“There we are,” he says. “Wit so hot it almost burns. So good to have you back among the living.”
“Speak for yourself. I was happy asleep.”
“You wouldn’t want to miss your coming-out party, would you, Sandman Slim?” He looks over at me. “Yes, even down here we’ve heard of the infamous Sandman Slim. You and I have a lot in common, you know.”
“You love Night Ranger, too? Unchain me and I’ll buy us a cold six.”
He smiles, showing his sharp, ragged teeth.
“I meant that we’re both nephilim. Though we Shoggots are a slightly more exotic variety.”
“That means what? You’re a mix of angel and pig fucker?”
“While you’re a mix of ordinary angel and a mortal woman, we come from fallen angels.”
I shake my head.
“I’ve been to Hell, Simple Simon. The only Hellion that can come to earth is Lucifer. The others are all stuck Downtown, going severely batshit. And even Lucifer can’t make a nephilim. No fallen angel can.”
“But we’re living proof that it is possible. And when Father Lucifer leads his army to take the earth for Hell, we’ll be there by his side and sit at his right hand in Hell for all eternity.”
I can’t help but laugh a little. It makes my head hurt.
“Damn, did you back the wrong pony. Lucifer isn’t coming back to skull-fuck the earth. The Angra Om Ya are. And they’re not going to be impressed by your story any more than I am.”
Ferox furrows his brow.
“I was hoping that being brothers of a sort, we could be civilized with each other.”
“Is that why I’m chained to a wall?”
“No. That’s so you won’t hurt yourself moving around too much once we start the experiments.”
“What experiments?”
“So, you don’t believe we are who we know we are?”
“I know exactly what you are.”
“Please enlighten me,” Ferox says. He turns to the other Shoggots. “Everybody listen. We’re about to get a lesson in metaphysics from Sandman Slim himself.”
I know I should keep my mouth shut, but now it’s too late to back down. All I can do is press harder.
“I don’t know your family’s history, but I know this from looking at you. You’re not nephilim. You’re losers and fuckups. You especially, Ferox. You drove your family from up there in the city into this sewer, and looking for a way not to have to blow your brains out, you came up with a sad fucking fairy tale about what special little snowflakes you are and how you wanted to be down here all along waiting for Ragnarok. But the Devil isn’t coming for you. God isn’t coming for you. You’ve heard of Sandman Slim? You’re one up on me because I’ve never heard of you assholes and I bet no one I know has either. You can scare these Kill City clans, but out of here you’re just another sideshow act. All you need is a two-headed calf and a pickled punk.”
Ferox comes over and looks at me hard.
“How many scars do you think you have?”
“No idea.”
“Let’s start a new count. One.”
He takes out the Liston knife and draws it across my chest, making a deep, hard cut. I grit my teeth to keep from making a sound. Just because I’m hard to kill doesn’t mean that bullets and knives hurt me any less than anyone else.
He turns to the other Shoggots.
“Who here has a watch? I’d like to know how long it takes for that cut to heal. Time it, please.”