Tim Marquitz: Armageddon Bound

To a demon the level of Baalth, these little deals were more of a formality than a means to gaining true power. My soul to him was like a drop in a bucket when it came to magical energy. But for the little guys like me, these deals were like playing the lottery. While the offer was always stacked in the favor of the dealmaker, the contract worked both ways. If the contract holder defaulted, the signatory had every right to claim the holder’s soul and all the power that came with it. That was the hope that burgeoned every time I signed one of these damn things. With that kind of energy, I’d finally be able to cast magic just like the rest of the big boys. Baalth pulled a sheaf of papers from a desk drawer and passed them to Poe. He in turn handed them to me. I sighed as I looked them over, the text as obscure and legally confusing as any written by the most sadistic of human lawyers. Fortunately, I’d seen my fair share of demonic contracts. While far from ideal-they never were-the terms of the agreement were just what Baalth had laid out. I could live with them.

I growled, then bit the palm of my hand until it bled. Once I had a little pool going, I bent my wrist to let it run down across my fingers. I flipped my hand over and pressed it down on the contract, making sure I left a clear mark. Once I was done, Poe took the signed contract and handed me a small towel. I used it to clean off the remaining blood, the wound already closing.

“Then we are agreed,” Baalth said as he took possession of the contract.

I nodded. At least I got what I came for, no matter how much I’ll likely regret it later. “Pleasure gettin’ fucked by you.” Ready to go, I pointed to my gear. “Mind passing me my piece?”

Marcus laughed. I noticed he did that a lot when he had the upper hand. It was kind of petty. Baalth picked my gun up and examined it. “No, I think I’m going to hang onto it, just to be on the safe side.” He winked at me.

“You motherfu-” The word caught in my throat as Baalth pointed my gun at me.

I hadn’t wanted to get shot by Marcus because it’d hurt, plain and simple. But I’d survive it. That wouldn’t be the case if Baalth shot me. Unlike Marcus’s bullets, mine weren’t made by humans. Crafted by a lesser angel and demon pair in the employ of DRAC, each was empowered with a drop of holy and unholy blood. Blessed and cursed, this made the bullets anathematic to angels, demons, and devil alike. In layman’s terms, they’d blast a big hole in me that I couldn’t heal without magical assistance. As it stood, I was perfectly content with the holes I already had.

“No need for violence. You can keep it.” I raised my hands and took a step back. I did my best to smile and look gracious. I doubt I was very successful. I could picture myself looking like Johnny Depp in those pirate movies of his, only not quite so swishy. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve nothing against effeminate men, but seriously, a pretty little fellow like that has got to be careful. One minute it’s Pirates of the Caribbean, the next it’s Sodomy on the Bounty, know what I mean? Besides, how are you gonna swing a sword effectively with wrists like that?

“How generous of you,” Marcus barked, snapping me back to reality as he pointed to the door.

“Time to go, Trigg.”

I looked to Baalth who just nodded. So, with no reason to hang around and risk making things worse, I headed for the exit. At the door, I pulled it open and started through. Baalth called to me as I did.

“Any word from your uncle?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Why? You worried I’m gonna tell on you?”

“Hardly. I’m just curious to know if he’s been in touch.”

“Have no doubt, if Lucifer were to return, you’d be one of the very first to know. I’d make sure of that.”

I left it at that and slammed the door behind me. I walked swiftly down the hall and slipped past the curtain. The fat shopkeeper glared at me as I made my way out the front door. I ignored him. Once outside, I let loose a whistling sigh. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath.

Wanting to put some distance between Baalth and myself, I crossed the street and headed a couple of blocks over. I wanted to avoid the shopkeepers as well. Alone on a deserted side street, I finally relaxed a bit as I headed toward downtown to retrieve my car. That’s when I heard the muffled sound of a vehicle coming up from behind, moving too slow to be passing traffic. I spun around to see a gray van idling a short distance down the street, a long-haired guy at the wheel. The side door had been pulled open and two more longhairs crouched inside and though the music had been turned down, I could still hear the muffled thunder of metal. It was Deicide this time. How ironic.

I met the gazes of the crouching Black Metallers as they neared. There was mischief in their gaunt faces. I shook my head and slowed my pace. If they were here to play, I was in the mood to oblige them.

Blast from the Past

I stopped as the van pulled up on my left side. I turned to face the longhairs with a smile.

“Something I can do for you boys?”

The two in the back hopped out as the driver put the van in park and stepped out, moving around the hood to join his friends. They all looked the same, with their black biker jackets covered in spikes and satanic patches. Each had on a different concert T-shirt proudly proclaiming their lack of Christian ethics, and each wore too tight black jeans with steel-toed stomper boots. They also wore the same slightly pointed goatee and narrow mustache. It was hard to tell them apart. Individualism gone astray.

“Eenie, Meenie, and Meinie.” I counted them out. “Where’s Moe?”

Their only response was to smile; a trinity of yellowed grins, which would have made any selfrespecting dentist cringe. Before I could say anything else, the driver pulled a boot knife out and took a step toward me, waving the blade. His friends retrieved their weapons from inside the back of the van. The first pulled out a short sword, the second a small spear. They joined the first in his advance.

It was my turn to laugh. “C’mon guys, you really want to do this? Trust me when I say Satan isn’t going to be impressed.”

Eenie, the driver, responded with violence. He lunged in and slashed at my chest. Instinct took over. I whipped my arm up to block the shot, catching the blade flush on my forearm as I prepared my counter. I felt the blade bite into my flesh. I had expected that. What I didn’t expect was how much it hurt. I heard a sizzle as the knife cut into me. A searing pain shot up the length of my arm, all the way to my shoulder. Flashes of light danced before my eyes. I stumbled back, clutching my arm as the driver stood there laughing. I hadn’t paid any mind to the weapon when he’d waved it in my face, but now all of my attention was focused on it. It was no ordinary knife. Carved down the length of the blade were runes, symbols of power. I looked at the other weapons and they too, had runes set into them. I realized this wasn’t just some random act of violence. It was a hit.

“Who sent you?” I asked, stalling for time. It sure would have been nice to have my gun. Fucking Baalth. Eenie took a step closer, ignoring the question. He waved Meenie and Meinie forward. “Kill him!”

Shit! I pushed away the pain and moved into the street toward the back of the van, hoping to put its bulk between us to slow their advance. I reached it just as Meinie thrust his spear at me. I sucked my stomach in and the point just missed hitting home, tearing a gash in my hoodie. In response, I pinned its shaft to the hood, then threw a right hook. Meinie turned his head just in time to avoid getting hit on the chin, but I caught him hard on the ear.

He fell into his buddies, blocking their approach, though he managed to pull his spear free. As it slid past, the blade caught my hand, slicing deep into the palm. I cried out as I felt its magic burning its way through my veins.