XI. The Lowest Place

The sewers of in this part of New Libery were hundreds of years old. The city had grown exponentially in the last twenty years after being renamed and designated as the capitol of the world, but this particular section of the Outer Warrens was part of the original city. During the city's expansions, both pre- and post-Rehnquist, new layers were added beneath the originals in order to handle the increasing traffic. In places, the sewer dove to depths so low that oxygen barely filtered its way down.

The city's ancient past, combined with aftermath from World War III and reckless industrial policies post-Rehnquist, had created strange sub-species dwelling in the endless catacombs. Darrus knew that the New Liberty Bell's recent presence in this area meant that not all the sewer's current inhabitants were bound by natural laws; in time, the Nightmares he and Lilith had summoned but not yet discovered would return to the minds of their creators, but in the meantime, they roamed the world.

Darrus could only hope that Szziszzigji hadn't gone far. He knew how to kill a Fury--he hoped that Szziszzigji had also inherited the vulnerability to the eyes. Darrus had been reluctant to kill Szziszzigji without first offering surrender--after the Nightmare's intentions were clear its eyes hadn't been facing him.

Darrus could hear the echo of footsteps in threes ahead of him. He ran down the darkened pipe. The benefits of being a demon meant that his feet didn't rippled the surface--Szziszzigji wouldn't hear him coming. Darrus knew that the sulphuric blood still on his coat would signal his approach to Szziszzigji far too early, regardless. The element of surprise had been trumped by the Nightmare's forceful response.

This was a game of cat-and-mouse, but Darrus wasn't yet sure which role he was playing. The footsteps ahead quickened, threatening to fade into the distance. Darrus sped up the chase, not about to lose Szziszzigji again.

In life, Darrus' sense of direction had been relatively poor. His demonic senses had vastly improved it, among other things. After fifteen minutes of pursuit, Darrus was well aware of Szziszzigji's strategy; it was sinking lower and lower into the sewer system in a roundabout manner, hoping to either confuse Darrus by its route or to suffocate him by the bad air found this deep. If Darrus had been human, it would have worked.

Roughly a quarter-mile below the streets of New Liberty, Szziszzigji's fleeing abruptly ceased. For a single moment, silence hung almost tangibly in the air.

The moment passed, and what looked like an oncoming train screamed down the pipe at Darrus. Szziszzigji's fury-infused eyes glowed like headlights, its gutteral roar echoing off the walls like thunder.

Darrus raised his gun. "This is your last chance! Stop!" he screamed.

If anything, the nightmare accelerated in its charge.

As Darrus pulled the trigger, he whispered, "I'm sorry." The bullet struck Szziszzigji's left eye.

Darrus dove backwards, anticipating a beam of energy to pour out, as had happened when he'd fought the Fury called Karobim. The blast never came.

Instead, a wave of putrid water rushed over his sprawled form as Szziszzigji came to a screeching halt above him. Darrus rolled onto his back and fired a dozen bullets into Szziszzigji's chin and torso, all to no avail--the shots passed through its skin with barely a ripple, embedding themselves in the ceiling of the pipe.

Darrus felt a wave of regret mixed with determination. It seemed that Szziszzigji was equally sorry--but also equally committed to his own survival. It stomped its shortest leg down onto Darrus' chest. He was wracked with pain--worse yet, he was trapped.

Without any hint of malice, Szziszzigji raised its four-fingered arm to deliver the killing blow. Darrus reached into his coat. In one fluid motion, Darrus pulled his lighter from his chest pocket, lit it, and blew on the flame. Rather than extinguishing, the fire spread outward, covering Szziszzigji and engulfing the pipe for twenty feet in either direction.

Hellfire is an unusual form of energy in that it cannot destroy a soul, only harm it. Like most fire, it can burn away at physical forms, but it inflicts horrible pain upon the naked being that, while causing discomfort beyond words, never ends. Thus, the souls of the damned suffer for all eternity, bathed in the infernal flames, but are never released from their torment by outright destruction. Another odd attribute of Hellfire is that it reckonizes its own, and will not harm demons or Archdevils.

Nightmares, dragged from the minds of humans, are another matter.

As Szziszzigji reeled in pain, it reared up, freeing Darrus. Unharmed by the flames, Darrus opened fire on the nightmare. In the end, the bullets were redundant--Darrus wasn't sure where the Nightmare's vulnerable points were, but he had located them by simply engulfing its entire form in Hellfire. After a few moments, Szziszzigji stopped thrashing. A single impressioin drifted across Darrus' mind.

Why?

"Because I had no choice." said Darrus said to the ashes. As he watched, they faded into nothingness. Without Szziszzigji's consciousness to sustain it, his physical substance was reduced to the illusion it had once been.

Darrus trudged back down the tunnel towards a service entrance he could use as a portal to Hell. He shook his head. That was a fine ally, even a friend, that he had been forced to kill.

"Then again," he muttered. "This is Damnation."

THE END

X. Double Header

A brown, broad-brimmed hat passed through the darkened alley. A cold, slightly caustic rain had begun to fall, sending small waves of water from the figure's running feet. Just once, he slipped--and there was the sound of a third splash as the figure righted himself.

He turned a corner to see a familiar form blocking his way.

"Stop." said Darrus, ten feet from the figure.

The figure stood stock still.

"It looks as though much has, in fact, changed." Darrus looked the figure up and down. "You included."

There was no reply.

"I finally figured it out, and I think you wanted me to. You do know that I can't let you run free. I've been sent to retrieve you, or destroy you if it's more convenient." said Darrus. "Of course, this could just be a horrible misunderstanding. But I don't think it is. Are you some confused junky, or are you the spawn of a twisted and guilty mind, given corporeal form by the pits of Hell?"

The figure's answer did not come in words. Darrus simply knew he was right.

"I'm impressed, Szziszzigji. Your knack for survival always impressed me, and you've taken it to new limits, evading Hell itself. But you're a loose cannon, now. With no one holding your leash, you have the potential to be a liability. I know you can't resist my orders. Now, come on, we're going back to Hell now."

The figure's face twisted into rage. Darrus felt a new sentiment invade his skull.

"It's not a question of wanting." said Darrus. "No one wants to be there, not even Lucifer! But you have to come back now. You're a Nightmare--your place is in the Nightmaritorium, or in the minds of men, not in their world."

Szziszzigji drew up to his full height, which Darrus estimated to be over seven feet. He remained humanoid in appearance. "I--was." he rasped. The accent was heavy, like a young child's.

