by Hunter Blain
The boy looked at me with eyes that flashed amber, and smiled, right as a hand burst through Silver’s back. It was a man’s hand, and it was holding a glowing orb that shimmered like a lightning storm in a bottle. The once powerful warlock didn’t even have time to gasp before his limbs jerked once, as if electrocuted, then went still.
Silver’s lifeless body slid backward, his mouth hanging slack-jawed in horrific shock. His eyes were completely black with no life left in them.
My terrified eyes shot from Silver to the beautiful man that was standing where Benji had just been. His wavy hair looked like wheat glowing in direct sunlight, with eyes the same color.
Samael lifted his hand to inspect his prize, turning it over in a show of victory, before letting eyes that glowed amber flick to me. His smile widened as his fist closed around the glowing orb.
A part of me understood on a fundamental level that what Samael was holding was Silver. Just like the souls in Sheol, there would be only oblivion waiting if his light was snuffed out.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked with my palms out in a submissive gesture. Silver had been the Grand Master Warlock in charge of Lucifer’s army on Earth, but I understood why he had taken that first step and tumbled down the rabbit hole.
“Punishing a traitor,” Samael informed coldly while his fist began to tighten. Cracks formed along the orb, with a white mist and rays of light escaping.
“You don’t have to do this,” I pleaded. I think a part of me was projecting my fear that I deserved the same punishment, so helping Silver was like helping myself.
“You sound like a victim,” Samael snarled as his fist closed and the orb exploded with a deafening pop, a shower of dust, and an accompanying flash of light. A cloud of mist lingered in the air before it began to fade as a hollow scream echoed from somewhere far away. Then the mist was gone, swallowed by the eternity that was oblivion.
Samael tilted his hand sideways and wiggled his fingers, letting the dust fall to an unnervingly small pile on the ground. He slapped his palms together a few times to get the last little bit off before taking in a breath and letting it out as if after a job well done.
Amber eyes drifted up to me.
“Now that I can cross Silver off my—what do mortals call it—shit list?” Samael purred. “I believe it is time to move on to...Joey Caruso.” The smile that the Devil produced at the mention of my friend would make a shark blush.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I growled as I squared my body and clenched my fists. I was not going to let down Dawson and Depweg. I was not going to let this sonofabitch snuff Joey’s light out.
“Pray tell,” the Lord of Hell challenged, “How do you plan on preventing me from doing whatever I wish?”
“We can stop you,” I hissed.
“We?” Samael’s smile widened as his golden eyes slowly drifted to the fallen angel currently in control of my body. With an accompanying slight nod of his head in approval, Samael created a black hole of despair in my core that tore at the hope that had been growing. “You have done well, Baleius.”
A bass-heavy choir sang out in Latin as my head sluggishly pivoted toward my friend. My eyes challenged one another on who could stretch their lids the furthest apart. The cords on my neck jutted against my skin in an effort to leap out and attack the demon in my body. My right hand twitched, and I remembered I no longer had my nail.
Surprised anger was immediately replaced with a sheet of ice-cold water in the guise of vulnerability and alarm. I was naked.
“Baleius?” I weakly asked.
My friend turned with my face to stare at me with a pained expression. His matte red eyes filled with regret.
“No...” I wheezed as my knees became weak. I had walked headfirst into a trap that would have been obvious if not for my blinding desire to trust the demon I had called friend.
“I’m...sorry,” Baleius mouthed.
“Sorry?” Samael asked as if he hadn’t heard his brother correctly.
Baleius slowly turned back to Samael, clenched his fists, and lifted his head.
“You heard me, brother,” he said with an air of defiance.
I stared at the demon in my body and saw a flash of red out of the corner of my vision. I shot my gaze in that direction to see Samael’s amber eyes were now pluming with rampant hellfire.
