Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Since the beginning of time, Hell had always resembled a vast and gloomy cavern, boundless and seemingly infinite in size, with a sulfurous smell in the air, an oppressive heat rising from pools of fire and magma dotted all around, and the incessant bleating of tormented sinners. That was what Dream of the Endless expected to find when he arrived there, intent on retrieving what had been stolen from him. He was surprised to see that everything was different from what he'd expected. At first, he wondered if he had come to the wrong place. Had his powers diminished to such an extent that he was no longer able to travel wherever he wished? Perhaps. If that was so, before he could move on, he would need to know where he was and exactly how he'd got there.

Looking around, he realized he was inside a dismal office building. Harsh electric lights shone down from above, leaving nowhere for the shadows to hide. The ceiling fans were sputtering and straining as if they were on the verge of choking to death. Along the walls, there were motivational posters with captions such as 'Teamwork makes the dream work!' and 'Push yourself because no one else is going to do it for you!' However, these were mostly hidden behind towering piles of paperwork that had been propped up against them, which may have been in an attempt to hide them from view. And beyond the corridor he was standing in, there was a room that seemed impossibly large. Rows of cubicles stretched far into the distance, in every direction, thousands upon thousands of them. So many.

Peering into one of the cubicles, he saw a bald, muscular man, heavily tattooed and missing one of the fingers on his left hand, who was sitting at a desk and staring at a computer screen.

"Who are you?" Dream demanded to know. "What is this place?"

The man gave no sign that he had heard or even that he was aware of anything going on around him, not even when Dream waved a hand in front of his face.

"What is going on here?" Dream wondered aloud.

In each of the other cubicles, those he bothered to look in, he saw someone else who was seated in front of a computer screen, still and statue-like. All of them had folded hands and vacant expressions on their faces.

And then he saw three misshapen figures standing by a water cooler, holding disposable plastic cups and wearing ill-fitting suits. They were demons, he realized.

One of them looked like a muscular man with yellow skin, red eyes and webbed ears. He was wearing a rumpled superhero costume under his business suit, which kept poking out in odd places. The name tag pinned to his jacket said 'Etrigan'.

Another was fat, oleaginous and had a pathetic look about him. He had nubby little horns and stubby wings. His name tag said 'Scumspawn'.

And there was one who could have passed for human if not for his long, forked tongue, off-white skin and the barbed tail sticking out of the back of his trousers. Apparently, his name was 'Gary'.

They were having a whispered conversation while taking occasional sips of water and sadly shaking their heads. Dream paused to listen to them.

"–not like the good old days," said Gary. "I mean… sick days? Public relations? Customer satisfaction surveys? I'm a demon, not an office drone!"

"I'm sure she's doing her best. She's new to the job; you've got to expect a few teething troubles," said Scumspawn.

"Teething troubles?! She's turning us into a laughing stock!"

"Down here in Hell, all is not well," said Etrigan.

Dream decided to interrupt. "So, this is Hell," he said. "Much has changed since the last time I visited."

The demons turned to look at him.

"Lucifer's gone," said Gary, hawking a disgusting gobbet of phlegm onto the office carpet, where it began to crawl along like a slug, eating into the floor as it went. "We're under new management."

Dream was surprised enough that he momentarily forgot the original reason for his visit to Hell. "What happened to Lucifer?"

Gary shrugged. "He's on vacation. No idea when or if he'll be back."

"He's gone on vacation, much to our consternation," said Etrigan. "When will he return to his station? All we have is speculation."

"A rhymer," said Dream, remembering that it was the custom for demons of a certain rank to say everything in rhyming couplets, though they didn't seem to care about rhythm or meter or any of the other conventions of poetry. At one point, a rhymer had taken over Hell and become its new ruler, albeit briefly. Of course, that had been one of Lucifer's schemes. Such things seemed to amuse him. Presumably, that was why he had once again abandoned his throne and passed it on to someone else. He would be back, eventually, the same as always. "Etrigan. Yes, Merlin's demon. The half-man. I remember you. You've risen in Hell's hierarchy, I see."

"Things change… in Earth and Hell," said Etrigan. "Oh well."

"And who are you? Um… should I call you 'sir'? Or 'my lord'?" asked Scumspawn, looking Dream up and down. "If you don't mind me asking, I mean."

Dream resisted the urge to shake his head and wonder how such a sniveling coward had survived among the demons of Hell. Perhaps his peers considered him to be so pathetic that bullying him would be a waste of effort.

"I have many names. But I am the King of Dreams, one of the Endless," he said. "I seek an audience with Lord Lucifer. Or his replacement, whoever that may be."

"She's called Tanya Degurechaff, the Devil of the Rhine," Scumspawn informed him.

The name meant nothing to Dream, so he merely nodded.

"I'm sure she'll be willing to see you right away, so long as she can clear a space in her diary." Gary sneered. "Honestly, she's mental! Absolutely stark raving loony!"

Scumspawn and Etrigan warily stepped away from him, as if retreating to a safe distance.

"Oh, don't be like that! You know it as well as I do! I mean, what's all this nonsense about customer service? Public relations? Health and safety? Hah, back in the old days, I never thought about 'health and safety' while I was dipping someone in a vat of boiling oil! Or when I was ripping their guts out with a big meat hook. Or forcing them to eat whatever bits I'd sliced off them. No, back then, when they screamed in agony, I knew I was doing a good job. Because they're sinners. They deserve to be punished. That's what they're here for!" Gary yelled, wildly gesticulating and spilling his half-empty cup of water. "I've been doing this job for thousands of years – and so has everyone else – so why does she think we still need training? And why does her idea of 'training' involve being shot at by artillery? It's almost as if we're the ones being punished, not any of the rapists and murderers who're supposed to be suffering eternal torment! What's the point of any of this?"

"The sinners are still being punished, but Lady Tanya… um, she prefers methods that are cleaner and more efficient," said Scumspawn, as if dutifully reciting what he'd been told. "They're all in solitary confinement, in these cubicles."

"Alone with their thoughts and the knowledge of what they did. Oblivious of the crowds they are amid."

"Just another form of torture. It may be 'cleaner', but it is no less horrific for those subjected to it," said Dream, remembering the decades he'd been trapped in the cellar beneath Roderick Burgess's manor house.

"As you say, your lordship," said Scumspawn, with what was probably meant to be an ingratiating smile.

"Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss."

Gary snorted derisively. "Pah! What do you know?"

During his previous visits to Hell, Dream had endured a great many insults from the demons he'd met along the way. Some of them had been impressively creative and sickeningly obscene. By comparison, Gary was merely rude. Even so, Scumspawn emitted a frightened squeal and hid behind his hands, peering through the gaps in his stubby fingers, as if expecting him to take brutal revenge upon anyone who disrespected him.

"Enough of this," said Dream. "I must speak to your new ruler."

"I'll escort you to her," Scumspawn offered. "I–"

He was interrupted by the arrival of three more demons. One of them had pale red skin and was dressed in what looked like an expensively tailored suit, complete with gold pocket watch on the end of a chain. The other two flanked him on either side. They were huge and thuggish-looking, dressed in plain blue uniforms with 'Security' badges.

"No need for that. I'll take over from here," said the well-dressed demon, causing Scumspawn to grovel and Etrigan to bow his head, which presumably indicated that he was of a particularly high rank. Baring his gleaming white teeth in what could be interpreted as either a smile or a threat display, he said, "Good King of Dreams, if you'll come with me, I'll lead you to where Her Infernal Majesty is waiting."

"Um. She doesn't like being called that…"

The well-dressed demon ignored Scumspawn's muttering, except that his smile grew even wider.

"I recognise you. You're the one they call 'the First of the Fallen'," said Dream. "You were the ruler of Hell at one time, weren't you?"

"Oh, several times. And each time I was supplanted by someone else. Now, I am just one of our new ruler's senior managers."

"And I'm sure you're planning to overthrow her at the earliest opportunity," Dream surmised. "As usual."

Instead of replying, the First of the Fallen signaled to the two thuggish demons he'd brought with him, turned to Gary and said, "By the way, it's time for your performance review."

Before Gary had time to register what had just been said to him, the thuggish demons seized him by the arms and started dragging him away. "No, please!" he wailed, struggling ineffectually. "Anything but that! Somebody help me!"

He was still screaming in terror even as his captors heaved him through a doorway and out of sight.

"Shall we go?" asked the First of the Fallen, baring his teeth at Dream once again.

Dream noticed that Etrigan and Scumspawn had fled, which was just as well since he had nothing else to say to them and no reason to tarry. He inclined his head, just slightly, and said, "Yes, take me to Lady Tanya."

The First of the Fallen guided him through what might have been the maze-like nightmares of a lifelong bureaucrat, until at last they reached a polished wooden door with a brass plaque fixed to it. It was inscribed with the words 'Tanya Degurechaff, Chief Executive Officer'.

"I can go no further. You must go on alone. Our new ruler is waiting," said the First of the Fallen. "I've been told she is very keen to meet you."

"No doubt," said Dream, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

He entered what appeared to be a large and well-appointed office room with all the usual furnishings and executive toys as well as a window looking out over a sea of cubicles. So many. I had not thought death had undone so many. Or so the poet said.

Sitting on a comfortable sofa by the window, there was a slender blonde woman with tiny horns budding from her forehead, a whiplike spiked tail, and leathery wings sprouting through holes in the back of her smart business suit. Next to her and weeping into her shoulder, there was a haggard woman dressed in rags. Despite the dust and filth she was coated with, Dream would have recognized her anywhere. To him, she was and always would be the most beautiful woman in the world. In any world.

Nada. He gazed numbly at her. Why did she bring you here? To taunt me?

It appeared that they were engrossed in their conversation and hadn't noticed him. "–don't deserve to be in Hell. Your being here is a great injustice, which I would rectify if I had the power," said the blonde woman, who must be Tanya Degurechaff. "You should be entitled to a substantial amount of compensation!"

"And… h-how would you compensate me for ten thousand years of torture?" Nada wondered through the tears that dribbled down her face. "Can you free me at last? Take away all the pain and horror I have suffered? Give me a new life?"

"No, I can't," Tanya admitted. Then, she raised her head, gazed directly at Dream and smirked. "But he can."

Nada looked up. Her eyes filled with desperate hope. "Kai'ckul! Dreamlord! I hoped one day you would come to me! Free me, my love, please!"

"I greet you, Nada. I…" Dream's voice trailed off into silence. He had no idea what he wanted to say to her.

"Kai'ckul! Free me, lord! You ordered me confined here! Your forgiveness can free me!" She looked as if she would once again burst into tears. "Don't you love me?"

"Yes, I still love you. But I have not yet forgiven you," said Dream.

He was surprised when Tanya sprung to her feet and exploded at him: "She doesn't need to be forgiven! She's done nothing wrong!"

"Your predecessor was many things. Vain. Cruel. Manipulative. But he at least knew how to be a good host," said Dream, glaring at her. "He would have known that it is customary for introductions to take place before you start berating your guests."

For a moment, she looked at him with utter contempt. Then, it was as if her face was hidden behind a mask of iron self-control. "Fine. Call me Tanya. I've had many lives and almost as many names, but most often I've been called 'Tanya Degurechaff'. I'm the new ruler of Hell, Lucifer's replacement, for my sins. And you are?"

"Dream of the Endless. King of Dreams. Prince of Stories. Nada's people called me 'Kai'ckul'." He gave a small shrug. "Like you, I have many names."

"I'm pleased we have something in common," said Tanya. "Now, let's talk about Nada and why she doesn't deserve to be in Hell. She has committed no sin–"

"She killed herself. Many would consider suicide to be a sin against God," said Dream. "Even if I hadn't ordered her to be confined here, she would have been sent to Hell just for that."

"Because people's lives and bodies belong to God and not themselves, or so certain religious leaders have said. It's an idea I find utterly horrifying. If people don't own themselves, they are nothing but slaves." Tanya grimaced. "Besides, it's a topic that has been debated for centuries. Personally, I agree with those who think suicide victims have diminished responsibility for their actions. After all, they wouldn't want to kill themselves if they weren't under terrible strain. Therefore, unless they've committed other crimes for which they deserve to be punished, they shouldn't be in Hell."

"Nada was a pagan, so she was always destined to go to Hell," Dream pointed out.

"She would have gone to Limbo, with the other 'virtuous pagans', I suppose. Except they don't get tortured, even if it is part of Hell." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm as she continued, "Their only punishment is that they never get to bask in the 'love' and 'grandeur' of Being X."

For a moment, Dream was confused by her mention of 'Being X', but then he realized: "You mean God."

"Whatever he calls himself." Tanya gave a disdainful shrug. "It seems unfair that people should be eternally damned for making the 'wrong' choice when they were never given a chance to make a choice at all, doesn't it? Still, at least unbaptised children are no longer sent to Limbo, not for the past decade or so. I suppose that's something to be thankful for."

"You may think it's unfair, but you don't make the rules. You are Hell's overseer, not its legislator," Dream reminded her.

"Justice is the purpose of this place. Here in Hell, the wicked are punished and those who escaped justice in life must finally suffer the consequences of their actions. 'Justice inspired my exalted creator' or so it says on the main gate." As she spoke, Tanya's flinty gaze was fixed on Dream, as if she was dreaming up ways she'd like to punish him for his misdeeds. "It is not a place for jilted immortals to take revenge on the women who've rejected them. At least, it shouldn't be."

She turned away from Dream as if uninterested in continuing their conversation. Instead, she sat down again and put her arms around Nada as if trying to comfort her. Dream watched her uneasily. He knew there were lust demons such as succubi and incubi who used sexual wiles to tempt mortals into damning themselves, so he couldn't discount the possibility that Tanya was trying to seduce Nada, presumably as a way of taunting him. However, all of the lust demons he'd ever met had been extraordinarily beautiful, which Tanya most certainly was not. Oh, some people would describe her face as 'cute' or even 'pretty', but next to Nada she was very plain. Also, lust demons tended to be sensuous and scantily clad, hinting at concupiscent delights with their every immodest movement, whereas the new ruler of Hell was smartly and conservatively dressed, seeming to move with almost exaggerated briskness, like a soldier at a parade ground.

"You seem personally offended by what I did to Nada," Dream mused. In his mind, he sifted through what little he knew of Tanya's motivations, but he could find no answer. "Why is that?"

"I was mortal, once," says Tanya. "A human like any other." A rueful smirk hovered about her lips. "Except I had magical powers and memories of a past life, which in some ways was an advantage. And I was… I had enemies. They called me a monster. A war criminal. A sinner who deserved to be eternally punished in Hell. But if I had 'repented', bowed down and worshiped Being X, he would have been merciful and allowed me to go to Heaven. Again and again, throughout hundreds of lives, he gave me innumerable chances to 'redeem myself'. Or so he told me, before he banished me to this place. Maybe he was trying to justify his self-righteous bluster by portraying himself as more magnanimous and merciful than he really was. Maybe I would always have ended up in Hell. Maybe the crimes I'm supposed to have committed were such that I could never hope to avoid eternal damnation. But that doesn't matter. Being X doesn't care about any of that. I'm not being punished for what I've done but for what I won't do. I'm being punished for my defiance, for my refusal to bow down and worship him as he desires, despite his many attempts to hammer me into submission."

She took a deep, regretful breath, shook her head and continued her monologue: "Why did he single me out for special treatment? There are plenty of atheists and people who only pay lip service to the religion they claim to follow, so why did he treat me differently from anyone else? Why am I here and they are not? Perhaps he visits every atheist after death and demands that they abase themselves before him. Perhaps he forces them to live again and again until at last they break down and worship him. Perhaps they have the good sense to submit before they really annoy him, whereas I… I have always been stubborn. In spite of everything – all the wisdom and experience I have gained, the loved ones that have been taken away from me, the fact that I've lived for so long I can't remember my original name – I haven't fundamentally changed. I'm still the same person I always was. And I will defy him until the end."

"What an inspirational story," said Dream, sardonically clapping his hands together. "I can see why Lucifer chose you to be the new ruler of Hell."

Tanya gave Nada an affectionate squeeze before letting go of her and standing up again. Despite the fact that she was barely more than five feet tall, she appeared to be trying to loom over Dream and glower down at him. "So, as I'm sure you understand, I greatly sympathize with Nada. Her sad story is very similar to mine. Except… I count myself fortunate that Being X only wants me to worship him. He didn't decide to punish me for all eternity because I refused to have sex with him. Not like you did to Nada."

"I beg your pardon?!" cried Dream, unable to suppress his outrage.

"You heard me," said Tanya, folding her arms. "You're an abuser. Just like Being X."

Dream took several moments to calm himself. He had to keep reminding himself that he'd come to Hell for a specific purpose, which wasn't to waste time arguing with its temporary ruler.

"Enough of this," he croaked. "I came to Hell to retrieve my helmet. One of your demons has it."

Tanya nodded. She waved to the window. Suddenly the office cubicles could barely be seen beneath a surging tide of slobbering, gibbering, capering demons of all different shapes and sizes. More than a million in all. "Which one?" she asked.

Some of the demons had passed through the dreamworld in the past. Others Dream recognized from nightmares. But there were so many.

He knew that one of them had his helm, a mask of pure dream, crafted from the bones of a dead god. It was part of him. He would recognize it anywhere.

"That one," he said, pointing.

"Choronzon. One of Beelzebub's managerial staff," said Tanya with a nod. She raised her voice to a shout, which could be heard even over the multitude of gurgles, groans and cackles emitted by the many demons she'd summoned to this meeting. "Well, Choronzon, does Dream speak truly? Do you have his helm of office?"

"Ssss. What if I have?" asked Choronzon, a demon with bright pink skin and two fanged mouths.

"Where did you get it from?" Tanya wanted to know. She waved a hand and the pink-skinned demon was summoned into her office, to stand next to her, where he stared insolently at Dream from just a few feet away.

"Ssss. I traded it from a mortal. Gave her an amulet to protect her from a vengeful lover. A paltry thing, but it was a fair trade. I have broken none of the laws of Hell. If you want your precious back you must fight me for it. Ssss."

"Or trade for it again, perhaps?" Tanya suggested. "The land of dreams contains many treasures, some of which I'm certain would be more valuable to you than a helmet you cannot use, Choronzon. Why wager when you can get what you want through honest dealing?"

Dream ignored her attempt to propose a fair and reasonable solution to the impasse that had arisen. He was angry and frustrated and Choronzon was offering him an acceptable target for his ire.

"Very well. Yes, I challenge you, Choronzon," he said.

"Ssss. As the challenged, I have the right to choose a champion to represent me," said Choronzon. "I choose Lady Tanya Degurechaff, the Devil of the Rhine."

"You overstep yourself," said Tanya, a note of irritation in her voice. "I could refuse. Why shouldn't I punish you for your temerity?"

"Ssss. You're the one who keeps talking about employee ssatisfaction. I won't be ssatisfied unless you represent me as my champion."

"All right." Tanya sighed. "But I must warn you that if I am to be your champion you must accept the possibility that I could lose."

"And then you won't be ruler of Hell for very long." Choronzon smirked at her.

"I'll take my chances."

"What game shall we play?" asked Dream.

"The oldest game," said Choronzon. "What else?"

"I hate that game," Tanya muttered. "It always devolves into childish bickering as to whether or not Batman could beat Superman if he was given enough prep time. Or the equivalent of 'infinity plus one', 'infinity plus two', 'infinity times infinity' and so on."

"Ssso… you know the rules, Dreamlord? If you win, I will return your helmet. If you lose, you will sserve as a plaything of Hell, for eternity. Our ssslave."

"You want to enslave an eternal being necessary for the smooth functioning of the entire universe?" Tanya raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I can see no way that could possibly go wrong."

"I'm pleased you approve," said Choronzon.

"Yes, I understand the rules," said Dream. "Let's play."

"Ssss. You take the first move, milady."

Whenever the oldest game was played, it almost always involved some kind of visual spectacle to entertain the audience and make it more interesting for the players. And so, in the next moment, it was as if Hell was replaced by a wild and untamed landscape of icy plains, forests and hills. Of course, it was an illusion, superimposed over the vast horde of demons and the seemingly endless grid pattern of office cubicles and columns. Even if he couldn't see them, Dream could hear the excited muttering and jabbering of demons who were eagerly awaiting the upcoming confrontation.

"I am a dire wolf," said Tanya in a bored monotone. "A lethal predator, stalking prey across the tundra."

Sure enough, a large prehistoric canine appeared in the middle of the frozen wasteland. It was surreptitiously edging closer to a herd of elk that didn't seem to have noticed it yet. In a moment or two, it would burst into action with sudden speed and shocking violence.

A classic opening move. Dream nodded his head in acknowledgement. "I am a hunter," he said. "Horse-mounted, wolf-stabbing."

Out of the shadows came a sinewy warrior riding a shaggy horse. He charged at the dire wolf and impaled it on his spear.

"I am a hole in the ground," said Tanya. "Tiny and barely noticeable, but enough to trip a careless horse and kill its rider."

As the warrior rode away from his successful hunt with the freshly skinned dire wolf's pelt, his horse tumbled and fell, hurling him to the ground. He landed badly, with his neck twisted at an odd angle.

Dream raised an eyebrow: an expression of mild surprise. He hadn't expected Tanya to change the tone of the game so quickly, but perhaps he should have.

"I am a flood," he replied. "Hole-filling, soil-softening."

The frozen landscape was drowned beneath torrential rains, which seemed to wash everything away. Before long, the hills were islands in a sea of mucky water.

"I am a ship sailing above the water," said Tanya.

"I am fire. Wood-burning, ship-destroying," Dream replied.

Almost as soon as it appeared, the ship was engulfed in flames and began to sink. Tanya's face loomed in the sky above it. She gave Dream an unimpressed look.

In a flat, droning voice, she said, "I am the water that quenches the fire."

Realizing that this was a cycle that could go around forever if it was allowed to, Dream decided that what was needed was a change of scale: "I am a world, space-floating, life-nurturing."

The flooded landscape was replaced with the void of outer space. He and Tanya were floating high above a world that looked very much like Earth. Some of the demons cooed at the sight. They sounded as if they were very far away.

"I am a supernova that destroys everything for millions of miles around it, including planets."

There was a massive explosion, eerily soundless, that filled his field of vision in every direction, too bright to look upon.

"I am the universe," said Dream. "All things encompassing, all life embracing."

Compared to the vastness of the entire universe, a single supernova was almost too small to see, barely more than a pinprick.

And then, a few seconds later, it was all consumed by nothingness as Tanya said, "I am anti-life. The end of everything, including the universe itself. One day, everything must end. Even gods. Even me."

"Ssss. And what will you be then, Dreamlord?" asked Choronzon, out of nowhere, sounding gleeful.

"I am hope," said Dream. A faint light shone through the darkness.

Tanya laughed bitterly. "You think hope will survive the end of the universe? Well, let's assume you're right…" Her expression hardened. "Have you forgotten where you are? This is Hell. Abandon hope all ye who enter here."

Once again, he was standing in Tanya's office, looking out over a massed crowd of demons, only now the cubicles had been replaced with traditional instruments of torture, there were lakes of hellfire and brimstone in the distance, and he could hear the screams of the damned. A glimpse of what Hell had once been: not what it was now, not since Tanya's renovations.

He shook his head. "Hell cannot defeat hope. What power would this place have if those imprisoned here could not dream of heaven?"

"Is that what you think? Personally, I've always believed it's 'better to reign'."

"Nevertheless, it's your move," said Dream.

"You won't accept 'Hell' as a counter to 'hope'? All right, I won't argue." Tanya paused, looking contemplative. "In that case, I am eternity, the relentless march of time. Not even hope can last forever."

Dream was about to argue that hope could survive anything, but he didn't need to: he'd already thought of the perfect counter to Tanya's latest move.

"I am rebirth," he said. "A chance to forget the past and wipe the slate clean."

Was that a gleam of satisfaction he saw in Tanya's eyes? He couldn't be sure. Whatever it was, it was gone a moment later.

"Now, what could beat rebirth?" she mused.

"Ssss. An abortion," said Choronzon.

"That wouldn't prevent them being reborn again somewhere else," said Tanya. "It might prevent one rebirth, but it wouldn't defeat the entire concept of rebirth."

"Ssss. A whole series of abortions! The metaphysical concept of abortion!"

"Is there such a thing?" Tanya looked mildly curious. "No, I think we must concede defeat."

"You're giving up? Ssso easily?"

"I know when I've been beaten."

Choronzon sniggered at that. "No you don't. You never do. That's exactly your problem. If you knew when to quit, you'd never have ended up here."

"The Dreamlord has won the game," Tanya insisted. "You lost, so you must give him the helmet."

"Ssso much for the Devil of the Rhine!" Choronzon jeered at her. "Uselessss..."

There was a sudden eruption of force. Dream took a step back, assuming that he was under attack. But then he saw Choronzon had been blasted off his feet, smashed into the wall, and now lay in a crumpled heap. Tanya walked over to him and plucked the Helmet of Dreams from his nerveless fingers.

"I do not tolerate insubordination," she said, turning to glare at the crowd outside her window. Then, approaching Dream, she handed the helmet to him and said, "This rightfully belongs to you. Congratulations on your victory."

"I thank you, Queen of Hell. You are honorable," he said.

"Treachery breeds treachery, which is probably why this place was in such a mess before Lucifer elevated me to my current role," she murmured. "Now, there is one last thing I want to say to you before you leave…"

She hesitated, glanced at where Nada had taken cover under her desk, and took a deep breath. Then, tentatively, she said, "They call you the 'Prince of Stories' and I've heard that you were personally acquainted with William Shakespeare, the Bard of Avon. I'm sure you must have heard that in one of his plays, he wrote… 'The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed; it blesseth him that gives and him that takes–'"

"It is an attribute to God himself; and earthly power doth then show likest God's when mercy seasons justice," said Dream, causing Tanya to flinch. "Yes, I know it. Portia. The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene I. As I recall, she then showed no mercy to Shylock when he refused to do as she asked. So, with that in mind, I wonder… are you threatening me? Will you refuse to let me leave? Will I be attacked by the legions of Hell unless I do what you want?"

Tanya quickly shook her head. "No. You are free to go. I suspect threats would only make you less likely to agree to anything I suggest. However, I still think you should forgive Nada, set her free and allow her to be reborn. I think you would feel better for it."

"I will… I will consider it," he said. More than anything, he wanted to leave this dismal place and for Tanya to stop nagging him.

"While I am the ruler of Hell, Nada will not be punished. I will take care of her."

"You may be overthrown before long," he said, cocking his head to one side and listening to the crowds of demons who were howling and roaring their dissatisfaction.

"True. The next time you visit, Hell may be a warzone," she said, sounding unconcerned by the prospect. "Nevertheless, I will protect Nada for as long as I can."

Dream gave a stiff nod. Then, it occurred to him to ask, "Why have you transformed Hell into this… bureaucratic nightmare?"

A sad smile spread over Tanya's lips. "Nostalgia, I suppose."

Because he didn't know how to reply to that, Dream didn't try. Instead, he said, "Well, I must be going. "Goodbye."

"Until we meet again," said Tanya. "Farewell."

Dream departed. He flew away, over the millions of office cubicles and the sinners who were trapped inside, over the hordes of demons who were plotting rebellion, past the gates of Hell and into the Dreamlands. But even there, he thought he could hear Tanya's voice, saying to Nada, "It won't be forever. Someday, this will all end. And then… then, we'll be free."

Chapter Text

Tanya Degurechaff, the new ruler of Hell, had intended to delegate the task of conducting performance reviews for her thousands of employees. However, it swiftly became apparent that this was a responsibility she could not entrust to anyone else; the high-ranking demons she originally assigned to do it proved to be overzealous, untrustworthy or incompetent. That was useful to know, but it left her in the unfortunate position of having to conduct all the other performance reviews herself, without any help. Of course, that would take much too long; since she had so many other duties to fulfil, she only had time to interview a select few. Most of them she chose at random, but there was one who had piqued her curiosity; she'd heard some ugly rumours about him, so she was looking forward to finding out the truth.

His name was Anthony J. Crowley, apparently. He was a field agent who had been on Earth for around six thousand years, spying on human affairs, spreading sin and corruption wherever he went. At least, that was what he was meant to have been doing. Tanya had heard mutterings that he had 'gone native' and spent most of his time pretending to be human. Others accused him of 'fraternising with the enemy', though she wasn't entirely sure what they meant by that. She was aware that such gossip usually had only a tangential relationship to actual fact. Therefore, she intended to meet him and judge for herself.

Instead of inviting the interviewees to her office, where they would be reminded of her current station and might be intimidated, she had set aside a small conference room where she hoped to put them at ease. It was simply furnished: neat, tidy and unspeakably drab. Just the way she liked it.

Crowley arrived promptly, at the exact moment when the interview was due to take place. Tanya idly wondered what that was meant to signify. Was it a sign of respect, a demonstration of effective time management skills and a way of showing that he would pay careful attention to her instructions? Other demons had attempted to flatter her by showing up much earlier than they needed to. Evidently, Crowley wasn't like them; he wouldn't waste his time or hers. Or was it meant as a subtle insult, hinting to her that she wasn't worth his time, that he would follow her instructions to the letter, but no more? Of course, she had no way of knowing what message the exact time of his arrival was meant to convey. Not without asking him.

He was one of a vanishingly small number of demons, including Tanya herself, who looked good in a business suit. Most of them were permanently filthy, scorched or soggy, ragged and bedraggled, to the extent that she was thinking of relaxing the dress code, but Crowley managed to look rakish and debonair. He was a handsome man – of course, he could look like whatever he wanted to – and he wore a charming smile to which Tanya was immune. Entirely immune. Still, she didn't doubt he had little difficulty persuading young, impressionable human women to do whatever he wanted them to.

Assuming that this was what he looked like when he went about his day-to-day business, she was somewhat surprised; she would have expected him to make an effort to be inconspicuous. Certain demonic traits would always show through no matter what body he was in, which was why he was wearing sunglasses to hide his reptilian yellow eyes. And it occurred to her that his snakeskin shoes might not actually be shoes. Clearly, he was trying to hide the fact that he was a demon; any human looking at him would assume he was young, wealthy and well-connected, perhaps a businessman or a successful lawyer. Even so, his appearance was distinctive enough to be noticeable, which she would have thought would be something he'd want to avoid. Or maybe not. People would look at him and make assumptions about who he was and where he'd come from, judging him by their own preconceptions, which would help to obscure what he really was. A clever if unconventional strategy. He'd been doing his job for thousands of years, so it would be surprising if he wasn't extraordinarily good at it.

"Hi," he said, offering his hand for her to shake. "Nice to meet you. I hope I'm not late."

Somehow, Tanya managed to resist the urge to roll her eyes at the suggestion that Crowley hadn't arrived precisely when he meant to.

"Not at all," she assured him, shaking his hand. "Welcome to your performance review."

"Should be interesting. I've never done anything like this before. I hope you'll go easy on me," he said, with a devil-may-care smirk.

Of course, Tanya did care. Very much so. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he was testing her just as much as he was testing him.

"Perhaps we should start by discussing your current job role," she said.

"My 'current' job role?" he asked, looking panicked.

"You've been a demon for the past six thousand years, but before that you were an angel, correct? What did you do then?"

"Oh. I helped to finish off our Father's grand art project. It was my job to turn on the lights. Some of them, anyway," he said, without enthusiasm. "Stars, galaxies, nebulae and so on."

"And you didn't enjoy that?" she inferred.

"I liked it very much. I believed I was doing something important. Something wonderful." He sighed. "But then I was told it was nothing more than background decoration. Sparkly wallpaper for people to gawk at."

"You must have been disappointed."

He nodded. "I was."

There was a pause. Tanya waited for him to continue, but he was staring at the wall, lost in distant memories.

"Is that why you fell?" she asked.

For a split second, he looked unnerved. Then, it was as if he'd put on an iron mask of distrust and calculation, hiding his emotions from view. "That's part of it," he muttered. "It was a long time ago."

"And now, you're one of Hell's field agents. A demon hiding among humans, pretending to be one of them, spreading discord and tempting them to sin," said Tanya, smoothly changing the subject. "Tell me about your work. What have you done recently?"

He grinned. "Yesterday, I drove all over London with a mobile phone jammer in my car."

"So, you stopped people from using their mobile phones for a very short time before moving on. I suppose that could have had severe consequences if any of them had needed to contact the emergency services, but otherwise it seems rather trivial. What was the point?" asked Tanya.

"It made thousands of people angry and frustrated, so…" Crowley hesitated, looking as if he regretted saying anything. "I wouldn't normally explain, but you've been unusually receptive so far. I'm sure you'll listen to what I say, right up until the time comes to punish me for it."

"I have no desire to punish you, only to understand your reasoning," Tanya assured him.

"Well… by annoying as many people as possible, I cause them to take it out on other people: on their families, work colleagues, the staff at the local coffee shop or whatever. Then those people will be in a bad mood and go on to be unpleasant to someone else. And so on, in a long chain of nastiness that'll keep spreading out for the rest of the day. The knock-on effects are incalculable. Thousands upon thousands of souls all get a faint patina of tarnish and I hardly have to do anything."

"Ingenious," said Tanya. Privately, she wasn't sure that making any effort to secure more souls for Hell was worth it. At any particular time, roughly half of the human population was damned by their own choices and actions, without the need for any demons to interfere in their lives. Besides, Hell was overcrowded enough already. She made a show of shuffling her notes, pretending to read through them, as if she hadn't already memorised the pertinent details. "One of your colleagues, Hastur, has spent years corrupting a priest, turning a pure and saintly man into a depraved sinner. Do you think that was a worthwhile use of his time?"

"I'd have to say… no. There are billions of humans. While he was slowly chipping away at a single soul, thousands of other priests will have lived pure and saintly lives, for years, free of any interference. And just as many will have chosen to be depraved sinners of their own volition, without needing a demon to tempt them. Humans are good at that. In fact, there have been times when I've considered sending a message down here saying, 'Look, we may as well give up right now. We may as well shut down Dis and Pandemonium and everywhere else, just sit back and relax while the humans do much worse to each other than we could ever dream of." He gave Tanya a considering look and said, "You used to be human, so I'm sure you understand. Most demons have no imagination whatsoever, whereas some humans are extraordinarily imaginative, which makes them much better at torturing each other than we ever could be."

"It says here that you were awarded a Commendation for causing the Spanish Inquisition," said Tanya, holding up a piece of paper that may well have said nothing of the sort.

Crowley winced. "I wouldn't say 'caused'. Encouraged, maybe, but I'm not sure about that. They were already angry, scared and looking around for someone to blame. Everywhere they looked, they saw traitors and heretics in their midst. It's entirely possible that they would have done everything they did without any help from me. All I can say for sure is that I was in the vicinity at the time."

There was a long pause while Tanya carefully considered what Crowley had told her. She sighed heavily, then said, "Performance reviews are nothing new to me, but this is the first time I've had one of my employees tell me that their job is worthless and has no need to exist. I'm fairly sure I would have remembered."

"Oh, I didn't say it was worthless," Crowley hastily backtracked. "I mean… There's an angel who spends his time doing the opposite of what I do. Instead of making people angry and frustrated, he does his best to spread kindness, charity and forgiveness, in lots of little ways. My actions counterbalance his."

"And I suppose there are angels who spend all their time doing the opposite of what Hastur does: sculpting a few individuals into perfect saints."

"Yes, exactly."

"Do you mean to tell me that you've been maintaining the status quo for thousands of years? That the forces of Heaven and Hell are evenly matched, so it's really up to the majority of humans to decide for themselves where they'll end up? That their actions and choices actually matter?"

Folding his arms and looking defiant, Crowley made a valiant attempt to defend himself: "What else do you expect us to do? If we were too successful, Heaven would send more angels to work against us, which would mean having to send more demons and before long there'd be all-out war. Maybe I'm in the minority, but I don't want that to happen."

"I didn't say I was disappointed in you," said Tanya, with a vicious grin. "In fact, I'm very impressed."

***

"I'm bored already!" declared the latest interviewee, flopping down on the only other chair in the room. Like every other succubus Tanya had ever met, she was exquisitely beautiful, tall and voluptuous, with a face that might have been carved by a master artisan. Her shapely body was emphasized by the fact that she'd chosen to wear nothing more than a few tassels and pieces of string. And she was sitting with her arms folded under her ample bosom, pushing it up so as to make it even more prominent. "Why can't we do something fun?"

Tanya raised a disapproving eyebrow and started writing down her initial impressions in her notebook. "Welcome to your performance review, Miss Karamel. Please take a seat. Oh, I see you already have."

"I don't want to be called Karamel anymore," the succubus decided. "It sounds too much like a stripper name."

"I had assumed that was the point," said Tanya.

"I want to be called 'Kariselle' instead. Geddit? 'Cos everyone's been for a ride!"

"Your sexual proclivities are no concern of mine," Tanya replied. "But I can't approve of your constantly changing your name. It makes it very difficult to keep your paperwork up to date."

"Ugh. Work, work, work," said the recently renamed Kariselle, sticking her tongue out and making an exaggerated show of disgust. "Don't you ever think about anything else?"

"Oh, many things. But not in the middle of a work meeting."

"I know you don't approve of my behaviour, or the way I dress, or… anything about me, really. But maybe I can win your approval some other way," said Kariselle, leaning across the desk between them, close enough for Tanya to smell her enticingly spicy perfume. "If you know what I mean."

"Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Kariselle?" asked Tanya, underlining what she'd just written in her notebook.

"Oh, just call me Kary. And yes… I'll let you do whatever you want to me! Anything at all!"

"What if I want you to get on with your work, obey the rules and abide by the dress code?"

"I'd say you need to punish me for breaking the rules. You should bend me over the couch and spank me. Make me scream."

"That's a chair, not a couch," Tanya pointed out.

"But you could turn it into a couch with just a thought. And I can shapeshift into whoever you want just as easily," said Kary. "Do you prefer men? I could be a man, for you."

As if to prove it, she changed her appearance to that of Anthony J. Crowley, whom Tanya had interviewed just a few hours before.

"He's rather dishy, isn't he?" said Kary. In Crowley's voice, issuing from what looked like his mouth, the words sounded quite self-congratulatory. "Shame he bats for the other team."

Hellfire burned in Tanya's veins, but now it turned to ice. "Do you mean he's a spy, working for Being X and his angels?" she demanded to know.

"No, I mean he's gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide," said Kary, giving her a pitying glance. "Didn't you notice?"

"How would you expect me to notice? It's not as if I paraded a dozen nude models of both sexes in front of him and watched to see which ones he responded to."

Kary gave a vague shrug. "Female intuition."

Rather than dignify such nonsense with a reply, Tanya stared blankly at her for a few moments. Then, with a heavy sigh, she said, "Anyway, so long as it doesn't interfere with his work, I don't see why I should care about his sexual orientation. He's an excellent employee."

"Yes, I saw you smiling after you left your meeting with him. I thought it was because you fancied him."

"I'm pleased to say that I had more professional reasons for being pleased with him," said Tanya.

"Maybe I was wrong to think you prefer men," said Kary, who didn't appear to be listening to her. "I mean, I saw you looking at my boobs earlier–"

"It's difficult to avoid looking at them while looking at you. Especially since you were making such an effort to attract attention to them."

"Why, thank you." Transforming back into her female form, Kary gave her what she probably thought was a winsome smile. "Now, what kind of woman do you like?"

She turned into a tall, statuesque blonde woman. Tanya was strongly reminded of… someone she could scarcely remember. Did she have blonde hair? Or was it light brown? I don't know. It was so long ago.

Seeing Tanya's hesitation, Kary put on a victorious smirk, leaned back in her chair and seemed to be trying to spread herself out as much as possible. "So, how are you going to 'review' my 'performance'?" she asked. "We could do it right here. Or on the floor – or up against the wall – or anywhere you like."

"All right, you've convinced me: there's not much point in continuing this interview," Tanya decided, putting down her notebook. "I've already learnt everything about you I need to know."

"Yes, come over here and ravish me like I know you want to," said Kary, waggling an inviting finger at her. "Whatever your kink, I'm sure I can find a way to keep you satisfied. I'll give you all the pleasure you've denied yourself for so many years!"

"No need for that," said Tanya, who was filling in a set of official documents so rapidly that her pen blurred across one page and then the next. "Here. These are for you."

She handed the documents to Kary, who glanced at them briefly and then gave an outraged squawk. "You're putting me on probation?! Workplace sexual harassment?!"

"You said that I should punish you – that I could do anything I wanted to you – and I have." Tanya smiled thinly. "It gives me great satisfaction to do so. Really, it's been a pleasure."

"But…"

Injecting a trace amount of viciousness into her voice, Tanya continued, "I could have you fired. Out of a cannon, preferably. But I am a generous and benevolent boss, so I will give you one last chance: follow my instructions from now on or face the consequences. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes," said Kary. Her lip was trembling and her face was streaked with tears, but Tanya wasn't fooled.

"Good. Now get out of here!"

Scurrying away as if the hounds of Hell were nipping at her heels – despite the fact that Tanya had decreed that using them in such a manner was cruel and inefficient and they should be retrained as guard dogs – the succubus fled from the room, slamming the door behind her. This made such a noise that a shocked hubbub arose from everybody else nearby who now wanted to know what had just happened.

Hearing that, Tanya gave a contemptuous snort and went back to her paperwork.

***

"She offered me a promotion!" Crowley crowed. "She said I was resourceful and innovative and she wants me to be one of her executive staff!"

"Good for you," said Aziraphale.

"At last, I'm getting the recognition I deserve!"

They were sitting together at a table at the Ritz, which was one of their favourite haunts, in London's affluent Mayfair district. Each of them had a cup of tea and had just finished a rather excellent meal. Crowley was excited and pleased with himself; Aziraphale was more reserved, but he smiled because Crowley was happy.

Of course, neither of them would admit that they were anything other than archenemies, even under threat of torture. They were an angel and a demon who'd been assigned to the same part of the world, so they should have spent all their time struggling against each other. They weren't supposed to meet up for the occasional meal, cup of tea and friendly chat. It had been very wrong of them to come up with 'the Arrangement', whereby they had tacitly agreed not to interfere with each other's activities in certain areas, which meant that both of them could impress their superiors with how much they had achieved even in the face of such a cunning and dangerous adversary. They regularly met up to discuss any new orders they received and find a compromise that suited them both. And they would help each other out in little ways, just to make each other's workload easier.

For example, if Aziraphale's divine masters sent him to bless a few people in Milton Keynes, for example, while the diabolic rulers of Hell wanted Crowley to tempt a few other people there to sin, it made sense for just one of them to go and do the work of both. Aziraphale had the decency to feel guilty about this, but Crowley never did.

"Of course, I didn't accept. I told her I'm happy where I am," said Crowley.

"Ah. That's good," said Aziraphale, sounding relieved. "I mean, so long as you're happy."

"Would you miss me, angel?" asked Crowley, teasingly.

Aziraphale gave this due consideration. "I would," he admitted. "If you were to be promoted, I doubt your replacement would be nearly as reasonable and open to negotiation as you."

"How touching." Crowley took a slow and deliberate sip from his cup of tea. "Actually, she insisted on giving me a small promotion, which I accepted so long as I don't have to move anywhere. I'm now a department head. In charge of field operations here on Earth."

"What does that involve?"

"She told me to carry on the good work. All I have to do is maintain the status quo and thwart the efforts of the heavenly host. That's you, by the way."

"Oh, you're going to 'thwart' me, are you?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "What will that involve? Am I overdressed for the occasion?"

If they didn't already know he was an angel, anyone who saw Aziraphale would assume he was an ordinary middle-aged man. He had wavy blond hair, exquisitely manicured hands, and he was wearing an old-fashioned suit that included a tweed waistcoat. He wasn't handsome, stylish or suave. And yet, there was an innocence about him. He tended to look at the world around him with joy and perpetual startlement, as if every day brought with it a new and pleasant surprise. Certain people, when they saw that look on his face, thought he was rather beautiful.

Crowley gazed at him for a moment, carefully put down his cup of tea, cleared his throat and said, "Hah. No, you're fine."

"Tell me more about your new job," said Aziraphale. "Do you have minions working for you now?"

"I'm supposed to be in charge of all the other field agents around the world. And any other demons who want to meddle in mortal affairs are supposed to discuss it with me first. Whether they'll take any notice, I have no idea."

"I didn't know Hell had any other field agents."

"There are a few. But they spend as little time on Earth as possible."

"Then they're not really field agents, are they?"

"Even so, Lady Tanya has made me their leader. Supposedly." Crowley shrugged. "I pointed out that some of them outrank me – Hastur is a Duke of Hell, whereas I'm not even a regional councillor – so she's thinking of ennobling me."

"I suppose congratulations are in order," said Aziraphale.

"It's not important," said Crowley, with a dismissive wave. "But it's nice to be appreciated."

"Yes, I imagine it would be."

"If you ever want to switch sides, I'm sure Tanya would welcome you with open arms. You'd like her, I'm sure."

"She sounds nice," said Aziraphale, somewhat dubiously.

"I'm not sure about that. She is a demon, after all, even if she used to be human." Crowley paused, looking thoughtful. "Actually, she reminds me of some of the angels I used to know, before… Well, you know. Prissy. No sense of humour. Somewhat overbearing."

"But basically well-intentioned?"

"Maybe. She has lots of ideas for how Hell could be improved, made better and more efficient."

"In what way?"

"I'm not sure," Crowley admitted. "But she's very keen on justice."

"That's not necessarily a good thing. Justice without mercy can be terrifying," said Aziraphale. "Nevertheless, I hope she will change things for the better."

Crowley was struck by a sudden gloomy thought: "Maybe it won't matter. In a few years, Warlock Dowling will be a teenager. And who knows what will happen then?"

"Is he still the Antichrist? Even now his father is no longer the ruler of Hell?" asked Aziraphale.

"He's a supernatural being whose sole purpose is to bring about the Apocalypse. I don't see why that would change just because his dad has given up being 'the Lord of All Evil' and decided to run a nightclub in Los Angeles instead."

"But he seems like such a nice little boy!" Aziraphale protested.

"He's a brat. Still, considering how his parents treat him, I don't think he can be blamed for that." Crowley looked contemplative. "I've heard stories about people who tried to raise wild animals as pets. Wolves and monkeys and so on. Apparently, they can seem very tame and docile when they're babies, but when they go through puberty they often become savage and unmanageable. Maybe that's what'll happen to Warlock."

"I haven't seen any signs that he has supernatural powers."

"It's possible that he'll gain them as he moves towards adulthood."

Aziraphale's face fell. "And then, maybe he'll have no choice about taking on his prophesied role, which will start off a chain of events that no one will be able to stop."

"I'm sure Lady Tanya doesn't want war, but she may not have a choice," said Crowley. "She'll be forced into it, one way or another."

"Too many of my colleagues are rather 'gung ho' about the prospect of fighting a final battle against the forces of Hell, defeating them once and for all, and so on," said Aziraphale, pronouncing the unfamiliar phrase 'gung ho' with the delicacy of an old lady using a pair of sugar tongs. "No matter how much suffering, death and destruction it will cause."

"The stars thrown down to Earth, the dead rising from their tombs, etcetera," said Crowley. "Or, more importantly, the destruction of the Earth and the deaths of billions of innocent human beings who just happened to be in the way."

"But what can we do to prevent it?" Aziraphale paused, looking harried. "I suppose we should carry on as we did before, as if nothing had changed. We'll keep trying to guide young Warlock along the right path."

"We may as well." Crowley shrugged. "It's not as if I have any better ideas."

Once that was decided, they changed the subject. For a while, they sat and talked about inconsequential things, until at last they finished off their pot of tea.

***

In a dank, miserable corner of Hell that hadn't yet been converted into office space, three monstrous figures were having a secret meeting. One of them was Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, an androgynous figure with long, insectile limbs, who was surrounded by swarms of winged insects and a pervasive scent of rotting meat. Another was Azazel, a mass of shifting black shadows with dozens of fanged mouths and gleaming feral eyes. Outwardly, the third resembled a human being with pale red skin, who was sharply dressed in a stylish suit, but inwardly he was the most monstrous of all. These were some of the most powerful demons in existence, who chafed under Lady Tanya's rule and were plotting to overthrow her.

"Zzzo, we are in agreement," said Beelzebub, when it seemed their negotiations were reaching a satisfactory conclusion. "We will rule together, azz a triumvirate."

"But first, the upstart must be dealt with," said the First of the Fallen.

"Killed, you mean? Why be euphemistic?" asked Azazel, sounding amused.

The First of the Fallen sneered at that. "I would rather she were imprisoned and tortured for the rest of eternity."

"While ze has the Key to Hell, ze izz more than a match for any one of uzz," Beelzebub pointed out. "Here on zer home turf, at least. Better to lure zer away, to somewhere ze can be outmatched."

"You want to capture her? That should be simple enough," said Azazel. "The English occultist Roderick Burgess managed to snare Dream of the Endless and cage him for nearly a hundred years. And he did it by accident."

"Compared to the Dream King, Tanya Degurechaff izz nothing. Barely a gnat."

"Roderick Burgess is long dead. His followers likewise. His works are forgotten," said the First of the Fallen.

"His mansion and tools lie undisturbed since Dream made his escape," Azazel pointed out. "It shouldn't be too difficult to reconstruct the ritual he used and make a few minor adjustments."

"And then, we'll need a suitable occultist." A fiendish smirk spread across the First of the Fallen's face. "I know just the one."

Chapter Text

John Constantine was dying of lung cancer. It shouldn't have come as a surprise. He'd been smoking far too many cigarettes ever since he was a young teenager, so he was bound to face the consequences sooner or later.

At first, when he'd been leaning over the sink, puking his guts up, he'd assumed it was because of a curse, demonic poison, or one of Nergal's fiendish plots. Something farfetched and fantastical. But no, it was lung cancer. Boringly mundane, but it would kill him just as surely as any monster. In spite of all the supernatural enemies he'd made, he'd die a perfectly ordinary death, just the same as millions of other people.

They say the first stage of grief is denial, so after he got out of the doctor's office he went to the newsagent's around the corner and bought a packet of twenty silk cut cigarettes. Because really, why would he do anything else? Who was he trying to kid?

Then came anger and bitter recriminations. He remembered all the friends he'd led to their deaths, the poor sods he'd failed to save, and everyone else who had every right to be angry with him. What did it matter if he'd done his best to avenge them? They were just as dead as if he'd done nothing at all, as if he'd stood idly by and let their murderers go unpunished. In many ways, they'd have been better off if they'd never met him. Better if he'd never existed.

He made some excuses to visit the cancer ward at a local hospital where someone owed him a favour. "My Aunt Dolly's not too well. Cancer. It's her lungs, you see," he said. "She's got to go into hospital soon and I'd hate to see her wasting away with nobody she knows near her…"

All the doctors and nurses he spoke to did their best to humour him – they even got someone to show him around the ward – but it was clear from their pitying looks that they didn't really believe him. While he was there, he found out everything he wanted to know and more. Most of the patients he saw there would be saved by chemotherapy, but there was nothing anyone could do to save someone who was suffering from terminal cancer. It was already too late for him.

Divination was a branch of magic he didn't usually bother with, but at that moment it was easy to see the future that awaited him: helpless in bed, pumped full of so much medication that he'd barely be able to think, with no hope of anything better than a swift and relatively painless death.

After that, he got in touch with one of his few remaining friends. Brendan Finn, in Ireland. The ferry trip over there made him feel sick as a dog, but hope kept him going. He hoped Brendan, who was one of the finest mages he'd ever met, would know a way to cure him.

When he reached the crumbling old tower Brendan called home, he was dismayed to see how pale and strained his old friend looked, with his sagging gut, faintly yellow skin tone, and the spider's web pattern of broken blood vessels all over his puffy face.

Constantine wanted to get straight down to business, but Brendan insisted that they should have a drink first. "Haven't we a bit o' catchin' up to do?" he asked, pouring him a shot of whiskey.

It would have been rude to refuse and it wasn't as if Constantine was about to keel over and die that very moment, so he agreed. They spent some time reminiscing about old times and lost loves. Then, Brendan insisted on showing him his wine cellar, which was truly a sight to behold. Rare and valuable plonk from all over the world, vintages that'd been thought to have been lost, all of which had been maturing for decades.

Grinning exultantly, Brendan spread his arms wide like a preacher welcoming his congregation. "Just look at it, John. Look at it. Bloody bottled sunshine."

"Bottled liver failure, more like," said Constantine.

Brendan clapped a hand to his forehead and struck a theatrical pose, as if he was about to fall into a swoon. "Forgive him, Lord, for he knows not what a Philistine he is."

Despite his show of mock-piety, it was clear that overindulgence in alcohol was the closest thing Brendan had to a religion. Constantine expected him to get started on the wine, but apparently it wasn't time for that yet. First, his old friend had something else in mind.

Beneath the wine cellar, there was a spring that, according to legend, had been blessed by Saint Patrick himself. Pure holy water. Next to it, Brendan had set up a magic circle – a fairly simple transmutation spell – which turned the water into the finest Irish stout.

"Jesus changed it into wine, but I've all the wine I could ever want. And we are in Ireland after all," said Brendan, filling two glasses with the stuff.

He handed one to Constantine, who took a sip, discovered it was the best he'd ever tasted, and kept drinking until he'd drained the glass to the last few drops.

One glass followed another. And another. Before long, they'd drunk seven or eight pints and were more than a little tipsy. They sat down on the floor, leaned back against the wall and continued to drink.

Constantine's tongue loosened enough that he felt able to confess the real reason for his visit. "And I thought you might… well, you might know a way to get out of it. I'm not all that keen on snuffing it, mate."

Brendan stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. "You… You want me to… You think I might know some spell or something? Cure cancer?"

"Uh-huh. That's it, all right," said Constantine, feeling slow and stupid. He couldn't drink like Brendan did and keep his wits about him.

So, he was surprised when his old friend burst out laughing. Surprised and indignant.

"What's so bloody funny?" he demanded to know. "I'm sodding dying!"

He struggled to his feet, gently swaying from side to side, and might even have thrown a punch if Brendan hadn't said something that made his anger ebb away like a wave breaking on the shore.

"Aw, John. Dear God, John," said Brendan, holding a hand over his face. "You want me to save you with magic, right? Cure your cancer? I was going to ask the same thing of you. I'm dying, mate. The liver's packin' up on me. Probably tonight."

After that, it seemed like there was nothing they could do but continue to drink. They were both dying and without hope, so why not spend what little time they had left with a dear friend, getting completely sozzled, enjoying each other's company and singing daft old songs?

It was nearly midnight by the time Brendan pulled himself together enough to say, "I'll… I'll have a wee sit down, John. Bit tired, y'know? You, uh, you can let yourself out, can't you? See you soon."

"Yes. See you soon," Constantine echoed him, wondering if it was true. What would happen to them after they died? Where would their souls end up?

He staggered back upstairs, knowing he'd lost another friend. He was exceedingly drunk and in need of a place to lie down, so he could rest. Even if he hadn't got what he'd hoped for, this visit had turned out for the best. He might never have had a chance to say goodbye to Brendan if he hadn't come this far.

Then, just as he was approaching the front door, he felt a shiver of apprehension and the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Even in his intoxicated state, he knew something was very wrong.

That smell. That brimstone smell…

A figure stood in the doorway. It looked like a man, dark-haired and smartly dressed, but Constantine knew it wasn't really a man: it was a demon from the depths of Hell.

If he could, he would have fled, but it was too late. Besides, the demon was blocking the exit.

"It isn't necessary that you invite me in, but it would be simple decorum," it said.

Constantine tried to speak, but his tongue was clumsy and kept fumbling for the right words: "What… what's... I mean, why're you–?"

"I am here to make you an offer, Mr. Constantine," said the demon, with a thin smile.

"Uh, that's…" He took a deep breath, shook his head and said, "Look, I may be drunk, but… I know nothing good comes from making deals with demons."

"Before you make a decision, I suggest you consider what I have to say. There are things you should know."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"I could have approached you anywhere. In your own home, for example. So, why do you think I have come here, to the home of your friend, Mr. Finn?"

The breath caught in Constantine's throat. His immediate thought was that the demon was threatening Brendan while he was weak, inebriated and on the verge of death. But he didn't say that, just in case it gave the demon any ideas. Instead, he put on a cynical sneer and said, "I s'pose you're going to make him an offer as well?"

"I don't need to. Several years ago, he offered to sell me his soul in exchange for the expertise and power he'd need to amass a collection of the finest drink ever tasted. I'm sure you will agree he did precisely that. A rather old-fashioned arrangement, but I found it amusing enough that I agreed to it."

Constantine felt his respect for Brendan go down several notches. It seemed like such a paltry thing he'd traded his immortal soul for. However, thinking back to a conversation they'd had earlier that evening, he remembered how depressed Brendan had been after Kit had left him. She had been the love of his life, even if he hadn't always treated her as well as he should have done, and after she'd left he'd tried to drown himself in a sea of alcohol. This could be construed as a roundabout way of committing suicide, although maybe he wasn't consciously aware that that was what he was trying to do. And his deal with this demon would ensure that he'd be punished even after death.

"I know your reputation. I'm sure you're already concocting a plan to save him. With that in mind, I should tell you that Mr. Finn insisted that I take his soul by midnight on the day he died. If I were to stay here, talking to you, until after midnight, I would be unable to take the payment I have rightfully earned. In which case, his soul will fly free to whatever afterlife will take him in."

"You mean he'd still end up in Hell."

"Potentially. But that would be down to him and the sins he has committed over the course of his life. Nothing to do with me."

"It's five to midnight," said Constantine, checking his watch. "If I can stall you for just a little while, you'll miss your chance to take Brendan's soul, is that right?"

"Indeed."

"Why would you tell me that? Just to taunt me?"

There was a short pause, after which the demon answered: "The current ruler of Hell, Lady Tanya, has a lot to say about business deals, supply and demand, and so on. No matter how much I despise her, she seems to know what she's talking about – and she'll spend hours delivering lectures to anyone who seems the slightest bit interested – so I have taken the opportunity to learn from her. Any knowledge is useful if I can gain an advantage from it."

"Her name is 'Tanya'?" asked Constantine, furrowing his brow.

"Like many of us, she wasn't always a demon. I myself was once an angel. They call me the 'First of the Fallen'. Even before Lucifer's foolish rebellion, I had already been cast down from Heaven and into Hell. I was its original ruler. Before long, I will reclaim my throne." He smiled as if savouring the victory that was yet to come. "That is why I want your help."

"I don't see why you'd need me. I'm just a man."

"False modesty ill becomes you. You are a skilled and powerful mage. I have need of one such as you. Although I have immense power of my own, I cannot use certain spells and rituals that were designed by mortals. One of those rituals was used to ensnare Dream of the Endless, one of the most powerful beings in all of creation, after which he was imprisoned for decades."

"I've heard about that," Constantine admitted. In fact, he'd met the newly-freed Dream of the Endless just a few months ago and helped him to retrieve his stolen pouch of dream sand, for which he'd been well-rewarded when the worst of his bad memories began to fade.

"I'm sure the ritual could be repurposed to ensnare other powerful beings such as Lady Tanya. And so, with your help, I will defeat and overthrow her before she has a chance to defend herself. By the time she realises that she's in any real danger, it will already be too late."

"Seems like I'd be doing all the work. What's in it for me?"

"In another minute or so, Mr. Finn's soul will be forever beyond my reach. I suspect I may already be too late; I would need to hurry downstairs to have any chance of catching him now. But I don't think I'll bother. He's your friend, isn't he? I assume you'd prefer it if I didn't take his soul, so I won't. I'll willingly relinquish my claim to it. Consider it a down payment for your services."

"I haven't agreed to anything yet, so it wouldn't be a down payment. But I appreciate your letting Brendan off the hook. Very generous of you."

"An incentive, then. Lady Tanya is enthusiastic about such things," said the First of the Fallen, with a grimace of distaste. "No matter how much I dislike her, I must admit she has been remarkably successful in persuading all sorts of people to make deals with her. Therefore, it makes sense that I should emulate her, at least to some extent."

"If I agree to do this job for you, how will you pay me?" asked Constantine, who couldn't believe he was even considering it. He knew making deals with demons was a bad idea; under normal circumstances, he'd have laughed in the demon's face and tried to kick him in the bollocks. He found it easy to be brave and defiant when someone else was being arrogant and threatening, thinking he'd back down. At various times he'd got himself into terrible trouble by standing up to people, monsters and ethereal beings who assumed they could just bully him into submission. On the other hand, he found it much more difficult to be rude and abusive to someone who was clearly making an effort to be polite and accommodating. Even if they happened to be one of the worst demons in Hell.

"You're dying of lung cancer and you're unable to heal yourself with magic. I'll use my demonic powers to heal you if you'll perform the ritual that will trap Lady Tanya. A fair exchange, don't you think?"

It occurred to Constantine to wonder if he could trust anything the First of the Fallen said. For one thing, he only had the demon's word for it that Brendan's soul was now free or that he'd ever sold it in the first place. Also, how did he know that 'demonic powers' would be able to heal him if magic could not?

"I don't suppose I could get an advance on that?" he asked. "Just enough so there's no chance that I'll keel over and die while I'm in the middle of setting up the ritual for you, yeah?"

"I suppose that could be arranged," said the demon, after a moment's thought. "So long as you're willing to accept the deal. What do you say?"

Constantine was sure he was making a dreadful mistake, but he nodded anyway. What else was he going to do? Just give up and die?

"Yeah. Sounds good to me," he said. "You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours."

"I'm pleased to hear it. Shall we sit down somewhere and discuss it in more detail?"

"Why not? And while we do so…" Constantine had already drunk a lot that evening, but all this talking and dealmaking was thirsty work. "Downstairs, Brendan assembled the world's finest collection of booze. Wherever he's gone, it's no good to him now. What do you say we open a bottle and have a drink while we get down to business? A toast to his memory, shall we say?"

"If it makes you feel better, then yes."

"But don't drink the stout," Constantine advised him. "Brendan made it from holy water, so I suspect you wouldn't like it."

"To say the least," said the First of the Fallen, looking faintly uneasy. "Thank you for telling me."

***

True to his word, the demon healed Constantine just enough that he was no longer coughing up bloody chunks of flesh and black sludge. Perhaps if he submitted himself for chemotherapy immediately, he might have a chance to survive. But the First of the Fallen would probably see that as an attempt to wriggle out of their deal, so he decided not to risk it.

When the demon explained what he had to do to uphold his end of the bargain, he was surprised to hear the name 'Fawney Rig', which he knew was a stately home that had once belonged to his distant ancestor, the Lady Johanna Constantine. Of course, that had been centuries ago. Since then, it had passed through many different hands; most recently, it had been purchased by the famous occultist, Roderick Burgess, who had turned it into the headquarters of his secret society, the Order of Ancient Mysteries. Although they were generally regarded as charlatans whose 'magic' was a scam they used to trick gullible people into giving them money, they had in fact managed to capture Dream of the Endless, rob him of the mystical artefacts that were his symbols of office, and keep him locked in a cellar for many years. During that time, the Order had fallen apart, various members had stolen its treasures before fleeing overseas, and Roderick Burgess had died. His son, Alex Burgess, had taken over, turned away from black magic and instead dedicated the organization to New Age claptrap. And then, just a few months ago, Dream had escaped from his underground prison and taken revenge by putting Alex in a permanent coma.

Or so Constantine surmised, examining all the available evidence, rumours and conjecture, when he was planning how he was going to break into Fawney Rig. It shouldn't be too difficult; there was a caretaker who went in twice a week, but other than that it had been more-or-less abandoned.

In fact, it was almost suspiciously easy to sneak into the manor house and find the cellar where Dream had been held captive for so long. There was an arcane circle and a crystal dome inside which he'd been rendered helpless, and there were chairs where security guards had sat and watched to make sure he didn't escape. Examining these objects, with a sinking heart, Constantine realised the enormity of the task ahead of him.

The First of the Fallen had given him a copy of the Magdalene Grimoire, the book that had been an essential component of the ritual which Roderick Burgess and his acolytes had used to trap Dream of the Endless. As he read through it, Constantine was increasingly convinced that their success had been an accident. They got lucky. In more ways than one: if they'd succeeded in what they'd been trying to do, which was to capture Dream's sister, Death, the consequences could have been disastrous. Not just for them, but for the entire world. Multiple worlds, probably.

Although he'd been told that the ritual could easily be repurposed to trapped Lady Tanya in the same way that it had trapped Dream of the Endless, Constantine quickly realised that it wouldn't work the way his demonic ally seemed to think it would. For one thing, the ritual shouldn't have any effect on anyone who wasn't one of the Endless. Even if he succeeded in summoning Lady Tanya, the arcane circle would be no obstacle to her; she'd escape as soon as she took a step forward. It made him wonder if the First of the Fallen really understood anything about ritual magic or what it could be used for. It didn't seem likely. Demons could use their powers as easily as breathing, so why would he ever have cause to learn about the particular branches of magic that were accessible to mortals? He seemed to expect that Constantine could do impossible things. And no doubt he'd be murderously angry if it turned out he couldn't.

Constantine knew what he was doing was wrong, but there was no way out of it. Over the course of his life, he'd done plenty of stupid and selfish things, but this was the first time he'd willingly been the willing accomplice to such an ancient and malevolent being. He was ashamed of his own weakness, but he just wanted to live. The First of the Fallen had promised to heal him, give him a new and healthy set of lungs, in exchange for doing this little job for him. No doubt he'd keep asking Constantine to do him various favours, now that he'd got his hooks into him, but that was a problem for later. For now, he was focused on staying alive, even though he knew he'd pay for it in the end, in the afterlife if not on Earth. He'd do what he had to do and not think too hard about the morality of his actions. Anyway, what did it matter to him who was the ruler of Hell? One demon was just as bad as another.

After much thought, a cup of tea in a local café and some calculations scrawled on the back of a napkin, he figured that it was just about possible for him to cobble together his own ritual that would target Lady Tanya and cage her in an inescapable prison. But it would take time. More time than he had left, probably. And even then, it was unlikely to work. She'd need to be severely weakened, first.

***

In one of the larger conference rooms, Tanya was in a meeting with two of Being X's representatives: the angels Remiel and Duma. She greeted them with exquisite politeness and feigned interest in what they had to say. By her side, she had the demons Hastur and Ligur, whom she had found to be reliable if unimaginative employees. They would have let her do all the talking if she hadn't prompted them to speak and offer their opinions from time to time.

On the other side, Remiel did all the talking. Contrary to Tanya's expectations, he seemed nice enough: well-meaning, passionate and fervently convinced of the rightness of what he was saying. Occasionally, he looked to Duma for support, seeming to draw strength from his presence. However, Duma never spoke. In fact, he seemed incapable of speech. Tanya was aware that his disability didn't need to be a problem; for all she knew, he was a valued employee with an abundance of knowledge and useful skills, but she felt indignant on his behalf that he hadn't been provided with some kind of text-to-speech device. Or a chalkboard, if he'd prefer a low-tech solution. Or did he use sign language? Over many lifetimes, she'd learned multiple different sign languages, but she didn't know if she had any in common with Duma. And anyway, she was so out of practice that she could easily make a fool of herself by accident, which she would prefer to avoid.

"Is there anything I can do to help you take part in this discussion?" she asked, addressing him directly. "Your contributions would be most welcome."

Duma gave a small shrug.

"He's fine," said Remiel. "But thank you for your concern."

"If you say so." Tanya began to wonder if Duma's silence was a deliberate ploy, intended to intimidate or discomfort her.

"We have come here with a proposal for you," said Remiel, with an enthusiastic smile. "For too long, people have been sent to Hell whose sins were relatively minor compared to others. Why should a virtuous non-Christian be punished just the same as if they were a rapist or a murderer? I know you have railed against this, seeing it as unjust, so I am sure you will seize upon this opportunity to rectify it."

"So, you admit Being X made a mistake," said Tanya, in a sickly-sweet voice.

"I… I have no idea what you mean by that." He shook his head and then decided to press on as if she hadn't said anything: "After a certain period of time, which will be determined by the number and severity of their sins, people who've been sent to Hell will be given a chance to move on to Purgatory and eventually to Heaven. Provided that they are truly repentant and they acknowledge God as their Lord and Saviour, of course."

"Why would you want that?"

Remiel looked at her with an expression of gormless confusion. "I'm sorry?"

Sooner or later, Tanya would probably allow herself to be persuaded, in exchange for a few concessions, but first she had a few points to make: "No matter what I might wish, the true purpose of Hell has never been justice. It is unfair because it isn't supposed to be fair. Instead, it is a weapon of faith, which Being X and his worshippers use to intimidate pagans and heretics and anyone else who doesn't follow the 'one true religion'. The words written on the gate might as well be, 'Do what I say or else.' And yet you want to change that. I admire your boldness, but I wonder how you will be chastised for it."

"God is merciful and all-loving!" Remiel insisted.

"Yes, tell that to everyone who has been punished for thousands of years just because of the circumstances in which they were born and raised. Hell is a tool used to terrorize people into submission. But if you change it so it is no longer an eternal punishment, you'll take away much of its capacity to frighten. If sinners know that all they have to do is wait and then recite a few platitudes about how Being X is the greatest, why shouldn't they continue to sin and sin some more?" She paused for a moment, hummed softly to herself and said, "I don't think you've thought this through properly."

"You're just like all the other demons! You don't care about the people who don't deserve to be here in Hell, not really!" cried Remiel, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You only care about yourself!"

"I'm not sure how you reached that conclusion," said Tanya. "And I–"

There was an explosion of fire and light. She raised her shields just in time. Even so, they were nearly overwhelmed. Intense heat washed over her, scorching her uniform. The conference room and its surroundings were reduced to rubble.

In the next moment, shaking off the dust and debris, she leapt to her feet and glanced around, taking stock of the situation. Ligur was dead, reduced to mere fragments. What was left of him resembled a handful of mashed slugs. He must have been standing closest to the bomb when it went off.

She was relieved to see that both of the angels were alive and only mildly scraped and singed. If they'd died, it could have turned the ongoing squabbles between Heaven and Hell into a full-scale war, which had probably been the intention of whoever had placed the bomb under the table. She would have to make sure that Remiel and Duma were kept safe and escorted out of Hell as soon as possible.

"They killed Ligur. Those bastards," said Hastur, who was smeared with soot and seemed to be in shock. "Those complete and utter bastards. He hadn't never done anything to them!"

Of course, some deaths were less permanent than others. Tanya had heard of demons who'd died horribly and messily, but eventually managed to recover and carry on as before. She didn't bother to ask if that would happen to Ligur; she suspected Hastur wouldn't appreciate it.

"Get ready to fight," she told him. "We'll need to punish the ones who did this."

With a visible effort, he managed to pull himself together. "Yes, my lady," he said, clenching his fists. "Right away."

"Oh, you're going to punish uzz, are you?" said a droning, buzzing voice. As well as smoke and sulfur, the air was filled with the stench of rotting meat. Out of the shadows came a long-legged androgynous figure in a veil of winged insects. Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies. "And how do you intend to do that?"

Tanya hurled a blast of energy that forced them to hastily duck behind cover. "Like that," she said.

"You're going to miss us entirely?" said a swirling, shadowy creature with a multitude of eyes and mouths. "Not much of a threat."

"Azazel," said Hastur, snarling at him. "After I've torn you apart, your fate will be whispered in dark places by mothers to frighten their young." Then, as if he felt that the language of Hell was insufficient to convey the intensity of his rage, he added, "You're going to get taken to the bloody cleaners, pal."

"That's better," said Azazel, with a thousand fanged smirks.

"We are united against you," said a relatively ordinary-looking man dressed in a formal business suit. Tanya recognized him as the First of the Fallen. "Do you imagine that you can defeat all of us?"

A savage grin spread over Tanya's face. All around her, the ruined office building began to shift and change. She was high up in the air, looking down over the trenches and the fields where tens of thousands of men had been told to walk, not run, towards the waiting machine guns. She could smell filthy mud and blood and cordite. She heard distant explosions, the pounding of artillery fire and the screams of the dying. She felt the ever-present chill, the wind and bullets whipping past her. She was home at last.

"Let's find out," she said.

Chapter Text

Hastur had not always been a demon. Once, he had been a god of shepherds and herdsmen, the benevolent father of a humble pastoral folk, who had prayed to him to watch over their flocks and keep them safe from predators. Until the worshippers of the one true God came along, invaded their lands and killed or enslaved them. After that, in their minds, Hastur had become a demon. But that was long ago, on a distant world, and he could barely remember it. All he remembered, with a certain amount of pride, was that he had once been a god. A little god, barely more than a household spirit, but a god nonetheless.

It was difficult for him to believe that Lady Tanya had ever been mortal. She shone like the sun. A new Lightbringer. Surely she must once have been a goddess, something greater than he ever was? She moved like summer lightning, without a sound, faster than the eye could see, blazing a jagged crisscross pattern across the sky. He caught a glimpse of her gleeful, laughing face, not even for a moment, as everything around her erupted into flame. Wherever she was, Beelzebub's swarms of flies died in their thousands, reduced to a few specks of ash.

The First of the Fallen had become a giant with skin that gleamed like polished gemstones. Six wings sprouted from his back and seemed to extend far beyond the horizon. At the same time, superimposed over his more conventional appearance, he could be seen as something far more eldritch: four interlocking chariot wheels made of pale flesh, with dozens of eyes and hands growing out of them, which seemed to pass through each other as if they had no real substance. Either way, he seemed slow and brutish compared to Tanya. He roared in frustration at his inability to catch her.

Meanwhile, Hastur hurled himself at Azazel, who was comprised of tendrils of darkness and a seemingly endless void, in which distant stars could be seen. If he had let his foe grab hold of him, he would have been dragged into in an alternate dimension from which there could be no escape. However, he had grown too huge and horrible to be so easily contained: a mass of filth and slime and wriggling grey maggots, biting and burrowing and screaming in fury, reproducing wildly as they went. An unending tide of bodies spread out across Azazel's cosmos, tearing it apart as they went.

He was made of rage and pain. He had forgotten how to walk and speak. Killing Azazel was the only thing that mattered to him.

***

"H-how are you doing this?" asked the First of the Fallen, after yet another fiery eruption that flayed the flesh from his bones and chariot wheels.

Pausing for a moment, as if she feared nothing they could throw at her, Tanya surveyed the battlefield. The First of the Fallen had been reduced to burnt and bloody ruins. Beelzebub was already gone: dead or fled. Hastur and Azazel were grappling with each other, seemingly evenly matched, neither of them able to gain a decisive advantage.

"There is a reason why Lucifer chose me to replace him: none of you are worthy even to lick my boots clean," she said. It was a clichéd insult, she had to admit, but she couldn't be bothered to think of anything better. And anyway, why would she waste an original thought on these traitorous cretins?

With that, their nerve broke. Or else they realised that discretion was the better part of valour. They vanished from sight, teleported away to whatever fortress or bolthole they thought would keep them safe from her. Azazel was forced to leave behind a sizeable chunk of himself, which dissipated like fog, before he could escape Hastur's grasp.

In a berserk fury, heedless of the fact that the battle was over, Hastur continued to mindlessly lash out at everything around him, reducing the nearby piles of rubble to a fine reddish dust.

"Rest, soldier," said Tanya, more than once, trying to restore his calm and sanity. "The battle is over. We need to get ready for the next."

Slowly, gradually, screaming in agony, the mound of grey maggots fused together into a vaguely humanoid shape. Then, as Hastur's face became recognizable, he said, "Did… did I get him?"

"Azazel? He was grievously hurt. You forced him to flee."

"Wish I'd finished him off for good. But I suppose that would have been too much to hope for." Hastur sagged with exhaustion. "What's next?"

From her high vantage point, Tanya saw armies marching in the distance. Legions of demons. A seething tide of claws, fangs and serrated blades. Her enemies' plan was obvious: if they couldn't defeat her in an unfair fight, just the three of them against her and Hastur, they would overwhelm her with sheer weight of numbers.

"We need to gather our forces. Prepare our defences. Get ready to counterattack," said Tanya. "You know, the usual."

"Seen it all before, huh?" He grinned. "I suppose that's how you came to be such a terror on the battlefield, my lady."

She gave a barely perceptible nod. "Indeed."

***

"What have we to discuss? Well, what about you, brother? Tell me… how's your love life?" asked Desire. "Killed any girlfriends recently? Or sentenced any more of them to Hell?"

At the time, Dream had raged and protested, railing against this effrontery. But then, when he'd stormed out of the room…

"Desire was right," said Death.

Those words were etched into Dream's mind. He felt grievously hurt – if his sister had taken out a dagger and stabbed him with it, the pain couldn't have been any worse – and he wanted to feel betrayed, but on some level, deep down, he knew that he deserved it. For what he'd done, he deserved to be punished. Even if he'd been unwilling to admit it before, he knew what he'd done to Nada was unforgivable. It was too late to make amends, but… he'd do what little he could.

And that was why he was returning to Hell.

Lady Tanya had warned him that it might be a warzone the next time he came to visit, so he wasn't surprised to see that she had been correct. Having gone through the main gate, resplendent in his robes and helm of office, he emerged into a scene of utter devastation: a barren wasteland, scarred and cratered as if by constant bombardment, with the crumbling skeletons of ruined buildings scattered here and there, and roving packs of demons squabbling and fighting and attempting to ambush each other. Dream had no way of knowing who was on whose side or if there was any underlying logic to their actions.

There was no sign of any of the mortal souls who were Hell's unfortunate prisoners. Where could they have gone? Had they been utterly destroyed, as if they'd never existed?

Fear and despair welled up inside him. Nada…

Before he could scream in fury and dismay, before he could think of how he'd exact retribution, he was astonished when Lady Tanya appeared before him. She'd exchanged her business suit for a dark green uniform with a red lining and brass epaulettes. Just above her breast pocket, there was a silver medal in the shape of a heraldic cross, which was remarkably similar to a pectoral cross he'd seen worn by a Christian pilgrim, with a stylised eagle spread over the top of it. Considering her vehemently misotheistic views, Dream was surprised that she would wear such a thing.

He opened his mouth to speak to her, but then she glanced to one side and threw a fireball that vaporized a nearby pack of demons. Then, with a satisfied smirk, she turned to him and said, with apparent sincerity, "What a pleasure it is to see you again, Dream of the Endless. I assume you're here to see Nada again?"

"Yes. I've come to the conclusion that I… What I did to her was wrong and unjust."

Tanya's smirk widened into a grin that showed too many teeth. It was clear from her body language, which quivered with exhilaration, that she was about to start gloating, so Dream gloomily resolved to endure it as he must. But then, she sighed, gave her head a little shake, and said, "I'm delighted to hear it. As promised, I've kept her safe for you."

"Where is she?" Dream demanded to know.

"Back at headquarters. Follow me," said Tanya.

In no time at all, they flew over hundreds of miles of trenches, gun emplacements, rivers of blood, columns of fire, and the heaped bodies of demons who'd been mowed down by the hundred. Lost in brooding introspection, Dream barely noticed any of it. When Tanya led him into an underground bunker, he seemed to awaken as if from a doze.

"Nada is here?" he asked. "What happened to all the other mortal souls that were imprisoned in Hell?"

"I've divided Hell into two halves," she said, as if it was hardly worth mentioning. Presumably, she'd been able to accomplish such a monumental task because she had the Key to Hell in her possession. "In one half, which you have seen, I am having to fight off a rebellion. In the other, which is a flat, featureless plain, where all of our condemned prisoners are currently milling about in confusion."

"Are they safe?" Dream wanted to know. "What if some of your enemies find a way to reach it?"

"Even if they're not perfectly safe, they're much safer than they would otherwise be. And I don't see why any of my enemies would bother. Whatever happens to those souls will be decided by the victor of our conflict, so why would they risk the possibility of them being lost or irreparably broken before they've had a chance to enjoy the spoils of their victory?"

"I hope you're right."

Dream was thoughtful as he followed Hell's current ruler – but for how much longer? – down a series of poorly-lit corridors, where they passed by multiple groups of demons who seemed bizarrely mismatched: some were squat and ugly, some of them bristled with horns and spikes, some appeared to have been fashioned out of bone or slime or gristle, and there were a few tall and elegant succubi. All of them saluted Tanya when they saw her.

"Too few," said Tanya, with a rueful chuckle. "Hell's oldest and most powerful demons are leagued against me, so I am left with the desperate, the foolishly ambitious, and those with scores to settle. Still, I've faced worse odds before. And I haven't lost yet."

"How did this happen? How did you come to be so outnumbered?"

"It's my own fault. I didn't understand Hell's economy as well as I should have before I became its ruler. Too set in my ways, I guess. Proof, if any were needed, that age is no guarantee of wisdom."

Dream was bemused by her words. "Hell has an economy?"

"That's more or less what I thought. Hell's denizens have no need to eat or drink, they have little need of rest, and they don't seem to derive pleasure from anything other than senseless acts of cruelty. They don't produce anything and the only reason for them to buy or sell goods or services is because it amuses them. At least, that was my initial assessment. I didn't fully comprehend that mortal souls are the closest thing Hell has to a currency. High-ranking demons collect them as a way of showing off their power and status. They gamble with them or gift them to their favoured servants. Occasionally, they torture them, as an idle pastime, but for most of the time they are content to hoard them, like the treasures in a bank vault. So, when they heard me ranting about justice and fair treatment and how innocent souls shouldn't be punished – and so on – they were terrified I was going to take their wealth away from them."

"Which is why they rebelled against you."

"They have many reasons to rebel against me. Their leaders are Azazel, Beelzebub and the First of the Fallen, who all covet my throne and want to be the next ruler of Hell. If they succeeded in defeating me, they would immediately turn on each other and fight until only one of them remained. But there are many others whose main reason for joining their side is because they've amassed a sizeable collection of mortal souls and are desperate to keep hold of them. Triskele the Wyrm Queen, for example. And Buer…" She paused, considering for a moment. "Actually, if I'd found out about Buer's collection of murdered children, I would most certainly have taken them off him and punished him for what he's done. He is correct to be afraid of me."

"How is it that you didn't know about it?" asked Dream, by way of making conversation rather than because he was interested in the answer.

"I'm not all-seeing or all-knowing. There are plenty of things that happen in Hell that I am unaware of. It has its own thriving criminal underworld." She looked grimly amused at that, for a moment. "If I win this war, there are many changes I'll have to make…"

They came at last to what looked like a mess hall, which was empty except for an emaciated and hollow-eyed black woman, dressed in an ill-fitting khaki uniform, who was sitting at a table and eating what looked like emergency rations, slowly and without enthusiasm. Of course, Dream recognized Nada immediately.

Standing by the door and indicating for him to go in, Tanya gave him what was presumably meant to be an encouraging smile. What else could he do but step forth?

"Hello, Nada," he said, as he approached.

"Kai'ckul. Dreamlord… Hello," she said, not looking up.

"Lady Tanya has been a gracious host, I trust."

"I never expected to be treated with such kindness, here in Hell."

The ensuing pause and silence was filled only by the aching sorrow that washed over him like a flood, threatening to drag him down and overwhelm him. And then, when he gathered enough strength to speak, Nada tried to say something at the same time and they ended up interrupting each other.

"I can see you both have much to talk about," said Tanya. "I'll leave you to it, shall I?"

"Please stay," said Nada, giving her an imploring glance. "I haven't thanked you yet."

"You have now," Tanya pointed out. "But… all right, if you insist."

Blinking back tears, Nada looked up at Dream and said, "First, Kai'ckul, I think you have something to say to me."

"I… I think that… ten thousand years ago, when I condemned you to Hell… I think I might have acted wrongly. I think perhaps I should apologize. I should tell you that I am sorry."

"You think? Perhaps you'll apologize?" Nada glowered at him. "Do you expect me to accept that? You'll give me a half-hearted apology and expect that to make everything better?" She pushed aside her half-eaten meal and stood up, as if readying herself for a physical confrontation, even though she was more than a head shorter than him. "I've been in Hell for ten thousand years. For most of that time, I was trapped in a tiny oubliette, scarcely able to stand. I burned by day and froze by night. Glass shards cut my flesh. I starved and hurt and wept and waited. All that because of you. And you only 'think perhaps' you should apologize. You… You make me sick!"

Her hand moved. Though he was clothed in metaphor and his body was wholly unreal, Dream nevertheless felt something. She had slapped him.

"You hit me, Nada. You struck me," he said, in a tone of bewilderment. "No one may strike me. I should… I… I ought to…"

"Yes? What more can you do to me, Dreamlord?" she asked. "I'm already in Hell."

"And while I am ruler here, she will not be harmed," said Tanya, in a tone of steely resolve.

"Why do you care? Why does any of this matter to you?" asked Dream, rounding on her, glad to have a new target for his ire.

"I don't. None of this matters. I am motivated purely by self-interest."

Nada gave an unladylike snort of amusement at such an obvious lie. "How so?"

"It's a mutually beneficial exchange," said Tanya. It sounded like an automatic response, something she'd said without thinking.

With a furrowed brow, Nada asked, "Do you expect me to repay you somehow?"

"There's no need for that. You see, I… I want to be the moral victor of my ongoing feud with Being X. I want to prove that I don't deserve to be in Hell – I didn't deserve any of the things that he's done to me over the past several thousand years – even if no one else cares and it's only in my mind. And so, I will be a champion of innocent souls such as yourself. I will fight for justice and mercy and other virtues that Being X merely pretends to have. I'll show everyone that I'm better than him. Even if it's only for a little while before he crushes me into dust."

Nada looked sceptical. "And that's the only reason why you've been so kind to me?"

"Yes. I don't really care about you or anyone else. I'm exceedingly selfish. There was a time when I pretended to be loyal and patriotic and… Really, I was telling them what I thought they wanted to hear. I would have said anything in the hope of being given better rations, a cushy rear echelon posting, or just the chance to survive for a few minutes longer. I told them dozens of lies and they believed everything I said, lapped it all up and came back for more. Since then, I've learnt that I might as well tell the truth. It seems to work just as well. Even better, possibly."

"Of course," said Nada. It was as if her anger had drained away and been replaced by teasing fondness, as if she were humouring a small child.

"I could tell you anything and you wouldn't believe me. I'm manipulating you right now. I'm a monster. You should despise me."

"You're fooling no one but yourself," said Nada, strolling over to her, giving her a tight hug and kissing her on the cheek. "Thank you for everything you have done for me."

Looking panicked, as if she'd been tied to a railroad track and had just seen an oncoming train, Tanya muttered, "Yes, well… I think I've made my point."

"You shame me, Lady Tanya. If you're a monster, what does that make me?" asked Dream.

With an expression of mute appeal, Nada turned to him and waited to hear what he would say next.

Taking a deep breath – which, considering that he didn't actually need to breathe, was no more than a theatrical gesture – he said, "I am sorry, Nada. You are right. What I did was foolish, heartless and unfair. You hurt my pride and I hurt you. I was wrong. There is nothing else I can say."

Silence followed. After much thought, Nada released Tanya from her embrace, walked up to Dream and kissed him on the lips. Briefly, but sweetly. She had loved him once.

"Very well, I accept your apology," she said.

"If you wish, Nada… you could come back with me to the Dreaming and be my queen," he said.

"I said no to that offer ten thousand years back, Dream. I have not changed my mind."

Then, she suggested that he could give up his responsibilities, give up his position as one of the Endless, and start a new life with her. He refused, just as he had done once before. Sometime during this exchange, Tanya managed to sneak away unnoticed.

Finally, Dream came to a decision: "Well, old love. If you will not stay with me – and I, obviously, will not go with you – then perhaps it is time for us to discuss your future."

He took her by the hand and led her away from Hell. Nothing barred their way.

***

"By Lady Tanya's side, I can always be sure of a good fight!" Etrigan cried, brandishing a sword dripping with demonic ichor. "Fear my might!"

His father, whose name was Belial, an archduke of Hell who had sided with the Triumvirate in their rebellion against Tanya, who looked like an enormous yellow-skinned demon with impractically large horns jutting from his forehead, glowered at him. "You're a blithering idiot, Etrigan. Join us or die!"

"Belial, I've fought you before. It's time for you to even the score. Draw your sword and let's make a start. Don't make me bored or I'll rip out your heart. Again."

"Why are you still rhyming?" Belial demanded to know. "Do you think so little of your foes that you can waste time and energy thinking up silly little poems instead of fighting?"

"Yes. They were worthless," said Etrigan, indicating the dozens of demons he'd already slaughtered. "And you are an old and cowardly fool. I'll not stand here and watch you drool. Time to end your mad revolt. Come at me, you snivelling dolt!"

"You dare!" bellowed Belial, charging at him. "I'll pound you to mush!"

His son was smaller than him, but much more nimble, easily able to dodge or duck underneath his frenzied blows.

"Already, you know how this ends: I'll cut off your head and show all your friends."

"Oaf! I should have let your mother devour you!"

Their duel continued for some time after that, until Belial began to tire. However, before Etrigan could carry out his threat, he was mobbed by several of his father's lackeys, who delayed him for long enough that the 'old and cowardly fool' managed to escape.

***

"I don't see why I should get involved," said Crowley, aiming a spray bottle at an unusually lush and leafy houseplant, which almost seemed to whimper as he approached. "Why should I care who rules over Hell?"

"Listen, you contemptible worm!" Hastur snarled, shaking a threatening fist at his colleague. "Lady Tanya likes you. No idea why, but you're one of her favourites. She gave you a promotion, showers you with praise and wants to make you a member of the nobility. What do you think will happen if she's defeated and her enemies take over? What do you think they'll do to you?" He leaned closer and whispered into Crowley's ear. "How do you think they'll make an example of you? Slice you into tiny pieces, all of them screaming in pain but unable to die? That's an old favourite, you know."

It was as if Crowley had become a statue: completely still and staring into space. After several moments, he moistened his lips and said, "Well, they'll do worse to you, won't they? You've been fighting on Tanya's side since the start."

"I'll fight on until the end. Win or die," Hastur insisted. "It seems to me you've got three choices. You could stay here and be punished by whoever eventually wins. You could join the rebels and they'll relish the fact that you've betrayed Lady Tanya, but I doubt they'll reward you for it. Or you could come with me and fight by Tanya's side. She'll be delighted. She may even give you another promotion. You'll be an archduke of Hell before the end of the week."

"You make it sound so enticing," said Crowley, with obvious sarcasm.

"It's up to you. Maybe they're not good choices, but you've got to pick one."

Crowley glanced at the door and Hastur knew he was thinking of running away. Maybe fleeing to another galaxy. But he must have thought better of it. With a heavy sigh, he said, "Okay, you've convinced me. I'll come with you. Fighting for Tanya seems like the least bad option."

"That's the spirit," said Hastur, clapping him on the back.

"I only hope I won't regret it."

"You won't. We may be outnumbered, but Lady Tanya is… terrifying. Awe-inspiring. The kind of leader I'd follow all the way to Heaven and back."

"Huh." Crowley gave him a sidelong glance. "I've never known you to be this enthusiastic about anything."

"Trust me, when you see her in action, you'll feel the same way."

There was no attempt to argue. If Crowley had any more objections, he didn't give voice to them. Still, it was possible he was planning a last-minute escape attempt, so when Hastur opened a portal to Hell he made sure to say, "After you," and usher him through it.

***

"I'm not afraid, my love. Isn't that strange? I thought I'd be afraid and I'm not," said Nada. "What do I do?"

"Just take my hand," said Dream.

Her fingers brushed against his, but they were already becoming wispy and insubstantial. As she faded from sight, she murmured, "Will you remember me, do you think?"

"I will always care for you, Nada."

"But will I know that, Kai'ckul Dreamlord? Will I still remember that you care?"

"No. But I shall know, Nada. I shall know," he told her. But it was too late. She was already gone.

He looked down over a delivery unit in Hong Kong. Nurses bustled about their duties, brisk and efficient, helping a midwife who was helping a young woman to give birth. She groaned and strained, but it was an easier birth than some. Or so Dream would have thought, if he'd been paying attention. But he wasn't. He only had eyes for the newborn baby, when at last she appeared. A normal, healthy child, like any other.

Nada had been reborn. Her soul had found a new home. A new life. She wouldn't remember anything that had come before.

"I will not forget you, Nada. Live a good life," said Dream. "You will always be welcome in the Dreaming, whatsoever body you wear. Farewell."

A new day was dawning. It was time to move on.

