It had been a week, and the Rapture had yet to occur.

Jack sat at his desk, head propped up by his good hand; the other was in a brace, resting upon the scarred wood.

Next to him, Hannah fiddled with his laptop, face scrunched in concentration. Barry had finally given in to pressure and gotten wi-fi for his customers, which meant no more running next to buses to check his emails.

Reaching for his glass, he threw amber liquid down his throat. He had sprained his wrist, and had to keep the brace on for another week. The doctor had prescribed painkillers, of course, but they failed to overwhelm the throbbing.

From her place on one of the sofas, Lydia sneered. “It’s barely even midday, why are you already drinking?”

Jack regarded her with a frown. “More like why are you already here? Kindly come back between the hours of six and seven when I’ll be too drunk to remember.”

“Don’t be silly.” She flicked her hair. “You love having me here.”

“I’d love it a lot more if you healed my arm.”

“Hmph. That’s what doctors are for.”

“Doctors don’t have magic.”

She folded her arms. “There are specialists.”

“That got privatised in the eighties. I’d need to sell a kidney for one of them.”

“Would you like some help extracting it?”

He bristled. “Yeah, and why not take my spine, while you’re at it?”

“Finished!” Hannah spun the laptop around so they could both see it, the screen set to an advert for some BBBC show.

She beamed. “Now you have a TV.”

Jack whistled. “I’m surprised the thing can handle video.”

The sound of the machine’s fan was like a hurricane shattering through skyscrapers.

Hannah strolled over, parking herself next to Lydia and studying the grainy screen.

“It’s rather small,” said Lydia, squinting.

“Go home and watch your own TV if it bothers you that much,” said Jack, refilling his glass from a half-full bottle on the desk.

They fell silent as an urgent, beeping theme blared from the speakers, cutting to the image of a desk; red was the prominent colour in a studio full of soft curves and padded cushions and glass.

At the desk was a humanoid lizard, green and scaly with a jaw extending from her skull. She wore a black pantsuit, and licked her eyeball.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to BBBC News. Today’s top story: more details have been discovered about the surprise attack of Catzilla on Blackpool last week-”

“Must be a slow week,” said Jack.

“Hush,” said Hannah.

“Including the identity of the mysterious magus who engaged with it.”

The screen cut from the lizard woman to an aerial view of the city as the Bakeneko rampaged, Sam flailing in its teeth.

When had there been helicopters?

The camera zoomed and focused on a dot he assumed was Lydia; the figure looked like they’d gone ten rounds with a jet engine.

The lizard reappeared in voiceover as a portrait photograph popped up in the corner. “This woman has been identified as Lydia Blackwell, heir to the prestigious-”

“How?” Jack put his hand on his head. “You look like bloody charcoal!”

Harrumphing, she fixed him with Intimidation I, a curl of the lip and narrowing of the eyes that made him pause for breath. “I suppose true beauty always shines through.”

“This is urban fantasy,” he said. “True beauty is a red flag.”

“The Blackwells have, unfortunately, declined to comment at this time. Now, we go to Micah, who spoke to one of the victims of the event.”

“Thank you, Fiona.” The screen cut again, this time to a view of the promenade by Central Pier, where the sea defences were being reinforced by teams of workmen. The sun was too low for it to be live.

In the foreground was a young-looking lizard in a suit and coat, with bright eyes and sharp fangs poking from his jaw. He stood next to a large man in black.

A banner with a name appeared at the bottom of the screen, and Jack palmed his face.

Micah said, “I’m here with the reverend-”

“I’m not a reverend, I’m a Paladin.”

“Right, sorry. The Paladin Sam Bluett-Duncan. What can you tell us about the Blackwells’ involvement in the Catzilla incident?”

Sam cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Of course, Micah.”

Jack felt his stomach backflip. If people found out he’d let the Bakeneko go, there’d be a pitchfork-wielding mob outside his door in seconds.

He couldn’t afford that repair bill.

“First of all, it’s important to note that Catzilla was not a malevolent creature, just somewhat confused.”

“Yes, of course. But what about the Blackwells?”

“Who?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Micah suppressed a sigh. “The magus who saved you and resolved the incident?”

Lydia shot him a smug grin.

Sam furrowed his brow. “Oh, you mean my friend’s assistant.”

Jack and Hannah paused before bursting into laughter. Something stabbed at his sides, and even folding his torso didn’t help.

Scowling, Lydia silenced them both with a glare.

“Yes, she was quite helpful in preventing it from becoming a true tragedy, but I believe this was only the beginning.”

“What do you mean?”

“You see, this was only a prelude to the coming of the end times. Armageddon is nigh.”

“I meant what do you mean she was helpful? As I understand, there were no others assisting, aside from the unidentified woman who eventually defeated it.”

“Defeated it? I think you have the wrong idea. No matter, I must warn you about-”

“I see.” Micah turned back to the camera. “As you can see, there’s still very little information here, too. Hopefully we’ll have more for you soon.”

“Wait, Armage-”

“Back to you, Fiona.”

“Arma-”

Reaching forward, Jack used the trackpad to shut off the broadcast.

“Let’s just all agree we never saw that,” he said.

The others nodded.

And then the door burst open, a burly Paladin striding through it with wide eyes and a firm expression. Following after him was a pair of odd-looking men: they were both tall, but where one was dark, the other was fair, the sharp features of gloom contrasting the soft edges of light.

The fair one stepped past Sam, approaching the desk with a smile. He was plump, and wore a light blue suit with a waistcoat. “Hello! My name is Azure; I am given to understand that you can help us prevent Armageddon?”

