through
Craig’s flesh and skull but through his very spirit, and began to
pull.
And
Mister Immortal screamed…
Just as the Werewolf’s howl had quietened the forces of darkness
earlier so Craig Hollis’ scream now elicited a similar hush across the
battlefield. The fields of pain fell silent and still, and in that
moment the remaining companions stared up at Erebus’ Keep, eyes
frightened and faces pale. It was Cain Marko, turning slowly upon
Vicki, who spoke first.
“What’s this?” he growled. “What did you do? That spell of yours - ”
“It’s not working.”
“What?”
“The exchange worked, soul for a soul, but Erebus was supposed
to be destroyed into the bargain. It didn’t… it hasn’t… fuck. Fuck.
I don’t understand.”
“There’s something here,” Jennifer Kale murmured, her pale eyes raised
to the skies. “Something more powerful than even a Darkhold
enchantment.”
“But what about the kid?” Juggernaut insisted. Vicki paled.
“We
discussed this,” she replied, quietly. “This was the strategy. For the
first enchantment to be successful we needed a… sacrifice. Craig for
Blade. He wanted to go, remember? And Blade - ”
At
that moment, on cue, the sultry air shimmered and a figure
materialized among them. When his was fully corporeal, Blade staggered
forward - into the arms of Frank and Elsa.
“Eric?” Frank breathed. “Jesus…”
High above, Craig’s scream intensified. Vicki trembled, her eyes
panicked behind her fringe. Cain’s expression darkened still further.
“Just so you know, sweet cheeks,” he said, menacingly, “I reckon your
plans suck root.”
“We
have to go,” Jennifer snapped. “Now. We’ll have all Hell on our backs
before we know it, and the residual portal back to our world won’t
last forever.”
“We’re not leaving without him.”
Jennifer and Vicki exchanged glances. Cain towered above
the
pair of witches, his ruby red bands glimmering in agitation. “You
hear?” he barked. “I said, we’re not - ”
“Wait. Look!”
Elsa was pointing up at the sky. Everyone looked - and gasped.
Victoria Montesi said, “What in God’s name…?” but even as she spoke
she realised that this was a misnomer. This wasn’t God’s abode.
It
belonged to someone else.
In
all the times he’d died - or, at least, his equivalent of death -
Craig had never experienced his soul quite literally stretching
before. It wasn’t pleasant, and it was the kind of sensation that put
the pain of broken limbs and ruptured organs - and even blowing out
his own brains with a shotgun - into perspective. It was an agony
unlike anything he’d ever suffered.
But
it wasn’t the end of him. Both he and the beast assaulting him, Erebus,
reached that conclusion at roughly the same time.
“What is this?” the demon lord blustered, finally releasing his grip
on his victim’s essence and skittering backwards. Craig sagged, his
screams dying in his throat. He forced his eyes open.
“You don’t like… being proved wrong… do you?” he rasped.
Erebus lunged forward once more, prepared to try to harvest this man’s
spirit once more simply because he was all out of alternatives.
However, he never got the chance to follow through.
“Intriguing, isn’t it?” a honeyed voice murmured, at the same time as
a slender, gloved hand reached out and snared the vampire lord about
the throat as surely as leashing a pet hound. Erebus fell away,
choking. The newcomer to the scene, the God-King’s new master, paid no
attention to his underling. He merely waved a casual finger and the
fiend screamed…
…and then dissolved away into crawling darkness.
Craig looked on, nervous for once. “What did you…?”
“Merely allowing your companions’ spell to finally take hold. A
momentary pause for dramatic effect. Just a little foible of mine.
None of your concern, my boy.” The new fiend smiled, his handsome face
inclined. “Well,” he said, “I’d be lying if I said you were what I’d
expected.”
Craig was about to speak again, but Lucifer again waved his hand and
instantly their immediate environment began to shift and fade. Craig
held his breath - but in the next instant he was floating free of
Erebus’ Keep in the skies about the battlefield, one of three Lords of
Hell drifting above him. Again, it was like a dog held fast by an
invisible tether. Craig struggled but he couldn’t free himself. Down
below he could see his companions, now with Blade among their number.