“You defy me, then?” Samael rumbled with a voice that was becoming inhuman. Jagged ivory ripped through the skin on his head, sending four horns up a full foot above his contorting face. Halfway up, the ivory jutted off at ninety-degree angles to curve in an unholy halo. Heat wafted up from the circle, making the top six inches dance in the haze.
Satan grew in height, his white suit ripping off his muscular frame as his skin turned the black of charred leather. Red veins pulsed over striated muscles while dense fur grew on thick goat legs with glowing hooves at the bottom.
“John, run! Save Joey!” Baleius cried out as he summoned his flaming gladius coated in heavenflame, and charged the Devil.
Baleius, the fallen angel, smashed into Mephistopheles before he had finished his transformation, and the two went tumbling several yards down the tunnel. I could hear Baleius yelling with each strike of his sword as I turned and ran to the end of the dock over the River Styx.
At the edge, I looked at the bubbling lava that seemed to beckon me in, and spun to look back down the tunnel. My breaths were panicked gasps, as I knew I had nowhere to run.
I could see the shadows of Baleius and Lucifer as they battled thanks to the light of my friend’s gladius. The colors on the wall were white, blue, and red instead of the hellfire I was accustomed to seeing when Baleius had control, and a seed of hope was planted.
Then another much brighter light comprised of violent green, red, and orange drowned out the figures on the wall, and I understood Samael had summoned his own weapon.
“Oh no...” I breathed, feeling the urge to sprint into the fight.
“Get in,” Charon rasped, making me jump and shriek. I spun around and saw the skeleton in his boat, waiting for me to climb in.
I didn’t second-guess the ferryman and hurriedly stepped off the dock, tripping over my own feet to land in a heap on the boat.
Charon pushed off and took us further away from the bridge, heading deeper into Hell.
I pushed myself up and looked back toward the tunnel where flashes of light and grunts of battle were my only indicator of how things were going. Baleius seemed to be holding his own, and a flower of hope bloomed in my chest.
A bellow of pain that made my heart sink rumbled the walls. It was my voice that was screaming, and my flower of hope was lit on fire by an overzealous flamethrower.
The flashes stopped, as did the noises; all except a whine that left my throat as we followed a curve in the river.
I saw a light growing brighter and knew the winner was approaching the tunnel exit to search for me.
A jagged gladius came into view that was attached at the end of a double-bladed ax, all made of obsidian and dripping with hellfire.
The tunnel disappeared as we followed the curve of the river, soon followed by the dock, and I shot out a breath I had been holding. Spit flecks flew as the relief emptied my lungs in a quick blast.
Pushing myself up, I thought about the brief sight of the weapon, and my mind immediately traveled to Mars where the Archangel Michael had the identical double-bladed ax-gladius-staff thing, only made of golden and ivory instead of the pitch-black obsidian of Lucifer’s.
Turning to Charon, I squeaked, “Is he...”
“The angel is not dead,” Charon informed while his gray robe flapped in slow motion to a breeze that only he could feel.
“Oh, thank Lilith,” I exhaled as I yanked off my beanie, letting my hair spill over my face.
“But he will soon wish that he were,” Charon concluded.
My face turned to see the ferryman from underneath a sheet of black hair. I could see between a gap over my right eye, a
nd I just stared at Charon with displaced hatred.
It only took two or three seconds before I snapped myself out of it, choosing to not hate the messenger.
Facing backward on the seat, I did a metal band head-bang to send my shoulder-length black hair back over my head, then replaced my beanie, flicking stray strands behind my ears.
I stared with anxious eyes at the river behind us, fully expecting Satan to come rolling up in a Jet Ski or something.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked weakly, feeling the weight of the recent events sap my energy. I didn’t even have the strength necessary to look up at my chauffeur.
“Where you must go.”
I wanted to get mad at his vagaries, but decided it wasn’t worth the energy.
“Hey, thanks for saving me,” I said, keeping my eyes on the lava behind us.
