[39] Terrain of the Bull

A delicate operation. Surprising number of variables—not least of which being the psychology of Jay Waringcrane—and next to nil time for a cohesive plan. Perfidia fed Lalum some generalized instructions and sent her off. Then she faced the five devils ascending the slope.

"In five days and five nights Lucifer shall defeat the angels. Then he shall be true God of this world. Praise his name. John the fuck are ya doing here?"

John Verschrikkelijk spearheaded the quintet. He wore a faded Sherwin-Williams t-shirt with the famous COVER THE EARTH logo and a pink feathered boa wrapped around his neck and no pants and goosestepper boots. And a Viking helmet with two fake plastic horns that perfectly layered atop his real ones. His four companions possessed similarly eclectic appearances.

"Fidi, Fidi, Fidi. Ladies and gents, may I introduce my good friend Perfidia Bal Berith."

"Heya." "Howdy." "Buongiorno!" "Hi."

"Yeah pleased to meetcha," Perfidia said with a clear trace of annoyance—and anxiety. She glanced carefully over the rock face. Only the mantis Theovora remained at the gate, standing sentry.

"That's the reception Fidi?" said John. "Not even wonderment at the grand coincidence that so happened to bring the both of us here to this isolated little spot on the globe?"

"Some coincidence. You followed me. No clue why but you did."

"No clue why? I saw my good friend running off alone and wondered what was up. Especially since everyone kept telling me you were spouting off that weird proclamation about Lucifer. I get worried, Fidi, truly I do!"

The truth couldn't be more obvious. John was there at devil court. He heard what Beelzebub said about the Door. He understood what this random island floating in Lake Erie truly was. There'd been other devils Perfidia saw on the way, but they were aimless wanderers. Satisfiers of idle curiosity. John clearly had purpose. He thought there might be something to gain here. Something that wouldn't exist anywhere else on Earth or in Hell.

"Well—I'm fine." Perfidia glanced furtively again. "There's nothing interesting here."

"Fidi! I can't believe you think so poorly of me. I came out of genuine concern..." But now he was matching her surreptitious glances at the monastery.

Hooked.

"I told you I'm fine," said Perfidia. "You and your pals can leave now!"

He was thinking: What's in that monastery. Why'd Fidi come all this way, huh? She's the one who made this place, so she'll know where the good stuff is. Playing nervous, playing annoyed, shooing him away—It just made him more certain.

Yeah, high-level technique. Known only to the best in the biz. Trade secret if you will. You've probably never heard of it—"Reverse psychology." Learned from one of the most advanced texts on human nature ever penned, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. Luckily John Verschrikkelijk never read a book in his life.

The five of them pressed around her in a circle. Smiles leery. "Aw, come on Fidi. We know you came here for a different reason. Why don'tcha let your old pals in on it? Sharing is caring, another one of my classic slogans."

Perfidia let her face transform from merely anxious to frightened as they closed in. Oh no, don't hurt little ol' me—this trick not learned from a book but from centuries of practice in Ubik's harem. Their grins widened, the Italian one giggled Italianly, and the biggest challenge was not giving it away with a gigantic grin. Already she was calculating how long to let them beat her up before she "gave in" and told them about the fabulous magic items inside the monastery, the staff that cut people in half and the eye that turned back time. Five minutes? Nah. She was just Fidi to John. A pampered Earthside white collar worker. No longer even "Property of U.B.B." She doubted he'd be surprised when she didn't last a minute.

As the first of them seized her and forced her roughly against the rock, Perfidia realized with an inward grin that this was the essence of Pride.

—

Jay held Viviendre tight by the arm. He dragged her to a side entrance of the monastery's main building, where they stood under the shade of a flying buttress. He tried to drain his voice of emotion before he asked: "What is your problem?"

"You know what my problem is Jay."

"You're acting like before. With that stupid fake assassination plot. You're—"

"I know. I know. I know more than you know Jay. I know!"

She slouched against the jamb of the door and pressed her hands around her face like a funnel. A rattling, hissing breath escaped her. "I know!"

"Why? Why do you have to act this way."

"Because you'll leave! I know you will. I saw it in your eyes. You want to leave and you will. I'll be alone. Then you'll die. Then I'll die."

Her shoulders slumped and her hands fell. Her hair hung in huge black clumps around her face. "I'm sorry I erased your memories. I know you'll hate that. You must've decided you'll leave me now for sure, if you hadn't already. Self-sabotage. I simply cannot help myself, can I?"

For a time Jay didn't speak. He stared up, at the stained glass windows set into the side of the monastery. They were the windows that thronged the octagonal chamber that once housed Archbishop Astrophicus. He couldn't help sabotaging himself, either. This whole time. He'd never wanted to accept Whitecrosse, or the people or things there. He'd never wanted to accept himself. Not as Jay Waringcrane, hero of the world. Not as Jay Waringcrane, crafter of paradise. He'd told himself by rote that was his goal yet he'd kept himself from earnestly pursuing it at every bend. He'd kept himself from earnestness altogether.

