The sword of fury blazed with a black-hued flame that licked against the ceiling and drowned out the florescent lights of the Lindbergh’s Family Eatery and Pub. The Dark Lord Gore, scion of the armies of the damned and champion of evil itself, stood in his black plate armor to announce in a rage that shook the souls of all who heard to despair for their salvation, “I’m going to get the cheesy fries!”

“No one cares what you’re ordering, Gore, now put the sword away,” Steve said as he sat down. He looked up to apologize to their waitress, but she was now frozen in terror from hearing the Dark Lord Gore’s chosen appetizer.

Harbinger of the End Times, craftsman of mankind’s doom, half-demon on his mother’s side, Steve regarded the menu at the table with a roll of his eyes. In a motion of practiced theatricality, Steve adjusted a fedora that hid two small horns, the only thing that marked his demonic heritage.

“With beef! Beef shall decorate my cheesy fries! Where does it say on the menu that I can do that?” Gore sheathed his sword, shuddering its death glow and returning the restaurant to the flickering hum of paneled fluorescents and cheap Christmas lights.

“I don’t think you can add beef to the fries, Gore. Sorry, ma’am,” Steve said in an attempt to revive the life that had been stolen from the waitress’s eyes. He waved a hand in front of her face, but was unable to break the waitress from gazing into the abyss of life itself.

“I think we need a new waitress over here,” Steve said, looking around for one whose grasp of reality had not yet been shattered.

The voice that followed came from a thin source, pale and cold and fracturing the thoughts of any who heard it with the stilling panic that this might be the final sound to freeze into their minds. It said, “What’s the soup of the day?”

“She’s out, Dawn,” Steve said, shaking the waitress in an attempt to return her soul from the dark corner in her body where it had crawled.

“Gore, you’re not allowed to pester waitresses,” Dawn said, “Ooh, they have fish and chips. I think I’m going to have fish and chips. Course if I knew what the soup of the day was…”

Dawn’s full name, known only to Steve and those who feared to say it out loud, was Dawn Death Reaper. She pulled her platinum blonde pony tail out from where it had lodged into the hood of her robe. Gray as dim twilight and bearing the silver scales as the badge of her office, the robes of a Judge of Good and Evil did in no way match with the braided hemp necklace Dawn tugged on as she examined the menu for more desirable entrees.

“I demand beef to be placed upon my cheesy fries!” Gore stated, shaking the menu as if to yield deep fried potatoes clad with cheese and beef from the laminated pages of the Lindbergh’s menu.

The scream that followed Gore’s fury grated at the unfortunate near enough to hear its heart-tearing peril. The table nearest the demons turned, and those who did regretted the sight. Standing next to the seated half-demon, the hell knight, and the Judge, was a man completely wreathed in flames. Fire coated the burning man like a skin, low and hot and eating at his constantly-burned but never-consumed body.

Seething in pain and raked with a hopeless despair that set the mind to the most archaic level of torture that could be imposed upon a human body, the man known in life as Bernard Manly but in death as Burney, screamed.

“I don’t think you can get frozen chicken wings, Burney” Steve replied to Burney’s cries of pain.

“Pretty sure that’s a health code violation,” Dawn pointed out.

Burney’s screams belied disappointment beneath the pain.

“Just eat them well-done,” Steve said.

Burney’s replying scream sounded like resignation.

The table that hosted the demonic companions rested at the back corner of the large, wood-paneled restaurant, near several knick-knacks on the walls normally found at garage sales no one visits. Buzzing noises of patrons eating and conversing helped those close enough to overhear the demons to ignore the presence of evil and focus on the weather or what Aunt Sally thought about the new school principal. Cloaked in such humanity, the demons found themselves more than capable of ordering appetizers, and possibly a dessert.

“Ma’am, ma’am,” Steve said, finally snapping the waitress out of her soul-fractured gaze.

When her sight returned, and her scarred spirit once more came to awareness, the waitress put on a professional attempt at a smile and said, “I’m… I’m sorry. Did I take your order yet?” The waitress examined the order pad and pen in her hand, taking a moment to wonder if the urge to jab the pen into her eyes was because of the demons and the burning man at her table or if that was just a normal emotion for a Tuesday.

“It has been over three minutes since I placed my order for cheesy fries with beef, and they are not at my present location,” Gore said, putting his hand to the hilt of his sword. “This is unacceptable!”

“Shut up, Gore,” Steve said, “Are you okay, ma’am?”

“I think so,” the waitress said, shaking her head.

Burney screamed at the waitress.

The waitress could only blink at him with incomprehension.

“Ignore Burney. He’s just upset because we won’t let him sit down,” Steve said.

“Is he… on fire?” the waitress asked.

“Why do you think we won’t let him sit down?” Dawn pointed out.

Burney hung his head and screamed, looking at an empty chair with longing.

