The Lord of the Mall
Part One: The Orb of Gondlar

There’s something about a near-death experience that makes you want chocolate. I heard that chocolate is an aphrodisiac for women – something like fifty-six percent of women have admitted to thinking about chocolate during sex. But then again, I read somewhere that ninety-nine percent of all statistics are made up.

At the moment, though, I didn’t have any chocolate. All I had was a couple of decapitated Book-Demons and a really sore cranium. Oh yeah, I also had an angry mob of Book-Demons who all still had their heads firmly attached to their shoulders.

“I guess you guys wouldn’t call it a draw and we all just go home?” I say sheepishly.

The biggest of the Demons, the guy I think must be the boss, growls and sparks electricity from his fingertips.

I don’t have time for this, I need my beauty sleep. Tomorrow night I’m infiltrating Balgog’s nest.

Another night hanging around the Mall.

 

*     *     *     *

I’d fought Book-Demons lots before. They didn’t get nasty, they got nastier, and Balgog was one demon that could look at you and turn your unborn kid’s hair white.

I still didn’t know how to kill a Book-Demon. I didn’t know if you actually could kill one, but I certainly had a lot of fun chopping their heads off.

You see, when you sever the head from one of these guys it wanders around bumping into things for about two hours until its head grows back. But the funny thing is, the head never grows back the way it was before, so if you hang around you generally see these Picasso-like faces popping back. You’re never quite the same after you’ve been chased by a guy with a nose where his ear should be.

I’d cut Balgog’s head off about a dozen times now, I think he actually thought we had some kind of relationship going, you know, like Batman and the Joker, Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd, something like that, when in actuality I was just trying to find a way to delete him from my universe for ever.

Balgog’s lair was about three stories under the Mall, I heard that during the day he worked at Posh Paperbacks, an exclusive bookstore, and spent the day selling people books that would eat away at their souls until they were just useless shells walking around aimlessly. You’d be surprised how many regular Mall-goers have been turned into mindless zombies by a Book-Demon. Take a look around sometime.

Anyway, I didn’t really know why they did it. I don’t think they got any remuneration for it, nothing as mundane as that, but I don’t think that they needed to feed off souls or send them to an evil master either. They just seemed to do it for fun. I suppose evil is as evil does. Duh!

I quietly entered Balgog’s lair, trying not to wake any of the Demons snoozing on the floor. Now you must understand that I use the term ‘lair’ very loosely. Lair makes you think of a dark cave with skulls and entrails and blood-covered spikes on the outskirts, doesn’t it? In that case, this was more like a commune for untidy, drunken students. The floor is littered with sleeping Book-Demons, empty pizza boxes, and some other stuff that I can’t quite identify.

I hate cellular phones. I understand having one if you have a highly stressful job that requires people needing to be able to contact you at all times. I can understand someone like a doctor or James Bond carrying one, but when I see spoilt, sixteen year old, brainless chicks walking around the Mall going: “Oh my Gawd. He did what?” it makes me want to tear their stupid, flapping jaws off and severe their tongues with a very blunt implement.

I have no idea why I find it necessary to carry a cellular phone.

I have no idea who would be calling me at this most inopportune moment either.

The demons, about a dozen of them, all immediately jump up, awake and ready for Round One, when my phone starts belting out the Mission: Impossible theme.

Book-Demons are weird, their genetic code includes parts from different animals so they’re easily the most dynamic villains you’ll ever meet. They can blend into the surroundings like a chameleon; they can climb walls like great, big, two-legged spiders; and they’re reaction time is as fast as a cat’s. Before I know it five of these guys are on top of me.

The ring morphs into the fantastic, shining, silver sword that over the years they’ve learned to fear, and I slice an arm off one of them.

Did I mention they’ve got the strength of an angry Silverback gorilla? The breath too.

The one whose arm I’ve just liberated throws me across the room and I smash into a table covered in playing cards and half-empty coffee cups. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was just some normal guy’s living room the morning after a gigantic piss-up.

I stand up and face the cadre of uglies, “Why don’t you guys quit while you’re ahead. No harm, no foul. Let me speak to the boss and we’ll call it a day.”

They’re having none of it. A Demon steps forward and sends blue, frazzling electricity from his fingertips in my direction.

The ring can also become a shield - which it chooses to do at this, the perfect moment. I would love to say that it’s my lightning fast reactions and will that drive the ring to morph into the ultimate weapon, but luckily it acts on its own. If it had to wait for me to make a decision I would probably be competing in the Paralympics on the legless, armless, brain-dead shot-put team.

The assault ends, and the shield races back into the ring. It’s something I’ll never get used to seeing. The ring runs down my finger and onto my palm where it somehow expands into a hilt and then, racing away from my hand, a surgically sharp blade forms in front of everyone’s wide eyes.

I step forward, unscathed from the attack, and immediately begin swinging my sword, sending body parts flying in every direction like an explosion in a morgue. Most superheroes would have some witty or comical line to spew at a moment like this, but that sort of thing takes too much effort. 

The demons suddenly stop fighting and stare at something behind me. Before I have the opportunity to see what has taken their mind off my untimely demise I find my head slamming into the wall.

I just know it’s Balgog. I also know that Balgog is at his worst when he’s just woken up. I choose this point to rethink my plan of sneaking up on him while he’s asleep, a plan that seemed quite sensible before my phone started singing a cheesy tune and woke him up.

When I let go of my sword it automatically changes back into the ring so that I can’t lose it. Very useful.

Balgog clamps his mouth down over my hand.

His voice sounds like a fat corpse being dragged across gravel, even worse now that it’s got my hand in it, “How’re you going to fight without your sword, asshole?”

The ring answers his question by morphing back into the sword while it’s in his mouth. His head pops like a blood-filled balloon, which stops his scream abruptly. His limp body drops to the floor.

The other demons see their big buddy out of action and leg it. Within seconds I’m standing alone with a headless Book-Demon and various parts of other Book-Demons.

I guess I’ll just have to wait for Balgog’s head to grow back before I ask him about the Orb of Gondlar.

*     *     *     *

Right now you’re probably thinking: “Why would anyone want to risk their life chasing around ghouls and goblins and not earn a single cent doing it?”

I have one word for you: Revenge.

A man named Mephisto killed my parents when I was two years old. Now this isn’t just some ordinary bloke that could be taken out with a well-placed bullet or a club to the cranium. He’s a god.

Yes, I said: a god.

My father wore the ring before me, and he was trained by the greatest Swordsman that that ever lived. My grandfather was the guy who trained him. And so it has been for generations.

However, by the time I found the ring my father had been dead for sixteen years and my grandfather even longer.

So I’ve not only had to start my training very late in life, late enough to be considered suicidal, and I also don’t have the benefit of having a shit-hot Swordsman train me.

I do have someone who’s sort of teaching me the ropes though. He says swordsmanship is in my blood and I shouldn’t worry about it too much. He’s teaching me how to be a hero, along with martial arts and stuff. I always see him reading old comic books, saying that they don’t make them like they used to.

Anyway, this guy helped me when I was about to get my head blown off by an LED agent. He saved my life, said he hated those LED agents ‘cause they thought they were better than everyone else.

He agreed to train me until I can kick his ass.

So now I’m the Swordsman, awaiting the day I can avenge my father’s death, trying really hard not to get killed in the process.

*     *     *     *

Balgog’s neck sprouts a dozen thin tentacles, they wave in the air like a plant on the bottom of the ocean moving with the current. The tentacles then wrap around each other, like an orgy of earthworms, and meld together. The lump grows larger before my eyes and I can see bone and muscle reforming beneath the surface.

His eyes are spaced about three inches too far apart, his mouth is so far to the right that when he smiles the corner touches where his ear should be, and his nose seems to be on backwards.

He tries to lunge at me but my carefully aimed boot almost pushes his reverse-nose out the back of his head. Then he just sits on his butt staring up at me.

“What do you want?” he growls.

Balgog knows that I only come to him these days when I want information on some demon that I’ve never encountered before or some other thing that he knows more about than I do.

“Tell me about the Orb of Gondlar.” I say, placing my sword against his neck, “And remember, no fibbing.’

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says, I notice his eyes are darting between me and a big, silver suitcase on the floor.

I raise my sword and slice one of his ears off, “Tell me the truth now.”

He clutches his ear and screams, for a big, tough Book-Demon he’s certainly acting like a panty-liner.

“I swear, the last I heard a guy called the Bohemian had it. That’s the truth.”

Balgog is a terrible liar. I get up and walk over to the suitcase that he can’t take his eyes off and open it. A bright yellow globe shines back at me, I pick it up and turn to Balgog, “Oh, and I suppose this is Godzilla’s giant, radioactive testicle?”

He bellows with rage and attacks me. With one swing of the sword his body is back on the floor and his head is off to some faraway place to be refigured.

*     *     *     *

Do you ever hang around at your local shopping mall? Next time you do, take a look around. The people there aren’t really who you think they are.

For instance, remember the LED agent I was talking about earlier. Well, there’s this place inside the Mall called London Espresso Distributors. It’s your ordinary, run of the mill gourmet coffee bar. The staff there call themselves baristas. They’ll tell you all about lange and ristretto shots of espresso, that their shots should run between seventeen and twenty-two seconds, they’ll tell you the difference between blends and varietals, a latte and cappuccino, or how filter coffee actually has more caffeine in it than espresso.

What they won’t tell you is how last night they had to chase down two Tech-Vamps because they were sucking the LED mainframe of crucial information, or that the lunch you bought earlier from your favourite burger joint is filled with drugs that’ll kick in when you’re exposed to the subtle, subliminal messages on some flickering, neon sign.

Don’t get me wrong, I think that it’s very necessary to have something like the LED to police what goes on around here, without their agents who knows what the world would be like. The only problem with them is that they treat anyone else doing the same thing as a threat. They’re sanctioned by the government and people like me aren’t, so to them I’m just the same as some nasty, ninja hairdresser making human sacrifices to the Dog-God.

*     *     *     *

By the time I make it home the sun is peaking over the horizon and saying, “Good morning world. Here’s another glorious day.”

Well, actually it’s saying, “Haha, I’m back again and you’ve had bugger-all sleep.”

My mentor is standing in the doorway. He’s extremely large, even next to large guys he’s large. He’s standing in a ratty, old, blue gown wearing matching blue slippers.

I have no idea what his real name is. He told me he was once a hero, like I’m supposed to be, and that he knew both my father and grandfather. He only answers to the name Grand Wolf.

Did I mention before that he only has one hand, the other one went off to limb-heaven long ago. I have no idea how he lost it. I asked once and the conversation quickly turned into a short snarl in which me, my business, and minding were the only topics.

Grand Wolf opens his mouth to speak and I automatically cringe, “Do you realise that just about every person you passed would kill you for what’s inside that case?”

He’s got this booming, airport-speaker-like voice, which is bad at the best of times, but when you’ve been up all night killing Bad Guys and just want to get a bit of rest it’s absolute torture.

Grand Wolf is like a father to me. He saved my life once, when I was still learning about the ring and all of its capabilities. The thing is, he’s always in a bad mood, like he’s got this eternal hangover and just wants some coffee and a soundproof room.

He knows I’ve been cruising around for hours in plain sight with this orb. And he specifically told me to come straight home once I’d found it.

Grand Wolf snatches the case from my hand and storms inside. I’m always in shit, but I’ve been trained to hold my breath for ages.

*     *     *     *

Apparently, some rich, important guy wants to store the Orb of Gondlar in a very safe place so that no evil nasties can get their hands on it. My job was to get it from the nasties in the first place, but I never get told anything.

I’ve had maybe two hours sleep when Grand Wolf bursts into my room to wake me.

“Lots to do today.” He bellows, almost ripping the curtains off their rails. That bastard sun shines his warm, happy rays onto my miserable melon.

After I’ve been hustled in and out of the shower, GW tells me all about my activities for the day.

*     *     *     *

The Mall that you see in daylight is very different from the one it becomes after the sun goes down. As I walk through it, watching the normal people go about their lives, I wonder what it would be like if I still thought the world was a safe place.

That rich, important guy I was talking about earlier owns some massive corporation situated high up in the Mall. There are mostly office blocks and stuff up there. I’ve never seen the place in daylight.

I step into the elevator and press the button for the top floor. The lift hums softly while I listen to a panpipes version of an old Metallica song.

Grand Wolf couldn’t get enough of telling me how valuable the Orb is and that if I lost it he’d be mad. So no pressure, right?

When the lift stops halfway to let someone else in, I’m ready for a brawl. But instead of a bunch of demon-heavies, in walks the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.

She’s tall, but not too tall, with blonde hair and the cutest little nose. I’m not sure what it feels like, but I think I’m in love. In her right hand she’s carrying a violin case.

“So,” I say, “do you always carry a machine gun around with you?”

She smiles and looks sheepishly down at the violin case, “Actually, it’s my lunch.”

The angel presses the button for the second floor from the top. The floor below the one I’m going to. She looks at the shiny, silver case in my hand, “That looks important. What’s in there?”

I look down at the case, “Well, it’s this bright ball that’s supposed to be really powerful. Powerful enough so that whoever controls it can take over the world or something. But we’re gonna keep it safe so that no one can.”

She smiles. I’m not sure if she thinks I’m charming or that I’m a complete fruitcake and she better humour me. I decide to go with it, “And this ring on my finger morphs into an unbreakable sword that helps me fight against evil damnations from Hell.”

The lift doors open on her floor. “Well, good luck.” She says as she exits my life forever.

The doors close and I try to concentrate on what’s upstairs. It’s useless, this girl has infected my mind like a nasty rash. And I don’t even know her name.

*     *     *     *

The guy’s office is huge. The receptionist’s desk is this oak monstrosity, enough desk for a whole platoon of secretaries. The black-and-white photographs on the walls scream pretension, they must be expensive.

He’s waiting for me at the entrance. We shake hands and give introductions and are off to a secluded room where I’m supposed to hand over the Orb and he’s supposed to lock it away.

The room is massive. A giant, steel door is on one wall and the guy’s equally giant desk is standing in the middle of the room. Chained to the desk is the biggest Rottweiler I have ever seen. The wall facing outside is totally glass and looks out over the Mall parking lot.

The guy I’m giving the Orb to probably bleeds blue. Everything he does seems to ooze royalty. His hair is almost totally black except for greying areas at the sides, which only make him look more distinguished. His suit probably costs more than most people’s annual income, and he somehow manages to talk down to you but not seem arrogant or patronizing at all. It’s amazing.

He apologises for the delay, but we’re still waiting for someone.

The door opens and in walks the girl from the elevator. She smiles at me and then looks at the rich, kingish guy, “Sorry I’m late. I had some stuff to do downstairs.”

She’s changed into an outfit that looks like small, black scales covering her entire body up to her neck and wrists. I immediately recognise it as an LED agent’s uniform.

“Not a problem.” Says old blue blood, “I’d like you to meet…”

The door and surrounding wall explodes inward, cutting his introduction short. Everyone in the room ducks for cover, the ring changes into a shield to protect me.  When the smoke clears I can see who caused all the commotion.

The guy’s as big as Grand Wolf, maybe bigger, in his hand is a bloodstained scythe that was probably responsible for all the dead bodies behind him.  His hair reaches his butt - I’m not sure if it’s from his head or is part of the hair on his back. The colour of his skin is sort of yellow-brown, looks less like skin and more like snake scales. Electric blue flames are sparking off the scythe, crackling like turbo-charged Rice Crispies.

The beautiful girl whose name I still don’t know slams the violin case on the floor and whips out, if I’m not mistaken, a machine gun. Although it’s like no machine gun I’ve seen before, like something out of a 2000 AD comic. She opens fire, spraying the bad guy with little lead unfriendlies.

The bullets just bounce off him, he sweeps her out of the way with his free hand and makes for the Orb. She crashes onto the floor next to me.

My ring does its thing and morphs to the sword. I lunge at the guy, going for his throat. He brings his scythe up and blocks my blow. The two swords thunder together, booming like a nuclear explosion. The vibrations send a searing pain through my arm. I let go of the sword and it changes back into the ring.

The blue-blooded dude is at his desk unchaining the Rottweiler. The dog immediately attacks but is sliced in half by the electric scythe. This guy’s clearly not an animal lover, even though he looks like he was spawned from the coupling of a grizzly bear and a Komodo dragon.

The girl is on her feet again. She’s thrown down the gun and instead is armed with something that looks like a necklace.  She jumps on the guy’s back, trying to… well, I don’t know what she’s trying to do, hurt him probably. But before she can do it he reaches around and pulls her off.

She swipes for his face with her free hand. He looks at her for a second, then throws her right through the glass wall.

It’s only about five stories down and I’m sure she’ll live, but I don’t want to find out how fragile she might be.

I dive out the window, picking up the dog chain on the way, and make it in time to grab her by the arm. I swing round and land both of us back in the window.

“Nice save.” She says.

“Hey, no probl…” My moment of suave coolness is totally ruined when the chain slips through my fingers and I’m the one falling five stories down.

Real smooth, I think as the concrete races to greet me. James Bond, I ain’t.

The ring morphs into a solid, round ball of whatever, saving my lame, pathetic butt once more. I smash onto some poor bastard’s BMW, crushing it.

I look up at the girl staring down at me. And just when I reckon she’s gonna think I’m a total loser, she smiles and gives me a thumbs up.

*     *     *     *

Upstairs, the villain has taken off with the Orb.

The rich guy doesn’t look so distinguished anymore. He’s kneeling on the floor in front of the top half of his dog, whimpering and stroking its head.

I turn to the girl, “Look, what’s your name? Please?”

“Karen Keating, LED.” She extends her hand for me to shake..

I look at her hand, then into her eyes, “You’re not going to arrest me are you?”

“Not a chance.”

I shake her hand, “Who was that guy?”

“That’s the Bohemian.”

“Oh,” I say, “and I suppose he’s not gonna use the Orb to make the world a nicer place for kitties and bunnies and stuff.”

“Probably not.”

“So I guess we better stop him then?” I say.

“Sorry, kiddo. I work alone.”

Kiddo? Kiddo! Who the hell does she think she is? I just saved her from about a hundred broken bones and life as a dribbling cabbage. And she works alone? How lame is that? Talk about clichéd. She’s not Batman. Besides, even Batman joined a team. I’m sure he did. Or he had a sidekick or something.

I’m about to open my mouth and say something instead of standing there like yesterday’s spoiled milk when she unclips a device from her belt, points it out the window, and shoots some kind of grappling hook thingy across to another building.

“Gotta go.’ She says, and swings out the window.

Cool. Just like Batman.

*     *     *     *

I just know that Grand Wolf is gonna kill me. He told me about a thousand times to be careful and not let anyone take the Orb. He couldn’t stop going on and on about how important it is and that if I lost it he’d be really, really mad.

I must admit, I’d rather face that Bohemian guy again than tell Grand Wolf that I lost the Orb. He’s gonna be so mad.

I’m waiting for the elevator, considering whether to go home or leave the country, when my cell phone starts ringing again.

I check the screen, it’s the same number that called me last night. Remember when I was sneaking through Balgog’s lair? So I’m quite keen to give this person a couple pieces of my mind.

The elevator doors open and I enter the lift while answering my phone, “Hello?”

Dootdootdootdootdoot!

“What the?” I look at the screen again.

Great, what a fantastic time to lose reception. I thought this was an expensive building. You’re not supposed to lose reception in the elevator of an expensive building. Are you?

Oh well, I’m sure they’ll call back.

*     *     *     *

Remember when I said that GW would be mad? Well, I underreacted. I’m not even sure if that’s a word, but that’s what I did.

He’s madder than a bull in a strawberry factory. Then I tell him that I saved the life of an LED agent and he gets madder – if that’s possible.

“At least tell me you know who took it?” he bellows.

“Some guy called the Bohemian.” I say.

His mood automatically changes. His furious eyes turn into extremely concerned ones, he absentmindedly rubs where his hand used to be, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. He did quite a rhapsody on this guy’s dog, though.” GW frowns at my lame joke. It had to be said.

*     *     *     *

According to Grand Wolf, the Bohemian is a villain not to be trifled with - those are his words, not mine.

This guy has killed countless people in his lifetime, and he’s been around longer than GW. Pretty tough for an old guy.

My father faced him a couple of times, back in the day when he used to hang around with Grand Wolf, and on those occasions they barely escaped with their gonads intact.

Apparently the Bohemian has no Achilles’ heal, the guy is virtually indestructible. That’s what GW says, anyway. I don’t believe it.

The guy has to have some weakness. Even Superman became a wilted pansy around Kryptonite. I figure I just have to find this guy’s one weakness and exploit it. But I’m an optimist then, aren’t I? I mean, I honestly believe that I can become half the Swordsman my father was and take down the god that killed him.

I just have to find out what the Bohemian’s weakness is and then find him and take him down before he uses the mysterious Orb of Gondlar to do whatever evil purpose the thing was designed to do.

