Chapter Thirty-one

  I’m convinced to help, though this might the closest I’ve come to not be willing to help someone—or a group of someones.

  But yeah, the entities here didn’t ask for this existence. They were summoned here by humanity for a role to play. The souls here are not really trapped. They are free to go—just as long as they let go of an old belief and accept the good that awaits them. Meanwhile, Gesha and her minions will likely die at the hands of the god-killer, a seriously relentless beast that clearly has a few tricks up its sleeve to hunt and kill its prey.

  Gesha let it be known that she is perfectly content in her current life. As such, she isn’t one of those who wants to end their existence.

  Which leaves me wanting to help her. Sort of. Enough, at least, to stop the thing that has clearly outserved its purpose.

  And yeah, there is a chance—a small chance—that I had somehow been summoned here to fight the monster; after all, very few of us have access to the Devil Killer.

  With Gesha and her minions safe, for now, I decide I want to get a better view of the beast. Like, where its head is, where its flank is. Where it begins and ends. Where are its weak points; and where, in particular, is its heart located?

  Unfortunately, I hear the bastard up there pounding on the cellar door, for lack of a better word.

  “Is there another exit?” I ask.

  “Yes, dozens, including some well away from here. Come, I’ll show you.”

  “But can’t the beast track us with his mind?”

  Gesha looks back at me. “Only death exists down here, both physically and mentally. The creature cannot access minds in this space.”

  “Then why not stay down here and let the monster pass by?”

  “Now that we are down here, yes. We will stay until it’s safe. However, as mentioned earlier, the creature is cunning and will find a way in. I am likely the first of the goddesses to hide from him. The others willingly gave themselves to it.”

  I see what she’s saying. The beast likely didn’t have to work very hard for its initial kills. This might be the first ‘deeper level’ that it will need to figure a way in.

  “Exactly,” says Gesha, reading my mind. “And if he doesn’t figure a way in now, he will be back. I do not want to live in fear, nor do I relish the idea of being down here for all eternity. It’s rather drab and I’m rather hideous.”

  The passageway occasionally widens, sometimes forming caverns. We pass by many glowing pits, from which screams of anguish rise up. Prison cells line other parts of the stone passageway, long steel bars covering the openings. Deep within, glowing eyes watch us in return. Terrified eyes. I sense much huddling against the far walls. I don’t ask, and I don’t want to know, but I suspect the pits are for the daily torture, and the cells are where the souls return.

  “You are correct, Samantha.”

  I am not curious enough to look down into the many pits, but I wonder... how can an already dead soul be tortured?

  “A simple answer,” says Gesha, again reading my mind. “They are given a temporary body every few weeks.”

  “Why every few weeks?”

  “Because that’s how long they last, if that. You can imagine the bodies are fairly well destroyed by then.”

  Sweet mama.

  She strides past the cells with nary a look inside. Same with the pits. Probably nothing interesting to see in there for her, either, having been at this torture business for a few centuries or more. Meanwhile, the demon maidens follow behind; however, like the bitches they are, they hiss and screech into the cells and pits.

  She hangs a left, a right, and seems to be working her way down narrower and narrower tunnels. Soon, the cells disappear, to be replaced by glowing walls of super-heated rock. Luckily, the floor temperature remains fairly neutral, enough that my sneakers aren’t melting. Ishmael is barefoot and doesn’t appear uncomfortable.

  “Ah, here we are, Sam,” she says, stopping under another shadowy hole in the ceiling. “This leads to yet another storage room at the far side of the palace. He shouldn’t be there, nor has he tracked our thoughts. It will be a different story the instant you open the cellar door, as you call it. Please shut it as quickly as you can. We will remain in here. I suggest you take to the sky as quickly as possible. May luck be with you.”

  “Thank you,” I say, and motion for Ishmael to do the honors.

  Standing a few feet taller than me, he needs only to reach up, turn a ring handle, and push up. Fresh air rushes in, though that’s all relative. It’s still underworld air, not the sweet surface stuff. When the cellar flap flops open, he leaps up and through the hole.

