Whether by choice or reflex, there was an expectant tone in Dajjal’s words.
“This visit is not about the weapon Dajjal,” Death was quick to reveal.
Dajjal’s eyes dropped to the carpet, then crept up as angry slits.
“I have come to show you things,” Death said, closing the space between the two of them, “and to measure your response.”
“To what end?” Dajjal asked, clearly offended by the notion of being evaluated.
“That is for me, and me alone, to know.”
Dajjal scoffed and turned to look back out the window, saying, “I shall not be going with you.”
A bony grip latched onto Dajjal’s shoulder, thin yet strong, burning as it froze.
“There is no choice in this matter. You must.”
Dajjal felt ill as the room folded upon itself many times, top becoming bottom and then top once more. The world spun and there was a large, uncomfortable pull from his shoulder.
Appearing around them from the ground and the sky was another room – dank and miserable, smelling of alcohol, cigarettes, and sweaty armpits. Immediately Dajjal recognized it as the Snake Eyes MC; a place that would come to know the very definition of bloodbath.
Death stayed silent as the past played before them as the present, Dajjal’s indiscriminate and brutal slayings laid bare. The Grim glanced in his company’s direction and saw that he was watching the events too; his mouth cracked open ever so slightly in delight while his eyes reveled in a crimson-filled orgy.
“What joy I see in you upon recalling these events,” Death observed, just as the last biker exploded with gore.
“Indeed… I enjoyed making them suffer.”
“As you believe your role in the world is. Did you plan this all ahead of time?”
Dajjal was quiet at first, not because he was seeking out a lie but because he was enjoying the foul smells.
“Yes.”
“They posed no threat to you. You could have simply gone to the back and claimed your host’s bike, could you not?”
Dajjal glanced over to Death’s hooded face.
“What, no suffering? Where would the fun in that be?”
“I see,” Death replied and with a chilling snap of his own bones the world dissolved again.
Dajjal felt a little better this time as they wheeled through dimensions and time, although he was still glad when the journey ended and the world stood still. Warminster city center had sprung up around them in smoldering ruin, a decimated school schoolyard displaying body upon body of innocent children.
“Here you did not play a direct hand, yet I presume the response to what you see is the same as the bikers?”
Dajjal nodded coldly as he took in the carnage and destruction, his first time seeing this damage up close instead of edited coverage on a television screen.
“Yes…”
The smoke blew away as did everything else, replaced by snow and howling wind. Before them, Dajjal and Botis were engaged in battle with King Thrym, fighting for ownership of the Crown.
Death watched the battle, then the glimmer in Dajjal’s expression as he cast Botis into the giant’s gaping chest, dealing what would be a catastrophic blow.
“This was your first success in obtaining one of your sacred items, was it not?” Death asked the demon. “Your claim over Lucifer’s halo, all while Gage Crosse was forced to flee.”
Dajjal loved it, swelling with pride. “Yes… it was. I shall also claim the rest of what is mine from him, too.”
“All things from him?”
Dajjal watched at Botis breathed his last breath.
“Well, the four treasures at least… where I shall be collecting your scythe still remains to be seen.”
“That it does, and trust me when I say it shall not be easy for you,” Death said, unbothered by the veiled threat.
“We shall see,” Dajjal said, chuckling.
“Regarding your betrayal of Botis, smiting him after his efforts to help you. Why?”
Dajjal sighed but not out of remorse.
“He would have done the same thing to me and even assuming he hadn't, he would have just been in the way…”
“Of?”
“My rule,” Dajjal said so casually. “There can be only one Lord, and that is me.”
“I see,” Death repeated, taking a silver blade from his robes. He sliced it through the air, tracing a thin gossamer line that hung for a moment before expanding into a portal.
As Death began to step through it, Dajjal was drawn to the knife as it disappeared beneath the folds of his cloak.
“So it was you?”
Death stopped, halfway in the gash.
“What was me?”
“The blade you have there, it feels… familiar.”
“Yes, it should. I gave you the razor, which you've lost. This blade is made of the same material,” Death answered, continuing through the portal which shimmered like water.
Dajjal hastily followed, entering into a void of darkness.
“Why would you give me such a thing?”
“To see what you would do with it.”
Dajjal scoffed, the answer far too simple for his liking. Rocks appeared beneath his feet and a star-strewn sky, filled with cosmic colors burst into life above.
“To see what I would do?” Dajjal repeated. “You mean to tell me that you could have gotten me out of Hell this entire time, yet instead left me there to do it on my own, with a fucking razor blade no less?”
“Yes.”
“So? Have I lived up to your expectations?” Dajjal asked with a sarcastic bend. “Done well enough for the Grim Reaper to be pleased with me?”
Death remained quiet, looking to the beauty that was passing above them.
“ANSWER ME!” Dajjal demanded.
“Dajjal… you are on a path of destruction far more dangerous than I could have imagined. The blade offered a direct way out of your prison – how else do you think it could cross the threshold to the Earth – but instead, you chose to make things hurt. Shortsighted and blinded by your hatred and greed, there is nothing but selfishness in your proverbial heart, for we both know the one that beats in your chest is dead to feelings and emotion other than fear and rage.”