"You're smart, Szziszzigji, I've never doubted it. Show me another being that takes less than a week to learn how to make itself human and learn to talk. But you're harboring Fury energy, and if you resist, I won't hesitate to kill you."

"I--will--not--go--with--you." Was the Nightmare's halting reply.

"You saved my life, and that means something to me." said Darrus. "You took out that Fury when no one else could. For that I am grateful--don't make me kill you, Szziszzigji. I don't want to kill you."

Szziszzigji hesitated a moment, then spoke more quickly than before. "It's not a question of want-ing." With an unearthly wail, Szziszzigji's humanoid form erupted into its true shape. A pair of curved horns on either side of a red mohawk capped a hideous, fanged head. Two assymetrical arms jutted from Szziszzigji's side, a tentacle beneath the left. A double-tipped tail unwound from between its shoulderblades, while the entire structure of the Nightmare balanced on an imperfect tripod of legs varying in length. Its horns were inches from a second story window.

Darrus recieved the impression that Szziszzigji's place was right here, and this was an idea it would die for. Or more precisely, kill for.

Szziszzigji's full glory was visible for only a moment before it faded from view. Szziszzigji had the power to become invisible, one of the things that made it so dangerous. A human would have been entirely outmatched, but Darrus had senses no human possessed. His hearing was sharp enough to hear Szziszzigji's footsteps. Darrus was well aware when it made a sharp move to its left, trying to sneak around Darrus and attack from the side. He could see a fire escape bend as Szziszzigji lifted itself up and over Darrus' form. Darrus hand went into his coat.

Szziszzigji slipped down the wall, behind Darrus. The rain rippled off Szziszzigji's unseen form, further outlining it to Darrus' senses. Darrus hadn't moved. The trick was to make Szziszzigji think it was outsmarting him. He had worked with Szziszzigji many times before; he knew its strategies, and more importantly, its limitations. He could tell by the echo that Szziszzigji was too far away to strike.

Just as it moved in, Darrus spun around and withdrew the net from his coat, tossing it over the Nightmare in a single movement.

"Sorry, Szziszzigji. You know that net won't break. You've lost."

The Nightmare snarled beneath the net. It had extended over its entire form. Szziszzigji faded back into view.

"Now, then, let's get back to--"

As Darrus bent down to grab the net, Szziszzigji's hands melted and shot through the holes in the net. Before Darrus could react, they slashed at his arm, tearing straight through it. Darrus reflexively leapt backward, but the claws tore straight through and severed his right arm at the elbow. A substance entirely too gray to be blood oozed from the wound. It reeked of sulphur.

Darrus stared in disbelief at his wound. Demons were invulnerable to the mundane energies exhibited by the inhabitants of Earth, but could be harmed by the divine energies of those that existed outside it. The destruction of the Fury had been the last time Darrus had felt pain, but nothing like this. For a split second, Darrus' memory went back to Darius Briggs, and that dim, dirty room where he had died at the hands of Edwin Rass. One of the last tortures Rass had inflicted was the amputation of Darius' right arm.

"You shapeshifting bastard." spat Darrus, clutching the wound. Szziszzigji was flowing through the net, leaving Darrus no option but to retreat down the alley, trailing his sulphuric blood behind him. His remaining arm went into his coat, coming back with a single pill in a blister packet.

Szziszzigji seemed to recognise the pill, and struck. His arm stretched, closing the gap between them. Szziszzigji's hand closed around Darrus', digging through the wrist.

A bullet lodged in Szziszzigji's neck, coming from the other end of the alley. Szziszzigji turned its head.

Another Darrus smiled at him, holding a smoking gun in one hand. Some smiles showed mirth; this one showed only teeth.

"Tell me something, Szziszzigji." said the second Darrus. "If I wasn't willing to tackle a Fury alone, why would I attack a Nightmare/Fury hybrid by myself?"

Waves of confusion radiated from the Nightmare.

"You've heard of a Doppelganger, correct? Demons that mimick the form of another individual? Well, one of us is Darrus, the other is a Doppelganger. Can you tell the difference?"

Szziszzigji threw the wounded Darrus to the ground and charged down the alley. The wounded demon climbed to his feet and downed the pill. The wounds closed, and a new arm lowered from the torn coat sleeve. He withdrew his gun and fired a half-dozen shots into Szziszzigji's retreating form.

"You'll have to; the Doppelganger isn't empowere to kill you, but Darrus is. Of course, Darrus doesn't want to kill you. Surrender, and all this can go away!"

Szziszzigji snarled in pain, then turned and faced the Darrus he had wounded--then did something Darrus hadn't anticipated--he melted. Both Darruses quickly closed the distance between them, but Szziszzigji was sinking into the street.

"Damn!" said the formerly wounded Darrus. "A sewer grate!"

Szziszzigji's liquid form had withdrawn into New Liberty's sprawling sewer system.

"Dahl, I owe you one." said Darrus. The other Darrus flickered for a moment, changing into the shape of a young man with waste-length black hair. He nodded. "But I'm going after him."

"Alone?" asked Dahl.

"Too risky, but there's not enough room for more down there. Tell Cankerworm to have a squad of Guardians at the ready. If it hurts me again, I want it dead before it knows what's happening."

"Understood." said Dahl.

Darrus pulled the grating from its rest and leapt into the darkness below.

"But I hope it doesn't come to that." Darrus said to the darkness.

IX. Pursuit

Darrus felt the heat envelope him the moment he stepped from the door. He stood above Hell's most recognizable feature--the Lake of Fire. The screams of the damned wafted up to his perch, nearly a mile above the molten surface. Very few souls had been added to the Lake since the Middle Ages--there were punishments far worse to the modern soul--but in the end all of hell would be confined within the Lake. On Judgment Day, the Savior would return to Hell after being absent for so long, this time not to taunt Lucifer, but to initiate a cataclysm that would send all Hell screaming into the Lake. What happened after that wasn't in the propheciess. It was said that Lucifer knew what happened next, but he wasn't talking.

The Lake was ideal for the destruction of an unholy trinket like the bell that lie in Darrus' hand. Darrus extended his arm over the platform and dropped it, watching it until it dipped beneath the surface of the lava below. Without a word, he slipped back through the dread portal he had emerged from, coming back to Lilith's room in the brothel.

"It's done. I watched it hit the surface." he said.

"About time. Now let's find this wayward Nightmare of yours, before it retreats."

"You start at the top of the house." said Darrus. "And I'll start with the sewers beneath. The odds of it escaping before it runs into either of us are slim."

"What makes you think I'll help you?" asked Lilith. "You promised me that that bell would be gone days ago!"