He grimaced.
This wasn’t in Vicki’s plan. Although, to be honest, he was also
beginning to think that Vicki’s plans left much to be desired…
“Hear me, mortals!” Lucifer intoned, grandly. He turned and winked at
Craig. “You like that? I always aim to be impressive.”
Craig groaned. So, his personal devil was one who considered himself
amusing. The demonic equivalent of Craig, in fact. “I promise,” he
muttered, “If I get out of this alive I will never ever make
with the funny again…”
“I
want to thank you,” Lucifer told those who had invaded his realm and
who now gathered, helpless, before him. “Whilst there are some
infernal beings who value their petty enmities, I’ve always believed
myself a class above. To me, this man Blade is… nothing. Just
another pathetic little soul to twist and scrub and bleed as is our
want. But in your precious attempts to redeem him you’ve delivered
into my hands something far more delightful. A true Immortal.”
“That’s Mister Immortal, bud,” Craig declared, forgetting his
earlier pledge. Lucifer ignored him anyway.
“As
our mutual acquaintance Erebus has just discovered,” the demon
continued, “True Immortals are thus not because their fleshly shells
can regenerate over time but because their souls cannot be
extinguished. This young man exists here, in this realm, as a being of
pure flesh, blood and spirit, a whole, and nothing we can do to
him can change that. A rare thing indeed, and so rich with potential.
Would it perhaps astonish you to learn that this ragged
specimen is a far greater source of power than any previously
entertained on these shores? The nomadic Norrin Radd, the meddlesome
Thor, even your beloved Doctor Strange… they are like nothing
compared to this inexhaustible spirit.”
Lucifer turned and beamed at Craig, who wrinkled his nose.
“Man, you’re not going to kiss me, are you?” he asked. “Because it
doesn’t matter how thick you lay on the sweet talk, we are not
making out.”
Lucifer’s grin widened, and now Craig could see his teeth. One hundred
thousand tiny little red needles, eager to puncture his flesh,
immortal or not. And, suddenly, none of it was amusing any more.
“I’m giving you an opportunity to say farewell to your companions
before I digest you whole and take your power for my own,” the
arch-demon hissed. “Never let it be said I lacked the capacity for
sentiment. You should be - ”
Suddenly, Lucifer faltered. As if alerted to something close by, he
began to turn his head - and then saw a dark shape appearing just
below him, materializing from the shadows of his own robe. It was a
girl, human of visage but something… other in essence. Dark
hair, dark eyes, porcelain skin decorated with arcane sigils.
“And what are you, my pretty?” the demon breathed.
Cassie St Commons, otherwise known as Dusk, simply smiled.
“Just a distraction,” she said.
Lucifer scowled. “A distraction? From wh - ”
Shuk.
A
gleaming blade entered through the back of Lucifer’s skull and exited
between his eyes, splitting his forehead wide open and expelling the
clotted red lump of his demonic brain out through the wound. Craig
squealed. Then he looked, and behind Lucifer’s twitching body he saw
an old friend, a blonde warrior woman riding astride a winged horse,
her expression austere and her sword-arm outstretched.
“These blackguards are all the same,” said Brunnhilde the Valkyrie,
with a scowl of disdain. “They talk too much.”
Craig let out a whoop of joy. “Oh, my Goddess!” he cried. “This is
such a Han Solo moment!”
Valkyrie arched an eyebrow. “A what?”
“You know. ‘You’re all clear, kid; now let’s blow this thing and go
home?’ Like, in A
New
Hope,
when - ”
“Craig? Hush now.”
Valkyrie swept Mister Immortal up in her free arm and deposited him on
Aragorn’s back, then pulled Dragonfang free of Lucifer’s skull. Almost
immediately the demon lord began to reconstitute himself, his
momentary paralysis a result more of shock than any true injury. After
all, in this realm - as Cassie had told Blade earlier - physical form
was merely illusory. Now Lucifer was shrugging off all fripperies of
appearance and was re-manifesting in more traditional form…
“Go!” Vicki barked at her companions, below the events that had just
transpired. “Back to the portal!”
