by Ryan Attard
“What about the body?” Gil asked.
“It is in perfect condition,” Mephisto said. “But that will change soon. We must make haste.”
“Wait, wait.” I held my hands out. “Why are we in Hell, Gil? It’s not to escape Greede, that much I know. You have a billion safe-houses and contingency plans. So why are we here?”
“Because I ran out of options,” she answered.
“Human options,” Mephisto insisted. “Master Erik, you were touched and claimed by the Angel of Death itself. No one reverses that—at least not someone of human or angel origin. Thus, the demonic.”
“So you’re saying that there is a demon who can reverse Samael’s powers?” I asked.
Gil hissed. “You really need to stop calling him out. Names have power.”
“He won’t show up here,” I said. In truth, I didn’t know what or where Samael did or went. But that had never held me back from calling someone out by their real name.
“He might, once we perish,” Mephisto said. “And I do not have the power to hold him at bay. So may I suggest moving.”
He pulled a lever on the tank and suddenly the whole contraption rose off the ground and hovered a few inches above the ground.
“Not until you tell me exactly where you are taking my body,” I insisted. “I’m not trusting you, Mephisto. So spill.”
The demon shot Gil a cursory glance. She nodded.
“Very well,” he said. “As you know, I have two other brothers apart from your former familiar.”
I noticed he avoided saying the name Amaymon. That was probably smart. Demons go back to their home base when not summoned or bound. Calling out Amaymon’s name would likely have brought him to us.
“Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor,” Mephisto went on. “Such are our denomination, apart from embodying a single element each. Your former familiar is the soldier; I am the tailor.”
“Of what?” I interjected. “Butler suits?”
Mephisto narrowed his feline eyes. They seemed to glow in contrast with the environment.
Oh, right. This was his home turf. Most likely, all of Gil’s magic was currently going to their contract, holding him at bay from slitting both our throats and feasting on our entrails.
Noted, Erik. Piss off the demon when you get some actual leverage.
“I am the tailor of truth,” Mephisto said. “Take that as you may. One of my brothers, who incidentally is missing, is the sailor, the wandering death. But the last one… He may prove troublesome.”
“Troublesome is what we deal with on a daily basis,” I said.
“Not this sort,” Mephisto said. Was I imagining things, or did I detect a note of apprehension in his voice? “He is the tinker, the Demon Emperor’s former inventor. There is nothing that escapes his vast intellect, apart perhaps his own sanity.” The demon sighed. “But circumstances being what they are, we have no choice but to rely on him.”
Mephisto took a step beyond us and released a gust of wind. Instantly, the already-oppressive heat doubled, fighting back Mephisto’s powers. The demon shielded his eyes. Bits of his suit caught fire and flaked off in burning embers.
“I am here, brother,” Mephisto cried. “Come and greet us, Astaroth, the Forging Flame.”
Fire, furious, warm, oppressive, erupted before him. The pillar of flames condensed until it formed a small creature. It was four-legged and composed of flames, its nine tails fanned out, each tipped with a flame of different color.
The fire-fox—a kitsune from Japanese mythology—looked at each of us before sniffing Mephisto’s shoes. It sneezed, sending out a jet of fire that scorched the expensive Italian leather.
Mephisto swore.
The kitsune chuckled and ran off.
“Come,” Mephisto said, more than a little annoyed. “We must follow it.”
The kitsune led us towards a looming medieval castle.
A really, really small castle.
Seriously, this thing looked like it belonged in a children’s theme park, not in literal Hell. The mortar was the same ashen grey as everything else, with the exception that each crenellation was tipped with a lazy flame that whipped in the breeze created by the heat itself.
The simple wooden doors opened, and in we went.
As we walked, fireballs glowed and danced at random, illuminating our way. The corridor was devoid of decor and led us on a straight path.
We entered the single room at the end, and I gasped.
Imagine a high school science lab. Now fill it with every rejected Star Wars prop, set off a few Roman candles inside, and you get the massive chaos that was this laboratory.
