The Endless War That Never Ends

by Christopher Brimmage

  Smoke wafted out of Normal-Art’s nose, and then he jerked up to his feet. Ginny immediately collapsed, dead, and received the same treatment with an identical phoenix feather.

  The god cursed in frustration. “There’s got to be a better solution,” he muttered. He strummed his fingers on his chin for a moment, and then he nodded. He smirked and glanced at Drillbot. “Got it,” he said. The god reached down and ripped a strip from the bottom of his cloak. Since it was made from the hides of baby seals and wolves, he turned it end over end until he found the face of one of the baby seals. He put his lips to it and blew. The baby seal inflated, and then squealed with joy as it popped to life.

  “Hold this a sec,” said God-Art to Normal-Art, handing him the baby seal. The seal was gigantic, as big as Normal-Art’s torso. Its huge eyes stared from Normal-Art to Drillbot to Ginny, and it seemed to smile. Normal-Art smiled back at the creature and petted it. God-Art ripped another strip from his cloak and inflated another baby seal to life.

  “OK, hold still,” said God-Art. “We’re going to use these seals’ body heat and blubber to keep you two alive for a bit longer than you’ve managed on your own. Frankly, I’m sick of resurrecting you, and I don’t want to deal with you if you overdose on the magic that I’ve been pumping into you to bring you back to life so many times. I hope you live to a ripe old age, just so you will experience the long-term negative effects of these resurrections in a manner that won’t affect me.”

  God-Art used one hand to hold the baby seal up over Ginny’s head. He shoved his other hand into the seal’s torso and ripped a long, vertical gash down the length of its body. The seal squealed in pain. Ginny and Normal-Art squealed in disgust.

  Before the baby seal’s entrails and organs could fall out onto the ground, God-Art wrapped the creature around Ginny, shoving her inside the open wound like it was a fur coat that had come to life. Her head poked out of the top of the wound so that the seal’s head flopped on top of hers like the hood of a cloak. Streams of seal blood rolled down her face. To any casual observer, it would have looked like a seal with scrawny human legs poking out of its bottom had appeared in her place.

  God-Art tugged at the seal’s hide so that the ripped portion of its skin met on her front. He ran his index finger across the tear, and it glowed as it sealed itself back together. The seal’s heart made soft squelching noises as it thumped against Ginny’s back. It purred, and Ginny laughed. “That tickles,” she said.

  God-Art repeated the process on Normal-Art, after which Normal-Art and Ginny stood side-by-side in their live-seal coats.

  Ginny glanced over to Normal-Art and laughed. “You know what you look like?” she asked.

  “Like that guy from that movie you like. The whiny guy who gets shoved into the Wantan thing—or whatever it’s called—after the other guy comes looking for him and cuts the Wantan thing open with the laser-sword.”

  “Exactly!”

  “Well, you look like that, too!” he said.

  They both smiled at each other, their pale teeth standing out in an odd contrast to the drying blood that covered their faces in streaks. The seals cooed.

  “OK, glad we could reminisce a bit. Now get moving,” commanded God-Art.

  Drillbot watched Ginny and Normal-Art scamper across the ice toward the end of the passageway. The group’s pace quickened substantially now that God-Art no longer needed to resurrect one of them every couple minutes.

  Once the group reached the end of the passageway, it opened onto a grandiose cavern, the ceiling of which lay so high overhead that Drillbot needed to telescope his eyes to their highest setting to see it. Frozen stalactites hung from way up above, their ends capped in frost. It looked to Drillbot like an upside-down mountain range.

  A ramp descended to another stretch of flat ice. Snowbanks periodically broke the monotony of flatness. It was colder in this cave than anywhere that the group had been before.

  At the far end of the chamber, a huge shape lay enshrouded in a fog so thick that Drillbot could not see through it, no matter which functionality he switched between in his telescopic eyes. Fog and snow and little pieces of ice whipped through this cavern at periodic intervals, pelting the group as they began the descent down the ramp.

  Normal-Art had not taken three steps down the ramp before he slipped and fell onto his back. The seal surrounding him squealed in surprise and pain when his weight landed atop it. Normal-Art slid down the ramp—all quarter-mile of it—gaining speed the entire time until he crashed into a snowbank at its bottom.