Surprising then that, after all of it, he looked at Viviendre now and couldn't hate her. Perfidia gave him now exactly what he always wanted without any whiff of fictionality or greater design guiding his actions; at the same time the distraction from that call to adventure revealed herself as manipulative, petty, melodramatic. Yet he couldn't simply say: Yeah, I should go.

Viviendre was a rat. She hated herself for what she did. She hated her inability to be happy. And though there may be other factors at play, at the root of it she caused that unhappiness. He understood more than simple logical comprehension of the fact. He was a rat too.

"It's the end of the world, Jay," she said. "Look at that tower. Devils roaming the earth. The apocalypse. Neither of us are getting called to Heaven, let's face it. Why can't we simply live out whatever short time we have left? Together."

Her hand felt and found his, clasped around it; his fingers clasped back. His eyes shut and his head bowed.

"What if I could stop it," he said.

"You can't Jay. You can't! I love you but you're not that hero. I don't need you to be. I only need you to be you. If it can be stopped someone else will stop it."

"What if only I could stop it."

"You cannot listen to what that devil told you—"

"Forget that. Consider it a hypothetical. If only I could do it. Would you want me to? If I could save this world and that one. Then we'd be able to live in peace—"

"Until I die anyway because my lungs can't—"

"Stop thinking that way. My world has better medicine. They can keep you alive." He imagined them living in a modern Earth house. He imagined his house. He remembered Mother. Damn. Damn!

"Don't give me a dream, Jay. We already have as best we'll ever get."

He remembered his room. His computer. Those fantasy games he once thought were the best he'd ever get. He loved those games, he retreated from everything to play them. Nonstop. Until they became dry in his mouth. Until he scoffed at every trope, every naked bit of machinery. Then he'd gone to Perfidia Bal Berith.

"I can't accept that," Jay said.

"What? Can't accept that we'll die? Or maybe after everything you truly do want to be the hero. Hm?"

"I'll make a paradise," he said, "for the two of us."

The rattling breath came back as her head shook slowly, her lip curled, and a few yellow teeth showed. She gripped her staff in one hand and for the briefest moment Jay tensed but rather than raise it she used it to turn with relative rapidity, shove open the door, and tromp away through it.

Should he pursue her? He wanted to. He thought he could make her understand. He hadn't even explained how only he could do it, only he could save it, how he had no reason to distrust Perfidia at this point. She couldn't possibly comprehend all the context involved. Did she think he made this decision lightly? That he didn't cast doubt on everything himself? He could make her understand, he thought. Maybe in making her understand he could make him understand too. His glance shifted the other direction, toward Pandaemonium.

He noticed something amiss in the courtyard. Over the green hurried the awkward, prancing gait of Theovora. Who of course they'd left behind at the gate, and whom of course looked as though she had something serious to tell Jay. Perfidia skulking around or something—

Then, through the front gate emerged five figures. Jay recognized them immediately as devils. They scrambled haphazard, disorganized, and wore an incomprehensible medley of materials.

"Do you see this?" Theovora yelled at him. "Do you—"

One of the figures tossed something small, a rock maybe. It sailed with surprising speed and accuracy into the back of Theovora's head. Immediately she plunged to a knee and tried to reach her strangely shaped arms to feel the place she'd been hit. Her head turned slowly, in a daze.

Whooping and howls and hollering cut the air. Like hyenas the five devils sprinted toward the downed Theovora, some of them even pitching forward to bound on all fours with their tails whipping above them. Jay gritted his teeth and ran to help her.

One against five—bad odds. He'd beaten a devil at the inn but didn't remember it and didn't know how much he got hurt in the process. Where'd these assholes come from anyway? Did Perfidia send them? He glanced behind them and noticed a bloody, black-eyed Perfidia limping through the gate. So not her friends. Alright, then he wouldn't hold back. Soon enough Viviendre would show up and this time her staff would actually be useful.

The fastest of the five, who wore a Viking helmet that put horns on his horns, reached Theovora first and wound up a huge misaimed kick to her ass that glanced across the side of her body. She twirled weightlessly and flopped onto her back as the Viking helmet devil spread his arms and shimmied Jay's way. "Hey boyo!" he called.

Jay said nothing. He skidded to a halt, set his feet, and swung. The Viking devil jumped back. He avoided the attack easily but bounced into two of his cronies behind him, and the three became a destabilized mass that swayed like a trio of drunkards. They laughed like drunkards too, big goofy grins. One of the other two sprinted with sluggish Olympian form before they leapfrogged Theovora and hurled a flying punch at Jay.

These guys were total amateurs. What the fuck? Jay took one step to the side and the devil hurtled past him, faceplanted into the ground, skidded over the grass, then cartwheeled into an unsteady standing position that led to a second groundward topple. Of the three devils who'd gotten enmeshed, two were on the ground too, and they kicked their bare red feet and pointed and laughed and clapped.