*     *     *     *

I wish I got to see my friends as much as I see Balgog. The way GW is my mentor and all-round knowledgeable buddy, Balgog is my snitch.

With the slick, black oil of night surrounding me I sneak up to the entrance of Balgog’s lair, ready for another round with his ugly playmates.

Inside, however, the scene is a bit different than I had expected. The place is deserted. There’s usually always one or two hanging around, but not today. It’s like they’d all been watching too many teen movies and decided to clear out and go on a road trip.

I’m about to leave when a voice coming from a dark corner startles me.

“This is all your fault, you know?” it’s Balgog’s voice. He emerges from a shadow.

“Did I scare away all your fwends?” I ask him in a patronizing baby-voice.

“No. The Bohemian killed them. He would’ve killed me if I was here.”

“If he killed them, where are the bodies?”

Balgog laughs at me ignorance, “You have no idea what you’re dealing with do you? When a Book-Demon dies he goes home. We actually have to use our bodies when we die. You humans go about donating organs to let the living benefit from your demise, but then complain when you’re missing a spleen in the Afterlife.”

“How do you kill a Book-Demon?” I ask.

“You think I’m going to tell you? I’m not stupid.”

I raise my sword, “Okay, I’ll ask another. How do I find this Bohemian character?”

“Nothing you could do to me would make me tell you.” he says, “Do you actually think you could be more intimidating than him?”

I slice off one of Balgog’s arms, “Where?”

Already I can see the arm slowly starting to reform. Balgog screams as his limb flops onto the floor.

“Your world is about to change forever.” He smiles, “Now that the Bohemian has the Orb, you humans will know more pain than your puny minds can imagine.”

I slice off one of his legs, and the other arm just for good measure, “Where?” I shout.

Balgog just laughs at me. I shove my sword deep into where I think his heart would be. He roars in pain, “Fine, I’ll tell you. The dark god won’t just kill you, what he has in store for his enemies is much worse than any death imaginable.”

After way too much melodrama, Balgog eventually tells me where to find the Bohemian and the Orb.

I chop off his head, just to be nasty.

He forces me to do things like that, you know? I’ve actually grown quite fond of the idiot, the thought of him being killed almost saddens me. But I’ll reach the Orb before anything like that happens, and by then I’ll have figured out a way to stop the big bad Bohemian.

I wish I felt as confident as I sound.

*     *     *     *

At this hour the Mall is deserted except for the hapless security guards that are paid a pittance to wander around. They have no idea what goes on in this place at night. If they did, most of them wouldn’t even be here and the others would demand a pretty hefty increase.

I’m on my way to where Balgog said I’d find the Bohemian. At this stage of the game, I’m pretty sure I should be thinking about some form of back-up. Back-up is always useful when you’re going up against an apparently indestructible foe with bulletproof skin and a weapon that has lightning coming out of it. Or maybe I’m just being silly.

I thought about contacting the London Espresso Distributors, asking them to send some agents over, but then Karen Keating’s patronising voice echoes through my ears.

Sorry, kiddo. I work alone.

Fine. I’ll take down this Bohemian guy and save the world by myself. If she’s going to be that way. Who needs the LED, they’re just a bunch of glorified coffee-boys with high-tech firearms.

My incredibly mature, rational thought pattern is interrupted by a deafening blast. It’s not too far away, and I’m not that keen to fight old scale-face just yet, so I follow the sound to see what all the commotion is about.

It’s coming from one of the service entrances that lead to the back doors to a number of shops.

When I get there I see a Tech-Vamp holding down an LED agent, ready to tear her throat out. And what do you know, it’s my favourite agent herself, little miss Keating.

She looks up at me, teeth clenched as she struggles with a Vamp three times her size.

“A little help?” she asks.

I casually lean against the wall and fold my arms, “Oh, I thought you worked alone?”

She kicks the Vamp in the crotch. He lets go of her and stumbles backwards. She boots him in the face, pulls out some fancy gun, and blasts his chest.

“Well, now I know who I want around to look after my future children.” She says.

I raise my sword and slice the Tech-Vamp, who’s climbed back onto his feet and lunged at the both of us.

Hey, do you think that talk about future children means she might be interested in me? I wonder. Definitely, to be continued.

To kill a Tech-Vamp you need to remove its insides. Not all of its insides, but most of them. It’s a real dirty job, and I let out a sigh as I bend down to do the deed.

“Hold on.” Says the beautiful LED agent who has run away with my heart once before. She takes a small container from her belt and tosses it onto the Vamp. The vial explodes and some acid-like substance eats away at the Tech-Vamp’s insides.

“Wow,” I say, “No mess, no fuss.”

*     *     *     *

After she let the Bohemian run off with the Orb, Karen’s bosses took her off the assignment entirely.

“The LED is not the place to go if you want second chances.” She says. I can see by the look in her heavenly blue eyes that she’s pretty ashamed by this morning’s incident.

“Well, I know where he’s hiding and I’m gonna get that Orb back.” I say.

“You know where the Orb is?” She says. I find the astonishment in her voice almost insulting.

I tell her about Balgog and how the Bohemian killed his posse. Like most, she feels no sympathy for Book-Demons.

“You can’t go,” she says, “It’s suicide. Do you know anything about the Bohemian?”

“Only what Grand Wolf told me. Something about him being indestructible and really old.” I’m trying to act tough by being nonchalant, when in actuality I’m shitting myself.

“You know Grand Wolf?” she asks, “I thought he was dead?.”

“Only his sense of humour.”

“You can’t go in there alone,” she says, “Let me call in and get a task force. My bosses will know what to do.”

“Oh, yes. The magnificent folk at the LED, saving the world from otherworldly nasties and deleting anyone who doesn’t share their ideology. You know that one of you guys almost killed me once? After I’d tried to help him take down a horde of Tech-Vamps. I’m sure the LED would love to get their hands on the Orb, so they could exploit it.” I’m ranting, partly because I hate the self-righteous crap the LED spew and partly because the thought of facing an indestructible, scythe-wielding, King Kong sized nutter is pumping enough adrenaline through my body to power a horny, high school football team.

Karen stands there and waits for me to finish. She can see I’m scared, but she can also see that I won’t back down. I’m going in. Maybe the thought of getting my face handed to me changes her mind, I don’t know, but when I turn around and stalk off she runs after me.

“Wait,” she says. I turn to face her, “Okay, I’ll go with you. But you have to promise me that if it’s too much for the both of us to handle, you’ll back off and let me call in for help.”

“Why should I do that?” I ask, “So you glory hounds can use it as another excuse for your fascist police force?”

“No,” she says, “because I don’t want to see you die. In case you haven’t noticed, genius, I actually like you. And just by the way, do you know the meaning of indestructible? It means: Can’t be destroyed. It means: You’ll get your intestines fed to you like the Godfather’s spaghetti Alfredo.”

I ponder this for a while. She actually does have a point. “Okay, it’s a deal. But only if I say we can’t handle it. Don’t go calling in those idiots for no reason.”

We set off for what will probably be the most dangerous situation either of us has ever been in. I should be feeling anxious and extremely scared, but all I can think is: She likes me.

*     *     *     *

The Mall is like a big, old, scary castle or haunted mansion. Lots of tunnels and secret passageways and stuff like that. The caverns beneath it are endless. Karen says that even the LED hasn’t mapped the entire underground system yet.

Balgog gave me directions that lead deep down under the Mall. Most of these tunnels and passageways are pitch black during the day, so at night flashlights are definitely required.

Like a good boy scout, I’ve brought an old flashlight with me. I turn it on and Karen automatically asks me if I’m insane.

“What? Are we supposed to stumble round in the dark?” I say.

“Here,” she says, “These won’t attract any unnecessary attention.” She hands me a pair of really cool dark glasses.

I look at them quizzically, “How are these going to help?”

“Just turn off the light and put them on.”

I do what she says, and what was once thick darkness becomes as clear as daylight. I reckon they must be some form of night vision goggles, but I read somewhere that those things are supposed to amplify any light in the room about a bazillion times or something. That would be fine if there was any light here to begin with, but there isn’t.

I ain’t a veterinarian so I wouldn’t be looking into any kind of horse’s mouth, especially not a gift horse’s mouth.

We walk for about twenty minutes, and just when I think that Balgog was having me on, the passage opens into a giant, lit cavern.

The air smells like it hasn’t been disturbed in centuries. On the roof, giant stalactites hang down threateningly.

The night vision glasses are amazing, they automatically adjust to the light so that your eyes aren’t burnt out of their sockets.

In the centre of the cavern, a silver case is standing all by it’s lonesome. It’s not just any silver case, it’s the one that I lost earlier today. The case with the Orb of Gondlar in it.

My spirits are raised for a second and then I remember something that Grand Wolf once told me. If things seem too good to be true, it’s probably because they are too good to be true.

This was way too easy.

From behind the many rocks and other great hiding places, about a hundred Book-Demons emerge. And they don’t look like they’re here to congratulate me on a job well done.

“It’s a trap.” I say to Karen.

She’s got a huge hand cannon out from one of the countless pockets in her suit, “Really,” she says sarcastically, “what gave you that impression?”

Balgog comes to the front of the drooling crowd. I hardly recognise him, his head has been cut off so many times he’s starting to look like David Hasselhof.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? The great Swordsman and his girlfriend from the London Espresso Distributors. What a treat.” Balgog is like most lower-level bad guys. They hardly ever have a moment of glory, so when a situation arises in which they do have the upper hand they like to spend a good deal of the time gloating.

He doesn’t stop yet, “You know, Swordsman? I always knew the day would come when I would have you at your knees begging me for mercy. I’ve been very patient. Just biding my time until…”

Karen stops his rambling with one shot from the ridiculously large firearm in her hand. Balgog takes a bullet that blows his arm completely off and takes out a couple of Demons standing behind him.

Like a starter pistol, the shot gets all the other guys charging towards us like Jabba the Hutt to the buffet table at the Empire’s annual Christmas party.

Man, this is gonna be messy. I swing my sword and about a dozen heads fly. Karen isn’t holding the gun any more, in her hand she has something that looks like a plain old baseball bat but when she swings it sparks fly and any Demons in the way are reduced to bubbling puddles of goo.

We hack away at the sea of baddies for what seems like a long time but is probably only a few seconds.

My phone rings. It’s like there’s some god of really bad timing that wants to invite me over to watch videos.

“What?” I shout into it. I wonder how my phone could get reception down here but not in the lift of some office block.

“The fire is within you!” says a voice on the other end.

“The who does what to whose mother?” I shout, “Who is this?”

But the guy on the other end isn’t there any more. I throw the damn thing over my shoulder. To hell with the twenty-first century, I hate cell phones.

I see Balgog running out a doorway at the other side of the cavern. I look over at Karen but she’s already after him. I just know we’re thinking the same thing.

Balgog is stupid enough to lead us straight back to the Bohemian. I slice my way through the crowd, grabbing the case as I leave. It probably doesn’t have the Orb in it, but hey, what have I got to lose.

We get to the exit, I can see Balgog limping away holding where his arm used to be.

“Get him,” Karen shouts at me, “I’ll finish up here.”

I run after Balgog. Looking back, I see Karen pull a black canister from her belt and toss it through the door. She turns and runs after me.

“Move!” she shouts. Then I hear the mother of all explosions shrieking in labour, mixed in with it are screams from a hundred very unlucky bad guys.

I’m totally lost. I have no idea how to get out of here if we lose sight of Balgog. The night vision specs light up the dark passage, Book-Demons are a lot like moles or bats, they can see in the dark.

We chase him down too many winding corridors to keep track of, until he eventually stops at a dead end.

I’m only about ten metres away from him. Next to me, Karen has pulled out a small object with lots of little sharp spikes on it. If the Marquis de Sade were a doctor, this would be the suppository he gave you.

I check the case, if it has the Orb inside then what’s all the fuss over the Book-Demon for?

The case is full of bricks. Oh well. I toss it aside and step towards Balgog. His hand is on some sort of lever.

“Adios!” he says. He pulls the lever down and the floor beneath us vanishes. This plan is way too advanced for Balgog to think up, he must be following someone else’s orders.

We slide down a slanted wall for an eternity, I must hit a hundred rocks on the way down, until we hit the bottom of the pit with a painful thud.

“Are you okay?” I ask Karen.

“Fine,” she says, “just feeling a bit stupid at the moment.”

“I lost my glasses on the way down,” I say, “can you see anything?”

“Not much. It’s just another passageway. We must be pretty deep under the Mall. The air down here is so heavy, it’s like trying to breath through a Kevlar mask.”

I still can’t believe that we got outwitted by a Book-Demon. Remember when I said they have the characteristics of animals? Like the strength of a bear or the resilience of a cockroach? Well, one of their qualities isn’t the cunning of a fox or the patience of a cat, so there’s no way a Book-Demon could have thought up any trap, let alone one that would even fool a two year old.

I didn’t tell GW where I’d gone. He would’ve freaked if he knew I was going after the Bohemian. I suppose I could phone him now but, alas, I threw away my cell phone in a fit of stupidity. The realisation of how dumb I actually am is interrupted by a rapidly approaching sound like thousands of nails scurrying along a tiled floor.

“Can you hear that?” I ask. 

Karen doesn’t say a word. I can feel her breathing getting heavier.

The noise gets louder and along with the clicking I can hear high pitched, animal shrieks. I have to shout above it, “What the hell is that?”

“Oh my God,” her hand tightly grips my arm.

“What? What do you see?”

“Mallrats.” She says, “I think we better run.”

*     *     *     *

Do you know what an urban legend is? It’s one of those stories that you hear happened to your friend’s friend’s neighbour’s second cousin. Those stories that you tell at the campfire, with only the eerie sounds of the wilderness in the background.

There’s the one about the alligators in the sewer, or the one with some chick in a car and a guy with an axe in the back seat.

The best one I heard was about this girl who comes home at night and finds the electricity is off. She doesn’t worry about it too much because she has a great big German Shepard to protect her. So she walks through the darkness to her room and changes into her pyjamas.

Her dog always sleeps under her bed, and every night before she goes to sleep she hangs her arm off the side of the bed and the dog licks it and she knows that she’s safe.

She does this and, as usual, the German Shepard gives her hand a loving lick.

Anyway, the next morning she wakes up and goes to the bathroom to shower, brush her teeth, and do the usual morning routine. But in the bathroom she gets a surprise. The dog is hanging from the shower rail, dead and bleeding into the bath, and on the mirror in what must be the Shepard’s blood there’s a message: Not only dogs can lick!!!

Pretty freaky, huh?

My point is that the Mall also has its own brand of myths and legends.

One is about this mad scientist or maniacal government agency that creates these giant rats with radiation or genetic engineering or something. The story changes every time you hear it.

Anyway, these rats were going to be used in warfare or maybe they were just a fun experiment, but no matter how they tried they couldn’t manage to control them. The rats were the most vicious, most violent things the scientists had ever come across.

They tried to kill them off but they bred like… well, vermin. Some of the rats supposedly escaped and scurried into the tunnels under the Mall.

This Mall.

These tunnels.

These tunnels that we’re in right now.

I never believed the story. I mean giant rats, that’s so lame. It’s like something out of a corny, seventies horror movie.

And now it sounds like a million of these B-grade movie monsters are headed in our direction.

I do the only thing that comes to mind. I run for my life.

*     *     *     *

Next to me, Karen throws something over her shoulder. I don’t actually see her do it, but there’s a massive explosion and next thing I know a wall of fire is behind us.

The Mallrats shriek like a banshee getting it’s cold, dark heart cut out. I glance back and see the rats charging through the fire like it’s not even there.

My cool night vision gear is gone, so I click on my flashlight. I don’t know much about rats, but I figure they get by more on their sense of smell than their eyesight. I could be wrong.

Karen’s ahead of me, I keep my light shined on her back and follow her lead. She ducks around a corner and flattens herself against the wall. I click off the flashlight and do the same.

“Be very, very quiet.” She says, doing quite a good Elmer Fudd impression. I wonder if she’d take that as a compliment.

I can hear the rats scurrying past the corner. I must have been wrong about their keen noses.

Once all the rats have charged past us she says, “I think I know where we are. I might be able to find the way out.”

At this moment, I’m feeling a bit like chopped liver. I mean, I got us into this mess in the first place, and I really haven’t been much use. In fact, if Karen Keating - the damn LED agent - weren’t here I’d probably be having my legs munched on by giant rats, doing a fantastic impression of a chunk of cheddar.

“Well, if you know the way out what are we doing hanging around here?” I ask.

“I’m thinking. It might not be such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because it means we have to go through those things’ nest.” She says

“What other options do we have?”

“Not many.”

“Unless,” I say, “we go out the same way we came in. Do you still have that grappling hook you used the other day?”

“Sure do.” She says, “but it can only take one person’s weight. How do we get both of us out?”

“You could go first and throw it down to me.”

I figure this girl must have watched way too many British comedies and Looney Tunes cartoons when she was younger. She looks at me and says in a strange voice, “It’s so crazy it just might work.”

*     *     *     *

I hold her hand all the way back to where we entered. Not because I’m a big, frightened girly-man, but because using the flashlight might attract more rats.

We find the remains of some rats that got blasted by the grenade Karen threw. You know the smell of burnt hair? Well, this smells like that but mixed with the smell of a rotting corpse or two.

I see why Grand Wolf takes everything so seriously. He’s trying to teach me how to be a hero, giving me hypothetical situations that I need to figure a way out of. So far, the ring hasn’t been much use. I’m a good Swordsman and everything, but I don’t think I could have hacked through all those rats.

Karen takes the flashlight and gives me her glasses. She shoots the grappling hook up, it latches on to something way above us.

“Okay, once I’m up I’ll throw it down to you.”

“See you there.”

“Just one more thing.” She says.

She grabs the back of my head and kisses me. Wow! Any problems, like the Orb and the Bohemian and the end of the world, don’t matter. Heaven doesn’t seem so far away anymore.

Just when I think my knees are going to cave in she lets go. I want to say something but my brain has gone on strike.

And then she’s ascending, like an angel returning to Paradise.

*     *     *     *

I’ve never understood women. Big deal, I hear you say, who can? My main problem is that, as men and women age, what one wants the other can’t offer anymore. I’m not explaining it very well am I? Let me use myself as an example.

When I was younger, sixteen years old to be precise, I was the greatest listener.

Just about every woman I knew would come to me with her problems. I was the resident relationship counsellor. Their boyfriends didn’t spend enough time with them, weren’t romantic enough or sensitive to their needs, sometimes the dumb-ass was even cheating on her. I was always the shoulder to cry on. A really nice guy.

Gee, you’re saying, you must have had women beating down your door. Not so, while I was being the nice, sensitive guy, women wanted the guy who drove the motorcycle who could belch the theme to Knight Rider. They wanted a man who was dangerous, self-centred, and told them that if they lost a bit more weight they could almost look like Michelle Pfeifer.

I was such a nice guy, no one wanted to go out with me in case we broke up and lost our friendship. Then they thought they wouldn’t be able to come to me with all their problems anymore.

Eventually, I got so sick and tired of hearing: “I don’t want to go out with you because I don’t want to lose our special friendship.” That I decided the only solution was to change myself. I easily became nasty, self-centred, and I bought a motorcycle.

Alas, a few years down the line I’m still lonely, but I’m not a nice guy anymore. You see, when I changed so did all the women my age. Now that I was selfish and no longer a nice guy, women were sick of the dangerous male and wanted one that was sweet, romantic, and in touch with his feminine side. What could I do?

Well, let me tell you, it is much easier to change yourself into a bastard than it is to change back from one. These days I think I’m a mix between the two.

And now your probably thinking: So what’s your point? Why are you rambling on about this? Does this have anything to do with the story?

As I watch Karen disappear I’m thinking that this is the most incredible woman I’ve ever met. There’s this large, horrible knot where my stomach used to be that only goes away when I’m around her. And I’m petrified that I’m gonna screw this one up, like I’ve screwed up every other relationship that’s made a brief appearance in my life.

*     *     *     *

Toot toot! Last call for the Issue Express! Any passengers not on board will forfeit their right to bitch about the opposite sex!

I’m still waiting for Karen to throw down the grappling hook. I hope she’s okay. If Balgog is still up there he’s in for a lot of trouble, Karen will kick his ass into the life after the Afterlife.

I look down the corridor. There’s nothing there but darkness. Hold on, I think I can see something. Lots of little red pinpricks. I look a bit more carefully.

I’m not sure how long the rats have been staring at me, but as soon as they know I’ve seen them they start to stir.

I look up and can see the grappling hook falling. The Mallrats let out an almighty shriek and start toward me.

Their hard, sharp nails scratch the floor frenetically as they run towards another meal.

Everything slows down as my mind tries to do a bit of calculation. At the rate the hook is falling, and at the speed the rats are charging, will the hook or the rats reach me first?

