Fellowship (Mythklok, Chapter 12)

[tikific]

Title: Fellowship (Mythklok, Chapter 12)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Nathan’s trapped in Hell. We should probably do something, huh, dudes?
Warnings: Slash, Het, AU, F-words, OCs, smoking.
Notes: Notes after the jump



ZOMG LOOK WHAT tiktaalikroseae DREW!!




This is a Metalocalypse AU which tiktaalikroseae has dubbed “Mythklok.” Here are the other bits, about an angelic visit (Chapter 1), a hunt (Chapter 2), a barbecue (Chapter 3), a ski trip (Chapter 4), a sword fight (Chapter 5), Bette Davis Movies (Chapter 6), a concert (Chapter 7), tall tales (Chapter WTF), a trial (Chapter8), an argument (Chapter 9), a stray cat (Chapter 10) and going to Hell (Chapter 11).

Oh, and this is Lady Raziel’s account of Sariel’s adventures in North Africa during WWII, which she assures me is completely, totally, and 100% true.

What’s been happening: Well, I kinda left you guys on a cliffhanger, didn’t I? Sorry. So, to begin more or less at the beginning of time: CFO is an immortal angel who used to go by the name Sariel. He sort of wants to forget that bit of his life, due to the fact that it kind of sucked, and now he’s Fallen, and pretty much trapped forever in our even suckier universe. However, recently, some supernatural beings – both mischievous and malevolent - have been dropping by and making his life even more miserable. One of the more benign figures is an annoying female Seraph angel named Raziel. She’s kind of a fruitcake, but she’s also ridiculously powerful, and she recently saved Charles’ ass when he took Nathan to visit another old colleague, Lucifer, down in Hell. Unbeknownst to them, Lucifer had hidden a regiment of Seraphim down there, Unfortunately, Charles and Raziel couldn’t save Nathan, so he’s still down there, drinking beer with a bunch of dead musicians in the burning city of Dis, located in the Fifth Circle.

Oh, and there’s some other strange beings who’ve been hanging around. Raziel is dating Wotan, who’s Skwisgaar’s birth father, as well as head of the Norse pantheon. And CFO himself is sort of seeing Ganesh, a Hindu elephant god. Surprised? Yeah, so is he.

A note about Angelic languages: when Charles and Raziel’s speech is italicized, it’s usually because they’re gossiping or bickering in High Angelic. This is a language that even very few angels can speak, as it’s limited to Seraphim, and the New Ones. There’s at least one more angelic dialect, Common. Most angelic business is conducted in Common, and Charles’ angelic law books are probably written in Common. Nevertheless, Charles is probably the only person in Mordhaus who can read them, as I think he’s too paranoid to teach the language to any Klokateers. Raziel’s Book of Secrets and Mysteries is written in High Angelic. The Angelic languages are tonal, and sound sort of pretty to human ears, but are difficult to master. Charles and Raziel tend to natter in it because, for one thing, people are often more comfortable speaking in their native language. But, in addition, it’s quite likely no one else will be able to listen in, even if they’re just talking nonsense. Which, they usually are.

One last thing: sike_saner gets credit for coining the lovely Pickles-ism, "Douchifer."



Fellowship (Mythklok, Chapter 12)

Lord Wotan had come as soon as he'd heard. He had been off on an arctic hunting trip, and out of contact by even raven messenger for a few days. He knew, of course, that his Lady intended a visit to Hell during his absence. Sariel had practically insisted she accompany him when he escorted Nathan down. It had seemed overkill, more indulging that irascible angel’s paranoid streak than a true security concern. Though Wotan shared the general dislike of the Morningstar - a most unworthy man – he seemed to the Norse god to lack the boldness to pull off anything untoward. And absolutely nothing in Wotan’s current security reports indicated any activity in Hell other than the usual assemblage of unfortunate souls. Certainly they had received no word of the transfer of so many angelic troops. When Seraphim warriors move, it tends to attract attention.

It was a sad state of affairs, Wotan thought ruefully, when a man couldn't trust personnel in his own underworld.

The Norse god had not visited Mordland before. An oversight, Wotan admitted. As Sariel had spent an awful lot of time recently chowing down on his steaks and drinking up his single malt, it seemed some reciprocity was in order. And he’d heard good things about that Chef Jean-Pierre fellow from Raziel. He decided he would invite himself to dinner, once this Hell business was over.

The odd hooded staff had obviously been alerted to his visit, as they swiftly pointed down the hallway when he suddenly appeared in their waiting room area. He strode down the hall and pushed open the door they had indicated.

She was sitting up on the bed, next to what looked like a card table, knitting and chattering away with young Toki Wartooth. The boy played guitar in the Dethklok band, and seemed a decent fellow. The Norwegian had spread part of the table with newspapers, and appeared to be half listening to his angel friend prattle while he was in the process of assembling some kind of model kit. The section of the table that wasn't covered in with paper and plastic parts was piled with delicate little pastries and teacups, and there was a stuffed bear propped up in a chair there as well. He or she had his own plate of cakes and his own teacup. In addition, it appeared that Huginn the raven also had his own plate, although he didn’t seem to merit a teacup.

As soon as she spied him she screamed “Sweetie!’ tossed away the knitting, jumped up and ran across the bed to throw her arms around Wotan.

“Are you all right, my love?” he asked, holding her by the shoulders so he could get a good look.

“I’m fine!” she said, still standing on top of the bed. She was quite a bit shorter than her boyfriend, so, despite it seeming ill mannered at times, she liked to perch on top of furniture when she was in his presence.

“She’s doing much better,” Toki told him shyly in Norwegian.

“Well thank you for keeping her company, Toki,” Wotan said, reaching over to give the boy a body-rattling handshake.

“I’m FINE!” Raziel insisted, still standing on the bed, small hands on her hips. “He just refused to let me go until you came down personally!” She pointed an accusing finger at Sariel, who had just appeared at the door.

“As he should, dear,” Wotan smiled.

“So we’re going to get Nathan now?”

“Don’t bounce up and down on the bed like that, my pet, it’s rude.” Wotan sat down on the edge. “Yes, Nathan will be rescued. Unfortunately, I will not be able to go personally.”

“What?” Raziel bounced down to land on her ass. Which, small as she was, still produced a bit of thump.

“And neither will Lord Shiva,” Wotan noted.

“Treaties,” Sariel said, a bit apologetically.

“BUT LUCIFER HAS SERAPHIM!” Raziel wailed.