If these guys didn't suck mega dick Jay would've been annoyed because now he had the one devil behind him and the other four in front of him. Instead, watching carefully as they distracted each other, he stooped and slipped an arm around Theovora. She moaned, and part of a word came out, but her head swayed lazily and blood ran down her white habit. She weighed next to nothing. One heft and she rose.

He couldn't fight well like this, but he mainly needed to buy time for Viviendre. Perfidia, in the background, seemed to understand the plan as well—she'd slinked back to the front gate, behind which she could watch hidden. Jay glanced from face to face and said:

"Who are you?"

They laughed again, like this question was peak comedy. The Viking devil threw on instant airs and bowed. "John Verschrikkelijk, at your service, good sir."

"And my name's Shitfuckerheadson!" said the one who'd done the jumping punch move. All the devils laughed.

Once the initial crest of hilarity passed the other devils started to blurt out equally absurd names, falling over each other as they tried to outdo whoever spoke last. One of them exclusively spoke Italian. Shitfuckerheadson, having been thoroughly blown out of the water by the rapid shitty name arms race, amended himself to become The One Who Bends Over Backward To Gobble The Shit From His Own Rectum, then got mad when one of the others tried to name themselves Adolf Hitler Jr. and began screeching "That's cheating! That's fucking cheating!"

At first Jay was glad they were wasting so much time. Then he got suspicious. Where the fuck was Viviendre?

"Ey!" John Vershitalick snapped his claws to draw Jay's attention. "You sure keep looking over your shoulder a lot, huh?"

"Why are you here?" Jay asked in hopes of distraction.

"We're here to kill you and take your magic eyeballs. But you, my friend, don't look like you got magic eyeballs at all. So we'll just kill ya."

The unbounded mirth of the five settled to a few straggling smiles at once. They shot up, stalked rigid around him. The entire time he'd attempted to slowly back up toward the monastery, but carrying Theovora against his side restricted his movement. He hadn't made it far. Now he had devils on all sides. Perfidia stuck her head out from the gate and mouthed something at him, motioned something at him, but he didn't have time to read it.

"Leave me," Theovora whispered.

Shitfuckerheadson lunged forward, snapped his jaws like a dog, and dropped back the moment Jay wheeled on him. He had to immediately turn back to keep the other four at bay, but they were inching closer all the while.

"Leave me..." The voice became distant even as it was spoken directly into his ear. "It seems... peaceful oblivion was only a dream..."

Perfidia quit any pretensions to subtlety. She jabbed her finger repeatedly forward. The signal became clear: Go. Go back to the monastery.

He'd have to drop Theovora for that. Assuming he could even outrun these losers. Assuming they didn't hurl a rock at the back of his head.

Where the fuck was Viviendre?

—

Rancid. Rancid foul beast. Simple failure of self-control at every conceivable moment and why not? You never attempted to master this body. Never worth the effort. Pah! Here's the fruit of that. Notion enters your mind and you've got to act. Waving the Staff of Solomon around. Using the Eye on him even. On him! Why can't you stop yourself?

Tunk, tunk, tunk. Her peg leg made its heavy hollow sound. Constant drumbeat within her inner ear. The holy solemnity of the monastery swallowed and regurgitated each step to envelop her. She trod the pathway through the main octagonal structure that comprised the heart of the building. They said Astrophicus once stood here. Nothing remained of him now save the ruination of the floor where his roots once grew and a strangely-shaped stain on the tile.

Tunk, tunk, tunk. Making her footsteps as forceful as possible remained the best way to pretend she hadn't yet come apart completely. Tunk, tunk, tunk. Better avoid the cracks! Don't wanna topple over and break a bone! Cry and sob until Jay comes to scoop you up. Tunk! Tunk! Tunk—

Something loud happened outside, a whooping howl. Jay. In trouble? That devil.

She turned. Her constant tunk, tunk, tunking ceased. Her ear pointed toward the sound. She stood in the center of the octagon, amid the uprooted chunks of marble. Unstable footing. Around her thronged stained glass the patterns of which her eye could not discern, mushes of colored light. There was something else though. A sense. A reverberation she felt on the pinprick points where the hairs stood on her skin. An aura, rising in this holy chamber.

And a skitter.

A skitter of spider legs.

Beyond, impossibly beyond, more shouting. Yelling. Something happening outside. Something to Jay. He was in trouble.

The spider legs went silent.

Above. Aside. Somewhere—eight eyes weighed upon her. Her knuckle clenched the staff. Her head turned slowly and the shards of stained glass transformed, coalesced, crafted scenes of impossible color and incomprehensible narrative. Christ transubstantiated into a split human skull. Blood and brains and green pus leaking. All the lovely colors. Where amid them lurked the spider. Where was she?

Skitter skitter.

Viviendre whipped around. "Where are you," she meant to yell. It came out as a whistle of wind through her hollow body.

She couldn't be misplacing the menace she felt. Yes? Or was she sinking again. Into those old habits. She knew the spider. Lurking at her bed. Lurking behind Jay. She knew the spider.

Skitter skitter.

From the opposite side of her. She wheeled again. The colors disoriented her, her peg leg stuck in a crack. No. Her body tilted. Everything inside her angled inappropriately. No, no, no—

She fell.

