DEMON DAYS: Love, sex, death, and dark humor. This book has it all. Plus robots.

by Carl S. Plumer

  Regardless of what had triggered this in the past—flying by a red star, falling into the sun, or just some normal demon process like when a snake sheds its skin—this time the Liquid Deuterium II was what triggered the change. This time, all of the demons were changing, rearranging, becoming one big Rat King83 of a demon.

  This new monster had six heads, each with four or five eyes, two or three noses and mouths, and four ears. There were sixteen hands across ten arms, ten feet on eight legs. Four tails.

  The sum is bigger than the parts, however.

  Howling, screaming, groaning, and cursing from its various mouths, the newly created giant demon towered a full forty-two feet high, twenty-one feet in diameter.

  It was as tall as a small building and as angry as a hemorrhoid.

  Then every one of its grotesque, bulging eyes shifted to Zach. It echoed like thunder in a canyon from its twenty mouths:

  “I AM VERMES MUS BASILEUS (‘VERM’ TO MY FRIENDS)! YOU DIE—NOW!”

  The sound of all the voices of Vermes Mus Basileus84 shattered Zach’s metallic eardrums,85 as if he had been listening to the strongest set of speakers in the world, with reverb, echo, and distortion—and just a hint of AutoTune—all thrown in.

  The creature, new to its body, swayed forward, its many feet thundering in unison. Its arms reached and grasped, desperate to seize Zachary and tear him apart. Zachary Zemeritus, to his credit, knew the secret to staying alive is knowing when it’s time to leave.

  So he left.

  In a damn big hurry.

  But the thing that called itself “Verm” stopped him in midflight. The thing was slow moving and tired, however, and plopped back down on its ass in the middle of the street, all heads roaring and screaming.

  Overhead, jets buzzed by, but no one could offer aid without also destroying Robo-Zach, so the jets passed on, hoping to at least sound and look threatening.

  The demon Rat King took the struggling Zach and lifted him high over its heads, ready to smash him into the ground below. Before it could do so, all the heads screamed and moaned and the thing toppled on its side. Zachary Zemeritus slid, unhurt, down one of the legs of the massive beast.

  The hideous creature beetled over on its back, screeching and holding its stomach. The creature were giving birth. With a ghastly scream from all of the heads in unison, a figure was born: a petite figure with hair so white it was almost transparent. It was a woman, that was clear. A beautiful young woman, and she seemed oddly familiar.

  Damn, of course: Mallory.

  Only it was not Mallory.

  It was her face and body, but those wings were new, those white leathery wings. So were the horns protruding from each side of her forehead, pink and white in color. The pinkish horns were small, but they were still horns.

  Zachary pushed himself painfully to his feet and took a few hesitant steps towards this new creature who looked so much like his old Mallory. She was disoriented and remained on the ground, propped up on her hands and elbows. She was shivering from being wet and there was a kind of gooey afterbirth covering her entire body. Zachary stretched down to take her hand.

  Unfortunately, before he could reach her, he was snatched up once again and held up above the giant demon’s multiple heads like a worm above a nest of baby birds.

  All of the mouths on all the demon heads were snapping and drooling and awaiting the chance to start chewing and devouring Zachary Zemeritus.

  Zachary struggled to work himself free, but with sixteen monster hands and ten demon arms holding him tight, he had to do too much too soon, and those mouths were getting closer every second.

  Could this be the end of Zachary Zemeritus, the theoretical savior of humankind?

  Not if the tiny demon who looked a lot like Mallory Alexandria had anything to do with it.

  MALLORY’S TURN

  The petite demon who looked a lot like Mallory Alexandria rose up and took a shivering, wobbling step away from the demon-mound holding Robot Zachary Zemeritus in its grips. Mallory-twin staggered a few paces more and studied the situation. It was like she was invisible. The demon mountain paid her no mind, did not take her into consideration, did not factor her in at all. She was a non-entity. Or worse, they/it thought she was one of them.