And
so they ran, travelling the bloodied path they’d already torn through
the plains of Hell, expecting the demon hordes to be hot at their
heels… but, astoundingly, that never happened. Instead, the remaining
demonspawn gathered in Lucifer’s shadow, eyes bright, mouths agape -
and they began to laugh.
“Everyone through,” Jennifer barked as they reached the region of the
portal through which they’d previously entered the nether-realm.
However, clustered at the gate, no one made a further move.
“Something’s wrong,” Will said. “Why aren’t they following?”
“Go. Through. The. Gate.”
“But - ”
“As
she says,” Frank snapped, beginning to herd everyone with his gun. “If
there’s more to be done we’ll worry about it later.”
Will and Elsa stepped through the haze of the portal, a semi-coherent
Blade between them. Jack the Werewolf, now shrunk back down to his
regular nine-foot height, followed on, and then Vicki. Next came Cain,
but still he refused, waiting for Valkyrie to land with Craig. Frank
sighed and shouldered Emily, then passed through the portal at
Jennifer’s request.
Aragorn the Pegasus came to ground, snorting and flicking his glorious
mane. Valkyrie led him through the portal as Craig jumped down and
beamed at Cain.
“See?” he cried. “I knew that plan was going to turn out okay. That
Vicki, I said. Her plans are never less than - ”
But
then with an astonished splutter Mister Immortal was flying backwards
through the air, back along the path towards the demon throng, and
when Cain and Jennifer looked up in shock they saw the crooked, winged
behemoth that was Lucifer of the Triumvirate of Hell crowing in
triumph. Like a hound on a leash. And Lucifer wasn’t prepared to let
his pet go.
“That’s why they weren’t following,” Jennifer said, softly. “That
utter bastard…”
“There are rules to magic,” Lucifer’s voice boomed. “A soul for a
soul. You have Blade. I will not relinquish what is due to me…”
Cain’s brow furrowed and his eyes darkened. He stepped forward.
“You can’t,” Jennifer whispered. “He’s right. I understand now. This
is the way things have to be, why my divinations led me to Craig. You
- ”
“See now, there’s the thing. I’ve never had much time for rules. And I
guess that’s why your fancy divinations also led you to me.”
Jennifer was about to protest more, but it was too late. Cain Marko
was already on the move. He strode forward with huge, echoing
boot-steps, gathering momentum, his ruby bands shining brighter than
ever. Like a freight train, rumbling on into the darkness, the Hellish
earth shuddering beneath him in supplication…
“Turn back, little man,” Lucifer hissed. “This is not your time.”
Cain said nothing. He just kept going.
“Turn away.”
Just
kept going.
“You - ”
Just. Kept. Going.
Lucifer screamed in rage and flung out a clawed hand, unleashing a
devastating burst of hellfire just as Cain reached the spot where
Craig Hollis now lay, struggling helplessly upon scorched rock. Cain
was consumed, and finally, in that instant, his momentum faltered.
He
vanished from view. Craig looked on, weeping. Lucifer laughed.
But
then, when the smoke and flame and ash cleared…
…Cain Marko, still standing, reached out one massive hand and gathered
Craig to his chest, protecting him with his strength.
“Nothing stops the Juggernaut,” said Cain, through gritted teeth. “Not
Charles Xavier. Not Magneto. Not The Hulk. And not you, you
preening, self-satisfied goat-fucker. You call me little
man? Cyttorak of The Octessence says to say Hello - and that you new
religion infernals always were a pack of pussies…”
Turning back in the direction of the portal, the Juggernaut was
immediately engulfed in a swarm of fiends and hellflame. But it didn’t
matter. Enfolding Craig’s body inside the same ruby bands that
afforded him mystic protection even against the devastating rage of
Hell, Cain Marko refused to be impeded.
Nothing stopped the Juggernaut.
At
the cusp of the portal Jennifer Kale looked on, awestruck and perhaps
even a little fearful. There was magic and there was magic. The
sorcerous entity that was Cyttorak was one of the most ancient powers
abroad in any dimension, but its often prevailing lust for mindless
destruction - and its present Avatar, who embodied such chaos - meant
that, as a force, it was sometimes underestimated. That was a mistake,
one made by Lucifer as much as any of them.