Ground rose up and bit her before she had a chance to process. She groaned and rolled and the colors flashed wild and bright as sudden nausea gripped her and the skitter of spider legs infiltrated the holy om of the space. She shut her eyes and relied on sound alone, it was coming closer, her arm jabbed out straight and she cried: "Divide!"

Nothing. Still skittering. Out of the muck a shape loomed moving the opposite direction of all these mingling waves of color and she caught before it with sudden sharp clarity the sign of the white cross on a red emblem. That shield—the Shield of Faith. Makepeace's shield!

The bitch never fucking returned it even though it belonged to Jay oh the fucking whore. All along that spidery brain knew what she'd need it for so she kept it oh-so-selfishly for herself never even offering to hand it back did she? Viviendre's remaining eye widened as sharp creases tightened the whole of her face. The skittering quickened. The spider was streaming down the side of the wall toward her. Shy little slut had confidence now. She knew the shield would protect her from the staff now. And the Eye of Ecclesiastes too.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The spider descended from the wall and skitter-skittered across the floor toward Viviendre, who was on the ground, on her side, limited in mobility and options. The red shield covered most everything and because of how the shield worked even what peeked out around the sides was protected from Viviendre's relics. It didn't stop Viviendre from wrenching the patch from the Eye of Ecclesiastes as she sought anything, anything at all she could do. Turn back the monastery to some time four hundred years ago before it existed? How would that help huh? The spider was close now. A few feet away—seconds away. Skittering skittering skittering her grotesque spider legs over the rends in the floor—

"Nothing new under the sun," she shouted, at the same time she rolled off the wreckage of the tile.

The monastery had existed four hundred years and Astrophicus had only lived in it, plant or otherwise, a few months. That gave her an approximate timeframe.

The floor reverted. From its current state to an older one, before it was broken. The shattered tiles shuddered, reshaped, reformed.

It happened fast. If Viviendre hadn't moved beforehand the tiles would've rose up like teeth and gnashed her to pieces. The spider lacked the forewarning. The ground closed around the tips of her legs with one thick, layered crunch.

A muffled shriek. A sag of the body behind the shield. Even if the shield remained solid, upright. Viviendre slid back. Panted, held her heart, squeezed an eye shut to keep herself from hyperventilating. The spider jerked in an attempt to free itself but remained rooted to the floor. Its pained cries turned to whimpers.

Okay. Alright. You won. Good job. You actually did something right. Viviendre slowly rose. Leaned on her staff for support and winced from an ache where she'd landed after falling. She twisted and her body lurched unexpectedly; a strand of her clothes had gotten sealed into the floor as well. She yanked the cloth, but it was stuck.

No recourse but to rip it. Yet she hesitated, her gaze focusing on the spider behind the shield. Sealed safely. No reason to do anything else. Think of Jay. He wouldn't want you to. Yeah? Then what? Then you go to sleep one night and she's there, in your room? No hope then.

She wound the caught fabric twice around her hand and yanked. One clean rip and she staggered free. The spider would need to rip a lot more for the same result. Well Viv? What's the plan Viv?

He'll hate you. She knew. He already hated her. If he turns to that spider then—

She had to make her own happiness. If she didn't strive for it nobody would simply give it to her. She knew what she must do. What she lacked any other option but to do.

Groaning, endlessly sick inside herself, Viviendre slowly circumnavigated the spider, seeking her unprotected back.

—

The bat slammed into the ribs of a devil in a filthy tuxedo. Their face compressed into a tragical mask of pain, the lips pursed to reveal rows of yellow fangs. As they dropped Jay whirled around, grabbed his bat like a rod between his hands, and held it up as a shield when the second devil's claw swept for his face. Stopped at the wrist, the hand grasped inertly, scraping the brim of his hat and nothing more before he got a chance to drive his knee up into the devil's gut.

That got the second devil off him and gave him space to stumble back and breathe. Blood ran in parallel rivulets down his cheek where the first had snagged him and one of their thorny little tails had nicked his thigh at some point. Mainly he'd been lucky. Nah, luck wasn't the word.

He'd dropped Theovora to free himself to take on the five devils at once. Two devils went after him. The other three—including ringleader John—idiotically, pointlessly, counterproductively, and cruelly went for Theovora. They ringed around her, stomping and laughing, pulling her up to shove them between her. "What even is this thing?" John turned toward a distant Perfidia to ask. "You make this Fidi? This creature? Praying mantis woman? Wow!" Then he slashed Theovora across the chest and let her drop to the floor.

Perfidia kept glancing at the monastery but after a few anxious checks stepped out far enough to yell: "You don't have to be a fucking asshole! She doesn't have the special eye anyway!"

"I'll be a fucking asshole if I want!" John kicked a dirt clod her direction though it fell far short. "That's the whole point! That's what we've been fighting for this whole time. Freedom! Now that we got it, let's fucking enjoy it. Join in Fidi. You're one of us too."

