He was running for help. I cannot allow it.

  “There is no help for miles around, perhaps hundreds of miles. You killed him wantonly. Which means you are a murderer. Which means I will do what I can to stop you.”

  I did what I do, Vampire. I kill gods and all those who try to stop me. Including you. Especially you.

  I ignore him. I get it. He wants me dead. I’m beginning to feel the same sentiment. No, I am not a hired assassin. I hate the thought of that. But... I do what I need to do to help others. We’ll see how this all goes...

  More screaming. Getting louder.

  I turn another corner. Blocking the hallway further down is a section of blue tentacle, looking much bigger than what I had seen outside, which makes sense. It had been stretched to the max to reach us in the sky. Down here, the thing looks as thick as a school bus. It completely fills the adjacent hallway, crossing in front of us. Some of it even oozes into our hallway.

  As I watch it, considering our options, a bulge forms in the side of it. The bulge turns into a protuberance, which in turn expands into a tentacle. The tentacle grows bigger still—then rockets out toward us.

  There you are, Vampire!

  As the appendage is upon me faster than I can run, I slash the black blade side to side, slicing and dicing the thing as surely as if I were cutting up a pickle. A bloody pickle. Once again, I am covered in bluish goo. So is Ishmael, who’s standing directly behind me. Like, right behind me. So close, I nearly say, ‘that’s what you get.’

  “Perhaps we should split up, Ishy,” I say, using his new nickname.

  “No, Sam. I must protect you at all cos—”

  “I can protect myself. Go help anyone who needs it, please.”

  “But... I am unused to helping anyone but you.”

  “Then it’s time to learn. Hurry!”

  He bows. “Yes, Sam.”

  As my fallen angel dashes off, I’m suddenly not sure why I sent him off alone; well, other than I felt he was cramping my style. It’s not that I like working alone. It’s that he is royally up in my business. That could be a problem in future, ah, endeavors.

  Worry about that later, Sammy.

  Now alone, I consider what the hell is going on. The tentacle before me, having been severed, retracts. The severed pieces of “hot dogs” quiver on the floor, then lie still. I see the main section undulate along the floor, to whatever destination it’s headed. Already, I’m seeing another lump form in its side, ready to launch another blue missile at me.

  Exactly, Samantha Moon. You cannot kill me. I am everywhere, ready to attack anything, especially the goddess I seek. Where is she, blast it!?

  Before the new tentacle can form, I hang a right into another room, this one is completely empty, although I do see what appears to be a cellar door in the floor. I dash over to it, but decide against opening it, especially when I feel heat rise up through it. Likely, this is an access point to a hellscape of tortured souls. Yes, I do consider releasing them, if possible, though I’m not sure how I can go about it. Besides, don’t at least some of them deserve their place in the Underworld? Undoubtedly. I can’t save everyone, can I?

  Ah, screw it.

  I throw open the door in the floor and peer down into the hole. Hmm. If the goddess of this palace perishes at the hands of this entity, what happens to the souls down there?

  That’s an easy one, Vampire. They go on to the next most compatible god or goddess.

  Would having more souls make a god more powerful?

  No, Vampire. The gods are given life via humanity’s collective interest. Many of the gods down here have been long since forgotten and are hanging on by a thread. Some are so lost and lonely they beg for death, which they cannot initiate. Tis why the devil above ground sought you out, Samantha Moon. To end its existence.

  But it was thriving, perhaps more than even Hades.

  Far, far more than Hades. But your Christian devil had enough of living, of being evil, of being the subject of hate, of acting the role of the ultimate incarnation of evil.

  And you know this how?

  Because he was on my radar, too, until you destroyed him. Now there is another, but I will search for him another time. I am busy down here, as you can see. Where are you, blasted goddess?! I can feel you, so close, so very close...

  From down inside the pit, I hear wailing and screaming and weeping. Louder than ever. Sweet mama.