Tables were thrown away haphazardly, taking up more space than they should. The walls made the lab look small, but I had enough experience with condensed space to know that looks didn’t matter. This place was miles long and wide.
It had to be to fit all the stuff inside.
By comparison, the tank holding my body was the smallest thing in there. I saw dozens of similar tanks, each three or four times the size of mine. Bits of demons and other unidentified beings floated within in various states of decomposition. Machines, all alien to me, littered one corner.
Several mechanical arms waved and spindled from the tables and every surface that had a workstation on it—which was everywhere.
And the noise—it sounded like a fish market. Clanks and bangs and booms and chugs and dings, and every other onomatopoeic word you could think of.
The kitsune joined a litter of several dozen others and began yipping at them. I lost count of how many there were, each popping in and out of existence with a small fwoosh of flame.
In the middle of this cluster-fuck was a single… demon, I suppose. He looked unlike any other demon I’d ever seen before.
The first thing that caught my eyes was his teal skin. Or scales, rather. They were dull, but the blue-green color was unmistakable under the flames. Four small horns jutted out of his forehead, two on each side like a tiara. His nose was flat, like a snake’s, while a ponytail of grey-white hair swung behind him. The hair actually reminded me of Mephisto’s own, except the latter’s was ebony and actually washed.
The demon was short, standing at about five feet, just a scant inch taller than my pixie-sized sister. It didn’t help that he was hunched.
“Whaaaat?” he screeched. He leaned to the side, ear at the machine he was tinkering with. “They’re here? Yes!”
The demon spun around, swiping the machine to the ground with his arm as he did. The device, which looked like a bronze microwave, shattered into a million pieces and was promptly swept up by a second machine that reconstructed it in a matter of seconds.
I looked at the baggy, faded jeans, the open-toed sandals, the faded shirt with a cartoon drawing of a fox on in it and the word ‘kitsune’ in bubble font, and the ancient lab coat.
The demon waved a fork—yep, an actual, literal fork—he was holding and smiled. His yellow feline eyes widened and began dancing. Fire burst out with each step he made towards us.
“Brother, oh brother,” he screeched. “You came, you really came. Oh, and it took me so long to figure out your message.”
“It’s called email, Astaroth,” Mephisto replied. His voice carried that exhausted tone one would only reserve for family members that get on your nerves. “You would have been more successful had you journeyed across the realm.”
Astaroth tilted his head back and comically stumbled back. “Oh, the humanity,” he said. “I cannot stand it. They point at me, you know.”
Mephisto sighed. “Hence, why you must wear a disguise.”
“But I like these,” Astaroth said, patting his horns. “They keep my hair from my face. It took me two full minutes to grow them.” He looked around him. A kitsune popped on his shoulder. “What? Ah, yes, I miss his wolf head too, but I think my brother is a little shy. He was always the runt of the litter.”
I stifled a laugh, and Mephisto sent me a look that promised pain
ful death.
“Wolf head?” I asked.
“Your feeble human eyes cannot withstand my real form,” Mephisto said. “And besides, Baal is worse.”
“Shhhh!” Astaroth now had his hand cupping Mephisto’s mouth. “Do not wake him up,” he said, looking about him.
Mephisto shoved his brother away. “You know where Baal is?” he asked.
Astaroth gave him a conspiratorial look. “Yes!” He wiggled his eyebrows and spread his arms. “He’s everywhere!” Astaroth said, dancing about again.
Mephisto sighed again and looked at Gil and I. “Now you see what I mean.”
“Hey, I’m just enjoying the show,” I said.
“Of course you are.”
Suddenly, I felt the heat of a thousand suns on me. I yelped and recoiled.
Astaroth had grabbed my shoulder. He beamed a toothy grin at me.
“Ooooohhh,” he squealed. “So you’re the dead one, are you? Oh yes, you are.”