The
Juggernaut finally reached his destination, smouldering with sulphur
as he shed the last of the minor demons clinging to his bulk and
absently crushing the fiend’s skull underfoot. He looked down at
Jennifer, his eyes dark, possessed by something… distant.
“Take us back,” said the voice of Cyttorak, by way of Cain Marko.
Jennifer Kale nodded mutely and did as bidden.
And, far overhead, the mysterious Cassie St Commons smiled as she
folded herself back into the shadows of Hell and prepared for her own
return to the real world.
All
things considered, she thought that had worked out rather well…
Victoria Montesi blinked in the sudden sunlight, shielding her eyes
with her arm. Beside her, Jennifer Kale was equally disoriented. They
both looked around, then exchanged glances.
“What happened?” Vicki asked. “Where are we? This isn’t Citrusville…”
“No.”
Jennifer breathed deeply. She then walked to the edge of the rooftop
where the two of them had materialized after passing through the
portal, and pointed to the street below. “We’re in New York,” she
said, quietly. “Greenwich Village, to be exact.”
Vicki grimaced. “The Sanctum? Oh, terrific. Why - ”
“I’m afraid that would be my fault.”
Both women turned to see a familiar figure standing behind them, his
colourful cloak flickering in the wind and his expression sombre.
“Stephen,” Vicki said, coolly. “You hijacked the dimensional gate?”
“I
had no choice,” Doctor Strange replied. His voice was soft rather than
angry, the manner of tone a doctor of medicine rather than magic might
employ when conveying bad news, and that alarmed the two witches.
They’d been expecting to be chastised like errant children. Instead…
“Something went wrong, didn’t it?” Jennifer asked. Strange breathed
deeply.
“I
needed to re-direct your portal for good reason. There was an…
anomaly. Here, or in Hell, I’m not entirely sure. Not without further
study. But…”
“But?”
Strange lowered his gaze. “It was a temporal shift. You were gone a
long time. Longer than you think.”
Vicki’s heart froze. “How long?”
“Almost three years.”
The
two women staggered, leaning against each other for support. No. No.
“The
Darkhold,” Vicki croaked. “Protecting the world from Chthon. It was my
- ”
“Your
responsibility, yes.” Strange looked up again, his eyes sharp now.
“Which is why I advised you against planning to travel to Hell in the
first place - and why your ancestral duties were then revoked in your
absence, when Chthon recently attempted to return to the world of
light, in San Francisco. I was forced to guide the efforts of… others
to stop him.”
Vicki
turned aside, her eyes dark with tears. “Oh God. I failed. I didn’t
think, I - ”
“Our
companions,” Jennifer said, interrupting. “Frank, Jack, Will… all of
them. Where are they?”
Doctor
Strange looked away, eyes narrowed against the sunlight.
“My
magic directed them to wherever they needed to go,” he said. “To make
their peace.”
Brunnhilde stood upon the extreme edge of the Alstad cliffs, staring
out into the cold, grey wastes of the Vestfjorden. Out here, in the
damp chill of the Norwegian island mists, it was almost impossible to
recall the furnaces of Hell. Almost. Of course, there were some things
that she would never be able to erase from her memory.
You cannot forget. You cannot unfeel. I win, don’t you understand?
The
Valkyrie bowed her head, her enchanted blade heavy in her grip. She
swayed in the wind, her blonde hair stinging her eyes. Far below,
waves splintered fiercely upon the rocks, again and again and again. A
fall from this height into freezing waters and jagged reef would be
fatal, even for one such as her. She fancied that she could hear the
siren’s call… or perhaps it was the echo of drunken merriment
resounding in the distant halls of Valhalla. Either way. She could
reach for the song, or she could pull back. Her decision.
I
win. I win. I win.
“No,” Brunnhilde said, softly. “In truth, we both lose.”
And
then she made her choice.