  If you free the lost souls, Samantha Moon, they will simply gravitate to the next closest version of their hell. They have nowhere else to go. Besides, they do not yet believe they have always been free. They are still bound by the limitations of their beliefs.

  And what if I tell them they are free to find peace in the hereafter?

  They will not believe you, of course, and will only think you are there to further their torment. Besides, there are tens of thousands of souls down there. I will have killed the goddess of this palace and many others, before you get to even half of them. Only to have them make their way to yet a different version of the Underworld.

  I consider the task at hand, and the fact that I just sent Ishmael off on a mission of his own. Though I sense the torment within and can see nightmarish passageways below, complete with glowing rock walls, spreading out in either direction, I also suspect this is a major undertaking for which I may not be equipped. Freeing souls from their eternal (in theory) damnation. Yeah, this is way, way above my pay grade. I had only been hired to help eradicate a haunting and/or remove a curse.

  I close the trap door in the floor, suspecting it’s one of many in this palace. I need to stay focused on the mission at hand... and not leave Ishmael hanging. Time to remove this monster.

  Good luck with that, Samantha Moon. I am everywhere, and I am unstoppable.

  I shake my head, ignoring his boasts. I have the Devil Killer, and that should be enough.

  Your puny sword? I sense him laughing. And yeah, I’m hearing a male voice in my head.

  He might—might—have something there. If he’s as big as I think he is, just getting to his heart will be a problem.

  One problem at a time, I think.

  I head over to the room’s far wall, where the sounds of weeping and wailing seem to emanate. Not exactly uncommon sounds in the Underworld, but these aren’t the tormented souls of the damned. This is coming from what I’m beginning to think of as house staff.

  I may not be able to teleport in this realm, but I’m hoping I can utilize some of my other abilities. Namely, my ability to see through things.

  So, here goes...

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  I push forward with my mind... and immediately feel it working.

  The wall is thick, maybe a foot or more, composed of something akin to cement. I push past it and into a small room. A storage room of some type. What the heck is a palace in the middle of the underworld even storing? Then again, who built this palace? Maybe no one did. Maybe they came self-realized, including the god themselves. Ugh. So many questions.

  Then let me give you answers, Samantha. Just please help us.

  Whoa. Who said that?

  But just as I think this, a squirming mass of mostly human-like beings comes into view at the far corner of the storage room (if that’s what it is). There, sitting among a small horde of winged entities, is a rather lovely, dark-haired lady. She’s squatting down and looking terrified. No wings on her. Something tells me this is the goddess of the realm.

  Yes, Samantha Moon. And if you don’t help us, I will be dead soon, and so will all my subjects, many of whom are like family.

  Why don’t you help yourself? You are a goddess.

  The entity is rapidly sapping all my strength. I have barely enough strength to speak with you, let alone keep the outside door sealed. Please hurry.

  Yes, Samantha Moon! booms a voice in my head, so much louder than the goddess’s own faint voice. I’m consuming her bit by bit, first psychically, then her god-energy, and soon her flesh. Mmm. I save the best for last.

  The woman in the room huddles tighter with those around her, looking more like a frightened child than a goddess of the Underworld.

  I take it she’s one of the ones who doesn’t want to die, especially considering her palace doesn’t seem to have fallen into disrepair.

  No, Samantha, if I may call you Samantha. I am Gesha, one of the last of the Germanic goddesses of the Underworld. There are still many who believe and worship me... along with fearing me. I may not look like much at the moment, but traditionally, I stand head and shoulders above mortals. Please help me. I fear I am doomed otherwise.

  Indeed, a bolted door nearby the huddled mass is presently bulging inward. The creature is pushing his way in. Only a matter of time. Minutes, if not seconds.