I get a better look at the Mallrats. They’re huge, about the size of my sofa at home, if it was covered in greasy, black-brown hair instead of a floral design that Grand Wolf picked out. Their front teeth are like two jagged, bone footstools. And while we’re being metaphorical, I should mention the red, evil cushions that are the windows to their disgusting, rotten souls.

I figure the time it’ll take me to catch the grappling hook, fire it up, and wait for it to get a hold on something will only allow my arm enough time to save itself.

Here I am running again. The rats in front are not running behind me as much as they’re being shoved by the ones at the back. This seems to be making them even madder and more annoyed, which is not good for my cause at all.

I swing the sword behind me as I run, the squeals get higher in pitch if that’s possible and I tell myself that I’ve sent a few of them to rodent la-la-land.

I’ll never outrun them. I have no idea where I’m going, they could be leading me to their nest where mommy is waiting to share out my body parts among her children.

Well, if I’ve gotta die, I’m gonna be soaked in blood from their evil hides.

I dive forward, spin round in the air, and start hacking at the rats. They’re not so tough, just one swing is all it takes to kill them. That would make me feel better if there were only, say, a hundred or two. It’s like someone opened a massive tap and these things are running out like a never-ending sea of hate.

Then my sword disappears. I think that I must of lost my arm somehow, but when I look down it’s still there and on my middle finger is the ring. Shining up at me like I’m on a picnic instead of facing down Satan’s gerbils.

“Hello!” I scream at the ring, “Some help, please!”

Then the ring explodes into a bubble that covers my whole body. It’s done this a couple of times before, like when I fell out of the window and let the Bohemian take off with the Orb of Gondlar.

The ring and I have some kind of mental link. Not so strong that I can actually control it, but I can sometimes feel what it feels. Like it’s a part of my soul. I seem to know what it’s doing most of the time.

The bubble starts to spin. Faster and faster. Insanely fast. Then sharp spikes shoot out on the sides, making it a giant mace.

It spins even faster, liquidising any rat that tries to sink its filthy teeth into it.

After a while the ring stops spinning and the bubble retracts. I’m standing with the sword, looking over what is clearly the Mallrats’ nest.

The mother of all rats turns to shine its glowing, red eyes on me. She’s way to big for me to take on. I wonder how the ring will get me out of this one.

*     *     *     *

Gods can die. Not many people know that, they think that to say someone is immortal means that they can’t die. They can die, someone just has to kill them.

Grand Wolf is mad as hell at me. He explicitly told me not to go after the Bohemian. To go after him at this stage in my training would be suicidal.

I’m sitting in an old armchair, I’m covered in blood from the Mallrat Queen, and Grand Wolf is shouting at me.

I can’t hear what he’s saying. As hard as I try to listen, the images that the ring shared with me keep flashing through my mind.

I found my way through the rats’ nest, but in doing so the ring had to show me things that I probably shouldn’t have seen. I don’t think my mind is handling it too well.

I can’t actually remember much about killing the Queen. I just remember what the ring showed me, that was all I had flashing through my head.

The only thing in my mind is how much I want to kill Mephisto. I want to rip his soul from his body and fucking feed it to him. And if his soul is too small and deep inside him, I’ll cut through his body until I find it.

            Until now, the ring and my mission felt like a game. It was something that I needed to do because something inside me said it was the right thing to do.

            What I feel now is more than hate and a desire for revenge. There isn’t a word for the thing that’s pumping angry energy through my veins.

            I want to tell Grand Wolf to shut up. I want to storm out of this place and face down Mephisto right now. I want to shove my sword down the murderer’s throat and bleed him slowly until his last gasp is begging me for mercy.

            But I know that I’m not nearly ready for him. He would tear me apart without breaking a sweat. That’s why I need Grand Wolf. He is the only person who can train me for what lies ahead. I can’t rely on myself.

The worst kind of hate is one that burns slowly. Anyone can act impulsively, and in a fit of passionate anger kill someone. It takes the possession of a special type of hate to bide your time until the moment is right.

            I’m not prepared to die until I have avenged my parent’s death.

*     *     *     *

            The following night I have someone I need to pay a visit to. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m dead, but something I’m learning is never to underestimate anyone or anything. And I’m sure Balgog underestimated me. Hell, I underestimated myself.

            I learned some things about the ring last night and I’ve spent the whole day practicing new tricks. The ring can be controlled, it just takes a lot of energy and willpower.

            I figure I need to pay Balgog a special visit. Tomorrow I’m moving to another Mall for a while and I just couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

            Balgog’s lair is a shithole. He’s so pathetic. Tonight I’m going to show him that I will not be stopped, my life has been dedicated to avenging my parent’s death, and nothing he can do will stop me from accomplishing my goal.

            I don’t know if the Bohemian told Balgog to set up the trap or if he managed it by himself. I don’t care.

            As usual, Balgog’s henchmen are sleeping. The room echoes their demonic grunting as they dream about death and pain and their filthy desires.

            I walk in and start hacking them up. I’ve gone through about a dozen before any of them wake. The ones that manage to get up are no match for me.

            I’m not content with just decapitating them. I need to cause them pain before I put them to sleep. I’m cutting them into three or four pieces before I chop their heads off. The snoring in the room is replaced with screams of terror and hurt.

            Eventually I make my way through to Balgog. He’s standing in a corner of the room staring wide-eyed at me. He thought I was dead. He never understood how much the ring is a part of me. I don’t know who’s in the driver’s seat, if it’s me that controls the ring or the ring that’s controlling me.

            “What you gonna do?” he says, “Chop my head off again?” He’s trying to sound tough but I can hear the fear in his voice.

            I grab him by the throat and throw him across the room. His body slams into the wall, I can hear bones breaking.

            He springs to his feet and tries to run out the door. I kick a chair at him. It shatters into thousands of splinters as it slams into his body, Balgog falls over clutching his arm.

            I walk over and kick him hard in the ribs. Then I stamp on his windpipe. He clutches his throat and struggles for breath.

            I kneel down next him, “I’m not going to cut your ugly head off, Balgog. It’s just not fun anymore. I think I’m going to kill you tonight.”

            “You can’t kill me,” he says, “you don’t know how.”

            I pick him up from the floor and toss him onto a table. The table smashes and he’s on the floor again.

            I kneel down on top of him. My knees are holding his arms down. “Funny you should mention that. What you said the other night made me think. I did some research and realised there’s so much more to be learned from books than I imagined.”

            He hasn’t called my bluff. I look into his eyes and see that he believes me. He thinks I know how to kill him.

            When I was deep underneath the Mall, facing the Mallrat Queen, I learned more about the ring in five minutes than I’ve learned in five years. The ring actually allowed me to control it. It just takes a lot of energy and a hell of a lot of willpower.

            I’ve been practicing this all day. I focus all my energy on my right hand, my ring hand, and picture what I want it to do in my head.

            The ring runs like mercury over my hand. The silver liquid races my arm up to my elbow and hardens. Jagged points extend out from my knuckles.

             I beat down on Balgog’s terrified face. Harder and faster. Faster and harder. My vision blurs, everything becomes red around the edges, until all I can see is a dark, swirling, crimson ocean.

            I stop. My clothes and body are drenched in sweat. Balgog’s face is nothing but a bloody pulp. I’m looking at the inside of his head.

            I stand up. The glove races down my arm and back to my middle finger where it reforms as the ring. The ring changes to the sword. I stab it through Balgog’s chest and lift his limp body high into the air. The sword morphs into two blades which race in opposite directions, slicing the Book-Demon’s body in half.

            After I’ve drenched the place in petrol, I watch it burn from outside.

            The ring shines up at me. I think it’s pleased.

*     *     *     *

            Moving to another Mall is like moving to another town. Grand Wolf has houses all over the place, and when we move to the new Mall we also move to a house that’s closer to it.

            On the morning we’re leaving, I walk into the kitchen and see a long, thin black case on the table that I’ve never seen in the house before. I think that it’s probably full of GW’s clothes, but then remember that he only ever really wears his ratty old gown and slippers.

            Curiosity gets the better of me, I just hope I end up better than the cat everyone talks about. I open the case.

            Inside is a sword. What’s strange is that it looks just like the sword that the ring turns into. I pick it up, it’s roughly the same weight as the ring-sword. Weird, why would Grand Wolf have a sword that looks just like mine?

            I put it back in the case and forget about it.

*     *     *     *

            I’m running through the new Mall chasing a gang of Tech-Vamps. Most Malls are pretty much the same, the same monsters just with different names and faces.

            The Vamps aren’t so far ahead of me. They race around a corner and when I get there they’re gone. I look around, expecting them to jump out from behind a bench or something, but they don’t.

            I’m in the Mall’s food court. All around me are closed fast food joints with festive decorations in their windows. The court is totally deserted. So silent that the thumping of my heart sounds like a heavy metal drum solo.

            Everything is very Christmassy. Each shop has that spray in their windows that is supposed to be snow, there are Christmas trees with annoying flashing lights down every corridor, and right in the middle of the food court is a giant chair where Santa sits and asks kids if they’ve been naughty or nice.

            I’ve had a bad year. The marketing guys really got to me this Christmas.

             I faintly hear laughing, a child’s laughing. I spin around but there’s nothing behind me. I hear the giggling again.

            There’s a giant display above me. It’s a carousel. On the freaky looking horses are child size models of smiling clowns. There’s something about clowns that sends shivers skittering up my spine like frozen cockroaches. I probably read too much Stephen King when I was younger.

             I look carefully at the carousel, trying to see if the Vamps are hiding up there. Nothing but the clown models.

            Oh well, I guess they got away.

            Grand Wolf usually gives me missions to accomplish, like getting the Orb of Gondlar from Balgog. Tonight he told me to just cruise around the Mall, to get a feel for it, meet some of the locals.

            I wonder where the Book-Demons hang out?

            I hear the high-pitched laughing behind me. Close behind me. I spin around but no one’s there. God, I must be losing it. Too many late nights.

            I look up at the carousel again. Seems okay, it’s turning slowly, the horses still look like Satan’s steeds, but where did those freaky clowns get to?

            I spin around yet again – if I keep this up I’m gonna get a reputation as a ballerina – and standing staring at me are the medley of clowns that I was hoping were just models.

            They’re giggling. Laughing like I’ve got a Kick Me sign glued to my back.

One of the Gigglers opens his mouth to smile at me. The insanely huge mouth is choc-full of sharp yellow gnashers that I’m sure are used for more than getting through a tough bit of steak.

Each Giggler has a different colour suit on. There’s Red, Blue, Green, Yellow, Purple, and Polkadot. Their white faces make the bright red lips, red noses, and the black spots that are their eyes stand out.

I can imagine these things sitting up there all day while children point and laugh at them – that must piss them off.

Their attention drifts from me to something behind me. I chance turning my head to look over my shoulder. In the distance there’s an old man watching everything. He’s dressed in a tatty hat and coat, in his right hand is a battered old suitcase.

I look back at the clowns, “Is that the ringmaster?”

Red shrieks at me, he sounds like a pig getting skewered. I raise the sword, “Come and get it, freaks.”

*     *     *     *

Since my experience in the Mallrats’ nest, the ring and I have a new kind of relationship. It’s almost as if the ring has, after all these years, finally accepted me as its owner.

At home I was practicing bending the ring to my will. It took a lot out of me, but I managed to actually control it. I feel that the ring is becoming more and more a part of me. It’s not just a piece of jewellery that doubles as a kick-ass weapon any more. The ring and I were meant to be together.

Sometimes, when I’m dreaming, I think I can hear the ring talking to me. Like it has a mind of its own and is trying to communicate.

I know it communicated with me in the Mallrats’ nest. What it showed me down there is what gave me the strength to fight my way out. And the images that flashed through my mind are what is driving me in my quest.

Killing Mephisto, the god that murdered my parents, was just a fantasy before. Something that I said I was striving for but never actually thought I could accomplish. The ring flicked a switch in my head, and now killing Mephisto is a burning hunger that can only be sated with blood.

The more blood the better.

*     *     *     *

The Gigglers are real clowns.

Have you ever been to the circus? Of course you have. You know how one clown will bend on his hands and knees behind another while a third clown pushes the second one over the first? You know that old trick? You’ve probably done it yourself at least once in your life.

Now imagine someone doing that trick to you, except instead of just shoving you over the guy booted you in the face, and instead of just tripping over the guy behind you he was holding a big, blunt instrument just sharp enough to stab right through you.

Now you know what I’m dealing with.

When Red shrieks, the others jump into action. Blue dives for my head. On the end of their stubby, white fingers are long, black, nasty-looking talons which I know are just itching to peel my eyes out so they can juggle with them.

I swing at Blue, but my blow falls short. When Blue went for my face, Green and Purple took out my legs, one each.

When I’m on the ground, Green and Purple hold my legs down. Yellow and Blue dive for my arms and hold them down too, they’re strong little bastards. Red is lying next to me in a fit of hysterical laughter, he’s having fun.

Polkadot walks over to me. He looks down at me struggling and shakes his head. I see him reach into his pocket and pull out a baseball bat. On the end of the bat is a smiley face that I just know is gonna leave a mark.

The guy with the suitcase is still standing there watching the whole episode.

Polkadot smiles with those shark-teeth and slams the bat right between my eyes.

*     *     *     *

I regain consciousness and find myself tied to a giant wheel stuck against a wall. The wheel’s going round and round like a DJ’s turntable but instead of hearing music all I can hear is laughter.

My vision clears. I’m in the middle of a circus ring, surrounding me is an audience of nasties. They don’t look like people, actually scratch that, they look like people who missed out on a few million years of evolution. They’re hairy and their heads are a bit too bit for their bodies. They wave too-long arms in the air and grunt unintelligibly. For a second I think I’m at a Barbara Steisand concert.

A tall guy with a top hat and coat tails is shouting into a cone-shaped hailer, “Ladies and Gentlemen. If you focus your attention on the centre ring you will see our next amazingly dangerous act.”

The audience all watch as I get dizzy. Standing next to the ringmaster is another demon with a handful of knives.

“Klefton, the greatest knife-thrower the world has ever seen, will pierce every balloon on the board. But not only will Klefton be blindfolded, he will also be hanging upside down while ten-thousand volts of electricity are sent through his body.” The crowd cheers their approval.

I notice that there aren’t any balloons at on the board at all. Instead, the balloons are stuck onto my body. One on each ankle, one on each of my wrists and one directly under my chin. Then I look down and notice a sixth balloon. This one is stuck right over my groin.

I look out at the screaming audience, the only person not cheering is the guy with the old suitcase. The guy who watched as I was overpowered by the Gigglers.

As Klefton is strung upside down, the Gigglers entertain the crowd.

Red chases Purple on a tricycle, he’s waving a rusty axe aggressively. Then Purple bends over and emits a huge flame from his backside. Red and his tricycle catch alight. He rides into the wall and falls over, screaming.

Then, from the other end of the ring, a small fire engine drives out with its sirens blaring.

Polkadot is driving the truck. Yellow, Blue and Green are on the back wearing firemen’s hats. They stop next to Red and run around comically with the hose, like a Three Stooges routine. When they finally get in formation to spray Red with the hose, the audience starts to boo. They turn the hose on, and instead of water, petrol sprays all over the burning clown. He explodes, the hose, fire engine, and other clowns catch on fire as well, and the crowd erupts onto laughter again.

Klefton, the greatest knife-thrower the world has ever seen, is now strung upside down by thick, steel cables. His eyes are covered by a black cloth, I figure that’s a good thing seeing as all the balloons he’s gotta hit are stuck on my body. The ringmaster watches as a colossal guy in a gimp suit attaches jump-leads, like the ones you’d use to jump-start a truck, to Klefton’s nipples.

The gimp walks off, and a few seconds later Klefton’s body starts to shake spasmodically. He pulls two knives from his belt, one in each hand, and shows them to the audience.

The audience are now like a troop of baboons in a banana factory. Most of them are standing on their chairs waving their hands in the air, a few have destroyed their chairs already and are rumbling with the dude next to them in an attempt to hijack a seat.

Klefton throws both knives at the revolving circle.

The skill and years of training it must have taken him to become such a talented knife-thrower are lost on me. Mainly because two surgically sharp blades have just impaled my ankles.

I’m wondering what is taking the ring so long to save my hide. All this time I’ve been trying to control it, and now I just want it to take over and get me out of this surreal mess I’ve gotten myself into.

Klefton has now removed two more knives from his belt. His body convulses from the volts dancing through his muscles. The crowd is so out of control, I’m not sure they’re even watching. The old guy with the hat and suitcase is still just standing there, looking at me.

Just as I was getting used to blood pouring from my ankles, the knife-thrower throws his second pair of knives. They hit their mark, my wrists.

The pain takes a while to register, I think my mind is slowly shutting down.

Blood spays all over my body and around me as the wheel starts spinning faster. If it wasn’t enough that my wrists and ankles are emptying my body of vital fluid, now my stomach starts wanting to join in and empty its own contents.

Klefton removes yet another knife from his belt. That one’s either the throat or my jewels. Which I’m dreading more? I can’t say.

I clench my teeth and focus on what I want the ring to do.

There’s a loud explosion that I hardly notice. Everyone looks up at the LED agents sliding down long ropes from the ceiling. Klefton throws the knife.

I close my eyes. I don’t want to see the future of my children being affected so negatively, but I also kinda like breathing.

The knife doesn’t hit its target.

I open my eyes to see what went wrong, I wasn’t expecting the great Klefton to miss, and see that my entire body is covered in silver armour a la my magical ring.

Cool, I knew the ring could be used for something like this. When a guy’s bags of little swimmers are in dire need, he can find the will to do anything.

I try to move and the chains break like cheap string. The ringmaster is running towards me, shouting something about me ruining his show. I deck the fucker right on his nose. He drops like I just hit him with an airliner.

I hate the circus.

*     *     *     *

The LED agents arrived just in time. I don’t think I could have taken all these Bad Guys by myself.

The audience has not so much calmed down as their excitement has been replaced with panic. They’re charging towards the exits, which are being blocked by the LED. Two agents run towards me.

“What took you guys so long?” I shout.

“Don’t make a move, creep.” Says one. They’ve both got their absurdly large guns pointed at me.

This is why I like to stay at my Mall. I’ve got sort of a reputation there, most of the LED agents know me by now and the one’s that don’t soon find out how much I like to kick their butts. I come to a different Mall and immediately they try to arrest me.

Their jaws drop open as the silver armour that covers my body races back into the ring and transforms into the sword.

I’m contemplating whether to slice their weapons in half or their arms off when half a dozen high-pitched shrieks distract us.

The Gigglers swamp the agents in a wave of insanity. All I can see now is a luminous, multi-coloured pile. I hear the agents firing their guns and one or two clowns are shot off the pile, but they just get back up and climb on again.

I’m sure this psycho circus has other victims locked away, probably ready to be shot out of a canon into the Dog-God’s mouth. I run backstage and find a cage with a bunch of hapless Mall-goers. Most of them are either crying or shouting crazily or just sitting in bewilderment.

You can’t expect ordinary people to handle all the weird shit in this world. They spend most of the time ignoring it anyway, but when it’s shoved down their throats and they’re forced to look at it they realise that everything important in their lives is so more insignificant than the insects that walk beneath us.

Could you continue with your life if you found out that all your hopes and dreams and aspirations didn’t matter a damn? How would you feel if you discovered that there is no Great Plan or meaning in life and all humanity should be doing is trying to keep its head above the sea of chaos flooding the world? You’d feel pretty helpless wouldn’t you?

I keep telling them that I know a way out when I have no idea where I am. We could be miles beneath the Mall.

I hope there are no rats here.

I lead them through the centre ring and towards an exit. An LED agent tries to stop us and I’m forced to stab him. It’s not a killing blow, he’ll survive.

The exit should lead back into the Mall somewhere. I can see light up ahead.

And then he steps in front of me. The old guy with the tatty hat and coat and the big suitcase. Up close I see that his eyes are red like burning hellfire.

“I know someone,” he says, “who is tired of you. He said to tell you that it’s the last time you’ll cut anyone’s head off.”

So this has to do with Balgog. Sent some old dude to do his dirty work.

He looks at the people behind me. “Get out of here.” He says to them. They run past him, hopefully they’ll be safe.

He puts his suitcase on the ground and opens it. There’s nothing inside. Then I think I see shadows moving around it, until the inside of the case is no longer black but white.

“Get him.” Says the old man. A ball of darkness moves towards me, then it splits and some of it goes up the wall. I’m pretty sure that whatever this is it’s not pleasant.

“Freeze!” it’s another LED agent. The shadows flock towards his voice and engulf him. I can’t see what’s happening, there’s just a black mound where the agent used to be.