A flash of fire later, and Astaroth was in front of the vat with my body. He tapped the reinforced glass, and the vat exploded. Neon green liquid showered him, eliciting steam. Astaroth wasn’t bothered. He held my body up with one hand, grabbing me by the scruff of the neck. He poked my ear.
“Hey!” I protested.
He shot me an annoyed look. Then he literally threw my body over his shoulder. I—it—landed on a table, smashing tools and spindly arms. The table split open and changed to an operating table.
Astaroth grinned again. “Right then,” he said, spinning on the spot. He stumbled and fell face first.
“I got it!” he yelled, hopping back on his feet. “I meant to do that.”
“Hey,” I said, nudging Mephisto. “You sure about this guy?”
The demon rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Now, now,” Astaroth said. “Don’t let my dancing fool you. I am the best there is. Isn’t that right, brother?”
Mephisto nodded.
Astaroth poked his ear. “Isn’t that right, brother?” he asked again. Only this time, he blinked and managed to make puppy-dog eyes despite being a teal-colored, horned demon.
Mephisto balled a fist for a second, before he sighed and smiled.
“Yes, Astaroth.” I could practically taste the venom in his mouth. “You are the best.”
Astaroth back-flipped, erupting in flames. All the kitsune yipped in surprise. A few of them exploded.
“Right-O!” he screeched. “Let’s get this show on the road!”
And then the demon moon-walked towards my body.
It was my turn to sigh.
Chapter 23
It was fairly obvious within minutes of meeting him that Astaroth was not quite there. And that was putting it mildly.
The guy was a nut. Off his rocker. Two marbles in a tin can.
Bat-shit crazy.
And shit just kept getting weirder, but if I were to parse it down it would be the following:
Before he set to work, he said he needed to figure out exactly what was wrong with me. I assumed he would put me under a series of tests.
Instead he produced two fox-sock puppets, one orange, one black—which incidentally were named Orange and Black—and placed them on each hand. Then, he began brainstorming my condition with said sock puppets.
Orange spoke in a high-pitched voice, one that you’d often hear in anime shows coming from some psycho chick.
Black was gruff and baritone and perpetually pissed off. Oh, and obsessed with belting out Britney Spears’ Crazy.
Which, all things considered, was appropriate.
“Slash him open,” Orange said. Her high-pitched voice kept making the hairs at the back of my neck stand on edge. “We can see inside then.”
“Craazzyyy. I just can’t sleep-”
Thankfully Astaroth interrupted Black’s baritone destruction of the song.
“Yes, yes, sleep,” he said, shooting a pensive look at each of his sock puppets. “Perhaps he simply needs to be awake.”
Astaroth took out an antique brass rod. He poked my body, which resulted in it jerking erratically in place.
Astaroth shot us a guilty look. “Sorry. My bad,” he sheepishly said.
“Orange, back to the drawing board. Black.”
The black sock puppet opened its mouth.
“I’m so excited, I’m in too deep. Oh, oh, oh, craaazzyyyyy…”
The demon paced away, which thankfully took the mangled singing far away from our poor ears.
“Okay,” I began. “What the hell is up with the sock puppets?”
Mephisto shrugged.
“That is admittedly new,” he replied. “Most likely some form of coping mechanism. Astaroth has been locked up in here since the fall of the Emperor. And even before that…” He looked around him. “He was never the most stable.”
“You don’t say, Sherlock,” I shot. To Gil, “Okay, so, what happens if he can’t fix me?”
Gil looked down. “Then we’re in deep shit.”
That was really all she had to say. Never mind the fact that she swore—which she never did, not unless it was absolutely warranted—but she had said it straight and plain. Astaroth was our last resort.
And that guy had sock puppets.
“I GOT IT!”
Speaking of crazy…
The demon came running out, tongues of flame dancing around his flapping lab coat.
“It’s not the body,” he said. “It’s you!” He pointed at me and grabbed my arm. This time his touch was not scalding, merely hot.
“Me?” I protested.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “The body is fine. It’s you that needs fixing. You’re the thing that goes inside.”