  With no teleporting available to me, there’s only one way to reach the goddess and her maidens: brute strength. I drive the tip of the black sword into the wall. It goes in a few inches. Seems a woeful misuse of a blade designed to kill devils, but what am I to do? After a few chunks blast out, I decide I might be better off clawing out the wall instead. Returning the blade to its interdimensional pouch, I start tearing chunks from the wall. A quick peek with my sonar-like ability shows that the door is still holding, but maybe not for long.

  Not quite sure what the wall is made out of—or how any of this exists in a bleak world of stunted trees, syrupy rivers, and lava flows—but the word cement comes to mind, which is probably closest to what this structure is made out of. As such, it doesn’t come apart easily, despite my strength.

  Hurry, Sam! cries the goddess.

  “Trying,” I grunt, now slamming my shoulder into the wall. It’s coming apart, but far slower than the work the beast is making of the door itself.

  Hurry, Sam, mimics the monster in my head, followed by laughter.

  Ishmael, I call out mentally. I need your help. Hurry!

  Though my one-time guardian angel can no longer read my mind, he is highly aware of my call. With luck, he should be here shortly.

  Just as I hear the wood cracking through the wall, Ishmael appears in the grand room. He leaps immediately on his wings and, with no questions asked, flies low across the room, flapping hard—and slams shoulder-first into the wall just as I step out of the way.

  He might as well have been a missile.

  My one-time guardian angel emerges from the mess inside the storage room. Without hesitation, he pulls the women through the hole in the wall, where I yank them all the way out. The goddess is the last to step through, and she appears the weakest of them all. Yeah, the beast is definitely doing something to her.

  Deeper in the storage room, the wooden door gives way, and the blue slime pours in as surely as if water had burst from a dam. I grab Ishmael’s hand next, but the damn goo has him by the ankles. I’m thinking this thing is less octopus and more The Blob, able to change size and shape as necessary.

  Of course, Samantha Moon. How else does one hunt gods?

  Unsheathing the black sword, I make short work of the gunk attached to Ishmael’s feet and help the angel back into the room.

  “Thanks for coming to my rescue, Ishy,” I say, and give the angel a small peck on the cheek.

  Careful, Samantha. Your werewolf boyfriend might object.

  Shit. That thing did a deep dive into my thoughts.

  I turn to the dark-haired beauty, the deity who’s even now being helped up by her winged maidens—creatures I suspect she created.

  “Yes, Sam,” she says. “I created all of them—all, that is, save the souls I’ve been charged to oversee.”

  “The souls who worshiped you,” I say.

  “Worship,” she corrects, breathing hard. “I’m not forgotten yet. And worship might be too strong of a word. Believe in. Really, we should be leaving this place.”

  She’s not wrong. The blue slime is gushing through the broken wall.

  “Where to?” I ask.

  We both look at the door in the floor; the door that, in fact, leads to her own version of hell.

  “We’ll be safe down there,” she says. “Probably should have gone there first. Was completely taken by surprise by this thing’s destructive power.”

  Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet, booms a voice in my head—likely in everyone’s head.

  I dash to the door in the floor and pull it open. Moments later, I’m helping the others inside. When the slime gets too close, I slash at it with the sword, although more and more of it is coming. Soon, it will overwhelm me.

  Ishmael helps the goddess into the hole and looks up at me. I motion for him to follow her, and he does, though he doesn’t like the idea of leaving me up here alone. Once he disappears into the floor, I slash at the closest mass of blue blubber, slicing off a quivering chunk, then leap down into the hole, pulling the trapdoor shut behind me.

  Chapter Thirty

  Whoa!

  The winged maidens are now winged demons, hissing and slithering over each other. And the goddess is no longer beautiful, but something hunched and scaly with massive black eyes and a slit for a mouth. Her head nearly touches what surely must be a twenty-foot ceiling. Okay, now this creature I can imagine torturing the lost souls down here.

  “The bastard caught me by surprise above ground,” says the now-hissing goddess. “It used a low-frequency sound, which briefly paralyzed my mind. When I finally broke free from it, it was already upon us. It was all we could do to reach the storage room. Without your intervention, we would surely be dead now. So, thank you.”

