Broken Page 15

Paimon clomped on ice and laughed at me, followed by a small retinue of Asmodaii. Kulshedra slithered behind him, muttering obscenities about the cold.

  And it was cold.

  Unlike human cold, this was the type of cold you felt in your soul. Everything was dead and entombed, and slowly you felt your body shutting down.

  I gritted my teeth and bullied myself into motion.

  Now I understood the whole circle concept. Only the strongest second-circle demons could survive here, and judging from how Berphomet was hugging himself, I guess it wasn’t for very long either.

  If this Lhorax lived here, he must be one tough son of a bitch.

  I was starting to regret this, when we came up to a massive flowing river. Except it was flowing over empty space, a pit of endless auroras, pretty and perpetual.

  Chaos space.

  It made sense. This whole circle was a prison from what I could gather, and the last thing you wanted was for inmates to have an easy way out. Chaos space ensured that nothing would make it past.

  Bobbing softly on the river was a boat and on it, a hooded figure.

  “Charon,” I said, remembering my Greek mythology. “So this must be the river Styx.”

  Berphomet nodded.

  “Do we have silver coins?”

  Berphomet shook his head impatiently. “He does not take silver. Something far better suited to this climate.”

  “What, like a blanket?”

  “Better.”

  I observed as Paimon snapped his fingers. Only two Asmodaii had remained (the climate was affecting Paimon’s powers, too) and they brought forward a case. One of them shivered and its leg fell off.

  Charon growled, snatched the case, and tossed the Asmodaii into chaos space. He snickered as they flailed. Charon opened the case and tossed it after them, brandishing his gift.

  A bottle of Johnny Walker Blue.

  With one swift motion he unscrewed the bottle and gulped a third of it down.

  Oh, good. The ferryman of souls was a drunk driver.

  Paimon nodded at us. “We are welcome on board.”

  It was a strange sensation, getting nestled between Kulshedra’s scaly body, and Berphomet’s white goat fur, but at least they were both warm.

  Charon was also a reckless driver. I guess when you’re dead, you have nothing to lose. We swerved along the bends of the river Styx and made it to the other side in breathtaking time.

  An icy cave awaited us.

  “Welcome to Kerberos Prison,” said a creature from within.

  Several figures waded out from the gloom. They looked like blue-skinned humans, with two horns coming out of their forehead and dressed in typical prison guard uniforms, except that they had curved swords on their belts instead of tasers and pepper spray.

  “Paimon,” one of them said.

  “Are you ready?” Paimon asked.

  The Stygian guard nodded, almost bored. “We got the tunnel all ready for you. Come on in.”

  The retinue of guards escorted the four of us inside.

  “This feels…” I began.

  “Routine?” Berphomet said. “Because it is. Stygian guards are notoriously corrupt. They have several tunnels through which they smuggle inmates and outsiders in and out of Kerberos.”

  “Seems like a design flaw.”

  “You forget that we are demons,” Berphomet said. “We live for chaos.”

  I nodded and we walked the rest of the way in silence.

  Paimon halted at the front of the tunnel, along with the guards.

  “You will go ahead on your own,” he said. “I shall go with the guards to pay them. Wait for me before you leave.”

  Without another word, he left us alone in the barely-lit gloom.

  “Itsss a trap,” Kulshedra said.

  “Yeah, no shit,” I replied. Already I was extracting Djinn from its sheath.

  Berphomet had the same idea. He checked his revolvers and held them steady before him as he walked ahead.

  We emerged into a wide arena.

  A gate fell down on the entrance behind us, barring us from returning. Lights came on, suddenly illuminating the place.

  The colosseum was made entirely out of ice, gleaming white and blue. Thousands of demons sat in the stands, the thrill of conversation and bodily noises blanketing the arena.

  From a booth at the highest-most point, I saw Paimon and the guards.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. His voice echoed through the colosseum, amplified by a microphone. “It seems we have new contestants to challenge our champion.”

  From the opposite side of the colosseum, another gate opened and out walked a massive ten-foot demon.

