Necessarily Evil- Apocalypse

by Shad N Freud

  “Well, so long as you die, be as excited as you like,” Carl snarked, bringing his blade into a middle guard. This did not bode well, he thought to himself, as the flames from the burning necrid and discarded fabric guttered out on the ground. He circled with Carranza as each looked for weaknesses in the other’s technique.

  Carranza twirled his yarn-like mustachio with his off-hand and feinted inward with a stab at Carl’s face that the experienced Inquisitor deflected up and away, missing the hidden stiletto Carranza stabbed low with, the blade glancing off Carl’s glamoured breastplate, the shirt revealing its true form. Carranza sprang away, looking at the bent and blunted edge of his dagger before tossing it away. “Bravo, Señor! Hidden armor! This fight is becoming better by the minute.”

  Carl grunted, the dagger having punctured his breastplate but not injuring him. He hissed, then ripped the bindings holding his breastplate in place. This fight was getting more interesting. The fact that the dagger had dented his enchanted titanium breastplate and damaged some of the reinforcement runes meant the armor was now more of a hinderance than protection at this point. The breastplate clattered to the ground, the dagger’s acid slowly eating away at the metal plate and looked at the irritated skin where the tip had grazed him. He grabbed his baton off his belt and snapped it out. “I liked that breastplate, you Spanish prick. That’s gonna cost you.”

  “Let us dance cerdos verde,” Carranza laughed as the pair crossed blades again, sparks flying off each other’s swords as they thrusted, parried, and riposted. Carl felt his ire growing but put it aside. This fight was not to be rushed, as he was facing one of the greatest swordsmen of all time. He saw his friends slaughtering demons wholesale, and smirked. “Your friends seem to be having trouble inside the barrier.”

  Carranza drew another stiletto, then shrugged dismissively. “They are simply to keep your lame botas busy, Señor. They are of no consequence.”

  Carl grinned ferally as he used his baton to deflect the feinted dagger thrust from his opponent. As much as he hated to admit it, his blood was urging him to fight harder, to revel in the battle of his life. “So, how does it feel to face your own sword in battle, tonto?”

  Carranza laughed, his voice as oily as a tanker spill. “So, you know how to fight with words as well? Fantastic! After all, you certainly don’t fight with a sword as well as your tongue. Who trained you, perro verde?”

  “My wife helped me learn the sword-”

  “A woman? No wonder you hold the sword like a broom. Does this puta have a name?”

  Carl’s eyes flashed red for a moment, a deep, rumbling growl building in the back of his throat as he brought the sword down on his opponent’s in a mighty chop that nearly brought the haughty Spaniard to his knees.

  “Ah! A nerve! Come now, is that any way to fight?” The Spaniard punctuated his words with a poniard that Carl hastily knocked away with his baton.

  “Her name…was…Tristanna!” Carl roared, his blade finally making its mark. He slashed Carranza’s torso, leaving a deep gash in the fabric binding his form together. Fresh necrid poured out of the wound in spurts, carrying black flames from the body as he ripped free the burning piece of cloth and flung it at the barrier. Carl clenched his teeth in a vicious grin as he continued battering away at the swordsman. “And she studied your style, you tosser.”

  Carranza nodded then lunged backward to avoid a thrust aimed at his head. “But poorly, if your ham-fisted swings are any indication, Señor. And, while this has been fun, I think we should stop playing around.” Carranza bowed his head slightly to Carl, then began to laugh as a second pair of arms burst forth from his back, each bearing another stiletto.

  “Well, shit,” Carl grunted as he lunged backwards himself to open the distance between them. This was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

  ∞∞∞

  Inside the barrier, Cenere spared a glance at the fight outside the barrier and snarled when he saw the Spaniard’s second pair of arms spring forth in a welter of necrid. The piece of cloth flung at the barrier caught his eye, however, as he saw the Baneflame burn a hole through the shield separating Carl from the others. He smirked, negligently decapitating an anzu that chose to get too close, then threw a gout of Hellfire at the barrier and watched it sizzle, causing a momentary hole the size of his fist to open before sealing over again.

  Camilla had seen it as well and made eye contact with her beau. “Do it! We can hold thae bitches aff for a while. Go on an' help him!”

  Cenere nodded and activated his wings, flying straight at the barrier and allowing Hellfire to pour out of his hands, temporarily opening a hole big enough for him to slip through.

