by M. K. Gibson
“Randy?” Y’olly asked, sounding offended. “You’re offering me Randy?”
“You want a soul of an innocent, right? Well, there. I own him, and his soul. You can have it.”
“He is hardly innocent,” Y’olly said. “He’s tried to kill you several times.”
“That’s true,” I admitted. “But he isn’t guilty of what I accused him of. Look, I’ll throw in his mother if it sweetens the deal. She’s not innocent, but I’d be glad to get rid of her.”
“Paige? Look, Jackson, I like you, but you’re wasting my time. I’m sorry you’re stranded, but we have rules--”
“Look, I know it’s a technicality, but I really need the help. Damn it, Y’olly, you heard my offering, right?”
“Honestly? No,” Y’olly said with a shrug. “I just responded to the summons. And technicality or not, you know Randy isn’t innocent of . . . well, anything. Sorry bud, but you’re on your own for this one. Good luck. Oh, and bit of advice: There are some major sandworms coming this way. Better hide in that ship until dawn. Maybe you can hope there’s friendly aliens out there or a progenitor race who contrivedly left behind jump gates.”
The demon turned away. Stepping over Randy’s corpse, he began to retreat through the portal and into the Never Realm.
I reached out and grabbed the big demon’s arms. “Wait, damn it!”
Y’ollgorath rounded on me. His eyes flashed a sickly yellow. The demon bared his needle-like teeth and his voice dropped into deep hiss. “You presume too much, Jackson. God you may be, but I am an Exalted One from the eighth plane of the Never Realm!”
“Hey, you got a promotion. Nice one, bud,” I said with a smile.
“Yeah, I was bumped up right after I secured that deal with the CW network,” Y’olly said, his voice returning to normal. “I managed to keep that one show on the air for several more seasons. It’ll bring down the overall quality while the fans keep pumping money into it.”
“Which one?” I asked.
“Does it matter? They’re all the same. But don’t change the subject!”
Y’olly put his hands on his hips and leaned down, narrowing his many eyes. “There is nothing you can do or say to get me to help you this time. No amount of flattery, bribes, or threats will work. You’re screwed this time, Jackson.”
“They took her, Y’olly.”
“Took who?”
“Someone took Evie.”
The demon’s face darkened. All five of his eyes widened. “My Ungodly Daughter?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Some space pirates shot up our ship and took her, specifically, from me. I can’t do shit here without permission. I need to get back to my dimension and power up so I can find my daughter and kill the ones who took her.”
“Then let’s go,” Y’olly said, turning back towards the portal.
“Just like that?” I asked.
“Just like that,” he said, his voice taking on an ominous tone. “Some soon-to-be dead men took my Ungodly Daughter? Oh gods below, no. So do you, Julian Jackson Blackwell, The Shadow Master, swear to me that you will find those responsible?”
“I swear.”
“Find them, kill them, and then fuck them?”
“Perhaps not in that order, but yes, that’s the general idea.”
“Then I accept your offering of the . . . innocent Randy Blackwell’s soul as payment.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “And Paige?”
“Don’t push it. But just so you know, I’m doing you a solid.”
“I am aware.”
“Next time, it will cost you something dear. Something you love. Do you understand?”
“I do,” I said with a nod.
Y’olly nodded. “Okay then. Come on, let’s get you home.”
Chapter Eight
Where I Take a Tour, Confront a Friend, and Plug Web-Based Pornography
Allow me a moment to explain something: the Never Realm isn’t Hell. I know that seems self-evident, but trust me, if you don’t spell it out for some people, you’ll get all kinds of grief from continuity trolls.
Hell, the popular one we all know, is a Judeo-Christian concept. But point of fact, Hell actually exists. It’s one of the Never Realm’s many suburbs.
You see, every culture, across every dimension, has some sort of belief or legend about the afterlife. That’s because the Never Realm touches all planes of existence. It is always there, watching, waiting, and whispering.
Especially when you’re in the bathroom. Those cheeky demons do so love to watch (and record) us when we have our pants down.
