Armageddon Bound ds-1

by Tim Marquitz

My mind ran in circles, the hamsters trying their best to keep up.

  “What’s in it for me?” he repeated.

  “Your ass is what’s in it for you. Maybe you no speakie engrish, but I didn’t think it was all that hard a concept to grasp.”

  Marcus growled and stepped forward. Baalth waved him back.

  “Oh, I understand all right,” he countered. “I just don’t see anything in it for me. Asmoday is just one demon amongst thousands gunning for me.” He tapped the folder. “You haven’t given me anything I didn’t already know. So, why should I step up and fight Asmoday when I can step aside and let you do all the work then clean up the mess afterwards?”

  I have to admit, he had me stumped. Despite all the time I’d spent around demons, it never ceased to amaze me just how low they’d stoop to come out on top. “I’ll keep Scarlett off your ass,” I blurted out, my brain finally engaging.

  Baalth just laughed. “You plan to do that already. You can’t have her waging war on me because you need Page 31 me at full strength to fight Asmoday.”

  I muttered a few unkind words under my breath. It only made Baalth smile wider and Marcus turn a deeper shade of red. “What’s it gonna take to get you onboard, you know, considering it’s your life on the line and all?”

  “It’s all of our lives, Frank,” Baalth corrected.

  “You keep forgetting I’m a demon. I have no problem with Armageddon coming to pass. It’s a minor inconvenience, all things considered.”

  Even though I knew he was lying, it wasn’t in my best interest to call him on it. “Fine. So, what do you want?”

  “I’m thinking a favor, to be collected at a later date.”

  Damn demons. It’s always about the favors. Spend enough time around these guys and you’ll owe them your nuts, if you’re lucky. “I don’t think that’s gonna work. I guess we’re done.” I turned and stormed toward the door.

  “Such theatrics. I’m sure we can work something out, Triggaltheron.”

  I hated when demons used my given name. It made me feel all icky inside, like I had a bad case of worms. I turned back and glared at Baalth.

  “Come now, it’ll be a minor favor. I won’t ask you to betray your comrades or anything of that nature,”

  Baalth cooed. “Imagine how disappointed Abraham will be when you return to DRAC empty-handed.”

  I could. “You’re a bastard.” I stuck my hand out for the contract.

  As cliched as it seemed, contracts were what brought order to the chaos of the Demonarch, the demon world. Signed in blood, a contract between demons or devils was as binding as they came. Fail to meet the terms of the deal and your soul was forfeit, its energy devoured and added to that of the contract holder.

  To a demon the level of Baalth, these little deals were more of a formality than a means to gaining true power. My soul to him was like a drop in a bucket when it came to magical energy. But for the little guys like me, these deals were like playing the lottery. While the offer was always stacked in the favor of the dealmaker, the contract worked both ways. If the contract holder defaulted, the signatory had every right to claim the holder’s soul and all the power that came with it. That was the hope that burgeoned every time I signed one of these damn things. With that kind of energy, I’d finally be able to cast magic just like the rest of the big boys. Baalth pulled a sheaf of papers from a desk drawer and passed them to Poe. He in turn handed them to me. I sighed as I looked them over, the text as obscure and legally confusing as any written by the most sadistic of human lawyers. Fortunately, I’d seen my fair share of demonic contracts. While far from ideal-they never were-the terms of the agreement were just what Baalth had laid out. I could live with them.

  I growled, then bit the palm of my hand until it bled. Once I had a little pool going, I bent my wrist to let it run down across my fingers. I flipped my hand over and pressed it down on the contract, making sure I left a clear mark. Once I was done, Poe took the signed contract and handed me a small towel. I used it to clean off the remaining blood, the wound already closing.

  “Then we are agreed,” Baalth said as he took possession of the contract.

  I nodded. At least I got what I came for, no matter how much I’ll likely regret it later. “Pleasure gettin’ fucked by you.” Ready to go, I pointed to my gear. “Mind passing me my piece?”

  Marcus laughed. I noticed he did that a lot when he had the upper hand. It was kind of petty. Baalth picked my gun up and examined it. “No, I think I’m going to hang onto it, just to be on the safe side.” He winked at me.

