The Angel of Death was not enjoying herself. She held a drink of some foul black liquid that did indeed taste as bad as it looked. She had no idea where the stuff came from, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

She was at a party, or at least it was supposed to be a party. Tasteless strings of skulls lined the walls of obsidian, and candles glittered from chandeliers made from skulls and spines. There was just generally a lot of bone. If something wasn’t actually bone, it was often sculpted to look like bone.

That was the trouble with being aspected with death, you often got the short end of the stick in terms of aesthetics.

All of this meant that the shocking pink table was particularly out of place, somehow the fact that it kept the skull and bone styling made its existence even worse than if it had been a regular shocking pink table. It had been inserted into the Hall of Death by one of the Members of Death as a joke.

The Angel of Death still didn’t think it was funny, neither did anyone else.

As the Angel of Death stared at her murky drink and considered how completely messed up everything had become, the rattling of chains broke the dismal deathly silence. It was the large black double doors which, really were more a collection of chained charred skeletons hanging in the door frame that rolled out of the way to let people in.

Thick billowing mist that periodically had tormented faces arise from it spilled into the room. The Angel of Death warded off some of the Mist of Death with her drink, trying to see who was coming in. First she saw the glowing blood red eyes. The owner of the eyes trotted in. It was a shaggy black dog that seemed particularly ominous. Its fur seemed more like roiling shadow than fur.

The Angel of Death knew that it was fur, she had felt it many times back when she was on friendly terms with the Dog of Death. Before she had full knowledge of his true nature.

When it saw The Angel it gave a monstrously yet far too human toothy grin, like a yawning pit combined by some unholy method with a smirk. Noticeably, there was one fang missing.

“Oh my, what shiny new wings you have!” The Dog yapped.

The Angel of Death glared at the Dog, of course he’d start on that. The Dog of Death was kind of a jerk.

“However did you get them? You surely didn’t bring something that you knew could pretend to be dead near the wall and then got jumped by it, did you?”

The Dog turned less shaggy, more lean and close furred, its face twisted cruelly, smile practically beheading the top half of his head.

“Hahaha, no that’d be silly wouldn’t it? You’d never do anything that silly would you? Not the high and mighty Angel of Death? Please ignore the mad yapping of this lowly mongrel!”

“At least unlike a certain someone I haven’t had any of my teeth stolen by lesser beings” The Angel of Death shot back.

The Dog of Death became ominous and shaggy again, no longer smiling. He silently padded to his place at the table. There was four chairs made from whole skeleton at each side of the table, well four at all but The Dog of Death’s side, but as soon as he sat back on his haunches, the skeleton of a dog larger than himself arose in the form of a chair, the Dog resting within the dog’s open ribcage.

The was a clatter as a metal dog bowl appeared on the table.

“Demeaning as always” The Dog sighed, but still he lapped up the black liquid in his bowl.

The door skeletons clattered out of the way again.

This time, four people came in at once.

One was a hooded robed figure bearing a scythe, he or she only brought the scythe because his/her combine harvester wouldn’t fit in the Hall of Death. No face could be seen within the hood. Old gloves cracked and caked with earth gripped the scythe. The figure was really quite tall.

Next to the Reaper of Death was what looked exactly like a jolly bearded old man holding an oar. He was in a black polo-neck, and pinstipe slacks that seemed a bit too disturbingly tight to be called slacks. Annoyingly he also had a red scarf around his neck in spite of his polo-neck. He wore a straw wide brimmed hat on his head. This was the Ferryman of Death.

Beside these two was a what could only be described as a dark wanderer. His spurred cowboy boots were dark, his covered face was dark, even the way he walked was dark. It was likely that his passing would cause lesser beings to suddenly become myopic poets. In reality however, he was just the Cartman of Death, though he went by the Driver of Death now. He had a dark ride of course, open topped even.

The final one of this set was a dark haired voluptuous woman practically bursting out of what could only be called armour by the generous. Poking out from her ankles were a ridiculous pair of tiny raven wings. She was the Messenger of Death, definitely not any other profession.

These four mostly ignored the Angel and the Dog, though the Messenger did toss an idle sneer at the Angel. Which the Angel had learned to ignore, she never wanted to involved with the messenger’s pettiness again.

They quickly sat down at the table and replaced the feeling of awful party with awful party where people other than yourself are having fun. The Angel of Death did not find it much of an improvement. She might have liked to sit down, but then she wasn’t supposed to yet and the possibility of the Dog or the Messenger trying to talk to her was not one she liked.

The skeletons lazily clattered out of the way once more, they hated this time of the year.

In strolled a sharp man with large curly horns and and serrated tail. He give a winning smile, the award being, sharpest and largest amount of teeth in one mouth. His skin was kind of sickly, though his suit was velvet with the front ripped open, had fur at the cuffs and and an absurdly furry ruff. His hair was done up in a pompadour that would not have stayed in shape if the Devil of Death had not been a supernatural being.

Behind him was an indistinct maiden-like form, pale hair obscuring her face, dressed in a ragged white dress. She was wailing as quietly as she could. She floated above the ground, no feet visible, as was befitting for the Spirit of Death.

The Devil’s supremely pointy shoes clacked on the floor as he closed in on the Angel. He slapped her on the ass, she give him a punch full force into the face, causing him to fall down on his own ass. Then they both laughed, the Angel hugged the Devil as she helped to pull him up.

The Devil broke off and twirled away to his chair.

“Love the new wings darling!” He shot before settling into a game of ‘Who can harass the other the most’ with the Dog.

The Spirit hovered before the Angel.

“Everything’s fucked Angel” She moaned.

“It really is.” The Angel answered.

“I think I might be happy Angel” She whispered.

“Well, that confirms it, everything is fucked. Rejoice while you can Spirit!”

“Yay” Spirit said in monotone, going to float partly in her chair.

The skeletons begrudgingly rolled away again, a few of them clacking their jaws in discontent.

The Angel could not believe who she saw come through the Mists of Death.

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” She asked the new guest.

The Goddess of Death put a skeletal finger to her full lips.

