Boris snorted as he carefully sliced away a thin peel of wood. Placing it back into the contraption, he tightened the small brass gear the armorer had made for him. Then, with a grunt of muscles, he picked up the giant machine, struggling to move it out into the hallway.
Students flattened themselves against the wall as he went past. Boris stood almost seven feet tall, an anomaly in the Viz-Jaq’taar training school. He could hear students gossiping and snickering behind him, but it had never bothered him.
Soon, he was crossing the courtyard towards the old monastery. It was the only place he could test out his latest invention, and he grinned at the sudden discomfort on the faces of the instructors as he stepped inside with it.
Students scattered as he dragged it up to the line. “Boris, by the blazing circles of Hell, what are you doing now?” Natalya crossed the room, arms crossed.
“I think I have it fixed, Nat,” he said cheerfully. Disregarding her shout of protest, he grabbed the handles, and yanked on the triggers. From the first barrel, a little flag popped out, proclaiming “Bang!” in bright letters. Everyone starts snickering. “Rupert!”
Sareal sighed as he let Wulfe take off his ceremonial robes of office. “What a horrid day,” he muttered to himself as his manservant undressed him and prepared the bed. “I never dreamed that these men, all of whom fought or fled in the face of Mephisto’s power, would still be so cowardly and foolish.”
“It’s hardly surprising, Eminence,” Wulfe said quietly as he fluffed the pillows. “They’re scared about taking a risk.” As he pulled back the blankets, the priest watched him for a moment.
“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” he said. “Still, is it really so hard for them to believe that the angels have sent me a sign of how to restore our world?” Stretching, he sighed. “Enough deep thought for the night. Send her in.”
Sareal waited in his nightshirt as Wulfe tottered to the door and admitted the girl. Andariel hunched over to crawl through the door, then gave Wulfe a big hug and enthusiastic kiss. “Damnit, Wulfe, not that girl!”
Andariel snickered. “Sorry, the other girl cancelled. The director is busy interviewing the extras.”
Diablo turned towards the door again, stooping as he stepped outside. “Follow me, my lieutenants. It is our time to teach these humans their place in the world.” In expectation of the terror and punishment they would soon be extracting from the mortal world, they followed him into the storm, eyes shining brightly.
Then tripped over the door, slamming face first into the ground.
Natalya narrowed her eyes. “You mean, let a group of paladins into our school, and then try to scare them away?”
Boris looked grim. “The alternative, as you said, is trying to mow down an army of armed soldiers with large contraptions.” They were both silent for a moment while she digested their slim choices.
“Ah, what the heck,” she muttered. “Let’s go for it.” In a few minutes, Boris had dragged a pair of them out of his workshop, and they lugged them up to the top of the wall. With a whoop, Natalya grabbed the triggers and spun the crank, the barrels rattling around. “Um, Boris, nothing’s happening.”
He sighed and patted her head. “You forgot, they’re doing all of this with computer graphics nowadays. Cheaper than actually building ones that work, anyway.”
“Well, shouldn’t we at least try to talk peacefully with whoever is inside?” As the other two stared at him, Will’s ears started to burn, as a bright red blush crept over his pale skin. “It hardly seems righteous to break down the door without even finding out if they are hostile.”
After a moment, Colin started to laugh. Before long, he was gasping for breath, doubled over, and soldiers had stopped work to whisper and point. “Ah, from the mouths of babes,” he wheezed. Trying to control his mirth, he straightened up, giving the other paladin a light punch in the arm. “Go for it, lad, give the door a good hard rap, and see who opens it.”
His blush even darker from his embarrassment, Will marched up to the large gates, pounding on them with a mailed fist. The noise echoed inside the walls for a moment before dying away. The army was close to silent as he lifted his fist to try again.
Just then, a small window in the main gate creaked open. “Who’s there?” a bass voice cracked out. From the sound, the old man was half mad. “Come back to steal my home, have you?” he ranted.
From his chair, the director leapt up, charging onto the set. “Security! Deckard Cain got in again!”
Tharos and Oksana reined in their horses as they approached the roadblock leading towards Raveil. The soldiers manning the blockade, less than a mile outside the city, were all dressed in the uniforms of the Church, were looking at every person, and searching every wagon that went past them. Another group of soldiers, probably belonging to the local baron, were arguing heatedly with their leader.
Tharos glanced around worriedly. Due to the unusually large number of travelers, their golem hadn’t been spotted yet, but it was drawing quite a bit of attention. Oksana leaned over and put a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, I know how to handle this.”
Spurring her horse, she slowly pushed ahead through the crowd. Some of the people on foot looked up irritably, but at the sight of the high quality armor and weapons, stayed wisely quiet. When she stopped beside one of the roadblock soldiers, he gaped up in surprise.