“Not him,” shouts the old man, “the other one.” But I’m already running towards him, my sword is raised high above my head. I’ve had enough of every single person I come across trying to kill me. I’m gonna send this old fart to the great beyond and then find Balgog. If I can’t kill the Book-Demon then I’ll make him wish I knew how.

I look over my shoulder and see the shadows racing towards me. The LED agent is now nothing but grey skin and bones, the shadows sucked every last drop of life out of him. Then I see something rise from the agent’s body – a shadow.

Something hits me in the back, I think it must be one of the shadows. I spin round and see that three more agents have come in, seen their buddy on the floor, and opened fire. I hope their guns are set on stun.

The shadows fly right over me and back into the suitcase on the floor. The old man slams the case shut and picks it up, “Next time, Swordsman.”

The last thing I see is him running out the exit, then I lose consciousness.

*     *     *     *

I’m slipping in and out of dreams. My head feels like the Energizer bunny’s drum. I think I’m in some sort of vehicle, my legs and hands are cuffed, every now and again someone kicks me.

I see Karen standing above me, she shakes her head and says, “You never called.”

I look at my hand, the ring is gone. I don’t deserve it anyway, I’m not a tenth of the Swordsman my father was.

The vehicle slows down, I can hear voices, I try to lift my head but it won’t budge. Then we start moving again.

I’m two years old. My father is sitting with me on his knee. He looks down at me and says, “The fire is within you.” I reach out for him. His face turns grey, the skin slowly peels away and soon I’m staring up at a smiling skull. Then the bone rots and I’m lying on the floor alone, with no one to protect or guide me.

*     *     *     *

A slap in the face whips my eyes open. I’m sitting in a chair facing two LED agents. It’s a small room, all grey walls and steel floor. One wall is mostly covered by a large mirror that I’m sure is not used to check your hair.  In front of me is a table with a cup of steaming black liquid that might be mistaken for coffee.

“Have a sip,” says one agent, “It’ll make you feel better.”

“No thanks.” I say.

“Drink the fucking coffee.” Says the other agent.

Aha, the old Good Cop, Bad Cop routine. I love the classics.

Good Cop is a young, doe-eyed girl with brown hair tied up in a bun. She’s very petite, and has an angelic face that couldn’t lie. She smiles at me and the room seems to get brighter. I bet Robins sit on her shoulder in the forest and deer eat out of her hand.

Bad Cop, on the other hand, is a large, surly, unshaven guy who probably answers to the name Crusher. He habitually cracks his knuckles and flexes his biceps while looking at me like I’m a clump of dog shit on his new carpet at home. I can’t imagine this guy serving lattes and machiato’s, he could fit an espresso machine in his pocket.

I take a sip. Holy shit. I can almost feel the hair growing on my chest. My heart starts to do the work of two, like someone attached an outboard motor to it.

“We call it a Silver Bullet,” says Good Cop, “it’ll help to clear your head.”

Bad Cop cracks his knuckles, it sounds like someone emptying a shotgun. “I don’t know why were wasting good coffee on this pus-bag.”

“You should switch to decaf.” I say to him.

He lifts me off my chair and slams my body against the wall, “Just give me a reason to pound you into the dirt.”

“Okay,” I say, “last night I fucked your sister.”

His fist hits my stomach like a runaway cement truck. That’s gonna leave a mark. I would be a crumpled heap on the floor but Grand Wolf makes me do five hundred sit-ups every night before I go to bed and every morning after I wake up. I wouldn’t be surprised if the old bastard orchestrated this whole thing as part of my training.

“Get your hands off him, Brock.” Says Good Cop.

“Yeah, Brock, I expect dinner and a movie first.”

She smiles at me gently, “Tell us about the circus. How long have you been with them?”

I lose it a bit and my train leaves the rails, “Oh, for ages. That’s my thing, I like to be tied up and have scalpels thrown at my nuts. What are you? Drunk? Is everyone around here stupid? I wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t stopped to save a bunch of civilians. But the LED just bursts in and starts shooting, and here we are, asking questions later.”

Brock grabs the back of my head and smashes my face on the table. Dentists must love this guy.

Good Cop shakes her head, “I’m sorry. Brock can’t stand it when people are uncooperative.”

“I’m sure,” I say, “but poor little you are too small and pretty to stop him, you’re probably more mental than he is. I know all about you LED types.”

“You watch your mouth, asshole.” Brock pulls me to my feet.

I can see another one of those gargantuan fists heading my way. Brock might be strong but he’s slower than continental drift. Before he even lifts his arm I’ve slammed the knife-edge of my hand against his windpipe. You can kill a person like that, but Brock is tough enough to handle it so I don’t hold back.

He drops to the floor, clutching his throat. Good Cop ain’t so good no more, she pulls something from her belt and zaps me with it.

I’m getting so good at passing out I might just turn pro.

*     *     *     *

The cell I wake up in is about the size of an outhouse. It pretty much smells that way too. The floor is cold, grey concrete and in one corner is a dirty toilet.

I’m lying on my back looking up at the underside of the bunk above me. I swing my legs over the edge and sit up. My head hurts, and then it hurts even more as a heel smacks the back of it and sends me falling forward onto the dirty floor.

The guy on the top bunk jumps down. I wonder how they got him through the cell door.

His head is almost perfectly square, his neck just isn’t there, and as big as his head is it looks too small for his body.

“If you shut your mouth and do as I say I might not make you my bitch, bitch.” He says. His voice sounds like a cat going through a blender, rough but high pitched at the same time, like he’s been mainlining helium since birth.

“Did you hear me, bitch?” he says.

I nod my head, stand up, and punch him as hard as I can in his jaw. I reckon if I’ve gotta be here for even one night I might as well show this brainless moke who’s boss.

He doesn’t budge, but I think I may have broken a couple of fingers. He rams his fist into my stomach, it makes the punch from Brock feel like a massage. I fold like a bad poker hand and hit the floor again. He’s got a can of whip-ass and an electric can opener.

This guy would be a cakewalk if I had my ring, but without it Balgog could probably beat the crap out of me. Now I know why GW thought it was so important for me to learn martial arts.

He sends his boot in the direction of my face, I instinctively bring my arm up to protect my boyish good looks, and the next thing I know a shield appears out of nowhere and stops the kick.

He stands there looking like a little kid who just dropped his ice cream on the sidewalk. The shield retracts and the ring is on my finger, where it should be.

I stand up and turn the ring into a steel glove covering my whole arm. I’m so glad I learnt how to do that. I slam my fist into his face and he’s spitting teeth. The behemoth drops to his knees, I grab the back of his oversized head and slam it into the side of the toilet bowl. The white porcelain cracks from the blow.

The door to our cage swings open behind me. I look over my shoulder and a bunch of prison guards are heading towards us with batons.

The glove disappears, so does the ring. The guards start to beat us both into submission.

Once we’ve both ‘calmed down’ one of the guards asks my cellmate, “What happened here, Percy?”

Now I know why the guy is so angry. If you had to walk around with that name for your entire life you’d also munch steroids with every meal and cultivate an otherwise disgruntled approach to the world. I almost feel sorry for the big idiot. Then I feel my head again and the pity goes away.

Percy answers the guards question, “This bitch just started attacking me. How come he’s got a weapon?”

“I don’t see any weapon, Percy.” Says the guard, “I knew you were stupid but I didn’t think you were a liar as well.”

The other guards laugh like the main bully’s buddies in a high school teen movie.

“Solitary for both of you.” Says the guard.

As I’m led out of the cell Percy says to me, “Welcome to the Ritz, bitch.”

*     *     *     *

Solitary confinement is fine for me. I spend most of the time meditating like Grand Wolf taught me. He always talks about inner peace and never fighting angry and all that type of stuff. Personally, I think he’s read too many Batman comics.

I’m too hard on the guy. I talk about him like he’s grumpy all the time but I’d never have made it this far without him. Aside from avenging my parents’ death, the only important thing in my life is making GW proud.

I never knew my father, he was taken from me when I was a baby. Grand Wolf saved my life, trained me, and treated me like a son. He’s been the single greatest influence in my life. He’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a father.

I’m also thinking a lot about Karen Keating, that pesky LED agent that saved my sorry butt more than once. I don’t even know if she got out of the Mall that night we were chased by the rats.

I used to think that everything in life happened by coincidence. I don’t believe in God or some mysterious Master Plan. But lately I’ve been seeing connections in everything. I’ve come to realise that there is no such thing as coincidence, everything happens for a reason. Whether it’s stubbing your toe or getting caught in traffic on the way to work. Nothing just happens. There is no such thing as coincidence.

*     *     *     *

Because the fight was my first infringement, I get less time in solitary than Percy. Apparently, he can’t get enough of calling people bitch and then punching their teeth out.

In normal jails you get gangs – white supremists, black gangs – it’s the same in an LED jail, except it’s Tech-Vamps, Book-Demons, hairdressers. They all stick together.

These things – monsters, demons – are around us all the time. Most people are just too wrapped up in their own lives to notice.

Think about it. Do you remember what the waiter who served you your lunch looked like? He could be your next-door neighbour and you wouldn’t know because you’re so focused on paying off the new BMW or buying a bigger TV that anything else just isn’t important. 

I sit at a table eating slop by myself. I recognise some faces, I’ve run into some of these guys before. I can feel the word spreading around, that’s the Swordsman. In a couple of hours I’ll be like a cop in Alcatraz.

I’ve been trying to figure out where the jail could be. It’s definitely not underneath the Mall somewhere, like I suspected it would be, because sunlight comes through the window of my cell.

Every day we get to go into the yard. I can only see blue sky over the high walls of the prison. I don’t think we’re in the city anywhere, the jail is probably in the middle of nowhere.

Everywhere I go, I can feel eyes following me. It’s only a matter of time before someone tries something.

*     *     *     *

Surprisingly, the trouble I get into has nothing to do with me initially.

I’m sitting in the yard the next day. Minding my own business, staring at the sky, trying to figure a way out of here. When a familiar squeaky voice startles me, “I’ve been looking for you, bitch.”

So Percy got out of solitary and wants a piece of me. Here we go again.

I turn around and see that he hasn’t even noticed me yet. He’s talking to a skinny Tech-Vamp who’s backing away from him slowly.

“J-Just l-leave me alone.” Says the Vamp.

Percy grabs his shoulder, “I know you’ve got it in that ugly head of yours, bitch. Just give it to me and we can be friends.”

“I d-don’t know w-what you w-want.”

“Don’t lie to me, bitch.” Percy lifts his fist.

“Maybe you’d prefer the hospital wing to solitary!” I’m standing behind Percy. He turns his head, his lip starts to twitch when he sees me.

When I was in school I got bullied a lot. I always thought that they should have a special school for big kids so all the bullies could beat the crap out of each other instead of bothering normal kids.

“This is none of your business, bitch.” Percy says to me, “I’ll deal with you later.”

I remember all the movies I’ve seen where the new kid in school stands up the captain of the football team, “I’m making it my business.”

Percy lets go of the Tech-Vamp. He turns to me, ready to put his massive fist through my face. Two guards round the corner, see that there might be an incident, and stop to chat to us.

“So,” says one guard, “are you boys playing nice?”

“Sure,” says Percy, “I was just telling these bitches about my sexual exploits.”

“Those apes at the zoo never knew what hit them.” I say to the guards.

The guard takes Percy by the arm, “Brock wants to see you. Now.”

“I spoke to that bitch this morning.”

“Well, he wants to speak to you again.” Says the guard.

I wonder if he’ll get reprimanded for calling Brock a bitch or if the guards regard Percy as having a speech impediment? They probably don’t even notice anymore.

“I’ll finish with you bitches later.” Percy glares at the Tech-Vamp and me sternly in turn. He walks off with the guards.

“Th-thanks.” Says the Vamp after Percy’s gone.

The guy’s small, shorter than me and a couple of fathoms below Percy. If he stood sideways he would almost be invisible, maybe he’s been here a long time and just can’t stomach the food, I wouldn’t be surprised.

“What’s your name?” I ask him.

“K-Kafka,” he says, “y-you’re the S-Swordsman, aren’t you?”

“You’re probably thinking of my father. He’s the legend. I’m just his hopeless successor.”

“I h-hear you faced the B-Bohemian,” he says, “th-that must have t-taken a lot of c-courage knowing what he did to G-Grand W-Wolf.”

“What did he do to Grand Wolf?” I ask.

“Y-you don’t know? Th-that’s how he lost h-his h-hand.”

The Bohemian cut off GW’s hand? No wonder he was so angry with me when I went after him. He knows how hardcore the guy is.

“I a-also know,” he says, “th-that you’re the o-only p-person to survive an encounter with the T-Traveller.”

“Who?” I ask.

“The T-Traveller. H-he carries a s-suitcase with N-Nightcrawlers inside. H-he’s an a-a-assassin.”

“How do you know all this?” I ask the little guy.

“I-I’m a T-Tech-Vamp. Th-the LED has all this s-stuff in their d-database. I-I know e-everything about y-you, y-your f-father, M-M-Mephisto.”

This guy knows about my father. I don’t know anything about my father. Grand Wolf never tells me anything about their adventures or what he was like when he was alive.

I think I’m gonna be spending a lot of time with Kafka the skinny Tech-Vamp.

*     *     *     *

I don’t know much about Tech-Vamps but from what I’ve heard the story goes something like this.

In the late nineties there was a computer virus that did the rounds. It wasn’t a virus that infected your computer, ate away everything on your hard drive, and then mailed itself to everyone in your address book. This virus affected humans.

It didn’t take long for the relevant authorities to track the virus down and destroy it, but instead of completely destroying it they kept it bottled up in order to research it.

This was before the LED, so I don’t know who these people who did all this were.

Some people say you caught the disease from looking at whatever showed on your computer monitor, others say it was some sort of osmosis effect - it’s not really clear how it spread. Or even what is was.

Anyway, these guys sent out hitmen to kill the victims of this disease, to keep it secret and whatnot, but they found that the infected parties had changed A lot of them had become horribly disfigured, others were normal but couldn’t go out into sunlight, and some had grown bigger and stronger. The one thing they all had in common was their thirst for knowledge and the weird, vampiric way they obtained that knowledge.

The way Tech-Vamps get information is strange, they’re like monster hackers. They don’t need to sit in front of a keyboard and break their way in to a system, all they need to do is stick their claws into a piece of hardware or a cable connected to the hardware and suck the knowledge from it.

After the hitmen had killed almost all the Tech-Vamps, the problem wasn’t so bad. The men in white coats poked and prodded at the virus and kept it locked away.

But the mystery of this virus still lingered in the underground community of computer hackers around the world. It was considered the greatest accomplishment if you could hack your way into the prison where the virus was kept, and so almost every hacker tried to do it.

After some guy did it he sent it to all his buddies as proof, and that’s how the disease spread for the second time.

To kill a Tech-Vamp you need to remove the majority of its internal organs, quite a messy job.

I don’t worry too much about Tech-Vamps, they’re pretty harmless, they don’t bother you if you don’t bother them. The LED, on the other hand, hates them because they’re always sucking information from their mainframe. The LED has special task forces with the sole purpose of finding and destroying Tech-Vamps, that’s also why Vamps will always try to kill an LED agent if they come across one.

To use an analogy, it’s a case of the egg pissing the chicken off so much that the chicken tries to round all the eggs up and make an omelette, but the eggs are quite attached to their shells so they try as best they can to fend off the chicken.

I think it’s unusual that Tech-Vamps are jailed here, I thought the LED always eliminated them as a priority.

*     *     *     *

Everyone has a job to do in the happy LED summer camp. Mine is folding the insanely white uniforms we are forced to wear every day.

I don’t know what they’re playing at, it’s not like you can rehabilitate any of these monsters. Their crimes aren’t really crimes at all, they just are what they are. Evil is as evil does.

A group of five Book-Demons work with me. Whenever I look up I see them glaring at me like I’m the villain in a Disney cartoon.

One day they surround me. The laundry room is deserted except for the six of us. The guy I figure must be the leader says, “I hear you’re the Swordsman. I heard the Swordsman was tough. You don’t look so tough.”

“Jeez,” I say, “do you guys get, like, a book of cheesy lines to say before starting a fight? Just walk up and punch me. I’m getting a bit sick of this intimidation shit.”

I look down at my hand and see the ring. After my fight with Percy it vanished, and I haven’t seen it since then, but now it’s down there and I can feel that it wants to shed some blood.

I want to shed some blood too.

The Book-Demon says, “I think we need to teach this guy some math. Five of us plus one of him equals his ass in little pieces on the floor.”

There’s no way I can get out of this without a fight. Good, I need the exercise.

I do the only thing I can in a situation like this, I chop his head off.

The others just stand there and look at his headless body spurting blood everywhere. They’re looking at the sword, thinking: Where the fuck did that come from?

I can feel the burning need of the sword flaming through my arm. It wants blood. It needs blood.

I lay into the others before they can even react.

*     *     *     *

Kafka, my skinny Tech-Vamp friend, is used to dining alone, but he doesn’t mind my company.

He used to be a computer geek, working for some massive, impersonal corporation that only ever knew him as a number. So a prison environment isn’t such a big change for him. The mess hall is filled with all the separate ‘gangs’, the different beasts and their cliques, sitting at tables by themselves. I have no idea why Kafka doesn’t sit with the other Tech-Vamps and quite frankly I don’t care.

“Those B-Book-Demons are l-lucky there’s not a l-library h-here,” he says, “I b-bet you w-would have killed them.”

I wonder how he knows about that. “How do you kill a Book-Demon?” I ask – ignorance isn’t bliss, it’s embarrassing.

He frowns at me, “Y-you t-trap his s-soul in one of their b-books.”

“Of course,” I say, “give them a taste of their own medicine. I thought you knew another way.”

Kafka smiles at the slop on his plate, he knows I’m bluffing and have no idea how to kill them, but he doesn’t say anything.

We sit silently for a while, listening to the other inmates complain about the food.

“Tell me about my father.” I ask while a push around the crap on my plate.

“What d-do you w-want t-to know?”

“Everything.”

*     *     *     *

My father was the greatest Swordsman that ever lived. He spent most of his life training with my grandfather, who at that point was considered ‘the greatest Swordsman that ever lived’. Somehow I don’t think they’ll ever say anything like that about me.

Anyway, my father used to work a lot with Grand Wolf. They were like a super-team. Back in the day, Grand Wolf was one mean son of a bitch, not a grumpy old fart like he is now. Apparently, my father faced the Dog-God by himself once, and survived. Now that’s amazing by anyone’s standards.

The story goes something like this.

Grand Wolf and the Swordsman had been tracking these hairdressers for a while. They knew all about the sacrifices, but they just needed to know where they were being performed. Taking down two hairdressers is like scratching the bit of skin that a flea is biting instead of going after the flea itself.

So, after a couple of days of following the guys around, they both get bored. There was something else that they were working on at the same time, so the Swordsman decided that he’d stay here and follow the hairdressers while GW gets on with the other thing.

Well, we can all guess what happens then, as soon as Grand Wolf leaves, the hairdressers get going. My father, the Swordsman, follows them underground to a giant, circular room. In the centre of the room, painted in blood on the floor, is a massive pentagram.

The room starts filling up with people, more hairdressers, and they surround the pentagram, standing in a circle and linking their hands together.

Then a guy, who must have been the high priest or something, enters the room with a baby in one hand and a long dagger in the other. He places the baby in the middle of the pentagram. Everyone starts chanting some gobbledygook in Latin, and that’s when the Swordsman jumps out from his hiding place.

I don’t know how he did it, but my father managed to take out an entire legion of ninja hairdressers without spilling a single drop of blood. Not only his blood, but their blood as well.

Soon, the only people left standing were the high priest and the Swordsman. The priest still had the baby in one hand and the dagger in the other.

“Put the baby down.” Said the Swordsman.

“I think I’d rather do this.” The high priest stabbed the dagger into the infant’s stomach. Blood poured from the baby’s body and splashed inside the pentagram.

My father just stood there. Not able to move. He roared and ran towards the high priest, but from the middle of the pentagram, a hellish, flame-covered beast emerged. The Dog-God had risen.

My father must have been prepared for this, because according to sources he just grabbed something from around his neck and flung it into the Dog-God’s mouth. The demon shrieked in defeat and disappeared into the ground again.

The high priest had dropped the corpse and was running in terror away from the Swordsman.

Out of all the Swordsmen, my father was the greatest. He was the only one who never took a life, whether human or demon. He didn’t believe that it was up to him to decide who lived and who died, that was a responsibility that rested on God’s shoulders.

He caught up to the high priest, the baby-killer, and did something that was very uncharacteristic. Luckily, Grand Wolf found him before he beat the high priest to death. GW said he had never seen my father act like that before, like an animal.

Kafka says that after that, my father stopped wearing the ring. A month later he was murdered by Mephisto, along with my mother.

*     *     *     *

“Why did he stop wearing the ring?”

“I d-don’t know,” says Kafka, “It d-doesn’t s-say.”