  “You motherfu-” The word caught in my throat as Baalth pointed my gun at me.

  I hadn’t wanted to get shot by Marcus because it’d hurt, plain and simple. But I’d survive it. That wouldn’t be the case if Baalth shot me. Unlike Marcus’s bullets, mine weren’t made by humans. Crafted by a lesser angel and demon pair in the employ of DRAC, each was empowered with a drop of holy and unholy blood. Blessed and cursed, this made the bullets anathematic to angels, demons, and devil alike. In layman’s terms, they’d blast a big hole in me that I couldn’t heal without magical assistance. As it stood, I was perfectly content with the holes I already had.

  “No need for violence. You can keep it.” I raised my hands and took a step back. I did my best to smile and look gracious. I doubt I was very successful. I could picture myself looking like Johnny Depp in those pirate movies of his, only not quite so swishy. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve nothing against effeminate men, but seriously, a pretty little fellow like that has got to be careful. One minute it’s Pirates of the Caribbean, the next it’s Sodomy on the Bounty, know what I mean? Besides, how are you gonna swing a sword effectively with wrists like that?

  “How generous of you,” Marcus barked, snapping me back to reality as he pointed to the door.

  “Time to go, Trigg.”

  I looked to Baalth who just nodded. So, with no reason to hang around and risk making things worse, I headed for the exit. At the door, I pulled it open and started through. Baalth called to me as I did.

  “Any word from your uncle?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Why? You worried I’m gonna tell on you?”

  “Hardly. I’m just curious to know if he’s been in touch.”

  “Have no doubt, if Lucifer were to return, you’d be one of the very first to know. I’d make sure of that.”

  I left it at that and slammed the door behind me. I walked swiftly down the hall and slipped past the curtain. The fat shopkeeper glared at me as I made my way out the front door. I ignored him. Once outside, I let loose a whistling sigh. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath.

  Wanting to put some distance between Baalth and myself, I crossed the street and headed a couple of blocks over. I wanted to avoid the shopkeepers as well. Alone on a deserted side street, I finally relaxed a bit as I headed toward downtown to retrieve my car. That’s when I heard the muffled sound of a vehicle coming up from behind, moving too slow to be passing traffic. I spun around to see a gray van idling a short distance down the street, a long-haired guy at the wheel. The side door had been pulled open and two more longhairs crouched inside and though the music had been turned down, I could still hear the muffled thunder of metal. It was Deicide this time. How ironic.

  I met the gazes of the crouching Black Metallers as they neared. There was mischief in their gaunt faces. I shook my head and slowed my pace. If they were here to play, I was in the mood to oblige them.

  Blast from the Past

  I stopped as the van pulled up on my left side. I turned to face the longhairs with a smile.

  “Something I can do for you boys?”

  The two in the back hopped out as the driver put the van in park and stepped out, moving around the hood to join his friends. They all looked the same, with their black biker jackets covered in spikes and satanic patches. Each had on a different concert T-shirt proudly proclaiming their lack of Christian ethics, and each wore too tight black jeans with
steel-toed stomper boots. They also wore the same slightly pointed goatee and narrow mustache. It was hard to tell them apart. Individualism gone astray.

  “Eenie, Meenie, and Meinie.” I counted them out. “Where’s Moe?”

  Their only response was to smile; a trinity of yellowed grins, which would have made any selfrespecting dentist cringe. Before I could say anything else, the driver pulled a boot knife out and took a step toward me, waving the blade. His friends retrieved their weapons from inside the back of the van. The first pulled out a short sword, the second a small spear. They joined the first in his advance.

  It was my turn to laugh. “C’mon guys, you really want to do this? Trust me when I say Satan isn’t going to be impressed.”