“Shhhhhh”

Then she sat down next to the Devil as if nothing had happened. She stared incredulously at the Goddess. The Devil, thinking she was looking at him waved and blew a raspberry, it didn’t fly very far tumbling onto the floor near the table. The Goddess picked it up and tossed it in the Dog’s dish, who barked in displeasure at this action.

The skeletons clattered out of the way so fast that one of them fell from its place. Grumbling, it climbed back up and chained itself back in with the help of its fellows.

A dark blur shot in and hid itself behind the Angel’s wings.

It was quickly followed by a mass of extremely angry bees. The Bees of Death.

“Where is he?” They buzzed.

“I think you just missed him, What’d he do this time?” Angel asked.

“Tried to eat some of us again” The Bees hummed with rage.

“Oh come on, you’ve a lot of bodies, you can spare a few!” The Crow of Death cawed.

The Angel threatened the bees with the drink as they tried to get behind her.

“No, go …er, sit!”

The bees thought about it for a moment, but relented.

“Next time, we won’t be merciful”

Once they were in their place beside the Dog, a chair made of dead bees came up. It was a bit pointless.

The Crow of Death hopped up onto the Angel’s shoulder.

“Thanks for that Sis, we winged deathfolk gotta stick together eh?” The Crow cackled.

“Just hurry up and sit down, Crow”

“Oooh, testy, well alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted”

The Crow’s chair was the skeleton of a quite oversized bird. He perched on the beak of it.

The skeletons moved aside yet again, though this time they got caught hand had to untangle themselves to get fully out of the way.

There was the jingle of bells.

The Angel of Death groaned. This member was the most universally hated of the Members of Death.

A Jester in mismatched black and white bits of clothing cartwheeled out of the Mist on boots and gloves of different length. It wore a death’s head mask with a shiny red nose stuffed into the nose hole.

It stopped in handstand position before the Angel of death. The Joke of Death.

“What is funnier than a dead baby?”

The Angel of Death did not reply.

The silence spread onwards, oppressing the chatter coming from the table and the disgruntled door skeletons.

“I don’t know Joke, tell me?” The Joke of Death cast its voice from The Angel of Death.

“Why, a dead baby in a clown suit!”

The Joke laughed, and slapped its arm with a foot, crumpling into a head in the process.

The Angel of Death sighed.

“Ok, now go sit”

“Spoilsport” The Joke shot, prancing to its seat.

The door skeletons managed to open without a hitch this time, one gave the other a high five.

The two figures that walked in were pretty different.

One was a massive goliath of bone with a skull made up of skulls, a necklace of skulls, its body hidden by many skeletal arms and it walked upon a multitude of fleshless legs, a coattail of spines trailing behind it.

“Yo” The Death of Death said, waving to the Angel.

“What?, What was that?”

The other looked just like a regular person, a middle-aged unremarkable woman in a grey suit. Nobody was quite sure what the Deaf of Death actually did.

The Death of Death signed quickly to the Deaf and with a nod they passed the Angel.

There was only one member left to come.

The Angel of Death waited patiently for her to come.

The door skeletons reverently rolled away for the last time.

There was clopping from beyond the Mist of Death.

Then, she came, sleek, black, powerful, fluid, naked, with long flowing locks of hair and perfect curves, pointed ears and large eyes set under long eyelashes on a long face. She was as always, on all fours.

Yes, she was of course the Horse of Death.

The Angel of Death had to resist squeeing like a little girl. She could not however resist throwing herself at the Horse, hugging her neck.

“Yes, I’m here now, relax, everything is going to be fine”

After the Angel had soaked in the Horse’s comforting presence long enough for the Horse to get uncomfortable, they both went to sit down. A skeletal horsechair formed around the Horse.

Every member was present. There was still an empty chair, but that was fine, because that was the Chair of Death.

Glowing red spots of light appeared in the Chair of Death’s eye sockets.

“Finally everyone is here, we can begin, the first matter of order is concerning the current state of things.” The Chair said.

“Everything’s Fucked” The Spirit happily supplied.

“Yes, quite, in light of this, we’ve decided to undergo a rebranding, to focus on what really matters as everything ends”

“Oh, what’d that be?” The Dog questioned.

“Drugs, from now on, you are the Dog of Drugs for example. We are going to give up the death business and focus on drugs, we are going to crack down on them, we shall greet the end with a drugless world!”

Beckett awoke screaming from her bizarre dream.

— — —

APRIL FOOLS!

The crazy, zany, and completely NOT CANON! interlude you’ve just read is part of the Serial Fiction April Fool’s Day Swap, 2015 Edition. The mindblowing gag post you’ve just read was written by SnowyMystic, who normally writes Flash Fiction, found at http://www.elconic.com/index-of-stories/ .

Billy Higgins,  who normally writes this story, today has created their own piece of tomfoolery for Stoneburners found at http://stoneburners.wordpress.com/ .

For a full list of all our April Fool’s Swappers and their stories, as well as dozens of other serial novels that will tickle your fancy, check out The Web Fiction Guide at

http://forums.webfictionguide.com/topic/2015-april-fools-master-list

Thanks for reading and remember, the best way to support your favorite serial novelist is to tell all your friends about them.

She wore fur, but no smile.

I stood in Nancy’s doorway, admiring the white fur that hung around her neck. She didn’t admire me.

“You’re the elf,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“The elf that puked everywhere.”

“Yeah.”

“Lusu’s friend.”

“Yeah.”

The conversation had started with two lives and a half-truth. I could only imagine how it would go from here.

“What do you want to talk to me about?”

“The election,” I said.

“What if I don’t want to talk to you?”

“I can see the future,” I said. “I don’t really know if you want to talk to me or not, but you’ll be glad you did, a couple years down the road.”

She laughed, but hers wasn’t a laugh of joy. It was an aggressive thing, like each “Ha” was her punching me in the face.

“And if I don’t talk to you?” she asked. “You saying I’ll regret it? This some sort of veiled threat?”

“I don’t know what happens if you don’t talk to me,” I said. “It’s not a threat, because it doesn’t happen. No ultimatum. Just the truth.”

“Sounds like you’re flirting with insanity,” she said. “Disconnecting yourself from the timestream.”

“You know the elves that can tell the future without getting disconnected?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m one of those,” I said.

“You don’t look like one of those.”

“And how do they look?”

