The first demon was fast and tiny, possibly a child in a former life. Z threw a punch and almost knocked its rotten jaw off, then threw another hard right at a second demon, which only glanced off its forehead. When it attacked again, Z saw an undead woman with a missing eye. A third demon collided with him and bit a chunk out of his arm. Z didn’t allow himself to scream. He headbutted the demon and sent it sprawling onto its back. “Sare din lac in put,” he said, then translated out of habit. “Out of the frying pan and into the fucking fire, no?”
The child demon lunged at Z’s legs, causing him to stumble. The undead one-eyed woman wrapped its arms around his shoulders and squeezed. He fought to break free but was unable to move his arms as the monster bit into his neck. Terror surged inside him as his blood spurted out. He couldn’t run from the fear, he could only use it. He snapped his arms free of the undead woman’s grasp and jammed a thumb into its remaining eye. It stumbled backwards, blind, and didn’t see it coming when Z booted its legs out from under it.
Next, he dealt with the child, dodging about and wrapping an arm around its throat. It was remarkably easy to twist its neck and snap its spine. Its frail body collapsed to the ground like a rag doll. That left only the third demon. This was the largest, an obvious male. Its burnt face oozed pus. The demon grabbed Z by the wrist and wrenched until something snapped. This time, the pain was enough to make Z cry out. His voice garbled, and he realised his throat was full of blood. His vision throbbed, colour coming and going, edges fuzzing. With his right wrist broken, Z couldn’t hit hard enough to take out the large demon, nor could he snap its neck. With no rational plan, he acted on impulse, lunging at the demon and sinking his teeth into its neck. Rancid flesh squelched between his teeth. Z tasted pus on his tongue but kept on biting, kept on chomping down with all his remaining strength. Eventually, he struck a cluster of fragile bones and crushed them one by one until the demon finally tore itself away. Its head lolled against its shoulder and it staggered like a drunk. Z tripped it to the ground and stamped on its skull, satisfied when it broke apart like a watermelon.
The blind woman snarled and lashed out at the empty air surrounding it. Z kicked it over and stamped its head to mush as well. Then he collapsed to the ground, panting and spluttering. His body had turned cold and it was hard to breathe, but he felt good. He studied the three dead demons, in awe of his own savagery. In this new world, he was indeed a very rich man.
Less than an hour later, Z’s fortune ran out as he bled to death where he lay.
2
All remaining Hell gates close, blinking out of existence across the globe in a single second. For many – those holed up some place or surviving as a militia – it spells victory. Men, women, and children cheer, believing the end of the world to finally be over. Demons caught by the shockwaves are obliterated. Others further away are left isolated and vulnerable. The threat to mankind’s existence has suddenly and inexplicably gone away.
Salvation has arrived.
But the joke is on mankind.
As those many thousands of gates close, a single one opens – a mammoth, sky-swallowing lens that spews forth a great demon army along with its magnificent leader.
Crimolok crashes onto wet ground, cloven feet carving through the earth. The tattered human vessel that held him prisoner lies nearby. The months of entrapment are mere seconds to a being such as Crimolok. Soon, he shall be the oldest creature in existence. The universe shall be his, corrupted and twisted in his image. No more mankind. No more Heaven and Earth. No more God.
Crimolok’s chattering hordes gather, the vilest of former humanity among them, the most twisted murderers and fiends. Mankind’s small victories have succeeded only in postponing its own inevitable destruction. Despite Crimolok’s infinite wisdom, he underestimated humanity’s desire to live. He had thought to destroy it en masse, but that only split the large rock into many pebbles. The proper action all along was to gather his minions like this and peel the flesh of mankind away one glistening strip at a time. Mankind will collapse beneath the weight of his crushing advance.
The end is coming, and it is I.
Crimolok sends forth his legions to purge God’s Earth of every scrap of life, to blot out the sun itself, and to bathe in the blood of chaos.
It shall be glorious.
General Thomas climbed onto the stage in the centre of Portsmouth’s dockland. Speaker systems had been set up throughout the city because the civvies needed to hear him as much as the servicemen. This was the moment Great Britain rose from the ashes. The rebirth of a proud, unmatched nation.
Colonel Cross lingered beside a microphone stand and stood to attention when his superior arrived. “General Thomas, everything is ready and awaiting you.”
“The speakers are live?”
“Your voice will reach the entire population of Portsmouth, sir. Thirty thousand people.”
“Thank you, Colonel. Dismissed.”
Colonel Cross saluted, turned on his heel, then briskly exited the stage. Thomas positioned himself behind the microphone, taking a moment to observe the crowd. These were his people. With that insubordinate female, Amanda Wickstaff, out of the way, there would be no civil war, no infighting or divided front. Portsmouth would face the enemy as one united people. There were only a few dissenters to worry about now.
The crowd directly in front of the stage represented Thomas’s most loyal forces – his officers and specialists. Further out were his regular forces, along