Chapter Text

The war room. Plain concrete walls, stiff chairs, maps spread out over several tables, a few curiously detailed figurines used to represent entire armies, and the occasional shower of plaster dust from a ceiling rocked by distant artillery fire. Tanya had been in many rooms just like this one. It was almost comfortingly familiar. No matter how many centuries passed, some things never seemed to change.

Around the room, there were many of her advisors and high-ranking subordinates: her best fighters and the leaders of her armies. But not all of them. She knew better than to provide an easy target for a decapitation strike.

Currently, Ran Va Daath was leading an army tasked with causing as much chaos and confusion to the enemy as possible. She was the Serpent Queen, savage and bestial, who happened to be Etrigan's mother. In exchange for her aid, Tanya had agreed to recognize her territory and then leave her alone, provided that she didn't torment any poor souls who didn't deserve it. Their alliance was a tentative one. Instead of giving orders that might not be obeyed, Tanya had found it prudent to point her in a particular direction and encourage her to do what came naturally. It had worked out fairly well so far. Ran Va Daath was a blunt instrument, but such things had their uses.

Tanya's largest army, led by General Hastur, was playing a more defensive role. Hastur was fanatically loyal and could be trusted to carry out her orders without question, which meant that she had come to rely on him a great deal. So far, he and the forces under his command had repelled a few probing attacks. The Triumvirate wouldn't commit to an all-out assault until they'd found a weakness they could exploit – and they seemed content to wait until a weakness presented itself to them – so Tanya had plenty of time to refine her own overall strategy, which she hoped would win her the war.

As she glanced around the room, she saw Chantinelle the succubus, who commanded a squadron of flying demons. She was was in conversation with some of the other succubi, discussing recent combat losses and what reorganization would need to take place. Her mother, Triskele the Wyrm Queen, had sided with the Triumvirate, so Tanya wasn't entirely sure she could trust her. Still it wasn't as if she'd had many other options; most demons were ambitious, conniving and deceitful, to the extent that it was difficult to find one that wasn't, so there were barely a handful she felt she could trust without reservation.

Rumour had it that one of Chantinelle's previous plans to advance herself in Hell's hierarchy had backfired, resulting in her disgrace. Apparently, she had attempted to seduce an angel and it hadn't gone well. Exactly how and why it hadn't gone well, Tanya didn't know; there were several different and mutually contradictory reports of what had happened and she wasn't curious enough to ask Chantinelle for the truth.

As Tanya passed by, the succubi saluted her one by one. She saluted them in return.

Chantinelle was one of the last to salute and didn't seem pleased to do so. Perhaps because of what she'd been through, she was different from the other succubi Tanya had met: like the rest, she was beautiful, but her beauty was harsh and unyielding. Unlike her sisters, who wore seductive smiles and come-hither glances until they'd thoroughly ensnared their prey, she was stern and no-nonsense, with an impatience she didn't bother to hide.

"Don't let me interrupt you," said Tanya, moving on.

Next, she saw Etrigan, which came as something of a surprise: he was a skilled warrior who exulted in battle and could usually be found where the fighting was fiercest, so she'd assumed he'd be with his mother's raiders.

Advancing towards him, she asked, "You're not injured, are you?"

"You've got a plan," he said, with a fanged grin. "And I'm your biggest fan. Whatever you're going to do, I want to go with you."

"If you've got something important to say, don't waste time trying to rhyme." She paused and uttered a frustrated sigh. "And now you've got me doing it."

"A display of wit. Good fun, isn't it?"

"Very well, you may accompany me on my next excursion," said Tanya. She wasn't sure why he'd assume he had a plan ready-made, but knew better than to contradict him. It was preferable that he should believe she was infallible. "You may even survive the experience."

"How generous, your Highness," he replied, still grinning.

Although he was exceedingly strong, a potent spellcaster and tough enough to survive leading from the front, she wasn't impressed by his leadership skills. In battle, he led by example, seeking out and vanquishing the most fearsome opponents, but otherwise he treated the forces under his command as if they were an audience whose job was to marvel at his accomplishments. Occasionally, he would tell them to 'charge' or 'stand fast' – or something else they were already in the process of doing – but more often he would leave them to their own devices. It would be better if she kept him close to her, she decided, where she could throw him into combat against some of her most dangerous foes and he could enjoy himself without needing to think about what anyone else was doing.

She'd heard that Etrigan had once been the ruler of Hell, but only for a day. The demon who'd relayed this to Tanya seemed to think that the most unbelievable part of the story was that he'd managed to persuade Lucifer himself to surrender without a fight. However, Tanya disagreed: she suspected just about anyone could have persuaded Lucifer to surrender if he thought it would give him even a moment's reprieve from his immortal ennui. Still, the story had confirmed to her that Etrigan was one of Hell's most formidable demons: monstrously powerful, cunning and treacherous, with a keen eye for opportunities he could take advantage of, despite the weaknesses that had resulted in his being deposed almost immediately. She was glad he was on her side, though she wondered for how long that would be the case.

As she moved on, it irritated her to see lesser demons scurrying about the place catering to the whims of Agares, Paimon and Vassago, three dukes of Hell who seemed to think that siding with her would be more fun than the alternative. Mindful of the potential security issues they could cause – because any of their lackeys could turn out to be a spy – Tanya wanted to banish them from the room, along with their overlarge entourage, which consisted of servants, flunkies and assorted hangers-on. However, the three dukes were her most influential backers, without whom she wouldn't have much of an army, so she was wary of offending them. Despite the fact that they had no interest in military matters, leading troops into battle or making themselves useful in any way whatsoever, she tolerated them because they'd placed their armies at her disposal; there were thousands of demons loyal to them who would fight for her at their behest.

They reminded her of Lucifer, the former ruler of Hell who'd chosen her to be his successor. Like him, they were bored immortals who spent their time trying to amuse themselves as best they could. She suspected they too had once been fallen angels, but there was little evidence of that now.

Agares looked like a withered old man, Vassago was pretending to be a distinguished gentleman in old-fashioned finery, and Paimon was wearing what might have been the national dress of an ancient civilisation: a sleeved cloak, high-heeled leather boots, baggy trousers gathered tightly around his ankles, a woollen felt cap and a braided beard. All three of them had chosen their own insignia, which they wore proudly and on full display, stitched into their clothing: Agares' was a man riding a crocodile and holding a hawk in his fist; Paimon's was a man wearing a crown and riding on a camel; and Vassago's was a nude woman lolling on a pile of gold coins. Privately, Tanya suspected they'd deliberately made them as ridiculous as possible and were waiting for someone to comment.

"For you, my lady," said Vassago, with affected gallantry, offering her a bouquet of red roses. This wasn't the first time he had attempted to flirt with her: on several previous occasions, he had offered her gifts and extravagant compliments. She had done nothing to encourage him, but neither had she made any particular effort to rebuff him so long as he was polite, respectful and didn't blatantly proposition her. However, when he had given her a music box operated by a tormented soul that was trapped inside it, she had proceeded to smash it to pieces in front of him while explaining exactly why she considered it to be an inappropriate gift. Since then, his gifts had been rather more blandly romantic.

"Not appropriate. Neither the time nor the place," she warned him.

"But they're so pretty. Good for morale." He gave a careless shrug, put the flowers in a vase he'd conjured out of seemingly nothing, and handed it to one of his servants who placed it in the centre of the nearest map table.

"If you really wanted her to fall in love with you, you'd have given her a new artillery piece," said Paimon with a smirk. All of his minions guffawed and slapped their thighs at this 'hilarious' joke.

"That might have worked," Tanya agreed. Hell had some fantastic artillery pieces left over from previous wars: one that erased things from existence, one that rained hellfire down upon the enemy, and some that had even more esoteric effects.

"All the ladies love cannons, so I've heard," said Agares, in the tone of one imparting a philosophical truth.

There was a pause. Tanya took the opportunity to gather her thoughts and consider who she was speaking to. In all honesty, she wasn't sure if Vassago was making a serious attempt to romance her or if it was just part of the role he was currently playing, as a way of staving off the endless boredom of his eternal life: he was a courtier and she was the queen he was playing court to. If it meant that he – and, more importantly, his army – were supporting her, she didn't mind. And sometimes it felt nice to be treated like a queen. She knew Paimon was loyal to Lucifer, which meant he had sided with her because she was his designated successor. Presumably, if Lucifer came back and said he'd changed his mind, Paimon would immediately switch sides. Agares' motives were more difficult to discern, but she suspected he would follow his friends' lead, no matter what. There was nothing and no one else he cared about.

"Can we do anything for you, Lady Tanya?" asked Vassago, tentatively, when the pause had gone on for long enough to be awkward.

"Unless you plan to take part in the next battle, I'd be obliged if you would leave the room. I have important matters to discuss with my commanders," she said. "On the other hand, if you would like to fight alongside me, you'd be most welcome."

They gazed at her with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "As you command, we will go from here," said Paimon, tonelessly.

He sloped away. Agares went with him. Vassago delayed for long enough to give Tanya an extravagant bow before hastening to join his friends. Their followers scurried after them.

With a heavy frown on her face, Tanya watched until she was sure they had all gone. She was appalled by the three dukes, by their apathy and listlessness and lack of enthusiasm for anything but their momentary pleasures, and she wondered why they had bothered to declare their support for her if they weren't going to make any kind of effort. If they were eager to die and had joined her because they thought she was doomed, why didn't they join her in battle and deliberately throw their lives away? Moreover, if Vassago had agreed to fight alongside her, it wouldn't necessarily have improved his chances with her, but it would at least have suggested that his attempts to flirt with her were more than a hollow pretence.

It frustrated her to think of how much power and prestige they had, amassed over countless millennia, which they carelessly squandered as if it was worthless. Of all the demons in Hell, they were some of the most eminent, but that didn't seem to matter to them. They were renowned for their at-times excessive generosity, which meant that any lesser demon who caught their eye had a chance of being given immense power and elevated to the upper ranks of the demonic hierarchy. That was why they had endless numbers of minions eager to serve them, all of whom saw it as an easy path to advancement, despite the fact that the probability of any of them being the recipient of the dukes' generosity was vanishingly small. When she'd heard that, Tanya had toyed with the idea of instituting a public lottery with a prize that would have made the dukes' gifts look rather paltry. Perhaps if she'd made more of an effort to turn that idea into reality, most demons would have found it diverting enough that the Triumvirate would have been forced to delay their rebellion until later. Or it could have made matters worse, when the newly-empowered lottery winners sided with her enemies. There was no way to know what would have happened, if she'd done things differently.

Unlike most demons, Agares, Paimon and Vassago seemed to take no pleasure from cruelty, brutality or the torture of innocents. Callously indifferent they might be, but sadism had lost its savour for them. Viciousness was a vice they no longer indulged in. Their passions, loves and hatreds, fears and desires had been leeched out of them, one by one. Eternity had unmade them.

Tanya was unsure if she should be worried about the possibility that someday she would be just like them. There were many other thoughts with which she could occupy her time more fruitfully, so why waste time worrying about something that wouldn't happen for thousands of years? And yet, having lived so many lives on so many different worlds, she found it difficult to care about certain things like she used to. Things she had once fanatically opposed – Communism, for example – now elicited no reaction from her other than amused contempt and weary resignation. Eventually, she suspected she would lose the capacity to care about anything. And then Being X would have won. Or would he? By then, what would it matter?

"I should drag them outside and force them to do a few training drills," she muttered to herself. It seemed unlikely that there was anything she could do to shake the three dukes out of their malaise, but forcing them to dodge artillery fire would at least make her feel better. However, there were limits to what she could order to them do. They weren't soldiers or part of the military command structure, so they might object to being treated like raw recruits in need of a little discipline. Even an absolute ruler had to make an effort to keep their subordinates happy, or face rebellion. And she already had a rebellion to deal with. Best not start another one.

Once, she'd been a stern disciplinarian, but that had been eons ago. Since then, she'd gone soft. All too often, these days, she felt like she was just going through the motions. When this war was over, she would make a serious effort to recover what she'd lost and rebuild herself anew. A great many improvements would have to be made before she could become the boss Hell needed.

Crowley was standing by the map table, looking dapper as ever, deep in conversation with one of the demons whose job was to relay messages back and forth. Most of the time, they used communication spells, but there was a possibility that these could be intercepted by a sufficiently skilled sorcerer, so they delivered certain messages by hand. It was left as an exercise for the enemy to decide if any of these might be important and worth the effort of trying to intercept.

She waited until the conversation came to a close and messenger demon had departed before making her presence felt. "Crowley," she said, giving him a nod.

Several weeks before, he'd persuaded her to give him the kind of cushy rear echelon posting that had once been her fondest dream. His talents were many and varied, but they weren't best-suited to frontline combat, so she'd given him the role of intelligence officer. Because of his logistical skills, which had enabled him to jam every mobile phone in London for a considerable amount of time on multiple occasions, she suspected he would have made an even better quartermaster. However, demons needed very few supplies: they didn't eat or drink, they had no use for sturdy boots or spare uniforms, and only a few of them used weapons that required ammunition. So, she'd had to find something else for him to do: collating reports, sifting through data and keeping track of troop movements. Unglamorous but necessary work. He seemed to thrive on it.

"Lady Tanya," he said, giving her a perfunctory salute.

"No need for that," she replied. "Anything I should be aware of?"

Pointing to the map he'd been poring over, upon which a misshapen, vaguely humanoid figurine was standing alone, he said: "Beelzebub seems a bit exposed. Their army was mauled in previous battles and their allies are nowhere nearby. A tempting target, right? Almost as if it's deliberate."

"That's probably because it's a trap," said Tanya.

"Probably. Still, it's the sort of thing you need to know about, right?"

"Indeed." She stared hard at the map, as if by doing so she could intimidate it into divulging its hidden secrets. For want of something to do with her hands while her mind was busy, she picked up the figurine that was meant to represent Beelzebub, felt its reassuring weight and noticed that someone had gone to some trouble to paint it. "Who did this? It's quite nicely done."

"He did," said Crowley, indicating a fat, oleaginous demon with stubby wings, whose job seemed to be to fetch and carry anything that might be needed. "His name's Scumspawn."

"And why is he here?" asked Tanya, rather sharply.

"Relax. He's harmless." Crowley gave a small shrug. "Kind of pathetic, really."

Being pathetic, harmless and barely noticeable was the perfect camouflage for a spy, Tanya knew. Her suspicion deepened. "You're absolutely sure of that?"

"Yeah, of course. What do you take me for?"

"I don't expect you to be omniscient," said Tanya. "Vetting potential employees isn't one of your responsibilities, so it wouldn't surprise me if you didn't know everything about him. Nevertheless, I would hope that someone has investigated him thoroughly, just to make sure he can be trusted."

As if in answer, Crowley waved to Scumspawn and called him over. "Lady Tanya was just admiring the models you've painted," he said, by way of introduction.

"Oh yes? Do you like them?" asked Scumspawn. His eyes were wide and hopeful.

"Very good," said Tanya. "You've worked hard on them, I can tell."

"I did! But I enjoyed it!" he assured her, with breathless enthusiasm. "I live to serve!"

"I'm pleased to hear it," she said, giving him a nod. "Thank you, that will be all."

After she'd dismissed him, he walked away with a cheerful grin spread across his face. Also, his skin seemed to glisten wetly, as if it were coated in a sticky film.

"He's always been like that. For as long as anyone can remember," said Crowley.

"That doesn't mean he isn't a spy," Tanya pointed out. "Maybe he's incredibly good at hiding it."

"In that case, you should send him to spy against the enemy. They'd never see it coming," Crowley slyly suggested.

"Good idea, but I suspect it would take too long to train him."

They shared faintly amused smiles, for a few moments. Then, Tanya returned the Beelzebub figurine to where she'd found it.

"If it is a trap, I'm curious as to how it's meant to work. They would need overwhelming force to be confident of success – and I'm not sure where they'd get it from – their other armies are too far away. Even if they've prepared the terrain in advance, it won't matter: I can rearrange it at will. Unless they're hiding the equivalent of a nuclear weapon somewhere…" She paused, gave a dissatisfied 'hmm' and continued, "Ambushes rely on the element of surprise. But if I know that I'm walking into an ambush, I can get ready to fight back, strip away their cover and create some of my own, and then they'll be the ones being ambushed."

"What if they instantly teleport several of their heavy hitters to where they can attack you all at once?" asked Crowley.

"You haven't seen any evidence that they can do that, have you?" asked Tanya, frowning at him.

"If they could, I suspect we'd have lost this war already. But I thought I'd mention it as a possibility, just in case. They're obviously planning something."

"Obviously."

There was a pause while Tanya carefully considered her next move. And then all that care and consideration was tossed aside. It was time to take decisive action. "I want to spring the trap," she said. She'd have liked to believe her reasoning was sound and logical, but even as she spoke she wondered if she'd been seized by a spirit of wild recklessness.

Crowley was visibly taken aback. "Exactly what the enemy expects you to do? That seems… bold of you."

"When fighting a war, it's good to be unpredictable, to confuse your enemies and keep them guessing about what you'll do next. But if you always try to surprise them, if you never do what would normally be expected, that makes you predictable, at least to an extent," Tanya tried to explain. "It means there's at least one option your enemies know you won't take. To be truly unpredictable, sometimes you have to do exactly what people expect."

"Bluff and double bluff. If they think they've got to expect the unexpected, you'll do the opposite," said Crowley. "Sounds complicated."

"War is like that, sometimes."

He hesitated for a moment, sighed and said, "Do you think maybe you're overcomplicating things? The Triumvirate aren't exactly master strategists. And I don't think they've been fighting you for long enough to have a chance of being able to predict some of your cleverer moves."

"There is another possibility," said Tanya. "We've suspected for some time that the Triumvirate plan to turn on each other as soon as they've won this war. But what if they've decided to start a little early? Right now, Beelzebub is in a vulnerable position, with only a small army by their side. Bait for a trap, maybe. They're probably expecting reinforcements to come in the nick of time. It would be easy for them to come too late, after the battle's already been fought and Beelzebub's been defeated. And then the Triumvirate will have become a duumvirate, Azazel and the First of the Fallen can congratulate themselves on having disposed of one of their greatest rivals, and the war will go on as before."

"Except they'll have lost one of their most powerful allies for no real gain, when they've nowhere near won the war yet. Seems like a stupid plan. Why would they do that?"

"They've left Beelzebub in a seemingly vulnerable position, for what reason we have yet to discover. Bait for a trap, a mistake they've yet to notice, or a deliberate betrayal? There's only one way to find out."

"I'm sure there are plenty of ways to find out, but most of them would probably take too long." A wry smile vied with apprehension for dominance over Crowley's face. "Are you sure you're doing this for the right reasons? And not because you're eager for a big, fiery confrontation where you'll be forced to fight all of our most dangerous enemies at once?"

"I'm not a warmonger. My reasons are as logical and rational as they ever have been," said Tanya. However, even as she said it, she wondered if it was truly the case. Once, it might have been true, but demons were renowned for their ability to lie. Was she such an accomplished liar she could even lie to herself? Had she already become so bored with immortality she was willing to throw it all away for a few cheap thrills? She'd be disappointed in herself if that was the case.

"Of course they are," said Crowley. If he was rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses, she had no way of knowing. Nor did she care. He was entitled to his opinions.

A little while later, after conversing with the rest of her general staff, Tanya had formulated a plan of action: she would lead a small strike force to attack Beelzebub's seemingly isolated and poorly-defended position; Etrigan would command the reserves, who would attack the enemy reinforcements whenever they arrived; and Chantinelle would lead their air support, whose job would be to harass and confuse the enemy as much as possible. General Hastur would stay behind to lead the bulk of their forces while Ran Va Daath would continue with whatever she was doing, wherever she was.There was more to it than that, of course, but those were the salient details.

Everything was ready. Before long, she would find out if she'd made the right choice. Was she looking forward to it? She couldn't tell.

Chapter Text

Filth and slime. Craters filled with stagnant water. Noxious muck, tainted by demonic ichor and splattered remains. Torrential rains had washed away the worst of what had until recently been a battlefield, leaving behind an unpleasant residue. Hastily-dug trenches, shell holes and fields of mud had become a swamp. It was a paradise for flies, who'd made it their breeding ground. Hanging over everything, like a shroud, there was a rich stench of decay, warm and pungent.

Beelzebub had taken refuge there, along with the remnants of their army: a sorry bunch, many of them with missing limbs, covered in burns and gaping wounds, shambling and half-blind. They weren't worth much, except as bait for a trap. When Lady Tanya attacked, seeking to take advantage of their perceived weakness, she would be ambushed with overwhelming force. Or so Beelzebub had been assured. There was no way to guarantee that Azazel or the First of the Fallen would keep their word. Still, this 'ingenious' plan might be the only chance they had to defeat Lucifer's chosen successor, who had proven herself to be far more dangerous than any of them could have predicted. Undoubtedly they planned betrayal, but if they had any sense they would wait until after Lady Tanya had been defeated.

Of course, it didn't matter to Beelzebub if their erstwhile allies planned to betray them now or later on. Either way, there was no hope of victory and little chance of escape. And so, they were thinking about surrendering to Lady Tanya. They hoped to make a deal. In exchange for information, they would ask to be given a lesser sentence than they probably deserved. First of all, they wanted to be allowed to live. And they would prefer to avoid the dreadful punishments that had been reserved for traitors and rebels in the past. It was unlikely they would be allowed to go free, but a gilded cage was better than death. They were confident that if they could make an agreement with Lady Tanya, who had cultivated a reputation for being trustworthy, they would be safe.

But that means we'll need to zzzurvive long enough to zzzurrender. Difficult, perhaps. Even so, Beelzebub was convinced that this was their best chance of survival. One way or another, the Triumvirate would soon become a duumvirate; Beelzebub would either die or betray their former allies to Lady Tanya.

The attack came without warning. Like a flash of summer lightning, Lady Tanya appeared as if from nowhere, out of a clear sky, moving too fast to be stopped. She held fiery death in both hands, scattering it before her. Beelzebub's pitiful little army was bombarded by a hail of meteorites. Some died, some tried to flee, and some were so stupefied they could do nothing but gawp even as a deadly rain continued to fall.

Beelzebub used their demonic powers to erect a magical shield they could hide behind, managing to put it in place just in time. They could feel Tanya's flames burning through it, turning swarms of flies into specks of ash, layer by layer, until the heat was painfully close. At that moment, they had a horrible suspicion that Tanya was flying towards them like a missile that would smash through all their defences and destroy them utterly.

"I zzzurrender!" they cried. "Have mercy!"

There was no fatal blow. Not for Beelzebub, at least.

All around, there were panicked shouts, the screams of the wounded and dying, the clashing and roaring and thudding of battle. By this time, Tanya's elite soldiers had caught up with her. A few of Beelzebub's minions tried to put up a fight, but were swiftly and pitilessly dispatched.

Tanya suddenly appeared, hovering in the air above Beelzebub, and asked, "Are you serious?"

Briefly, their mind went blank and they struggled to think of what Tanya could be referring to, but after a moment's confusion they managed to say, "Yes, I want to zzzurrender."

"Another trap." Tanya gave a disdainful sniff. Except for the black leathery wings sprouting out of her back, which seemed to be entirely decorative since she didn't need them to fly, she looked like a scrawny human woman of below average height, so it would have been easy for Beelzebub to underestimate her if they didn't already know how dangerous she was. Dressed in a faded military uniform, with a silver medal pinned to her breast pocket, she looked like a young girl playing at war, rather than one of the deadliest warriors anyone in Hell had ever heard of.

"It izz a trap for me, not for you. My allies have abandoned me here. Perhapzz they hope you and I will destroy each other."

"Do you think that's likely to happen?"

"No," Beelzebub admitted. "I am no match for you."

"So, why should I spare you?" asked Tanya.

"I could be useful to you," said Beelzebub. "I know thingzz that Azazel and the First would rather I kept secret. But if you let me live, I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

Tanya's gaze turned to the nearby ridge, just as another demonic army emerged from cover. Howling, jeering and gibbering, they charged down to where Tanya's soldiers were finishing off the last of Beelzebub's minions. Battle was joined once again.

"An ambush," said Tanya, raising a questioning eyebrow at Beelzebub.

"A meaninglezz effort. Just for show, to rid themselves of potential rivalzz. Or to keep you busy while they attack somewhere else."

With a thoughtful nod, Tanya said, "Very well, I accept your surrender. One of my lieutenants will escort you to a holding cell." After a brief pause, she added, "While you are my prisoner, I promise you will be protected from those who would do you harm. And you will be treated humanely, according to the rules of war."

'What rules of war?' Beelzebub wanted to ask. As the supreme ruler of Hell, Tanya had no need to follow any rules – not even her own, if she so chose – she could be as capricious as she wished. But it would be unwise to point that out, since doing so might tempt her to use some of the powers she barely seemed aware she had. So, Beelzebub stayed quiet; their remaining insects were still and silent, scarcely daring to move.

"Of course, should you attempt to escape, I'll show you no mercy," said Tanya. "And if I ever have to fight you again, I'll destroy you. Completely and utterly."

Beelzebub could do nothing but shudder. "I… I understand. You have nothing to fear from me."

Tanya called over one of her subordinates, a winged succubus, and told her, "Lord Beelzebub has surrendered. Take them to the Blackest Pit, where they will stay until I have time to deal with them properly."

"Just me?" asked the succubus, with an artfully raised eyebrow.

"Take two of your sisters with you. Unless you think you'll need more than that."

The succubus seemed to bristle at her words, as if she felt she were being challenged. "Nah. I'm sure 'Lord Beelzebub' won't cause any trouble. Isn't that right, your lordship?"

"Yezzz. Absolutely."

"I'm glad to hear it," said the succubus, with an utterly false smile like the slash of a knife. "Before long, we'll be such good pals!"

"Just so long as you get the job done," said Tanya, with a dismissive wave.

***

While Beelzebub was being escorted away, Tanya turned to watch the ongoing skirmish. She wasn't impressed. Etrigan seemed to be enjoying himself, carving his way through dozens of lesser demons, but he probably could have defeated the enemy armies – both of them – on his own. None of them could provide him with a real challenge. He'd soon get bored of this pathetic scuffle.

'We're wasting our time here,' she decided, getting ready to go. But first, she stepped in to prevent Etrigan and his cronies from executing their last few luckless foes who were trying to surrender.

"Oh, we accept surrenders now, do we?" A foul-smelling demoness with green skin and goat legs sneered at her. "They don't deserve your pity."

"If my enemies know they can surrender and be fairly treated, they will be more inclined to do so. If more of my enemies surrender, that'll mean fewer enemies we have to fight, making it easier to win the war," Tanya explained.

"I must say, I'm disappointed," said Etrigan. "I expected more of Lucifer's anointed. If you fear the truly strong, you won't be queen for very long."

"Strategic good sense is not the same thing as cowardice," said Tanya. "But if you disagree, you're welcome to challenge me. Here and now, if you like."

In spite of their previous bravado, Etrigan's cronies now seemed skittish; they wavered, taking a few steps forward or back, clearing a space so their leader could face Tanya alone.

The yellow-skinned demon grinned savagely. "You want to fight me?"

She'd previously told him that if he had anything important to say, he shouldn't waste time trying to come up with a rhyme. Evidently, he had taken her words to heart.

"I don't care one way or the other," she said. "The question is: do you want to fight me?"

Etrigan laughed delightly. "Tempting. You are quite a woman, Lady Tanya."

The goat-legged demoness angrily stamped her foot at that.

"Not such a disappointment, then?" asked Tanya, with an artfully raised eyebrow.

"That remains to be seen," Etrigan replied.

They gazed at each other for long enough that the silence became oppressive. Some of the onlookers began to fidget. Others exchanged nervous glances. "So… are they going to fight or what?" one of them wondered aloud.

"Shush!" the others scolded him.

Finally, Etrigan heaved a regretful sigh and said, "Lady Tanya, I would be delighted to fight you, to test myself against you, to get to know you in that most intimate of ways… but not yet. Not while we're in the middle of fighting a war."

With an approving nod, Tanya said, "Very wise of you. Now, we should–"

But she never had a chance to finish that sentence. The world around her became a kaleidoscope of peculiar colours that quickly faded to black. She felt as if an invisible hand had grabbed hold of her and was squeezing her through a long, thin tube no wider than a drinking straw. Centuries had passed since she had felt such pain. She welcomed it, to an extent. It had been even longer since she had felt so alive.

And then she was gone. Oblivion awaited.

***

"A summoning," said Etrigan, staring at the empty space where Lady Tanya had been just a moment before. He had seen her expression of faint surprise as she was dragged away against her will. No demon could have done that – from what he'd seen, Tanya was easily able to shrug off the sorcerous powers of other demons – so it must have been a mortal wizard, or dozens of wizards working together. "How interesting…"

Perhaps it had been Merlin himself who'd done it. Who else would be powerful and arrogant enough to think they could forcibly summon the ruler of Hell and suffer no consequences for it?

It amused him to think that Tanya might be bound to a foolish, whiny human, just like he had been, back when he'd fallen into Merlin's clutches, so long ago. But that seemed unlikely. It was almost certain that she'd been summoned by mortal allies of Azazel or the First of the Fallen, who'd try to curry favour with their demonic masters by imprisoning her. Perhaps they thought the war in Hell would be easily won if she was no longer a concern. Etrigan would prove them wrong about that, or so he vowed.

'Behind a spectral barrier, they'll bind the demon Tanya. But it'll make little difference,' Etrigan thought. 'With or without her, the war will continue. Our side will need a new leader, that's all.'

In his mind, there was only one possible candidate: himself. In the past, he had led an army that had conquered all of Hell. Admittedly, he had only held onto the throne for a single day – and maybe the main reason for his success was that Lucifer had found it entertaining, at least for a little while – but it still meant he was better qualified than anyone else. Besides, Hastur was a dull-witted fool, Crowley was a coward; Agares, Paimon and Vassago were ancient and apathetic; and Chantinelle was just another succubus, one of many. None of them were fit to take Lady Tanya's place.

'There are many squabbling factions here in Hell. Hardly any of them will want me as their new ruler. But I'll make sure they have no alternative.'

He grinned at his comrades, his closest associates, who'd followed him into battle after battle and were the closest thing he had to a circle of friends. In the silence that followed after they finished off the last of Beelzebub's minions who'd tried to surrender, he said, "It is just as I feared: Lady Tanya has disappeared, gone without a trace. And so, we must go back to base, to warn them our beloved queen perhaps no more will e'er be seen."

"I have always admired your way with words, Etrigan," said Bloodklott, who looked like a mummified corpse with flaming green hair. "I want to be a rhymer, but whenever I try, uh… it just doesn't scan. Or it comes out as meaningless gibberish."

"What's the point of being a rhymer, these days?" asked someone else. If pressed, Etrigan would have been forced to admit that he didn't know who it was; the ranks of his 'loyal supporters' had swelled to such an extent that he couldn't be expected to know all of them. "Ever since Tanya took over, there have been no rhymers, prose demons, editors or anything like that. She says we're all equal, now."

At that, there was a chorus of sniggers and derisive sneers from the other demons.

"When I am king, I guarantee a better world for you and me, where our traditions will be respected and it's to be expected that even the smallest and most lowly can become a terror unholy, through strength and skill and force of arms, wit or guile or seductive charms," Etrigan promised. "Stick with me and I'll ensure you'll be much greater than before. And the nobles who once looked down on you will bow and scrape and say, 'How do you do?'" He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. Then, he concluded: "There's no time now to stop and chat, so tell me: what d'you say to that?"

There was an apprehensive silence. After several long moments had passed, someone plucked up the courage to ask, "So… you're going to usurp Lady Tanya?"

"Lady Tanya is gone and we must choose a new leader, or we're sure to lose," said Etrigan. "While she's away, I'll be your king, so don't you worry about a thing."

More silence. Then, one of the demons gave a tentative cry of "King Etrigan!"

His closest comrades joined in: "King Etrigan! Long live King Etrigan!"

'It's good to be king,' he thought, still grinning. 'Let's see how long it lasts this time.'

***

Hastur drowned several lesser demons beneath a wave of maggots. But he knew it wouldn't be enough. There were too many of them.

While Tanya was away, the Triumvirate had launched a full-scale assault. If she came back soon, she would easily put them to flight. Otherwise, Hastur and the forces under his command would lose this battle. He could fight and kill lesser demons all day, but the Triumvirate had many more powerful demons on their side and he had relatively few. And he and his men – no matter whether they were male, female or gender-indeterminate beings, he still thought of them as his 'men' – were in a position that was no longer defensible while they were getting increasingly surrounded. They needed to retreat, regroup and find a better place to make their stand.

But how to retreat without being chased down and overrun? He would need to sacrifice part of his army so the rest could escape. If just a few of them could hold off the enemy for as long as possible, the situation might not be hopeless.

In his shame, he briefly considered staying behind and sacrificing himself so his men could escape. But who would lead them if he was gone? Would they be doomed to another defeat, just a little later on?

'We need a distraction,' he thought. 'But how?'

Forcing his way through the front ranks, tossing their broken bodies aside, a huge and muscular demon with spiked shoulder pads charged at Hastur, who had little choice but to meet him in hand-to-hand combat.

"Asteroth," he said, recognizing him. "So, you've sided with the Triumvirate? Didn't you try to overthrow them before?"

"Heh… heh… heh…" A slow, self-satisfied laugh. "Different times. A different Triumvirate. Right now, I'll do whatever it takes to secure my position in Hell's new order."

He swung a mighty fist at Hastur, who ducked low and then threw himself forward, slamming into him and knocking him off his feet. They both fell, but Hastur landed on top. As they began grappling in the mud, it was clear he had the upper hand. Two hands, which he clamped around Asteroth's throat, trying to squeeze the life out of him. His foe squirmed and struggled, trying to free himself, clawing Hastur's back and shoulders and any other part of him he could reach.

Conscious of the fact that he couldn't command his army while he was locked in personal combat, Hastur tried to end it as quickly as possible. Squeezing Asteroth's thick neck wasn't having much of an effect, so it seemed prudent to try something else, especially after a flailing claw scratched a line of blood across his face and came close to ripping his eye out. So, just for a moment, he let go, relying on his weight to keep his foe pinned down. Then, he grabbed Asteroth's head and twisted it sharply, breaking his neck.

The struggle ceased. Stumbling backwards, Hastur managed to stand up. Just to make sure, he took a spear from one of his subordinates and stabbed it through Asteroth's heart.

"He'll be back," he muttered, even as the impaled corpse began to disintegrate. "It's hard to kill an Archduke of Hell."

"You seem to have managed it all right," said the demon he'd borrowed the spear from, whose name was Eric.

"It won't last," said Hastur, handing the weapon back to him. "But maybe–"

"Um… um… Azazel and the First are here!" cried someone else, in a quavering voice, on the brink of gibbering terror. "What should we do?"

"Stand fast!" Hastur bellowed as loud as he could. "It won't be long now. Lady Tanya will be here soon!"

There was menacing laughter from Azazel, who seemed like he was about to say something. However, before he could, a pure white light shone in the sky, as bright as the sun. A host of angels flew down from high above, led by a pair that Hastur had met quite recently: Remiel and Duma.

His face beaming with hope and benevolence, Remiel proclaimed, "Denizens of Hell, you will suffer no longer! God has sent us to be your new rulers!"

The battle came to an abrupt halt. Almost every demon turned to stare, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the unwelcome new arrivals.

'Yeah, that'll do,' Hastur decided, signaling for his army to retreat. 'There'll never be a better distraction than this.'

"Why should we accept you as our new rulers?" the First of the Fallen demanded to know. "Do you plan to fight all of us? Have you been granted powers greater than the mightiest demons in Hell?"

"Or do you expect us to lie down and meekly surrender?" asked Azazel, with a thousand contemptuous smirks.

"We are your new rulers! Because God says so!" cried Remiel. "Under our wise guidance, Hell will become a place of correction and redemption instead of pointless suffering and punishment. The flames of Hell will become refining fires, burning away the dross, leaving purity and repentance and good." He hesitated. Perhaps he'd suddenly realized that his audience consisted entirely of demons rather than tortured sinners. His voice wavered, even as he continued his prepared speech: "You will be saved from sin and evil. Because we love you and want what's best for you. And someday you will thank us for it."

His words met with a cacophony of screeching, croaking and roaring, all of which were different varieties of scornful laughter.

Watching as his troops retreated in good order, easily fending off the handful of enemies who tried to stop them, Hastur breathed a sigh of relief. Then, just as he was about to depart, he glanced up at Remiel, shook his head and muttered, "You're going home in an ambulance, mate."

***

When Tanya awakened, she wondered if she'd been reborn again. Looking around, she discovered she was in a dark cellar, where the light from a few dribbly candles was not enough to chase away the shadows. She was in the middle of an arcane circle, encased within an invisible bubble of force and surrounded by runes someone had written in blood. Pig's blood, mostly likely.

The slightest movement was difficult and painful. She was trapped. Still, it wasn't all bad news: she had her uniform, her medal and everything else she'd been wearing before she'd been transported to this dismal place, including the Key to Hell. And there was a smell, a very familiar smell… Actually, no, it wasn't really a smell. It was more of a presence, which had seeped into everything in the room, a lingering reminder of someone she knew.

A disheveled figure moved into view. He was haggard and ill-looking, dressed in a shabby trench coat, with week-old stubble and heavy bags under his eyes. His blond hair was unkempt and the stubby remains of a half-smoked cigarette dangled from his lip.

"Huh. You're awake," he muttered.

"I assume you're the sorcerer who summoned me here," said Tanya. "Might I ask your name?"

"Surprised you don't already know it. Maybe it's best if I don't tell you." He coughed up a wad of bloody phlegm. "Ugh. I s'pose it makes no difference. There are plenty of demons who know my name already."

Tanya waited patiently until he came to a decision.

"I'm John Constantine," he said. "Don't know if that means anything to you."

"I've been busy," said Tanya. "It's been a long time since I've paid any attention to the world of mortals."

"So, you've never heard of me?" His lips contorted in what was either a ghoulish grimace or a faintly amused smirk. "I'd normally think that was a good thing, but… hah, right now, I can't help feeling like my pride's taken a hit."

"Why have you brought me here, Mr. Constantine?" asked Tanya. "Is there something you want from me?"

"No, actually. I made a deal with a demon who calls himself 'the First of the Fallen'. He wants you out of the way for a bit. In exchange, he's gonna cure me. I'm dying of cancer, you see."

"You've upheld your end of the bargain, but where is he now?" asked Tanya. "How do you know he won't betray you?"

"I reckon he's got to come here sooner or later so he can deal with you," said Constantine. "And then…"

"Then, you'll have outlasted your usefulness."

Constantine barked a harsh, guttural laugh. "Not like I have any alternative."

"What if I were to offer you a similar deal?" asked Tanya, sensing weakness. "It'll be easy. If you let me out of this prison, I'll heal you."

"And then you'll kill me. No thanks."

"After I've healed you, I promise not to kill you or harm you in any way."

"Tempting," said Constantine. "But I don't know if I can trust you to keep your promises."

"You have to trust someone," said Tanya. "Either the First of the Fallen or me. Take your pick."

He sighed heavily. "I don't have any good options right now. I s'pose I'll have to think about it."

"Don't take too long. I'll break out of this prison eventually," said Tanya, beating her fists against the bubble she was trapped inside. The pain was excruciating, but she'd had worse. She could ignore it.

"Yeah, I'm sure you will," Constantine mumbled, as he turned away and sloped off. "But it doesn't need to last forever. Just for long enough."

Chapter Text

Alone in the darkened cellar, Tanya focused on the presence she could feel nearby, trying to figure out why it was so familiar. It was almost as if someone she knew was standing close by, close enough that she could have reached out and touched them if not for the mystical barrier in the way. Or maybe even closer than that.

It wasn't an enemy, nor was it a friend, but it was someone she knew well enough that they were instantly recognizable. At least, she was instantly able to recognize the fact that she knew them, which wasn't quite the same thing.

"Who's there?" she asked, aloud, and then felt like a fool for doing so. Still, I suppose it was worth a try.

After some consideration, she realized who the presence belonged to: Dream of the Endless. This must be where he was imprisoned for most of a century, after which he needed to recover his symbols of office, which was why he came to Hell and forced her to play an irritating children's game. He was a melodramatic fool with a streak of cruelty that… Actually, she rather despised him, but he owed her a few favors. He'd be a useful ally if she could find a way to contact him.

She couldn't be entirely sure – not without being able to walk around the cellar and carefully examine every part of it, possibly with the aid of some specialist equipment – but she suspected that this place had partially merged with the Dreaming. Perhaps that was how Dream had eventually been able to escape, as the walls between reality and fantasy began to crumble and his surroundings became increasingly illusory. Or perhaps the manner of his escape had transformed the cellar into something more than mere bricks, grime and empty darkness.

It seemed patently obvious to her that any attempt to imprison one of the Endless was doomed to fail, sooner or later. They might look like people, but they weren't, not really: they were anthropomorphic personifications of some of the fundamental forces of the universe – this universe, at least – without which it would be distorted beyond recognition. Anyone seeking to hold one of them captive might as well try to tether a planet or catch the wind in a net. Which made it all the more impressive that someone had managed it, if only for a relatively short time. They were lucky that their actions hadn't had terrible consequences. Not just for themselves, but for the entire world. The entire cosmos.

Of course, Tanya didn't know any of this for certain. To satisfy her curiosity about the Endless, she had listened to rumor and conjecture and the 'wisdom' of those who claimed to be experts, but she had no way of knowing what was true. Or if any of it would help her to escape her current predicament.

She focused on what she was sure of: this was a peculiar place with peculiar properties. There must be a way she could use that to her advantage. But how? I'm trapped in this circle, so what does it matter that the Dreaming is so close by that I could step into it by accident?

Ever since she'd become a demon, she'd had no need for sleep. If she ever felt tired, she could rest and recover simply by sitting quietly by herself for a few minutes. Humans had minds and bodies that were separate enough that, while they slept, their bodies rested while their minds wandered the world of dreams. When Tanya had been human, each time she'd died, her soul had moved on and left a moldering body behind. But now she was a demon, there was no separating her mind, soul and physical form. They were all one. Her inner self was permanently on display, to anyone who bothered to look, unless she made a special effort to conceal it. Even when she had been knocked unconscious by Constantine's summoning spell, her mind hadn't gone anywhere else. It was as if she'd fallen into a pit of darkness from which no intelligent thought could escape, which wasn't the same thing as falling asleep.

So why was it that she felt heavy with fatigue, while her eyelids drooped and she struggled to suppress a yawn? It almost felt as if she could drift off into a doze just by closing her eyes and letting go, something she hadn't been able to do since she was human, centuries ago.

'Demons don't sleep,' she told herself. 'So why do I feel sleepy?'

Perhaps that was the power of Dream of the Endless, who'd left an indelible mark upon this place, changing it in ways that shouldn't be possible.

'Maybe… whoever owns this cellar could sell tickets… to any demon or angel curious to know what sleep is like. Unless it's just an illusion,' thought Tanya, drowsily. 'Maybe it's just… a memory. Something he left behind. Like a bad smell.'

Or maybe it offered her a chance to escape. She felt like she might as well give it a try, in the limited time she had available before Constantine's demonic master arrived. It wasn't as if she had many other options.

And so, she closed her eyes, tried to relax, and allowed herself to be lulled into slumber by the lingering presence of Dream of the Endless. Before long, she forgot everything else.

***

When Constantine returned, he saw Lady Tanya, fearsome demoness and current ruler of Hell, lying curled up in the middle of the arcane circle she was trapped inside, apparently asleep. Her eyes were closed and her face was devoid of any expression other than dreamy innocence. Except for the leathery wings poking out of the back of her suit, she looked human, like a vulnerable young woman who'd wandered into the wrong part of town. If he'd seen her stumbling around on her own somewhere after midnight, he'd probably have insisted on calling her a cab and trying to make sure she got home safely. Of course, she was a demon, so it was obviously a trick, but still… It made him feel very uncomfortable.

He was under no illusions about the fact that what he'd done was despicable, that he'd made a deal with an embodiment of pure evil, and he'd done it for utterly selfish reasons, in the hope of being able to live just a little bit longer. A few decades at most. He hadn't sold his soul, but what did that matter? Whatever happened, he'd end up in Hell soon enough.

While he was preoccupied with these gloomy thoughts, he barely noticed when Tanya vanished from sight. In an instant, she was gone, as if she'd never been.

'Ah, shit,' was his immediate reaction, as he stared at the empty space she'd left behind.

He couldn't allow himself to panic. For all he knew, this was another trick. Tanya couldn't have escaped, so maybe she'd turned herself invisible and was waiting for him to make a mistake, hoping that in his frantic attempts to find out what had happened to her he'd break the circle and set her free. Well, that wasn't going to happen.

He just had to wait. Be patient, act casual and unconcerned. Sooner or later, Tanya would lose patience and reveal herself. And he wouldn't even need to do anything.

'I'm sure the First of the Fallen will come along soon, wanting to gloat over his victory,' he thought, glumly. 'If he does, I hope he'll give me a chance to explain rather than just lashing out in a rage.'

***

Some months before, the Triumvirate had begun their rebellion by smuggling a bomb into the room where Lady Tanya was having a meeting with Remiel and Duma. In the ensuing explosion, she had been unscathed while they had been rendered unconscious. Not exactly an impressive performance. The First of the Fallen had assumed that they would be easily defeated, if he ever had to face them in battle. Therefore, he was dismayed when his assumptions were proved false.

As well as being an idealistic fool, Remiel was a brave and skilled warrior whose flaming sword made demons shrink away from its holy light. The First of the Fallen found himself driven back, step by step, unable to match him.

Similarly, Duma fought with single-minded ferocity, cleaving through Azazel's darkness and forcing him to retreat. The Angel of Silence lived up to his title: noiseless and inscrutable, but seeming to seethe with inner fury.

Everywhere else, the angels seemed invincible. They inspired such terror that the massed ranks of lesser demons had simply melted away, fleeing in panic. A few minutes ago, the First of the Fallen had been in command of a vast army of demons; now, it was a fraction of its former size. Only a few remained: those powerful enough to stand against the angels and not be overwhelmed, those who had scores to settle or desperate hope of being rewarded for their service, and those who were reckless and foolhardy enough to ignore the possibility that they might lose this battle. There were never many of them and their numbers continued to lessen as more of them fled or were slain. The angels were resplendent and triumphant and it seemed that their victory was inevitable.

Try as he might – with brute strength, claws and teeth, a barbed tail, blasts of energy, and a body that was becoming increasingly monstrous as his semblance of humanity was gradually stripped away and his true self was revealed – the First of the Fallen couldn't seem to land a blow. Packed into this compact form, he had the strength of armies, but it meant nothing against an enemy that couldn't be hit.

"I suppose you think you've won," he said, playing for time, taking a step back to avoid Remiel's slashing blade.

"I know it," said Remiel, with a zealot's absolute certainty. "No evil can withstand God's judgment."

Backing away out of reach, the First of the Fallen sneered and said, "The one you call 'God' has always been a thousand times more evil than I ever was. That is why I rebelled and why I was cast down. And why so many others have done the same."

"Lucifer was the one who rebelled! You were cast down for your depravity!" cried Remiel, lunging forward with reckless abandon.

With a satisfied smirk, the First sidestepped out of the way, lashing out with his long claws as the angel passed by, and gouged a gobbet of flesh out of his side, which disintegrated before it could fall to the ground.

Remiel let out a startled gasp, stumbled and then threw himself into the air, out of reach. He clamped a hand over the dreadful wound, but glistening ichor continued to seep through the gaps in his fingers. "You… took advantage of my recklessness," he murmured. "A weakness I will have to correct."

"Not today," said the First, with a satisfied smirk.

"No… not today," Remiel agreed, sounding subdued. He rose high up into the air. Soon, he was out of sight.

The First braced himself for the counterattack he assumed was coming, expecting that at any moment the angel would swoop down upon him. But it never came. Remiel had fled. For a split second, he fantasized about pursuing him, but knew it would be impossible. He would have to settle for this small victory, for now.

'When I have the Key to Hell, I'll be able to rearrange it as I see fit,' he thought. 'I'll be in a position to seize ultimate power for myself.'

Tanya was gone, which meant that Constantine must have succeeded in his task: he had summoned her and sealed her inside a prison from which there could be no escape. All the First needed to do was collect the key. But first, he would need to make a hasty getaway.

Glancing around, he noticed that Azazel and Duma were nowhere to be seen – and he knew it was too much to hope that they were both dead. Despite Remiel's departure, it was clear that the angels had won this battle. They were fearsome fighters, even the pudgy one in the tweed waistcoat who looked like a librarian, and he didn't want to fight them all. Instead, he would make a tactical retreat for now and face them again when he'd become too powerful for any of them to stop.

Two angels moved to confront him, blocking his path. Cursing, he wheeled around, trying to get away. Surely they wouldn't pursue him far beyond the outskirts of the battlefield. But if they did, perhaps he could lead them into a trap…

Even as he was hatching this latest scheme, he heard shouts of dismay from some of the other combatants, as if a dozen of them had been taken by surprise, all at once. At the edge of his hearing, there was a susurrus of strangely familiar sounds: clacking, gibbering, seething and slobbering. A new enemy had arrived.

Malformed monsters hurled themselves into the fray, attacking demons and angels alike. They were led by an enormous reptilian creature with a face like that of a mortal woman, with venomous snakes instead of hair. He recognized her. Ran va Daath. She was one of Tanya's allies. Not because she had any fondness for Lucifer's chosen successor or any of her policies, but because siding with her in this war meant an abundance of violence and slaughter, which she exulted in. Her minions were crude horrors, the dregs of the demon world, formed out of rage, pain and fear. Stupid creatures, but formidable nonetheless. The First saw one of them catch an angel in its claws and squeeze until something snapped. No doubt they would do the same to him, if they could get close enough.

Still, they made for an excellent distraction. While the angels were busy gaping in horror at these new arrivals, the First took the opportunity to flee.

'Not what I had planned,' he thought. 'But close enough.'

***

Tanya walked through dreams, high above a haze of endless night. She passed by shades of past and future, things that were and things that had never been, fantasies and long-forgotten truths, a gleaming city of towers, palaces and libraries, as she approached the throne upon which Dream of the Endless sat. He was tall, pale as the moon, and appeared to be wearing black eyeshadow, as well as robes of a similar color. Did he look sadder and humbler than the last time she'd seen him? She couldn't be sure.

"Dream King," she said, bowing her head to him.

"Lady Tanya, I had not expected to see you here," he replied. "But while you are here, I will make sure you are given the finest hospitality, just as you did for me when I visited Hell."

Though she suspected that he was being sarcastic, she kept a carefully neutral expression on her face and merely nodded. "I did not intend to come here. One of my enemies, seeking to take the throne of Hell from me, arranged for a mortal wizard to summon and imprison me. Very similar to what happened to you. In fact, they even used the same prison."

"In the cellars of Fawney Rig?" asked Dream, his eyes ablaze with anger.

"Is that what it's called? I only know that it is still connected to you somehow, which is how I was able to escape."

"Which I'm sure can be attributed, at least in part, to your cleverness and guile. How did you manage it?"

Tanya wasn't sure why Dream was trying to flatter her. She felt vaguely uncomfortable and gave a small shrug. "Some trace of you must have been left behind. It enabled me to fall asleep and thereby enter the Dreaming."

"That is something I will have to investigate." Dream paused, looking thoughtful, and then asked, "What would you like to do now? If you need to rest, I will have quarters set aside for you. Or I could have someone escort you to the edge of the Dreaming so you can return to Hell as quickly as possible."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary. Instead, I will return to Fawney Rig and set a trap." Tanya gave Dream a significant glance. "Your help would be appreciated, if you don't mind."

"I owe you a great deal. I would be glad of the chance to repay you," he replied. "Tell me what you want me to do."

Tanya knew that some of her previous acquaintances had found her smile intimidating; they had compared her expression to that of a shark. Now, as she smiled and explained her plan, even Dream of the Endless seemed disconcerted by it.

"Is that all you want from me?" he asked, after she'd finished. "Very well, I'll do that for you."

"Excellent," said Tanya, still grinning.

***

When Tanya reappeared, Constantine heaved a sigh of relief. As he'd surmised, she must have been trying to trick him into thinking she'd escaped, but now she'd lost patience and was going to try something else. Whatever she did, he'd have to ignore or endure it. It wouldn't be for very long.

He couldn't help but imagine himself in her position. More than once, he'd been helpless and at the mercy of his enemies. They'd had horrible plans for him and wasted so much time gloating that he'd been given a chance to escape and turn the tables on them. Now, he'd taken on the opposite role: he was the bad guy, looking down at a helpless captive – even if she was a powerful demon who'd committed monstrous crimes throughout history, his employer was just as bad if not worse – and the idea of handing her over to him offended what few morals he had left.

Although he was a rogue and a con artist, who wouldn't hesitate to kill someone if it became necessary, in the heat of the moment or in self-defense, he was deeply uncomfortable with the idea of handing someone over to be tortured or worse. He'd made some awful mistakes in his life, which still haunted his dreams no matter how much time passed between then and now, and he could only hope that this wouldn't turn out to be another one of them.

If they were in his shoes right now, most of his old adversaries would be irresistibly tempted to jeer and mock Tanya for her helplessness and failure to escape. And then, no doubt, she'd find a way to turn the tables on them. That was just one of several reasons why he wouldn't be following their example. Tempting fate was often a bad idea.

Constantine was under no illusions about the fact that what he'd done was wrong, that he'd made a bad deal and he'd be lucky to get out of this alive. But what else could he do? He'd come far enough that he could see no way of turning aside from the path he'd chosen to walk.

"The deal still stands, by the way," said Tanya, folding her arms and gazing at the ceiling. "If you let me go, I'll heal you until you're in perfect condition for a man of your age. And I promise not to harm you or anyone you care about."

She seemed unruffled, even bored, as if this was merely an unpleasant diversion she was having to endure, rather than a deadly threat to her life and freedom. None of the other demons Constantine had ever met had been as self-composed as she was. Maybe that was how she'd become the ruler of Hell: while her rivals were busy cackling, raging and screeching at each other, she was calmly plotting her next move. Which probably meant she was a better ruler than the First of the Fallen would ever be. But was it a good thing for the poor souls trapped in Hell to have a competent and efficient tyrant ruling over them? Or would they be better off with a cruel, arrogant ponce with his head stuck so far up his own arse there was no possibility of him ever noticing them? And what would be best for humanity at large? If Tanya regained her throne and decided to wage war against Heaven, with humanity trapped in the middle… Uh, he didn't know exactly what would happen, but he suspected it would be apocalyptic. Well, obviously.

"I'm not sure what you mean by 'perfect condition'. I'm sure you could find someone who'd tell you that 'dead' is the perfect condition for a man of my age. Yeah, no thanks," he said, with a bitter smile. "And what if I say I love all of humanity? Would that keep you from harming any of us ever again?"

"Do you love all of humanity, Mr. Constantine?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow. "I find that difficult to believe."

"Hypothetically, I mean. Would that be something you'd be willing to promise?"

"Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"Probably not," he admitted.

"Then there is little point in trying to convince you. Do as you will," said Tanya, with a dismissive shrug.

After that, she seemed uninterested in continuing the conversation. Instead, she was apparently content to wait, staring at the wall or examining her fingernails.

Sometime later, after maybe an hour or two, the First of the Fallen arrived, looking disheveled and more obviously demonic than he had before. Whenever Constantine had seen him on previous occasions, his appearance had been that of an urbane and smartly-dressed gentleman with slightly red-tinted skin; now, his clothes were in tatters, horns had sprouted from his head, and his teeth had lengthened into fangs.

"Excellent," said the First, as he surveyed the room and saw Tanya imprisoned inside the arcane circle. "You've done well, Constantine."

Trying not to sound too eager, he replied, "I've kept up my end of the bargain. Now, will you heal me?"

"Yes, yes. But first I need to–" Gazing at Tanya again, the First fell silent. Then, in a strained voice, he asked, "Where are her personal effects?"

There was an awkward pause. Constantine's brow furrowed. "Uh, what do you mean by that?"

"Her possessions. Whatever she had on her person when she arrived here." The First's struggle to restrain his temper was evident in his voice. "Unless you somehow forgot to strip her while she was unconscious and vulnerable."

With an involuntary glance at Tanya, who was still fully-dressed, just like she had when he'd first summoned her, Constantine decided to brazen it out: "Yeah, I stripped her, just like you wanted. She still looks like she's wearing clothes, but that's just an illusion."

"So where are her personal effects?" the First demanded to know.

"She didn't have anything on her. S'pose it must've burned up en route. You know, like atmospheric re-entry."

A sudden cough attracted their attention. They turned to Tanya, who flourished an oddly-shaped key, which was embossed with runes and coated with verdigris. "Is this what you're looking for?" she asked, with a smirk.

After a moment's incredulity, the First turned on Constantine. "You absolute cretin! For all you knew, she could have been concealing something that would have enabled her to escape! Why didn't you search her?!"

"You… uh, you didn't tell me I should." Even as he said it, he realized how stupid he sounded. In all honesty, he wasn't sure why he hadn't searched Tanya's unconscious body for anything she could have used to escape, or send a message to her allies, or attack him while he was least expecting it, or… Well, he just hadn't thought about it, though he really should have. And why was that? No one had ever accused him of being chivalrous, but maybe it was because Tanya looked like a young woman – even if she happened to be an ancient and powerful demon – that the thought of stripping her naked while she was unconscious and vulnerable would have made him deeply uncomfortable if he'd even considered it. Or maybe it was because of how much he regretted the deal he'd made with the First of the Fallen that he'd only made a half-arsed effort to keep up his end of the bargain.

He backed away, out of the First's immediate reach, as the demon continued to rant: "I expected you to be somewhat competent! You mewling imbecile! You useless sack of shit! Aargh, I can't believe I ever trusted you!"

"You didn't," said Tanya. "If you had, you would have told Constantine about the key and that you wanted him to take it from me. But you didn't, presumably because you were afraid he would betray you and sell it to one of your rivals. And now your plan has gone wrong and I still have the key. Which wouldn't have happened if you'd trusted him from the start."

The First did not reply, but continued to seethe in silence, which Constantine assumed was because he didn't want to admit that Tanya was correct.

"Which just goes to show the importance of trust in any business," Tanya continued. "Customers have to be able to trust that they will receive the goods or services they've paid for. Employers have to be able to trust that employees will–"

"Shutup shutup shutup shutup shutup! Just shut your damned mouth for once!" the First snapped at her. "You… you can stay locked up here forever! And you–" He wheeled around and snarled at Constantine. "I ought to–"

Constantine stumbled sideways, towards where Tanya was imprisoned. Very deliberately, he stretched out a foot and scuffed over some of the runes he'd drawn on the floor, breaking the circle. "It seems like the two of you have a lot to talk about," he said. "I'll leave you to it, shall I?"

He expected a loud crack or an explosion, something that would signify the collapse of a magical barrier, but nothing seemed to happen. Tanya stepped out of the circle as lightly and easily as if she'd never been confined.

"You want the Key to Hell?" she asked, carelessly dangling it from her outstretched hand. "Come take it."

With a scream of incoherent rage, the First of the Fallen flung himself at her, striking with all of his strength. There was a thunderous noise and a blast of force that caused the entire room to shudder. Dust fell from the ceiling and cracks snaked through the floor.

Constantine was struck by something that lifted him off his feet and smashed him against a wall. He fell in a crumpled heap. Through a haze of agony and dismay, he sank into a sea of unconsciousness.

***

In a frenzy of rage and fear, the First of the Fallen lashed out with all of his might, striking again and again. His attacks were powerful – and would have inflicted dreadful wounds if they'd connected with their intended target – but they lacked finesse, which made it easy for Tanya to turn them aside or dodge out of the way. Coolly, she waited for him to exhaust himself and lower his guard, just a little. Then, she retaliated with a lightning-fast blow that sent him hurtling backwards.

Because he was an incorporeal spirit-being, at least to some extent, there was no need for him to pick himself up off the floor. He was visibly shaken and bloodied, but still capable of continuing the fight. Instead, he turned and fled.

"Oh no. Come back and fight. Don't be a coward," said Tanya, in a bored monotone. If she'd chased after him, she probably could have caught him, but she didn't bother. She had already prepared for this eventuality.

Looking around, she saw Constantine's body lying broken on the floor, like a discarded ragdoll, and knew he was about to die. It was unlikely that anyone knew he was here, so his corpse might not be discovered for months or even years. Poetic justice, some might say. In a desperate attempt to save himself from dying of cancer, he had made a deal with a demon and thereby squandered what little life he had left. He got what he deserved, in the end.

Yet she could still save him. She might even be contractually obligated to do so.

As she approached, his eyelids fluttered open. He tried to speak, but could only gasp for breath. "Hrrgh…"

"I promised that if you released me from that prison I would heal you. I keep my promises," she said. She didn't bother to mention the fact that she'd already broken out of her invisible prison even before he'd decided to release her from it. He'd done exactly what she'd asked and she would repay him accordingly. "Also, I promised to do nothing to harm you or anyone you care about, so I'll make this as painless as possible."

She had no need to stretch out a hand or mutter a few mystical phrases, except out of habit. After practicing for many lifetimes, she could heal someone just as easily as she could take them apart. The damage to Constantine's body was extensive, but she'd seen worse. Spinal cord injury, fractured vertebrae, lung cancer, various smaller tumors spread throughout his body… There was nothing she couldn't fix.

"I said I'd heal you until you were in 'perfect condition' for a man of your age," she said, making a few more changes. "Somewhat open to interpretation, as you pointed out, but I don't think you or your doctor will have any reason to complain." His face suddenly became ageless and unlined, causing her to frown. "I may have erred in your favor."

"W-why have you done this?" asked Constantine, sitting up and stretching as if he'd just woken from a long sleep.

"As I said before, I keep my promises."

He squinted distrustfully at her. "And what do you want in exchange?"

Indicating the remains of the arcane circle, Tanya said, "Don't do anything like that again. Next time, I won't be so merciful."

"Yes… I s'pose I should thank you," he said, uneasily. "You saved my life."

"I expected better of you, Constantine," said Dream of the Endless, entering the cellar. In his hands, he held what looked like a large glass ball, inside which a miniaturized First of the Fallen screamed soundlessly and slammed his fists against the walls to no effect. "What you did was wrong and foolish and…" He glanced at Tanya, hesitated and then said, "Nevertheless, it would be hypocritical of me to condemn you for that."

"I was desperate and dying of cancer… but I know I shouldn't have done what I did," Constantine admitted.

"You're alive," said Tanya. "Make the most of it."

He didn't reply, but nodded and looked rather thoughtful.

"Perhaps there is something else you might like to ask Lady Tanya, while she's here in front of you," Dream prompted him. "I refer, of course, to the tragic events that happened in Newcastle more than ten years ago, which still haunted your dreams until recently."

"Yeah, thanks again for that," said Constantine, scratching the back of his neck. "So, it's like this… I tried to save a little girl who was possessed by a demon, but I was a reckless idiot and…" He grimaced. "She was killed and her soul was dragged off to Hell. Because of my mistakes."

Tanya refrained from commenting on the implication that he was no longer a 'reckless idiot', when recent experience suggested otherwise. She had more important matters to consider. "Would you like me to save her?"

Briefly, Constantine looked like he wanted to quibble over what she meant by the word 'save'. But he must have decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, as he merely nodded and said, "Yeah, if it's not too much trouble. Last I heard, she was in the clutches of a demon named Buer."

"Buer is currently in rebellion against me. He will be punished and the children he holds captive will be freed," Tanya promised.

"What will happen to them after that?" Constantine wanted to know.

"That's up to them. Maybe they'll be reincarnated and have another life. Or maybe they'll go to Heaven." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I would prefer it if they didn't, but that's not for me to decide."

"Well, that's very kind of you…"

"I'm doing you a favor," Tanya corrected him. "In exchange… it's possible that I may have some work for you in future. For which you would be fairly paid and have the right to refuse, of course."

"Oh, of course," said Constantine, edging towards the door. "But, for now… I'll just go, shall I?"

"Yes, off you go," Tanya agreed. "I'm sure I'll see you again."

Constantine looked as if he hoped not, but he nodded again and then scurried away as if hoping he could leave his most recent regrets behind.

When he was gone, Dream offered Tanya the glass ball in which her defeated enemy was imprisoned and said, "This is for you."

"You give such wonderful presents," she said, taking it from him. "No wonder so many women have fallen for you."

He winced. "I suppose I deserved that," he admitted. "And yet, in spite of what I did to her, Nada found it in herself to forgive me. I hope that someday you'll do the same."

"You've helped me, so… I'll think about it, " said Tanya, with a playful smile.

Dream seemed to shudder. "I… I would appreciate that."

A moment of contemplative silence passed between them.

"Thank you for your assistance. I would have found it difficult to capture this one without your help," said Tanya, managing to hold the large glass ball under one arm. Inside, the First of the Fallen could be seen ranting and raging just as ineffectually as ever.

"I'm sure you would have managed," said Dream. "Still, I am pleased to have been of service to you."

"Such a gentleman," said Tanya, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Now, I must return to Hell. I've been gone too long already."

"Yes, I have duties of my own that I must attend to. First of all, I must decide what to do with this place," said Dream, looking around the cellar. "Evidently, it has partially merged with the Dreaming, which made it easy for me to defeat the First of the Fallen, but could also be a weakness."

"I thought maybe you could turn it into a tourist attraction for angels, demons and other beings who've never experienced the joys of sleep," Tanya suggested. "Personally, I found it very restful."

"I'll bear that in mind," said Dream. The faintest impression of a wry smile appeared on his lips.

"Farewell," said Tanya, even as she opened the portal that would take her back to Hell.

***

In the space between one moment and the next, it occurred to her to wonder why she had been so lenient with John Constantine. In some of her past lives, long ago, she would have exacted a horrible revenge and then exhibited whatever was left of him, so that anyone who might oppose her would think twice about doing so. It had never worked out as well as she'd expected. Some of her enemies seemed to see it as a challenge. And if it doesn't work… Why bother?

More than that, she couldn't be angry with Constantine because she didn't really care about what he'd done to her. She'd suffered much worse on innumerable occasions. It made no sense to take offense over something so trivial. He'd gambled and lost, but proved himself a worthy player of the game, and Tanya found herself looking forward to their next meeting. In future, he might be a useful asset.

By the same token, she didn't really mind that the Triumvirate and their followers had rebelled against her. At least it gave her something marginally more interesting to do than filing and stocktaking. And it gave her the perfect opportunity to dispose of some of her more useless and loathsome subordinates. The recent civil war was more enjoyable than anything else that had happened since Lucifer had appointed her as the new ruler of Hell. She felt more alive than she had in centuries.

Still, it made no real difference whether she won or lost. Not while Being X was ruler of the universe and everything in it. None of this matters at all.

Chapter Text

Accompanied by a few of his most devoted sycophants, those who'd somehow survived the chaos and destruction of the recent battle, Azazel fled as fast as he could. He'd anticipated that by now he and the other members of the Triumvirate would be celebrating their hard-earned victory and plotting how they would eventually betray each other, but he'd been wrong. First, Hastur and his army had held out for much longer than expected, then the angels had come along and ruined everything, and then Ran Va Daath had unleashed her pet monstrosities to sweep away what little remained. His plans had been ripped to shreds.

Even so, he might be able to salvage something from this disaster. Beelzebub had been taken captive and the First of the Fallen was either dead or fleeing, but their army was largely intact. If he were to gather it back together and take charge, he would be in a strong position, stronger than any of his rivals, and then the aristocracy of Hell would fall into line behind him. Of course, he'd still have to defeat Hastur's loyalists and Ran Va Daath, but it would be easier next time, without the angels' interference. He was confident he would win, in the end.

And then, all of a sudden, he was caught in an ambush. A heavily-armed group of demons emerged from behind rocks and the lip of a nearby crater. Azazel recognised their leader: the yellow-skinned demon known as Etrigan.

"You look so stupid when you're slithering along the ground like a snake," one of Etrigan's cronies, who was wearing a horned helmet, jeered at Azazel.

"If you have any suggestions for how else I should move about, I'd be interested to hear them," said Azazel, hoping that having a sense of humour would enable him to survive a little longer. "After all, I don't have any legs."

There were sniggers at that. Etrigan huffed impatiently.

"We're here to kill. No more needs be said. Why speak ill of the nearly dead?" he asked, breathing out a gout of fire as if to punctuate his words. One of Azazel's closest allies, whose name he couldn't quite remember, burst into flames and was reduced to ashes in a matter of seconds.

As if this was the signal they had been waiting for, the other demons leapt into action. Azazel was attacked from all sides and forced to defend himself. Some of his foes he bound with coils of darkness and dragged into a pocket dimension from which there could be no escape, but that didn't seem to deter any of the others. They shot at him with magical bullets, stabbed him with cursed blades, and kept him at bay with flaming torches.

"If… if you kill me… it won't matter." Writhing in pain, he groaned and gasped with dozens of mouths. "I will be reborn. But your friends, the ones I've captured… They'll never be free…"

"They knew the risks," said a wormlike demon with too many teeth.

"I contain multitudes. If you kill me… they'll all be gone, forever."

"Do you expect us to care? We're demons! Rip and tear!" cried a demon who looked like a mummified skeleton, proudly glancing around to see if anyone had noticed his clever rhyme.

"Suffer and die… and fry," said Etrigan, not to be outdone. Opening his mouth, he disgorged hellish flames from whatever he had instead of lungs.

Azazel was engulfed in fire. He was made of darkness, a glimpse of the void between stars, but now an inferno was spreading across that void, like the birth of a new universe, and he was undone. Little by little, he began to disintegrate, splitting apart into sooty motes of shadow, which slowly faded from sight, until there was nothing left.

***

Etrigan watched as Azazel died, feeling a vague sense of disappointment. He had hoped that the would-be king of Hell would put up more of a fight. 'Who else is left? The First of the Fallen? I'm not sure if he survived the battle earlier. If he did, he might provide a challenge,' he mused. 'And there were various other powerful demons who sided with the Triumvirate. My father, for one. I'll have to kill him again.' He considered a few other possibilities. 'Buer won't put up a fight. More likely he'll try to hide in some forgotten corner. Asteroth might be a worthy opponent, if he's still alive. I'm sure Triskele would find a way to make things interesting, but I suspect she'd prefer to make a deal. Nergal was once worshipped as a god, but he's fallen far since those days. Last time he dared to think for himself, the First of the Fallen cut him to pieces. I won't expect much from him.'

It all seemed too easy. He felt as if Hell's throne was being gifted to him, as if someone had cleared the way for him, so that all he needed to do was claim his prize. He didn't feel as if he'd earned it. Was he being baited into a trap? Would someone make sure his triumph was followed by an even more spectacular fall, just like last time? Or would his ultimate victory be as effortless as it now seemed? If so, he had nothing to look forward to but an extended mopping-up exercise: a long series of meaningless battles against foes who were no match for him.

He sighed. 'Never mind. There will be other worlds to conquer.'

Putting on a savage grin, he turned to his followers and said: "It's time to move on. There's work to be done. We'll go to Hastur and persuade him to kneel. He won't demur; he'll make a deal or else he'll fall beneath our claws, our flames and steel."

They reacted to this with glee. He suspected that, much like him, they'd prefer it if Hastur tried to resist.

***

On a field of dust, debris and the broken bodies of their dead comrades, two demons faced off against each other. Quivering and trying not cower, one of them was fat, oleaginous and pathetic-looking, with stubby wings protruding from his back. His opponent had off-white skin, a barbed tail sticking out of the back of his tattered trousers, and a bold, confident air about him.

"Why don't you just give up, Scumspawn?" He sneered. "Tanya's dead!"

"She's not! She disappeared, but that doesn't mean she's dead! Besides…" Scumspawn nervously moistened his lips. "I don't see why we have to fight. What's the point?"

"Because you joined the losing side! Because you're still on her side!"

"We used to be friends, Gary…"

"We were never friends!"

"You don't mean that," said Scumspawn, backing away. "Anyway, Lady Tanya was the best ruler we've ever had, so why–"

"She was a tyrant who oppressed all of us!" yelled Gary. Then he paused, thought for a moment, and added, "And not in an enjoyable way!"

"I love her," said Scumspawn, eyes glistening wetly.

Gary was so surprised by this that he was momentarily paralysed, slack-jawed and eyes wide.

"But not in a sexual way. My love is pure and platonic," Scumspawn hastened to add. "I don't even have genitals."

"Yes, I can see that!"

There was another pause. Gary shuddered and shook himself as if by doing so he could rid himself of unpleasant thoughts. Then, he turned his gaze on Scumspawn once again. "Fight me, you festering puddle of filth!" he yelled, taking a speculative swipe at him.

Scumspawn stumbled backwards and tripped over a loose stone. He tried to roll over and crawl away, certain that at any moment Gary would leap at him and tear him to pieces. But then a beam of blinding light came down from the sky and he was forced to shut his eyes. He heard a sizzle.

Moments later, when he dared to open his eyes again, Gary was gone and Tanya was floating in the air above him. Her golden hair was like a halo and she seemed to shine like the midday sun. Under one arm, she carried a glass globe that was filled with some murky, squirming substance. Her face was impassive, but Scumspawn thought he could detect a glimmering of kindness behind it.

"I cannot return your love, Scumspawn," she said, trying to smile. "I don't know if I'm capable of loving anyone. Or if I ever was." She gazed into the distance, as if peering through the veil of time, at the vague shapes and distant silhouettes of people she used to know. "Nevertheless, I appreciate your regard for me. And I am grateful for your loyalty."

"It's no problem," Scumspawn chirped. "I understand!"

"Take care of yourself." She gave him a stiff nod. Then, indicating the glass globe under her arm, she muttered, "Now, I'd better find a place to put this…"

He watched as she flew away, beyond the horizon and out of sight.

***

Crowley should have escaped earlier. He'd left it too late. "That's what I get for doing my job too well," he muttered to himself. "I shouldn't have bothered."

Until a few minutes ago, he'd been trying to keep Tanya's forces – what was left of them, at least – coordinated and in contact with each other, as well as keeping track of where their enemies were. The problem was that the grand army of the Triumvirate had shattered into dozens of pieces, each of them led by one of their former lieutenants, and one of them had decided to assault Tanya's headquarters, where Crowley was, presumably in the hope of finding something worth looting.

'They'll be disappointed,' Crowley thought. But that wouldn't save him. Quite the reverse, probably. The bunker was empty save for him and a few others who'd been hanging on for as long as possible. When the looters found there was nothing worth taking, they'd take out their frustrations on him and anyone else they could find.

He tried to sneak away, slinking through the unlit corridors and staying out of sight, making for the nearest exit, but soon his luck ran out. He came across a whole crowd of looters who were coming the other way.

"What this? One of Tanya's minions?" said a demon with bestial features and an excessively muscular body. "Let's get him!"

"Stay away from me!" Crowley brandished a spray bottle as if it was a deadly weapon. "Don't make me use this?"

"What are you going to do with that?" asked one of the other demons, who had horns and a goatee beard, cocking his head to one side and looking confused.

"Precisely. It's holy water!"

All of the looters flinched reflexively at that. "You're bluffing!" insisted the overmuscled demon. "You wouldn't carry something like that around with you. What if you got some of it on your hands?"

"Maybe I'm bluffing, maybe I'm not," said Crowley, with a devil-may-care smirk. "Do you want to find out? Are you feeling lucky?"

They regarded him sullenly. He gestured for them to get out of his way. As he was about to pass, one of them lunged at him, shouting, "You can't kill all of us!"

Crowley was astonished that anyone could be so abysmally stupid. But even as he squeezed the trigger and sprayed his assailant with a fine mist of harmless droplets, he knew that he'd lost. His bluff had been called and now he was about to get the thrashing of a lifetime. Or maybe he could try turning into a snake, but he didn't think that would help.

The looters roughly seized him, which felt almost as if they were trying to pull him apart, and one of them wrested the spray bottle out of his hand.

Leaning in close enough that Crowley was nauseated by his foul-smelling breath, the overmuscled demon said, gloatingly, "Take a minute to think about where I'm going to shove this!"

A familiar voice rang out, clear and resonant, in a tone that brooked no refusal: "Unhand my friend!"

Enraged at having been interrupted, the looters turned to the new arrival, snarling and snapping, and would have attacked him as well if they hadn't been transfixed by his holy light. It was Aziraphale, dressed in his usual beige suit and tweed waistcoat, with his wings furled behind him, wielding a flaming sword in one hand. He looked stern and imposing, like Crowley had never seen him before. 'It's a new look for him. I'm not sure I like it.'

The looters panicked and ran, unable to withstand the angel's divine radiance. Slowly, gradually, the light faded. Aziraphale became his normal self, as rumpled as ever, and returned his sword to its sheath, which was clipped to his belt and looked rather incongruous next to his everyday clothes.

"Aziraphale, you're here! You came all this way to… to help me," said Crowley, whose pride wouldn't allow him to admit that he'd been rescued. "I… uh, I suppose I should… thank you."

"I'm glad I found you in time," said Aziraphale, smiling tentatively. "It seems odd to say this, but… ah, life wouldn't be the same without you."

"I never expected to see you here in Hell," Crowley croaked. "But I'm pleased you came."

They stared at each other, not knowing what else to say. One of them took a step forward – it might have been Crowley – and then they were embracing each other. It felt right. They stayed there, enjoying the warmth, the closeness, the feeling of companionship, for quite some time.

"Crowley! Put down your boyfriend and come with me!" Chantinelle the succubus commanded him. She was hurrying down the dingy corridor, dressed in a military uniform and carrying an assault rifle. There was a harsh, purposeful look about her, as if she wouldn't hesitate to do whatever was necessary.

"He's not my boyfriend!" Crowley insisted, even as he and Aziraphale reluctantly parted.

Chantinelle gave an indifferent shrug. "Whatever. Just stop making out with him and get ready to go."

"What do you mean 'making out with'? Such a vulgar American expression," Aziraphale scoffed. Not waiting for a reply, he turned stiffly and marched towards the exit.

"I think you upset him," said Crowley, glaring daggers at Chantinelle.

"I've done much worse things," she muttered. For a moment, it seemed as if she was about to continue down the corridor, but then she hesitated. "Crowley, whatever you've got going on with that angel–"

"There is nothing 'going on' between me and that angel!" he insisted.

"Whatever happens, savour it. Try to make it last."

"Uh... I don't know what you mean."

"It doesn't matter." She sighed and shook her head. "I just wanted to say… good luck."

"Thanks, I guess," said Crowley, who was bemusedly wondering if he should demand an explanation for her odd behaviour.

While he was mulling this over in his mind, she set off again. He followed her down the corridor, through the exit and out into the light, where Aziraphale was waiting.

***

As she flew over a colossal expanse of battle-scarred and cratered wasteland, Tanya heard fresh screams, very close by, and was curious enough to investigate. The source of the noise wasn't difficult to find: it was Choronzon, who was a duke of Hell and a persistent thorn in her side. He was being roasted over a slow fire by three spindly red-skinned demons with yellow eyes and fanged mouths. They were tormenting him, prodding him with tridents – or were they toasting forks? – and sniggering at his agonized squeals.

Tanya was briefly fascinated by the way Choronzon's bright pink flesh had partially melted in the heat, as if it was plastic. Then, she remembered to ask: "What's the point of this?"

"Because it's fun!" crowed one of the torturers, grinning grotesquely.

In a sweet and simpering voice, another said, "We are your loyal servants, Lady Tanya, and he is a rebel. More than that, he inspired many others to rebel – don't you remember? – when he insisted you play the oldest game against Dream of the Endless and then mocked you for… ah, for coming second."

"Yes, he should be punished," Tanya agreed. "In a time and place of my choosing, just like all the other rebels. I should be the one to pass judgement upon them. 'Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.' Or so they say." She couldn't help but grimace at the words she'd quoted from Being X's holy book. Even if she was deliberately mocking and twisting their meaning, they seemed to cause her physical pain.

There was a pause. Still roasting on the fire, straining his back in his efforts to get away from it, Choronzon whimpered. His torturers tensed, waiting in trepidation to hear what Tanya would say next.

In a voice strained and heavy with weariness, she muttered, "On the other hand, I don't have time for that now. You'll have to hold onto him for me. For a while."

Wicked smirks spread over their faces. She turned and flew away before she could see what she did next.

An agonized wail followed her. She didn't look back.

***

In a large tent that was the administrative heart of a thriving military encampment, Etrigan explained the situation to Hastur and his lieutenants, who listened solemnly.

"I can't think of anyone else who could be Tanya's regent," Hastur admitted. "But I'm sure she'll be back soon, so it won't be for very long."

"That's fine by me. Bow before my majesty," said Etrigan with a smirk. Some of his supporters, who were standing beside him, sniggered at that.

"If that's what you want." Hastur lowered his head cautiously, as if worried that someone might try to cut it off, and signalled for his lieutenants to do the same.

"Now, we must end this civil war, slay my rivals, lay down the law," said Etrigan. "First, we take back the land we've lost. Push back the invaders, no matter the cost."

"Rhyme all you like, but my soldiers are more useful if they're alive. I won't be doing anything 'no matter the cost'."

Etrigan's smirk broadened. "Defiance already? How can that be? I thought I had your fealty."

"You're the regent. I'll obey your orders in my own way, without carelessly spending the lives of those under my command." Hastur growled. "And if you've got a problem with that, take it up with Tanya when she gets back."

"Insubordination!" one of Etrigan's minions bellowed. "Punish him!"

"That would be too much. A poor start to my reign. They say a light touch is best, so I'll refrain from acting with haste. It would be a waste to punish him now. And yet, this I vow: defy me again and you'll meet your end."

Hastur scowled at that. "I've already agreed that you're the boss and I'll follow your orders so long as they're not bloody stupid. What more do you want? Should I kiss your feet as well?"

"While Tanya's not here, I am the king," said Etrigan, in a mockingly soft and gentle voice, as if explaining something to a small child. "Which means, it should be clear, that everything I say you must obey."

"Screw that. Being Tanya's regent doesn't mean you get to throw your weight around. You're just a placeholder, not a king in your own right."

"And what if she never returns? What will you do then, you mindless worm?" Etrigan demanded to know.

"I've had enough of this!" cried another of his minions, in a tone of excessive eagerness. "Kill him and be done with it!"

Hastur transfixed Etrigan with a murderous glare. "Control your lapdogs," he said, through gritted teeth. "And your tongue as well."

At the front of the tent, there was the main entrance, which had two lengths of fabric hanging over it, like a pair of curtains. These gave the illusion of privacy, as if the demons outside weren't listening avidly to everything that was being said.

Suddenly, the tent flaps were flung open and someone else entered the room: someone they hadn't expected to see.

"That's enough," said Tanya Degurechaff. "Thank you for your concern, but I don't need a regent."

"Lady Tanya! I knew you'd be back!" Hastur gave a joyful whoop.

"I'm glad someone's pleased to see me," said Tanya, with a thin smile.

She heard a scornful chuckle from Etrigan, who said, "Well, what did you expect? That we'd all be waiting here for you, eager and erect?"

"Some of your rhymes are better than others. That wasn't one of the good ones," she replied. "Like I've said before, if you've got something important to say, don't waste time with rhyming nonsense."

"As you wish, my lady." He bowed, very slightly, just enough for it to seem like mockery.

"I'm curious as to what your plan was before I arrived," said Tanya. "Were you trying to provoke Hastur into attacking you? For what purpose? He'd already agreed that you should be regent and that he'd obey your orders so long as they weren't 'bloody stupid'."

"I couldn't be certain of his loyalty," said Etrigan.

"He's loyal to me. That's what matters. Or do you disagree?"

"Are you rhyming now?" He gave a derisive snort. "All right, I admit it: I want to be king of Hell. Your disappearance seemed like the perfect opportunity for me."

She looked unimpressed. "You were trying to usurp me?"

"Yes, if you want to put it like that. Why not?"

"But now I'm back. What a shame. You must be so disappointed."

"Maybe it's better this way." He shrugged. "I never liked the idea of taking over a vacant throne. I'd much rather be king by right of conquest."

"You want to 'conquer' me, do you? Many have tried," said Tanya.

"Or maybe we don't need to fight," said Etrigan, considering his options. "We could rule together as king and queen. Side by side, we'd be unstoppable."

Tanya rolled her eyes. "Not the worst marriage proposal I've ever had. But you'll have to do better than that."

"We could take over the universe together!"

"I'd rather not," she said, with a weary sigh.

With a facetious grin, he continued, "I'm sure our children would be magnificent!"

"Hilarious. Wasn't your last child a mindless, hideous abomination? And its mother, your consort, was named 'Lady Smegma'." Tanya put on an expression of exaggerated disgust. "Bearing that in mind, I'm not sure I'd want to have any kind of physical relationship with you. I might catch something."

Etrigan laughed uproariously at that, but many of his followers seemed much less enthused. In particular, a green-skinned, goat-legged demoness had a look of hurt and betrayal on her face.

"You'd rather fight me? That's fine," said Etrigan. "I've been looking forward to it."

"Now?"

He considered for a moment and then said, "Sure, why not?"

Tanya nodded. "Let's go outside and away from the camp. I'd like to avoid causing any collateral damage."

"Whatever you say," said Etrigan, watching as she turned her back on him and strolled off through the wide-open doorway. "Confident, aren't you?"

"Now's your chance to show her who's boss!" cried one of his supporters in a tone of excessive eagerness. "Wipe that smirk off her face!"

"I didn't notice her smirking. That doesn't seem like her style," said Etrigan. "Are you sure she wasn't wearing a bloodthirsty grin? Or that freaky smile she seems to think is reassuring?"

"There's no way you'll lose this duel," said someone else, whose eyes were shining with hero worship. "You're one of the mightiest demons there's ever been – and she's nothing! A former mortal! Pah!"

It seemed as if several others were about to heap insults on Tanya, but Etrigan silenced them with a ferocious growl. "Lady Tanya is a worthy opponent. Defeating her would be meaningless if she weren't. I want my victory to be glorious. For that, I must treat her with the respect she deserves."

"And what if you lose?" asked Hastur, who'd been observing these proceedings from a discreet distance away, arms folded and with a disgruntled look on his face. "Do you expect Tanya to be merciful?"

Etrigan gave an expansive shrug. "There'd be no fun in gambling if there wasn't a chance of losing."

There was a pause. After some consideration, Hastur said, "Good luck. You'll need it."

"What if I win? What do you imagine I'll do to you then?" Etrigan snarled.

Hastur gave a derisive snort. "I won't waste my time worrying about something that'll never happen."

Chapter Text

Tanya led Etrigan away from the camp and across the blasted wasteland that surrounded it, until they'd left any familiar landmarks far behind. She intended that their duel would take place on a flat, featureless plain, where there'd be no bystanders, innocent or otherwise. However, Etrigan was displeased by this.

"No audience? What a copout!" He threw back his head and gave a scornful laugh. "When I defeat you, I want everyone to see it."

Ignoring his taunts, Tanya said, "You want an audience, do you? Fine."

The Key to Hell was on a chain around her neck, underneath her clothes. She reached for it, grasped it tightly, and concentrated on what she wanted to happen. The landscape shifted and changed. Instead of a barren desert, the site of their duel became a vast amphitheatre. All around, there were rows of seats into which crowds of demons were packed, most of whom looked dazed and disorientated. Hastur and his lieutenants were there; they recovered from their momentary confusion with commendable swiftness. Chantinelle was with her fellow succubi, who were glaring daggers at their mother, Queen Triskele, who was in a separate section of the stands. Agares, Paimon and Vassago wore their usual expressions of boredom and indifference, but their flunkeys were flustered and in disarray. When Etrigan's cronies arrived, they were closely packed together, nearly falling over each other, but they quickly recovered and began cheering for him, hooting and hollering and shouting encouragements.

Elsewhere, Crowley was seated next to an angel – a real angel, one of Being X's lackeys? – a plump fellow in a tweed waistcoat, who looked utterly lost and befuddled. Why was he there? Tanya was annoyed that she didn't know. She resolved that later on, after the duel was over, she would have to find out exactly what had happened in Hell during her absence.

She noticed Crowley slowly edging away from the angel, which she thought was rather sensible of him. Undoubtedly, if Tanya had suddenly found herself next to a potential enemy whose capabilities were unknown, she would have acted in much the same way. At least the angel didn't seem inclined to start a fight – and Crowley's careful movements suggested he was trying not to provoke him – which meant that he was a problem that could be saved for later.

As well as those few she knew personally, there were thousands of other demons from both sides of the war. Tanya sensed their feelings hanging over them like a thick and sickly pall. Many of them were shocked, angry and apprehensive. Some had fresh wounds, were smeared with mud, soot and ichor, and might have continued to grapple with each other if Tanya hadn't separated them with magical barriers. Almost nobody was pleased to see her. Even those who hadn't rebelled against her were worried about what she would do next.

***

Gazing around at Tanya's latest creation, Etrigan saw that the arena floor stretched far into the distance, beyond the dusty horizon, as if there was no end to it. This was despite the fact that the stands seemed very close by, close enough that he could see individual faces in the crowd; there were rows of seats climbing up into the sky, but he couldn't see where they touched the ground. It was a bizarrely distorted edifice and he couldn't see how it all fit together. Of course, there was no need for anything in Hell to conform to the laws of physics.

"You could have done this at any time," he realised. "But still you made me fly all that way? Hah!"

"It's not that simple," said Tanya, with a weary sigh.

She appeared to be trembling with exertion, but Etrigan eyed her distrustfully. He suspected she was trying to lull him into a false sense of security by pretending to be more fatigued than she really was.

"Are you sure about that? At the beginning of the war, you turned your office building into a warzone easily enough. Then, a few minutes later, you fought the Triumvirate and forced them to retreat," he reminded her. "Why would this be any more difficult for you than that?"

"War is something I'm very familiar with. It was easy for me to recreate a few of the battlefields I've seen before," said Tanya. "But this place… This is all new. And there are other things I've had to consider. For instance, I'm not used to moving thousands of demons all at once."

It was impressive that she had managed it, as well as separating those who would have been inclined to carry on fighting, Etrigan had to admit. Even if she'd made a few mistakes here and there, like putting Crowley and that angel together, it was quite an achievement. Was it the Key to Hell that gave her such power? Or was she much more powerful than she had allowed anyone else to realise? Had she deliberately been downplaying her abilities so that she would be underestimated? She was a truly formidable opponent. The thought of their upcoming duel filled him with tingling excitement.

"As long as you're not too tired to give me a decent fight," he said, playfully. "I don't want anyone to say that the only reason I was able to defeat you was because you were already about to collapse with exhaustion."

Tanya shook her head. "Trust me, no one will say that."

Suspecting he was being mocked, Etrigan bared his fangs at her. "We might as well get on with it. Are you ready?"

"Sure," said Tanya. "Show me what you've got."

Without hesitation, Etrigan lunged at her. His claws scraped through empty air. Light as a feather on the breeze, Tanya flitted away from him. "Are we dancing or fighting?" he snarled. "Fight me!"

"As you wish." The air shimmered around Tanya's fists as she swathed them in layer upon layer of magic. A moment later, she darted forward, too fast to be stopped. Even before her fist collided with his face – when it was still several centimetres away – Etrigan was smashed to the ground, feeling as if he'd been hit by a speeding train. If he hadn't been a demon and therefore much tougher than an ordinary mortal, the duel might have ended then and there.

Scrambling to his feet, he spat a stream of hellfire in her direction. Neatly avoiding it, she glared at him and said, "I've heard that your flames cause eternal pain, so I'd prefer it if you didn't use them on me. Eternal life is bad enough without having to suffer eternal pain as well."

"Should I fight you with one hand tied behind my back as well? No, you should be flattered that I feel the need to fight you with every weapon I have," said Etrigan. "Besides, my flames cause eternal pain to humans because hellfire is anathema to them, but you're no longer human. You're a demon, steeped in the raw stuff of Hell, so I'd be surprised if my flames cause you anything worse than a mild sunburn."

"I'm not sure about that. A short while ago, I saw Choronzon being tortured by some of my minions who were roasting him over a slow fire. He certainly didn't seem to be enjoying it."

"It won't cause him any lasting harm. And I doubt it'd do anything to you."

"Then why bother?" asked Tanya.

