Ransom For Hire - Appointment In Hell

by Wells, Shawn J

  Ransom swore loudly.

  And swung Romock the Imp at the nearest one.

  The Imp screeched loudly as it connected solidly with the face of the demon. Bones crunched. Black ichor, the stuff that passed for blood in the demon world, spattered everywhere. The demon stopped, stunned, and it was enough for Ransom. He raised his boot in a high kick to the thing’s face, felt more bones crunching, and wrenched the dagger from the things grip with his free hand.

  And buried it to the hilt through the demon’s heart.

  The demon melted into thick goo at Ransom’s feet.

  The other three had advanced on him while all this was happening and Ransom had to roll out of the way to avoid several swipes from those wicked blades.

  The Imp in his hand was screaming through bleeding lips. “No! No! NO! NO!”

  Ransom didn’t have time for this. Or patience.

  Two of the demons came at him in a rush and swung their blades down.

  The Imp made a passable shield, the daggers burying into its belly and sticking there. Ransom shoved towards the two demons, stolen knife blade out, and managed to gut the one on his right, sending it falling to the floor trying to gather together its insides as it bled out. The other one was still trying to pry its dagger out of Romock as Ransom pushed back against it.

  The remaining demon that Lan Protegux had called forth came at Ransom from behind. He saw it just in time and ducked to his right as its blade came in. The sharp edge of it grazed his left arm and continued on to pierce through the chest of its fellow demon.

  The knife in its chest confused the demon. It stopped trying to pull its blade out of Romock the Imp, and felt at the blood pouring down its body from the wound. And then it fell dead, dissolving into the thick goo of dissolving flesh that marked the death of all demon-kind.

  The demon who had just slain one of its own stopped in shock, its black eyes wide.

  “Killed one of your own,” Ransom said to it with a small shake of his head. “What circle of Hell does that land you in?”

  And then he rammed his twisted dagger up into the demon’s throat, hard enough that the point stuck out through the top of the thing’s head. The blade became caught in the demon’s skull. The thing splashed to a puddle of muck at Ransom’s feet.

  Yuck, Ransom thought to himself. He hated Hell. For so many reasons.

  Three demons dissolving into goo. One dying on the floor with its black organs spilling out around it. And a bloodied and broken Imp, a dagger still caught in its body. Ransom couldn’t tell if the little creature in his fist was alive still or dead and he really didn’t care at that moment. He tossed Romock to the floor and rounded on Lan Protegux.

  The demon backhanded Ransom across the face. Those muscularly framed arms carried a lot of force and Ransom fell backward onto his ass, his head spinning and his ears ringing, as Lan Protegux stalked toward him.

  From the inside pocket of his long coat ransom pulled out his own dagger with the blue jewel in its tip. “Carish-lae-nok,” he breathed.

  The dagger flew from his hand and imbedded itself in Lan Protegux’ neck.

  The demon pitched forward onto the floor and died in a burst of flame. The fire was quickly consumed into the goo that had once been one of the most feared demons in all of Hell’s domain.

  The smell was horrendous. Ransom was glad for the handkerchief tied around his face.

  Death in Hell wasn’t like dying on Earth. Dying on Earth meant the release of your soul. It meant your essence could continue on by being sorted to Heaven, or to Hell.

  Death in Hell meant the end of your existence. Forever. Done. Gone.

  Lan Protegux was truly dead.

  Done.

  Gone.

  Forever.

  Ransom took several breaths to calm himself. Damn all demons, and their games. He had lost time he sorely needed to get to his wife. He got up to his knees and took stock of himself.

  His right hand had stopped bleeding where Romock had bit him. It was purple and bruised but thankfully not infected. His left arm had a slash through the coat and into his skin from that one demon’s knife. It was oozing blood but the cut didn’t seem to be deep. The way those knives had been twisted, though, it wasn’t a clean cut. No way it would heal over on its own. He put pressure on it with his hand and closed his eyes tightly before breathing, “Nokto.”

  His skin burned. He smelled the rich odor of sizzling meat as the wound cauterized shut.