One of his pals readied to hit Theovora again but Jay said: "Hold it." Their three faces turned to him at once and he motioned with the bat. "Touch her again and I knock Shitfuckerheadson's brains out."

He had one of the devils he'd brought down pinned under his boot. The other, the Italian one with a smashed ribcage, kept rolling and groaning in the grass. Jay had to hope the Italian stayed down because he couldn't watch too closely while also tracking John's group. His face stung. He suppressed a wince. Where did Viviendre go? A quick flick of his eyes toward the monastery and he saw the other two nuns, the fox and the fish, keeping a frightened distance.

"Shit John, shit," said Shitfuckerheadson. "Why the fuck you three go after her when this guy had the bat? If we'd all jumped him—"

"It's no big deal," said John.

"No big deal? Look at me. Fuck."

"Just leave Theovora alone," Jay said.

"Theovora? Her name is Theovora!" John leapt back. "Theovora! Holy—Theovora? Wow! Fidi, you really named this praying mantis thing 'God Eater'?"

"Look John, I was on autopilot when I drafted the nuns—"

"Nah, nah, that's fucking rad. Theovora. Wow. That's COVER THE EARTH tier. I dig it. Okay, alright Theovora, you can live. Your name's awesome."

"I should change my name to Theovora," said the devil who'd previously introduced him/herself(?) as Adolf Hitler Jr. The third devil helped Theovora to her feet. Her white habit had become a wreck of blood and her head swayed but she somehow managed to remain standing even when the devil stopped supporting her and all three turned their attention to Jay.

"Now what about you," John asked. "You got a cool name?"

"No."

"Damn. Then we gotta kill ya. Them's the rules."

"John come on," said Shitfuckerheadson. "Maybe wait until he lets me go huh?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just fucking around." John spread his hands, surrender posture. "We've wasted enough time here anyway. Let's get that magic eye and skedaddle back to Cleveland where there's shit to do."

"I dunno," said Adolf Hitler Jr., "I kinda like this place—"

From behind, Theovora snapped her spiked forelegs into Adolf Hitler Jr.'s body, demonstrating a surprising strength and speed for someone so battered. Before the devil even had a chance to cry out, she rammed her sharp, beak-like snout through their skull. The body jerked within her grasp, kicking its legs as its eyes rolled up into its sockets. A stomach-churning slurp emanated from Theovora's mouth as she fed on the still-living devil's brains.

"Oh that's so fucking stellar," John said.

As John and the other devil turned toward this unexpected distraction, Jay moved into action. One swing and the sputtering Shitfuckerheadson dropped with a spurt of blood running down their cracked-open skull. John ogled in wide-eyed amazement at Theovora, while the other devil—a cyclops with one eye—noticed Jay coming and turned. That made them the target and in a flurry of blows Jay brought them to the ground before they had a chance to even lift their arms in self-defense.

"I mean it, really," said John. "This is so wicked. Hey, put the bat down. I'm just trying to admire this image here man."

Jay possessed zero inclination to let him admire the image, but as he turned his attention on what he thought was the last enemy standing, Perfidia suddenly shouted for him to look out. He whirled around to see the first devil he felled, the Italian, crawling back up from a distance of about thirty feet. They moved sluggish and pained and Jay wondered why the fuck Perfidia distracted him with this horseshit before he noticed the devil holding some sort of small smooth ovoid shape like a rock. He realized it was the same devil who threw that preternaturally accurate object at the back of Theovora's head, but barely had time to react before the rock or whatever it was sailed toward him. A steady, unnatural straight line at unnatural velocity.

A pitch.

One cataclysmic, sky-destroying crack and the object shot off at even greater speed at an entirely arbitrary angle that happened to coincide with the rising form of Shitfuckerheadson whose already-bleeding head burst in spray of blood, nose, teeth, and bone.

HOME RUN!

The arc of Jay's swing left him in an extended position and John, snapped from his reverie, stomped his clawed foot down on Jay's calf. Jay grunted and plunged to a knee but biting down the pain rammed the knob of the bat into John's crotch. John reacted with nothing but a cackle as his dick dropped off into the grass and began writhing and crawling around like a caterpillar, in fact it was no longer a dick but some kind of creature with a lamprey mouth. John's fist came down on Jay's face.

Jay pinwheeled as a sear shot from his brow to his chin and his hat flew off. Behind John, Theovora lost her strength and fell, taking the shriveled body of Hitler Jr. with her, while the cyclops devil rose nursing a bevy of wounds and casting its singular eye upon Jay. Jay grinned through the pain. Thrill of combat returned, and the leering face of John Verschrikkelijk made for an excellent spur. That confident grin, that unearned look of superiority. He remembered liking this. Those fights against Charm and Charisma, against Pluxie and Lalum, he remembered whipping himself into a state like this, only to draw back at some moment, to end melancholically, doubtful of himself and any seeming predilection toward violence. But these were devils! They were no downtrodden, manipulated women. No faerie queen of beauty and elegance.

These fuckers killed Mother.