“More professional,” she said. “I’ve been down to Elftown. Their suits aren’t so dirty. And they smile. And they shake your hand when they meet you.”

“There are a lot of sorts in this world,” I said. “You can’t judge the individual based on the whole.”

“You just seem weird, is all.”

“I am.”

“Then why should I trust you?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “You should trust yourself. You don’t have to judge my ideas based on how I look. You shouldn’t judge a picture of the future based on who’s painting it for you: you should look for yourself, judge it for yourself.”

She nodded her head. “I don’t trust you.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” she said, turning around and walking into the cabin. I followed. “Just keep in mind that I killed a man, once.”

“I hope that won’t be relevant to our discussion.”

“So,” she said.

“So?” I said.

“The future,” she said. “You wanna tell me the future, right?”

“Only if you want to hear it.” She shrugged her shoulders, but I continued: “You vote to make Coraline the dragon.”

Nancy let out a laugh, looking at me like I was mad. “That’s a little blunt, don’t you think.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“You come here, tell me I’m going to vote for Coraline to become the dragon. You say that because that’s what you want. You’re not even going to try and dance your way around it? I expected a build-up of some sort, an attempt at an illusion, an attempt to deceive me. But this? What is this? You’re not telling me the future. You’re just telling me what you want me to do.”

I sat there, looking at her. Damn. Hadn’t expected her to be quite so blunt.

“You didn’t ask me why you vote for her,” I said.

“Why do I vote for her?”

“Well, I suppose I can’t say for sure,” I said, lighting a cigarette and muttering ‘Fiat Lux’. “I’m no telepath, after all.”

“You’re toying with me, elf,” Nancy said. “I don’t like being toyed with.”

“I know you don’t,” I said, looking at her. I widened my eyes just a little bit, staring at her for longer than I felt comfortable with.

“Is that a threat?” Nancy asked. “Because it sounds like one.”

“Not a threat,” I said. “A suggestion.” Not breaking eye contact, I slipped my hand into my pocket.

“I think you should go,” she said.

“I think I should stay,” I said, taking the pistol and pointing it at her.

“You think you can win a vote this way?” she asked. “What, are you going to point the gun at me all the way to the voting booth.”

I sighed, slouching in the armchair, sure to keep my aim on her as good as I was able. “This is tough.”

“You think the position you’re sitting in is tough?” she asked.

“It’s tough because I don’t know how to make you believe me.”

“I don’t trust you,” she said. “Clearly, I trusted you even more than you should.”

“You’re right, of course. But now you know not to trust me because you know who I am.”

“And who are you?”

“A monster,” I said. The words came out as a whisper, though not on purpose. “I’m a fucking monster.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You are.”

“Which means you know that I’m willing to do things outside the norm,” I said, “like getting your vote under gunpoint. But you know, I wouldn’t do this under normal circumstances.”

She squirmed in her seat. I continued, “I’m on a mission, you know? A quest. Because the world’s dying and it’s all my fault and if I can just save it this one last time, maybe I’ll be worth something. Maybe that’ll mean something.”

She gulped. “This is you doing good?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “This is me trying to,” I wanted to say what I meant, but I didn’t know how to finish the sentence, so I said, “It’s hard, you know? You see what your creator looks like, and you just,” you just what? What do you do? “You just don’t know what to do. Does that make you bad? Does all the bad in the world make you bad? I had a friend who was bad. But everyone thinks he did good and I guess that shouldn’t matter, because who knows anything in this goddamned world? I mean, really? Who knows anything in this goddamned world?”

“You think this is the answer?” she asked, voice sounding hollow.

I looked at the gun. “No, but it’s the best answer I’ve got.”

“Put the gun down,” she said. “Put the gun down, so we can talk about this like two individuals.”

“I,” I didn’t know what to say. All I knew was that I couldn’t put the gun down. “I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“The Angel of Death follows me, I think.”

Nancy nodded her head, so I continued, “I know it sounds crazy, but ever since I’ve been a little boy,” shit, “girl, you know, ever since I’ve been a girl, there’s been this cloud of death hanging over me. And it stinks. Everywhere I go, I can smell the stench. And it’s so awful. And I wish I could escape it, but I don’t think I can. I don’t think I’m able.”

“Put the gun down,” Nancy told me.

“I can’t.”

Nancy repeated herself, speaking a bit more softly, “Put the gun down.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I– I should go. I’m going to go.”

She nodded but didn’t say anything. I kept the gun pointed at her, as I stood up and walked backwards towards the door.

“What I came here to say,” I said, “Well, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to explain it, but obviously I do. What I wanted to say was that this gun can shoot people, you see? Doesn’t matter where I point it. I will the gun to shoot at someone, and the bullets find that person. Have you heard about what happened at Demersi’s Sins?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“This was the gun,” I whispered, pointing at it. “This thing in my hand has already killed too many. But it was meant for good.” I looked at it, wondering how much good it’d done. Was this what I’d become? Threatening a Hyalu at gunpoint?

Hadn’t I seen so much worse?

No. That didn’t make it right. It didn’t matter how ugly the world got, or how ugly the world had already gotten. Maybe I’d been destined for terrible things. Maybe Hostem had created this world only to create conflict and pain. But I still had a choice. There was still something in me that was me.

I was more than my destiny. I was my actions.

I walked over to Nancy. She looked afraid, which was a fair response.

“I’ve got this destiny,” I said. “Save the world by killing a friend — or at least, a man I used to call a friend. And it makes me feel miserable day after day, like most of life has felt miserable. I believe in my destiny — I believe I’m needed. But I don’t know. Sometimes, after so many days of this — so many years and so many decades — you begin to lose perspective. I want you to give me perspective. Can you do that, Nancy?”

I got down on one knee. Flipped the gun around, so that she could grab it.

“Take it,” I said.

She shook her head.

“Please, take it,” I said. “You don’t have to, but I think it’ll be better for me if you do.”

She looked at me askance.

“Please,” I said.

She moved her hands to grab it, but stopped. Her open palms sat there for a couple seconds, shaking, circling the gun but unable to actually grab it. It was worship, of a sort: a respect for the divinity of the bullet.

One palm rested on the gun’s grip, its finger on the trigger. Her other hand met it, supported it.