  Crawling on his knuckles like a gorilla, the demon had pointed shaggy fur like a porcupine, and a squished face like a sloth’s. Unlike a sloth however, he moved like liquid metal, strong and agile, with fangs exposed as he hissed and roared. Curved claws the size of my whole arm tipped out from beneath the fur on his hands.

  “Lhorax!” Paimon announced.

  The crowd went up in a roar, chanting his name. Lhorax stomped on the ground. The entire place shook.

  “It was my intention to lure you in here and test your spirit,” Paimon said. “But now I think I just want to see you die. And the best part is, now I have the location of the Knightmare. And thus I have no need for you.”

  “One of us has to fight that,” Berphomet said.

  “Not me,” Kulshedra said. “I have no interessst in dueling the beassst. I can go back in peacssse to my home.”

  “I’m out too,” Berphomet said, holstering his guns. “No gains for me. But you, Erik, you should fight him.”

  “Wait, why me?” I argued. “If we take him all together we could-”

  Kulshedra hissed. Her tail whipped around, catching me in the stomach, and for the second time that day I was tossed into the air.

  I crash-landed a few feet away from Lhorax but his monstrous shadow loomed over me.

  From the announcing booth, Paimon giggled.

  “Looks like we have our challenger! Let the contest begin!”

  Chapter 25

  I scrambled back to my feet and backed away from the giant demon. Lhorax growled and slammed his knuckles on the ground.

  “Good demon,” I cooed as I backed away. Djinn quivered in my hands.

  Paimon’s voice boomed from the announcer’s box.

  “Choose your weapon, mortal,” he said. “As the challenger, you can choose the type of contest.”

  Lhorax roared. “I will tear you apart, little mortal,” he said.

  Shit, even his voice made me want to piss myself.

  I looked around. Demons in the stands were cheering, both inmates and guards. Kulshedra and Berphomet actually made it among them. The latter was munching on popcorn—or something that looked like popcorn.

  “Choose!” Paimon snapped.

  “I don’t know,” I roared back. Demons booed. “Oh, shut up. What are my options?”

  “Any contest of strength, power, wit, magic…”

  “Wit,” I yelled. “I choose wit.”

  The crowd fell silent. Paimon chuckled.

  “Leave it to the mortal to choose the least entertaining option,” he said. “Very well. You may pick the challenge.”

  I looked at Lhorax. The big guy didn’t seem to have much to offer in terms of brainpower.

  Don’t underestimate him, Erik.

  If it was on the plate, someone must have chosen wit before, too. And if Lhorax was the reigning champion, that meant he had won all contests.

  Which meant I had to play to my strengths, something that only I could offer, something that only I could do.

  Great, Erik, what can you do? Because other than royally piss people off, you are running short on ‘things only you excel at’.

  An idea flashed in my mind.

  “Hey, Paimon,” I called out.

  “Yes?” he answered.

  “Any challenge, right? Any type of co
mpetition? With any rules?”

  “Yes,” the demon replied, bored.

  “Hurry up,” Lhorax roared. “I will accept any terms.”

  I sheathed my sword. “Okay, I got your challenge right here. Roasting.”

  Lhorax cocked his head stupidly. “With fire?”

  “No,” I said. “Comedy roasting. We hurl insults at each other. The person who makes the crowd laugh the most at the expense of the other wins.”

  Everyone fell silent. I guess you don’t get too many insult comics doing well in Hell.

  “The rules are simple,” I said. “Neither one of us can touch the other, only verbal insults. We get thirty seconds each to make fun of the other. Three rounds. Most laughs from the crowd wins.” I spun to the crowd. “What say you? Ready for a laugh?”

  There was no cheer. In fact, if it were possible to have a silence that literally sucked sound out of a room, then that would be it.

  Not the most auspicious of starts.

  Paimon sighed into his microphone.

  “Very well.”

  The ground beneath my feet rumbled, making me stumble. A platform five feet wide rose with me at its centre, going up, up, and up, until I was about twenty feet in the air.

  Lhorax was also on a similar pedestal, albeit his was twice as wide as mine. He was a big guy after all.