  Mallory acted like she didn’t even know if she was Mallory anymore. From the outside, her face was similar, but that was about it. She seemed younger now, by ten years or so. Her original blue-black hair had turned snow white. Her body had transformed into that of a dancer—all muscle, no fat. Of course, there were those wings, the white and gold wings sticking out of her back, and the horns, too; that was a difference worth noting.

  Mallory walked backward, taking in the action, the scene. Her ears didn’t seem to be working. Her brain was slow, her body frozen. She was like a newly birthed colt. Walking, but hardly a threat. She gazed about her, trying to acquire more information, but the people had all run away, the cops had pulled so far back they were out of sight. The occasional jet zoomed by. Mallory squinted up at the passing blur of a jet, the roar a muffled boom in her awakening ears. Nevertheless, the appearance of the jet told her nothing.

  She sucked in a deep, full breath and became aware of the tug of her wings at her back. She tried to coordinate her mind with her feathers, but it was like trying to get your fingers to move after your hand had fallen asleep. You know you can do it, only for some reason, your fingers don’t obey. Such was the way with her wings. No movement, no matter how hard she “willed” them, no matter how much she understood she should be able to move them without trying to, without thinking.

  Her hearing slowly returned, letting in distant sounds. The pigeons above her on the building ledges cooed and flapped their wings. A siren blared a few blocks away. Zachary Zemeritus hollered, “Mallory!” from somewhere overhead.

  Zachary, she thought. Zach!

  Something inside her stirred. She peered up into the sun, into the mass of Vermes Mus Basileus, her comprehension returning, along with her memories, her emotions.

  Zachary!

  At first, she was struck by a strong sense of panic at seeing him hovering like candy above the drooling mouths of all the demon heads. But the alarm was soon replaced by the emotional pain of seeing the one you love in danger, the one you love about to be hurt, or killed. And that pain, in the end, was replaced by fierce anger. Anger at those who would hurt the one you love.

  How.

  Dare.

  They.

  Mallory’s wings fluttered almost imperceptibly.

  Involuntarily at first and then, without her thinking much more about it than you would about balling up your hand into a fist, she started to control them. Her wings beat slowly and calmly, batting at the air like a palm branch. With her increasing anger, the speed of their flapping increased. The wings flapped harder, in and out, in and out. Without being aware of it, Mallory had raised herself up into the air.

  With each second that went by, she floated higher and higher until, at last, she hovered at the same height as the roiling, twisting, grotesque puddle of demon heads, above which dangled her love, Zachary.

  Hovering in space, eye-to-eye with the demon mash-up, she understood things had changed. For forever. Not for the better. Somehow, she had become the metaphysical and biological offspring of space creatures. But while she might be some kind of demon, she was still, someplace deep inside, more human. The way she felt about Zachary was something she didn’t comprehend, but which she knew was right. She would give up her own life for his. She knew this sensation had a name, but she couldn’t remember what it was.

  She stared at this beast, or rather this amalgamation, this abomination, this conglomeration of beasts, squirming and quivering in front of her. It was a hundred times her size and, no doubt, a thousand times her strength. Yet, Mallory was not afraid. Something ancient beat in her heart, as if she had been here before. A feeling of disgust, remorse, and abhorrence that went back thousands and thousands of years. This bat
tle she must face here today had been faced by many others before her. The battle for the human soul. However, she realized it was not her soul she battled for.

  They, or it—this demon beast—had come here for the soul of Zachary Zemeritus, the one in the strange Robocop-ish outfit (although, admittedly updated nicely for a new era). For some reason she couldn’t explain, even to herself, she knew it was not a battle for her soul. Her soul was not up for the taking. Mallory had only one thing on her mind: Save Zach. Save Zach’s soul.

  Even if it cost her her life. Even if it meant killing this giant, molten-looking blob of demons. Especially if it meant killing the beast.

  She couldn’t ponder what that would take, for the mere pondering of it would defeat her. Because that task seemed impossible, and if she let herself think about that, even for a second, then she would have destroyed herself—sucked her will right out of her body—before the fight had even begun.