“Now that I am returned,” Wotan assured her, “we will hatch a plan, and then we will act in all haste. Will that be satisfactory?”

Raziel nodded, apparently satisfied. “Did you bring my cute leaving the hospital outfit?” she asked eagerly. Wotan smiled indulgently and hauled a suitcase up on the bed.

Raziel stared for a while. “And the cosmetics bag?” Wotan grinned and hefted another bag to the bed. “And the hats?” A third bag. Raziel hopped up and down with excitement, and then gathered the bags and started to drag them towards the bathroom. “I’ll be ready in a second!” she announced.

“Well, that’s the last of her for at least another hour,” Wotan laughed, smiling after her.

“I am really sorry,” Sariel told him. He looked like a man with the weight of the world on him.

“I’m the one who needs to apologize. I had no idea Lucifer was capable of something like that.” Wotan put a hand through his short, red-blond hair. “Seraphim in Hell? Completely threw me for a loop.” Sariel sadly shook his head. “I know for a fact that you have sources I don’t, Sariel. Had you heard anything about a troop movement? Before you went?”

“No! Absolutely not! I would never have taken any of them down….”

Wotan was waving his hands. “I wasn’t questioning, son, now, wings down.” Sariel shrugged irritably. “If you didn’t have any specific information…”

“I’ve known him. Since my Creation. You’ve heard…. Look, I know Raziel must have told you the stories they tell about her? That Our Father was drunk when he Created her? I think he was stoned out of his fucking mind when he Created us. Because, we’re not right. Any of us. We’re just not right.”

“Some are obviously less right than others,” Wotan mused. He inclined his head towards the bathroom. “So, she hasn’t been driving you around the bend, has she?”

“No. I think she’s just a bit stir crazy. But, Toki’s been over here a lot.” He indicated the guitarist, who smiled up from his model kit. “I just…. I hadn’t seen someone – you know, one of us – run out of magic like that before. I had Ganesh up to take a look at her, because I figured he’d at least have a better idea than my doctors.”

“If it can be done, my girl will figure out how to do it,” Wotan laughed. “What did Ganesh say?”

“Uh, she evidently slapped him on the ass and asked if he’d like to play doctor, and he pronounced her cured.”

Wotan roared.

“If you don’t mind All Father, I’m sorry to be rude, but I have some business to attend….”

“I suspect she’ll be in there a while. Go ahead.” And with that, Sariel ducked out the door.

“And what are ye working on here, young Toki?” Wotan asked, curiously picking up Toki’s model.

“Uh, supposed to be a Viking dragon ship,” Toki muttered.

“Well, it’s not accurate, is it? I mean, this bit? And, that over there, that’s not right….”

Sometime later, Raziel emerged from the bathroom, dressed to the nines, announcing, “I’m ready.” But, receiving only grunts in reply, she lifted the veil that hung from her hat to peer underneath. “I said…. Hey! What are you guys doing?”

Wotan had removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and seated himself at the card table. He and Toki were intently now assembling Toki’s dragon boat. “Just a minute, my pet, I think we almost have this done.”



Some days later, Pickles the drummer walked the corridors at Mordhaus, considering questions of metaphysics.

Said question being: angels, what the fucking fuck?

Nathan was the only one he’d take with him to Hell. Because, no matter what he said, it was always Nathan.

They knew something had gone balls when the Dethcopter came back and they pulled off the angel girl on a stretcher and there was no fucking sign of Nathan.

And he’d made them fucking gather in the meeting room, and then told them there had been an “incident.” An incident? That was the best he could do? His friend was lying in the hospital wing and there was no telling if Nathan was dead or alive or as good as dead and there had been a fucking incident?

Pickles had grown up with a psychopath, a sick imitation of a man who survived and thrived by learning to feign the human emotions he did not actually possess. But Pickles had to admit, he would have preferred a bit of fakery to the cold hearted motherfucker who called Nathan an incident.

Nathan had been right about one thing: Charles had been acting even weirder than usual of late. What especially smacked were the outright rejections he’d been giving Pickles. It wasn’t the usual, “No, no, never again at least until I change my mind or you grab me on the off day when I’m not being a complete fucking robot.” No, it was just no. Just plain no. He was being frozen out. By the coldest heart in the fucking entertainment industry.

Pickles looked up to see Skwisgaar and Toki coming the other way. He scowled. Evidently those two douche bags had forgotten they hated each others’ guts again. They looked at him. They didn’t even need to speak. Pickles frowned with determination and pulled the office door wide open.



“What’s happenin’ here, dood?” Pickles asked, suddenly storming in, Skwisgaar and Toki marching after him like his own personal Swiss gard.

Ofdensen rubbed his forehead. Ganesh was splayed elegantly in a chair, and he couldn’t seem to convince Raziel to quit sitting up on his fucking desk. “Uh, Pickles, we’re trying to discuss going to get Nathan out of Hell.”

“Yeah, dat’s why we’re here. Douchifer.”

“Douchifer?”

“Heh. That’s pretty good,” giggled Raziel.

“T’anks,” said Pickles. “So when are we leavin’, dood?” he persisted.

“Uh. We?” Ofdensen asked.

“When ams we goings to get Nat’ans?” Toki asked, happily knitting.

“No. You’re NOT going.”

“Yeah, we’re fuckin’ goin’,” Pickles insisted.

“Guys, look, I know you’re concerned….”

“Ja. We ams concerned,” Skwisgaar noted, fingering his guitar. “It ams not easy doings da recordings when our lead singer ams liturgically gones to Hell.”

“Yes, and that’s why Raziel and Ganesh….”

"Ganesh? Yer takin' dat guy an’ not us? 'Cause he's good lookin'?"

“Ganesh is a god!” Ofdensen protested. “People worship him!”

“Dood! People worship us!”

“That doesn’t mean you’re qualified…. Look, it’s gonna be really dangerous….”

“You ams gots problems withouts us dudes,” Skwisgaar pointed out. “How ams you gonna open da gates of Hell?”

“What?”

“Ja, Skwisgaar ams rights, Raziel ams tolds me you must ams plays da blazings guitar solos!” Toki agreed.

“We’ll…. We’ll figure that one out,” Ofdensen muttered, looking daggers at Raziel.

“You ams not needs to figures, you gots da best guitarists heres, ands also nots so goods guitarists in case I ams hurts my finger,” Skwisgaar explained.

“Look, if worst comes to worst, I play guitar, I’ll just….” But the rest was lost, as Skwisgaar and Toki were roaring with laughter. “What?”

“You ams calls dat playing da guitars? Dudes, your phrasings ams balls….”