  Drillbot’s engines roared as he chased after his former master. However, he made it no more than a dozen feet before his leash ran out of length. He pulled harder, but to no avail. He could move no faster than God-Art was willing to walk. Ginny scrambled past him down the ramp.

  Drillbot turned his head to look back at God-Art, who strolled nonchalantly down the ramp. “[whir] Why do you not hurry? Former Master Art will – CLACK – will likely need resurrection after that slide,” said the robot.

  “Do I look like I’m made of resurrections? I’ll get to the bastard when I get to the bastard. I’ve exerted much of my power bringing these fools back to life this many times. This little stroll will give me a chance to recover.”

  Drillbot’s processors buzzed and vibrated, and he longed to be free of his leash. But instead, he rolled forward as far as his leash would allow, slow as a glacier. Drillbot zoomed in his telescopic eyes so that he could check on Art, and he adjusted his audio receptors so that they were focused on his former master, allowing him to hear like he was standing next to Art. Ginny reached the bottom of the ramp and kicked aside enough of the snowbank to reach Normal-Art. She hooked one of her legs under his right armpit and dragged him out of the snowbank.

  A man lay on his back in the snowbank where Normal-Art had crashed, every part of him frozen in ice but his face. He had a little pug nose and curly hair that fell just below his ears. He groaned.

  Normal-Art looked up at Ginny, obviously dazed but still alive. “Guess who broke my slide? I’ll give you a clue: his favorite color is blue, and he proved the world’s not flat.”

  Ginny scowled. Normal-Art had obviously touched a nerve, and the smug look on his face showed that it was intentional. She sighed, and then answered, “Columbus. And he didn’t prove anything. People knew the world was round for thousands of years before he was alive, you idiot.”

  Ginny glanced over at the face of Columbus, pale and blue in its perch in the depths of the snowbank. She continued, “That bastard committed genocide against my people. I want to kick him in the face. Don’t let the stupid god-version of you leave without me.”

  Normal-Art smiled. “You’re only a sixteenth Native American, Gin. Thus, he only genocided a sixteenth of your people. Or you only get to be a sixteenth mad at him. Either way, you don’t get to be as one-hundred percent self-righteous as you’re being.”

  By the time he finished the sentence, however, she had already leapt into action. Panicked Italian curses followed the sounds of Ginny’s bootheel kicking against the damned man in the ice. Drillbot watched Normal-Art stand, slip on the ice, fall back down, and then stand back up. Over and over. When Normal-Art finally gained his balance, enough time had passed both for Ginny to have finished her multitude of kicks to Columbus’ face and for Drillbot to have reached the bottom of the ramp with God-Art. Ginny scrambled back out of the snowbank to stand with the rest of the group.

  The group stood silent and collected themselves for a moment. God-Art then led the way toward the giant figure at the back of the chamber. The giant figure was still obscured by fog, but as they hiked closer, the fog swirled toward them. Drillbot noticed frost building in thick clumps on the ends of Normal-Art’s and Ginny’s nose and eyebrows.

  The wind whipped faster, and the fog now blasted past the group, knocking them all to the ground. The fog disappeared into the passageway from whence the group came. The snowbanks grew thicker and a fresh layer of fr
ost covered the walls of the cave. When Drillbot attempted to pull himself upright, he realized that the ice on the ground had grown thicker, too. He was encased in it with only his head poking free. He rotated his eyes and noticed that all of his companions were entombed in ice to a similar degree. Normal-Art and Ginny had both turned blue, and the life had fled from their eyes. Drillbot sighed.

  “Hey, cut that out! It’s me!” God-Art screamed in the direction from which the wind and fog had come. The flames atop the god’s head burned bright. A small explosion erupted from the god’s scalp, and when it dissipated, the ice surrounding Drillbot and his companions had disappeared. God-Art quickly resurrected Normal-Art and Ginny with another phoenix feather that he retrieved from the leather pouch hanging from his rope-belt.

  Drillbot pulled himself upright, and when he did, he glanced down to the end of the cavern. The fog was gone. And with the fog gone, Drillbot witnessed the reason why it had been so foggy and cold.