“What doesn’t say?”

“The LED m-mainframe.” I remember that Kafka’s just a Tech-Vamp, not a historian, all his info he got from sucking on cables.

“What was the thing around his neck? The thing he threw at the Dog-God?”

“An a-amulet. S-supposedly, it b-belonged to C-Cleo-p-patra.”

Our conversation is interrupted by my big, squeaky buddy, “I’ve been looking for you, bitch.”

I reckon if you’re in this place too long you pick up a speech impediment, between Kafka’s stuttering and Percy’s ‘bitch’ problem I need an interpreter.

Surely he wouldn’t try anything in the dining hall. Everyone’s eating, minding their own business, I’m particularly annoyed because I’m trying to find out more about my legacy.

You’d think that in a head as big as Percy’s there’d at least be a tiny brain, but he totally debunks that theory by climbing into me while about a hundred guards are watching.

I instinctively react, without thinking, and before I know it the sword is in my hand and I’m holding the blade against the part that joins Percy’s head to his body, the place where normally a neck would be.

Then I’m thinking: Oh shit, what have I done?

Now everyone has seen the sword. Now the guards know I have the ring on me. Now I’m in deep shit.

No one found out about the incident in the laundry room because the idiots were only Book-Demons, their heads grew back, so the secret of the ring was safe. Not anymore.

*     *     *     *

I’m back in the small room with Good Cop and Bad Cop. Brock, the Bad Cop, slams me against the wall again, “Where’s the sword, asshole?”

I can’t answer him. The ring has been appearing and disappearing since I got here, I have no idea where it’s gone.

Good Cop leans back in her chair and crosses her arms, “I’m not gonna stop him this time. If you don’t tell us I’ll let him beat it out of you.”

I have nothing to tell them. I don’t know where the ring is.

Good Cop stands up and leaves the room. The slamming of the door seems to echo a grim finality. Brock gets this smile on his face, like he just found out his wife gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.

This is gonna hurt.

*     *     *     *

After a while, Brock gets bored and lets me go. I’m back in solitary. That’s okay, it gives me time to reflect on everything that Kafka told me.

My face looks like a barrel of applesauce, I can barely see out my right eye and my left isn’t much better. I think one of my ribs is broken.

Why did my father stop wearing the ring? If he’d been wearing it maybe he would’ve been able to defend himself against Mephisto. My parents would still be alive today.

“B-Brock really knows how to p-pound on a d-defenceless m-man.” It’s Kafka’s voice, but how could he be in here with me.

“Where are you?” I ask. A small light next to me answers my question. Kafka is holding the match, a knowing smile on his face.

“Y-you’re wondering h-how I g-got in h-here?”

“How did you?”

“I h-have the b-blueprints for the entire p-prison inside m-my head,” He smiles, “D-do you w-want to g-get out of h-here?”

*     *     *     *

Kafka has found a way to bleed information from the LED mainframe here in the prison. He says he’s had the blueprint for the Ritz – that’s what they call this place – for ages. The only reason he hasn’t left is because he likes it. He still gets his daily meals of info as well as free board and lodging, it’s like a holiday camp for him.

If the LED ever found out they’d cut out his insides for sure. But he assures me that no one knows.

We sneak out of solitary the same way he came in. He knows all the access codes for every door in the place, I could walk out the entrance if there weren’t guards there.

He leads me through the darkness until we reach the secret exit. Kafka tells me that the Ritz is on a deserted island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, but not to worry, he’s organized a way for me to get off that doesn’t include a kayak and a paddle.

He hands me a small white business card with nothing but a telephone number printed on it, “If y-you ever n-need anything, m-money, a f-favour, call that n-number.”

I’m worried about the little guy. Percy will probably kill him if I’m not around.

“D-don’t worry about P-Percy,” he says, “He w-won’t be around for m-much l-longer.”

*     *     *     *

I’m out of the prison and heading toward the ocean like Kafka told me to. The salty sea air is like cheap cabernet to a poor, homeless wino. I breathe it in and all the troubles of the world don’t seem to matter anymore, the sweet taste of freedom.

The penny moon ignites the ocean. It looks like there are millions of diamonds sparkling beneath the calm sea. I kneel down and let the sand run through my fingers. I found the ring in a place like this. One night I was out walking along the beach and I just stumbled upon it. It was like everything I’d done in my life was leading up to that moment of pure coincidence. I knelt down and ran my hand through the sand and there it was. I put it on my finger and my life changed, I immediately saw the world the way it actually was.

 If I had my way I’d stay here forever, not having to worry about Mephisto, the Orb, or the end of the world.

But I can’t, a sound like the beating wings of a gigantic moth echo in the distance. Then, from out of nowhere, a black helicopter appears in the distance. I have to cover my eyes from the hurricane of sand as it lands on the beachfront.

A Tech-Vamp, dressed in jeans and a black, leather jacket, jumps from the chopper and runs towards me.

“Get in!” he shouts. I climb inside and the chopper rises to take me away from the beautiful scene and back to my sordid life in the Mall.

The guy introduces himself as Mike, he tells me the pilots name is Geoff. Geoff lifts his hand above his shoulder as a greeting without looking back at me.

“The boss told us all about you,” says Mike, “He says that he owes you one and not to worry about him.”

“But there’s some big motherfucker out to get him.” I say.

“It’s okay,” says Mike, “we’ve got people in there working on the problem as we speak. The guy just doesn’t know who the boss is, but he’ll learn soon enough.”

“Who are you guys?” I ask.

“Just a bunch of IT guys who always repay a favour. We’re like a family of sorts.”

I think they mean family in a Corleone kind of way, a way that should be spelled with a capital F.

*     *     *     *

As usual, Grand Wolf freaks when I arrive on the doorstep.

“Where the hell have you been?” he bellows.

I open my mouth to tell him but he interrupts me, “If you say you went after the Bohemian again I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“I haven’t…” I manage to say before he starts shouting again.

“Because you’re not nearly good enough to face him. You have no idea what you’re going up against.”

“I know that he took your hand,” I say, “I won’t face him until you say I’m ready.”

Grand Wolf’s jaw is still flapping but no sound is coming out. He looks at the scarred end of his arm, reliving the moment his hand was taken from him.

He turns around and quietly walks away. I hear the door to his bedroom close. I look down at my hand and see that the ring is on my finger. When it kept disappearing I was worried, without the ring I have no hope of avenging my parents’ death.

My father stopped using the ring for some reason. He took it off and Mephisto killed him. Why did he throw away the only thing that could have saved him?

Maybe I’ll ask Mephisto before I cut out his cold, black heart.

*     *     *     *

After a decent nights sleep, I’m ready to face the Mall again. I wake up, do all my exercises, shower and head into the kitchen for breakfast.

Grand Wolf is sitting staring into a mug of cold coffee. Even though he’s sitting in the kitchen, one look into his eyes tells me he’s actually a thousand miles away. He doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve entered the room.

“I know I haven’t told you everything about your father,” he says without looking up, “it’s just that I don’t want you to blame him for what happened to your mother. He would have sacrificed everything for her.”

“Then why did he take the ring off? Why didn’t he use it to stop Mephisto?” I say.

“The ring is not a gift. It is not a thing that was put on this earth to fight evil. The ring is a curse that your family has had to endure for an eternity.”

“But the ring has protected me and saved my life hundreds of times,” I say, “Without it I would have been killed long ago.”

“Do you remember how you found the ring?” Grand Wolf asks.

“Yes,”

“What happened to you after you found it.”

“Well,” I say, “it was weird. After I put it on my finger my whole perspective on life changed. Then, when I got home, these things were waiting for me. They tried to kill me but the ring saved my life.”

“Did you ever think,” says Grand Wolf, “that it wasn’t you who found the ring, but rather the ring that found you? How is it possible that a young man walking on the beach could blindly stumble on a powerful weapon that has been in his family for thousands of years? Coincidence? Please, there’s no such thing.”

“What are you saying? That the ring somehow called me to it?”

He looks up at me, staring deep into my eyes, “That’s exactly what I’m saying. The ring needs you much more than you think you need it. Your father tried to destroy the ring, he couldn’t do it, so instead he locked it away and dropped it into the middle of the ocean.”

“Why?” I ask, “Why did he do that when it would have protected him?”

“Your father also thought he could control it, much like you think you can now.”

“I can’t totally control it yet,” I say, “but I’m getting the hang of it.”

“Just when he thought he was controlling the ring,” says Grand Wolf, “your father discovered that in fact it was the ring that was gaining control over him. So much so that it almost forced him to kill a man, which would have meant the end of your father’s free will.”

“But what about my grandfather? Why would he give it to his son if he knew the ring was evil?”

“Your grandfather never had a problem with the ring. His will was so strong that the will of the ring didn’t even bother him. He never noticed how hard it was trying to gain control over his actions.”

“What must I do?” I say. I can feel the ring burning on my finger.

“You must take the ring off,” says Grand Wolf, “take it off and never put it back on again.”

The sword is in my hand, flying towards Grand Wolf’s throat. He catches my arm and holds it back. I can hear the ring screaming in my head. Grand Wolf lets go of my hand and I lunge at him again. My vision bleeds until all I can see is a crimson whirlwind.

*     *     *     *

I’m inside the Mall. I must have been wandering around for hours because the sun has set and it’s night.

I need to find something to destroy. I can feel the anger boiling over. What Grand Wolf said can’t be true. The ring has saved me too many times for me to believe it’s an enemy.

And then I see him. Watching me, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He tips his tatty, old hat at me and puts the suitcase on the ground.

His name is the Traveller. An assassin. Balgog sent him after me, and according to his reputation he will not stop hunting me until one of us is dead.

He unlocks his suitcase. I can see the Nightcrawlers – or whatever they’re called – clamber out of it. He says something to them and they hurtle silently towards me.

I don’t know how to fight these things. They’re shadows, I can’t just hack them up like I do everything else. I swing the sword uselessly at them. They engulf me like they did the LED agent at the circus.

Everything goes dark. It’s like I’m falling through an endless cavern, and the further I fall the colder it gets. My body starts to involuntarily curl into the foetal position.

The ring covers my body like a Silver Surfer Halloween costume. I can feel heat building up until I wish for the cold again. Then the ring bursts into flame and I’m the Human Torch. I can hear the Nightcrawlers screaming.

Then they’re off me and heading back toward the case. The old man looks shocked. I don’t think anyone has ever hurt his pets before.

The silver fluid slithers off my body and back into the sword. I can feel its hunger for blood. I run for the Traveller. He raises his hand and an invisible wave of pure energy knocks me off my feet. He picks up his suitcase and runs.

I get to my feet and try to chase him but I collapse again. My body is totally drained. I let the Traveller go, I’m sure we’ll meet again, and then I’ll kill him.

*     *     *     *

I can feel the ring scorching my soul. I try to remember what Grand Wolf told me about my father. Why did he stop using the ring? My memory of that conversation disintegrates. All I remember is Grand Wolf telling me I had to take the ring off, and then I attacked him. I needed to destroy him. Did I kill my mentor?

That thought pleases the ring. It hates Grand Wolf. I remember the first time I bonded with the ring. When I was inside the Mallrats nest the ring shared my father’s memories of his last night with me. I saw Mephisto brutally murdering my mother. I heard her screams as he tore her heart out. I felt the Swordsman’s pain as he watched his wife die. Then I saw Mephisto kill my father.

I thought that I could control the ring, but I think the ring has been controlling me for quite some time now. The hunger I’ve felt for blood and violence was the ring’s need all along.

A hand grabs my shoulder. I spin around and swing the sword at whatever is attacking me now. A part of me is deliriously happy with the knowledge that I get to shed more blood.

Karen ducks, the sword misses the top of her head by millimetres. Grand Wolf is standing behind her. There’s a look of fear on their faces. They’re scared for me. Scared of what the ring is doing to me.

I try to shake the desire to attack them. The ring is screaming for their blood. I reach onto my finger and tear the ring from it. It feels like I’m clawing off a piece of my soul.

I throw the ring onto the ground in front of me. I drop to my knees and stare at it. The urge to put it back on my finger and succumb to its need is unbearable.

“Get it away from me.” I say.

Grand Wolf picks it up, “I thought she could help you see the light.” He says this with contempt, he hates the LED and anyone associated with it.

Karen kneels beside me. She puts her arm around my shoulders and I know that everything will be all right.

What use am I to anyone now? I’m not a hero.

I’m nothing without the ring.

*     *     *     *

“Time is running out.” I hear Grand Wolf say, “If we don’t act now it will be too late.”

I sit up, but the only way to stop the room spinning is to lie down again. I’m in my room at home, underneath the sheets of my bed.

“I can make a call,” the other voice is Karen’s, “I know you hate my kind but we need all the help we can get.”

“I don’t hate your kind,” says Grand Wolf, “I admire you, Karen. You’ve given up a normal life for the safety of people who will never know you even existed. What I hate is hypocrisy and self-righteousness, which are things that run in the LED’s veins.”

There’s silence for a while. Then GW says, “Make the call.”

I manage to force myself to sit up. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and try to stand. It feels like my bones are made of lead. I shuffle to the door and lean against it.

Karen looks up at me, she’s talking to someone on her cellular phone. Grand Wolf comes over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder, “That was a very brave thing you did, taking the ring off, I can’t imagine the pain it must have put you through.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I’m sorry I attacked you. I should have believed what you told me.”

“Get some more rest.” He says.

*     *     *     *

I wake up soaked in cold sweat. My body is still drained. A crashing noise is coming from another room, I think I can hear screams.

I lift my head so I can hear better, it feels like an anvil. I can hear Karen sobbing. Then her voice goes silent. Deathly silent.

I throw myself out of bed and run into the next room. The putrid stench of death fills the room. Grand Wolf is lying on the floor in a dark red puddle. A man is standing staring at me, he holds Karen in the air by her broken neck. He tosses her on the floor and walks calmly over to me.

The man is Mephisto.

I look down at my hand, willing the ring to change into my sword. My finger is bare. I remember that I no longer have the ring.

I dive at Mephisto, he swats me aside like an insignificant pest. I can feel bones shattering as I crash through the table.

I’m dead. Without the ring I’m powerless. I couldn’t save Grand Wolf or Karen, I won’t be able to save myself.

Without the ring I’m nothing.

*     *     *     *

I wake up soaked in cold sweat.

I burst from the room, unconcerned with the pain jarring my body.

Karen is standing in the kitchen, stirring her coffee. She looks up at me and smiles, “Can’t I leave your bedside for a second?” She’s been watching over me.

“How long have I been asleep for?”

“A few hours. How are you feeling?”

I love this girl. I’ve loved her since the first moment. I want to forget about Mephisto and the Orb and everything and just be with her. But how could she love me now? I’m nothing. Not even a shadow of what I once was.

“I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do than watch over me.” I say.

“Actually,” she says, “we’ve both got important things to do. Go put some clothes on and I’ll fill you in.”

*     *     *     *

The first god – before Gorgon, before the Dog-God, before Mephisto – was Gondlar. Then the other gods were born, and the battle for souls began. The Afterlife is relative, when you die your soul goes where it wants to go, but those who do not believe in anything wander through Purgatory until a god claims their soul.

The battle has been raging since time began, if you consider that the concept of time is relatively new, a man-made concept. Before time the gods were creators, not warriors.

Gondlar, being the oldest god, was also the strongest. He created an energy that would enslave and control the other gods, he wrapped this energy in an Orb that could be wielded when he took form.

Gondlar controlled the gods for thousands of years. Eventually, as more gods were born, it became harder to control them all. They managed to overthrow Gondlar and confiscate the Orb.

Like mortals, the gods have rules of war, they took the Orb away from Gondlar and elected a human to hide it.

It stayed hidden until recent events made it a threat to the gods again.

*     *     *     *

“So this Bohemian guy wants to control the gods? But not even Gondlar, who is a god, could manage that.” I say watching Karen pour boiling water from the kettle into a mug.

“Maybe he only needs to control one god. How many sugars do you take?”

“Five. But then won’t the other gods get pissed and come take the Orb from him?”

All the time Karen was explaining the situation – about the Orb and the gods’ war and stuff – I was wondering why she was bothering, it’s not like I’ll be any help without the ring.

“There’s no risk in the other gods coming for him, only the most powerful can move from their plain to ours, and those gods wouldn’t bother because they’re too strong to be affected by the Orb.” She says.

“How do you know all of this?”

“Your mentor told me. I can’t believe I’ve actually been speaking to the Grand Wolf. He’s a legend.” The way she’s talking about GW, you’d think she asked for his autograph.

“Okay,” I say feeling a bit jealous, “So the Bohemian wants to control a god. Which god?”

“Well, only one god can be summoned. That thing the hairdressers worship – the Dog-God.”

“And the Dog-God can only be summoned at a specific time,”

“And that time just happens to be tonight. Midnight to be precise.” She says.

“So what are you gonna do?” I ask, looking down into my coffee.

“Well, we’re going to stop them from summoning him.”

“Karen, I’m broken,” I say pathetically, “you’d spend most of your time having to bail me out of trouble.”

She slams a suitcase on the table, throwing me out of the puddle of misery I’m rolling around in.

“Nonsense,” she says, “Grand Wolf left this for you. It’ll be all you need.”

I open the case and inside is a sword. It’s the sword I saw before GW and I left for the other Mall, the only luggage GW had with him.

“And I got this for you.” She opens a bag and pulls out a suit like hers. A suit that an LED agent wears, “You wouldn’t believe how many pockets are in this thing. Lots of toys too.”

Her faith is all I need. I’ve been acting like a fool and a coward. A true measure of a hero is how he acts when the odds are in the Bad Guy’s favour. That’s why Batman will always be more hardcore than Superman, because without his powers Superman is just some dumb guy with muscles.

She takes a camera that’s lying on the table and snaps a picture of me. Then she points it at herself, smiles and snaps another. She puts my picture in her pocket and hands me the one of her, “For luck.”

Karen contacted the LED and they sent teams to all the known gateways between this plain and the gods’. Wherever the hairdressers try to summon the Dog-God, a team of agents will be waiting to stop them. Before we leave I look at myself in the mirror, with the black LED uniform and the sword strapped to my back I look like someone you’d see in a comic book. All I need is a cape and I could join the Justice League.

The Swordsman – Collector’s Issue #1. I just hope I’m around for issue #2.

*     *     *     *

We’re heading for the closest gateway when we see a group of hairdressers hanging around like they’re waiting for someone.

The hairdressers wear black all the time. It can be two hundred and fifty degrees outside and they’d still dress for a funeral.

Let me tell you something that’ll make you wanna get mom to cut your hair again like she did when you were five. All those hairdressers are part of an evil ninja cult that sacrifices newborn babies and virgins to the Dog-God. Don’t ever piss off the guy who styles your hair, he might be a high priest. A high priest can take your follicle clippings and magic them into a doppelganger – a look-alike – with the insatiable desire to track you down and take over your life. And then your family and friends will think it’s strange that you quit your high paying job as an investment broker to start wearing black and cutting hair for a living.

The hairdressers have only had the opportunity to raise the Dog-God a handful of times, but they’ve never succeeded. So it’s a big thing when the time comes, everyone wants to be there. These guys are probably on their way to the sacrifice.

Every one of them is excited, like they’re on their way to a special birthday party – I suppose they are.

Their friends arrive and they head off. Karen and I follow at a distance.

The LED knows where most of the gateways are, and Karen pulls up a list of each location on a small, handheld computer. She says the computer is linked to the LED mainframe via satellite. I’m sure that any Tech-Vamp would give its autographed photo of Bill Gates for one of these.

She doesn’t know where these guys are heading. Maybe to a location that the London Espresso Distributors haven’t found out about.

The hairdressers head into one of the tunnels that wind down beneath the Mall. We put on our night vision glasses just so we don’t trip over anything. The hairdressers are using a flashlight so we can follow its glow at a distance.

I hear a faint scratching sound behind us. I unsheathe the sword on my back and spin around.

It’s a rat. But not the kind of rat I was expecting, this one is smaller than my boot. It jumps when I turn to face it, its eyes seem to say: “Oh shit!” It scurries away in the opposite direction.

“Sorry.” I say.

“We’re not deep enough for Mallrats.” Says Karen. She pulls an obscenely large gun from a pocket. If she were a guy I’d say she was trying to compensate for something.

The hairdressers disappear into a doorway. The tunnel gets brighter and soon we can hear the low, whispered voices of a hundred hairdressers talking excitedly to one another.

They’ve got two guys posted at the door to guard against gatecrashers. We’re in the shadows, about a hundred meters away from them. Karen pulls another gun and takes careful aim with both, she looks like she’s auditioning for a John Woo movie. She pulls the triggers and both of the heavies drop to the floor.

“Nice shot.” I say.

“Those guys would have raised the alarm. The others are too preoccupied to notice.”