Guiltless violence, wrath with no remorse, come closer John you may have the advantage now but you've no fucking clue what Jay Waringcrane can accomplish when pushed to the brink—

An object nailed him between the shoulder blades, his back arched, he cried out. The round rock padded against the ground and he knew the Italian had thrown it at him and this time it hurt past a mere propulsion to action and he could not restrain himself from twisting to his spine's fullest extent while John raised a foot ready to stomp Jay's upturned face.

Before he could, Perfidia threw herself into John from the side and they went tumbling out of view. The cyclops devil advanced in John's place but they were slow and Jay was screaming now, screaming himself past the pain and into motion, screaming himself not upright but down, just as the next object thrown by the devil behind him whizzed overhead and slammed the cyclops in the stomach. The cyclops sagged and Jay rose up roaring. One strike of the bat knocked it down, where it fell into the grass directly beside John's detached lamprey dick—which immediately sank all its endless rows of teeth into the cyclops' face.

John and Perfidia rolled back and forth over the grass. Perfidia on top, slicing at him with her claws, stabbing with her tail. Jay turned and knocked aside another thrown object before he propelled himself toward the devil who threw it. The cyclops' screams shanked the air. They grew louder, more desperate, until the carnivorous noises overtook them. By that point Jay was drowning out all noise with the metal clang of his bat against the Italian devil's skull. He did not stop until the splatter drenched the grass around it in a fanning arc.

Blood-washed, he scanned the field for whoever was left. John launched Perfidia off him using all four limbs and levitated to his feet as if by invisible wire. "Yeah! Get on me. I like it. Come at me again!" He reached down, wrenched the lamprey—now significantly more engorged—off the motionless cyclops' body, and reattached it.

Jay rose. Or tried to. His leg did not obey. Some superhuman fury had carried him to the Italian devil, but now physics had run its course. No major artery severed, not like when he fought the twins at the Door so long ago, but his body simply lacked basic durability. Humans couldn't endure so much. His chest heaved—the adrenaline drained with the blood. John noticed and laughed as he advanced toward Perfidia, who scampered back on all fours. John's lamprey dick lunged and snapped at her.

Fuck it. The moment John's attention left Jay and settled on Perfidia, Jay drew back his arm and threw the bat.

It span like an axle through the air and John noticed it before it hit him. It glanced off his shoulder; he shouted, "Crazy!" He lost his balance.

Perfidia shot past him. She did not linger long enough for his lamprey to latch on, and she landed on the opposite side of him. One hand was outstretched. It displayed long claws at the ends of each of her fingers.

John looked down, then threw his head back in maniacal laughter. "Oh Fidi! Oh you—oh this is brilliant. Amazing. I'm so proud of you Fidi. To think you—you! Little Fidi the pencil pusher. I love it." Then his stomach split open and all his guts tumbled out from under the words on his t-shirt: COVER THE EARTH.

He dropped back, howling and laughing, as more and more entrails spurted like a fountain, burying the rest of his body, even the lamprey that curved around and gnawed at the viscera, and he kept laughing even after he stopped moving, even after he was dead.

Jay remained kneeling. He caught his breath; he let everything subside. Perfidia came to him and offered to help but he batted her bleeding claw aside and rose on his own. The injury wasn't enough to stop him from walking, if he took it slow.

The fox and fish nuns, realizing the danger had ended, rushed to Theovora's side. The fox turned back when she saw and suppressed a gasp, while the fish bent down to support Theovora's blood-drenched head. Theovora whispered something, too quiet to hear over John's laughter.

"No, no Sister Theovora, it's quite alright. I'm sure—I'm sure, given the circumstances, you shall be forgiven. They were devils after all." The fish nun managed a shaken smile, a chuckle.

Then she lowered Theovora's head. Theovora moved no more.

The nuns stared solemnly.

"That actually went pretty well." Perfidia dusted herself off and wiped her hands on the grass. "We kinda worked as a team there, huh Jay? I'm no fighter but..." She took in the wreckage of the five devils. "More of em will come if you don't stop Pandaemonium, y'know. Way more'n five next time. They're busy with Cleveland now. But when they get bored? They'll find this place. In droves they will."

Jay pushed her aside, swiped up his hat, and limped toward the monastery. "Viviendre. Viviendre!"

—

Five of Lalum's eight legs were sealed into the floor. Oh, it hurt! It hurt dreadfully. The tiles gave the ends of her legs no space whatsoever. They were crushed, crumpled truly, as though parchment. She struggled simply to maintain the position of the shield. Lady Viviendre trudged slowly to encircle her, and Lalum adjusted as well as she could to defend herself, but at a certain point she would no longer be able to turn her body more. Lalum's animus, though she kept in secret something that would allow her use of it, would not be effective at this range either.

A spider's legs contained seven segments each. Between each segment the joints constricted everything, were simple to break. Lalum need only wrench hard enough and remove the endmost segment of her trapped legs to free herself. When Flanz-le-Flore set her wolves upon her, and one of them tore a leg off Lalum, the tear had come at such a joint, and it bled remarkably little. It was no matter of whether she might survive the venture. It was a matter of strength—and will.