  Ransom had learned the art of using words of power during his time hunting down and murdering creatures of the paranormal kind. He had needed every edge he could get to stay alive long enough to reap the sizable paydays that kind of work offered. It had actually been Al’Gamesh who taught him most of the words he used. But he had learned whatever he could from whoever would teach him. Some of the things he knew how to do were merely helpful, like this one. Others were deadly. Some of what he could do scared him.

  But in Hell, his little tricks wouldn’t be enough.

  Over on the floor, Romock groaned and sat up. He looked with disgust down at the dagger through his torso and then yanked it straight out, screeching loudly as the twisted metal shredded more of his body on its way out.

  Ransom walked over and stood over the little Imp. “You done playing games now?”

  Romock looked around the room, saw the five demons dead or dying, including the fiery remains of Lan Protegux. Romock’s own body was torn up badly, leaking black slime and gore. “You bad man, Ransom,” the Imp said to him.

  “Yes. I am a bad, bad man. And you do not want to play games with me anymore.” He leaned down, put his face in front of Romock’s, and bit off each of the words he said next. “Take. Me. To. My. Wife.”

  The Imp growled at him. Black blood dribbled from the corner of its mouth.

  Chapter 5

  Even though it meant getting the thing’s blood all over his hand, Ransom kept a tight grip on Romock’s neck as the Imp moved them through Hell again. This time they ended up on a street between highrise buildings. Every single building was a blasted out shell, empty, the windows broken and smashed, the roofs and walls collapsing, the very picture of decay and abandonment.

  The street under his boots was paved with people.

  Dead souls were lined up, one after the other, face down in the streets so that their backs and asses and bare legs were turned upward. They lay under Ransom’s feet and he had no choice but to walk across them, the flesh soft and yielding under his boots even if it wasn’t really still there. Ransom tried not to think about it.

  “Where to, Imp?”

  Romock pointed at one of the buildings. It looked the same as all the others to Ransom, blackened and broken and void of life. But it was where Romock pointed, so it was where they went.

  Across the dead he walked, shutting his ears to their muffled groans of pain, and then through the empty doorway and into the bottom floor of the building. The space was open from wall to wall, one huge area. The inner walls and ceiling were crumbling, dropping debris everywhere.

  Shadowy forms moved near the far end and Ransom stepped further inside slowly. He couldn’t make out what they were. But this was Hell. They couldn’t be anything pleasant.

  “Where is she, Imp?”

  “She down there,” Romock answered, raising a hand to point at the end where the dark silhouettes moved.

  “Who else is here?”

  Romock shrugged. It seemed to hurt him, pulling on the injuries to his body.

  “A lot of help you are,” Ransom grumbled.

  “You let me go then.”

  “Not a chance.”

  Carrying Romock, Ransom crouched low and moved forward. The things down there had either seen him already or they hadn’t. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to be careful. Being careful rarely got anybody dead.

  Halfway across the floor, he got a better look at the creatures in the room with him. All big, all misshapen. Not demons. Trolls.

  A gravel
ly voice laughed. “How’s it been, Ransom?”

  Oh dear God, Ransom thought.

  Yulwavi.

  “Didn’t expect to see you here, big guy.” Ransom stopped trying to creep up on them and stood up tall. Too late for being careful now. He counted heads. Four Trolls. No Julia.

  He squeezed Romock’s neck tighter. “Lied to me again, Imp.”

  Romock tried to laugh but it turned into a choking gasp as Ransom cut off its air with a forceful squeeze.

  “Didn’t expect you either, little Harbinger.” Yulwavi’s voice was stone grinding on more stone.

  “You know, that’s twice today someone’s called me by that name. I hadn’t heard it in over a year before today.”

  “You been out of the game, little Harbinger. Don’t mean you ain’t still what you is.”

  The Troll’s booming voice was amused. He moved forward into the light more so Ransom could see him. Dark green skin covered in moles and bumps and scaly patches, rough leather clothing barely restraining his bulk, arms the size of small tree trunks. Just what Ransom remembered Yulwavi looking like in life. A low forehead disguised an intelligence that made Yulwavi even more dangerous than most of his kind.

