Hell Hath No Fury, page 10
The Imp stopped walking and lifted the carrier up to his face, pulling it in close. It became harder to see with each second. The spores diffused the purple glow until the usually dark cave seemed nearly as bright as an afternoon in the mortal realm. He just managed to make out the cat between his squinting eyelids.
To his surprise, the cat seemed nearly comatose. Its eyes were shut and its body mostly limp. The paws of the detestable creature twitched and jerked in random motions that seemed indicative of a being lost in a dream. That was when the Imp felt a tug at his right leg. He jumped, dropping the cat carrier in the process.
“What the Hell?!”
He marched in place, not wanting to let his feet stay still for too long and swung his long arms in wide arcs in front of him then toward his feet. The spores dissipated and the tunnels became somewhat clear again. Along the walls and the ceiling, the Imp could see the bright glowing veins weaving throughout the newly formed spore pods that were continuously pumping out new spores with each pulse of light. The Imp looked on in awe. He thought he knew all there was to know of Hell. He thought he could not be surprised. Now, here he stood, slowly turning to take it all in with his eyes wide and his jaw hung slack.
He looked for the cat; panicked. The pulsing tendrils were crawling up the sides of the carrier and beginning to work their way into the holes along the top half. Without hesitation, the Imp jumped into action, cut the carrier free with his sharp, black nails, and hoisted it up into the air. Almost immediately, the error of his action was apparent as the tunnel flashed in a purple light so bright it became nearly white. The Imp’s eyes were not meant for such light. He broke off in a sprint, his eyes squinting and the carrier held tight against his chest.
The light faded as he went, but the fungus pursued. From the walls, the floor, and the ceiling, it grew and reached out for the Imp. They made lines along the ground to trip him. All attempts easily thwarted by the Imp’s long, lanky strides. Though the growing fungus and blinding light had caught the Imp by surprise, he was much too quick, and before long he stood at the exit of the Tunnels of Terror and the wide-open space of the Killing Fields.
He stopped, his chest heaving in gulps of clean air. With little hesitation, he turned back to the cave, which had now gone dark, and shouted back at it, “Fuck you, worthless fungus! This is why no one likes you.”
He gave the tunnels one last huff from his nostrils then turned to face the Killing Fields. He took in the rotten smell and smiled. He weaved through the fields of the growing and dying as they reached for help from anything nearby, the Imp included. The Imp simply kicked them away with all the carelessness of a bored young demon kicking bones along the streets of the Necropolis.
Ahead of him the abominations toiled away, lifting the harvested mortals above them, tearing them apart piece by piece, and letting the blood wash over them before tossing their body parts into the large baskets on their backs, only to deposit their haul into the meat grinders at the other end of the vast fields. The river of red slush that flowed from the grinders and back through the fields filled the air with the scent of blood that the Imp found absolutely intoxicating. It was at the grinders that, amidst the toiling abominations, the Imp spotted the one with whom he was closest. The abomination was cramming bundles of human parts into the grinder’s unstoppable gears. As the Imp approached, the abomination ceased its toils.
“abomination.”
“Yes Imp? Oh, what’s that? Is that the cat?” the abomination recoiled as it asked.
“Yes, it is. I need some help. The handle broke on this infernal thing’s cage. It keeps attacking me and my arms are getting tired holding it out like this. Think you have anything that could help?”
The abomination looked inquisitively at the cage. “How absolutely foul, but it doesn’t look especially ferocious. Did you have to catch that detestable horror by hand?”
The Imp gave a puzzled looked then peered into the cage for himself. He found the cat laying there with its eyes hardly open. It looked tired. Older even. The Imp paid it no mind and turned his attention back to the abomination. “No, look, I just—can you help or not? I want to get this off my hands as soon as demonly possible.”
“Oh right, yes. Let us see.” The abomination looked around, then jumped a little as its eyes fell upon some loose entrails on the ground. “This ought to do. Hold it out over here.”
The Imp held his shaking arms out as far as he could as the abomination worked two of its thick hands around the carrier, careful not to touch it. It wrapped the entrails around the sides, then twisted them around the top before wrapping them around the front and back. It tied them into a bow of sorts at the top, then stood back to observe its work. All six of its faces looked satisfied. “There! That should hold it just fine.”
The Imp set the carrier down, then picked it back up by the new fleshy bow of a handle. He gave it a good bounce in his grip to test its durability. The entrails held tight.
“Yeah, hey! That feels all right. Excellent work.”
“Do I know my way around entrails or do I know my way around entrails?”
“That you do!”
They both stood for a moment and smiled at the new entrail handle on the carrying case before the abomination spoke again. “So, have you figured out why the Dark Lord has sent you on this quest yet? Surely, it’s a difficult enough task to earn a reward.”
“I’m not sure, but a task as difficult as this is surely no small thing. However, I fear I might have failed,” The Imp replied while he leaned in close, his expression turning to stone, and lowered his voice. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“The human who kept this awful thing as a pet chased me all the way here to get it back.”
“A human,” the abomination practically yelled. “No way! You’re fucking with me!”