Darrus hand came down on Lilith's wrist. "Because you have no choice."

Lilith sneered, but went through the door to the attic of the brothel and began her search.

"Unbelievable." said Darrus as he took the door to a hatch in the sewers. "She made me pull rank on her!"

There was a splash and a growl from a dozen feet away. Darrus saw what had caused it immediately; it was a Nightmare, but not the one he was looking for. He'd have to dispose of it. He walked calmly through the ankle-deep water, grabbed the alligator by the jaws, and tossed it up and out of the water. Rather that hitting the surface of the pipe, it disappeared as it rose, going back into the mind of whoever had spawned it.

"Sewer gators. I don't understand why everyone is so afraid of them. There's not even a suitable nesting ground for them down here." Darrus muttered, continuing down the pipe. Ten feet from where he'd disposed of the alligator, a creature the size of a large dog leapt from the shadows at him. It was covered in mangy black fur, had glowing red eyes, and trailed a hairless, whiplike tail. Darrus caught it in mid-lunge, and disposed of it the same way.

"And sewer rats can't actually get that large!" he continued.

Lilith searched through the attic. A spindly-fingered old woman blocked her way, dispatched to its creator's mind by a quick slap on the cheek. Ghosts stared at her from every shadow, dozens of red eyes hid beneath each bed. A few quick movements and they were no more. The work was annoying, if not taxing. Lilith went down to the third floor.

Given to the length of sewers and watermains in New Liberty, it took Darrus longer to reach the first floor than for Lilith to reach the second. By the time they'd converged on the ornate main stairway, both had become frustrated.

"Nothing?" asked Darrus.

"Oh, that's hardly the problem. There's plenty to talk about, but none of them were even close to your description of that thing. The only thing I found that even had a tentacle was living under one of the beds, and it had no head. I suppose you've done equally well?"

"Unfortunately." said Darrus. His hand went to his chin in thought.

"So, it looks like the damn thing was killed in the blast, just like everyone except you." said Lilith. "We've done all this for nothing!"

"Not..." said Darrus. He was grasping at threads, pulling together half-remembered details. "Not...necessarily. Give me a moment."

Lilith waited with her hands on her hips. Her fragile beauty now radiated with exasperation. "You do realize I have work of my own to be doing?" she asked after a few moments.

"Wait! I think I have it!" said Darrus, pounding a fist into his open hand. "Make sure no one leaves, especially anyone with a broad-brimmed hat!"

Darrus stormed off without another word, searching each doorway for the man he was looking for. His search came up empty.

Darrus came through the door to the main entrance.

"Did anyone in a broad-brimmed hat come through here?" he demanded of the entrance girl.

"I..." she yawned. "Don't remember."

Darrus would have coerced her in the human method, but simply didn't have time. He strode up, put her in a headlock, and pressed his hand to her forehead, ignoring her screams of protest.

"Then I'll help you remember! Now, did anyone looking like this--" Red light flickered around the edges of Darrus' hand. "--leave in the last hour?"

The girl's face was blank. "Yes." she said in a toneless voice.

"When?" Darrus pressed.

"In the last five minutes."

Darrus dropped the girl to the ground and was out the door before she hit the floor.

VIII. House of Nightmares

Just past hour 71, the magma tube slid open and Darrus tumbled out. He coughed a few times, then looked up. Cankerworm and half a dozen armed Guardians looked back down at him. The barrels of the Guardians' weapons looked at him most intently of all.

"So." said Cankerworm. "How do you feel?"

Darrus coughed again. "Like I want to ring your neck."

Half a dozen guns cocked loudly.

"But that I can't bring myself to so much as lift a finger against you." Darrus finished.

The guns remained where they were.

"Very good." said Cankerworm. "Everything is back to normal."

The guns lowered and the Guardians departed.

"Darrus, I trust you've found no sign of the Nightmare?" said Cankerworm.

Darrus stood up and brushed himself off. "None."

"So we can rule out that it is still alive at this point, can we?"

"Not yet. I had the succubus Lilith DeCarte build a beacon to draw any Nightmares in New Liberty to it. It takes some time to work, but if it's not there within a day, it's not alive."

Cankerworm cleared his throat. "You've been in that tube for just under three days."

"What?" demanded Darrus. "You sent someone to throw the beacon into the Lake of Fire, didn't you?"

"I was never told you had created a beacon." said Cankerworm.

Darrus didn't answer, he just ducked through the door and was gone.

*

Darrus came out in the entryway to the brothel. The same girl was waiting at the front. As Darrus approached, he noticed that the makeup under her eyes was heavier than it had been. She was trying to mask the heavy bags under them, with little success. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.

"Good afternoon." she sighed. "What are you looking for today?"

"I need to see Lilith DeCarte." he said. "It's urgent."

The girl yawned. "Yes, yes, I'm sure. She's in the first lounge on the left down that hall."

Darrus walked in the gestured direction. He turned a corner and found a large man blocking the way. He had long, black hair and wore a wide-brimmed hat. For a moment, Darrus thought it was the Fury, then remembered that was impossible. This man bore a startingly resemblence, but carried himself too awkwardly and dressed in brown and black, not the Fury's flamboyant red.

"Excuse me." said Darrus, pushing past. A large hand clamped down on Darrus' wrist as he passed. Darrus assumed the man was high on some drug or other, and briefly considered ripping his arm out of its socket. He settled on a more civilized course of action.

"What are you doing?" he asked the stranger.

"Much..." said the man. "has...chang-ed." His words came out slowly, as if they were being carefully formed.

"I'm sure. Now let me go." said Darrus. The hand released and he continued down the hall.

The hall was dark, but Darrus could see regardless. He noticed that the walls themselves seemed to be undulating. Faces and fingers swirled out of the wallpaper in places bathed in shadow. Ever since he'd set foot in the brothel there'd been a chittering sound hovering at the edge of perception.

Darrus reached the lounge. There was one figure inside, who stormed up and smacked Darrus on the cheek.

"What the hell took you so long?" Lilith demanded.

Darrus rubbed his cheek. Being divine herself, Lilith was one of a relatively few beings that could actually cause Darrus pain. "Cankerworm threw me in a lava tube for 70 hours. Believe me, this wasn't my idea. Now, where's the bell?"

"What about your precious Nightmare? As you can see, the house is crawling with them! No one can even close their eyes without being assaulted by them!"

"I noticed. If Szziszzigji is here, he'll stick around long enough for me to incinerate the beacon and get back here. Now come on, we've no time to lose. Where is it?"