“So how’s the chicken parmesan sandwich?” Steve asked with a smile, adjusting the rim of his fedora so it rested more securely atop his small, hidden horns.

“It’s good,” the waitress said.

“Really good? Or just good? I was told you use home-made marinara sauce.”

“Best chicken parmesan sandwich in St. Louis.” The waitress succeeded in smiling, her composure regained.

“Then I’ll have that.”

“Gore demands cheesy fries with beef!” Gore demanded.

The waitress swallowed and had to fight for the courage to say, “I… that’s not on the menu.”

“Bear witness to my fury, purveyor of deep-fried cuisine and haphazardly-assembled imitation milkshakes, I, the Dark Lord Gore, shall—”

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“I’ll have the fish and chips,” Dawn interrupted. “Don’t break anything till after we’ve eaten, okay, Gore?”

“My vengeance shall be swift and mighty!”

“Look, you have beef and cheese fries on the menu. Why not just put them together on the same plate?” Steve asked the slowly retreating waitress.

“I suppose,” the waitress said.

“That would be terrific. And Burney here will have the chicken wings.”

Burney screamed.

“Lightly cooked, if that’s possible.”

“What kind of sauce?” the waitress asked.

Burney screamed.

“Mild sauce, please,” Steve translated, and handed the waitress his menu. When no one else at the table moved to hand in theirs, Steve took the other menus and gave them to the waitress as well.

“This waitress moves too slowly. If my cheesy fries with beef aren’t here soon I shall not be able to sate my wrath till this entire building and all who are in it are destroyed,” Gore said.

“Yeah, sure,” Dawn said. “I should have ordered iced tea. Get that waitress back, I want some iced tea.”

“I will destroy—”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, because it would be a shame if Gore wrecked the place and you had to turn in a report on the imbalance it caused,” Steve mocked his friend the Judge.

“Meh, throw a few bunnies on the wreckage and it’d bring things back to order.”

“Do you always have to use bunnies to reverse the imbalance of good and evil?”

“It’s clean and efficient. Plus, it’s good entertainment. Gore, do something mean to someone.”

“Okay,” Gore said, and threw his sword across the restaurant. The black flame-wreathed weapon that had toppled empires, tasted the blood of a million hearts, and challenged the reign of heaven itself clunked pommel-first into the back of a busboy returning to the kitchen with a handful of plates. The bus boy fell forward through the kitchen door, broken plates shattering in every direction.

“Thank you for not killing him,” Dawn said.

Not only did Gore not kill the concussion-dazed busboy, but the shattering of plates made everyone in the restaurant think the boy had tripped, not been hit in the head with a demonic sword that would one day sunder the mantle of existence.

“It would have given me no pleasure,” Gore said, extending his hand so that his sword would return to his gauntleted grasp. “And the patrons of this restaurant shall wait longer for their food now that the plates have been obliterated!”

“You know that means your food will probably take longer, right?” Steve asked.

“I had not taken that into consideration, no.”

“And do you see why that was a bad idea?”

“I regret nothing.”

“Don’t worry about it, Steve. One quick bunny and we’ll have that all sorted out,” Dawn said. The Judge extended a hand and withdrew from the fires of torment and unending suffering a small rabbit. Its fur was pure white, its nose pink. And it nuzzled up against Dawn with the smile of a small mammal.

“Off you go now,” Dawn said, letting the bunny frolic free to its bunny-hearted content. It bounced along the ground, made at least a dozen restaurant patrons smile, and ran out the door. With the bunny now gone, Dawn extended her hand and once more pulled an object from outside the bounds of reality. This time it was a set of silver scales. One side was tilted off balance, but once the bunny had made it safely out the door, the scales tilted to a parallel position and held steady. Satisfied, Dawn made the scales disappear.

“See? Dinner and a show,” Dawn said.

“If we ever get our dinner,” Steve added.

“Why must you ruin my perfect evil with the summoning of adorable forest creatures?” Gore complained.

“Because we’d go back to hell if I didn’t, Gore, remember? We have to keep the balance of good and evil, otherwise people will see us as demons and not just weirdoes in strange clothes.”

Burney screamed.

“Yes, Burney, we know you’re not able to wear clothes, but we don’t want people knowing that. So long as we don’t upset the balance of good and evil and get recognized as demons, we can stay on earth, where there’s fish and chips and cheesy fries.”

“But does it have to be bunnies that keep the balance?” Steve asked.

“There’s nothing better to keep evil and good in balance than a bunny. Things get too bad, hug a bunny.” Dawn reached out into the netherworld and did just that, summoning a tiny bunny and squeezing it to her face. The creature made a squeal of delight as it nuzzled against Dawn’s cheek.

“Things get too good, throw a bunny at Burney,” Dawn said, and did just that, tossing the bunny at Burney.