William Talltrees sat motionless in a wooden chair on the porch of the
old ranch house, his haunted eyes scanning the darkness of the trees
on the horizon. There was a canyon ridge out there, and the Rocky
Mountains beyond. That made this… what? Montana? Colorado? He wasn’t
aware of whom this residence belonged to, or why he’d materialized
here after passing through the portal. He just understood that he’d
been absent from the earthly realm for three years, and that this
place was far from home.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, eyes glistening in the breeze. “I’m sorry I
left you behind. I didn’t know… I…”
He
exhaled a ragged breath, then took a long drink from the bottle of
beer clenched in his fist.
I’m
sorry.
“Will?”
It
was Jack’s voice. His brother wolf. They’d found themselves here,
together, the previous morning. Since then they’d barely spoken,
knowing only that they’d eventually need to work their way east, most
likely to Doctor Strange’s Sanctum in New York, but neither willing to
set any plan in stone. It was as if they were waiting for something,
although they weren’t sure what.
“Will,” Jack called again. “Come see. Out back here.”
Will sighed, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then stood
and slowly descended the porch steps. Shoulders slumped, he went to
see why Jack had the temerity to sound so excited, considering that
everything had turned to crud. That was when he saw the animal – the
wolf – standing in the shadows of the trees some hundred feet away,
eyeing the two humans cautiously but also with an altogether different
emotion.
Hope.
William Talltrees uttered a strange sound, halfway between a howl and
a whimper. Jack Russell turned and grinned.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” he said, gently. “Poor bastard’s been
waiting three years for you to come back. Least you can do is give him
a hug.”
Will’s heart contracted. And then, sobbing as he rushed forward, he
did just that.
“You know the worst part?” Craig asked, through a haze of cigar smoke
and whisky. Cain grimaced.
“No. But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“Yes, I am. It was the way he looked before he changed. Before
he became just another wings-and-fangs Hollywood special effects
extravaganza. See, now, Lucifer – or Satan, or whatever, I think
they’re all just facets in the end – he’s been romanticized. Movies,
books, comics. An offshoot of all the bullshit vampire-goth-whatthefuckery
you get these days. The image some people have of the Devil,
especially teenage girls, is that he’s this smooth, dangerous bastard,
and I think he loves that idea. So that’s exactly the modern image
he’s adopted. But I saw beyond that. You know what I saw?”
Cain puffed on his cigar. “Tell me.”
“I’m going to tell you. I saw… the fuckers. The fuckers. All of
life’s assholes. Child molesters, rapists, lawyers who let the child
molesters and rapists to walk free, corrupt politicians, the kind of
self-serving shit-eaters who make money out of genocides in war-torn
countries…”
“You saw all of this?”
“In
his face. Yes, I did. Because the Devil is not fucking
romantic. I don’t care what religion you believe in, it doesn’t
matter. He exists and he’s… wrong.”
Craig poured himself another four fingers of whisky. Cain Marko
glanced across at him, his expression inscrutable.
“You’re even more touched in the head than before we went to Hell.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Because of what he told you? About your power, your potential…”
“Maybe.”
Cain took the whisky. Craig stared at him, then shook his head,
smiling.
“You’re a hero, you know.”
“No.”
“Yep. The others were going to leave me behind – which I don’t blame
them for at all, it was all part of the deal and I offered myself up
in the first place, so clear consciences all round – but that’s the
way of it. Not you, though. You came back for me.”
“It
wasn’t being a hero.”
“But - ”
“It
wasn’t. And it wasn’t friendship either, or any other feelgood crap
you want to lay down.”
“Then what?”
Cain drained his glass, then poured another.
“Way back when,” he said, eventually, “So far back I can barely
remember, I came to understand something about life. In most
situations, you can do one of two things. You can stand still and let
life bury you or drown you or kick the shit out of you, whatever it’s
got a head for. Or you can move. But there’s your choice. Once you
start moving – once you know what you want or where you’re headed –
you don’t stop. No matter what.”
“Nothing stops the Juggernaut.”
“Right.”
Craig raised an eyebrow. “But when we came looking for you, when we
found you in that bar - ”
“I
had stopped. And it was killing me. And maybe I wanted it to.
Then.”
They drank awhile. And then Craig said, “You could have moved in the
other direction though, couldn’t you? You could’ve walked through the
portal and kept on walking. You didn’t need me.”
