by Shad N Freud
Cenere, meanwhile, was being as unobtrusively silent as possible while walking slightly behind both women. He refused to die from being mauled to death by the resident gun bunny and her best friend, the living Cuisinart, due to his snark and biting comments. He prayed the gold room would have a potion or twelve of Relief♀, one developed by Jameson. and the only mass producible product he ever created. It instantly removed a woman’s cramps and bloating for an entire day and had, understandably, made Jameson a very wealthy man. He tried to think of anything he could offer the Dark Lord in return for his prayer and came up short.
Cursing his bad luck under his breath, he and the rest walked into the gold room and paused. In the middle of the room, in addition to an entire pallet of Relief♀, there was a table laden with cooked meats, kegs of beer, and enough gold coins and trinkets to sink a cargo ship. A glass display case sat in the middle of the room, containing a small assortment of staves, a spear of two, and within an open coffin-shaped box, there was The Gun.
A custom Winchester lever action rifle, the lever used to cycle the thirteen-shot cylinder. It was a true masterpiece, with an adamantine barrel and receiver inlaid with mithril, gold, and turquoise, the stock made of ironwood. The bullets had orichalcum tips inscribed with the Lord’s Prayer, the Devil’s Litany, the Buddhist Prayers of Peace, and the Witness draconic script for the scriptures involving dispatching one’s enemies humanely. Lonnie sighed in relief as he opened the case and pulled out the gun. The bullets immediately disappeared from the case and filled the cylinder.
Zeke looked up from his mouthful of meat and chugged down a mug of beer. He smiled as Lonnie handed the gun to Cenere, while Sachi and Camilla ripped open an economy sized box of Relief♀ like a couple of children on Avarice Day morning. Both women glared at the snicker coming from Cenere who fled the room screaming, then both women laughed as they toasted each other before they quaffed the delightfully fruit flavored potion. Cenere poked his head back in after the two sighed in relief and sauntered back into the room towards the spread laid out on the table, avoiding the platters Zeke had claimed for himself.
Jin was rubbing his face in an obscene manner against the solid black, glossy shaft of a staff with a large blue orb clutched by what looked like a claw at the end. The shaft of the staff seemed to crackle with power and the orb at the top glowed dimly, gently flooding the room with faint blue light. “It’s a Staff of Solomon! An actual, honest to Platinum Staff of Solomon! And…it’s…MINE!” The little gnome cackled with glee as he willed the staff to shrink to his size and used it to open a hole in reality, creating a dimensional tunnel to the outside of the temple. The others saw him do so and then nearly collapse, as the day had been a long and arduous one for the group. The tear struggled to stay open, then popped like a soap bubble as the tunnel collapsed.
Jin was breathing heavily as the group heard the announcer, who they’d generally either cursed at or tuned out since the first day, hit a buzzer and then make a pronouncement. “Uh-oh, looks like someone tried to take the easy way out of the temple! Sorry, champ, but your little team is going to have to take the long way out. And, I might add, you’ve triggered the Boss option! Kill the boss of this ‘dungeon,’ and you’ll get to walk free immediately! Or, avoid the Boss, and have us cluck at you like the egg-laying chickens you are!”
“Git fucked ye annoying jobby!” Camilla screamed as the group collectively gave the cameras recording the trial the finger.
“Woo! Listen to the mouth on Camilla, ladies and gentlemen! Well, group, make your choice! Spend the next six days trying to make your way out…or face a Boss right now! You have thirty seconds to decide, or we’ll decide for you!”
“Fine, you patronizing fucker! Give us the damn Boss!” Cenere snarled as he drew his sword and flicked his wrist a few times, popping out three throwing knives, adamantine with mithril handles, balanced towards the tips. Camilla cackled loudly as she pulled out Thwack!. The rest drew their weapons and waited. And waited. Cenere looked upward in confusion, “Hey! Where’s the damn boss?”