“You have some gall, Reaper,” said Dajjal, his halo starting to sputter with sparks once again. “I would have you know that once I pluck those other items from Gage’s lifeless body I will be coming for you!”
“This is exactly what I was talking about Dajjal.”
The demon was having none of it.
“I will be there to take your scythe and make sure that you watch as I –”
Death waved his pale and bony hand, returning the great demon to his manor. It was eerily quiet.
“So now do you see, sister? There is too much avarice and too much mistrust. My choice was the correct one.”
A voice came from the darkness between the rocks and Kahli appeared from the shadows wearing her distinctive black dress.
“Yes, I can say now that I fully agree. I had to know for sure, but dealing with him would be like dancing on the edge of knife. One small slip…”
“Would result in the ruin of all. There is no other way to look at this – Gage Crosse is the one who must receive the scythe.”
GAGE SAVORED THE last sweet and smoky bit of Bastille 1789 as the afternoon sun slid behind a sheet of white clouds. It didn’t matter as he was already in the shade, having commandeered a table beneath one of three patio umbrellas on the small paved terrace of Durand’s. It was a tiny restaurant that, thankfully, had an even teenier hint of a bar. Size in this case didn’t matter, as alcohol was alcohol, and as the adage went that Gage often quoted: it was five o’clock somewhere.
Off to the east was a stunning panorama: green fields speckled with white sheep, rolling mountains, and far beyond those the city of Perpignan. For someone who had a relatively short attention span, Gage truly found the view comforting.
That is,
until his nagging mind tried to urge him along again.
You really should head up to the Odyssey, his inner voice pressed for what had to be the hundredth time. That medication isn’t going to make its way down here to you.
Gage knew that he should have ventured back aboard, but something – other than laziness of course – was keeping him fastened in position, as it had been for the past hour and a half.
“I’d do that, but I'd be missing out on all this action,” he muttered, raising his glass to take a drink before remembering it was already empty. There wasn’t even a piece of ice he could chew on. Turning his stare back to the main street, Gage noticed that he was by himself except for a couple of thrushes chirping in the corner as they fought over a piece of stale bread. “Yeah, all of this riveting action.”
Had it been that way the entire time? It was certainly strange that nobody was around, at least not in the streets, for Gage knew the restaurateur would often look out his thin windows to check on him. In fact, Monsieur Durand was already bringing Gage another glass of blended whiskey, snatching up the empty glass and leaving the full one in its place.
“Merci,” Gage said, heavily with his own drawl.
Durand nodded and smiled across his wrinkled face, hobbling back inside.
Even in a far-flung place such as this, Gage thought there would be some people walking about; working, shopping, anything for that matter. But instead he was met with nothing, not even tourists in this professed touristy town.
The more he dwelled on it, the more uneasy he became, and a chill crept down his spine as if something were wrong.
“Pull yourself together, man,” Gage said as he set his tumbler down on the patio table.
Resting his elbows to either side of it, he gazed down at the sweating glass before sending his gaze off into the distance. His eyes felt weighty and his brain the same.
Wishing he could just turn everything off for a minute or so, he couldn’t help but think about some things from a conversation he had with Adrienne. He couldn’t remember the exact words, but unquestionably knew the gist of what was said.
Darlin’, my soul feels way too tired to fight sometimes.
Her concerned expression was vivid in memory.
I’ve been running through the darkness for quite some time, especially since my folks died, searching for a life slowly fading out of reach. I think at times the pain is the only thing we know and the only thing that’s real anymore.
But all was not darkness and despair.
I thank God daily that I found my angel – my brightest star in that ever-dark night sky – but the Devil keeps on sayin’ that we’ll never get out of this alive. I plan to shut him and every other demon up in Hell. When all this is behind us, I’ll be so glad. We can finally focus on us… somethin’ that’s long been overdue.
Those words landed heavily on his heart, much more than he expected them to.
“Damn!” Gage shouted as a whisper. “Why ya gotta get all like this now?”
He looked back down to his glass, the amber goodness calling his name.
“One more ain’t gonna hurt,” he convinced himself. “Then I’ll head back up to see –”
A brief chirp and a burst of static cut through like a knife.
“Gage?” came a troubled voice across the comm. “Are you there? Gage?”
His tiredness thrown on the back-burner, Gage perked up in his seat.
“Om? I’m here buddy. What’s the matter? Ya sound frantic.”
There was a low grumble that might have been white noise.
“I have been trying to hail Marcus; he’s not responded at all.”
Gage shot up from his seat and instinctively started to look around; Durand, seeing his customer rise quickly, came out to check on him.
“It’s all good,” Gage said, waving the old man back inside gingerly with a trademark smile. Raising his phone to his ear to lessen any suspicion, Gage asked into it, “What do ya mean, Om?”
“I mean that he hasn’t answered my calls,” Om replied. “Is he by you?”
“No,” Gage said despondently. “He and Ty went off to investigate the church up the way. That was about an hour or so ago. They promised to behave themselves and there wasn’t an explosion or anything, so I figured they were doin’ alright.”