"In my room." said Lilith. The two went out the lounge door and appeared in Lilith's spartan bedroom. Lilith pressed the bell into Darrus' hand. A second later, he was gone.

VII. Holy War

Dawn broke over New Liberty. The light of the sun cut through the hanging canopies of smog and touched the glimmering glass surface of the One World Bank. A handful of people below knew that it was for the last time.

Lucian Briggs stood a quarter mile away, standing on Ross Gibson's left, watching a television screen. All it showed was one of New Liberty's countless skyscrapers, light glinting off its reflective surface.

"Behold, gentlemen," said Robert Keyes. "Our first major blow. My organization has been organizing this for seven months. Fourteen operatives have died for this."

Keyes was holding a black box with a row of recessed buttons. "And now, it's time for vengeance."

Lucian held his breath as Keyes depressed the buttons, one after another.

After a few seconds, Lucian breathed again, reluctantly. Nothing had happened. Gibson hadn't moved.

"Is it going to--" he started to say before Gibson gestured towards the screen.

Lucian watched. Without warning, the center levels of the building's east side erupted into flames. The infrastructure collapsed, and the upper half of the building began to fall like a great tree. As the splintered building crashed to earth, three more charges detonated into the falling hulk, covering the entire block with flames. Lucian watched, transfixed, as the west side of the building's foundation exploded, sending the remaining half of the building in the opposite direction of the first. Like its counterpart, the lower section of the building exploded on impact. The camera pulled back; the entire block had been levelled.

"Impressive." said Gibson.

"It should be." said Keyes.

Lucian was simply horrified.

"Is this something you could duplicated?" asked Gibson.

"It would be difficult." said Keyes. "That was the most involved we've yet undertaken, and between this and the explosion downtown last week, security is going to be over the top for awhile."

"What if you had a prophet on your side?" asked Gibson.

"If I didn't believe in your abilities," said Keyes, "you wouldn't be in this room right now. And it's because of those same abilities that I want you to be a part of my organization."

Gibson paced across the room. "I'm not interested in joining you."

Keyes did a double take. "What?"

"These rebel cells aren't efficient, not against an enemy like Rehnquist. We need to unify the insurgent groups against their common enemy; create a coordinated plan of attack. As a dozen tiny rebel factions, we have no hope of success. As a single, large group, we can hurt Rehnquist."

"No one's ever been able to get the rebel cells together; their aims are too different."

"Just because it's never been done doesn't mean it's impossible." said Gibson. "And unlike everyone before us, I know how to do it."

"Really?" said Keyes. "This I must hear."

"It's a simple idea with a complex execution. Rehnquist kills anyone who he even suspects of being an insurgent. All we have to do is make it so that our soldiers aren't afraid of death."

Keyes and Lucian gave Gibson blank looks. In frustration, Gibson pounded a table with his fist.

"Religion! I speak to God, I can make sure that every one of our men who dies in battle goes to heaven! Gentlemen, a dedicated group of revolutionaries isn't enough, and it never has been. What we need is a Jihad!"

VI. Metamorphosis

Darrus left the brothel and stepped out into the veiled sunlight of the early afternoon. Winter's last gasp kept a chill under the canopies, but the weather was getting warmer. Soon the dubious pleasure of summer in New Liberty would come again.

Darrus should be headed back to Hell to check the Nexus for relevant information regarding escaped Nightmares, but a strange fancy had overtaken. It was made stranger by the fact that he hadn't experienced impulsive desires like this since he'd been alive. Darrus went through a door to the subterranean level and came out across the street from a quaint Italian bistro a quarter-mile away.

"Glad to see they're still in business." he said to himself.

Darrus' coat had many supernatural qualities, one of which was that it never ran out of 20 credit notes. Apparently money that was destroyed was recouped in Hell, making the notes legal tender. 20 credit notes wore out relatively quickly, so there was an effectively infinite supply. As such, the bistro hardly noticed when a tall man with long, graying hair sat by himself in the smoking section and paid all in twenties.

Darrus walked out of the bistro with a foreign expression on his face he had only worn once in recent memory--a smile. The sunshine hit his face, and a wave of euphoria washed over him. For the first time since he had been Darius Briggs, Darrus was happy.

The idea hit him like a ton of bricks. Something was wrong. He had been damned--while his role was significantly less unpleasant than the fate of most in Hell, he was not meant to actively enjoy it. Happiness was not an emotion to be experienced by those that hailed from the pit. He decided that he should immediately report back to Cankerworm.

Then he realized that he didn't want to. This was another shock. Darrus didn't have a complete set of free will. He shouldn't be able to bring himself to disobey. These revelations were disturbing. In the past two hours, he'd defied Hell, declined to return when he should have, and had felt human emotions. Something was very, very wrong.

"It's like I'm becoming human again..." he muttered. No one seemed to notice him. He grabbed a cigarette from his pocket and lit up, then realized something else. He'd been a smoker in life, but not after--he couldn't remember having smoked even once before being summoned by those teenagers earlier in the day. He didn't even know his coat could produce cigarettes--he'd had the lighter to summon hellfire, but the cigarettes were new. He'd simply accepted their presence without even thinking about it.

Darrus started walking, trying to clear his head, puffing on the mysterious cigarette as he went.

Something in him had changed. He tried tapping into the Nexus. Without an intermediary, it was difficult to make contact from Earth, but there didn't seem to be anything about a demon outgrowing his persona. So whatever had happened wasn't in the usual order of things. Darrus was able to narrow down the sources of interference to three events.

The first was being summoned by the teenagers. He'd never heard of demons being changed by interaction with humans, especially amateurs like those five. In fact, the change usually went the other way.

The second was that drifting between Earth and Hell had somehow affected him. It was normal to have a short jump outside of any type of reality when overwalking through doors--that was what made the experience so unpleasant for mortals--but Darrus frantic and damaged form hadn't outlined an exit, causing him to linger outside reality for considerably longer than the norm. Darrus knew this sort of thing had happened before; he recalled one case he'd learned from the Nexus involving a 14th century Witch Hunter severely wounding a demon on the run. The demon drifted like Darrus had for almost seventeen months before being summoned back into reality. No demon had memory of the space between worlds, probably because there was literally nothing there to remember. Contact with the Nexus was too sketchy for Darrus to determine if the change he was experiencing had its root in such an incident.

The final possibility was one that scared Darrus the most. It was possible that the change had been caused by being enveloped in the Fury's energy. If that was the case, there was no telling where the changes would stop. The thing that worried him most about this possibility was that the same thing could be happening to Szziszzigji. If the metamorphosis continued, there was no telling how power Szziszzigji could become--and without a demon to watch over him, he'd be without a leash, loose on Earth.