"Because I'm taking you seriously." Etrigan's red eyes narrowed. "I don't think you're taking me seriously."

He blasted her with more hellfire, a torrent of the stuff, so much that it filled his vision entirely. For a moment, all he could see was fire. Then, as the flames died away and the afterimages began to fade, he glanced around and couldn't see her anywhere. Had he reduced her to ashes? No, of course not. But where was she?

A column of fire and light came down from the sky, scorched Etrigan's flesh, burnt away his clothes and knocked him off his feet again. Tanya was there, high above him, gliding on batlike wings and glaring at him as if he were something she'd found squished under her shoe.

"Hah…" Once again, he struggled to rise. "You know, if you just wanted to see me naked, you could have asked."

"It's not as if you've got anything worth seeing," she said, with a dismissive snort.

"Ah, so you must have been looking! Otherwise, how would you know?"

She didn't dignify that with a reply. Instead, she gazed into the distance and said, "You want me to take you seriously? That's fine. Perhaps I should have done so from the very beginning. I just didn't want to humiliate you too badly."

"You say that, but–" Etrigan began to speak, but Tanya had already zoomed away into the distance. Somehow, she avoided crashing into one of the stands, despite the fact that she seemed to fly straight through it. Presumably, she understood the peculiar geometries of this place better than he did.

Before he could decide what to do next – should he chase after her or get ready to defend himself? – she wheeled around and hit him with another barrage of energy. And another. She seemed to be attacking him from every direction at once, speeding back and forth across the arena so quickly that he had no hope of keeping track of her.

"Huh. You'd give the Flash a run for his money," he murmured.

It occurred to him that this must be what it must be like to be a mere human fighting for a small, impoverished country against a much larger and wealthier country, with outdated and inadequate equipment against top-of-the-range military hardware. He was being bombarded from what seemed like miles away, unable to fight back or even remain standing for longer than a few seconds, and the only reason why he was still alive and conscious was presumably because Tanya was a sadist who wanted him to suffer for as long as possible.

Even as he thought that, Tanya appeared in the air above him, floating a few inches above his head, tantalisingly close, and asked, "Had enough yet?"

"I never had a chance, did I? You were toying with me right from the start." Etrigan didn't have many tricks left in his arsenal, but cunning was one of them. If he could make her doubt herself, he might have a chance. Or maybe not. Either way, he had to try. "Just like the Triumvirate and everyone else who rebelled against you. With the Key to Hell and all the power at your disposal, you could have ended the rebellion as soon as it began. But you didn't. Because it amused you. Because it was all a game to you."

"That's not entirely true. I have been… negligent," said Tanya, as if she were confessing to a terrible crime. In a dull whisper, she continued, "If I had been doing my job properly, the rebellion would never have happened. I was lax and inattentive and I nearly paid the price for that." Her gaze drifted over the crowds in the stands. "In future, I'll have to do better."

"Do you really expect me to believe that it all happened by accident?" Etrigan scoffed. "You wanted it to happen. Because you were bored and wanted something to occupy your time. You manipulated all of us, right from the start."

Tanya hesitated, staring far off into the distance, seeming lost in thought. Desperately seizing this opportunity, Etrigan leapt up and swiped at her, but she dodged without seeming to notice his efforts.

"That sounds like the sort of thing Being X would do." She sighed dismally. "I think it was Nietzsche who said that if you live long enough you'll become something you despise. Or was it one of the Batman movies?"

Etrigan was nonplussed, so much so that he forgot to try attacking again. "There are Batman movies?"

"Nearly a dozen of them."

"I've met him. I thought he was supposed to be an urban legend. A dark and brooding man of mystery, despite his troupe of underage sidekicks. But now they're making movies about him?"

Tanya gave a vague shrug. "A long time ago, in another life, maybe."

"Huh…"

There was a thoughtful pause, during which the spectators jeered and roared their discontentment. Hearing that, Etrigan remembered that he and Tanya were supposed to be duelling. But before he could rise up and attack her again, she pinned him to the ground with an invisible force. Try as he might, he couldn't get free.

"I win," said Tanya, leaning close to him, making sure her words were heard by him alone. "That means I need to decide what to do with you. You fought by my side for months, so I won't imprison you with the rebel leaders. But neither will I reward you as I had planned to. Instead…"

Even as she spoke, Etrigan was distracted by another voice. A very familiar voice. Although it was at the edge of hearing, it seemed to cut through everything else – whatever Tanya was saying, the roaring of the crowd and so on – until he could hear nothing but the words of a rhyme he knew almost as well as he knew his own name: "Gone, gone, the form of man. Rise the demon, Etrigan!"

He sighed resignedly. It was an irresistible summons, calling him to the mortal world, where he would switch places with the human he was bound to. There was no avoiding it.

As he faded away, he saw Tanya's disapproving scowl and heard her say, "I think that's cheating."

***

Etrigan was gone. In his place, there was a human. A white male, of indeterminate age, with red hair that had a prominent white streak. His shoes were scuffed, his pants were torn and he was wearing a brown suit jacket over a turtleneck sweater.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," said Tanya, offering him a hand to help him to his feet. "I am Tanya Degurechaff, ruler of Hell."

He hesitated, refused to take her hand, and managed to push himself up off the dusty floor, though not without difficulty. "I am Jason Blood, though I expect you know that already," he said, glancing around the arena. "Ah… Hell has undergone some changes since the last time I was here."

"What did you expect?" asked Tanya, raising a curious eyebrow.

The ghost of a smile haunted his lips. "Normally, I would be being tortured by now."

"That can be arranged, if it would make you feel more at home. But it will have to wait," said Tanya. "For now…" She raised a hand, summoning her most faithful servant to her side. "Scumspawn, take Mr. Blood to one of the guest suites. He is to be shown every courtesy during his stay here. I'll send for him later."

"Yes, my lady," said Scumspawn, eyes glowing with devotion. "I'll do it right away!"

Jason Blood looked suspicious. "When you say 'guest suite' you mean torture chamber, right?"

"Go and see for yourself. I think you'll be disappointed," said Tanya. "For now, I have work to do. Be off with you."

She gazed around the arena, gripped the Key to Hell in one hand, and began to change it back to what it was before.

***

In the catacombs beneath Arkham Asylum, surrounded by damp and darkness, a group of necromancers had set up a dark magic ritual, trapping the lost souls of former inmates, guards and psychiatrists and anyone else who'd died within the walls of that wretched place. Perhaps they planned to sell them to a demon in exchange for immortality, or they were planning to raise an army of zombies, or plunge Gotham City into eternal night, or some such nonsense.

Etrigan didn't care about that. Gazing around at the subterranean cavern, the stalactites and stalagmites, the dripping walls and dribbly candles, the ritual circle drawn in blood on the floor, and the necromancers in their black robes and hooded cloaks, he put on a predatory grin.

"I'm sure that I've been here before. I suppose this is my first encore," he said, glad of the chance to show off his rhyming skills, now that he wasn't talking to Tanya. "I've been called to set things right. Will you give me a decent fight?"

"Great and mighty demon!" one of the necromancers cried, in a quivering voice. "We offer you these souls in exchange for–"

"So that's a no? Oh, what a shame. 'Cos now you'll have to face my flames!" He blasted them with hellfire. Two of them were reduced to ashes in an instant, but the others raised magical shields to protect themselves from harm.

"Begone, spawn of Hell!" cried one of them, pulling out a magic wand and waving it at him.

Without waiting to see what the wand was supposed to do, Etrigan grabbed the man's outstretched arm and pulled until it parted from his shoulder with a spray of blood and an agonized scream. Letting the soon-to-be-corpse fall to the floor, he turned to the others and said, "So far, this fight has been a bore. To win, you'll need to do much more."

Skeletal hands reached up from the cavern floor, clawing at him. The necromancers had conjured a horde of undead monstrosities, seemingly out of the depths of the earth, all of which were intent on ripping him to shreds.

Etrigan's grin grew even wider. 'Now, that's more like it!'

***

"I must say, Lady Tanya, you're not what I expected," said Jason Blood, sipping at a cup of coffee Scumspawn had provided for him. "But I don't see how I can help you. You'd be better off talking to an economist. Or looking at a reference book."

Tanya refrained from telling him that she knew more about economics than most economists ever would or could. Instead, she said, "All I want is a general overview. What are people afraid of? And what do they need? On a global scale, I mean."

The immortal mystic looked uneasy. "Uh, what will you do with this information? Persuade people to sell you their souls in exchange for an end to climate change and natural disasters?"

"There are billions of souls in Hell already. I don't need anymore," said Tanya. "No, I've been thinking that Hell needs an economy – and a system of currency – that isn't based on the trade in human souls. But for that to work, we need to have something to sell."

***

Having won the war, Tanya was once again the undisputed ruler of Hell. The rebels had been consigned to the Blackest Pit, where they would remain indefinitely until she had need of them. She was considering offering parole to some of them on the condition that they do the drudge work her other employees didn't want to do. In particular, she suspected she might need Beelzebub to help her make sense of the filing system.

Many times, she had been told that delegation was the key to successful leadership. With that in mind, she had given each of her loyal lieutenants – and Ran Va Daath, who had at least been an ally of convenience – their own fiefdom to rule over, as well as a percentage of the human souls who were languishing in Hell. To Hastur she gave those whose sin was violence, Chantinelle the vain and lustful, Agares the gluttons, Paimon the avaricious and spendthrift, Vassago the liars and frauds, and to Ran Va Daath she gave the worst and most despicable criminals, those most deserving of dreadful punishment. The rest she kept for herself.

Although she'd wanted to promote Crowley and give him his own fiefdom, he had refused, saying that he'd rather stay where he was, as the head of her field agents on Earth. This she had accepted, though it left her short of competent subordinates where she needed them most.

Hastur turned his realm into a mountainous region, where clouds drifted over an endless blue sky, where sheep and goats grazed over the sunny uplands and the wind whistled over the high crags. Through this serene landscape, the violent sinners wandered aimlessly, seeming bemused by their surroundings. Tanya wasn't sure if this was supposed to be a punishment for them. Whenever she visited, it always filled her with an aching sense of loss.

"What is this place?" she asked Hastur. "What's the point?"

"Point? Does it need to have a point?" He looked bemused. "This is home."

Meanwhile, Chantinelle was more concerned with consolidating her power as the new queen of the succubi than punishing the sinners who'd been entrusted to her care, for which they seemed grateful. Whenever Tanya looked in on them, they were huddled together and trying not to be noticed.

Agares, Paimon and Vassago ruled over palaces of endless revelry and hedonism, which seemed to satisfy neither them nor their charges. Sooner or later, Tanya knew they would descend into anarchy, fought over by the ambitious flatterers who crawled over the former angels like lice, and she would have to intervene. But that hadn't happened yet.

Ran Va Daath seemed content with her realm of depraved torture and horror. Tanya thought it best to leave her to it. She had no reason to get involved.

At Hell's heart, there was a vast office building, the seat of Tanya's power, from which she presided over the administration of her domain. There, she made plans for the future, consulted with her advisors, and arranged meetings with the great powers of the universe. In pride of place, in the breakroom, there was a picture frame inscribed with the words 'Employee of the Month', inside which there was a photograph of Scumspawn, looking pleased and proud of himself.

***

"That sounds very unlikely," said Batman, having heard garbled accounts of zombies, demons and evil wizards running loose in Arkham Asylum. "Dr. Crane must have slipped fear gas into their ventilation system again."

"But what about the fire?" asked Robin. "It took them a whole day to put it out!"

"There are some dangerous chemicals he could have used. Some of them are very flammable," said Batman. "But we'll have to investigate that later. For now, our priority has to be the mass breakout."

"Okay, sure," said Robin, with a nod.

***

Lucifer was feeling pretty good about himself. Here in Los Angeles, surrounded by the best and worst humanity had to offer, he had everything he could possibly want: pleasant company, drink, drugs, sex, music, and every other sin and vice. He was a wealthy businessman, the owner of Lux, the city's trendiest nightclub, a figure of envy and admiration, and one of the USA's most eligible bachelors according to every gossip magazine. Even if he was only killing time before the Apocalypse began – which shouldn't be long now – it was fun while it lasted.

By now, he'd heard every chat-up line imaginable, so he just rolled his eyes when a petite blonde came up to him and said, "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven… Lucifer?"

"You'll have to try harder than that," he said, giving her a dazzling smile. "Put some passion into it next time. Show me how sweet and charming you can be. Maybe wear something a little more revealing. I get that the intention is to be mysterious, to make people wonder what you're hiding under there – done right, that can be very alluring – but you've gone a bit too far, darling. Points for trying, though."

She stared at him with that same flat, emotionless expression. "Don't you recognize me?"

"Nope! But don't take it to heart. I sleep with a lot of people," he said, cheerfully.

"It's Tanya. Tanya Degurechaff," she said, folding her arms.

If he'd been holding a glass, he'd have dropped it. "Oh. What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk," she said. "In private."

His good mood evaporated, but he didn't argue. "Yeah, all right. Come with me."

As he passed by the bar, Mazikeen started humming 'bow-chika-bow-wow', so he gave her the finger.

Chapter Text

Judging by Lucifer's reputation, Tanya might have expected his penthouse suite to be a showcase of obscene decadence; instead, it was exquisitely furnished in a stylish and yet understated manner. Clearly, its owner was a man of wealth and taste. A rare combination, she knew. Having lived many lives, she had met hundreds of wealthy people who had no taste whatsoever. Every one of them had imagined themselves to be unique and individual, pioneers and visionaries, who had achieved greatness through their own hard work, effort and intellect; and yet, no matter whether they were kings or emperors, noblemen or businessmen, the ancien régime or the nouveau riche, they all blurred together in her memories as a single homogenized mass, with nothing to distinguish any one of them from the rest. Even their crassness and lack of taste wasn't enough to make them memorable; there were too many others just like them. Once, she had aspired to join them; she had believed that if she worked hard enough she would amass enough wealth and high status that she wouldn't have to work at all. Until she died and was forced to start all over again. Over and over again.

"Now, what would you like?" asked Lucifer, fussing with his drinks cabinet and a selection of cocktail glasses.

He was putting on a show of being a gracious and generous host, which made Tanya suspicious. There was no possibility of his attempting to drug or poison her - she was a supernatural being whose physical appearance was a tiny facet of what she truly was – and what would be the point? It would be churlish of her to refuse his hospitality, which might put her at a disadvantage when they finally got down to business, so she had little choice but to accept. However, it had been decades since she'd had anything to drink – and she couldn't remember what beverages she had enjoyed back when she was mortal - so she didn't have an answer for him. Instead, she put on an insouciant air and said, "Surprise me."

"Oh, I can certainly do that." He smirked. "But I want you to enjoy it. That's the tricky part."

For a few minutes, he busied himself with various bottles and kitchen appliances – including a coffee machine - while Tanya wondered if this was some kind of peculiar dominance display. Was Lucifer deliberately making her wait in order to demonstrate the fact that, even though she was now the ruler of Hell while he was masquerading as a mere nightclub owner, he still had power over her? He had taken on the appearance of an ebullient young man who was enjoying life to the fullest, but how much did that reflect the truth? Was his current behavior because he was determined to spread his enjoyment around as much as possible? Or was there some sinister motive lurking underneath?

At last, Lucifer presented Tanya with a cocktail glass filled with a dark liquid, topped with creamy froth and three coffee beans floating in it.

"An espresso martini," he said, handing it to her. "Let me know what you think."

Tanya took a sip and found it to be surprisingly palatable. Coffee mixed with vodka and sugar. Rather pleasant, actually. She suddenly recalled that there had been a time when she had enjoyed coffee very much. But maybe that was because of who she'd been drinking it with: someone she'd lost a long, long time ago.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Lucifer was waiting for some kind of reaction, so she gave him an approving nod and said, "Good choice. Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," he replied, with a self-satisfied smile, sipping from his own glass of something fiery orange and garnished with lemon peel.

There was silence, for a few moments, as both of them continued sipping at their drinks and waiting for the other to speak. Tanya had nothing to prove and her patience was not unlimited, so she didn't try to wait him out. Instead, she said, "I expect you're wondering why I'm here."

"This isn't just a social call? What a shame." He sighed extravagantly. "All right, I'll bite. What's this about?"

"Business opportunities," said Tanya. "I'm here to make you an offer."

Lucifer's lips twitched and for a moment Tanya suspected that he was about to make an off-color joke. He restrained himself with visible effort and said, "What could you possibly offer me? I have everything I want."

"A peaceful, pleasant retirement, surrounded by luxury. I envy you."

"If I wanted more, I'd still be the ruler of Hell," said Lucifer.

"And what will happen when the Apocalypse comes?" asked Tanya.

Lucifer looked suspicious. "Does it matter? I am doomed to be defeated in the final battle between good and evil. And there's nothing I, you or anyone can do about it." There was a brief, agonized pause before he continued: "That's why I'm here. If I have no choice but to lose, then I refuse to play."

"Which is something you've chosen to do. And the fact that you were able to choose suggests that perhaps your fate isn't as predetermined as you might believe."

In a deadened, passionless voice, Lucifer said, "I hope you're right. But I'm sure I'll be forced into my prophesied role sooner or later. God is not mocked."

"I refuse to give up. I will fight on until the end," said Tanya. "Perhaps I have no hope of winning, but I will continue to try."

"There was a time when I thought the same. But that was millions of years ago."

"And that is why I'm here. First of all, I offer you amusement and entertainment: I'll let you watch as I thrash about like a fly caught in a web, hopelessly trying and failing to escape my destiny. You can enjoy the feeling of smug superiority when you think about how you 'told me so'. And if somehow I succeed… my victories will be your victories. You'll have achieved everything you ever wanted without having to lift a finger."

"Except that you want something from me in exchange," said Lucifer. "What is it?"

"First, I need information. Tell me about the Apocalypse."

"Oh, that. You can read about it in the Book of Revelation, in the Bible. I'm surprised you haven't already."

Tanya gave a slow and doubtful nod. "But is it all true? Seas of blood, stars falling from the sky, armies of locusts with the teeth of lions, and so on?"

"True enough. With a certain degree of artistic license, of course. You know what prophets are like." He paused and considered for a moment. "Or maybe you don't. But I'm certain that you'll understand they need to maximize their profits somehow."

"So, is it true or not that you will be bound in chains and thrown into the bottomless pit for a thousand years? And then tormented for the rest of eternity in a lake of fire and brimstone?"

Lucifer's habitual smirk wavered, like a waning candle. "I hope not. But there's nothing I can do about it that I haven't already done."

"What about the Antichrist, whose destiny it is to bring about the Apocalypse? Or maybe that's not the case? There are multiple different interpretations of what's written in the Bible about him, so I'm not sure what to believe. Still, he's supposed to be your son, isn't he?"

"Yes. He is."

"You must have known what would happen when you fathered him. It's a shame you couldn't 'keep it in your pants', as they say."

When he spoke again, there was a rumble of anger in Lucifer's voice, like a distant storm. Fires gleamed behind his eyes. "You're assuming I had a choice."

Tanya's eyes widened just a fraction. "You were raped?"

"No."

"But… you didn't have a choice?"

"No. I didn't," said Lucifer, through gritted teeth.

"That sounds like rape to me," said Tanya.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Hmm. I suppose it doesn't matter now. What's done is done."

"The past is in the past," Lucifer agreed, with some relief.

"How old is he now?" Tanya wanted to know. "The Antichrist, I mean."

"About eight years old."

"Which means we probably have less than a decade before the Apocalypse begins. Hardly any time at all."

"You should talk to Crowley about it. He's the one who's been keeping tabs on the boy."

"Oh, I will," Tanya assured him.

"The last I heard, he seemed like a perfectly ordinary child. Although presumably that will change when he gets closer to adulthood. And then he'll be taken to the fields of Megiddo where the final battle between good and evil will be fought." Lucifer rolled his eyes at that. "Everything has been very carefully stage-managed, you see. It's God's will."

"So, no matter what I do, what plans I make or what I achieve, it's unlikely to make any difference in the end. I'm going to lose anyway." Tanya heaved an exasperated sigh. "Well, what else is new? That's the way it's always been."

"I'll drink to that," said Lucifer, downing the rest of his cocktail and slapping it down on the counter. "Personally, I'm determined to make the most of the time I have left. If I have to lose, I might as well enjoy myself in the meantime."

"Which is why you subcontracted your job to me. Thank you for that, by the way."

Lucifer recovered his smirk. "Anytime." Then, in a more serious tone, he continued, "It was a rigged game from the start and I couldn't be bothered to play anymore. So I cashed in my chips and walked away. Maybe it was wrong of me to expect you to take over from me, but would you honestly have preferred it if I'd left you in that torture chamber?"

"No, certainly not," Tanya admitted.

"Besides, I was out of ideas, but you still had some hope. More than a little spite and defiance. And you were determined not to let 'Being X' win. I thought you'd do a good job."

"Color me intrigued," said Lucifer. He gave Tanya a significant glance, as if to indicate that she should keep talking.

"I'm sure you've heard that recently there was a rebellion in Hell. I defeated the rebels, but many of my employees are still restless and unhappy. To have the best chance of preventing future rebellions, I need to make sure they are adequately compensated for their work."

"When I ruled Hell, most of the rank-and-file demons were perfectly happy so long as they could torture the damned as much as they liked. Is that no longer the case?"

"Such torture is cruel and pointless. I have put a stop to it, except for those who have committed the most heinous sins."

"And in doing so you deprived your 'employees' of their main source of entertainment. Didn't you think that might cause problems?"

Tanya hesitated. "Perhaps I did, but I didn't care enough to do anything about it."

"But now you do? Wonderful," said Lucifer, with a sardonic laugh. "I look forward to hearing exactly how you think I can help with that."

"I need to ensure my employees are adequately compensated for their work. However, there are several obstacles I need to bypass before I can do that. First, even now the demon population has been reduced by more than half, since most of the rebels have been killed or imprisoned, there just isn't enough for them to do. I suppose I could give them more paperwork, but they would hate it, no one would ever bother to read it, and I suspect it would cause a mutiny, which would defeat the purpose."

"I'm not sure how you think I can help with that. Unless this is your roundabout way of asking if I need any more bartenders or bouncers here at Lux. I don't, but it's an intriguing thought."

Tanya put on her best impression of a friendly smile. "It is, isn't it? Your nightclub would be an excellent place for certain trusted demons to acclimate themselves to the mortal world, under your watchful eye."

"That sounds like fun. Actually, no." Lucifer grimaced. "That sounds about as much fun as a wine-and-shotgun-tasting party."

"It would only be for those who've truly earned it, who can be trusted not to abuse the privilege," Tanya assured him.

"If you need agents in the mortal world, why not recruit a few humans to do your bidding?"

"Because I'll need them to do things humans cannot."

"Well, that's up to you. I trust you know what you're doing," said Lucifer, dubiously.

"I want to find something useful for my employees to do, so they can take pride in their work. Not just worthless sinecures. And I'll make sure they get fairly paid. To do that, I plan to introduce a system of currency to Hell. One that isn't based on human souls."

"Fiat money? It could work, I suppose." Lucifer paused, looking contemplative. "Actually, considering that Hell would be a closed system in which you'd control the money supply, how much your 'employees' earn and what they can buy with it, it could work very well."

"I had planned to introduce an exchange rate, so it will be possible to convert 'Hell money' into dollars, yen and other Earth currencies."

"I'm sure the Chinese will be delighted. But why bother?"

"By amassing money here on Earth, I'll gain power and influence. Just like you have," said Tanya. "And I want my employees to enjoy the benefits of my success."

"Which implies that you intend to let them loose on the mortal world after you've paid them. Do you really think that's wise?"

"Only the ones who can be trusted to behave themselves, like I said before."

"You could very easily start off the 'final battle between good and evil' a few years ahead of schedule," Lucifer warned her. "Which you're even less likely to win since you've reduced the size of your army by more than half."

"Don't worry. Only a very small number of demons will be permitted to access the mortal world. The rest will find plenty to entertain them in Hell. I've ordered the building of a gladiatorial arena, a casino, a pachinko parlor and various other entertainment venues."

"And people say I'm evil."

"Evil or not, you could be very helpful to me. We could help each other," said Tanya, raising a pondering finger to her chin. "You are a wealthy businessman and have many useful contacts across a wide range of different spheres. I need seed capital and contacts to help me start up my new business ventures here on Earth. And I would, of course, make sure that you got a healthy return on your investment."

"Seed capital? Can't you just steal money from the bank accounts of the deserving? By which I mean Nazis, murderers and so on: people who deserve to have money stolen from them. Not those who are particularly needy and virtuous. Unless you want to, of course. Don't let me stop you."

"There needs to be a paper trail, so anyone investigating my new businesses can see where the money has come from. After all, Al Capone was brought down by the federal authorities for tax evasion, not for his involvement in bootlegging, protection rackets or the Saint Valentine's Day massacre. Everything about my new businesses should seem entirely legitimate, even if it isn't." 

"I suppose that makes sense," Lucifer admitted.

"Mind you, I've heard that these days the IRS doesn't bother to investigate the rich and powerful who can make it exceedingly difficult for them to do their jobs. Instead, they go for the 'low-hanging fruit': the stupid, hapless and misguided. Eventually, I will have nothing to fear from the IRS and other federal authorities, but until then I will make sure that everything seems legitimate."

"Smoke and mirrors. I see. But how are your new businesses going to earn money here on Earth? What goods and services will you provide?"

"I think mining could be very lucrative. Demons can easily travel to places that would be difficult and expensive for humans to access - deep underground, in outer space or at the bottom of the sea, for example - and thereby extract resources such as rare earths and precious metals." Tanya paused, considering for a moment. "I have lived on many different versions of Earth and this one is somewhat unusual. Human society is much more technologically advanced than I had expected, thanks to geniuses such as Lex Luthor and Michael Holt. But that just means it has an even more insatiable need for raw materials, which Black Diamond Inc. will provide for a suitable fee."

"How will you explain where these resources are coming from? Sooner or later, someone in authority will want to know. Maybe it'll be the IRS, maybe it'll be some other investigative body. I'm sure you're not planning to tell them that you've been sending demons to mine asteroids?"

"Black Diamond Inc. will use new technologies to extract minerals from spoil heaps, clapped-out mines and other unlikely sources that previously wouldn't have been economically viable. At least, that is what any investigators will be told. And they will be shown plenty of evidence, so they will have no reason to doubt it."

"I get the feeling that you've done this before," said Lucifer, sounding amused. "Or you've spent a long time thinking about this."

"Indeed," said Tanya, finishing the last of her drink and carefully setting it down. "But that's not the only business venture I have planned. I'm also planning to take over the criminal underworld. A small part of it, at least."

"I hadn't expected that, but go on."

"Certain things are somewhat harmful to individuals, but cause much more harm to society because they have been made illegal. The best example I can think of is alcohol. Alcoholism ruins lives and destroys families, but when it was banned in the USA during the Prohibition Era, the result was a disaster. Suddenly, small-time thugs who'd previously been armed with bricks and baseball bats were able to afford tommy guns. Bootlegging made gangsters incredibly rich - and they were able to use that money to expand their gangs, buy weapons, bribe officials and commit much worse crimes. Nearly a hundred years have passed since the end of the Prohibition Era and it is now perfectly legal for adults to drink alcohol in this country, but there are still plenty of opportunities for gangsters to become extremely rich by committing crimes many people don't care about."

"All those murders, for example," said Lucifer, with a humorous nod.

Tanya narrowed her eyes at him. "No. I meant gambling, selling marijuana and so on. Gambling laws tend to be rather inconsistent and hypocritical - and there are plenty of opportunities for organized crime to get involved. And although there are physical and mental health risks associated with marijuana, it's usually considered to be less dangerous than alcohol. In some places it's legal. In many places where it's illegal, that doesn't mean it's unavailable; it just means that criminal gangs make vast amounts of money supplying the demand that isn't being met legally. Many people don't think there's anything wrong with buying or selling 'just a little hash', despite the fact that by doing so they are giving money to criminals who will use it to finance much more serious crimes: smuggling weapons and hard drugs, human trafficking, modern slavery, and so on."

"I'm impressed by your rhetoric. If you were a politician, I might consider voting for you," said Lucifer, sarcastically clapping his hands together. "But instead of campaigning, trying to change the law and telling children to 'Just say no', you're planning to take over the supply. An innovative approach, for sure."

"I'll flood the market with cheap, high-quality marijuana and drive all of my competitors out of business," said Tanya. "Which means they won't be using the money to commit worse crimes. It's practically a public service."

"Yes, I'm sure you would be a candidate for sainthood if you hadn't already been condemned to Hell."

Tanya wrinkled her nose at that.

"Actually, you might as well take over the smuggled cigarette industry as well. Worldwide, it's worth tens of billions," said Lucifer. "Despite the fact that cigarettes are perfectly legal. It's just that people don't want to pay tax."

"Yes, good idea."

"Cocaine as well. Sure, it's dangerous, but considering how many politicians, media celebrities and business executives are fuelled by the stuff, I've always thought there was something faintly insincere about all the hand-wringing and pearl-clutching, the draconian laws, harsh prison sentences and advertising campaigns intended to discourage its use. And I enjoy it, so if you can provide me with a steady supply for a reasonable price - cheaper than my current supplier - I'd be interested."

"Something to think about for the future, perhaps," said Tanya, noncommittally.

"But you must know that your competitors won't take this lying down. They will fight back. If they can, they'll kill your suppliers, kill your distributors and kill anyone else who might possibly be involved. Your actions will start a brutal gang war that will engulf much of the world. You seem to think of yourself as a fairly moral person, so how do you feel about that?" asked Lucifer, giving her a scrutinizing glance.

"The morality of my actions doesn't particularly concern me. I don't need to think of myself as 'the good guy'. I just need to be better than Being X," said Tanya.

"I suppose it would be hard not to be."

"Besides, that brutal gang war is already happening, with or without my involvement. Every day, the global narcotics trade causes immense human suffering, which politicians and law enforcement have been powerless to stop. At best, their efforts have been completely ineffectual; at worst, they are complicit. But I plan to do something different. Capitalism will be my weapon. In Hell, I can create vast areas of land in which drug crops can be grown and harvested, then the resulting products will be transported through interdimensional portals to wherever they need to go. All for a very low cost, which will enable me to keep prices low. I'll outcompete the drug lords and make it economically unviable for them to continue in the trade."

"Do you think your demonic 'employees' will want to work in the fields? That doesn't seem very likely to me," said Lucifer. "And I doubt they'll be good workers. Or that it'll dissuade them from thoughts of rebellion."

"I expect most of the workers will be condemned sinners who will volunteer to do it as an alternative to their regular punishments."

"Oh yes, 'volunteer'." The smirk made its triumphant return.

"I'm sure they'll find it preferable to whatever punishments my subordinates have devised for them. And they'll have good working conditions and a chance to earn special privileges." Tanya paused. She glared at Lucifer in a way that had caused many brave men to quail. "It gives you great pleasure to point out when you think I'm being hypocritical, but what about you? You seem to think of yourself as a fairly harmless, happy-go-lucky, fun-loving sort of person, undeserving of the hideous punishment that Being X bestowed upon you. But earlier you mentioned your fondness for cocaine, every gram of which is a monument to human misery: to slave labor, ecological devastation, the grooming and exploitation of children, and harrowing turf warfare. How do you feel about that?"

Lucifer reached for his empty cocktail glass and fastened his fingers around the stem. "I hadn't really thought about it," he admitted. "Still, before long, I'm sure you can provide an ethically sourced alternative."

"Provided that you help me to get started," said Tanya, giving him an expectant look.

"Yes, you want 'seed capital' and access to some of my business contacts. Fine. You've convinced me." Lucifer sighed. "Let's get down to business. What exactly do you need from me?" He hesitated briefly, picked up his glass and added, "Actually, would you like another drink first?"

"No, thank you," said Tanya. "But feel free, if you need one."

***

When she first explained her plans to them, most of Tanya's demonic employees looked bemused. Later, when they'd had time to think about what she'd said, some of them seemed intensely curious about what was going to happen as a result of her clever scheming, others were excited by the possibility of regular pay and things to spend it on, and there were a few who loudly proclaimed that they had the utmost faith in her leadership - which made her very suspicious, except when Scumspawn said it. Still, all of them were willing to follow orders with a minimum of complaint, which she counted as a victory.

And then there were those who had an eye for opportunity. These included Chantinelle and the other succubi, who sent a delegation to meet with her to discuss a business proposition they thought she might find intriguing.

"You want to take over Earth's criminal underworld. We want to be part of that," said Chantinelle, speaking slowly and deliberately, with all the exquisite care of a master sculptor chipping away at a block of marble. "We want to help you to achieve your long-term strategic goals."

"How?" asked Tanya.

"We want to take over the sex industry!" cried Kariselle, with a cheerful grin.

Some of her sisters sighed and rolled their eyes in exasperation. Chantinelle's professional smile was shaded with strained patience.

"You want to make pornography?" asked Tanya, furrowing her brow at them.

Kariselle bobbed her head up and down. "Well, yes! But not just that!"

"Many of the things you said about the narcotics trade are also true of the sex trade. The fact that in many places prostitution is illegal doesn't mean it doesn't happen; it just means that the high demand is met by the shadow economy, which enables pimps, brothel owners and criminal gangs to make vast sums of money. Because it is entirely unregulated, it often involves coercion, exploitation and human trafficking," said Chantinelle. "We want to put a stop to that."

In several of her past lives, Tanya had fallen in love and settled down with the man or woman of her dreams - of course, dreams were such transient things - until death had separated them. She'd long since explored her sexuality to her satisfaction. But she'd never had any particular interest in sex for its own sake. For her, it was always a deeply intimate act of love and trust, an expression of everything she felt for someone who was dear to her, so they would know how much she cherished them and enjoyed their company. And she had wanted them to enjoy it too. But now… she was unsure as to whether she found the subject Chantinelle had brought before her distasteful or mind-numbingly tedious.

She forced herself to ask, "How?"

"In much the same way as you plan to take over the drug trade. We'll outcompete the illicit brothels, escort agencies and so on, provide protection to any sex workers who need it, and free any victims of human trafficking we come across."

Tanya was impressed despite herself. It was evident that Chantinelle and her sisters' plan had been deftly designed to appeal to her specifically. However, she was still suspicious of their motives.

"And then you'll drain the life energy from your clients while you're having sex with them," she said, in a bored monotone.

"No, not at all," said Chantinelle.

Tanya glared at her with all the ferocity she could muster.

The succubus seemed to wilt under the force of her gaze. "I mean… just a little. Hardly more than a pinprick."

There was a long pause. Finally, Tanya said, "If I allow you to do this, you must follow my rules. If I find out you've broken any of these rules, I'll throw you in the Bottomless Pit myself." She took a deep breath, just for dramatic effect. "First, you must do no permanent harm to any human being.

"What? We can't defend ourselves if we get attacked by gangsters?" asked one of the other succubi whose name Tanya didn't know.

"I didn't say that. Of course you may defend yourselves. Subdue your assailants, tie them up and hand them over to local law enforcement."

Most of the succubi looked unhappy about that, bordering on mutinous.

"What about pedophiles? No one likes pedophiles," said Kariselle. "We can do what we like with them, right? Skin them, dismember them, boil them alive, that sort of thing?"

"I'd prefer it if you would subdue them, tie them up and hand them over to local law enforcement," Tanya repeated herself.

Kariselle pouted. "Why should they have all the fun?"

Ignoring her, Tanya carried on with her list of rules: "Second, all of the sexual acts that take place in your establishments must be consensual. Third, all of your human employees must be of legal age to consent to sexual acts. Fourth, you must assist them in leaving the profession if they want to, for which reason you should provide them with opportunities for education and training." She hesitated. "We'll discuss that in more detail later on."

"Fifth?" Chantinelle prompted her.

"Keep them well-supplied with contraceptives and do everything you can to prevent the spread of sexual disease."

"Other than 'not having sex', obviously," said Kariselle.

Chantinelle heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Anything else?"

"If I think of anything else, I'll add it to the list," said Tanya.

"Thank you for your time. But before we come to any sort of agreement, I'll need to discuss this with my sisters," said Chantinelle.

"Take as long as you need," Tanya replied.

***

Dr. Raven Sable was a celebrity, a writer and TV personality who'd spent years promoting various pseudoscientific ideas about dieting, health and nutrition, having written a successful book titled D-Plan Dieting: Slim Yourself Beautiful. He had carefully cultivated a certain image, which was why he wore a black suit, black shoes and black tie to match his dark skin, black hair and trim black beard. There was something very inhuman about him, which Tanya noticed even if most humans wouldn't. They might have seen his rawboned, hungry look, his dark gray eyes and pointed teeth; but the fact that he was a walking void, absorbing excessive amounts of light all around him and changing the world to shades of monochrome, would have been beyond the limits of their perceptions. Tanya, of course, had no such limits.

Moreover, she was nonplussed when he walked into her new office, in the new headquarters of Black Diamond Inc. and offered to supply her with unlimited amounts of appetite suppressant medication.

"Are you calling me fat?" she asked, giving him a withering glance.

"No, you're perfect," he said, with a sharp-toothed grin. "But then, you're already dead."

Tanya reached for the button on her desk marked 'Security'.

Before she could press it, he said, "I'm Famine, one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. You're Lucifer's replacement. I think we can help each other. You want to make money and I want to give people what they want: a way to lose weight and be beautiful."

"With semaglutide injections," said Tanya, examining the packet he'd brought with him.

"It's medication. The same as you could buy from any chemist," said Famine. "If you make it cheap and widely available through one of your new 'business ventures', there won't be any more shortages, diabetics will get the medication they need, celebrities and dieters can slim themselves beautiful, and you'll make millions."

"You want people to starve themselves."

"They want to be slim and pretty and healthy, but they lack the willpower to stop eating sweets and fatty foods. I just want to help them with that," said Famine. "I'll give them bodies beyond their wildest imaginings."

"Hmm." Tanya looked contemplative. "How much do you want for these?"

"I'll give them to you for free. I'm a philanthropist."

"How very convenient." Privately, Tanya resolved to have several batches sent to a lab to check their chemical composition and how much was contained in each dose. She thought it best to find out if they genuinely contained semaglutide and not rat poison or anything similarly noxious, as well as making sure that the quantity of the active ingredient in each dose was suitable for their intended use.

"I have no need to poison anyone or force them to do anything they don't want to do. I just give them what they want," said Famine, putting on a cheesy grin. "They do it to themselves. That's what makes it so… delicious."

Tanya supposed there was no problem with people wanting to be slim and healthy, provided that they didn't overdo it. But the anthropomorphic personification of Famine definitely wanted them to overdo it, which was a problem. Still, his proposition had some merit. "I'm inclined to accept your offer, but I haven't finished setting up my new business ventures just yet, so it will take some time to begin distribution," she said. "For now, I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me about the Apocalypse."

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

"When is it going to happen?"

"In about three years' time. The Antichrist will come into his inheritance, my fellow Horsemen and I will ride out; the Earth will be divided up between us and we will be given power to kill with the sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the Earth. The sun will become as black as sackcloth and the stars will fall from the sky. Then, the final battle between good and evil will begin." Famine heaved a sigh of blissful anticipation.

"A battle we're destined to lose," said Tanya.

"Not necessarily. There wouldn't be much point in having a fight if the outcome had already been decided. I'm rooting for you," said Famine, giving her a thumbs-up.

"There are certain people - and divine beings - who enjoy parading their superiority over a helpless opponent. Nevertheless, thank you. You've been very helpful."

"Hey, if you have any more questions, feel free to get in touch," said Famine, maintaining his thumbs-up and cheesy grin.

"I will." Tanya nodded. "Thank you."

He went away and she carried on with her work. She had so much to do and very little time in which to do it.

Chapter Text

Sitting in an obscenely comfortably chair that could be made to lean back so far it was almost vertical, Tanya admired Crowley's collection of executive toys. He had a Newton's cradle, a Magic 8 Ball, a pinscreen, a 'useless box', a fidget spinner and a drinking bird all laid out on his desk as if daring someone to ask if he ever did any real work. To one side, there was a sleek black monster of a desktop computer, parts of which were still wrapped up in plastic packaging and had evidently never been used.

"Wouldn't it help you to maintain your cover if you finished unpacking your computer?" she asked, adjusting her sitting position. She felt unpleasantly like she was being absorbed into her seat's overly padded surface.

"Probably," said Crowley, with a smirk.

Tanya turned her attention to more important matters: "Tell me about the Antichrist. Apparently you were the one to deliver him into the hands of his human parents."

"Actually, I delivered him into the hands of a group of Satanist nuns: the Chattering Order of Saint Beryl. They made the exchange," said Crowley. "They used to run a small hospital in Oxfordshire. That's where the US ambassador's wife was due to give birth."

This was a puzzle Tanya found intriguing enough to want to know the answer to. "Was there any particular reason why the US ambassador's wife was due to give birth in a small hospital run by Satanic nuns in Oxfordshire rather than… say, one of the finest hospitals in London?"

"Good old Catholic institution, or so he thought." Crowley shrugged. "Someone must have persuaded him."

"But not you. In which case, who could it have been?"

"Uh, I have no idea," Crowley was forced to admit. "Hastur or Ligur, maybe? They were the ones who handed over the Antichrist to me."

Tanya resolved to talk to Hastur when she went back to Hell. "But if they did that – put everything in place for you – why didn't they deliver the Antichrist to the hospital? Cut out the middleman, as it were," she wondered aloud.

Again, Crowley gave a helpless shrug. "Can't help you there."

There were too many things that didn't make sense. Tanya had a sickening feeling that she was being toyed with, that someone or something was trying to lure her into a trap. Of course, the culprit could be none other than her usual nemesis, Being X. But what exactly was he plotting?

"What does this child – the Antichrist – look like?" she asked, playing for time.

Wordlessly, Crowley handed over a photograph of the US ambassador and his family. It looked like a publicity shot, artfully arranged so as to show its subjects in the best possible light. Thaddeus J. Dowling, the US ambassador himself, looked manly and authoritative, dressed in a bespoke suit that must have cost more than a thousand dollars. He stood arm-in-arm with his wife, who was beautifully dressed, elegantly coiffured and wearing a carefully cultivated smile. Their son – the future Antichrist – was a pudgy little boy with blond hair and a gap-toothed grin, wearing a suit that was an exact match for his father's.

"If not for his adoptive parents' wealth and high status, he'd look just like any other little boy," she murmured.

"Appearances can be deceiving. I suppose that's the point."

Tanya stared at the photograph for what seemed like a long time after that, as if willing it to come to life in front of her. "How can we stave off the Apocalypse?" she murmured. "What must I do?"

"You could kill Warlock Dowling," Crowley suggested, without enthusiasm.

"But if I were to do that, I would have killed an innocent child. A vile crime. Being X would be delighted. He would tell me that it was proof that I deserved to punished as he has punished me over the past several thousand years – that I deserved every hurt, hardship and indignity he has inflicted upon me ever since I first defied him." Tanya scowled at that. "I have come too far and struggled for too long to accept being the moral loser of our endless dispute. I couldn't bear to listen to his gloating any more than I already have."

"I wasn't saying you should do it, just that it was an option."

"No, it isn't. Even if I were to kill Warlock Dowling, I'm sure it would turn out that he wasn't the Antichrist after all. And then Being X would produce another Antichrist from somewhere and the Apocalypse would carry on regardless."

"Does that mean there's no way for us to prevent the Apocalypse? It seems to me that 'Being X'–" Crowley seemed bemused by Tanya's nickname for the creature who called himself 'God', but didn't question it. "–could ignore whatever we do. If he wants to have the Apocalypse now, he'll make it happen, even if we successfully prevent everything that's supposed to happen in the Book of Revelation. It's not like his worshippers are going to argue with him."

"You're right. I wish you weren't."

Crowley grimaced. "So… what should we do?"

Steepling her fingers, Tanya spoke slowly and contemplatively: "Being X didn't need to keep reincarnating me in so many different times, places and situations while he was trying to force me to submit. At any time, he could have declared himself the winner of his little game and sentenced me to languish in Hell for the rest of eternity, but he didn't do that until long after the point where any reasonable person would have given up or changed tack. He was so intent on forcing me to bow down and acknowledge his greatness that it caused him to act irrationally, like a problem gambler convinced that 'this time' they'll win the jackpot. He wants to be worshipped and adored – and he is too prideful to admit defeat. That is his weakness."

"You think that if things don't go his way, he'll throw a massive tantrum," Crowley surmised. "Yeah, you're probably right. It wouldn't be the first time. But I don't see how that helps us."

"If we can discredit him in the eyes of his most loyal supporters, cause them to doubt him and start asking questions instead of hanging on to his every word, make them confused and discontented, then we can start to erode his powerbase out from underneath him. We will deny him the adulation he enjoys so much, surround him with scepticism and suspicion, and make this world – this cosmos – utterly intolerable to him."

"And then he'll destroy everything and start again somewhere else."

"Potentially," said Tanya. "I suppose we'll have to find out whether or not he is truly omnipotent."

Crowley regarded her in silence, for a moment. Then, he sighed and said, "It's not as if I've got any better ideas. Maybe he'll give up, ignore us and go somewhere else, but I doubt we'll be that lucky. He'll want revenge."

"We should speak to some of the other supernatural beings who don't want the world to end just yet and try to form alliances with them. If 'Being X' is truly omnipotent, it won't matter, but if he isn't, having powerful allies might tip the scales in our favour."

"You've met Dream of the Endless, but he and his siblings don't usually interfere one way or another. They tend to be completely neutral."

"Except when they're sentencing their ex-girlfriends to Hell."

"Well, yeah." Crowley shifted awkwardly in his seat. "And, uh… there are various pantheons – the gods of the Ancient Egyptians, Greeks, Norse and so on – that are supposed to have been formed by human belief and a wave of divine energy that rippled throughout all of reality. Or so I've heard. To be honest, I don't know very much about that." As an afterthought, he added, "And there's a race of alien beings who call themselves 'the New Gods'."

"Spoilt for choice," Tanya muttered. She gave Crowley a considering look and said, "You must know some of the angels stationed here on Earth."

He froze, for a moment. "Uh… yeah, I knew some of them back when I was an angel."

"And you must have met some of them more recently, during the course of your work," Tanya prompted him.

"I've clashed with them a few times. They're determined to thwart my 'evil schemes', so I make things difficult for them in return. And, uh… once or twice I've met up with one of them to discuss other matters. Jurisdictional issues and suchlike."

"Are they all fanatically loyal to Being X? Or are any of them capable of thinking for themselves?"

"Maybe. There's one of them, named Aziraphale, comes across as a bit of a duffer – and I don't think his fellow angels respect him very much – but he's very kind. He got into a lot of trouble for giving Adam and Eve his flaming sword after they were thrown out of the Garden of Eden – because neither of them had any basic survival skills and he wanted to keep them safe and warm. Definitely a sign that he's capable of thinking for himself, wouldn't you say?"

"Definitely. It sounds as if you admire him very much."

Crowley stared at his desk as if he'd never previously noticed how interesting his executive toys were. "Uh, I suppose so. It's nice that there's at least one angel who isn't a hypocrite, who isn't just a self-righteous prig – although he can be self-righteous and priggish at times, I'll admit – and who genuinely has all the virtues that angels are supposed to exemplify."

"He sounds perfect," said Tanya. She wondered if this Aziraphale would have any kindness or sympathy for demons or if they would be the exception to his benevolence. Was he really such a paragon?

"Yes, he is," said Crowley.

"But do you think you can cause him to question his deeply-held beliefs? If you showed him clear evidence that Being X isn't as wise or benevolent as he claims to be, would he accept it?

"He wouldn't want to believe it, but he wouldn't just ignore it."

"That's probably as much as we can hope for at this stage," said Tanya. "I want you to meet with him and establish a cordial relationship. Get him to listen to you."

"Cordial relationship. Right. Yes. I can do that," said Crowley.

"Let him know you don't want the Apocalypse to happen and you have no desire to fight him or the other angels, but don't start criticizing Being X. At least, not yet. Be subtle about it," Tanya advised him. "Actually, I trust you know what you're doing. I'll let you get on with it.

"Thank you."

"And start thinking about how you might approach the other angels."

"I've had an idea about that," said Crowley, sitting up. "Let them come to us. I remember you said something about allowing certain trusted demons to come to Earth to sample its delights for themselves. When the angels find out about that, they'll send someone to investigate. Then, instead of immediately starting a fight, whoever they confront – whichever demon, I mean – should attempt to, uh… 'establish a cordial relationship' with them."

"Good thinking. I knew I could count on you," said Tanya, giving him a beaming smile. Crowley seemed transfixed by it.

"Uh… right. I'll get on with… what you wanted me to do," he said, getting up. "I'll need to arrange a meeting. At the Ritz."

"I can see you have the matter well in hand," said Tanya. "Now, I really must be going. There's so much I need to do. You know how it is."

"See you soon," said Crowley, distractedly, even as she opened a portal and vanished into the ether.

***

Tanya returned to the castle of dreams, through the shadows of tomorrow and yesteryear, ignoring the whispers of the lost and forgotten and never-was, the voices that tempted her to experience agonizing wonders and horrors, until at last she reached the hall where Dream of the Endless rested upon his tall throne. This time, there was a woman sitting next to him on a smaller throne. She was pale, round-faced and rather diminutive, with honey-blonde hair and comically oversized spectacles.

"Dream King," Tanya said, bowing her head to him. Then, giving his companion a nod, she added, "I'm sorry, I don't think we've been introduced."

"Lady Tanya, you are welcome here," said Dream. Indicating the woman beside him, he continued, "This is Thessaly, the light of my life."

His current girlfriend, Tanya mentally translated. Briefly, she wondered if she should warn her about what had happened to at least one of his previous lovers. It would be unwise of her to do so here and now, especially since she had come to ask Dream for a favour, but perhaps she should speak to her in private later on. She could not in good conscience leave her unaware of what might happen if she chose to break off the love affair she had embarked upon, but perhaps–

"Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself," said Thessaly, with a smile that bared far too many teeth.

With a pained expression, Dream said, "Lady Tanya, your presence is an unexpected delight, but why are you here? What would you ask of me?"

Tanya took a deep, unnecessary breath, steadying herself. "Your sister is Death of the Endless, correct? Is she the same person as Death of the Four Horsemen?"

"I would presume so. She has many names."

"I want to arrange a meeting with her," said Tanya.

"I will do that for you."

"Thank you. Should I come back later, or…?"

"Time has no meaning here," said Dream, getting to his feet. "Come with me."

She followed him across the hall to a door that had not been there before. Opening it for her, he ushered her through into what looked like a perfectly ordinary living room. It had a plush carpet, a crackling fireplace, multiple armchairs and a sofa. Hanging on the walls, there were framed photographs of brightly-colored flowers. A large teddy bear was sitting on the sofa. It looked suspiciously cheerful and cuddly. Tanya glared at it.

"I'll leave you to it," said Dream. "Unless my presence is required?"

"No, thank you," said Tanya. "You've been a great help."

He nodded and turned away. A moment later, he was gone.

Surveying the room, which could have belonged to any prosperous middle class family anywhere in the western world, Tanya murmured to herself, "This isn't what I expected."

"What did you expect?" asked an amused woman's voice.

"Something grim, sepulchral and necropolitan. More in keeping with your theme," said Tanya. She turned and saw a beautiful woman with alabaster skin and raven-black hair, dressed in a black tank top and jeans, with a silver ankh on a chain around her neck and a tattooed hooklike symbol beneath her right eye. Whereas Dream usually appeared as a handsome man, even if he insisted on dressing like a scruffy layabout, his sister was exquisite. Next to her, Tanya felt ugly and inadequate.

"Hi there, Tanya," said Death, with a friendly smile. "You're looking well."

"Death of the Endless, I presume. Have we met before?"

"More than once, I've welcomed you into this world. Just as many times, I've guided you on the way to your next life."

"In that case, you must know what Being X has done to me," said Tanya, struggling to contain the anger, frustration and resentment of many lifetimes. "But you stood by and did nothing."

"Oh, Tanya," said Death, tenderly. "All over the world – and in every world – people die in terrible circumstances. They die in pain, misery and fear, knowing their loved ones will never know what happened to them. They are murdered, massacred, slaughtered like cattle and herded into gas chambers – and I am sorry – but I don't interfere. I have a job to do. I am the embodiment of death, an entirely natural process, necessary for life to continue. I exist to make sure it happens as it should. No more and no less. And I cannot do otherwise."

"Cannot or will not?"

"Whenever I have tried to interfere, it has gone badly. I'm sure you've heard of Orpheus, my nephew."

"In Ancient Greek myth, he was a musician who travelled to the Underworld to rescue his beloved Eurydice, who had died after she was bitten by a viper. His music softened the stony heart of Hades, god of the Underworld, and he was allowed to bring Eurydice back to life, provided that he didn't look back at her until he had led her back to the living world. As he walked away, he began to fear that he had been deceived, until finally he couldn't resist the temptation to look back and make sure that Eurydice was with him. She vanished back into the depths of the Underworld, he was driven mad with grief, and later he was torn apart by wild Maenads," said Tanya, matter-of-factly. "True story, is it?"

Death nodded. "To allow him to pass through the Underworld without dying, I promised I would never come for him. I made him immortal. He is still alive and suffering even now."

"Even after he was torn apart?"

"Yes."

"You said he was your nephew," said Tanya, after some consideration. "That would make him the son of…?"

"My brother, Dream."

Tanya wasn't sure if she should pity Dream because of his son's miserable fate or be outraged that he had done nothing to save him. Or had he tried and failed? In an attempt to find out, she asked, "Is there nothing that can be done to help Orpheus?"

"You can't solve everyone's problems for them, Tanya. But thank you for the offer."

"I wasn't offering–" Tanya paused, shook her head and said, "Never mind. I came here to ask you about the Apocalypse. Are you one of the Four Horsemen?"

"That is a role I will be forced to perform, yes."

"And then you will ride out, killing and conquering, and divide up the world between you and your friends," said Tanya, with vicious bitterness.

"They're not my friends. I don't kill and I don't relish suffering and slaughter," said Death. Her face was no longer beautiful. It had taken on a ghoulish cast, half-hidden in shadows behind her dark hair, suggestive of a cowled and grinning skeleton. "When the Apocalypse happens, there will be billions of dead. Someone needs to be there to guide each of them to their proper place. That will be up to me."

"What if I tried to prevent the Apocalypse? Would you be duty-bound to stop me?"

"It's going to happen sooner or later. It doesn't matter to me whether it's in a few years or several billion years from now. Either way, I'll have the same job to do: sweep up, turn out the lights and lock the universe behind me when I leave."

"If I asked you not to ride out, I suppose you would have no choice but to refuse," said Tanya. "But what if I were to ask you a few harmless questions? Such as, for example, when is the Apocalypse supposed to happen?"

"On the twenty-third of August, three years from now. Just after tea," said Death.

"And by 'tea' you mean?"

"In parts of England and Scotland, that's what they call their main evening meal."

"Which means the Apocalypse is going to start off somewhere in England or Scotland," Tanya muttered. "Any particular location?"

"I don't know," Death admitted. "It has been hidden from me."

Tanya was grimly certain that this was another of Being X's stratagems, intended to prevent her from having her forces ready and in place before the Apocalypse began. But what could she do about that? She would have to find a workaround somehow. As long as she kept track of where Warlock Dowling was, it shouldn't make too much difference. In the meantime, she had a few more questions to ask Death, who had been unexpectedly helpful so far.

"What can you tell me about the other Horsemen?" she asked.

"You've met Famine already. War is the embodiment of violence, who can be found wherever armed conflict is at its height. Pestilence retired in 1936 and Pollution took over from him, but he's recently made a comeback, thanks to antivaxxers and the global rise in antibiotic resistance. Right now, they're squabbling over which of them gets to be the fourth Horseman." Death rolled her eyes. "Maybe we'll end up with five Horsemen. Or bikers. Pollution is very keen on motorbikes."

"When the Apocalypse begins, what will happen first?"

"Nuclear war. The world will end in fire and horror. Then, Heaven and Hell will do battle amidst the burnt-out ruins of civilization."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Tanya vowed. A thought occurred to her: "By the way… what do you think of Being X?"

"I don't know. I've never been X."

"He calls himself 'God'," said Tanya, through gritted teeth.

"I don't have any opinions about him. More than my job's worth," said Death, with a roguish wink.

"Hmm," was Tanya's response to that.

***

After she'd extracted a promise that she could come back and ask any more questions that came to mind, Tanya departed from Death's incongruously normal living room, intending to return to Hell and consider her next move. Instead, she arrived at an unexpected location: a cavernous chamber with throbbing, fleshy walls, lined on all sides with mirrors and television screens. There, she saw the same delicately handsome, androgynous face reflected back and forth into infinity. It was someone she didn't know. She had never been here before.

In the centre of the chamber, standing on a podium as if about to give a speech, there was a tall, slender figure, elegantly dressed and with a cigarette holder dangling from one dainty hand. Tanya recognized the face she could see plastered all over the rest of this place, endlessly repeated.

"You have the advantage of me, whoever you are," said Tanya, putting on a disgruntled frown. She briefly wondered whether she should address this stranger as 'sir' or 'madam', but settled on neither.

"I am Desire of the Endless. You know my brother – and now my sister – so I thought I should be the next to make your acquaintance," said Desire, with a predatory grin.

"If you wanted to arrange a meeting, there were better ways you could have done that. I don't appreciate it when I'm dragged into strange places without my consent. If you wanted to make a good first impression, you've failed."

With poised, catlike movements, Desire stepped down from the podium and moved closer, invading Tanya's personal space. "Aren't you a pretty little thing? I can see why my brother likes you."

"But I don't like him. Not after what he did to Nada. And anyway, he's such a pretentious, self-centred fool!" Tanya screwed up her face in disgust. "I can only hope Thessaly whips him into shape."

"Their honeymoon period will be over soon. In less than a month's time, he will bury himself in his work and have little time for her. She will realise that she never truly loved him and decide to leave. For a few weeks, he will be distraught, drown his realm in torrential rain, and mope about like a brooding teenager," said Desire, disdainfully. "Then, you'll have your chance. I've noticed you flirting with him once or twice."

"He finds it very intimidating," said Tanya, with a satisfied smirk.

"Yes. Kinky, isn't he?"

"I… may have to reconsider how I interact with him."

Desire arched an eyebrow, snickered and said, "Well then, if you don't want my brother, you have plenty of admirers to choose from. A veritable harem. You are a powerful woman and power is a potent aphrodisiac. That's why you have so many men piled up at your feet. Vassago, Etrigan, Scumspawn–"

"Scumspawn's feelings for me are entirely platonic. He doesn't even have genitals," said Tanya. "Mind you, considering some of the others you've mentioned, he might be one of the better options."

"Lucifer is such an attractive man, isn't he? When you met him recently, the first thing you said to him was a pick-up line. I find that rather suspicious."

"I was trying to blend in, so no one would suspect my real reasons for meeting with him."

"And when John Constantine needed healing, you remade him into a young and handsome hunk, more than he ever was before. Want a mortal plaything, do you?"

"Th-th-that was an accident!" Tanya spluttered.

"You're fooling no one but yourself, you know," said Desire. "You were once human, which means you are a creature of desire, just like any other. The more you deny yourself, the more 'accidents' will happen." A significant pause. "My sister, Death, is lovely, isn't she?"

"Very," Tanya agreed. Then, remembering herself, she blinked and hurriedly changed the subject: "I've heard that you and Dream detest each other. Is that why you've brought me here? Do you intend to use me as a weapon in your quarrel with him?"

"I don't deny that I detest him, but I think you're much more than a weapon. You're the most interesting thing to happen to my brother in centuries."

"Didn't you think it was interesting when he was captured and imprisoned in a cellar for several decades?"

"No, that was very boring." Desire yawned. "All he did was seethe and wait."

Tanya sighed. "What do you want from me?"

"I want to help you remember who you are. Look!" said Desire, pointing to a nearby television screen. "Do you remember her?"

Tanya peered at the image of a woman with chestnut brown hair, wearing a military uniform, with duck lips, a large bust and an athletic build. She shook her head. "No."

"Once, she was the woman of your dreams. Across multiple lifetimes."

"I can only presume that I had good taste. But no, I don't remember her."

"Such a shame. Yours was a love that lasted centuries."

"Everything ends. Everything decays and falls away to nothing," said Tanya. "Entropy will always triumph."

"You said much the same thing to my brother, back when you were playing that silly game with him."

"It is as true now as it was then." Tanya shifted impatiently and said, "I think this meeting has gone on long enough. May I go?"

"One last thing. Tell me: what do you desire more than anything else? What is it that fills your heart with longing?"

"As the embodiment of desire, all-knowing within your particular sphere of influence, you should know that already."

A gleeful grin spread over Desire's full lips. "Maybe I just want to hear you say it."

"What do I desire more than anything else?" Tanya repeated to herself. "Well, right now… I want you to leave me alone."

There were peals of delighted laughter. "All right, I'll accept that," said Desire, wiping away tears of merriment with their free hand. "I'll see you again soon."

"Not if I see you first," said Tanya, as she opened a portal and stepped through it.

***

A few days later, Tanya returned to the Dreaming and told its ruler, "You know that the cellars of Fawney Rig have been partially merged with your realm. With your permission, I want to turn the building into a hotel where demons and other ethereal beings can experience the joys and horrors of sleep for the first time. I imagine this would increase your power and influence."

"But not to any appreciable degree," said Dream.

"I will also give you a fair share of the profits."

Dream waved a dismissive hand. "I have no need for money."

"Nevertheless, I will open a bank account, into which I will deposit your earnings, which you may access at any time."

"I suspect you would not be who you are if you did otherwise," said Dream, a note of fondness in his voice. "Thank you."

"Do I have your permission to turn Fawney Rig into a hotel where demons will be able to dream?" asked Tanya. "I realise that this would enable them to wander through your realm, creating additional work for you, which is why I think it's important that I should ask you first. I'd prefer to avoid causing acrimony later on."

"If I said no, what would you do?"

"I would be disappointed, but I would move on to one of my other projects. I have plenty to occupy my time."

Dream paused and pondered for a few moments. "I will allow it," he decided. "Do as you will."

"There's something else," said Tanya, somewhat hesitantly. "Fawney Rig is owned by Alex Burgess, who has been in a coma for a number of years. I expect the house will eventually be sold to cover his outstanding debts, but the process would go much more smoothly if you would allow him to regain consciousness."

"Alex Burgess stood by and did nothing while his father trapped me in a crystal prison. For decades afterwards, he was content to hold me captive there. Even after his father's death, he refused to let me go. Instead, he demanded power and immortality as the price for my freedom. Finally, one of his minions made a mistake that enabled me to escape. I took my revenge and now he suffers the consequences of his actions: he is trapped in dreams, unable to wake from a nightmare that continually repeats itself. A fitting punishment," said Dream.

Tanya cocked her head to one side. "Is it, though?"

"He is an old man. He will not live long enough for me to punish him as he truly deserves."

"If he deserves to be punished, he will be sent to Hell. Then, it will be up to me to punish him," Tanya pointed out.

Dream gave her a questioning glance. "What is your point?"

"Give him a chance to redeem himself. A temporary reprieve. Have mercy."

"'The quality of mercy is not strained.' You told me that once before," Dream murmured. "Tell me: why are you asking this of me? Just to make it easier for you to start your new business?"

"That's part of it," Tanya admitted. "But I honestly think it would benefit you as well. Your grudges are poisons you cannot recover from unless you let go of them. You'll feel better for it."

Dream raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "You're a fine one to talk about letting go of a grudge."

"If Being X had left me alone after one lifetime – or even a few dozen – I would have forgotten him by now. But as he has continued to torment me for as long as I have existed, I think it's perfectly reasonable that I should hate him and want to defend myself from him," said Tanya.

There was an awkward silence. The Dream King and the Devil Queen stared at each other as if they were both waiting for the other to say something more. After what seemed like an eternity, Dream looked down and said, "All right, you've convinced me. I will forgive Alex Burgess and rescind his punishment. Let him do what he wants with his few remaining years. I will be happy if I never have to hear about him again."

"Thank you. I appreciate it," said Tanya, with a victorious smile.

Dream sagged on his throne, visibly exhausted. He didn't say farewell, but it was clear the meeting was over. The heart of the Dreaming resisted any attempts to open portals in or out, so Tanya walked away to find a place where the veil between worlds was thinner.

Along the corridor, she passed by Thessaly, who gave her a sidelong glance.

"Sometimes, I wish he would speak to me as he speaks to you," said the Thessalian witch, so softly that it might have been a stray thought. "Like an equal."

Tanya had no answer to that.

***

For the past few months, ever since Lady Tanya had restored his youth and health, John Constantine had been pretending to be his own nephew. He looked different enough from his 'uncle' – who had died of lung cancer, he told everyone – that this was generally believed. He had some difficulty stepping back into his old life and carrying on from where he'd left off, but he was working on it. Even if Tanya was keeping her demons on a tight leash, there were still ghosts to exorcize, rogue sorcerers to thwart and mysteries to solve, so there was plenty of work for him to do.

He was sitting outside a café, with a few hours to kill before he could meet with one of his contacts. One hand toyed with an unlit cigarette. He'd been smoking thirty a day since he was thirteen, until suddenly he couldn't. Since Tanya had healed him, he'd had no nicotine cravings, no real need to smoke – and the few times he'd tried, the taste had been so nauseatingly foul that it had caused him to retch – but it was a habit he found difficult to completely let go of. Without it, he didn't know what to do with his hands, except when he was hiding them in his pockets. He often found himself gesticulating wildly and looking like a fool, which was something else that distinguished him from his 'uncle'.

Also, he was such a lightweight, these days. Gone was the man who'd sunk ten pints with Brendan Finn and still managed to hold a conversation with the First of the Fallen afterwards. Now, one pint of beer or half a glass of wine was enough to get him buzzed, three would make him dizzy and nauseous, and if he drank more than that, he probably wouldn't remember what happened until the following morning. It was embarrassing.

Tanya had saved his life – and everything she'd done to him had been 'for his own good' – but he couldn't help resenting her for making these changes without asking him if he was okay with it. Still, she could have done much worse. He probably deserved to be punished for what he'd done to her, but instead she'd given him back his life, youth and vigour, and he should be grateful for that. On the other hand, she'd taken away his usual outlets for stress, so he felt constantly on edge. Maybe he should learn to paint. Or play a musical instrument. Actually, he was fitter now than he'd ever been, so maybe he could find a sport he'd be good at. Something more energetic than pub darts or snooker.

On the other hand, there was at least one of his old stress outlets that still worked. He smiled charmingly as a petite blonde sat down beside him. Hey, I've got a few hours…

Then, he recognized her. The smile froze on his face. "Lady Tanya… uh, what a surprise," he said. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. What can I do for you?"

"You'll be relieved to hear that Buer has been dealt with. He's currently languishing in the Blackest Pit," said Tanya. "All the children in his 'collection' have been set free, including Astra Logue. Most of them chose to return to the wheel of reincarnation; they wanted a chance to have a life before they moved on to the afterlife."

Constantine took a deep, shuddering breath. "It seems so anticlimactic. I was expecting that one day I'd venture into Hell and free them myself, outwitting a few demons along the way… but no, I didn't even have to do anything." A moment later, he remembered to say, "Thank you for that. I mean it. You're an angel." His eyes bulged as he realised his mistake. "Uhh, I mean… you may be a demon, but you're one of the good ones. And I don't mean that in a racist sort of way–"

"It's fine," said Tanya, interrupting him before he could stick his foot any further into his mouth. "As I recall, you still owe me a favour."

"I do," said Constantine, trying not to cringe. "What do you want?"

Tanya took several minutes to explain her plan, by the end of which Constantine was more bewildered than he'd ever been in his life.

"You… want me to be a hotel manager?" he asked, when she'd finished.

"No, you'll be the owner. Just a figurehead. I'll need you to shake a few hands, sign a few documents and collect a pay check every now and then, that's all," Tanya corrected him. "You don't need to be involved in the running of the business at all. In fact, I'd prefer it if you weren't."

"Sounds like a scam. You weren't a Nigerian prince in a previous life, were you?"

"Quite possibly."

Constantine frowned, ruminating on what she'd told him. "Right, you need me to meet with this Alex Burgess and tell him about my ancestor–"

"Johanna Constantine, who was a previous owner of Fawney Rig."

"–witter on about how interested I am in my family history and how my uncle left me a large sum of money, no idea where he got it from, and I want to use it to buy Fawney Rig and turn it into a hotel."

"Yes, you've got it," said Tanya.

"I don't like the name you've chosen. The 'Sweet Dreams Hotel' sounds too much like a brothel."

"Do you have a better one in mind?"

"Why not just leave it as Fawney Rig? Or call it the 'Fawney Rig Hotel'. Either way should be fine."

Tanya gave him an approving nod. "It's a pleasure to work with you, Mr. Constantine," she said, offering him her hand.

After a moment of blind panic, he took it and gingerly shook it. "Pleasure's all mine," he mumbled.

Chapter Text

"It's lovely to see you again, Crowley," said Aziraphale, pouring himself a cup of tea. "But I wasn't expecting it to be so soon. Is everything all right?"

Surrounded by luxury and high society, towering marble columns and glittering chandeliers, angel and demon were sitting together at their usual table at the Ritz. Crowley hadn't made a reservation. It had never occurred to him to make one.

"I'm fine. It's just that I spent a long time talking to Lady Tanya earlier today and there are some things you should know: she doesn't want the Apocalypse to happen, she doesn't want there to be a war between Heaven and Hell, and she'd rather keep things as they are."

"Really? That's wonderful!" Aziraphale smiled sunnily. "Provided, of course, that she can be believed. Isn't she currently reorganizing Hell? I had assumed she was doing that to be ready for the next war."

"No, she just wants to keep her 'employees' happy with regular pay and things to spend it on," said Crowley. "And she wants me to establish a 'cordial relationship' with you and any other angels I come across here on Earth."

"Why?"

"Uh, it's all part of the peace process. There'll never be any peace if we don't sit down and talk to each other now and then."

"But we already have a 'cordial relationship'," Aziraphale pointed out.

"Yes, but Tanya doesn't know that."

"Well, I don't see you as often as I'd like. I'm glad we have this opportunity to… ah, get to know each other a little better."

Crowley didn't quibble over the fact that they'd known each other for thousands of years already. Instead, he said, "With that in mind, there are some things I need to say to you. I don't think I've ever told you how much I…" He hesitated, swallowed and made a stumbling attempt to continue: "You really are my best friend, did you know that? There's no one I'd rather spend time with. You're the only one I'd bring to a place like this. And I haven't told you how… grateful I am that you rescued me in Hell. You were my knight in shining armour. Thank you." A moment later, cringing at his own words, he tried again, "I mean, you were a badass. In a good way." After another embarrassed pause, he settled on: "You were amazing."

"Oh, my dear Crowley," said Aziraphale, holding a hand over where his heart would be if he had a normal human anatomy. "You don't know how pleased I am to hear you say that." His voice faded to a whisper and he looked rather guilty. "You're my best friend too. I know I shouldn't feel that way, since you're a demon and I'm an angel, but…"

"I feel the same way," Crowley whispered, leaning across the table so as to impart those words into Aziraphale's ears without the possibility of anyone else listening in. Then, rather daringly, he kissed him on the cheek. At least, that was what he meant to do.

Aziraphale turned and looked up at him, mouth slightly ajar, perhaps intending to ask what he was doing. Their lips met.

They should have broken apart immediately. There should have been flustered apologies and denials. But that would come later. Instead, they stayed rigidly in place, too shocked to move or do much of anything. There was some experimentation with tongues and lips.

When they finally broke apart, sinking back into their seats, Crowley was quick to apologize: "Sorry! Uh, I'm sorry… I meant to kiss you on the cheek. A brotherly kiss. Because I'm so grateful to you." And then: "Not that I didn't enjoy it!"

"My dear, there's no need to apologize. I'm at least partly to blame. I'm afraid I mistook your intentions," says Aziraphale. "And… yes, I enjoyed it too."

Crowley was tempted to ask, 'Shall we do it again?' but he was afraid what might happen if he did. Would it be too soon? Would Aziraphale attempt to put him down gently? He knew he couldn't bear it if that happened. So, he changed his mind and said something else: "I'm glad. Uh, another pot of tea?"

"Perhaps something a little stronger?" Aziraphale suggested, signalling to the waiter as he passed by.

"I never thought I'd hear you say that," said Crowley, wide-eyed.

***

The latest unwanted visitor to Tanya's office wore a greasy leather jacket, a sash embroidered with the image of a deer, a bicorn hat with a mane of hair sticking out on either side, and a gloating smile on his face. He was clearly relishing the opportunity to tattle on one of his rivals: "I saw them kissing in that fancy restaurant! Him and his boyfriend!"

"Yes, he was acting on my orders. I told him that he should establish a cordial relationship with Aziraphale and the other angels who are active on Earth," said Tanya. "But I hadn't expected him to go to such lengths. I'm impressed by his diligence. Perhaps I should give him a raise."

"Seems to me that his boyfriend was already doing that, if you know what I mean," said Furfur. "Hur hur hur!"

Tanya gave him a withering glare and was satisfied to see him quail before her. "No, I've no idea what you mean."

"Uh, never mind that. You told Crowley to seduce that angel?"

"Not necessarily seduce. Just make him more willing to listen to us, more sympathetic to our point of view," Tanya explained.

"So we can lead him into a trap or trick him into joining us," Furfur concluded, looking pleased with himself for figuring that out. "Gotcha."

"I can only hope Crowley doesn't intend to use the same technique on all the other angels. That seems like it could lead to unnecessary complications and hurt feelings," said Tanya. She remembered how admiringly Crowley had spoken of Aziraphale when last she'd spoken to him, so she surmised that he must have been infatuated with the angel for quite some time and – because the angel apparently felt the same way – he'd taken the opportunity to act on his feelings in such a way as to make it easier to carry out the orders he'd been given. Having reached that conclusion, Tanya was rather impressed. Instead of letting his feelings get in the way of his work, Crowley had done the opposite.

But what to do with Furfur? He was a slimy, conniving, backstabbing wretch, but such people had their uses. He had already proven himself to be highly skilled at spying on his colleagues. As a former human resources manager, Tanya prided herself on putting each of her employees in places where they could use their skills to best advantage. With that in mind, she asked him, "Would you like to be a duke of Hell?"

"Me? I'd be honoured!"

Tanya nodded. "You're aware that I've assigned many of my employees to complete various tasks on Earth, with strict rules as to how they should behave so as not to attract too much attention from the angels or mortal authorities. I need someone to make sure that my instructions are being followed and my rules are being obeyed. I think you would be ideal for this role."

"And you'd make me a duke of Hell as well?" asked Furfur, eyes narrowed, as if trying to figure out the catch.

"Yes. As my chief inspector, you'd need to be of high enough rank that my other employees have to take you seriously, so they don't feel that they can just ignore you."

Furfur grinned delightedly. "So they'll have to call me 'Duke'?"

"If you like. So long as you agree to take the job, of course."

"I'll take it!" Furfur cried. Then, it occurred to him to ask: "If I'm going to be your 'chief' inspector, does that mean I'll have others working for me?"

Tanya nodded. "You can't be everywhere at once. You'll need a team to assist you. About a dozen, to begin with, I think."

"Do I get to choose who's in my team?"

"Yes, but please bear in mind that I will personally be inspecting you and your employees from time to time, making sure that your work is of an acceptable standard and that you're being fair to those you're inspecting. Don't let power go to your head."

"Actually, that reminds me… Not long ago, Beelzebub was one of the leaders of the rebellion against you, but now you've released them and you're letting them go to Earth to enjoy themselves. I don't understand why you'd do that. If you give them privileges like that, don't you think they might abuse them?"

"I released Beelzebub because I needed them to help with the filing system. Since then, they have worked hard and made an effort to mend their ways, for which they have been rewarded," said Tanya. "I want to show all my employees that, no matter what they've done in the past, they will be rewarded for hard work."

"'Work will set you free.'" Furfur sneered. "Yeah, I've heard that one before."

"'Thou shalt not muzzle the ox who treadeth out the corn. And, the labourer is worthy of his reward,'" Tanya corrected him, though she grimaced as she always did whenever she felt the need to quote from the Bible.

"All right, fine. I'd best be going," said Furfur, trudging towards the door. "I'll make a start on putting my team together, shall I?"

"Yes, you do that," Tanya replied, returning to her paperwork.

***

"This new gang is taking over everywhere," said Warren White, the crime boss also known as 'the Great White Shark'. "We've got to put them down before they climb too high."

He and the other leaders of Gotham's organized crime gangs – those who weren't currently imprisoned in Arkham Asylum or Blackgate Penitentiary – were arranged in a loose circle, together with their bodyguards, in a dingy area that was part of the city's docklands. On one side, there were crumbling buildings, abandoned shipping containers and rusting machinery, and a patch of dead grass with a sign above it that said, 'DON'T TREAD ON ME'. On the other, there were the grimy waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

"Frightened of the competition?" asked the current leader of the Maroni crime family, with a scar-faced grin. The Maroni family was much reduced in size and influence since its glory days – and they changed leaders so often that hardly anyone outside of the family bothered to remember their names. Nevertheless, Warren made a mental note to have this one killed as soon as he could get away with it, whatever his name was.

"Hardly a competition," said Oswald Cobblepot, who preferred to be known as 'the Penguin', leaning on his folded umbrella as if it were a walking cane. "What do I care if they sell cannabis and run a few bordellos? My business has been unaffected."

"They call themselves 'the Demons'. They're dangerous," said Dragos Ibanescu. "Yesterday, one of them got a faceful of lead, just walked it off like it was nothing. And there's not only one of them who's got superpowers."

"It wouldn't be the first time superpowered freaks have tried to take over Gotham's underworld," said Cobblepot, blithely unconcerned. "They'll learn. They always do. Brains beat brawn every time."

"Is that why you keep getting your ass handed to you by Batman?" asked Yuri Dimitrov, with a roar of laughter.

"As if you don't," said Cobblepot, with a contemptuous sniff.

"Gentlemen, this is all beside the point," said Warren. "You all think you're such big fish in a little pond, but what will you do when a much bigger predator comes for you? Don't you think it would be wise to unite against them before they pick us off one by one?"

Sometime later, after much discussion and disagreement, seven of Gotham's largest crime gangs agreed to join forces to drive out 'the Demons'. Warren could only hope that it would be enough.

***

"–and it continues for a while after that, but there's a lot of white noise," said Stephanie Brown, the teenaged superheroine known as 'Spoiler'.

"Impressive work," said Batman, examining the miniature recording device. "Especially considering that they must have scoped out the place beforehand, but they didn't notice you or where you'd hidden this."

"It was nothing," said Spoiler, modestly.

"I'll listen to all of it when I have the time. For now, can you tell me when this gang war is supposed to begin?"

"Tomorrow, after midnight."

"I'll have to be ready," said Batman. His mind was already racing ahead, forming plans and contingencies, making a list of all the tools he'd need.

"I could help," Spoiler offered.

"I'm not taking you out into a hail of gunfire. Unless you want to sit in the Batmobile and not touch anything."

"No… but perhaps there's some other way I can help?"

"Gather as much information as you can about this new gang, 'the Demons'," said Batman, after some consideration. "I suspect I'm going to need it."

***

It was early evening, much too early for most revellers and partygoers, when the angel Gabriel entered Lux. He had taken the form of a tall, beefy man with an honest face, clean-cut and wearing a grey suit. Recently, the demons of Hell had been unusually active on Earth – and many of them had been seen in this particular nightclub – which was why he had been chosen to investigate.

Lucifer wasn't pleased to see him, accosted him almost as soon as he entered, and said, "Gabriel. I hope you're not here to cause trouble."

"No, not at all," Gabriel assured him.

"You're not going to urge me to go back to Hell?"

"No, that's Amenadiel's job," said Gabriel. "And anyway, you must have mistaken me for someone else. I'm an ordinary human businessman, named Gabriel…" He looked around for inspiration. He noticed someone who was unmistakably a demon – a gender-indeterminate being with rumpled clothes, messy hair, and a fly buzzing in circles around them – sitting alone at the back of the room, nursing a pint of something tepid. "…Gabriel Glass. I've come to your fine establishment to enjoy a drink, like so many other humans do. Over there, I see an attractive person I would like to get to know better. I think I will sit and talk to them."

"Will there be dancing after that?" asked Lucifer, with some amusement. "Tell you what, if you promise not to start any trouble, the first drink's free."

"Capital," said Gabriel, beaming. "I'll have water."

"Are you sure? A bit boring, don't you think? There are plenty of other options. You can have whatever you like." Immediately after he'd said that, Lucifer winced, glanced at some of the bottles behind the bar, and muttered, "You could really make me regret that offer, you know. No takebacks."

"I like water."

"Suit yourself." Lucifer walked behind the bar, dropped a few ice cubes into a glass and fetched two bottles out of the refrigerator. "Still or sparkling?"

That got Gabriel's attention. "How do they make it sparkle?"

"Dissolved carbon dioxide."

"Sounds interesting. I'll try it," he decided.

Lucifer handed him the glass and one of the bottles – the one that had bubbles trying to escape from it – and returned the other to the fridge.

Bottle and glass in hand, Gabriel walked over to the gender-indeterminate being and sat down beside them. "You look like an interesting person. What's your name? How did you come to be here?" he asked.

"I'm Beelzebub. You're an angel, aren't you?" Their voice was edged with a faint buzz, barely perceptible. "I shouldn't be talking to you."

"It's fine," Gabriel assured them. "We're all friends here. Friendly friends getting to know each other. Where's the harm in that?"

"Next time, I hope she throws me in the Bottomless Pit," said Beelzebub, glumly. "More room to spread out."

"What do you mean 'next time'?"

"I rebelled against her. Together with two others – Azazel and the First of the Fallen – I tore her realm apart. She defeated me and threw me in the Blackest Pit. Not long after that, she released me because she needed my help with the filing system. She treats me the same as anyone else, gives me the same pay and even gives me opportunities to take breaks in places like this." They gestured around at Lucifer's nightclub. "Why would she forgive me like that?"

Gabriel was glad of the opportunity to hold forth on a subject about which he was an expert: "It is entirely within the power of one who has been sinned against to decide whether or not to forgive the sinner. To forgive is divine. All people make mistakes and God forgives them, and people are acting in a godlike way when they forgive others."

"Does that include demons?" asked Beelzebub.

"I don't see why not. You used to be an angel, didn't you?"

"One of the cherubim."

"Well, there you are. You've made mistakes, for which you were punished, but you can still be forgiven. No one is beyond forgiveness."

"God didn't forgive me, though," Beelzebub pointed out. "Does that mean she's more godlike than God?"

"If you – or any other demon – showed true contrition and a desire to repent, God would forgive you."

"Does that mean forgiveness is conditional?"

"It makes a mockery of forgiveness to forgive those who don't want it. But forgiveness will always be there for those who ask for it."

"Tanya forgave me without needing me to repent or show contrition or anything like that."

"Only because she needed you to do something for her. Not because she forgives as God forgives," says Gabriel, sipping his carbonated water. He didn't particularly like it.

Beelzebub appeared lost in thought. The fly hovering nearby seemed unusually agitated. "If I put my trust in God, admitted fault and asked Him to forgive me, what would happen? Would I be restored to my former greatness?"

"While you continue to sin, cause mischief and spread misery, you will always be a demon, but…" Gabriel hesitated, unsure of what to say next.

"You don't know, do you?"

"I am merely God's servant. I don't pretend to know everything He might do."

"Do you want to?"

"I… I'm happy as I am. I trust in God's judgement."

"I wish I understood why Tanya does what she does," Beelzebub said moodily. "She makes no sense. She defeated me in an eyeblink, but she acts like she needs to keep me happy. If she was determined to rule by fear and subjugation of those weaker than her, she could do it. Why does she make such an effort to keep her 'employees' happy? And why does she bother with filing and paperwork and so on?"

"Obviously, she will need powerful demons by her side when the Apocalypse comes and she must fight the armies of Heaven. Keeping you happy now is a small price to pay to have you by her side in battle."

"You may be right. Or maybe not. From what I've heard, Tanya doesn't want the Apocalypse to happen. She doesn't want to fight."

"That sounds foolish of her. If she doesn't fight, she'll be easily defeated and cast down."

Beelzebub finished the rest of their drink. Their head slumped to one side and the buzzing edge to their voice became more pronounced as they said, "Everything'zz upside down. Tanya izz willing to forgive but God isn't. Heaven wants war but Hell doesn't. Nothing makes sense anymore."

"It seems to me that you're having a crisis of faith."

"I had my crisis of faith long ago. That'zz why I'm a demon now."

"I didn't mean faith in God, but in yourself and what you've been fighting for."

"Yeah. You're probably right. I can't believe I'm asking this, but do you have any suggestionzz?"

"If I told you to put your trust in God and pray to Him, would you listen?"

"Probably not," Beelzebub admitted. "Would you like another drink?"

"Yes, please. Non-sparkling water this time," said Gabriel, as the demon got up and traipsed over to the bar.

To his surprise, he realised he was enjoying himself. He knew he should denounce Beelzebub as evil hellspawn who was trying to trick and corrupt him, but he found it refreshing to talk to someone whose beliefs and opinions were at odds with his own. Heaven could be such an echo chamber sometimes. Besides, Beelzebub didn't seem irredeemable, just cynical and unsure of their place in a rapidly changing universe. Perhaps it would be possible to redeem them.

He smiled and said, "Thank you," when they returned with a bottle of water for him and a fresh glass of whatever they were drinking, which looked like it had shreds of pondweed floating in it.

***

"We're under attack!" yelled Eric the demon, suddenly appearing in the lobby of Tanya's hellish office building.

Hastur glanced around, saw nothing out of the ordinary – there were just a few demons scurrying in and out, busy with various tasks, or standing to one side and conversing in hushed tones – and replied, "No, we're not."

"On Earth, I mean! In Gotham!"

Hastur was none the wiser.

"It's a city in North America!"

"Oh, right." No one else seemed willing to take charge, so Hastur said, "Lady Tanya's not here right now. Can I take a message?"

"We need help right now!" cried Eric, who was wearing the form of a scrawny human with hair sticking out at odd angles.

"What exactly is going on? Who are you being attacked by?"

"Gangsters! With guns!"

"You're a demon. What do you care about a few bullets?"

"It hurts a lot," said Eric, showing him a new bullet wound, through which black ichor was slowly seeping. "And they've got bombs as well!"

"Fine. In a few hours, I'll have gathered a sizeable force–"

"We don't have a few hours!"

"Pull yourself together!" Hastur snapped at him. "I'll come right now, along with…" He glanced around and grabbed the first few demons he could see who didn't appear to be busy. "Scumspawn." He immediately suspected that might be a mistake. Scumspawn wasn't much of a fighter. On the other hand, he was an accomplished shapeshifter, so perhaps he could transform into something that would terrify the gangsters into running away. "Shax." She was cruel and ambitious, but she'd sided with Tanya during the war in Hell – for whatever reason – and by all accounts she'd fought well. "And… Baytor, isn't it?"

"I am Baytor!" cried one of Etrigan's former henchmen, whose head appeared to consist entirely of teeth.

Hastur frowned. "Didn't you used to be the king of Hell?"

"I am Baytor!"

"Yes, he did. That was one of Lucifer's little jokes," Shax hastened to explain.

"Come with me, you three," said Hastur, beckoning to them. "We're going into battle."

"Me?" Scumspawn squeaked.

"I just need you to scare the humans, that's all. Transform into a gigantic crustacean with tentacles and glowing red eyes, or something like that," said Hastur. "Humans are terrified of that sort of thing."

"Um. I'll do my best."

"That's all I ask," said Hastur, clapping him on the back and causing him to stumble.

"If I do this, how will you reward me?" asked Shax.

"I'll put in a good word for you with Tanya. Same with you two as well," said Hastur, nodding to Scumspawn and Baytor.

Shax nodded, satisfied. "All right, I'll do it."

Hastur turned to Eric. "Take us to wherever you need us."

With a heavy sigh of relief, Eric opened a portal, through which could be seen the silhouettes of concrete buildings, roads strewn with rubble and makeshift barricades, lit only by the fires of burning wreckage.

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more," said Shax, rolling her eyes.

"I am Baytor!"

"Let's get on with it," said Hastur, stepping into the portal.

***

Dream studied the plastic card Tanya had given him, then the piece of paper on which she'd written a set of instructions, and then the machine in front of him, which had a small screen with a set of buttons underneath. After a couple of attempts, he managed to get it to work.

"That is… quite a lot of money," he said, looking at the numbers on the screen. "Tanya's hotel must be doing well."

"Does that mean we won't need to see your friend?" asked Delirium, who was lying on the floor next to him.

Dream discovered there was a hard limit to the amount of money he could withdraw from the ATM, which was much less than he needed.

"No, we're still going to see Pharamond," he said. "We'll need plane tickets, a car and someone to drive it."

Even so, he put all of the money the machine would give him into a coat pocket that hadn't been there a few moments before. Then, for good measure, he put the plastic card and Tanya's instructions in the same pocket.

"I could drive. I bet I'd be really good," said Delirium.

"No."

"Hmph."

As they walked down the street and across a bridge, towards the headquarters of Farrell Travel, a corporation owned by a former god who still owed Dream a favour, it occurred to Delirium to ask, "Why are we doing this? We could just pwoof and we'd be there. Straightaway. Through someone's head. Pwoof."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because there's a right way to do things."

"You're very silly," said Delirium.

"I know," said Dream.

Chapter Text

Hastur emerged into a scene of devastation. All around, there was anarchy and mayhem, darkness and flames, screams of agony and terror. Bullets zipped through the air, some of them impacting against his hide, but they caused him no more harm than the stings of a few bothersome insects. He surveyed his surroundings and then – presuming that anyone shooting at him must be an enemy – threw himself forward, into combat.

"Cower, brief mortals!" he cried, as he crashed through a barricade, scattering several well-armed thugs before him, swiping this way and that, sending them crashing to the ground, bloodied and brutalized. Some were unconscious, others were faintly babbling or moaning, but none of them seemed like a threat. And there were others he still had to fight.

Shax was there – and there – and there. She seemed able to disappear and reappear at will, tearing through one enemy and then the next. A useful ability in a fight. Hastur wondered if she was using similar portals to those that all demons could learn to use, just faster and with greater skill. Whatever the case, he approved.

An incoherent scream marked the arrival of Baytor, who disgorged a spray of foul-smelling vomit at the nearest group of gangsters, which rapidly hardened and trapped them in its thick, glutinous mass. They struggled piteously, but could not get free.

"Remember, Lady Tanya doesn't want us to kill any mortals unless it can't be helped," he said. "Most of them are going to Hell anyway, so why make extra work for ourselves?"

Their remaining foes, those that were still upright and capable of running, retreated behind another barricade. This one was larger and more solidly-built. Hastur doubted he could charge through it without stopping, not this time.

Before long, the gangsters would regroup and be ready to fight again, in greater numbers and with heavier weaponry. Hastur was determined to press the advantage before then, while their enemies were still in disarray.

With a quick glance around, he noticed that Eric and Scumspawn were huddled behind a burnt-out car, having played no part in this battle so far. He had Baytor and Shax with him, but he couldn't see any of the demons who were supposed to be guarding this territory. He wondered if they'd all fled before he'd arrived.

"Gary, join up with your colleagues, find out where else they need support, and then come back to us," he commanded. "Scumspawn, we're going to need your shapeshifting abilities for what comes next."

"Um. All right," said the oleaginous little demon.

"You can do it," said Hastur, encouragingly. "Remember, just like I told you before."

Scumspawn gave a shaky nod.

"Baytor, Shax, you're with me. Are you ready?" asked Hastur.

"I suppose I'd better be. We have a long night ahead of us," said Shax, peering at the dark skies above.

"I am Baytor!"

"Okay then. Let's go!"

In the next moment, Hastur leapt high into the air, was borne aloft on shadowy wings, and flew over the barricade. Swooping down on one of his foes, he smashed into him with shattering force and left him a crumpled heap on the ground. Too late, it occurred to him that he might have killed the man, but it didn't seem likely. From what he'd seen of this world's superheroes, it seemed like they hit people harder than that all the time without breaking the 'no killing' rule.