We run up to the dead hairdressers and step over the bodies into the resurrection chamber. The others are too preoccupied to notice us. They’re all facing a guy in the middle of the room, a high priest, who’s holding a small baby in his arms. He’s standing in the centre of a giant pentagram. Next to the high priest is the Bohemian.

Kafka told me that the Bohemian took Grand Wolf’s hand. That thought stabs an electric spark of fear into my heart. Will I have to fight him?

To our right is a stairway leading to a balcony that runs all the way around the room. On top, looking down at the high priest, are more hairdressers.

“I’ll go high, you go low.” She says and heads up the stairs.

This would usually be the time to stop and go over the plan – if we had a plan to start with. Basically we just have to stop the ceremony, save the baby, and not get killed in the process.

The high priest starts chanting and everyone else shuts up. I don’t know what he’s saying ‘coz its in Latin, but everyone else must know because they join in. The Bohemian just stands there looking scary.

Then some guy comes walking out of the crowd with a red cushion in his hands. On top of the cushion is a jewelled dagger.

I walk through the crowd, shoving chanting hairdressers out of my way. The guy holding the cushion looks at me, confused. I take a small, black globe from my pocket and toss it in his direction. The globe burst open and a thick net traps him.

The high priest shouts something and everyone stops chanting. They engulf me like a wave of darkness.

Karen showed me how to use the suit before I got here. There’s a special button for situations just like this. I press the button and the suit explodes, sending hairdressers flying in every direction. The pros of this feature are that it doesn’t damage the suit or the guy inside it, but the downside is that you can only use it once.

Everyone backs away from me when they see that their buddies are now bright, flaming soon-to-be-corpses. Everyone but the Bohemian.

He draws his scythe and runs toward me. The hairdressers behind him follow, probably thinking that if he’s mad at me then they won’t need to get involved. His scythe sparks insane, blue flames.

Karen dives off her perch above me and lands in the middle of the oncoming hairdressers. An angelfish in Hell’s ocean.

The hairdressers realise that they can’t just ignore her and focus on me when she starts taking them down three at a time.

I draw my sword. This will probably be the last thing I see: Some big, hairy guy with a serious skin problem and a giant, electrified scythe cutting me in half.

But he doesn’t go for me. Instead, he grabs the dagger from the guy trapped in my net and throws it to the high priest.

I look over at Karen. She’s busy blowing away hairdressers with one of the ludicrous guns the LED supply their agents with. It’s up to me to stop the sacrifice.

From a pocket, I grab what looks like a boomerang but is really a surgically sharp blade. I throw it at the high priest, it cuts off his hand at the same time that he catches the sacrificial dagger. The boomer-blade arcs around the room and returns to me, slicing through a couple of hairdressers on the way.

The high priest is way too concerned about the bleeding stump that now occupies the end of his arm to pick up the dagger. He screams in pain as his hand flops onto the floor.

I’ve done it. I saved the day.

I stop patting myself on the back when The Bohemian picks up the blade and shoves it through the baby, killing the priest as well.

The ground below us turns red. It swirls like a bloody whirlpool. The air starts crackling like its on fire. Everyone stops fighting and watches as a massive claw rips through the floor.

The roar that follows is deafening. It bursts through the ground, throwing a dozen hairdressers in the air. The Dog-God rises, its foul breath like a thousand decaying bodies fills the air. It opens its massive jaws and howls at the ceiling. The eyes change from red to green to black and back again – like strobes in a nightmare disco. Its body is wet with a thick, viscous substance – Hell’s afterbirth.

I look over at Karen. She’s as transfixed as I am. Our eyes lock and we both snap out of it.

She runs over to me, “We can’t stop it. We have to get out of here.”

The Dog-God doesn’t seem to care that all of its followers are here to greet its arrival. The hairdressers stand watching with awe as their brothers and sisters are ripped apart by the monster they worship.

My father stopped the Dog-God once, with some kind of amulet. I remember Kafka telling me he thought it belonged to Cleopatra or something.

The Bohemian gets out of the way as the Dog-God tears into its followers. He sees us making our way to the exit and shouts something that I can’t make out over the immense racket.

The Dog-God turns toward us and roars. Its huge body lunges at us. We’re thrown out of the room when the ground beneath us explodes with the god’s landing. The exit behind us caves in.

We might be safe for the next two seconds, but we have to get out of here.

*     *     *     *

We couldn’t stop the Bohemian from raising the Dog-God, he has the Orb that apparently can control the beast, and I can’t use the ring at all. Just when you think things couldn’t get any worse, fate surprises you.

“I think my leg’s broken.” Says Karen. The wall of rock behind us shudders like someone’s testing nukes next door. The Dog-God is trying to get through to us.

I sheathe my sword and pick her up. I’ve still got the night vision glasses on, God knows how, and can see to the end of the passage we came in.

The wall behind us thuds again. I’m dead tired, functioning purely on adrenaline I manage to run down the passage with Karen in my arms.

Hopefully Grand Wolf will be home. Where was he? We really could have used his help in there. He’s got more experience with this type of thing than me and Karen put together. Why did he leave us to go in there by ourselves?

As I reach the end of the corridor I hear the wall at the other end breaking. I wonder if I’ll make it through the Mall before that thing catches up to us.

Karen’s unconscious. I see a red ball gown in a shop’s window – it’d look beautiful on her.

No time for window-shopping. The secret entrance that we just came out of explodes as the Dog-God bursts through. The shop windows shatter as it opens its mouth and bellows at us. The thing’s strides are enormous, there’s no way I can outrun it.

I manage to make it into the parking lot. It’s about two in the morning and there are only a handful of cars here that probably belong to security guards in the Mall. I hope none of them run into the Dog-God, they don’t get paid enough for this shit.

I’m at the end of the parking lot when the god crashes through the side of the Mall. It lands on an old Ford like it’s not even there. I duck down behind a red Toyota and lay Karen on the ground.

The Dog-God’s footsteps boom, like its walking through a minefield. I can hear it slowly searching the parking lot.

The footsteps get louder as it nears where Karen and I are hiding. I hear it smelling the air, trying to pick up our scent. I imagine it can hear my heart pounding on my ribcage.

It emits a low growl. I can feel the vibrations running through the car’s body. Then everything goes quiet, like there’s not really a giant canine from Hell slobbering a river out there anymore.

I peak around the front of the Toyota. The Dog-God is standing five meters from us staring silently at the Bohemian. He’s holding the Orb of Gondlar in his hand, it’s light is shining into the god’s eyes.

I duck behind the car again. It’s one thing being chased by a big, dumb animal, it’s another thing to be chased by a big, dumb animal that’s being controlled by someone like the Bohemian. 

When I chance a look again they’ve both gone. I sit for another five minutes, trying to catch my breath and stop my heart from smashing its way out of my chest.

Then I pick her up again and head for home.

*     *     *     *

The door is open when I get home. I run inside calling for Grand Wolf. He’s the only one who can help Karen, I can’t take her to a hospital wearing her LED uniform.

I take her into my room and put her down gently on my bed. Then I walk through every room looking for GW.

He’s not here. I go back to close the front door and see that the lock’s broken, it’s been kicked in by someone. Who?

“Nobody hurts my children and lives.”

I turn around to face the Traveller. He hasn’t got his suitcase with him – good, I don’t have the ring to save me this time.

He lifts his hand and it feels like I’m wearing a nutcracker for a tie. I splutter, fighting for breath, and clutch at my throat. I’m sure I saw Darth Vader do this in Star Wars when I was a kid – unoriginal bastard.

I pull out a gun from one of the pockets on my suit. It feels strange in my hands. I realise I’ve never fired a gun in my life before.

The Traveller looks confused. It doesn’t matter how much research he does on his targets, he couldn’t have known about my predicament with the ring. He wasn’t expecting me to use a gun. I have no problems with using one – I’m not Batman.

I point it at him and open fire. I manage to hit everything in the room except him, but having everything around him explode must have broken his concentration. I feel the vice grip on my throat weaken and I take this opportunity to play to my skills.

I throw the gun aside and unsheathe the sword on my back. I swing for his face. He’s quick for an old guy, he leans back out of my weapon’s arc. The point of my blade cuts his face.

He grabs his face and drops to the floor. I step in for the kill but he does that annoying wave of energy trick again. I fly backwards and smash into the open door. He stands up and comes for me, probably thinking: “Ha ha, the tables have turned.”

I throw my sword like a spear. It flies straight through his shoulder and sticks in the wall behind him.

Whoa, I could never have done that with the ring.

He clutches his shoulder and shouts out in pain. He’s on the floor again, I try to get up but my body can’t move. I pull another gun from the suit and aim it at him, determined not to miss this time.

He gets to his feet and runs towards me. Blood is pouring out his shoulder like water out a fire hose. My finger goes epileptic on the trigger. The Traveller carries on running past me and out the door. I don’t think I hit him that time either.

*     *     *     *

I eventually manage to get to my feet. I get the card that Kafka gave me before I left the LED jail. All it has is a phone number on it.

The voice on the other end knows it’s me. I tell the voice that I need to see Kafka. It says someone will be by to pick me up in two minutes.

Then I pick up a phone book and find the number for the London Espresso Distributors. It’s a toll-free helpline for if you, as a valued customer, have any complaints or suggestions.

“Welcome to the London Espresso Distributors helpline,” says a perky girl on the other end, “how may I be of assistance?”

“One of your agents is down,” I say, “you better send an ambulance or something ASAP.”

Her voice goes down a couple of octaves, “We’ve traced your call and a team will be there in a moment, sir.” She says, “Thank you.”

I hang up the phone and go check on Karen. She’s out for the count, I check her pulse because I’m paranoid.

Looking across at the mirror, I don’t think I look like a hero anymore.

I kiss her on the forehead, “I’ve loved you forever,” I say, “and lifetimes before.”

I hear a car screech to a halt outside – my Tech-Vamp buddies. On the way I rip my sword out of the wall, I’m gonna need it.

*     *     *     *

The Tech-Vamps pick me up in a big, black Mercedes. The back door is open when I walk out of the house. I get in and am greeted by Mike, the Vamp who met on the beach outside the LED jail.

“Geez, you look like shit,” he says as I sit next to him, “bad day at the office?”

“Don’t get me started.” I say.

“You know Geoff.” He states.

Geoff is up front behind the wheel, he raises his hand over his shoulder to greet me.

I’m bleeding on the luxurious leather interior of the Merc. I’m not sure how much of it is mine and how much belongs to other people. Mike doesn’t seem to notice, like they’ve had blood on the seats before and it’s no big deal.

Geoff pulls the car onto the road and drives away from the house. I look out the back window, I hope the damn LED get there soon.

“What can we do for you?” asks Mike.

“I need to talk to Kafka.”

“No can do,” says Mike, “but whatever you need I’m sure Geoff and I are more than capable to provide you with.”

“I need information,” I say, “about Cleopatra’s amulet.”

“Not a problem,” says Mike, “what do you want to know?”

“What exactly is it?”

“Well, the amulet is supposed to contain the spirit of Bubastis, the antithesis and sworn enemy of the Dog-God. It’s imbedded in a silver necklace guarded by Ocreata and Lybica. They’ll give it to you, but first you’ll have to pass three tests.”

“What kind of tests?”

“The first is a test of will, then a test of logic, and lastly a test of loyalty.” Mike says this casually, like the tests aren’t such a big deal. He takes a pack of Camels out of his jacket pocket and offers me one.

“No thanks,” I say, “can you take me to these guys? Ocreata and Lybica?”

He lights a cigarette, blows a couple of smoke rings and says, “That’s where we’re headed.”

*     *     *     *

I don’t know exactly where we’re going, but when we stop it’s outside a three-hundred story skyscraper.

“Take the lift up to the twenty-fifth floor,” says Mike, “there’ll be someone waiting for you when you’ve finished in there.”

“Thanks.” I say. I hope I make it out, I’d hate for them to be waiting for nothing.

“And another thing,” he says, “once you’ve got the amulet, the Priests of Hermonthis will come after you for it. It’s their job to get the amulet back to its rightful owners. If you do encounter them, just hand it over. Whatever you need the amulet for, it isn’t worth fucking around with those guys.”

With those final words Mike closes the door and they drive away.

*     *     *     *

The lobby is furnished with plush, black leather couches, on the wall is a Salvador Dali print. I think the paintings called The Persistence of Memory. It’s the one with the freaky melting clocks.

There’s a guy behind a security desk who smiles at me, “Hi there.”

“Um, hi.” I say.

He looks at the sword strapped to my back, “Nice,” he says, “floor twenty-five?”

“Uh, yeah. How did you know?”

“I see guys like you come in here all the time,” he says, “not too many come back down though.”

“Great,” I say walking towards the lift.

An electronic ping sounds and the lift doors open. “Good luck.” Calls the security guard as I enter the lift.

Inside I punch the button for the twenty-fifth floor. The doors close and the elevator hums softly on its ascent. There’s another ping and the doors slide open.

I guess this is the first test.

*     *     *     *

I can’t really see what’s going on in there. Lots of flashing lights and loud music. I draw my sword and walk inside.

The doors close behind me. It’s like a nightclub, what must be close to a hundred beautiful women are dancing to the frenetic music playing. I don’t have the urge to drop my sword and start boogying, I hate this techno shit.

So here I am, the first test. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I walk around the dance floor and make my way to the bar.

As I get to the bar the tall, blonde beauty on the other side puts a shot of whiskey in front of me, “This one’s on the house, cowboy.” She says.

Great, my nerves are shot, this will definitely calm me down. I swallow the whiskey and when I put the glass down there’s another in front of me.

I suppose I should try to keep my wits about me, but the barlady smiles at me and I think: What the hell?

I don’t know what this girl’s doing behind a bar, she looks like a supermodel. I look to my right and there’s another supermodel standing next to me. She leans close, forcing her perfect breasts against my body, and whispers into my ear, “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Whoa, did the lift crash down and kill me? If so, I really don’t think I’d be in Heaven right now.

The tip of her tongue flicks the inside of my ear. I flinch back, and knock into another buxom blonde. She puts her arms around my neck, pulls my head back, and sticks her tongue down my throat.

This has got to be a set-up. There’s no way this would happen under normal circumstances. I pull away from her and jump off my seat, clutching my sword.

The two girls just stare at me doe-eyed. The barlady smiles those Hollywood teeth at me.

A redhead runs her hand down my arm and takes the sword away from me. I just let it go. What’s wrong with me?

She unzips my suit and puts her hand inside. She kisses me deeply. I kiss her back.

Next I’m on the floor. The redhead is all over me. Her tongue and mine in the throes of a passionate, carnal war. I roll her onto her back. I’m trying to get the rest of the suit off of my body. She unbuttons her blouse.

The Polaroid of Karen falls onto the girl in front of me, the one she gave me before we went after the Dog-God – for luck, she said. I pick it up and stare into the LED agent’s eyes in the photo.

My brain returns from its vacation. What am I doing? I get off the redhead, who looks mighty upset, and zip my suit back up. I pick my sword off the floor.

“Sorry ladies,” I say, “but this stud is taken.”

The amorous looks on their faces turn sour. Uh oh, I’ve just pissed off a room full of horny women. The barlady reaches behind the counter and brings out a baseball bat. The blonde who grabbed me earlier picks up an empty beer bottle and hurls it at me.

Hell hath no fury like a women scorned – I was gonna find out just how much fury Hell hath none of.

I duck the bottle, but the redhead grabs the back of my head and rams it into her knee. I think she broke my nose. Blood spurts from it all over her gorgeous leg.

This just makes her angrier. She pushes me away and kicks for my groin. I block the kick and bring my fist round to pound her pretty face in when I stop. I can’t hit a woman – what a time to become chivalrous.

The redhead takes the opportunity to headbutt me on my already paining nose. The other women attack me.

In all the scratching and hair pulling I see a door on the other end of the room open up. Luckily Karen showed me the basics of an LED uniform, so I can find a flash grenade that won’t hurt any of these beauties but will get them off my sexy ass for a moment.

The grenade blinds the girls but my nifty night vision glasses protect my retinas. I dive over the screaming party-girls and run for the door.

It closes on the night(mare)club. What’s waiting for me on the other side makes me wish I were back with the psycho chicks.

*     *     *     *

It’s Mr Lague, my old science teacher, the guy who made life a misery for my entire high school career. He hates me almost as much as I hate him.

He’s sitting behind the same desk he had in school, on the desk is a scale with nine balls next to it. On my side of the desk are the same chairs that I sat in so many times, with him ridiculing me on the other side.

He looks at me and the corners of his mouth turn up in what could be regarded as a smile, if sharks ever smiled. He stands up and straightens his bright, floral tie.

“Is this the next test?” I ask, “I get to kill you?”

He snorts and tells me to sit down. “And put that thing away.” He says in disgust, waving his hand at my sword.

I sheathe my sword and sit. As soon as my butt hits the seat, strong clamps slam around my ankles and torso. I struggle against them uselessly.

“When you’ve quite finished,” he says. I stop struggling and look at him.

He clears his throat and carries on, waving his hand across the nine balls and the scale, “One of these balls is slightly heavier than the other eight. You must use the scale to tell me which one is the heavier. But you can only use the scale twice. If you get it right, you can leave through the door behind me. If you get it wrong, those spikes up there will put you out of my misery.”

I look up and see thick, steel spikes dangling over my head.

Okay, a riddle, I can do this.

If I take two groups of four balls and weight them… No that won’t work, I can only use the scale twice.

Okay, split the balls into two groups – one with five and one with four. If the five balls don’t outweigh the four, then I at least know where the heavier ball is. I can then split the four balls into two groups and weigh those. There’s that problem with only using the scale twice again.

I hate these things, these bloody riddles, and this one is hard. It would be easy if the question was: There are three birds on a fence, you shoot one, how many are left? Or maybe: What can you break by saying only one word? But this is difficult. I’m no good at this kind of thing. I’m the Swordsman, I have a sword, I kill demons. This isn’t in the job description.

On the bright side, the fact that I don’t have the ring makes no difference now. I thought I’d die because I was in a situation that would be cake for the ring and not having it got me killed. It’s nice to know that when I die it won’t be because I don’t have the ring.

Okay, I’ve got nine balls. One is heavier than the rest. I can weigh them, but I can only use the scale twice. Think, damn it.

Wait a minute, if I split the balls into three groups of three each, weigh two of the groups against each other. That’s it.

I pick up three balls and put them on one side of the scale. Then I take another three and put them on the other side. The scale shows that the six balls all weigh exactly the same. I take the six balls and put them to one side, and then I take two of the remaining three balls and weigh them against each other. They also weigh the same. I pick up the last ball and hand it to Mr Lague.

“There,” I say, “That’s the one.”

“Hmph,” he says, “Lucky.”

“Whatever.” I say.

The clamps release my legs and I walk past the bastard and into the next room.

*     *     *     *

So that’s where Grand Wolf has been. I’m not so upset with him for leaving us to face the Dog-God by ourselves anymore. He came to get the amulet, he knew we wouldn’t be stupid enough to face a god without a trump card.

Well, he knew Karen wouldn’t be stupid enough.

GW’s in a bit of a predicament. He’s hanging upside down above a pit that probably hasn’t got a comfy bed of roses at the bottom.

Two Abyssinian cats are sitting quietly in a corner, Ocreata and Lybica. I can tell who’s who because one has a golden O hanging around a collar and the other has and equally shiny L. Between them is Cleopatra’s amulet.

Wait a minute, Mike said there were three tasks. The amulet’s right there, where’s the third task?

One of the cats, Ocreata, says, “If you take the amulet. Your friend over there will plunge headfirst to his death. But if you save your friend, we shall disappear with the amulet. You can only have your friend’s life or the amulet.”

Then Lybica speaks, “Take into account that without the amulet you will never be able to defeat your foe.”

So, do I save the world or save Grand Wolf?

There’s just no contest.

“I’ll find a way,” I say, “give me Grand Wolf.”

The pit closes and GW drops to the floor. The ropes that bind him turn into smoke.

“Are you crazy,” says Grand Wolf, “you’ll never be able to stop the Bohemian now.”

“Well done,” says Ocreata, “that was the right choice.”

“You can take the amulet and leave through this door.” Says Lybica. The wall behind the cats opens and they run through it.

That was weird. I pick up the amulet and leave through the door.

*     *     *     *

The guard in the lobby is really pleased to see me. He wants me to tell him all about the twenty-fifth floor. I see my lift waiting outside, like Mike said it would be.

“Some other time.” I say, helping Grand Wolf to the car. Once we’re inside, the Tech-Vamp in front asks us where we want to go.

“Do you know where I live?” I ask him.

“Of course, sir.” He says.

I tell Grand Wolf about how we were on our way to meet up with the LED squad, when we saw a group of hairdressers and followed them. They led us to a gateway that the LED never knew about, so we were on our own.

“What happened to you?” I ask.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, “lets just say that the gods don’t return favours.”