And for a little pocket dimension like mine, my gateway to the Never Realm is the downstairs broom closet. The one on the left, mind you, not the one on the right. We lost four house cleaners that way. Amazing that kindergarten concepts like right and left still baffle some adults.
Try explaining to your maid service that one of their employees was sucked into a demonic realm of suffering. I’m still battling litigation because “Connie” can’t tell her left from her right.
Places like Hell, Helheim, Tartarus, Kur, and Uffern exist in the prime universe’s mythologies, and similar places exist in all the other universes as well. The demons from the Never Realm worked out an extremely lucrative contract by providing their services to all the pantheons. They provide the space, heating, and suffering for damned souls, and in turn, they get a percentage of each soul when the respective gods are ready reincarnate their mortals.
It’s brilliant, really. I’m actually jealous I didn’t think of it.
Y’olly and I stepped through the portal to the Never Realm, arriving on a platform made of human bone and stretched flesh. The wave of heat hit me, as did the smell of sulfur and . . . patchouli? Gods above and below, this truly was a place of suffering.
I noticed that a chrome metallic monorail was next to the platform. Attached to the rail was an amusement park-style roller coaster car that was shaped like a little fat, bald baby devil, complete with a black pitchfork and adorable little wings.
“This way,” Y’olly said as he hopped into the seat.
I smiled at the contraption. “Is this new?”
“Hmm?” Y’olly grunted. “Oh, oh yeah. We just had the monorail system installed.”
“Monorail?”
“Yeah, believe it or not, we’ve been having something of an ‘image problem’,” he said, using air quotes.
“Don’t tell me you’ve finally taken my advice?”
“Yes, we have.” Y’olly sighed begrudgingly. “I took your consultant idea to the bosses downstairs and . . .”
“And?”
“And they loved it. We’re opening a theme park.”
I smiled. “I knew it.”
“Yeah yeah, don’t gloat.” Y’olly frowned. “So, we’re opening tours soon, a few attractions to start. The rest of the park and the rides will come online when we’re ready to secure future backers for other Never Realm endeavors.”
Me being me, I immediately started thinking about the angles of selling the idea. “So, your market attraction would be high-paying gods, abominations, elder beings, outrage left-wing progressives, and Republicans?”
“Well, of course,” Y’olly said as if it went without saying. “Who else revels in the unbridled suffering of others? That being said, it’ll be a while before we get it off the ground. Permits across dimensions are killing us. You know how hard it is to get gods to agree to anything?”
“More than you know,” I said.
“Ha, fair enough,” Y’olly laughed. “So, you want to take the tour?”
“Normally, yes,” I said. “But we’re on a ticking clock.”
Y’olly waved his hand. “No worries, brother. Time doesn’t pass here. You’re fine. I’ll give you the short version.”
I shrugged. “Sure. Show me what’s new.”
“Great!” Y’olly said. “Hop in.”
I did, and by the time I had buckled myself in, the cart was in motion. My demonic tour guide
pointed out several of the new rides and attractions. To my right, a legion of blue-haired women lounged by a lake of male tears. To my left, a dilapidated old mansion backed up to a dark forest. Y’olly explained that the house and forest were set up so the patron could hunt, torture, and kill dead bad guys or girls from across every genre. Think of it like The Purge or Hostel for famous, literary, and fantastical characters.
“I’m impressed, Y’olly, I really am. I can see your vision. Well done.”
“Thanks.” The demon smiled.
The cart continued along the rail, passing through a portal that led back into a more familiar section of the Never Realm. I was greeted with a sky made of chaos and void. The clanking sound of metal and industry was an ever-present din, while distant wails of suffering echoed through the eternal madness.
And freshly sodded lawns. Welcome to the Never Realm’s residential gated community for upper-level demons. Above us I saw a sign that read, “Welcome to Thornbush. Gentrification is a privilege.”
The cart came to a stop beside a mansion that partly resembled an Aztec ziggurat made of obsidian and chrome.
“I like what you’ve done to your home,” I said, pointing towards the newest additions. “Are those soul-er panels?”