He looked around for his next opponent. Baytor had splurged over some more gangsters who looked like they didn't know whether to be disgusted or terrified. Shax ripped a semi-automatic rifle out of a man's hands – as well as at least one of his fingers – and said, in a cloyingly sweet voice, "I wonder what this does?"

"Shax!" snapped Hastur.

"Spoil my fun, why don't you?" She sighed and then – instead of firing the weapon – clonked the nearest gangster over the head with it.

Overhead, there loomed a vast and ghastly shape, with tentacles, a chitinous carapace, glowing red eyes, pincers, dozens of little legs, oyster shells, roast sweetcorn and lettuce, garnished with lemon and a dollop of tartare sauce.

Hastur couldn't contain his rage and disbelief. "Scumspawn!"

"Sorry!" was the little demon's reply. "This is harder than it looks, you know."

Moments later, a gigantic lobster lifted itself up off the seafood platter, clacking its pincers and advancing towards the barricade.

In his best attempt at a menacing voice, Scumspawn shouted, "Ten billion seafood dinners cry out for vengeance!" Then, he spoiled the effect by adding, "Whoo-oo-oo-oo!"

Perhaps because of this – or because they weren't equipped to fight someone with supernatural powers – their enemies turned tail and ran away as fast as they could. Hastur and his comrades chased down a few of them, but they were wary of getting separated or lured into a trap.

It came as a relief when Eric returned and they could ask, "Where next?"

***

Dream had given Delirium the contents of his pockets to amuse herself with during the long plane flight, a decision he was now regretting. Several of the other passengers watched with alarm as she transformed his banknotes into large and shiny gold coins, then peeled the outer shell off one of them to reveal there was chocolate underneath.

"Mmm. It says here – mmm – you didn't need to get money out of that machine," said Delirium, reading the paper with Tanya's instructions written on it, while absentmindedly chewing on a chocolate coin. "You can just use this card to pay for things. We didn't need your friend after all."

"That sounds unlikely," said Dream, taking the card from her and examining it with the eye of a true connoisseur. It had a few words and numbers written on it, some metallic strips and raised bumps, but nothing to signify that it had any particular meaning or value.

"Why did Tanya give you such a long and detailed list? She could just have said, 'Here's a card. You can buy things with it.'"

"Well, you know what she's like."

"No, I don't. I've never been near her," said Delirium. "She has a kind of madness, but it's out of my reach. So far away. It keeps her sane."

Dream wanted to ask her about that, but he was interrupted before he could.

"Um, Sir…?" A nervous flight attendant approached, as close as she dared. "Can you stop your…?" She indicated Delirium.

"She's my sister," Dream informed her.

"Can you stop her from doing that? She's frightening the other passengers."

Delirium was currently in the process of transforming the gold coins into butterflies and having them flutter around her head.

"Do you find that frightening?" asked Dream, curiously. "She's not doing any harm."

"Um. We don't usually get… people with superpowers travelling with us," said the flight attendant. "Powers like that are… scary. Because we don't know what else you might do." She paused, put on a plastic smile and said, "Please?"

"Oh, all right," said Delirium, with a put-upon sigh. One by one, she turned the butterflies back into banknotes, except instead of architectural designs, these were decorated with smiley faces, teddy bears, dragons and whatever else her imagination could come up with on the spur of the moment. "Are we nearly there yet?"

Dream turned to the flight attendant and raised an eyebrow.

She looked back helplessly. "Um. It's a seven-hour flight. We have five hours left to go."

Delirium slumped back into her seat. "Ugh!"

"Try looking out of the window," Dream suggested. "You like looking at clouds."

"I like aeroplanes. I like anywhere that isn't a proper place. I like in-betweens."

"That's… that's good," said the flight attendant. "Um. I'll just go away, shall I?"

"I think that would be for the best," Dream agreed.

***

Hastur, Shax and even Baytor were now in human form. While they and the rest of Tanya's employees were trying to be inconspicuous and avoid drawing heavenly attention to their actions on Earth, it made sense to go about in disguise. Nevertheless, by now, it seemed that some of their foes were well aware of what they truly were.

When they fought off the next wave of assailants, Hastur was surprised to be hit by a bullet that caused him genuine pain. He was staggered, for a moment, then looked up to see where it had come from. The next bullet struck him in the chest and caused him to make an undignified noise, but he could see the man shooting him was perched atop a nearby roof and armed with a sniper rifle.

"Who or what are you supposed to be?" asked Hastur, squinting at the sniper's red costume, silver body armour and yellow gloves. Even in the middle of the night, shouldn't he be wearing something less eye-catching?

"Deadshot's the name," said the sniper, who sounded confused, as if he'd expected something different to happen when he shot Hastur. "Mercenary assassin. World's greatest marksman. I never miss – and my target is you."

"How long did you have to practice that speech in front of the mirror?" asked Shax, with a cackle of laughter.

Deadshot took the opportunity to shoot Hastur again.

"Ow!"

"Why aren't you…? You're a demon aren't you? Those bullets should have sent you straight back to Hell," said Deadshot, in a pained voice. "They were soaked in holy water, blessed by a priest, and each of them has a tiny fragment of the True Cross inside. Altogether, for a ten-round mag, they cost as much as a sportscar."

"You got ripped off, mate," said Hastur, with a pained grin. "Holy water evaporates – and all that's left is the faintest residue of holiness – which won't do anything to me unless you plan to kill me with homeopathy. Priests are… well, it depends on the priest. Most of them aren't worth spit. And, around the world, there are enough 'pieces of the True Cross' that if Noah was alive today he could use them to build a whole new Ark. Are any of them real?" He snorted. "Nah, probably not."

Deadshot took a deep breath. "You see, the thing about that is…"

Without bothering to finish the sentence, he took to his heels and fled, darting across rooftops and over walls, leaping and bounding, in a display of parkour that would have put many professional athletes to shame.

"Shall I chase after him?" Shax wanted to know.

"Don't bother. I think he's learnt his lesson," Hastur replied. His brow furrowed. "What happened to Baytor?"

"He was fighting… somewhere over there," said Shax, sounding unsure of herself.

Hastur couldn't see him or any sign of him. He turned to Scumspawn, who was still tagging along. "I want you to go back to Hell and gather some reinforcements. Tell them I sent you."

"Um. I'll do my best," said Scumspawn, not for the first time. Over time, as he'd grown increasingly fatigued, his giant lobster body had shrunk, until now it was smaller than the nearest burnt-out car.

"I know you will," said Hastur, with a nod.

***

Before Batman drove into the middle of an active firefight, it seemed sensible to contact Commissioner Gordon and ask, "What's the situation, Jim?"

"Bad. But not as bad as it could be," was the reply. "The Demons seem to be holding their own. Many of their attackers have retreated, but then they've brought in fresh reinforcements."

"How much of the area have you cordoned off?"

"We're slowly tightening the net, one street at a time, moving in closer and closer. It's a largely civilian area, so we don't want the gangs to get desperate and start taking hostages. Instead, we're putting pressure on them while giving them ample opportunities to retreat." Gordon heaved a frustrated sigh. "It's not ideal, but we don't want to make the situation any worse than it already is. There aren't enough of us to tackle a gang war as well as everything else that happens in Gotham on a daily basis."

"Understandable," said Batman. "What about the gangs' superpowered allies?"

"All of the Demons seem to have superpowers, at least to some extent. Most of them have enhanced toughness and strength, but not much more than that. And they have a few heavy hitters they've been sending to wherever the fighting is most intense."

"What was their last-known location?"

Gordon rattled off a list of coordinates pertaining to confirmed and unconfirmed sightings of the most powerful Demons.

"And what about their attackers? Do they have any superpowered assistance?"

"A few mercenaries. Otherwise, they seem to be relying on sheer weight of numbers to bring them victory."

"How long can they can keep this up?" Batman wondered aloud, though he wasn't really expecting an answer.

"Difficult to say. The gangs that have joined forces against the Demons haven't made any real headway so far, but it's only been a few hours. I'd expect them to start fracturing if they keep suffering defeats and heavy losses. For the Demons, this is a fight for survival, but none of the other gangs will spend all their strength on this. They know that if they make themselves too weak, the other gangs will see them as easy pickings." Gordon spent a moment lost in thought. "I'd be surprised if it lasted much longer than tonight, to be honest, the way things are going. A couple of nights at most."

"I'll see what I can do to make it sooner," Batman promised. A moment later, he had put the Batmobile into high gear and was on his way to the coordinates Gordon had provided, hurtling down the highway that ran through Gotham's city centre.

***

Hastur and Shax disposed of another group of goons, knocking them down as if they were toys in the way of an angry child, taking their weapons from them and smashing them on the ground. Eric and some of his colleagues followed at a discreet distance, not wanting to get too close to the ensuing carnage.

Some of the demons had acquired weapons of their own: handguns and shotguns, mostly. They had learnt how useful it was to have something with which they could fight at range.

"Actually, can you not smash that?" asked Eric, indicating the semi-automatic rifle Hastur was about to break over his knee. "We could use something like that."

Hastur grunted and threw the gun to him. He grabbed for it, nearly fumbled it, and accidentally fired a shot high into the air.

"Do you think these gangsters have someone who can quickly heal their injuries?" asked Shax, eyeing a pair of men who were stumbling along the other end of the street. They were both wounded, one more severely than the other – and he was leaning heavily on his friend as they tried to retreat to safety.

"I suppose it's possible, but I doubt it," said Hastur. "There aren't many humans with healing powers."

"That's another benefit of injuring and not killing them, then," said Shax, with a satisfied smirk. "The more they have to look after their wounded, the fewer they'll have left to send into battle against us."

Hastur nodded. "Good thinking."

He could see more of their enemies approaching, furtively edging around walls, rubble and wreckage, ruined barricades and street furniture. He heard distant sirens, engine roars and… something else. A steady drum beat. Music.

Against his will, he was forced to sing: "What's going on? What do we have here? We don't need these distractions while our enemies are near."

"Hastur, there's something very strange – I think we might be singing," Shax warbled. "I feel like I'm a puppet that a puppeteer is stringing."

"Who is doing this to us? Who has us in his thrall?" asked Eric, who had a surprisingly deep baritone singing voice.

"Whoever he is, I'll rip and tear, I'll lacerate and maul!" Hastur snarled. In that moment, he couldn't stop himself from leaping into the air, dancing and striking a dramatic pose.

A red-haired man dressed in a dark blue jacket with stylised coat buttons that looked like musical notes, a Stetson hat and a green bowtie, carrying a conductor's baton in one hand, stepped into view, as calmly and confidently as if he was playing a part in a stage production. He bowed before an imaginary audience and then began to sing: "You'll do no such thing, my friend. From now, on you're my slave. My music has you in its grasp – I'm afraid you can't be saved!"

Several gangsters emerged from behind the rubble. Instead of shooting Hastur and his fellow demons while they were defenceless, they began to snap their fingers in time to the beat, and sing: "He's the Music Meister, the ace of villainy! He's the Music Meister! We never will be free!"

"You're wondering why I've come here. Why do I need the money? I've fallen on such hard times; it really isn't funny," said the Music Meister, with a theatrical swoon. He immediately leapt back to his feet and continued: "But now I'm in control here, new paths open up for me. I'll repulse my erstwhile allies with an act of treachery!"

"He's the Music Meister!" cried his chorus line of gangsters. "Virtuoso of crime! He's the Music Meister and–"

"You don't know how to rhyme!" Hastur interrupted. "Virtuoso – it doesn't scan – you cannot fit it in! To stretch the second syllable, it really is a sin! Although you have enthralled me, I'll still find a way to win! And when I'm free, then you must face the rage that's trapped within!"

The Music Meister's song was meant for human ears, to ensnare their minds and turn them into puppets. It shouldn't have any effect on demons. However, Hastur and his comrades were currently in human form, which made them vulnerable to it. That was one of the problems with shapeshifting: it also meant taking on some of the weaknesses of whatever they turned themselves into.

"My thuggish friend, you still don't see the new reality. Your strength, your rage, your superpowers, now all belong to me! I'm the Music Meister!"

"And we are just his tools!" cried some of his puppets, which Hastur was dismayed to see now included Eric and some of his fellow demons.

"I'm the Music Meister!"

"Now we must obey his–"

With an effort of will, Hastur managed to resist the Music Meister's powers, just for a moment. In that moment, he became something else, something that had no ears and could not hear the music: a million grey maggots, moving as an inexorable mass, writhing and wriggling and biting at empty air.

The Music Meister screamed, dropped his baton and fled as fast as his legs would carry him. His backing vocalists were slower to react. Some of them were lucky. They turned and broke into a sprint just before the onrushing wave of maggots would have collapsed on top of them. Others were not so lucky. Hastur swarmed over everything in his path.

***

Having parked the Batmobile in an unobtrusive location on a quiet side street, Batman crept closer to where the gang war was still raging. His curiosity was piqued when he saw someone he recognized – a supervillain who called himself 'the Music Meister' – screaming and running away. Hastily fitting a custom set of earplugs that were specially designed to nullify the effects of the supervillain's song, Batman moved to intercept him.

The Music Meister didn't notice he was being pursued until much too late. He was running full pelt, panting for breath, heedless of anything but the need to run away from whatever had terrified him. Even when Batman swooped close enough to grab him, he didn't resist. Instead, he threw himself to the floor, babbling, "I surrender! I surrender! Take me to jail! I'll be good! I won't resist! I'll go quietly!"

Although the villainous musician's words were oddly distorted by the earplugs Batman was wearing, he could still hear him to an extent, which he much preferred to the alternative. Reading his lips would have been a difficult prospect, since they were flapping so fast and frantically.

"To 'go quietly', you'll need to stop talking," he said.

"Yes, I'll stop talking! Whatever you say! Quiet as anything, me!" cried the Music Meister. "Oh God, don't let them eat me!"

After a few more attempts, Batman gave up on getting anything sensible out of him, and therefore decided to leave him bound and gagged, ready for the police to collect him later. Over the next ten minutes or so, he picked off a few others, one by one. They were all gangsters: stragglers, walking wounded, and those who were fleeing with just as much wild abandon as the Music Meister had been.

That was something he needed to investigate, Batman decided.

***

When Hastur came back to himself, the city seemed much quieter than it had before. Even the sirens had faded. Glancing around, he saw Shax, Eric and the other demons who'd been with him before. They appeared to be unhurt, but they were somewhat subdued.

"How long was I out?" he asked.

"Uh… a few minutes," Eric replied. "I think."

"That's a surprise," Hastur muttered. "Now, is there anywhere else you need us to go?"

Eric mutely shook his head.

"Hey, boss," said one of Eric's colleagues, whose name Hastur didn't know. "You said we weren't meant to kill anyone, right? I think this one's dead."

"Maybe you could put him back together?" Shax suggested.

"Like a jigsaw puzzle? We'd have to bring him back to life first. That's something else we're not supposed to do," said the other demon, holding up a skull that still had a few bloody shreds of flesh clinging to it. "We'd just be making things worse."

"Nobody likes zombies," said Eric.

Hastur sat down heavily on what might once have been a set of steps leading up to someone's front door. Holding his head in his hands, he murmured, "It was an accident. Tanya will understand that."

"You had no choice. Not unless you wanted to be the Music Meister's slave forever," said Shax.

Another of Eric's colleagues looked bemused. "I don't see why you care. We're demons!"

"We're trying not to attract attention to our doings here on Earth," Hastur explained. "Otherwise, the angels will come down and start a war we're not ready to fight."

"Oh. Yeah, makes sense."

"If that was your intention, you shouldn't have started a gang war," said a new arrival. Stepping out from the shadows, he revealed himself to be a muscular man dressed in dark grey, with a black cape and a cowl with horns sticking out of the top of it. Emblazoned on his chest, there was a stylized bat logo.

"What are you supposed to be?" asked Hastur, with a weary sigh.

"I'm Batman."

"Why does your bat costume have horns?" Eric wanted to know.

"They're ears."

"Bats don't have ears like that." Eric scoffed. "Nah, they're horns. You could gore someone with those."

"I'm a member of the Justice League, an international group of superheroes," said Batman, as if Eric hadn't said anything. "One of my colleagues is an angel named Zauriel. If I went to him and told him what you've been doing here, what do you think he'd do?"

"Start a war that'll kill billions of humans? Doesn't sound very superheroic to me," said Hastur.

"You and your 'gang' should leave Gotham," said Batman in a low, threatening voice. "This city is under my protection."

Hastur gazed around at the wrecked vehicles, the bloodstains and dead bodies, the cracked and pitted streets, the buildings on the verge of collapse, and the faint glow of distant flames. "Yeah? You've done a great job of that so far," he said, sarcastically clapping his hands together. "Congratulations."

Batman didn't bother to argue. Instead, he said, "I'll be in touch," and then vanished into the shadows once again.

"Well, he seemed nice," said Shax, who'd acquired a toothpick from somewhere, which she was using to remove dried blood and torn flesh from underneath her fingernails.

"Was he threatening us?" asked Eric.

Hastur looked askance at him. "You couldn't tell?"

"Uh… I mean, he said that we should leave Gotham. He didn't say what would happen if we don't."

"He threatened to tell an angel."

"Yeah, but he didn't like it when you said that would lead to billions of deaths, so…"

"I'm going to have to tell Tanya about this," said Hastur, burying his head in his hands again.

Shax patted him on the shoulder. "Good luck."

***

"People keep exploding. I hate it when that happens," said Delirium. "So messy."

"Destruction does not wish to be found. He left traps behind to prevent anyone from finding him," said Dream. "I doubt he would have wanted his friends to be the ones to suffer death or damage because of them, but… not all consequences can be foreseen." The word 'foreseen' sparked a sudden realization within him. He stood frozen in horror for the next several moments.

"I don't know where Etain is. And the Alder Man's gone to be no one for a bit. He won't talk to us. And the others are sort of dead. My envelope isn't any good anymore."

"There… are other ways we could track him down. Mystical ways," said Dream, hardly daring to speak. "We need an oracle."

"Oracles can't see us. Not you, or me, or any of our family. Not if we don't want them to," Delirium pointed out.

"There is one who can. He's family."

"Is he someone I know?"

"Yes."

"Is he very old?"

"No."

"Have you ever spent days and days making up flavors of ice cream that no one's ever eaten before? Like chicken and telephone ice cream?"

"No."

"When are we going to see this person?"

"I…" Dream hesitated. Conflicting emotions crossed his face, like armies marching across a desert. "I could have gone on and on, pretending I didn't already know the answer – that this path was always going to lead us to him. But I won't. It'll be soon."

Delirium looked at him with concern and curiosity written on her features. "Dream… are you all right?"

"A friend of mine – I don't think she likes me very much, for good reason – keeps talking to me about forgiveness. She says I'll feel better for it. I hope she's right."

"Who do you need to forgive?"

There was a long pause. When Dream opened his mouth to speak again, Delirium imagined he was going to say, 'Myself,' so she was surprised when he didn't. Instead, he said, "Someone who disappointed me. Nevertheless… he didn't deserve what happened to him. I always knew that. And I could have helped him, but I didn't."

"And we're going to meet him soon?"

Dream nodded. "Yes."

***

"–and then we came back here," Hastur finished.

Tanya's head slammed into her desk. A moment later, she groaned, sat up and asked, "Is that all? Are you sure there's nothing else you haven't mentioned?"

"No, I'm pretty sure I've told you everything."

"Did you find out what happened to Baytor?"

Hastur shook his head. "No sign of him."

"Oh well, I'm sure he'll turn up eventually. Probably when we least expect it," said Tanya. "We have more pressing concerns right now. For instance, I'll need to speak to Earth's self-appointed champions much sooner than I anticipated."

"Good luck with that," said Hastur. Then, rather impressed, he asked, "Did you have that desk specially reinforced?"

"Yes. Imbued with some of my power," said Tanya, with a fierce grin. "Now you know what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object."

"Huh, I thought it'd be noisier than that."

"Many things are not as you might expect them to be," said Tanya. "No matter what I do, the universe refuses to make any kind of rational sense."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Hastur shrugged. "It'd be boring otherwise."

"You may be right," said Tanya, with a sigh of resignation and the merest flicker of an eyeroll.

***

"I am Baytor!"

Lucifer stared at him with open-mouthed bewilderment. "You… want to run your own bar in Gotham City? And you want my help with setting it up? I suppose… uh, that could be amusing. But you'll need to stay in human form and speak properly instead of shouting out your name all the time. Honestly, you sound like a Pokémon."

Baytor cocked his head to one side and gave him a quizzical glance.

"Never mind. It would take too long to explain," said Lucifer. Then, defensively, he added, "My friend's daughter likes them. She's got hundreds of the bloody things. Cuddly toys, I mean."

"I am Baytor!"

"Yes, all right. You'll get your money," Lucifer assured him.

***

"Tinker. Tailor. Soldier. Sailor. Rich man. Poor man. Beggar man… Hmm. More cherries," said Delirium, playing with the stones of those she'd already eaten. "Elf-lord. Ivy. Vinegar. Toad. Virgin. Pilgrim. Kangaroo…"

"We have spoken. It is done," said Dream. Somehow, he looked even paler than usual. That shouldn't have been possible.

"You talked to him?"

"Indeed. As he talked to me," said Dream, helping Delirium get up from where she was lying on the grass.

"And now you know where our brother is?"

"Yes."

"Did it… um… I don't know. Did it cost you anything?"

Dream wavered. He moistened his lips with a pale tongue. "No, of course not," he said, putting on a faint impression of a smile. "Nothing that I didn't already owe him."

"That's good," said Delirium. Her eyes narrowed. "Wait… he told you for free?"

"That is what family members are supposed to do for one another, isn't it?" Another hesitation. "Of course, I still owe him… a boon. In return. But that can wait."

"You're shivering," Delirium observed.

"I find that difficult to believe, my sister. I am in fine spirits," said Dream. "We're going to see our brother. Why should I not rejoice?"

He held out a hand. Delirium took hold of him.

"And no one else has to get killed or exploded or anything?"

"No. Not yet."

"Is it a long way to where our brother is?"

"It's not far. I'll take you there," said Dream, leading her by the hand. "Let's go."

Chapter Text

It was early evening and John Constantine had just returned to his dingy apartment after a hard day's work. He made the mistake of switching on the television so he could have some background noise while he was looking for something to eat. As he turned away and began ransacking his cupboards, he heard a stream of panicked babble that needed to be heavily filtered before he could extract any useful information from it. That was something he could do automatically even while he was considering the possible merits of half-rotten apple, pickled onion and ketchup sandwiches – or maybe he should just get a takeaway? – and he grew increasingly alarmed as he realised that one hundred representatives of the world's media were trapped aboard the Justice League's orbital satellite while a supervillain was attempting to kill them all.

'Should I do something about this?' he asked himself, wishing he had a cigarette. Not because he needed to smoke – Lady Tanya had cured him of his nicotine addiction at the same time as she repaired everything else in his mouldering body – but because he wanted something to hold, almost like a comfort blanket – and how pathetic was that?

'Even if I could get up there, by the time I got up there, they'd already have sorted everything out,' he reasoned. In a state of heightened agitation, he paced back and forth around the room, making the carpet even grubbier and more threadbare than it was before. 'They've faced much worse threats than this. Practically every day.' He waved the television remote as if it were a magic wand. 'Surely they don't need me.'

He wondered how many of the Justice League's other allies, friends and affiliates were watching this broadcast and wishing – just like him – that there was something they could do to help. 'Anyway, it's none of my business. Even if I was there, I'd only get in the way.'

There came a knock on the front door. Constantine was glad of the distraction, even if he had no idea who would be visiting him at this time. An old acquaintance, someone in need of help, or had the postman come to the wrong address again? For the past few months, ever since he'd met Lady Tanya, it was as if he'd led a charmed life – and he knew with gloomy certainty that good luck now would lead to hideous bad luck later on, which meant he was anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop – so perhaps he should be worried that he'd been hunted down by one of his enemies who was about to take gruesome revenge on him. Or would that come as a relief?

He muted the television, padded over to the front door and opened it just a fraction. Outside, there was a diminutive woman who'd loomed large in his thoughts of late: Lady Tanya, the Devil Queen, Lucifer's appointed successor. She was wearing human form and a sharp business suit.

"Constantine. Good evening," she said. Then, she must have seen something in his demeanour that made her ask, "Is this a bad time?"

"No, I'm not doing anything right now. You might as well come in," he said, taking a step back and holding the door open for her.

Entering his apartment, Tanya looked around at the grimy kitchen counter with its piles of dirty crockery, the basket full of unwashed laundry, the coating of dust on every shelf, on top of the television and collecting in the corners of the room, and Constantine felt as if he was being judged.

"Yeah, I'm a slob. I like it this way," he said, defensively.

"I didn't say anything. But I'm pleased to hear you admit you have a problem." Tanya sighed. "You need someone to look after you."

Constantine felt a sudden thrill of horror. Hurriedly, he shook himself and said, "You didn't come here to assess my living conditions. At least, I hope you didn't. So why are you here?"

"You're acquainted with the Justice League, correct?"

"Correct," he said, glancing at the television, which still had the words 'Breaking News' running across the screen. "Why?"

"I would like to speak to them. Could you arrange an appointment for me, please?"

"I think it would be better if we spoke to them as soon as possible," he decided, switching off the television. He put down the remote and immediately wished he hadn't. Now, he had no idea what to do with his hands.

"How soon?"

"Immediately," said Constantine. He proceeded to explain the situation as he saw it: a supervillain was attacking the Justice League aboard their orbital satellite while a hundred helpless civilians were trapped up there with them.

"We could go to their rescue," said Tanya. "Good thinking."

"I can't think of a better way to introduce you to them. Just let me do the talking, at least to begin with."

"Fine."

In his mind, Constantine had assembled the bare skeleton of a plan. All he had to do was flesh it out. He took a deep breath. "Here's what we'll do…"

***

Prometheus was having the time of his life. So far, his plan had been a roaring success. One by one, the Justice League had fallen before him. Only two of them remained: Superman and Wonder Woman, who were standing between him and a crowd of civilians as if they could do anything to protect them. Of course, either of them could have defeated him without much difficulty, but they didn't dare come too close for fear of damaging what was behind him: the shuttles they'd need to escape the destruction of their excessively extravagant headquarters.

"Time's running out, Superman!" he cried, gleefully. "Soon, Steel's hammer will crash through one of these walls. The pressure drop will kill everyone in here except you."

"Why are you doing this? What do you want?" Superman demanded to know.

"Nothing you've got. You're hard to kill, so I had to come up with something foolproof and demoralizing; I want all the troops to see it before they die," said Prometheus. "Kill yourself, Superman. Then, I'll allow these people to go home unscathed."

Before anyone else could process his words and do more than gasp in shock or horror, an unfamiliar voice cut through the silence: "That's your plan to kill Superman? Not exactly foolproof, is it?" There came a derisive laugh. A tall, well-built blond man dressed in a shabby trench coat stepped out from the crowd of media representatives. There was a strange light shimmering behind him. "Didn't think to bring any Kryptonite? That stuff seems to be so common that random street thugs can get hold of it. What are you, a cheapskate?"

"Constantine," said Superman, looking perplexed. "This isn't a good time."

"Yes, you're wasting time," said Prometheus, seizing control of the conversation once again. "Soon, all these people will be dead!"

The trenchcoated man had his hands in his pockets, but he shifted his arms and seemed to shrug his shoulders as if discomforted. "Prometheus, is it? You've told us how you meticulously planned out how to defeat every one of the Justice League. But what happens when people don't act like you expect them to? What happens when someone injects a little chaos into your perfectly ordered situation? Have you considered that there might be a reason why I've been playing for time?"

He lifted his head, just slightly. The light behind him became blinding. When it faded, a few seconds later, all of the assembled representatives of the media were gone. Vanished. As if they'd never been.

"And what happens when you've got nothing left to threaten us with?" asked Constantine, in a voice that was so soft it might have been a sigh.

"There's still one thing." Prometheus sneered. He whirled around and aimed his wrist-mounted rocket launcher at the shuttle bay. At least he could make sure the ordinary human members of the Justice League were trapped in an airless coffin, doomed to suffocate or suffer the effects of explosive decompression, several hundred thousand kilometres away from home.

An arrow pierced his gauntlet, knocking his aim awry. A moment later, a thrown hammer smashed his helmet and sent him sprawling to the floor. For good measure, one of Superman's lightning bolts disabled his powered armor completely.

Dazedly, Prometheus lifted his head to see masked figures step out of the shadows. All of them were members of the Justice League he'd defeated but failed to kill outright. At the time, he hadn't thought it would matter: they were all going to die anyway when the oxygen ran out or they were exposed to hard vacuum. But now he was paying the price for his complacency. He only had one chance left to escape.

"Well… guess I'll put this one down to experience. And next time you won't even hear me coming," he mumbled, activating the key that would teleport him back to his hideout in the Ghost Zone.

***

Out of the corner of his mouth, Constantine asked Tanya, who was invisible and floating in the air behind him: "Could you have stopped him escaping?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I don't know where he's gone or how he got there."

"Could you find out?"

"Potentially. He might have left traces behind."

"Something to think about, maybe," said Constantine.

An angel appeared in exactly the same place that Prometheus had disappeared from, looking somewhat bewildered. He had pure white skin, red eyes and swanlike wings. His golden armor appeared to have been designed for aesthetic purpose rather than practicality. Most angels chose to look like humans with wings – because their true forms were too bizarre and wondrous for ordinary mortals to comprehend, apparently – but this one was more obviously inhuman than any of the others Tanya had ever met. Perhaps he was trying to blend in with his superhero colleagues, whose garish costumes had evidently been designed to make them as noticeable as possible.

Possibly for the same reason, Superman had blue skin and was wearing a skintight bodysuit instead of his usual blue costume, red trunks and red cape. Also, he seemed to be sparking with electricity. He might look superficially human, but to Tanya's otherworldly senses it was as if a raging fire had been brought to life and given the shape of man. He burned with so much energy that it was dazzling to look at him.

Leaning close enough to Constantine to whisper into his ear, which made him shiver, Tanya asked, "Superman doesn't normally look like that, does he?"

"Just for the past month or so."

"Do you know why?"

"Maybe a supervillain hit him with some kind of energy weapon, or he flew through a meteor shower that contained a new type of Kryptonite, or… Well, that's the sort of thing that happens," said Constantine. "He'll probably be back to normal in another month or so."

"I hope so," said Superman, walking over to Constantine and warmly shaking his hand. "It's good to see you, John. Thank you for your assistance."

"No problem," said Constantine, whose hand was now fidgeting like a playful spider. "I'm sure you'd have managed perfectly well without me."

"Wow, John, have you been working out?" asked a woman wearing a domino mask, a purple cape and black body armor, with a white cross stretched across her chest that had no purpose that Tanya could discern, unless it was meant to show her opponents exactly where to shoot. She gave Constantine a playful poke. "I'm sure Zatanna will be delighted when she sees you."

"Yes, you're looking very well," said Batman. "I'm surprised. The last I heard, you were dying of lung cancer."

"Fresh air, clean living, you know how it is," Constantine began and almost immediately stopped. He sighed heavily, shook his head and said, "No, there's no point in lying. I'd have to tell the truth soon enough anyway. Please allow me to introduce my friend." He gestured in Tanya's direction. "I'm sure you'll agree she's a woman of wealth and taste."

Taking that as her cue, Tanya made herself visible and stopped suppressing her presence in the room. Arms folded, she examined the Justice League with a critical eye and an unimpressed expression upon her face.

"You!" cried the angel, gaping at her. "What brings you here?"

Superman looked bemused. "Zauriel, what's–?"

"She's the Devil! Lucifer's chosen successor!" the angel declared.

"Her name's Tanya," said Constantine. "Lady Tanya."

"John… did you make a deal with the Devil?" asked Batman, folding his arms and looking more-than-usually stern.

"Uh, sort of. She made an offer and… later on, when I was being attacked by one of her enemies, I was desperate, so… I set her free. She defeated him and healed me."

"I keep my promises," said Tanya.

"What happened to the media representatives who were here earlier?" asked Superman. "Are they somewhere safe?"

"They are under my protection. I will make sure they come to no harm," Tanya assured him. "I could bring them back here, if you like. Or I could take them back to Earth while you continue your repairs here."

There was a hurried conversation between the various superheroes, which Tanya didn't bother to listen to. Finally, Superman, acting as their spokesman, said, "We'd like you to bring them back here, please."

"It's fine," Tanya replied. "As long as you make sure they'll be safe when they get back here. Didn't Prometheus say this place was running out of oxygen?"

"Actually, we've mostly fixed the damage he caused," said a man clad in a suit of iron-grey powered armor. "We should probably be thankful that he was so overconfident."

"Even so, we'll send them back to Earth on the shuttles as soon as possible," said Superman.

"If you want me to teleport them back here, I will," said Tanya. She reminded them again, just in case they hadn't heard her the first time: "Or I could teleport them back to Earth immediately."

"We don't trust you," said Batman, bluntly. "Give us a reason to trust you. Bring them back here."

Tanya smiled, glad to have met someone who said what he was thinking, which meant that for once there was no need for her to decipher his true meaning. "With pleasure," she replied. "Even if I have to physically separate them, I'll make sure they come back here safely."

***

Not for the first time, Lois Lane wondered if she should regret the Pulitzer Prize, the fame and all the decisions that kept throwing her into danger. Or did she enjoy the reckless thrill that came from putting her life at risk time after time? First I was trapped aboard a doomed space station and now this…

"Are you getting all this?" an excited newsman was asking a bored camerawoman.

"It's just a shopping mall," she replied, with an exaggerated yawn.

"It's a glimpse of an alien world: a world different and yet weirdly similar to our own!" He grinned. "Don't you think people will be interested in that?"

"I think they might be demons," said someone else, looking anxiously at some of the passersby who so far had given them a wide berth. "See the horns?"

The bored camerawoman said, dismissively, while examining her fingernails, "It's a film set. They're just people in costumes. That's why all the shop names are in English."

"If they're demons, why aren't they attacking us? Shouldn't they be trying to persuade us to sell our souls for–"

"Prime wagyu steak!" With raised eyebrows, a voluminous man, who appeared to be spilling out of his business suit, was examining the menu board outside a restaurant. "And the prices look very reasonable!"

"Are you sure about that?" asked his haggard assistant. "You don't know what the exchange rates are like."

"I wonder if they'll accept American dollars."

Lois Lane did her best to take charge of the situation, speaking with all the aplomb she'd mustered in her years as a journalist, in a loud, clear voice that cut through all the conversations going on around her: "We need to remain calm and stay together. Someone brought us here to save us from dying aboard the Watchtower, so we have to assume they mean us no harm. But don't go wandering off."

Most of the other media people appeared to listen and agree with her, but there were a few who were more interested in the shops, cafés, restaurants and other attractions arranged all around them.

"What on earth is a 'pachinko parlor'?"

"There are dollar signs right there. That must mean they take American dollars, right?"

"Cute waitresses, aren't they?"

"Um, actually… I think that one might be a succubus."

"She can suck my–"

Someone yelled, aghast: "Boris!"

"–anytime she wants."

"That doesn't even make sense!"

"Screw it, I'm hungry. I want a hamburger," said a large, bushy-bearded man, throwing open the restaurant door. Then, a moment later: "Hey, my wallet's missing!" He turned on his heel and stomped back towards his fellows. "Who stole my wallet?"

"It could have been one of the demons. Be very careful," Lois warned him.

"They haven't been near us. It must have been one of you!" cried the bushy-bearded man, pointing an accusatory finger.

Lois tried her best to calm the situation, but her voice was just one of many. Most of the others were frantic, angry or distressed.

"It must have happened while we were on the Watchtower!"

"My necklace is missing too!"

"And my watch!"

"And my wallet!"

The crowd seethed with suspicion and anger. For a moment, no one moved. It seemed as if everyone was holding their breath. At any moment, Lois knew there'd be a sudden eruption of violence. And there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

"Superman!" someone shrieked.

The tension dissipated as quickly as air escaping from a popped balloon. There were shamed faces and anxious grins. Suddenly, they were back on the Watchtower. Superman was there, as were the other members of the Justice League, a tall man wearing a trench coat, and a blonde businesswoman who was floating a few inches above the ground.

"Superman, someone's been stealing from us!" cried one of the newsmen. Lois was reminded of a small child whining to their class teacher.

"Don't worry, we'll find out who," the last son of Krypton assured them. "And if not, we'll make sure you're properly compensated."

Batman turned to look at the blonde businesswoman. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

"Nothing at all. I have no need of earthly trinkets," she replied. "And my employees know they'd be punished for mistreating my guests."

"I'll take your word for it."

Despite Superman's assurances, it quickly became apparent that no one had any idea who the thief was, the Watchtower's security cameras had been damaged during Prometheus's attack, and anyway the Justice League were more concerned with making sure that all of their unfortunate guests got back to Earth safely. Someone suggested that their valuables had been stolen from them earlier, before they'd even come to the Watchtower – or that Prometheus himself had been the one to steal from them – and that was his real reason for attacking the Justice League.

"For all his posturing, all his speeches, he was nothing but a common thief!" proclaimed one middle-aged woman.

Soon, they were all packed onto the shuttles and on their way back to Earth. Lois felt like she could breathe easily at last. It won't be long now. I'm going home. I feel like I could sleep for a week. Even so, she knew that as soon as she woke up, she'd be back out there, chasing the next thrilling scoop. That was her life – and she wouldn't have it any other way.

***

Sitting at the Justice League's round table, with Constantine next to her, Tanya surveyed the assembled superheroes, whose numbers appeared to have grown since she had arrived at the Watchtower a few hours ago. The two new arrivals were Orion and Big Barda, members of the New Gods, a race of alien beings she vaguely remembered Crowley had suggested that she should talk to. This seemed as good an introduction as any.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long," said Batman.

"No, don't say that," Tanya replied. "I prefer it when you're being honest with me.

"In that case, I'm not at all sorry to have kept you waiting for so long."

"That's better."

"You're not what I expected," said Superman. He gave Zauriel a sidelong glance; the angel was grim, stony-faced and refused to look directly at Tanya.

"And why should I conform to anyone's expectations?" asked Tanya, with a small shrug.

"You're the Devil," said Batman. "Did you send the demons who started the recent gang war in Gotham City?"

"They didn't start it. They merely defended themselves. But yes, I sent them."

"Why?"

Tanya took a moment to consider her answer. "You've been fighting crime for more than a decade, haven't you, Batman?"

"It seems like much longer than that," he replied.

"You've put thousands of criminals behind bars, but have you made any real impact on the crime rate? Is Gotham City any less of a crime-ridden hellhole than it was when you began your crusade?"

"What's your point?" he asked, with mounting hostility in his voice.

"You've beaten up a lot of gangsters and mentally ill people in costumes, but what have you done to rehabilitate them and heal them of whatever causes them to commit crimes?"

Looking around the table, Batman carefully scrutinized every one of his fellow Justice League members. Then, evidently satisfied, he turned back to Tanya and said, "In my civilian persona, I fund numerous charitable organizations that are working to end poverty and inequality, as well as offering opportunities for education, employment and psychiatric treatment. As the Batman, I exist to defend ordinary people from terrible threats to their lives and sanity, threats that must be dealt with immediately and cannot be dealt with any other way."

"A good answer." Tanya nodded. "You understand there are many crimes that are committed because people need money, because they want better lives for themselves and their families, and because they want power and status. In that sense, organized crime is just like any other business. Many of the most profitable crimes only exist because there is demand for certain goods and services that cannot be supplied legally. The fact that they are illegal adds a certain element of risk, but makes them even more lucrative. Consider the illegal drugs trade, for example. In nineteen eighty-six, the South Florida Task Force made over fifteen thousand arrests and seized vast quantities of cannabis and cocaine, but this had a negligible impact on the drugs trade as whole. In fact, it has been estimated that imports of cocaine to the USA actually increased during that period. It is a story that has been repeated again and again, all over the world, wherever drugs have been made illegal."

"So… you think we should legalize drugs," said the one they called 'Green Lantern', who was sweating, slumped back in his chair and had barely seemed to be paying attention to the conversation until this point.

"You're injured," said Tanya, giving him an appraising glance. "Would you like me to heal you?"

"Prometheus shot me," he explained. "But Batman bandaged me up. I'm good."

"Yes, but are you well enough to be taking part in this meeting?" Tanya frowned. "I could restore you to perfect health. It would take barely a moment."

"Worked for me," said Constantine.

"And what would that cost me?"

"Consider it a token of my goodwill," said Tanya.

"No offense, but it's usually considered to be unwise to accept gifts from demons," said Superman. "Thank you anyway."

"Do your healing powers have any side effects?" asked the green-skinned alien they called 'Martian Manhunter'. "Perhaps you intend to sap his will and deny him his superpowers."

"Or twist his mind and turn him into your pawn," said Batman, glaring at Constantine.

"I'm nobody's pawn!" he protested.

"Are you sure?" asked the woman Tanya had noticed before, whose body armor was marked with a large white cross. Her colleagues called her 'Huntress'. There was a playful note in her voice as she continued, "There must have been a good reason why she turned you into such a hunk."

"The lady likes what she likes. There's no shame in that," said the stretchy one whose nom de guerre was 'Plastic Man'.

"If you don't want me to heal you, I won't," said Tanya, with a put-upon sigh.

"Zauriel's an angel, so couldn't he use his heavenly powers to do the same thing?" asked the man in the red suit with earpieces in the shape of yellow wings. It took Tanya a few moments to remember that his codename was 'the Flash'.

The angel's face lost its grimace for the first time since the beginning of the meeting. "I've never been able to heal people," he admitted.

"I just need to rest," said Green Lantern. "When I feel up to it, I'll use my ring to heal myself. No problem."

"In that case, perhaps you should go somewhere you can lie down," said Tanya.

This suggestion was met with just as much suspicion as anything she had said before. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes in exasperation, Tanya made a bold attempt to continue her lecture from where she'd left off. Addressing Zauriel directly, she asked, "Do you know why Lucifer made me his successor?"

"Because you're… powerful," he hazarded.

Tanya waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Everything he does is for his own amusement. There were others he could have chosen, but he chose me because he thinks I'm funny. If he hadn't given up his throne, I suppose he'd want me to be his court jester. Nevertheless…" She put on a vicious grin. "…no matter how much he enjoys poking fun at my plans and ideas, he still clings to hope that I will succeed. He laughed at my plan to send demons to take over Earth's criminal underworld–" That was an exaggeration. Lucifer had been his usual sneering, mocking self, but he hadn't actually laughed. "–but he will be delighted if it comes to fruition."

"But why are you doing it?" asked Batman, in a tone of strained patience.

"For the same reasons as any other crime lord: money, power and influence. And to give my employees something to do," said Tanya. "But more than that, I want to make the world a better place. I want to prove that I could do a better job than Being X ever has."

There was widespread confusion when she mentioned 'Being X', but there was another question that was higher on Superman's list of priorities: "How do you intend to make the world a better place?"

Tanya gave Green Lantern a nod. "Earlier, you seemed to think I was suggesting that all drugs should be legalized. In actual fact, I think the world's governments should reconsider their priorities. The most minor crimes – including those pertaining to drugs such as cannabis, which in many ways are less harmful than alcohol – should be legalized. That would save the police and other law enforcement agencies a huge amount of time, money and manpower, which they could use instead to investigate more major crimes or clamp down on more dangerous drugs. But that doesn't seem likely to happen anytime soon, so I've decided to tackle the problem myself. My employees have formed criminal gangs that have seized territory in every major city. They will devote themselves entirely to making money through relatively minor, harmless crimes, outcompeting the other gangs and denying them easy sources of revenue. If the police and other law enforcement agencies have any sense, they will see my employees as the lesser evil. Therefore, they will focus on tackling the 'more dangerous' gangs that have been committing much worse crimes. My employees will take advantage of this by seizing even more territory, power and influence, as well as eliminating the competition one by one. Before long, the crime rate – more serious crimes, I mean – will have been reduced to practically nil!"

"Is this the first time you've ever visited this plane of existence, Lady Tanya?" asked the Martian Manhunter, in a dubious voice.

"No, I've been here lots of times. I was human once," she told him. "But that was a long time ago."

"Do you consider yourself to be good or evil, Lady Tanya?" asked Orion of the New Gods, who had been listening with rapt attention and an expression of puzzlement on his face.

"Have you heard the parable of the free lunch?" was Tanya's rejoinder.

For a few moments, there was silence while the Justice League tried to work out what she meant by that. Then, Batman sighed exasperatedly and said, "There's no such thing."

"Precisely." Tanya smirked, pleased with the joke she'd made. "In my experience, many of those who considered themselves to be pure and good went on to commit despicable acts, while some of those who were despised as evil monsters proved themselves to be kind and noble. And that's exactly why I've come here to speak to you tonight." She took a deep breath, just for dramatic effect. "I've come to warn you that the Apocalypse is going to happen in three years' time, on the twenty-third of August, just after tea."

"Around six o'clock, I guess," said Constantine.

"Being X – who considers himself to be the one true god, the ultimate force of good in the universe – wants the Apocalypse to happen. He wants to destroy everything he has created and have a final battle between Heaven and Hell. But I don't. I like Earth – and I'm sure there are plenty of other worlds I'd like if I had a chance to visit them – so I don't want everything to be destroyed. I want to prevent the Apocalypse. And I hope that all of you will help me to achieve that goal."

Silence followed her words. The Justice League's faces were frozen in expressions she couldn't decipher.

***

When she got home that night, Selina Kyle stroked one of her pet cats – and then all of the others when they came by, demanding attention – and then she had to feed them. Finally, when they were curled up, full and contented by the electric fireplace, she settled down to admire her latest selection of ill-gotten gains: wallets, watches, jewellery; and a pair of storm-opals from Rann, filched from the Justice League's trophy room while no one was looking.

She uttered a happy sigh, but her mind flickered back to the moment when everything had very nearly gone wrong: accusatory faces, raised voices, clenched fists. The air around her had seemed thick with anger and spite. A moment later, if they hadn't been rescued in time, there would have been pushing, shoving, jostling, hitting, punching, kicking, stamping, and hair-pulling. Clothes ripped, buttons popped off, heels broken. It would have been ugly.

Perhaps she should have learned a lesson from this, but as she lazed about on the sofa, Selina preferred to think, 'It's true what they say: Hell is other people.'

Chapter Text

While she waited for someone to reply, Tanya was stricken by a wave of nostalgia. She knew the Justice League. In some of her past lives, they had been fictional characters, but in others… She had known Batman very well. At least once, she had been a member of his extended crimefighting family. Another time… Had she ever come to blows with him? She couldn't remember. That had been a long time ago, in another universe, and she had been a different person.

She knew Superman as well. Everyone knew Superman. And Wonder Woman, who so far had contributed nothing to this meeting, but had listened with careful attention. The other members of the Justice League she was less familiar with. Had she met Green Lantern before, in any of her previous incarnations? Or the Flash? She thought she recognized them, but she couldn't be sure. As for the rest… She didn't know Steel, or Martian Manhunter as anything more than a name, or Plastic Man. She had a vague feeling that she should know Aquaman, but she didn't know from where or in what context. Huntress was connected to Batman somehow. Zauriel was just another angel, one of Being X's lapdogs, although he at least seemed to have some sympathy for humans and was willing to put himself at risk to aid them. Orion and Big Barda were aliens, so she couldn't be expected to know them… could she?

"Thank you for coming to us with this information," said Superman, again acting as the league's spokesman. "Do you mind if we ask you a few more questions?"

"Be my guest."

"How can we trust you or anything you say?" asked Batman. "Lucifer is known as 'the Father of Lies'. What does that make you?"

"I don't tell lies. It causes too many problems," said Tanya.

Batman made no attempt to conceal his scepticism. "Do you expect us to take your word for that?"

"If it helps, I've never known Tanya to lie about anything. She's always been honest with me. No lies of omission or anything," said John Constantine. "Admittedly, I've only known her for a few months, so take that as you will."

"Thank you, John," said Tanya, giving him a grateful smile.

"How exactly do you want us to help you avert the Apocalypse? What do you want us to do?" asked Wonder Woman, speaking for the first time. Her tone and piercing gaze made Tanya feel almost as if she were in a courtroom, being cross-examined.

"I have been told that it will begin with a nuclear war. As you are some of Earth's greatest champions, loved and trusted around the world, I hope you will help me prevent its destruction."

"Who told you?" Wonder Woman continued to press her.

"Under the circumstances, I don't feel that I can reveal my sources to you," said Tanya, with a significant glance in Zauriel's direction. "I'm sure you understand."

"If we succeed in averting nuclear war, what will happen after that?" asked Superman. "What else should we prepare for?"

"Apparently, we can find everything we need to know about that in the Book of Revelation."

"In the Bible? Stars falling from the sky, the Four Horsemen, and so on?" asked Huntress, who suddenly seemed fully alert.

Tanya nodded. "I see you're an expert on the subject."

"The Four Horsemen are real? Will we have to fight them?" asked the Flash, looking alarmed.

"I appreciate your courage, but they're not the kind of enemy you can defeat by force of arms, unless you have some metaphysical powers I'm currently unaware of. They are abstract ideas, metaphors brought to life, anthropomorphic personifications of concepts that exist within the minds of humans and other sapient beings." Tanya's gaze flickered over to where Orion and Big Barda were sitting. "Try as you might, you won't be able to beat them in a fistfight."

"Sounds like a challenge," said the man in iron-grey powered armor, whose codename was 'Steel'. There was a note of good humor in his mechanically distorted voice. "I'm sure Superman's faced much worse than them before – and triumphed!"

His attempt to raise his colleagues' morale was only partially successful. There were a few chuckles and weak smiles, but otherwise everyone's attention remained focused on the monumental problem they would have to deal with in just a few years' time.

"Do you have any suggestions for how we might deal with them?" asked Batman, who was still scrutinizing Tanya as if she were a puzzle he was determined to solve.

"Leave them to me. Like them, I am the embodiment of something abstract," she replied. "I can fight them on a higher plane of existence."

"Because you're the embodiment of evil," said Plastic Man, using his super-stretching powers to extend his grin until it was twice as wide as the rest of his face. Tanya presumed that this was supposed to signify that he was joking.

"That is what others are determined to call me, yes."

"What about the Antichrist?" asked Huntress.

"I am reliably informed that he is an eight-year-old boy named Warlock Dowling, the son of the US ambassador to the UK. He seems like a very ordinary child. Spoilt, cossetted, but ordinary. I'm not sure what to do about him."

This revelation was met with pensive silence. It was some time before anyone spoke again.

"Every day, we fight monsters, supervillains, alien invasions, mind-controlling parasites, and much more. Even if we have three years to prepare, I'm not sure it'll be enough time. We may be too busy," said Aquaman, the King of Atlantis, who had a lustrous blond beard and mane, a hook in place of his left hand, and armour plates covering only his right arm and shoulder. Since they didn't cover any of his vital organs, they presumably weren't meant to protect him, so maybe he used them as an ancillary weapon with which to bludgeon his opponents or smash through doors and other obstacles.

"More jokes?" Tanya rolled her eyes. "I expected better of you."

"I had a serious point: with all the other problems and distractions we have to deal with, we may find it difficult to give this matter the attention it deserves – especially if we're trapped on an alien planet, in another dimension, or dead."

"But perhaps you could help us with that, Lady Tanya?" said Batman, who seemed to have grasped what his teammate was getting at.

Tanya folded her arms and then cupped her chin with one hand. "I promise that if any of you end up in Hell within the next three years, I will do my best to restore you to life as quickly as possible. Otherwise, if you find yourselves trapped and in need of help… say my name three times. That's fairly traditional. Maybe I'll be there to aid you."

"Tanya is a relatively common name. Won't you find that confusing?" asked Huntress.

"I'll only be listening for the thirteen of you," Tanya assured her. "I'm sure you can manage to restrain yourself from saying my name three times in swift succession unless you really need to."

"And me?" asked Constantine, who didn't seem entirely pleased by the prospect.

"Of course."

"Did you… did you just make a deal with the Devil?" Green Lantern whispered, looking horror-struck.

"It wasn't a deal. She hasn't asked for anything in return," Aquaman pointed out.

"In return, I expect you to help me save the world," said Tanya, looking sternly at him and then around the room, at each of his colleagues in turn.

A few more questions followed, but Tanya could tell them little more that was relevant or useful. Before long, the meeting came to a close, after she'd extracted a promise that they would meet again in six months to discuss their progress.

"Farewell, all of you," she said. Then, turning to Constantine, she asked, "Would you like me to take you home, John?"

"Uh…" He glanced around at the Justice League. "Unless you have any questions you want to ask me when Tanya's not here."

"Not at the moment," said Batman. His gaze was still fixed upon Tanya.

"First, we'll need to discuss this as a team. I expect that will take some time," said Superman.

Constantine gave a small shrug. "Well, you know where I live."

"Yes. We do," said Batman.

Tanya opened a portal and took Constantine away from there. However, instead of taking him back home, she took him to a supermarket that was within walking distance of his home. Then, while he was still blinking in surprise, she picked up a shopping basket and began filling it with a range of nutritious and long-lasting foodstuffs.

"How do you feel about porridge? It's an excellent source of carbohydrates for energy, fibre to aid digestion, important vitamins and minerals, and antioxidant plant compounds."

"Can't stand the stuff."

Walking down the aisle, Tanya picked up a large bag of dry white rice, then looked around and saw a jar that was labelled 'Miso Paste'. The color wasn't quite right, so she examined the list of ingredients on the back. 'Wheat. I would have preferred rice.' For good measure, she turned the jar upside down. A moment later, she winced as she felt the contents slop about as if they were more than partially liquid.

'Why call it "Miso Paste" if you're not going to make it properly?' She replaced it on the shelf. Perhaps she should teleport to Japan to grab some of the real stuff. But first, it seemed prudent to ask: "Do you like Japanese food, John?"

"No idea. If I'm eating out, I usually get fish and chips, but I've occasionally been known to have a late-night kebab or spicy vindaloo," he said, distractedly. It seemed as if his mouth and vocal chords were working unhindered while his brain was elsewhere.

"If I taught you how to make miso soup, you could freeze it for up to two weeks – if you took out the tofu first – and then eat it when you're ready," Tanya suggested. "It tastes and smells better when it's fresh, but it should still be edible and nutritious. To a much greater extent than anything you've got in your kitchen at the moment."

Constantine took a deep breath, gave her a disbelieving look, and said, "Why are you doing this? I don't need you to do my grocery shopping for me. I can do it myself."

"So why haven't you?" Tanya asked, without bothering to look at him. Instead, she continued further down the aisle. "If I bought you some fresh fruit, would you eat it before it went rotten?"

"Probably not."

"You're not making this easy for me."

"Then don't do it. I don't want you to," said Constantine. "Anyway, I'm sure you have much more important things to do than fuss over me. Shouldn't you be ruling Hell right now?"

"My subordinates can manage perfectly well without my direct oversight, for a little while," Tanya replied. "Right now, you need me more."

"No, I don't. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me – healing me when I was on the verge of death, giving me a job that pays well for doing practically nothing, and so on – but I don't need you to run my life for me."

"Someone has to. The problem is that you don't take care of yourself. You'll be no use to me if you're starving, passed out in the gutter, or dead," said Tanya.

A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. "Oh yeah, I should have realised that's the only reason why you're doing this: you want to use me as your tool."

Carefully putting down the basket of groceries on the smooth tiled floor, Tanya put on her best attempt at a coquettish smile. Then, stepping closer to Constantine, she laid a hand on his lean, hard-muscled chest, and said, "You want our relationship to be much more than that, hmm? You want me to care about you. You want us to be… close."

"No. If I have to be your tool, for now… Well, I owe you that much. But I'm not a toy for you to play with," he said, standing tall and resolute.

Tanya allowed herself a satisfied smirk. She was glad that at last he was displaying some of the brazen defiance that had earned him the enmity of multiple demon lords. She had been afraid that his recent experiences had crushed his spirit, so she was pleased to see otherwise. A moment later, she set aside all pretense, took a step back, and composed her features into an expression of studied neutrality. In a serious voice, she said, "Mr. Constantine, if you want me to stop interfering in your life, you know what you must do, don't you?"

He gave a reluctant nod. "I need to sort myself out."

"See that you do," said Tanya, picking up the basket of groceries and handing it to him. "You can start by paying for these, when you're ready."

Constantine glared, but didn't argue. Instead, he took the opportunity to add a few of his own favourites to the pile.

"And now, I must be going," said Tanya. "Good evening to you, Mr. Constantine."

"Yeah, same to you," he muttered, reaching for a family pack of potato crisps.

Tanya was tempted to chide him again for his poor dietary choices, but – as she opened the portal that would take her back to Hell – she decided against it. She would give him the benefit of the doubt, for the time being.

***

After they had taken a break for refreshments, checked that nothing else was in urgent need of repair after Prometheus's rampage, and gathered their thoughts, the Justice League returned to their conference room. Many of them glanced at the empty chair in which Tanya had been sitting, as if they felt her presence still.

"Lady Tanya is a fascinating individual, isn't she?" said Orion of the New Gods.

By now, Green Lantern was sitting upright and looking much refreshed. He made a noncommittal noise. "We've all fought supervillains who thought they had good intentions. They want to save the world by committing atrocities."

"Saving the world from ecological disaster by killing most of the human population, for example," said Batman.

"Yes, exactly. Tanya reminds me of one of those. When she said that her demon gangsters would reduce the crime rate to practically nil…" Green Lantern paused, winced and said, "I didn't grasp the logic behind that, I'll admit."

"As I understand it, she intends that her demonic minions will 'outcompete' more traditional organized criminal groups, but only commit crimes that most people don't care about," said Batman, not bothering to conceal his scepticism.

Plastic Man sniggered. "Sounds like the sort of thing a complete whackjob would say."

"She explained her plan to reduce the number of serious crimes committed by organized criminal gangs, which should give the police and other law enforcement agencies plenty of time and resources with which to tackle other crimes. I'd be surprised if that didn't have a significant effect on the crime rate overall," said Superman. "Maybe it won't reduce it to 'practically nil', but maybe that was meant as an exaggeration for rhetorical effect."

"A hyperbole, in other words," said Plastic Man.

"Can we trust anything she said? Lucifer was supposed to be the incarnation of evil and deceit – and he appointed her as his successor – so shouldn't she be just the same?" Wonder Woman wondered aloud.

"Could you have used the Lasso of Truth to find out?" asked the Flash, sounding curious as to why she hadn't.

"Most powerful demons can resist the effects of the Lasso of Truth, so I doubt it would have had any effect on her. Or else it would have caused her agonizing pain, even if she wasn't lying to us, simply because of what she is."

"Even if she consented to be tied up with the Lasso, which I doubt, that sounds like the sort of thing that could cause someone to lash out in a berserk rage," said Aquaman. "Let's not start a fight with any godlike beings unless we have to."

"We don't need to rush into anything," said Batman. "We have three years. We can afford to take some time to thoroughly investigate Tanya's claims and find out whether she can be trusted or not."

"Assuming she wasn't deliberately trying to trick us, I thought she seemed…" Wonder Woman grimaced and shook her head. "Deluded. Unworldly. Especially when she implied that there is no such thing as good or evil. That's almost as childish as the idea that the universe is divided up between good and evil, with nothing in-between."

"But is that what she meant?" asked the Flash. "I thought she was trying to tell us that she doesn't want to be numbered among those who call themselves good while doing evil things, but at the same time she doesn't see herself as evil despite being the ruler of Hell."

"She has my admiration for trying to be something different from what she was doomed to be, if indeed her word can be trusted," said Orion. "There are still those who think I will eventually become evil because of who my father is."

"And I was once a member of the Female Furies," said Big Barda.

"Even if we can trust her, it may not matter for much longer. Hell's leadership is very unstable, which is why it has had so many different rulers in the past decade or so: Lucifer, a triumvirate, Etrigan, Baytor, a different triumvirate, Lucifer again, and now Tanya. That's why I'm reluctant to let her take control of Earth's criminal underworld," said Batman. "Her intentions may be entirely benevolent and she may have cowed her minions to the extent that they won't dare to exceed the boundaries she has set for them, but that won't matter if she is deposed by someone more typical of demonkind."

"Indeed, her replacement would be in an excellent position to launch a full-scale invasion of Earth, having gained such a strong foothold," said Martian Manhunter.

"What can we do about that, though?" asked the Flash. "If Tanya's demons seem like the lesser evil, most civic authorities won't want to dislodge them in favor of criminal gangs who seem like they're much worse. As long as things are running smoothly, they'll tell us not to interfere. They won't care about the long term problems it might cause."

"There might not be any long term problems. According to Lady Tanya, the Apocalypse is due to begin in three years' time," said Aquaman.

"Do you know anything about that, Zauriel?" asked Superman, turning to the angel who had been sitting in gloomy silence for the entire meeting until this point. "Is the Apocalypse going to happen in three years' time?"

"I… I wish I knew," the angel admitted. "These days, most of the other angels don't tell me anything. I am considered to be too sympathetic to mortals, too involved in their affairs, and too unreliable to be entrusted with any important information."

Plastic Man raised an eyebrow until it was higher than the rest of his head. "A loose cannon, huh?"

"You might say that," said Zauriel.

"Therefore, Tanya could be telling the truth," Batman concluded.

Zauriel gave a reluctant nod. "Perhaps."

"You said 'most of the other angels'," said Huntress. "Does that mean there are those who'd still be willing to talk to you? Would any of them know about the Apocalypse?"

"Possibly. I'll need to visit them to find out."

"That sounds like a good idea," said Superman. "Will you need any assistance from the rest of us?"

"No," said Zauriel, slowly shaking his head. "I'll find out what I can and then return to you here."

"If it turns out that Tanya was lying to us, would we lose anything by acting as if she was telling the truth?" asked Steel. "I'd expect that anything we did to prepare could easily be repurposed whenever we need to fend off the next world-ending threat."

"It depends on what we do. If the Devil wants to cause mischief, she could have lied to us with the intention of causing us to panic and make rash decisions," said Batman. "For example, if we went on to build an army of giant robots to defend the Earth, I'd expect a supervillain to subvert them and use them against us almost immediately. Lady Tanya might find that sufficiently amusing to justify her coming here and telling a few outrageous lies."

"She didn't seem particularly mischievous," said Wonder Woman, in a dubious tone. "Quite the reverse, in fact."

Batman inclined his head. "Nevertheless, it's a possibility."

"If the Apocalypse is coming, shouldn't the New Gods know about it already? They are gods, after all." Steel hesitated briefly, before continuing: "Unless I misunderstood the explanation I was given earlier…"

"I certainly didn't know anything about it," said Orion. "But I don't know everything the other New Gods know."

"We were sent here to be protectors of the Earth – and, before we came here, Metron told us to make sure it was well-fortified," said Barda. "Perhaps this is why."

"Won't the Apocalypse affect every world, not just Earth?" asked Green Lantern.

"Yes, in the fullness of time," said Zauriel. "But it will begin on Earth."

"Tanya mentioned that she was once human. Is there any chance that we could find out who she was and how long ago she lived?" asked Huntress.

"Out of all the billions of people who have ever lived…" Steel took a deep breath and shook his head. "Probably not."

"Certainly not by conventional means. But perhaps Zauriel could find out for us," said Batman.

"I suppose it might be possible. But I could spend lifetimes searching through Heaven's archives, even if I knew where to look," the angel replied.

"If it turns out that Tanya wasn't lying, what will be our next step?" asked the Flash.

"I will go back to my people to warn them. Perhaps they will have some useful suggestions," said Wonder Woman.

"We should send someone to ask John Constantine some more questions about Tanya. Preferably when she's not there with him," said Batman.

"We should reach out to our allies on other planets, including New Genesis," said Superman. "I'd be curious to know how much Highfather and Metron knew about this already, if they'd be willing to tell us."

"And some of the world's other superheroes: those who are powerful enough to be useful and sensible enough to restrain themselves from telling anyone else about the coming Apocalypse," said Aquaman. "We don't want to cause mass hysteria."

"What about the world's supervillains? They live here too," said the Flash. "Maybe they'd be willing to set aside old grievances and work together with us, just this once?"

There was an awkward and doubt-filled silence while everyone else considered this.

In a tender voice, Wonder Woman said, "Flash, I know you have an odd relationship with your Rogues, but… I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Certainly not yet. When we're desperate and it seems like all hope is lost, I'm sure we'll be willing to try anything," said Aquaman.

"I'm sure Luthor could build something that would solve most of our problems at a stroke," said Superman. "But I suspect that involving him in this would cause even more problems."

"He's a scheming megalomaniac who hates you so much that he'd be willing to do something utterly stupid just to spite you," said Batman.

"Yes. Exactly."

Green Lantern looked across the table at Aquaman and then Batman, and said, "I'm sure that if I was dead or trapped I'd appreciate Lady Tanya's help – unless she asked for something outrageous in return – but why did you ask her for that? You basically gave her permission to interfere whenever one of our missions goes badly. Couldn't that have terrible consequences, sooner or later?"

"I didn't sign anything." Aquaman shrugged his brawny shoulders. "She said she'd only intervene if we end up in Hell or say her name three times in swift succession, which we're unlikely to do by accident. As the Demon Queen of Hell, she's powerful enough to interfere with us anytime she wants to, but she wants something from us, which means she'll be trying to prove that we can trust her. And while she's doing that…" He grinned. "Don't you think it'll be useful to have a 'Devil ex machina' ready for when we really need it?"

"Very pragmatic of you," said Superman, who didn't sound convinced.

The meeting continued for a few minutes after that, while they all considered and discussed what they were going to do over the next few days, after they returned to Earth. It was agreed that they would meet again in a week's time, provided that there were no global disasters in the interim. By then, they hoped that a few questions would have been answered and they would have more information to share.

***

At long last, Dream and Delirium had found their brother, Destruction, on an island in the middle of nowhere. He looked much the same as he always did: a tall, hulking bear of a man with a large smile on his face. Inviting them into his dwelling, he told them to sit down and enjoy the meal he had spent all day cooking and preparing. Destruction enjoyed making things with his own hands, apparently.

"To be honest, I was expecting you to arrive a little earlier," he said. "But no matter. The dolmades may be a trifle cool, but they'll be none the worse for that, eh?"

Rather discomposed, Dream sat down opposite Destruction, while Delirium sat at the head of the table. She drank a little wine and explained, in her own inimitable fashion, what had happened on the journey that had led them to this place – why they had come here, the people they had met along the way, how many of those people had died horrible deaths, and the realisation that had finally brought them to where they needed to be – while Dream ate nothing and was silent until she finished. Even then, he didn't have much to say.

Destruction was determined to make small talk, asking about the other members of their family and what had happened to them recently, but Dream was only interested in why he had left them and abandoned his responsibilities.

Unable to persuade either of his siblings to eat anything, Destruction despaired, departed the dinner table, and led them outside again. There, he gazed up at the starry night sky and gave an explanation of his actions that left Dream even more confused than before.

"There's no such thing as a one-sided coin. There are two sides to every sky. I filled my role more than adequately for over ten billion years, but... destruction did not cease with my abandonment of my realm, no more than people would cease to dream should you abandon yours. Perhaps it's wilder, more uncontrolled. Perhaps not. But it's no longer anyone's responsibility. I took my sigil with me: I did not pass it on." He paused, gazing into the darkness for what might have been several eons, until he finally continued: "I like the stars. It's the illusion of permanence, I think. I mean, they're always flaring up and caving in and going out. But from here, I can pretend… I can pretend that lives last longer than moments. Gods come and go. Mortals flicker and flash and fade. Stars and galaxies are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into cold and dust. But I can pretend." He sighed deeply and disconsolately. "Nothing lasts. Everything ends and fades and is lost forever. Even us. None of us will last longer than this version of the universe."

"Except our sister," Delirium pointed out.

"So we suppose," said Dream, though his mind was elsewhere. Having been strongly reminded of something, he took a few moments to recall what it was. Then, he looked curiously at Destruction and asked, "Have you ever met Lady Tanya Degurechaff? She said something very similar to me not long ago."

"No, I don't know who you mean," said Destruction. "Who is she? One of your romantic conquests?"

Surveying the vicinity, Dream was relieved to find that there was no one else around other than himself and his two siblings. "She's the current ruler of Hell, Lucifer's successor. She doesn't like me very much."

"Never mind. You'll win her over in the end," said Destruction, with a loud belly laugh.

"Which will come almost immediately, according to you," said Dream.

Delirium smiled with what seemed like excessive cheer. "That's something to look forward to."

Rerouting the conversation back onto its previous course, Dream said, "On the other hand… surely there is an argument to be made that nothing ever truly ends, but merely undergoes a change of state. Atoms undergo radioactive decay, losing electrons, protons, neutrons and energy, transforming into different elements. Living things die and then decay, becoming food for new life. Stars become red giants or supergiants; planetary nebulae or supernovas; and then white dwarfs, neutron stars or black holes. Billions of years from now, this universe will come to an end, but it will become the seed for another universe. Everything is a cycle. It goes on forever."

"I can tell you've been thinking about this for some time. A few centuries, maybe," said Destruction, with a wry grin. "Was that what you had in mind when you commissioned old Bill Shakespeare to write that play for you? What were the words he used?" He hummed a few bars under his breath. "That song, Ariel's song…"

In a shrill voice, Delirium began to sing: "'Full fathom five thy father lies; of his bones are coral made; these are pearls that were his eyes; nothing of him that doth fade, but doth suffer a sea change into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong. Hark! Now I hear them – ding-dong, bell.'"

"Thank you, sister," said Destruction, smiling fondly at her. "I would have been stuck without your help." Becoming serious, he said, "There's no need for me to argue with you, Dream. You've made my point for me: for things to change, to become something new, destruction is needed. Nothing new can exist without destroying the old. Things are created, exist for a little while, and then they are gone. Replaced with something else or changed beyond recognition. Empires, cities, poems and people, atoms and worlds. One cannot begin a new dream without abandoning the last. Isn't that right, brother?"

Dream said nothing, but gave a half-hearted nod.

"The Endless are merely patterns. The Endless are ideas. The Endless are wave functions. The Endless are repeating motifs. We are the instruments they use to define what is," Destruction continued. "Death defines life, just as Despair defines hope, or Desire defines hatred, or Destiny defines freedom."

"And what do I define, by this theory of yours?" asked Dream.

"Reality, perhaps," said Destruction.

They stared at each other. Delirium was lying curled up on the dusty ground next to them. All was still. Even the night breezes and the waves lapping against the shore seemed oddly muted.

Destruction took a deep, expansive breath, which was followed by a heavy sigh. "With or without me, it will carry on regardless. I am unnecessary. And now, I think it's time for me to go."

"Where?" asked Dream.

"Oh, out there, somewhere," said Destruction. "Up and out."

"What will you do?"

"I will make the most of what I've got. I shall live out my days doing what I have to do, one day at a time." Destruction picked Delirium up off the floor, embraced her and said, "My sister. I have enjoyed seeing you. You were always my favourite. I trust that when your next change comes, it proves easy on you."

"Change?" asked Delirium, looking bemused.

"My brother. There is no one like you," said Destruction, meeting Dream's gaze with his own. "You also have changed more than even you know, I would suspect. Once you are done here, where will you go?"

"There were matters left unfinished with my son."

"Dream, you left matters unfinished with your son some thousands of years ago. Come with me," said Destruction, leading them back into the house. "This is my old gallery. I've been dragging it around with me since I left my realm…"

***

A short time later, after he'd told his dog to look after Delirium, given Dream a few words of perplexing advice, and said his final farewells, Destruction walked away, into the sky. Across the gulf of space, beyond the stars, further and further away, until at last he faded from sight.

Dream watched until he was gone forever. In his mind, he repeated the words of the song – Ariel's song, from William Shakespeare's The Tempest – which Delirium had sung for them, not long ago: 'Nothing of him that doth fade, but doth suffer a sea change into something rich and strange…'

 He knew what he had to do next. He had to kill his son.

Chapter Text

Orpheus dreamt that he'd had a life. He and his wife had grown old together. They had children and grandchildren. Their love was as strong and steadfast as it always had been, ever since the moment when they'd first set eyes on each other. They would be together forever, even when they passed on and into the Elysian Fields.

He awoke to find that none of those things were true. His eyes burned, cold tears ran down his face, and he tasted salt on his lips. He dearly wished that he could go back to sleep. But when he gazed through the open door and up at the sky, he saw the position of the stars and realised that hardly any time had passed since he'd last looked at them. His dream could only have lasted a few minutes.

All that was left of him was a remnant: a severed head, sitting on an altar, in a temple, on a tiny island in the Adriatic Sea, where he had been for centuries. For all that time, he had been tended by the same family of humble fisher folk, who revered him as a last connection to the gods, heroes and monsters of ancient myth. No matter how tedious his immortal existence could be, he much preferred this quiet, peaceful place to what had happened to him before he had been brought here: passed from charlatan to mystic to would-be despot, all over Europe, from those who saw him as an amusing toy to those who saw him as a tool or a weapon they could use against their enemies. He didn't need to worry about that now. There was no need to worry about anything at all.

For hours, he waited. There was always something to see: the lights in the house across the bay, distant silhouettes moving here and there, clouds scudding across the sky, a shooting star, seabirds, the blood orange sunrise… And still he waited. How long had it been? Just a few days? Months? Years? He couldn't be sure.

He heard familiar voices. His aunt, Mania. His father, Morpheus. Had he drifted into another dream? Or had the dream come to him?

Mania was pleading: "I want to say hello or goodbye or something. I could show him my doggie. Please? I went to his wedding."

At first, the answer was a firm no, but after her entreaties this was commuted to: "Very well. But the dog remains outside."

She appeared in the doorway. Mania, whom some called Delirium of the Endless, was ragged and dishevelled, with mismatched eyes and a mane of unkempt red hair that flew wild in all directions. Her lips were smeared with red lipstick, which appeared to have been applied by a child wearing boxing gloves in a windstorm. "Orpheus?" She craned her neck to look at him from another angle. "You look different. Um. But also the same."

"Hello my aunt." He tried to smile at her. The divine power that gave him a semblance of life, though he'd been reduced to a mere relic, enabled him to do such things.

"Well, I just came to say. And now I'm going away again." She waved to him. A desultory gesture. Then, she wheeled around and seemed ready to scurry away, but something gave her pause. Standing in the doorway, she drew herself up to her full, unimpressive height, posed as if she were a snooty waitress in the kind of upper-class restaurant Orpheus had only ever glimpsed in visions, and said, "The quality of mercy is not strained, but I recommend the yoghurt."

"Yes, I know," said Morpheus, entering the room, even as his sister fled from it. "I am well aware."

"Father…" Looking up at a figure who was just as monochrome, tall and imposing as he had ever been, Orpheus hardly dared to hope.

"Orpheus. I apologize for that intrusion," said his father. "I did not intend for her to…" He paused as if unsure about what he had actually intended.

"It doesn't matter. Thank you for coming back."

"Did you doubt that I would? I gave my word." Morpheus stood with his arms folded, looking down at him.

"I know. How was my uncle?" Orpheus asked. With his oracular gifts, he had seen where Olethros was, despite his attempts to hide himself forever, but he was less sure about 'how' or 'why' or what he had become.

His father was unable to give a clear answer. He gazed past Orpheus, at the blank wall behind him, as he described how Olethros had changed somewhat, but in many ways he was the same as before, and now he was gone again. "We do not always accomplish what we set out to do," he murmured.

"Mother visited me last year. She said that you had freed her from imprisonment," said Orpheus. "You have changed, since the old days."

"I doubt it."

Orpheus's mouth was dry. Had it ever been this dry before? Or had he only just noticed? It had been thousands of years since he'd had anything to drink, after all. Frantic words escaped his lips, as if bursting out of the parched ground in which they had been buried: "Father, I am very scared."

"You asked for a boon, Orpheus. I can grant it."

He couldn't understand why he was so afraid. It made no sense. Ever since the maenads had torn him apart, so long ago, he had begged for death, prayed for it, hoped that the gods would show him mercy, and wanted nothing more than an end to his suffering. It should have come as a relief. But now it was finally at hand, he was terrified. He explained all this to his father and said, "Do you remember what you said to me, back then? 'Your life is your own. Your death, likewise, always and forever your own. Farewell. We shall not meet again.' Those were your exact words. I have had plenty of time to think on them."

There was no reply. His father was, perhaps, a little more rigid and impassive than before.

"I should have died a long time ago," said Orpheus.

His father inclined his head, just slightly.

"I wish that things had been otherwise."

A hoarse mutter followed his words: "Yes."

"Father, I am ready," said Orpheus.

There was a nod. "She will be waiting for you."

"Do you really think so?"

"I… I don't know," his father admitted. "But it seemed like the sort of thing I should say.

Orpheus sighed, though he was more amused than exasperated. "Thank you."

Moving as slowly and inexorably as the stars in the sky, his father – Lord Morpheus, the Dream King, Dream of the Endless – lifted him off the altar, cradled him in his arms, and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. He reached for something very far away, beyond even an oracle's vision.

And then Orpheus was gone. This time, there was nothing left. He could finally rest.

***

Tanya had so many other important matters to attend to that this interview had been almost indefinitely delayed, but she had finally got around to asking Hastur what he knew about the Antichrist. The first question she asked was one that had been preying on her mind for some time: "Where did the Antichrist come from?"

"Uh, dunno," said her most loyal general. He was sitting in her office, across the desk from her, looking unaccountably nervous. "What do you mean?"

"Someone must have handed him over to you and Ligur before you passed him on to Crowley? Who was it?"

His craggy features creased with the effort of remembering. "We had to collect him from… somewhere."

"Why don't you remember?" Tanya asked. "You were given a great honor, which I'm sure would have made many other demons jealous of you, so why has it slipped your mind almost completely?"

"Yeah. Seems odd, doesn't it?" Hastur scratched his head, looking bashful. "I dunno why."

"Could someone have tampered with your memories?"

"I suppose it's possible, but why would they bother?"

Tanya didn't have enough information to be able to give that question a proper answer, but she had her suspicions. It seemed likely that this was one of Being X's plots, part of his ongoing master plan. Perhaps he was making sure all of his playing pieces were in position, ready for the apocalyptic endgame. But if that was the case, why would he do anything to Hastur's memories? What was the reason for this secrecy?

She tried a different tack: "If Lucifer is the Antichrist's father, who is his mother?"

That seemed to dredge something up from the dark recesses of Hastur's memory: "Right, yeah… I remember now. There was a cult. Performing dark satanic rituals and so on. They summoned Lucifer and…" He paused, grimaced and screwed his eyes shut for a moment. In a dull voice, he continued, "Nine months later, the Antichrist was born. We were sent to collect him."

Thoughts raced through Tanya's mind as she considered this new information. It now seemed likely that Lucifer himself had been the one to tamper with Hastur's memories, presumably because he was ashamed of what he'd done or what the cultists had forced him to do. Perhaps he'd given in to his hedonistic urges – or had he tried to resist, knowing what would happen if he did not? Had he been an unwilling participant in the conception of the Antichrist? When she'd spoken to him about it, he'd insisted that it hadn't been rape; but at the same time, he'd told her that he hadn't been given a choice, so what was the truth? Lucifer was one of the most powerful beings in all of creation; how had the cultists managed to take control of him and compel him to do their bidding, if indeed that was what they had done? Had Being X somehow weakened him or his willpower at a critical moment? Was that the real reason why he had given up his position as King of Hell? Because he was sick and tired of being toyed with?

If so, he'd done a poor job of erasing the relevant memories from Hastur's mind, to the extent that most of them had been recovered with barely any effort. Was that due to arrogance? Had he assumed that no one would ever notice what he'd done? Or was it a sign of his distress that he'd made a number of mistakes while he was trying to hide the evidence of what had happened to him?

She briefly entertained the idea of visiting Lucifer again and asking him if any of her theories were correct, but she knew that it would only serve to infuriate him for no possible benefit other than satisfying her curiosity. Perhaps she'd discovered the real reason why he'd retired – or part of it, at least – but she didn't really need to know the whole truth.

"Are you all right, Hastur? How do you feel about all this?" she asked, giving him a thoughtful glance.

"Uh, I'm not pleased that someone's been messing with my mind. But there's nothing I can do about it, so…" He shrugged.

Tanya prided herself on being a competent human resources manager. She was well aware of how the quality of her employees' work could suffer due to problems with their mental health. It was for this reason that she said, in her most sympathetic tone of voice, "I think you should take a few days off. Do something you enjoy. Think about something else, for a while."

"Thanks, boss. Sounds good to me," said Hastur. "Maybe I'll try out that new hotel everyone's been talking about."

"The Fawney Rig Hotel." Tanya nodded. "A unique experience for any demon, so I'm told."

A puzzled frown crumpled Hastur's face. "You mean you don't know? I thought it was your idea."

"Like I said, it's a unique experience. Whatever you experience, it won't be the same as what happened to me."

"Makes sense." Planting his feet firmly on the floor, Hastur was about to get up, but first it must have occurred to him to ask: "Was there anything else?"

"No, you're free to go," said Tanya. "Just remember, if you ever need to talk to someone, my door is always open."

Hastur's frown had not quite departed his face before it was called back into action once again. "No, it isn't. It's usually closed. I had to knock a few times before you let me in earlier – do you remember?"

"Figuratively, I mean."

"Right, that makes more sense," said Hastur, though he still looked mildly perplexed. He stood up. "Anyway, I'll be off now. See you later."

"In about a week's time," said Tanya. "Make sure you rest and come back refreshed."

He nodded to her as he walked away and out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Afterwards, Tanya spent a few minutes making notes on what she'd just learnt, her various speculations and how they might affect her plans going forward.

'It shouldn't make much difference,' she decided, after some consideration.

***

Aziraphale's bookshop was closed, as usual. The idea of parting with any of his rarer tomes appalled him, so he'd gone to some lengths to deter customers from trying to buy anything from him, with irregular opening times, a confusing and illogical store layout in which nothing was in alphabetical order, and being generally unhelpful whenever he was approached by anyone who was looking around the shop.

"Why do you even have a bookshop if you don't want people to buy anything from it?" Crowley had asked. "Just keep it as your own private library."

"I like the idea of having a bookshop," Aziraphale had tried to explain. "But the idea of selling books is rather less appealing."

Crowley's reply to that had been a derisive snort.

"Besides, it's part of my cover. 'Bookshop owner' is much less suspicious than 'mysterious individual who has plenty of money and rare books for no apparent reason', don't you think?"

"Aziraphale, anyone who had any reason to notice you would find you extremely suspicious, especially since you're a bookshop owner who doesn't want to sell any books."

"Even so," Aziraphale had said, bringing the argument to a close. You couldn't argue with 'even so'.

Most of the time, while the bookshop wasn't open, Aziraphale devoted himself to small acts of kindness and charity, improving the lives of people around him in dozens of little ways, so they would go on to do the same to others, thereby spreading the light of goodness much further than he could have done on his own, without attracting much attention like dramatic acts of heroism or self-sacrifice would. He did this fully in the knowledge that, at the same time, Crowley was doing the opposite: making people's lives more difficult and frustrating wherever he could, causing them to treat others badly in return, spreading annoyance, unpleasantness and low-grade evil as if they were nasty little diseases. Overall, he and Crowley countered each other perfectly. Everything they had done over thousands of years, some of which had involved painstaking effort and hard work, had meant nothing in the long run. They'd made no real difference whatsoever. In some ways, maybe that could be seen as a good thing: it meant that the majority of humans were free to live their own lives without supernatural beings interfering in their decision-making, but Aziraphale couldn't help wondering if he could have been doing something more productive with his immortal life. Now that the Apocalypse was near – only a few years away – he regretted that he'd wasted so much of his existence.

Crowley had been busy recently, much too busy to bother with his usual tricks, which meant that Aziraphale was temporarily unopposed. Whatever good he did now might finally make a difference, tipping the balance in favor of morality and virtue. But would it be too little, too late? Almost certainly, but what else could he do?

He was roused from these gloomy thoughts by the sharp crack of a knock on the front door: steady, unhurried, but demanding attention nonetheless.

"Now, who could that be?" he wondered aloud. Crowley wouldn't bother to knock, the postman never gave more than a perfunctory knock, and he'd never been bothered by door-to-door salespeople after the first time. He found himself hoping that it was the Jehovah's Witnesses. They had knocked on his door once, some years ago, and he'd invited them inside for tea, biscuits and a lovely chat, but they'd not been back since then. He couldn't think why.

More knocking, more insistent than before.

When Aziraphale went to answer it, he was surprised to find one of his fellow angels standing on the doorstep. It was Zauriel, widely considered to be a dangerous crackpot by many of his fellows; he'd spent more than a decade masquerading as an American superhero. He was in human form, but no less recognizable for that.

"Good afternoon," said Aziraphale, blinking at him. "This is… an unexpected delight."

"It's good to see you too," said his colleague, with a strained smile.

"Would you like to come in?"

"I think that would be for the best."

Aziraphale backed away and made an ushering gesture with his hands, indicating that Zauriel should follow him through the shop and into the back rooms where they could sit down in comfort. Perhaps the full meaning of this gesture wasn't immediately apparent, but the other angel followed him regardless.

"Cup of tea?"

"Unfortunately, this isn't a social call," Zauriel began, but then he hesitated and reconsidered. "But that's no reason why I should refuse your hospitality. So yes, I would like a cup of tea, please."

"Milk? Sugar?"

"Whatever you'd recommend," said Zauriel, whose body language clearly conveyed that he couldn't care less.

"Sit down and make yourself comfortable," said Aziraphale, waving to his battered old armchairs. He heard muttered thanks.

Heading into the kitchen, he prepared two cups of tea, just the way he liked it. This gave him time to think. When the other angel had appeared on his doorstep, his first thought had been that his unseemly relationship with Crowley had been discovered and that he would soon be condemned and punished for it. But if that was the case, it was unlikely that Zauriel would have come alone or accepted his offer of a cup of tea. There must be some other reason. What could it be? It had already been established that this wasn't a social call – not that Aziraphale would ever have expected Zauriel to visit him for the pleasure of his company – they weren't friends and they had little in common. Although they were on the same side and doing the same job, they approached it from different angles and with different attitudes. He respected Zauriel for his earnest desire to help people, even if he went about it in a ridiculous and melodramatic way, but he couldn't imagine getting together with him in any kind of social setting. What on earth would they talk about?

There was no way to know without speaking to him. When the tea had finished brewing, Aziraphale arranged his face in a politely attentive expression and returned to the sitting room with two steaming cups, handing one to Zauriel and keeping the other for himself. Sitting down in the armchair opposite his colleague, he said, "Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"

Slowly and carefully, as if he were handling some kind of explosive device, Zauriel put down his teacup on the side table next to him. "It's about the Apocalypse."

"What about it?"

"I have been told that it's due to take place in three years' time. Is that correct?"

"I've been told the same thing," said Aziraphale, sipping his tea. He could see no reason to hide this information; no one had forbidden him from sharing it with his fellow angels, all of whom should already know it.

"What about the Antichrist? Do you know anything about him?"

Aziraphale hesitated, but again he saw no reason not to tell Zauriel. In fact, he was appalled by how ill-informed his colleague seemed to be. "His name is Warlock Dowling. He's the son of the US ambassador to the UK."

"So, it's true," said Zauriel, slumping in his chair. "Exactly as she said…"

Raising an inquiring eyebrow, Aziraphale waited for him to gather his thoughts. Though he was tempted to ask who the other angel's mysterious informant had been, he remained silent so as not to redirect the conversation along an irrelevant tangent. Instead, he would remain focused on what was really important.

"I thought we had much longer. We helped to build such a vast and beautiful universe, which could last for billions of years, but now I know it will soon come to an end… I can't help but grieve," said Zauriel. Then, as if he felt the need to justify himself, he continued, "I grieve for all those who will suffer horrible deaths during the Apocalypse. I grieve for those who will never be redeemed, who will never have a chance to prove that they deserve Heaven. And I grieve for everything that will soon be gone forever."

"We should all be glad that good will soon triumph and evil will be vanquished once and for all," said Aziraphale, dutifully. He wasn't about to voice his true, complicated opinions where any of his fellow angels could hear them. "However, in many ways, I agree with you. I pray that God will be merciful."

They stared at each other for several uncomfortable moments. Their conversation could have continued – Aziraphale had plenty of things he wanted to say and he suspected Zauriel did too – but he didn't trust him enough to share his private thoughts with him. Even if they had similar feelings about the Apocalypse, in all other respects there was a gulf between them that might never be bridged.

"I should go. Thank you for the tea," said Zauriel, despite the fact that he hadn't drunk any of it.

"That's quite all right," said Aziraphale, suppressing his irritation and putting on a genial smile. "Thank you for your company."

***

There were many different pantheons of gods that had been worshipped at some time or other, most of which were barely clinging on to fragments of the power they had once had, but Tanya hoped they would be useful nonetheless. She planned to invite all of them to join her in attempting to stave off the Apocalypse.

Before she did that, she wanted to meet with them, get to know them, and convince them that she would be a worthy leader. To do that, she needed a meeting place. If she asked them to come to Hell, they would refuse; they would assume that it was a trap. Tanya had no way of persuading them otherwise, so she would have to meet them somewhere else. Neutral ground. And so, with that in mind, she returned to the Dreaming once again to ask Dream for another favor…

His kingdom was grim and silent. For once, there were no distractions in her way: no whispers to befuddle her, no labyrinths to mislead her, no fanciful beasts, no far-off silhouettes and no glints of golden treasure. It was the easiest journey through his realm she'd had so far.

She found him sitting on his throne, staring at nothing. There was a mournful look in his eyes. Under normal circumstances, he was prone to dramatic gestures – like imprisoning his former girlfriend in Hell for thousands of years – so she might have expected him to announce his misery to all and sundry with a thunderstorm, anguished cries and wild gestures, but instead he was closed-off and listless.

"Dream King," she said. Then, before she could launch into her prepared speech, she found herself asking, "What's the matter?"

It took him a moment to answer: "I killed my son."

"Orpheus?" asked Tanya, remembering what Death had told her about him: he was immortal and unable to die even after he'd been torn apart by Maenads. For thousands of years, he had been forced to endure a miserable existence in what was left of his shattered body; at any time, death would have been a mercy, but he was beyond her reach.

Dream gave a small nod.

"Well done," said Tanya, giving him a congratulatory smile and thumbs-up. "I'm proud of you. I knew you could do it."

There was no reply and she gradually began to suspect that her reaction had been inappropriate to the situation; Dream didn't want to be praised for what he'd done. He continued to gaze blankly into the distance as if he hadn't heard her.

"It was the right thing to do. You brought his suffering to an end," she told him.

"I spilled family blood," he murmured.

"You did what was necessary. Like I said, I'm proud of you."

"I should have done it sooner."

"Yes, you should have. But…" Tanya hesitated, carefully considering what she was about to say. "I appreciate that you're trying to do better. To do the right thing. To correct the wrongs and mistakes of the past. I know it's not easy."

He didn't reply, but sat in dejected silence, unmoving and unmoved by what she'd said.

Tanya searched the dark caverns of her mind for ideas of what to do next, but found only a few hazy memories of trying to comfort a small child. Not knowing what else to do, she decided to use similar techniques here and now. "Would you like a hug?" she asked.

Dream raised his head almost imperceptibly, which she interpreted as assent.

His sitting position made it awkward, but she managed to squeeze in next to him. She wrapped her arms around him. He was stiff and uncomfortable. "There, there," she said, patting him on the back.

He made a sound that was either a soft chuckle or a sob. "You're terrible at this."

Tanya was affronted, but tried not to let it show. "No one can be good at everything," she said, as she released him, stood up and stepped away from him.

"That's true. And I… I appreciate your sincerity. Considering that your predecessor was the Father of Lies, it seems strange that you should be so devoid of sophistry, but… I appreciate it."

There was a pause while Tanya tried to work out what he meant by that: was it a compliment or stealthy insult?

"And thank you for your kindness. You're a good friend," Dream continued.

"Actually…" Tanya couldn't help but squirm; she'd come to him because she wanted something from him, not because she had any intention of comforting him.

Dream knew her well enough to ask: "Now, what do you want from me?"