The floor rumbled and gold coins spilled all over the floor as a mechanical monstrosity rose out of the coins. “Uh oh, folks! It looks like we’ve got a real doozy tonight! Fresh from the murder pits of The Gray Marches, we have the nightmare amalgamation of flesh and metal, biology and technology, with parts made by McGillicutty Corporation, and an ounce of pure, unadulterated Evil. It’s Gristlegrinder v2.0!”
The monstrosity’s six arms and four legs sprang outward from the carapace along with the foul smells of machine oil, rotting meat, and the metallic tang of spent battery acid. The creature’s corroded voxbox squawked an undulating scream that Cenere could feel in his teeth. Its uppermost pair of arms sprouted various whirring blades, the second set hummed with power as the outer plating, pitted and covered in filligration, retracted to expose sparking actinators. The smell of ozone slowly outstripped the other foul smells. The last pair of arms terminated in triple-linked flamethrowers that smoked due to a poor mixture ratio.
Its insect-like head sprouted numerous optical stalks in various states of degradation and jagged, rusty steel blades that reeked of offal and dried blood. Varied biological components seeped pus and acidic slime. It lunged forward towards the group, firing all weapons as it tried to add the skulls of those present to the ones on the spikes lining it’s back.
Cenere nodded and everyone sprang into action. They all smiled ferally as they attacked the overgrown decapod and sliced, tore, cut, smashed, and shot the abomination against nature, technology, and good sense. In less than a minute, the group had utterly destroyed the “Boss,” and the exit to the outside world opened on the far wall.
All of their possessions were restored, Zeke instantly returned to his prior metallic state, a bittersweet smile on his face as he regained his true form. Jin immediately pulled out his coin of holding and flipped it into the air, saying “Coin, deposit all”. The copper coin hit the bare floor with a clink as it bounced around the now empty hall, the piggy rubbing its belly and snorting happily. He smirked as he picked up his coin, gave the cameras the finger, and walked out.
As fate would have it, the sheer level of underwhelmed fury the audience would later vent upon the VidLine network executives, after the show was cancelled due to poor ratings, would bring ShawCorp’s media division to its knees. This temple had been too easy because Ghallorican was fulfilling a contract with a remnant of McGillicutty corporation seeking revenge upon the small part ShawCorp played in destroying the rival corporation. It would have far reaching consequences, including the absolute destruction of ShawCorp, and the resurrection of McG. But that story has little bearing on this one, so we’ll save it for a later time.
“Took you lot long enough.” Carl smirked as he watched his people walk out of the temple. He looked haunted and his near omnipresent smile was greatly faded, like a red cloth left outside too long. His eyes, however, burned. Burned with an intense hatred, the kind of flame that let Nero play the fiddle while Rome burned. The light in Cleopatra’s eye as she dispatched her brother to claim his throne. The light in Mary, Queen of Scots eye as she drank a goblet of blood during the executions of numerous protestants that refused to convert to Catholicism. The fire of Wrath. The fire of Acceptable Losses. The fire of Vengeance. The flame that acted as a symbol of the truly ruthless.
That fire burned in Carl’s eye now, as he had only one goal in life now: the utter defeat of Cthulhu, his forces, and especially to destroy Ink’s soul, no matter the personal cost. Lonnie saw Carl standing by the rickety shack-like house while Krang sat in the rocking chair with his eyes closed, simply enjoying nature. Ghallorican clapped as they walked out and smiled as they each stepped forward. He handed them slips of paper with pencils.
“As promised, I will grant one minor wish each. On the back of the slip of paper is the fine print detailing the wish parameters. To invoke the wish, all you need do is write it out on this slip of paper and I shall grant it as writ
ten. It’s been a business doing pleasure with you folks, but if you’ll excuse me, I have a number of irons in the fire and I’m late for an appointment. Ciao, bitches!” With that, a shrieking, sparking barrier to some eldritch realm formed and the Elder God of Deals left the plane.
“You lot smell terrible. Let’s get you showered, fed, and you can tell me all about it,” Carl said as he opened the door to the shack and summoned his mansion.