This is a problem I have with Grand Wolf, he never tells me anything. Maybe if he’d told me in the beginning why I was supposed to get the Orb we wouldn’t be in this position. I would have taken things a lot more seriously if I knew what was at stake.

“What’s the Bohemian going to do now that he has a god for a pet?” I say, not really expecting an answer.

“I don’t know,” says GW, “maybe he has god-like aspirations, maybe he wants enough power to destroy all his enemies, or maybe he just wants to create havoc.”

Whatever he’s gonna do, we have to stop him.

*     *     *     *

When I was younger there was this girl who always stopped by my house unannounced. She would just arrive out of the blue and end up staying for hours. The problem was that she was the most boring person I’d ever met, five minutes and she’d already overstayed her welcome. It got so bad that at one point I wanted to move so she would stop bothering me.

I didn’t move. However, if she had kept coming round and chopping my head off with a sword and actually, physically, burnt my home to the ground I definitely would have looked at other real estate – so it strikes me as strange that Balgog is still hanging out in the lair that I have the address to.

Of course, he probably thinks that the Traveller finished me off. He actually paid an assassin to kill me. I wonder what demons use as currency? Probably skulls or something – how droll.

The floor is covered with Book-Demons, how can they sleep on this floor? I always wipe my feet before I leave.

Is this going to be my life? Mingling with the dregs of the universe? No memories that I actually want?

Suddenly my stomach feels like a bowling ball. I can’t live like this. I’ll give myself a year, find Mephisto and kill him, and then leave this city. Find somewhere – some secluded island – that hasn’t heard of a shopping mall. A little village where you grow your own vegetables and catch fish in the river.

Balgog is passed out in a corner. I’m still wearing the LED suit Karen gave me, I haven’t taken it off yet. It’s caked in blood, my nostrils have been desensitised, I must smell like shit.

I throw a smoke-grenade through the door and wait outside. Eventually the Book-Demons start evacuating. I cut the first one’s head off and it flies back toward the others. The second and third are decapitated with one swing. As they come through the door I lob their heads off – one-by-one.

Balgog hasn’t come out yet. He knows it’s me.

It takes a while for the smoke to clear. When it does I go into Balgog’s lair to find him. He’s standing in a corner waiting for me. I don’t know what, but I notice something different about him. Like he’s a different person. He moves and talks differently.

He can’t help what he is. Cancer has no concept of right and wrong, it doesn’t choose those it infects. Balgog was born with the sole purpose of destroying – he doesn’t know how not to. Evil is as evil does.

“Where is he?” I shout.

“Get out of here, Phoenix.” Says Balgog, “Our time will come later.”

What did he call me? I ignore it, “Why does he need the god? What’s he going to do?”

“Maybe he’s going to kill all the Tech-Vamps,” says Balgog, “Wouldn’t that seem so right?”

I reach into a pocket and take out my trump card. Before I came here I made a little stop after-hours at Posh Paperbacks. I remembered what Kafka told me about trapping a Book-Demon’s soul in the same books they use.

“I’m sick of playing with you,” I shout, holding the book up so he can see exactly what I’m prepared to do.

 He speaks like he doesn’t care, like he knows I’m going to fail, “The dark god needs souls. That’s where they get their power from.”

Gods become more powerful by garnering souls? You learn something new every day. But the Bohemian isn’t a god, is he?

“So what does he need the Dog-God for?”

“That thing the hairdressers worship,” says Balgog, “it’s the only god that can get to the River. The River directs souls, so that each god gets the souls it deserves. The Dog-God is just too stupid to know that it has I direct link to so much power.”

“Where is the River? How do I get to it?” I shout, thrusting the book in Balgog’s face.

“I would tell you if I knew,” he says, “just to see the look on your face.”

I can see in his eyes that he’s telling the truth. “Guess the Traveller didn’t do his job, huh?” I say, “Hope you didn’t pay him up front.”

Balgog doesn’t hear me. he’s turned away from me and is talking softly to himself. For the first time the thought that the Book-Demon might be insane enter my head.

I leave Balgog’s lair, stepping over the demons I axed earlier.

They’re waiting for me. I was wondering when they’d show up, I thought I was prepared but now I know I’m not. They’re standing in a row, their swords drawn. They look like a firing squad of monks.

I’m not ready to face the Priests of Hermonthis.

*     *     *     *

Grand Wolf said the Priests of Hermonthis were ghosts, that they couldn’t be touched. He said if I saw them I can only run, there’s not another option. They want the amulet hanging around my neck.

For once I do what GW tells me – I run.

I jump over the knocked out Book-Demons and run back through Balgog’s lair. Balgog stops talking to himself and stares at me.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” I say, “Is there another way out?”

The Priests have drifted into the room and are approaching us rapidly.

“Come on,” I shout.

The Priests of Hermonthis are a million times scarier than I could ever be. Balgog snaps back into this world the minute he sets eyes on them.

The Priests are dressed in dirty, brown robes. Their faces are hidden in shadow, which is probably a good thing. They’re carrying massive broadswords that make mine look like a toothpick. All they want is the amulet, if I give it to them they’ll go away, but that is something I just can’t do.

“This way,” says Balgog. We run through another room with shelves and shelves of old, dusty books. I wonder how many souls have been eaten by these innocent-looking novels. The room leads to a long corridor.

“The door at the end will take us into the Mall.” He says, locking the door behind us.

The Priests walk though the door as though it’s nothing more than a thick fog. Balgog looks back over his shoulder at them and trips - they’re that scary.

He looks back at them in surprise. He’s not the same person I spoke to earlier. I don’t know how but I can see it.

I remember Balgog as a big, ferocious demon that didn’t take shit from anyone, he’s changed since this whole mess with the Orb of Gondlar and the Bohemian started. Something has affected his mind, as though he’s jumping between personalities.

“Get up,” Balgog jumps to his feet. He has the old look in his eyes, the look he had when I first bust in to his lair years ago.

The Priests are almost on top of us. We reach the exit with the ghosts inches from us. I open the door. The bright, artificial lighting of the Mall fills the corridor. The fluorescent glow is like a beam from Heaven. I feel a lot safer.

Behind me Balgog shrieks in pain. I look around, one of the Priests has grabbed him. I watch as his entire arm turns to stone.

Nothing is indestructible. Everyone has an Achilles’ heal. There must be some way to fight the Priests of Hermonthis.

Ghosts are just walking souls, right? That gives me an idea. I pull the book I used to threaten Balgog with earlier and hand it to him.

“Use this,” I say, “do your stuff.”

For once Balgog has a clue, he grabs the book from me and opens it, showing the pages to his attacker. The other Priests see the book and back off. Balgog says one word, which I can’t make out, and suddenly the Priest is gone. Balgog slams the book shut.

The other Priests slowly back up and disappear out the other end of the corridor.

“Thanks,” he says.

“I should thank you,” I say, “What about your arm?”

“Cut it off.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says.

The stone arm smashes when it hits the floor.

“I owe you one,” he says.

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’ll call off the assassin,” says Balgog, “the Traveller won’t bother you again.”

“And I’ll stop chopping your head off for no reason.” I say.

Hey, I’ve already got an LED agent for a girlfriend and a Tech-Vamp for a buddy, I suppose I could make friends with a Book-Demon. I’m gonna be the most politically correct Swordsman ever.

*     *     *     *

“I should have put two and two together. I must be getting old.” Says Grand Wolf when I tell him about my evening.

“But what I can’t understand,” he says, “Is why the Bohemian would want access to all those souls.”

I tell GW what Balgog told me, about how the Dog-God can get to the River of Souls and how the more souls a god has the more powerful he or she is. With what I know and what Grand Wolf knows we try to piece it together.

When one dies their soul goes to the god they worship. For those who have no god, their soul drifts down the River and the gods fight for it. They never fight for only one soul, souls leave the River in massive groups. The plain that the gods live on must be no more than an endless battlefield.

“Maybe the Bohemian is working for someone else,” I say, “a god who wants access to the River.”

“Possibly,” he says.

The telephone rings, startling both of us. Grand Wolf answers it. He speaks to the person on the other side for a while and then hands it to me, “It’s for you.”

“Hello?”

“Thanks for saving my life.” Says Karen.

She’s okay, the empty feeling I’ve been carrying in my stomach goes away. I’m ecstatic to hear from her, “Well, you wouldn’t have been in that situation if it wasn’t for me. Are you okay?”

“My leg’s broken, but I’ll be fine. They say I’ve got to take it easy for a while. How are things on your end?”

“It’s a long story,” I say, “my life is like the plot of a surreal comic book.”

“It’s like that old Chinese curse: May you live in interesting times.”

“Yeah,”

“I’ve got to go,” she says, “if you need help just phone the number you called earlier and tell them who you are. They’ll send a team for you.”

“I don’t think Grand Wolf will be too keen on that idea,” I say, “but I’ll definitely call you.”

“Yeah, maybe we can go on a date that doesn’t involve swords and explosions sometime.”

“Where the biggest danger is the chef’s chicken ala king.”

“That’d be nice.” She says.

We say goodbye and I hang up the phone. I turn to GW, “We have to stop him, whatever he’s doing. But how are we going to find them? Do you know where this River is?”

“I do,” says Grand Wolf, “but I think we’re going to need some help with this one.”

*     *     *     *

I wonder what GW did with the ring?

After my father almost killed someone he realised that the ring was taking over his soul, he stopped using it and was murdered shortly after.

When he took the ring off, my father locked it away in a heavy metal casket and dumped it in the middle of the ocean. Somehow it found it’s way out and then found me, and now I’ve stopped using it for almost the same reasons my father did.

What did Grand Wolf do with it? I suppose he hid it away somewhere that he could keep an eye on it. He would have to hide it from me, I might be tempted to use it. Everything seemed so easy when I had the ring, like I was never in any real danger. I always knew the ring would protect me.

How many of my ancestors did the ring corrupt? Why was my grandfather immune to the ring’s calling?

What would happen if someone else, someone truly evil, ever got hold of the ring?

*     *     *     *

Grand Wolf drives deep into the heart of the city. I haven’t ventured into the city much in the last couple of years, most of my time has been spent training to one-day face Mephisto. I’ve been hanging around the Mall for so long I sometimes forget there’s another world outside of it.

Avenging my father’s death seemed almost impossible when I had the ring, now I feel it’s an insurmountable task that I will never be able to accomplish.

I don’t know where GW gets his money from, he certainly seems to have a lot of it. I could write everything I know about cars on the back of a postage stamp, but I’m pretty sure the Ferrari we’re in is quite expensive.

“Who are we going to see?” I ask.

Grand wolf stares out into the night, “His name is Rorschach. He is one of the few Oracles still in existence.”

Wow, I’ve heard about the Oracles – I thought they were just myths. According to what I’ve heard, they’re a race of beings that have been around since before the universe existed. They may have even created this plain of existence. Apparently, they can walk through time and watch history like you’d walk through a zoo and look at the animals.

Hmm, interesting analogy.

Anyway, these guys can see the past and the future like it’s happening right now.

And GW knows one? Cool.

We pull up next to an apartment block in one of the seedier parts of town. The building looks abandoned, in fact, the whole street we’re on looks like it’s part of some crazy future after the world’s been ravaged by nuclear war. Or am I just being melodramatic?

“So how do you know this guy?” I ask as we’re getting out the car.

“I met him a long time ago,” says Grand Wolf, “he’ll probably be reluctant to help us, but he owes me a favour.”

“Why wouldn’t he want to help us?”

“The Oracles are observers. They watched humanity build itself up, and they will watch as it destroys itself. They don’t like to get involved unless they have to.”

“Like when?” I ask.

“Like when one of their own goes against their laws.”

“And I suppose that has happened before?” I say, “And I suppose you’re going to leave me with that and not tell me anymore? All I need to know is that they watch us like a badly written soap opera and do nothing.”

 “It is their way,” he says, “After man has destroyed this earth they will still be here to watch another species rise.”

“So you know that man will destroy the earth along with itself?”

GW looks at me and frowns, “I just take it for granted.”

Rorschach lives on the third floor. There’s an old elevator standing with its doors wide open - a dark, gaping mouth.

Grand Wolf gives the lift a concerned look. “We’ll take the stairs,” he says.

I follow him up the stairs and along the third floor until we reach the Oracle’s front door. It’s open.

“The problem with knowing an Oracle,” says GW, “is you can never surprise them with a visit.”

Was that a joke? From grumpy, old Grand Wolf? We must really be in trouble.

*     *     *     *

Rorschach’s apartment makes Balgog’s lair look like a five-star hotel suite. There are empty Coke bottles and half-eaten slices of pizza lying around. Cockroaches crunch under our boots, and flies buzz angrily at our disturbance. The apartment is pitch black, I don’t see any lamps or lights in the place.

“The Oracles sometimes live like humans,” says Grand Wolf, “they think it helps them gain knowledge about our condition.”

In the corner something moves. Normally I would be on edge, but just having Grand Wolf here puts me at ease.

“Hello, my old friend,” says a voice in the corner, “I was expecting you. And I see you brought the Swordsman, trying desperately to live up to his legacy.”

“This isn’t a social call, Rorschach.” Says Grand Wolf.

“I know, I know,” he says, “You need to enter the River of Souls.”

The guys creepy, and his place smells. You’d think a guy who’s been around for eternity could find decent domestic help.

Rorschach can read my mind, “Please excuse the mess, I haven’t been home for a thousand years.”

“We’re not planning on staying long,” says Grand Wolf, “give us what we need and we’ll get out.”

“Why should I tell you anything?” he says.

I can hear anger in GW’s voice, “Because you owe me, and unlike the gods, an Oracle always keeps his word.”

Rorschach sounds amused, he knows we don’t have a lot of time and he’s enjoying our urgency. He ignores GW and talks to me, “Finding the River is not the problem, your mentor knows this is true. Mortals can only enter the River once their body can sustain their soul no longer. What you need is on the table in front of you.”

Grand Wolf picks up a vial in front of us. It looks like there’s some kind of liquid inside.

“Thank you, Rorschach.” Says Grand Wolf.

“My debt has been paid,” he says, “now I owe you nothing. I should be thanking you.”

With that Grand Wolf walks out the door, I turn to follow him when the Oracle speaks to me, “Do you know what he’s planning? Why he wants to get to the River?”

“I don’t know, maybe he thinks that if he can get all those souls he’ll become a god. I haven’t had a chance to sit down and chat with him, whenever I come across the Bohemian he tries to kill me.”

“I’m not talking about the Bohemian, he isn’t the one behind all of this.”

“Then who is?”

The Oracle chuckles like I just told a dirty joke, “Isn’t it funny how fate works? You have no idea that the man you’re chasing, the man behind all this, is the one who has indirectly guided the course of your existence.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He thought that by killing your father he would ensure the end of the Swordsman, and that there would not be another one ever again. But now, because of his actions, you have taken your family’s mantle and continue the legacy.”

“You’re talking about Mephisto,” I say, “Is he behind all of this?”

“You catch on slow, Swordsman. I can see why Grand Wolf has so much trouble with you.”

I’m thinking aloud, “Mephisto wants the souls to become the most powerful god…”

“Yes, and when he has those souls he will control the course of the River, and he will wipe out everything on this plain.”

“Why would he do that?” I ask.

“So he can then feed off those souls.”

I can see now how I better stop talking to this freak and get going. I ask Rorschach one question before I go, “Will I kill Mephisto?”

“No.” The grim finality with which he speaks that one word sends frozen cockroaches skittering up my spine.

I turn away from the Oracle and walk towards the door.

“One more thing before you go, Swordsman,” he says.

“Yes,”

“The fire is within you.”

*     *     *     *

My brain is frantically trying to process all this information.

So Mephisto is behind all of this. He needed the Orb of Gondlar to gain control of the Dog-God because the Dog-God can open the River. Once he has control of the River he’ll be able to direct all the lost souls to himself. Souls equal power, if Mephisto gets those souls he’ll be unstoppable. He’ll be able to walk onto this plain and destroy everything, and then take those souls.

What was the last thing Rorschach said? The fire is within you. That’s the third time someone has said that to me. First on my phone underneath the Mall, then my father said it to me in a dream I had, and now an Oracle has told me the same thing.

What does it mean, I was on fire when the Nightcrawlers attacked me, it was the only thing that could hurt them. But that was from the ring, if I hadn’t had the ring I would have been reduced to a lifeless, grey husk like the LED agent they killed.

The fire is within you.

Whatever. I have more important things to worry about than some cryptic message. When Mephisto has control of the River, he’s gonna toast all of humanity just to get stronger.

Grand Wolf walks down the stairs, I follow him to the car we came in. He hasn’t said a word since he left Rorschach’s apartment. I wonder how he knows him? I wonder what GW did for the Oracles that would put Rorschach in his debt?

I realise that my mentor has been places and seen things that I can’t imagine. He never talks about his past. I had to find out that the Bohemian took his hand from Kafka.

I might not have to drink whatever’s in the vial and cross over into the River of Souls, that’s plan B. We’re gonna try and stop the Dog-God before he even gets the opportunity to open the River. GW’s big on back-up plans. Whatever we do, we have to do it tonight.

The Priests of Hermonthis materialise in front of me. Grand Wolf is on the other side of the car by now, facing their backs. They almost turned Balgog into stone, what other powers do they have?

The Priests approach me with their swords raised, I remember Grand Wolf saying that the Priests are ghosts – fighting them is like trying to fight against the mist.

The thing about the Priests of Hermonthis is that all they really want is Cleopatra’s amulet, they don’t really want to kill anyone, but they will do whatever they have to to get the amulet back.

I take the amulet from around my neck and wave it at them, backing away, “You want this? Well come and get it.”

The priests drift forward, mesmerized by the sight of the amulet. I clutch it in my fist, waiting until they’re close. One of the Priests reaches out his hand, I back up a few steps and throw the amulet over the Priests’ heads and into GW’s hands. I draw my sword – that’s just habit – and dive through the confused Priests. As I fly through one Priest’s body my skin becomes ice cold, my breath catches in my throat as my heart suddenly misses a few beats and then goes into overdrive. They turn around to see where the amulet is heading. When they see it in GW’s hand they forget me and move after him.

Grand Wolf gets in the car and starts it, he opens the passenger door for me and pulls away when I’m only half inside.

“Quick thinking,” says Grand Wolf, “How did you know they would stop chasing you when you got rid of the amulet?”

“I didn’t.”

*     *     *     *

The Priests of Hermonthis are the least of our worries and we don’t speak about them. I really think we should ask the LED for help on this one. I mean, we’re going up against not one god, but two, plus the biggest, baddest motherfucker in this universe and probably a couple others.

“I’ll call Karen when we get home,” I say, “she can get her bosses to sort something out.”

“We don’t need the LED’s help.” He says through clenched teeth.

I’ve already told him about what Rorschach said to me, so he knows that Mephisto is the guy behind everything. Mephisto killed my father and his partner, the Bohemian took his hand, the Dog-God is probably the single most vicious and bloodthirsty creature in existence. You’d think a little help certainly wouldn’t be out of the question.

“So they’re a bunch of hypocrites,” I shout, “they’re idiots, but can’t you put aside your petty, selfish grudge and admit that we need some help on this one?”

“No.”

Just like that.

“I don’t like the LED either,” I shout, “one of them almost killed me once. What could they have done to you that would make you hate them so much? Why won’t you ever tell me anything about your past?”

I sound like a spoilt brat. I’ve gone from shouting angrily to whining like a child who can’t have an obscenely priced Harry Potter action figure.

Grand Wolf just stares out the windscreen, watching the road ahead. I sit in the passenger seat sulking.

After what seems like an eternity of silence, Grand Wolf says, “I used to be one of them.”

His voice sends me tumbling out of the other world my mind was in, “What?”

“I used to be an LED agent.”

I’m too shocked to speak. Not shocked that GW was ever an agent, shocked because this is the first time he’s ever spoken to me about anything of this nature.

“I was one of the first agents,” he says, “at their inception. They became the family I’d never known. After about a year there I met this girl, an agent like myself, who’d also had no family to speak of. We fell in love and we were married six months later.”

He stares out the window, seeing the past outside instead of the long road.

“There was a new player on the scene,” he continues, “someone we’d never heard of. He didn’t seem to be doing much but causing havoc. Your most dangerous enemy is the one with no conceivable motive, with no cause.

“My wife was on the team sent to stop this madman. They had no idea what they were going up against. He killed every last agent sent after him, including my wife. When I wanted to go after him myself, form a team strong enough to stop him, the higher powers in the LED wouldn’t let me. They said I couldn’t get involved because I was taking it personally. A decision I made might jeopardise the safety of other agents. So I told them I would go myself, alone, without a team. They still said no.”

Grand Wolf looks at the scarred stump where his hand used to be, “When they didn’t let me go I was angry. I disobeyed my orders and went after the Bohemian by myself.