Darrus' introspection was interrupted when he noticed a flickering light in a doorway a block or so down the road. Specifically, he noticed it jump from that door to one directly in his path. He became wary; had Hell figured out what he had? Worse yet, had they decided that he was a loose cannon?

If so, the flicker he'd just seen would have been a Rhythm Blade, the chosen weapon of the Reavers, Hell's assassins--Darrus knew that Rhythm Blades had a beam of light constantly working across their surface. Darrus liked to hope the Reaver would try to restrain him first, but had no way of knowing. If it came down to a fight, Darrus would almost surely lose--Searchers were taught evasive combat, but Reavers were masters at arms.

Darrus decided the best course of action would be to run for it; to go back into Hell and confess the difficulties to Cankerworm. Darrus ducked through a door and appeared in Cankerworm's office.

Four Guardians were in the office waiting for him. They all grabbed him.

"Cankerworm! What's going on!?" Darrus demanded of the Archdevil.

"It seems that all is not well with you, Darrus." said Cankerworm. "But don't worry, we're certain we can have you restored in a few days or so. Take him away."

Before Darrus could say another word, the Guardians dragged him off and forced him into a magma tube. The door shut, and divine energy washed over him. Cankerworm arrived shortly after and spoke to the operator.

"What seems to be his problem?" Cankerworm asked.

"He's full of Fury energy." said the operator. "It's giving him some extra free will, and if he'd bothered to try it, he can probably shapeshift. It's a good thing we caught him now; there's no telling how this would've gone even a day later."

"So the metamorphosis was still progressing?"

"You bet. He was the only one who had contact with the Fury and survived, right?"

"It's likely."

"I hope nobody else did. I don't even want to think about what it'd be like, trying to fix somebody further down the line."

"How long will this take?"

The operator glanced over his instruments. "I'd say about...seventy hours."

The operator laughed. "I hope he didn't have any appointments to keep."

Cankerworm wasn't amused. "Indeed." he said, and left.

V. New Liberty Bell

Lilith and Darrus came to one of the brothel's innumerable ornate doorways. Lilith withdrew a key from her pocket, unlocked it, and slipped through, Darrus in tow. They were in a small room, about four feet to a side. Beyond it was another locked door which Lilith pushed open. Darrus was caught aback by the contrast beyond. While the rest of the house looked like a baroque mansion that was honestly trying too hard, the hall in front of him resembled the recently demolished New Liberty Hospital for the Mentally Ill. There were austere white walls, doors marked only by numbers, and institional carpetting illuminated by flickering flourescent lighting.

Lilith caught Darrus' reaction. "This is where we sleep alone."

"But this place is so...barren." he said.

"It's by necessity. It keeps costs down, of course, but the girls need a relief from the gaudiness out there, too. You try eating cake three times a day for a week and see if you don't want some plain white bread afterward."

Darrus understood the metaphor, but reflected that he hadn't actually eaten since he was alive--more than twenty years ago.

"Why the double locks?" Darrus asked.

"Because customers don't like to think of us as real people. That and it would clash with the whole image of this place." Lilith sighed in disgust.

Lilith led him down the hall to a room numbered 203. She produced another key and unlocked it. Behind it was a small, gently furnished room. They stepped inside, and Lilith shut the door.

"You know," said Darrus. "For a succubus, you certainly seem to loathe sex."

Lilith sneered at him. "Let's just say that I've come to regret the choice I made all those years ago."

"What would damnation be without regret?" Darrus said, more to the world in general than to Lilith.

"Regardless," said Lilith, examining a shelf in the corner. "You need to tell me just what I'll be creating a beacon for, what range it needs, and then we need to choose what object to attach the beacon to. You're familiar how they work, correct?"

"It's been awhile. As I recall, you attach a subconscious signal to a mundane object, which then draws all of the target audience within range towards the beacon. Correct?"

"Enough to understand how it works. So, what exactly are you looking for?"

Darrus lit a cigarette. "You've heard about the blast downtown by now, correct?"

"Days ago. The TV said it was Insurgent activity, as if anyone in the Outer Warrens gives a damn."

"It wasn't insurgent activity. I was there. There was some sort of lesser-known fallen angel called a Fury that was going after an inmate at the New Liberty Hospital for the Mentally Ill. Apparently they were soldiers in Lucifer's army who exclusively fought against the Big Man, not for Lucifer. When they lost, they refused to be cast into the Pit with Lucifer's loyalists, so the Big Man exiled them to the moon. This one found its way onto a shuttle from the moon and ran around Earth for a few decades. Then he started killing things that had no right to be killed--an angel first, then one of our Searchers. He was after a prophet at the NLHMI when I got there. Eighteen Guardians, myself, and a Nightmare I'd brought with me for protection were all there. I wounded the Fury; Szziszzigji, the Nightmare, killed it. The problem was, when it died, all its energy surged outward--that was the source of the blast, not some Insurgent bomb. It was divine energy, so all eighteen Guardians were destroyed. I leapt through a door, half-stunned, and drifted between worlds for three days before some would-be witches managed to summon me this morning. The problem is that the inspection team that disposed of the Guardians remains and created the insurgent rumor didn't know that a Nightmare was present during the blast. They weren't looking for one, but they didn't find one, either. Or any signs of one."

"So there's a Nightmare running around New Liberty with corporeal form?" asked Lilith, raising her eyebrows. "What does it look like?"

"Three legs, all different lengths. Six-inch fangs, two red eyes, horns, a red mohawk, two arms, a tentacle and a tail. It's about twelve feet tall at the tops of the horns."

"And you think something like this could hide out in one of the largest cities on Earth for three days without being detected, after surviving a blast that killed 18 Guardian Devils and nearly killed one of the most clever Searchers in Hell?"

Darrus smiled inwardly at the compliment. "Most likely. Szziszzigji isn't just a normal Nightmare. Whoever thought it up had a truly twisted mind. It's capable of regenerating damaged flesh simply lurking in the shadows, and can make itself invisible. It has no odor, doesn't eat, and would certainly have no trouble defending itself if attacked."

"Can it communicate?" asked Lilith.

"Yes, but not in a traditional way. Its mouth is all wrong for speech, and it can't communicate telepathically, per se. Whatever pertinent thought it has, it shifts over to you. Everything it wants you to know is implicit, but you can usually get the idea of what it's trying to say."

"Unusual."

"Very. I brought it here as protection, considering it's so good at survival. Now that seems to have backfired."

