Demon Apocalypse

“But we deal in billions—wholesale slaughter. If the more powerful Demonata make it through, everybody perishes. That’s why you can’t be a coward any longer. I won’t let you deny your calling just because you’re a nice boy and I feel sorry for you. We have a duty—me, Kernel, you. Fair or not, that’s the way it is. So you’re coming through that window with us. Unless the coward within you is stronger than I think…”

He looks at me harshly. Behind him, Kernel keeps his head down. I think he’s ashamed of Beranabus, but also of himself and the choices the pair of them must make. The choice I must make.

“I can’t do it,” I sob. “You don’t understand. I’ve replayed those battles with Lord Loss so many times… Vein and Artery… Slawter… the anguish. I did it the first time to save Bill-E, because he’s my brother, and in Slawter because we were trapped and it was fight or die. But there was never time to worry about it in advance or make a considered decision to pit myself against demons. This is different. I’d be choosing horror and misery. I’ve seen the nightmarish work of the Demonata in real life and in dreams. I can’t face them again. I can’t.”

“You can,” Beranabus says, not giving way. “Unless you want to accept that you’re a worthless coward. Unless you’re prepared to flee like a whipped, shamed cur. Are you, Grubitsch?”

“I…” My voice seizes. I come within a breath of saying yes. I want to. I almost grasp the yellow mantle gratefully. But the shame… the guilt… to live the rest of my life as a branded coward…

“Please,” I moan. “Don’t do this to me.”

“It’s already done,” Beranabus says. “I’m not pushing you into anything. I’m just the one who has the unpleasant task of breaking the news to you.” He steps forward, grabs my shoulder and looks hard into my eyes. “Hero or coward. There’s no in-between. Choose now. The Demonata won’t wait forever.”

Wanting to scream, to run, to tell him to go stuff himself.

Knowing I can’t, that I’m gifted, that I’m damned.

“I hope they kill me,” I cry, tearing away from him, trembling wildly. “I hope I don’t last five minutes.”

“I hoped that too when I first crossed,” Kernel says softly, then walks to the monolith, puts a hand on the surface, breathes on it and steps through as the dark face shimmers. He vanishes.

“You will fare better than you fear, Grubitsch,” Beranabus says encouragingly, following Kernel to the monolith. He puts a hand on it.

“Wait,” I stop him and he looks back questioningly. “If we’re going to do this, I want to make one thing clear. It’s Grubbs, understand? I bloody hate Grubitsch.”

Beranabus smiles crookedly and says with all the charm of Sweeney Todd, “If you can kill demons, I’ll call you anything you please. If not, I’ll leave your bones lying scattered in their universe, nameless.” He faces the monolith again and exhales. It shimmers and he moves forward. Gone.

I don’t think about this being my chance to run, to get out of here, lose myself in the desert and die on my own world. Afraid the coward within me will take control if I give it a chance. Without hesitation, I lurch forward, put both hands on the monolith, breathe on it like the others did and step through into madness.

THE STUFF THAT HEROES ARE MADE OF

First impression—this place is infinitely different to the webby world of Lord Loss. Light blue in colour, it’s like something out of a Picasso painting, all cubes and weird angles. We’re in a valley of sorts. Narrow, jagged pillars of a weird blue substance rise high around us. I edge over to the nearest pillar and sniff, expecting the stench of sulphur. But it smells more like a piece of rotten fruit—a peach or pear maybe.

“Don’t touch it,” Beranabus says. “It’s probably not dangerous, but we don’t take chances here. The less physical contact we make, the better.”

“Where is this?” I ask.

“The Demonata’s universe, idiot,” Kernel snaps.

“I meant which part? I don’t know anything about the set-up here. Are there ten worlds, twenty, a thousand?

“Do they have names? Which one are we on?”

“Geography doesn’t work like that here,” Beranabus says, studying the pillars, eyes sharp. “The worlds and zones are constantly changing. There are many self-contained galaxies within the general demon universe. The stronger Demonata have the power to create their own realms or take over another demon’s and reshape it. We never know what we’re going to find when we cross.”

“Then how do you hunt?” I frown.

“We target specific demons. Realms might change, but demons don’t, except for the shape-shifters, and even they don’t change on the inside, where it counts. If we know a demon’s name, Kernel can locate it within minutes. If we don’t know, or if the demon doesn’t have a name, it’s more complicated. Each demon has a unique spiritual vibration.”

“Call it a demonic frequency,” Kernel chips in when I look blank. “Demons have souls, like humans, and they emit a certain type of wave which we can sense. Each demon’s soul is like a radio station, transmitting on an individual frequency. If we think a certain demon’s working on a window or tunnel, we can lock on to its signal and track it down.”

“It’s not easy,” Beranabus says, “especially if it’s a demon we’ve had no first-hand experience of, but we usually find what we’re looking for.”

Kernel points to one of the shorter pillars. “There.”

Beranabus squints. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Either you’re getting sharper or my eyes are getting worse,” Beranabus mutters, then raises a hand and sends a ball of energy shooting at the pillar. There’s a gentle glowing. A sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan. Then the pillar moves and an angular demon steps out of a crack.

Fear grabs hold and magic flares within me. I bring up my hands defensively, but Beranabus stops me with a high-spirited, “Rein in those horses, boy!” He faces the demon and smiles. “How do you feel about dying today?”

The demon makes a series of choking noises. The sounds don’t make sense to me, but Beranabus can decipher them. “No,” he says. “We’re not going to leave you alone. You know who we are and what we want. Now, do you have something to tell us or do we make life wickedly uncomfortable for you?”

The demon glares at Beranabus through a series of triangular eyes, but it looks more miserable than angry. It’s an odd creature, not really frightening in manner or appearance. It mutters something. Beranabus and Kernel share a glance. “You’re sure?” Kernel asks and the demon nods stiffly.

“Excellent,” Beranabus beams and cocks his head at Kernel. The bald teenager shuffles away a couple of metres, then starts moving his hands about in the air. It’s as if he’s sliding invisible blocks around.

“What’s happening?” I ask Beranabus quietly, not wanting to disturb Kernel.

“I’m opening a window,” Kernel answers before Beranabus can, an edge to his voice. “This is my speciality. I can see panels of light which are invisible to all others. When I slide certain panels together, windows form. I can get to anywhere in this universe—or ours—through them.”

“Where will this one lead?” I ask.

“You’ll find out soon,” Kernel says. “We’re going in search of prey. You want to kill demons, don’t you?”

“No. But let’s say I did. What about that one?” I point to the blue demon, which is edging back into the crack, becoming one with the landscape again.

“Not worth killing,” Beranabus says dismissively. “There are untold billions of demons. They’re all evil, but most can’t hurt us or cross to our world. That cretin doesn’t even dare leave this valley. It waits, hiding and surviving, doing precious little else.”

“What does it feed on?” I ask.

“Who knows,” Beranabus sniffs. “Maybe nothing. Most demons don’t need to eat and drink. Many do, but