“You ams nots gots da chops, Charles’,” Toki chortled.

“Ja, dudes, wit’ dat playings, you coulds not opens da cans of sardine.”

Ofdensen was standing. And shouting. “FOR THE LAST TIME: No. No. FUCKING NO. What do you think you are, a bunch of FUCKING Hobbits? This is not a fucking quest movie. Get the fuck out of my office.”

“Oh my god,” Raziel said, standing up on his desk. “CAN I BE LEGOLAS PLEEEEEASE?” She was literally dancing around on top of his desk.

His hand was on his head. “Get… Get off my fucking desk, Raziel!”

"I should ams be Legolas," Skwisgaar griped.

"You ams already Hobbitses!" Toki told him.

"Hobbitses ams dildos," the guitarist sighed.

"Perhaps I shall be Gimli?” Ganesh smiled. He stood and grabbed dancing Raziel by the waist, swinging her off the desk. “I have always admired his wit!"

"That would be terrific Ganesh!" Raziel gushed. "We'll be best friends!" she said, giving him a hug.

"Don't you.... Aren't you two supposed to start out as bitter enemies?" Ofdensen irritably asked Raziel.

"There is some mutual distrust, but Gimli is so hot!"

"What'sch going on?" Murderface asked, he and Dick Knubbler having just entered the room.

"Dood, we're gonna go rescue Nat'an from Hell."

"Aweschome. When’re we leaving?”

“Going to Hell? Then I’m with ya too, baby, yeah!”

“Dick…” Ofdensen sighed, convinced now more than ever he was getting insurmountably outnumbered by insane people.

"I've been in the entertainment industry forever, baby! I know everyone worth knowing in Hell, yeah. You're not going to Hell without Dick Knubbler, yeah!"

Ofdensen decided to resort to logic. “WILL YOU GUYS. GET THE FUCK….”

“Hey, angel homeboy! So when are we going to get Nathan dude?” someone hissed.

“Kwahu?”

A man with an eagle’s head stepped forward. “Myron Lefkowitz sends his regards, Sariel. We heard my boy Nathan is in trouble. Now, when are we headed down?”



Wotan studied the schematic of Hell spread out on the table in one of the large dining halls in Valhalla. “A network of hidden bunkers. Reminds you of World War II, eh, Shiva?”

The blue god did not immediately reply. Two sets of arms were folded in consideration. He glared across the table to where his son stood. “Shiva possesses grave misgivings about this enterprise,” he finally stated. “Ganesha,” he said, and then spoke something in Hindi to Ganesh. Raziel eyed them curiously. The elephant god shook his head.

“I admit I would be more content were Shiva and myself able to accompany you,” Wotan agreed. “Unfortunately, due to our current treaty agreements-“

“Which Lucifer seems determined to negate,” Ganesh commented. “A column of Seraphim in Hell?”

“You wouldn’t be able to take any of that to Angelic court, son,” Wotan said. “On the word of a Fallen angel?” Ofdensen looked downcast, but didn’t say anything.

“I still have my Legion card!” Raziel boasted. She was sitting atop the table, next to Wotan, kicking her legs.

‘You, my pet, are sleeping with a pagan god,” Wotan grinned at her. “We are perhaps lucky on this matter that we don’t have a column of Seraphim hovering outside our South Tower.”

“They’re lucky,” Raziel said, scowling. “There’s gonna be some wing-clipping. Eh, Sariel?” Ofdensen nodded, looking a little grim.

“We dealt with Angelic occupation during the last World War, friend Shiva,” Wotan stated. “I believe this problem is soluble.”

“Dood,” Pickles asked quietly. He was medium sober, and his head hurt just a bit. “You mean angels fought in World War II?”

“That’s correct, Pickles,” Wotan told him.

“But, which side were dey on?”

“That was…. That was the matter of some debate,” Ofdensen said. He looked far away.

“Around here, they weren’t on my side,” Wotan said darkly.

“Uriah spent a lot of the time in Poland,” Ofdensen continued. “Nobody…. Nobody knows, officially, what he was doing.”

“Fuck,” said Pickles. “Where were you, dood?”

“North Africa!” Raziel sang. Ofdensen shrugged.

“North Africa?”

“Well, you couldn’t go to Italy,” the little angel explained, “they made it horrible.”

“Yeah, Raziel, World War II made it inconvenient for you to buy cute little shoes,” Ofdensen grumbled in Angelic.

“It’s true! They should have called Mussolini “Il Dreary” instead of “Il Duce!”

“Raziel,” Wotan scolded. “Don’t tease, dear.”

“How do you know I was teasing?”

“Maybe others speak Angelic. A bit,” Wotan told her in heavily accented but quite understandable High Angelic.

Raziel went silent, staring at Wotan. Ofdensen quite literally nearly dropped his cigarette.

“Is everyone ready for dinner?” the Norse god smiled, helping a dumbfounded angel off the table.



Dinner was the usual raucous Valhalla affair, complete with enough food for ten times the company, marauding wolves seeking scraps, and nosy ravens. Raziel spent a bit of time feeding cake crumbs to Huginn and Muninn while telling a zany story of questionable veracity regarding World War II era North Africa. Pickles noticed that Charles was ignoring his steak, instead sitting and moodily tamping his cigarette on the edge of his plate.

And then he looked up, and Charles’ place was empty. Curious, he quietly rose and ducked out the back entrance.

“I don’t unnerstand,” he said. “How can yoo still t’row up when yoo didn’t eat anything?”

Charles sat back on his haunches from where he’d been puking into the stream that ran around the back of Valhalla. He muttered something that sounded like stomach flu. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face.

Pickles extended a hand. Charles looked at it.

“C’mon,” Pickles urged. “I can’t pick yoo up like Nat’an can.” Charles finally grasped his hand and came unsteadily to his feet.

“Yoo ready t’ come back in, dood?”

“I wish you guys wouldn’t go. This is the kinda thing I’m supposed to do for you.”

“Yea. Noted,” said Pickles.

“Hey!” said Charles, as Pickles grabbed the pack of smokes he’d just extracted from his jacket and flung them into the stream.

“Dood.” Pickles actually looked a bit threatening. “Come back wit’ me an’ eat yer fuckin’ dinner an’ talk wit’ us.” Charles nodded, and silently followed Pickles back into the dining room.



Wotan bade Skwisgaar to drink with him in one of Valhalla’s many sitting rooms. “So, you’re going along on this mission to Hell?”

“You think I’m an idiot?”