“Keep it down. Swear to the Dark Lord. She killed a beast of burden, maybe two, I’m not sure. She even made it past the Erinyes and the Blood Bog, though I didn’t see for sure.”
“That’s impossible!”
“Right! That’s what I heard the Overseer say as I left the Necropolis. So, I’m sure she at least made it that far.”
“Holy Hell! Are you going to tell the Dark Lord?” the abomination asked. “Though, I’m sure the Overseer will take care of her. No problem.”
“I must tell him, right? I’m sure he’ll find out, regardless, if he isn’t already aware,” the Imp added confidently. “Anyway, thanks again, but I want to get this thing off my hands as soon as I can.”
“Yes, see you around.”
The Imp scuttled off and waved to the abomination, who waved back. As the Imp approached the entrance to the Hunting Grounds the abomination called out to him, “Let me know what happens with that cat, huh?”
The Imp looked back. “Oh, yes! You will be the first to know.” Then he turned back toward the Hunting Grounds and went on his way. A stream of souls, having been sufficiently harvested, floated above him in the same direction.
19
“How dare you!” is what Delilah would have heard the voice of the Overseer bellow from above had she still been psychically linked to the blood worm. Instead, she heard nothing more than the loud rumblings of an angry demon. Whatever remnants of the worm’s mind faded from hers once she lifted her new sword from its slumber. An act that also seemed to royally piss off the inverted, skeletal giant that stood on the stone above the city she’d crashed into.
“English, motherfucker,” she shouted at him, then wound her new blade back behind her, squatted down, and leapt through the hole in the ceiling in one mighty jump. Below her feet the floor cracked and crumbled away.
Up through the ceiling, toward the Overseer, she took off like a rocket. The hot winds of Hell blew past her in wailing torrents that burned at her face like fire and her heart like fury. She slowed as she reached the skeletal face and hung in the air for a moment. The two looked eye-to-eye. Her grip tightened on the sword and she finished her question. “Do you speak it?”
Delilah swung the blade in a strong, upward motion, just as gravity had retaken hold of her and pulled her back down. The Overseer howled as his glowing skull shined out through the cut that ran from his forehead, through his right eye, before stopping at his boney cheek. Delilah watched the Overseer reach for his eye with his remaining hand and let out a howl as she fell. She couldn’t help but smile.
Below, the Necropolis had roiled into a panic, and frenzied demons ran chaotically through the streets. Delilah looked down as it all rushed up at her. Many fled, while others gathered in a tight formation around Delilah's inevitable destination. The humans, who earlier seemed to not see her at all, worked their way through the crowd of demons and gathered directly below, where they stared up at her like curious chickens in the rain.
What are they doing? Can they see me now?
The righteous rage in her mind became muddy with confusion, then worry, then guilt. I’ll kill them if they don’t move.
Faster still, the ground moved toward her feet. Her muscles tensed up in preparation for the impact. But, as if it had a mind of its own, the sword moved itself into position, its tip pointing straight down. Both of Delilah’s hands gripped the handle tight, fruitlessly attempting to turn it away from the crowd below, then she closed her eyes and screamed.
She landed like an asteroid on some strange, nightmarish, planet. Beneath the crash of her impact, there came a sickening squish. The sword's light shined out bright and the humans’ flesh exploded on to the surrounding demons and buildings, which shook at the force of her landing. She looked around at the carnage she had just created and her heart broke.
Where hundreds of humans had once stood, a crater filled with their remains pooled. The surrounding walls painted red. The air filled with settling dust that mixed with a fine, pink mist, and among it all whirled hundreds of blue-green wisps. They spun faster and faster as they spiraled in toward Delilah.
No, not her, but into the pummel of the sword. Their light ran through the runed hilt, then the eyes of the skull on the cross guard, and finally down the blade. She could feel their power coursing through her own body.
Holding their formation around her, row upon row, stood armor-clad demons that appeared as though they had just clawed their way out of every worst nightmare there may have ever been. Giant, grey, gelatinous beasts oozed through their ranks, backs and insides brimming with weaponry, and the horde of demonic forces pulled blades of all shapes and sizes from their jiggling bodies.
At the front of the ranks were armored, semi-skeletal creatures whose mouths and eyes glowed angry, like the undying embers from a ceaseless fire. They howled at Delilah as they beat their weapons against their shields and chest plates.
Behind them, larger creatures, with dark grey flesh and twisted horns, held aloft in their forearms axes and swords alike. They wore thick, black helmets and four additional arachnoid appendages protruded from their backs, each tipped with a pointed claw.
Along the rooftops, archers stood at the ready. Their bows drawn back and arrows made of pure fire aimed directly at her. Scattered throughout, larger creatures, with many eyes and many ears and many arms and many legs, hobbled in a mess of twisted flesh toward her.
As the final wisps flowed into her sword, she took her defensive stance and brought the sword up over her shoulder like a baseball bat, not really knowing how to properly wield it but trusting in the feeling the sword was filling her with, a heightened battle sense.