"I take it your boss is worried about it breaking free?"

"He didn't say so, but I suspect as much. Since it's not truly a demon--"

"Hell has no concrete control over it. I understand. This," Lilith picked a small hand bell off the shelf in front of her, "should do nicely. Step outside, I require concentration to make this bell into the beacon."

"Right." Darrus went outside and waited. After a few minutes, there was a flash from beneath the door. Darrus pressed his ear to the door and heard Lilith coughing.

"Is it done?" he called.

"Yes!" she answered between coughs. "Come in!"

The door was locked, but it was hardly a barrier. Darrus grabbed the handle and the tumblers slid open. He went inside. Smoke was everywhere, but it was quickly dissipating.

"Did something go wrong?"

"No. It always does that. Your beacon is ready."

"I have another request." said Darrus.

"What now?"

"Can I leave it here? I have no permanent location to draw Szziszzigji to."

Lilith gave Darrus a piercing glare. "For how long?"

"Three days."

"Forget it. Every nightmare in the city will be clustered here by then."

"A day, then." said Darrus. "With any luck, Szziszzigji will be the only thing it attracts, anyway."

"Luck." said Lilith. "Is not something I'm inclined to believe in."

"Come now, Lilith. Perhaps luck believes in you." said Darrus, a smile cracking his face.

"Very well. Twenty-four hours, then it's out of here. Understand?"

"Perfectly. It'll be thrown into the Lake of Fire by this time tomorrow."

"It had better. The last thing I need is more nightmares in my existence."

IV. Underworld

Darrus came out of a doorway in the Outer Warrens of New Liberty. Located at the metropolis' southern end, it was a notorious red light district. Most demons didn't bother with the place; every soul there was either so tainted that any demonic interventioni was redundant, or else was completely untemptable and had come in the vain hope of redeeming one of the others.

It was also a hotbed for insurgent activity, which was why it had grown on Darrus.

Darrus stepped out into the street. A place this dark didn't slow down just because it was daytime. A network of canopies had been set up, hanging between the buildings. Gloom was requisite for such a place.

Darrus took the scenic route, if one could call it that, to the particular brothel he was looking for. He reached it in a few minutes time. It was a middle-of-the-road house of negotiable affection; a bit too pricey for the lowest classes, but not even attempting the raunchy mockery of class the more expensive houses displayed. It had been chosen because it saw the most economically diverse clientelle; Hell was always concerned with reaching all it could. This place was just nonthreatening enough to encourage a few uncorrupted souls inside, and to make the marginally corrupted seal the deal.

Sex itself wasn't the problem. None of the Big Man's laws specifically forbade it, provided that neither partner was married to someone not partaking in the union. It was the other elements that did it. Addiction encouraged theft, which was against the Big Man's law. Cheap, abundant prostitution encouraged infidelity--another no-no. The guilt experienced by some customers lead them to lengths that were unacceptable, or else the discovery of their deeds set events of the same nature in motion. The sex itself was merely the centerpiece the sins used as a vehicle. Street preachers would occasionally venture inside the Outer Warrens in the hope of dispelling any aspect of the darkness--they usually met with no success, and other times gave a route for another forbidden sin--murder.

Darrus arrived at the brothel and went inside. Business was slow, considering the sun was up.

"Good morning." said the hostess as Darrus strode through the foyer. She stood behind a podium with a velvet rope barring the way. "What are your personal preferences, and how much will you be willing to spend today?"

"I'm actually not here to patronize." said Darrus. No longer being human, sex wasn't particularly interesting to Darrus. "I wish to speak to one of your...employees."

The woman seemed vaguely insulted with the pause, meaning it had served its purpose. "Well, we really don't make a practice of--"

Her qualms were forgotten when Darrus laid a 20 credit note on the podium in front of her. "Right, then. Give me her name, and if she isn't currently engaged, I'll send her up."

"Lilith DeCarte." said Darrus.

"I'll be right back."

Darrus lingered in the foyer, peering at the garrish decor. The place was predominantly deep red--a color Darrus had seen enough of, as of late--and was heavily perfumed. If Darrus had needed to breath, he likely would have choked on the stuff. He absent-mindedly withdrew a cigarette and lit it. Darrus continued to rotate around the room, taking in its mock glory.

There was the sound of a throat clearing behind Darrus. He turned. The figure facing him was certainly beautiful, but in a frayed, half-damaged sort of way. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five, and looked as though she had grown up as the sort of girl that boys dream about but never get any further; unattainable, perfect, unapologetically feminine. But somewhere along the line, something had gone wrong, and she had wound up here, deprecating herself for the amusement of others. She wore too much makeup, as if hoping to cover up the fact that, though no one batted an eye and her presence, she didn't truly belong here.

It was a cunning illusion, all things considered.

"Lilith." said Darrus.

"Darrus, put out the cigarette." said the girl, stepping towards him in a manner more forceful than her form would suggest her capable of.

"Ah, yes." said Darrus, flicking it away. "Hell forbid that the place reek of anything other than what you folks have prescribed."

"What brings you here?" asked Lilith.

"I'm looking for something, and I require your service."

Lilith's shoulder's heaved. "I have many, many services to speak of. Which one were you referring to?"

"To create a beacon, to lure him in."

Lilith glanced at an ornate grandfather clock beyond the podium. "I suppose. I have the time. Come with me."

The girl who had greeted Darrus came back to her post just in time to notice that Darrus passed through the velvet rope, rather than over it. She dismissed it when she saw Lilith leading him into the house.

"Hold on a moment, Lilith!" said the girl. "You know the house gets 40%. What do you plan to do with him back there, and how much are you charging?"

Darrus and Lilith looked at each other.

"Do you want to do it, or should I?" asked Darrus.

"Go ahead." said Lilith, an exasperated look on her face.

Darrus reached into his coat. His hand came back with a small, silver whistle. "We're just going to listen to some music, maybe take a nap. We don't you join us?"

The girl started to protest. Darrus blew the whistle, and she sank slowly to the floor, sound asleep.

"Obedient little thing." said Darrus, putting the whistle away.

"Don't worry," said Lilith, walking down the corridor. "It'll fade in time."

"Always does." said Darrus, taking one last look at the girl's prostrate form before following Lilith. "Although, should we leave her unconscious in the foyer of a brothel?"

"Don't think it's the first time it's happened." said Lilith.

III. Trinity

It had been a strange three days for Lucian Briggs.