  Ransom sighed heavily. He hated Hell. “So how’s this going to go, Yulwavi?”

  Yulwavi shrugged. “Going to pound you, Ransom. You put me here.”

  “No, your life put you here. I just killed you.”

  “That’s fair. You did that. And I lived my life. Just like my friends here.” The three other Trolls stepped up to stand beside Yulwavi. Even being smaller than Yulwavi the three of them were still massive blocks of flesh.

  Ransom looked from one ugly Troll face to another. “Did I kill any of you?”

  One of the Trolls raised a hand.

  “I killed you?” Ransom asked him.

  The Troll nodded his shaggy head.

  “When?”

  A look of pained concentration came over the Troll’s face and he lifted a hand to count on his fingers.

  Ransom threw Romock at the Troll, and the Imp landed against his face with a wet splat of black blood. At the same time Ransom pulled out his knife and smoothly threw it at the first Troll on his left. His aim was true and it went through the Troll’s eye, into his tiny brain.

  A Troll’s skin is incredibly thick. Ransom’s knife might have scratched one of them with a well placed cut, but it wouldn’t have been enough to bring death. Had the Troll moved just an inch as Ransom threw, the knife would have missed the eye, and the Troll would still be alive. But instead he fell now with a heavy thump to the floor, dead.

  “Carish-lae-nok!” he yelled.

  The knife pulled itself out of the Troll’s eye and flew back toward Ransom. He redirected it before it reached his hand and to fly through the air at the Troll to his far right. This Troll learned from his friend’s mistake and raised a hand to cover his eyes. Ransom’s knife barely stuck into the hand but Ransom knew it wasn’t enough to hurt the thing.

  He spun away as the Troll rushed him, letting the huge creature barrel past. At the last moment he stuck his leg out and tripped the thing, causing the beast to pitch forward.

  The Troll landed with his hand still in front of his eyes. The butt of the dagger slammed into the floor, pushing the sharp tip upward as the heavy head fell down. It was enough to force the dagger into this one’s eye too and, Ransom hoped, kill the Troll.

  But now the dagger was stuck, out of Ransom’s reach even with his magics.

  “And that is why you earned your name, little Harbinger,” Yulwavi growled.

  Ransom turned. Yulwavi and the last Troll stood there side by side. Yulwavi’s friend had Romock dangling from one huge fist.

  Ransom blew out a breath through the handkerchief tied around his face. “I don’t have time for this, Yulwavi. My wife is here in Hell, still alive. I need to get to her and get her out.”

  Yulwavi knit his brows together. “Who did that to you, little Harbinger?”

  Ransom shook his head. “Haven’t had time to figure it out yet. But they’re dead when I do.”

  The Troll nodded his massive head once. “And will you be killing me too, little Harbinger?”

  “Do I need to?” Ransom put on his best game face and stood his ground. He just had to hope the bluff would work. He’d almost died killing Yulwavi once. He wasn’t sure he’d survive doing it twice.

  Yulwavi clenched and unclenched his thick hands. “No,” he said at last. “No, you don’t. Give him back his Imp, Blogereth. I don’t plan on dying again, if I can help it.”

  The other Troll, Blogereth, tossed a limp Romock at Ransom’s feet. The little Imp squirmed and scratched at the floor of the building weakly, trying to dig itself away. Ransom grabbed its neck before it could get anywhere.

  He stepped over to the Troll that had his knife buried under the face. He tried to roll the head gently but it wouldn’t budge. Ransom kept a wary eye on Yulwavi and his friend, expecting them to jump him at any time. “Clootho,” he whispered.

  The Troll’s head cracked and split down the middle. Reaching into the mush that remained inside, Ransom plucked his knife out. He cleaned it on the dead-again Troll’s sleeve and slipped it back into his coat.

  Backing his way out of the building Ransom tipped his fedora at Yulwavi. “I don’t want to see you again. Ever.”

  “Or you either, little Harbinger.”

  The two trolls walked away into the shadows, leaving their dead companions where they lay.

