The Infernal legions, fresh from slaughtering the Kissi, are spread out in every direction. Soldiers show each other fresh Kissi pelts and wings. For all the fallen angels have built down here, at heart they’re still a bunch of morons pulling the wings off flies. Someone needs to work on that. Maybe I can set up a time-share for the angel. He can come down and teach them table manners and I can take care of business upstairs. Right now, though, I’m in wolf-pack country and this million or so killers are wondering who’s the alpha dog.
I climb on top of Semyazah’s Unimog and hold up Mason’s body so everyone can see him. A cheer goes up. It’s decent as cheers go, but it’s not a Steppenwolf playing “Born to Be Wild” to a sold-out crowd cheer.
I manifest the Gladius and hold it up high. And swing it down. Mason’s body drops and I kick it off the truck. When I hold up Mason’s head, that’s when the Thank-God-Bruce-is-finally-playing “Born to Run” roar hits. When I stick the head onto a set of longhorn antlers mounted on the truck, the screams get even louder. I stand there in Lucifer’s armor with the Gladius burning, shining like a blood-soaked star.
A group of generals comes across the parking lot. I keep the Gladius burning but lower it to my side. If they’re looking to pull an Ides of March thing, I have no problem whatsoever with running away.
General Semyazah is up front with Baphomet and Shax behind. Other officers spread out around them. Halfway to the truck they stop. Time for the bum rush. I should have kept Mason’s head. I could beat a couple of them stupid with it before it fell apart.
The officers don’t attack, but I still have a significant urge to run away. Semyazah kneels and one by one the other officers get down on one knee.
He shouts, “Hail horrors! Hail Infernal world! Hail Lucifer!”
The air is full of the thundering of the “Hail Lucifer!” Shit. No wonder rock stars go crazy. A mob like this can love you or rip you to pieces in a hot minute. And I don’t have a tour manager to tell me what to do next. Time for one more slice of bullshit.
I hold up my hands and the crowd goes quiet.
“Tonight was a great victory against a great enemy. In the coming weeks and months you’ll see some changes around here. Tonight, though, forget about war and blood and be happy that we’re still where we should be and Heaven is still where it should be. Both could be gone now, but they aren’t and it’s because of your fearlessness. So tonight Lucifer bows to you.”
I do it. I get down on one knee like Semyazah. The crowd goes apeshit. I get up while they’re still screaming. Always leave your audience wanting more. I get my ass back into the elevator and up to the penthouse. My guts are in knots, but no one’s taken a shot at me yet.
When I get upstairs Lucifer is there, chatting c1C;, chattasually with Alice and the angel like they’re deciding whether to rent Bambi or Beaches. Lucifer looks my way and claps his hands.
“Wonderful speech. I couldn’t have done better myself. Well, actually I could have done much better, but that was a good first effort. What sort of changes are you planning?”
“I don’t know. It was just something to say. First thing I’m going to do is haul that broken-down Bamboo House of Dolls in from the desert and rebuild it here. Maybe I’ll drop back down here every now and then and bartend. I’m making sure someone puts the roof back on Tartarus and let Semyazah toss Mason’s soul down there. He can have the whole place to himself.”
Lucifer narrows his eyes.
“You ruined the furnace.”
“Tell Ruach if he wants to send down a plumber, we’ll welcome him or her or whatever else you have up there with open arms.”
“You might not make a terrible Lucifer after all,” says Lucifer.
“How’s the bleeding?”
God bodyslammed Lucifer out of Heaven with a thunderbolt during their war and his wounds have never healed. He’s been hiding the open, bleeding wound from other Hellions for how long? Thousands of years? A million? The linen bandages are still there when Lucifer opens his shirt, but just a few drops of blood have soaked through.>Why are my eyes open if I’m dead? And why is there a second me standing there with Mason in one hand and a Gladius in the other? Alice kneels down in front of me.
“Are you all right?”
I try to tell her yes but all that comes out is, “Being dead is stupid.”
Did I say that? I’m not sure, but it’s true. I’m pretty sure I’m alive again because there’s a big hole in my chest and it hurts like I got shot with rock salt and porcupine quills.
The other me drops Mason, kneels down, and puts his hand against my chest. I feel the hole closing, the bone, muscle, and skin knitting back together. I stare at the other me and my face stares back at me.
“Goddammit, did someone cut my face off again?”
The other me helps me to my feet. This close I see that he’s exactly me. He’s me without the scars and eleven years younger.
“How do you feel?” asks the other me.
“Like Lazarus if Jesus brought him back to life by having Mike Tyson use him as a speed bag.”
“He’s all right,” says the other me.
Mason is on his back where the other me dropped him. I go for him, but I’m still a little limp, so I don’t so much attack him as fall on him like a cow thrown from a blimp. The other me pulls me to my feet.