He'd been staying with Ross Gibson at the Seraphim Lodge, a hotel on the outskirts of New Liberty. He'd only gone back to his apartment once, to find it ransacked. Most of it was broken, rather than stolen, implying that a chot raid had done the place in, not a robbery. He'd checked his mail, and found that he'd been stricken from the roster at his job and was assumed dead; the letter was a mere formality on the off chance he'd survived.

But mostly, Lucian had been thinking. Gibson was building an insurrection, and wanted Lucian onboard.

His mother had spent her life fighting Rehnquist's regime. His father had lost his doing the same. Lucian had long ago decided it wasn't a fight he wanted to continue.

Recently, things had changed. He's lost his home and job, that much was certain. According to Gibson, Lucian's two best friends had been killed in the raid that nearly claimed his life. He hadn't lost everything, but had come damn close. In short, nothing was as it had been.

Gibson himself was an oddity to Lucian. Gibson had told Lucian he was twenty-nine years old--three years older than Lucian--yet he claimed to know Lucian's father, Darius. Darius Briggs had been tortured to death twenty-one years before, yet Gibson spoke of him like they'd seen each other in the past week.

The most unnerving thing about Gibson was that he heard voices. More specifically, one voice. He claimed that that one voice was the Metatron, the Voice of God. Lucian would've dismissed him as a lunatic, if it weren't for that fact that Gibson was always right. Lucian had been testing Gibson's prophecy almost constantly, and had yet to defeat him. The most convincing test, in Lucian's mind, was when Lucian flipped a coin fifty times in a row, and Gibson called it correctly in the air with his eyes closed each time.

Lucian hadn't ever really believed in God. His father had been brought up in a very religious household and had ultimately rejected his faith. His mother had had other concerns; between the two, religion had never had a serious presence in Lucian's life. But to hear the way Gibson spoke about talking directly to God, being His voice on Earth...it made Lucian wonder.

After the most recent events, Lucian was losing his faith in humanity. Faith in God only seemed natural.

Gibson came into the room.

"You've decided." he said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, I have." said Lucian. "I'm going to join up with you."

"I knew it." said Gibson. Lucian didn't doubt that he had. "Oh, and by the way, I have someone I want you to meet. He's the head of a local insurrection cell, and he's waiting for us in the lobby."

The two men locked up the room and went to the hotel lobby. There was a thirty-ish man waiting for them. He had long, white-blonde hair down to his shoulderblades, pale skin, and blue eyes as deep as oceans. He wore a long, leather coat. There was something about him, in the way he spoke and carried himself, that hinted at something else; something deep. Lucian could just barely feel it; this man had some sort of hidden potential.

"Greetings." he said. His voice was soft and genial. He seemed to exude friendliness. "My name is Robert Keyes. Mr. Gibson has told me about you."

"Nice to meet you." said Lucian. "I'm Lucian Briggs." Keyes nodded and shook Lucian's outstretched hand.

"I'd like to speak to you away from...prying ears." said Keyes. "Perhaps you'd care to converse at my suite?"

Gibson shook his head. "Knock it off, Keyes. The eccentric millionaire routine may work on my friend, here, but I know better."

Keyes laughed. "You know me too well, already, Ross. But seriously, we should talk, tell Lucian here how many pies across town I--excuse me, we--have fingers in."

The trio went back to Gibson's room to discuss matters of state, and how to disrupt them.

II. Aftermath

"So," said Cankerworm. "Exactly what happened up there?"

"Well," said Darrus. "You were so kind as to tell me that I could kill the Fury by destroying the eyes, but you neglected what would happen when I did so. I hope you've got a Weaver of Lies up there, because this is going to take one hell of a story to explain away--"

"Actually, it was a fairly simple job. It was blamed on insurgents, trying to blow up the government-run asylum at the center of the blast."

Darrus sighed. "Well, then. I suppose that'll do. Anyway, I shot one eye out and Szziszzigji, the Nightmare I'd brought with me, managed the claw the other one. At which point the Fury exploded. I was far away enough that I had time to react--I jumped for a door, then overwalked away. The trouble was, the wave hit me as I ran. I was hurt badly enough that I couldn't aim for where I came out. So I sort of drifted between worlds until another door beckoned to me. Some group of high school girls trifling with things they didn't understand."

"Did you collect any souls?" asked Cankerworm, his interest piqued.

"The opportunity didn't arise, unfortunately. Don't worry, I started at least one of them down the path of darkness. She'll be living in sin before you know it."

"Excellent, excellent."

Darrus sat up and pulled out his lighter and a cigarette. "Any news on the rest of the crew?"

"Not much to be said, really." said Cankerworm. "18 Guardians confirmed destroyed."

Darrus paused with his cigarette an inch from the lighter. "What about Szziszzigji?"

"Hm?"

"Szziszzigji. The Nightmare I just told you about."

Cankerworm checked the readout on his desk. "There's nothing in the report about a Nightmare."

Darrus through down the cigarette. "Damn it!"

"Darrus, it was a recurring Nightmare, wasn't it?" asked Cankerworm. "Just get another iteration of it when you need one."

"That's not the point. Szziszzigji could become invisible--if we can't confirm its status, it's not outside the realm of possibility that Szziszzigji is still on Earth, in hiding. Probably wounded, too."

Cankerworm sat up. "I see. Darrus, you have a new assignment; find out if the Nightmare is alive, and if it is, rein it in."

"Will do." said Darrus, rising to leave.

"Don't leave yet. There's something I don't think you're aware of."

"What?" said Darrus, now standing behind the chair.

"You've been gone for three days."

Darrus started. "I must have drifted for longer than I thought."

"Indeed. Now go, and for Lucifer's sake, get cleaned up before you go back to Earth; all that cinder is going to attract attention."

Darrus looked down at himself. "Yes, I suppose so."

I. From the Ashes

Sabrina traced the chalk doorway while Regina lit the candles. Lynn and Gloria watched with a mixture of excitement and fatigue; getting up so early was tough for the girls. Nightshade presided over the others, a sly smile smile on her makeup covered face.

Of course, her real name was MacKenzie, but she'd decided two months before that she'd only answer to Nightshade. After all, she was 18 years old, and that meant no one could tell her what to do anymore.

"Is this right?" asked Sabrina.

"Yes." said Nightshade. "That will do...perfectly."

"Have..." Lynn's voice trailed off. "Have you ever done this before?"

"Plenty of times." said Nightshade, turning her curled black lips on the younger girl. Well, she'd attempted it plenty of times, just not successfully.

"Does...does a demon always come through?"

Nightshade looked away. "No, not always. Demons are very busy, you understand."

"The sun's coming up." said Gloria.

