Gods of Death

5 : The Gods’ Bidding

Not for the first time, Victor shook his head. He looked at the sword held point-down in his hands, now protected by an impressive scabbard of black leather and silver edging gifted to him moments before and sighed. Again.

"They're f*****g insane!" he said; again, not the first time.

Emma chuckled like she was enjoying everything happening. She fluttered around the small room, a low-ceilinged and empty chamber that resembled a ruined kitchen or storeroom from an ancient British castle. Every now and then the constant fire light from the backdrop of Hell surrounded her in an eerie orange aura.

"Did you know?" he asked, his first actual question in over twenty minutes.

"Know what?"

"You know what!"

"No," Emma said with a little sigh of her own, "they didn't tell me anything."

"Fuckers."

"I don't see why you have a problem with this; you knew it'd be something unusual."

Unusual didn't quite cut it. Victor ran his memory back to the conversation from an hour or so earlier:

"Have you ever heard of Michael?" One asked.

"I know a few," Victor said. "One who insists on 'Michael' and a couple of 'Mike's."

"He doesn't mean someone called Michael," said Three, "he means the original."

"The original Michael? Who's that then?"

One looked at him with those piercing eyes. "Archangel Michael, the Destroyer."

"I'm pretty sure that's not his epithet," commented Victor, his tone sarcastic. Privately, he was pleased he'd remembered the word 'epithet'; it didn't come up a lot in conversation.

"It f*****g should be," spat Three. Victor ignored him, as did the others.

"Michael is the target, the key to the prize."

"You want me to kill an Archangel? With a sword?"

"That's precisely what we want you to do," Two confirmed, "But not just one. You are going to have to do away with the others too."

"The others?"

"Raphael, Uriel, Chamuel, Zadkiel, Jophiel and Gabriel," One listed.

"You are f*****g kidding."

They hadn't been kidding; in fact they had laughed in unison, a swell that made Victor think of old-people's homes during a rerun of Blackadder II. Then they had seen fit to present him with 'gifts'; the sheath for the sword, some new nondescript black clothes and some boots. One had muttered something about looking a little less barbarian before dismissing Victor and vanishing with his odious compatriots.

In the thick stone room, Victor turned to stare at Emma. "What the actual f**k?" he said.

"It could be a laugh!"

"A laugh? I admit, freely admit, that I know next to f**k all about any of them, but what I do know is enough to make me pretty convinced that this is a suicide mission."

"Technically you're already dead."

"Yeah, but I can die more, can't I? Taint."

"True."

"I've been thinking about telling them to stick it. Hand back the sword and the whole thing and just say 'no'. After all, being complete in Hell has to be better than being soulless and, what, still in Hell? What happens to the Tainted?"

"I don't want to know. Pretty sure neither do you."

"Great. So my options are an eternity as the plaything of Grumpy, Fat and Tiny back there, or the unknown horror of the Tainted? What joy."

Emma laughed, "It is pretty funny."

"Really not."

"Or you could win!"

"Yes, Emma, you are right. I could take my almost-ten-days of training and use it to go up against the seven most capable angels in the entire universe. Beings that are so righteous and holy that people pray to them."

"Pretty sure no-one really prays to Zadkiel, not really."

"There's someone out there."

"Maybe," she paused. "So what are you going to do?"

"Hunt down Archangels, I suppose."

Emma clapped her hands. "What fun!"

"Can't they fly? Wings are part of the package, right? So I'm going to stand on the ground or some heavenly cloud and wave my sword at them while they hover out of reach and smite me with lightning bolts or something?"

"Oh, this really is going to be great!"

"I take it you know what to do next."

"Sort of. They left me instructions on how to open a portal. They didn't say where it went or anything, just how to open one there and how to open one back."

"You are coming, then?"

"Wouldn't miss it!"

"This is completely whack."

"Honestly, do you speak like that where you come from?"

"Not really." Victor shrugged. "Open the door then."

"Are you sure?"

"No. Do it."

Emma whipped her tail round and danced in the sky. Victor watched with interest as she moved, illuminated only by the constant lava-light that shone everywhere here. Her mouth moved, but no sounds came out; this was a silent spell, a magic of Hell.

Without warning, a shining oval portal appeared before her and she stopped the dance. Victor stared at it, wondering how his life had gone from struggling for work on Croydon streets to staring at magical dimensional gates in a ruined city of Hell.

"Off you go," she said with a gesture towards the light.

Victor paused, his mind elsewhere. He couldn't even remember how he had died or the events leading up to it. This whole situation just didn't make enough sense.

"Do you need a shove?”

Silently he blinked, shook his head and after briefly adjusting his scabbard straps, stepped on through.