  “You bet,” I say, looking up at the trapdoor we had all jumped through. From here, it looks solid enough. No oozing slime.

  “Safe for now,” says the goddess. “At present, nothing not previously dead can enter here. It will find a loophole, somehow. We are all doomed.”

  I look at the scary-looking, hunched figure covered in scales in some parts, leathery hide in others, and wonder again why I’m down here helping this thing... this devil of some type. An entity that tortures souls for all eternity—or for as long as the souls put up with it.

  “For a surprisingly long time, Samantha. They literally only need to believe in something else, and poof... they disappear. And I’m neither a thing nor a devil. I’m a god, created by man. What you see before you is how they see me. What you saw in the palace is how I see myself.”

  “I’m, ah, sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I know I look frightening.” She pauses when the sounds of smashing come from the trapdoor above. “And to answer your question from earlier, all the palaces or residences appeared whole cloth for beings like me. It’s how the underworld works, and I do not question it. Should I survive this assault, the palace would be repaired instantly. In fact, I suspect it is already rebuilding itself. So why are you helping us, Samantha?”

  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Indeed, I have been asking myself that for the past few minutes, and haven’t formed a very good answer.

  The frightening entity speaks for me: “Is it because you heard my maidens’ cries and wanted to help? If so, admirable. Surely, we would all be dead if not for you. I have been weakened terribly. I cannot probe deep enough into your mind to ascertain your reason for being here. Surely, it was not to help the gods and goddesses of the underworld.”

  “She is on a mission to fetch a non-living human,” says Ishmael.

  The entity gives Ishmael a long, perplexed stare. I suspect she wants to ask what a fallen angel is doing with me, but is too weak in the end to care. She looks back at me. “Let me guess, Vampire. You first came across Hades.”

  “I did.”

  “And the terms of his offer to help were that you first destroy the god-killer.”

  “It was.”

  “Though I suspect Hades has somehow outmaneuvered you, I cannot deny the advantageous timing of his request. Tell me, why does he think you, a mere vampire, and you, her angel friend, can destroy the beast?”

  “Because I have my wits, mad skills—oh, and the Devil Killer.”

  She nods. “I understand now. Unlike some of the others of my kind, I do not yet wish to leave this existence. I still have a role to fulfill. It is my only reason for being. I have a job to do, and I do it well.”

  “How many captives are down here?” I ask.

  “They’re not captive, as they are free to go. I prefer charges.”

  “Fine, how many charges?”

  “I’m down to ten thousand. I lose more souls than I gain. Someday, I, too, will suffer from a loss of purpose. But I’m not there yet, and the beast knows that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s already killed off all the deities who wish to escape this literal hellhole. Now he’s going after those of us who desire to stay here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s his only purpose—and he grows stronger.”

  “And when there are no gods or goddesses left to kill?”

  She smiles ruefully—if that’s what the small uptick in the slit in the lower half of her face means. “He will likely appear topside and seek out lesser gods of all types.”

  Sure, it would be easy to walk away—or fly away—and let the gods and goddesses fend for themselves. But the entity before me, as hideous as she might look at present, is serving a purpose. A purpose the universe assigned her. Just look at the great lengths the Universe went to in order to create this massive underworld.

  Then again, I didn’t create the rules of creations. Apparently, some of these gods had wanted out and, like the devil himself, were unable to do so on their own. Yes, I am talking about a form of suicide. To end their existence, a monster was born, and now it’s running rampant, having already completed its mission.

  Wow, I’m just a mom in a minivan. And now, it’s up to me to decide the fate of the entire Underworld?

  “Ms. Moon,” says the goddess. “Is it possible that your appearance was facilitated by those of us still living?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like the monster summoned from the ether, perhaps you were summoned to do the opposite: to fight the beast and save the rest of us.”