  I do the same, giving the goddess a final look. A look that suggests I’m doing this for her, but I really don’t like it.

  She nods, getting my reluctance, but still mouths, ‘thank you.’

  And with that, I bend my knees and jump up...

  Chapter Thirty-two

  We fly higher than before, hopefully out of range from the creature’s super stretchy appendages that double as spearguns.

  We are high. No clue if the underworld has a ceiling. You would think it does, considering it’s under the aboveground world. Then again, I still think I might have slipped into an alternate reality with rules of its own. I might not be anywhere near planet Earth.

  You seek a weakness in my armor, Vampire. Unfortunately, there is no weakness. I can go anywhere, withstand anything, and reform instantly. I am unstoppable, and I am growing.

  Below, I see the thing oozing out of windows and under arches, exploding out of doorways. Why there were doors to the outside, I haven’t a clue. Maybe some of Gesha’s winged maidens enjoyed power walking at lunch through the surrounding, yet forbidding, landscape.

  Meanwhile, whole sections of the palace are giving way, crumbling into a heap.

  Definitely don’t want this thing escaping into our world, which isn’t entirely out of the realm of its objective, considering there is a new devil topside—and undoubtedly, many more little devils.

  I note the beast hasn’t attempted to launch any more appendages at us. We might be out of range or, despite its bravado, being chopped up by the Devil Killer hadn’t felt very good.

  Ishmael has my back as I move about, studying the monster. So far, I haven’t seen any indication of a head. Or a heart. I’m not against plunging into the gooey mass to drive home the Devil Killer—but only if I can find its heart.

  Strangely, I see nothing that appears to be controlling it, unless it’s a new form of monster with no central nervous system. If so, then how can it read my thoughts? Or give me intelligent responses? By all indications, it looks like one massive blubbery mass.

  Unless its brain is elsewhere. Perhaps it’s being controlled remotely.

  A leap, I know, but it feels right.

  From high above, I scan the grounds surrounding the palace. There’s a legit lava pool not very far away, bubbling and gurgling. There’s the black hill rising up from one side, but I see nothing upon it. Then again, I’m not sure what I’m looking for, either.

  Maybe this thing doesn’t have a heart or a brain. Maybe this thing is impossible to kill. Maybe, but I doubt it.

  I call over Ishmael. As he hovers before me, I can’t help but notice his torso has mended itself completely. Where there had once been a literal hole in him, is now an enviable six-pack. Heck, eight-pack.

  I tell him what I think we’re looking for. He nods, but doesn’t like leaving me. When I convince him I will be fine, he nods once and flies off to what I am calling the north, over the lava fields.

  I head off toward the south, flying low over rolling black hills that spew gray steam. As I flap my wings, I keep my eyes peeled.

  Where are you going, Vampire?

  You know where I’m going.

  You are looking for me.

  What do you think?

  I think you are on a fool’s quest, Vampire. Meanwhile, I am already sniffing out the goddess and her minions. They think themselves safe in their cruel chambers. Little do they know that I am both dead and alive.

  Save the speech, I kinda don’t care.

  Then why do you seek me?

  Because I’m going to keep my word, as best as I can.

  I hear a growl of frustration, and when I look back toward the palace, I can’t help but note the beast is retreating from the place, oozing in reverse, so to speak. Moving, in fact, toward me. Hmm, I wonder why.

  I struck a nerve, I see.

  You will die, Samantha Moon. I will find you.

  Not if I find you first.

  Another growl in my head. Curiously, the farther I fly away from the palace, the louder the growl gets. That doesn’t make sense. Unless...

  I smile to myself as the voice shrieks in what can only be rage.

  Frustrated much? I ask.

  Stop, Samantha Moon. Turn back and fight me.

  You mean, turn back and fight the mindless, soulless, heartless, blob-like creature that you created, a creature that cannot die?