"What did you think," Viviendre hissed, peg a-scrape. "That you'd kill me and Jay would fall in love with you instead?"

Lalum could rebut, but not with writing. She dedicated the strands of her spiderweb to tightening the joints further, constricting them until they became as narrow and as weak as could be. But if she distracted Viviendre she may buy herself moments more time, time she needed. The strands around her lips fell away. She gasped: "I have not come to kill you Lady Viviendre!"

"Liar. Liar! I've seen you. I've heard you. Everywhere, watching, such naked enmity in your eyes, such brutal envy!"

One sharp tug, bracing her three unbound legs to pull against those trapped. The joints strained, Lalum cried out, but they did not break. Too much of her power was sealed in the legs she sought to destroy. She needed more strength, but both hands grasped the shield...

"I have nearly nothing," Viviendre continued, "and what I have is tainted and rotted. You ought to understand. We ought to understand one another. Why? Why!"

She'd rounded to Lalum's side. Lalum needed to strain to position the shield. And slowly, certainly Viviendre continued, step after step, the alternating clomp of her boot followed by the hollow notes played by her peg and the end of the staff she used to support herself, the staff that would be Lalum's most literal undoing if she did not escape somehow.

"Those of us here, in this monastery," Lalum said, "we understood one another. Though we came of all different stations, rich and poor, we knew—we knew what truly bound us. There is no reason we must fight, Lady Viviendre. No reason we may not support one another—"

"You lying sack of shit. You scuttling balloon of innards! You want me dead. But not from hate. No, I could stand it if it was hate, if that Mayfair sent an assassin to slit my throat in the night, though I loathe her at least it was her I made stoop to my festering level. But you! For it to be you! What a cruel joke were I to die for what meager scraps I do possess. That I cannot abide. For that I must—"

She stooped, seized her chest, and coughed. Horrible, echoing, liquid coughing though nothing but phlegm flew from her throat. The coughing continued and Lalum took the chance, straining, tugging, screaming, but it was not enough, there was simply not enough strength at her disposal...!

Viviendre rose once more, fingers hooked around her heart, a few subsiding wheezes as her eyes—the real one and the one of bright light—narrowed in loathing. Behind the white cross shield, what did Viviendre see? Or did she simply look upon its shiny, reflective surface?

After this moment, Viviendre continued her encirclement as before. Lalum could turn the shield no further. "I apologize," Viviendre said. "I do pity you. But I cannot abide you."

Without much forward planning, Lalum threw the shield.

The broad face slammed against Viviendre's slight body. The force flung Viviendre against the angled octagonal wall and she bounced off expelling a queer whistle of a gasp from her lips, a whistle devoid of all air. She and the shield dropped to the tile and Lalum gripped both hands around the first of her five legs just above the lowest joint and yanked. The first yank produced only a scream; the second a sinewy snap that ensured she would not cease screaming any time soon. The leg fell free, though pain seared the broken stump from which a trickle bled; Lalum allowed no time to linger in misery, though, and reached immediately for the next leg. Viviendre groaned and shifted on the ground, the force had not knocked the staff from her hands nor knocked her unconscious but it had at least dazed her. A sharp pull, and this time the joint tore at the first attempt, though the pain was no lesser for the effort.

Stitches wound again around Lalum's lips to seal her jaw tight and stop herself from biting her own tongue. It became difficult to breathe, her nostrils ran ragged immediately. She tightened her grip on the third leg and pulled.

No! No, she couldn't. Not this pain. Her mouth was a bundle of cotton but she wished to spit it all out and simply scream until the echo of that one word divided her in half and she felt no further pain. She shook her head and squeezed her many eyelids shut. For the hero, she thought. For the hero and the entire world, which rests upon his shoulders. She must complete her mission! Though it may be her last moments alive, though she may never see him applaud her for her work, she could die happy as long as she fulfilled her duty and ended the tyranny of this Californian whore!

The third leg split with a sharp crack. Her head tilted and swayed. Her hands moved automatically to the next. Why did five have to be trapped. Why had she not at least spared one more from this agony. She pulled, but a weak pull. No. No, not now. Her strength must not leave her. Viviendre had shifted the shield off her and rolled, moaning. Coming to. Once she became aware one word would end it. Lalum must hurry, must fight. Her full force went into a tug and the fourth leg broke free, though not without a heavy price, no matter how hot her pain grew it could grow always more, these damnable legs, why did she have to become this wretched fucking thing, this low and loathsome spider, why had the queen not protected her from all the windings of the endless machine that processed and churned her into this current state, there was once a pretty Lalum, she knew herself to be so, a pretty and human self, these legs were the end of it, these legs more hateful to her than a thousand Viviendres, a tide of Pagan horde, all the devils spilt from Pandaemonium, PULL YOU WORTHLESS GIRL, MAKE SOMETHING OF THIS DEAD LIFE AND PULL!

