The World Ends Tonight

by Wood, Rick

  Now, nothing.

  Balam’s pride was severely wounded. A huge dent in the ongoing belief that it was better than anyone, or anything. Especially those peasants on earth.

  Now it had been defeated by hell’s child.

  It swore then and there that it would have revenge. When they brought out the heir of hell, when it rained fire upon the weak earth, Balam would rise. It would find this Cassy girl and return her to hell.

  There, Balam would continue to torment her. To wriggle inside her until it made her bleed, to slash her with a thousand continuous flicks of a sharp whip, to rip her in two and feed on her insides then watch as they agonisingly grew back. To humiliate her, to rape her, to watch as she squealed under his three heaving heads.

  When the time was right, Balam would return to earth.

  Balam would march on up to heaven and snatch her out if it needed to.

  Cassy would face an eternity of his rage and torment.

  And at that point, Edward King would have fulfilled his true destiny, and there would be no way to stop him.

  10

  22 March 2003

  Three years, three months since millennium night

  Martin watched with his mouth agape as Derek and Cassy frantically paced the study, musing over possibilities that were completely nonsensical to him.

  “It could be a trick.”

  “It could be fake.”

  “Or it could be real.”

  “What if there was a way to reach him?”

  “Could we bring him back?”

  “Would he come back right?”

  “Would it matter?”

  “Of course it would.”

  “Are you sure what you saw was real?”

  “The devil couldn’t play a trick on an angel, you’re not mortal.”

  “It must be genuine.”

  “It must be real.”

  Eventually, Martin sighed, growing frustrated, and tried to interject.

  “Guys?” he offered.

  “Where was he?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Guys?” he tried again.

  “But why now?”

  “Where has he been all this time?”

  “Guys!”

  They both froze, turning their muddled stares toward him.

  “What the hell is going on?” he asked, exasperatedly waving his hands in the air.

  Derek and Cassy sat, realising they needed to calm their ideas and fill Martin in. Slowly but particularly, Derek explained what had happened in the field.

  “What do you think it is?” Martin mused. “I mean, are we sure it’s Eddie?”

  “If it was something you or I saw,” Derek answered, “then no, I could not be sure. However, I am certain hell could not interfere with a servant of heaven so easily. If they could, the angels would be entirely wiped out by now.”

  Martin nodded, trying to make sense of what Derek was saying.

  Had she really seen Eddie?

  Because Martin had battled this thing and it was nothing like the Eddie he had briefly met – it was evil. Eddie had turned into it – not just metaphorically; Eddie had literally changed into a demonic beast. Derek had witnessed Eddie physically transform after the ritual of the Devil’s Three, then disappear to hell. Eddie had become this thing.

  So how could he still be out there when his body wasn’t?

  Martin had faced it. Just after Jenny had appealed to the Eddie within; and if anyone could appeal to the Eddie within, it would have been her.

  So where had the true Eddie been then?

  The thing had slaughtered everyone they had gathered for an army. All the most powerful experts in the fields of the paranormal and supernatural had been wiped out within minutes.

  Eddie wouldn’t do that.

  Unless this wasn’t Eddie they were dealing with. That piece of the devil within him could have taken over, pushing Eddie to the background. Could he really still be in there? Could he really be stuck, watching everything the heir of hell was doing, helpless to stop it?

  After all, the body and soul cannot exist without each other. Maybe hell had to bury Eddie somewhere deep down so they could keep the heir.

  “Right. Well, what does this mean then?” Martin asked, realising he had been amid silent thought for a while.

  “I think it means we have a chance of bringing him back – the true Eddie, that is,” Cassy answered. “Maybe that is the only way to defeat the heir. He’s too powerful for any of us to kill, so maybe we have to beseech the Eddie within.”

  With an infuriated sigh, Derek abruptly stood from the table and turned away, vigorously shaking his head.

  “Derek, mate, surely you see Cassy’s right?”

  “It’s not that,” he grunted, refusing to turn around.

  “Then what?”

  He leant against the bookcase, loosening his collar, dropping his head.

  “It’s Jenny,” he answered.

  Martin shot a confused glance at Cassy.

  “What about her?”

  Derek took a deep inwards breath, then let it go slowly. He turned back toward them, doing all he could to gather himself, to retain some composure.

  “It’s just – oh, God… I’ve been a fool.”

  Martin shrugged at him, prompting him to explain.

  “If I’d have only listened to Jenny,” Derek observed, “then maybe… She was so adamant Eddie could be saved, and I wasn’t having any of it. If only I’d have listened, she’d still be alive.” He closed his eyes and hung his head. “They’d all still be alive.”

  Martin looked to Cassy, hoping she would have something reassuring to say, but she didn’t. At first, Martin wasn’t inclined to argue either, instead agreeing with Derek that they should have listened.

  Then he remembered all Derek had done. Not just for him, but for their fight.

  “You made the call you had to make,” Martin reassured him. “You made the decision with the info you had, and I dunno if I’d have done differently.”