“Baby, I’m so into you,” Black belted out. “You got that something, what can I do.” He coughed and looked at Astaroth. “I told ya’. Ghosts. Trouble, every single time!” Then he looked back at me and began staring me down. “You drive me craaaazzzzyyyy…”
From behind me, I heard Gil slapping her forehead. “Now I know how Alice felt.”
“And yet you’re not the one getting dragged by a fire-spewing, sock-puppet wearing demon,” I shot back. “Astaroth, where are you taking me?”
“To the table,” he said. “Lie down next to your body.”
I did as told, and yes, it was as awkward as you might imagine, lying prone next to your own deceased corpse.
“The white one too,” Orange said. Astaroth’s hand snapped at Gil. “Get the white one.”
Astaroth walked up to Gil. Mephisto intercepted him.
“You will explain yourself,” he said, his voice cold and chilling. “Or I will end you, brother.”
“Yeesh,” Black said. “Who put a stick up his ass?”
I barked a laugh.
“Relax, brother,” Astaroth told Mephisto. “But you know as well as I do that she is connected to him.”
“She’s his sister.”
“Yes!” Astaroth snapped his fingers. Fire sparked. “Sister, excellent. And she’s glowing white, can’t you see it.”
Mephisto glanced at Gil.
“Ah, but you don’t see things my way, do you, Mephistopheles?” Astaroth said. Gone was gaiety from his voice. “She knows what I’m talking about, don’t you, human?”
“A family curse,” Gil answered. “My brother and I share two halves of the same curse.”
“Precisely,” Astaroth said. “Tell me, how is one to fix something when one only has half the problem and half the solution?”
Gil tapped Mephisto’s arm. “It’s okay. Lead the way, Astaroth.”
The demon stepped back wordlessly.
I watched as Gil lay down beside me.
“Now, ghost,” Astaroth told me. He removed the sock puppets, stuffed them in his lab coat pockets, and rubbed his hands until they glowed orange. “Hold hands.”
I grabbed Gil's hand. She was shaking a little. I squeezed it. I was shaking too.
“And the body too,” Asta
roth said. “You don’t wanna leave that behind.”
On any other day, I would have objected to holding hands with a dead body, even my own.
But I was in Hell talking to a demon with sock puppets while one of them sang 90s pop and the other was a psycho-lolita.
This sure as shit wasn’t Kansas anymore.
I grabbed my corpse’s hand. Suddenly, black shadows leapt from it, shooting into me. At the same time, I heard Gil cry out. White mist billowed from her body and covered me too.
White light and black shadows danced within me, as if I didn’t exist, and suddenly Astaroth was leaning over me, hands burning.
“Hold on to your panties,” he said, gleefully. “And say hi to the tree.”
“Tree?” I began. “What-”
Chapter 24
“-Tree?”
I had been to Heaven once. No, not because of my death. An angel had provided me with a visitor’s pass.
Long story.
Incidentally, that’s when I saw Samael for the first time. He was executing a fallen angel by the name of Raphael. Come to think of it, that was the time the Angel of Death had first singled me out.
The world I found myself in reminded me of Heaven. All white, landscaped, silver skies and a cerulean horizon.
At the centre of it all stood a massive tree taller than the largest skyscraper I had ever seen. The trunk was made out of pure silver, wider than the mansion I had grown up in. Sapphire veins ran through the trunk, turning golden-yellow as they sank to the argent ground below.
Above us, branches spread out like a canopy. Leaves hung proud and majestic, each a different color. Magenta, cerulean, cyan, jade, silver, obsidian, vermillion, periwinkle, verdant, and gold. Some had colors that metamorphosed into each other. Their veins ranged from regular and straight to swirls and geometrical patterns.
This was magic. I recognized it as the same stuff as those ribbons and strands I kept seeing in Limbo.
I gasped, ignoring the pain in my neck from looking up. So much magic, so many varieties. Each and every discipline, and many yet undiscovered or lost, hung from this giant silver tree.