“’Tis the honorable thing to do, son.”

“I might actually be useful. They need a guitarist.”

“You don’t feel useful?”

Skwisgaar shook his head. “Your girlfriend can slice off mountaintops with her sword.”

“Yet I still manage to potter around, doing what I may.” Wotan grinned.

“You remember you told me, a long time ago, not to mess with angel politics?”

Wotan laughed. “A lot of good that advice did either of us, eh?” He sighed. “We’re both of us up to our ass in angel politics.” He leaned forward. “Speaking of angels, I know you have your differences with my Lady, but you realize she is to be part of my Court?”

Skwisgaar nodded. After a while, he said, “For a while I thought I would like to have, you know, just one.”

“Is that right?”

“Just one. Who knows me.” Even coming out of his own mouth, the words startled him.

“Nothing wrong with that. Though it took me long enough. I was a different man when I knew your mother.”

Skwisgaar laughed. “Did you actually, uh, know my mother?”

“Well, I guess not, except in the biblical sense.”

“Just as well.” The Swede shook his head. “I think for a long time I wanted her to be someone different. Someone she’s not.”

“We all have our roles to play,” Wotan said. “Right now, you need to go rescue your comrade.”

“You make it sound like warfare,” Skwisgaar smiled.

“It is, son. It is.”



Ofdensen followed Ganesh down the elegant corridors of his residence. The Hindu god had insisted he must be properly attired for combat practice. Ofdensen knew the elephant god was a bit of a clotheshorse but he hadn’t reckoned that he’d have an entire room dedicated to his wardrobe. With, evidently, a door that was magicked shut, as Ganesh was now paused and muttering various incantations at the doorknob. Was he really this fanatical over his couture? God damn. Worse than fucking Raziel.

“I know I am slightly obsessive about these matters, but I am rather insistent on the appropriate headwear when I conduct formal instruction,” the god explained as he opened the door and strode in. Ofdensen’s eyes drifted up to the elaborate shelving that covered one entire wall of the wardrobe room.

“Holy fuck,” he said. “So, that’s how you do it?”

Ganesh had removed the fine silk covering from the elephant head he evidently intended to use today. “Certainly. Though I understand the magic you utilize is slightly different. I am afraid this room is off limits to Lady Raziel, as my process seems to cause her upset.” And, so saying, he plucked off his human head and carefully set it aside on an empty plinth.

“Uh, yeah, we just kind of, switch.”

“Yes, I have observed this, as you recall,” Ganesh said, carefully fixing his elephant head to his neck, eyeing the results in the mirror. “Do you care to switch to True Form before we begin?”

“Uh, no, thanks.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, do you not find that Form advantageous? I regret I am rather uninformed regarding your breed.”

“I, uh, have more magic. In that Form. I’m just sort of more comfortable like this. Ganesh?”

“Yes.”

“What did your father say to you? Earlier today?”

Ganesh looked back from the mirror. “Father was urging me to reconsider joining this venture. It was a reasonable thing to ask. I would have felt obligated to make the same comment, were I in his position.”

“It isn’t a comment, Ganesh. He’s scared you won’t come back.”

“Nevertheless,” Ganesh said evenly, “I am going along.”

“I don’t suppose it’s gonna do me any good to say I agree with Lord Shiva?”

Ganesh stood. “So, what you are telling me is, if I were to request your aid, you would not come?”

“Remember, Ganesh! I’m a fucking angel! I might not.”

Ganesh looked at him mildly. “I am not asking what you might. You might do many things. I am asking what you would do.”

Ofdensen would not meet his eyes for a while. “I guess I’d come,” he finally admitted

“Well, then, shall we go practice killing Seraphim?”



“So, you speak Angelic, M’Lord?” Raziel was in a dressing gown, sitting on their bed, rubbing something from a small jar onto her skin.

Wotan emerged from the washroom, clad in fine silk pajama pants, his bearded face sporting a huge grin. His chest hair was reddish blond, the same as his close-cropped hair and beard. Though he appeared otherwise to resemble a well-muscled human man of about 50 years, not even a spot of grey appeared in his hair or his beard. “You might want to be careful in future when you’re sharing angelic secrets with Sariel,” he laughed.

“How much do you speak?”

“Enough to know you’ve finally stopped calling that boy Little Brother.” She scowled a small scowl at him. “I was going to say something about that.”

“You know it’s an honorific. It’s appropriate.”

“That doesn’t make it kind.” Wotan fluffed a pillow and lay down beside her. “Sometimes, my dear, it seems you know very little about men.”

“Actually, that’s what Sariel used to tell me. Speaking of which, did he stay around tonight?”

“Left. I believe, with Ganesh. Why are you frowning?”

“I know him. I just hope he’s not gonna mess this one up.”

“Ah, but this is our Ganesh! That boy has some very good heads on his shoulders.” Raziel shook her head, ignoring his joke. “I will wager you that they succeed,” Wotan vowed, fingers interlaced behind his head.

“I don’t wanna take that wager,” she grumbled. “I win my bets.” She set the small jar down on the nightstand and scooted over on top of Wotan.

“What is that horrible concoction you’ve been applying?”

She sniffed at her own wrist. “It’s a human moisturizer. It’s supposed to smell of whiskey and cigars!”

He grabbed her arm for a smell. He frowned, disappointed. “Cinnamon and vanilla.”

She grinned. “And you say I know nothing of men!”

“And what is under this dressing gown.”

She leaned over. “That’s an angelic secret,” she laughed.

He frowned and suddenly caught her small hands in his. “Are you sure you’re well enough to go?” he asked. He searched her eyes.

“I’m fine. I just ran myself out of magic.” Wotan started to say something, but then stopped. She put a hand through his short hair and held his gaze. “You know nothing could ever keep me from coming back here, to you, right?”


They gathered in the winter darkness around the back door to Hell. It was an isolated, rocky area, actually not too far from where the limousine had dropped them off at the hotel with the elevator down to Purgatory. Ofdensen saw a roadrunner trundle by, pause and appear to study him, and then hurry off. He wondered if a coyote might be far behind.

Dethklok’s manager worriedly surveyed his assault party: four death metal musicians, a record producer, a Hindu god, a Kachina.

And a small blond elf.

"Raziel." He covered his eyes with his hand. He started again, "OK. Raziel, did you actually change your Court Form to go along on this?"

"Oh, no, I just bleached my hair! So, we'll have to wrap it up and get out of there before my roots start showing!"

“I ams tells you I ams Legolas!” Skwisgaar told Toki, angrily fingering his Gibson.