  Camilla nodded, satisfied, and went back to murdering demons. Her voice was growing hoarse from overuse, so she fought silently, lobbing grenades hither and yon as her friends kept pounding away at the demons.

  Once outside the barrier, Cenere drew his sword and lunged into the fray. Carl saw him coming and deflected a blow away from his protégé before pressing the attack, the pair’s swords singing as they teamed up on the tireless dummy, taking turns attacking the bastard.

  “Two at once? What am I, your mother?” Carranza sniped at Cenere who was caught off guard by the barb long enough for Carranza to catch him in the side with one of his acidic stilettos. In response, Cenere lashed out with his sword as he fell, the blade segmenting as it flew at Carranza, who spun as he dodged.

  Cenere coughed up blood where he lay with a savage grin on his face, retracting the blade that had wound itself around Carranza’s spare arms and severed them neatly. The swordsman screamed in pain as he backed away from a savage chop from Carl. Cenere then dropped his sword, placed his hands against his side after ripping the dagger out, and flooded the wound with Hellfire, green smoke pouring out of his mouth.

  Carranza snarled, flinging stilettos at the fallen Inquisitor while he tried to stand up, one very nearly gelding the Inquisitor of Lust as he rolled out of the way.

  Carl, meanwhile, had locked blades with the Spaniard and decided to go for a feint of his own. He swung his baton at Carranza’s head with all of his might, then spun around to slash at the dummy’s legs. Carranza’s button eyes glinted as he spun himself, dodging the baton and leaping over the swipe at his legs. He then came back at Carl as he was recovering from the spin, drew a final stiletto with similar markings to his sword, and slid it between Carl’s fourth and fifth rib on the right side, knocking the wind out of the big orc.

  Carl staggered backwards, a searing pain unlike any he’d felt before blossoming in his chest. The dagger was a soul burner.

  He ripped the dagger free and clutched his chest as he fought to breathe, staring in horror at the blade before he dropped the knife. Carranza dipped his head in salute as Carl fought to stay on his feet. Carl could tell that the blade had punctured a lung and probably nicked an artery, if the taste of rusty pennies that came with his cough was any indication. He could feel a fire blossom within his soul, a fire that struck at his very sense of self. He could feel his power beginning to wane as he sank to his knees, clutching his chest as he choked on his own blood.

  Carranza then turned to face Cenere, who stared in horror at the sight of his mentor fighting to breathe. “Well, well…your mentor is as good as dead now, perrito. Perhaps I should let him watch as I gut you, no?” Cenere flung dagger after dagger at the dummy as he charged, then ducked under the swordsman’s swing, grabbing his sword off the ground to deflect the follow up thrust aimed at his kidneys. “I grow weary of this, pendejo. I shall slay you, then finish the swine…and then, I think the pretty one in there, the perra negra? I will enjoy making her scream for me.”

  Cenere’s brow furrowed in rage and he let loose a scream of raw emotion, charged with pure aether that slammed into the swordsman. It blasted the Spaniard into the barrier at his back, the barrier holding as it seared the swordsman’s body, burning away his “flesh” and revealing his skeleton as the wall of sound broke his bo
dy and caused micro-fissures in the stone within. Carranza grabbed one of the broken rib “bones” and flung it at Cenere, catching him in the belly and knocking the fight right out of him. Carranza then stepped away from the barrier, hobbled by the abuse the young man had dealt him and stood over Cenere, his blade shakily poised to strike.

  “I…will kill you…for that, you little…shit!” Carranza snarled and began to thrust downward. Carranza felt time begin to slow, the sun’s light glinting off the blade in his hand. The sun’s light seemed to darken at roughly the same time a hand coated in necrid pushed itself through his chest, his sight rapidly fading as he saw what the hand was grasping, the stone that held his essence. Time resumed its normal speed as the dummy paused in mid motion, the tip of the sword hovering just above Cenere’s chest, a mere inch from breaking the skin. The orb glowed as the light within angrily shifted back and forth as a mixed string of curse words in both Spanish and Abyssal emanated from the little orb.

  “I…was always…better with…my fists, you Spanish…prick.” Carl laughed, a wet, ragged sound as he ripped the cradle free of its moorings and the dummy dropped to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. Carl dropped to his knees and stared at the brightly flashing, furious orb as cracks formed on it’s surface. “And…as promised…you won’t be going back to the Abyss.”

