Necessarily Evil- Apocalypse

by Shad N Freud

“Ready for round three, my dears?” Both Tristanna and Sophie looked bleak. The tetrodotoxin’s third dose of the day had worn off twenty minutes ago and they were no longer struggling, their minds shut down. They were broken, so utterly traumatized that they’d slipped into a catatonic state. Both of them were shells of their former selves and both had been mutilated horrifically; neither still had eyelids, teeth, nails, or hair. Ink had explained that such things would give the poor demons they’d be fed to indigestion, and such was unacceptable.

  “You know, not answering? Takes all the fun out of it. You ugly bitches look like you’ve been fucked over and over again in every hole, and…well, honestly, I think you started to like it, you little sluts. Ah well, I guess we can go ahead and end this charade. It’s been fun, but you bore me. Alright, focus the camera back on me.”

  Ink wiped the blood off her face, grabbing baby wipes to clean the filth and blood off of her hands and face. “Cardinal Beaumont, I hope you enjoyed this little gag reel…get it? Gag reel? Ha, I kill myself. Anyways, I must say, your wife lost her gag reflex after your daughter did. And now, this home video draws to a close. Bring me the serrated blade, would you? Thank you Zxxxybtplstxxxplx.

  “Now, these bitches of yours took three whole days of rape and torture to break. And, as you didn’t come to save them, I can only assume that you were busy on your little mission to save the world and have no idea that this happened.” Ink walked behind Sophie and kissed her on the top of the head. “Your daughter was a real trooper, I’ve got to say. But all good things must end, eventually. Just remember, you and your pet Archduke caused this. My face? My body? Your fault. So really, you should blame yourself.”

  Ink took the serrated knife from a demon off camera and pressed the blade to the side of Sophie’s neck while she started giggling maniacally. Tristanna gurgled in protest as Ink shushed her. “Now now, Tryst, don’t be impatient. I’ll get to you shortly.” The blade’s teeth slowly bit into Sophie’s neck, and Ink slowly sawed away, causing blood to flow as the girl’s jugular was severed.

  She paused, seeming to savor the moment as the teeth of the blade touched bone. “You know, I could have started at the wrists, and cut my way up. But I figure making you watch these vespids eat their headless corpses will be enough.” Ink chuckled as she applied a little more force and continued slowly sawing her way through Sophie’s neck and out the other side, holding up the head to the camera. She then tossed the head to a succubus.

  “Make sure you put the SD card in the mouth after you put the case in a sandwich bag, both heads, and put them in gift boxes for Carl. I want to pull a Se7en on him. I mean, his wife was beautiful, but looked less like Paltrow and more like Blanchett. Oh, well.” Ink wiped blood off her face and walked behind Tristanna, who was hanging her head and gurgling in anguish.

  Ink leaned in and whispered into Tristanna’s ear, “I’m going to make sure your husband watches this part, myself.” Ink’s smile broadened as she motioned to reposition the camera for a close up as she placed the teeth of the blade against the elf’s neck, savoring the feeling as the blade slowly, painfully began to bite into her flesh.

  ∞∞∞

  The Pope looked at the screen in stupefied horror. He’d seen some heinous shit in his time as Pope, but never anything so repugnant. He looked up at Trixie, his serving “wench” cum bodyguard as she nodded grimly. She looked at the man whom she’d worked for fifteen years and sighed, dropping her usual pretense and sitting next to the Pope. She grabbed the bottle of scotch off his desk and took a long pull straight from the bottle, then reached for the glass pipe he’d just set down, as well as the gold-plated lighter, and took a big hit off the pipe, feeling the potent cannabinoids hit her system like a freight train.

  “The tape is genuine. They had no reason to lie about what they were doing. Seppe, you know what you have to do when he gets out of that ship. You, and only you, have to be the one to tell him. This will probably break him. You know this?”

  Guiseppe Armando Rossi, or Impious VI when he was at work, nodded as he leaned back in his sinfully comfortable chair. “I know, Trix. I know. I feel for him. Much as he’s a fucking louse when he’s in a bad mood, the man shouldn’t have to lose his family because he was doing his job.”