  The thing lowered Zachary closer to all of its snapping jaws. Mallory understood she could wait no longer. She must do something.

  Unfortunately, she had no idea what that something might possibly be.

  ZACHARY DEFEATED

  Pinched between the giant fingers of the demon, Zachary Zemeritus pressed various buttons on his chest shield. But nothing shot out, no lasers pierced the twilight, no bombs blasted out leaving red trails in the dusk. No boxing gloves on springs pummeling demon noses. Zach tried to contact Borgnine, but the connection was broken. Perhaps the delicate connection that allowed two-way communication between the two through Zach’s brain had become damaged.

  “Come in? Come in, Borgy. I could really use your help right now.”

  Nothing.

  “Zachary to Borgnine. Zachary to Borgnine. Come in, Borgnine.”

  More of nothing.

  Got to figure this one out myself, Zachary figured. Not a great option. Don’t know much about history. And sure don’t know much about how this robotic system works.

  He continued flexing and kicking and hitting himself, hoping something he did would trigger something he didn’t know about to do something damaging to the mass of demons down below him—down so close below him.

  However, it seemed Zachary Zemeritus the Robot was, from the beginning, designed to be a symbiotic system. In other words, he couldn’t operate without his own barnacle, his own remora on the back of the Zach shark: Chief Inspector Borgnine. Without that parasite, if you’ll excuse the expression, Zach was so much flying metal. Strong, capable of much destruction, but pretty much useless without his little “pilot.”

  Zachary, unfazed, continued to do battle in the only way he knew how, as the gruesome, slimy demon mouths grew closer and closer: he kicked and screamed, and slapped at every inch of his armored body he could reach. Then he noticed her.

  That female demon who resembled Mallory Alexandria. She was walking now, that was good; she faltered, but at least she was moving. She was still pretty, even viewed from this height. But those wings... so strange. So veiny and leathery, even though they were white and not brown-red like tanned hide. She stumbled further away from the mass of demons that bubbled below him. She stood there as if contemplating the situation, in a trance, in a daydream.

  Zachary didn’t want to lose her. He wanted her to run. To get away from here and save herself.

  “Mallory!” he yelled, hoping to get her attention before it was too late. He hoped to wave her away before the beast-pile noticed her.

  She stared up in his direction. Good, she had heard him. But she didn’t do anything. She seemed frozen with indecision or fear. He waved to her, trying to signal her to go away, to run.

  Her wings were moving. She was starting to float up to where he was. Oh no. Oh, God, no. Is she coming up to see what I’m saying? This was the last thing he wanted her to do. He tried to call out to her, to get her to understand she must get away before it was too late, but the demon hands around him crushed him again, making it hard to inhale and impossible to shout.

  Zach struggled to breathe as the demon who looked so much like his lost love soared higher and higher until she was eye to eye with the demon thing’s blob of heads and its collection of facial features.

  Rather than flying away or even doing something like poking one of the grotesque monster eyes with a stick,86 she just hovered there, as if the whole situation confused her. Despite having beyond state-of-the-art armor that surrounded him and made up most of his body—the SuperKevlar,87 the carbon fiber, the titanium, everything else—the demon’s merciless fingers crushed him further, like a car-crusher smashing a junk car. Zachary Zemeritus, despite his two billion dollars’ worth of offensive and defensive machinery, started to black out.

  Still, the demon who so resembled Mallory Alexandra hovered, and still she delayed.

  MALLORY STRIKES

  Mallory could wait no more. She charged across the air between her and the monster like a pixie bullet. She had no clue what she would do once she reached the head, but she hoped she’d think of something in the few seconds she had. Otherwise, she would have acted in vain, and Zachary’s death would be almost certain.

  From some recess deep in her collective demon memories, she recalled something: All demons have a vulnerable spot, a place in the brain where they can be immobilized. It was right between the eyes. An old cliché, but in demons, an accurate one.