“I told you I killed a man,” she said, voice quavering.

“Yeah?” I asked, cheeks wet, smiling.

“I lied,” she said.

“That’s alright,” I whispered. “We all lie sometimes, I think.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“What you think is right,” I said. “I’m confused. I’m lost. The world is telling me to do something, when all I really want to do is die. And I want you to tell me if I deserve to live.”

“I barely know you,” she said.

I gazed into her eyes, trying to find something there. The muzzle of the gun pressed against my forehead. It felt hard — cold.

“I’ve told you I believe I can save the world,” I said. “I believe my name is George Rador. I believe I’m the journalist who was with Val Rador when he killed Hostem. I believe I’m the one who has to stop him, but I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

“You want to know if you’re crazy?” she asked.

“I want to know if I should believe in myself,” I said. “If I shouldn’t just kill me. If I’m causing more pain than good — if I’m nothing more than a coward who threatens people at gunpoint — please shoot me. Blow my fucking brains out. It’s what I deserve. Maybe it should’ve happened a long time ago.”

“I’m no killer,” she said.

“You might be doing the world a favor,” I said. “I convinced the man who wielded that gun last to kill himself, and I’m wondering if I can convince you to do likewise.”

“You can’t,” she said.

“If you want me dead,” I said. “If you think I should die, but you just don’t have it in your heart, just say ‘bang’. Just say ‘bang,’ and I’ll do it to myself.”

“I don’t think you should die,” she said. “I think you’re troubled, obviously. But you believe what you say and you’re trying to be good. That’s all you can do. You need help, but you don’t need to kill yourself. That’s as bad as killing someone else — it’s self-murder.”

The tension in my shoulders let go. Was this redemption? Forgiveness?

No. I could only really forgive myself, and I hadn’t really liked the things I’d done. I didn’t really like who I was. But I’d done my best. I’d made a lot of mistakes, but I’d been in a lot of bad situations and I’d done my best, damn it.

“Thank you,” I muttered, getting off my knees and standing up. I grabbed the muzzle of the gun. The grip of it slid off her hands. I put the gun back where it belonged — in my holster.

“Are you still threatening to kill me?” she asked. “If I don’t vote how you want me to, will you shoot me.”

I looked down at the gun. It had too much power, didn’t it? Ate away at my inside’s. Gave me power I shouldn’t have — the power to kill another. How do you engage with people in a normal, healthy way when you have that sort of power? Is it possible?

“No,” I said. “I won’t kill you if you don’t vote my way. You know how I feel — you know I think Lusu is part of a prophecy to stop Val. But I don’t know. Maybe this is supposed to be her last stop. Maybe this is the price we pay for doing what we’re supposed to do. But I don’t think it is. I think if she dies, the world’ll be in real trouble. Of course, I don’t really know. That’s my opinion, and you have to come up with your own.”

She didn’t say anything. I wondered if that was because she didn’t have anything to say, or if I’d scared her.

“I’m sorry,” I said, walking towards the door, not looking back at her.

“Thank you,” I muttered. I opened the door, leaving her cabin.

It was dark outside — no one else was really around. What time was it? I took about twenty steps towards my room, looking up at a moon. Seemed the other was covered by a cloud.

I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. That’d felt good, but bad. I didn’t really know how to feel.

I took my gun back out of its holster. Looked at it closely, examining the silver muzzle, the ivory gun grip. I opened the barrel, spun it around.

Two bullets left.

Did the magic come from the gun, or the bullets? Could I reload, or was this it?

I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter. I shouldn’t need to know, because I should only use this to kill Val Rador.

For some reason, that didn’t convince me, I wish it had.

I thought about tossing this goddamned gun into the ocean. Just let it sink to the bottom, rust to hell. If this world was meant to die, so be it.

But that was all emotional. In my head, I knew I was on the right path. I knew I had to do everything I could. It was my obligation — my need — my destiny.

I put the gun back in its holster, where it belonged.

Took another breath, letting the cold air hit my lungs. There was a sort of peace to be found there, in my thoughts:

Yes, this is where I’m supposed to be. Yes, this is who I’m supposed to be.

I walked back to my cabin and opened the door.

Lusu was there, lying on the bed, crying into her father’s lap. Her father sat there, rubbing her back, telling her it would all be okay.

I stood there, not knowing what to do. Would it really matter?

I quickly tried to figure out why she’d be crying. Was she afraid of getting turned into a dragon? Upset over that beating that had happened decades ago?

Maybe she missed her mother. Maybe the willingness to accept death so easily was all just a big ruse, making this society one of oppression instead of openness.

I decided it was a selfish question. I didn’t have to know why she cried, so I shouldn’t ask. I just stood there, wondering what to do.

Finally, I hit upon the answer: “I’m going to go for a walk.”

“You talked to Nancy,” Lusu’s father said.

“Yeah,” I said. “We talked.”

“What’d she say?” he asked. “Is she going to vote for Lusu to become a dragon? Or Coraline?”

I rubbed my temples, looking at the floor. I just couldn’t look him in the eyes right now.

“I don’t know,” I said. “We had a good talk — I mean, it was rough, but I think we had a good talk. But I just don’t know. I don’t think you can ever know what’s actually going through the mind of another living creature.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He didn’t have anything to say to that. Lusu hadn’t even looked at me since I’d entered the room.

I left. Stood right outside the door, watching the waves crash against the boat’s hull for the rest of the night.

Previous

Next

Dragon bones peeked over the horizon. Waves crashed along the shore.

I was glad everyone in the car could be silent. I was glad I could hear the hum of the car’s engine. The car’s hum and the ocean’s waves were soothing, two droning sounds with just enough variation to be interesting.

The road we were on was surprisingly smooth. Wasn’t too far from the beach. If we stopped the car and got out, it would only take us a minute or two to reach the water.

I opened the window, sticking my head out.

Lusu glanced at my reflection in the side mirror, then smiled. “Having fun?”

“Yeah,” I said, appreciating the smell of salt in the air. It wasn’t my nose, but goddamn if it couldn’t smell just the same.

I looked back at the dragon bones. I’d seen Val kill a dragon, once. In fact, I think I’d seen Val kill this dragon. There was something beautiful about it — the metal dragon bones, I mean. I wasn’t surprised they’d been left here.