She pulled. The fifth and final leg stretched, the tendons and sinews extending between the segments, they tautened, Lalum screamed through her gag of webbing, they snapped one after another and the pain surged up the length of her leg and body and down her arms into the numb fingers that gripped white as bone, she pulled and the damn thing snapped and she stumbled free upon tiles slickened by her blood.

Free!

The head of Viviendre rose to view her, their eyes met, one eye against eight, and though her legs sought death in their unending torment Lalum set herself forward and scuttled. Sloppily, swayingly, staggering and slipping and each footfall a new burst of misery, but Lalum scuttled for the fallen Viviendre even as the latter raised her staff to point, even as her brown lips parted and the tongue twisted and—

"DIVIDE!"

Within the archbishop's chamber the word reverberated. Up its eightfold sides, that detestable number eight, to the watchful eyes of the holy figures collaged within its stained glass windows.

Divide. Divide. Divide.

Viviendre held her hand ahead of her, trembling, loosing jagged breaths within the echo. Lalum stood before her, motionless albeit uneven due to the mangled nature of her legs.

It was Lalum who held the Staff of Solomon, having wrenched it from Viviendre's grasp.

The word came too late.

Viviendre drew back her empty hand, realized the situation, began to speak the words of her second relic, though in her shock she stumbled her first attempt, was forced to start over, and by that time Lalum seized her head and hooked thin fingers into the socket—fishing.

Hands gripped Lalum's face, fingers fighting back while Lalum fished deeper. Pain made Lalum dizzy, her fingers slipped, Viviendre screamed and thrashed in her face, things slipped, things fell. She could bite. A simple bite. The poison fast-working within the veins. Through the gag Lalum's fangs gnashed. Simple. Yes. Yes, to save all this—Viviendre struck Lalum's nose with a balled fist—to save all this struggling. One bite. But one.

The fishing fingers caught. They dredged. Viviendre became a creature, sounds inhuman, sounds that seemed to snap her vocal chords one after another as the blood built in her real eye and her cheeks became concave and gaunt. The bright thing came out with a strange pop and Lalum tightened the threads around her mouth and pulled away. Her mutilated legs slipped. But she scampered back nonetheless, Viviendre's voice now a hoarse croak as she gesticulated for the air. It turned into an equally hoarse cough and bloody spittle flicked from her lips, she sagged to the side, she shriveled into a tiny bundle of clothes and hair.

She went still and silent, save for an intermittent wheeze that brought forth new blood. Lalum trembled. She peered down. In one hand she held the Staff of Solomon. In the other the Eye of Ecclesiastes.

Jay's voice shouted from behind.

—

He knelt before her, shook her. Wiped the blood from her lips. Called for someone to bring water. She let him attend her. Her empty eye throbbed. She swayed in and out of a daze. The devil behind him muttered: "We don't have much time y'know..."

When she grew alert once more he tried to explain. He did it for her. To create a world where she could live. He mentioned devils, how they had come, how more would come. Yet he had the devil with him. She introduced herself as Perfidia—excellent most trustworthy name—and claimed when they saved the world they'd be able to change anything. They could fix her body, give her an eye and a leg. Make her live a hundred years. Hell, a thousand. Why not? Her and Jay.

Five days, he said. Five days and he'd be back.

Words, words, words. She knew she would never see him again. He might survive—might. She would not.

After some time of this, Perfidia—and that spider too, oh yes she helped—convinced him to leave. So he did. They left her in the care of the two remaining nuns.

What she deserved. She knew it. She pushed him away. Always had to. Meddled too much. Tried to control him. To make him hers truly. Well. This is what comes of it. Keep a bird in a cage it yearns to fly free. Only if you clip its wings. Only if you hobble it. Fehfehfeh.

Hobbled, she sat with her back to the wall. Watching her two feet, the one that existed and the one that did not.

Down the hall the nuns walked. Who knew what time it was. Their footsteps resounded. They whispered but every sound echoed far:

"You can't. You can't it's not safe."

"Safe? Safe! It's the only thing's safe."

"Think of yourself. Your body. You cannot."

"I've fins and scales all over me. You're the lucky one, you've just got the tail and the whiskers. I've no chance of ever going back to true society, so what matters it what direction I go?"

"There's no point."

"No point? Sister Theovora is dead. What's to happen if more of those devils appear? We'll be slain. What then?"

"Then we'll be slain, by God's will."

"God's will she says! What in this world is God's will anymore? I shall eat the fruit."

"You mustn't. You saw what the fruit did to the others. Changed them it did. Corrupted them—"

"Made them strong. Made them powerful. Which we'll need to be if those devils come. I won't let them kill me—or you. You're all I've left now. I'll eat the fruit and be transformed; you need not worry."

"I—I—"

"Fruit," said Viviendre.

Her head turned up. The two nuns stopped in the center of the octagon, as they had been on their way to the living quarters, and looked at Viviendre as though she were vermin. Then their expressions nervously, purposefully softened.

"Princess Viviendre," said the fish, "are you—feeling better? We—"

"What is this fruit."

The fish and the fox shared an uncertain glance. While Viviendre felt within her spark a little warm spot of—hope.