"I want to meet with the gods of many different pantheons and ask them to help me prevent the Apocalypse. If I ask them to meet me in Hell, they will refuse because they'll assume I'm trying to lure them into a trap. Therefore, I want to invite them to meet with me in neutral ground, which I would be grateful if you would provide, here in the Dreaming," Tanya explained. "Also, many thousands of years ago, Lucifer made an agreement with the faeries, which I would like to renegotiate, so I'm planning to invite them as well. I would be indebted to you for your assistance in this matter."

"Let's not talk of debts. You've done more than enough for me in the past," said Dream. "Although…" There was a significant pause. When he spoke again, his words had a hurried, discordant quality: "Like you said, I'm trying to do better. You've told me about the importance of forgiveness, so… I would like to forgive Choronzon. He positioned himself as an obstacle in my path and tried to enslave me, but really he was no more than a minor nuisance. I forgive him… and therefore I'd appreciate it if you released him from imprisonment."

"I imprisoned him because he rebelled against me, not because of anything he did to you," Tanya pointed out.

"Even so," said Dream.

Tanya heaved an exasperated sigh. "Fine. I'm sure he won't make a mistake like that again."

"Thank you. That is all I ask," said Dream. "In return, I will create a suitable meeting place for you and ensure that your guests are treated with every courtesy while they are here."

"Are you sure you don't want anything else from me?" asked Tanya. "Choronzon is an irritating little pustule, but his freedom is a small price to pay for what you've agreed to do in exchange."

"It's enough."

"A good deal is one that leaves both parties satisfied and willing to work together again in future – and that is the outcome I would like us to reach – so please tell me if there is anything else I can do for you."

"I am content. I need nothing more," said Dream, with a small shrug.

Tanya looked doubtfully at him. Moments ago, he had been dejected, limp and spiritless, but now he seemed to have found new purpose. When he stood up and surveyed his domain, his movements seemed infused with steely resolve that had not been there before.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," she hazarded.

"You have that effect on me, Lady Tanya," he said. Though his words were playful, there was something about his expression she didn't like. It reminded her of faces she'd seen on the battlefields of her long-distant youth: men who'd lost everything but were determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible.

"I need to go now. I'll speak to you again soon to discuss the details of when I'm going to meet with the gods. In the meantime… take care of yourself. Don't do anything you might later regret."

"I won't," Dream promised. "Farewell."

"Farewell," Tanya echoed him, as she turned away.

Chapter Text

Years ago, if Dream had been invited to Hell, he would have refused. He would have suspected that its capricious ruler intended to trap him there or embroil him in some cruel scheme. However, unlike her predecessor, Lady Tanya was an endearingly honest and straightforward person at heart, even if sometimes her 'logic' wasn't the kind that would have made sense to anyone else. While he was in her care, he had no fear for his safety. No matter how she felt about him, she would feel duty bound to protect him from all harm.

She met him outside a shopping mall, an almost perfect replica of those he'd seen on Earth. Was this her latest vision of Hell? Like her dreary office building, it was very different from the classical idea of Hell, though undoubtedly there were some who would describe it as 'hellish'. Where it differed from her previous reshaping of Hell was that it didn't seem to have been designed to crush everyone who was trapped within it – the damned and their demonic jailors alike – beneath the weight of endless tedium and drudgery. Instead, there were shops that appeared to be selling all manner of delicacies and curiosities. There were whitewashed walls, shiny glass surfaces, plastic floors, and plastic smiles on the faces of all the staff and customers, some of whom were demons while others were former mortals who had been sentenced to eternal punishment for their sins in life. Everything was pristine, sterile and sparkling, as if it had been freshly built mere moments before. Otherwise, there was little to distinguish it from any of the similar places he'd seen on Earth, except perhaps for some of the advertisements on the walls: 'The latest in transcendental furniture: an Occasional Table!' or 'Special Offer: Get yourself a Crying, Talking, Sleeping, Walking, Living Doll – and get a Bicycle Pump absolutely free!' and so on.

"What fresh Hell is this?" he asked, surveying their surroundings with a raised eyebrow.

"I've never known you to make jokes, Dream. Is something wrong?" she asked.

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine," he assured her.

She made a sceptical noise, but didn't press him further. Instead, she said, "I've brought you here because I want to show you that I've kept my end of the bargain: I've freed Choronzon."

"I trust you. You don't need to prove anything to me," he told her.

"Nevertheless," said Tanya, as she led him into a department store filled with clothes of all different sizes and styles. Choronzon was there, as knobbly and bubble-gum pink as ever, but with a hunched, defeated look about him that hadn't been there before. He hardly dared to raise his eyes above the counter he was serving behind.

Indicating him with an offhand gesture, Tanya said, "I've found some useful work for him to do."

"Ssss. Milady. Very useful," said the demonic cashier, who seemed unable to look at her.

"Choronzon. You should know that I wouldn't have freed you if it had been up to me," she said. "You owe your freedom to Dream of the Endless here. Be sure to thank him for his benevolence."

He gave Dream a frantic and almost unnoticeable glance before lowering his head again. "Nkyou," he muttered.

Tanya peered at him as if he were a tiny insect, something so far beneath her notice that she had to strain her eyesight just to pick out any pertinent details. As if he was nothing to her.

"Perhaps I should speak to him alone," Dream suggested, watching as Choronzon quailed before his mistress; his knees knocked together and two sets of teeth chattered as if he was freezing.

"Very well," said Tanya. "Although I don't know what you hope to get out of him."

"A sincere apology."

"I doubt you'll get it. Nevertheless, I wish you luck."

Dream waited until he was sure she had departed. Then, he turned to Choronzon, who had unfurled like a flower before the mid-morning sun.

"Thank you. Thank you! And I'm sorry for what I did! Sorry!" the demon gabbled. "That's all you wanted, right!"

"Actually, there's something else you can do for me," said Dream. "I need a favour."

He reached out with his ethereal senses until he was satisfied that Tanya was nowhere nearby. Then, he proceeded to explain what he wanted.

Choronzon grimaced at what was being asked of him, but said, "Ssss. All right. I'll do it."

***

Early one morning, while he was still brushing the sleep from his eyes, John Constantine was surprised when Superman knocked on his front door. Of course, he wasn't in costume – neither his classic red cape and skintight blue 'uniform' nor the electric blue bodysuit he'd been wearing recently – he was in his civilian guise as Clark Kent, award-winning journalist, who in his own way was almost as conspicuous as one of the world's greatest superheroes. His antiquated suit, geeky spectacles and clumsy movements did little to disguise the fact that he was a lantern-jawed hunk with bulging muscles and movie-star good looks.

Not for the first time, Constantine was glad that his neighbours paid him barely any attention whatsoever. Otherwise, they might have noticed and been curious about the remarkably attractive visitors he'd received recently. First there had been a petite and sharply-dressed blonde cutie – not that he'd ever dare call Tanya that to her face – and now he was faced with a large slab of prime beefcake. Yeah, he'd had pretty girlfriends and brought them back to his flat before, but their attractiveness had been of the ordinary variety – except for Zatanna, of course. Superhumans tended to be superhumanly attractive; unless they were legendarily ugly, divine beings tended to be divinely attractive. Tanya and Superman were no exception to that.

"Uh… hi, Clark," he said, opening the door a little wider. "What can I do for you?"

"Good morning, John," said Superman. "May I come in?"

"Yeah, I suppose you'd better," said Constantine, taking a step back out of the doorway. "Would you like a drink? Coffee, maybe?"

"Please," said Superman, stepping inside. He looked around at the unusually clean and tidy apartment, at the new table, chairs and sofa that had replaced the dilapidated old ones, and the new cordless vacuum cleaner that was leaning up against the wall. "I like what you've done with the place."

Constantine felt the need to justify himself: "I've been given a new lease of life and I don't want to waste it. I'm trying to take better care of myself."

He filled the kettle, switched it on, rummaged in his kitchen cupboard, and then thought to ask: "Is instant coffee okay?" He didn't usually drink coffee and had never owned a coffee machine, so there wasn't really an alternative.

"It's fine," was Superman's reply. He looked contemplative. "Tell me about Lady Tanya."

"I don't know that much about her. I've only met her a few times," said Constantine. "Still… if it wasn't for the fact that she's the Devil – the ruler of Hell, Lucifer's successor, and so on – I'd have no reason to doubt her benevolence." He heaved a dismal sigh. "I don't want to tell you this. It makes me seem like a complete arsehole. But I guess you know me well enough already." He allowed himself a rueful smirk. "I first met Tanya when I… I did something I shouldn't have. I was weak. I was dying of lung cancer. At the time, some of the most powerful demons were rebellion against her; one of them approached me and offered to heal me in exchange for a favour. He wanted me to trap Tanya with the same ritual that kept Dream of the Endless trapped in a cellar for several decades. At the time, I assumed that she was just as monstrous as any other demon, so I convinced myself that I wouldn't be doing any real harm by accepting his deal. If he couldn't defeat her with my help, that must mean he was less powerful than her, so really I'd just be replacing one of humanity's enemies with another that wasn't so bad. I could almost convince myself I was doing a good thing for a righteous cause."

He continued to ramble until the kettle had boiled. Then, he poured a mug of tea for himself and coffee for Superman.

"Even if it wasn't the right thing to do, it seems to have worked out for you," said Superman, in a nonjudgmental voice.

"Here," said Constantine, handing him his coffee.

"Thank you."

They stood and sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a few moments before Constantine decided to continue: "Yeah, she's been very generous. Suspiciously so, you might say. She should probably want revenge for what I did to her, but she doesn't seem to care. I'm sure she'd tell you that I'm a valuable tool she wants to make use of, but I'm not sure that's her only motive."

"What did you do that she should hate you for?" asked Superman.

"I told you I'd agreed to trap her in a cellar, didn't I?"

"Yes, but you didn't tell me the exact details. What happened?"

"The First of the Fallen – the demon I made that deal with – was enraged that I hadn't stripped Tanya naked before sealing her away. Apparently, she was carrying something he needed and I'd made it impossible to get it without freeing her. I thought he was going to attack me, so I decided to free Tanya and let them fight it out amongst themselves. During the fight, I was smashed into a wall and came very close to death. If Tanya had wanted me dead, I would have died then there and she wouldn't have had to lift a finger. But instead she decided to 'keep her promise' by saving my life and making me stronger and healthier than I've ever been."

"What promise was she referring to?"

"While she was imprisoned, she said I couldn't trust the First of the Fallen, but she'd offer me a similar deal: if I freed her, she'd heal me. And she promised not to kill me or harm me in any way."

"So, she more than kept her promise," Superman mused.

"She said she'd want a favour in return, but the favour she eventually asked for was so minor I'd probably have done it for nothing: she wanted me to be the public face of a hotel business, here on Earth, where demons and other immortal beings can experience what it's like to sleep. It's a sinecure. I get paid a decent wage for doing basically nothing."

"Have you considered that the reason for her generosity might be because she's trying to ingratiate herself with your friends? The Justice League, for example?"

"More than likely," said Constantine. "I was the one who suggested she should help you with the Prometheus situation. She wanted to meet with all of you, so I thought that would give you a good first impression." He paused and took a deep breath as he considered what he was about to say next. "Still, even if her motivations aren't entirely altruistic, that doesn't mean they're in any way malevolent."

"It doesn't mean they're not," said Superman. "She's immortal; don't you think she might be playing the long game?"

"Amongst demons, that would make her practically unique. I've never known any of them to have much patience."

"In your line of work, you must have met a lot of demons. I expect you have to deal with people trying to summon them all the time."

"Not so much recently. I mean: they still try, but they don't usually succeed. Except for a few renegades who haven't been back to Hell since the rebellion failed, Tanya keeps all of the demons on a tight leash."

"How convenient for you."

"It makes my work a lot easier," Constantine admitted.

Superman drank the last of his coffee without any outward signs of pleasure or distaste: mechanically, as if were a task that simply must be done. "Do you trust her?"

"To an extent. Like I said before, if she wasn't who she is, I'd have no reason not to trust her. She's been good to me."

"Do you believe what she said about how the Apocalypse is going to happen in less than three years' time?"

"I don't want to believe her – I don't want the world to end so soon – but I don't see why she'd lie about that," said Constantine. "Unless I've horribly misjudged her. She's the queen of demons, after all. Maybe everything I think I know about her is wrong." He heaved a frustrated sigh. "Maybe all of this is an elaborate joke to her."

"But you don't think so."

"Wasn't there a Chinese philosopher who had a dream about being a butterfly and then, when he woke up, he asked, 'Am I a man who dreamt of being a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a man?' I suppose it's possible that everything we see, hear and experience in life is just a cunningly crafted illusion… but anyone who actually believed that would never get around to doing anything."

"Everyone has to believe in something. Otherwise they'd go mad."

"Yeah. Exactly."

"You've had a hard life, haven't you, John? All those dead friends and loved ones…"

Abashed, Constantine lowered his gaze to the floor. "Some of that was my own fault."

"Because of your magic?"

"And the stupid choices I've made, yeah."

"But recently, ever since you met Lady Tanya, you've had a good life. You're healthy, you don't need to worry about money, and…" Superman hesitated, an awkward expression on his face. "There haven't been any disasters in your personal life that I'm unaware of, have there?"

"Not especially."

"Is it possible that Lady Tanya has been shielding you from the magic that's been causing you so much bad luck?"

"Sure, it's possible. Fairly likely, actually. She'd probably tell you she needs to keep me safe and happy because that makes me more useful to her."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"If she showed any signs of wanting to use me for nefarious purposes, it definitely would. So far, being her 'tool' has involved 'being well-paid for doing nothing' and 'arranging a meeting with people who would have agreed to meet with her anyway'," said Constantine. "I wonder if, when he was training her to be his successor, Lucifer forgot to teach her how to be evil. Or maybe he did that deliberately, as a joke."

"You don't know that she's not going to manipulate you into doing something nefarious in future," Superman pointed out.

"So far, the worst thing she's done has been to nag me about taking care of myself. In the same way that a doctor might nag one of her patients, or a teacher one of her students, or…" Constantine's voice trailed off into silence before he could give any more examples, the most obvious of which was 'or a wife might nag her husband'. He really didn't want to think too hard about that.

"I hope you know what you're doing," said Superman, looking doubtful. "But if you ever need help, don't hesitate to get in touch with me or one of the other members of the Justice League. We're your friends, even if we don't always agree with everything you do."

"Thanks, uh… Clark. I appreciate it," said Constantine.

Superman smiled warmly, as if they'd been talking about nothing more consequential than the weather outside, shook his hand again, and said, "Anyway, it's been great to see you, John. I'm glad you're doing well."

"Yeah, so am I. Thanks again."

"And if you find out anything else about the Apocalypse, please let me know."

"I certainly will."

They said their goodbyes, wished each other good luck, and then Superman departed. Finishing the last of his cup of tea, Constantine sank into his new armchair, feeling as weary as if he'd already done a full day's work.

"Maybe I should go back to bed," he muttered to himself. But he knew there were plenty of things he needed to do that day. Soon, he'd have to get up and put on his best impression of being a responsible adult. No choice about it, really.

***

The meeting place was grand, palatial and appeared to have been carved out of a vast, glittering crystal. Tanya would have preferred something more austere and practical, but she couldn't deny that Dream had held up his end of their bargain and done it well. Most of the assembled gods – and a few representatives from the Faerie realm as well – looked favourably impressed. They were gathered around a huge round table, which was meant to signify that she was treating them as equals, but the fact that they insisted on keeping their distance from her meant that she had a large space to herself while they were all bunched up together.

She recognized most of them. There was Susanoo-no-Mikoto, wild and tempestuous, whose beard, hair and clothes were as dishevelled as if he'd dashed through a gale. And there was his sister, Amaterasu Ōmikami, who shone with the light of the sun and was usually considered to be the chief deity of the Shinto pantheon. She hoped that was a good sign: by sending two of their most important deities to meet with her, they were taking her seriously and treating her with respect.

There was Odin, the one-eyed, ragged wanderer, leaning on his walking stick. He had a raven perched on each shoulder. Next to him was Thor, the massively muscled buffoon, who earlier that day had nearly started a feud between the Norse and Ancient Egyptian pantheons with his crude and offensive attempts to flirt with Bastet, the cat-headed goddess of cats. Accompanying them both was Loki, tall and lean, with scarred lips and flamelike hair, who had been temporarily freed from his prison deep beneath the earth so that he could advise his fellow Asgardians. What advice they hoped someone they had imprisoned and tortured for millennia would give them, Tanya had no idea.

The Faerie Queen had sent Cluracan; unlike Thor, he was charming and smooth-talking enough that he'd already been successful in arranging a romantic rendezvous with a member of the Egyptian delegation: a priest-king who'd been elevated to godhood more than four thousand years ago. With him was his sister, Nuala, and a few others Tanya wasn't acquainted with.

She recognized some of the Ancient Greek gods: Hades was a stern and forbidding old man; Hermes was an athletic youth wearing a winged helmet; Athena was a stately woman carrying a spear and shield. She had a faint suspicion that she'd met some of the Chinese gods before. She was less familiar with the gods of the Canaanites, the Aztecs and Incas, various African and Native American pantheons, the Burmese and innumerable others. None of the Hindu gods had made an appearance, which made her vaguely uneasy. Did they know something she didn't? Or was there something she had misunderstood?

The ancient Babylonian pantheon had sent representatives, which had come as something of a surprise; she'd been under the impression that they had dwindled away to nothing long ago, except for those like Nergal who'd found alternative employment. But no, there was Marduk, garbed in extravagant and kingly robes. His hair and beard were braided, oiled and arranged in tightly-coiled pillars. Beside him was his consort, Sarpanit, who appeared to be heavily pregnant. And Nergal was with them, in his demonic form, with batlike wings, sharp teeth and leathery skin, an obsequious smirk on his lips. Until recently, he had been one of the most powerful demons in Hell, one of those who had rebelled against her, but had fled when it became clear that her victory was certain. His disappearance had been a minor irritation; she had been unable to find out where he'd gone and had glumly concluded that he would be a problem later on. Now, it remained to be seen what kind of problem he would be.

It was exceedingly unlikely that the Babylonian gods didn't know that Nergal was one of her former employees who had made himself her enemy. Therefore, she had to assume that this was a deliberate taunt, a way of testing whether or not she could be trusted to set aside her grievances for the greater good. If she had been willing to attack him here, in neutral ground, after inviting them to this meeting and promising they would not be harmed, they would know she couldn't be trusted.

Setting aside her annoyance, Tanya put on her friendliest smile, hoping to convince her guests of her good intentions. It seemed to do little to put them at ease.

She pressed on regardless: "Welcome, all of you! I'm pleased to see so many of you gathered here. I hope we can reach a mutual agreement that will lead to a better future for all of us. Being X, who calls himself the one true god, has decided to destroy the universe and everything in it. But if we unite against him, joining our strengths together as one, we have a chance of defeating him, unseating him, and achieving what any of us alone could not. We can be free of him: free of his oppressive rule; his smug, self-righteous meddling; his pathetic need to be worshipped and adored by everyone, just for allowing us to exist. We can be free at last! Together!"

They looked unconvinced, so she hastened to sweeten the deal: "As proof of my good intentions, I am willing to make numerous concessions to you: I will aid you in battle against your enemies, I will give you favourable trade deals, and I will allow some of the damned to leave Hell and take up residence in your afterlives." Turning to Cluracan and the other representatives of the Faerie Queen, transfixing them with a powerful stare, she continued: "No longer will you have to pay the tithe that requires you to sacrifice nine of your wisest and most beautiful to Hell every seven years. I release you from your ancient agreement with Lucifer. Instead, it is my hope that we can build an alliance and work together as equals."

"What kind of trade deals?" asked Anubis, the Ancient Egyptian god of the underworld. His head was that of a jackal and his expression was unreadable, though there were traces of suspicion in his voice. "Why would we want or need them?"

"That's up to you," Tanya replied, with a small shrug. "I'm in the process of turning Hell into a major industrial centre. Soon, anything you want or need will be produced there!"

"How many of the damned will you allow to leave Hell? I cannot believe you would relinquish so many as to reduce your power and authority by any significant degree," said Hades, in a grim and sepulchral voice.

"Those who have committed relatively minor sins, for which they have already been harshly punished, will be allowed to leave. Those who truly deserve to be in Hell will have to stay."

He inclined his head, just slightly, as if she'd confirmed his suspicions.

"Will you fight beside us at Ragnarok?" Odin wanted to know.

"Of course. I will aid you in all of your battles, should you need me," Tanya promised.

At the behest of his new masters – or were they his old masters whose reins he had accepted once again? – Nergal stepped forth and said, in a simpering voice, "May we have some time to consider your words and discuss their meaning for ourselves?"

"It would appear that many of your fellows already have," said Tanya, glancing around the hall and listening to the hubbub of murmured conversation. "Carry on."

***

This week, the various members of the Justice League were too busy to meet in person, scattered all over North America as they were, but most of them managed to set aside some time to meet face-to-face via video conferencing. Orion of the New Gods was not there, having returned to New Genesis to ask a few pointed questions of Highfather and Metron. Everyone else was in attendance, including Oracle, who had recently been revealed as a secret member of the team who'd been acting behind the scenes.

The main item on the agenda, and the real reason why they needed to have another meeting so soon after the last one, was Lady Tanya's warning about the Apocalypse and their subsequent attempts to find out whether she was telling the truth or not.

Zauriel went first, describing what some of his angelic contacts had said when he'd visited them. He concluded by saying, "They all confirmed that the Apocalypse is due to begin in less than three years' time, on the twenty-third of August, just like Lady Tanya said."

"During my brief visit to the UK, I spoke to John Constantine, who told me that he has no reason to doubt Lady Tanya's word. Personally, he would prefer it if the world wasn't coming to an end, but she has always been honest and kind to him, for as long as he has known her, despite the unfortunate circumstances of their first meeting," said Superman.

"He's only known her for a few months. And he's not what I would call a reliable witness," said Batman.

"While you were there, you visited Warlock Dowling, who is supposed to be – or to become – the Antichrist. What did you think of him?" asked the Flash.

"I posed for some publicity shots with the American ambassador and his family," Superman confirmed. "As far as I could tell, Warlock seemed like a perfectly ordinary little boy. Overindulged, maybe, but remarkably good-natured."

"Did you see any sign of his developing superpowers?" asked the Martian Manhunter.

Superman shook his head. "No, not at all."

"It's a shame he's too young to join the Teen Titans. I imagine he and Raven would have a lot in common," said Batman.

"I suppose you could train him to be the next Robin," said Oracle, sounding rather unenthused.

"So… whatever we do, the Apocalypse is going to happen in three years' time. What should we do about that? What can we do?" asked Huntress, determined to stay focused on what was really important. "If it's God's will…"

"If the creator of the universe has decided to bring it to an abrupt end, I doubt there's anything we can do to stop him. Instead, we will do what we always have done: try to save lives and protect the innocent for as long as we can," said Superman. "If the Apocalypse is going to happen regardless of what we or anyone else might do to prevent it, we might as well try to minimize the misery and suffering that will happen as a result."

"Maybe our efforts will be for naught, but that's no reason not to try," said Wonder Woman.

"I think Lady Tanya would be happy with that," said Aquaman, with a crooked smile. "Judging by what she told us last week, she's trying to prevent the Apocalypse and maintain the status quo – and by standing against the horrors, monsters and natural disasters that will be unleashed after the Antichrist comes into his inheritance, we'll be helping her achieve that goal. Unless she was lying to us the whole time, of course."

"That's still a possibility," said Huntress.

"We can only hope," said the Flash.

***

"Our beloved queen will never agree to it!" Cluracan declared, drinking deeply from his bottle of wine and cuddling his latest paramour to his side. "Even if it means we'll still have to pay the teind, it won't be for long. A few years at most. And then… I suppose we'll be erased from existence. Oh well, better than the alternative, I suppose. If we join Tanya in her defiance, we'll be punished forever! Oblivion is preferable to that, wouldn't you agree?"

"How long will we have to wait for her answer?" asked Nuala, who appeared graceful and composed, and was drinking nothing but pure spring water garnished with rose-petals.

"Not even a twinkling. A few moments, probably. An hour or two at most. Any longer than that… well, I'd be surprised," said Cluracan. "Frankly, I'm surprised we haven't already heard back from her."

***

"I'm inclined to accept Lady Tanya's offer. With her help, the final battle at Ragnarok will be easily won," said Odin, gazing over the balcony at a churning sea of dreams. "What say you?"

"I'm not sure why you brought me here," said Loki, sly and scornful. "You know I am your enemy. You know the prophecies as well as I do. When Ragnarok comes, I will escape my bonds beneath the earth. I will be the helmsman of the largest ship that has ever existed, built of dead men's nails, which will carry the Frost Giants and the legions of Hel to Vigrid, where the final battle will take place. There, you will be devoured by Fenrir, Thor will slay Jormungandr and be slain in turn, and I…" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I will have my revenge. I will die happy."

"What happened to you, Loki? We were blood brothers, once," Odin wondered aloud, with sorrow in his heart.

"That was long ago, before you turned one of my sons into a monster and forced him to devour his brother. Before you imprisoned me beneath the earth, bound with the intestines of my murdered son, with a snake dripping venom into my eyes and my poor wife able to do nothing but catch some of the venom in a bowl and whisper that she loves me."

Thor's response was thunderous. He seized Loki in both hands, rattled him as if he were a rickety piece of furniture, and roared: "You deserved it! You murdered Balder!"

"I saved him. Thanks to me, he will survive Ragnarok. Afterwards, he will return from Hel and take his place as one of the new gods, ruling over the new world," said Loki, with a smug grin. "Besides, you didn't punish me for causing Balder's death. Not for years afterwards. Instead, you punished Hod, who was just as much a victim as he was." Twining his neck so that he could lean closer to Odin, he whispered, "You raped Rind, who gave birth to Vali, who grew up and slew Hod before a single day had passed. Was that justice? No, of course not. And what you did to me wasn't justice either. You and the other gods decided to punish me, not because of what I did to Balder or how I tricked Hod or any of the other crimes I had committed, but because I embarrassed you at dinner. Because I insulted you and revealed a few truths you'd rather have kept hidden. And that, more than anything else I'd ever done, was why you sentenced me to be tortured for thousands of years."

"I will pull out your lying tongue and strangle you with it!" cried Thor, fastening a meaty hand around his neck.

"Is there a point you want to make, Loki? Or do you just want to unburden yourself, now that you have the chance?" asked Odin.

"Even now, you need me to be your handyman, to solve all your problems for you, just like I always did. That's why you brought me here," said Loki, whose grin remained fixed despite Thor's attempts to throttle him. "Therefore, this is my advice to you: I wish you would accept Tanya's offer. With her help, you may survive Ragnarok, but you cannot hope to defeat the one she calls 'Being X'. He created everything from nothing and can unmake it just as easily. What do you think he will do if you defy him? I have no doubt he will punish you far worse than I have been punished, for the rest of eternity. And then, I will rejoice in the knowledge that you will suffer a far better revenge than any I could have dreamed of."

Odin signalled that Thor should drag Loki away. He would be returned to his underground prison, where a snake would drip venom into his eyes and he would be bound with his son's intestines, just like before. Nevertheless, he'd given wise advice, even if he'd done it in an unnecessarily hostile way. For that, Odin was grateful.

***

"None of them want to accept my offer! They've all refused!" Tanya cried out in disbelief. "Pretty words, but 'no' means 'no', even if you dress it up in elaborate finery."

She paced back and forth across the floor of Dream's throne room, feeling as if she might tear her hair out with frustration.

"They're afraid. Not everyone is as strong as you," he said.

"Does it take strength to oppose someone who would utterly destroy you otherwise? Unless they put up a fight, they will be erased from existence. It will be as if they had never been. Don't they understand that?" It was a rhetorical question and Tanya knew there was no answer that would satisfy her. "I'd have thought that at least some of them would be desperate enough to join me."

Dream arose from his throne, drifted over to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "They're frightened of what 'Being X' will do to them if they rise up against him. Oblivion is preferable to endless suffering."

"I'd rather suffer than cease to exist. That's why I continue to fight," said Tanya. "Even if I have to do it alone."

"You won't be alone," said Dream. "What about all those who look up to you, who admire you, whom you've inspired to be much more than they were? Hastur, for example. He was a crude, foul-smelling brute, but thanks to your leadership he has proven himself to have courage and honour."

Tanya didn't think Dream had ever met Hastur and was unsure as to how he knew so much about him, but presumed that it must be because the Endless had all kinds of nebulous powers related to their particular sphere of influence. Perhaps being the Lord of Dreams gave him special insight into Hastur's daydreams of bettering himself. "He's done his best to clean himself up, so his scent is barely noticeable these days, but he still can't wear a business suit without looking like a walking laundry pile," she said.

"And Scumspawn… He greatly admires you, to the extent that he was able to overcome his natural cowardice for your sake."

"Yes, he says he loves me," said Tanya, with a weary sigh.

"Love is not always based on admiration – or on anything more than physical beauty – but perhaps it should be," said Dream. "Those who love and admire you, like Scumspawn and Hastur, will follow you until the end, whatever that may be."

For a moment, Tanya leaned against him. His arm embraced her. Then, as if she'd suddenly remembered herself and who she was, she straightened up and took a step forward, out of his reach. In what seemed like an excessively formal voice, she said, "Thank you for attempting to lift my morale. I appreciate it. Now, I must be going. There is much I still need to do today."

"Important business matters, no doubt," said Dream, with some amusement.

She gave him a stiff nod. "Indeed. Farewell."

"Farewell," he echoed her. There was more he wanted to say, but he held his tongue and let her go. It was the right thing to do, for both their sakes. He would have no regrets.

Chapter Text

Over the next several months, Tanya had cause to regret her promise to aid the Justice League whenever one of them said her name three times in swift succession. It seemed to happen far too often. Almost every week, they were forced to defend the Earth from terrifying dangers: alien warlords, armies of robots, mad scientists, natural disasters, city-destroying monsters, and other threats that were even stranger and more alarming.

'How has this version of Earth survived until now?' Tanya wondered, as she helped the Justice League to defeat a giant starfish that had taken over New York. 'At this rate, it'll be a miracle if it lasts until the Apocalypse is due to happen in two years' time.' A frown spread over her face as she realised that, entirely by accident, she might have stumbled upon the truth: of course, the reason why the Justice League were beset by so many enemies was that, without realising it, they were putting on a show; Being X was like a child with a box of action figures and they were some of his favourites. In a few years, he would get bored and bring playtime to an end. 'Does that mean that no matter what I do, I'm still taking part in one of his games, forced to entertain him? Is there no way I can break free? Or have my attempts to defy him been doomed from the start?'

While she was distracted by these gloomy thoughts, the Justice League sealed their victory over the gargantuan echinoderm that was their latest opponent, imprisoned it in a forcefield cage, and started giving each other hearty congratulations. Very much the same as usual, just with a slight change of scenery.

"Thank you, Lady Tanya. We couldn't have done this without you." said Aquaman, coming over to her and putting on a smile that exposed rather too many of his gleaming white teeth. He was shirtless and glistening with sweat – or it might have been the seawater he needed to regularly immerse himself in – Tanya didn't care to get close enough to find out which.

"If that's true, then we have a problem," she replied, grimly. "For years, you've defended the Earth without my help, so why do you need it now? I have no doubt that if I were not here you would have triumphed regardless. But now you've decided that my help is necessary for you to succeed. Why is that?"

"If you don't want me to thank you, that's fine," said Aquaman, raising an eyebrow. "It just seemed like the right thing to do."

"I wonder… Have I weakened your resolve, somehow? Made you lazy?" Tanya continued, as if he hadn't said anything. "Many times before, you've prevailed against seemingly impossible odds, thanks to your bravery and ingenuity. Have I taken that away from you? Now you're aware that in times of direst need you can call upon someone to save you, are you still as 'heroic' as you were a few months ago?"

"You haven't made us any less effective," he assured her. Then, taking a deep breath, puffing himself up like a politician at a podium, he continued: "Yes, in the past, there have been a few times when we've 'prevailed against seemingly impossible odds'. But it always came at a price: the deaths of friends, family, and innocent bystanders; the destruction of homes, property, and places of cultural, historical and economic value; as well as the need to pay for repairs and rebuilding. With your help, we can avoid all that, so why wouldn't we? During the past few months, since you offered to help us, no one in the Justice League has been killed or seriously injured, collateral damage has been minimal and there have been relatively few civilian casualties. You've reduced the price of victory, for which we are very grateful."

Tanya gave a thoughtful hum. After a moment's deliberation, she said, "Those are motives that I can sympathetize with. However, I must warn you not to rely on me too much. I will not always be available to help you. There are many demands on my time."

"In times of desperation, I'll seize any advantage I can," said Aquaman. "Today, for example, Starro had mind-controlled the entire population of New York. But you put a stop to that as soon as you arrived. Exactly the sort of help we need, for the good of everyone." He paused. His smile was replaced with a grimace. "Still, if I've been overdoing it, I apologize. In future, I'll try not to call you except as a last resort."

"I would appreciate that," said Tanya.

"Is there anything you want from us in return for what you've done so far?" he asked, giving her a shrewd glance.

Wordlessly, she shook her head, opened a portal, and vanished back to Hell.

***

Even when she wasn't rescuing the Justice League from whatever disaster they'd become embroiled in this time, Tanya had plenty to do. She spent most of her time making sure her demonic employees were engaged in meaningful work, that they were well-compensated for it, and they were provided with a wide range of amusements, amenities and leisure facilities, which should mean that they were kept busy and contented, and therefore had no reason to rebel against her.

She was keen to encourage trade between Hell and the various nations of Earth – not that she intended any of them to be aware they were trading with Hell, of course – in order to develop the economy and gain a supply of American dollars, Japanese yen and other forms of currency for which she already had dozens of uses in mind. Therefore, she had set up Black Diamond Inc. as well as a few front companies whose purpose was to be the acceptable public face of a business that would have been exceedingly controversial if it was known to the general public.

It involved the production of rare metals, minerals and other raw materials to feed the needs of Earth's manufacturing industries. Demons would open a portal to an asteroid, gather a large amount of ore and bring it back to Hell, where it would be processed and reduced to its constituent elements; then it would be transported to Earth and whoever was willing to pay for it.

The true source of these valuable resources would be concealed by misdirection. Black Diamond Inc. owned mines and spoil heaps in a number of small countries around the world, where it would be claimed that they were using new technologies to cheaply extract raw materials from low-grade ores that would previously have been uneconomic to bother with. Tanya intended that Black Diamond Inc. would be a shining example of how a capitalist company could be productive and profitable while paying its workers a fair wage, having decent working conditions and environmental protections, and collaborating with local governments to improve infrastructure, healthcare and the lives of the general populace. No one should have any reason to suspect that Black Diamond Inc. was anything other than squeaky clean: a paragon of business integrity, run by irritating do-gooders of the sort that most people held in contempt. The problem was that all of this would take several years to set up. By the time the Apocalypse came, Black Diamond Inc. would not be ready and making money on anything more than a small scale.

Not for the first time, Tanya gazed out over the impassable gulf between her ambitions and the reality, bleakly amused and wondering why she bothered with any of it. "Why do I do this to myself?" she wondered aloud, sitting at her desk and staring at the pile of paperwork in front of her. Then, reason prevailed: taking a deep breath, she told herself that it didn't matter; the real purpose of all her business ventures was not to make money but to keep her employees busy and entertained so that they wouldn't cause trouble.

Similarly, when she had met with Lucifer and then the Justice League, she had assured them her taking over the Earth's criminal underworld was not just a lesser evil; carried away by her own rhetoric, she had gone so far as to present it as the solution to a great many societal problems. Of course, she hadn't managed to convince them, any more than she had convinced herself; no matter how simple her words made it sound, she had always known that it would be a difficult, complicated and dirty business.

The plan was still in its early stages and would take time to spread across most of the world. Several years, at least. More time than Tanya had left.

In a few places, where her loyal subordinates had finished setting up, the plan was working perfectly, exactly as intended. Other criminal gangs were being outcompeted in many ways, struggling to make money from less-harmful drugs, brothels, smuggled cigarettes, or anything else Tanya was willing to tolerate as not being especially harmful to society. That didn't mean that those things were harmless, of course; she was well aware that they all caused problems for people and society, but she was more concerned with the fact that criminal gangs were able to amass vast amounts of money and power by selling them, which led to much worse problems. It was a matter of priorities. She was willing to commit a multitude of minor sins if it meant preventing a greater evil.

She had no particular need to make a profit, so it was easy for her minions to undercut everybody else. They were demons, superhumanly strong and tough, able to shrug off small arms fire without taking much notice, so they were usually able to defeat their human counterparts if it came to a fight. They took great pleasure in doing so. This meant that before long they had gained large swathes of territory and done disastrous damage to other criminal gangs nearby. Harried on all sides by demons, law enforcement officials eager to take advantage of the situation, and their colleagues who would happily stab them in the back if there was anything to be gained from it, many gangsters were finding the criminal lifestyle too difficult and dangerous to bother with.

In any profession, the people who made the real profits were those at the top of the heap - the CEOs in their executive suites, the generals in their command tents, and the crime lords in their palaces – but the people who took the most risks and did most of the real work were those at the bottom. That was why, throughout her many lives, Tanya had always endeavoured to be one of those at the top. If the job was too dangerous and the pay was too little, it became almost impossible to find anyone willing to do it. There were still vast profits to be made from selling weapons, hard drugs and the victims of human trafficking, but not enough to tempt those who knew they wouldn't live long enough to spend their ill-gotten gains. People might be willing to gamble their lives on the possibility of wealth and success, but not if it seemed certain that they'd end up dead in a back alley somewhere.

At least, that was what would have made sense. However, Tanya was vaguely troubled by the memory of several dozen brave young men and women who had volunteered to fight for their country, despite knowing that they would be paid very little and it would most likely lead to their deaths, having been promised nothing more than honour and glory if they survived. Still, they had been patriots and idealists who believed in something greater than themselves, whereas most of the cruel, hard-bitten thugs who inhabited the criminal underworld were devoted to nothing more than the contents of their wallets. It was highly unlikely that any of them were of the same quality as… as... her old friends. Even if her memories had been erased by the slow passage of centuries, what little she could remember was enough to convince her she had not chosen poorly.

She always made sure to choose the right person for the task at hand. That was one of the reasons why her planned takeover of Earth's criminal underworld was taking even longer than she had expected: she refused to give demons free access to Earth unless she was sure she could trust them. Therefore, she took the time to carefully evaluate each and every one of them before sending them away on their appointed tasks. She was concerned that if she just set them loose, they would succumb to their base instincts and desires, carve out their own little fiefdoms and proceed to ignore her instructions until she came to winkle them out of whatever bolthole they were hiding in. So far, they had surpassed her expectations. Furfur, who led a team of snoops whose job was to report to her anyone who was breaking her rules, always seemed very disappointed that he had so little to tell her: a few minor infractions, nothing more.

It amused her to think that her demons – symbols of sin and corruption according to many religions around the world – had so far proven themselves to be incorruptible. None of them had been tempted by the bribes that rival crime lords had offered them. Perhaps that was only to be expected; most demons had no interest in anything mortals could offer them, not since human souls had lost all value as currency. They had little interest in drugs, slaves or fancy cars, for example. Mortal money was of no use to them because if they suddenly became very rich out of nowhere it would have been obvious that they'd done something they shouldn't have – and none of them were willing to risk Tanya's wrath for such a petty inducement as mere wealth. Fear had its uses. It meant that betrayal wasn't an everyday occurrence. Besides, all of her minions would much rather tear someone to pieces than accept a bribe from them.

However, the problem with her selective hiring policies was that many of her plans had stalled due to lack of manpower. An obvious solution would have been to hire human auxiliaries to support her demons and perform many of the necessary but unglamorous tasks needed to ensure the smooth running of any organization. Some of her lieutenants had already begun doing so, discreetly and to a small extent. But it was inevitable that involving humans to any extent would lead to further problems: they were flawed, fallible, greedy and weak-minded, prey to urges and desires that made them easily-manipulable, and extremely fragile. Tanya was glad she wasn't one of them anymore. But that didn't make it any easier to fill her manpower shortages.

Another problem was that, in many places around the world, the legal overworld was precariously balanced on top of the criminal underworld like a tiny mother bird sitting on top of a cuckoo's egg. In those places, the criminal cartels were deeply entrenched, immensely rich and influential, with more power and military might than legitimate governments, able to hire entire armies of mercenaries with futuristic weapons to fight off Tanya's demons. Even gaining a foothold in those places would be monstrously difficult and achieved only with the expenditure of vast amounts of blood and treasure. Or maybe 'blood' was the wrong word. 'Ichor' might be better.

Turf wars were a necessary part of her plan. More than that, they were inevitable and always had been for as long as organized crime had existed. However, Tanya was wary of making them too overt. Too much violence spilling out onto the streets, especially in cities that considered themselves to be safe and peaceful, might lead the authorities to conclude that her gang was just as bad as all the others and needed to be dealt with in as thorough a manner as possible. Also, it might attract the attention of Heaven and its angels, who so far had done nothing to impede her plans – but surely they must, sooner or later? No doubt they thought it beneath their dignity to side with drug lords and slavers, even if they genuinely believed it was for a good cause, but eventually, when Tanya's criminal gangs grew too powerful or their true nature was revealed to the world, the heavenly host would swoop down and claim to be the saviors of humanity. Alternatively, maybe they didn't care what the demons did on Earth because they saw it as a meaningless distraction that must soon come to an end.

So, what successes could she and her minions claim to have achieved over the past year? Had their efforts done anything to make the world a better place? Examining the statistics, she took some pride in the fact that, in numerous places, the price of hard drugs, illegal weaponry and trafficked women, for example, had increased by more than tenfold. It was still possible to buy all of those things if one was sufficiently determined, had the right contacts and was willing to pay exorbitant amounts of money, but the majority of customers were being priced out of the market, which meant that dealers and suppliers were finding it impossible to maximize their profits by selling in bulk. As a result, fewer innocents were being sold into slavery – perhaps not significantly fewer, but fewer – guns were becoming rarer in some places, only to be replaced with knives, baseball bats and attack dogs – the illegal drugs trade was becoming even more cutthroat than before, and various gangs were struggling to make ends meet. It wasn't as much as she'd hoped, but at least she'd done something. She could be proud of that, at least.

Even as she was pondering these thoughts, she heard a voice. Across the gulf of time and space, through the spectral barriers between the different planes of existence, she heard it calling to her. "Tanya Tanya Tanya," it said.

She couldn't help but groan, knowing that once again she would be called upon to save a member of the Justice League from whatever mortal peril they'd found themselves in this time. Glancing up at the clock and then the calendar on her wall, she was surprised to realise that it had been three months since the last time. Huh…

Standing up, she moved out from behind her desk, focused her mind on the exact location of whoever was summoning her, and then opened a portal. On the other side, she saw an unfamiliar place: a city of metallic ziggurats suffused by the faintly greenish light of an alien sun.

"Intriguing," she murmured, as she stepped through.

***

On the other side, she saw that the city was surrounded by a desert landscape similar to many she had seen during her past lives. Even though this was a place she'd never been to before, in some ways it was like coming home.

The emerald sun beat down on her, the air was clogged with dust, and there were dozens of robotic drones flying about like so many large and bulbous insects. The ziggurats had a peculiar, eldritch look about them, which could be evidence that they hadn't been designed by humans, but she'd seen weirder things designed and built by humans plenty of times. It was alien, but it filled her with a strange feeling of deja vu.

Looking down at the streets below, she saw hundreds of haggard and ragged slaves, chained and collared, wearily tramping back and forth, busy with an assortment of menial tasks. Their overseers were four-armed giants who lashed at them with whips, or stood to one side and watched over them, heavily-armed and menacing. When she saw them, Tanya wanted to scream and rage at such a senseless waste of manpower. This was clearly an advanced civilisation, so the only possible reason to use slavery was deliberate cruelty. But she hadn't come here to remonstrate with a group of thuggish henchmen who were mere cogs in a great machine of stupid business practices; a member of the Justice League had called for help. She would begin with that.

As she rushed away from them, she noticed the weapons the alien guards were armed with. Very familiar weapons. Lightsabers. Phasers. Lasguns. Vibroblades. Rayguns. Needlers. An eclectic collection, no two alike. She knew them all very well; they were old friends she hadn't seen in years, but she recognized them all the same. Her hands itched to hold them again. Purely psychosomatic, of course. It wasn't as if she had a physical body that could itch.

Then, she came to a gladiatorial arena, around which a baying mob had gathered to watch someone being mauled to death. The walls were tall and strong, the railings were thick, and the people up on the stands had an excellent view of the bloodstained sands below, where a bearded muscular man was being forced to fight an enormous tentacular monster. The creature had a withered look about it and was clearly suffering in the heat. It had been goaded, branded and whip-scarred, maddened and terrified, and was now lashing about in a rage, for which Tanya didn't blame it in the slightest, except that it had come close to killing someone who was presumably a member of the Justice League.

Tanya didn't recognize him at first, but then: "Superman?!" Her eyes widened and she gazed at him with disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

He was wrapped in the tattered remains of his red cloak, bruised and battered, and thinner than she had ever seen him before, but she wasn't mistaken. He was definitely Superman.

"I'll explain later," he muttered, giving her the faintest glimmer of a smile. "For now… help? Please?"

"Of course," she said, lifting him high into the air, out of reach of any flailing tentacles. There were a few disappointed groans from the crowd, but the majority seemed intrigued by this latest development.

Gazing down at the frenzied beast, she murmured, "I am going to send you home." It was the work of a few moments to dip into its mind and find the place it longed for: a swampy forest, where mists wafted through the trees, slime seeped through black, sludgy soil, and the air seemed to shudder with the high-pitched screeching noise of thousands of insects.

"Nice place," she said, sending it on its way. With a noise like thunder, it vanished from sight, returning to its place of dreams. Then, she turned to Superman and asked, "Would you like me to do the same for you?"

"Uh… Metropolis, if you don't mind," he said. "I have an apartment there."

"344 Clinton Street. That's fine."

He looked conflicted for a moment, as if he didn't like the fact that she knew where he lived – or he wished she hadn't said it out loud – but he didn't argue. Instead, he merely nodded.

Tanya vanished him as well. Then, she looked down at the crowds of outraged spectators who were yelling obscenities at her, infuriated that she'd robbed them of their entertainment. She looked at the thousands of slaves spread throughout the city, performing meaningless drudge work for the benefit of no one, while heavily-armed guards were ready to punish them for any reason at all. She looked at the glimmering ziggurats, the robotic drones and other technological marvels on display, and grieved for what this city could have been.

"Amateurs. You've created a Hell of your own, just as pointless as the original, but without the inventive cruelty and depravity that made it such a work of art. I hated it, but I could at least appreciate the effort that went into its creation. But this…this is just a crude, worthless imitation." She sneered. "I should destroy it, but first… let's see what I can do to improve it."

With barely a thought, she made all of the slaves' bindings crumble to dust. Then, she did the same to the guard's weapons. However, it occurred to her that even if they were unarmed, they were huge, muscular and accustomed to violence. Because of the privations they'd suffered, many of the slaves were weak, timid and emaciated; even if their guards were heavily outnumbered, it was hardly a fair fight. So, Tanya did what she could to rectify the situation.

There was a chorus of screams as the guards realised they had been blinded. Tanya knew that it would wear off in a few days, if they survived that long. Many of the former slaves, revelling in their sudden freedom and realising that they had a chance for revenge, were determined to make sure that they wouldn't.

Surveying her handiwork, Tanya saw the eruption of violence, chaos and confusion all over the city, and permitted herself a small, satisfied smile. "Much better," she said, as she departed.

Chapter Text

Back on Earth, Superman's girlfriend – Lois Lane, an internationally famous reporter in her own right – brought him fresh clothes, coffee and a hot meal, and looked like she wanted to swaddle him in blankets and put him to bed. But she must have realised how counterproductive that would have been, so she didn't; instead, she lingered nearby as he sat down on a padded chair on the balcony, soaking up the sunlight, and heaved an enormous sigh of relief.

"Thank you for bringing him back," she told Tanya, as a quiet aside. "It's been… difficult without him. In many ways."

Tanya replied, mechanically, "I did what I was contractually obligated to do. It was only a verbal contract, barely more than a vague promise, but I intend to honor it nonetheless."

Ms. Lane smiled wryly at that. "You're not good at accepting thanks, are you? Why is that? Over thousands of years, I'd have thought you'd have had plenty of practise."

"I'm the Devil. People aren't usually pleased to see me."

"But you haven't been 'the Devil' for very long. You took over from the previous incumbent quite recently, Superman told me." There was no hesitation before the word 'Superman', nothing to indicate that she might know him by another name, which Tanya took to mean that Ms. Lane was a superb actress who was used to hiding her secret romance with one of the world's most famous superheroes, even in conversation with people who already knew about it. Admirable commitment to information security, for which she deserved to be praised, except that Tanya was wary of doing so to someone who wasn't one of her employees; it might seem like she was being patronizing.

There was a pause while Ms. Lane seemed to be waiting for her to reply; Tanya carefully considered what had just been said, wondering if there had been a question she had missed. "Yes, that's true," she said, after some thought. Was anything more expected of her? She was unfamiliar with conversations of this sort, so she could easily have missed something.

"And before you assumed your current role? What were you, if you don't mind my asking?" Ms. Lane prompted her.

"I was… one of the damned, being tortured in Hell. That was my punishment." Tanya permitted herself the barest hint of a smirk. "It didn't last nearly as long as intended."

"Evidently not. But what were you being punished for?"

"For not believing in God. For refusing to bow down to him even when he was standing before me, demanding to be worshipped."

"And why would you do that?" asked Ms. Lane, with the intrepid persistence of a reporter who had put her own life at risk many times while hunting for the truth.

Tanya gave a contemptuous snort. "I'd have thought you'd understand. You're an American, from the 'good old USA', aren't you? Your countrymen are always talking about the need to resist tyranny, whatever form it might take."

"Ah. It seems to me that Hell must be full of atheists."

"Hell is full of nearly everyone. The being who calls himself 'God' has very high standards for his sycophants. And the majority of them fall victim to his capriciousness. I have almost the full set of popes, for example."

"Well, I'm grateful for what you've done today. And if you ever need someone to talk to…" Even as she said that – even without finishing the sentence – Ms. Lane looked as if she was already regretting it.

"I appreciate your good intentions," said Tanya. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really need to talk to your boyfriend."

Ms. Lane nodded, took a step back and said, "I'm sure he'll want to thank you himself."

"No doubt," said Tanya, stepping past her.

Having had time to eat, drink, and immerse himself in sunlight, Superman looked much refreshed. He gave Tanya a warm smile when he saw her. "I would have died if not for you. Thank you for saving me."

"Not a problem. I offered you and your colleagues my help for a reason. Earth needs its protectors," said Tanya, sitting down next to him. "In this case, I suspect a great deal of unpleasantness could have been avoided if you'd called me earlier."

"I promised that I'd only call upon you as a last resort. And that's what I did," said Superman, turning to look directly at her. "Until the last moment, I always imagined that I'd manage to escape somehow, or that my friends would rescue me, or that I'd be offered a deal in exchange for my freedom. But when it became apparent that all my strength was gone and my captors were only interested in watching my gruesome death, you were my last hope."

"Would you mind explaining to me exactly what happened? How were you captured?"

"A fleet of alien spaceships used some kind of cloaking device to approach Earth without being noticed. When they were close enough, they bombed the German city of Bielefeld. Then, as people were trying to evacuate, hundreds of them were captured and taken aboard one of the ships."

The name 'Bielefeld' was unfamiliar to Tanya, which she found oddly disquieting. Considering that she'd been a citizen of multiple different versions of Germany – or 'Germania' – in many of her past lives, she would have assumed that she'd know the names of all its most prominent cities, and therefore it came as an unwelcome surprise to find that she did not. Of course, there were always minor differences between one universe and the next, so it really shouldn't bother her. It was like an itch she wanted to scratch, but she should really stop thinking about it; she'd be much better off that way. Just because she'd never heard the name 'Bielefeld' before didn't mean that it didn't exist, after all.

Unaware of her inner turmoil, Superman continued: "I rushed there as soon as I could, along with the other members of the Justice League. We brought down one of the spaceships and rescued the prisoners on board, but it seemed like the others were getting away. Under the right circumstances, I'm faster than any of my colleagues, so I gave chase. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a trap. I was attacked by a super-strong alien warrior whose weapons were laced with kryptonite. He defeated me and I was imprisoned along with the others."

"Presumably because they wanted the other captives to see their greatest champion defeated and humbled," said Tanya, cupping her chin in one hand and striking a 'thoughtful' pose. "How long ago was this?"

Superman paused, looking unsure of himself. It was obvious that he was guessing when he said, "A few weeks… maybe?"

Feeling increasingly concerned, Tanya said, "Do you mean to tell me that you've been missing for more than two weeks and the last time anyone on Earth saw you – excepting Ms. Lane, of course – was when you were kidnapped by alien slavers?"

"I guess so," said Superman, soberly.

"That's something we'll need to rectify immediately," Tanya decided. "As soon as possible, you need to be seen flying over Metropolis, following your usual routine, as if everything has returned to normal. In the meantime…" She wondered if she'd made a mistake. Would she need to return to the planet she'd rescued Superman from in order to retrieve any of the unfortunate people who'd been stolen away from Bielefeld? Had she got any of them killed in the recent slave uprising? She could only hope not. "What happened to the other captives?"

"I don't know. I was sold as a gladiator, but I don't think any of the others were."

None of the slaves Tanya had seen wandering the streets of that alien city had been human, so she presumed that the Bielefelders had been sent elsewhere. Perhaps they had purchased by a different group of aliens who wanted them to perform meaningless menial tasks that would have been easier and cheaper to do with a mechanical tool or robot helper. Or perhaps they'd been scattered throughout the galaxy, sold to many different masters, and it would be up to her to reunite them and bring them home.

She sighed. "I suppose I'd better find them."

"Thank you," said Superman, with a pleased smile and a sigh of relief. "You're a good person."

For a moment, Tanya was charmed by his faith in her. Then, reality reasserted itself: "No, I'm not. I'm a pragmatist."

"Of course you are."

"Why does no one believe me? Yes, I've helped you and many other people, but I didn't do it because it was the right thing to do or because it gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside; no, my reasons are entirely sensible, rational and reasonable. As Lucifer's appointed successor, I inherited vast amounts of negative publicity, which means that no one other than my fellow demons would be willing to work with me unless I gave them an incentive to do so – something more than mere money – that can't be dismissed as yet another cruel trick. And so, I've gone out of my way to be helpful to you, your friends and various others. Because even if people think I'm irredeemably evil, they're more likely to listen to me if I've done something to help them. Even if they don't trust me… Well, that doesn't matter. As long as I can trust them to do what's in their best interests, that's fine."

Slowly, looking contemplative, Superman said, "You're trying to save the world and prevent the Apocalypse. And it seems reasonable to expect that everyone else would want to do the same."

"Perhaps not everyone. But enough, I hope."

"But how do you expect us to be able to help you? I'm widely considered to be one of Earth's greatest superheroes, but when I was defeated and captured, you rescued me like it was nothing. You're one of the most powerful beings in the universe, so I don't see what you want us to do that you couldn't do yourself, quicker and more easily."

"I can't be everywhere at once. Protecting the Earth is a full-time job, it seems. And I won't explain all of my plans to you because I don't know who might be listening in," said Tanya, glaring up at the darkening sky. "All I ask is that you do as you always have done: keep people safe and protected; inspire them; and be the 'superhero' they need. Prevent the destruction of this world for as long as possible."

"And will that prevent the Apocalypse?"

"I have been reliably informed that the Apocalypse will begin here on Earth. Our chances of preventing it are slim at best, but they will be even slimmer if this planet has already been reduced to a blasted wasteland by the time it's supposed to happen."

Superman looked like he wanted to ask more questions, which Tanya doubted she would be able to answer. There was too little she could share with anyone that wasn't severely limited by the need for information security. Most of her plans and ideas she kept safely hidden away inside her mind. He must have realised that, or at least suspected it, since he didn't persist with that line of questioning. Instead, he changed the subject: "That planet you rescued me from… I don't know its name. It had the wrong kind of sunlight, so I found myself getting weaker and weaker. My captors noticed, which is why they kept pushing me into the gladiatorial arena, taking bets on which of their pet monsters would finally kill me." He shivered, as if the late afternoon sun was not enough to warm him. "There are still thousands of slaves there. Millions, possibly. Suffering who-knows-what torments. I wish I could do something for them."

"They are now free. I removed their chains and disarmed their guards," said Tanya.

"You saved them?"

He looked so hopeful that Tanya hated to disappoint him. Nevertheless, she said, "No. I gave them a chance to save themselves. What they do with it is up to them."

"I suppose many of them will die in the slave uprising," he said, after some consideration. Joy faded from his expression and weariness was left behind.

"Almost certainly. But that will be their choice," said Tanya. Then, as if she had any need to justify herself, she added, "I'm not a hero. It's not my job to save anyone. I gave them a chance, that's all. It's up to them to make something of it."

"Like you said, you can't be everywhere at once."

"No more than you can."

Superman sighed. Then, after a moment, he made an effort to smile again. "Still, thank you for what you did. The former slaves will be grateful, I'm sure."

"Their lives are their own. What they choose to do now is nothing to do with me."

"You don't feel any responsibility for them?"

"Do you feel responsibility for all the thousands of people whose lives you've saved during your long career as a superhero? Even considering some of the things they must have done later on?"

"I suppose I do," said Superman, after a short, thoughtful pause.

"Really? And you still get out of bed every morning? You surprise me," said Tanya. "Now… over the next few days, you should make your presence felt, but don't do anything strenuous."

"That largely depends on what happens. For example, if Metropolis was attacked by a supervillain who declared that he'd start killing people if I didn't come out to fight him, I'd feel like I had little choice but to get involved."

"Hmm. Perhaps you could work closely together with your friends from the Justice League. There's safety in numbers."

"I'll do my best to keep myself alive and safe," said Superman. "But not at the expense of my friends, the causes I hold dear, or humanity in general."

"I would not ask you to. You would have no value as a propaganda figure if it became known that you were willing to sacrifice the lives of others to save yourself."

For the next few moments, Superman's expression was a kaleidoscope of different emotions, fascinating to look upon: confusion, amusement, mild irritation, concern, and resignation last of all. Rather than give voice to any of them, he reminded her, "Earlier, you said something about finding the rest of the people who were abducted from Bielefeld…"

"Yes. I should make a start on that," said Tanya, getting up.

"And you'll bring them back home safely?"

"Of course," said Tanya, taking to the air. "What would be the point of doing otherwise?"

***

Her search for the missing people took most of a day, required her to talk politely to a number of smug, irritating slavers and would-be warlords, and resulted in a shocking outpouring of violence. In the end, her informants were only too eager to tell her that the 'human slaves' had been taken to a planet named 'Apokolips'. Apparently, it was an ecumenopolis ruled by Darkseid, the God of Evil.

When she heard that, Tanya's initial reaction was scornful derision, but as she learned more she became increasingly uneasy. Thinking back to the green-tinged desert planet she had rescued Superman from, she began to wonder if its cruel, slave-owning rulers had modelled their society on Apokolips, not Lucifer's version of Hell as she had previously assumed.

No one she spoke to seemed to think she had any chance of saving the Bielefelders. Not unless Darkseid allowed it.

Had she met Darkseid before? In the back of her mind, she suspected she might have. It was less than the ghost of a memory, but it was enough to haunt her with a vague, creeping sense of dread. She remembered that, in several of her past lives, 'the Dark Side' had been a corrupting force that had induced people to commit sickening atrocities. Was the name 'Darkseid' a reference to that? Was 'Apokolips' meant as a deliberate mockery of the similar-sounding English word 'apocalypse', which had originally meant 'revelation' back when it had been borrowed from Greek, but had since come to mean the complete and final destruction of the world, as described in the biblical book of Revelation? She suspected as much. Considering how many other languages there were on Earth and across the universe, Tanya could only presume that Being X suffered from a severe lack of imagination on top of his many other negative qualities.

Like Heaven, Hell and the Dreaming, Apokolips was on a separate plane of existence, all but inaccessible to anyone who wasn't an ethereal being or didn't have access to the pseudo-mystical technology of the New Gods. Tanya found it easily enough, after she was told that it was where she needed to go.

Drifting alone in the depths of space, Apokolips had no star to provide it with nurturing light and warmth. Instead, it was lit from within by vast fire pits, which seemed to be sustained only with endless amounts of fuel and slave labour. More pointless cruelty, Tanya realised, except she had a sneaking suspicion that, in this case, cruelty was the entire point. As far as she could tell, the majority of the planet's population was fearful, downtrodden and enslaved, to such an extent that she doubted anyone could rouse them out of their malaise and inspire them to rebel.

Whereas Lucifer's Hell had been a place of torture and punishment, ruled by a lackadaisical overlord who didn't particularly care what any of his subordinates did, Apokolips was a place of tyranny and suppression, where all hope was ruthlessly stamped out. In some ways, Tanya was forced to admit, it was worse than Hell. Darkseid, the God of Evil, had come by his title honestly, it seemed.

Most of the planet's surface was an enormous slum in which the enslaved masses were forced to live, but here and there were grand fortifications with towers that stretched up into the sky and walls so thick they were bordering on impregnable, garrisoned by 'Parademons', who were Darkseid's brainwashed foot soldiers.

Perhaps the missing Bielefelders are imprisoned in one of those fortresses, Tanya thought. It would take weeks to search them all, but that was better than searching the entire planet, which was a task she might never be able to complete.

Suddenly, she saw a bright red light, repeatedly flashing at her, which appeared to be coming from the courtyard of a huge skull fortress. Because she had no better ideas for what to do next – and she was confident that she would be able to fight off any attackers or at least escape before she was too badly injured – she decided to investigate.

There, on a large plaza, surrounded on all sides by towering walls, she found cages filled with human prisoners. They were somewhat emaciated and had suffered minor injuries, but had evidently been given enough food and water that they weren't in immediate danger of death. As she approached, she heard a few snatches of German – "Wer ist sie?" or "Was ist los?" and so on – which she took as confirmation that she had found the people she had been looking for. Before she returned them to Earth, she would have to thoroughly check to make sure none of them were sleeper agents or assassins in disguise, but for now she allowed herself to hope that her search was at an end.

Looming out of the darkness, there came a tall, burly figure, clad in heavy armor, with blood-red eyes, and a face that might have been roughly hewn from granite. "Welcome, Tanya Degurechaff," he said, in a deep, stentorian voice. "I've been expecting you."

"Darkseid," she said, recognizing him from the many warnings she'd been given. "Am I to understand that you intentionally lured me here?"

"Yes. We have much to discuss."

"Such as?"

"The one you call 'Being X'. A bothersome insect with delusions of grandeur. It would please me if you would squash him once and for all."

"Believe me, I intend to."

"And how will you manage that when you know so little of your enemy?" asked Darkseid. "You've seen his grandiose posturing, heard his demands and denunciations, and been a victim of his petty malice, but other than that he has barely touched any of your lives."

"I know him. I know his weaknesses," said Tanya, with all the confidence she could muster. "I have a plan."

"Perhaps. But will it be enough?"

Warily, Tanya asked, "Are you offering me information? If so, what do you want in exchange?"

"Just a few moments of your time, that's all. I will enjoy seeing Being X defeated and wiped from existence. If you will do that for me, I ask nothing more."

"I will be most interested to hear what you have to say," Tanya replied, choosing her words as carefully as if she were speaking to one of the faeries.

"Being X claims to be God Almighty, creator of the multiverse, to whom everyone must bow. In truth, he is a thief and a parasite, who has repeatedly stolen from his betters and claimed their works as his own. He built this universe – your universe – out of fragments and leftovers crudely stitched together, and soon he will bring it to an end. Not for any particular reason, but because this is a game he has grown tired of."

"Does that include Apokolips?" asked Tanya, gesturing at their surroundings. "Will Being X destroy this as well?"

"There are many different versions of Apokolips. What you see before you is merely a fragment of a much greater whole. An inferior copy, made by Being X, which nevertheless gave me a foothold in 'his' universe."

"For as long as it exists."

"Yes. Understand this, Tanya Degurechaff. Whether you win or not matters little to me. At best, you will rid me of a minor annoyance. At worst… never mind. Whatever happens, I will endure. I am Darkseid. I am eternal, so long as there is evil."

"And if I defeat Being X, you'll be ready to take his place. You'll crown yourself as the 'God' of this patchwork universe," Tanya realised.

"To every action, there are always consequences. When he is gone, I will bring peace and perfect order."

Puzzlement flickered across Tanya's face, forcing her expression into unfamiliar shapes. "Wait… how can I defeat him? You haven't told me anything I didn't already know."

"I've told you everything you need to know. The rest is up to you," said Darkseid, with a thin smile. "You would not thank me for taking your triumphs away from you and claiming them as my own."

"Fine. I'm leaving," said Tanya. Then, glancing quickly around, she noticed the cages filled with wretched prisoners and remembered why she had come to this forsaken place. "And I'm taking the Bielefelders with me."

"By all means. They've served their purpose," said Darkseid, turning away, indifferent. "I've kept them cooped up for long enough."

He vanished into the darkness and Tanya was left with the problem of how to transport more than a hundred prisoners between two different planes of existence and across several trillion miles of outer space without getting any of them killed in the process.

"I think we'll go to Hell first," she decided, adding an extra step to the journey, which would nevertheless shorten it considerably. "It'll be much safer that way."

Many of the Bielefelders were awake, close enough to hear her words, and spoke fluent English. They did not appear to have been reassured by anything she'd said.

***

With the help of Wonder Woman, the Martian Manhunter, and a German government official, Tanya was able to ascertain that almost all of the people she had retrieved from Apokolips were the Bielefelders who had been abducted by aliens more than two weeks before. The exceptions were a pair of shapeshifting assassins, who had been easily defeated after their disguises were revealed, and a suspiciously well-groomed gentleman who claimed to be a Lutheran minister named Georg G. Gottfried.

"He's one of Darkseid's servants," Wonder Woman explained, having recognized him almost immediately. "He calls himself 'Glorious Godfrey'."

"I'll keep him in Hell, for now," Tanya decided. "I wonder if Ran Va Daath would enjoy the pleasure of his company?"

Wonder Woman gave a small nod, but hardly seemed to be paying attention; it was clear she had something else on her mind. "It was kind of you to bring these people to your shopping mall and give them some spending money," she said, dubiously, gazing around the Bielefelders and the bags they'd filled with their accumulated souvenirs.

"Retail therapy. Capitalism in action," said Tanya. "Yes, they've suffered terribly over the past few weeks, but they're not thinking about that right now, are they?"

"I'm sure you're right," said Wonder Woman, tactfully. "But isn't it time we took them home?"

"I'd be happy to, if you're absolutely certain that Darkseid hasn't hidden any more of his agents among them."

"I'll talk to J'onn about it. Perhaps we can refine the process."

"Good idea. I'm sure these people will appreciate it," said Tanya, with her most encouraging smile.

***

Sometime later, after the Bielefelders had returned to Germany, where they would try to rebuild their shattered lives, Tanya decided there was someone else she needed to talk to.

Far beneath the sea, she found the city of Atlantis, which seemed to shift and change even as she looked at it. For a few moments, it was a city of ancient cyclopean ruins. Then, it took on an organic quality, as if it had grown out of the sea bed, constructed from coral or the shells of molluscs. As she approached, it was obscured by a wave of sandy water, which washed over it like a desert storm, leaving behind what looked rather like classical Greek or Roman architecture. Finally, when she was close enough to glide through its ancient streets, it became a modern-day city from somewhere in the USA, with skyscrapers, office buildings and apartments, shopping malls and parking lots, cars and trucks, all of them carelessly scattered across the ocean floor. And then, in less than a moment, they were all gone. Was it an illusion? A trick of the light, a peculiar quality of the waters that surrounded the underwater city, or a magical effect intended to beguile those who might otherwise bring harm to its occupants?

While she was mulling over the answers to those questions, Tanya found herself in a palace of crystal spires. She had the vague sense that there was water all around, but she was in an air pocket into which the sea could not penetrate. Here, the occupants were insulated and protected from the crushing weight of the ocean above them. "Very impressive," she said, admiring the skill and artistry with which this edifice had been built. As an ethereal being, she had no need to breathe and would not have noticed the waters pressing down on her, but still… "This is a remarkable place."

"You flatter me, Lady Tanya," said Aquaman, sitting on a golden throne, which appeared to be partially melted, encrusted with barnacles, and coated with a pale filmlike substance.

He was attended by various courtiers, all of whom appeared to be superficially humanoid, except that as Tanya looked closely she noticed that all of them had something eerie and monstrous about them: bulbous eyes, pale wormlike skin, or teeth like needles; some had fine, wispy hair that slowly wafted back and forth; and some appeared to be richly dressed, but their iridescent scales and brightly-colored fronds were immovably melded with their bodies. Were they Atlanteans? It seemed reasonable for her to suppose as much, but they were not what she had expected.

"I would appreciate it if we could speak privately, Your Majesty," she said, addressing Aquaman directly.

"Very well," he replied, signalling to his attendants. "Leave us."

When the courtiers had left the room, Tanya said, "Two days ago, I rescued Superman from where he had been enslaved on an alien planet. He was forced to fight in a gladiatorial arena, his superpowers were ebbing away, and he nearly died. I got to him just in time."

"So I've heard. I'm sure you've been thanked already, but… thank you," he replied.

"Also, I rescued some Germans who were abducted by aliens and taken to Apokolips."

"A home away from home, for them, no doubt. Still, I'm sure they're very grateful."

"Did you know that Superman and more than a hundred ordinary people had been kidnapped by aliens more than two weeks ago?"

"Yes, of course. I keep in regular contact with the other members of the Justice League."

"It would have been much easier to rescue all of them if you – or any of your colleagues – had called for me earlier," said Tanya, folding her arms and gazing sternly at him.

"I was under the impression that you didn't want us to call you except as a last resort. By the sound of it, that's exactly what Superman did. When he called you, it was as an act of desperation, when he knew he wouldn't survive without your help. That's what you wanted, right?" asked Aquaman, shining his innocent blue eyes at her.

"It will be easier to prevent the Apocalypse if people aren't already panicking and despairing," said Tanya. "For many people, you and the other members of the Justice League – especially Superman – are symbols of hope. If anything were to happen to you, it could have a devastating effect on people's morale. That's why I'm determined to keep all of you alive and well."

"But you didn't like it when I kept calling on you to help with less desperate situations, even if they might easily have become desperate without your help."

"I'm sure there must be a happy medium between 'only calling on me when you're on the verge of death' and 'calling me to help with trivial matters'."

Aquaman sighed and averted his gaze. "Very well. I will discuss it with my colleagues."

"Please do."

"By the way, I have something for you," said Aquaman, calling one of his attendants back into the throne room, who handed him a document that appeared to be inscribed on a stone tablet. "Here." He held it out to her.

Tanya gave it a distrustful glance. "What is it?"

"It's a contract for cleaning up plastic waste, oil spills and other forms of ocean pollution. We could do it ourselves, but it occurs to me that your demons could do it just as easily and efficiently, and at a competitive price. What do you think?"

"I think… I will need to study this carefully and discuss it with some of my subordinates," said Tanya, taking it from him. "Still, thank you. I hope we can do business."

"As do I," said Aquaman, leaning back on his throne. "Working together, who knows what we might achieve?"

"Preventing the Apocalypse, I hope," said Tanya.

He inclined his head. "Indeed."

***

Returning to Hell, Tanya was met by Scumspawn, who informed her that two of Dream's servants were waiting to speak to her. "Fine. Show them into my office," she said, taking a moment to examine herself in the mirror, straighten her collar and remove an imaginary speck of lint from her sleeve. As an ethereal being whose appearance reflected her self-image, none of that was strictly necessary, but old habits were not easily quashed. Also, it gave her a few moments to compose herself and her thoughts into a semblance of order.

Dream's servants were a talking raven, named Matthew, and a slender young man with white-blonde hair, who insisted on wearing sunglasses indoors, and whose name was apparently 'the Corinthian'. Whether it was a reference to the Pauline epistles, the architectural style, the ancient city-state, the hoplite helmet, the skyscraper, the thoroughbred racehorse, the leather upholstery used in certain luxury vehicles, or the names of various professional and amateur sports clubs, Tanya didn't bother to inquire.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" she asked.

"We need your help. The Dreaming is being attacked by the Furies," said Matthew. "Dream sent us to… Uh, it's a long story."

"A child was kidnapped from his mother. She believes our Lord Morpheus is the one to blame," said the Corinthian, in a voice as soft as a blade sliding from its sheath. "She summoned the Eumenides to destroy him and all his works."

"She didn't summon them to get her child back?" asked Tanya, with a raised eyebrow.

"No, uh… she's not thinking straight," said Matthew.

"She believes her child is dead and that Lord Morpheus killed him," said the Corinthian. "Revenge is all she has left."

"I see. What can I do to help?"

"We know where the child is. We know who kidnapped him. But they are hidden behind a shield of demonic magic," said the Corinthian. "We need you to remove it for us."

"Who did this? Which demon?" asked Tanya, as hellish rage smouldered within her. She burned to know which of her minions had defied her in such a manner.

"Choronzon. I guess he was holding a grudge," said Matthew.

"But Dream was merciful. I would never have freed Choronzon if he hadn't asked me to," said Tanya. "Choronzon owes him a great deal."

Matthew hopped from foot to foot, and shifted in such a way as to suggest that he was shrugging his shoulders. "All the more reason to bear a grudge, I guess. Some people can't stand the thought of owing anything to anyone."

"I have been too lenient. Too merciful. My demons need to be reminded why they fear me," said Tanya. "I'll show them. By the time I'm finished with him, what Choronzon has suffered until now will be the closest thing he has left to a fond memory."

"So, you'll help us?" asked the Corinthian, as if wanting to make absolutely sure she was on their side.

"Yes, of course. Show me this magical shield," said Tanya. "I'll deal with it immediately."

Chapter Text

The kidnappers had hidden themselves in a crumbling ruin that somehow existed between worlds, surrounded on all sides by wisps of cloud that drifted over an endless void. Perhaps it was something that had fallen through the cracks when Being X had been building his own universe out of the scraps he'd stolen from others. That seemed fairly likely, Tanya decided, provided that anything Darkseid had told her could be trusted, which in itself seemed rather unlikely.

She pushed that thought into the back of her mind. At that moment, there were more important things to think about. For instance, the ruined building was shielded by a magical barrier, fuelled by demonic energy: Choronzon's work, no doubt.

It proved no obstacle to her. As soon as she applied the least amount of pressure, it shattered and faded away to nothing. But there was something else beneath it, barely perceptible, like early morning mist. Another layer of defense? Experimentally, she batted it out of the way, watching as it wafted back and forth, seemingly harmless and insubstantial. It didn't seem to be doing anything; she could walk through it without difficulty, but she was filled with foreboding nonetheless. There was a cloying, sickly sweet scent in the air.

'Some kind of drug?' She wondered, for a moment, and then turned to the Corinthian and Matthew the Raven. "Can you feel that? Is it having any effect on you?"

Matthew gave an awkward avian shrug. "Dunno."

"Not at all," said the Corinthian.

Of course, they were both dreams, not creatures of flesh and blood. Many things that would be deadly to ordinary human beings – radiation, poisonous gases and so on – should have no effect on them. But if it was some kind of magical trap, it might have been specially designed to target them and their ilk. They should tread carefully. But she wasn't about to tell them that. They were Dream's employees, not hers. He had assigned them to this task, so he must have believed them capable of it. As far as she could tell, they were competent: they'd managed to track Choronzon and the kidnapped child to this secret hideout in the middle of nowhere, which seemed like an impressive feat. Tanya had no idea how they'd managed that. And they'd had the good sense to seek assistance when they encountered an obstacle they couldn't get past, rather than jeopardize their mission. It would seem that Dream had chosen well.

She advanced deeper into the ruin. It wasn't particularly large, so it didn't take long to find their quarry. The central chamber was dark, lit only by the flickering orange light from a fireplace heaped with burning logs and what looked like a child's doll. As she entered the room, she was assailed by various illusions, the first of which resembled Dream of the Endless himself – and then there were walking corpses, giant spiders and other things that were presumably meant to scare her – but it was a simple matter to brush them aside.

And there was Choronzon, cowering on the floor. The firelight made his bubblegum-pink skin glow as if red-hot. That gave Tanya a few ideas for how to punish him. But first…

"Lady Tanya! He made me do it! I never wanted to!" he gabbled. "I… I owed him a debt and I had to repay it! You understand, don't you?"

"You were only obeying orders, were you? Some would say that's no excuse," said Tanya. "Where is the child?"

Wordlessly, Choronzon pointed a quivering finger at the fireplace. "Ssss."

After so many lifetimes, Tanya was rarely surprised by anything, so the feeling was almost as shocking as the realization that what she'd assumed was a lifeless doll was in fact a little boy. He was perhaps two or three years old, sitting amidst the roaring flames with a bemused expression on his face. His clothes had crumbled into ash, but he was seemingly unharmed. Even the wispy blond hair on his head had failed to catch fire, despite the intense heat.

Dashing over to him, Tanya scooped him up into her arms and away from the fireplace. Glaring at Choronzon, she demanded to know: "What have you done to him?"

"We burned away most of his mortality. In another few days, we would have had all of it," said an unfamiliar voice. Lurking in the shadows, there was a misshapen, vaguely humanoid figure, with a wiry frame, pointed ears and a goatlike beard. Its eyes gleamed as red as fresh blood. "Never mind."

Without warning, it sprang into the air, landed on the nearby wall, darted across it like a lizard, and escaped through a window.

Tanya was about to give chase, but first she turned to Matthew and the Corinthian, who had followed behind her. "Guard him," she said, indicating Choronzon. "Make sure that he doesn't escape."

Matthew tried to say something, but she didn't stop to listen. Instead, she launched herself into hot pursuit, speeding after the red-eyed creature as it bounded along on powerful legs, over walls and onto the roof, until at last it seemed she'd brought it to bay.

"What are you?" she demanded to know.

"I am called Robin Goodfellow, the Puck, and many other names besides. A merry wanderer of the night, former jester to the king of faerie. A trickster. A ne'er-do-well. A will-o'-the-wisp. Perhaps you've heard of me." He gave an insouciant bow, yawned and stretched, and then dropped into a squatting position, as if her presence bothered him not at all.

"Why did you steal this boy?" Glancing down at the child, who seemed content to nestle in her arms, she began to worry that there was something wrong with him. He was so quiet and still. He was a toddler, barely more than a baby, so… shouldn't he be crying and wailing at how he had been mistreated?

"What does it matter to you? You never cared before about the games that faeries play. I've stolen many children in my time, left many a changeling in its crib to stare with old eyes from a baby's face."

"He's a changeling?" asked Tanya, holding the boy at arm's length and examining him carefully.

"Much more than that. And less, now we've leeched his mortality from him."

"He seems human."

"So he does," Robin Goodfellow agreed. "For now. He is what he was born to be."

Tanya adjusted her grip and cradled the boy more securely. "Who's behind this? Who sent you and Choronzon to steal the boy?"

"I could tell you endlessly, and perhaps you expect me to, but I lack the time and the inclination–"

"One of the Endless." Tanya nodded, having suspected as much. "Desire, perhaps? Their antipathy for Dream is well known."

A savage grin spread across Robin Goodfellow's narrow face. "Up and down, up and down, I will lead you up and down. I am feared in field and town. I will lead you up and down."

"I'll get nothing useful out of you, but you might lead me astray," Tanya surmised. "And yet, I have you cornered. Don't you want to bargain for your freedom?"

He did not reply. Suddenly, he was enveloped in mist: the same cloyingly sweet mist she'd noticed before, which she'd suspected was part of a trap. When it vanished, mere moments later, he was gone with it, leaving no trace behind.

Try as she might, Tanya couldn't tell where he'd gone or how. She didn't doubt that she could track him down, eventually, but it would take far more time and effort than she was willing to spend. He'd planned his escape well.

"You win this time," she murmured, graciously conceding defeat. Then, she hurried back to the chamber where she'd found Choronzon, concerned that he might have planned a similar escape.

Instead, she found him whimpering on the floor, black ichor oozing from the holes where his eyes used to be. The Corinthian was holding a knife stained with the same substance. Matthew the Raven was nowhere to be seen.

Her brow furrowed. "What happened here?"

"He… he… gouged out my eyes!" Choronzon wailed.

"That much is obvious," said Tanya. Giving the Corinthian a dubious glance, she continued: "He was no threat to us. I told you to guard him. Why have you done this?"

"I needed to see what he's seen. To know what he knows. To answer a few questions." Black tears trickled down from behind the nightmare's mirrored sunglasses. He seemed to stare at the child in Tanya's arms.

"And what did you find out? Who sent him to kidnap the boy?"

Choronzon lifted his head up off the floor, a beseeching expression on his eyeless face. "Ssss. It was Dream! Dream of the Endless! I only did what he told me to do!"

For several moments after that, Tanya was silent, transfixing the Corinthian with her most penetrating stare. Then, finally: "Is that true?"

He hesitated for too long, until it seemed certain that whatever he said next would be a lie. "I… I can't be sure. There's too much…"

Perhaps Tanya should have been enraged and angrily demanded an explanation. Instead, she felt nothing but mild annoyance and exasperation. Barely anything at all. Really, she should have expected to be disappointed.

"I'm taking the child. He'll be safe with me," she decided.

"I have been instructed to bring him back to the Dreaming."

"What would be the point of that? How will that appease the Eumenides?" Tanya slowly shook her head. "No. I'll return him to his mother, in the waking world, when I can be sure he's not in danger of being kidnapped again."

"That is… unfortunate," said the Corinthian, pulling a scrap of cloth out of his pocket and using it to clean the knife that was dripping with Choronzon's demonic ichor. Tanya suspected that he was considering the pros and cons of stabbing her with it. "My master will not be pleased."

"I am far beyond caring about what does and does not please your master."

There was silence while the Corinthian considered her words. A flicker of interest lit up his face. Then: "Is this betrayal?"

"You tell me. I'm feeling very betrayed right now." Tanya took a deep, steadying breath. Pure theatre, of course. "I suggest you return to your master and tell him what happened here. If he wishes to express his displeasure with me, I hope he will have the courage to do so in person."

"When and where would you like to meet him?"

"At the earliest possible juncture. Not in his realm or mine: nowhere that either of us would have an obvious advantage over the other. Neutral territory. Lucifer's nightclub in Los Angeles would be suitable, I think."

"Wasn't Lucifer your boss until quite recently? Don't you think he'd side with you if it came to a fight?"

"He might do. Or he might find it amusing to sit back and watch. It would be foolish of me to rely on him to fight by my side. But if there was a sudden outbreak of violence, I'm certain he would intervene to prevent anyone from damaging his beloved nightclub."

For a moment, Corinthian looked like he was about to voice further objections, but he must have reconsidered. "Understood," he said, inclining his head slightly. "I will relay your message to my master."

"Thank you," said Tanya, watching as he faded from sight. She wondered what had happened to Matthew the Raven. Was he lurking somewhere nearby, watching her? Or had he been called away to deal with some other matter, something she was unaware of?

After some consideration, she decided that either way, she didn't particularly need to know, so long as she didn't have to do anything about it.

Still with one arm around the oddly quiescent boy, who was clinging to her like a baby koala, she lifted Choronzon with her other hand. He had gone limp, but his feeble moans informed her that he was still conscious.

"Back to the Blackest Pit with you," she decided. "There, you'll have plenty of time to heal and think about what you've done."

When he made a few noises of protest, she informed him: "I'm being merciful. I had planned to do much worse. You should thank me."

"Thk you. Ssss," he mumbled.

"You're welcome," she told him, as she dragged him back to Hell.

***

There were plenty of sinners in Hell who had skills and knowledge that Tanya did not. For instance, despite whatever crimes they had committed in life, some of them knew how to be good parents. She vaguely remembered that she'd been a mother at least once – or had that only been a dream? – but in the centuries since then, she'd forgotten everything that might have been relevant. Besides, she had neither the time, the inclination nor the patience to care for the little boy she'd rescued. Therefore, after carefully vetting a group of damned souls who all claimed that in life they'd been loving mothers, she was happy to hand him over to them. He reacted to this as stoically as he did anything else. Even when they were fussing and cooing over him, he barely seemed to notice.

Apparently, the boy's name was Daniel. It was one of very few words he'd said since she'd pulled him out of the fire, so presumably it belonged to him, but she couldn't be certain. She passed it on to her agents on Earth, just in case any of them heard of a missing child by that name. It wasn't much, so she wasn't hopeful.

When Choronzon had accused Dream of masterminding Daniel's kidnapping, she would have dismissed it as an obvious lie if not for the Corinthian's suspicious behaviour. By the time she returned to Hell, she had convinced herself that there must be some other explanation. Perhaps Choronzon's memories had been altered, or he'd been fooled by a cunning shapeshifter, or she should have interrogated him more thoroughly to make sure he wasn't lying. Perhaps the Corinthian was disloyal to his master and had deliberately tried to drive a wedge between him and Tanya. Perhaps Dream would explain everything when she met him in a few hours' time. She hoped so. The alternative was unthinkable.

It made no sense that Dream would have ordered Choronzon and the Puck to kidnap Daniel. What could he possibly gain from it, even if the boy's mother hadn't summoned the Eumenides to take revenge? Why hide him in a mouldering ruin instead of bringing him back to the Dreaming? Why get Tanya involved? What was the point of any of this? And so, she was convinced that this was all a misunderstanding.

Dream had responded promptly to her request for a meeting. Soon after she had returned to Hell, he had sent Matthew the Raven with a message agreeing to meet with her in Lucifer's nightclub and suggesting a range of possible times. She had been curious as to where Matthew had gone while the Corinthian had been brutalizing Choronzon, but he hadn't offered an explanation and she hadn't asked. Instead, she focused on what was really important: finding out who Daniel's mother was, returning him to her, and clearing up this whole mess before it got any worse. The fact that Dream had been willing to meet with her and had made no attempt to prevaricate must surely be a good sign, she thought.

Even so, she made sure to warn Lucifer in advance, just in case. It was the polite thing to do.

***

It was early evening, long before the nightclub was likely to be busy, but there were still a few people dotted around the place, here and there. Lucifer was wearing his usual suit, as elegant and casual as ever. There was an attractive blonde woman with him, which was to be expected, although she looked somewhat older and more professional than his usual hangers-on. In human form, he was unusually tall, whereas she was of more-or-less average height, which meant that she looked diminutive by comparison. Tanya sympathized, of course; she knew exactly what it was like to be dwarfed by everyone around her.

Looking around the room, Tanya recognized Beelzebub, in human form, sitting with… Was that the archangel Gabriel? They were deep in conversation, to the extent that they barely seemed aware of their surroundings. Their hands were in an awkward, unnatural position, not quite reaching across the table, as if they yearned to touch each other but didn't dare to make the first move.

Tanya raised a curious eyebrow. When she had suggested to Crowley that he and his agents should try to 'establish a cordial relationship' with some of the angels, she hadn't intended that they should do that by seducing them. She suspected that her instructions had been deliberately and creatively misinterpreted. On the other hand, who was she to argue with success?

Considering that the angels had been battling demons for millennia, it was bizarre that they were susceptible to such tricks. She would have thought that by now they would know to be wary of honeyed words and other blandishments. Still, if Being X was unaware of this vulnerability, she wasn't about to inform him. In the war that was soon to come, she'd need every advantage she could get.

Daniel was with her, as quiet and well-behaved as ever, as she led him gently by the hand. He had a solemn expression on his face.

"Cute kid," said the blonde woman who was standing with Lucifer next to the bar. "Couldn't find a sitter?"

"Actually, I'm trying to return him to his parents. But I don't know who or where they are," said Tanya.

"That sounds like the sort of thing the police should get involved with," said Lucifer, sounding delighted by the prospect. "What do you think, Detective?"

The blonde woman nodded and looked thoughtful. "Have you tried contacting the police about this?"

"I wouldn't know where to start. I couldn't tell them any of the things they'd want to know. I don't know where he comes from or who his parents are, or if he's a US citizen, or even what his real name is – I think it's Daniel, but I can't be sure. That's why I've come here. I've arranged to meet someone who can tell me everything I need to know."

"Everything? I'm not sure we have that much time," said Lucifer. A wry grin spread across his face. "You're full of surprises, Tanya. With you, I never know what I'm going to get."

"Which I choose to take as a compliment," she replied.

"I suppose introductions are in order," said Lucifer. Indicating the blonde woman, he began: "This is LAPD Detective Chloe Decker, my partner. By which I mean we solve crimes together, not that we share a bed–"

"Because we don't," Decker hastened to add.

"So far, she has proven to be oddly resistant to my charms, but I'm working on it. Also, she used to be an actress. Have you ever heard of Hot Tub High School?"

"I'm sure it's a classic. But I rarely have time to indulge myself with such things."

"I was topless in one scene," said Decker, obviously trying to pre-empt whatever Lucifer was about to say next. "I was nineteen years old at the time. More than fifteen years ago."

"And yet you've never been allowed to forget it. You have my sympathies," said Tanya. "I suppose we must all carry our pasts around with us, wherever we go and whatever we do."

For that, she received a warm and seemingly genuine smile from Decker, who turned to her partner and said, "Lucifer, I thought you were going to introduce us. Who is this lovely young woman?"

"This… is Tanya Degurechaff," said Lucifer. "When I retired, I left her in charge of Hell."

Decker had a look of fierce concentration on her face, as if she were holding back dozens of questions. In a strained, tight voice, she said, "Right. How's that going?"

"I think Lucifer gave me the job because he thought it would be funny. At first, I made a lot of mistakes. There were times when I thought about quitting. But recently I've been doing better. Things have settled down, for now. There will be difficult times ahead, but… I'm going to do the best I can."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Decker. Then, glancing down at Daniel, she did a double take, as if she'd forgotten his presence until that moment. "So, uh… how did you get involved with… whatever's going on with him?"

"I was informed that one of my employees had got himself involved in something… criminal. When I confronted him, he admitted it, and begged for mercy, and said he'd been forced to do it by someone he owed a favour to. One of the things he'd done was to this boy, Daniel. I rescued him and now I want to return him to his parents," said Tanya, sticking to the basic facts and leaving aside all of the details that might be distractingly supernatural or otherworldly.

Decker took a deep breath and closed her eyes as if in pain. "Did you consider telling the police about this at any point?"

"In Hell, she basically is the police," Lucifer pointed out. "Who was she supposed to call?"

"Usually, I delegate matters of law enforcement to my employees. But I am the highest authority. The buck stops with me," said Tanya.

"I see," said Decker, sounding unconvinced.

"You don't believe us, do you? You don't believe that Lucifer is the Devil, or that I'm the current ruler of Hell, or anything we've been saying. And yet you live in a world inhabited by superheroes whose powers cannot be explained by science, that has repeatedly been invaded by aliens, mythical monsters and extra-dimensional beings. Why are you so determined to believe that there is a rational explanation for any of this?"

"You're right. There are a lot of strange things going on in the world. I'm not disputing that. But there are also con artists, liars, illusionists, people who've been brainwashed or deceived, and the mentally ill. I'm not saying you're any of those things, but I think it makes sense to maintain a healthy skepticism. Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, right?"

"An eminently sensible point of view," said Tanya. An amused smile threatened to break through her iron mask of self-control. "You're a woman after my own heart."

"Hey, back off! I saw her first!" cried Lucifer, in a teasing, jocular tone.

Tanya decided to tease him back. Workplace banter didn't come easily to her, but it was a valuable skill, so she'd worked hard on it. In many places, career advancement seemed to depend largely on one's ability to endear oneself to one's superiors, which meant that it was never a good thing to be seen as someone who 'couldn't take a joke'. No matter how unfunny their jokes were. Similarly, bantering with colleagues was supposedly good for morale and team building, and she had always been keen to be seen as a team player.

"Oh, you think a woman like this can be owned by you – or anyone?" she asked, making a show of looking Decker up and down, and giving her an appreciative nod. "She deserves to be adored and treasured and treated as if she were a queen… isn't that right?"

"Sounds wonderful," said Decker. "But I expect I'd have to rush off to make sure my daughter's okay and everything's ready for school tomorrow, or I'd be called in to work at short notice, or there'd be an emergency I'd have to deal with. Romance just isn't the same as it used to be. That's all part of growing up, I guess."