  The place, Mallory recalled from memories she didn’t experience, was a spot at the precise midpoint between the eyes. But it was not quite that easy. This spot was deep in the center of the brain, not simply near the surface between the eyes. She adjusted her flight, ready for action—bloody, brainy, disgusting action.

  Then, confusion set in.

  Which pair of eyes should she shoot for? The thing had more than twenty-four eyes, meaning half that many “right-between-the-eyes” spots. Mallory stopped and hovered indecisively in midair.

  Christ, she reflected, why can’t this be easy?

  Mallory studied the face or faces or whatever it was, trying to figure out which one of those repulsive foreheads in that sickening mass of gooeyness was the one that counted. At last, she realized there was still a set of eyes that were dominant, which were mostly in the middle and front and center. All the others seemed to be floating around; a little goofy, or cross-eyed, or unfocused. The middle one, the big pair of red rat’s eyes glaring up at Zachary Zemeritus: Those must be the ones.

  If I’m wrong, I’m wrong, Mallory decided. I’m taking my best guess and my best shot. Better than nothing.

  She darted backwards, executing a perfect barrel roll, and started her attack anew, building up deadly speed as she traveled through the air with extreme prejudice. She pierced the horrible face of the beast with her head down, horns in front, like an enchanted, demon-killing bullet.

  Mallory dug her way in deeper and deeper into the thing’s brain, rocking her head back and forth, using her horns like a drill. Even if by some miracle she succeeded, this whole crazy process might only result in the beast being stunned, slowed in its tracks. Even drilling into its repulsive purple brain wouldn’t kill the thing.

  Suddenly, Mallory felt her feet pinched, grabbed from outside the demon’s skull. She realized her feet must be still sticking out, despite the speed with which she broke through the skull and how hard she worked to get to the middle of its brain. Seven hands pulled on her, drawing her back like a splinter.

  She gritted her teeth, worked harder, more frantically. To no avail. The thing was winning, yanking her out before she could do any real damage. Her hips were out, then her waist and her shoulders.

  Mallory popped out into the air to hear the anguished screaming of the beast, black blood spraying out of the wound she had made. She feared it was over for her now and, as her eyes closed, her sixth sense caught something on the ground below. She opened them again and scanned below as she hung upside down in the beast’s hands.

  Mallory smiled.

  Zachary Zemeritus, whoever and whate
ver he was, was free. He sat on the ground, rubbing his ribs.

  The demon snapped Mallory again and again like cracking a whip, to torture her, to kill her. But she was a demon, too. She couldn’t die that way. At least, she didn’t think she could.

  For a moment, the snapping stopped and Mallory peered back immediately to where she last saw Zach.

  He was gone.

  She was all alone with the demon beast, ready to accept her death.

  Mallory stared back into the molten faces that were still coagulating. She strained to find the right set of eyes to peer into, the correct eyes to stare down. It was unclear which eyes to connect with, so she slid her gaze from eyeballs to eyeballs, staring them all down in turn.

  She was intent on going out with a fight, no matter how futile. She struggled against the pressure of so many big hands, but she couldn’t break free of the grip. One of the greasy demon mouths spat on her, and she squirmed harder, the saliva burning her skin.

  The demon thing, her brother, her father, her mother—whatever it was—was intent on killing her, one way or another. Despite her having been—what, deposited?—into the creature in a kind of demonesque artificial insemination. She couldn’t understand any of it. She didn’t want to understand, or even think about, any of it.

  The thing continued to crush her. Then, with an almost choreographed movement of all the arms and hands in unison, it snapped her to the front and released her. Mallory plunged to the ground, slapping onto the sidewalk below like a wet fish.

  Being a demon, or at least partly so, she got up quickly and flew out of reach of the spastic, drooling, molten monster. A human would be crippled from that smackdown, at best; at worst, stricken dead. But Mallory was not human, and she was safe and relatively unharmed. Which, had she had prior experience battling demons from beyond hell, she would have recognized as a warning sign.