“Gage, you need to find them as soon as you can,” Om said with an urgency that only seemed to crop up just before shit was just about to hit the fan. “There’s been more attacks.”
“What?” Gage asked with a tone of astonishment.
“I was monitoring the news channels and about ten minutes ago there were breaking reports across all of them. The humans are describing them as terrorist attacks, but I was curious and ran some tests. That’s why I tried to call on Marcus – I needed a second opinion.”
Gage didn’t need to hear the rest to know what was coming. His heart was already beating faster.
“The instruments up here are going wild, all of them, picking up massive signs of demon activity.”
“Dajjal,” said Gage furiously. “It has to be. Where did he strike?”
“Saint-Malo and Dunkirk. But Gage, there was also an attack three miles away in what used to be the town of Montazels.”
“Holy shit!” Gage exclaimed. “Do they know we are here?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I would assume yes,” Om said worriedly. “That’s why I need you to find the Sheridans and come back to the ship with haste. I can transport you from the courtyard you first dropped into.”
By then Gage had laid money on the table and made his way back onto Grand Rue, towers of smoke now unmistakably rising beyond the buildings to his right – to the north. They defaced the blue sky with their filth.
“I don’t see ‘em,” said Gage, starting his way up the cracked street at a quick pace. Putting the phone back into his pocket his arms swayed so fiercely he could have been running. “Why ain’t this shit ever easy?”
As if to answer him, or make him more irate, static crackled again. Om was back on the line.
“Gage, I have an update for you,” he said.
“Have at it,” Gage said over the sounds of his boots marching on the hard roadway.
“There are some mentions of an attack in Warminster. I hadn’t heard of it until now, but it was a slaughter.”
“Always is with that fucker,” Gage muttered, transitioning into a slight run.
Om’s voice had fallen into a sorrow-filled murmur.
“Men, women, and children were there, Gage, all of the deceased either cooked alive or ripped apart. Given the nature of the attack, some humans are saying it’s possibly more than just a terrorist attack. Satanic cults seem to be the go-to explanation.”
Gage couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.
“If only they knew the truth. I suppose that’s the only frame of reference they have… right now at least. If there’s one thing I know about humans, ain’t none of those reporters going to go on TV and say it’s a damn demon army until they’re overrunning the streets. Hell, probably not even then, dismissing it as fake with cheap-ass computer graphics.”
How far away is this damn church? Gage thought abruptly, already at his quota of cardio for the week.
“You’d be right,” Om went on. “In addition to the satanic angle they are saying it looks like some kind of big cat or bear did the mutilating.”
“Always with the big cats,” Gage said quietly. “Be sure to remind me to tell Quileth about it; I’m sure his people are always pleased to be confused with werewolves.”
Any other time Om would probably have laughed at that joke, but he stayed quiet for a few more of Gage’s quick strides before continuing, “the French government is preparing themselves for another attack, building up security measures on the ground in Paris, Marseille, and Lyon.”
“Little do they know these guys ain’t gonna come in shootin’ bullets from vans.”
“No, they aren’t,” Om confirmed. “T
hankfully they have eyes in the sky.”
“Damn right they do,” said Gage.
Om was not above pleading.
“Gage, find Marcus and his brother quickly. We need to get out of here, now.”
“I’m nearly to the church,” he said. “I hope they have what we came all this way for.”
Om sighed.
“I hope so too, especially for Master Joey’s sake.”
“For the sake of us all, Om,” Gage replied, genuinely concerned. “They have no idea how bad it’s gonna get.”
Om dropped off the line and Gage finally saw a tiny sign ahead that indicated the church was down a short alleyway. He continued trudging toward it, cupping large hands around his mouth to find Marcus and Ty the good, old-fashioned way.
THE SHERIDAN BROTHERS descended the dark passageway together, their journey into the unknown taking them far beneath the hilltop. Its width was made for one, Ty walking a few steps ahead of Marcus in order for them to fit.
As they continued, the air grew colder as the warmth and light of the church fell away. Then, a loud bang echoed from far behind them, raining loose stone and mold down as everything went black. The way had been shut, but by what was unclear.
“Guess we’re committed now; there's no going back that way.” Marcus seemed flustered, turning to look at Ty to vent. However, even though his brother was standing only feet away, he couldn't make anything out. “Ty?” he called out nervously. “Are you still there?”
“Yes,” Ty answered, picking up on the anxiousness in his brother’s voice.
“Thank God. You know how much the dark freaks me out. Please tell me you have …”
“A lighter?” Ty replied, blindly looting his pockets. “Same one as always. Remember that one time when…”
Ty went quiet and paused, the need for a lighter now gone. A glow had started leaching out from the walls themselves, bathing everything with a sickening hue of green.
“Well this is nice…” Marcus said with a sarcastic bend. “I’m not sure what’s worse: the pitch black or ghostly puke sweating out of the rocks.”
“I'm going with the puke,” said Ty. “Lets us see any pits in the floor.”
Then Hell Followed (Journeyman Book 5) Page 7