  “You both know the rules,” Paimon announced. “Lhorax, as our reigning champion, you go first. Begin!”

  The crowd cheered. Lhorax roared, slammed his hands on the ground in accordance with the thrill of their cheering, and turned to face me.

  “Human!” he roared. “You are so small, and tiny, and ugly, I will be hard-pressed to look at you when I tear you apart.”

  Some demons snickered.

  I took a deep breath. Come on, Erik. Channel the funny. Channel the mean.

  Channel your asshole demonic pet.

  I grinned.

  “Funny you calling me ugly, Lhorax,” I said. “You look like a porcupine had sex with a Chia-pet then gave up halfway through.” I didn’t even pause to listen to the crowd.

  “I mean, really? Over a billion sperm and you are the one that made it? I mean, I would say the bar is pretty low, but that’s only because you drank all your sorrows away for looking like a steroid-infused sloth.”

  Silence.

  Berphomet was the first to snicker, and his laugh echoed throughout the colosseum like a gong.

  Then, miraculously, other demons began joining him.

  Lhorax growled in frustration.

  “I will tear you apart, cowardly human. You are ugly. You are small and weak.” More slamming. “And when we get down I will make you pay for your insults.”

  Channel Amaymon, Erik. Be the asshole.

  “That’s fine but make sure to leave me enough money so I can pay your mom for last night.”

  The crowd exploded with a roaring laugh. Even Paimon was chortling over the microphone.

  Now the crowd was cat-calling insults, tagging them onto my joke.

  I kept the momentum going.

  “I mean, woof! She was all that!”

  More laughter. It echoed with such force that my ears started ringing. The sound bounced off the icicles covering this place. A few of them started shaking.

  “I shall enjoy flaying you, human,” Lhorax said. “I shall use my imagination to inflict the most hilarious deaths to your puny body.”

  “Use your imagination?” I said. “Dude, don’t let your mind wander too much. It’s far too young to be out on its own.”

  That one didn’t get as much laughter, but then again, few things were funny as a “your mom” joke.

  So, if it ain’t broke…

  “And besides, Lhorax,” I added, “haven’t you ever heard: acting like a dick won’t make yours any bigger.”

  And we were back to echoing laughter.

  I caught a glimpse of Berphomet. The once-stoic demonic assassin had his head buried in Kulshedra’s tail and was wiping tears from his eyes.

  Lhorax roared again, his face contorted with frustration and rage. He bounded towards the edge of his platform, muscles coiled, ready to leap over to my platform and make good on his threats. Despite my urge to take out my weapons and defend myself I stayed put.

  Instead I looked at the announcer’s booth.

  “You know the rules, Lhorax,” Paimon said. “No physical contact.”

  The demons in the stands started booing Lhorax as he retreated. The demon paced around. If this were a cartoon, there would have been steam coming out of his ears. I could see him struggling to come up with something to get the crowd back to his side…

  “I… I…”

  “You are what?” I urged. “Go on. You are… what? So ugly you gotta Trick or Treat over the phone?”

  The crowd laughed again. Berphomet was rolling on the ground, popcorn all over his face, mouth open, tears streaming.

  And then, Lhorax burst out laughing, too.

  “I am!” he said. “I am!”

  I watched as my monstrous opponent laughed at a joke about himself. The pedestals were lowered.

  “Well, it seems we have ourselves a new champion,” Paimon announced.

  Once on the ground, Lhorax walked over to me. He placed both his hands face up in front of me.

  “You own my life now, human,” he said.

  I grinned. “Cool. Because now I’m gonna need you to do what you do best, Lhorax. I want you to fight.”

  The big dumb demon perked up. “Fight? Who?”

  “I’ll tell you once we get outta here,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  Berphomet and Kulshedra joined me.

  “That,” Berphomet started, “was the funniest thing I have ever heard.” To my surprise, and slight horror, Berphomet hugged me. “I’m glad I did not kill you, Erik Ashendale.”

  Kulshedra hissed. “Thisss isss weird.”