“No, you ams Hobbitses,” Toki told him.

“Why can’ts you ams backs me ups?” Skwisgaar asked him.

“Don’ts you ams wants to be Sams and Frodos?”

“Which ones ams Sams and which ones ams Frodos?” Skwisgaar asked suspiciously.

“Is everything all right?” Ganesh asked Ofdensen.

“I suppose being blonde can’t possibly make her any ditzier. Can it?”

Ganesh smiled, the smile that seemed a bit too large for his handsome face. “Perhaps, as our leader, you would choose to say a few words first?”

Ofdensen shook his head. “You don’t know these guys. That might be the worst thing.” But Ganesh kept smiling, so Ofdensen jumped up onto some rocks. “Look, guys!” he said. “Guys? Guys?”

Raziel put her fingers in her mouth and emitted a piercing whistle. The crowd silenced, and looked up at Ofdensen.

He looked around for a moment, studying each face. “OK,” he said, finally. “Let’s do this.” And he jumped back down off the rocks.

“Yeah!” agreed Pickles.

“Aweschome,” said Murderface.

“If you would not mind terribly stepping back?” Ganesh asked politely. The back door to Hell had been blocked off some time earlier by a giant boulder. The assembled quieted down, and then moved further away from the boulder. The god stood silently for a long moment, one hand flat in the air. Then quite suddenly he clapped his other hand forcefully into it.

The boulder appeared to shudder. And then it had crumbled to dust, revealing a large, dark cave.

“Hey! Dat’s kinda cool, dood!” Pickles grinned.

“Remover of Obstacles,” Ganesh smiled. “It is kind of my thing.”



So far, the tunnel to Hell was a bit of a letdown.

For which Ofdensen was insanely grateful.

A couple of times, they had glanced something strange scuttering ahead, but it was gone by the time you turned the flashlight beam to it. And there had been some odd noises, of dripping water, and something that sounded like sighing.

He nearly walked into Ganesh’s outstretched arm. The Hindu god and Raziel were at the head of the pack, and had stopped. Ganesh pointed ahead.

A section of the floor appeared to be moving.

“Oh, shit!” said Ofdensen, shining his light ahead.

The next part of the cave was completely carpeted with writhing serpents. No, not just carpeted, as they were also sprouting out of the wall and ceiling. They looked slimy. And lethal.

“Want me to slice them?” Raziel cheerfully volunteered, flourinshing a sword.

“No. Raziel, not even you could slice all of those snakes.”

“Are you kidding? Of course I could.”

Ignoring the angel, Ofdensen asked, “Did we bring the flamethrower?”

Murderface grinned and brought out the equipment. “Want me to flame the whole tunnel?” he asked eagerly.

Ofdensen frowned. “I dunno if there’s some more magic. To be safe, try just a patch. There,” he pointed.

Murderface eagerly flamed a patch of wriggling snakes.

They paused, and waited.

The snakes were now angry. And on fire.

“Fuck!” reasoned Ofdensen. “What else did we bring?”

“There’s exploschives,” Murderface considered.

“Yeah, but that risks bringing down the whole fucking tunnel.” They poked through Murderface’s bag for a bit.

“I bet I could slice through them,” Raziel insisted impatiently.

“No, you coulds not,” sniffed Skwisgaar.

“Yeah, I could,” Raziel replied.

“Heh. I bets you a million billions dollar you coulds not,” Skwisgaar snorted.

“No, Skwisgaar,” Ofdensen cried, “don’t wager-“

“You’re on,” called Raziel, already running ahead. She dove into the tunnel waving her sword and began beheading serpents, faster than even angel eyes could see.

“Raziel,” Ofdensen whispered. Ganesh put a firm hand on his shoulder. She had turned into a blur of blond hair and blades. But as snake heads and tails and gore went flying everywhere, an occasional serpent would manage to strike her. So she was also being bitten. Over. And over and over. And over.

Finally, she halted.

Every single snake was indeed dead.

“See? I told you!” said Raziel, gleefully holding up her sword. Her body was absolutely covered in snake bites.

And then her eyes rolled up in her head and she toppled over.



Nathan Explosion was sitting in the bar in Dis, the burning city on the Fifth Circle of Hell.

He was drinking beer. As there was little else to do in Dis, the burning city on the Fifth Circle of Hell.

Nathan was chatting with some new friends. They were dead, but they were cool. They were musicians. As was nearly everybody else in Dis. Well, except for some of the staff.

Nathan was expressing his disappointment in his environs. Well, that was the other thing to do in the burning city of Dis: drink beer and bitch.

“I just thought there would be more demons and shit here, you know? Like, evil, desecrated figures crawling in the night.”

‘You wanna see something desecrated?” asked one of his new friends. Nathan nodded. The guy turned around, and shook his empty beer glass. “Hey, waitress, get your fat ass over here!”

The bar maid, who up until that exact moment had looked pretty much like any overworked barmaid in any city on earth, suddenly flickered, like a television between channels.

And then she changed.

“Holy crap!” said Nathan.

“Thanks!” his friend told her as she snatched away his empty beer glass. And then, just like that, she was back to being a surly barmaid. The dude turned back to Nathan. “See?”

Nathan immediately turned around to the other bar maid. “Hey, your beer SUCKS!”



“She is fine,” Ganesh told Ofdensen.

“I’m fine!” Raziel assured him.

The three beings stood just outside of the tunnel, in the middle of the road in the Second Circle of Hell.

“The serpent venom was comparatively mild, and seems to have had little effect.”

“I’m perfect!” said Raziel.

“I have simply administered an antihistamine,” Ganesh explained. “Although there might be some associated….” he began. Suddenly, Raziel slumped over into Ofdensen’s arms, out cold. The newly blonde angel began to snore. Loudly.

“…uh, drowsiness,” Ganesh concluded.

“Ganesh!”

“Hum. It’s possible I made the dosage a bit high.” He pried open one of Raziel’s eyes and peered at her. “I admit I am a bit more accustomed to treating goddesses.”

Ofdensen sighed deeply. Ganesh scooped the small angel up into his arms. “We’re gonna have to take her back,” Ofdensen told him, as they walked back towards the others. “We can’t carry a Narcoleptic angel down to Hell.” He looked up. “Hey, where the fuck are Murderface and….” They turned to where a horn was honking.

A pink Cadillac was driving along the road to Hell, a very happy William Murderface behind the wheel, Dick Knubbler, his eyes pulsating green with happiness, beside him.