They gleamed, reflected the light of day. Even in defeat, the Death Cult managed to create something interesting.

“I came across a dragon, once,” The Hero said, sitting in the front passenger seat.

“When?” I asked.

“Long ago, now,” he said. “When I was a kid, if you can believe it.”

“If I can’t?” Lusu asked.

The Hero ignored her. “Oh, it was scary. Let me tell you. Those Death Cultists — well, they came up with some scary shit. Hope you don’t mind me saying that, Lusu, but it’s true.”

“It’s a point of pride,” she said.

“For you or the cult?” I asked.

“The two weren’t so dissimilar, once,” she said.

“And now?” I asked.

“I’m with you, aren’t I?”

And we’re taking you right back there, I thought. Figuring it best not to push the point, I said, “Yeah.”

Still, she’d left the Death Cult a long time ago. I’d expected some sort of fear on her face — some sort of misery at being dragged back into the past. I didn’t see any of that. In fact, she looked at peace.

That could’ve been a misinterpretation, though. I never was able to tell exactly what Lusu was thinking — how exactly she was feeling.

“The dragon,” Lusu said, looking at Hero.

“What?” he asked. “Oh, right. The dragon. I was pretty young at the time: barely a teenager. And I’d decided to go for a long walk, to clear my head and think about my future.”

“You’d just talked to an Elf Lady?” I asked.

“Er, yeah,” he said.

Of course he had. That’s what people always did, when thinking about their future. How could they not?

“This was a long time ago, when they were still testing out the concept of dragons,” The Hero said.

“They knew it worked,” she said. “They were probably testing out the execution.”

Didn’t she mean we?

Though actually, if The Hero had been a young teenager, she would’ve been a baby at best — probably not even that. Her parents would’ve been involved, though.

“Whatever they were doing,” The Hero said, “was ugly. Smaller than you’d expect a dragon to be these days, but still terrifying for a kid who hadn’t had to think about end-of-the-world scenarios.”

“Until the Elf Lady had told you you had to kill the gods,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said, “until that happened.”

Yet another silence blanketed the car, and I felt bad. But how do you ignore something like that? How do you not talk about the life and death stuff? It’s all around you — all the time, every minute of every day. Why do people waste their time talking about the little things?

“I assume it’s safe to say that the dragon didn’t kill you,” Lusu said. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” he said. “You’re not.”

“But you didn’t kill him,” she said.

“No,” The Hero said. “I hid in the bushes while he flew right over me.”

“Smart man,” she said.

“The thing had an awful laugh, I’ve got to tell you,” he said. “It’s been a lot of years since then, but I can still hear it howling in the night.”

“Laughing like a hyena,” I said.

“That’s right,” he said. “I never understood what something so terrible could find so funny.”

I turned my head, looking back at the dragon bones, wondering what sort of bones I’d leave. If the world ended, I might not leave any bones at all. Something about the idea terrified me, but something else told me to relax.

If the world ends, nothing ever really mattered, did it?

I smiled. Just barely stopped myself from laughing.

— — —

There was a town in front of the dragon bones. A town, and a lady playing solitaire. She abandoned the cards as soon as she saw us, tilting her head up.

It was an odd scene, her smile wide as we rolled up to her. Lusu drove onto a patch of grass, parked the car, and got out. The Hero and I followed her. In a minute we reached the lady, sitting in a chair, next to a thick oak table.

“Well, Sugah,” the lady said, long white hair reaching her hips, pale blue skin barely contrasting with the white pieces of pigment rolling around her flesh. “You sure do have an interesting sense of timing. Who are these two?”

Lusu looked at us. “An elf and a human. Not particularly interesting.”

“I’m sure you’re not being fair,” the lady said. “It always took so much to interest you, what with your wandering mind and all.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Lusu said.

“I know I am.”

Lusu changed course: “Interesting sense of timing?”

“Your mother’s dead”

“Pity,” Lusu said. The lack of emotion in her voice surprised me.

“Pity?”

“I was hoping to ask a favor of her,” Lusu said.

“That’ll be difficult, given the situation,” the Hyalu said.

“Of course.”

“What were you hoping to ask?”

“Little point asking if I can’t get an answer,” Lusu said.

“You couldn’t ask someone else?”

“I’m not inclined to.”

Lusu and the lady bounced back and forth. I watched web of intrigue get spun before my very eyes.

“Well then,” the Hyalu said, standing up and smiling at Lusu. “It’s good to see you again. Feels like nothing’s changed.”

“Nothing ever does,” she said.

“About your mother’s death,” the lady said.

“Yes?”

“The cult is one member short.”

“You’re saying I should rejoin?”

“Why ask for a favor when you can get it yourself?”

“Wise point.”

“Nothing ever changes,” the lady said, smiling.

Without saying a word, the Hyalu turned and began to walk away. Lusu followed, so The Hero and I followed, too.

We passed under the great big dragon bones, making our way through the ribs. It was strange, but things didn’t seem so bad in the dragon’s chest. It looked more like a piece of art than anything. Neither Lusu nor the lady seemed to even notice it.

Having passed through the dragon bones, we reached a ship. It was big — probably big enough to fit a hundred people. It was docked on the shore. We walked onto the dock, then stepped onto the ship.

Inside, it was terrible: a kaleidoscope of carnal pleasures, with pop music blaring on the speakers and a couple of gambling tables set up. It reminded me too much of Demersi’s Sins. It reminded me of all the blood.

The center of the action was at the roulette table, where a broad-shouldered Hyalu with short silver hair stood, laughing.

“Anlu’ll be happy to see you again,” the lady said.

“I know,” Lusu responded.

Sure enough, we walked towards the roulette table. When we got there, the broad-shouldered silver-haired Hyalu did look happy.

He smiled wide, then turned to hug Lusu.

“How’s my baby?” he asked.

“Old,” she replied.

“Take it from your father,” Anlu said. “Age is just a number.”

“Speaking of, how many shots?”

“Oh, you always were no fun,” he said, looking at the roulette table. “Can’t you see I’m playing?”