  Eenie, the driver, responded with violence. He lunged in and slashed at my chest. Instinct took over. I whipped my arm up to block the shot, catching the blade flush on my forearm as I prepared my counter. I felt the blade bite into my flesh. I had expected that. What I didn’t expect was how much it hurt. I heard a sizzle as the knife cut into me. A searing pain shot up the length of my arm, all the way to my shoulder. Flashes of light danced before my eyes. I stumbled back, clutching my arm as the driver stood there laughing. I hadn’t paid any mind to the weapon when he’d waved it in my face, but now all of my attention was focused on it. It was no ordinary knife. Carved down the length of the blade were runes, symbols of power. I looked at the other weapons and they too, had runes set into them. I realized this wasn’t just some random act of violence. It was a hit.

  “Who sent you?” I asked, stalling for time. It sure would have been nice to have my gun. Fucking Baalth. Eenie took a step closer, ignoring the question. He waved Meenie and Meinie forward. “Kill him!”

  Shit! I pushed away the pain and moved into the street toward the back of the van, hoping to put its bulk between us to slow their advance. I reached it just as Meinie thrust his spear at me. I sucked my stomach in and the point just missed hitting home, tearing a gash in my hoodie. In response, I pinned its shaft to the hood, then threw a right hook. Meinie turned his head just in time to avoid getting hit on the chin, but I caught him hard on the ear.

  He fell into his buddies, blocking their approach, though he managed to pull his spear free. As it slid past, the blade caught my hand, slicing deep into the palm. I cried out as I felt its magic burning its way through my veins.

  I fought back the urge to vomit and stumbled around the back of the van. Meinie sat in the street shaking his head to clear it while Eenie circled around the hood of the van to approach me from the driver’s side. Meanwhile, Meenie timed his advance so he and Eenie could come at me from both sides at the same time. Unarmed and wounded, things didn’t look good for me. I looked down the deserted business street, but there was no way I could make it around the corner before they were on me.

  The two longhairs closed in as my mind scrambled to think of a way out. I stared straight at the van’s double doors as I watched the two in my peripheral vision. Just then, an idea sprang to mind. As they reached the back of the van, I leaned forward and grabbed the latch of the back door. Fortunately for me, it was unlocked. I popped it open and swung it to my left with all my might. The door slammed into Eenie with a resounding thud. He crumpled. One down. I spun to face Meenie, but he was faster. I heard the whistle of the short sword right before it struck me. I bit back my scream as the blade cut a quarter-inch deep groove down the length of my spine. I was lucky. Had Meenie been an experienced swordsman instead of just some Dungeons and Dragons wannabe, I’d have been dead.

  Not interested in giving him another chance to get it right, I spun on him. I locked up his sword arm and used my weight to swing him around and slam him into the closed back door of the van. In tight, I managed to get one of my hands on his neck, my fingers locking around his throat. I kicked his feet out from underneath him and rode his skull into the bumper, putting all two hundred fifty pounds of my weight into it. It hit with a sickening thump. I saw his eyes roll back in his head as his body went limp.

  Before I had a chance to grab the sword, Meinie charged at me. I stepped out of the way and matadored him past me, using his own momentum against him. He tumbled into a roll and got to his feet. I chose the better part of valor as I heard Eenie moaning behind me as he crept to his feet. I bolted around the open back door, past the slow-rising Eenie, and ran to the front of the van. Meinie realized what I intended and let out a string of creative curses as he raced after me. Not waiting for him to catch up, I slipped into the driver’s seat and let out a hysterical laugh when I found the keys still in the ignition. I turned it over and the van roared to life. I popped it into gear and stomped the gas. The wheels dug in with a squeal and the van shot down the road. It just wasn’t quick enough for a clean getaway.

  Meinie caught the edge of the sliding door and managed to get his feet onto the small step below it, coming along for the ride. I could see his deranged grin in the passenger side mirror, his feral eyes locked on the reflection of mine.