Quickly, she waved a hand in front of his face, and it went slack. “We are not the ones you’re looking for,” she said quietly.
”You are not the ones we are looking for,” he echoed dully. His companions nearby echoed him.
“We may go about our business,” she said, keeping eye contact with him. Again, the soldier echoed her as though he lacked his own will. Quite ordinarily, she flicked the reins, and they began moving again. Tharos glanced at her several times, but stayed silent until they were past the city walls and out of sight.
“You know,” he mused, “I think somewhere, Alex Guinness is turning over in his grave.”
They were slowly backed down one of the docks. Previously bustling ships were now deserted, and very soon they had run out of room. “Time to fight now, you dirty child-buggerers,” a third one called out, raising the wooden club he carried.
With a bang, his face shattered in a spray of blood and bone. Jerking around, the drunken mob stared darkly at the garishly dressed man who stood behind them. Dropping one pistol back into its holster, he waved the other at them impishly. “While this might only kill one of you, I wager you’ve heard of me around the dockside bars.”
With his free hand, he lifted the royal purple tricorner hat he wore, to expose his face. The men screamed, leaping into the water. “It’s a zombie!” Rupert said in surprise.
Grumbling, the director shouted “Cut! Alright, you’re out. Next audition.”
“But I’m telling you, I’m perfect for the part!” Michael Jackson complained.
Feeling quite irritated, Sareal watched the paladins file out of the chamber. Flexing his fingers, he shouted into the empty room. “Wulfe! Where’s my wine?” His aged servant was at his side before he even finished shouting, not even putting the chalice down before it was snatched away.
Gulping down the mulled wine, he tried to calm down. Finally, he slammed down the chalice, bending the thin gold stem. “Curse it all! What was my next line?” Everyone else on the set groaned.
The room was silent for a few moments, until Garou snapped his fingers. “Hold on, I almost forgot something.” Everyone else shared confused glances, until the druid stumbled back in, holding a massive hammer. “I bought this from the Sisterhood,” he grunted as he handed it to Larzuk. Everyone admired the weapon, seemingly carved from a block of solid amethyst. “Apparently, Griswold had brought it there, and left it after we killed Andariel.”
Larzuk swung the giant hammer to test the balance, and nodded in satisfaction. “If I had a hammer, I’d hammer in the morning,” he started singing, as everyone else groaned.
Under a white flag of truce, the leaders of each side met just outside the walls. “Hello Benny,” Rupert said quietly. “It’s been quite a while.”
The older paladin snorted, and gamely shook hands with him. “Rupert. I was told we should expect to meet here.” He looked at the seven warriors. “Look, I’d rather not have to go through with this battle if we can avoid it. Surrender.”
Rupert smiled, raising a hand to his heart in surprise. “You mean you wish to surrender to me? Very well, I accept.”
“I give you full marks for bravery,” Benny said crossly, “don’t make yourself a fool. And there’s no fire swamp around here to hide in.”
“Damn, I knew I’d forgotten something!”
He shook his head, stopping suddenly as the world swam around him. His vision was starting to go dark around the edges, with sparkles of light chasing each other. “You are the lord of lies,” he whispered. “Why should I believe anything you tell me?”
“Silly human,” Belial sighed, “Trix are for kids.” Then he frowned, lifting his copy of the script. “Geez, you weren’t kidding about them putting more product placement in these things.”
For several minutes, they stayed, their gazes locked across the midnight gloom of the forest. But Rupert’s stare could not crack the quiet confidence of the demon, and he finally shuffled off through the darkness. The pool was there, fed by a small stream that wandered back towards the fort and the sea. Plain beeswax candles were there as well, placed firmly in the soil.
It took several minutes with his shaking hands, but he managed to light two of the candles. By their dim light, he stared into the still, dark waters, at his own reflection. His entire left side was covered in blood from the arrow wound. It still gaped open, and he winced at the sight of the dirt and leaves ground into it by his rough escape.
But what stopped him completely was his head. The right side of his head had been almost torn away. Something had split his hairline just in front of his ear, dragging the flesh away. Gingerly, Rupert took the torn flesh, feeling how it pulled free of his head, before squeezing his eyes closed and pressing it back into place.
The camera zoomed in on his expression as his eyes widened. “I see dead people,” he whispered loudly, and from off-camera the film crew started snickering as the fake injury suddenly fell off his head and dropped into the water. “Oh crap!”
Hadriel snorted. “Love knows no boundaries, but leave it to humanity to screw up something meant to be pure and wonderful. And of course, stick their noses into places where they don’t belong. Maybe next time Tyrael will listen to me when I say to put something dangerous on the moons!”