  There rose a beast of an angel six-stories tall and bound in ice from the waist down. Its skin was red—though it darkened into shades of purple near the waist where the cold ice cut into its skin. The beast had six pairs of wings, and when it flapped them, they created a frigid gust that resembled an icy tornado.

  Ice swirled into the air, forming a thick fog, and then it whipped through the cavern and up the ramp from which the companions had just descended, traveling back into the prior room—and then, according to Drillbot’s calculations of how powerful the wind was, presumably up through the well in which the giants stood. God-Art formed a shield of fire around the group this time to protect them from the frigid blast.

  “Hey! I said to stop that!” screamed God-Art to the beast.

  The freezing temperatures over the last two Circles and the swirling wind throughout this dank and muggy Hell finally made sense to Drillbot. It all originated from this six-story tall angel beating its wings.

  The hair atop the beast’s head was black and twisted in thick ringlets that stretched down to its shoulders. Its face, however, was malformed. Well, malformed if you consider having three faces joined by a common forehead a malformation. All three were shaped like lions, though their colors were different: the left was black, the middle red, and the right pale yellow. A pallid, damned soul lay impaled on the lower fangs of each mouth, occasionally writhing and moaning in pain. The eyes of all three of the beast’s faces shone with more fury and hatred than Drillbot had ever seen.

  When the angel laid its six eyes upon the group, it scowled at them and snapped its three jaws at them. However, as it scanned their faces from left to right, its eyes stopped on God-Art.

  “You!” it screamed, pointing an accusing finger.

  God-Art pointed right back. “You!” he returned.

  God-Art stalked toward the giant beast, pulling Drillbot behind him. Normal-Art and Ginny did not move, their knees shaking in terror. Then, when God-Art was but a few dozen feet away from the fallen angel, the beast leaned down with the speed of a cat, snatched God-Art, and picked him up high in the air. Drillbot dangled from the leash in the air below him.

  God-Art and the beast embraced in a hug. “Lucifer, you old fraud! I’ve been trying to get your attention for like five minutes! How long’s it been?” asked God-Art.

  The beast’s scowls turned into smiles. It looked like a joyous anime character as it grinned and held God-Art against its chest. The scene created an odd juxtaposition with the tortured souls impaled on the Beast’s bottom fangs. “Too long, old friend,” said Lucifer. “Sorry for the scary faces and wind and stuff. I thought you were a group of sinners that were sent down here to be scared straight. Always have to put on a show, otherwise you don’t keep your reputation when they return to the surface and tell others about the experience.”

  Lucifer set God-Art on the ground and asked, “So, what brings you my way?”

  God-Art smiled. “Oh, just passing through with my compatriots here. We’re actually in a bit of a rush, otherwise we’d stay and chat.”

  Lucifer looked hurt. “Oh, OK. I’d hoped you had stopped in for a visit. I’d love it if you’d stay for dinner.”

  “Duty calls. But hey, I’ll swing by next time I’m on this earth, I promise.’

  Lucifer nodded. “OK. But before you go, I’ve been working on some standup. You know that bar, The Disemboweled Boy Toy, up in Dis? Well, they have Open Mic Night every Thursday, so I’m going to perform during my next night off. Let me know what you think.”

  God-Art frowned. “Oh, Lucifer. I don’t think we should. We really don’t have time.”

  “Just one, and then you can go. Listen: Why was the Sixth Circle of Hell afraid of the Seventh?”

  “Because seven ate nine?” yelled Normal-Art before he could stop himself. It was basically a modified version of a stupid joke that Normal-Art had heard as a kid where the numeral eight acts as a homonym for ate, the past tense of eat. As a kid, Art had repeated the joke over and over until his mother had finally told him to shut up.

  Lucifer glared at Normal-Art, wings beating furiously. Wind whipped across Normal-Art, and he tumbled end over end until he crashed into another snowbank. As he slid out, God-Art turned and glared at him, mouthing: Don’t you know that you NEVER interrupt an immortal when it’s telling a joke?

  Normal-Art mouthed back: I can’t read lips!

  God-Art mouthed in reply: Liar!

  Satisfied with the punishment to the interloper, a smile returned to Lucifer’s face. The beast finished the joke, “Because the Seventh Circle is super violent, so it would hurt the Sixth Circle!”