“That would’ve been running away,” the Juggernaut replied. “I’ve never
done that in my life. I wasn’t going to start just because I had Hell
on my tail.”
Craig grinned and raised a glass. “You know what? Cain Marko, you are
a total badass.”
“Damn straight.”
“You want to go pick up some cheap women and get laid?”
“Damn straight.”
“Well, alright then.”
They chinked glasses.
Three days after returning to the earthly realm, Elsa Bloodstone was
lying in bed eating pizza and channel surfing when there was a knock
at her apartment door. Elsa was naked save for the jewelled choker
about her neck. She pulled on a half-length silk robe before she
answered the knock but the gown left little to the imagination. The
FedEx guy making his delivery was appreciative, but Elsa didn’t really
notice. She wasn’t that type of girl.
The
parcel was long and heavy. Elsa took it to the bed and unwrapped it.
Inside was Frank Drake’s shotgun Emily. Elsa hadn’t heard from
Frank since passing through the portal, even though she’d made a dozen
attempts to contact him. She couldn’t imagine what the poor man was
going through, what with the whole missing three years thing and his
family and whatever else, but when she read the note attached to the
gun she knew that she wouldn’t be ringing his number again any time
soon.
The
note said, Goodbye. I’m sorry, but this isn’t my fight any more.
Please don’t come looking.
Fair
enough. Elsa placed Emily in her closet alongside her Colt,
then returned to her pizza and television. She cried a little. She’d
come to love him in her own way, of course. Surrogate father, older
brother. Much older. Something like that. Maybe something else. She
didn’t want to think about it, though. Not now.
She
recommenced flicking channels, and she only stopped when she caught a
news retrospective on
San Francisco
and the troubles the city had experienced in the recent past – a past
she’d missed, what with screwy timelines and all. There was mention of
much in the way of ritualistic murders and dark dealings. And
vampires.
Elsa raised a delicate eyebrow, chewing thoughtfully on a slice of
pepperoni and jalapeño.
San
Francisco, huh?
Well, hell. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do…
Frank Drake looked up at the sky. It was a fine day, crystal bright,
nary a cloud to be seen. That didn’t feel right. It should’ve been
raining. Standing in the cemetery at your dead wife and daughter’s
graveside, the least it could do was rain.
“It’s done,” Blade said. “The package you wanted mailed to Elsa? Your
gun, right?”
Frank didn’t look around as the other man spoke at his shoulder. “I’d
have used it if I could,” he murmured. “But I heard somewhere that
suicides go to Hell. And, all irony aside, that’s not where Marlene
and Rachel are waiting for me.”
He
reached out and ran his fingers over the curve of one tombstone and
then the other. The stone was rough with lichen. They’d been in the
ground two and a half years by now, although in his timeline he’d seen
them both a little under two weeks before. It’s been a car crash. Hit
and run. The other driver never caught. Frank didn’t know if he
would’ve been able to change anything had he never got involved with
the Nine, had the temporal shift not fucked him sideways, but that was
always the hook, wasn’t it? The devil was in the details.
“Change your mind, Frank,” Blade said. “Please.”
“You owe me this.”
“What I owe you can never be repaid.”
“Then do it. Because if you don’t, I’ll just get someone else. And
they might not do it right.”
Blade said nothing more. Frank thought he could hear the other man
crying, but he blocked it out.
“I
just want to be with my family,” he said, softly. “Like I should have
been in life.”
“I
know,” Blade said.
He
raised his sword. Measured his swing. He wished to God that there was
another way to end this, but if God existed then he sure as hell
hadn’t been paying attention just recently.
Blade whispered, “Goodbye, Frank.”
And
then he carried out his friend’s last request.
Far
away, in a place with no knowledge of what had occurred since leaving
Hell, Cassie St Commons sat upon a lonely rooftop and watched the sun
begin to set over the city, heralding the arrival of her favourite
time of evening. She was smiling, which was quite unusual. However,
she had a lot to feel happy about.
She’d helped save the day. Hell had been stormed and Lucifer
vanquished, and all the mystic portents had been proven mistaken. No
sacrifice had been required. No soul for a soul.
Sometimes, the heroes won.
It
was enough to make a girl rediscover her faith.