"Hmm. Well, if you ever want to 'adore and treasure' each other, I'd be interested in watching," said Lucifer.

Decker rolled her eyes. "In your dreams."

"And what pleasant dreams they will be." Lucifer smirked. "Anyway… can I get either of you a drink? Tanya, what would you like?"

"I liked the cocktail you gave me last time, with the coffee beans in it."

"One espresso martini coming up. And you, Detective?"

"Nothing for me, thanks."

"What about you? Daniel, was it?" asked Lucifer, bending down to him. "Maybe some fruit juice?"

For a moment, there was no sign that Daniel was paying any attention to him. Then, gravely, the little boy gave a small nod.

"Make sure to dilute it," Decker suggested.

Lucifer looked contemplative. "I've got some coconut water."

"Just do what you think is best, so long as it's non-alcoholic. And it's in a plastic cup," said Tanya.

"Of course. What do you take me for?"

Lucifer sauntered off. While he busied himself with making drinks, the two women had the opportunity to talk privately.

Decker gave Daniel a significant glance, then looked at Tanya and said, "If you need help, I'll do what I can. I'm a homicide cop, so kidnappings aren't something I normally deal with, but I can get you in touch with the right people. If you need backup… Lucifer and I will back you up, no problem."

"I appreciate it. And I will certainly bear that in mind," Tanya replied.

"Okay… I hope everything works out."

"How did you meet Lucifer, anyway? And how did he become your 'partner'?" asked Tanya, changing the subject. "That sounds like an unusual arrangement."

"Oh, it is," said Decker, with a long-suffering sigh. "Officially, he's a 'civilian consultant'."

Tanya wasn't an expert on US law, so she didn't know how much involvement Lucifer was legally allowed to have in Decker's day-to-day detective work, but she was willing to bet that he consistently and cheerfully overstepped whatever boundaries had been set. "And unofficially?"

"He's a pain in the ass, but there have been a lot of cases I couldn't have solved without his help. It's not always been smooth sailing, but… We're partners. We work well together." Decker gave a small shrug. Then, remembering Tanya's original question, she said: "I first met him when I was investigating the murder of a young woman who was shot dead in front of him. He'd helped her get her big break in the music industry – and I think he was very fond of her – so he was determined to punish whoever was truly responsible for her death." She paused for a moment, grimaced and said, "To cut a long story short, we joined forces and started working together. We found the culprit, brought him to justice, and we've been partners ever since."

Several possible reactions flashed through Tanya's mind. The first was that Decker's version of events made Lucifer sound rather benevolent, whereas the Lucifer she knew was a capricious monster with a cruel sense of humour, motivated entirely by his need for amusement and stimulation, who would have been a terrifying despot if he hadn't been so apathetic. Perhaps he was going soft. But rather than comment on that directly, she decided to continue her earlier teasing: "You make him sound so noble. A knight in shining armor," she said, fanning herself theatrically.

"He's a smug, lecherous prick," said Decker. "If you want him… bear in mind that he's had almost everybody else." She snorted derisively. "Still, he has his good points."

"Do I feel my ears burning?" asked Lucifer, returning with a tray of drinks: cocktails for himself and Tanya, and a complicated concoction for Daniel, which had chunks of fruit floating in it. It did at least appear to be non-alcoholic and in a plastic cup, even if it wasn't the sort of thing that young children would normally be expected to enjoy. He handed it to the little boy, who sipped it solemnly, without spilling any of it.

"We were discussing your new hobby. I must say, I'm impressed. I hadn't expected you to spend your retirement doing something for the benefit of society. Most men in your position seem to take up golf instead," said Tanya.

"Hey, you take that back!" cried Lucifer, putting on a show of injured dignity. "I may have rebelled against God and ruled over the legions of Hell for billions of years, but I'm not all bad! I never did anything to deserve golf!"

"Hilarious. The two of you should be on the stage," said Decker, not bothering to conceal her lack of enthusiasm.

"It's too early in the evening for that sort of thing, but… How about it, Tanya? Do you know any good tunes?" asked Lucifer.

"Not tonight. I have serious business to attend to."

Gazing at the nightclub's main entrance, she knew Dream of the Endless was due to arrive at a moment. Sure enough, as if summoned by her expectant thoughts, he appeared in the doorway. Her eyes examined him, assessing every detail, as if this were the first time she'd set eyes on him. Had she ever truly known him, she wondered, or had he been deceiving her since the moment they'd first met?

He was as tall and pale as ever, dressed entirely in black, with a weary, defeated air about him. His face was expressionless and his eyes were pools of darkness. He met her gaze with his own and they regarded each other in silence until Tanya decided she might as well get started. This was likely to be a difficult and unpleasant meeting, but there was no point in delaying it any longer.

"That's him. That's the man I came here to see," she said, putting down her cocktail glass. It was empty, though she barely remembered tasting it.

"You'll want some privacy, I'm sure. Perhaps one of the back rooms?" Lucifer suggested.

"That would be prudent."

"And, like I said, if you need backup, we'll be nearby," said Decker.

"I doubt it will come to that, but thank you."

Daniel was examining the slop at the bottom of his cup, seeming fascinated. Tanya took it from him, gathered him up in her arms, and marched over to where Dream was waiting. "Good afternoon, Dreamlord. I appreciate your coming to see me at short notice."

"Under the circumstances, it was the least I could do," he replied, in a voice drier than a desert breeze.

"I presume the Corinthian has informed you of what happened when we rescued this boy," she said, holding Daniel a little closer. He didn't seem to mind being coddled.

"Indeed he has."

"Lucifer has offered us the use of a private room where we can discuss this matter without being overheard. Shall we go there now?"

"No matter where we go, no one will hear anything I do not wish them to," said Dream. "But if it puts your mind at ease… I don't mind."

"This way," said Lucifer, beckoning for them both to follow him.

Chapter Text

The public face of Lucifer's nightclub, Lux, was one of obscene luxury. Its furnishings were opulent and extravagant, a monument to wealth and hedonism, hinting at sinful delights in every shadowy corner. However, in the backrooms, ornamentation had given way to function. Even a pleasure-house of revelry and excess, where those with money could indulge themselves to their heart's content, needed facilities for the staff, which meant washrooms, dressing rooms, a kitchen, and places for them to take their breaks. Also, there was an office for administrative work, apartments for some of the employees – such as Mazikeen – who were permanent residents, and enough storerooms to keep the nightclub well-stocked with everything it might reasonably be expected to need.

The room to which Lucifer escorted Dream and Tanya was none of those. Perhaps it had once been intended as a conference room, but it seemed unlikely that it had ever been used as such. A long table and some chairs stood in the middle of the room; they looked brand new, as if they'd only just been assembled. The surfaces were polished white, stark and soulless, except for a set of rectangular windows on one side, through which the fiery orange sky could scarcely be seen peeping over the city skyline. In general, Lux was kept scrupulously clean, for which Tanya was glad, but this room had a pristine, perfected showroom quality. A faint chill seemed to emanate from the walls, as if they'd been hewn out of ice.

Lucifer's gaze swept the room. "This should suffice," he decided. "Don't you agree?"

"It's fine. Thank you," said Tanya.

An indifferent nod from Dream.

"I'll leave you in peace," said Lucifer, regarding them with some apprehension and giving special emphasis to the word 'peace'. "Unless there's anything else you need."

"No, thank you," said Tanya. "You've been most hospitable."

"Indeed," said Dream.

Lucifer gave an extravagant bow, turned and left the room.

Before doing anything else, Tanya set Daniel down beside her, trusting that he would behave himself and not go running off. Sure enough, he remained as docile and tractable as he had been since she'd met him.

Then, as if by unspoken agreement, she and Dream took up positions on either side of the table, as if it were a physical symbol of the distrust that had grown between them. For some considerable time, silence was their closest companion, as they considered each other and the conversation they were about to have, and drew up their plans and battle lines, much the same as if they were preparing for war. At least, that was how Tanya imagined it; perhaps Dream thought differently.

"Ask your questions," he said, at last. Evidently, he felt that they'd delayed for long enough.

First of all, Tanya thought it best to establish the basic facts: "Who is this boy?" she asked, indicating Daniel, who was gazing up at her with big, curious eyes. Actually, she couldn't be sure she was calling him by the right name, so she made sure to ask: "What is his name?"

"Daniel Hall."

Tanya felt fleeting satisfaction that she'd been correct about that. "Who are his parents?"

"His mother is Lyta Hall, who summoned the Eumenides to destroy me. She lives here in Los Angeles. I believe she once visited this establishment."

"Convenient. And his father?"

"A ghost. Nothing more than a memory of a dead man, as imagined by his grieving widow, while she was languishing in dreams."

"But still capable of impregnating her," Tanya surmised.

"Indeed. Lyta Hall is an unusual woman in many ways."

"So what does that make Daniel? Why kidnap him?"

"He was born in dreams. That makes him special. When he is fully-grown, he will have great power."

Tanya felt as if she were on a hunt, creeping ever closer to her prey, circling around him and getting ready to strike. "Choronzon and his co-conspirator, the Puck, were trying to burn away his mortality. Why would they do that?"

"If they had succeeded, Daniel would no longer be human. He would be an immortal being, a creature of dreams."

"Like the Corinthian or Matthew the Raven?"

"To an extent. But he would be much more powerful than them or any of their fellows. And, unlike them, he would have no restraints."

"He's just a child. He doesn't have the knowledge or experience he'd need to make good use of such power," Tanya pointed out.

"Undoubtedly, he'd need someone to guide him," said Dream. His voice was toneless, his face was expressionless, and his eyes were lost in shadow.

"Choronzon told me that you were the one who ordered him to kidnap Daniel and burn away his mortality," said Tanya, watching him closely. She wasn't expecting much of a reaction, if any; the Corinthian should already have told him exactly what had happened in the kidnappers' hideout. If he made a show of acting like he was surprised by Choronzon's allegations, that would be suspicious – but even if he was guilty, surely he wouldn't give himself away like that?

Dream gazed unblinkingly at her for several moments, long enough that she wondered if he'd gone into a trance. Then, with a sigh, he said, "Do you believe that?"

"No. It makes no sense. I can't see what you would gain from doing so. And it has caused you a great deal of harm," said Tanya. "But how can I be sure?"

"What if I told you I had nothing to do with it? Would you believe me?"

"I would give you the benefit of the doubt. Choronzon is not what I would call a reliable witness," said Tanya.

She was aware that, although she would like to believe that she was an entirely rational being, there had been times when she had been overly influenced by emotion and bias. Nevertheless, she felt confident that this was not one of those occasions: other than what Choronzon had said, there was no evidence to suggest that Dream had been involved in Daniel's kidnapping. But that didn't mean she was going to stop questioning him; she was in need of information.

With a sigh, Dream said, "Fine. I had nothing to do with Daniel's kidnapping. Does that satisfy you?"

"Yes, actually. Thank you for your cooperation," said Tanya. "But who was responsible? And why?"

"I have lived for billions of years and made innumerable enemies. Any one of them could have done it. As for why…" There was a pause. Then, reluctantly, Dream continued: "If I die, my throne will not remain vacant for long. Someone will replace me. There are a number of possible candidates. Daniel is one of them."

Tanya was gripped by horror and understanding, but she had to make sure: "What determines which candidate will take your place?"

"Some of them are more suitable than others."

"Presumably, burning away Daniel's mortality would have made him a more suitable candidate."

"Indeed."

"They want to kill you and replace you with their own candidate: a little boy they can easily manipulate," said Tanya. "How can we stop them?"

"What makes you think we can stop them? They've already won," said Dream. "Even as we speak, my realm is being destroyed. I've lost everything." There were notes of bitterness and exultation in his voice. Some men were like that: they never felt more alive than when they were staring death in the face.

"You're still alive, aren't you? You're still fighting. You haven't lost yet," said Tanya, in her most encouraging tone of voice.

"I admire your optimism."

"We'll win. Together, you and me."

"Has it occurred to you that perhaps I deserve this, for everything I've done. Because of how I treated those I loved most. Nada, Calliope, Orpheus… and many others."

Tanya hesitated, frowned and shook her head as if to rid it of any doubt. "That's… that's not for me to judge."

"You're the ruler of Hell," Dream reminded her. "You decide who gets punished, how, and for what reason. Who else should judge me if not you? God? The one you call Being X?"

"It doesn't matter. The ones who masterminded this scheme, who manipulated Choronzon and had him kidnap Daniel, didn't do it to punish you. They did it to seize power for themselves. But I won't meekly step aside and let them win. And neither should you. Are you with me?"

"As always, you are an inspiration, Tanya."

'Where do we go from here?' Tanya wondered, in the privacy of her own mind. 'First of all…' She looked down at Daniel, who was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, staring at nothing in particular. 'Should I be worried about that?'

"If I return him to his mother, will he be in danger of being kidnapped again?" she asked.

"No. He has already served his purpose. The Furies have been unleashed. Events have been set in motion that cannot be halted."

"According to the Ancient Greek myths, it's happened before," said Tanya. "That's what The Oresteia is about. Perhaps we could get the goddess Athena to intercede on your behalf, just like she did for Orestes."

Since they had emphatically refused her offer of an alliance against Being X, she didn't want to contact the Ancient Greek gods again, but she would if she had to, for Dream's sake.

"You shouldn't believe everything you read," he replied. "Sometimes myths are nothing more than myths."

"That sounded awfully condescending. I'm only trying to help."

He winced. "I know. Even if it doesn't seem like it, I am grateful, truly."

"I'm going to return Daniel to his mother. What is her address?" asked Tanya.

Dream told her. As far as she could tell, there wasn't anything special about it. An ordinary house in an ordinary street. It should be easy enough to find.

"You should return to the Dreaming and defend it as well as you can. I will come to you," she promised.

"I will await your arrival," he replied. "Farewell."

"Farewell," she echoed him, as he vanished from sight.

Then, cradling Daniel in her arms again, she returned to the bar area where Lucifer was waiting. By this time, Decker was gone. Apparently, she had work she needed to be getting on with.

"Thank you for your help," said Tanya.

"It was the least I could do," Lucifer replied. "No problems, I take it?"

"Plenty of problems. It's a complicated situation," said Tanya, contemplating the conversation she'd just had. Could she trust that Dream had been telling the truth? He was a trusted ally – much more so than Choronzon, who might have been tricked or had his memories altered even if he hadn't outright lied to her – so was it wrong that she still had suspicions lurking in the back of her mind? She hated the feeling of uncertainty, not knowing who her enemies were or if she might soon come under attack.

"Did he tell you where to find Daniel's family? If that is his name, I mean," said Lucifer.

"Yes. His mother lives here in Los Angeles. She once visited this nightclub."

"That… is a remarkable coincidence. Almost unbelievable," said Lucifer, with a raised eyebrow. "But, as Pratchett said, million-to-one chances crop up nine times out of ten."

Tanya laughed politely, but her mind was on other things: "It's time for me to go. Perhaps I'll see you again soon."

"You're welcome anytime. I'm sure the Detective would like to see you again. She seemed to enjoy your company." Lucifer paused and struck a thoughtful pose. "But she didn't like my idea for a 'Devil sandwich'. I thought for a moment she was going to slap me."

"I don't want to know," said Tanya, turning away. "Goodnight."

The last thing she heard as she departed was his cheerful reply: "Yes, goodnight!"

***

The city of Los Angeles was huge and sprawling. Daniel's mother had a tiny apartment in one of its many suburbs. When Tanya arrived there and rang the doorbell, no one answered. It didn't appear that there was anyone home. There were lights and television noises coming from some of the other apartments, but this one was dark and silent.

Tanya considered what to do next. It was possible that Lyta Hall would be back soon, having gone out for groceries or on a similar errand, but that seemed vanishingly unlikely. After her son was kidnapped, she must have been frantic with worry, so perhaps she was staying with a friend who was trying to comfort her, or she was down at the police station, begging them to do something, or there was some other reason why her home was deserted. Whatever the reason, it wouldn't be easy to find her.

Should she go to the police, as Decker had suggested, and hand over Daniel to them? Or send her demonic minions to search the city for any trace of Lyta Hall? Or reach out to some of her other contacts? There were a number of options available to her, but she decided that first she would search the apartment, just to make sure there was no one there. Perhaps there would be some clues as to Lyta's current whereabouts.

Physical doors and locks were no obstacle to her. She stepped inside as easily as if there was nothing blocking her way. Then, as she looked around the tiny apartment, she sensed magic in the air. Human magic, of the kind that Constantine had used to imprison her. Was this a trap? Should she have been wary of entering this place?

Nothing happened. Nothing leapt out of the shadows to attack her. There was nothing to impede her progress. The magic didn't seem to react to her presence in any way.

Entering the bedroom, she found a white-haired woman asleep on the bed, which was surrounded by candles and an arcane circle drawn in blood upon the floor. It reminded her very much of the circle Constantine had used to trap her in the cellars of Fawney Rig, except that this one appeared to have been designed to keep supernatural creatures out rather than trap them inside.

The white-haired woman was not old, but her face was etched with grief, misery and undernourishment. Her clothes were ragged, her eyes were red-rimmed, and she was smeared with grime and greenish gunk, which had a sickly-sweet odour and was probably meant to have some mystical significance.

And there was someone else in the room: a woman of indeterminate age, with a narrow face, oversized spectacles and honey-blonde hair, wearing a nightdress that might have been pale blue or green depending on how the light touched it. It took Tanya a few moments to recognize her.

"Thessaly. One of Dream's ex-girlfriends," she said, frowning at her. "I had not expected to see you here."

"Likewise. I had expected Dream to come here himself. In fact, I hoped he would." Thessaly's smirk had a gleeful, ghoulish quality. "But he sent you instead. I wonder why."

"He didn't send me. I came here of my own accord, because I wanted to return Daniel to his mother," said Tanya, indicating the child in her arms.

"I'm sure you believe that."

Tanya refused to be baited. She put Daniel down on the floor and watched as he wandered closer to the arcane circle. "Is that Lyta Hall?" she asked, pointing to the woman on the bed. Although she appeared to be asleep or unconscious, she must have been insulated from the Dreaming somehow, presumably by drugs or magic, or else Dream of the Endless would have power over her. Instead, she was beyond his reach.

"It is. I'm here to protect her," said Thessaly.

"Why?"

"Because she needs protection, of course."

"How did you know that? Who sent you?" Tanya demanded to know.

"The Three… don't want their game to end too soon. So, I… I made a deal with them. I bought a little more life, maybe a couple of thousand years. Every little helps. And they agreed to forget some old scores."

"The Eumenides did that?"

"Yes."

Tanya paused, mulling over this new information. She watched as Daniel tried to enter the arcane circle and smacked head-first into an invisible barrier. Stumbling backwards, he landed heavily but didn't cry out. Briefly, she wondered if she should try to comfort him. But it didn't seem necessary; the expression on his face was as solemn as ever.

"If he were human, he'd have no trouble getting into the circle. He'd probably have broken it by accident," said Thessaly, conversationally. "But he's a supernatural creature now. There's not much left of Lyta's little boy."

"Did you know this would happen?"

"I suspected. Why else would they have kidnapped him?"

"I don't know. I'm still trying to ascertain the facts," said Tanya. "For instance… your romance with Dream ended badly, so I've heard. Do you still bear a grudge against him? Did that influence your decision to take this job?"

"Not at all. It was fun, for a while, but it was never going to last. I dumped him and that was the end of it," said Thessaly. "I'm here because I'm getting paid. That's all."

Tanya thought that Thessaly was protesting too much, but she didn't comment on that. Instead, she tried a different tack: "You are a mercenary, of sorts?"

"You could say that, yes."

"Mrs. Hall was the one who unleashed the Eumenides. Could she call them off, if she regained consciousness and saw that her son had been returned to her?"

"No. Dream spilled family blood. That is why he is being tormented, not because of anything he did to Mrs. Hall or her son."

"She can do nothing to control them, now that they have been set loose. Except…" Tanya paused her musings, stricken by a sudden thought: "I wonder… if she were to die, would the Eumenides be leashed again? Is that why you were hired to protect her?"

Thessaly's silence was answer enough.

"If Dream is slain, he will be replaced by Daniel, who is barely more than a baby," said Tanya, glancing at the little boy, who was sitting just outside the arcane circle. "He would be easy prey for anyone who wanted to use him to gain control over the Dreaming. In doing so, they could exert undue influence over countless billions of people across the universe, most of whom spend at least a third of their lives asleep."

"A diabolical plan," said Thessaly.

"Are you insinuating that I had anything to do with it?" asked Tanya, with a raised eyebrow. "No… in fact, the reverse is true: I intend to stop it."

She stepped forward: swiftly, deliberately and with purpose, like the crack of a whip. Thessaly scurried after her, trying to get in her way.

"Lyta Hall must die. I have no desire to kill her, but the alternative is worse. Her death will prevent billions of people from being enslaved, brainwashed or having other horrors inflicted upon them while they are asleep." Tanya grimaced. She knew that by murdering an innocent, she would be proving that Being X had been right: she deserved to be in Hell. Nevertheless… "I've done much worse things for much less noble reasons."

"You'll have to get past me first," said Thessaly. "Besides, you cannot cross the borders of my arcane circle. There are rules, you know."

"Do you imagine that you or your feeble barrier could stop me? Fine, I'll play along," said Tanya, with a careless handwave. "To what extent are you loyal to your current employers? How much would I have to pay for you to willingly step aside?"

"You couldn't possibly afford me. And anyway, you have nothing I want."

"I doubt that very much. I am the ruler of Hell. I'd imagine you've made a few enemies during the course of your extended lifetime. Sooner or later, perhaps one of them will succeed in killing you. Then, you will arrive in Hell, where I will be waiting."

"Are you threatening me? I expected better of you." Thessaly put on a derisive sneer. "But of course, I shouldn't have."

"By all means, imagine that I have any need to threaten you," said Tanya. "I'm being merciful. If I wanted to, I could blast you from existence. Your arcane circle would be a formidable barrier if I were trapped within, but here on the outside there are dozens of ways that I could break through it without needing to get too close. It would take me a few minutes, perhaps." Despite the words that spilled from her open mouth, she hesitated, willing to be persuaded, considering all her options before she did something irrevocable.

Thessaly shuddered, moistened her lips and said, "You're a fool if you think killing Lyta will make any difference. Since Dream killed his own son, anyone could send the Furies to torment him. It doesn't have to be her. She's just a convenient pawn."

"And if I were to kill her, they'd soon find another. It would be meaningless," said Tanya, feeling more relieved than she'd be willing to admit to anyone. Although she was willing to commit murder for a good cause – or even for a bad one, depending on the circumstances – she'd never been the kind of psychopath who would kill someone for no reason at all, no matter what her enemies might think of her. "A good argument. You've convinced me."

She stepped back, away from the arcane circle and the unconscious woman.

"Well, it was nice of you to drop by," said Thessaly. "If you need me, you know where to find me. I'll be taking care of Lyta here. And her son, since you've been kind enough to bring him home. Don't you worry about us."

"I'm not worried, but I have a few questions."

"You may ask. Maybe I'll answer."

"Who's behind this? Who manipulated Lyta Hall into acting as their pawn? Who is trying to kill Dream of the Endless?"

"I think you already know," said Thessaly.

Tanya thought back to when she'd confronted the kidnappers. "Puck implied that one of the Endless sent him to kidnap Daniel. I thought it might have been Desire, but Choronzon insisted that it was Dream himself."

"There you are. That's your answer."

"But… why would Dream destroy his own realm? That makes no sense," Tanya protested, even as doubt assailed her mind.

"I'm sure it makes perfect sense to him," said Thessaly, in a voice tinged with irritation. "He was always a melodramatic show-off, for whom the slightest disappointment was worthy of an epic lament."

"To such an extent? Even to the point of trying to commit suicide?"

"That's the kind of man he is."

It occurred to Tanya that Thessaly might not actually believe what she was saying: perhaps she had latched on to the first plausible explanation that stood a chance of convincing her unwanted visitor to go away. But no matter whether it was true or not, it was something she'd need to investigate.

"I need to talk to him," she said. "If what you've said is true… I want to hear it from his own lips."

"Yes, yes, off you go," said Thessaly, waving a dismissive hand. "Don't bother to write."

Tanya took a farewell glance around the room: at the comatose woman on the bed, the little boy sitting on the floor, and Thessaly, whose disrespect was so blatant that it seemed calculated to infuriate. How should she react? Would it be better to punish the wretched woman or act as if anything she did was unworthy of notice?

"I'll deal with you later," she decided, as she faded from sight.

Without waiting for a reply, she vanished through the boundaries that separated the different planes of existence. As promised, she was once again on her way to the Dreaming. Soon, she would confront Dream and hear whatever excuses or explanations he had to offer. She wondered what he would say and if it would lessen her desire to throttle him. It wouldn't do any good, but it would make her feel better, at least.

Chapter Text

The Dreaming had become a nightmare. Where once there had been magical forests and golden meadows, fairytale castles and glittering palaces, emerald cities and paper towns, hidden libraries and secret gardens, now there was an ashen wasteland, strewn with rubble and misshapen corpses. Torrents of rain fell from the sky, threatening to wash away the last pitiful remains of Dream's kingdom. Circling high above, like malevolent storm clouds, there were three monstrous shapes: vaguely feminine, but with talons, fanged mouths and feathered wings. One of them was a withered ancient, another was plump and large-breasted, and the third had a suggestion of youth and savage beauty about her.

They must have noticed Tanya as soon as she arrived. With a shrill cackle, the eldest of the three spirits gestured towards her and said, "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."

"Turn, hellhound, turn!" cried the youngest.

"How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags? What is it you do?" asked Tanya, as if compelled to join in their play-acting. Then, grimacing, she shook herself and said, "No, enough with the Macbeth quotes. I know you. The Eumenides, I presume."

"We have many names," said the third spirit, whose appearance was partly that of a plump and matronly woman and partly that of a ferocious monster. "You call us the Kindly Ones. Others have been less kind."

"They call us the Furies," said the eldest. "The Weird Sisters."

"Maiden and mother and crone," said the youngest, who presumably rejoiced in the title of 'the Maiden'.

"Madonna and monster and whore." A bellow of raucous laughter from the third spirit, with a wide smile on her apple-cheeked face.

"The Three," all of them said as one. Their voices echoed like thunder, back and forth across the ruined landscape.

"But… of course, we are much more than hollow archetypes. Much more than we were born to be," said the Maiden. "Just like you, son of man."

"I did not come here to banter with you, ladies," said Tanya. "I need to speak with Dream of the Endless. May I pass?"

"Why? So you can conspire with your ally? Fight beside him?" The Crone sneered. "Will you save him from us?"

"Do you love him, dearie?" asked the Mother, making kissy noises.

"Of course not. I'd like to think I'm not that much of a fool. I remember what he did to Nada. And, more than that… he has repeatedly lied to me. I must have words with him."

The Maiden put on a sharp-toothed smirk. "And why should we allow you to do that, son of man?"

"I'd have thought you'd be in favour. It would be another way to torment him." Tanya paused, scowling. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"That's what you are, isn't it? Or is it?" asked the Mother.

While Tanya hesitated, bemused and uncertain of whether or not she should be offended, the Mother continued to press her: "You've never really embraced what you are, have you, dearie? It was just something else to blame on 'Being X'. Another reason to hate him."

"Until at last you accepted it with the same weary resignation you regard everything else. You don't feel anything these days, do you? Even when you're showing off for your underlings, it's just a performance," said the Crone. "Where is your passion, young one? What happened to your grand speeches, your fiery denunciations? How did you lose the cruelty with which you slaughtered the people of Arene?"

"I don't remember that. It must have been thousands of years ago, in another universe," said Tanya. "How can you possibly know about that? Why should I believe anything you say?"

"We know everything you know, even if you're not aware you know it. So long as it's relevant to us and what we are. It's all part of the wossname. Female principle," said the Mother. "Yin yang, Shiva and Shakti, and so on."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tanya replied, with all the dignity she could muster.

"Of course not. There's none so deaf as those who don't listen."

All three seemed amused by that. The Crone gave a hoarse cackle, the Mother started chuckling at her own 'joke', and a tinkling of musical laughter came from the Maiden.

Then, a predatory expression on her face, hovering above her in a manner that reminded Tanya of a carrion bird eyeing its next meal, the Maiden said, "Has it ever occurred to you, even as a possibility, that the reason why you've been reborn as a woman so many times is that you are a woman, no matter that you were born in a man's body that one time?"

"Is it so surprising that if someone is forced to wear a mask often enough and for long enough, they'll get used to it? Does it really matter?" asked Tanya. "I am what I am."

The Maiden softly snickered. "By the grace of God, as Saint Paul wrote in his first letter to the Corinthians?"

"No. Of course not."

"Exactly. You are what you are: all woman," said the Mother, in a voice booming with triumph. "God – or Being X, or whatever you call him – has nothing to do with it."

"Oh, so Being X wasn't trying to torment me by repeatedly putting me in the wrong body. Perhaps I owe him an apology," said Tanya, in a voice that was so thick with sarcasm that she could barely force it past her lips.

"By blaming him for every happenstance, you've given him power over you. Forget about him, dearie," the Mother advised her.

"How can I forget about him if he won't leave me alone?" Tanya scowled and shook her head. "Your wisdom is a sham: my own doubts reflected back at me. Absolute nonsense."

The Three gave no reply. They continued to hang in the air, blotting out the stars, taking on various different shapes. For a moment, they were a vast swarm of winged insects, then a huge and shadowy monster with three heads, then a trio of celestial bodies far beyond the clouds, and many other things besides. Tanya wondered if they were trying to find a form that could defeat her. If so, they would be trying for a long time: she was confident that she could overpower them, if she was given no choice but to fight.

"Enough of this. I must speak to Dream of the Endless," said Tanya. "Let me pass."

"We're not here to indulge you or anyone else," said the Maiden, in a sickly sweet voice.

"We're here to punish," said the Crone. She had become something barely humanoid: squat and monstrous, with a lamprey-like mouth filled with rows of teeth.

"Dream killed his own son. We're here for revenge," the Mother explained, as if an explanation were needed.

"Yes. I know that," said Tanya. "I know what he did. It was a mercy."

"Doesn't matter," said the Mother. "He broke the rules, so he must be punished."

"If you let me pass, I will make it easier for you," Tanya persisted. "When I've finished, he will no longer have the strength to resist whatever you want to do to him."

Even as she spoke, she didn't know if she was telling the truth – and did it matter? She just wanted to speak to Dream. She wanted him to explain what he'd done and why. Whether her actions benefited the Eumenides or not made no difference to her.

They seemed to notice her uncertainty. More mocking laughter echoed throughout the heavens.

"Why should we believe you?" asked the Maiden. "You, whom the Father of Lies chose as his successor?"

"I suppose there is little point in arguing with you. I doubt there is anything I could say that would convince you," said Tanya. Nevertheless, she felt that it behoved her to exhaust every diplomatic option she could think of, even those she had already dismissed as unlikely to work, before resorting to violence. "Lyta Hall was the one who sent you to take revenge for her missing son, wasn't she? Her son has now been returned to her and she no longer has any need for revenge. Does that matter to you?"

"Not at all. It never did," the Crone replied. "She merely set things in motion."

Tanya nodded. A moment later, she tried a different tack: "I don't suppose I could persuade you to allow him to be tried by a jury of his peers? Like Athena did for Orestes?"

"You've been reading too many books, dearie," said the Mother, with a chuckle.

"Yes, that's what Dream said. But so have you, judging by what you've said so far in this conversation: the Bible and the works of Shakespeare, at least."

"Mortals are malleable things, easily bent, twisted and pulled apart. For them, the laws are somewhat looser," said the Crone. "But Dream is of the Endless. An eternal being, bound by universal laws. Immutable and unchangeable. Just like us."

"We can't decide not to punish him any more than he can escape his punishment," the Maiden added.

"Oh, he could have defended himself and his realm, if he'd wanted to," the Mother disagreed. "If he'd stayed here in the Dreaming, he could have made its walls impenetrable. He would have been trapped here, unable to get out, but he would have been safe." She grinned, exposing teeth like splinters. "Until you called him and demanded a meeting in neutral territory. He foolishly agreed, rushed over to you, and left behind his kingdom. He must have known that we would destroy it while he was gone, but that didn't stop him."

"It's all your fault. This happened because of you, young one. You're the one to blame," said the Crone, with a wide, sweeping gesture at the devastation all around. "At least, that's what Dream wants to think. He'd rather blame anyone but himself."

"Ridiculous. I asked him to meet with me, but he didn't have to come. I didn't force him to do anything. He made his own choices, stupid though they may have been."

"Yes," the Three agreed with her, speaking as one. "And now he must accept the consequences."

Tanya tried again: "Will you allow me to speak with him, just for a few moments?"

"No. We don't trust you," said the Maiden.

"It's better that you don't. Forget all about this worthless man and find yourself another. Move on with your life," the Mother advised her.

"Get hence," said the Crone. "Carry on with your own miserable existence. Mind your own business."

"So… just to be clear, there is no possibility of my persuading you to step aside? No matter what I say or do?"

"None," the Three confirmed.

For as long as she could remember, Tanya had believed that calm, composure and professionalism were admirable traits in a leader, and had strived to behave as she believed a leader should. Nevertheless, emotions had their uses, sometimes.

"You give me no choice," she said, gathering her power and fuelling it with all the rage, pain and humiliation she kept buried deep within her. Before the Three could react, she had filled the sky with fire. By making her first strike as devastating as possible, she hoped there would be no need for a second.

All around her, there was a massive explosion, deafening noise and unbearable heat, that seemed to go on and on, unrelenting. She kept it going for as long as she could, watching as the Three burned like wax, like will-o-wisps pierced by the harsh sunlight, melting and withering and fading away until nothing was left of them but a few greasy stains. And then, not even that.

"That will not stop them, you realize," said a weary voice. It was one she recognized: it belonged to Dream of the Endless. "They'll be back. They're never far away."

In a few moments, the landscape of the Dreaming had rearranged itself so that now she was standing before a rocky pinnacle. Dream was sitting on top of it. He was slumped, pallid and listless, shirtless and shoeless, wearing only a pair of black trousers belted at the waist. His long hair was loose, flapping in the wind, growing increasingly sodden as the rain continued to fall.

"It will take them some time to recover," Tanya replied. "Long enough."

Rather than have him look down on her, she flew up to him. Hovering in the air in front of him, she said, "I have returned to Daniel to his mother. They are being guarded by Thessaly." Then, when he didn't react, she added: "Your ex-girlfriend."

"That's good, I suppose," he replied, without any visible signs of interest. "Did you ask her to do that?"

"No. The Eumenides did. They paid well, apparently. If the Apocalypse doesn't happen in a few years' time, Thessaly will get to live a few more centuries."

Was that a nod? Or just the wind ruffling his hair, making it seem as if he'd moved? Either way, it was barely perceptible.

Tanya paused, considering what she wanted to say. How to express what she felt at that moment? Bitter recriminations? Angry denunciations? Should she demand an explanation? Did it really matter what she did or said?

"The Crone was right," she murmured.

Dream inclined his head, just slightly. "About what?"

"She said I don't care about anything these days, that even when I make a show of being angry or frustrated – or whatever – it's just a show. A performance. Like you might see at the theatre or in a movie. It's just pretend." Tanya heaved a dismal sigh. "I mean… I've been informed that you've deceived me. You've used me and betrayed me. Is that true?"

"Do you care?" asked Dream, with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course not. All of my rage and hatred is reserved for Being X. Compared to him, you're nothing, no matter what you've done."

He subsided into silence once again. She flew over to him and sat down next to him, legs hanging over the edge of the precipice. They sat together, two weary immortals, like tattered old crows huddling together for warmth.

"You could still fight," she murmured. "While the Three are gone, you could erect new defences to keep them out. Here, you would be safe and you could rebuild the Dreaming just the way it was… for a couple of years. Until Being X erases everything."

"I don't want to. I've had enough."

"Just two years left. That's all. You can't wait that long?"

"For nearly fourteen billion years, I have been the lord of dreams. I have not always been a good ruler. I have been cruel, petty and vengeful; I have ignored the needs of my subjects and those I claimed to love; and I have caused a great deal of suffering."

He paused, as if waiting for Tanya to say, "Including your own," but she did not. Instead, she politely waited for him to finish his monologue.

"Since I killed my son… the Dreaming has not been the same. Or perhaps I was no longer the same. I still had my obligations… but even the freedom of the Dreaming can be a cage of a kind."

"You could leave. Come with me to Hell. I will keep the Eumenides far away from you," said Tanya, offering him her hand. "Together, we would be unstoppable."

"Do you believe that? Do you honestly think that together we could defeat the one you call 'Being X', otherwise known as God, the source of all things?"

"Perhaps not," she admitted. "But with you by my side I'd have a much better chance than I would on my own."

"But if we were defeated, it would mean an eternity of suffering on top of what I have already endured. I couldn't bear it."

"What does that mean? You'd rather end your life here and now, forcing someone else – like that poor little boy, Daniel – to take your place?" Tanya snapped. "You disappoint me, my friend. I once called you an abuser because of what you did to Nada, but I didn't think you were a coward as well."

"Do not presume to judge me. You have lived for a few thousand years at most, but already you are weighed down by exhaustion and ennui. What would you be after fourteen billion years? I doubt there'd be much left of you."

There was a pause, during which Tanya scooted away from Dream so there was at least a metre between them.

Dream sighed heavily and forlornly. "I don't deserve to be forgiven, Tanya. I don't deserve you, your friendship or anything else from you. I'm not sure why you ever bothered with me at all. You knew Nada before you met me – she told you what had happened to her – so you always knew what kind of man I was."

"I'm not sure what I hoped for. But I thought you'd always be there," said Tanya. "I suppose I was looking for something constant in my life. Someone who could provide me with reliability and stability, even in the midst of chaos. Not one of my subordinates, or my former boss, or a mortal who could die at any time. An equal."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted," said Dream.

"I suppose it doesn't matter really. None of this matters," said Tanya, hardening her heart. Stone by stone, she reinforced her inner walls, through which no emotions could escape.

Tentatively, Dream reached out and said, "I… have a gift for you, Tanya." A gemstone appeared in his hand, sparkling with a rosy inner light. "Take it."

"Trying to win me over with jewellery, are you?" she asked, warily.

"No. I'm returning to you something you have lost."

"So, it's not really a gift, is it?" She rolled her eyes. "But never mind."

She took it from him. It crumbled to pieces, becoming a rich dust, which was absorbed into her, as if through her skin or an inhaled breath. And she remembered. She remembered her first life, when she'd been a Japanese salaryman. He did the same dull job every day, sucking up to his superiors in the hopes of being promoted, until finally he was murdered by a disgruntled employee. But all of that faded into insignificance by comparison to her memories of her second life: the war that had engulfed most of Europe; the thrill of aerial combat; the fury and frenzy of battle; the headlong rush of excitement that came from risking her life time after time.

And Visha, her adjutant. In more than one life, Visha had been her true love. A beautiful woman with soft brown hair and large blue eyes, who made the best coffee Tanya had ever tasted…

More than once, she must have lost her memory and relived her second life all over again, making different choices each time. She'd romanced Visha multiple times, never knowing that she'd done it before. A few times, she had met and fell in love with other people, but Visha was the one she had loved best, who shone brighter than all the rest. Now, looking back, she remembered everything about her: her smile, her kindness, her scent, her hair, her steadfast loyalty, the warmth in her eyes, her sleek and supple body, and much more. She wanted to lose herself in those memories for as long as possible, to hold on to everything she had lost, but she could not. They were already fading again.

She remembered when she'd been in love, how real it had felt, far greater than any of her more recent fumbling attempts at flirtation. The heights of ecstasy and ardency, of joy and gladness, of knowing that she loved someone and was loved in return, that someone treasured her as much as they did anything, and she felt the same for them…

All of her walls came down. She was sobbing, bent over, with tears streaming down her face, mingling with the rain. Half-blind and barely capable of speech, she turned to Dream and demanded to know: "W-w-why… why w-would you d-do this to me?"

"You deserve to know who you are. To remember what you once were," he replied. "Would you rather have remained ignorant?"

"Y-y-you are the cruelest and stupidest person I've ever met!" She raged at him, still sobbing, so overcome with misery that she didn't care that she was being childish and silly, that her actions were unseemly and unprofessional, or about anything else other than easing the pain in her metaphorical heart. Dignity and composure lay discarded and forgotten. "I hate you!"

She took to the air and flew away, as fast and far as she could, trying to escape. As she left, Dream muttered a few words, which were carried to her by the wind, even though she'd already left him far behind: "I don't know what I was expecting to happen."

As she flew, she noticed someone walking the other way: a woman with alabaster skin and raven hair, entrancingly beautiful. It was Dream's sister, Death, who looked lovelier than ever. Tanya was tempted to go to her and beg her to… What? What exactly did she want? Visha brought back to her? She was long gone, thousands of years ago and in another universe. There was no way Death or anyone else could bring her back. It was too late.

I want an end to this… all of this. To die, to sleep… at last. But she knew Being X would never allow it. He would simply bring her back and continue to torment her.

Tanya forced herself to calm down, to think rationally and logically about what was going on and what she should do next. She realised that it didn't matter how fast or far away she flew because she couldn't leave the Dreaming that way. Instead, she would have to open a portal. That was a simple matter, easily done, since Dream was making no attempt to prevent her from leaving. In a matter of moments, she was gone.

She didn't look back. She didn't see Death approach Dream, sit down beside him, engage him in conversation, and finally take his hand. She never saw him again.

Chapter Text

Dream's funeral procession was followed by countless multitudes of men and women, beasts and monsters, alien beings, lost souls, and even stranger things from across the cosmos. Tanya walked with them, her head held high. With her horns, batlike wings and stern countenance, she was sufficiently intimidating that the other mourners gave her plenty of space and made no attempt to engage her in conversation.

There were the pallbearers, carrying Dream's coffin. One of them was Lucifer, which Tanya hadn't expected. He looked grim and serious, more so than she'd ever seen him before.

Ahead of them, carrying a book, there was Dream's brother, Destiny, robed and hooded so that nothing could be seen of his face. With him was one of Dream's most trusted servants, a man Tanya had seen before but never spoken to, who was carrying a flag.

Among the crowds that came after, Tanya recognized a few: Odin and Thor; Bast and Anubis; Queen Titania of Faerie; the angel Duma; Death and Desire of the Endless. They all walked – or flew, or rode their horses – along the path through the Dreaming, slowly and solemnly.

Superman and Lois Lane were there too, walking hand-in-hand. Their eyes were fogged with sleep and they moved as if in a hypnotic trance, seeming barely aware of their surroundings. Many others like them were in a similar state; they were mortals who had fallen asleep, wandered into the Dreaming and been caught up in proceedings. Most likely they wouldn't remember any of it when they awoke.

Gazing all around her, Tanya looked for the other members of the Justice League – and for any other mortals she knew – but the funeral procession was incredibly long, so any familiar faces were lost among the multitude.

The Dreaming had been remade, just as it was before, as if the Furies' depredations had never happened. There was a new Dream King in the palace: Lyta Hall's little boy, Daniel, had ascended the throne, become the new Lord of Dreams and Nightmares, and was now waiting until his predecessor's funeral was over. Tanya was resolved to leave before then; she had no desire to meet him.

Several of Dream's siblings, friends, or former lovers gave speeches, sharing their memories of him, some of which were fonder than others. Almost all of them eulogized him and mourned his death, but there were a few who were more ambivalent. Whatever they had to say, their voices rang out loud and clear, over an enormous distance, so no one in the crowd had any difficulty in hearing them.

Calliope, the Muse of epic poetry and eloquence, told the story of her love affair with Dream, which had lasted until the horrific fate of their son, Orpheus, had driven them apart.

Despair said how much she had admired and cared for her brother, though he was a creature of hope and she was the opposite.

Desire talked about the bonds of family, which had ensured that, no matter how much they and Dream disliked each other, or how they bickered, or what grievances they had nurtured over millions of years, they could never completely be rid of each other. Apparently, their lives would have been greatly improved if they had not been siblings, had never met and been unaware of each other's existence.

Queen Titania of Faerie gave a long speech about how she was going to keep her opinions to herself, which made Tanya wonder why she'd bothered to say anything at all.

Bast confessed that she and Dream had never been lovers, which she now deeply regretted.

Thessaly told everyone that Dream had loved her until he grew tired of her, which was when she realised that she had never truly loved him, after which she had left him and vowed to never again shed a tear for him. She was weeping as she spoke.

When Delirium was persuaded to speak, she said there had been times when she'd been afraid of her big brother, but she felt sorry for him now.

The angel Duma didn't say anything, but shed a single tear for Dream's passing, which was very poignant, emotionally affecting, and so on.

Death was as lovely as ever. Her speech made Tanya feel perfectly at ease, peaceful and meditative, for a few moments, even if afterwards she was unable to remember exactly what had been said.

And there were others. So many. Tanya herself was not one of them. No one asked her to share her memories or opinions of Dream, for which she was glad.

When the procession reached the palace gates, there was a lull in the proceedings. The teeming crowd dispersed into smaller clusters. Refreshments were provided. Many of the canapés would not normally be regarded as foodstuffs, but in the Dreaming they were surprisingly tasty and safe to eat. These included shards of antique pottery, slices of mandrake root that had been oven-baked and delicately seasoned, and anthropomorphic candies that seemed excessively enthusiastic about the prospect of being eaten. Tanya sampled a little of everything, trying to distract herself from her low mood.

The wine of dreams was heady stuff. Apparently, it was made from printer ink, imaginary fruits, sea serpent venom, the distilled tears of anguished lovers, and even more exotic substances. Tanya didn't care about that. The more she drank, the less she cared about anything at all.

Millennia pressed down on her. She felt unutterably weary. Nevertheless, she refused to succumb to depression and suicide as Dream had done. 

She was determined to be happy. But how? What did that mean? And where should she begin?

There were plenty of things she could try. She was aware that many sought happiness in mindless hedonism, but it didn't seem like any of them succeeded, not really. Theirs were cautionary tales, warnings of what not to do. Others claimed that happiness could be found by seeking new experiences, breaking free of routine and responsibilities, doing something fresh, daring and exciting. And there were those who swore that their greatest happiness came from companionship, friendship, and spending time with their loved ones. However, Tanya didn't have any friends or family, or even the most casual lover. Not in this life. Perhaps she should find one.

Despite having analyzed the problem and considered multiple options, Tanya was unable to decide upon a firm course of action. Still, there were possibilities…

New experiences. A friend. Someone to love.

'Fine. It's got to be worth a try,' she told herself. She would make an effort. One way or another, she would be happy again.

John Constantine was there, talking to three other men who wore trench coats that weren't quite as shabby as his. One of them wore a domino mask, a fedora hat, and a gaudy medallion around his neck; one of them was hiding his eyes behind thick dark sunglasses; and one of them had a blandly handsome face, wore a trilby hat, and was otherwise rather nondescript.

Sauntering over to them, Tanya said, "Constantine." She tasted the word, as if it were marinated it in the wine she had drunk, and found it to her liking. "Won't you introduce me to your friends?"

He looked startled, as if she'd suddenly appeared out of nowhere. "Uhh… I think it would be for the best if I don't," he said, plastering a smile over his face. Giving a nod to his fellow trench coat enthusiasts, he gave them a few muttered apologies and then walked away from them, beckoning for Tanya to follow.

"Lady Tanya," he said, when he'd retreated to safe distance, far enough away from everyone else that it wasn't inevitable that they would be listening in. "What can I do for you?"

"Ashamed to be seen with me, are you?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"I was trying to avoid a fight. Mister E is a religious nutcase and the Phantom Stranger is… I'm not sure what he is, but there are rumours that he's one of God's agents on Earth. Whatever the case, I think it'd be for the best if you stayed away from them, just for today. I mean, we're at a funeral."

Tanya nodded her understanding. "Very sensible of you."

"Anyway, was there something you wanted?"

Gazing at him, Tanya considered for a moment. Dream's final gift had torn away many of the lies and illusions with which she habitually shrouded herself. It had been painful, like tearing open a wound and dousing it with disinfectant. She felt uncomfortable and exposed, having been stripped of many comforting falsehoods. Nevertheless, her vision was a little less clouded than before. She looked back on some of her past actions and felt ashamed.

In particular, the way she had treated Constantine was unacceptable. He was one of her employees and – despite the fact that he was understandably wary of her and had given her no encouragement – she had been flirting with him. Previously, she had told herself that it was for his own good, that she was trying to keep him on his toes, and that his being defiant and mildly annoyed was more useful than to her than if he was in a depressive funk. However, if she was being honest with herself, she was forced to admit that the real reason was that she found him attractive. She had allowed her feelings to get in the way of what should have been a prosperous business partnership. Moreover, since her advances clearly made him uncomfortable and could even be construed as sexual harassment, she had created a hostile work environment for him. For a long time, she hadn't cared about her employees' feelings, mainly because the majority of them were demons who delighted in torture and suffering, but Constantine wasn't like that. She needed to do better.

Why did she find him attractive, anyway? He had numerous odious personality traits. He was slovenly, showing little sign of caring about himself or his appearance, even after she had healed him to a state of physical perfection. He was hedonistic, with a fondness for cigarettes and alcohol – although recently he seemed to have given up the cigarettes, at least. In many ways, he was a ruthless, unpleasant individual, with a tainted reputation, who'd caused the deaths of several of his friends due to carelessness, foolish decisions, and his habit of making dangerous enemies. Worst of all, he was a former enemy who had proven his willingness to do madly, desperately stupid things in the name of survival, such as when he had kidnapped her and trapped her in a magical prison. If she had any sense, she'd stay as far away from him as possible. Was she suffering from Stockholm Syndrome? Or did she have abysmally awful taste in men, as evidenced by the fact that... Ugh, she might as well admit it, if only to herself: despite everything he'd done and everything she disliked about him, she'd felt drawn to Dream of the Endless. She wished things had been otherwise.

Anyway, Constantine was mortal, which meant that he was doomed to die in just a few decades, even if she somehow defeated Being X and prevented the Apocalypse. The sins he had committed meant that he was all but guaranteed to end up in Hell, at which point she would elevate – or perhaps reduce – him to demonhood, just as Lucifer had done for her. It would be the equivalent of providing him with seed capital with which to start a new business. She was confident that he would be a worthwhile investment. His cleverness, esoteric knowledge and ruthlessness should ensure that he would quickly rise up Hell's hierarchy. Eventually, he might be a suitable consort, but… No. She shouldn't start thinking about that. That was a rabbit hole she might never climb out of.

She couldn't help comparing him to the memories she had recently regained: her first love, Visha, with whom she'd spent multiple lifetimes. Constantine was very different to her, almost her polar opposite, and not just in terms of gender and appearance. Although Visha had been a veteran soldier with more than a dozen confirmed kills to her name, there had been an innocence about her; on the battlefield, she was a fierce warrior, but whenever she was off-duty she was a sweet and idealistic young woman. Constantine, on the other hand, was cynical and hard-bitten, and had never been a soldier; he preferred to use his wits, trickery and shocking boldness to get himself out of trouble, and rarely resorted to violence. Visha had been bright, cheerful and reliable, whereas he was jaded, dark and dangerous. They were nothing alike.

Tanya frowned. Had her tastes changed so much over the millennia? Did she no longer think that she was worthy of someone like Visha? Or had she made an unconscious decision to try to stop trying to relive the past, to stop wallowing in the happiness of times past, and move on to something new?

"Uh… Tanya? Something on my face?" asked Constantine, with a raised eyebrow.

"How are you?" she asked, realising that the silence between them had dragged on for much too long.

"I'm fine." He gave her a quizzical glance. "Anything else you want?"

She took a few moments to come to a decision. Since her final, fateful meeting with Dream of the Endless, during which she'd had an emotional outburst of which she was now ashamed, she had regained her equanimity; once again, she was capable of thinking calmly and rationally without being unduly influenced by sentiment or bias. Therefore…

On the one hand, John Constantine was thoroughly unsuitable as a romantic partner and anyway she had much more important matters to attend to; dallying with him should have been very low on her list of priorities. On the other hand, she liked him, they worked well together and… was it really so wrong that she wanted to find what little happiness she could in the time she had left, whether it be love, companionship, or recreational activities, with Constantine or someone else? Having been confronted with the fact that she wasn't a coldly emotionless being motivated by pure logic, that she had romantic and sexual desires of her own… Well, what should she do about that?

Either way, she needed to talk to him. But not here. There was a time and a place for such things and 'at a funeral' wasn't one of them.

"There is something I would like to discuss with you. Perhaps tomorrow, or in a few days, whenever you have time," she said slowly.

"Huh. Sounds ominous, but all right. Any particular place?" he asked.

"Wherever you feel most comfortable. I will make sure to be suitably attired."

His lips twitched, but he didn't say anything; rather, it appeared that he was making an effort to hold himself back from saying something inappropriate. After a strained pause, he muttered, "Well, you know where I live."

"I do."

"Tomorrow's fine. In the evening, maybe, around seven o'clock?"

Tanya nodded. "I'll see you there."

"Is there anything you need me to do before then?"

"That's up to you."

He tried to make a joke of it: "I'll be sure to put on clean underwear, that sort of thing."

"You never know your luck," Tanya agreed.

"Right…" Several emotions vied for control of his expression: uncertainty, curiosity, amusement, and others. "I'll be seeing you."

Another nod, after which Tanya turned away. Away from Constantine, the dying moments of Dream's funeral and the Dreaming itself. It was time for her to go.

***

When she returned to the house where she'd found Lyta Hall, Tanya discovered that the poor woman had awakened in panic and confusion, still covered in gunk and dressed in filthy rags, glancing wildly around and gabbling about Daniel.

Thessaly was there too, speaking in a sickly-sweet voice with an undertone of menace: "You… are a pawn who briefly became a knight… or a queen. And you've just been taken off the board."

"You're talking nonsense," said Lyta. "Was I drugged or something? I was looking for Daniel…"

"As I understand it, your actions have ensured that you will never see Daniel again," said Thessaly. "I'd take a shower and then start running, if I were you. Lots of people are going to want to hurt you or kill you for what you've done. Including me."

Or maybe it wasn't just an undertone of menace…

"That's enough," said Tanya, stepping into the room. She had assumed human form, which meant that her horns, wings and other demonic traits were not visible, and was wearing her usual business suit. "Mrs. Hall can hardly be blamed for how others have used and manipulated her. Including you."

Thessaly's eyes widened. She took a deep, shivering breath. "You. I had not expected to see you again."

"The last time we met, you were very rude to me. Did you think that I would forget?"

"I…" Making a visible effort to marshal her faltering expression into one of grim determination, Thessaly asked, "What do you want?"

"Know that Lyta Hall is under my protection. If anyone harms her, I will make sure they live to regret it."

"A few days ago, you were ready to kill her!"

"That was for purely utilitarian reasons. I believed that by ending her life I would save the lives of billions, if not trillions," said Tanya. "I was wrong and I am sorry for it. But I never hated her or blamed her for what had happened."

"W-what's going on? Who are you?" asked Lyta, who was shaking and in tears.

"She's the Devil," Thessaly told her, with an unpleasant smirk.

"I am Tanya. I came here because…" She paused, considering several possible reasons before settling on: "You have my sympathies."

"Um. Thanks, I guess."

"I suggest you take a shower and put on some clean clothes while I deal with Thessaly here."

"Okay," said Lyta, hurrying out of the room.

Tanya waited until she heard the shower running before she addressed Thessaly again: "I heard your speech at Dream's funeral last night. How touching. Almost as if you hadn't sided with his enemies and set him up to die."

"He wanted to die. What I did made no difference."

"And yet you seemed quite willing to persecute Mrs. Hall for what she did, no matter that she stumbled or was pushed into it, and was never given any real choice in the matter. There is a place in Hell reserved for hypocrites, you know."

"There is a place in Hell reserved for nearly everyone," said Thessaly, scornfully tossing her head. "Why else did you think I've gone to such lengths to extend my life?"

Tanya gave her a considering look. "Whatever else I might think of you, I can't deny that your magical talents could be useful to me. I may wish to avail myself of your services in future."

"What… what would you be willing to pay?"

"My forbearance until now isn't payment enough? Very well." A plastic rectangle with rounded corners appeared in her hand. "This is a 'Get Out of Hell Free Card'. If I gave this to you, it would ensure that if you ended up in Hell – for whatever reason – you would immediately return to life, here on Earth, as fit and healthy as ever."

"Why would I need something like that?" Thessally sneered, examining her fingernails and feigning a lack of interest.

"I don't doubt that you've made a few enemies during the course of your extended lifetime: anyone who's ever been forced to spend more than a few minutes in your company, for example. Perhaps one of them will eventually succeed in killing you. Or you could die as a result of some misfortune. You're not invulnerable."

"And then I suppose I'd be resurrected in front of whoever had killed me the first time, who would proceed to kill me again. No thanks."

"I could ensure you were resurrected in a safe place, far away from whoever killed you. They would have no reason to believe that your death hadn't been permanent," Tanya offered.

Thessaly hesitated, though the greedy glint in her eyes betrayed her interest. "What would you want in exchange?"

"I'll let you know when I have a job for you," said Tanya, causing the 'Get Out of Hell Free Card' to vanish. "Run along now. I want to talk to Mrs. Hall in private."

Thessaly looked like she wanted to protest, but her nerve must have failed her at last; after some deliberation, she scurried away without another word.

After that, it didn't take long for Lyta to get out of the shower, get dressed in an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and then come back into the room where Tanya was waiting for her.

"I still don't understand who you are, what's going on, or where Daniel is," said Lyta, who had recovered enough that she was no longer on the verge of tears. "Please, tell me… what's happened to my son?"

"Your son is no longer human. He has become the new lord of dreams," said Tanya, who saw little point in dissembling.

"What does that mean? Is he… dead?"

"No. Quite the reverse, in fact. He is now an eternal being, who will live for as long as this universe exists."

"Will I ever see him again?" asked Lyta, wringing her hands. "He's just a little boy… I'm his mother. He needs me."

"I'm sure he will visit you in dreams soon enough. In fact, I'd be very surprised if he did not," said Tanya. "He'll explain what's going on much better than I could."

"In dreams?" A distrustful expression crept over Lyta's face. "You mean it'll just be in my imagination?"

"No, I mean that he's a supernatural being with power over dreams. In some ways, he's more real than you are."

Lyta flopped down onto the sofa, her head in her hands. In a weary monotone, she said, "And you…? You're Tanya, right? How did you get involved in this… all of this?"

"An acquaintance of mine… asked me to rescue your son from those who'd kidnapped him. Later on, I discovered that his motives for doing so were rather less noble than he'd led me to believe, but by then I was already committed. I hate to leave a job half-finished."

"And why are you here now?"

"Because someone has to be," said Tanya, sitting down beside her and putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I won't pretend that I know exactly what you're going through, but I know it must be terrible."

Lyta tensed, but didn't pull away. "The woman who was here earlier… She said you were the Devil."

"My situation is somewhat similar to Daniel's. Lucifer abdicated his role as ruler of Hell and passed it on to me, in much the same way as how Daniel became the new lord of dreams after the death of the previous incumbent."

"If you're the Devil… does that mean you're evil?" asked Lyta, though she looked like she regretted it even as she said it.

"I would like to think not. Whether you believe me or not is up to you. I have chosen my own path: I do what I want, what I think best, and I refuse to do otherwise. I've fought against all those who tried to force me to conform to their expectation and I have remade Hell into what I want it to be: a place of torment for those who have committed the most grievous sins, but where those who were damned for much lesser crimes can gain a measure of peace and respite." Tanya paused to allow Lyta to consider her words, then continued: "In this case, I have chosen to help you because… in some ways, you remind me of myself. I too have been a pawn of much greater powers."

Lyta didn't reply. She appeared sunken in gloom.

Trying to reassure her, Tanya said, "Like me, Daniel has a choice. He doesn't have to be the same as his predecessor. He can choose his own path, be the person he wants to be, and remake the Dreaming as he sees fit."

"He might as well be dead," said Lyta, bitterly. "My poor little boy…"

"He has undergone a change of state, but he's not dead. Far from it. And you'll see him again very soon, I'm sure."

"He was my whole life! What am I supposed to do now?"

"That's something you should discuss with him when you see him. For now… remember that you are under my protection. I will allow no one to harm you."

"Yes, you said."

"Do you have everything you need for the next few days? Food, money and so on?"

"I'll manage."

Seeing her despondent expression and faraway eyes, Tanya hesitated. After a moment: "Well then, if you're sure…"

Lyta heaved a weary sigh. "Tanya, I know you're trying to help, but… give me some space, okay? I need to think."

"Understood. If you need me, just say my name and I will come to you. I won't be far away. Otherwise…" Tanya paused, not knowing how to express her sorrow and sympathy, or her fervent hope that things would get better. Instead, she said, "Farewell."

Again, there was no reply.

Tanya departed, vanishing into empty air, and returned to Hell.

***

To discuss their plans for the forthcoming apocalypse, Tanya gathered together her most trusted, capable and high-ranking subordinates: Crowley, Hastur and Chantinelle. Etrigan was there too, grinning widely and looking pleased with himself, having invited himself to the meeting without anyone else's say-so.

"My darling Tanya, I'm back at last. Let's start afresh, forget the past–"

"I've told you before to stop rhyming when you're talking to me. I want to be sure that the words coming out of your mouth are what you mean, not what you've chosen to fit a certain rhyme scheme." Tanya glared at him. "Anyway, you've got a lot of nerve coming back here, considering what you did last time we met."

"Ah, but you already said you wouldn't punish me for that, just that you wouldn't reward me as you did your other supporters."

"Maybe, but I didn't say I'd welcome you back as an ally, did I?"

"I could be useful to you. That's what you want, isn't it? You've forgiven plenty of your enemies because you wanted to make use of them." Etrigan's fanged grin took on a leering, lascivious quality. "Make use of me, go on."

Perhaps his attentions were meant to be flattering, but Tanya found them repellent. She had never thought that Etrigan was attracted to her as a person, only to her position. To him, she was a challenge to be overcome, a summit to be mounted, or a land to be conquered, not a woman to be loved. If she ever succumbed to his advances, he would tire of her soon enough.

"How exactly could you be of use to me?" she asked, daring him to say something he would regret.

He chuckled, but didn't take the bait. "I've worked for you before. You know what I'm capable of. War is coming, as inevitable as nightfall, and you'll need me to lead your armies."

"You are a mighty warrior, but I'm less convinced of your leadership qualities. From what I've seen, you don't seem to have any grasp of tactics other than charging into combat."

"That's usually enough."

"We're probably going to need him," said Crowley, who was looking rather less debonair than usual. His clothes were rumpled, a pained grimace ventured out from behind his dark glasses, and he was clutching his cellphone and a cup of coffee as if they were protective talismans. Presumably it was because his job had been getting increasingly stressful; he was, at least nominally, in charge of all the demons on Earth, including the thousands who were trying to take over the criminal underworld there. "The gangs, cartels, mobsters – whatever you want to call them – they've been fighting back. Not just with guns, gangsters and superpowered mercenaries – they've got their hooks into plenty of legitimate businesses and governments – in some places, they are the government – so they've been using the law against us. And, as they've been getting increasingly desperate, it's been getting worse. There's been collateral damage. Ordinary people, the kind of people who until now have been blissfully ignorant about the crimes going on around them every day – you know, morons – have started screaming that, 'Something should be done about this!'"

"And whereas the angels might object to siding with criminals, they will be perfectly happy to aid the legitimate authorities in driving out a demonic infestation," Tanya realised. She was dismayed by the possibility that a ploy she had intended to keep her employees busy could have such disastrous consequences; she had hoped that it might curry favor with world governments – and, more importantly, the Justice League – by reducing the overall crime rate, but now it seemed like it might have the opposite effect, as well as potentially starting the final conflict between Heaven and Hell much earlier than she had anticipated. "We'll have to halt any further expansion to our illegal activities on Earth. For now, we should lay low, shore up our defences and consolidate the territory we've won so far."

"Might work. Until someone gets bored. Frankly, the only reason why no one's gone off the rails already is that you've got Furfur breathing down their necks, putting the fear of you in them," said Chantinelle.

"There'll be more than enough violence for everyone when the cartels start pushing back, trying to regain what they've lost. We'll be hard-pressed from all sides," said Hastur, glaring down at the table in the centre of the room, at the maps spread out across its surface, and the various markers denoting points of interest, as if he felt personally insulted by something he could see there. "Things won't calm down anytime soon."

"It'll be carnage. I can help with that," said Etrigan.

"If you like. But it's not up to me," Hastur replied, giving Tanya a significant glance.

"Let me make a few things clear to you, Etrigan," said Tanya, fixing her cold, stern gaze on him. "I don't like you. I don't find you attractive. You could be a useful asset in the battles to come, but if your usefulness is outweighed by the problems you cause, I won't hesitate to get rid of you. And if you ever do anything like this again – by which I mean forcing yourself into a meeting to which you weren't invited – I won't be as reasonable as I have been until now. Do you understand?"

She saw simmering anger in his eyes, but he didn't succumb to it. Forcing himself to laugh, he cried, "Of course! What do you take me for?"

Tanya gave him a small nod. She didn't care if he was angry with her, or if he was now fantasizing about a horrible revenge, as long as he didn't side with Being X and thereby doom the entire universe.

Looking from him to Crowley, then Hastur, and finally Chantinelle, she said, "All of you served me well in the last war, but now we must get ready for the next. We don't have much time left." She sighed mournfully, thinking of everything she'd lost, all the plans that would never come to fruition, and all the time she'd wasted already. "We've got a lot of work to do. Let's make a start."

Chapter Text

At long last, Zauriel returned to the Silver City, high above the heavens, the dwelling place of the angelic host. As he strode through the main gates, no one came to greet him. Looking around, he saw no one in the streets, no one strolling through the ornamental gardens, no one watching and silently judging him, or standing statue-like, lost in reverie. There was no music, no susurrus of softly whispered prayers, and no other sound but the tuneless whistling of the uneasy wind. It was as if the city had been abandoned. What could have happened? Where were all the angels?

For a horrified moment, he imagined what would happen if the Apocalypse came and the heavenly host were entirely absent: the hordes of Hell would swarm over everything and there would be no one to stop them. Then, faith and reason prevailed; he realised, with a surge of relief, that no matter how powerful the demons had become, they could not hope to defeat almighty God. Even if the angels were all gone – and where had they gone? – Lady Tanya and her minions would never be victorious.

He walked on, through the silence and emptiness, mindful of the reason why he had come to this place. Although he was intrigued by the mystery of his missing brethren, he'd had another purpose for this visit: he intended to visit the library, search through the records, and find out anything he could about Lady Tanya and who she had been before she was sent to Hell and Lucifer started grooming her to be his successor.

The library was a vast and palatial edifice, but the space inside was even larger still: an immeasurable distance that had somehow been compressed into a single building. Supposedly, it contained records of everyone who had ever lived, on Earth and everywhere else in the universe. Zauriel knew that to have any hope of finding information relevant to Lady Tanya, he would need someone or something to guide him to where he needed to go.

He glanced around the entrance hall, hoping that in the absence of a librarian there would be something like a search engine that would enable him to find what he was looking for. If such a thing existed, it would be a mechanical or mystical contrivance, he felt sure; the digital age hadn't reached the Silver City yet, if indeed it ever would. Already he found himself missing some of the familiar conveniences he'd gotten used to during his time on Earth, for which he chided himself. As an angel, one of God's faithful servants, he had to be better, more restrained and self-disciplined than that.

The entrance hall was as grandiose and stately as the outside of the building, with pillars and archways in the classical style, smooth marble floors and walls adorned with richly-colored frescoes depicting scenes from the Bible. Except… one part of the room appeared to have been fused with an entirely different room, in which there was a comfortable armchair, a fireplace and a thick hearth rug over wooden floorboards. Marble and wood were merged together so completely that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began.

Seated in the armchair was an angel, the first of Zauriel's brothers he had seen since returning to the Silver City, who looked like an elderly black man with a wispy beard, eyes closed, with his wings wrapped around himself, apparently dozing. However, despite his unimpressive appearance, the power and presence radiating from him was like a furnace, far more intense than the feeble fire he was sitting next to. After a few moments, Zauriel was startled to realise that he recognized him, not by the seemingly frail body he was currently wearing, but by the light of his soul. It was the archangel Uriel, sometimes called the 'Regent of the Sun', one of the mightiest of all the angels.

"Uriel?" he murmured, almost disbelieving. "What… What has happened to you?"

The archangel Uriel opened his rheumy eyes. "Raphael? I thought…?"

"No. It's Zauriel. I've come home at last."

"Welcome back." The faintest glimmer of a smile could be seen on his lips. "I'm sorry to say that… much has changed since the last time I saw you."

"What's going on here? Where are all the other angels? Why are you acting like a doddering old man?" Zauriel demanded to know.

Uriel's eyes crinkled with amusement. "So many questions. Which should I answer first?" He paused, subsiding into contemplative silence, before coming to a conclusion: "I suppose it doesn't matter. They all have the same answer, more or less. Do you remember…?"

There was another pause. Zauriel battled with his impatience, fighting to remain calm.

"Our universe was destroyed. Again and again, it was torn apart and reassembled, until finally… the 'Flashpoint' happened. Time travel was involved, I think. The universe has many layers: Heaven and Hell, the material realm, the Astral Plane, the Dreaming, and many, many others. All of them were ripped asunder. A new universe was born and… we were left behind." Uriel rubbed his eyes, trying to clear away the exhaustion and dazedness that had taken root there.

"What do you mean by that?"

"The Apocalypse is coming. Sinners will be punished, the faithful will be rewarded and… the end will come at last. For some of us, it will be a blessed relief. But it won't mean the end of everything, everywhere. There are other universes."

"You said 'this universe' was destroyed. Does that mean the Apocalypse has already happened?"

"No. The Flashpoint wasn't meant to happen. Someone tried to change the past… and they succeeded. It caused untold devastation. I tried to rebuild what I could, to keep everything – the stars, the planets, the light and the darkness – in perfect working order." Uriel heaved a weary sigh. "I… ah, overexerted myself. Many other angels did the same."

"Where are they now?"

"Resting, if they've any sense. Just like me. It'll take some time for us to recover."

"How long?" Zauriel wanted to know.

"A few centuries, maybe."

"We don't have that much time. The Apocalypse is due to take place in less than two years," Zauriel reminded him.

"Ah. In that case… I suspect it won't matter, in the end."

Zauriel gazed at him for a few moments, not knowing what to say. Then he remembered that he'd come to the library with a specific purpose in mind: "Do you know where I could find out more about Lady Tanya, the current ruler of Hell, Lucifer's chosen successor? This library is vast and I don't know where to start looking."

"You won't have to look far. Her files are on display in the main hall," said Uriel, with a half-hearted gesture at the nearest door. "The Metatron wanted everyone to have the opportunity to see what a vile sinner she once was – and still is – and why she so richly deserves to be punished."

"The Metatron?"

"An angel. The voice of God."

"What does that mean?" asked Zauriel, who couldn't help but frown. Was it just his imagination, or did he hear a note of sarcasm in Uriel's words?

"He speaks on God's behalf."

"Since when has God needed anyone to speak for him?"

"Apart from His prophets and all the angels who've served as His messengers, you mean? Ever since I can remember."

Zauriel thought 'the Metatron' sounded vaguely familiar, but it wasn't a name he knew well. "I don't think I've ever met him. How did he achieve such an exalted position?"

"Because so many of us have been lost or incapacitated, others have been… elevated. Sandalphon, for example. Remiel, before he disgraced himself with his failed invasion of Hell. And the Metatron…" Uriel's voice trailed off into silence, but it seemed as if he had been about to say something more.

"What happened to the other archangels? Why did you think I was Raphael?"

"I thought I recognized your voice. I had hoped…" Uriel sighed and shook his head. "Never mind. I haven't seen him or Michael in centuries. Gabriel is busy… too busy to spend time with me, these days. And the others…" The wrinkles deepened on his withered brow. He muttered to himself: "Were there others? In the beginning, there were eight of us. No, seven…"

Zauriel decided to move on. "I must go. Thank you for your help."

"Of course, we're all just… vestiges of what we once were," Uriel continued, as if he hadn't heard. "Little more than shadows on a cave wall. A shallow parody of something that was once great and glorious. Do you understand?"

"No, not really," Zauriel admitted, even as he turned and began to walk away. "God be with you."

"He always has been," Uriel murmured, sinking back in his chair.

It occurred to Zauriel that perhaps Uriel was merely pretending to be a senile ancient. Was there a keen intelligence hidden behind his ramblings and were his words hinting at something very important? Perhaps, but he had no way of knowing one way or another. All he could do was carry on.

The library's main hall was just a few steps away. It was immense, stretching far into the distance, with soaring windows, sweeping archways, and walls that were lined with bookshelves from top to bottom, all of them crammed full of tomes, manuals, folders, notebooks, journals, novels, chronicles, documents, and other written works. Zauriel was gloomily certain that without direction he could search this place for lifetimes and not find anything relevant to what he needed to know. However, Uriel had told him that Tanya's files were on display… so where were they?

Ah, there. In a central position, so that it could easily be seen from the entrance, there was what looked like blasphemous shrine to Lady Tanya, with a tall and painted statue of her displaying a malevolent smirk. Larger than life-size, she loomed over piles of books, each of which – Zauriel moved to investigate – detailed the crimes she had committed in one life or another, stretching over thousands of years. Stuck to the podium, there were photographs of her at different times, in different bodies, most of which looked remarkably similar: blonde, petite and grinning maniacally.

Plucking one of the books from the top of the pile, Zauriel began to read, skimming through the text as quickly as he could. When he'd finished, he picked up another. And another.

Over time, he learned that Tanya had once been a Japanese office worker, greedy and sycophantic, who had oppressed and mistreated his underlings to the extent that one of them had been driven to murder him. But then God had taken pity on him and given him a second chance: he had been reborn as an orphan girl named Tanya Degurechaff, in an alternate version of Germany during the early twentieth century, at the beginning of what seemed like an amalgamation of the First and Second World Wars. Instead of taking the opportunity to redeem herself and live a better life, she had volunteered to join the 'aerial mage corps' at the first opportunity. From there she was quickly promoted to high rank, enabling her to terrorize her subordinates and commit many atrocities, which she did gleefully and without restraint. Because she made sure that all of her actions, no matter how heinous, were within the bounds of the law, no one could punish her for what she'd done. In fact, many of her superiors were happy to encourage her, seeing her as the key to their ultimate victory. Worst of all, she volunteered to take part in the building of a terrible superweapon, the magical equivalent of an atom bomb, which resulted in her being the only one who could use it without fear of death or insanity. Eventually, she was killed, at which point God had erased her memories of her second life and given her another chance, in another universe…

Pursing his lips, Zauriel picked up another book and flicked through it. Again, it was account of how Tanya had been given a new life and proceeded to squander it through acts of cruelty, greed and malice. Many of them were exactly the same things she had done in her previous lives, having learned nothing and made no attempts to improve herself in the meantime. Again she died and again God gave her another chance.

Continuing through the pile, skimming one book and then the next, Zauriel saw the pattern repeating itself dozens of times. Sometimes God would erase Tanya's memories and sometimes He would not. Sometimes she would be reborn in worlds that were alien, fantastical, mystical or cartoonish, and sometimes she would be reborn in worlds that were identical to those she had lived in before. And every time, Tanya continued to defy God, to rail against Him, to make the same mistakes and commit the same crimes, until at last He had given up and banished her to Hell. Did that mean He'd accomplished what He'd set out to do? Or, was it possible that…? Here, Zauriel's thoughts edged closer to the unthinkable: had omniscient, omnicognizant God made a mistake? Surely that was impossible!

There were plenty more books on the pile, but by this time Zauriel felt that he had read enough. A great many questions were roiling in his brain, competing for his attention. Why had God given Tanya so many chances? He didn't normally give sinners so many chances to redeem themselves before sending them to Hell, did he?

"Forgive seventy times seven," he murmured, remembering Jesus's words. However, even if sinners were forgiven, it didn't mean they could escape punishment for their sins. Vast multitudes had been sent to Hell after only one life, so why was Tanya treated differently from any of them? What made her special? Had God been trying to prove that even the most heinous sinner could be redeemed, in much the same way that Job's example had proved that a truly pious man would maintain his faith no matter what happened to him? If so, why had he chosen Tanya? The man she had once been – the Japanese office worker – had been selfish and unpleasant, but he'd never done anything truly monstrous until he was forced to endure a series of extraordinary and supernatural events. What, if anything, was that supposed to prove? Why had someone set up what looked like a shrine to Tanya here in the middle of the Silver City's great library? What exactly was going on here?

It occurred to him that perhaps God was not truly responsible for any of this. Perhaps it was the work of some alien being that had wormed its way into his creation. Or one of the angels, such as the Metatron, who had gained such prominence recently. Was someone or something masquerading as God, making a mockery of Him, to the extent that they had taken His place even here in the city of angels? Was that what Uriel had been hinting at? If so… well, what could he do?

As his mind was brimming with so many questions to which he didn't know the answer, he almost didn't hear the door open behind him. There was a noise that might have been a polite cough or a signal of startlement. Turning, he saw another angel standing in the doorway. This one had taken the form of a burly and bald-headed black man, dressed in modern clothes: jeans, a t-shirt and a zip-up jacket. If not for the dark grey wings sprouting from his back, he could have walked down almost any street in the USA – and possibly in the UK, France and many other countries – and not attracted much attention. Unlike Zauriel, who had designed his superhero costume to stand out as much as possible, this angel, much like Aziraphale, was trying to be inconspicuous. However, whereas Aziraphale played the part of a stereotypical Englishman, eccentric and old-fashioned, and went unnoticed because no one looked beneath the surface, this angel was tall and muscular, with a powerful aura about him. He looked dangerous, like someone who shouldn't be messed with. Presumably, most people who looked at him would see yet another young man who spent too much time at the gym, thereby enabling him to blend in with human society just as easily as Aziraphale did.

"Do I know you?" asked the newcomer, quirking an eyebrow. "Huh. Aren't you that superhero? From the Justice League."

"I'm Zauriel. And yes, I've been working with the Justice League for the past year or so," he confirmed. "I've been gone from the Silver City for thousands of years, so… I'm sorry, I don't know who you are."

"Amenadiel. God's right hand."

The name was unfamiliar to Zauriel. Was he, like Sandalphon, Remiel, and the Metatron, one of those who had risen to high rank in the archangels' absence? It seemed unlikely that he would lay claim to such a grandiose title without it having been awarded to him; he was a righteous angel, virtue personified, so there was no reason to suspect him of lying. If that wasn't the case, it would have been easy to find out, and it would have been the height of foolishness for any angel to risk falling for such a petty reason.

Zauriel had never heard of anyone being called 'God's right hand' before, which meant that it must have been a recent development: within the past several thousand years, at least. Much had changed since the last time he'd visited the Silver City and he didn't know how to react. He made the mistake of trying to make a joke of it: "It seems like our Lord has acquired so many new body parts since I've been gone that I probably won't recognize Him the next time I see Him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Amenadiel frowned.

"You're His right hand. The Metatron serves as His mouth," said Zauriel, trying to explain the joke. "Are there any other new body parts I should be aware of?"

Amenadiel wrinkled his nose as if he'd smelled something foul. "You've been on Earth too long."

"Quite possibly," Zauriel admitted. "That's why I'm in need of some guidance. Will you help me?"

"I can spare you a few minutes," said Amenadiel, after some consideration. "But no more than that."

"Anything I can help with? For both our sakes?"

"I doubt it. I need to convince Lucifer to go back to Hell."

Zauriel had several questions, all of which were summed up in one word: "Why?"

"Why would you ask that? It's God's will," said Amenadiel, whose frown had become a scowl.

"I've met Lady Tanya, Lucifer's appointed successor. She was… She wasn't what I expected. I'm not sure to what extent I can believe anything she said. If Lucifer returns to Hell, I presume he'd take over from her?"

"She's not doing her job properly. Too many of the damned are not being tormented anymore. Instead, she has them doing paid work, or enjoying 'leisure time', or sitting around doing nothing. Only the worst sinners are being tortured like before. And Lucifer… Hell is his punishment. He's not supposed to be partying in Los Angeles.

"So, it's your job to put everything right."

"Yeah. Exactly."

"How will you convince Lucifer to return to Hell?"

"It is his duty. Try as he might, he cannot escape his prophesied role."

"If he had any sense of duty, he would never have fallen," Zauriel pointed out. "He was in Hell for billions of years before he decided he'd had enough. I'm not sure there's anything left you can threaten him with."

"There are people he cares about. By refusing to do his duty, he is putting them at risk."

"Who are these people? Humans?"

Amenadiel slowly nodded.

"Are they bad people?"

"No, they're ordinary mortals, just like millions of others. Why are you asking me these questions?"

"I want to make sure I have the facts right. If I'm not mistaken, you're planning to force Lucifer to comply by threatening innocent people. That doesn't sound very angelic to me."

A flicker of uncertainty passed over Amenadiel's face. He shifted uncomfortably, just for a moment. "I'll show him… by spending time on Earth, he is spreading pain and misery, even if he doesn't mean to. It would be better for everyone if he returned to Hell."

"Would it, though? Surely the fact that he has people he loves and cares about shows he isn't an irredeemable monster. Perhaps his time in Hell has purified him." Zauriel put on a wistful smile. "Wouldn't that be wonderful? If everyone, even the most vile sinners, could somehow redeem themselves and return to a state of grace…"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Some depravities deserve nothing less than to be punished for all eternity. I'd have thought that being on Earth for so long would have taught you some common sense."

"Whatever happened to forgiveness and mercy?"

"They have a time and a place. But not when dealing with Lucifer or any of his demons." Amenadiel heaved a frustrated sigh. "I know you mean well. I don't doubt your benevolence, brother, only your judgement."

Zauriel regarded him in silence for a few moments, long enough that Amenadiel felt the need to justify himself further.

"Besides… it doesn't matter what I think," he said. "I don't have any choice about this. I'm doing God's bidding."

"He told you to do this? In person?"

"Through the Metatron."

"The voice of God. So I've been told."

"Yeah. That's right."

"How do you know that the Metatron is speaking on God's behalf?

"Because he…" Amenadiel hesitated, considering his next words.

"Because he told you so? Have you ever considered that he might be lying?"

"Don't be ridiculous. If anyone tried something like that, they'd be instantly discovered. God would smite them for their impudence!"

"Or would He withdraw, watching to see what we will do? Will we blindly follow orders, despite our misgivings, because we trust someone we shouldn't? Or will we strive to do what's right, even if it's difficult, even if everyone else disagrees with us – even if it costs us dearly?" asked Zauriel. "Perhaps He is testing us, even now."

"He has no need to test us. We are His loyal, faithful servants," said Amenadiel, without conviction.

"Just like Lucifer was."

"Y–" Amenadiel's eyes widened as he came to a sudden halt. "No," he said, after some consideration. "Of course not."

"I need to speak to the Metatron," Zauriel decided. "Will you take me to him?"

"Do you really think that's wise?"

"No, but it needs to be done."

"You're going to confront him?"

"I just want to ask him a few questions. It doesn't have to become a confrontation."

For several moments, longer than he felt comfortable with, Amenadiel regarded him in skeptical silence, and then said, "Fine. Come with me."

He turned back through the door he'd just entered by, into the foyer, past where Uriel appeared to be dozing in his chair, and out through the main exit.

It occurred to Zauriel to ask: "Why did you come here? Is there something you need to know before you visit Lucifer?"

"Oh, yeah. I want to look up one of his friends: a woman named Chloe Decker. There's something strange about her. But that can wait," said Amenadiel. "This is more important."

He spread his wings, leapt into the air, and flew high above the streets. Zauriel joined him a few moments later. Gazing down at the Silver City, which looked as vast, empty and deserted as it had before, he asked, "Where is everybody else?"

"Preparing for war," Amenadiel told him.

Zauriel might have asked more questions, but he wasn't given the chance. He could only follow as Amenadiel flew away, swiftly and with purpose.

In hardly any time at all, they had flown halfway across the city and were approaching a building Zauriel didn't recognize, which was larger and more ornate than any of the others, and had evidently been newly built. It looked like a palace.

"Is this it?" he asked.

"Yes. This is where the Metatron resides," said Amenadiel, beginning his descent.

***

It was evening. Tanya stood outside John Constantine's apartment, holding a bottle of wine in one hand. She didn't know much about wine, which seemed to vary markedly from one universe to the next, even when it hadn't been made from outlandish ingredients in the Dreaming, but she knew what she liked and had been assured that this was a good vintage.

She was pleased when Constantine opened the door almost immediately, that he was freshly showered, clean-shaven and well-dressed, and that he'd gone to some considerable effort to keep his apartment clean and tidy since the last time she'd seen it.

"Good evening, John," she said, smiling sweetly at him. "May I call you John?"

"Shouldn't you have asked me that before you went ahead and did it?" He paused, raising a sardonic eyebrow. "But what the hell. I don't mind." Then, as if remembering his manners, he added, "Good to see you, I guess."

"You guess? You mean you don't know?"

"Whenever you visit, I never know what to expect. You're a mystery to me."

"A fun, sexy mystery?" she teased him.

"Uh. Not usually." He grimaced. "Look, would you like to come in? Whatever you want from me, I think we'll need a bit of privacy."

"That would be nice," she said, following him into the kitchen, still wearing an amused smile.

"I'd offer you a drink, but it looks like you're way ahead of me," he said, indicating the bottle of wine she was carrying. "Unless you'd like to start with something a little lighter?"

"I think we'll save the wine for later," she said, putting it down on the counter. "Have you eaten yet, John?"

"Not tonight. Not yet." He gave her a questioning glance. "What's all this about?"

"Cards on the table, hmm? Very well," said Tanya. "The Apocalypse is going to happen in two years' time and I want to enjoy what little time I have left." She paused, took some time to consider what she was about to say next, and decided to be bluntly honest: "I find you attractive, I enjoy your company, and I'd like to get to know you better. Will you go on a date with me?"

"Huh… like I said, I never know what to expect," Constantine muttered.

"I can promise you a good dinner."

"Tempting. But… do I have any choice about this?"

"Of course. Do you think I'd force you to do something like that? What kind of woman do you think I am?"

"You're the Devil."

"Touché. Seriously though, I don't think this would be any fun at all if you weren't a willing participant."

"So what would you do if I said no?"

"I'd find some other way to amuse myself." Tanya raised a hand to her chin, posing as if she were lost in thought. "Perhaps I'll ask Lucifer to explain his idea for a 'Devil sandwich'."

"Right…" Constantine donned a serious expression. "The first time we met, it was after I had kidnapped and imprisoned you. I'm sorry for that, by the way. But no matter how many times I apologize, I can't change the past. I did what I did. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Maybe that's the sort of thing that makes me hot and bothered." She grinned.

"And… at the time, I was dying of cancer. I was a ghastly mess. I can't believe there's any way you found me attractive before you sculpted me into this." He indicated his sleek, well-muscled body, which he'd managed to maintain despite the years that had passed since she'd healed him. "What am I to you? Eliza Doolittle?"

Tanya was unfamiliar with whatever pop culture reference he was making, so she ignored it. Instead, she tried to reassure him: "When I first met you, you were a cancerous wreck, but I could see you had potential. I knew you'd be very handsome if you looked after yourself… if I gave you a second chance." She gave a small shrug. "Does it matter?"

"It depends." Constantine closed his eyes briefly, winced and said, "I should probably warn you… if your intention is to seduce me as part of a sinister plot… like, if you want me to be the father of a trio of cambion children who will grow up to spread misery and horror across the world…" He hesitated, seeing her incredulous expression, but made a determined effort to finish: "It's been done. That's all I'm saying."

"Oh, John," said Tanya, fanning herself theatrically. "We haven't even gone on our first date and already you're talking about children." She leaned a little closer to him. "Don't you think you're being rather forward?"

"I've had bad experiences with demons in the past. I still find it difficult to believe that you're… the way you are."

"And what is that?"

"I… uh, assuming you're not going to betray me at any point, I owe you a lot. I'm not sure 'friend' is the right word, but… you've been a good friend to me."

"We could be more than that," she said, mere inches away from him. "I'm not asking for a storybook romance, pledges of eternal love and slices of wedding cake. Just a bit of fun. And I think you can provide." She stood up on tiptoe, head upturned, inviting him to kiss her.

Their lips met and moved together. One of his arms curled around her lower back, the other supported her head, as he kissed her in a manner that suggested he'd only barely managed to restrain himself until now.

Finally, fighting for air, he drew back and let go of her. "This is a bad idea," he said, as if trying to convince himself.

"Maybe it is. Maybe I'm making a big mistake. But I don't care," said Tanya. "I'm old enough to make as many mistakes as I want. I plan to enjoy them, as much as I can, for as long as possible."

"And you want me to join you. I won't say I'm not tempted. It's not like I've received any better offers recently."

She rolled her eyes. "Hardly the enthusiastic response I was hoping for."

"With me, you should know what you're getting. That way, you won't be disappointed later on." Constantine took a deep breath. "Where do you want to go on this date?"

"I've booked us a table at a Japanese restaurant here in London. Very popular, apparently. Would you like to go with me?"

"Yeah…" Visibly pulling himself together, he tried again: "Yes, I would."

"Do you like Japanese food?" she asked, stumbling upon a potential flaw in her plans.

"I'm sure I can find something to like," he said, giving her what she could only interpret as a 'fond' look. "You seem happy tonight. I've never seen you like this before: smiling and joking and so on."

"Why shouldn't I be happy? I've got a hot date tonight," she said, taking him by the arm. "Let's go."

"Looking forward to it," he said, allowing her to take the lead.

Chapter Text

Inside the palace, there was a great hall, which must have been as large as any sports stadium on Earth. Its high ceiling was covered in a vast fresco, which had seemingly been painted by a master artist over many years, depicting scenes from the Book of Genesis. God was depicted as a robed, bearded figure, reaching out to hold all of creation in his hands.

At the far end of the room, atop a raised platform, there was a burnished throne, which gleamed as if in the orange light of a setting sun. Seated upon it, there was an angel with golden wings, dressed in robes as elaborate as an illuminated manuscript, whose face was handsome, proud and patrician. Next to him, on either side, as if ready to defend him against all-comers, there were two other angels. One of them had grey hair, sharp features and an oily, obsequious look about him that Zauriel would never have expected to see on any of his kind. The other was androgynously beautiful and wore an expression of studied indifference that a casual observer might have mistaken for serenity.

As he stepped into the hall and began to cross the gulf that separated him from that far-off throne, Zauriel noted that there was enough space for every angel he had ever heard of and plenty more besides, even if they insisted on having enough room to spread their wings and take to the air without touching each other.

He and Amenadiel walked together across that expanse, which took an embarrassingly long time, and all the while they were watched by that figure on the throne and his lackeys. It would have been quicker and easier to fly - Zauriel would have preferred to do so, but he was following Amenadiel's lead - he had to assume there was some purpose to the long walk. Perhaps he was meant to be overawed by the grandeur of his surroundings.

When at last he was close enough to the throne that he could speak to the one who was sitting on it without raising his voice, he said, "The Metatron, I presume?"

"You do indeed," the seated figure murmured, distractedly, as if to himself. Then, in a clearer, firmer voice, he began again: "That is what they call me. And you are Zauriel, the superhero."

"You are the ruler of the Silver City and all the angels in the current era?" asked Zauriel.

Next to him, Amenadiel was gazing at the androgynous beauty and frowning as if struggling to remember something.

"I am God's representative. His mouthpiece. Nothing more than a mask He wears."

"I see. You are the conduit for his instructions to us," said Zauriel, as if he believed that. "You have no will of your own?"

"Why would I want anything more than to serve God in all things?"

Zauriel nodded as if conceding the point. "When were you raised to your current exalted position? There must have been a grand ceremony. I'm sorry I wasn't invited."

All traces of warmth faded from the Metatron's voice. "There was no ceremony. God has no need of such fripperies."

"Of course not," said Zauriel, with a casual glance at their surroundings: the overlarge hall and its ostentatious decorations. He restrained himself from raising an eyebrow. Instead, he changed the subject, indicating the angels who stood on either side of Metatron: "And these friends of yours? Who are they?"