  Lucifer bent over in peals of laughter and beat his fist against the ground. Everyone present let out a giant fake laugh except for Drillbot, who did not realize that was what he was supposed to do. Drillbot’s programming contained little in the way of humor, but even he knew that Lucifer’s joke was awful.

  “Oh, Lucifer, that was a good one!” exclaimed God-Art, the faux niceness oozing from his lips. He tugged on Drillbot’s leash, grabbed Ginny by the shoulder, and walked with them toward a crevice in the rock behind Lucifer. “Unfortunately, we must really be going now. You’re going to slay at Open Mic Night. I only wish I could be there.”

  Lucifer grinned once more and waved goodbye to God-Art with all the joy of a little child. Normal-Art scrambled to his feet and chased after the trio. Lucifer snapped the fangs of all three mouths at Normal-Art as Normal-Art passed, and then giggled when Normal-Art squealed in fright.

  Normal-Art caught up to Drillbot and the others, and they all pushed forward together into the crevice, the floor of which sloped upward until it disappeared from view into a bright light above. The four companions followed the path and disappeared into the bright light, leaving Hell behind.

  *

  The four emerged from the bright light and found themselves standing in a dank sewer.

  “Where are we?” asked Normal-Art.

  “We’re in a sewer, obviously,” answered God-Art.

  Everyone except for God-Art sighed in frustration. “I can see that, ass,” said Normal-Art. “Care to elucidate?”

  “We’re in a sewer, and we are below the street in front of your old apartment.”

  “Wait, Hell is underneath my old apartment? I knew this neighborhood was a dump, but I never expected that it was that bad.”

  “No, you fool,” said God-Art. “The particular hell to which you were assigned is a state of mind. Based on the lore and culture that created it, it is everywhere it needs to be on your earth. And we needed it to be below your old apartment so that we could exit here, so below your old apartment it was.”

  “But why?”

  “Because we’re about to embark on another dangerous journey, and I thought a nice rest for a few nights in a familiar place might restore your spirits before we leave,” said the god.

  Normal-Art stared at the god with a flat look. “You mean you just couldn’t think of anywhere else for us to go before we leave this reali
ty.”

  God-Art shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Normal-Art frowned. “Fine. Let’s go. But let’s just jump out of here as soon as we can so we can get this stupid journey over with.”

  “I need to rebirth Beverly before we can jump, and that may take a little time and effort. You should make yourselves comfortable for a short while.”

  And with that, the god led them to a nearby ladder set in the wall. It was made of metal rebar and was covered in rust. The god looked from it over to Art and Ginny. He frowned and ripped each seal that covered them in half, freeing their arms and torsos. The seals each screamed a death cry. “There,” said God-Art. “Now you’re as good as new.”

  The god dropped the seal carcasses to the floor of the sewer, and they splashed in the muck. Then he climbed the ladder and pushed aside a manhole cover at its top.

  Drillbot dangled behind him by the leash as he climbed. Drillbot swung back and forth, and then, just after God-Art pulled him up onto the street from the sewer, Drillbot noticed a man standing outside of his former master’s front door. The man looked identical to Drillbot’s former master, but he was dressed in a tattered B.I.T. uniform. Drillbot heard a shout and saw a bright flash of lightning.

  Drillbot sighed.

  Chapter 23

  SHOWDOWN

  A MAN WHOSE face looked just like Prisoner-Art emerged from the manhole. When he stood up to his full height, Agent 27142 could see that he was around nine-feet tall, had flames dancing from his scalp rather than hair, and wore a robe made from the hides of wolf cubs and baby seals. A rope hung around his waist as a belt, and dangling from this belt were a jagged dagger, some obsidian tools, and a leather pouch. A necklace made of severed ears hung loosely around his neck, and it swung back and forth as he heaved on a rope made of fire. He used the flaming rope to pull the robot with the drill-arms up behind him, the robot’s torso wrapped tightly in the flames.

  The robot looked over at Agent 27142. Then the Art with the fiery hair followed the robot’s gaze. Agent 27142 glanced down at the tracker and then back up at the pair. Based on the location that the tracker indicated for Prisoner-Art, Agent 27142 deduced that the slob was still down there beneath the street.