“Need a ride, gentlemen?” the bassist asked.

“What the fuck is this?” Ofdensen asked.

“Dood! Didn’t dis Caddy belong to…?” Pickles began

“I borrowed a ride from an old friend, yeah!” Dick Knubbler explained. “I told you I’ve been in this business forever, yeah! I know everybody down here, baby!”

Ganesh, who had just deposited Raziel in the Caddy’s back seat, was staring intently at the record producer. "Dick Knubbler, precisely how long have you been in the industry?" he finally asked.

"Forever baby!"

"Can you kindly tell me, what year was the first recording you worked on?"

"That would be, that would be, yeah, 1927, baby! Fat Cat Jim and his Kittenaires."

"Nineteen...." Ofdensen started. He squinted at Knubbler. “Oh, shit!” He searched his mind, trying to remember how so speak Common. "Dick! You were that..... You were that Dominion who always used to follow Lucifer around."

“I wasn’t allowed to say anything, Sariel baby, but now that you’ve nailed me, yeah, that’s me! There’s a lot of us from Hell in the industry!”

“I’ll be damned,” said Ofdensen.

“This is a good place for it, baby!” laughed Dick Knubbler.

They filed into the pink Caddy, Kwahu in the front next to Murderface and Knubbler, the rest of Dethklok in the middle, and Ganesh and Ofdensen in the back, with Raziel sleeping peacefully in the crook of the Hindu god’s arm. Ofdensen looked over and gave them a slightly annoyed glance.

“Charles, Skwisgaar ams poking me!”

“You ams nudgings into my spaces!” Skwisgaar protested.

“Pickles, could you swap to the middle to keep those two apart?” Ofdensen sighed.

“I don’t wanna sit on da hump!” Pickles whined.

“Kwahu, do you mind flying ahead to see if you can spot Cerberus?” Ofdensen asked

“Yeah, sure dude! Want me to take a shit on him too?” Kwahu laughed and, converting to his full eagle form, took off.

“That’s gonna be the first obstacle,” Ofdensen explained.

“And the schnakes weren’t an obschtacle?” Murderface grumbled.

“The first obstacle we know about. There may be others. There will be others.”

“Like thisch?”

“Oh, crap.”



Toki and Skwisgaar had been asked to stay with the car. And sleeping Raziel. And so they did.

“So dis ams Hell?” Toki asked, leaning against the car, watching Raziel snore.

“Ja,” Skwisgaar muttered. He was sitting on the hood, which probably would have greatly annoyed Murderface, fingering his guitar.

“My dads am always says I ams ends up here.”

“Ja.”

“Skwisgaar?”

“Ja.”

“What ams dat?”

“What ams what?”

“Dat?”

Skwisgaar looked up, annoyed. And then he gasped.

And then he was face down on the ground, because Toki had evidently knocked him off the car before whatever the fuck creepy Hell bat thing swooped down and knocked his head off or bit him on the neck or whatever it was intending to do.

“Waits!” Skwisgaar said, somewhat recovering. He gripped his guitar – fortunately the neck was still straight. And then when the thing came for another pass, he leapt up and gave it a nice whack with his trusty Gibson.

They looked at the dead thing for a couple minutes. Skwisgaar probed it with his guitar. It was sort of like a bat that had been run through a wood chipper.

“Ew,” commented Toki.

“Oh, fucks,” whispered Skwisgaar. A whole flock of the things was now bearing down on them. This time, Skwisgaar grabbed Toki and dragged him under the car.

There was an unearthly squealing. And then a series or whooshing noises and splats, and they noticed a lot of little carcasses thudding to the ground. Finally the noises stopped, and the two guitarists crawled out from under the pink Caddy.

Raziel, who was standing on the seat holding up a sword, stifled a yawn. “Was that all of ‘em?” she asked.

“Uh, I ams t’inks so,” Skwisgaar told her.

“Cool,” she said. “Oh, you owe me a million billion dollars!” she told Skwisgaar. And then she promptly fell over. Toki somehow managed to dive into the car and catch her before she bonked her head, and he gently placed her back on the seat, where she was already snoring loudly.

The rest of the party soon returned. Pickles toed one of the icky bat thing carcasses.

“Dood, is everyt’ing OK?”

Skwisgaar and Toki exchanged a look.

“Ja, everything ams fine here, dude,” smiled Skwisgaar, strumming a chord.

Everybody clambered into the car, and Murderface put her in gear. The road had gotten rutted. It was possible that Lucifer had quit keeping it maintained after he built the bullet train system. They went over a bump, and, without rousing, Raziel keeled over onto Ganesh again. He smilingly put his arm around her as she slept. Ofdensen lit a cigarette scowled over at them from the other side of the back seat.



It really should be no problem.

A giant, terrible three headed dog blocking the road? Piece of cake. Literally, pieces of cake. They’d had Jean-Pierre prepare some especially tasty slices just for Cerberus. With honey, because they’d heard he liked it. And raw steak, because, you know, he was a dog. It had been a hell of a job keeping the raw meat cakes away from Murderface. Not to mention, keeping Pickles away from the drugs they were lacing it with.

The problem was, Lady Raziel, friend to dogs - as well as wolves and ravens and really all of God’s Creatures - was busy snoozing in the back of the Cadillac, meaning she wouldn’t be able, as they’d planned, to sidle up to the hellish canine and use whatever angel blandishments to tempt him to fill up on cake.

Ofdensen didn’t really dislike dogs. He just didn’t see the point. They seemed like creatures designed to keep the lint remover manufacturers in business.

One tremendous head was hovering above him.

“Just so you know,” he told it, “Lord Wotan’s own wolves now consider me their honored brother. So, uh, there’s that.”

The giant head seemed to consider, and then lunged forward. Ofdensen cringed. And summarily found his entire body had been licked by the world biggest, drooliest pink tongue.

“Oh! God! Yuck! Aargh!” The giant head was tilted, regarding him with soft brown eyes. “Here, eat this crap! Not me!” He placed the meat cakes before the giant head. All three heads nosed at it, and the friendliest head tasted a bit. And then all three were snarfing it up. And then they licked their giant chops. And then the giant beast sighed and rolled over, kicking one back leg in the air, as if it were receiving the world’s best tummy rub.

“OK, so that’s that,” Ofdensen said. To absolutely no one. He frenetically but ineffectively rubbed his face with a handkerchief and walked over to where the other guys had gathered.

“Dood, what happened to yoo?” Pickles asked helpfully.