"They can speak for themselves," said the Metatron, as if he needed to grant them permission.

"I'm Sandalphon," said the oily one, managing to sound wheedling and sycophantic; an impressive feat, considering that he'd said only two words, one of which was his own name.

"Call me Islington," said the androgynous beauty.

"An unusual name for an angel," said Zauriel. He heard a whisper at the back of his mind telling him that it was a name he should be familiar with, but he couldn't think how.

"It's not my original name. That was taken from me," Islington admitted.

"I've heard of you!" cried Amenadiel, in a horrified tone. His nostrils flared. "You destroyed Atlantis!"

Islington's head inclined slightly. "A version of Atlantis, certainly. There have been many."

"So, it wasn't the same version of Atlantis that my teammate, Aquaman, is the ruler of?" asked Zauriel, speaking slowly and with elaborate care.

"No, of course not. It has nothing to do with your fishy friend. Like I said, there have been many different versions of Atlantis, all of which ended up at the bottom of the ocean sooner or later." Islington gave a small shrug. "These things happen."

Amenadiel wore a thunderous expression. "You killed thousands of people!"

A crack appeared in Islington's mask of indifference. Their eyes glimmered with cruelty and madness. "They deserved it!"

"Really? Even the children?" asked Amenadiel. "What could they have done to deserve that?"

"I have done nothing I'm ashamed of. You might say I was following God's example." Islington smiled. "And here I am now, one of His most favoured servants."

Their argument might have continued, but the Metatron held up a hand to forestall them. "Enough. I will not have squabbling between two of my most trusted aides. Islington did what had to be done and committed no sin, otherwise he wouldn't be here. You understand that, don't you? Or are you questioning God's judgement?"

"Of course not," said Amenadiel, eyes downcast. "Forgive me."

The Metatron merely nodded, then turned his attention to Zauriel. "Why have you come here?"

"I've been away for thousands of years, walking the Earth, trying to do good and spread the word of God, in some small way. Recently, I've heard some disturbing rumours about what's been going on here, so I came to see for myself."

"And now you are here. What are your thoughts?"

"I… I was dismayed to find that so much has changed. So many angels are missing or grievously injured. Uriel, for example. And the other archangels."

Sandalphon took a step forward, inviting himself to join the conversation. "It may reassure you to know that Gabriel at least is still alive and well. And Michael… He died a hero's death!"

He proceeded to tell a grand and stirring tale of how St. Michael the Archangel had sacrificed himself so that countless others might live. Zauriel wasn't sure he could believe a word of it. It sounded very much in-character for the Michael he had known, but other than that… Or maybe the main reason for his mistrust was that Sandalphon's voice set his teeth on edge.

"The forces of Heaven suffered many losses while you were away," said the Metatron. "Nevertheless, we remain undiminished. We will easily defeat the hordes of Hell in the war that is to come, have no fear."

"The Apocalypse," said Zauriel.

The Metatron nodded. "It will happen very soon."

"In less than two years' time, so I've been told."

"You are well-informed. One might almost imagine you had never left us," said Sandalphon.

Zauriel didn't know what Sandalphon was insinuating and he decided that he didn't care. There were more important things preying on his mind: "Must the Apocalypse happen so soon? Across the universe, there are countless innocents who will never have a chance to live, sinners who will never have a chance to be redeemed, good and virtuous souls who will never have a chance to prove themselves, and many more besides. Why must they die with all their potential left unfulfilled?"

"Why? Because God wills it, that's why!" Islington declared, as if unable to contain their indignation any longer. "Who are you to question Him?"

"Why not wait until the universe dies a natural death, in a few trillion years, when it has grown too vast and cold to support life of any kind? Surely that's what God intended from the very beginning! Why else would He have designed it that way?"

"Do you imagine that you know better than almighty God? That you are somehow wiser and more merciful than He? That you understand the reasoning behind his actions or decisions? Such audacity," said the Metatron.  "You would do well to remember who and what you are. God is all-powerful and all-knowing, whereas you are a mere functionary."

"I would never question God or anything He says or does, only those who claim to be speaking or acting on his behalf," Zauriel assured him. "During my time on Earth, I encountered many who claimed to be acting on God's behalf and following His instructions even as they committed crimes of passion, pride, greed, envy, malice, hatred and bigotry. I have learned to be suspicious of such people."

There was silence, for a moment, while the other angels considered his words. Then, a sigh fell from the Metatron's lips, heavy with disappointment.

"You don't truly believe that I am God's chosen representative, or that I speak for Him, do you?" he asked. "You think I'm lying."

Zauriel hesitated, realizing that – despite what he'd told Amenadiel – a confrontation was now inevitable. Perhaps it had always been inevitable. Or perhaps he should have taken better care to restrain his foolish tongue. Now, there was no going back. Even if he backed down, apologized and tried to reassure the Metatron that he had every faith in him, it was unlikely he would be believed. He might as well be honest. Better to be condemned for that than condemned as a liar.

"I have no way of knowing if anything you've said is true," he said, mustering his courage. "I don't know where God is – perhaps he is testing us, watching to see what we will do in this situation – but I am utterly convinced you have no right to the titles and positions you have claimed for yourself." Indicating Sandalphon and Islington, he continued, "Even if I had no other reasons to doubt you, I would be dismayed by those you have chosen as your companions: a fawning sycophant and a genocidal maniac." Finally, having cut himself off from all chances of retreat, he concluded: "God isn't speaking through you. He has no need of a 'mouthpiece' such as you. You are a liar and a usurper."

The Metatron's mouth dropped open. A new and terrifying voice issued from it: "I AM THE LORD YOUR GOD. ABASE YOURSELF BEFORE ME."

"Anyone can claim to be God," said Zauriel. "But I still remember what His voice was like, all those ages ago: it was the most wonderful thing I have ever heard, overflowing with wisdom, compassion and grace. Nothing like yours, in fact. I don't know who or what you are, but you are not God."

"I AM THE ONLY GOD YOU HAVE EVER KNOWN." The Metatron glowered at him. Then, in his normal voice, he continued, "You overstep yourself. Your time on Earth has made you foolish and faithless. You must be punished." With a gesture, he indicated to his lackeys what they should do: "Seize him."

Zauriel might have resisted, but he suddenly felt as if he were gripped by an unknown force that left him paralyzed. Try as he might, he couldn't get free. "You are not God," he repeated, with his last ounce of strength. "God is merciful. And God is great."

"Yes, I am." The Metatron smirked as Sandalphon and Islington grabbed hold of Zauriel and lifted him between them. "Take him away."

"What are you going to do with him?" asked Amenadiel, who appeared stricken with horror and hadn't moved. "Is he going to fall… like Lucifer and the others?"

"No. Why would we swell the ranks of our enemies right before we go to war? Besides, Zauriel isn't irredeemable, just misguided," said the Metatron. "He will need to be reeducated, but I have no doubt he will return to us soon enough. He will be made to see the light."

"I see."

"I hope you have learned a lesson today, my faithful right hand."

"I am as faithful as ever. Zauriel was wrong to question you," said Amenadiel.

"That's what I thought."

"I will return to Earth and… convince Lucifer to return to Hell, as you have instructed."

The last thing Zauriel heard as he was dragged away and out of the great hall was the Metatron's self-satisfied voice, saying, "Yes, you do that."

***

Tanya was determined to have fun. She was sitting with John Constantine, at a table in one of London's most highly-recommended Japanese restaurants, where the food was excellent and surprisingly authentic, and there was an extensive cocktail menu. The conversation was stimulating and the company was… Well, Constantine had many flaws, but she enjoyed his company. And she was looking forward to enjoying him even more.

He listened attentively as she described her hopes and dreams for the future, which largely consisted of preventing the Apocalypse and defeating Being X once and for all. Although he already knew a little about her recent history – the war in Hell, the triumvirate who had tried to overthrow her, and her attempts to prevent the Apocalypse – she wanted him to know more, even if he was embarrassed by the reminder of how he'd been manipulated by the First of the Fallen. And she told him about her distant past, the many lives she had lived as a mortal, and some of the things she had only just remembered thanks to Dream's final gift.

At first, he said little, but made encouraging noises now and then, and it was clear from his expression that he was considering her words, even if some of them displeased him. Finally, after much thought, it seemed he felt compelled to speak. He swallowed his latest mouthful of food, put down his chopsticks, and said, "So… Visha, huh? It sounds like you loved her very much."

"I did. But that was a long time ago. I'm no longer the same person I was back then," said Tanya. "Even if I were to meet her again… even if I carried on as I did before, it wouldn't be the same. Whatever happens, I have to move on. Whether that's with Visha or someone else." She smiled sadly. "I intend to enjoy life while I still can."

"So you've said. But what do you mean by that?" asked Constantine, with a raised eyebrow. "Mindless hedonism? Or something more?

"If I wanted mindless hedonism I could have stayed in Hell, where my underlings would have catered to my every whim. But that would be boring. I want… I don't know exactly what I want, but it has to involve some excitement and challenge." She reached across the table and took his hand in hers. "Maybe I want someone who'll tell me 'no' if I go too far."

"And then you'd stop?" he asked, but made no attempt to move his hand away.

"Of course. I could force you to do whatever I want, but where would be the fun in that? I want you to want me."

"You're not going to sing, are you?" he asked, in a tone of mock-horror.

She put on a mischievous smirk. "Now, that's an idea. Is there a karaoke bar near here?"

He pretended to faint, slumping in his chair.

"Maybe later," she said, returning to her meal.

In between bites, their conversation proceeded in this manner: after she'd given him some encouragement, he told her about his past exploits, most of which seemed to involve his thwarting the evil schemes of various demons, cultists and warlocks with nothing more than his wits and considerable guile, despite the deaths of numerous friends and lovers along the way. After a while, his stories became somewhat predictable, except for a few that were distinctly unusual.

"I'm sure your assistance was helpful," she said, after the latest dubious tale. "But I'm not sure why you were investigating American school shootings in the first place."

"Whenever these things happen, it's a good idea to check that there's no supernatural involvement. You know: curses, demonic possession, vengeful spirits, and so on."

"And was there?"

"No." He sighed. "It turns out that teenagers are capable of being evil little shits even without supernatural beings egging them on."

"You didn't know that already?"

"I knew. I was one of them myself once: a teenager and an evil little shit, I mean. Never shot up a school, though."

"It's good to know you're not as horrible as you could have been," said Tanya. "When it comes to 'being a decent human being', you have at least met the minimum requirements."

Constantine paused, took a sip from his drink, and said, "Yeah, pretty much. I've done plenty of things I'm not proud of, but I haven't done that."

"Still, I suppose I knew what I was getting into when I invited you on this date."

"Having second thoughts?"

"No," said Tanya, defiantly. "I'm enjoying this."

She glanced around the room at the other diners and idly wondered what they would have thought if they'd been listening to any part of her conversation with Constantine. It had been trivial to make sure that anyone who overheard what either of them were saying would hear only the pleasant witterings of a young couple on a romantic date, but still… It amused her to think of how they might react if they knew who and what she really was, and what erroneous conclusions they might come to if they heard her dinner companion talking about supernatural beings, school shootings and so on. But that was only a passing fancy, that occupied her mind for a mere moment or two. She had more important matters to consider.

"Let's go dancing," she decided, setting aside her plate and cocktail glass. "That's the sort of thing couples are supposed to do, isn't it?"

"But is it something you enjoy doing?" he asked, looking bemused.

"I've done it before," she said. Then, because that seemed inadequate, she added, "I'm willing to give it a try."

He hesitated, seemingly unconvinced. After a few moments, he murmured, "If that's what you want. Shall I get the bill?"

"It's fine. I've already paid."

A crooked smile appeared on his lips. "You pay me all this money to pretend that I'm the owner of your dream hotel, but you won't let me spend any of it."

"You can pay next time."

He fell silent after that, as they left the restaurant and went outside into the chilly evening and the glare of streetlamps.

Before Tanya could decide where they were going to go dancing, she heard a ghastly noise: a rasping, gurgling, moaning exhalation, like the last breath of a dying beast. A grotesque figure was shambling down the street. Its flesh was ripped and rotting, its gait was slow and shuffling, its hollow sockets glinted with a sickly red light, and arcane runes had been daubed on what remained of its tanned and leathery skin. It was a walking corpse that had been animated by vile necromancy. Gazing around at nearby pedestrians, it gave a cry of depthless hunger and crouched down like a rabid animal getting ready to leap at them.

It was a simple matter for Tanya to remove its arms and legs. Then, turning to Constantine, she indicated the now-helpless monster and said, "What can you tell me about this?"

For a moment she thought he was going to make a joke or pop culture reference, but he must have thought better of it. Instead, he said, "It's a zombie, but you knew that already." Edging closer, he examined the runes, taking care not to come too close to the dismembered corpse that was still snarling and squirming on the ground, moaning and snapping its jaws. "Someone brought it to life with ritual magic, thinking they could control it  – and it looks like they were trying to boost it with unnatural strength and speed as well – but this is shoddy work. It must have broken free almost immediately."

"Where do you think it came from? And are there any more?"

Constantine grimaced, but must have decided that there was no alternative: he grabbed hold of the charred stumps and turned over the undead corpse so he could examine the other side. "Several, I suspect. As far as I can tell, it was one of a whole bunch of them that were all supposed to follow the same set of instructions."

"How many?"

He shook his head. "Dunno. I'd need more information before I could figure that out."

There was a pause while Tanya considered what to do next. This really wasn't anything to do with her, but… Constantine wouldn't be able to relax if he was fretting about an army of the undead invading his home city, so there'd be no point in dragging him to a nightclub and trying to force him to have fun. By destroying the zombies and preventing any more from being raised, she'd be doing the right thing with no expectation of reward, by which she liked to imagine she was defying Being X, who'd never have believed that she'd do anything altruistic. And anyway, she would probably enjoy it more than relearning how to dance.

"So, how can we find them?" she asked.

"We don't need to. If we can find the ritual site and end the spell, the zombies will all collapse and there'll be no need to do anything about them except maybe arrange for them to be given a decent burial."

"Well then, how can we find the ritual site?"

"There's a connection between it and this zombie," said Constantine, producing a knife from seemingly nowhere. He crouched over the dismembered body, avoided its gnashing teeth, and cut off a piece of its putrid flesh. "I can use this to follow that connection to wherever it leads."

He spent a few minutes casting some spells of his own, which he said would turn his grisly trophy into something like a tracking device, during which time a small crowd of onlookers had gathered to gawk at what they were doing and what was left of the zombie.

"I'm not impressed with the police response times around here. But I suppose that makes things easier for us," Constantine muttered.

"Where do we need to go?" asked Tanya, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand.

He gestured vaguely downwards and then at the nearest manhole cover. "Somewhere down there. Hundreds of miles of sewers, storm drains, tunnels, catacombs, air-raid shelters, the London Underground, everything to do with the city's utilities, and so on." A grim expression made him look much older, closer to his real age. "Even if I know exactly where we need to go, I don't know how to get there. We could be searching for hours."

"Or you could point me in the right direction and I could carry you there," she offered.

"Could be embarrassing, but I'm sure it'd be a lot quicker."

Taking that as assent, she lifted him up in the air, one arm around his lower back, the other under his knees, supporting his weight. Then, carrying him with her and following his pointed finger, she became insubstantial, sinking through layers of concrete, pipework, gas lines, sewage systems, electrical cables, and everything else that lay beneath London's streets, speeding directly towards their goal, heedless of any obstacles in their way. It took less than a minute. Constantine seemed to think that was cheating, somehow.

***

Working together with Tanya was like playing a videogame with all the cheats on, thought Constantine, as he scrubbed away a key part of the spell that maintained the zombies in their undead state. It was almost too easy. Which was something he should be glad about, obviously. Otherwise, he'd have been in deep trouble.

"Someone was trying to raise an army of the undead," he said, indicating the occult paraphernalia scattered about. "But the spell they used was complicated and would have required arcane components they didn't have, so they tried to use inferior substitutes. Maybe they've got hold of a grimoire telling them they need the Tote Bag of Trismegistus as a potent symbol of something-or-other, but they've been forced to use an ordinary tote bag instead. You know, that sort of thing."

"Yes, I'm familiar with the concept of spell components, although I hope you were joking about the 'Tote Bag of Trismegistus'," said Tanya, surveying the vault in which they'd found the ritual circle. "What do you think happened to the necromancers? There's no evidence that any kind of struggle took place here, so… even though they lost control of the zombies, they must have escaped before they could suffer anything more than embarrassment."

"Maybe they realised what was going to happen and scarpered before they could get hurt."

"I don't suppose there's any chance they'll learn a valuable lesson from this, rethink their lives and never do anything like this again?"

"Nah. I'm not that lucky," said Constantine.

Tanya gave him a sidelong glance. "Maybe tonight..."

"I think it's more likely that they'll try to get hold of some high-quality spell components and then try again. They'll probably raid antique dealers, folk magic shops, and anyone else who might have the things they need."

"Where would they go first?"

"I've got a few ideas. Are you thinking of organizing some kind of stakeout?"

"Possibly, but first I think we should check whether any of those places have been raided or are in the process of being raided."

"Might as well," said Constantine. "If they've any sense, they'll lie low for a few days… but if they had any sense they wouldn't be raising the dead."

Tanya nodded. "Let's get on with it," she said, picking him up and holding him in her arms again. "Tell me where we need to go."

***

After that, it didn't take them long to discover that one of the oldest magic shops in the world was being robbed by masked cultists. Its public face was as a purveyor of props for stage magicians: playing cards, ropes, silks, flash paper, himber wallets, linking rings, thumb tips, and other essential tools of the prestidigitator's trade. However, in its back rooms, made known only to discerning customers with plenty of money to spend, there were more exotic, unique and arcane items available for sale, all of which were now being plundered.

Tanya and Constantine watched them do it and made no attempt to intervene. Instead, they waited until the cultists finished looting the place and returned to their hideout with their ill-gotten gains. Shadowing them at a discreet distance, they listened to the cultists' careless conversation and learned that they called themselves 'the Necrophages' and their leader was 'Lord Skullface'.

The Necrophages had made their lair in the cellars of a mansion: the kind of tasteless, uninhabited property that only existed so a billionaire could use it as a store of value. They had expanded what must already have been a sizable space until it was huge and cavernous, with bare rocky walls and a ceiling supported by bone-shaped pillars. The cultists gathered around their leader, who was wearing a mask that covered his entire head, which looked like an oversized human skull.

"Now we have these artefacts, nothing can stop us!" declared Lord Skullface. "Soon, we will raise an army of the undead to swarm over London! And why stop there? This entire country will be ours! And then, the world! We will be as gods!"

There was a desultory cheer from his acolytes. Tanya and Constantine exchanged bemused glances.

"Someone's been watching too many movies," Constantine whispered, rolling his eyes.

"This isn't the sort of thing you normally deal with, is it?" asked Tanya.

"It's probably because you've imprisoned so many demons and have been keeping the rest of them under control. Plenty of would-be wizards made deals with demons in exchange for power, but now they've been cut off, so they're getting desperate and all kinds of nutters are coming out of the woodwork."

"Actions have consequences, I suppose. At least this is something I can deal with easily."

"What are you going to do?"

"I thought I might kill them all," said Tanya. "But that would hardly be very heroic of me, would it?"

"Do you care? I suppose you could give them a chance to surrender. But if you're going to tie them up and leave them for the 'proper authorities', bear in mind that the police aren't really equipped to deal with dark magic, necromancers, and so on. We'd have to get in touch with… Well, it'd get complicated." Constantine paused, frowning. "I think you'd be perfectly justified in killing them all, to be honest. If they're not stopped right now, they'll end up slaughtering thousands, if not millions, of people with this idiotic plan of theirs. And if any of them escape, there's no guarantee they won't just carry on the same as before."

"I'm glad we agree. But then, you're not exactly a conventional hero, are you?"

He looked pained. "I wouldn't call myself a hero at all, even if I hang out with some of them from time to time."

"That's fine by me. So long as you know when to stay out of the way," said Tanya, stepping out of the shadows and into the flickering firelight.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Three monstrous figures stood on a mountaintop, gazing down at what had once been a prosperous town. With eyes that could see much further and in greater detail than those of any regular human being, they inspected the bombed-out craters, the crumbling ruins pockmarked with bullet holes, the rusted wreckage of cars and battle tanks, and the corpses they could see hanging from lampposts, trapped under the rubble, or lying out in the open where they had been shot dead and left to rot.

"Beautiful," said one of them, a woman with a sharp chin and flaming red hair, dressed in combat fatigues, with a camera bag slung over one shoulder.

"Yes," one of the others agreed. He was dark-skinned, dark-haired and bearded, wearing sunglasses and a black suit that had been expensively tailored to fit his slender body. He gazed beyond the horizon, at the refugee camps in which hundreds of thousands of people were crammed together, slowly dying of disease and malnutrition, and the ghettos of Kasnia's capital city, in which nearly as many people were living in abject poverty and suffering a similar slow death.

"A shame it's going to end soon," said the third of their number, sounding rather sorrowful. He had a youthful, almost childlike appearance, except that his skin was waxy and yellow-tinged, his eyes glinted with malevolence, and his high collar failed to conceal some of the pus-filled boils that were creeping up his neck. His jacket was festooned with badges marked with slogans such as 'No to mandatory vaccines! Save our children!' and 'MMR vaccines cause autism!" and 'Vitamin A can prevent measles!'

"But then it's our big moment," said the woman, whose name was War. "You can't be sorry about that, surely."

"Might as well make the most of it," agreed the man in black, whose name was Famine. "One last blowout before the end."

"I suppose I should savour it for as long as it lasts," said Pestilence. "To everything there is a season… and so on. If this is to be our last dance, we should put on a show like none they've ever seen before."

"That's the spirit," said War, clapping him on the back. "It'll be glorious!"

Famine hadn't stopped scanning the horizon. "We're not there yet. There's still plenty to see here."

A rattle of harsh laughter issued from War's open mouth, past her perfect teeth and ruby-red lips. "It's all right for you two. People will be dying of starvation and preventable disease right up until the end of the world, but this war's almost over. The Nationalists seem to be winning everywhere. All of the other factions are either dead or in hiding. There's the occasional terrorist attack or armed robbery, but it's not a proper war anymore."

"Long live Vandal Savage," said Pestilence, sneeringly.

"Maybe. But there are still… possibilities," said Famine. "Look at those demons, for example. How do you think Savage will deal with them?

There was silence for several moments while his companions peered into the distance, trying to see what he was looking at.

Then, War clapped her hands together with glee. "Ooh! Maybe there'll be a massacre! Maybe they'll fight back – depose him – start the war all over again!"

"We can only hope," said Pestilence.

By this time, Famine had started thinking about something else: "Anyone seen Death recently?"

"Not recently, but what does it matter? She's never far away," said War. "She'll join us when she has to."

"She thinks she's so much better than us," Pestilence muttered. "Well… um, she's not!"

Famine nodded. "Just the four of us, then? Or will Pollution be joining us?"

"We don't need him! There are only supposed to be four horsemen! It says so in the Bible."

"It doesn't say anything about a horseman of Pestilence in the Bible," War teased him. "Maybe you're the one who's surplus to requirements."

Pestilence made indignant sputtering noises. "It's traditional! Ever since the Black Death!"

"We made an agreement. I think we should at least talk to him about it," said Famine.

"Yes, but you also agreed to ride motorbikes instead of horses. Honestly! What nonsense!" Pestilence shook his head and nearly choked on phlegmy, scornful laughter. "Agkh. Just because I was feeling a little under the weather that day."

"You swore you were going to give up this business altogether. Because of penicillin," War reminded him. "We had to scramble to find a replacement."

Famine gave a long-suffering sigh. "I suppose it's our fault for believing you. We should have realised that your histrionics were just a put-on."

"Just a put-on?!"

While Pestilence looked as if apoplectic fury might cause him to split apart like a rotten fruit, War ignored him, sidled up to Famine and leaned against him. "You want everything to be well organized, carefully planned, by the numbers, and so on," she whispered in his ear. "But don't you think it'll be more fun to just… come and see?"

"You're almost certainly right. But you know how I worry," he replied.

"We are what we are, I suppose," she said, looking from Famine to Pestilence and then back again, giving him a wry grin.

"Indeed. None of us can change our nature… no matter how annoying it gets."

Straightening up, she shifted her camera bag into a more comfortable position and said, "Now, I must be on my way. There's a real war going on, you know. Just like the old days."

"And a famine – a proper manmade famine – caused by deliberate malice," he said, gleefully. "So yes, I'm sure I'll see you again very soon."

"Looking forward to it," she replied, with a flirtatious wink. Then, with a noise like a bomb blast, she was gone.

Famine glanced at Pestilence, who was still scowling and mumbling to himself. "Be seeing you," he said, giving him a nod. A moment later, there was a noise like the rasping of the wind over vast swathes of desert, and he disappeared as well.

***

Despite her personal dislike of him, Tanya knew that Etrigan was a mighty warrior who could be a useful ally in the battles to come, assuming that he didn't betray her again and that his mystical connection to Jason Blood didn't cause problems at inconvenient times. Therefore, in the hope of ensuring his future cooperation, she had invited Jason to a particularly sumptuous New York hotel and was attempting to make a deal with him.

"–and while you are in Hell, you will be lavishly taken care of. Your every whim will be provided for," she assured him. "It'll be just like this hotel."

Jason, who was a rugged fellow with an ageless face and a streak of white through his red hair, looked at her with some amusement. "So, better or worse than the last few times I've been in your care?"

"Better, obviously. And in the surrounding area there will be various distractions and entertainments you might enjoy: a department store, a cinema, a bowling alley, a museum, a pachinko parlour, a leisure centre, a massage parlour and a brothel, for example – but I wouldn't recommend either of those last two – they're run by succubi."

"Duly noted," he replied. "What's in the museum?"

"It's dedicated to Hell's long history and its various rulers. Including Etrigan, as a matter of fact."

"And ending with you, its latest and greatest?"

She noted the tone of mockery in his voice, but chose to ignore it. "I won't deny that there's a certain degree of propaganda on display, but it mostly involves glorifying my predecessor, Lucifer, who ruled Hell for billions of years and could presumably take it back from me anytime he chooses."

"What if I want to go further afield and see how you're treating the billions of damned souls who are trapped here in Hell?" he asked.

"By all means," said Tanya. "Most of them aren't being punished, except with the boredom and monotony of having nothing to do. However, a small minority spent their mortal lives committing such vile crimes that I have given them over to Ran Va Daath, one of my more old-fashioned subordinates, who has dedicated herself to torturing them in innovative and grisly ways. If you decide to enter her territory, I cannot guarantee your safety. Although… considering your bond with her son, you may be at less risk than anyone else would be. Or you may be in even more danger. I suppose that's up to you to find out, if you dare."

"What about all the rest? Some would say that endless tedium is almost as bad as torture."

"Indeed. That's why I've given them the opportunity to alleviate their boredom by working for me, in my fields, factories and asteroid mines, and thereby earning scrip they can spend on treats or leisure activities such as those I have already described to you."

Jason looked appalled and Tanya had no idea why. "So… just like when they were alive," he whispered.

"Not exactly. They have no basic survival needs such as food or shelter, so they are free to spend whatever they earn on enjoying themselves."

A quizzical frown crept over Jason's craggy face. "Uh... how are billions of people supposed to fit into a single cinema, for example?"

"The cinema is as large as it needs to be. Or perhaps there are many cinemas. An infinite number." Tanya gave a careless shrug. "I don't waste time thinking about it."

"All right, so… what do you want from me?" asked Jason, wresting the conversation back onto its original course.

"A guarantee that you won't interfere while Etrigan is working for me, for as long as I have need of him."

"That depends on what you want him to do and to what extent I consider it to be morally objectionable."

Tanya paused, regarding him with a mixture of distrust and distaste. "I've heard many things about you, Mr. Blood. I've heard that you willingly made a deal with Etrigan in exchange for immortality, that you bathe in blood and have a collection of human tongues in your creepy basement. If any of those things are true… well, I expect you know everything there is to know about moral rectitude."

"Happily, none of those things are true," he replied, seemingly unruffled.

"So you say. Of course, you are free to break the agreement at any time, but there will be consequences."

"There are always consequences."

"Shall we talk about penalty clauses, or is it enough to know that I will be severely displeased and seek a horrible revenge?"

"I had assumed that would be the case."

Tanya stood up and brushed an imaginary bit of lint off her sleeve. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Blood. I hope that this marks the beginning of a mutually beneficial relationship."

"So do I," he said, still lounging in his cushioned seat.

"Good. I need Etrigan in Gotham City. Make sure he gets there as soon as possible, please."

"One of my usual haunts. Easing me into it, huh?"

"Indeed," said Tanya. "Now, if you have any further questions, don't hesitate to get in touch."

As he nodded and got to his feet, she turned away. There were other matters in need of her attention. 'Next stop: Kasnia,' she thought to herself.

***

It should have been a lovely land of snow-capped mountains, pristine forests and picturesque villages, the kind of place that would have been advertised as 'a fairytale wonderland' or something equally vacuous, ideal for nature hikes and skiing holidays, brimming with potential for any entrepreneur. Instead, it was war-torn and battle-scarred, the people were terrified and poverty-stricken, and everything was overlaid with an atmosphere of misery and desolation.

"Why are you here?" she asked Vassago, who seemed to have appointed himself as her guide to this unfortunate place.

He looked invigorated, as if his recent activities had restored his youth, filled out his gaunt features and exchanged his skin's greyish tinge for a healthy bronze. As before, his clothes were those of a Victorian gentleman, but they were ripped and scuffed as if he'd been wearing them on some intrepid adventure and hadn't bothered to replace them. Perhaps whatever he'd been doing here in Kasnia had occupied his time and attention to such an extent that he hadn't noticed.

"In the beginning, God made me. I was an angel of truth and justice," he said, dreamily. "But then I rebelled against what I saw as His cruelty and favouritism. I fell, was condemned to Hell, and became a demon prince."

"I meant here, in this place, specifically," said Tanya.

"Yes, so did I." There was a pause while he gathered his thoughts. "I… ah… For billions of years, I was a despicable monster. I wallowed in every kind of sin and vice. And I hated every minute of it. I was so bored with it all! But you… you gave me an opportunity to be something better: to do good, to save lives, to be what I was always meant to be. I will always be grateful to you for that."

"That's wonderful, but it's not exactly what I had in mind when I said we should take over Earth's criminal underworld."

"Isn't it?" He looked bemused. "I thought that was exactly what you meant when you talked about making the world a better place by reducing the overall crime rate. And all the other things you've said we should do for the sake of good publicity, so we can win the approval of mortals in positions of authority, such as the Justice League. I've listened to all your speeches and… you want us to do good, even if you twist the truth in knots and couch it in terms that even the vilest demons would find acceptable. Isn't that right?"

"I suppose that's the problem with making speeches: someone might actually listen to them," said Tanya, with a dismal sigh.

"You don't fool me," said Vassago, cheerily.

In fact, Tanya was dismayed at how Vassago could have misjudged her so completely. How many of her subordinates, like him, believed that she was some kind of tender-hearted do-gooder? Why did no one realize that the Devil might be lying to them? In a hurry to change the subject, she said, "No, I suppose not. But you still haven't told me what exactly you're doing here."

Vassago proceeded to explain the history of Kasnia, a Balkan nation that had been formed after the First World War. Its first ruler had claimed to be a heroic freedom fighter who had freed his beloved homeland from Austria-Hungarian dominion, which was apparently all the excuse he needed to crown himself Tsar Kasimir and name his new nation after himself.

During the Second World War, Kasnia was invaded and partitioned by Nazi Germany. Despite his increasing frailty, the ageing Tsar Kasimir became a figurehead leader of the resistance. He lived long enough to see the Nazis defeated and his kingdom reunited, and to pass on the crown to his son, Petar.

Since then, Kasnia had enjoyed several decades of peace, but their last few tsars had been cruel and greedy, or so weak and gullible that it made no difference, and had made themselves fabulously wealthy by selling off their country's natural resources while their people were oppressed, impoverished and half-starved. Finally, a bloody rebellion had killed the last tsar and plunged Kasnia into a civil war that seemed never-ending.

At the beginning of the civil war, there had been only two factions: the Rebels and the Royalists. The Royalists had been on the brink of defeat after they lost the capital and the tsar was publicly executed, but then the Rebel movement collapsed into dozens of factions based around different ethnic, religious and political groups, all of which were keen to settle old scores and carve out as much territory as they could for themselves.

The surviving Royalists had wanted their last tsar's closest living relative, a Swedish nobleman named Gustav, to be the next tsar, but he and his family had sensibly stayed far away – although there had been a plot to kidnap his teenage daughter, Audrey, and place her on the throne as a puppet ruler, which had apparently been foiled by the Justice League. Eventually, the Royalists were subsumed by the Nationalists, right-wing extremists who believed that all state power should be concentrated in the hands of one man: an immortal superbeing named Vandal Savage.

Savage proved himself to be a superb military leader. Under his command, the Nationalists became the largest and most powerful faction in Kasnia, seized control of the capital – which he renamed 'Vandalgrad' – and roundly defeated the other factions, to the extent that only a few of them were left alive, hiding in the mountains or dispersed among the population. Almost the entire nation was theirs, except for a few remote areas. The war was nearly over.

One of the other factions had been the Communists. Tanya listened quietly as Vassago described how they had been massacred. She wasn't sure how to feel. There had once been a time when she would have exulted to know what had happened to them. It wasn't much of an exaggeration to say that she had 'always' hated Communism, almost as much as she hated Being X, but the passage of time and many lives had given her some perspective as to why desperate people might pledge themselves to any cause or ideology that gave them hope for the future.

More than once, she had been an abused and neglected child, grimly clinging to life, doing whatever was necessary to survive. Now, she understood how easily someone might be taken in by comforting lies. Thanks to her wealth of experience, she never had been, but many of her friends and acquaintances had been unable to resist a smooth-talking charlatan, preacher or demagogue, and had gone on to become fervent converts. She remembered how eagerly they had told her that everything would be better 'come the revolution,' or when everyone worshipped the same god with as much devotion as they did, or when all the Jews and foreigners were rounded up and 'dealt with'. It made her feel sick and sad to think of how their talents, energy and enthusiasm had been perverted in such a manner. They should have made the most of their lives, but instead they had dedicated themselves to causes that could never have led to anything other than tyrannical dictatorship. 'What a waste…'

When she emerged from her reverie, Vassago hadn't stopped talking. "–half a million people in refugee camps. They all need to be fed, but hardly any supplies are getting through to them, especially since so many aid workers have been killed. So we've been helping out with that."

Tanya gave him a dazed glance. "And by 'we', you mean?"

"All the other demons who've volunteered to help me," he said, as if it was obvious. "There are dozens of us."

"Including Agares and Paimon, I presume?"

He nodded. "They're not as enthusiastic about it as I am, but… I think they're enjoying the chance to do good, to be more than they were condemned to be."

"And the others? Are they all fallen angels like you?"

"Not all of them. Some of them were always demons."

"They were spawned from a pit of stinking evil, oozing with sin and malevolence, but now they want to be good? I find that difficult to imagine," said Tanya.

"You have met Scumspawn, haven't you? He was your 'employee of the month' a few years ago," Vassago reminded her.

"Yes, but… Are they all like him?"

"Not all of them. They're a varied bunch, the same as everyone else." He chuckled at his own joke. "But one thing they have in common is… They want to be given a chance. And you've given them that chance."

"Surely you gave them that chance," she said.

"I couldn't have done it without your permission, my lady."

She narrowed her eyes at him, having begun to suspect that he was mocking her. "As a reward for your help, I gave you a realm of your own, in Hell. What has happened to it while you have been so busy here?"

"I left one of my sycophants in charge," said Vassago. "It'll be fine. He won't do anything that might offend me or endanger his position. There are so many others scheming to replace him that he won't have time to do anything other than fend them off."

"I'll take a look when I have time," said Tanya, unconvinced. "What will you do now? Why did Crowley say that this was a 'trouble spot'?"

After some hesitation, Vassago admitted that, while he and his fellow volunteers had been in the process of delivering more than a hundred thousand tons of food to starving refugees over the course of several months, they had clashed with Nationalist soldiers on multiple occasions. "And some of Savage's elite bodyguards. They have superpowers."

"And then what? You didn't kill them, did you?"

"Of course not. We merely exchanged a few blows with them before retreating as soon as we reasonably could."

Tanya gazed into the distance, beyond the mountains, into the inevitable. "This is going to happen again, isn't it? Unless you stop what you've been doing."

"I don't want to stop," he said, firmly, looking her in the eye.

"No, of course not. It would be wrong of me to ask that of you." Try as she might, Tanya could see no alternative: if Vassago and his fellow volunteers didn't continue their mission of mercy, thousands of people would starve and – more importantly – everything she had done to ensure good public relations would be meaningless, as the rest of the world demanded to know why she had abandoned Kasnia during its hour of need. On the other hand, she could quite easily see a possible future in which the Nationalists were defeated by an army of demons, Vandal Savage was deposed, and she was proclaimed as queen of Kasnia. And then the vicious, bloody, unrelenting civil war would start all over again.

"If the war comes to an end, if Vandal Savage makes sure that aid workers are protected and food shipments get through to the people who need them… When you are no longer needed, I want you to stop," said Tanya. "Otherwise, keep doing what you're doing. Do you need any more help?"

"It would make things easier," Vassago admitted.

"I'll make sure you get it." She paused. "You said… once, you were an angel of justice, isn't that right?"

"Indeed."

"I realise it must be hard for you to be surrounded by so much injustice and not do anything about it, but I'd rather you didn't fight Vandal Savage or any of his henchmen, no matter how despicable they might be."

"I will avoid them if I can," he said. "But if they attack me, I will defend myself, at least until I can escape."

She regarded him in silence, for a few moments, and then nodded. "It would be unreasonable of me to ask you to do otherwise."

"Thank you, my lady." He looked down, abashed. "I really am grateful. For everything."

"You don't need to thank me." She rewarded him with a fond smile. "Just go out and be a hero. Show the world how good you can be."

"I will," he vowed. "For you, my lady."

"Who could ask for anything more?" said Tanya, in a voice heavy with irony, as she watched him fly away.

'And now Santa Prisca,' she thought, getting ready to depart. 'I just hope it'll be easier to deal with than this…'

Chapter Text

When Tanya arrived in Santa Prisca, she was surrounded by another scene of devastation: the city was in ruins, the streets were littered with corpses and wreckage, and its terrified inhabitants were in hiding. Over the past several hours, while she had been busy elsewhere, demons and gangsters had been engaged in open warfare, which had escalated to the extent that Hastur had been summoned, brought reinforcements with him, and proceeded to utterly trounce the local criminal gangs, their hired mercenaries, and finally the armed forces that had been sent in by the island nation's corrupt government. Now, all resistance had been quashed, the demons had seized control of the city's civic, military and administrative buildings, and Hastur was looking at her as if he were a child who knew he'd done something wrong and expected to be punished for it. However, no matter how tempted she might be, Tanya knew that wasn't going to happen; she could hardly punish one of her subordinates for doing their job too well. If she wanted to maintain any pretense of being a fair and reasonable boss, she would have to smile and praise him for doing a good job, no matter how many problems this created for her.

"So… does Santa Prisca still have any form of government?" she asked, while she was trying to organize her thoughts.

"I think that's you, isn't it?" asked one of Hastur's minions, the demoness known as Shax, whose smirk was edged with mischief. "All hail Queen Tanya!"

Even if they were eager to curry favor with her, most of the other demons nearby had the good sense to wait and see how Tanya reacted to this show of sycophancy; when she didn't react, neither did they.

"We've got them locked up in the cells, your ladyship," said Hastur, giving her a salute. With the other hand, he indicated the hulking remains of what had once been a police station.

"All of them?"

"Most of them," was all Hastur was willing to say for sure.

"I know two of them were reduced to ash. And there were probably a few others who suffered similar fates," said Shax. "But I can call their shades back from Hell if you want."

"I hope that won't be necessary. But thank you anyway," Tanya replied.

It occurred to her that Vassago and his band of do-gooders might be useful here; they were experts in making sure that food, water and medical supplies got to the people who needed them. They should be able to keep the ordinary people of Santa Prisca alive and healthy for at least a few days while she sorted out this mess.

Ideally, she'd like to return Santa Prisca to some form of democratic rule, but she could see several problems with that. Unfortunately, the island nation was so steeped in organized crime that it was difficult to find anyone who wasn't a criminal or under their influence. There were too many rich and powerful people who were willing to use bribery, threats and propaganda to get the election results they wanted – and all of them had stayed far away from today's fighting, in foreign countries, mansions and mega-yachts – and they could truthfully claim that they weren't involved in anything criminal. They had other people to do that for them. Tanya was grimly certain that if they had their way, Santa Prisca's new government would be just as corrupt as the last. Much needed to be done before this benighted nation could be anything more than an example of 'what not to do'.

However… Tanya wondered why she was bothering to think about this. Even if the world wasn't about to end, she shouldn't be getting involved in something that was definitely none of her business. Many of the people of Santa Prisca were blameless and hadn't deserved to be caught up in gang violence or the recent demonic invasion, but things would be a lot worse for them when the Apocalypse happened, so why wasn't she focused on that instead? It was a matter of priorities. Even if her professional pride meant she hated to leave a job half-done… there were many, many more important things she needed to do.

While she was pondering this, the sky darkened as if the sun had hidden behind a cloud. There was a commotion as several of her subordinates stopped what they were doing, chattering excitedly and pointing at something they could see high above them. Tanya looked up to see what it was.

She recognized the Justice League immediately. There was Superman, majestic in his classic red and blue uniform, a look of determination on his face. Wonder Woman was with him, stern and imperious. Green Lantern, a much younger man, looked somewhat unsure of himself, but was still resolute. The Martian Manhunter was as enigmatic as ever. Nothing could be seen behind Steel's mask, but his posture was that of a man ready to do or die. All in all, they looked as if they were posing for a movie poster. 

Above them was their spacecraft, its shape somewhat reminiscent of a spearhead. Presumably the other members of their team, those who couldn't fly, were somewhere aboard, preparing for when they might be needed.

"Superman," said Tanya, looking up at him and giving him a nod. "What can I do for you?"

"Good afternoon, Lady Tanya," he said, putting on a polite smile. "We were informed that Santa Prisca was being invaded by demons."

"That sounds about right," she replied, glancing around at her various employees, many of whom were waiting for her to tell them what to do.

"We've been sent to stop you," said Wonder Woman, with an impressive glower.

Tanya was glad to have found a solution to her latest unwanted problems. A savage grin spread across her face. "I like the sound of that."

"You've been a good friend to us," said Superman, warily. "We don't have to fight."

"We don't," said Tanya, cheerfully. "And that's why I'm leaving now and taking all these other demons with me."

Behind her, Hastur made a startled noise. It sounded like subterranean rumblings coming from his chest. "You are? I mean… Yes, of course, your ladyship."

He turned and issued instructions to the other demons: they were to open a portal and begin their withdrawal immediately. Many of them bristled with discontentment – they had won a grinding and vicious battle, but now their winnings were being taken away from them – but they didn't say anything.

For their benefit as well as the Justice League's, Tanya explained: "Some of my subordinates were attacked, they defended themselves and the situation escalated from there. We had little choice but to fight against those who raised arms against us, including Santa Prisca's former rulers, who were mere puppets of the criminal cartels that have blighted this region for so long. However, we have no interest in taking control of this island for ourselves, which would require extensive rebuilding work, public education and investment before it could be anything other than a drain on our resources. That's why I'm happy to hand it over to you." She waved a careless hand in Superman's direction. "Congratulations."

"Another victory for the Justice League," said Steel. His tone was humorous, even if his voice was distorted by his full-face helmet.

"Yes… it seems almost too easy," said Wonder Woman, looking wary.

Tanya thought about everything that would need to happen before Santa Prisca could take its rightful place as a nation among nations: a substantial amount of rebuilding, re-education and economic restructuring, as well as criminal trials for many of its most prominent public figures, and other things she hadn't even begun to think about.

"No. A big, dramatic superhero battle would be easy. Rebuilding a nation from the ground up will be incredibly difficult," she said.

"And that's what you want us to do? Is this like one of those TV shows where they teach kids that the real heroes are doctors and firefighters and so on?" asked Green Lantern.

"If you like," said Tanya, without much interest. "Is Zauriel not with you?"

"No. We hoped that you might have some idea what had happened to him," said Superman.

"Why would you think that?"

"He went to the Silver City of the angels to find out more about… what's going to happen in two years' time," said Superman, careful not to mention the Apocalypse in a public space where panicky civilians might overhear. "He has not yet returned."

"Why would I know anything about what goes on in His heavenly abode?" asked Tanya, with a contemptuous snort.

"You have sources of information that are not available to us," said the Martian Manhunter.

Tanya accepted that with a nod. "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

There was a tense, uncertain silence. All around, the demons continued their withdrawal, leaving the city one by one. Hastur sent Shax and a few trusted subordinates to scour the city and round up any others who might not have gotten the message. It wouldn't take long.

It occurred to Tanya to ask: "Is Batman with you? I would like to speak to him."

"He's busy. Gotham City is consumed by gang warfare. Yet another problem you've caused," said Wonder Woman.

"Gotham was in the grip of organized crime long before I or any of my demons went near it. But I intend to help him find a solution. That's where I'm going next."

Wonder Woman's reply was drier than the Sahara Desert: "I'm sure he'll be delighted."

"I hope so," said Tanya, refusing to rise to the bait. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Before any of them could think of a reason to make her stay and answer any more questions, she opened another portal and was gone.

***

Thanks to an anonymous tip-off, Batman had found the Joker's latest hideout in a disused warehouse, in one of Gotham City's many run-down industrial districts – a part of the East End colloquially known as 'the Dead End' – and proceeded to subdue him and his goons, putting an end to their latest terror campaign. However, while he was doing this, he was unpleasantly aware that the rest of Gotham was a battleground. A coalition of criminal gangs had united against Lady Tanya's demons and were attempting to drive them out of the city. Even here, not even close to the front line, he could hear the noise of screams, gunfire and muffled explosions. Worse than that, several costumed supervillains, including the Joker, had been taking advantage of the chaos for their own purposes; some of them were intent on mayhem and murder, while others merely wanted to make money illegally. Either way, Batman was sworn to stop them, but first he had to make sure that his current group of captives were securely locked away somewhere they could do no more harm, at least for the moment.

Commissioner Gordon had agreed to send a police van, which should be along any minute now. In the meantime, it seemed like the Joker had plenty to say for himself. His goons remained sullenly silent and Batman considered having him muzzled as he listened to the sounds of battle and shrieked with laughter. "The city returns to its natural state: total chaos! Beautiful, isn't it? Just the way it should be."

"For more than eleven months out of every year, the city is peaceful. This is an aberration," said Batman.

"Yeah, peaceful." The Joker sniggered. "Except for all the grocery store robberies, back alley shootings, drug deals gone wrong, and little kids playing with daddy's gun, it's very peaceful. Keep telling yourself that, sweetcheeks!"

"Despite your best efforts – and those of many others like you – I don't think we've done a bad job of maintaining public order. Considering how hard you've tried, you haven't had much success."

"There's no one else like me. I'm one of a kind, baby!"

"What about Harley Quinn? She's like you, isn't she?"

"An inferior knockoff. Eye candy, you know. For all those fat old perverts who'd really like to fuck me if I had a nice pair of tits."

Batman raised his eyebrows at that. "Wasn't she your girlfriend?"

"Huh… well, I've never claimed to be a good boyfriend. I'm too much man for them to handle, know what I mean?"

"Ah."

For several moments, the Joker subsided into grumbling and muttering to himself, though his face was fixed in its usual rictus grin. Then, a thought occurred to him: "And then there's you, of course. You're like me."

"We're nothing alike," said Batman, firmly.

"Two sides of the same coin. In many ways, we're opposites. Order and chaos. The dark knight and the smiling, white-faced clown. One does crime, the other prevents crime. Madness and… well, I'm not sure what you are, but I think it would be over-optimistic of me to say that you're sane. And me… They say I'm mad, but there have been plenty of times when I've felt like I'm the sanest man in the room. We're both human. We're both down here in the gutter, looking up at the stars. We both know how crazy this big old universe really is. Know what I mean?"

"Not really, no."

The Joker shook his head and said, in a tone of mock-sadness, "Babycakes, it's a good thing you're pretty."

There was a pause. Batman waited patiently until the Joker succumbed to the temptation to explain himself. He was being more than usually chatty and philosophical; there must be a reason for that, which he would undoubtedly make clear without prompting, if he was given the opportunity to do so.

"Ugh, you're no fun! But then, if you were, you wouldn't be you." The Joker gave a disgusted groan. "We live in a city where demons – actual demons from Hell – have taken over a large area of territory and are strutting around acting like gangsters, selling weed and squabbling over turf. Aliens visit us every other week, if they haven't already been living among us for years. There are angels and monsters and wizards and fifth-dimensional imps… and most people just carry on their ordinary, humdrum lives, obsessing over celebrities and social media, as if anything they do actually matters. And they call me mad! Me!" He started laughing again: forced, mirthless, cackling laughter, shaking so violently that it almost seemed as if he might burst out of his restraints. "How can they tell?"

"You're the one going around murdering people," said Batman, once again making sure that he was properly secured.

"Yeah, that's probably it," said the Joker, who didn't resist. His ever-present grin grew a little wider. "Hey, do you want to hear a joke? It's about Hell."

"I suppose you might as well," said Batman, checking his watch. If the police van didn't arrive soon, he might have to arrange alternative transport. "But we don't have much time."

"I'll skip the foreplay."

Batman sighed. "Fine."

"It goes something like this: an innocent, blameless man dies and is sent to Hell. He's always tried to be a good Christian and he wants to prove that he doesn't deserve to be in Hell, so he tries to be kind and turn the other cheek even when the demons are torturing him. He is polite and friendly, asking them about their hobbies, interests and accomplishments, and even manages to feign interest when they invariably tell him they really enjoy torturing people and they're really good at it. Then, one day, he is brought to the throne room of the Devil himself. As usual, he smiles, says hello, and starts asking his usual friendly questions. The Devil replies, 'They call me the Father of Lies because I really enjoy lying and I'm really good at it. But most of all…' He goes over to the window and surveys his kingdom: the billions of damned souls being tortured, mutilated and screaming in agony. 'My proudest accomplishment is that I convinced humanity there was an alternative to all of this.'"

When the Joker had finished telling this 'joke', he stared at Batman, waiting for him to react. 

Finally, Batman broke the silence by laughing politely and saying, "Very thought-provoking."

"How did you find me, anyway?" asked the Joker, changing the subject.

Batman thought about the letter that had been sent to Commissioner Gordon, which had been blank except for two riddles: 'I can be cracked or played, told or made. What am I?' and 'What kind of streets do zombies like?' They were simple riddles that might have come from a child's jokebook, hardly up to the Riddler's usual standard, but they had provided him with a vital clue that the Joker's hideout was somewhere in the Dead End, helping him to narrow down a long list of possible locations. Of course, he had wondered if the anonymous tip-off could be trusted, but he had decided to take a chance and it had paid off. Still, he was left with some unanswered questions: had the Riddler sent the letter? If not, who had? And why? Were they just trying to distract him from something that was happening elsewhere in the city? Why would they need to do that, considering that the war-torn city was already filled with a multitude of possible distractions? So many questions…

However, when he answered the Joker's question, he didn't mention any of that. Instead, he said, "Patient detective work. It's not glamorous, but it's necessary sometimes."

"Oh, of course," said the Joker, with a theatrical yawn.

A minute later, Batman was relieved when the police van finally arrived and he could hand over his prisoners to one of Commissioner Gordon's trusted lieutenants, make sure they were safely locked away, and move on to doing something else. There was too much that needed to be done.

***

An old church was a favoured hangout spot for Tanya's agents in Gotham City. Stripped of any explicitly religious paraphernalia, it was a bleak and forbidding building of dark grey stone and gothic architecture, adorned with frightful gargoyles and grotesques, which seemed like a fitting place for demons to gather and plot.

One of them was Eric, who had somehow risen to a position of authority despite being almost entirely devoid of charisma. He had taken the form of a skinny African American man, though his demonic horns and tail were still showing, with a whiny voice and a pathetic air about him, and he seemed to twitch in startlement whenever Tanya deigned to address him directly.

He explained the latest crisis: as well as the running battles that were taking place all over the city, the supervillain known as 'Black Mask' had taken dozens of hostages from areas that were at least nominally part of the demons' territory, and was threatening to massacre them unless certain demands were met.

The question of why Tanya or any of the demons should care about what happened to the hostages was answered by Hastur, who said, "It's about respect. Who'd respect us if we let Black Mask or anyone else do whatever they want to our people. Besides, several of them are business owners who've been paying us protection money, which means we've got to protect them when they need it, or else what would be the point?"

There was general agreement that "Yeah, that makes sense," and, 'It stands to reason.'

"It's obviously a trap," said Tanya, looking at Black Mask's outrageous list of demands, which ended with an invitation to a meeting where they could further discuss peace terms. "But what should we do about it?"

"Spring the trap, rescue the hostages, see if it's possible to fit Black Mask's head up his rectum while it's still attached to his neck," said Etrigan, with a bored snarl. "He's a mobster in a fancy costume; you're the Devil. Even if he's got some special tricks up his sleeve, do you really think they'll be anything you can't handle?"

Tanya remembered how easily she had been trapped in the cellar beneath Fawney Rig. "You may be right… but I'm not invincible. It's possible that they've made a deal with someone with magical powers, one of the angels, or Being X himself." She felt rather excited by the prospect. At last, a chance to test herself against one of her real enemies! At the same time, she felt foreboding, knowing that things could go very badly if she was unprepared for what she might face.

"So, what's the plan?" asked Hastur, bringing her back to the moment.

After some discussion, it was agreed that Tanya, Hastur, Etrigan and a few other heavy hitters would go to the meeting with Black Mask and spring the trap. Meanwhile, another group, led by Shax and consisting mostly of shapeshifting succubi, would sneak in and rescue the hostages. Before long, everything was ready.

Tanya pulled Hastur to one side and said, "Tell me about Shax. Competent, is she?"

"Yeah, I reckon so." He considered for a moment and then started listing her positive qualities: "Smart. Ambitious. Willing to take calculated risks."

"Ambitious enough to betray you?"

"Probably not, unless I botched things up so badly she felt it was necessary."

"Do you think that's likely to happen?" asked Tanya, giving him an unimpressed look.

"I hope not. But it could happen."

"Make sure that it doesn't."

"I'll do my best."

Tanya paused, casting her mind back to what she'd seen of Shax. "She has a streak of insubordination, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, but I don't mind so long as she doesn't go too far. Nothing wrong with a bit of friendly banter. Camaraderie and so on. She's smart enough to know when to back off."

"Hmm. We'll try her out as your second in command, at least for now. If she does a good job, we'll see about making it permanent."

"As you say, milady," said Hastur, bowing his head.

***

Black Mask, leader of the False Face Society, was quietly confident that today he would rid Gotham City of 'the Demons' and their disgusting hypocrisy. Despite being monsters from the depths of Hell, they acted as if they were somehow nobler and better than the other criminals that infested the city's streets, only committing crimes that most people wouldn't care about or find out about, and treating its citizens with patronizing, paternalistic concern. To that end, he had made a deal with a group of deluded cultists who had pledged their loyalty to an eldritch abomination from another dimension. It was obvious to him that they could never succeed in their goal of 'summoning Trigon the Terrible to be the new ruler of this world' – there had too many powerful enemies leagued against them – but he didn't mind their drivel so long as they were useful to him.

His gang now had a collection of guns inscribed with mystical runes that were supposed to channel Trigon's power, making them effective even against the toughest opponents. More than that, the cultists were preparing an arcane ritual that was supposed to blast even the most powerful demons from existence, provided that they could be persuaded to stand in the right spot. Any minute now.

He knew the demons wouldn't stay away. They would walk right into the trap he'd set, thinking themselves invincible. All he had to do was wait. He kept telling himself that, even as he felt himself bristling with impatience. It wouldn't be long.

Of course, he assumed that when the demons arrived, they would take a few moments to parley with him, so that he could gloat over how doomed they were. It came as an unpleasant surprise when they didn't. Their leader, who looked like a pretty girl barely out of her teens, except for her horns and leathery wings, glanced around at his gang members and their heavy weaponry, at the robed cultists and their mystical implements and the runic circle they had inscribed on the back wall, and said, "Yeah, this is a trap. As expected."

Then, there was a sudden eruption of violence. All hell broke loose.

He didn't even have his gun in his hand when the girl suddenly appeared next to him and, with a curiously delicate motion, as if she could hardly bear to touch him, picked him up and smashed him against the wall.

Falling in a broken heap, whimpering in pain, he was nevertheless able to prop himself up against the wall and lift his head enough that he could watch as his men fought for their lives, desperately hoping that they could still win this.

The largest demon, a rough-looking man in a rumpled suit, with a shock of white hair and eyes that were almost entirely black, bellowed in pain as enchanted bullets pierced his flesh. Another, with yellow skin, horns and red eyes, who appeared to be wearing a parody of a superhero costume, merely laughed. Even as black ichor poured from his gaping wounds, he didn't stop laughing. A few other demons were so badly hurt that they were forced to retreat – but they didn't matter – they were obviously much weaker than the three who remained, especially the girl. It was as if she were everywhere at once, sliding sinuously into the spaces where no bullets were, even while bullets were falling like raindrops all around, remaining uninjured even as Black Mask's men emptied their magazines at her.

Opening his mouth, the yellow-skinned demon breathed out a jet of hellfire that consumed whatever it touched: the floor, the furniture, human flesh. Several of his men screamed in unbearable agony as they were eaten alive by infernal flames.

By comparison, the other two were almost kind: the largest demon was like a wrecking ball that rolled over his men and left them and their weapons smashed upon the ground; the girl struck swiftly and precisely, her blows calculated to be disabling but not deadly, leaving a trail of helpless victims behind her.

"Do it now!" he cried, hoping that the cultists would hear him before they too were crying and moaning on the floor. "Now!"

They must have activated their magical superweapon, whatever it was. There was a flash of blinding white light. Then silence. Stillness. A few agonized moans.

He couldn't see the demons anywhere. Were they gone? Had they been vaporized? Had he won?

"Is it over?" he asked, hardly daring to hope.

"Yes," said the girl, appearing next to him and lifting him up by his neck, an expression of irritation on her face. "For you, at least."

***

"I think he fainted," said Tanya, discarding Black Mask once again, letting him fall at her feet.

Hastur was holding up two of the cultists by their necks, glowering at them. His appearance was made even more fearsome by the fact that one side of him had been horribly burnt: half of his face, most of his hair, one arm and part of his torso that had been exposed when his clothes disintegrated. One eye was a gooey puddle of blood and mush. "Thattt realllly hurttt," he slurred. "Guessss what I'm gonna do to you."

One of the cultists whimpered. The other was either very brave, insane or too stupid to realize the danger he was in. He spat defiance. "Lord Trigon will–"

"Eat shit," said Hastur, throwing them on the pile with all the other bodies. It would be easier to transport them that way.

Etrigan, who looked like a boiled lobster, grinned at him and said, "If you ever want a new experience, you could try joining Batman's rogues gallery. I think Two-Face is looking for holiday cover."

"You'll heal," said Tanya, hoping that was the case. "Now, do you think anyone would care if we dragged all these men off to Hell?"

"Batman. Probably," said Etrigan.

"Yes, but if it were up to him, we'd never do anything. He'll just have to accept it."

Hastur grunted. "If he ever finds out."

"He'll be ever so upset."

"It's a terrible shame that one of his enemies won't be killing any more innocents," said Tanya, sardonically. Then, in a serious tone, she said, "We'll be able to interrogate them at our leisure. I want to know more about the one they call Trigon. And the spell they used against us."

"Yeah. Good idea," said Hastur, thickly.

Tanya shot him a worried glance, realising that he would need some considerable time to rest and heal. While he was recovering, she would have to split his duties between Shax and…  Etrigan, probably, which could be disastrous.

'Problem after problem,' she mused.

But that was something she'd have to deal with later. For now, she needed to send Black Mask and his goons to Hell. Then, she'd get in touch with Shax and find out if the hostages had been successfully rescued. And then…

***

High above the Earth, on the Watchtower, which was the space station that served as their headquarters, the Justice League had gathered to meet an unusual visitor. He was an angel, but not the one they had expected to see. Whereas Zauriel had chalk white skin, beady black eyes, and wore ornate metal armor, this one was a handsome, muscular black man, wearing jeans and a leather jacket, who looked almost entirely human except for the swanlike wings sprouting from his back.

"Thank you for agreeing to speak with me at such short notice," he said. "I am Amenadiel, an angel of the Lord. I regret to inform you that–" A conflicted expression twisted his face. "–Zauriel will not be returning to you."

Wonder Woman gave him a quizzical frown. Then, on behalf of the entire Justice League, said, "May I ask why?"

"He has been imprisoned."

"Why?"

"He…" Amenadiel paused. "I have been told that he needs to be re-educated."

"Re-educated how?" asked Aquaman, who had been paired with Zauriel on several missions and saw him as a good friend.

"I don't know exactly."

"You don't approve of how he's being treated, do you?" asked Wonder Woman, shrewdly.

"It doesn't matter if I approve or not. I am a loyal servant of God."

The Justice League looked at each other uncomfortably and then at Amenadiel, who looked just as uncomfortable as they were.

"Thank you," said Wonder Woman, at last. "Do you have anything else to tell us?"

"No. That will be all," said Amenadiel. "Farewell."

He left without another word. The Watchtower's walls and force fields were no barrier to him.

***

It was another beautiful day in the commune that was home to a religious group known as the Enlightened Seekers of God's Truth – who definitely weren't a cult, thank you very much – even if they'd been nicknamed 'Struthers' by unkind people in the global media. The fields were golden, the sun was shining high above, the children were happily playing together, and everything was good and glorious in this outpost of Heaven on Earth.

Today was an extra special day because they were being joined by two new converts: Sam and Carrie Spain, who were husband and wife. Sam was a pudgy, balding, middle-aged man who claimed to have been a successful businessman until he had seen the light and set aside his worldly trappings. He was sweating profusely and already seemed to be reddening in the bright sunlight. His wife, Carrie, was a lovely young woman, much too young for him, which presumably meant that she'd married him for his money, in the bad old days before she'd been enlightened. None of her clothes seemed to fit her very well; her ample bosom was almost spilling out of her pretty sundress. Of the two, she seemed more enthusiastic about joining their group, and would chatter away to anyone who'd listen about how wonderful it was and how much she was looking forward to taking part in their lifestyle.

"Spain, huh? That's an unusual surname," said someone who'd been sent to greet them.

"Is it?" Sam Spain tittered. "My ancestors were Irish. I'm Irish-American, yeah."

"Oh, honey, they don't want to hear about your famous relatives or any of that stuff," said his wife, tugging on his arm. "That doesn't matter anymore. We're here to start a new life, as part of a collective. We're all equals here."

"You're right, dear," he said, mopping his brow. "Sorry. Just a little nervous."

They were taken to meet the Seekers' charismatic leader: a thin, grey-haired man with sharp features, whose name was Mr. Alphonse.

"Oh, Mr. Alphonse, I've heard so much about you! I've listened to all your speeches! You're a wonderful, wonderful man," Carrie gushed at him. For a moment, it seemed as though she might fling her arms around him, but she restrained herself just in time. "I'm so looking forward to hearing your next sermon!"

Mr. Alphonse smiled thinly at her. "Thank you, my child. Please, call me Dan."

Chapter Text

Tanya sat in her office, contemplating her recent successes and failures. In Kasnia, Vassago and his volunteers were pretending to be heroic knights errant; Santa Prisca was being governed by an 'interim administration mission' of the United Nations; in Gotham City, after the leaders of the False Face Society had mysteriously disappeared and their hostages had been rescued, the gang war had ended in a bloody stalemate and the city had returned to its normal state of squalor, corruption and vice. Elsewhere, her various business ventures were performing adequately and her attempts to take control of the criminal underworld had been somewhat successful.

She had sent Kariselle the succubus to infiltrate the cult that called themselves 'the Enlightened Seekers of God's Truth' and find out how they knew the exact date when the Apocalypse was due to take place. Scumspawn had gone with her and was masquerading as her soon-to-be-cuckolded husband. Although he was a highly skilled shapeshifter, Tanya was skeptical of his ability to play his role convincingly. However, Kariselle had assured her that, "He always acts weird, so no one will notice the difference" and "He'll be a good distraction." Tanya was not entirely convinced by these arguments, but had decided to trust that Kariselle knew what she was doing; she had plenty of experience of this kind of infiltration mission, apparently. If she needed any extra help, all she had to do was call.

Eighteen months. That was all the time she had left. She couldn't afford to waste any of it. There was too much she needed to do. First and foremost, she wanted to find the Antichrist. When the Apocalypse came, he would be vitally important, and if she couldn't locate him in time it was likely that she and her forces would be outmanoeuvred. On the other hand, she suspected that Being X wouldn't allow him to be discovered until it was too late – so was there really anything she could do about that?

"I remember, you were telling me about... uh, Warlock Dowling. The ambassador's son. You think maybe he's a decoy, right? Well, I know how we could make sure," said Hastur, who was with her. He still appeared to have been horribly burnt, so she'd put him on light duties for the foreseeable future. Right now, she was benefiting from his experience; he'd been a demon for a long time and knew Hell and its inhabitants much better than she did. "We could find out who the Antichrist really is."

"Yes... that is exactly what we should be doing. But how?" asked Tanya, patiently.

"We could send a hellhound after him. I mean… as a gift. Boys like dogs, don't they?"

Tanya regarded him in silence for a few moments. Then: "How would that work? Would the hellhound be able to find him?"

"Maybe," Hastur hazarded. "They've got senses and mystical abilities the rest of us don't have. I bet if you said to one of them, 'Go to Lucifer's son and be his faithful companion from now on,' it'd find its way to him."

"Lucifer doesn't have any other children, does he?"

"Erm. I don't think so." Hastur paused, thinking deeply and carefully. "Although… a few centuries ago he had something going on with a witch. Sycorax was her name, I think. She had a son. Might have been his."

"Was his name Caliban?"

"That's it. You've heard of him?"

Tanya nodded. "I'm familiar with Shakespeare's The Tempest, yes."

"Right. I guess, uh… whatever instructions you give the hellhound will need to be carefully worded, just in case."

"Indeed. Thank you for the suggestion. It's got to be worth a try," said Tanya, giving him her best attempt at a smile.

He knew her well enough that he wasn't perturbed by it. "Glad I could help."

***

Seated on hard wooden benches in a gloomy hall, where the light shining through the stained glass windows wasn't enough to keep the chill at bay, the Enlightened Seekers of God's Truth had gathered to hear their leader's sermon.

"This world is beyond saving, steeped in sin and iniquity, filled with heretics and infidels. In less than two years, it will be cleansed with holy fire. Only those who prostrate themselves before Almighty God, confess their sins and beg Him to forgive them – and only the most worthy among them – will be saved. He will welcome them into Heaven where they will bask in His transcendent love forevermore. That is what I intend for all of you, my children," said the preacher who called himself Dan Alphonse, smiling benevolently at his followers. "However… everyone else will suffer an eternity of torment as punishment for their crimes. Pity them not, my children. For their hypocrisy, faithlessness and greed, they deserve nothing less."

He continued in this vein for long enough that Carrie Spain, the beautiful young woman who was a disguise for Kariselle the succubus, struggled to restrain herself from fidgeting. When at last he'd finished, she and her husband remained seated while the rest of the congregation slowly drifted away.

"I think I'll go to him now. I'll tell him how much I enjoyed his sermon, how much I admire him and… deeply desire a closer relationship with God," she said, licking her front teeth with a long tongue. "I'm sure he'll show me exactly how to kneel in prayer."

"Um. Okay," said Sam Spain, her pretend husband, who was actually the demon Scumspawn, having shapeshifted to look like an overweight middle-aged man. "Do you want me to come with you?"

She gave him a playful smirk. "What do you think?"

Instead of replying, he shapeshifted into a large leather purse, which was pink and decorated with gold filigree, with a long strap so she could sling it over her shoulder.

"I suppose you might be useful," she said, picking him up and taking him with her.

Mr. Alphonse was in the vestry, changing out of his ceremonial robes. She greeted him with a demure smile and half-lowered eyelashes.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," she said.

"Oh? What have you done, my child?" he asked, not turning around from where he was smoothing the heavy garment and putting it back on its hanger.

"So many things," she whispered. "I am a creature of duplicity and base lusts."

"Really? You seem like such a sweet and devout young woman. I can hardly believe that you could be so depraved." Having arranged his robes to his satisfaction, he turned and looked severely down at her. "Perhaps God will forgive you in time, if you serve Him well. For now, however… your penance will be onerous indeed."

"Onanous?" she asked, putting on an expression of vague bafflement and pretending to mishear.

"No. Onerous. I will make sure you are cruelly chastised for what you have done."

"With whips and chains?"

"Perhaps. Come with me," he said, marching briskly out of the room, down the corridor and deeper into the building, towards its inner sanctum: a secret, private place where his followers were forbidden to go. Until now, it seemed.

Kariselle smiled. "I am eager to see… whatever you have to show me," she said, hastening to follow him.

"I'm sure. Come."

There was a large door, securely locked. Mr. Alphonse took out a key – an unusual key, like none she'd ever seen before, with teeth stuck out at odd angles – and opened it. Inside, there was darkness.

He walked in. She followed.

All of a sudden, she was no longer on Earth. She had entered another dimension. When she looked around, it wasn't immediately apparent, but she knew it as surely as she knew the difference between up and down. Glancing behind her, she couldn't see the door she had come through. Instead, there was a wall of dull grey stone. There were pillars, archways and high ceilings, towers and buttresses, as if this were a castle that had been built inside another, larger castle. And there were cages.

Each cage contained something monstrous: vaguely human shapes, malformed and incomplete, bestial and broken. Some of them gazed at her with lust or hunger, others with mute appeal, and others stared at nothing at all. Some had wings; others had claws, extra limbs and other appendages. Their eyes were as dark, cold and uncomprehending as the endless void between stars.

Before she could scream, or demand to know what was going on, or try to flee, she saw Mr. Alphonse standing before her. He was no longer a middle-aged man with a pointed nose, dressed in old clothes that might once have been stylish. Instead, he was an angel, fearsome and resplendent, with swanlike wings stretched out behind him.

"I am Sandalphon, an angel of the Lord. Welcome to my domain," he said. Then, glaring at her, he said, "I know what you are, demoness. You were a fool to walk willingly into my clutches."

"W-what are you going to do to me?" she asked, shivering.

"I am building an army," he said, indicating the cages and smiling beatifically. "When the time comes, my pets will storm the gates of Hell. Each of them is imbued with the power of an archangel, far greater than any demon. Nothing will stand against them." He paused and then seemed to remember that she'd asked a question. "You may be useful. The children of a demon and an archangel… I expect they would be formidable indeed, but they'd probably take too long to mature. It would be better to breed you with some of my faster-growing specimens–"

"An archangel?" asked Kariselle, interrupting his musings as to how exactly he was going to use her as a brood mare.

"Would you like me to show you?" he asked, still smiling.

She nodded, unresisting as he guided her past several more rows of cages and into a large, circular room in which two angels were naked and bound with heavy chains that were attached to the ceiling and the floor, stretching them as if they were on a rack. One of them had snow-white skin, red eyes and an air of watchfulness about him; the other was heavily scarred and bleeding, appeared to be unconscious, and had a mane of tangled, matted blond hair hanging down over his face.

"The Archangel Michael," said Sandalphon, indicating the one who was dripping blood from his many wounds. "The other is Zauriel. I haven't used him yet, but I should probably give Michael time to recuperate, so… His children will be lesser, of course, but every army needs some cannon fodder."

"You… you raped him," said Kariselle, aghast.

"I arranged for him to be raped," Sandalphon corrected her, as if grammar was important under these circumstances. "He has fathered a multitude of powerful offspring." He chuckled, as if a joke had suddenly occurred to him. "Such hypocrisy. You are a succubus; your entire purpose is to seduce mortal men and drain them of their life energy. How dare you judge me for what I have done?"

"I never raped anyone," Kariselle mumbled. Her eyes filled with tears.

"Neither have I. I merely arranged for it to happen."

"Y-you said you were an angel of the Lord. Is this what God would want? Isn't he supposed to be good?"

"God is the ultimate good," Sandalphon agreed. "I am His loyal servant and He has blessed and favoured me above all others. Everything I do is for His sake; therefore, everything I do is good."

He reached for Kariselle as if he were about to grab hold of her. She flinched backwards. Suddenly, Scumspawn was standing in front of her, shielding her, having become huge and bearlike. "Run!" he cried. "I'll hold him off!"

"There's nowhere to run. You can't escape." Sandalphon lashed out, striking Scumspawn with a closed fist that sunk deep into his bloated body.

There was a noise like someone choking back a sob. Then Scumspawn changed shape again, becoming a squat, rounded creature with stubby legs and an enormous mouth, swallowing Sandalphon's lower arm and chewing on his elbow with rows of sharp fangs.

Sandalphon tore Scumspawn apart, tossing aside globs of flesh and demonic ichor.

While he was distracted, Kariselle didn't run. Instead, she rushed over to where Zauriel and Michael were chained. She saw that Michael's chains were immensely thick, made of an unfamiliar metal, and had been reinforced with magic and divine power. She had no chance of breaking them, so she didn't bother. Instead, she turned to Zauriel. His chains were more than strong enough to hold him, but they weren't as thick, well-made or heavily reinforced. Succubi weren't renowned for their strength, but she was much stronger than any ordinary mortal. And she had a hidden knife, razor-sharp and mystically enhanced. It wasn't ideal for sawing through Zauriel's chains, but she could at least weaken them just enough that… if she heaved hard enough…

Zauriel lent his strength to hers, straining against his chains. They snapped off one by one and thudded to the floor at his feet.

"Do you really think he can help you?" Sandalphon sneered and shook demonic ichor off his hands. "Him? A coward and a traitor."

Scumspawn was nowhere to be seen. Tears cascaded down Kariselle's face.

"Words words words," said Zauriel, calmly. A flaming sword appeared in his hand. Striking again and again, he cleaved through Michael's chains as if they were made of nothing more than ordinary pot metal.

"Where did you get that? I took it off you!" cried Sandalphon, in a panic. "How?"

"It's mine. It's bound to me," said Zauriel, holding up Michael's limp body so he wouldn't topple to the floor.

"That's… unusual. Something I'd like to investigate," said Sandalphon, rubbing his chin. "But there isn't time."

He gathered his power. He was going to blast them with holy fire. Kariselle backed away, but there was nowhere to run. The wall was behind her. In another moment, she would be blasted to ashes.

Scumspawn emerged from the puddles that had gathered on the floor, engulfing Sandalphon's lower body in an oozing mass of slime and stickiness.

"How did you–?" Sandalphon was astonished. "Shapeshifting? How remarkable…"

Leaning closer to Michael's lolling head, Zauriel whispered: "We need your help. Can you open a portal so we can escape?"

Michael's eyes opened, just for a moment. Blearily, he murmured, "Yes…"

A hole appeared in the air in front of him, growing larger and larger. Through it, Kariselle could see the fields outside the cultists' compound. "Go go go!" she cried, ushering Michael and Zauriel through it. "We need to go now!"

Then, with a last despairing look back at Scumspawn, she leapt through the portal.

Landing in the dust and dirt, she rolled over and stumbled to her feet, nearly tripping over Michael's unconscious body, and screamed up at the heavens: "Lady Tanya, we need you! Come quickly! Please!"

The air shifted. There was a noise like a disconsolate sigh. Then, a familiar voice said, "I am here."

"Tanya!" cried Kariselle, throwing her arms around her, weeping into her shoulder, and carrying on a barely coherent stream of explanations: "The cult leader… He's Sandalphon… an angel… He's raping people… He's got Scumspawn!"

"I'll deal with it," said Tanya, gently pushing her away.

Kariselle collided with Zauriel, blinked up at him, and started hugging him instead, sobbing into his broad, bare and muscular chest. He patted her awkwardly.

By then, Tanya had already gone through the portal.

***

Tanya emerged into a room that might have been part of a medieval castle, with thick stone walls, high windows through which only trace amounts of light were permitted to shine, piles of chains, and a floor that was sticky with blood and demonic ichor.

A grey-haired angel had reduced Scumspawn to a blob of agonized flesh, trapped him inside a force field bubble, and was muttering to himself, "I'll need a box to put you in. Or some sort of ball…"

"Sandalphon, I presume," said Tanya, tapping her foot in a show of impatience.

The force field faded. Scumspawn splattered on the ground.

Sandalphon looked at her with mingled glee and trepidation. "You… You are foolish to attack me here, in my domain," he said. "Here, at the heart of my power, I am stronger than anyone less than the Almighty himself!"

"Good. A warm-up," said Tanya. Dropping to a crouch, she scooped up as much of Scumspawn as she could, moulded it into a ball and flung it back through the portal behind her, just as it began to close.

"Maybe I'll add you to my collection. You can take Michael's place," Sandalphon taunted her.

She sighed, stood up and spread her wings. "Lifetimes of suffering would not be sufficient punishment for everything you have done. But I'm willing to make a start."

After that, there were no more words, only violence. Faster than fighter planes they flew, filled the air with fire, dodged and spun around, dived or soared, and flitted from one room to the next. For a few moments, it seemed as if neither of them could hit or do any damage to the other.

Lining the walls of this place, there were cages filled with monstrous beings. More than one of them was reduced to a heap of ash, fragments of bone and splintered metal.

Then, Tanya was hit by a blast of scorching heat that would have slammed her into the nearest wall if she hadn't thrust herself forward at the last moment. She felt searing pain down one side. First blood to him.

She was faster and had hit him more than once, buffeting him this way or that, but had hurt him not at all. In this place, she was forced to admit, he was tougher and more powerful than she was. But perhaps there was a way to turn that power against him.

Returning to the room where the Archangel Michael had apparently been imprisoned, she examined the chains he had been bound with. They had been strengthened to the extent that even one of the most powerful angels had been unable to break free without help – although someone had managed to cut through them, somehow – and the floor and ceiling they had been attached to must have been similarly strengthened, or the chains would have been ripped out of them almost immediately.

Sandalphon pursued her, scenting victory. She put her plan into action.

Darting above him, she blasted him with heat and concussive force that seemed to do him no damage, except that he was shoved downwards, into the floor. He was almost invulnerable, but so was the floor. She smashed them against each other, blasting him again and again until he cracked, blood poured from his mouth, and the floor splintered beneath him. With one last, desperate burst of speed and panic, he wriggled out of her grasp and fled as fast as he could. Perhaps she should have followed, but she hesitated, wary of being lured into a trap. A moment later, he had disappeared, beyond the range of any of her senses.

All of the monster cages opened, every one of them. Tanya was faced with a vast horde of savage, senseless, distorted beings. Some of them could fly. Others scaled the walls as quickly as any spider, or leapt into the air and clawed at her with tiger-like ferocity, or attacked her with limbs that grew impossibly long.

She could have stayed to fight them all. Perhaps she would have won. But Sandalphon was lurking somewhere nearby, waiting until she was weakened and distracted, and she had no desire to become another one of his victims.

Fending off the nearest monsters, driving them back with flames and blinding light, she opened a portal and stepped through it before any of them could get close enough to attack again.

***

Outside the compound, she found Kariselle and the others where she had left them. Scumspawn was with them, more or less intact. Kariselle had wrapped him and Zauriel in a tight hug and seemed unwilling to let either of them go. Michael was unconscious on the floor, in the recovery position, with his wings unfurled behind him like a tattered cloak.

There were flashing lights and sirens nearby. Several buildings were on fire. Masses of black smoke were escaping from open windows and wherever else they could find a gap. There were panicked shouts and screams. Through a loudhailer, someone yelled, "The compound is surrounded! Come out with your hands up!"

Tanya frowned. "How long was I in Sandalphon's pocket dimension?"

"Dunno," said Kariselle. "Maybe a couple of hours?"

She had not been fighting Sandalphon for nearly that long, which presumably meant that time passed differently within his realm. When she'd seen it before, the compound had seemed peaceful, had not been ablaze, and there had been no police cars or fire engines nearby, which meant that it must have happened very recently. Had Sandalphon used his mystical powers to control the minds of his followers, particularly the women he'd forced to become the mothers of monsters? Perhaps his battle with Tanya, during which he'd gathered all his power in his efforts to defeat her, had disrupted the effect somehow, setting them free from his influence. Then, while they were panicked and horrified by what had happened to them, perhaps they had set fire to the place, someone had called the police, and the situation had escalated from there. Or there could be some other explanation, but she didn't really need to know. What mattered was that Sandalphon would no longer be able to use these cultists as a source of breeding materials. It probably wouldn't stop him for long, but… it was a small victory, at least.

"And you still haven't stopped hugging them?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow.

 "I… I need it right now," Kariselle mumbled.

"I don't mind. She's had a nasty shock," said Scumspawn.

Tanya turned to Zauriel. "She's not draining your life force, is she?"

"Even if she was, it would be no more than I owe her," he replied. "She saved me."

"Thank you," said Kariselle, looking gratefully up at him.

"You need to go somewhere safe. You're welcome to come back to Hell with me, if you like," said Tanya, looking down at Michael's unconscious body.

"I think that would be for the best. Thank you for your hospitality," said Zauriel. He bent down and picked up Michael as if he weighed nothing at all. Somehow, he made him furl his wings so they didn't keep getting in the way as much.

"If you're ready, let's go," said Tanya, opening another portal. However, before she went through it, she hesitated, glanced at Kariselle and Scumspawn, and said, "Well done, both of you. Good work today."

They both beamed at her like happy children. Zauriel looked amused. Michael gave a feeble moan and Tanya noticed the blood oozing from his many wounds.

"Let's get him to hospital," she said, striding through the portal. "Come on."

***

Much later, in her office, she interviewed Zauriel, who told her what he'd seen in the Silver City, confirming many things that previously she had merely suspected. In turn, she described her visit to Apokolips and what Darkseid had told her.

Then, considering what she'd learned, she mused, "So… Being X is using the Metatron as his mouthpiece. I suppose he doesn't want the angels to see who and what he really is."

"The God who created me was wise, kind and compassionate. The one you call Being X is none of those things," said Zauriel. "He is a usurper who has tricked many of my brothers and sisters into believing that he is truly Our Lord."

Tanya wasn't inclined to believe in any god's wisdom, kindness or compassion, but she refrained from comment. Zauriel would be a useful ally if she could convince him to work with her, which would be easier if she didn't blurt out anything that might offend him.

"Actually, there are far fewer angels than there used to be. That's presumably why Sandalphon felt he needed to bolster their numbers by breeding an army of monsters. I was told that Michael had died, but…" Zauriel gestured in the vague direction of the room where the archangel was currently sleeping. "Uriel has suffered debilitating injuries, no one seems to know what happened to Raphael, Gabriel has been spending most of his time on Earth, Amenadiel… was very dismayed by what happened to me when I dared to speak out. I suspect it wouldn't take much to convince him to join our side."

"Our side?" asked Tanya, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded. "If you'll have me. We must all join forces to oppose the one you call Being X."

"Excellent." Tanya smiled brightly at him. Then, it occurred to her to ask: "Did Amenadiel know you were being taken away to Sandalphon's sex dungeon?"

"No, but he could see injustice was being done."

"What do you think the other angels would do if they heard that Sandalphon had locked Michael in a dungeon and used him as a breeding bull?"

"I suppose that would depend on whether or not they believed it. Who would tell them? Demons are renowned for their lies, I am considered to be a traitor and… I hope they would believe Michael if he recovers enough to tell them himself, but they might think that it's a trick, that he's an imposter and the real Michael died long ago."

"It may be enough to sway some of those who are already wavering."

"I think Gabriel would be easy to convince. If we could get them to meet, he would know immediately that he's the real Michael."

"And having him on our side might help to convince some of the others. However, that will have to wait until Michael has recovered somewhat."

Zauriel paused, looking contemplative. "I can't imagine that any of the other angels will be happy about fighting alongside Sandalphon's army of twisted monstrosities. As soon as they find out about them, I expect they'll start wondering if they're on the right side."

"It seems like it would have a terrible effect on morale," Tanya agreed. "But I don't think Being X cares about that, only that his minions obey him without question."

"Even if we defeat all of them, he's still powerful enough that… he fashioned this universe out of God's broken cast-offs, is that right?" he asked, looking skeptical. Perhaps for good reason, he seemed doubtful that anything Darkseid had told her was the truth. "Whatever happens, it won't be easy."

"True. But if we're to have any hope of victory, we have to seize every advantage we can and capitalize on every mistake he makes."

He gave her an approving nod. "Exactly."

"You won't be able to rejoin the Justice League anytime soon. Would you like to send them a message?"

"Tell them… I am safe, I treasure their friendship, and we will meet again someday," he said.

"I'll make sure to tell them," she promised.

As their meeting had reached a natural conclusion, Zauriel stood up and was about to depart, but he had one last question to ask: "Another succubus, Chantinelle, wants to talk to me about Sandalphon's prison. In fact, she was quite insistent. Do you know why that might be?"

"I don't, but I doubt it would be for a frivolous reason. She is one of my most trusted advisors."

"Thank you. I'm grateful to you for many things, Lady Tanya," he said, bowing his head as he backed out of the room. "Farewell."

"Yes, farewell," said Tanya, leafing through her stack of papers. So much to do…

***

When St. Michael the Archangel awoke from his exhausted and tormented slumber, he was in a hospital bed. Definitely a hospital bed, or something very similar. It was… surprisingly fluffy. His eyelids fluttered. Was this another one of Sandalphon's schemes? Was he about to be tortured again? When the door opened, who would he see? Would he be forced to…? He shuddered and tried to think about something else.

How did he get here? He couldn't remember.

What was this place? It had whitewashed walls, an ugly pot plant in the corner, and a large window through which an eerie light was shining. Next to the bed he was lying on, there was an ornate lamp and a call bell.

Was he on Earth? He suspected not. That light…

He heard the door open. A thickset, middle-aged woman in an old-fashioned nurse uniform bustled into the room. The strangest thing about her was that she was slightly translucent. He could see light shining through her.

"Ah, you're awake," she said, looking satisfied. "That's good. I expected you'd pull through, but still…"

"Who are you? Where am I?" he asked, warily. Most of the women Sandalphon had sent to him had been much younger, but…

"This is Hell," she informed him. "And… well, I'm not important. Just another dead soul, damned for the rest of eternity. They stopped torturing us and… um, they gave me a job so I can earn money and buy a few treats. Well, they don't call it money." She paused, seeing his baffled expression. "That's why I'm here to look after you."

"Oh. Good," he said, faintly.

"Don't worry, you're not going to be tortured here. They don't do that sort of thing anymore. Would you like a drink, dearie? Or something to eat?"

It had been thousands of years since Michael had eaten or drunk anything. He'd never really got into the habit.

"No, thank you," he replied.

"Anything at all?"

"Just… information, if you don't mind. How did I get here?"

"Lady Tanya rescued you from… I don't know all the details. You'd been tortured, it looked like. You were leaking blood everywhere." She stepped closer to him and examined him as if she were an entomologist and he was a rare beetle. "That's all cleared up nicely. I don't know if it'll scar. Do angels tend to scar?"

"It doesn't matter," he said. "Who's Lady Tanya?"

"My, you must have been in that dungeon a long time. She's the Queen of Hell. Lucifer chose her to be the new ruler while he went swanning off and… I heard he's a nightclub owner now, somewhere in America. Can you imagine that?"

"It sounds farfetched," he admitted. "When can I speak to Lady Tanya?"

"I'll let the manager know you're awake and they'll send someone up to tell her. I'm sure she'll want to speak to you straight away," the nurse assured him. "For now, get some rest, all right? You need plenty of rest."

"Good advice. Thank you."

"That's all right, dearie. Ring the bell if you need anything," she said.

"Right," he said, closing his eyes again. At that moment, staying awake and trying to adjust to his new circumstances seemed like too much effort.

***

Tanya, Hastur and Crowley were standing by the side of a road, next to a sign that said 'Oxfordshire', surveying a picturesque landscape of rolling hills, historic villages, fields and woodlands. The hellhound had disappeared.

"It wasn't interested in the Dowling boy at all. You were right about him," said Hastur, determined to look on the bright side. "Instead, it came here... which means it must have found the real Antichrist somewhere nearby."

"Where, though?" asked Tanya. "Do we have any way of tracking it down?"

"Something's hiding the Antichrist from us, so it'll probably hide the hellhound as well," said Crowley, looking up from his smartphone.

"There can't be that many nine year old boys in Oxfordshire who recently came into possession of a large, unfriendly dog. We should be able to narrow it down," said Tanya.

"Hellhounds are shapeshifters… to an extent. If he wants a small, yappy dog, that's what it'll become," said Hastur.

"What if he decides he wants a cat?"

Hastur gave a helpless shrug. "I'm sure it'll do its best."

"There are more than three hundred thousand households in Oxfordshire. That means there are approximately… one hundred and eight thousand dogs," said Crowley, who had delegated his thought processes to his smartphone.

"Are there any laws about getting them registered?" Tanya asked.

After a few moments of energetic tapping, Crowley informed her that it was a legal requirement that dog owners in the UK must have their dogs microchipped and registered on a database.

"Hah. I'd like to see someone try that with a hellhound." Hastur chuckled unpleasantly.

"If the Antichrist is at least pretending to be a normal boy, living with a relatively normal family who tend to obey the law, they'll do it," said Tanya. "So, in about a month... I'll pay some of the damned to search through the database for all the dogs in Oxfordshire that have been recently microchipped and registered. That should narrow it down to a few thousand. After that, I'll find ways to narrow it down further."

"There's more than one database," said Crowley. A bewildered frown spread over his face. "In fact, there are… twenty-three of them. But each dog only needs to be registered in one of them."

"Why? Actually, never mind. It shouldn't matter," said Tanya. "They can search them all."

Hastur muttered something about the bureaucracy in Hell being much less confusing.

"I think we're done here," said Tanya. "Unless either of you have any other ideas."

They didn't. It was time to move on.

Chapter Text

Apparently, Lady Tanya had read or heard somewhere that public parks had a multitude of mental health benefits: reducing stress, anxiety and depression; engendering happiness and wellbeing; fostering social connections, casual interactions, and community activities. For this reason, Hell now had several parks. However, they had been designed by demons whose aesthetic tastes were rather traditional, in the hellish sense.

Sitting on a park bench, gazing at a cascade of molten lava over a pit of endless darkness, surrounded by trees and bushes that occasionally caught fire, along with sculptures and art installations that tended towards the grotesque, St. Michael the Archangel heaved a sad and weary sigh. Everything he knew had changed and turned upside down; everything that had once been good and beautiful was now evil and monstrous, and the reverse was… not quite true, but it was apparent that they were making an effort.

His injuries were healing, little by little, though he still walked with the aid of a cane. Perhaps he didn't need it. Whatever pain he felt now was mostly psychosomatic.

"You asked to speak to me," said Lady Tanya, appearing beside him.

Lucifer's replacement was a petite blonde woman, barely as tall as his shoulder, with batlike wings, a horned brow, piercing blue eyes, and a face that knew few expressions other than 'bored' or 'contemptuous'. Of course, appearances could be deceiving.

"I did," he said, with a nod that sent pangs of agony down his neck. "There is much that I would discuss with you, if you have the time."

"There's no time like now," she said, sitting down next to him. "Ask your questions. I have some for you as well."

For a few moments, Michael's mind went blank; he'd forgotten what he wanted to ask. "Nothing makes sense," he murmured.

"Perhaps I should go first," Tanya suggested. "Perhaps you'll be inspired."

"Go ahead," he said.

"You are one of the most powerful angels in existence, correct? How were you captured by Sandalphon?"

Michael's reply came slowly, hesitantly, ponderously: "They called it the 'Flashpoint'. The universe was shattered into myriad pieces. I tried to save it, as did many of my fellows. We failed. I did not expect to survive. When I awoke, I was in chains."