  Carranza’s stone flashed brightly in fear as Carl’s hand ignited in Baneflame. The orb burned in his fist as he crushed it to powder, the soul trying to flee the flames as they consumed him. The soul of Carranza burned away as it screamed obscenities in a mix of Spanish and Abyssal. Carl grinned weakly as he watched the fireworks. “I’d say I’d see you in Hell…but then I’d be lying. Never…let it be s-said…that I don’t keep…my…”

  Carl fell backward as the barrier fell and the Gudsbur guttered, Bucky immediately taking his godly form. Cenere was on Carl in an instant, trying to flood his friend’s body with Hellfire, but the green flames refused to come when beckoned. “Why? Why isn’t it working?”

  A big, bloodstained hand grabbed his wrist. “Won’t…work, Pup…he got me…with a soul burner.” Carl coughed up a gout of blood and looked up to see the others gathering around him. Bucky watched with a sad look in his eye, then stepped forward to try and help. Infernal runes burned their way through the stone of Bahaumt’s temple as a Hellmouth opened, and Lucifer himself stepped out.

  “Oh…bloody…Hell,” Carl forced the words out as his lungs filled with blood, “Today…has not been…my day…”

  Lucifer clucked his tongue at Bahamut as he strode towards the group, Camilla dropping to her knees in her God’s presence. “Now, now, sweetie, no need to kneel on such an…auspicious occasion. After all, it’s not every day someone dies in their own past,” Lucifer said, lifting her chin with a perfectly manicured finger. “And no tears. This is going to be good.”

  Cenere leapt to his feet between Carl and Lucifer, tears streaming down his face as he drew his sword, knives in his other hand. “I won’t let you take him!” Cenere snarled as he began to hum a dirge. Lucifer simply laughed.

  “Well, excuse the actual Hell out of me!” Lucifer took another step, then paused when a pair of throwing knives buried themselves in the hard stone at his feet. “Kid, you don’t want to do this. Trust me, you do not want to stand between me and what’s mine. Besides, you’re about to get promoted! So, howsabout you step aside, and I’ll just go ahead and chalk that attempted assault on, you know, your GOD, up to grief?”

  Cenere was firm in his resolve and he lifted his sword into a middle guard, readying himself for an impossible fight. Tears welled up in his eyes as he stood in the path of his God, unwilling to yield, ready to die to protect his mentor, his teacher…the closest thing he ever had to a father. He was willing to fight a god to save his best friend.

  On the Astral plane, Lucifer’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. Cenere’s soul shone with a bright golden light, connected by an umbilical cord of pure aether to the woman standing just five feet away, a spark as bright as a star burning with immense raw power. Lucifer’s upper lip quirked upward as he stared at the young man for a long moment. Cenere took a step forward, raising his sword to fight his god. At least, he did until he felt someone grab his ankle. He looked down and saw Carl, barely alive, gripping his pantleg feebly. “Pup…Cenere…no. It’s…my…time.” Carl forced himself up onto an elbow and looked up at Lucifer. “I…await your judgement…Dark…Father.”

  “Judgement?” Lucifer said with a wry smile as he stared at Cenere, watching the tiefling’s soul dim a bit. He then looked down at Carl, his face becoming as solemn as the grave. “Well then, I declare you’re guilty of violating subsection A, Paragraph 37 of the DON’T FUCKING TIME TRAVEL rule. The part that specifies that dying outside your own time is a Permanent offence. And as such, your sentence shall be…eight years in the oven.”

  Cenere and Camilla both whipped their heads around in shock at Lucifer’s pronouncement. Lucifer winked at Carl. “Come on now, Carl, did you really think I wasn’t going to fuck with you about this? You died in service to the Church at a time when you’re just a wee lad of eight, and not even on purpose! You get a free ride on this one, Carl. Even I’m not that much of an asshole. At least not today. I’m feeling generous. Especially with how you offed the little shit.” Lucifer smiled sunnily at Carl where he lay choking on his own blood, “Oh, and Cenere-poo, do me a favor. Let me see your hand.”

  Cenere held up his hand and Lucifer tsk tsk’d. “That brand’s a little light. Let’s fix that, shall we? Grab Carl’s gun and shoot him in the head. After all, you keep what you kill, don’t you?”