“Oh, nothing, just almost ended up as a doggie treat while absolutely none of you fucking guys were watching,” Ofdensen grumbled.

“Does this structure appear to be new?” Ganesh was asking. Ofdensen had to admit, the building did look a bit out of place. It looked prefabricated, like something that had been set up in haste.

“Yeah. Lucifer said something about remodeling or rebranding or some fucking thing while we were here last time with Nathan.” Ofdensen sadly regarded his drool-infused handkerchief and tossed it over his shoulder.

“Looks like one o’ dose warehouse doods where yoo c’n buy ten tons o’ mayonnaise,” Pickles speculated.

“Can you shoot the lock, William?” asked Ganesh.

“Uh, it may be magicked-“ Ofdensen started, but Murderface had already drawn and shot off the lock. “Or, maybe not,” Ofdensen acknowledged.

Carefully, the bassist pushed the door open and peeked inside. “Whoa, dudesch, check this out!”

“A weapons cache?”

“Inschtrumentsch!” Murderface announced. “Lotsch and lotsch of inschtrumentsch!” He emerged holding a Stratocaster.

“What?”

“Well, schome do call them axsches!” The rest of the party ventured inside. It looked like Sam’s Club for orchestras. There was industrial style shelving going up to the ceiling holding everything from harps to xylophones. There were bins of piccolos, and racks of cymbals. It was utterly weird.

“OK, Skwisgaar? Toki?” Ofdensen asked. “You guys have what you need to play, right?”

“Ja,” muttered Skwisgaar distractedly. He had temporarily traded his Gibson for a Strat.

“Guys, I want you to grab spares. And the rest of you? Anything you think you’d need to play. Once we get to the gate.”

“You know I don’t pack equipment!” Murderface grumbled. Suddenly, his manager was nose to nose with him. He didn’t look pleased.

“I said. Grab. Instruments.”

“OK, OK, don’t yell at me!” the bassist protested, grabbing a triangle and holding it up.

“Thank you, William.”

“What’r we doin’t this fer, dood?” Pickles asked.

“I…. I’m not sure yet. Lucifer is fucking insane. But if he has this locked up, with Cerberus guarding it? I think it’s important.” He shrugged. Everybody split up and went shopping.



Pickles was carrying a bass drum. He looked back over his shoulder. Charles was staring intently at the cache of instruments as if he could make them give up their secrets by simply glaring at them. Perhaps he could. He saw Ganesh, standing nearby, touch Charles on the shoulder and smile at him.

A bit of Ganesh’s hair was hanging in his face. Charles distractedly reached up two fingers and traced the bit of hair back behind Ganesh’s ear.

Oh, thought Pickles, with a start. He adjusted his grip on the bass drum and headed for the car. Oh.



“Ams we lost?” Skwisgaar wondered.

“How c’n we be lost, dood?” asked Pickles. “Dere’s only one road.”

“Maybes we ams ask at da gas station!” Toki ventured helpfully.

“Dood! We’re in Hell! Ain’t no gas stations!”

“Dere’s ams pink Cadilacs!” Toki reasoned.

“Hey, angel homeboy!” Kwahu hissed, having just alit in the front seat and transformed back from his eagle Form to his human – or at least humanoid – Form. “I think I just found something for you to worry about!”

“Yeah?” asked the angel homeboy in question. He was looking over, annoyed, to where Raziel was sleeping contentedly on Ganesh’s shoulder.

“Some dude. He’s got the head of a bull. Running around, like, you know, a bull dude.”

“Minotaur? What the fuck is he doing way up here?” grumbled Ofdensen.

“Charles, dood!” Pickles yelled. “Will you fuckin’ make Murderface quit singin’ Highway t’ Hell?”

“And we’re goin’ DOOOOOWWWWWWWN!” bleated Murderface.

“Do I have to come up there?” Ofdensen warned, fondly wishing he were right now dealing with a monster instead of Dethklok.



“OK, Minotaur. Any ideas?” Ofdensen looked around to his assault party, gathered by the side of the road in Hell.

The beast was up ahead, tethered, like a dog, to the side of the road. He glared at them, and occasionally snorted.

“I could slay him,” Ganesh volunteered.

“Yeah. I’m trying to avoid outright killing stuff. That tends to set off alarms.”

“Yeah, dood, why haven’t dey come and set da Seraphim doods on us yet?”

“I know Lucifer pretty well,” Ofdensen said, lighting a cigarette. “Unfortunately. And I suspect he’s so awed with himself over the fucking bullet train, he’s ignoring the road. I mean, you guys can see it’s kind of turned into a piece of shit.”

“Ja, da bullet trains,” Skwisgaar mused, playing a complicated riff. “When ams we gettings da bullet trains?”

“Look, we don’t need-“

“Why isch he so pisched off?” Murderface blurted. They all looked over at the bull-headed monster, who indeed seemed to be getting increasingly agitated.

“Hey, Skwisgaar, dood! Play dat t’ing again!”

Skwisgaar frowned and fingered the riff again. The Minotaur suddenly held his ears and ran around in a circle, apparently in much pain.

“Heh. Guess da dood ain’t a metal fan.”

“Can we get an amp, Dick?” Ofdensen asked.

After a quick tour of Dethklok’s greatest hits, it was determined that the Minotaur seemed to be especially un-partial to the Ducan Hills coffee jingle. He started literally banging his head on a rock to that riff, to much amusement from those assembled. Eventually, despite his thick bovine skull, he managed to knock himself out.

Ofdensen had distractedly headed back to the car while the guys broke down the equipment and dragged the Minotaur off the roadway. Raziel was still in the middle back seat, where they’d left her, her head back, snoring. Ofdensen slid into the seat beside her. He looked around stealthily. There was no one else watching. He looked at Raziel. He tugged gently on her sleeve. Still sawing wood, she slumped over onto his shoulder. He cringed, but then gingerly put an arm around her.

Ganesh came back to sit in the car with the others. Ofdensen grinned at him, his arm around sleeping Raziel. Ganesh slid in, looking confused.



Ofdensen smelled smoke. And he’d just flicked away another cigarette. He looked up ahead to see the burning city.

They had arrived at the Gates of Hell.

Everyone filed out of the car. The group was oddly silent.

Ofdensen took Pickles aside. He held him by the shoulders. He stared at Pickles, as the drummer frowned. “Pickles,” he said. “Three things. Get Nathan. Put him in the car. Drive back to the surface. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” the drummer muttered. “We went over dis a million times alreddy.”

“Then repeat it back.”

Pickles scowled. At last he said, “Nat’an. Car. Surface.”