  ∞∞∞

  “Lucy’s red garters, but when are these fuckers going to run out of bodies?” Carl asked as he threw another grenade over the barrier the portable shield generators provided, blowing more of them to kingdom come. His minigun vomited death into the bottle necked swarm as they pushed their way to the defenders. Baal’s SPEDS belched hot seeded plasma death into the room beyond, slagging non-structural walls and vaporizing the Repeaters, Needle Spitters, and scouts as the others kept unleashing Hell upon the monstrous horde.

  Baal seemed to be unleashing death upon the Spawn with particular fervor, to a point bordering on zealotry. Carl watched him out of the corner of his eye. He knew that he should treat the Archduke of Purgatory with far more reverence, as he was a Prince of Hell and had likely lived a life of honorable service to the Church, having done something truly awesome to become an Archduke.

  And yet, he just couldn’t be bothered to be respectful. Something about the twat set his teeth on edge.

  The well-timed reinforcements were making this task an easier one and the Pitlords certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves. Jin was laughing gaily as he unleashed blast after blast of rail death, each shot clearing a straight line while causing the beasts to shriek in agony, the sonic-sensory membranes in their skulls bursting or vibrating erratically with each shot. The defenders had wisely let the Oracle cast sound dampening spells on their ears, so that each sonic boom from the Gauss pistol simply sounded like a loud pop instead of an eardrum-bursting blast that could shatter windows as the glass coated fifty gram gold-titanium slug accelerated to multiple times the speed of sound and liquified every “soft” target in its path.

  One of the War Queens, nicknamed Xena’s, popped up out of the hole, and was quickly eviscerated by a hail of Gauss rounds, plasma, and a steady stream from the minigun Carl had Jin enchant so that the barrels were under a constant frost effect to keep the chromium lined barrels from overheating. With an endless effect on the ammo box, the conjured depleted uranium rounds rained upon their foes at 3500 rpm.

  The floor was starting to slosh with the blood and viscera of the dead, ground under the feet of the fresh grist for the mill. They’d been at this for several straight hours and the gore was up to their ankles. Carl wasn’t sure how long they’d be able to sustain this level of wholesale slaughter, but he knew how long he was going to enjoy doing it. He smiled, dialed up the electric motor’s firing speed, and laughed like a psychopath as he swept the barrels back and forth, spewing hate at the bugs as he fired one handed, digging his pack out of his pocket, and lighting up a fresh cig.

  Life was good.

  ∞∞∞

  Life was terrible, Zeke groused internally as he rewired, recalibrated, and updated the drivers on yet another of the damned dimensional generators. A battle of epic proportions was occurring two levels below and here he was, turning a wrench where the combat wasn’t. He looked over at the skinny, nerdy little devil likewise working on their respective devices, happily breathing the free air of Earth, even if that air was recirculated for a couple millennia; any air not breathed in Hell was sweet to the damned. The scrawny devil was whistling a jaunty little tune as he quickly, efficiently, and diligently performed his duties. The devil looked up at the lackadaisical lizard man, and chuckled as he turned back to his work.

  “You act like this is a terrible trial to endure, my scaly friend! I get to spend time outside of Hell fixing simple shit and let me tell you, it’s glorious. I might not even need heroin to get to sleep tonight.” The devil smiled as he closed up a generator and turned it back on, self-updating to the new set of firmware upgrades as he consulted the ship’s schematics and began walking towards the next device.

  Zeke pau
sed as he watched the devil smile and get to work on the next mind-numbing task. If this was preferable to doing his work in Hell, he shuddered to think of what IT work in Hell must be like. Zeke closed the case of the device he was working on and the box’s lights began cycling as it downloaded new instructions. His own eye turned blue as he consulted the mapper and moved on to the next box a level below. He checked the status of the other team and saw that they were well ahead of schedule.

  He received a text message to his left eye from Krang, informing him to bring his team down to the now cleared biogenics lab. Apparently, one of the researchers had hidden himself in a micro-pocket dimension and had performed some rather…questionable genetic modifications to himself to survive the pocket dimension that filled a space the size of a building of flats, with his very own laboratory set up, hydroponics garden, and sleeping accommodations. The man, a Dr. Feldering, had injected himself with a genetic resequencing retrovirus, slipping numerous segments of tardigrade DNA into his double helix and granting him a rather freakish appearance.