  I glanced up at the announcer booth. “We still need that asshole to come back with us.”

  Lhorax swept his arm back, sending a demon who was approaching us flying backwards.

  Then I saw it, a thousand demons of all shapes and sizes, all armed with shivs and knives, and staves, and other melee weapons, slowly surrounding us.

  Correction.

  Surrounding me.

  “You are the new champion,” Lhorax said. “Whoever kills you becomes the next champion.”

  “Oh. Shit,” I said, unsheathing Djinn. I glanced at Berphomet and Kulshedra, fully expecting them to back away again.

  Instead, Berphomet winked and unholstered his revolvers. “I cannot let you die. You must make me laugh again.”

  “If you get me out of here, I’ll make you piss yourself,” I replied.

  THUD!

  THUD!

  THUD!

  The footsteps made everyone freeze in terror. Everyone, me included, held their breath, as the footsteps got closer and closer.

  I kept my eyes fixed on the entrance where Lhorax had emerged from—it was the only other entrance.

  “Above!” someone screamed.

  I looked up.

  I really wished I hadn’t.

  Looming over the colosseum’s ice roof was a giant canine head. Scratch that.

  Make it three canine heads.

  The jaws clamped down on the roof, shattering it. Icicles rained down like spears. Everyone scrambled for safety.

  The canine demon towered over the colosseum. All three heads were identical, made out of ice and black matted fur, and each the size of a double-decker bus. Eyes of vile, sulfuric yellow surveyed the populace within, both inmates and guards alike.

  One of the heads—it could only fit one—snapped down, jaws snatching a mouthful of demons and biting down on them. Blood and gore spattered and rained down.

  “I think that’s our cue to leave,” I said.

  Paimon appeared at the entrance where Lhorax came from. We ran towards him. I swung at his face, crushing his decayed nose.


  “I saw the betrayal coming a mile away,” I told him. “Still don’t appreciate it.”

  Paimon swung his sword. I sidestepped. He sliced through an inmate.

  “We find ourselves on the same side once more,” he said. “And I know how to get out of here. Unless you want to face Cerberus by yourself.”

  “Wait,” I said. “That’s Cerberus? The Cerberus?”

  Berphomet rolled his eyes at me and snapped his sunglasses back on.

  “Good for jokes,” he muttered as he passed me. “Not much else. Guide us, General. But be wary of the assassin ready to put a bullet in your head if you stray.”

  “Hurry,” Kulshedra hissed. “It approachessss.”

  “We cannot outrun it,” Lhorax said. “It always catches us.”

  “Run anyway,” I yelled.

  And run we did.

  But Lhorax was right. Cerberus took one step towards us and basically caught up with us. Berphomet’s bullets bounced off its hide and only seemed it irritate it.

  “Is there a way to sedate it?” I yelled. “Like with music? I remember something about music.”

  Berphomet unhooked a grenade and tossed it at Cerberus. Gas exploded, forming a cloud of noxious green that Cerberus’ left head inhaled in half a breath.

  “So much for sedation,” he muttered.

  “Follow me,” Paimon said. “Make haste.”

  Kulshedra slithered by, faster than myself or Berphomet. The latter hopped onto her back and I followed suit, leaping high to ride the giant snake demoness.

  Ahead was a massive enclave with a tunnel that led outside. The enclave had a series of pipes running all the way up to the ceiling, each of them ending inside a rectangular contraption at waist level.

  An organ, I realized.

  I hopped off, running towards it. The keys were made out of charred bones, with mold formed and frozen over them.

  “What are you doing?” Berphomet asked.

  I hovered my fingers over the keys. “Bringing the band back together.”

  Once, when I was a kid, my dad had caught me fiddling with the grand piano we had in the south-wing living room of our mansion. I had been absentmindedly tapping away at a few keys and the next day, my father had assigned a private tutor to teach me how to play. He said that music would help discipline me.

  A week later the tutor quit. When asked for an explanation, he replied that I never played anything classical despite his best efforts. Instead, I practiced only two songs, the intro of one of which I had already mastered.