“I didn’t think there was anything on the moons,” Jezebel muttered in surprise. As Hadriel floated up into the sky, he shot back, “That’s because the moon landing was faked!”
Ron groaned. “When will that guy stop believing everything he reads on conspiracytheory.com?”
The fire exploded in a wave, oil and hay turning the barn floor into an instant inferno. Flames shot up the oil-streaked ladder as well, sending him jumping backwards as it scorched his hands. Jaresh ran for the small window as the hay above all suddenly lit on fire at once. Below, Horror could be heard, screeching in a handful of voices, a new one starting up as another ran out of breath.
He dived through the window, his eyes squeezed shut against the flames. His clothes had caught fire as well, and they flared as fresh air went rushing past him. Then Jaresh crashed into the large boysenberry bush below, landing in a hard thump on the ground. He rolled around, fighting free of the vines, and managed to reach his feet again.
Other than bruises and burns, he was uninjured. His clothes hung in charred tatters, but that didn’t stop Jaresh. He started running, away and into the woods. Behind him, trapped in the flaming barn, Horror screamed, the insane voices blending on the afternoon wind.
Later, in the break room, the stunt man fought to get out of the suit. “Man, this stuff is loads better than a simple car wreck!” he muttered. “But, um, anyone got a really good knife? I think the suit melted over the zipper …”
Then something caught Rupert’s ear, calling to what little curiosity he had left. He listened intently, waiting for the sound to come again, and after a few moments, the child’s sob repeated itself. He looked around, gazing around Arkas and Belial, before spotting the child and soldier in a dark corner between two houses. The boy had been gagged, and the soldier was methodically breaking his fingers.
Rupert turned, anger stirring within him. The weight of the packs was completely unnoticed as he approached, raising his hand unconsciously. Light poured from his hand suddenly, as it had once done with his paladin powers. The soldier cowered back, raising his hands to shield his face from the apparently sourceless light. Tearing the gag away, the boy looked at his hand in shock as the joints healed. Dropping his weapons, the soldier fell to his knees, pressing his forehead to the stones and praying.
Then the light died, with a sudden popping noise, and small glass fragments showered down. “Damn, someone get a new spotlight!”
A remarkably large crowd of sailors was waiting for them when they finally returned to the docks. Locandrus had stopped by at least a half dozen small shops and stalls along the way, haggling for what seemed like an eternity for several items they could see no possible use for. Sere stared at the group of at least thirty sailors, and shook his head in wonderment.
They forced their way through the crowd and up the gangplank. Erris stood there, looking rather furious, an arrow held ready on her bow. “What took you so long? Who are these people?” Bowser bumped against her leg, and she almost fell over. “And why didn’t you tell Garou not to pick up any more pets?”
The druid snorted. “What, you’d rather I had gotten a cat?” As if his words had summoned it, the largest house cat he’d ever seen rose up, sunning itself on the roof of a warehouse.
“Oh, can it, Doctor Doolittle,” she grumped back.
Rupert sat silently in the cabin. They had been sailing for three days now. Yesterday, one of the soldiers had come down to the cabin to be entertained by their women prisoners. Rupert squeezed the life out of him without a second thought. Then Belial froze his body, and tortured one of them almost to death while he was forced to watch. Then his body, still under the demon’s control, started feeding on her while the Lord of Lies mocked him.
Now, when Arkas opened the door, Rupert felt his body freezing up, under Belial’s control again. The ship captain laughed softly, staring at his rigid form. “Poor fallen paladin,” he mocked, “cat got your tongue?”
In the corner of the room, a cat meowed, and continued nibbling on the large tongue it had between its paws. “Damnit Rupert, you ruined the scene!” Belial said angrily. “What is that anyway, a cow tongue?”
Isorn roared, drawing a dagger from his robes and lunging for Diablo’s leg. But the demon’s massive tail slammed into him, sending him flying to crash into a wall, his head cracking open. Another priest started to chant a spell, only to stop, screaming and clawing at his eyes as Nightmare filled his mind with visions. One by one, they killed the priests, until only Sareal was left. He stood in the open doorway, weaponless but for the holy symbol he clutched.
“No, I won’t let you take them,” he said frantically. “They aren’t yours. They called to me first!” He darted forward, and Diablo picked up him in one massive hand. The demon leaned close, breathing into the priest’s face. But even this powerful magic could not break the man’s fanaticism. “They’re mine!” he cried out, and Diablo dropped him.
Then the demon did something surprising. He held out his other hand, with the five shards glittering darkly. “Do you want to know why they called to you?” he asked quietly. Sareal’s eyes were glued onto the stones, and he slowly nodded. “Then take these, and follow me.”