“Okay then, let’s see what this thing can do,” Delilah spoke under her breath before swiftly shifting her feet. She swung the sword hard. A slash of blue-green light shot out along its path, toward the line of Hell spawn that stood before her. It sliced through the first couple of layers, whose top halves flew into the air before falling to the ground. The crowd of demons erupted in thunderous protest.
“Not bad,” she said, nodding at the blade, then wringing the handle in her grip. “Let’s go, then.”
The archers above wasted little time in letting loose their molten arrows. They sizzled past her head with terrifying speed. Without thinking—as if acting on some preternatural instinct—she easily dodged them. Ground forces converged on her.
What followed was, to Delilah, a slow rhythmic dance of blood and blade. Her body moved with a grace she didn’t know it possessed as she artfully dodged and sliced her way through their ranks with little resistance to each strike. Her body seemed to be propelled along by an invisible force that took her fighting skills and married them seamlessly to the art of sword play. It felt as though she had been doing this her whole life. Multiple lives, even.
Once terrified of the Hell they’d found themselves in, humans began to appear. They angrily shoved demons aside like nothing more than competition for a discount on a Black Friday sale as they forced themselves into the fray. Delilah stopped her swing short as a young woman stepped in front of it. The moment's hesitation was all it took for a large, demonic fist to connect with her ribs, sending her flying through the crowd and into a nearby building.
What the fuck was that? she thought as the black stone crumbled and fell around her. She swiftly recovered. The pain was hardly noticeable, and it faded before she could reach a hand against her ribs to soothe it. She beamed with delight as she examined the sword in gleeful astonishment.
With a laugh, Delilah practically jumped out of the rubble and back into the battle. Where she expected to find demons, only people waited for her.
The damned people.
Delilah leapt over them, but before she could take a swing at a demon, another person stepped in front of her. She hardly had time to stop the swing.
She pivoted. Swung again at a new foe.
Another human lunged in front of her.
Each moment she spent adjusting for these suicidal souls was a moment she left herself open to attack. A swing of a mace, the graze of an arrow. None pierced her newly toughened skin, but with each blow the pain was building up in her faster than it could fade away. It was beyond any hurt that she’d ever felt. She had to choose: her life or the souls of those already damned. The images of a dead family and a young boy bleeding out on the floor at her feet flooded her mind, but she shook them off.
“Fuck this shit,” she said through gulping breaths. “If you wanna die, then you’ll die.”
She ran back into the battle and let her rage take hold. The delicate dance was once more back in full swing, but instead of grace in her movements, there was now only furious intent.
As she cut through the bodies crowded around her, the blue-green glowing wisps came floating from their split torsos and beheaded bodies. They followed her through the fray and found their way into her sword’s pummel as she sliced. With each dead demon, she felt a degree of satisfaction; with each dead human, she felt her heart grow heavy but her power swell.
Above her, the Overseer had recovered from its injury. It walked to a large hammer that pressed heavy against the stone ceiling of the infernal cavern that was Hell and lifted it.
***
The Overseer stood on the ceiling and turned its injured gaze up, toward the battle below, to find Delilah finishing off the demonic army. It jumped up and turned its body as it fell to the ground, where it landed on the remaining demons and humans amid their lop-sided battle.
Buildings toppled.
The ground shuddered.
***
Delilah jumped out of the way at the last moment and craned her neck to take in the true scale of the Overseer. She knew it was big, but seeing it standing before her, right side up, in the middle of a city whose tallest tower only came up to the Overseers ribs? It sent a shiver through Delilah’s newly empowered body.
The Overseer bellowed in nonsensical syllables that only served to infuriate Delilah more.
“I can’t understand you!”
She lunged toward the Overseer before it could even lift its hammer. Her aim was swift and true as the blade sliced through its right ankle. The Overseer screamed and swiftly lifted its hammer as it turned to face Delilah. It brought the blunt object down with all its might.
More buildings crumbled and dust filled the air. The Overseer watched, leaning to the left to keep its ankle from snapping completely off, and it waited as the dust settled. It recoiled, shocked to find the small human was standing, defiantly, on the top side of its mighty hammer. Even more so when she started to run up the handle. The Overseer quickly let go and stumbled backward in a fit of fear and confusion, two feelings that had previously been unknown to it. Its injured ankle snapped, and the Overseer fell to the ground. It sat up on its hands as quickly as it could and scurried backward, away from Delilah, as buildings crumbled all around and beneath it.
It stole quick glances toward the blood bog, and away from the murderous might of Delilah and her baleful blade. Before the Overseer could get out of the Necropolis, Delilah leapt from the end of the hammer’s handle and brought her sword down on the Overseer's chest with a commanding battle cry.
The Overseer froze. Delilah tore a colossal hole right through its chest. It bore straight through to the ground. Gaping at the wound, the Overseer’s remaining eye darted back and forth as it slowly dimmed behind a curtain of disbelief and fear.
Its giant form fell to the ground, completely limp, without so much as a whimper. Delilah jumped back out and stood on its chest, at the base of its neck, triumphant and out of breath.