  “He’s right,” Cassy confirmed. “None of us had any idea. You can’t beat yourself up over it.”

  Derek absently nodded.

  Martin knew Derek knew they were right. But he also knew that it would not stop Derek from beating himself up or doubting himself. It must be tough to constantly be the strong one, and to put this decision entirely on his shoulders wasn’t right.

  Martin only wished there was some way he could let Derek know that.

  Martin decided that a change of conversation would help.

  “Right. What do we do now?” he asked. “With us knowing this, what do we do?”

  Derek turned to the window and looked out at the vast horizon, the setting sun in the amber evening sky.

  Derek shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  11

  There could be no doubt about it – he had seen them.

  Derek and Cassy.

  Alive.

  How could Eddie reach them?

  Laying in a sinisterly dark room, lit with a hazy blue tint, with nothing but his ruminations and incessant thoughts to accompany him, it was a question he lingered on for a while.

  Maybe if he tried, just closed his eyes, and really tried, he could get through to someone.

  Jenny would be his best bet. He was closest to her, they grew up together; they could practically read each other’s minds already. What’s more, he knew that out of all of them, she would be the one who could recognise him trying to make contact.

  She would never give up on him, he knew that.

  So he knelt, closing his eyes and concentrating, ignoring the bumpy floor digging into his knees.

  He concentrated the way he would when conjuring an element, preparing for a fight, readying himself for an exorcism.

  He listened to the absence. Smelt a distant linger of smoke. Felt slight movement he made hitting the stone walls.

  Everything melded into one piece of nothingness.

  He just had to th
ink. Had to reach out. Had to hope that she would hear him.

  Jenny.

  I’m talking to you, Jenny.

  He pictured her face.

  Her long hair, her infectious smile. Lacy by her side, holding her hand, always loyal.

  Jenny frantically searching for a way to get Eddie back.

  Eddie knew that’s what she would be doing.

  He looked for her in her home. Thought about her making a cup of tea, or sitting on the sofa watching a movie with Lacy.

  But he couldn’t see her there.

  A vague outline of Lacy appeared, but no Jenny.

  So he tried harder.

  He could not fail.

  He had to get through to her.

  Jenny, can you hear me?

  Nothing.

  Maybe if I spoke it…

  “Jenny, please, can you hear me?”

  He waited.

  “Jenny, this is Eddie. It is actually me. But I need to know you can hear me. Come on, please…”

  He waited.

  And waited and waited.

  He didn’t know what he was waiting for, but he knew he’d know it when he had it.

  He had such great powers, such a gift; if anyone could do this, it would be him.

  Surely.

  “Jenny, come on, I know you’re there, do you hear me?”

  He felt nothing.

  “I’m alive, Jenny. I’m here, but I need your help.”

  He listened intently.

  Really straining himself to hear any sound, any feeling, any smells or touches that reminded him of her.

  Something. Like the graze of her hand against his. Like the sound of her voice in the distance of his mind. Like the look in her eyes when she saw he was upset.

  But all he had were his desperate thoughts, continually and unsuccessfully reaching out for her.

  All he could feel was a longing, blank space.

  “Come on, Jenny.”

  No.

  It was useless. Futile. Pointless.

  He collapsed onto his back.

  It was no good.

  He was stuck there.

  12

  The devil’s throne spiralled lavishly into the air away from the spewing lava and choking ash of hell. He sat upon it, casually poised upon a gigantic set of skulls that allowed him to look over all the eternities of suffering and torment.

  Watching over the demons enjoying their torture of various souls made him giddy. Like a child unwrapping a birthday present, excited to see what was in store. Loyal demons swarmed the surroundings, unleashing terrific tirades of torture over every inhabitant trapped in a world of volcanic sorrow.

  One of his most trusted demons approached, slithering toward him on the endless serpent tale that attached itself to its muscular torso. Its dragon wings were thrice the size of its body, with sharp claws savagely fixed to their end. Each of its three human heads had a body that attached itself to its slithering lower parts, each with horns pointing triumphantly into the air of ash. Along its body were sharp spikes that could slice an enemy in half before it even knew what was happening.

  The devil had seen it. Humans had been decapitated before they had even laid eyes on this monster.

  It was magic. Brilliant beauty decorated in bloody bunting.

  What was more prominent than the intimidatingly sinister movement and ferocity in its eyes was the immense evil it exuded. To be in the presence of this demon was like being in the presence of pure hatred, something the devil drank like water.

  “You called for me?” spoke the demon, Geryon.

  “Yes. And you came.”

  The devil smiled, watching his loyal servant a moment longer, enjoying the detestable, exuberant hostility encircling Geryon’s face.

  “What can I do for you, my Lord?” Geryon requested.

  “The soul of Edward King, the living good of the heir we cannot kill,” he began. “It’s trapped. But it’s finding ways to reach out.”

  Geryon nodded, listening intently and obediently.

  “He has even tried to reach out to his friend, Jenny.” The devil burst into hysterics. “But she’s dead!”

  He practically fell off his throne, such was the extremity of the hilarity he found in the situation.