I looked at the table, not entirely sure what he meant. It was your typical roulette table, a green felt table with half the numbers black and the other half red. And there was the roulette wheel, much as I would have expected. But people had placed shot glasses on some of the numbers. I noticed that there weren’t any chips on the table.

“I can’t tell if you’re good at living or dying,” Lusu said, which made me pause. I hadn’t realized that was one of those truisms she threw out, whenever it suited her.

I noticed a shadow from the corner of my eyes and turned around. A Hyalu stood there, carrying a tray of rainbow shots.

“Friends of Lusu,” he said.

“Sure,” I replied.

“Would you care for a drink?” he’d ask.

“Two, if you can spare it,” I said, taking a blue shot and knocking it back.

“An elf who knows how to live,” the waiter said, a bit of a smirk on his face. “Always nice to see.”

“Yeah,” I said, wishing he hadn’t said that. I picked up a second blue shot, knocking it back.

“And you?” the waiter asked, looking at The Hero and smiling.

“More of a beer man myself,” he said, laughing a little bit and patting me on the back.

I took a third shot and knocked it back. The waiter gave a bit of an awkward laugh, walking away.

“You really are a party animal,” The Hero said. “Hope you don’t see any puke in your future.”

Future? My future’s shit.

“I’ve seen enough puke to last me a lifetime,” The Hero continued. “Perils of living in a bar, you know.”

“Can’t imagine,” I mumbled.

My stomach didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel right. I looked at the floor, with its repeating diamond pattern. In each of the diamonds, there was an ouroboros. Snake after snake, all of them eating their own damn tails.

My heart didn’t feel right, either. Too fast. Was that shit poison?

No, it tasted just like alcohol, and everyone around me seemed fine.

“I came to ask a favor,” Lusu said. I turned around, and saw her talking to Anlu. “With Mom gone, it’s a little more complicated.’

“Big problem?” Anlu asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“It’s my husband.”

“Bastard,” Anlu said.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she said. “I need him dead.”

“How?”

“He’s a big problem.”

“And?”

“We need to create a dragon to kill him, or at least slow him down.”

“Sounds a bit like overkill doesn’t it? Summoning a dragon to kill one man?” he asked. Pausing to consider, he said, “Then again, maybe one dragon isn’t enough. He’s already killed a couple of ours.”

“He’s become a big problem,” she said. “I was hoping to get a big dragon.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s complicated.”

“So’s what you’re asking for. We’re going through a bit of a transitional period right now.”

“You need another cultist,” Lusu said.

“Exactly. You want to fill the spot?”

“I’m not sure,” Lusu said.

“Your mother left us at a bad time,” he said.

Lusu looked like she wasn’t sure what to say, so I interjected. “How do you play?”

“Excuse me?” Anlu asked me.

“The game. The roulette game. I know how to play, but what’s with the shots?”

“Your elf friend’s oddly inquisitive,” Anlu said, wearing a bit of a smile.

“She’s not your typical elf,” Lusu replied.

“Inquisitive is good,” he said. “I wouldn’t have been able to perfect the dragon ritual without some degree of inquisition.”

“Curiosity is an annoying quality that you both share,” Lusu said, smiling.

“Be nice,” he said. “The smartest Hyalu the world has ever seen is trying to do you a favor. The least you could do is be nice.”

Lusu rolled her eyes.

“We play it the same as everyone else, but today I decided we’d bet with booze, instead of money,” Anlu said.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. The waiter came over again, and Anlu beckoned him with his finger. “Put it on my account,” he said, taking two green shots and placing them on 32 Red.

The dealer placed his hand on the roulette wheel, spinning it one way. Then he placed the white ball on the black circle surrounding the wheel. He pushed the ball so that it spun in the other direction.

And so the two spun, back and forth, making me feel dizzier and dizzier.

Around and around, such a small chance of winning.

My head really wasn’t feeling good.

Could you really predict where the little white ball would land? Or was part of the fun in knowing that there was no real way to know? If I was a real elf I would know. Would I want to?

Wasn’t I a real elf?

The white ball landed on 11 Black.

“What now?” I asked.

“I lost, so the House gets to drink my drinks.”

“That sucks,” I said.

Anlu smiled, practically giggling as he reached over the table and picked up one of the green shots. “Not if you cheat.” He kicked it back.

Lusu looked at him.

“I’m renting the ship, and I bought all the liqour in it. I’m only stealing from myself.”

Lusu changed the subject: “I’m sorry Mom didn’t escape. How’d it happen?”

“She took someone else from the clutches of the Angel of Death,” he said. “We’d talked to the Elf Ladies, and they figured the Angel of Death would be particularly busy that day. So we agreed to take an elf and help it escape the cycle of death, before the Angel of Death could do anything about it. But the Elf Ladies were wrong, and the Angel of Death came early. Took your mother, so she could be reborn.”

“And this party?” Lusu asked.

“Figured the Death Cult could use a pick-me-up.”

I’d told a man to kill himself.

That didn’t bother me, though. I said what I meant: I envied him. I envied the fact that his fate wasn’t too desperately sealed.

“I could probably kill Coraline,” Lusu said. “If I did, could I take her place instead?”

“We’d still need another Hyalu to fill your mother’s place.”

“I’m sure you could find one,” Lusu said. “And really, who would you rather be in the cult? Coraline or me?”

It really didn’t bother me — what I’d done back at Demersi’s Sins. I was fine with the fact that I’d told him to kill himself. Death was an escape. Death was something he’d wanted to do. Death was something I wanted to do.

The Angel of Death was so beautiful. How could anyone hate her? I loved her. She’d been good to me, ever since I was little.

Anlu shook his head.

“You doubt my capabilities?” Lusu asked.

“It’s been a lot of years since you left.”

“I learned a lot while I was gone.”

“So did Coraline.”

“Without you this cult would’ve been run into the ground by now.”

“Coraline’s gotten better at magic since you knew her.”

“She always hated me.”

“That’s not true.”

“What do you want me to do. Talk to her?”

“It couldn’t hurt,” he said.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“It won’t kill you,” he said.

I’d told a man to kill himself.

I really wasn’t feeling well.

“I’ve got to step outside for a moment,” I said.

“You feeling alright?” The Hero asked.

“Fine,” I said. “Great. Couldn’t be better.”