  It had, however, allowed him to survive the lack of sunlight, lowered temperature threshold of the non-garden or laboratory area, and the food and water restrictions of his dimensional exile. His labors had borne fruit, as he’d developed a weaponized resequencing virus that would cause the entire hive system under their feet to suffer a similar issue facing certain species of ants, infected by a fungal agent that hijacks the body. The good doctor had used the ship’s systems, on occasion, to obtain samples of the Spawn as well as their primary food source, the fungal farms underground. Unfortunately, even waterbears had a shelf life and the Doctor had passed away, according to the records, a couple centuries ago.

  Zeke smiled as he sent a message back. One of the fabrication labs had been cleared and an aerosolizing dispersal system schematic popped up, as well as one for a seeker missile, one capable of tunneling through bedrock. The missile system had been developed to be used in tectonic restructuring for the purposes of terraforming, usually set up to carry a nuclear payload to disrupt tectonic plates. This one, however, would tunnel until it detected the spores from the garden and disperse the viral agent, turning the fungal farm into an army of miconids that would then hunt for a specific set of amino acids found only in the Darkspawn. This would allow the myconids to exterminate the Spawn, then sadly die of hunger.

  Zeke and his team joined up with Krang’s after they agreed to bring the tanks of purple goo to the fabrication lab and began assembling the viral “bug bombs” they’d launch from the ship’s torpedo bays before sending the ship to another plane of existence. They’d dialed in the transplanar coordinates from when the unknown entity had performed an incursion into the plane and set the ship’s autopilot to land in that location before detonation. Carl had suggested the plan after it was determined that the plane in question was located deep in the abyss, and thus a threat to no one of importance.

  Oddly enough, the Archduke had wholeheartedly agreed, and laughed like a hyena as they dialed in the coordinates. Now that they had a sure-fire way to end the threat, Zeke sent a message to Carl through the ship’s comms system to start falling back towards the rendezvous point. It was time to set the plan in motion.

  ∞∞∞

  “They’re falling back! That’s right you little cowards! Run from my children! Run from the face of your deaths! Run towards…the…intradimensional transportation chamber? I mean, the Spawn will eventually get loose…why would you run from battle?”

  Marduk scratched his head, suddenly confused by the change of tactics.

  A downside of this method of scrying was the lack of sound, unless one placed as much as a finger into the pool. Such an activity was dangerous, however, as the scry would become two way at that point and potentially reveal the user. He shrugged. Their mouths hadn’t moved, so he had no idea what they were doing. The rest of the devils and mortals made their way to the chamber and onto the transport pad.

  Then…he lost the signal. Which was odd, since the ship was a fixed poin-

  With an immense, Abyss shaking crash, the crippled ship crashed into the palace after falling out of the portal. Marduk was buried under tons of obsidian, rent metal, and destroyed electronics. He couldn’t feel his lower half and vomited blood as he tried to lift the massive block of obsidianite pinning him to the ground. After he’d lifted it a grand total of three inches, he could see why he couldn’t feel anything below his waist: it was because his lower half had been crushed into a purple paste. He dropped the block, and looked up as he heard a digitized laugh, seeing a laughing skull wreathed in green flames on a console screen a mere meter away, with a countdown set for five…four…three…

  “Fuck…me…runn-” gurgled as the counter hit zero, the skull raising a bony hand that flashed him the bird.

  ∞∞∞

  From a vantage point some two hundred kilometers away, within the aerie like palace of one of the last remaining Demon Princes assigned to the task of making, Malak smiled as he watched the thermonuclear blast that incinerated the remains of Marduk’s ‘impenetrable’ fortress, his varied guard units, a very large chunk of his army, and the Demon Prince himself through a pair of binoculars. Nudging events over the last few decades to come to this point had cost him a Demon Prince’s Gross Domestic Product over the last sixty years. Greasing enough palms to make sure his plans went off without a hitch? Another GDP. Favors to get the “lovely ladies” he was celebrating with to his side? Several.

  Getting to watch that idiot pig’s plan literally blow up in his face? Priceless.