Chapter Five
Lonnie watched the cargo helicopter come in for landing, the back end opening up and revealing the floor was covered with dirt. It was his least favorite part of his curse. When Christ had murmured that he’d walk the Earth forever, he wasn’t kidding. Planes, cars, boats…didn’t matter. They had to contain dirt in the main areas, and Lonnie had to at least sit on said dirt. Should he leave the dirt, the means of conveyance would immediately cease functioning. Planes would fall out of the sky until he got back onto the dirt, boats would stop right where they were as though they were anchored, sail boats wouldn’t move no matter how heavy the seas, cars would stall out.
He shook his head and looked over at Carl. “So. Germany.” Lonnie smiled as he watched Carl’s group head for their own helicopter that would take them to the airship nearby. “Don’t forget our deal. On the 21st of December, I’ll be in New York. And, you had better be there. Spear. Heart. Kill me.”
Carl smirked tiredly. “I’ll be sure to bring a camera to get the look on your face,” Carl promised as he turned to look at his group. They had come a long way in such a short time, had grown into a cohesive unit, willing to bleed for each other. They’d also seen more combat in a few months than most elite military units did in as many years. He looked back over his shoulder. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ve got to be getting back to the forties. Fucking Nazis.”
“Fucking Nazis indeed. Safe journeys, Carl. I look forward to our appointment on the 21st. Until then.” Longinus shook hands with Carl, then rested his spear across his shoulders and strolled over to his helicopter, whistling tonelessly as he walked up the ramp and onto the dirt.
Carl lit a cigarette, noting the flames from his finger were a bit darker than usual. He shrugged and savored the rich taste of the black cigarette as he joined his people in the helicopter to the airship which would complete the journey to their next port of call, Berlin. The airship flew over the steppes of Mongolia as they journeyed west at flank speed, traveling at one and a half times the speed of a conventional passenger plane. The Carrier could go faster, but it’s support craft would have been left behind. And, after what happened to the Crowley, the Church wasn’t willing to risk another ambush.
The demons, on the other hand, were willing to risk it. Which is why, six days later, the airfleet limped into Berlin airspace, the crews aboard the remaining ships on a hair trigger. Carl rubbed his red-rimmed eyes, the bags under which were a dark enough green to almost look black. He shook his head and patted Cenere on the shoulder, waking him up. “I’m up! Where are the little…oh, hey, Carl.”
“Welcome to Berlin. Get the gang together and meet me in what’s left of hangar six. We’re jumping off this crate.”
Cenere groaned as he sat up. “Carl, I’m really starting to hate flying with you. We always end up having to bail out of the plane, and just once I’d like to fly first class without getting shot at, blown up, chewed on, or burned up. Just once! With the little peanuts, and the free drinks, and…a decent night’s sleep would be nice.”
Carl stared at him impassively. “Quit yer bitchin’. You’re starting to sound like Jin.”
Cenere stood up with the most affronted look possible on his face, opened his mouth to curse, and found he just didn’t have the words. He then spun on his heel and stalked off to go find the others. Carl laughed as he lit a smoke and stared at the flame coming from his thumb.
The green had been getting darker by the day, forcing himself to put on a brave face just to get through the day. Life had become bleak, pointless. He shook his head and took a deep drag on his smoke. That kind of thinking lead to madness and bad haircuts. Or worse, writing grim poetry and listening to The Cure in the dark.
He got to Hangar 6 at roughly the same time as his minions, and they looked out through a massive breach in the exterior bulkhead into the morning gloom. Down below was a huge gray mass on the tarmac…a huge gray mass of goose-stepping, undead Nazis. Carl’s teeth began to itch again. “I'm really getting tired of all these undead tossers. I really hope this is the last bloody time we go faffing about with these gobshites. Alright, let’s get this over with.”
Jin scratched his head, shrugged, the jumped out of the hole in the bulkhead without a chute, his clothes disappearing as he shifted into his draconic form and circled around. Zeke jumped out without a chute as well, Jin immediately grabbing the lizard on the wing, the pair laughing with glee and murdering zeds down below. Carl leapt into the open air after donning a chute and drew his trusty 10mm, thumbing the rune to autofire and unleashing Hell upon the zeds below as he screamed a challenging battle cry.