“I still think that if I’d had a team we could of defeated him. But I didn’t have a team and I alone was no match for his rage. He took my hand with his scythe, but not before I burnt his entire body with an acid-grenade. It should have killed him, but he was incredibly powerful even then. I barely escaped with my life.

“After that I wandered around for ages, only living for the day I could kill the Bohemian. I met your father and mother and they helped me back from the dark place my soul had descended.

“When your parents were killed, Mephisto didn’t know they had a son. Throughout time, the Swordsman and Mephisto have been enemies. The dark god thought that he would kill your father before he could spawn an heir to the ring. But your father didn’t want that life for you. He locked the ring away and dropped it into the ocean, hoping that you would never find it. He would retire and move away from this life.”

“But the ring found me,” I say, “It is my destiny and my curse.”

I don’t think Grand Wolf can even hear me. He’s lost in the memories, “When I found your mother and father murdered, I also found you alive. Knowing that Mephisto would find out about you and then come for you, I hid you in an orphanage, hoping that you would live your life without any knowledge of the ring or anything of your heritage.”

We’re home. Grand Wolf stops the car, gets out, and stalks inside.

*     *     *     *

On my bedside table there’s a note from Karen.

Hey you,

Thought you might need some stuff. This should

be enough to keep you out of trouble.

Don’t worry about finding the bad guys, I told

your grumpy boss everything he needs to know.

Love,

            Karen

 

She’s had some friends of hers drop supplies off so I can restock the LED suit she gave me.

I think of how much more confident I’d feel if I had the ring. For a while, before it started trying to control my actions, the ring protected me. Now I’m faced with the end of the world, if the people we’re going up against succeed it will mean the death of every living thing on this plain of existence in order to feed a god’s power.

I’m also facing Mephisto, the god who killed my parents and would of killed me if he’d known I’d been born. He thought he was killing the last of the Swordsmen.

I slide the guns and bombs and other gadgets into the suit’s pockets. When I turn around something lying on the bed catches my eye, a flash of light reflecting off it seems to wink at me.

How could the ring have gotten on my bed? Grand Wolf sure as hell didn’t put it there. But then who did?

Just leave it.

You don’t want to take it.

Remember, it almost made you kill your mentor and decapitate the only woman you’ve ever loved.

But how can I fight Mephisto without it? He defeated my father because he didn’t have the ring.

I can feel it calling me. My stomach churns like I’ve seen a past lover with another man. I want the ring back. Without it, a part of my soul is missing.

I pick the ring off the bed and just holding it makes me feel safer. The temptation to slip it on is absolute torment. It’s a struggle to keep myself from putting it on my finger, I won’t be able to leave it here. I open an empty pocket and drop the ring inside.

I’ll use it only if I have to. I hope it doesn’t come to that.

*     *     *     *

Grand Wolf is standing staring at himself in the mirror. He’s wearing dark, baggy Bushido pants, like the ones Bruce Lee used to wear. A thick, sleeveless, leather breastplate covers his chest. His arms are covered in metal, it looks like he hijacked King Arthur and only stole what he could carry. At the end of his right arm, where his hand once was, is a strong, steel spike. I hope I don’t make GW proud tonight, I definitely don’t want a pat on the back from him.

“Your father helped me design this costume,” he says, “back then, we thought what we did was all a game. We were two heroes going on an adventure, fighting demons and monsters, full of sarcastic remarks and witty one-liners.”

What did I say to make Grand Wolf so pensive, until about ten minutes ago I knew nothing about him, now he thinks I’m his shrink.

“I’m ready,” I say, “lets kick some ass.”

“Call the number.” He says.

“What number?”

“Call the LED, we might need their help.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice, I don’t want to go into this alone. I dial the number and tell them the situation.

The woman on the other end says, “We’ll meet you at the site, Grand Wolf knows the routine.” And hangs up. What site? I figure I’m out of the loop, as usual. I just hope GW knows what she’s talking about.

He picks up a long staff-like weapon leaning against the wall, I’m not sure what it’s called but a good name for it would be a conversation-ender. It looks like the light-sabre Darth Maul uses in Star Wars, except instead of lasers on each end there are sharp blades.

He puts Cleopatra’s amulet around my neck, “Lets go.”

Grand Wolf and the Swordsman, together again.

*     *     *     *

I’m always kept out of the loop. Apparently, when Karen and I barely escaped the Dog-God’s wrath she managed to pop a tracking device on it. She doesn’t tell me, but she tells Grand Wolf.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you’re a stubborn, old mule.” Says GW, “You would of wanted to go after them immediately, without a plan.”

We’re racing to meet the LED team in Grand Wolf’s car. He guns it through the city and onto a long straight road that has no end in sight.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“The Bohemian has taken the Dog-God outside the city. They’re both in the desert at the moment.”

“Why the desert? Is that where he’ll open the River?”

“He has to,” says GW, “each plain has a quaquaversal point. The desert is where ours is.”

“Come again?”

“A quaquaversal point is the place where our universe began. Imagine that an explosion created the universe, the quaquaversal point is where the dynamite was. When things die they go back to it, that’s where they leave this plain.”

“So it’s like a door?”

“Exactly, and the Dog-God is the key.”

*     *     *     *

We meet the LED team about a mile away from the quaquaversal point Grand Wolf told me about. It’s also a mile away from the Bohemian, the Dog-God, and probably Mephisto.

The team leader looks about as pleased to see us as Grand Wolf is to see them. He’s got a short, army-style haircut and less hair on his face than a six-year-old. Behind him are about twenty LED agents. I extend my arm to shake the leader’s hand and he looks at it with disgust, like I’m showing him my collection of dried dog turds. 

He looks at my mentor, “I hear you call yourself Grand Wolf these days.”

“For a while now, Xavier.” Says GW.

“And I suppose this is the Swordsman. I thought what happened to your father would have been enough to stop you from playing hero.”

Before I can say something stupid Grand Wolf butts in, “This is Xavier Zylo,” he says to me, “LED commander and backstabbing son of a bitch.”

Grand Wolf was an LED agent a long time ago, before his wife was killed going up against the Bohemian, I should have expected he’d know people high up.

I can see Commander Zylo go red in the face and clench his fists. I’m sure GW could take him with one hand – he hasn’t got too many other options – but he wouldn’t be setting a very good example for me if he brawled right now.

“Let’s do what we came here for,” I say, “and then we never have to see each other again.”

Both men stop and realise they look like a pair of high-school kids arguing over a girl.

“Lets get on with it,” says Grand Wolf, “we don’t have much time.”

The LED team must be the best of their best. Each man and woman looks tough, confident and battle-hardened, not a nervous wreck like I am.

“Where did you get that suit?” says Commander Zylo, not hiding his contempt for me in the slightest.

I think of the trouble Karen could get into for even associating with me. In the LED’s eyes I’m a vigilante and a fugitive, “That’s not important right now.” I say, trying to sound tough.

“Just give me the amulet, little boy,” he says, “and then take the old man home. He’s in way over his head.”

Grand Wolf punches him, thankfully not with his right hand. Commander Zylo stumbles back, holding his jaw. He pulls a gun and points it at GW.

“You’re a criminal and a fool, old man,” he says, “I’d shoot you if I didn’t feel so sorry for you.”

Before he’s finished speaking, my sword is against his throat, “Lose the cannon or lose the head.”

I look over at the other agents, they’ve all got hardware out and every one is pointing in my direction. Commander Zylo laughs, “You wouldn’t.”

“Do you really wanna find out?” I press my sword against his throat.

It’s a catch-22 situation. He can see that I won’t back down. He drops the gun and holds his hands up, palms facing outwards.

“Get these other monkeys to do the same.” I say, flicking my head at other agents.

“Do it.” He says. They all slowly lower their guns. I take my sword away from his throat and sheathe it.

This isn’t going to work. It’s all turning sour. An image flashes through my mind. Every last LED agent is dead, Grand Wolf is dead, Mephisto is standing over me with my sword. He plunges it deep into my belly. I can hear my last breath escaping.

*     *     *     *

After dark the only illumination in the desert is from the night sky, everything gets a bluish tinge to it. We can’t see much without the night-vision glasses on. Commander Zylo reluctantly gives Grand Wolf a pair. No matter how much they hate each other, Zylo knows that GW is a very knowledgeable and powerful ally.

We approach the site cautiously, not wanting to walk right in the middle of things. The element of surprise is the only advantage we have.

Zylo keeps checking a hand-held computer. The red, flashing light on the screen comes from the tracking device on the Dog-God, the one Karen put on it the last time I saw her.

I remember that I have the ring hidden inside my suit. I can feel it yearning to be free. The temptation to put it on burns, but I need to keep my wits about me. I need to stay in control.

We slowly and silently climb a sand dune, keeping low. If Zylo’s computer is right, and the tracker is still on the Dog-God, it should be over this dune.

The tension and fear is like electricity, I can feel it in the air, emanating from all of us.

We look down over the top of the sand dune, below us is a large, open area. The Bohemian is standing with his scythe drawn, further away the Dog-God is sitting, staring into the light from the glowing Orb. The man holding the Orb is Mephisto, my blood runs cold when I see the god who murdered my parents.

Something else is with them, surrounding the open space they’re in. I can’t make out anything in the space, the only reason I think something is there is because of the lack of anything else there.

One of the LED agents can see them too, “What the hell are those?”

“Mephisto is a dark god,” says Grand Wolf, “those things are his minions, demons of the darkness.” He turns to me, “Like the Nightcrawlers the Traveller carries around.”

“The only thing that can hurt them is light,” says Zylo, “and that will only slow them down. We’re prepared.”

With Mephisto and the Bohemian down there they’re the least of out worries.

We got here just in time for the show. Mephisto raises the Orb, the Dog-God follows it like it’s a juicy piece of sirloin, Mephisto says something and the Dog-God seems to lose its last marble. It starts howling and clawing at the air, then bounding around in circles, like it’s chasing its tail.

Then I hear what can only be described as the fabric of our universe ripping apart, I’m pretty sure deaf people can hear it. It’s almost as if you’re not hearing it with your ears, but with your mind.

We’re not waiting around to see what happens next. Everyone heads down the dune, making a lot of noise in the process. I hang back a bit, not because I’ve wet myself but because it’s my job to get through to use the amulet. Everyone else’s job is to create a path for me.

This is it, what I was born to do. The reason I found the ring was to stop the destruction of the world. I’m about to head down the dune to face the greatest challenge of my life. Why do the Priests of Hermonthis have to bother me now?

*     *     *     *

Everything slows down, almost to a standstill, like it’s the final scene in a John Woo flick. The Priests of Hermonthis have got me totally surrounded, but my attention is on the bloodbath beneath me.

The LED agents are dropping like flies. The Nightcrawlers are different to the ones the Traveller has, they don’t engulf you and drain your energy, they’re more brutal. I see the first wave of agents disappear in a red explosion, like they’ve been hit by a train. They’re carrying weapons I haven’t seen before, I think the guns are supposed to shoot light. The second wave is a bit more effective in slowing down the dark god’s minions.

When the Bohemian sees grand Wolf, any composure he once had vanishes. Grand Wolf told me that the Bohemian took his hand, but not before GW covered him in a potent acid-grenade. That’s probably why he looks the way he does, what I thought were scales all over his body are actually third degree acid burns.

The Bohemian freaks out and dives at my mentor, his crackling, electric scythe wielded high above his head. Grand Wolf raises his right arm and stops the scythe’s arc with the steel spike. The scythe and the spike cling to each other, like long lost lovers reunited, the Bohemian roars as Grand Wolf pushes the scythe back.

Mephisto hardly notices the battle behind him. I can see his twisted smile as the Dog-God opens the River of Souls. I can’t let him enter.

Someone takes their finger off slow-mo and everything speeds up again. One of the Priests charges at me, swinging his sword like he’s swatting flies. They’re ghosts, I can’t touch them. I duck under the sword and pass through his legs like they’re fog. Before, the Priests of Hermonthis were calm, like they were thinking I’d be terrified at the sight of them and just hand over the amulet. Now they’re annoyed and pissed off, ready to take the amulet back through force.

The amulet contains the spirit of Bubastis, the Dog-God’s eternal enemy and the only thing that can send it back to where it came from. I don’t have the option of just handing it over.

Another two Priests come at me, but I already planned for just such a predicament. I pull a copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy from my pocket, “You want some?” I shout.

I have no idea how to use the book. Balgog said something, some kind of incantation, and the book swallowed a Priest like he was a happy meal. I don’t know what he said, but they don’t know that I don’t know.

The Priests back away at the sight of the book. I boldly step forward, thrusting it in their faces.

Below me the LED agents are making a path to the Dog-God for me. They’re struggling to hold back the Nightcrawlers.

Grand Wolf and the Bohemian don’t notice that there’s a battle going on around them. They’re transfixed by their hate for each other. Grand Wolf has the conversation-ender strapped to his back, he holds up the Bohemian’s scythe with his spike and sweeps the ugly bastard’s legs out from under him. The Bohemian hits the sand hard, GW pulls the conversation-ender off his back and stabs it down into the Bohemian’s chest. The Bohemian roars in pain and kicks Grand Wolf’s legs out. He gets up with GW’s weapon imbedded in him. I can see the other end of it poking through his back.

I hold the book up at the Priests and run down the dune towards the Dog-God. Looking back over my shoulder I see the Priests of Hermonthis charging down after me.

The Bohemian stands over Grand Wolf, he slams his scythe down but GW rolls out of its way. The Bohemian kicks after GW and smashes the scythe down again. Grand Wolf stops the blade an inch from his face. He’s struggling against the Bohemian’s weight with his right arm.

Commander Zylo rams his shoulder and massive body into the Bohemian, knocking him off GW. The two giant men roll in the sand, the bladed staff sticking out of the Bohemian snaps in half. The Bohemian kicks Zylo off him, sending the LED commander crashing into one of his own men.

Grand Wolf runs behind the Bohemian and stabs the spike through his torso. He throws the Bohemian over his head. He picks up the broken end of the conversation-ender, races to the Bohemian, and thrusts it into the monster’s neck. Blood gushes from the Bohemian’s neck, painting GW’s arm red. He lifts the Bohemian into the air, “That was for my hand,” he says, “this is for my wife.” He swipes his right arm across the Bohemian’s stomach. In an eruption of blood, the Bohemian’s lower body breaks away and drops to the ground.

He turns to me, still clutching the Bohemian’s torso, and shouts, “Stop him. Don’t let him get into the River.”

The Priests are right behind me. I spin round and hold up the book. They’ve called my bluff, they know I don’t know how to use it. The Priest swats it out of my hand.

Mephisto looks at the scene and laughs. We’ve failed, the River of Souls is open to him. He speaks to the Dog-God, controlling the beast with the Orb, and it turns to devour us.

I turn away from the Priests of Hermonthis and run towards the Dog-God. I tear Cleopatra’s amulet from my neck. The Priests shriek like a thousand banshees and chase after the amulet. The Dog-God roars at me, I clutch the amulet tightly in my hand, thrust it out in front of me, and dive into the Dog-God’s mouth.

It bursts into black smoke the moment I touch it. I roll in the sand and look behind me, the amulet has vanished along with the Priests of Hermonthis.

Mephisto sees his pet disappear. He shrugs his shoulders at me, drops the Orb, and walks through the gateway into the River of Souls.

I have no choice. I have to stop him.

I have the vial that Rorschach gave us. The liquid inside is sweet, like honey.

I get to my feet and dive in after Mephisto.

*     *     *     *

It’s like invisible hands are reaching inside my mouth, down to the inside of the bottom of my feet, and pulling my body inside out. I want to scream but I don’t remember how. I think about cheesecake, coffee, and a bucket of frogs.

Then suddenly my body is right again, I look down at myself just to check that my internal organs aren’t hanging everywhere. I remember where I am now, and what I have to do. Mephisto walked through into the River and I dived after him. He’s going to direct all the souls here to himself, once that is done, he’ll wipe out every living thing on earth. I’m the only person who can stop him. So no pressure, right?

Whatever was in the vial saves me. If I hadn’t taken it, my soul would have been ripped from my body and stayed here for eternity.

Everything is white. A pure, angelic white, like I’m standing on the unspoiled canvass of the universe’s creator. My mind is totally at peace, any pressure or tension I felt drains out of my body completely.

Then it vanishes, I’m falling, I don’t know which direction is up or which is down. The sensation disappears before it even began and I’m drifting through a peaceful blue dreamscape.

Faces float past me, they all have confused, lost expressions and they’re transparent, like an emotional mist.

I find my footing and the drifting sensation stops. I look around for Mephisto. Where is the dark god?

“Another Swordsman,” I turn towards the voice, “I thought I’d killed the last.”

Mephisto is standing in front of me. For the first time since I entered the River of Souls I feel afraid. I’m face to face with the man who murdered my parents, but he’s not a man, he’s a god, and I will never be as powerful as he is.

The faces drifting past me moan. The ones that pass through the dark god look like they’re in pain.

“Are you afraid, Swordsman?” he says, “You should be. You’re nothing. Just like your pathetic father was nothing. He begged me like a whimpering child not to kill your mother, he knew he was powerless against me.”

I reach into my pocket and slip the ring onto my finger, “My father was a hero.” I say.

The ring morphs into the sword, I raise it above my head to strike Mephisto. He grabs my arm, it feels like it should be torn from its socket. The sword changes back into the ring. Mephisto reaches down and takes the ring off my finger.

If he’d ripped my arm off it would have been less painful. I scream in agony as he removes the ring, like claws tearing my heart out.

“You have not known pain until this moment.” He says. He waves his hand and I think my eyes have been gouged from my head. I plunge into darkness.

*     *     *     *

The darkness is cold. I try to curl into a tight ball. Things are knocking and bashing against me. I can hear the sound of leather wings frantically beating, then blood-curdling screams of pain and terror bludgeon my ears.

The ring was useless against him. Without the ring, I thought I would never defeat Mephisto, but even with it I was no more than a pest to be crushed underneath his boot.

I can hear a voice calling my name. My eyes are clenched shut against the terrible darkness, I try to force them open. The calling gets louder.

I open my eyes and my father is standing in front of me, the only light in this hell. “Save yourself,” he says, “It must not end this way.”

“How?” I cry.

“The fire is within you.”

Finally, I understand. I dig deep into my soul, and with all the might of my will I pull the power from inside. When the Nightcrawlers attacked me, I thought it was the ring that defeated them, but it wasn’t. I have the power inside me, I shout as my body burns forth with the flame of my bloodline.

My body is on fire, my veins feel like the blood coursing through them is boiling, I raise my arms and force the power out. A flaming whirlwind sweeps me up, the fire explodes from me, taking over the darkness and burning it away.

I drop to my knees in front of Mephisto. He stares at me with wide eyes, I think I can see fear in them.

When I speak the voice that I have is not mine, it seems older, stronger, “I will not die until you are no more.”

Mephisto puts the ring on his finger, “I will kill you with your own weapon.”

As soon as the ring slides onto his finger he screams. The ring becomes mercury, it races down his arm and over his body, his scream stops abruptly as the fluid covers his face. The silver cage Mephisto is trapped in becomes red. Soft flames become harsher and their dance becomes wilder. The dark god falls to the floor, writhing and struggling against the will of the ring.

Then the mercury races back and all that is left is the ring.

A force pulls me back, I can feel that I’m slipping from the River. I struggle against the pull, trying to crawl to my weapon and retrieve it, but the force is too strong. It yanks me into the air, I reach out for the ring but can’t get to it. A million images flash through my mind, and then I drop onto the cold, hard sand of the desert floor.

*     *     *     *

“Did you stop him?” is the first thing that anyone says to me. I look up at Commander Xavier Zylo, his stern face is covered in blood and sand.

“I stopped him. I think Mephisto is dead.”

“How?”

“That’s not important,” I say, “I don’t think I even know.”

Grand Wolf is sitting in the sand, still clutching the Bohemian. All around me are either dead or injured LED agents. Mephisto’s shadow monsters are gone.

“They just disappeared,” says Zylo, “we were fighting them and they just evaporated. Then you appeared out of nowhere.”

I don’t want to know what happened. I don’t care.

It’s over. The ring is gone, lost in the River of Souls. If I never saw it again it would be too soon.

*     *     *     *

The next day I tell Karen the whole story on the phone. It feels like just that, a story, like a dream that happened all in my head.

When we got home, Grand Wolf said he had to go away for a while. He packed a bag and was gone when I woke up this morning. I think he has to sort some things out in his head, it could take a while.

We returned the Orb to the rich guy and told him to destroy it if that was possible. He got another dog to replace the old one, hope he can keep this one together.

Karen and I make plans for dinner. I promise to leave my sword at home if she promises not to accessorise with bombs and guns.

Mephisto is dead. I have avenged the death of my parents. All I want to do is get on with a normal life.

I can’t help wondering if the ring is trying to find its way back to me.