He handed the priest two coconut halves, then returned to human form and donned a crown. “Come, Patsy!” he cried, and started out of the room, Sareal clapping the coconut halves together. “We have to find Sir Lancelot and Sir Robin now.”
“Can we eat the minstrels? I hear they’re quite tasty.”
Boris looked aggravated for a moment, but finally nodded. “Alright. It’ll take them some time to find a boat traveling upriver, so we have time for me to get some more supplies.”
Natalya groaned, putting a palm against her face. Then she grabbed one of her weapons, snagging the hand reaching for her belt purse with the other. Before she could say anything, Boris had lifted the thief off the ground, and hurled him into the side of a building. He scampered off, eyes wide with fear. “Was that necessary?” He shrugged. “And do you really need those supplies?”
Suddenly, three Japanese men dressed in martial arts uniforms leaped out of a nearby building. “Supplies!” they shouted in uniform, striking dramatic poses and then striking several nearby people with kicks and karate chops, before dashing back off into the crowd.
Sere awoke for his watch, wearily climbing the stairs to take control of the wheel. Erris gratefully descended into the cabins, pausing only to smile at her oblivious friends. The seas stayed calm, and the skies clouded, and the ship continued onward. There was no name carved into the bow, as was customary, and he idly considered several names.
Finally, dawn came with a brightening of the clouds, and land was visible. He blinked in surprise, realizing that they were much closer than he assumed. Garou awoke, rising and stretching sore limbs, staring at the shoreline. Then he pointed, asking loudly, “What is that?”
Sere glanced over and snickered. “What, you’ve never seen a blue screen before?”
Garou squinted, reading it. “Fatal exception error at … gibberish … dear angels in Heaven, it’s a Blue Screen of Death! Quick, turn the ship around!”
The sailors watched the ceremony with thinly-veiled suspicion, Christof especially watching with narrowed eyes from the pilot box at the rear. Then the pirate reached the crescendo and a burst of hellish fire filled the blood circle. When it cleared, the slug-like figure of Duriel towered over everyone on the deck. Sailors screamed in fear, some reaching for weapons and others fleeing below decks. One desperate man even threw himself overboard. “Why have you summoned me here,” Duriel roared in the sand raider language, “little pest?”
Inigra smiled, genuflecting to the demonic lord. “Oh great Duriel, savior of my people, I have summoned you to ask a boon of you.”
“Well, get on with it!” the demon roared.
“Yes, get on with it!” shouted the crew.
“Yes, get on with it!” came a cry from above the ship, where the angels shouted.
“Yes, get on with it,” came the sour comment from the director, “then I can find out how much John Cleese is suing us for.”
Less than a hundred yards behind them, the two Amazon ships closed silently. Sere’s modifications to the sails had them practically leaping through the waves with barely a splash, and the warriors of both ships prepared. Boris stood at the bow, holding his newest contraption and staring at the metal beast wallowing ahead of them. Natalya looked at it oddly. “Don’t tell me, you get to mow down armed soldiers with your new toy.”
He grinned, and offered it. “What, you want to try it out instead?”
She took the device, suddenly adopting a serious expression and holding the weapon close to her body. “Where’s a mirror? I want to see if I look like Sigourney Weaver with this.”
It fell to the ground, scorched, and Baal carefully examined it as Belial cancelled all of those spells at once. The “killing” blow had been one of Duriel’s claws, almost taking the head from Belial’s simulacrum. The Lord of Lies hunched there in the darkness, holding his breath and leaving only his thin invisibility spell to keep him hidden. “You idiot, Duriel!” Baal roared suddenly, whirling. “I didn’t want him dead, merely punished!”
The smaller demon shrank backwards a step. “That wasn’t supposed to be a killing blow,” he protested. “Mephisto’s lightning strike drove him right into me!”
Quarrelling, with Baal and Diablo dishing out token blows to the others, they almost left the cave. Then Belial’s cell phone started ringing, and everyone in the studio groaned. “Damnit, Belial, that’s the fifteenth time you’ve ruined a scene with the phone!”
Sitting in a chair, Rupert snickered. “And here I thought Baal was the lord of distractions.”
Natalya gave him a sour look, and kicked Belial’s corpse. “What about this body the Lord of Lies was using?” In almost perfect unison, every soldier made a warding sign against evil. Several of the heroes glanced around in surprise.
“Leave it. Your ship will not be going anywhere, and my soldiers will make very sure it does not get disturbed.” He started to turn away, then caught sight of the giant sphere of Worldstone. “By all the forgotten Emperors, how did you get such a piece of magic stone?”
Larzuk stepped over, resting his hammer on the deck and grunting as he lifted it up. “S-Mart! Shop smart, shop S-Mart!”
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