Camilla kissed the tiefling soundly on the lips, then winked at him. “Fer luck.” She then jumped out into the dark and began cackling as she wove hexes at the enemy. Sachi rubbed her eyes, looking more haggard than usual, but smiled at Cenere as she double checked her straps then joined the others in freefall. Cenere flicked his wrists and a pair of silver knives appeared in each hand. He smiled darkly as he flung himself into the howling winds, activating his pendant to give him extra impetus as he flew towards the ground, taking the time to goose Camilla as he zipped past, her cry of faux indignation lost in the howling wind and Cenere’s delighted laughter.
The zeds below howled in exultation as the group came down onto the ruined tarmac among the ruined hulks of fighter jets and the bloodied pavement, the pilots caught off guard and slaughtered by the surprise incursion of the undead. The zeds had come from a portal from a bunker in Argentina and had made short work of the combined military and civilian airport. The airstrip, of course, was not their target, but the hidden R&D lab several hundred feet below the asphalt, an armored complex under anti-scry and anti-portal wards that prevented the zeds from simply popping in unannounced.
Carl looked through the crowd and saw four lichs he knew a little too well. His eyes turned red as he began slowly walking across the tarmac, caving skulls and spraying lead at those foolish enough to approach him. A throwing knife flew past his ear, and an irritated grunt came from behind him; that was enough warning to dodge the scimitar that threatened to give him a new hole to breathe through.
His blood truly began to boil when he heard a familiar, silky voice titter as its owner took another swing. Carl’s baton came up and blocked the swing, and he turned to glare at the Demon Prince that had tried to take his head off.
“Carl! How good to see you again. I hope you don’t mind, but I came to your house while you were out. I must say, your wife and daughter were quite…entertaining for me and my friends. Your daughter was a particularly fun hostess.” The ruined face smiled at Carl with a feral look in her eye.
Carl’s rage grew cold as something snapped within him. His eyes turned black, and he dropped his weapons. His hands became wreathed in Hellfire, a darker shade still than the flame he used to light his cigarette on the airship. His perception of time seemed to slow, and he could see the bitch in front of him strain to swing her weapon as Carl entered a state of epiphany.
He grabbed the sword as it bore down on his neck like it was standing still, then he took a single step forward. He noted momentarily that the flames were darkening as he swung his fist for Ink’s face, becoming a true black as his knuckles smashed into her face, the blow causing her face to sizzle. Time returned to normal speed as Ink fell to the ground, clutching her face in agony. Dark smoke curled up from the sizzling flesh, the bone underneath blackening as her eye burst, the contents flashboiled.
Carl stared at his fist a moment, noting the true-black of the flames that wrapp
ed themselves around his fists. Ink staggered to her feet and looked at the brittle blade of her scimitar, then back to Carl. “I…I enjoyed my time with your daughter.” Ink's ruined face twisted into a defiant smile despite the terror in her remaining eye.
Carl’s expression was completely placid, calm. He dodged the pitiful attempt to wound him then batted the blade away, the ruined blade shattering from the blow. Ink backed away, trying to get away from Carl as he slowly advanced. She snarled and threw a fireball at the relentless orc, only to flinch fearfully as he batted that away too, sending the ball careening into the face of a zed that leaped at Carl’s back, the zombie instantly disintegrated by the ball of superheated aether.
Ink grabbed a zombie and threw it in Carl’s path in an attempt to stop or distract him. Carl’s fists sizzled their way through the zed, igniting the undead corpses gasses in a violent explosion. Ink’s face still burned, and she hissed in agonized fury before she looked back up with her good eye.
Carl stood, largely unharmed, his arms wreathed in the black fire up to his biceps. Ink turned and ran screaming away from Carl who threw a gout of the black flame at her legs, causing the left to come off at the knee, the stump sizzling violently as the removed limb burned, twitching on the ground. Zombies made room for Carl to step forward, balking at the presence of something scarier than the Demon Prince at their feet.