“Yeah,” the demon nodded. “Really helps keep the spiritual energy costs down. You pay more up front, but it’s worth it in the long run.”
Together, we walked up his driveway and into the ziggurat’s central entryway. Well, it seemed that way. I swear we took no more than a couple of steps before we were at the front door. But that was the Never Realm: a testament to non-Euclidean physics. Angles bent the wrong way. You walked forward to go backwards.
By the giant red stone and black metal doors stood two colossal guards resembling demonic ferrets.
“Kodo, Podo,” I said, nodding to the guards.
“Mr. Blackwell,” the guards said in unison with a slight bow, then addressed Y’olly. “Master.”
“How come he gets top billing?” the demon asked.
“Eh, it’s my book.” I shrugged as we entered his home.
Y’ollgorath, Exalted One from the Eighth Plane, had a lovely home. A lot of dark, natural wood, brick, and sourceless fire provided a cheery yet ominous homeyness.
Servants rushed to greet us the moment we crossed the threshold. They brought trays of mixed drinks and documents for Y’olly’s signatures. I recognized the paper as soul contracts. With the number of times he had to sign, it looked like Y’olly was working several large deals.
While I waited, I accepted one of the black crystal tumblers of Khoom, a sort of Never Realm scotch.
“Shadow Master,” the servant said with a slight, begrudging bow.
I looked at the servant. He was large and humanoid. But instead of a head, he had a lower jaw with a sort of clear glass dome where the upper skull should be. The dome was filled with a clearish liquid where a brain and two eyes floated.
“Grimskull?” I said, smiling. “Is that you?”
“ . . . Yes,” Baron Martin Victor Grimskull, former ruler of Caledon’s Eastern Empire, said, his voice gurgling like an office water dispenser.
I looked my nemesis from book one up and down. “You look . . . horrible. I mean, just terrible.”
“. . . Thank you, Shadow Master.”
“Just a couple of books ago you were trying to defeat me, and now . . . wow, you are frightening to look at. I almost feel bad.”
Grimskull sighed.
“I expected bad things for you in the Never Realm, but damn, a nearly headless servant? I bet it’s just killing you that you have to serve me.”
“Yes, Shadow Master, it is. While I fulfill my new master’s . . . every wish, no matter how base or humiliating, I do long for your death.”
“I bet you do,” I said with a smile.
“Okay Jackson,” Y’olly said as he finished up his paperwork. “Let’s get you home.”
“Aww, a few more minutes,” I said, affecting the tone of a scolded child. “I was just about to tell Grimskull how I use his head as an ashtray. You know, the skull you gave me as a trophy for defeating him.”
“Come on, Jackson. You can always come back another time and taunt him.”
“Fine, fine.” I slammed my Khoom and set the drink back on Grimskull’s tray. “Best of luck to you, Marty.”
I followed Y’olly up the staircase towards the ziggurat’s central elevator. The black crystal doors closed, and I felt the elevator descend deep underground. Level after level whizzed by. I briefly saw scenes of torture, sex, boardroom meetings on domination, and lectures on how to monetize people’s nostalgia. On any given day, I’d stop on each floor and give my tuppence. But today wasn’t that day. Even when I mocked Grimskull, my heart just wasn’t in it.
Someone had my little girl. She was taken because of who she was.
My child.
“Jackson,” Y’olly said, his voice low. “You good?”
“No, Y’olly, I am not,” I said, looking up at my longtime business associate and “friend.” “Did you take her?”
The demon looked both perplexed and offended at the question. “What?”
Squaring up on a fifteen-foot demon in his own home might seem insane, but not to a father who’s lost his only child. I crossed my arms, narrowed my eyes, and set my jaw.
Remnants of my power crackled about me. As it did, the height and mass disparity between us seemed to lessen. “Did you, Y’ollgorath, take my Evie from me?”
The demon didn’t react; he simply looked me in the eye. “Jackson, how long have we known one another?”
“A long time. Now answer the fucking question, Y’olly.”