I saw the skeletal head tilt in my direction ever so slightly. Maybe I had surprised him with my gratitude? Or maybe he was bemused I thought he had done it for me instead of all the innocent souls in the universe. Either way, I was happy to, you know, not die.
After a few minutes, I started feeling stupid for facing backward and turned in my seat, resting my elbows on my knees as I clasped my hands in front of my chest.
Another few minutes went by and my exhaustion grew, prompting me to rest my face in my hands. My eyelids fluttered, growing heavier with each passing moment, and I eventually let the exhaustion win, and fell asleep.
17
I was lying in the lush grass, completely naked, under the warm sun of Faerie. The blades tickled my skin as the breeze danced across the field.
Lily was there next to me with her head resting on my chest. I stroked her wavy blonde hair lovingly, my eyes lazily dancing from cloud to cloud as they wafted overhead.
“I love you,” I confessed aloud, wondering why I had never done so before.
Lily remained asleep on my chest and I raised my head up to look down at her.
“Hey, Lily,” I said a little louder, “I said I love you. Can you believe it? I-I finally said it!”
My hand drifted down her hair to land on her shoulder, and I lightly shook her.
Lily stirred, making me smile at the thought that I was about to profess my undying love to the woman of my dreams, when she lifted her face to mine.
Cold mist oozed from empty sockets as a skeleton stared into my wide eyes.
“I love you, too,” rasped the lipless skull as a fog of freezing air cascaded from her orifices to cover my face.
My skin froze with indescribable pain, and a scream of agony and surprise burst from my mouth, crackling my frozen flesh like slamming a block of ice on the concrete.
The skeleton began a wheezing scream, growing in intensity and sending more freezing mist to cover my head.
My eyes cracked and blackness enveloped my vision as I continued to shriek. Then my vocal cords froze and only air hissed out in place of my cries.
I felt Lily lean over me and whisper into my ear, “Don’t worry, lover, you’re with me now. You’re with me.”
18
I nearly jumped out of the boat as I shot to my feet and clawed at my face, my mind screaming at me how cold my skin was. Panicked eyes darted around wildly as the boat rocked back and forth with my frantic, jerking movements.
It took several seconds of vigorously rubbing my face before my brain rebooted and let me know I had simply been dreaming.
My quick breathing eventually slowed down to deep lungfuls before I sat back down in my seat with a hard thump against the wood.
“Your heart bleeds,” Charon observed.
I craned my neck to scowl at the ferryman, wondering how he had seen my dreams, and annoyed that he had done so.
“What do you know, boatman?” I asked harshly.
“Countless souls have been where you now sit. Their minds reeking of the regrets of life. An eternity of remembrance for the love not pursued is agony for those that have tasted true happiness.” His face tilted down to me, and I stared into his empty sockets as he finished, “Those...like you.”
“She...Lily...told me not to seek her out until I defeat you-know-who,” I said lamely, knowing it was a thin excuse devoid of substance.
Charon turned his face to the river in front of us and changed direction with his pole.
Turning to face forward again, I saw we were approaching a worn dock that looked like it was held together with thumbtacks, duct tape, and thoughts and prayers from social media.
The edge of the boat lightly thumped against the dock, and I hesitantly climbed out, being as careful as possible. My nerves were still on edge from the dream that had felt so real.
Once out of the boat, I turned while inhaling for my next question, and saw Charon was gone.
“Damn creepy skeleton,” I muttered to myself in frustration. “This is how all of Batman’s friends must feel.”
Now that I was out of Charon’s boat, the heat from the River Styx was bordering on unbearable. I sneezed a few times from the overwhelming sulfur smell as I stumbled away from the dock.
Beyond was flat, dead land that stretched for miles, with mountain ranges far off in the distance.
Looking down, I saw small cracks forming random geometric shapes in the caked ground, reminding me of a desert that was more dried mud than sand. The air lacked any humidity, and it felt like tiny razor blades glided across the inside of my nose with every breath.
My boots crunched as I stepped off the worn wood of the dock, a warm wind tugging at my coat. I ignored it as my eyes scanned the horizon.