  Below, the topography changes little. Small, gooey rivers wind between glowing hills. In the far distance, I see something that’s very much not a hill. It’s a rocky tor, rising high above it all. And, son of a bitch, there appears to be a person sitting on top. He’s sitting cross-legged, hands resting on his knees, head bowed. Behind me, the blob-like creature rushes over the landscape, oozing between hills and crashing through stunted trees. The scene around me can not be crazier.

  Though the gooey mass moves swiftly behind me, it’s no match for my flying speed. I’m outdistancing it, even as I pick up my pace...

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Before I make my final approach, I summon Ishmael. I’m digging that my fallen angel is only a thought away these days.

  “I suppose introductions are in order.” The tall man rises to his bare feet. A black robe flaps crazily in the wind. “Except I have no name.”

  Flying, I circle the narrow mountain peak.

  “Some call me the God Killer. I suppose that works. Too lofty? Of course, most who call me that are now dead.”

  “Permission to land next to you,” I ask.

  “Permission granted,” he says, stepping back and gesturing to the small space before him.

  First, I check in with my inner alarm system. Nothing at all. In the far distance, I see a speeding white speck on the horizon. Ah, Ishmael is on his way. I already feel more comfortable knowing my guardian angel will be here soon. I circle the stone spire once more—and land smoothly enough on the narrow perch, just like a true bird of prey. Meanwhile, my hand slides inside the interdimensional pouch, ready to withdraw the Devil Killer at a moment’s notice. I trust my reflexes. Not too many things are faster than me, though a god killer might be.

  “Your fallen angel intends to drive his sword into my heart upon his approach. It will not go well for him.”

  Without taking my eyes off the god killer, I hold up my hand. “Stand down, Ishy. I’m fine.”

  I feel a burst of wind as he reverses course, likely stopping in mid-air. “I have him dead to rights, Sam.”

  “We are not killers,” I say to Ishmael. “Even if he is one.”

  “A vampire who does not kill. Oh, yes. I see that now. You do not kill wantonly, but you will do it to protect the ones you love. It is not a concept I am imbued with, love.”

  “What were you imbued with?” I ask.

  “Enough cunning to do my job efficiently. The desire to end the existence of those who were created as gods and goddess of the Underworld. Lately, a new desire to destroy similar gods above ground, too, though my work down here is not done.”

  “How many have you killed so far?” I ask.

  “Over nine hundred.”

  “Nearly two-thirds of the deities that exist down here,” I say. “Would it be a true statement to say those remaining do not want to end their existence?”

  “True enough.”

  “That you are overstepping your bounds?”

  “Killing them is my reason for existing.”

  “No,” I say. “Killing those who want out of this hellscape was your reason for existing. You have clearly gone beyond that.”

  “Killing is all I know, Sam. I do it well. Do you have any idea how hard it is to kill a god? They are cunning and powerful creators.”

  “It’s time for you to stop,” I say.

  “Except... I can’t stop, Samantha. You see, I’m incapable of killing myself, as well.”

  The wind whips up suddenly, though that could be from Ishmael drifting a little closer to us. I say nothing, studying him. Meeting gods is new to me. Meeting a god killer is the newest of all. I note he doesn’t have an aura. Makes sense. He likely doesn’t have a soul, either. What you see is what you get.

  In the far distance, I hear the boom of a volcano blowing its top. The ground shakes ever so slightly. Ishmael drifts closer still, keeping his eyes on everything. The blue slime far below gurgles and bubbles, eager for direction.

  “Which is a god-like quality,” I say.

  “It would seem so.”

  I point to the squirming creature down below. “Also like the gods, you can create life—and read the mind of an immortal like me.”

  “Yes, yes. I have been imbued with god-like powers. What is your point?”

  “Would you go as far as calling yourself a god?”

  The entity before me smiles. I am certain this is the first time he thought of himself as one. Or at least spoken it aloud. “Yes, a god.”