  Standing next to him with three sets of binoculars was Kali, and the sound of a Champagne bottle popping its cork signaled that Ink herself had likewise watched the carnage, as she had set up a camcorder to preserve the event for posterity. She strode over and handed Malak his flute, kissing him on the cheek.

  “Thank you, Malak, for your generous hospitality for this weenie roast. What he did to Legion was abominable…leaving a friend to fry like that. Just shameful. How dare he?” Ink’s deadpan delivery of the Prince’s eulogy was less than sincere, as was the slight smile threatening to crack her face in half. Kali cackled as she watched crispy demons stagger about. “By the way, does anyone else suddenly have a craving for bacon?”

  Malak’s shark-like grin answered hers as he took the glass of champagne liberated from the Titanic on an alternate “Earth.” These humans sure liked to call it that, anyway. He sipped the vintage, savoring the taste of fine bubbly from a dead world. He had a couple cases of the stuff and decided to celebrate the death of one of his own obstacles with it.

  A poorly made construct staggered into the room, the stone within barely maintaining control over his shattered body. Malak caught the stone as it fell out of its thoroughly abused cradle, holding the sphere in a surprisingly soft grip. “I do hope you’ve got good news. Did you talk the warden into accepting a deal?”

  “Yes, Mi-er, your grace. The plan is fully in motion. The Pacification drones have been liberated from the Lost, and the Darkspawn from Demogorgon’s personal growth plane have been subjugated. They should be ready for service in a few months. Unfortunately, we could only liberate two Pacification drones from the Lost, but…considering their targets, two should be more than adequate.”

  “I agree, Nyarletev. Your people have done well and shall be rewarded. Unfortunately for you, however, you had a slight slip of the tongue.”

  “But…but you-,” The stone’s last words were distorted and lost as Malak crushed the stone in the palm of his hand, inhaling the fumes as the soul fled its shattered containment, and eating one of the few souls that knew his secret.

  “Problem, Malak?” Ink asked as she raised a delicate eyebrow, watching as Malak took another sip of his champagne.

  “Solutions, my sweet. Solutions. Also, plans ‘B’ through ‘F’ of mine are coming along swimmingly. Had to terminate an employee, unfortunately. Ah well, always more souls looking to step up into the big times
. Just need a good piece of obsidianite to trap one in.” Malak laughed sardonically as he directed their view to the scrying pool in his chambers, the image shifting to the plane of interest.

  The view was that of their hidden agent among Carl’s little group, through her eyes. She was walking next to the tiefling with the other female on his other side. The feed was somewhat blurry, as the girl’s contact lenses had been lost during the intradimensional jump. Both women were rubbing their eyes in irritation, their entire world muddy blobs due to their myopia. Of course, the source of Malak’s connection to their mole caused the scry to be a bit washed out, in sepia tones instead of full color. Poor girl didn’t even know she was feeding them information.

  Carl and his group had apparently teleported to the nearest piece of dry land and were immediately pounced upon by Inquisition troops. Malak gestured excitedly and snapped his fingers, summoning a minion to bring him and his guests popcorn for the soul crushing news Carl was about to receive. The best part? Since the scry was on an agent of his, from her perspective, they’d have full sound as well.

  “Ladies, please enjoy yourselves. Also, congratulations Ink, on a damned fine job. Now, enough from me. Let’s watch the little orc’s heart break, shall we?”

  Chapter Three

  The group appeared on the ground and Baal looked down at Carl. He and the group were laughing and joking in camaraderie after sending the Prometheus on its final voyage. Baal nodded at Carl, then pointed at the nearest port-a-potty, the door becoming a portal to Hell, chivvying his fellow devils back to the infernal realms.

  Carl watched as the door reappeared before turning to the sound of sirens and drew his weapons, joined by the rest and turning to see black SUVs bearing the Pope’s flag. The SUVs led an armored vehicle used for dangerous criminals, protecting precious cargo, or to transport VIPs in dangerous locales. Black Hand pacification squads jumped out of the SUVs that had circled the group, forming an armed ring, their rifles pointed at Carl. Carl put his weapons on the ground and held his hands up, showing he was unarmed. “What’s the meaning of this?”