“Okay, boatman. Why’d ya bring me here?” I whispered to myself as I looked all around.
I turned back and hissed out an, “Ah!” in frustration as the River Styx was replaced with even more empty, dry flatland.
It was at that moment that I understood that the River Styx was there for Charon to use, and only Charon.
“Makes sense, I guess,” I grumbled as I lazily kicked at the ground, sending a small clod of dirt tumbling a few feet away.
Something bugged me and I let my gaze drift up to the solid bank of monotonous gray clouds that loomed overhead. They were so dense as to form a solid cover, void of any distinguishing features from one another. The sky between the desert and the clouds was hazy and without a single bird. It felt as if an artist had painted the top portion of his canvas the color most associated with dreariness and decided that the sky was done, perfect in its simplicity.
Letting my focus drop to the land around me, I saw that it, too, was gray. Whatever the light source was, it bathed everything in the lifeless tone. I looked at my hands and saw they were almost the same color. My coat and the rest of my clothes were still black, however.
On instinct, I pulled off my beanie and inspected it. I could see threads of celestial gold under the gray cloth. It was not something that was evident without getting a good look at the material.
I replaced it and let my gaze once again sweep across the land, not knowing what to expect but still hoping to see something. Mountains littered the far reaches of my vision like when traveling from the Midwest toward the Rockies; the snowcapped rock formations visible for an incredible distance. But there was no snow on the mountains in Hell.
With a shrug, I said to myself, “Ain’t nothin’ to it, but to do it,” and began walking.
I had a lot of time to think as my feet carried me on autopilot toward the mountains I deemed closest. Large boulders protruded from the ground sporadically like car-sized islands in the ocean.
I replayed the events of my visit, annoyed that when I’d separated from Baleius, I had lost my eidetic memory.
“Baleius,” I breathed out as I froze in place. Another warm wind glided over my body, and I had to grab my beanie for fear it would blow away.
My friend had saved me from the Devil, and I had heard his scream through my vocal cords.
I shuddered violently as I remembered the feeling of the event rather than the perfect
recollection as things unfolded. His cry of pain—from my voice—would haunt me to no end.
A thought came to me that demanded to be heard amidst the crowd of pro-Baleius emotions that were flooding my brain.
“What if it was a setup?” I asked aloud, finding it easier to iron out the wrinkles of my thoughts by speaking the ideas for my ears to hear. “Sam—” I choked on my words, realizing the name I was about to say while in Hell. “I mean, Palpatine...yeah, Palpatine said Baleius had done well or something. I can’t remember exactly what.”
“Who ya talkin’ to?” an edgy female voice asked.
Despite what witnesses might say, I definitely did not jump three feet in the air, flail my arms with limp wrists, and shrieked like a tea kettle.
Panting, I scowled at the teenager with the gray Mohawk, black shirt that showed her midriff, overalls with only one strap latched on and that were somehow shorts, and high-top Doc Martens. She was sitting against a large boulder with one knee up to her chest and the other extended out in front of her.
“Nice boots,” I said coolly, nodding to her footwear before gesturing to my slip-on boots of the same brand.
“Does that make us friends or something?” she snarked like teenagers did.
“Let me guess...eighties?” I asked, crossing one arm over my chest while my free hand pointed up and down her frame.
“No. Fifties. I was just ahead of my time,” she stated with dripping sarcasm. “Yes, eighties, you geezer.”
“Heh, you have no idea,” I chuckled at her colloquialism referencing my age. “So, what...you’re just stuck wearing that getup?”
“And the prize for most obvious statement goes to!” she announced like an MC while lifting a hand to cup around her ear, gesturing for me to fill in the blanks.
“Darth Vader was Luke’s dad the whole time,” I stated flatly with narrowing eyes.
“Yeah, I know, spaz. Saw it in theaters.”
Okay, so she had died sometime after Empire Strikes Back.