I pushed him to the side a little bit as I moved towards the door. He followed me anyway.

“You went pretty hard back there,” he said, as I pushed open the door and made my way to the railings.

“Life’s hard,” I said. “The intoxication has to be even harder, ain’t that something?”

“Sure,” The Hero said.

I leaned against the railing, looking down at the clear blue water. It wasn’t even nighttime yet. How did these Hyalu live like this?

“What do you think?” I asked.

“What do I think of what?”

“Of all this,” I said, throwing my arm in the air.

“The Death Cult?”

“Yeah.”

“Not what I expected.”

“Me either. I mean, neither,” I said. As a writer, I knew the fucking difference. “They’re so fuckin’ happy.”

“Guess it feels good to believe in reincarnation, even if you do believe it’s some shitty never-ending cycle.”

“Why would Lusu leave–”

I’d told a man to kill himself. A man was fucking dead, and it was all my fault.

I smelled like death, didn’t I? It followed me wherever I went, a cloud above my head, an albatross around my neck. I’d never escape it. Some deep part of me might not want to have escaped it.

I helped a god die. And now I’ve killed a man. When does it end?

Maybe it never ended. Maybe this was who I was.

I puked over the side of the railing.

The Hero shook his head, sighing. “That’s not a surprise.”

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“A bar, a casino, and a smithy, all within a couple miles of each other,” Lusu said, droll as always, one hand on the wheel, the other dangling from the car window. “Just how do you people live?”

“Well,” Sue said, sitting next to Lusu, acting as navigator, “because of those very things you just mentioned.”

“If you can’t drink, gamble, and shoot, what can you do?” The Hero asked.

“Love,” I said. “Live. Read a good book. Figure out some way to become better than a goddamn animal.”

The Hero looked at me, then at Lusu. “What the hell’s her problem?”

“Too many to list,” Lusu said. “It’s been a rough couple weeks.”

Lusu was right, in a way. It had been a damn rough couple of weeks. Ever since Val had killed Stellavia. Why? Why had I opened this damn can of worms again?

But I’d been like this for a long time — almost my whole life — never knowing what to say or what to do, uncomfortable around other living things. What was the use of small chat, when the whole damn universe was going to hell?

We spent the rest of the car ride in silence.

— — —

Dead.

Demersi lay face down in the dirt, the back of his helmet shattered, his spacesuit worn and worthless, his whole body ready to wither, his whole life nothing but a story to be forgotten and retold, mistakes fabricated and fermented, until the lies became more real than the man.

Demersi’s right arm was outstretched, palm in the dirt like he was reaching for something. His body lay just a few feet away from a Ford Thunderbird — a beautiful car, if it mattered.

“Dammit,” Sue said, chewing on a cigar.

There wasn’t much else to say, was there?

I took out a cigarette. “Fiat lux,” I said, snapping so that a spark flew from my fingers and onto my cigarette. I let the smoke fill my lungs. Then I blew it out.

I crouched down, taking a closer look at Demersi. He had wild signs scrawled all across his suit, though I’d be damned if I could decipher them. Fire engulfed by leaves. A dragon weaving its way across his body. An opened doorway, with all the light pouring out.

Damn.

I’d met Demersi, during my adventures with Val. In a twisted way, he’d called me a friend. It was sad to see him like this.

“Anybody know what all this is supposed to mean?” I asked the group.

We all grew quiet. I guess we were a quiet bunch.

I grabbed Demersi’s left arm. The space suit felt unnaturally cold. It wasn’t hard, but it was tough. I pulled the arm up and over, turning Demersi around.

I thought I’d be able to see Demersi’s face, but I only saw blood. It caked the inside of the helmet. There was a small bullet-sized hole that blood had been oozing out of for who knows how long. I looked to see where the bullet had gone.

A small, bullet-sized hole in the dirt. I took a closer look at it. Looked deep.

Stuck my finger in it. Still deeper. Pushed some of the dirt away. The hole was deeper. Stuck my finger in it again, but I wasn’t able to find the bottom.

“Let’s go inside,” Sue said.

I thought that was a good idea, so I got up. The three of us made our way to the casino, passing under the neon sign, its flashing lights signifying the words, “Demersi’s Sins.”

I opened the door, not liking what I saw.

Darkness, marred by a sliver of light.

It had the feeling of something terrible — feeling in the darkness and sensing that something was in there. Something was in there, and it shouldn’t be in there.

“Oh, god,” Jewell muttered, under her breath. The sliver of light that got through to the casino illuminated nothing more than a patch of carpet. But something slipped out of the darkness: a trickle of blood.

Take a breath, I told myself.  It’s nothing more than a speck.

Breathed out, reaching out to my right, that damned hand looking for a bit of light. Groping, I had trouble finding it. My fingers crawled across the wall, and then I found it. Grabbed onto the switch and flicked it.

Blood.

They’re all dead, I thought. Hell, I saw it. They were all dead. About 20 people, spread across the casino, some of them lying on the floor, some of them collapsed onto the game tables.

Suddenly I noticed a man, standing over the roulette wheel. A second man lay on the wheel. The living man smiled, spinning it.

“Have you ever wondered if you matter?” a voice sang, booming through the loudspeakers. “Have you ever wondered if other people cared? / Have you ever wondered if your struggles meant something? / Don’t worry, I’m here to tell you. I’m your master.”

I could hear Jewell and The Hero unsheathe their swords. Sue took out a small gun. Lusu had her hands outstretched, ready for magic.

Then there was me. Me? I was just scared.

“One bullet,” the voice said, speaking instead of singing. “I did all of this with just one bullet. Isn’t that amazing?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lusu smirk.

“Amazing for a psychopath,” Sue replied.

*BANG*

A bullet whipped through the air. A flash of crimson, and then another. Two bodies collapsed to the floor, almost simultaneously.

Jewell and Sue, dead.

The bullet would have had to make a sharp turn in mid-air to hit both of them like that.

I looked at the doorway on the other end of the room. It was marred by a small, bullet-shaped hole, one that I didn’t remember seeing earlier. The man continued to spin the roulette wheel, laughing.