"Well, come on." said Nightshade. This was their window. "We all hold hands and chant like I told you."

They did as they were told. "Come, spawn of the pit, answer our call. Come, spawn of the pit, answer our call. Come, spawn of the pit..."

On the fourth iteration, the chalk doorway drawn on the wall started to glow. The chant faltered--even Nightshade hadn't gotten this far before. The glow began to fade and they resumed the chant. The pentagram chalked on the floor at the center of the ring of candles began to glow as well.

"Come, spawn of the pit, answer our call..."

The entire door was glowing white now.

"Come, spawn of the pit, answer our--"

The chant stopped as a man came flying through the door, landing headlong on the ground. He was coughing, and had smoke billowing off his form. Parts of his hair were on fire, and he was covered in soot and ash. He had long, graying hair and looked old enough to be any one of the girls' fathers. He hoisted himself up into a crouching position and coughed.

"Spawn of the pit, we have summoned you--er, ye!" proclaimed Nightshade, giddy at her success but wondering why the Spawn looked more like the man who worked at the drugstore down the street than a horrible creature from the plane of torment.

"Yes, yes." said the man. "And I'll answer your questions. But first off, where am I?"

"You are on the Earth." said Nightshade.

The demon coughed again. "A bit more specific, please. Damn, where did I put that..." The demon began searching the pockets of his coat. He seemed to notice that his hair was on fire, and patted it out before resuming his search. He had some nasty cuts on his face.

"Um, you're on Briar Street, Lars' Port."

"That's a suburb of New Liberty, correct?" said the demon, still looking through his pockets.

"Um, yes." Nightshade hadn't expected a summoning to go anything like this. She certainly hadn't expected the demon say "please."

The demon stopped searching and withdrew a blister packet with a single pill in it. He popped the packet and swallowed the pill. The cuts, burns, bruises, and lacerations about his character closed up, but the pill did nothing for the soot and ash clinging to his form. He pulled a cigarette and a lighter out of his coat.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked Nightshade, gesturing with the lighter.

"Er, no..." This was decidedly more awkward than Nightshade had expected.

The demon lit up and put the lighter away. "You, there? What was that?"

Lynn looked terrified at the demon's gaze. "I didn't say anything."

"Yes, you did. I heard you. Repeat it."

"I said...my mama said that smoking...was bad for you!" The girl seemed on the brink of tears.

"Your mama was right. Stay away from these things, they'll bring you nothing but trouble." The demon's comment was met with stunned stairs. "Well, look, I'm a spawn of the pit, remember? Do you really want to emulate me?"

Lynn didn't know what "emulate" meant, but decided that now was not the time to bring it up. The silence continued to linger, tempered only by the demon taking a drag. He blew smoke out his mouth.

"Look, this is the part where you ask me the questions you summoned me for." he said.

"Right, right. I knew that." said Nightshade. "Lynn, you go first."

"Me?" asked Lynn indignantly.

"Relax, dear." said the demon. Definitely not what Nightshade had expected. "I don't bite."

"Um..." said Lynn. "I...I want to know how to make Johnny White go out with me."

"Is that all? Show him a little leg."

"Excuse me?"

"He thinks you have nice legs. Show them off a bit, then ask him if he'd like to do something with you this weekend." The demon mentally added, Good luck getting him to look at you twice the morning after. "Who's next?"

Sabrina cleared her throat. "That's me. I want to know what happened to my friend Terrence when he ran away."

The demon touched his forehead for a moment. "He's selling Marijuana in Des Moines, Iowa."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm. Don't worry, he's getting along all right." said the demon. Well, his cellmate is, at least. "Who else?"

"I," said Regina, "want to know where people go when they die."

"Hell." said the demon. "Well, most of them."

"What about the others?"

"Wisconsin."

The sense of general confusion in the room rose to a fever pitch. "Relax, I was only kidding. They go to Heaven."

"What about Purgatory? Or Limbo?" put in Regina. "We learned about them in Sunday School."

"I've never met anyone from either." said the demon. "That leaves two more of you. Any more questions?"

"Actually." said Regina. "What should I do to make David Price ask me out?"

High school girls, one track minds. thought the demons. "Anything you want, hon. David doesn't exactly favor girls, if you catch my drift."

Regina's face turned red. The demon gathered she caught it.

"That leaves you, then." said the demon, turning to face Nightshade. "What do you want to ask me?"

"I want to know how to become a more powerful witch." proclaimed Nightshade.

The demon didn't immediately respond. "No, you don't."

Nightshade started. "Excuse me?"

"Witchcraft isn't what you want, it's only a symptom. You want power. You want to make people fall all over you." The demon rose. "And I can give you that power."

The other girls stepped back, sensing that something considerably more weighty was going on with Nightshade than had been with them.

"For my soul?" Nightshade asked, her lower lip quivering.

"I can sell you real, concrete power for that, but I have a better idea. I can give you a different sort of power for free."

"R-r-really?"

"Yes." said the demon, throwing his cigarette to the floor. It disappeared upon impact. "I can make you irresistible to others; you'll have no end of friends, and adoring public."

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

The demon leaned close, his face inches from hers. Nightshade could smell the smoke of cigarettes burning wood on him. "All you need to do...is wear a little less makeup, stop walking around like the world owes you one, and for Lucifer's sake, stop being such a cold bitch."

Without another word, the demon turned on his heel and disappeared through the chalk door. Lynn caught the grin on his face.

The demon came out back in Hell, outside his boss' door. He strode in.

"So, you did survive." said Cankerworm. "Well done, Darrus."

"Thank you." said Darrus.

Foreword

This story is the sequel to From Here to Hereafter, and so won't make much sense without it. Here to Hereafter can be reached via the "view my complete profile" link to the right.

When we last left Darrus, the Fury Karobim had been destroyed, levelling nearly a square mile of the massive city of New Liberty. Darrus, 18 Guardian Devils, a Nightmare named Szziszzigji, and countless humans were all known to be within the blast radius.

Across town, the prophet Ross Gibson, the Fury's initial target, had been saved by Darrus. He repayed the debt by saving Darrus' son Lucian from a chot raid that claimed the lives of Lucian's best friends, Jacob Radford and George Banks. Lucian, up to then a loyal citizen of Lawrence Rehnquist's New World Order, found himself with a sprained ankle, riding in a car driven by a man who claimed to know his father--dead for twenty years--but not much older than himself, talking of starting a full-blown insurgency. Lucian didn't commit to the cause, but did not dismiss it, either.

Now the world reels in response to the percieved attack on New Liberty; it is not a good time to be an Insurgent.