  The soul of Edward King was just so… pathetic.

  Trying to reach out to the one person he couldn’t because he had already killed her!

  It was a beautiful kind of irony.

  Geryon did not falter in its expression. It remained dementedly serious, patiently awaiting further instructions, a permanent grimace tattooed to its cheeks.

  “What would you like me to do with him?”

  “You are the guardian of hell, Geryon,” the devil answered, still cackling. “Guard him.”

  “As you wish.”

  “He cannot escape. You keep the door shut. Do not let him pass. Do not let him send messages or signals of any kind.”

  “Yes, my master. It is done.”

  Geryon turned and slithered away, its large claws clicking against each other with a looming tick. Its huge dragon wings flapped grandly, taking the demon into the air and on its path.

  The devil sat back in its throne.

  “You think it stands a chance of escaping?” came the familiar voice of the heir of hell approaching from behind him. The devil could detect a tone of worry in the heir’s voice, a longing not to let the soul out of his cage.

  “No,” answered the devil. “But time is of the essence. Enough waiting. Ready yourself. We are going to open the gates of the underworld and finally claim the earth for our own.”

  “Very good.”

  “My heir, my son – we are going to unleash hell.”

  13

  Settling the chewed pen down on the table, Derek decided he needed to stop being so agitated. It wasn’t him. Whatever dreadful, terrible, fatal mistakes he had made, he needed to be calm and collected; even if just for Martin’s sake.

  He looked at the young boy beside him.

  Not even an adult yet.

  Such expectation weighed upon him. Quite literally, the weight of the world. The boy was supposed to be humanity’s last salvation. He was heaven’s hand in this disaster, their roll of the dice. It was he who would fix this.

  If he could.

  Martin wasn’t destined to do this, he had only been given the powers. There was nothing guaranteed he would even make a difference.

  There was no prophecy about this. In fact, all prophecy books Derek knew of ended in the coming months. No one could predict anything beyond that.

  Which could be incontrovertible evidence that this is where it ends.

  But Derek couldn’t accept that.

  Then, suddenly, with a little spark of light tingling in his brain, an idea grew. A radical, ridiculous idea, but an idea nonetheless.

  “How is your restraint spell coming along?” Derek suddenly inquired, suppressing a smile caused by the impromptu attack of his idea.

  Martin sat back and shrugged, rubbing his eyes. He was evidently tired. In fairness to him, before all of this he had never worked a day in his life. He had walked out on school and refused to do anything. But the way he had dedicated himself to his role in all of this was nothing short of heroic.

  Derek only hoped Martin realised that.

  “Dunno, man,” Martin muttered, shaking his head. “It’s… not, really. It’s more of a throw a circle and clatter the bench. Not really getting the hang of it.”

  “You will.”

  Martin scoffed.

  “Oh, trust me, you can scoff all you want. You will.”

  “Yeah, what do you know?” he grunted, turning his head away. He was slouched, his hand resting on an anxiously bouncing knee, his face curled up into a scowl.

  “Not much,” Derek admitted, watching Martin intently. “But enough.”

  Martin went to reply, then thought better of it, instead choosing to let out a big sigh.

  Derek recognised the tee
nager in him. Even saw a bit of himself at that age – the need to argue and defy anyone who tried to oppose his sceptical mind. However much was expected of him, Martin was still young, and this was how kids his age would react. With a tantrum; if that’s what one could call it.

  And Derek couldn’t blame Martin if he was starting to lose faith in him. Derek had been wrong a few too many times, and too much death had occurred as a result.

  Derek abruptly stood, placing his hands on his hips. He meandered over to a cupboard, opened it, and withdrew a whisky bottle with two tumblers. He poured them and handed one to Martin.

  “What’s this?”

  “Whisky.”

  “I’ve never had it before.”

  “Then today will be your first. Just sip it.”

  Martin took the glass from Derek, watching as Derek took a very slight sip from his glass. Martin took a swig from his and reacted with a repulsed face, completely disgusted.

  “That’s why I said sip it,” Derek pointed out jokingly.

  “Why are you giving this to me?”

  “Because we are going to make a toast.”

  “A toast? To what?”

  Derek hesitated. He peered at Martin. So young, so boisterous. He was like Eddie when Derek had first met him – completely unaware of what he was capable of.

  “What do you reckon we should toast to?” Derek mused.

  “There’s nothing. We have nothing.”

  “No, that’s not true.” Derek shook his head. “We have the trees outside. We have the air in our lungs, for now. We have each other. We have the knowledge, you have powers, we have a life of memories, some happy, some sad. We have plenty we could toast. Just pick one.”

  Martin defiantly placed the glass on the table and shook his head.

  “I can’t believe you’re trying to be positive after all–”

  “My belief in God came after I had proof; before then, I was a passionate atheist, as I believe one should be until they see a reason to be otherwise. I hated how people believed in God because it gave them comfort. Why should you need God? Look around you at this world, this wonderful life, these wonderful things. There is always so much to be thankful for.”