Casting his gaze to Sam, he blinked. “Did you indoctrinate these poor sods?”

“Quite the opposite,” said Sam, motioning to the other man. “These two approached me.”

“Yes,” said the other, stepping forward. He was stick-thin, with a voracious mop of hair, round sunglasses, and a crimson suit. “We tried convincing the other angels and demons, but they’d rather have a front row seat.”

Lydia snickered. “The ‘other’? Priest, are you sure you didn’t mean to take these two to the rehab centre?”

“I’m not a priest, I’m a Paladin.”

“Yes,” she said, smirking. Rising to her feet, she waved her arm, forcing Sam to his knees as he grunted. She strutted over, staring deep into him.

“And I am nobody’s assistant.”

He swallowed. “We are all assistants to God.”

She flattened him.

“Anyway,” said Azure, “my friend over there is Crow-” he gestured to the man, who was reclining on the unoccupied sofa - “and we are in search of the Antichrist.”

“You’re in luck,” said Jack, gesturing to Lydia. “She’s over there.”

She fired him a poisonous glare as she returned to her seat.

Chuckling, Azure said, “unfortunately, it’s not that simple. I’ll let Crow explain the rest.”

Crow threw his arms out. “Why me?!”

“You were there!”

Sighing, Crow said, “fine. I was the one tasked with bringing the Antichrist to Earth, and placing him with the right family.”

“Then you know exactly where he is,” said Jack, his tone flat.

“Did I say I was finished?” Crow raised his eyebrows. “As it turns out, there was just a tiny little mix-up at the delivery.”

“What kind of mix-up?”

“Another family sort of, popped in, uninvited, and I’m not actually sure which is the one got swapped.”

Jack eyed him in disbelief; a stream of profanity was already bubbling in his stomach.

“So it could be either of them?” asked Hannah.

“Well,” said Azure, moving Crow’s feet and taking the seat next to him, “we’re relatively sure it’s not the one we thought it was.”

“And why’s that?” said Jack.

“His hell-hound hasn’t arrived yet,” said Crow.

His eyes bugged from their sockets. “I’m sorry, his what hasn’t arrived yet?”

“Hell-hound,” said Sam, having stood up, “the ferocious beasts of-”

Crow rolled his eyes. “We don’t need a lecture from the second coming of piety, thank you.”

Azure swatted his shoulder. “Be nice! Imagine thinking God talks to you, then meeting a real angel and demon.”

“God does talk to me.” Sam’s eyes were wide and droopy, like a puppy on the side of the road.

Waving it away, Azure said, “yes, yes, I’m sure he does.”

Jack sighed. “So it’s the other one then?”

“We’re not sure.”

“Make your bloody minds up! How do an angel and demon become friends anyway?”

“I’m sorry,” said Crow with a disdainful snigger, “what was the title of the last chapter again?”

“Fair point, but what do you care about hell on Earth? Why not just watch with the rest of them?”

Azure balked. “We can’t like it here?”

“Yeah,” said Crow, nostrils flaring, “where else am I supposed to read web novels about catgirls?”

Jack sighed again. “Look, I see your problem, but I can’t help you. This story’s starting to get more readers, and we can’t afford to keep doing risky shit like this!”

“I agree,” said Hannah. “Haven’t we dragged Trattchett’s name through the mud enough?”

“Because Raiman doesn’t matter at all,” said Jack.

“Please don’t talk like that,” said Azure, reaching into his suit. “We can pay.” He produced a thick wad of twenty pound notes, fresh and crisp.

Jack almost felt weightless. Laura had paid handsomely, but most of it had gone to Hannah’s wages. He couldn’t afford to lose her.

The money in Azure’s hand was like an axe, sharp and heavy enough to break the chains binding him to ruin.

“Okay,” he said, stroking his beard. “So two potential Antichrists, right?”

Lydia noted him with bemusement. “What tremendous strength of will.”

Azure put the money back in his pocket. “That is correct, yes.”

Leaning his head over the back of the sofa, Crow said, “yeah, nice to see you can keep up.”

“Let me guess,” said Lydia, giving him a helping of Condescension in C Minor, “you’re the demon.”

“Congratu-bloody-lations.”

“Wait.” Hannah pursed her lips. “Are they both in the city?”

“Well, duh,” said Crow. “That’s what the prophecy says.”

Jack considered for a moment. “The prophecy is real?”

Sam shook his head. “How quick you are to forget, my friend.”

Raising an eyebrow, he nodded slowly. “Sure thing, mate.”

“The Mean and Inaccurate Prophecies of Agatha Fruiter,” said Azure. “I haven’t laid my eyes on it in six hundred years, but I remember well enough. Armageddon will happen here, and it’s already started.”

“But if they’re inaccurate,” said Hannah, “then how do you know it’s true?”

“Only the dates are inaccurate,” said Crow.

“So how do you know it’s already started?”

They all stared at each other in silence.

Clapping his right hand on the desk, Jack rose. “No time to waste, then. Let’s split up and cover both of them, then when we figure out which one’s the real Antichrist, we stop him from… uh… doing whatever an Antichrist does.”

“Rivers of blood,” said Crow.

“Swarms of locusts,” said Azure.

“Bottomless pits of fire and brimstone,” said Sam.

“Copyright strikes,” said Hannah.

“It won’t get that far.” Lydia squeezed Hannah’s shoulder, climbing to her feet. “You can come with me. Oh, and let’s take the ‘demon’, too.” She grinned at Crow.

He grimaced. “Oh, joy.”

“In that case,” said Jack, grabbing his sword from the corner and sticking it in his belt, “let’s go stop the end of the world.”