  I swerved the van back and forth, making him focus on hanging on rather than climbing inside. I kept my foot on the gas and hurtled down the street getting as far away from the other two as I could. Once I felt confident they couldn’t catch up, I swung the van around a corner as sharply as I dared. The wheels screeched in complaint and the van shuddered, but I’d accomplished what I wanted. The side door slid shut, catching Meinie’s hands in between it and the frame. He shrieked in agony as the door locked with a metallic click, crushing his fingers. His feet slipped from the step and bounced along the asphalt as I dragged him along. After a few spiteful seconds, I slowed the van and turned into an alley. I rode alongside a dumpster and turned the van into it, pressing Meinie into its metal side, wedging him between it and the van. I could hear his ribs snap inside his chest. He gurgled in complaint, Page 41 nearly unconscious. That’s when I stopped. Ignoring my own pain, my wounds still burning, I climbed out and walked around to have a chat with Meinie, his head angled toward the front of the van. I lifted his chin so we could see eye to eye. “Who sent you?”

  His eyes rolled around in their sockets, not quite coherent. I growled and asked him again, digging my fingers into the soft spots under his chin. His eyes came into focus, but just barely. I could see him debating whether or not to tell me. Self-preservation won out.

  “Veronica. It was Veronica,” he gasped, his voice giving out at the end.

  Her name hit me like a gunshot to the gut. I stumbled back, the urge to vomit rearing up once again. I steadied myself against the hood. “Are you serious?”

  He nodded as best he could.

  I hadn’t expected that. I figured Baalth had set me up with his taking my gun and all. I would never have suspected Veronica, seeing how I hadn’t heard from her in twenty years. I know we’d split on some pretty acrimonious terms, but I certainly didn’t think she’d try to kill me. I guess you never truly know a person until they come gunning for you. This was really turning out to be a shitty day. Numb, I turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Meinie choked. “You can’t leave me here.”

  I didn’t even turn to look at him. “You made your bed…now wallow in the wet spot.” I stormed out of the alley, my thoughts whirling a million miles a minute. Around the corner, I looked to make sure Eenie and Meenie hadn’t found me before hurrying as fast as I could toward downtown. I made it there in decent time, despite my oozing, aching wounds. At the car, I dug my keys from my pocket and unlocked the door. I slipped, inside stifling a moan. Motivated by adrenaline and a good dose of pain, I started it up right away and rolled out of the lot, heading for home. I had a lot of thinking to do.

  A Light in the Dark

  I drove the long way home, making random turns here and there to throw off any tails I might have picked up. However paranoid that may sound, it’s a habit, which has kept grief from my doorstep so many times in the past I’ve lost count. It was often enough to make the extra gas spent worth it. Once I felt comfort
able, I aimed the car toward the east side of town, and home. Stiff and sore from the long drive, my wounds screaming the entire way, I pulled onto my block at last. I hit the automatic garage door opener and pulled inside. Out of the car, I went to the inner door and felt the familiar tingle of the scanning mechanism as it washed over me. Identification complete, I stepped into my kitchen. Home sweet home.

  My first stop was the fridge. I pulled it open and snatched a cold beer. I twisted off the top and took a deep swig as I went into the living room, moaning in satisfaction at the first swallow. I’d needed a drink.

  “Rough day?”

  I shrieked like a little girl when I heard the willowy soft voice, but if anyone asks, I’ll lie about it. I fumbled my beer and it fell to the floor, splashing out onto the carpet like a foamy volcano. I ignored it as it certainly wasn’t the first to end up there, and looked to see who’d spoken. Rachelle Knight sat on the couch.

  “Jesus, woman! You can call, you know? What’s the point of having telepaths if you’re gonna pop in uninvited?”

  “I wanted to speak to you in person,” she replied. After a moment’s hesitation, her wide hazel eyes appraising me, she commented, “You look horrible.”

  “Thanks. You too.” That wasn’t actually true. She looked pretty good even though I prefer women with a little more meat on their bones, not to mention a few decades younger. Though not my usual type, Rachelle carried all the grace of a super-model minus the revealing clothes, much to my regret. With no visible flesh of any perverse value to focus on, I dropped into my old recliner and stared at the spreading puddle on my carpet. This day just kept getting worse. Spilled beer and zero cleavage. Was there no mercy? As always, Rachelle seemed a bit lost, vapid. I used to believe it was a side effect of her connection to the supernatural world. Recently, however, I’d come to believe she’d just been a little too experimental back in the sixties. I could picture her at Woodstock, flowers painted on her face, offering the goods up to Jimi Hendrix, looking for an experience.