“No. I did not take her.”
I stared into each of his five eyes, seeking the truth.
And I saw he was innocent. Not in general, but innocent of taking my daughter.
“Sorry,” I said, releasing my power. “I had to know.”
Y’olly smiled. “No, I understand. But I’m curious, what would you have done if I had?”
“Whatever I had to,” I said. “No matter the cost.”
“Then I know just what you need,” Y’olly said with a smile. He hit the stop button on the elevator and the dark crystal doors opened on an interesting scene. A massive room of people, demons, fantastical creatures, and aliens in various states of undress and lewd sexual acts.
Oh, and board games.
Damn . . . I forgot it was the weekly orgy and gaming night.
“Sorry. While I love base sexual acts and tabletop games, I need to get home. Wait,” I said, squinting and looking at a man who waved back to me. “Is that Glenn King? 2017 AVN Web Director of the Year, creator of MeanBitches.com, and the undisputed king of all ass worship?”
“Oh, yeah,” Y’olly said. “He comes by all the time. In fact, he’s become something of a freeloader. Want me to introduce you?”
I shook my head. “Another time. I need to find Evie.”
My demonic ally nodded. “That’s fair. I get it. But I think you’d do well releasing some . . . tension before you face your real first hurdle.”
“Which is?”
“Well, let me ask you, friend. Does Lydia know that Evie is gone yet?”
I looked up at him. “No, she doesn’t.”
“And once she is aware, who will she blame?”
I followed his line of thinking. “Me. Of course.”
My wife, my Lydia, was an extremely passionate and often . . . let’s just say volatile woman. Who was also armed with no less than seven knives at any given time. Coupled with the power of a goddess (thanks to our union), Lydia would tear the universe, and me, a new asshole.
“So, my offer stands. You’re free to relax here for a little while.”
I could smell the sweaty musk, and I heard the dice clatter on the table.
“Well, I guess I could stay for a little while.”
Chapter Nine
Where Clients Are Killed, Mas
cots Are Announced, and Decisions Are Made
“You lost her?!”
I looked at my wife, who was standing outside the door to my office. The curvy firestorm of my life had her hands on her hips while my minions, Myst and Wraith Knight, stood behind her. My secretary, Sophia, continued working at her desk.
“Welcome back, sir!” She beamed. “Hope you don’t mind, but I filled Lydia in on everything already.”
Sigh. When your best friend and business partner is also an evil djinn who swore an oath to destroy you, you find yourself in situations like this more than you think. Lucky for me, I think fast on my feet.
“Honey, no need to overreact. I can explain everything.”
“Over . . . react?”
Okay, so I may think fast on my feet, but doesn’t mean I always think well on my feet.
Instead of giving me a chance to speak, Lydia summoned a massive crackling ball of necrotic death energy and hurled it across my office’s waiting room. The angry ball of death went wide. Since Lydia was deadly accurate with thrown weapons, this meant she wasn’t trying to kill me . . . yet. No, this was just a warning shot. It meant that she still cared for me.
But it was also clear she didn’t give two wet shits about my clientele. Villains from across the multiverse dove for cover.
Most of them made it.
I watched Viscount Dieter von Windlass III shrivel and die right before my eyes.
“Damn it, Lydia,” I cursed. “The Viscount was my ticket into the steampunk universe. Now look at him. Just a pile of dust, goggles, sprockets, top hat, and a waistcoat. You’re going to explain to Viscountess Ingrid what happened, not me.”
“Oh, boss, you really don’t like living, do you?” Myst asked while Wraith Knight pretended to notice a spot on the wall.
“Oh, now you’ve really pissed me off!” Lydia growled as she manifested another angry ball of death.
“Oh, shit,” I sighed, then quickly grabbed the ever-present staple of my waiting room and book series, The Dread Lich, Lord Morakesh.
Snatching Morakesh from his seat in a flurry of spilled coffee and out-of-date magazines, I used him as a shield just as Lydia’s death curse hit. The necrotic life-draining power slammed into his body instead of mine.