Ofdensen nodded. “And here is the important thing: NOTHING else. Do not stop because there is a cute girl. Do not drink anything. Don’t eat food. Don’t take drugs. Don’t gamble. Don’t get in a race. Don’t answer questions. Don’t ask questions. Don’t…. Just anything, don’t, OK?”

“Charles! I fuckin’ got it!”

“OK.”

“We’re Dethklok! What da fuck could go wrong?”

Ofdensen blanched. He was about to start listing things, in alphabetical order, when Ganesh grabbed his shoulder. “We need to make haste,” the Hindu god told him. He sighed and accompanied Ganesh and Raziel to the rim of Hell. Ganesh took a tiny, golden bottle out of his jacket and set it carefully on the ground. It looked a bit like a perfume bottle.

“Will Garuda be OK with two?” Raziel was asking with a yawn and a stretch.

“I believe you shall be fine. You are not terribly large,” Ganesh assured her. “We’ll have to be very careful, though. Garuda is not the most subtle of beasts.”

“He’s a lot less subtle than me going True Form,” Raziel laughed.

“We’re none of us gonna be very subtle,” Ofdensen said, pulling off his jacket and starting to unbutton his shirt. He watched as Ganesh plucked the top off the tiny container. A cloud of what looked like yellow, glittery dust emerged. And then just as suddenly, it condensed into a magnificent, birdlike figure with shining golden feathers.

“Wow,” said Raziel. She went to rub Garuda’s golden beak. He obediently dipped his head and closed his lovely, jewel-like eyes.

“You ought sit in front of me, in case you nod off again,” Ganesh laughed. He helped her climb on to the golden beast’s back and then asked, “Are you ready, Sariel.”

“Yeah,” said Sariel, who had True Formed. He fluttered his silvery wings experimentally. “You guys better go ahead and I’ll follow. I’ve never been too good at this.”

“Ready, Lady?” Ganesh asked, taking his mount. Grinning, she gave thumbs up, so he spurred Garuda, and with a flash of jeweled wings, they soared over the edge of the Fifth Circle, and down towards the pits of Hell.

Sariel paused at the edge and turned around. Very softly, he said, “Guys, you really need to get going. OK?”

“Uh. Yeah dood. Yeah,” said Pickles.

Sariel nodded to them all, his steel grey eyes flashing, and then he was over the rim and soaring down towards the Ninth Circle of Hell.

“Motherdouchebags,” whispered Pickles.

Toki looked over his shoulder, curiously. Skwisgaar was behind him, staring ahead, gripping the Norwegian’s shoulder very tightly.

“You ams never sees hims do dat before, Pickle?” Toki asked.

“Yeah. It’s just…. He don’t like to do dat. It’s been a long time. I kinda fergot.”

“Can you do that?” Murderface asked Dick Knubbler.

Knubbler’s eyes flashed a bright, sparkling green. “Yeah. We’re angels, Willie babe. That’s what we do!”



Many years ago….

“OH MY GOD DID YOU HEAR WHAT HAPPENED TO THE MORNINGSTAR?”

Sariel looked up from his workbench. He didn’t actually go by the name of Sariel any more. He had a name in the local language. He had a place to live. He even had a job.

What he didn’t have was dealings with angels. One of whom was sitting on his workbench, right now, kicking her short legs.

He placed his palms flat on the table. He shut his eyes very tightly. He tried to keep breathing. Maybe, he thought, maybe he’d had too much to drink last night. That was possible. Maybe that was what was going on. Although to be fair, he hadn’t actually gone out drinking last night. He hadn’t gone out drinking in a long time.

He looked up. The angel was still there, blinking at him, kicking her legs. Though, oddly, she remained silent.

“Raziel,” he finally said.

She grinned and hopped off the workbench. “DID YOU HEAR?” she asked.

“Raziel. I’m Fallen. Not deaf.”

“So you did hear?” She sounded slightly disappointed.

“I can hear you. The whole fucking neighborhood can hear you.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“What…. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Oh, I was in the neighborhood. Visiting some muses. Thought I’d drop by. You know.”

“Visiting muses?”

“Yeah. Thinking of taking a job as a local god for a time. That might be fun.”

“You’re going to work as a pagan god?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Uh-huh. Bet that will go down very well at Headquarters.”

“So, you didn’t hear about Morningstar?”

“Why should I give a flying fuck about Morningstar?”

“Fallen!”

“Oh. Oh.” He paused for a long moment. “Well, a lot of that going around.” He started stringing an instrument.

“Wow, you actually do stuff?”

“Yes, I do stuff.”

“What do you do?”

“I construct kitharas.” She plucked a string. “Raziel! Don’t touch anything!” He went back to his stringing.

“I would have thought….”

“What?”

“Well, maybe you’d get work as a soldier?”

“I’ve had enough of that. Besides. My eyes don’t work very well. You know that.”

“Huh. Yeah. I guess.”

He tightened a string. “So. Morningstar….”

“He and his buddies – well, the ones that were left – were sent down here. I guess they spent the entire time fucking local women.”

He smiled wryly. “So what else is new?”

“And, er, birthing monsters. Half angel monsters.”

“What?” He actually looked up. She nodded. “Good god. Lucifer. What a fucking idiot.” He shook his head and plucked on the string experimentally. “So….”

“So he’s now down in the underworld here. Him and his whole crew.”

Sariel rolled his eyes. “You mean Lucifer is still working for Headquarters?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Well, I take it he’s now collecting souls?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t see it?” She shook her head. “So, he’s now manning the underworld for Headquarters. And now he’s got a nice safe place underground, far from all the people I’m sure who want to stab him.”

“Oh. Huh. I didn’t think of that! So, you haven’t crossed paths since…?”

“No. I don’t cross paths with angels any more. ANY angels.” He looked up at her sharply.

“Well, uh,” she said.

“What?”

“Did you want to maybe…. Go get a drink?”

“No.”

She stood in silence for a moment, watching him work. “Uh, maybe I should go?” she said quietly.”

“Maybe you should”

“I lied,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“I just…. I just wanted to talk to my Little Brother. That’s all. That’s why I came.”

He was quiet. “Raziel,” he said at length.

“Yeah?”

“Give me…. Give me a couple more centuries.”

“OK.”

He looked up, and she was finally gone.

There was a small metal box on the table. He picked it up. He shook it. It didn’t appear to be an alloy that was of this universe. At least, not yet. Not in this century.

He unfastened the clasp, and opened it.

He smiled thinly, and took out a smoke.