The End of Everything Forever

by Eirik Gumeny

  “This,” snarled Quetzalcoatl, leaning into the face of Chester A. Arthur XVII, “ends now.”

  “Like fuck it does, you maniacal assclown,” shouted Queen Victoria XXX, struggling to remove Quetzalcoatl’s tail from atop her legs.

  The Aztec god punched the sidewalk, the concrete splitting into a dozen or so pointed pieces. He grabbed one and plunged the shard into the queen’s abdomen. She roared in agony.

  “No,” said Quetzalcoatl. “No more.”

  “Oh my god,” said Catrina, wriggling beneath the snake-man, “we’ve got to –”

  “Get her medical attention? Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I burned or knocked down every hospital within three miles,” the snake-man explained with a shrug. “I get bored.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Hell Hath No Fury

  “You fucking cocksucker,” spat Queen Victoria XXX.

  “Yeah, that’ll help, honey,” replied Quetzalcoatl, still leaning over the trio. “Maybe you should try to think of something a little more family-friendly for your epitaph.”

  The reconstituted British queen, her legs still pinned beneath Quetzalcoatl’s tail, pulled the cement spike out of her gut.

  “OK, uh ...” stammered Quetzalcoatl, his menacing glare momentarily replaced by a look of confusion. “I wasn’t aware anyone else here had any otherworldly immortal-person powers.”

  “I don’t,” growled Queen Victoria XXX, one hand holding the spike, the other holding her leather jacket over the geyser of blood trying to erupt from the wound from which she’d yanked the spike. “I’m bleeding to death and it hurts like a motherfucking bitch. But, god powers or no –”

  “– Vicky is a vessel of fury and rage the likes of which you have never seen,” continued Chester A. Arthur XVII, with far too smug a look on his face for someone with a giant snake resting on his chest.

  Queen Victoria XXX stabbed Quetzalcoatl in the eye with the sidewalk splinter, bringing her arm around with enough force to shove the spike through the back of his skull. The Aztec god screamed and reeled backward, freeing the president, the queen, and the girl. His snake tail twitched convulsively across the pavement.

  “Holy FUCK, that fucking hurts,” barked Quetzalcoatl, absently grabbing for the concrete shard. “I really hope you don’t have the HIV.”

  “Me too,” said Thor, smacking the man part of the snake-man upside the head with a sledgehammer.

  “Fucking hell, man!” spat Quetzalcoatl, squinting from his one good eye, blood beginning to dribble from his mouth. “Where the shit did you come from?”

  “Convention let out early. Steve the electrician says hi.” Thor swung the sledgehammer upward, catching the Aztec by the chin and knocking him backward.

  “Thor!” said Catrina, running up and embracing him.

  “Catrina,” said Thor, placing an arm around her. “How we doin’?”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure Vicky’s bleeding to death and Charlie’s not quite as pretty as he used to be, oh, and Timmy’s an astronaut now, but, otherwise, y’know, OK.”

  “Your definition of OK leaves a lot to be desired,” said Quetzalcoatl, regaining his ground and darting forward, taking a swing at Thor. The thunder god huddled his body around Catrina, ducking the both of them out of the way. Chester A. Arthur XVII appeared over them and hit the snake god across the face with a large slab of sidewalk, sending him reeling backward.

  “Nobody gives a shit what you have to say, asshole,” said Chester A. Arthur XVII, lunging forward and once again bringing the square of concrete down over Quetzalcoatl’s brutalized head, “and your snake half looks like ... a giant penis.”

  “Hey, that is kind of fun,” he added.

  “Told you,” said Thor.

  “By no pounds or Indians will some photosynthesizing chimp-neighbor buy up all my property, no ma’am,” muttered Quetzalcoatl, slowly picking himself off the ground once again. He ripped the concrete spike from his eye.

  “Is he insulting us or having a stroke?” asked Chester A. Arthur XVII, stepping backward towards the rest of the group.

  “I don’t know,” said Thor, shaking his head, “and I don’t really care.” He nodded to a pile of power tools and construction equipment by the curb. “I brought presents.”

  “I call the chainsaw!” said Catrina.