  “What is it that I heard of your monster? That it hunts the next-closest god, if I recall.”

  “Indeed. Like a bloodhound, it sniffs them out.”

  “Is that why your creation is climbing the rock face, even as we speak?”

  Indeed, the blue slime is racing up the narrow tor, which shudders under its weight.

  The god killer shouts, “Wait! Stop, I created you! No, I am not a god!”

  Ishmael swoops down and lifts me off my feet just as blue mass races up the massive finger of rock, consuming it completely, including the tall entity standing on top. Ishmael and I circle a few times, watching as the collection of slime seems to turn in on itself. Soon, there’s nothing left but the stone monument itself and puffs of azure vapors.

  Ishmael and I are some distance away when he turns to me. “Why did his creation turn on him, Samantha?”

  “I think it happened once he realized he was indeed a god, despite his protestations.”

  “But he wanted to live and kill. He said so himself.”

  “Except he also understood his reason for being here had ended. His assignment was over. That realization caused a crack in his resolve. That was enough for the monster to turn on him.”

  “Did you know that would happen?”

  “No, but I’m glad it did.”

  “Me, too. Where to now?” asks Ishmael.

  “Now, it’s time to fetch our young bullfighter—and I know exactly where is.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Ishmael and I follow Hades down a brightly lit corridor.

  We’re led to an open room that looks weirdly similar to the room in Gesha’s palace. Like hers, there’s a trapdoor in the floor. Who knew that access to the lower depths of the Underworld was so mundane? Then again, how else would one get down there? Elevators? Escalators?

  At the trapdoor, Hades snaps his fingers. Two male attendants dash over and lift the heavy door in the floor, revealing a gaping, dark maw.

  “A deal is a deal, Samantha,” says Hades, gesturing toward the opening. “After you.”

  Ishmael steps forward. “No, devil. After you.”

  The Greek god of the Underworld chuckles. Some might even call him the god of the Underworld. That is, until even his own time runs out and he’s forgotten. For now, though, I don’t see foresee that happening anytime soon.

  He winks at me. “Me neither.”

  With that, he steps down onto steps carved into stone. I follow behind, with Ishmael directly behind me. The attendants follow behind him, and by the time we reach the bottom of the steps, my eyes have adjusted completely.

  Other than the stone steps, the scene is nearly identical to that of Gesha’s lower levels. It appears the Underworld, its many palaces, and the lower levels are likely one and the same. It’s merely the management that differs. Some gods and goddess are surely far crueler than others. Likewise, others are undoubtedly more lenient.

  “Good observation, Sam,” says Hades, his back to me. “I fall somewhere between the lenient and the bad.”

  Had Hades grown a foot or two since coming down the steps? And where’s his robe? Indeed, I’m confronted with a pair of narrow, red-skinned shoulders. He turns suddenly, opting for a scare tactic that falls flat. Yeah, he did grow a foot or two, with curved horns having sprung from his forehead, his face now long and goat-like. Pretty sure I didn’t jump. What can I say? I’ve seen worse.

  “Then again,” he says, “I have my good days and my bad days.”

  He chuckles at that, apparently finding the suffering of souls humorous. Behind us comes more laughter. What had been men and women are now smallish demons with super-long limbs, triangular heads, and wicked-looking claws, which they clack as they cackle.

  “Wasn’t that funny, idiots,” I mumble.

  “Don’t be too hard on them, Sam,” says Hades, lisping slightly. Pretty sure that weird slit of a mouth of his wasn’t meant to speak English. “They were created to always find me hilarious. Watch. Roses are red...”

  The god doesn’t need to finish. Already the demons are cackling, holding their weirdly rotund bellies.

  The scene is too crazy for me, and I’m ready to go home. “Just show me the kid, devil. And no funny business. You tricked me once. Do so again...”

  “Yeah, yeah—and you will end my existence. Got it. And sorry about that. Wasn’t sure you would agree to help us down here if you knew the kid was already here.”