  Cenere shook his head. “I won’t.”

  Carl held up his gun, his arm shaking from the herculean effort. Cenere looked at the gun with revulsion, and Carl coughed up more blood as he tried to chuckle. He could feel his life fading fast, and while the thought of descending into Hell frightened him, he knew what needed to happen. “Pup…you’ll be doing me a favor. But before…I go…mind lighting this for me?” Carl asked as his other hand drew his pack of Blacks from his trousers and he put one between his lips. Cenere helped him sit up and lit his smoke. “Baal…was right, the…bastard. Said…I’d die smoking. You have to do it, Pup. Then you get my fortune, the mansion…and you get promoted.”

  Cenere’s hand shook as he took the gun and watched as Carl closed his eyes, puffing contentedly on his smoke. “Look, this…dying thing…really hurts…so could you-”

  Bang.

  Carl fell to the ground, a smoking hole in the center of his forehead. Cenere collapsed to the ground, crying as he dropped the gun. Carl’s body became suffused with a green glow as he burned away, his coat and possessions disappearing from sight and reappearing on Cenere’s lithe frame. The coat resized itself as Carl’s baton and pistol appeared on Cenere’s belt. The swirling mass of green light and ashes flew at Cenere and went up his nose, into his mouth, ears, and even his eyes. He gagged for a moment, the urge to vomit his mentor’s ashes overwhelming. Carl’s soul floated above where his body had been and smiled at Cenere as the tiefling got to his feet, ash crusted all over his face.

  “S’alright, Pup. I’m going to Hell. And believe you me, this hurts a lot less than that soul burner did.”

  “Skipping the line, too,” Lucifer added as he buffed his nails. “Consider it a bonus for dying for your faith the way you did. Hoo boy, but your younger self is going to have nightmares.”

  “Brilliant. I’ll try and see you when you get back, but no promises.”

  “I’m sure we can arrange something.” Lucifer winked at the soul, then looked at his non-existent watch. “Whoops, look at the time.” He pulled out a small pitchfork from his coat and licked the tiny brand, making it glow white hot. He pulled Cenere to his feet, then pressed the brand into the back of Cenere’s hand, crossing the one already there. “Congratulations, Cenere. You get to be the Grand Inquisitor of Greed and Lust. Interesting combination, there. Well, I�
�ve got Hell to get back to, Carl’s going into the oven at 400 degrees for the next eight years, and you’ve got a doozy of a migraine to deal with.”

  Lucifer punctuated the last part by flicking Cenere in the forehead and jumpstarting the process of assimilating centuries worth of memories from past Grand Inquisitors of Greed into Cenere’s head. Cenere screamed as he collapsed to the ground in agony, clutching his head as he fought the urge to vomit. A small tattoo burned its way into his flesh, a barcode that was made up of sixteen zeroes and the number sixty-nine at the end.

  “Camilla, sweetie, be a doll, and keep an eye on him, would you? He’s going to be out of it for a couple days and will probably act funny for a bit afterwards. He’s certainly going to be different, but I’m sure it’ll all work out in the end.” Lucifer smiled, then turned on his heel. “Come along, Carl, the oven awaits.”

  Carl nodded, then turned to Cenere. “It’s up to you now, Pup. Do me proud.”

  The pair strolled over to the Hellmouth and Carl disappeared into the hole with Lucifer, the ground sealing up as they departed the plane. It left a small scorch mark that spelled out “Missed a spot, Bucks!” in Lucifer’s handwriting.

  Chapter Twenty

  In an orphanage in Sussex, a child tossed and turned in his nightmare. He was sliding down a jagged slide made of black marble again, the slide lubricated with congealing blood. He could feel the jagged edges slice his flesh as he careened down the slide, slowly being flayed alive. He could see the various planes of Hell as he slid, lit by the green flames surrounding the slide, and hear the howling screams of the damned as he made his way, slowly, down the slide. Every branch he approached sealed itself off, forcing him to continue sliding downward.

  All the while, he heard a laughing, screaming voice as he traveled down the foul waterslide. He realized it was his own.

  Marcel Carlos Beaumont II sat up in his cot, sweating profusely as he fought to regain control of his breathing. He’d had the same nightmare every night for the last week, each time seeing a different plane of Hell as he slid down the slide. He curled back up under his threadbare blanket and cried.