The rabbit struck against the burning man’s skin and was instantly set ablaze. Its squeals of pain as it writhed in fiery death-throes forced several patrons to choose a vegetarian entrée.

“Everything’s in balance. People don’t see us for what we really are. And hell doesn’t care that we left,” Dawn said and looked down at the burning bunny. The creature was crawling toward her, begging for mercy with fire-blurred eyes. “Hooray for balance.”

“I demand a balance of cheesy fries with beef. To be deposited into my hands post-haste!” Gore demanded.

“If only all of life’s problems could be solved by burning bunnies and cheesy fries,” Steve mused.

“There should be a poem about that,” Dawn speculated, “All’s fury when naught with furry, to peace and wise, does evil despise, cheese betwixt a plate of French fries.”

Burney screamed.

“It was spur of the moment, Burney, don’t be so critical,” Dawn replied.

“That’s Dawn’s job!” Gore laughed.

“You’re going to stay up all night re-writing that poem, aren’t you, Dawn?” Steve asked.

“Yep,” Dawn replied.

“Great. Another night of Dawn’s musings followed by a day of bunnies running amuck.”

“Do not mock the charge for which Dawn has taken,” Gore threatened.

Steve laughed at this, not because he didn’t sincerely believe Gore was threatening him, but because Gore was incapable of delivering a sentence in any manner that was not threatening.

“No, no. Go ahead and mock. If Gore’s mad at Steve, he’s not hurting anyone else,” Dawn theorized. “That means I can focus on my burning bunny poem.”

Burney screamed a question.

“Yes, Burney that’s why we let Gore throw marshmallows at you.”

Burney screamed another question.

“And why we don’t let you go to pet stores.”

“Slaughtering the innocents and washing in their blood,” Gore speculated. “It can grow boresome as hurling marshmallows at Burney when no one possesses the courage to challenge.” As Gore leaned his armored head against his hands, he casually flicked a packet of sugar from the table at Burney’s head. It burned up instantly and left a little puff of smoke in caramel-smelling effigy.

“I’m not trying to mock you, Dawn, and I’m sorry for snapping at you, Gore,” Steve said.

“Your snaps are like twigs beneath my feet,” Gore said as way of accepting Steve’s apology.

“They have you working on another marketing campaign, don’t they?” Dawn asked.

“Yes.” Steve rubbed his hands across his face, stretching the skin and exposing his twin, crimson-hued horns for just a moment as his hat settled onto his scalp.

“You work too hard.”

“Not all of us can make money selling hemp necklaces.”

“Sure you can.”

“Right. Then who would pay rent?”

“Mercenaries from The Democratic Republic of Lesser SouthVania offered to pay for my assistance in toppling that nation’s regime,” Gore said.

“I’m not sure that’s even a country.”

“It isn’t yet!”

“Thank you for saying no to that, by the way,” Dawn said

Gore shrugged, his black armor creaking with the motion. “Not worth the cost in bunnies,” he grumbled.

“Oh, and Burney lost his job at the sushi restaurant,” Dawn added.

“What? How?” Steve asked.

Burney screamed.

“Okay, so that makes complete sense,” Steve noted. “But still, come on guys, help me out here.”

“Help me fetch my cheesy fries with beef!” Gore exclaimed, standing up.

“We are trying to help you out,” Dawn told Steve. “Gore, help him out.”

“And a chicken parmesan sandwich!”

“See? Helping.”

“Getting the cooks to spit on my sandwich is not helping. I already had a horrible lunch, I don’t want my dinner to be ruined too,” Steve said.

As Gore tried to flag down the attention of the nearest waitress, Burney attempted to slide into the wooden seat. Not wanting to witness yet another restaurant engulfed in flames for Burney’s lack of situational awareness, Steve snapped his fingers at the tortured soul and beckoned him to remain standing.

“Gore, keep your seat or Burney’s going to try and steal it again,” Steve said as the waitress emerged from the kitchen bearing the food for which Gore had been demanding. “See? Food’s here anyway.”

As Burney settled away from the more flammable portions of the restaurant, the waitress placed their requested meals onto the table. She then made a hasty retreat back through the swinging kitchen door. The waitress stepped over the piles of broken plates still being collected at the kitchen door and promptly delivered her two weeks’ notice to the restaurant manager.

Screaming, Burney reached out to raise his plate of chicken wings to his mouth. He then let out a scream of sorrow as he looked upon the blackened meat, burnt to a crisp from his fire-handed touch.

Before anyone had a chance to notice Burney’s disappointment for turning his wings from mild to extra crispy, Gore let out a sniff from behind the slit in his black helmet. This had the effect of silencing all conversation and dropping the temperature in the restaurant by three degrees. “There’s no beef on my cheesy fries,” he said in a blood-dripping whisper.