  “Damn it,” said Chester A. Arthur XVII and Queen Victoria XXX simultaneously.

  “Oh, man,” said the tiny woman, picking up the chainsaw, “this thing is heavier than I thought.”

  “Then let me take it,” said the cloned president, looking sadly at the nail-gun in his hand.

  “Why?” countered the reconstituted queen. “‘cause you’re a man and she’s just a little girl?”

  “What? No, that’s not –”

  “Then what, Charlie? What are you –”

  The president looked at the hotel employee, struggling to start the gas-powered saw. “I’m just saying,” he said, “I’ve – we, we, you and me – have more experience in –”

  “She’s never going to learn if you keep treating her like –”

  “I’m not treating her like anything! I was simply –”

  “Hey, can you guys hurry up?” asked Thor, taking a series of punches to the jaw from Quetzalcoatl. The former thunder god retaliated by kicking Quetzalcoatl in the crotch, only to realize that Quetzalcoatl didn’t have a crotch. The Aztec snake god shoved the off-balance Thor to the side.

  “Chocolate-coated peanuts!” shouted the winged snake-man.

  “Oh no,” said Queen Victoria XXX, “I think we broke him.”

  Quetzalcoatl lunged at the queen. She sidestepped his attack and hit him in the back of the head with a pair of crowbars. The snake god staggered slightly from the blow, long enough for Chester A. Arthur XVII to fire the nail-gun into his neck repeatedly.

  “Son of a quidditch!” Quetzalcoatl swung blindly behind him. Chester A. Arthur XVII dodged easily, then grabbed the Aztec god’s hand and nailed it to the lower part of his back, beneath his spastically flapping wings. Queen Victoria XXX began beating Quetzalcoatl repeatedly across the face with the crowbars.

  “Puppies,” the god roared, “all of you!”

  Quetzalcoatl extended his wings, knocking down both the president and the queen and hovering several feet in the air. He dove toward Chester A. Arthur XVII, only to catch a sledgehammer from Thor with his teeth. The snake god spun backwards from the blow, one of his wings snapping painfully and incorrectly against the ground. Groaning, Quetzalcoatl rolled across the pavement and landed against an upturned slab of sidewalk. Chester A. Arthur XVII scrambled to his feet and fired the nail gun into Quetzalcoatl’s shoulders, arms, and wings, pinning him to the slab.

  “Catrina, take his head off,” ordered the president. “Now.”

  The hotel employee pulled the cord urgently and the chainsaw roared to life. Still carrying it unsteadily, she took a step toward the frothing Aztec snake god.

  “OK, maybe, uh ... maybe you were right,” she said. “I don’t know if I really feel comfortable doing this.”

  “Fine, whatever, I’ll do it,” said Chester A. Arthur XVII.

  “Why –” started Queen Victoria XXX.

  “Because I’m closer, Vicky!” replied the president, shouting over his shoulder as he ran toward Catrina. “This is not the god damned time for this.”

  “Thanks,” said Catrina, carefully offering the chainsaw to the presidential clone.

  Chester A. Arthur XVII reached out his hand, but Quetzalcoatl’s tail wrapped itself around the president’s legs before he could grab the saw. The snake god slammed the clone into a concrete bench repeatedly, before tossing the sideburned man into a pile of rubble – and onto an exposed piece of metal.

  “Charlie!” cried out Queen Victoria XXX, in the brief moment before she was completely overtaken by unceasing wrath. The queen turned and charged at the still-pinned Quetzalcoatl, slashing her crowbars across the Aztec god’s face and tearing a gas
h along his cheek. She twirled the crowbars in her hands, adjusting her grip, and drove them both deep into Quetzalcoatl’s chest.

  The Aztec snake god howled, then swung his tail back around, catching Queen Victoria XXX at the knees. She twisted horizontally, began falling. In that same instant, Quetzalcoatl snapped his tail, changing its direction and whipping it across the queen’s torso, slashing her chest before she’d even hit the ground.

  Then she did, hard.