  Chapter 6

  Back outside of the building Ransom walked a good distance down the street of dead bodies before he stopped. Romock was clawing limply at his hand, trying to get enough release to breathe again.

  Ransom took a hard grip on the Imp’s left arm and twisted it backward. The bones in Romock’s arm snapped loudly. Ransom twisted it around a full rotation and with a hard pull tore it off the Imp’s body.

  The only thing keeping Romock from screaming was how hard Ransom’s hand was fisted around the creature’s neck, preventing it from drawing air.

  Black goo poured from the hole that had once been Romock’s shoulder. Ransom took a good grip and beat Romock over the head with its own arm.

  “I am done playing games with you! You will bring me to my wife now, or the next thing I pull off your body will be your head! I will pull you into pieces and bury each one in a separate corner of Hell if you do that again! Satan’s own hellhounds won’t be able to find all of you! DO YOU HEAR ME?”

  The Imp’s eyes bulged. Its one remaining arm pinwheeled wildly. Its purple tongue poked out of its mouth as it tried to gag, to breathe, to make any sound at all.

  And then they were standing in a room.

  Romock had brought them to a room in the space of time between breaths. Just a simple room. The walls were white, the floor and ceiling were white, the table in the middle of the room was white, the chairs around the table were white.

  “Well, not what I expected,” Ransom murmured. With a hard look at what was left of his Imp, he loosened his grip enough for the thing to pull in a ragged breath, then another, then another.

  The Imp finally glared at Ransom and pointed its one shaky hand. “There. Wife…is there.”

  Ransom looked across the room and saw a gate of white glass bars set into the wall. He rushed around the table and looked through the spaces.

  Julia lay there on the white floor.

  “Julia!” Ransom called to her, reaching a hand through the bars. He couldn’t quite reach her. “Julia!”

  She didn’t stir.

  She lay naked, her back to him, the perfect curve of her back and her long legs about all he could see. Her long dark hair hid her face from him. He couldn’t even tell if she was breathing.

  He could feel the fire rise in his blood. The heat of his anger had finally caught up to him. The chill in his voice should have sucked the life from Romock the Imp. “If she’s dead, here in Hell, you little bastard, I will take it out
on your hide.”

  Romock drew saliva into its mouth and spit. It was a feeble effort, and it landed on Ransom’s coat. “She not dead, hateful human trespasser. She still alive.”

  “Then why isn’t she answering me?” Ransom yelled, banging on the bars.

  A new voice answered him.

  “She is well, Jack Ransom. Calm yourself.”

  The voice was silky smooth, oily even, but in a sickly sweet way. Ransom had only heard it once before. Once was enough.

  Very few people ever heard that voice twice in their living days.

  Satan.

  Ransom let go of Romock. The Imp fell to the floor, smearing black, oily blood across the sterling whiteness as it crawled away on its one arm.

  He turned around, slowly. Satan was sitting, lounging comfortably, in one of the two chairs at the table.

  “Please,” Satan said, gesturing with a manicured hand. “Join me. It’s been a while since I’ve had the opportunity to host anyone.”

  Satan was dressed in a perfectly fitted suit as white as the room around him. His white tie was knotted just so and left a little loose at his neck. His red skin and black hair were a bold contrast to the lack of color everywhere else in the room. But there were no horns, no forked tail. If not for the color of his skin, anyone else seeing him might have mistaken him for a successful businessman or rich playboy.

  Anyone else, that is, except for Jack Ransom.

  Ransom knew the Devil didn’t actually look like this. Knew that the great Deceiver was choosing, in this moment, to appear in this more classic guise. Satan could have picked most any form. That’s what he had done the last time he and Ransom had met.

  Ransom still had nightmares.

  When the Devil asks you to take a seat with him, you have two choices. Ransom had already survived a fight with five of Hell’s demons, and killed two Trolls. He figured he’d used up all of his luck for one day. Saying no to Satan wasn’t something he was willing to chance.

  He sat down on the opposite side of the table from Satan, keeping his eyes on the fallen Angel the whole time. “Been a long time, Nick.”