“Shit,” The Hero muttered. He re-sheathed his sword, then put his hands in the air. “I’ve fought a lot of fights,” he said. “I know I can’t win this one.”

“Glad to hear it,” the voice on the speaker said. “That’s the problem with sentience, isn’t it? We fight and we fight. We struggle and we maim and we kill others for dominance. But we never win, do we?”

Silence. An awful, strangling silence. Nothing left but the soft laughter of the man who kept spinning the roulette wheel.

Finally, after far too long had passed, I said, “You want an answer?”

He didn’t say anything.

So I spoke, instead. “I’ll never win, until I die. I want to die.”

The man at the roulette wheel stopped laughing.

“I’ve wanted to die for a long time,” I yelled, across the void, “but I haven’t. I’ve wanted to die for a long time, you see? I have all sorts of reasons for that — most of them personal, not really relevant right here and now. Point is, I want to die.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” the voice on the speaker said, sounding meaker. “Do you want me to kill you?”

“Yes,” I said. “I want you to kill me.”

More silence.

“I get the hesitation,” I said. “It’s hard to kill someone, when you get an extra moment to really think about it. With that gun of yours, it doesn’t seem so bad. Pull the trigger, then bang. It’s done, and you don’t even have to get your hands dirty. But then you really think about killing someone. When you think about the life that was there, that you just eliminate? When you think about the little piece of the world you just killed? It becomes hard.”

“Here’s why I want you to kill me,” I said. “I’ve been here too long. I’ve seen too many awful things, and the few good things in this world are probably far behind me. I forget what it feels like to be created. I forget what it feels like to not constantly be hounded by Death.”

“Here’s why you shouldn’t kill me,” I said. “I’m the ma– I’m the thing that’s going to save the world. I don’t want to have that responsibility — in all honesty, you killing me would free me of the responsibility. I’d like that. But there’s a reason I have to do this. There’s a reason I have to stop the world from getting destroyed. I can’t think of what it even is — I can’t imagine why I’d save lives when I want to get rid of my own, but truth is, that’s what I’m going to do. So you can kill me, right here and now. But just know that when you kill me, you kill the world.”

Deafening silence.

Finally, he said, “It was hard when Hostem tried to kill us all. Made me think.”

“Made me think, too,” I said.

“You think you have a purpose,” Diamond said, “but then it turns out you don’t. You want to make up some new purpose for your life, but you can’t. It’s just you, waiting to die. Why didn’t we let Hostem just kill us all? If he felt like we’d outlived our purpose, why didn’t we listen to him?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “If that’s how you feel, why haven’t you killed yourself?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. It just didn’t seem right. I wanted to be sure. I didn’t know what to do. How can you know what to do, when this world is so damn…” He stopped talking.

“I know,” I said. “I envy you.”

“Envy me?” He laughed. “How the hell could you envy me? Is it because I have power now? Is it because I have the gun? What does it even matter, in this stupid fucked up world?”

I looked over at Lusu and The Hero. It sure mattered to them.

“I envy you because you can kill yourself,” I said. “You don’t have anything left to live for, you don’t like the world around you. No more responsibilities, so you can kill yourself. Me? I’m holding on. I’m holding on by a goddamned thread, but believe it or not I’m holding on. Because I’m guilty. Because I need to make up for all the things I’ve done.”

“I’ve done a lot of bad things,” he said. Looking at the room, I believed him.

“I’ve done worse,” I said. “But you? You can let go.”

“I want to let go,” he said.

“You can,” I said. “You can kill yourself.”

“I… can.”

“That gun of yours? It can do anything,” I said. “From what I’ve seen, the bullets can arc through the air, right? You can shoot yourself in the head three times if you want — make sure it’s all over for good. You have the power, and that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want.”

“I envy you.”

“I’m…” he said, “in an enviable position.”

“You are.”

“I am.”

“So do it,” I said.

“Do it?”

“You and I are similar, in that we so hate this world. So I want you to do it. I want to live through you — to die through you. I want you to kill yourself.”

“I…” Silence.

“I want you to find peace.”

“Peace.”

*BANG*

After a second, the bullet broke through the door, whizzing through the air and through the head of the guy at the roulette wheel. He fell to the floor, dead.

Breathe in, breathe out. You’re still alive.

Footsteps from behind.

I turned around and saw The Angel of Death, mechanical wings unfurled, red eye glowing in the light of day. She wore a small knapsack.

“Quite the charmer,” The Angel of Death said. “You always were one of my favorite humans.”

My cheeks felt red. I kept my gaze on the ground.

“What happened here?” she asked.

“Where’d you get the new wings?” I asked.

She bent over, opening Jewell’s mouth and sticking her arm in.

“Alright then,” she said, arm deep in Jewell’s mouth. “I suppose we’ll both keep our secrets.”

She pulled Jewel’s soul out.

— — —

Lusu, The Hero, and I walked towards the car. I carried the revolver. It was heavy — felt cold in my hands. It’s handle had gotten stained by a bit of blood, and hard as I tried I couldn’t wipe it off.

“Apologies, Hero,” Lusu said, “but we don’t have the time to drive you back to Jewell’s Damned.”

“Sure we do,” I said.

“No,” Lusu said. “We don’t.”

“Val’s going to destroy the world,” I said. “What better place to wait that out than at the bar?”

She got in my face. “You just told a man to kill himself because you’re on a mission. Now you’re telling me we’re no longer on that mission?”

“That’s not why I told him to kill himself,” I said.

I continued, “Val’s too far away at this point. Between my jail time and the time it took to get this gun, he’s too far away. We won’t catch up to him in time.”

“You’re not going to try?” The Hero asked.

The gun really did gleam in the light of day. I weighed it with one hand, then aimed it at a nearby tree.

“No,” I said. “Sometimes life deals you a shitty hand, and that’s that. No use fighting it.”

Lusu slapped me. Stung my cheek. “That’s not an acceptable answer.”

I looked at her. “This isn’t my nihilism talking. It’s just the truth. We tried to save the world, but we lost. Heck, I’m part of the reason it’s kept spinning for these past forty years. But now? Forget about it. It’s all over and done.”

“It’s not,” she said. “Death Cult’s only a couple miles from here.”

“What are you–” I began.

She cut me off: “I can get them to kill Val.”

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