  Thor stepped quickly toward Quetzalcoatl, the sledgehammer raised over his shoulder. The Aztec god, wary of another blow to the face, picked up Queen Victoria XXX from the sidewalk and hurled her directly at Thor. The former God of Thunder checked his swing and attempted to catch the queen, the two of them dropping to the ground in a tangle.

  Quetzalcoatl struggled again to free himself from the sidewalk into which he was nailed, absentmindedly thrashing his tail at Catrina in the process.

  “Oh, shit,” she said, lifting the chainsaw at the incoming tail.

  Catrina held her ground, the teeth of the saw tearing into the writhing tail, but it was a futile defense. Quetzalcoatl managed to wriggle loose from the slab of concrete and immediately darted to the young woman’s side, grabbing the hotel employee by the neck. He lifted her a foot off the ground. The chainsaw dropped; she began clawing at the hand clamped around her throat.

  “I am going to murder you ... and your children ... and your goats.”

  “Put her down,” boomed Thor, picking up his sledgehammer and limping toward Quetzalcoatl.

  “You rock-skulled, rooster-smoking sack of liquids,” replied the snake-man, “when are you going to learn? You can’t kill me. I’m a god.”

  “Funny story,” said Thor, tilting his head and cracking his neck, “so am I.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Ragnarok & Roll

  Thor charged at Quetzalcoatl and, careful to avoid damaging the still-struggling Catrina, struck the Aztec god in between the eyes with the sledgehammer. Quetzalcoatl just looked at him. Thor hit him a few more times.

  The snake god remained unimpressed.

  “Nope,” he said, shaking his head genially. Quetzalcoatl lifted Catrina higher, squeezing his fingers tighter around her neck. She began coughing and kicking her legs frantically. “Still gonna kill her.”

  “No,” said Thor, “you’re not.”

  The sky darkened as roiling, black clouds overtook the sun. A colossal crack of thunder echoed off what remained of the casino’s walls, shaking the ground.

  “Oh, no fucking way,” said Quetzalcoatl, eyes upward.

  A bolt of lightning tore through the sky, striking Quetzalcoatl square in the skull. He began shaking, sizzling, like a cartoon cat. Catrina fell from his grasp. The snake god crumpled to the ground in a smoking heap.

  “Holy shit, Thor,” said Catrina, stumble-running towards him, “was –”

  “Verily.”

  “But how? I thought –”

  “Anything that prick can do,” replied Thor, “I can do better.”

  “Yeah, well,” mumbled Quetzalcoatl, shaking his head, picking himself off the ground yet again and coiling his tail to strike, “anything I can do that you can do better ... I can do best.”

  “Yeah,” said Thor, “I kind of doubt that.”

  Catrina jumped to the side as Quetzalcoatl lunged at Thor. The thunder god hit him in the shoulder with the sledgehammer, shattering bone and sending the snake god sprawling sideways across the ground. Quetzalcoatl immediately launched himself at Thor again, but the Norseman caught him in the throat with his elbow.

  Quetzalcoatl fell backwards, choking, his one good hand clasping at his throat. Thor stepped calmly forward and swung the sledgehammer sideways, striking the snake god in the jaw, spinning and disorienting him. Thor capitalized on his confusion and began pummeling the snake-man mercilessly, lightning assaulting the Aztec god with each strike of the sledgehammer. Quetzalcoatl swung blindly and thrashed futilely throughout the onslaught, never quite regaining his bearings, before a final blow to the square of his back sent Quetzalcoatl crumbling to the ground.

  The snake-god, sputtering, began trying to crawl away.

  Thor stepped in front of him, gripped the sledgehammer with both hands and lifted it over his head. Then, he swung the hammer down onto Quetzalcoatl’s grey-haired head with all his might. The accompanying thunder shattered windows and took down a small wall; the bolt of lightning set the surrounding sidewalk on fire.

  And then the sky cracked open.

  “Oh, crap,” said Thor, looking up.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  The End

  Queen Victoria XXX, bleeding from a few places, some corpse’s Oxford tied around her abdomen, staggered over to Chester A. Arthur XVII and helped free him from the metal spike gouged through the rightmost part of his chest, between his shoulder and his ribs.

  “You all right?” she asked, kneeling beside him and gently helping to lift him.

  “More than likely. I’m pretty sure it’s not entirely fatal,” said Chester A. Arthur XVII, wincing as he was removed from the exposed reinforcement bar, blood caking his face. He put a hand over the wound. “How about you?”

  “I’ll live,” she said, tearing a sleeve from her pilfered shirt and trying to knot a tourniquet around his wound. “I don’t think he got anything important.”

  “But, your boobs,” asked the president, looking to the queen’s gashed cleavage.

  “They’ll be fine, Charlie,” she replied. She put a hand on his cheek, tilted her head. “I can’t say the same about your nose, though.”

  “Is that going to be a problem?”

  The cloned royal shrugged. “Eh. It never did much for me. Maybe now it’ll be ‘roguishly crooked.’”

  “You always did have a thing for Harrison Ford.”

  Queen Victoria XXX smiled. She lifted the cloned president’s good arm and put it around her shoulder, the two of them attempting to stand. They made a valiant effort. The queen and the president got about halfway to vertical before falling backwards and landing on their respective asses.

  “Maybe we should just sit here for –”

  “Yeah.”

  Queen Victoria XXX and Chester A. Arthur XVII sat there, ignoring their crippling pain and their oozing wounds and surveying the crumbling wreckage of the city. The pair watched the blood pool around Quetzalcoatl’s neck-stump and tried to find and count the pieces of his extremely shattered skull.

  Eventually, the task proving as impossible – and boring – as counting the stars, the royal replica asked: “Wait, where’s Billy? And Phil? And the scientists?”

  William H. Taft XLII and Phil Thompson, after having dispersed the hobo army, had decided to rejoin their comrades in the dispatching of Quetzalcoatl. Before they could enter the fray, however, the two men came across a clutch of non-burning prostitutes trapped within a burning building. All hopped-up on being the good guys, the president and the philosopher rescued the hookers from the building – a decent percentage of them, anyway – and brought the women to safety.

  They were still being rewarded for their heroism.

  The scientists, however, having been less than useful in both the dispersal of the philosopher army and the saving of the prostitutes, were not being rewarded. They were, nevertheless, still with Phil, William H. Taft XLII, and the hookers, just watching.

  Judy, especially, felt that was reward enough.

  “I hope they’re OK,” said Queen Victoria XXX.

  “Really?”

  “Sure. I’m not a monster, Charlie.”

  “Hm,” he agreed. Then: “Where’s the helicopter?”

  The helicopter was where they had left it.

  “What’s that matter? It’s not like we can fly it without a pilot.”

  “Sure we can.”

  “You can fly a helicopter?”

  “Well, no,” replied Chester A. Arthur XVII. “But I’m a quick study.”

  “You’re
an idiot, Charlie.”

  Queen Victoria XXX kissed Chester A. Arthur XVII, and then, each supporting the other one, the cloned world leaders lifted themselves from the ground with a deep breath and a heave and only a modicum of bodily torment.

  They were staggering back toward the helicopter when Catrina approached them.

  “You guys OK?”

  “We will be,” said Queen Victoria XXX. “We’re going to take the helicopter and find some help.”

  “Good idea,” replied Catrina. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” said Chester A. Arthur XVII. “We’ll swing back here when we’re done. If you’re already gone, we’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

  “Do you ever turn off?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  “No,” replied Chester A. Arthur XVII with a smile.

  Catrina waved at the president and the queen as they limped away. As they disappeared into the alley across from the Excalibur, Catrina turned to look for Thor.

  The thunder god was standing in the middle of the empty avenue, a canyon of collapsing casinos on either side of him, leaning on his sledgehammer and staring at the roiling hole in the heavens. Catrina walked up to him.

  “Well, shit,” she said, also looking at the broken sky.

  “Yup,” said Thor.

  “So, uh, assuming you’re right,” said Catrina, crowding closer to him, “what happens now?”

  Thor put his arm around her and shrugged.

  “The end of everything, I guess.”

  EPILOGUE

  Thor, God of Terrible Predictions

  “Hi, this is room 218. Can I have a few more pillows sent up?”

  “Why? Were the pillows missing?”

  “What? No, no. I’d just like a few more pillows.”