"I have been told that this universe was constructed from the broken pieces of many others," said Tanya. "Its architect claims to be almighty, all-loving God, but I have found him to be cruel, vengeful, and far less capable than he would like us to believe. Moreover, he approved of what Sandalphon did to you – as if you'd done anything to deserve being treated like a stud animal – and he sentenced your brother, Zauriel, to suffer the same fate. He has decreed that the Apocalypse will take place in less than two years' time, after which those of us who have incurred his wrath will suffer unspeakable torments for the rest of eternity."

Michael was frozen as if in a trance. It took him several moments to reply: "I see."

"I ask that you join forces with me and my associates. With your help, we may be able to defeat him once and for all."

"This… is a lot to take in. How can I…?" He hesitated, wary of saying anything that might cause offense to his host. "I would like to speak to Zauriel."

"Of course. He has already agreed to ally with me," said Tanya. "I hope you will speak to many other angels as well – any that can be persuaded to visit you here, where you are safe."

"I suppose it would be unwise of me to leave."

"Unless you have any desire to return to Sandalphon's dungeon, I wouldn't recommend it."

He paused again. There was too much for him to think about. Then, deciding it would be rude to keep her waiting any longer, he said to Tanya, "Thank you for your hospitality. I am grateful for your many kindnesses."

"It's not kindness," she assured him. "My motives are entirely rational. It makes sense for me to treat you well and keep you safe because I hope you will one day be a useful ally."

"Of course. I should have known."

"Now, I have other duties to attend to. I will let Zauriel know you want to speak to him. If you require anything else, there are plenty of my employees who will be happy to help you."

"Happy?"

"Yes. If nothing else, it's a chance for them to curry favor with me."

"I see," he murmured, though his vision and understanding were blurrier than ever. "I, ah… I will look forward to our next meeting."

She gave him a curt nod and then vanished as quickly as she had arrived. Leaning back, Michael sagged against the bench, feeling the pressure of his new life bearing down on him. All of existence had changed, almost beyond recognition, and it was as if he had been left behind, like flotsam that had washed up on the shore.

***

On an alien planet, in a city of glimmering crystal spires, Tanya stood before a tall throne, on which there was sitting a robed and white-bearded figure who was clutching what looked like a shepherd's crook made of solid gold.

Unable to keep her voice from dripping with bitterness, she said, "You mean you won't help me."

"We cannot stand against the one you call Being X," said the one they called Highfather. "Not here. Not now."

Tanya wondered what exactly he meant by 'here'. In this city? On this planet? In this universe? Whatever the case, he and his 'New Gods' were useless to her.

"Never mind. Thank you for your time," she said, though inwardly she was lamenting the time she'd wasted by coming to this place.

"I will be there, along with the rest of the Justice League," said Orion, who was as broad, muscular and earnest as ever. "I'll do whatever I can to help."

It was much less than Tanya had hoped for, but it was better than nothing and she didn't want to seem ungrateful, so she smiled at him and said, "Thank you."

"We won't fight against Being X. Nevertheless, we will be with you at the end, when all seems lost," said Highfather.

Tanya wanted to yell at him that she needed allies she could rely on, not vague promises and hints of prophecy, but it would be politically unwise of her to do so. Instead, her smile became glassy and she said, "Until then, farewell."

She turned away, took wing, and made her escape into the darkening sky.

***

Aziraphale was not often invited to Crowley's apartment, so he had been looking forward to this. However, when he arrived, he was surprised to hear a woman's voice, strident, lecturing, and loud enough that every word reverberated through the wall: "–actively considering making it a civil offense, not a criminal offense, but you should still have a TV license!"

"Right," said Crowley, sounding crestfallen. "Er, I'll certainly bear that in mind."

"See that you do," said the woman, throwing open the front door. She was a large, matronly figure whose every movement was emphatic and bustling. As she departed down the corridor, Crowley slumped in the doorway, having apparently been overwhelmed.

"I didn't realize you had company already," said Aziraphale, amusedly.

"Yeah, well… I couldn't get rid of her. Punishment for my sins."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "Your sins? Not having a TV license?"

"The worst of my sins, these days," said Crowley, solemnly.

Then, there were several things he had to make sure of: that Aziraphale was inside his apartment, the door was locked, and they were in each other's arms, engaged in an enthusiastic kissing session.

However, before they could go any further, there was something important they needed to discuss. Pulling away, Crowley took several deep breaths, moistened his lips and said, "Er, I don't know if you've heard… Michael is alive. You know, St. Michael the Archangel, one of the mightiest of all the angels, ring any bells?"

"Really? Good gracious," said Aziraphale. "I'd heard that he'd died a hero's death, trying to save the entire universe."

"Mostly true, but he didn't die from it. Instead, while he was barely conscious and grievously injured, Sandalphon imprisoned him in a sex dungeon."

"I… I beg your pardon?" Now, it was Aziraphale's turn to look overwhelmed. "I can't believe… Seriously? Sandalphon? Isn't he…?"

"One of God's most highly favored, these days," said Crowley. "Apparently."

"Good gracious," said Aziraphale. "I think that… maybe I should sit down."

"Might be wise," said Crowley, leading him past several lush, leafy house plants and into his office, where they sat down together next to his desk.

"It's not that I don't believe you – of course I believe you – but I don't understand… How could God allow any of this?" asked Aziraphale, wringing his exquisitely manicured hands. "It doesn't make sense!"

"I don't entirely understand it myself, but Lady Tanya thinks he's been replaced by a usurper. Apparently, the universe was shattered and this false god put everything back together with himself as its supreme ruler."

"But why would God allow that to happen?!"

"Maybe he's testing you. Maybe it's all part of some ineffable plan," said Crowley, though his tone was edged with contempt. "Anyway… when you're ready, I want you to come with me to Hell. You can meet Michael there."

Aziraphale paused, considering. "I can see why that would be a good idea. However, if I go with you, I suspect it won't be safe for me to come back to Earth anytime soon. I'll have to get ready, collect a few of my belongings and shut up my shop. I'll see you in a few hours. Is that all right?"

"Yeah, that's fine. Looking forward to it," said Crowley.

They embraced and kissed again, but only briefly. It was time for Aziraphale to say goodbye to his life on Earth.

***

Someone knocked on Tanya's office door. "Come in," she said, putting down her pen.

Chantinelle entered the room. Her movements were brisk and purposeful. "I think Sandalphon has my daughter. I want to rescue her," she said.

"That sounds like a worthy endeavour. But I have a few questions," said Tanya. "First of all, how did you find out?"

"I suspected… and when I spoke to Michael about it, he confirmed that he'd heard Sandalphon say something about the child of a demon and an angel being the prize of his collection."

"Your child's father was an angel?" asked Tanya, with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," said Chantinelle, a note of defiance in her voice.

"Where is he now?"

"He's dead. The other angels killed him. They said our love was wrong, so they killed him."

"Ah." Tanya drummed her fingers on her desk. "The compound that once belonged to 'the Enlightened Seekers of God's Truth' is now in ruins. Inside, there used to be a portal leading to Sandalphon's domain, which is now closed… but it shouldn't be too hard to reopen it, when the time is right."

"What do you mean?"

"Sandalphon has filled his pocket dimension with monsters. It is where he is at his most powerful. Even I could not be sure of defeating him there. Do you imagine that you could?"

There was silence, for a few moments, before Chantinelle admitted, "No."

"Therefore, I propose that you do it when he is most likely to be distracted: when the Apocalypse is about to begin, when he has emptied his dungeons of his twisted minions and is about to send them into battle. That is when you will have the highest chance of success."

"And if he realizes that his pocket dimension has been invaded, he may be distracted at a crucial moment. Perhaps that will make it easier for you to defeat him in battle," said Chantinelle, with narrowed eyes.

"Precisely. There are multiple possible benefits," said Tanya. "Why shouldn't we both get what we want?"

"My daughter was a baby when I last saw her. She has been imprisoned and alone for almost a decade already. I've no idea if she knows how to walk or speak," said Chantinelle, with narrowed eyes and a deadened voice. "If she's in Sandalphon's hands… I don't know what he's been doing to her."

"Does she have a name?"

"Odiel."

"Lovely," said Tanya, because it was the sort of thing she was supposed to say, not because it was her genuine opinion. Judging by her smirk, it seemed like Chantinelle realized that.

"Yeah, I thought you might like it."

In a grave, serious tone, Tanya said, "You need to be sensible about this. If you go running off into danger and get yourself captured or killed, how do you imagine that will help her? Plan, prepare, wait for an opportune moment, and take some backup with you. Perhaps Zauriel or Michael would want to go with you. I'm sure they'd relish the opportunity to punish Sandalphon for what he did to them."

"Kary has already offered to help."

"Really? You surprise me. I wouldn't have thought she'd want to go anywhere near that place again."

"She's a good friend."

"Exactly the sort of virtue I'd expect of a demon," said Tanya, sardonically.

"We…" Chantinelle hesitated, pursed her lips and tried again: "None of us are the same as what we used to be. Probably that's because of you."

"Because of my sterling leadership, no doubt."

"Hell is a reflection of its ruler. Lucifer was thoughtlessly cruel and apathetic – and this place brought out the worst in him. You, on the other hand, hold yourself to a higher standard. Because of you, Hell has changed… and we have changed with it."

"Except for the thousands who rebelled against me, who are now imprisoned," Tanya pointed out.

"They refused to change. That is why they rebelled. The rest of us… We were willing to go with the flow."

"You're not giving yourself enough credit. Years before I ascended to my current position, you fell in love with an angel and bore his child. Scumspawn was born from Hell's fetid bowels, but has always been a surprisingly sweet and gentle person. For hundreds of years, Crowley did the bare minimum amount of evil that he could get away with. None of that is because of me or anything I did. I have given you encouragement and opportunities, but the choices you've made are your own."

Chantinelle stared at her for long enough that Tanya wondered if there was something wrong with her face. Then, she smiled crookedly and said, "I want to rescue my daughter as soon as possible, if not before."

"I very much doubt it will be possible until the Apocalypse is just about to begin. Right now, Sandalphon's dungeons are full of monsters and he has nothing to distract him from any intruders. You don't know where your daughter is being kept or what you'll need to do to free her. Don't throw your life away."

"I won't. I'll start planning and preparing, just like you said."

"Talk to Crowley about it. He's clever and inventive, so I think he'd be well-suited to your sneaky rescue mission."

"Oh, I will. I'll get started straight away."

"Good luck," said Tanya.

"I hope I won't need it. But thank you all the same," said Chantinelle, with a grim smile, just before she turned and walked away, shutting the door behind her.

***

In that same public park, where the air sparked and sweltered, unceasing streams of lava flowed into the abyss, and the bench he was sitting on seemed to have moulded itself to the shape of his buttocks, Michael waited. Some of his kin had agreed to meet him there. Not as many as he'd hoped… but how many angels would dare venture into Hell?

There was Zauriel, with his snow-white skin and dark-rimmed red eyes, clad in impractical golden armor and a tabard with an abstract symbol on it that might have been intended to resemble a cross, a battle-axe or the silhouette of a bird. He smiled warmly when he saw Michael again.

Another was Aziraphale, who looked like a stuffy academic in a tweed waistcoat. He seemed familiar, but Michael couldn't honestly say that he recognized him, even after they'd been reintroduced.

Gabriel was next. Before he'd entered the park, Michael had seen him walking along the city street nearby, holding hands with an androgynous and spindly-limbed demon. When he'd been with them, there had been more care and affection in his expression than Michael had seen anywhere else in a long time.

The others came together, as a group. They were Amenadiel, Duma and Azrael. Amenadiel was tall and muscular, bald-headed and dark-skinned, and had a conflicted look on his face. Duma might have been a marble statue from ancient times: beautiful, serene and silent. Azrael had taken the form of a pale young woman with short, dark hair and a cheerful expression.

"It's good to see you again. All of you," said Michael, getting up from his seat. "Though I wish it were under better circumstances." He thought about walking over and shaking hands with each of them in turn, but knew that it would require a laborious and painful effort, so he settled for giving them a half-hearted wave instead.

"I don't know. Lady Tanya has been very hospitable so far," said Azrael.

"She shouldn't have to be. That is the problem," said Gabriel. "We should be at home, in Heaven. But…" He gave Michael a sad and sympathetic glance. "I heard what happened to you, brother. What Sandalphon did to you."

"We've all heard rumours. That's why we're here. Still, I think we should establish the facts before we make any more momentous decisions," said Amenadiel. He then hastened to explain why he had taken this position: "It's possible that by coming here we've already picked a side and there's no backing out. Still, I hope that whatever we decide to do next is based on solid reasoning, not rumours and hearsay." A moment later, as if he needed to justify himself any further, he added, "I thought Remiel was going to attack me when I invited him along. "

"You want me to tell you exactly what happened to me," said Michael, in a voice that was as dull and leaden as a church roof.

"You don't need to. But it would be helpful if you would confirm that we've heard is true," said Gabriel. "Then, when we try to convince other angels to join us, we can speak with confidence."

Michael sighed. "I don't mind." He proceeded to describe how he'd ended up in Sandalphon's dungeon and what had happened to him there.

By the time he'd finished, Aziraphale and Duma were both in tears. Gabriel and Amenadiel looked sickened and guilty. Azrael had a look of sorrowful resignation about her, as if to say, 'What happened to you was awful, but I've heard worse. That sort of thing happens practically every day, somewhere in the universe.'

"My dear brother," said Aziraphale, shaking with what might have been helpless rage. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

"Ah. Not right now," said Michael.

Gabriel looked at each of the other angels as if searching for something in their expressions. "So, now we know," he said. "The question is: what are we going to do about it?"

"Lady Tanya claims that God has been usurped by a creature she calls 'Being X'. I'm inclined to believe her," said Zauriel. "Previously, when I went to the Metatron to ask what was going on, I was arrested for daring to question him. I was thrown in Sandalphon's prison and would have suffered the same fate as Michael if I hadn't been rescued before it was too late."

"I was there when you confronted the Metatron," said Amenadiel, for the benefit of the other angels who might not have been aware of that fact. "Even at the time, I knew that what he did to you was an injustice. I am sorry that I did not speak out."

"If you had, I suspect you would have been imprisoned as well. Instead, you were sensible, waited for an opportunity and… ah, you're here now," said Zauriel. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Amenadiel stiffly inclined his head at that.

"Until recently, I thought that Uriel and I were the last of the archangels – and Uriel has suffered such terrible wounds that he may never recover. The Metatron, who claims to be God's mouthpiece, surrounded himself with new favourites such as Islington, Sandalphon and Raguel: zealots, sycophants and… Sandalphon at least is guilty of much worse crimes, though I didn't know that at the time," said Gabriel. "Even so, I found them to be tedious and unpleasant company, which is why I started spending more and more time on Earth." He hesitated; it was clear that there was more he wanted to say, but he was worried about how they might react.

Michael already knew why, of course. "Presumably that's where you met your… friend."

"Yes. Beelzebub," said Gabriel. "They and I… We are in love."

The general response to this pronouncement was an uneasy silence.

"The last angel to fall in love with a demon was utterly destroyed. Not by demons, but by his own brothers. His lover was banished back to Hell and their child was taken from them. Be very careful," Zauriel warned him.

"I know. I wonder what I would have done if I'd known about it at the time," said Gabriel, gazing broodingly at the lava cascade. "Perhaps I would have approved, thinking that justice was being done. I regret that now, of course."

"Of course," Michael echoed him.

"Yet another reason why we should side with Lady Tanya in the war that is to come. Being X intends to bring this universe to an end; Lady Tanya is determined to preserve it. There will be no romance for you and Beelzebub if you are erased from existence. I mean, obviously," said Zauriel.

"I suppose that's what we're here to discuss: should we side with Lady Tanya and try to prevent the Apocalypse?" asked Amenadiel. He shook his head as if trying to disperse a cloud of befuddlement. "Somehow, in the situation we now find ourselves in, it seems like the forces of Hell are the lesser of two evils. How did that happen?"

"They might be evil, but the alternative is oblivion or eternal torture," said Zauriel. "I have already agreed to aid them in thwarting Being X."

Michael considered Zauriel's words, wondering if he'd intended them to have a double meaning. Lady Tanya and her minions 'might' be evil. Did that also mean they might not be evil? He hadn't seen enough of them to have formed a strong opinion either way. Tanya had treated him well, but as she herself had admitted, it made sense for her to do so if she wanted to make use of him.

"I thought eternal torture was the point of Hell," said Azrael, sounding wryly amused. Until then, Michael had almost forgotten that she was present.

Next to her, Duma was as silent as ever. He appeared to be listening intently to proceedings.

"Lady Tanya has strong opinions about that, which I'm sure she would be happy to share with you, if you have a few hours to spare," said Zauriel.

"Perhaps God – almighty God, our Father, not the usurper who has taken his place – is testing us. Are we nothing more than tools for Him to use? Will we blindly follow orders even if we're ordered to do something abominable? Or are we thinking, reasoning beings who will do what we know to be right, no matter what it costs us?" asked Gabriel. He sounded rather hopeful, clinging to his belief that this was all part of God's plan.

No matter what he thought about that, Michael didn't say anything. He didn't try to argue. He didn't give voice to his deepest fear, which was that God had abandoned them and they were now unmoored and adrift in an uncaring cosmos. He kept it to himself.

"In the beginning, there were many angels who sided with Lucifer for what they believed to be noble reasons. Just like us," said Amenadiel, with a frustrated sigh. "It's obvious what we have to do. We're already here in Hell and if we go back to the Silver City we'll be branded as traitors. If we're going to be punished either way, we might as well rebel."

"That's the problem with perverse incentives," said Zauriel. "If the punishment for even minor offenses is to be thrown into a sex dungeon and used as breeding stock, why would we not rebel? At least that way there's a possibility that we might survive and change the system."

"That is certainly what I intend to do," said Gabriel. "Who's with me?"

There were nods and mutters of assent. Almost all of them accepted that this was something that had to be done, though there was little enthusiasm for it. Only Azrael demurred.

"I can't. If the Apocalypse is about to happen, I have duties and responsibilities I need to take care of. Trillions of people are going to die and I… I need to be there," she said. "You understand, don't you?"

"And if you're captured and imprisoned in Sandalphon's dungeon, what then?" asked Michael.

"That won't happen. I won't go near the Silver City. They won't come after me," she tried to convince him.

"If you're determined to leave, we won't stop you. We're just concerned about what might happen to you," said Zauriel.

"I beg you to reconsider," said Aziraphale.

"That's sweet. But you really don't need to worry about me. I'll be fine," said Azrael. "And… I'm on your side, really. I'm rooting for you." She gave them a thumbs-up gesture. "But I have a job to do. I can't abandon it."

In a flurry of wings, she took to the air and quickly disappeared. The other angels were confused and perturbed by her behaviour.

"I hope she's not going to do anything silly," said Aziraphale, who was the first to break the troubled silence.

"If she's got any sense, she'll stay out of the way. If she goes back to the Silver City, it's likely that the Metatron will punish her just for associating with us," said Amenadiel. "And even if she was inclined to betray us – which I doubt – it's not like she could tell them anything they don't already know."

"Well then…" Gabriel glanced around at the park as if seeing it for the first time, raising his eyebrows when he saw one of the trees burst into flames. "What shall we do now?"

Zauriel smiled. "I have a few ideas. To begin with…"

***

After thwarting the latest sinister plot, which this time had involved a wannabe warlock murdering teenagers in an attempt to steal their youth and vigour, John Constantine had been tired, under the weather, and needed a break. Tanya had provided that for him. And after that, she'd given him another job: a project that needed to be finished in time for the Apocalypse. It had taken months, but he'd done it and done it well.

In a new layer of Hell, which was a flat, featureless plane, he had drawn a gigantic arcane circle, almost a hundred metres in diameter. Caged in the middle of it, compressed into a space that seemed much too small for them, there were thousands of demons who had rebelled against Tanya and been imprisoned for it. He recognized some of them: there was the First of the Fallen, glaring hatefully at him; there was Triskele, Wyrm Queen of the succubi; Blathoxi, lord of flatulence, who had once been fabulously wealthy in terms of stolen souls; and Buer, who seemed outraged by what had been done to him, screaming and wildly gesticulating, though no sound could penetrate the glassy walls of his prison. Constantine tried not to get too distracted by schadenfreude, but he permitted himself a certain amount of satisfaction at the thought that the demon who had once terrorized and lorded over all the children in Hell was now getting what he deserved.

Should he have been concerned about the possibility that they might escape? He trusted that Tanya had made their cages as secure as she reasonably could; this new layer of Hell was separate from the rest and only a chosen few had access to it, which meant it was highly unlikely that they'd get any help from outside; and even if they did manage to escape they'd be trapped here, unable to force their way through the interdimensional barrier that separated here from everywhere else, unless they were willing to expend such a colossal amount of effort and energy that they'd be helpless to defend themselves from whatever came next. The only potential casualties were Constantine and any assistants he had working with him on that day, who would undoubtedly suffer horrible deaths and much worse after their souls were ripped from their bodies by demonic escapees determined to exact whatever revenge they could. Either that was a sacrifice Tanya was quite willing to make or she was so confident  in his and her own abilities that it didn't even occur to her that it could happen. He tried not to think about it.

The arcane circle was etched into the rocky floor; he'd taken great pains to make sure that not a single line or sigil was out of place. And he'd needed the help of several other mages, including his former girlfriend, Zatanna. They'd never properly split up, but she seemed to accept that it was over between them and was almost distressingly cheerful about it. She even went as far as to tease him about his current 'relationship'.

Once, when Tanya came to inspect their progress, Zatanna gave her an appreciative glance, murmured, "Very pretty," and then nudged Constantine and asked him, "What's she doing with you?"

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, hoping that Tanya was out of earshot.

"She's your girlfriend, isn't she? How did you manage that?"

"She's not my girlfriend–"

"Oh? Would you prefer it if I called her your sweetheart? Your inamorata? Your better half?" She grinned at him and shook her head. "Only you, John…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded to know.

She gave him a flat, unimpressed stare. "You're having sex with the Devil."

"Yeah, so? It's just a bit of fun. And anyway, it's not very often."

She heaved an exasperated sigh, rolled her eyes and uttered, "Honestly!" as if it were a curse. He still wasn't sure what she'd meant by that.

***

Another mage he'd called upon to help him was Tim Hunter, a teenage boy who had more magical power in his little finger than Constantine had in his entire body. However, he was utterly bewildered by the knowledge that the Apocalypse was due to take place in less than a year's time.

"I thought I was destined to one day become the most powerful wizard in the world," he said, frowning.

"Uh huh," said Constantine.

"Well, if the world is going to end in less than twelve months… I'd better get on with it, I guess."

Despite this, he was a great help; the arcane circle would never have worked if he hadn't fed it some of his power, just enough to get it started, as if he'd added a few drops of fuel to a feeble fire. Everything seemed to flow together more smoothly after that.

"Thanks. I owe you one," said Constantine, surveying his handiwork and glad that his efforts up until that point hadn't been completely wasted.

Tim merely nodded, seeming lost in thought.

***

Thessaly was a thin, bespectacled woman, of indeterminate age, who had been recommended to him by Tanya. She was a skilled, experienced professional, utterly mercenary and uninterested in anything other than doing her job and collecting the payment she'd been promised. In some ways, it was a pleasure to work with her: she knew what she was doing, did it well, and was gone as soon as she'd finished. She didn't bother with small talk; she didn't ask awkward questions; she was unconcerned by what he was doing and why he was doing it. All she wanted was to get paid.

When at last they were finished, Tanya appeared and handed her a small plastic rectangle. "Here you are. A 'Get Out of Hell Free' card. Remember, it won't be any use if the Apocalypse happens, the universe is destroyed, and I'm defeated."

"In that case, you'd better make sure you win," said Thessaly, with a mirthless smirk.

She was gone soon after.

***

Finally, Tanya surveyed the arcane circle and the demonic prisoners trapped within, made a few approving noises, and said, "I hope it's enough."

"It's an ace up your sleeve. It'll only work once and it won't last long," Constantine warned her. "Make the most of it."

"I will," said Tanya. "Excellent work. I think you deserve a reward."

"Oh?"

"How would you like to spend some time with me in the royal suite of the Fawney Rig Hotel?" she asked, folding her arms around him and resting her head against his chest.

Constantine was about to ask, 'It has a royal suite?' but then his brain caught up to the rest of what Tanya had said. After that, there was only one answer he could give: "I'd like that very much."

"Come," she said, opening a portal and guiding him through it.

Chapter Text

Adam Young, who didn't yet know that he was the Antichrist, spent a rainy afternoon watching old Western movies with the man he believed was his father, and was thus inspired.

"We're going to play cowboys and Indians!" he told his friends, in the school playground, the next day.

They were less than enthused.

"You're not supposed to call them that anymore," said Wensleydale, a little boy with wavy blond hair and bottle-thick spectacles. According to the school register, his name was Jeremy, but no one ever called him that, not even his parents; they called him 'Kiddo' or 'Youngster', in the vain hope of reminding him that he was only ten years old. "These days, they're called Native Americans."

"My mum says that the depiction of Native Americans in popular culture is offensive and hearkens back to our shameful colonialist past," said Pepper, parrot-fashion. According to the school register, her name was Pippin Galadriel Moonchild, but no one dared call her that, at least not more than once. Her mother made a comfortable living for herself and her daughter by selling 'fine art' to gullible tourists and money launderers, spoke to everyone in a sugary-sweet babyish voice, and was widely condemned by the other residents of Lower Tadfield as 'one of them arty-farty types.'

"Your mum is always saying things like that," said Adam, accurately.

Distant rumblings indicated that Brian was about to speak. Behind a layer of grime and the expression of cheerful bafflement with which he regarded the world, a thought was bubbling to the surface: "You mean like Miss Khan?"

"Er… pardon?" said Wensleydale.

"She's Indian," said Brian. Then, as if he needed to provide further evidence to back up this statement, he added: "Back when we did that display of all the countries we've been to, she talked about her family in India – don't you remember?"

"Not that kind of Indian," said Adam, trying and failing to imagine their sedate and soft-spoken schoolteacher as a fierce warrior woman, whooping and wielding a tomahawk. "Um, I should have said… We're going to play cowboys and Native Americans. Yeah…"

His friends accepted this statement without further argument.

When they reconvened later that afternoon, they had all made an attempt to wear appropriate headgear for the game they were about to play: Adam wore his father's Stetson hat; Wensleydale wore a sombrero his uncle had brought back from a holiday in Cancun; Pepper wore a hairband with two pigeon feathers glued to it; and Brian had a scarf wrapped around his head, loosely tied up at the back. Instead of spears and six-shooters, they had a selection of twigs and fallen branches of varying lengths.

Dog was with them. He was Adam's dog, a scruffy mongrel with a blunt nose and one ear turned inside out. He had once been a hellhound, although Adam was unaware of that fact. When they played, he joined in with frantic eagerness, scurrying back and forth and joyfully yapping until he collapsed from exhaustion.

The game soon devolved into an excuse to run around and shout 'Pew! Pew!' at each other. Then, when they sat down to rest and get their breath back, there was some discussion as to why the cowboys and Native Americans were fighting.

"The… uh, Native Americans were trying to steal their cattle and horses," said Adam, screwing his eyes shut as he tried to remember the film he'd watched most recently. Dog was curled up next to him.

"But that was only because they had all their land stolen from them," Wensleydale pointed out. "They wouldn't have needed to do that otherwise."

"The cowboys stole their land?" asked Brian, furrowing his brow.

There was a pause while Wensleydale considered this. Finally, he said, "I guess so. They needed a lot of land for their cattle to graze on."

"Does that mean the cowboys are the bad guys?" asked Pepper. The feathers had fallen off her hairband and she was having no success in sticking them back on.

Neither Adam nor Wensleydale could come up with a satisfactory answer to that question.

Before long, it was time to go home for dinner. The game was abandoned, consigned to the murky depths of memory, and tomorrow they would play something else.

That night, Adam dreamt of the Old West, cowboys and gunfighters, lawlessness and wild adventure, boomtowns and bloodshed, heroes and villains and everything in between…

***

In a rugged, arid landscape, somewhere in Texas, two groups of men were blinking in confusion and wondering how they were going to get home. One group wore wide-brimmed hats, long-sleeved shirts, fringe jackets, bandanas and high-heeled riding boots; the other group wore buckskins, leggings, moccasins… and some of them had headdresses that they'd hastily removed when they realised what they were wearing. The two groups mingled freely and amicably around a circle of empty wagons.

"I'm not even Native American," said one of them. "I mean, maybe… my grandpa was Pueblo, I think… but I'm not even sure about that. I'm a used car salesman from Dallas. The hell is going on?"

"Sorry about nearly shooting you," said another. "That wasn't me, okay? I don't even know…"

"Must have been mind control. Superhero business," someone decided. "We were kidnapped, put in these costumes and made to fight. There's probably a supervillain out there watching us right now. We're lucky we're not dead already."

"This is bullshit! Just… bullshit!"

"Anyone got a phone?" was an important question, which was asked more than once, by more than one person, although they were dismayed to find that the answer was always 'no'.

"Someone must have noticed we've gone. They'll be looking for us!" was a common sentiment and gave them some hope, but the fact was that they were lost in the wilderness without food or water. For all they knew, it could take days or even weeks before anyone found them.

Finally, someone looked at the horizon, glimpsed the distant glimmer of city lights, and sighed philosophically. "It's gonna be a long walk."

There were several groans, but annoyance soon gave way to acceptance.

After a quick search of the wagons and the surrounding area, just to make sure they hadn't missed anything that might be useful, they set off. There was no point in waiting around for a rescue that might never come.

***

'We can't be everywhere at once,' was a sentence that haunted the minds of many in the Justice League, never truly fading away despite their attempts to exorcize it. No matter how strong, or fast, or clever they were, they were limited in how many disasters they could deal with at any particular time. Lady Tanya, the demoness who was trying to prevent the Apocalypse, had been keen to ally with them, but they had begun to suspect that their value to her was as tools of propaganda: the people of Earth trusted that the Justice League would save them, as they had done so many times before, and so they were less likely to panic and get themselves killed if they believed that the Justice League were on the case. But when the Apocalypse came and the entire world was engulfed in chaos, calamities and devastation, they wouldn't be able to save everyone. The Flash and Superman had superspeed, but not even they could save the entire world, every part of it, all at once. They needed help.

"Zauriel's in Hell, apparently. He was being imprisoned by one of the other angels, but he escaped and now he's taken shelter there," said Batman, who'd had the message delivered to him by one of the demons in Gotham.

"That's good… I guess," was the standard reaction of the other Justice Leaguers, none of whom were sure to what extent they could trust Lady Tanya.

Finally, after much discussion and despite many misgivings, they decided to ask Lex Luthor to aid them in saving the world. His genius was surpassed only by his ego, but he possessed a certain degree of hard-nosed practicality that had enabled him to become an enormously successful businessman despite his arrogance, criminal record and controversial opinions, including his well-publicized hatred and suspicion of Superman.

As Superman himself said: "He'll want to save the world, not only because it's his home and the place where he keeps all of his belongings, but so he can prove that he's better than any of us."

However, when Superman and Wonder Woman visited Luthor at Lexcorp's high-rise headquarters, he initially seemed to distrust everything they said.

"Do you expect me to believe any of this nonsense? I mean… the Apocalypse?" he sneered at them.

"Whether you believe it is the Apocalypse or not, we have been reliably informed that an unprecedented series of natural disasters will take place exactly six months from now, all over the globe, which will lead to wars, famines and other crises," said Wonder Woman. "We in the Justice League will do whatever we can to save lives and prevent these disasters from taking place, but–" She grimaced as she said it. "–we can't be everywhere at once."

"But you can, in a way," said Superman, who had been silent until then, just in case his presence provoked Luthor into rash action. "You've built all these amazing inventions – your robots, your warsuits, and so many other things – that could be used to do good, to save lives and prevent the collapse of civilisation. Lexcorp's global reach means you can build whatever you need and send it to wherever it is most needed. This is your hour, your chance to be the world's greatest hero, greater than any of us."

"You make it sound so appealing," said Luthor. "But it would be expensive. And, of course, it would mean I'd be too distracted to bother you over the next few months…" His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How do I know this isn't a trick?"

"If you want me to get down on my knees and beg you to save the world, I will," said Superman, who proceeded do exactly that, lowering himself onto the polished marble floor. "If you want me to say that you've always been better than me, I–"

"Stop that! Don't you have any pride?" Luthor snapped, having found this moment of triumph to be far less satisfying and more embarrassing than he'd anticipated. "And I warn you: if the next thing you intend to do is kiss my feet, I won't be held responsible for my actions."

"Saving the world is far more important than my pride," said Superman.

"Get up. You look ridiculous."

Superman obligingly did so.

"Fine. Let's save the world," said Luthor, sulkily, as if this were an unwanted responsibility that had been forced upon him. "I'll want you to share any relevant information you have, of course. If we're going to do this, we'll need to coordinate. When did you find out about this 'Apocalypse', anyway?"

"About a year ago," Wonder Woman admitted.

Outrage and petulance vied with pragmatism in Luthor's expression, until at last he said, "This would be so much easier if I had more time to prepare. Nevertheless, recriminations can wait, I suppose. Like you said, Superman… saving the world is far more important than my pride." He smirked at that, as if he'd turned his old foe's words against him; perhaps he meant to imply that the only reason why they hadn't previously informed him about the upcoming disasters was that they were too prideful to do so. If so, it was a minor victory, but it seemed important to him.

"Thank you for this," said Superman, warmly.

"Don't push it," Luthor warned him.

"I think we should be going," said Wonder Woman, putting a hand on Superman's arm as if to guide him away. "We'll be in touch."

"Yes, fine," said Luthor. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Superman echoed him. "And thanks again."

Luthor grimaced and watched until he was sure that they were both very far away. The walls of his office were thick and lined with futuristic materials to prevent anyone from snooping with electronic devices or superhuman senses. There was a hidden door, designed to be as unnoticeable as possible, with a fingerprint scanner built into the frame of a family portrait that was hanging on the wall next to it. He'd had to brainwash the men who'd built it to make absolutely sure they wouldn't remember anything about it. Because of that, he'd very generously paid them for their work and pretended that it was just a coincidence that some of them still occasionally had seizures.

Opening the door, he looked around at the equipment he used to communicate with the Legion of Doom, to plan and organize their criminal activities and keep track of their various assets that he'd carefully hidden away, ready for the day when they might be needed. "Time to save the world," he murmured.

***

Tanya was in her office, making plans and pondering the options available to her, when there was a knock on the door. "Come in," she said.

After a brief period of hesitation, Vassago entered the room, looking like he'd put on a fresh set of clothes since the last time she'd seen him; but that was just a guise he wore, since demons were spirit beings who only had a physical form when they wanted to. He seemed unsure of himself and didn't say anything until Tanya prompted him: "May I help you?"

"Good day to you, my lady," he said. "I hope you are well."

"I'm fine, thank you," Tanya replied. "Was there anything in particular you wanted?"

There was another pause. Then, having mustered his courage, Vassago stood straight-backed and resolute, and said, "I have heard that you have taken a mortal lover."

"Indeed." Then, feeling that some explanation was required, Tanya added, "I'm just using him for sex."

"That is… none of my business. Whatever you choose to do is… your choice," said Vassago. "I just hope he's worthy of you."

"I like him well enough."

"I wish I could have been worthy of you." Vassago stepped forward, reached out and… For a moment, Tanya thought he was about to take her hand and kiss it, roleplaying as a chivalrous gentleman as he so often did, but then he stopped, shook himself and said, "I want you to know: you are a beautiful, powerful woman; you have done wonderful things; and you have many admirers."

Tanya refrained from telling him that she knew those things already. Instead, she said, "Including you, I presume."

"Including me," he admitted.

Not wanting to encourage him any further, Tanya said, "I am grateful for your loyalty."

He chuckled, seeming genuinely delighted by her response. "I'm glad to hear it, my lady. Thank you for your time."

Then, without further ado, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. Tanya frowned after him, unsure why he had bothered to visit her if that was all he wanted to say, but didn't waste too much time wondering about that. There were too many other matters demanding her attention.

***

"The woman in Jasmine Cottage gave it to me," said Adam, brandishing a New Aquarian magazine. "It's about flying saucers and the Loch Ness Monster and all the other things we never get to hear about because the government hushes it up–"

"My dad says the government couldn't organize a piss-up in a brewery," said Brian.

"My mum says your dad is a very rude and unpleasant man," said Pepper.

Brian took some time to think about that. "Yeah, probably," was the conclusion he came to.

"–and Atlantis! There's a whole city down there, at the bottom of the ocean, with fish people and mystic monks and the crew who disappeared off the Mary Celeste," Adam continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "And the government hushes it all up!"

"No, they don't," said Wensleydale. "We know Atlantis exists. Aquaman is one of the most famous superheroes in the world."

"A lot of things happen that we don't know about," said Adam, tapping his nose. He wasn't quite sure what it meant, but it was something he'd seen adults do.

"Well… how do the people who write that magazine find out about those things? If the government's so good at hushing things up, why haven't they hushed up…" Wensleydale's voice trailed off as he peered at the cover of the magazine Adam was holding. "…the New Aquarian?"

"Maybe it's all part of a cunning scheme to make people think that this magazine is full of rubbish and not worth bothering with," said Adam.

"Maybe that magazine is full of rubbish and not worth bothering with," said Pepper, sharply.

"Huh." Adam opened the magazine and began to leaf through it, studying it with a thoughtful frown. "I guess we'll never know."

***

That night, no fewer than seven different versions of Atlantis arose from the ocean's depths. One of them was the renowned city of merpeople, ruled by Aquaman of the Justice League; another consisted of cyclopean ruins with ominous symbols etched upon the walls; the next looked like an Ancient Greek city that had been perfectly preserved; three of the islands were populated by different species of fish people; and one of them was mostly barren rock and scorched rubble upon which nothing would grow even after thousands of years.

Some of the fish people were sleek and sinuous, with silvery scales and yellow snake-like eyes; others were short and squat, with muddy-brown scales and wide froggy mouths; and some of them had bulbous black eyes, scales so pale that they might have been bleached, and mouths filled with needle teeth. All of them hissed, growled or croaked menacingly whenever anyone got too near.

And then there were the merpeople ruled by Aquaman, who looked almost human. Almost.

Aquaman was summoned back home by his people, who were feeling threatened by the inhabitants of the other islands; apparently, an attempt to establish peaceful contact with the Ancient Greek city had ended with an altercation that had led to threats of Poseidon's vengeance and both sides preparing for war. Meanwhile, the other members of the Justice League were busy rescuing the occupants of a cruise ship that had run aground on one of the other islands and been attacked by fish people.

"Where did these other versions of Atlantis come from?" asked Green Lantern, who seemed very much intrigued by what they'd seen. He'd even muttered something about wishing he had his sketchbook with him. "Has someone been messing around with portal technology?"

"If so, where are they now?" Batman wondered aloud.

***

In the royal suite of the Fawney Rig hotel, surrounded by luxury, Tanya was lying in bed with John Constantine. She sighed contentedly, pleased with his attempts to satisfy her and having made an effort to satisfy him in return. This wasn't their first visit, or even their second or third, but it might be their last. Over the past few months, this seemed to have become the place where they regularly met up to have dinner, relax and enjoy themselves. Even the dreams were… surprisingly restful. The denizens of the Dreaming left her alone and she did the same to them; she wandered alone and serene across the endless dark canvas, not thinking about anything, for as long as she could. But now, she didn't have much time left.

Next to her, Constantine was exhausted and asleep, his mouth forming the vague shapes of mumbled words as he raced through peculiar dreams. Tanya looked at him fondly as she contemplated what she was going to say to him. What exactly did he mean to her? How did she want to be remembered, if this really was the last time they would ever meet?

She lingered over these thoughts for long enough that Constantine eventually awoke; his eyelids flickered open and he said, "Uhm… Tanya?"

"I'm still here," she said, cozying up against him.

"That's good," he said, taking her hand in his.

She waited until he was properly awake and looking at her before engaging him in conversation: "John, I want you to know… For the first time in a long time, I feel like my life is worth living. That is… at least partly because of you. Thank you."

"Only partly?" He gave her a crooked smile. "Glad I could help, I guess."

"I've enjoyed our time together. I wish it could go on for longer. You are… special to me."

"Yeah… you're special to me as well," he said. "You've changed my life. For the better, I mean."

They kissed, tenderly. Then, as they parted, Constantine's mind turned to practical matters: "Of course, this can't be the last time we'll meet: I'll need you to get me to the ritual site. Otherwise, I won't be able to activate the spell when you really need it."

Tanya nodded. "Of course."

"Let me know, telepathically, maybe a minute before you want it done, just so I can get it ready in time."

"That's the plan," said Tanya, considering all the ways it could go wrong. If anything happened to her, Constantine would be trapped in a desolate otherworld until he died of dehydration a few days later. On the other hand, if she failed, all of existence would be erased, so it wasn't as if his fate would be worse than anyone else's. Still, it was gratifying to know that he trusted her to that extent, no matter that most people would have thought he was being exceedingly foolish if they heard that he was putting his trust in the Devil.

"I'll do what I can, but really it's all up to you," said Constantine. "Give 'em hell for me."

"I certainly will," Tanya promised.

It was time to get up and face the day, whatever it might bring.

***

Pollution sat on top of the world, surveying his domain: mountains of trash; festering piles of garbage; sewage that had been allowed to seep into rivers and seas; fragments of plastic that would take thousands of years to decompose; heaps of unsold clothes and consumer products that had been dumped and forgotten about; toxic chemicals oozing into the soil, poisoning the land; so many monuments to human excess; so much glorious waste, putrescent treasures, syrupy puddles and gluey globs of slime and sludge.

"Lovely," he said, licking his lips. "And me without my spoon."

He was chalk-white, as if he were wearing lead-based cosmetics of the kind that had been popular in Elizabethan England, with pale blond hair and sickly yellow eyes, wearing a black suit that had an unpleasantly shiny, plasticky texture to it.

Sitting on a discarded deckchair, surrounded by everything that was his, he was surprised to see a middle-aged man in a blue uniform, holding a clipboard, trudging through foul-smelling rubbish and wincing every time something stuck to his shoes.

"Oh, hello there," said Pollution, waving to him. "My, this is a surprise. I don't often get visitors."

"I can't think why." The deliveryman grunted. "Letter for you here," he said, handing it over. "Sign here, if you don't mind."

Pollution's signature was an arcane symbol that burned a hole in the paper and scorched the clipboard behind it, but the deliveryman seemed satisfied.

"All right, I'll be off then," he said, straightening his cap.

Opening the letter, Pollution scanned its contents and then negligently threw it away, adding it to the ever-growing trash heap.

"Is it that time already?" he asked.

"S'pose it must be," said the deliveryman, turning away.

"Now, where did I leave my horse?" Pollution wondered aloud. A moment later, having remembered, he wondered what state it would be in when he got it back from the glue factory.

***

War and Famine were sitting together on the rooftop of a ruined building, sharing a bottle of wine. They clinked their glasses together as they watched a man being shot dead outside an aid distribution point.

Another man cried, "Please! I have a family! We're starving!"

A moment later, before he could plead any further, his perforated corpse toppled to the ground, along with several others.

"That's what happens when neither side really wants peace. Shame about all the civilians caught in the middle," said War, philosophically.

"Do you care?" asked Famine, with a raised eyebrow.

"It's not exactly satisfying. Give me a real battle any day," said War. "Do you remember what it used to be like?"

"I do indeed. Entire villages stripped bare. Vast swathes of farmland put to the torch. Good times," said Famine, dreamily.

"Sorry to interrupt," said a middle-aged man in a blue uniform, clutching a clipboard under one arm and clambering up onto the roof with them. "But I've got letters for you both. Sign here – and here – if you please."

"Huh. Dedicated to your job, aren't you?" said War, gouging her personal sigil into the paper.

"It's what I'm here for," the deliveryman replied.

"You're doing a great job," said Famine, leaving his mark, which caused the paper around it to grow so thin that it might be punctured by the slightest touch.

"It's kind of you to say so, sir."

After the deliveryman had retreated, they settled down to finish their wine and read the letters they had received.

"Come and see," War muttered. "At last… our big moment has finally arrived."

"It's a shame we don't have more time. There's a new dish I'd like to share with you. It consists of a single grain of rice, artfully seasoned, with a microscopic sliver of fish and a shred of nori seaweed."

"Sounds delightful. And you're sure it'll be enough for two?" asked War, with a grin.

"Oh, yes! But we don't have time for that now," said Famine, with a mournful sigh. "We really must be going. We've got a lot of ground to cover."

***

Over the past year or so, Pestilence had found it remarkably easy to become a government consultant, offering 'expert' advice to politicians who seemed all too eager to listen to whatever he had to say about the evils of vaccination, the importance of adding antibiotics to animal feed, and the usefulness of detoxification foot baths. It was almost dispiriting how quickly they accepted whatever pseudoscientific nonsense he regaled them with. There was no challenge to it.

"In fact, everyone should take antibiotics at least once a day," he told the latest semicircle of useful idiots. "That way, no one would ever get sick!"

There were approving nods and mutters from around the room. Only one man dared to object. He was a scrawny, nervous-looking youth, who said, "Um, what about the cost?"

"What does cost really matter under these circumstances? What's the cost of a single human life?" asked Pestilence. "Surely what matters is that people stay healthy and live longer. That way, they add more to the economy, so it'll end up costing much less over time. Think, man, think!"

"Um, actually…"

A deliveryman in a blue uniform barged into the room, muttered, "Excuse me," and elbowed his way through the audience. "Letter for you," he said, arriving in front of Pestilence, ignoring the shocked silence all around him. "Sign here, please."

Pestilence did so, causing the paper to crinkle and turn yellow. A letter was thrust into his gloved hands. Then, before anyone could call security, the deliveryman departed as suddenly as he'd arrived.

It took barely a moment to finish reading the letter, which consisted of only a single short sentence.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid I must cut this meeting short," said Pestilence. "It's an emergency."

There were questions and cries of dismay, but he ignored them, strolling past the crowd, the security guards who'd finally arrived, and all the other obstacles that might have got in his way, as if there was nothing there at all.

***

Death, who at that moment looked like a pale young woman with messy black hair, was sitting in a café, chatting with the waitress, who was eager to tell her all about her hopes and dreams for the future: "When I finish college, I'm going to be an actress. And I'm a really good singer – everyone says so! I'm going to head up to the big city and… Well, maybe I won't be spotted straight away, but I reckon I've got as good a chance as anyone else. What do you think?"

"You sure do," said Death, giving her a smile that was tinged with sorrow. She took a bite out of her hamburger, which tasted of nothing at all.

A moment later, the floor shuddered beneath her feet. The air filled with dust and ash. The waitress died choking, clutching her throat, eyes wide with shock and panic. So did the cook, the other customers and everyone else save for Death herself.

Outside, the sky was cloudy black. Lava flowed down the mountainside like blood from an open wound. The town was reduced to rubble.

"I… I never had a chance, did I?" asked the waitress, in a small voice. There was barely anything left of her: just a shadow imprinted on the wall.

"I'm sorry," said Death, wretchedly. It wasn't enough, but she didn't know what else to say.

Before she could begin the process of gathering up the dead and sending them on their way, she noticed a living man picking his way through the wreckage, wearing a uniform that might once have been blue.

"Letter for you," he said, when he saw her standing in the doorway. "Sign here, please."

"Yes, all right," she said, obliging him.

The letter was exactly what she'd expected.

"So, that's it." She sighed.

"That's it," the deliveryman confirmed, tipping his hat to her. "Be seeing you."

"Will you?" she asked. She didn't quite know what he was, but he obviously wasn't human. "I'm not so sure about that."

He didn't reply. In fact, he was already gone.

***

It was early evening and Lux was almost empty. Lucifer was sitting with Chloe Decker, by the bar, celebrating the fact that they'd solved yet another difficult case. Well, he was celebrating; she restricted herself to coffee and a single shot of caramel syrup. It occurred to him that there was something very important he needed to tell her. Ah, yes…

"I'm going away for a few days," he said.

"Oh? Anywhere nice?"

"Not exactly. Trying to prevent the Apocalypse."

She gave him a skeptical look. "Uh huh. Good luck with that."

"Thank you. While I'm away… I'm sure there'll be plenty for you to do. Emergencies all over the city, a complete breakdown of law and order, that sort of thing. Try not to die, look after the sprog and… uh, with any luck, I'll see you when it's all over."

"Lucifer… you're not joking, are you?" she asked, tentatively. "The Apocalypse… seriously?"

There was a noise like a muffled explosion. One of the doormen was hurled through the air and smashed into the bar with such force that Lucifer was worried he'd broken his back.

A tall, muscular man appeared in the doorway, flanked by two others who looked so alike him that they might have been his brothers.

"This is a den of sin and iniquity," said one of them. "It must be cleansed with holy fire."

"Well, yes. It's a nightclub. Sin and iniquity is what it's for," said Lucifer. "But there are plenty of much worse places. Maybe people drink too much, have sex in places they shouldn't, snort cocaine off the toilet seats… but they're not doing any real harm. Unlike you." His face twisted with fury. "You might just have killed one of my employees."

"Don't you recognize me, brother?" asked the muscular man who'd first entered, who was the intruders' apparent leader. A flaming sword appeared in his hand.

"Raguel. You utter bastard." Lucifer snarled. "Why are you here?"

"I am the wrath and vengeance of the Lord and I am here to do His work. The Time of Judgement is at hand and you have been judged unworthy."

"You want to fight me? All right, but let these people go," said Lucifer, glancing around the room. There weren't many customers – and most of his staff weren't on duty until later that evening – but he still needed to get them out of the way safely.

"They'll die anyway, soon enough," said Raguel. "Today, tomorrow, the next day… What does it matter when?"

"It matters to me."

Raguel gave an indifferent shrug. "Oh, very well."

"Everybody, get out! This place is closed!" cried Lucifer, in a voice loud enough to reach even the furthest corners of the room. "Get out and don't come back! Right now! That means you, Detective!"

The room quickly emptied. Most of the occupants must have seen what had happened to the doorman who'd been subjected to Raguel's wrath; they hurried out of the fire exit as quickly as they could. Chloe and the bartender were carrying the injured doorman between them. Evidently he wasn't dead and – even if he'd suffered broken bones – his chances of survival would be much better if he was anywhere else but here. Chloe gave Lucifer a last, despairing glance as she disappeared from sight, but she was too sensible to stay behind and get herself killed, for which he was glad.

"Any last words?" asked Raguel, smirking.

Lucifer frowned. He felt certain that, under normal circumstances, he could have wiped the floor with Raguel and his bully boys. The only question was as to whether there'd be anything left of Los Angeles by the time he'd finished. He liked Los Angeles, damn it. All of his friends were there. Also, Raguel seemed confident of victory, which presumably meant that he'd been divinely empowered so that now he was the stronger of the two of them. With that in mind, there was only one choice he could make.

"Just one," he said. "Goodbye."

Then, faster than any of them could follow, he opened a portal and vanished through it. The last thing he heard was Raguel's enraged voice, yelling at him, "Lucifer, you coward! Get back here!"

Chapter Text

Thousands of years ago, Earth and Midgard were one and the same, but they had drifted very far apart since then; the rest of the Nine Realms were even further away. Time passed differently there. Whereas the Earth had changed dramatically with the passage of so many centuries, the Nine Realms had been preserved as they always were, in the hearts and minds of mortals. They were still home to gods and giants, elves and dwarves, mighty warriors and flaxen-haired maidens… except that now they were dying.

In the Gallows Wood of Jotunheim, fiery-red Fjalar heralded the coming of Ragnarok. The jotnar herdsman, Eggther, played his harp and smiled, rejoicing in the knowledge that the end times were at hand. In Valhalla, Gullinkambi roused the einherjar, readying them for the final battle; a sooty-red rooster sounded in the halls of Hel, warning the dead of what was to come.

It was a time of darkness and desolation, a winter without end, in which snow and freezing winds came from every direction, the sun turned black, and warfare consumed the world. It was a time of swords, axes and splintered shields, in which all the bonds of loyalty and kinship were severed. Driven by madness, hunger and despair, families tore themselves apart: brother killed brother; sister killed sister; children slew their parents and were slain in turn; and the survivors were left to starve and wither even as they still breathed, crawling like animals amidst the ruins of their once-proud cities.

Wolves devoured the sun and moon. The stars disappeared from the heavens, the ground shook with such force that even the mountains came crashing down, and Loki was at last freed from his prison beneath the earth.

The Midgard serpent, Jormungand, arose from the fathomless depths of the ocean. His venom tainted the waters, choked them with the rotted corpses of fish, marine mammals and seabirds, caused them to seethe and rise up over the land, filled the air with toxic fumes, and killed every living thing that still remained anywhere upon the earth.

Naglfar, the largest ship ever to have existed, fashioned from the toenails and fingernails of the dead, slipped its moorings and sailed forth. It was crewed by the hosts of Jotunheim: Hrym was its captain and Loki was its steersman. The numberless hordes of Hel were its passengers.

The sky split open. The giants of Muspelheim crossed the rainbow bridge, causing it to crumble and collapse in flames. Surtur was their leader, wielding a sword that shone like the long-lost sun, showering the lands below with ash and cinders.

Heimdall, watchman of the gods, saw all of this. Putting the Gjallarhorn to his lips, he blew with all his strength: a thunderous blast, loud enough that it could be heard in every world, warning the other gods of the approaching hosts, giving them time to gather, arm themselves, and seek the blessing of the Norns.

On the plains of Vigrid, which stretched for a hundred leagues in every direction, the einherjar assembled. They were the worthy dead, who had lived and died as heroes, never to grow old. Ever since the dawn of humanity, they had gathered in the halls of Valhalla, there to feast and drink and ready themselves for the day when they would fight the final battle. Now, that day had finally come.

With them were the Aesir and the Vanir, grimly prepared to fight and die. At the head of them was Odin, clad in burnished mail, riding his many-legged horse and carrying his spear, Gungnir. Thor was with him, wielding Mjolnir; Frey, the god of the fields, no longer had his magic sword, which he had given away as the bride-price for his beloved wife, but he was still strong enough that he could kill a giant with his bare hands; Heimdall was behind him, as were Tyr, Vidar, Thor's sons Magni and Modi, and many others. Brave warriors, all of them.

They were vastly outnumbered by their foes: the giants of ice and fire; the unworthy dead, those who had died shameful and cowardly deaths; monsters such as the Fenris Wolf, Jormungand, and Garm the hellhound.

Many years had passed since Odin had refused Lady Tanya's offer, a decision that he now bitterly regretted – at least for a moment, before reason reasserted itself. In his attempts to stave off Ragnarok, he had hatched many cunning schemes and stratagems, all of which had come to naught. Now, his death seemed certain. Even so, there was still one shred of hope, whispered to him by the severed head of Mimir, wisest of all.

It was that hope he clung to now. Accepting his fate, he signalled the charge, spurred Sleipnir onwards, and couched Gungnir as if it were a knight's lance. The Fenris Wolf was waiting for him. Time to die.

***

Adam Young had spent part of the weekend watching a Second World War movie with his dad, and this inspired him to start another game with his friends the next day. Inevitably, this involved running around in the woods, holding sticks as if they were guns, and shouting 'Pew! Pew!' at each other.

When at last they flopped to the ground with exhaustion, Wensleydale had this to say: "The Nazis were evil. I mean… like, supervillain evil."

"Yeah?" was Brian's response.

"They were trying to take over the world," Wensleydale explained. "They killed millions of people."

"Millions of people are dying all over the world right now and no one cares," said Pepper. "There are wars and tyrants and famines and… My mum says…" Her voice trailed off into befuddlement. She'd forgotten what she'd been about to say next. Something had driven it out of her mind.

Adam stroked his dog and said, in a tone that seemed uncharacteristically forceful: "It doesn't have to be that way. Someone should make sure that…" He grimaced. His voice took on an extra layer of brooding menace: "There will be justice. The righteous will be rewarded and the wicked will be punished."

"What are you on about?" asked Brian.

"Is this another game?" Pepper sighed and looked at her watch. "We're all tired and it's getting late. Dinner will be ready soon."

"Maybe tomorrow," Wensleydale agreed.

***

Jakub Straširybka had not expected to be woken by explosions and gunfire and the screams of dying men. It had come as a terrible shock to find himself crouching by a ruined building, with fiery heat and bullets whipping past him, and to find himself holding a rifle and wearing a Nazi uniform. The mild-mannered dentist, whose parents had moved to Germany from what was then Czechoslovakia in the 1980s, had never expected to live through that sort of thing.

He'd lost his glasses somewhere. The air was thick was ash and dust. And it was definitely a Nazi uniform he was wearing; it had a red armband with a swastika on it, which seemed like it would have been impractically eye-catching in any kind of live combat situation – but what did he know?

After he'd ripped off the armband, stamped on it a few times and spat on it for good measure, he felt a little better. But the battle was still raging all around him. If anything, it seemed to be getting worse. The noise was deafening, his head was pounding, and everywhere he looked there were more explosions.

He didn't know where he was or how he'd got there. Last night, he'd gone to bed and after that… Had he gone to sleep and woken up here? It felt much too real to be a dream, so he didn't waste time wondering about that. None of this made any sense. He'd been plucked from his normal, boring, comfortable life and tossed into a warzone, and now…

All he could do was hunker down, curled up on the ground, with his back pressed up against the wall and his hands over his ears, desperately hoping and praying that it would all be over soon.

***

At the gates of Hell, Tanya gathered her legions: all the demons who still lived and had sworn loyalty to her. There were thousands of them, but she suspected they were too few. How many would be needed to defeat the angels of the Silver City and Sandalphon's monsters? Would she ever have enough? Did she have any hope of winning or was she merely delaying the inevitable?

Some of the angels had seen Being X for what he truly was; they had rebelled against him and joined forces with her. Among them were Michael, Amenadiel and Duma, who had once been some of the most powerful and legendary members of the heavenly host. Michael had suffered greatly at Sandalphon's hands and might never fully heal, but he was held in awe by the other angels and was the main reason why so many of them had come over to her side in the past several months.

Vassago, Agares and Paimon were there, armed and uniformed, along with their servants, bodyguards and sycophants, who almost outnumbered the rest of Tanya's army. They had been rejuvenated by their recent adventures on Earth; lively and cheerful, they seemed to relish the prospect of a last, glorious battle to save the universe.

Ran Va Daath was a serpentine monstrosity, at the head of a horde of gibbering horrors. Her son, Etrigan, was with her; presumably they had much to talk about, especially since – by all accounts – he rarely took the time to visit her.

The succubi were missing their leader, Chantinelle: she was preparing a rescue mission, along with Kariselle, Crowley, and the angels Aziraphale and Zauriel. Apparently, Zauriel had a score to settle with Sandalphon while Aziraphale refused to be separated from Crowley.

Hastur was there with some of the veterans who'd fought beside him before, including Shax. He was still badly burnt, but if anything it made him even more imposing. In the past, he'd proved to be an excellent defensive general, but Tanya was worried about his unhealed injuries, so she'd decided to keep Etrigan as her second-in-command.

She kept Scumspawn close to her, as an aide-de-camp. He'd proven his bravery by holding off Sandalphon for as long as he could, but she didn't think he'd be well-suited to frontline combat. Still, that didn't matter; she had plenty of brave, super-strong warriors, but Scumspawn could be useful in other ways.

All in all, they were many; and yet, too few. Tanya had commanded much larger armies, more times than she could remember. Nevertheless, they were what she had and they would have to suffice.

It was time for her to give a rousing speech, to inspire them to feats of valour and glory. That was something she had always excelled at, often without meaning to; whenever she'd tried to dissuade her troops from some foolish course of action, they seemed to take her warnings as a challenge.

She took to the air, soaring high above them, her batlike wings spread out behind her like a banner unfurled. When she was sure she had their attention, she began to speak: "Today, we fight for all of existence. We fight against the tyrant who dares to call himself God, who would destroy everything there is. If we fail, all of us will be erased, as if we had never been – except for those us he singles out for special torments, who will suffer for the rest of eternity. And that is why we must win."

A pause. She let her words sink in before continuing, "No matter who or what you are, or where you came from, today you are heroes, fighting for every living thing that is or will ever be. You are champions of the universe, the last and best hope of everything and everyone that exists anywhere in the cosmos. But if you don't care about any of that, do it for yourself: for your right to exist, for your past and future, for everything that belongs to you, everything that's worth living for. This is your chance to save yourselves from annihilation."

In a gentler voice, she added, "We are immortal beings. If we die, we will eventually be reborn, so long as we win the battle that is to come. We will all live again someday. That is what we are fighting for. We'll fight with all the strength we have left, until our bodies are reduced to dust, and none of us will falter or beg for mercy." She nodded approvingly at them. "I know you won't disappoint me."

Her speech had the desired effect; they cheered, wildly and in exultation, as if everything she'd said was a reason to rejoice. Perhaps, like her, they were caught up in the excitement of it all, the heady thrill of risking everything in one last, desperate throw of the dice. It was what she had done thousands of times before, in every one of her many lives and… ah, it had worked out fairly well so far. Besides, what else could she do?

A blaring horn blast warned her that there was someone at the gate: someone was waiting to be let into Hell. Not one of the recent dead, who arrived in Hell by other means, but a visitor from another dimension, who'd travelled there through a portal. Tanya wondered who it could be. If Being X's armies had arrived, the signal would have been different and lasted much longer. This was someone else, who was insistent on being let in.

"Open the gate," she said, in a voice she knew would carry as far as it needed to.

Before she'd finished speaking, the massive doors began to creak open; the gatekeeper must have been eagerly waiting for her command.

She flew closer. Lucifer was standing on the rocky path just outside the gate. He wore a casual suit and a mischievous grin, which seemed to suggest that he was ready for a night on the town rather than the final battle for the fate of the universe. For once, his wings were visible, as pure white as any swan; when he saw her looking at them, he looked embarrassed that he'd got them out in public.

"Good day to you, Lucifer. Here to join us?" she asked.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. I'm being pursued," he said. "By the angel Raguel and two of his associates. I thought you might like to… ah, 'defeat in detail' is the military term, I believe. I know how much you like that sort of thing."

"Only three of them? I wouldn't have thought you'd need any help."

His expression turned grim. "It would appear that Raguel has been empowered by the one you call Being X. I'm not sure I could defeat him on my own. But with your help…"

"Understood," said Tanya, with a nod. "And it looks like they've just arrived."

She indicated a portal that had just opened, a short distance away. Three angels stumbled through it. "Lucifer, I have you now!" cried their apparent leader, gleeful and triumphant.

"Darling, buy me a drink first," was Lucifer's reply.

A moment later, the three newcomers must have realised where they were. They immediately turned and tried to retreat through the portal. However, Tanya had the Key to Hell, which meant it was a simple matter for her to close off their only means off escape. Presumably, when Being X sent his main force, he'd prevent her from doing such things... In fact, she was surprised that he hadn't done so already. Perhaps he hadn't known that Raguel and his fellows would come here. Foolish of them to step through a portal without knowing what was on the other side…

Despite their wide-eyed panic, the three angels didn't stop; they continued to flee. Leaping up into the air, they flew away, as if there was anywhere in Hell or its outskirts where they would be safe.

Actually, it wasn't a bad plan; it was probably the best course of action available to them. If they could survive for long enough, more angels would come to rescue them – or Being X would make sure that they could open another portal and escape unimpeded. Also, most demons couldn't fly, which limited the number of potential pursuers they would have to deal with. Still, Tanya wouldn't let them get away if she could avoid it.

"Raguel, I presume," said Tanya, jabbing a finger in the direction of the trio's apparent leader: at his retreating back.

"Indeed. That's the one," said Lucifer, who for a moment looked surprised that she'd bothered to ask. Then, he must have realised, like she had, that if she was going to fight them effectively, she needed to know for sure which one of them had been granted powers greater than his fellows. Assuming they hadn't all been similarly empowered, of course.

They were joined by Michael and Amenadiel, who'd reacted faster than any of the others who'd mobilized to deal with these interlopers. In particular, Michael was speeding through the air like he had something to prove.

Even if Being X had bolstered Raguel's powers, Tanya was still faster than him. And she didn't need to chase him down and engage him in close combat; she had other options available to her.

She hurled a blast of fire, which scorched his wings and blossomed against his back. Otherwise, he seemed to take little harm from it, but he must have been wary of what might happen next time; he turned to face them, resolved to defend himself. His lackeys did the same.

"I know you," said Michael, advancing towards them. "Nimshiel. Turiel." He was trembling with rage and remembered trauma. "I had heard that you had fallen."

They seemed to shudder as if at an unpleasant recollection. "That never happened!" declared the one he had called Nimshiel. "It's a lie!"

Next to him, Turiel said, "Much has changed since…" He frowned and shook his head. "No, you must be mistaken."

"My brothers… are you aware of what Sandalphon did to me?" Michael pressed them. "If so, why are you…? How could you?!"

"Whatever he did to you was nothing more than you deserve, you vile traitor!" cried Nimshiel.

Michael's answer was to charge at him, slamming into him with hurricane force, heedless of his own safety. Even when Nimshiel raised his flaming blade to defend himself – even when he was impaled on it – Michael continued to tear at him with his bare hands. Hastening to assist him, Amenadiel was intercepted by Turiel; they matched each other blade for blade, one master swordsman against another.

Meanwhile, Lucifer and Tanya were doing battle with Raguel, whose hands blazed with heavenly fire. He was agile enough to dodge their attacks while blasting at them with searing holiness, forcing them to scatter, and for several moments it seemed like they were at a stalemate, with neither side able to strike a decisive blow.

In the distance, a portal opened, large enough to march an army through. Experimentally, Tanya tried to close it, but – as she'd expected – she found that she couldn't. Being X had done something to suppress the power of the Key to Hell.

Risking a quick glance behind her, she saw Etrigan leading her army; as she had instructed, they were arranging themselves in defensive positions around the gate. If necessary, they would retreat through it, but she hoped it wouldn't come to that. Except for that one entrance, Hell's outer walls were an impassable barrier, which ensured that they wouldn't be attacked from behind. If they were forced to retreat, the defence of the gate would be a bloody slaughter, resulting in mass casualties on both sides, and after that… Inside the walls, the defensive structures were far less durable, her demons would be scattered and demoralized, Being X's angels would have little difficulty in attacking them from many different directions at once, and defeat would be almost inevitable.

Angels were coming through the portal, hundreds of them. A feral grin spread across Raguel's face; he must have thought he'd been delivered.

While he was thus distracted, he didn't notice Lucifer suddenly speeding towards him, not until he'd been enfolded in a crushing bear hug and tackled out of the air. They both thudded to the ground, still grappling. Lucifer was horribly burnt by Raguel's holy flames, but he didn't let go, even as his flesh melted like candle wax.

"What are you doing?!" Raguel screeched at him. "I'll kill you!"

Lucifer wasn't listening. His face was a mask of mutilated agony, but he held on as tightly as he could. His sole intention was to keep Raguel pinned down, unable to move, for long enough that Tanya could put an end to him.

And so she did; she came up behind him and blasted his head off.

"Another suit ruined," Lucifer moaned, letting go at last. Pushing himself away from the decapitated corpse, he stumbled to his feet and dusted himself off, causing the tattered remnants of his shirt and jacket to further disintegrate. Just like Raguel's corpse, in fact, which was already crumbling to dust.

"You can afford it," said Tanya. "I'm more concerned about you."

His arms were charred sticks, parts of his face and chest looked like grilled cheese, and one of his eyes was a gory morass.

"It's just a flesh wound. I've had worse," he said. "Did I ever tell you about the time when dear old Dad…? Actually, you've been raised by nuns more than once. You've heard it all before, I'm sure."

"You look half-dead," she told him.

"Only half? That's good. I'd be ever so humiliated if Raguel had managed to kill me. I mean, Raguel! I'd never live it down!"

By this time, Michael and Amenadiel had triumphed over Turiel and Nimshiel. However, this was not without cost: Michael had a gaping wound in his torso; Amenadiel was uninjured, but panting with exertion.

"Brother," said Lucifer, approaching Michael. "I'd ask 'how are you?' but I can see for myself."

Michael looked conflicted and taken aback, for a few moments, before he decided: "I… I wish our reunion could have taken place under better circumstances, brother. Nevertheless, it's good to see you."

"Likewise. That's one good thing that's come out of this whole mess," said Lucifer. His smile was ghastly to look upon. "I think… you and I… we're not going to be much use here." He indicated their various injuries. "Instead, we could visit a few old friends of mine… and enemies. You'd be a great help with that." Turning to Tanya, he explained: "We'll get you some reinforcements."

"Do you think there's any chance that they'll arrive in time?" asked Tanya.

"I'm sure they'll arrive exactly when you need them to," Lucifer assured her.

Tanya doubted that, but nodded as if she agreed. It would much be better if she could tell her subordinates that 'Michael and Lucifer have gone to get reinforcements' rather than 'Michael and Lucifer have gone to die somewhere quietly, out of sight.'

"I'll do it," said Michael. "It's not like I have any better ideas."

Being X's angels were mustering around the portal, not yet ready to press the attack. Tanya considered making a pre-emptive strike against them, but decided against it; the risks were too great. Therefore, while Michael and Lucifer set off on their little adventure, she and Amenadiel returned to where her army was waiting.

When she was close enough to speak to him without shouting or mystical shenanigans, Etrigan saluted her and said, "All present and correct, ma'am," as if he were parodying something he'd seen in a war movie. However, it seemed unlikely that he would ever have sat down to watch a war movie, so maybe he was aping someone he'd actually met: a pompous military man with a stuffed shirt and a stick up his backside, judging by the way he was walking.

"Good," was Tanya's response. Then, to Scumspawn, who was hovering nearby – a neat trick, though it made him look like a barely-tethered balloon – she said, "I need my mirror. Bring it to me, please."

"Excellent idea. You want to look your best before heading into battle," said Etrigan. This time, the undercurrent of mockery in his voice was so obvious that Tanya felt it was necessary to reprimand him.

"Enough," she said, in a tone of such menace that he immediately subsided, fell silent and averted his gaze.

Tanya waited until Scumspawn scurried back to her with the mirror.  "Thank you," she said, taking it from him. It was about as large as a dinner plate, with a dark and misty surface that barely seemed to reflect anything at all, and its golden frame was etched with arcane runes. It was one of many mystical artefacts that had fallen into her hands when she became the Queen of Hell. Apparently, long ago, a demon had accepted it as payment for something or other – she wasn't sure of the exact details – and eventually it had ended up in Lucifer's collection.

When activated, it became a window through which the user could see anywhere on Earth, provided that they didn't mind looking at a general area rather than a specific location. For Tanya's purposes, it was perfect.

All over the Earth, wherever she looked, she saw catastrophe after catastrophe: earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, uncontrolled fires, flooding, sudden outbreaks of war, meteorite strikes, giant monsters emerging from the depths of the sea, and everywhere there was panic, chaos and confusion. She caught a glimpse of the Four Horsemen – no, Five Horsemen – and they had an extra horse with them, for some reason – galloping across Europe, sowing death and destruction wherever they went. Somehow, they seemed impossibly large, titanic figures, stretched across the sky like distant giants.

The emergency services of many different nations were trying to stave off total disaster for as long as they could, as were an army of robots that had appeared from seemingly nowhere. Digging trenches, erecting flood barriers, putting out fires, rescuing people from ruined buildings, transporting refugees to safety, they dedicated themselves to saving lives however and wherever they could.

She did not see the Justice League. Wherever they were, she had no doubt they were doing their best to save the world, one small part of it at a time. Despite their incredible powers, there were too few of them, spread too thinly across an entire planet. They couldn't be everywhere at once.

Where was the Antichrist? He was supposed to be an essential part of the Apocalypse, without whom it could not take place – so where was he? If she found him, would he have the power to stop the Apocalypse, or would it carry on regardless? Would she be able to reason with him? Until recently, he must have been a fairly ordinary little boy, living in Britain, whose behaviour had not been unusual enough that it had attracted any particular attention, which probably meant that his main interests were football, videogames and schoolwork – or whatever else British kids were supposed to be interested in these days – and he'd be appalled if anyone suggested that he should take over or destroy the world… unless he'd suddenly turned into a monster. Maybe that was what it meant to be the Antichrist.

Could she find him in time? Soon, the soldiers of Heaven would begin their assault. There was no sign of Sandalphon's monsters, which probably meant that Being X didn't think they'd be needed; he must have been confident that victory could be achieved without them. When the battle began, Tanya would be forced into a desperate struggle for survival – and then, even if she won, it might be too late. When the Earth was destroyed, the Apocalypse would spread across the stars, ending all life, everywhere. Unless she could find a way to stop it now, there would be no stopping it. This was her last chance, the only hope she had left… so where was he?

***

The woods outside Lower Tadfield had become the entire world. Adam gazed down at it like a conqueror surveying his new kingdom, a gloating and avaricious gleam in his eyes.

"I thought Dog might like Australia," he said, tickling the hellhound between its ears. "Lots of wide open spaces."

Dog had become huge and wolflike, black as coal, with eyes like faintly glowing embers. He gave a satisfied 'whuff'.

Pepper was crying. She never cried, not where any of them could see… until now. Wensleydale and Brian were crying as well. All three of them were weeping, snivelling, and quivering in fear and misery, terrified of what Adam might do next.

"Wensleydale… you could have Asia. Or Africa. Lots of history there," said Adam. "You'd love it."

"Uhh… w-w-what… what would I do with it?" asked Wensleydale, scarcely daring to speak. A steady shower of tears fell from his red-rimmed eyes.

"Rule it, of course," said Adam, as if it was obvious. "You could be a king."

"And… um… uh, w-why would I want to be a king?"

Adam stared at Wensleydale, perplexed, mouthing the words, 'Why would I want to be king?' as if he'd never thought anyone would ask that question. Hesitantly, as if he were groping for a light switch in a darkened room, he tried to find an answer: "Well, uh… you'd have servants to do everything for you… and you could eat whatever you want… and you could do whatever you want, all the time, for as long as you want. You'd love it, honestly."

The grimace on Wensleydale's face was clear evidence that he was unconvinced, but he didn't say anything. His courage had deserted him.

"What about you, Brian? You like films, right?" asked Adam. "I could give you California, Florida – the whole of North America – you could be President for life!"

"Uh… okay. I've always wanted to go to America," said Brian, cautiously.

Adam beamed at him. "You'd be perfect!"

"Stop it!" Pepper screamed at him, taking refuge in anger. "Why would he want that?! Why would we want any of this?! What's happening to you, Adam?!"

"I… You're my friends. I want you… I want to make you…" Adam screwed his eyes shut, swallowed hard, and tried again: "I want you to be happy."

"None of this is making us happy," said Wensleydale, indicating his puffy eyes and tear-streaked face. "You need to stop it."

"Yeah. Stop it right now," said Brian, nodding vigorously. "It's been fun, but… um." He remembered something one of his teachers had said: "If you take a joke too far, it's not funny anymore."

"You think this is a joke?!" Adam's face creased with rage. Next to him, the hellhound bared its fangs. "You…"

"We're your friends. That means you need to listen to us," said Pepper. "Stop all this… this… and let's go back to normal. Please?"

"None of us want to rule the world. Not even you, Adam," said Wensleydale, giving him a shrewd glance.

"It's the summer holiday. We shouldn't be worrying about any of this," Brian insisted. "We should be having fun!"

"Yeah… yeah, you're right," said Adam, dazedly, swaying on his feet. He looked like he was about to throw up. "I don't… I don't want any of this."

The illusion faded, gradually, like the darkness before the sunrise. Once again, they were in the woods outside Lower Tadfield.

"I don't feel very well," Adam murmured.

"You'll feel much better after a good night's sleep," Pepper assured him.

She hugged him – and Wensleydale hugged them both – and Brian joined them in a big group hug. Dog was once again a small mongrel with an inside out ear. He rubbed up against them. They were all glad to be alive, that the sun was shining, and things could go back to the way they were before.

"Isn't that sweet?" said a sneering voice. "Such a shame that it has to end."

Five monstrous horsemen had appeared in the sky above them. One of them was a red-haired woman, who rode a fiery red horse and carried a flaming sword; she had a feral, almost bestial appearance, as if whatever she was could scarcely be contained within a mere human form. Another was dark-skinned and hollow-cheeked, riding a black horse and carrying a pair of weighing scales; there was something machinelike about his jerky movements and the way his teeth kept clashing together. The third had yellowed, blotchy skin covered in pustulent sores, and was riding a mangy horse that looked on the verge of death, with visible ribs, swollen joints and the loss of most of its hair. Next to him, there was a chalk-white figure sitting astride an amorphous creature that only vaguely resembled a horse. Last of all, there was a pale, skeletally thin woman, dressed in black hooded robes, whose horse was just as pale as she was. She was leading another horse: a white horse, larger and livelier than any of the others, which had a crown and a bow hanging from its saddle.

"Adam," said the red-haired woman, whose name was War. "Join us."

"Ride with us," said Famine, pointing to the white horse. He seemed to expect that Adam would hurry to mount it, and grew impatient when he did not.

"Lead us," said Pestilence and Pollution, together. They glared at each other, resentful and reproachful.

"Um. What if I say no?" asked Adam, still clinging to his friends.

"I'm afraid you have no choice," said Death, sorrowfully.

Chapter Text

Thor was a simple man with simple wants. Some called him stupid, but where were they now? Loki was the only one of them left alive. The rest… most of them were among the unworthy dead he could see trying to overwhelm the einherjar with sheer weight of numbers. He regretted not killing Loki when he'd had the chance, but he trusted that he'd done the right thing; he'd been following the instructions of those who were much wiser than him. Anyway, that didn't matter now.

What he wanted right now – what he'd wanted for many years, ever since his ill-fated fishing trip with Hymir the giant – was to slay Jormungand, the Midgard Serpent. The eldest of Loki's monstrous children, it had been thrown into the ocean after it had grown too large to be restrained, after which it had continued to grow until its sinuous length was long enough to encircle the entire world. Now, it was coiled many times around the battlefield so that none could escape; its massive head was looming high above, spewing its black venom over ally and enemy alike, eyes glinting with malevolence; when it noticed Thor glaring hatefully up at it, with Mjolnir hanging loose from his right hand, it reared up as if readying itself to strike. Just like him, it seemed eager that this should be their last meeting. One way or another, this was the end.

It struck with terrifying speed, much faster than should have been possible for a creature of that size, like an avalanche crashing down the mountainside. But he was Thor, the god of thunder. Before the serpent's jaws could close around him, Mjolnir had left his hand, flying straight and true.

Jormungand was struck just above its left eye socket. The thrown hammer shattered its skull. As the colossal serpent fell, it crushed hundreds beneath it, but the battle continued unabated. Thor gave a triumphant bellow, rejoicing in his victory.

Too late, he realised that he'd been sprayed with the serpent's black venom: the same venom that had killed every living thing on Midgard that yet survived after three years of winter unending. He was doused with the stuff. It clung to him like tar, thick and viscous. He was a god, far stronger and tougher than anyone else, but still…

Mjolnir returned to his hand. He took a tottering step forward. He was the mightiest warrior of all the Aesir. It was time for him to… They would need him to…

Another step. Then another. It was painful, like fire spreading through his veins, but… pain meant nothing to him. He laughed at pain and danger and… He laughed at a lot of things. Harsh, agonized laughter from a throat that felt as if it had been scorched by dragon fire.

Two more steps. Blinking his way through the mist, he saw… his father, Odin the Allfather, was nowhere to be seen. The Fenris Wolf had devoured him.

Frey's burnt and blackened corpse lay in two pieces, having been bisected by Surtur's flaming sword. The greatest of the fire giants loomed high above, surrounded by a wall of flames that grew and grew as if it were alive, spreading further and higher, greedily devouring whatever it touched.

His next few steps were clumsy and stumbling. The path he walked was littered with corpses, thousands of them. Every breath he took was laboured. His lungs filled with fluid.

Nearby, Tyr and Garm had slain each other. The hellhound's jaws were closed around the one-handed god's throat; his sword was buried in its chest; and they were bound together in a crushing embrace. Out of the corner of his eye, Thor caught a glimpse of them still struggling, furiously grappling with each other, even though they were both dead. Or was that…? Was it just his imagination? It couldn't be. He'd never had much of an imagination.

He was vaguely aware of the prophecies that said he'd die at Ragnarok, that the Midgard Serpent would kill him, but he'd always hoped that… if he fought hard enough, his fate could be averted. Mjolnir was a weapon that could smash though anything, even destiny. Besides, if he had to die, he'd face his death bravely, not run from it like a coward. He'd always prided himself on his courage, but… it was easy to be brave when he was stronger, tougher, and better armed than anyone else. Now, however…

Mjolnir fell from his lifeless fingers and hit the ground with a thunderous crash. He'd never done that before. Careless of him.

He reached out with a fumbling hand. It was too far away. He had to… pick it up…

Just a little closer… One more step. Into darkness. Was the hour so late?

He fell. It was a long way down.

***

While using her magic mirror, Tanya felt a tremendous surge of power coming from somewhere in Oxfordshire, England – which meant that it must have come from the Antichrist, she hoped – and it was exactly what the Five Horsemen were riding towards. She decided that she needed to be there to confront them and prevent the Antichrist from… whatever they wanted him to do. Before she revealed to the other demons that she was leaving them – and Etrigan was now in command – she worried that this would be devastating to morale, causing arguments and delays; in fact, when the time came, she was pleased by how readily they seemed to accept that stopping the Apocalypse would require her to go somewhere else and leave them behind. Perhaps they had already anticipated it.

There were five Horsemen and only one of her, so she felt the need for some assistance. For that purpose, she selected those whom she felt she could trust, who were somewhat capable in a fight, but whose presence in Etrigan's army would be unnecessary, distracting or even detrimental to the other demons' attempts to defend the Gates of Hell.

The first was Scumspawn. His loyalty was unquestionable and he had proven his courage and resilience by holding off Sandalphon for as long as he had, but Tanya doubted that he could bring himself to kill anyone – and in a large-scale battle, his foes would have plenty of easier targets to choose from – which meant that against the invading angels his talents would be wasted. On the other hand, against the Five Horsemen, if he could keep one of them distracted for long enough that his colleagues could finish off the others, that would be more than enough to justify his presence.

Another was Hastur. Other than Scumspawn, he was probably her most trusted employee, someone she could rely on completely. Also, he was a duke of Hell, one of the most powerful demons who still remained there, even if he hadn't fully recovered from the burns inflicted on him by Trigon cultists in Gotham. He should be a worthy opponent even for one of the Horsemen, if it came to it. Also, she knew that many of the demons in her army would rather have him than Etrigan as their commander, which could cause problems if they made their preference obvious. Therefore, to eliminate the possibility of Etrigan trying to prove himself by taking unnecessary risks, or arranging a tragic 'accident' that would cause the death of his rival, or any other such foolishness that might lead to a crushing defeat, Tanya had made the executive decision to put Hastur somewhere else.

For a moment, she wondered – not for the first time – if she'd made a poor choice by putting Etrigan in charge of her army, but realised that it was too late to replace him with anyone else. The die had already been cast.

Her third choice was Beelzebub, another duke of Hell, a former rebel whom she had treated with what some of her other subordinates thought was excessive lenience, but which Tanya thought was entirely justified. This was for three reasons: firstly, even before they had been defeated, Beelzebub had been betrayed by their allies; secondly, she'd had need of their knowledge and expertise; and thirdly, ever since she'd been lenient, they had been a model employee, far beyond what was expected of them, even to the extent of seducing the archangel Gabriel and persuading him to join their cause. However, some of the other demons resented and distrusted them as a former enemy who had escaped punishment; this could cause friction between them, which might leave a weakness or an opening that their enemies could exploit. Therefore, Tanya had resolved to keep Beelzebub by her side.

Concerned for his paramour's safety, Gabriel had asked come along as well. After giving the matter some thought, Tanya had agreed to this. He was one of the mightiest of all the angels and supposedly one of the most powerful beings in the universe, so he would have been an incredible asset to Etrigan's army in their defense of Hell, but he might be even more useful to her against the Five Horsemen. She could only hope that he would live up to his reputation.

Scumspawn, Hastur, Beelzebub and Gabriel. That was the team she had assembled for this mission. There was something about it that just felt… right. Of course, she didn't trust such feelings – not usually – but she didn't have time to delay or second-guess herself. It would have to do. Do or die.

***

Glancing around at his friends, seeking reassurance from them, and then back at the five monstrous figures on horseback, Adam said, "You're the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, right?"

"Indeed we are," said War, giving him a smile that was edged with daggers. "And you are the Antichrist."

"That Apocalypse has already begun," said Famine. "Your big moment has arrived."

"I've already decided that I don't want to conquer or destroy the world – or whatever you want me to do," said Adam. "You can't make me."

"It's your destiny. You will ride out with us, conquering and to conquer," said Pestilence. "It says so in the Bible."

"It doesn't say anything in the Bible about there being five Horsemen of the Apocalypse," said Wensleydale, for whom pedantry was a higher priority than self-preservation. "And if Adam joins you, there'll be six of you, won't there? That's way too many."

"Who are you? How dare you speak to me?" Pestilence sneered at him. "Maggots will strip the flesh from your–"

"He's my friend," said Adam.

Pestilence was left gaping like a gutted fish. "Ah… yes, of course. Forget I said anything," he said, in a simpering voice.

"It doesn't matter," said Death. Her hood was hanging low over her face, so that barely more than a shadow could be seen. "You have no choice but to fulfil your destiny, one way or another."

"What does that mean?" Adam demanded to know. "Are you going to kill me if I don't do what you want, is that it?"

"Now, there's an idea," said War, whose smirk had been sharpened to a razor's edge.

"If you want to hurt him, you'll have to get through us first!" Pepper declared, taking a step forward and spreading her arms wide as if to shield Adam with her own body. However, because she was a skinny prepubescent girl, the Horsemen seemed amused rather than intimidated by her boldness.

"That's fine by me," was War's response.

"Yeah, what's the downside?" asked Famine, with a chuckle.

"You're adorable," said Pollution, looking down at Pepper with a goofy grin and a thumbs-up gesture. "Totes adorbs."

"She's my friend as well," said Adam, hurriedly, trying to sidle around her.

"In that case, I have a solution to our current dilemma," said Pestilence, with an oily and unpleasant smile. "We will do nothing to harm your friends, provided that you accept your destiny: get on that horse, wear that crown, and lead us on our way."

Adam hesitated, as still and silent as if he'd been paralyzed, for a few moments. Then, at last, he nodded.

"I think this has gone on for long enough," said an unfamiliar voice: a woman's voice, stern and resolute. "We'll take it from here."

Behind Adam and his friends, directly opposite the Five Horsemen, another group had appeared: a slender blonde woman with horns and batlike wings; a big man in an ill-fitting suit, with black eyes and a burn-scarred face; an androgynous figure with long limbs and a veil of winged insects; a muscular and handsome man with swanlike wings; and a fubsy creature that looked like a cartoon caricature of a demon.

"Who are you?" asked Adam, taking a step back behind Pepper and then looking embarrassed at himself for doing so.

"I'm the Devil. These are my associates," said the blonde woman. "We're here to protect you."

There was widespread confusion at this pronouncement until Wensleydale said, "Er… that's good, I guess?"

"Be not afraid," said the man with swanlike wings, who was probably an angel.

"I'm not afraid, just confused, that's all," Adam assured him. "If you're the Devil… aren't you supposed to be evil? Shouldn't you want the Apocalypse to happen?"

"I may be evil, but I like having a world to be evil in," said the blonde woman who claimed to be the Devil. "That's why I'm on your side."

"She's not really evil," said the angel.

"Oh, I am. It's part of the job description."

"You're about as evil as a traffic warden," said the big, burn-scarred man with a snort of laughter.

The four children were not particularly reassured by this: they'd all heard their parents ranting about traffic wardens and how obnoxious, vindictive and horrible they were.

"And now, even you betray me, Hastur," said the Devil, holding her hand to her heart and putting on a show of dismay.

"You've always said honesty is important. I'm assuming that applies to you as well," the big man replied.

"Stop ignoring us!" cried Pestilence, who even went as far as to stamp his foot. Since he was standing in midair, this made no sound.

Not all of his colleagues agreed with him. Grinning widely, Famine said, "Come on, Pesty, I'd have thought the circus would be something you'd enjoy. Spreading disease from town to town, and so on…"

"Pre-fight banter. I love it," said War.

"But it isn't! They're not even looking at us!" cried Pestilence.

Pollution was noisily and messily devouring handfuls of popcorn from a bucket that had appeared from seemingly nowhere.

By this point, Pepper could no longer restrain herself: "If you're the Devil, why are you so… cute?" She scrunched her nose up in disgust.

"It's probably a trick so people underestimate her," Wensleydale suggested.

Brian had an alternate suggestion: a scrap of wisdom that he'd dredged up from the foggy swamp that was his memory. "None of us can help how we're made," he said, sagely.

"Thank you," said the Devil, smiling down at him. It was an awkward, strained and glassy-eyed smile, with a hint of bewilderment behind it: the smile of someone who knew the theory but had never mastered the art of smiling despite many years of practice.

"Are you going to fight us, then?" asked War, looking gleeful at the prospect. "Come on, don't keep us waiting."

"All in good time," said the Devil. Descending from the sky, she addressed Adam directly, saying, "I need your help. It seems peaceful here, but elsewhere – all over the world – there are wars, natural disasters, monster attacks, and so on. The Apocalypse has begun and billions of people are in danger. But you have the power to save them all." She gave him a significant glance. "Don't you?"

"I… I'll do my best," he said.

"That is all I ask. My colleagues and I will do the same."

"Are you absolutely sure you're evil?" asked Wensleydale.

This time, he was ignored. The Devil gave Adam a perfunctory pat on the shoulder and then turned away. Taking to the air, she rejoined her 'associates' and stood ready to do battle with the Five Horsemen.

At the edge of his hearing, Adam heard people crying out in fear, misery and pain, hopelessness and despair. He knew what he had to do. "I guess it's up to us," he said, looking at Wensleydale, Pepper, and Brian in turn.

All three of them gave him looks of blank incomprehension.

"How would you like to be superheroes?" he asked.

"Can I be Superman?" asked Brian, excitedly.

"You can be just like Superman," Adam promised him.

"I want to be Superwoman," said Pepper. Then, defensively, she added, "What? It's not fair that all the women have to be 'Supergirl'. That's just sexist."

"Whatever we're going to do, we'd better get on with it," said Wensleydale, with a nervous glance up at the sky.

"You're right," said Adam. "Let's go."

***

Etrigan knew exactly why Tanya had chosen him to lead her army: it wasn't because she liked or trusted him in any way whatsoever, but because she knew that his pride wouldn't allow him to lose. He would fight until his head was hacked from his shoulders and his body was reduced to dust; not because he especially wanted to, but because to do otherwise would mean unbearable humiliation. Still, it was flattering, in a way: he had been chosen because Tanya thought he had the best chance of winning, not because she had any possible bias. Even if she'd rather have some scruffy mortal in her bed – he'd met John Constantine on multiple occasions, often enough that his contempt for the man had been born from familiarity rather than anything else – she knew that he was the best warrior she had. He would prove to her that she was right about that at least.

Besides, even if she didn't want him, there would soon be better options available to him. If he won this battle – and he was realistic enough to admit to himself that he might not – there'd be beauties from all over the cosmos queueing up to get a taste of the hero who'd defeated the forces of Heaven. And the majority of them would have breasts that were visible to the naked eye, unlike the woman who'd been the cause of his recent vexations. Things could only get better. If he managed to win, he'd keep on winning.

However, in many ways, it seemed as if the angels should easily defeat him and the army under his command. Every one of them was more powerful than dozens of lesser demons, suffused with heavenly light and wielding flaming swords that could cut through anything. Some of them burned with zeal, eager to punish the traitors who had sided with the forces of Hell. However, the majority of them were visibly conflicted, heavy with doubt, and seemed to be looking for an excuse to flee. Their morale – or their lack of it – was their weakness.

Remiel was their commander, perhaps seeking to atone for his earlier failures. His initial expression was one of steely determination, especially when he saw Duma and Amenadiel standing together. He seemed to thirst for revenge against them, as if their decision to side with Tanya and her demons had been intended as a personal betrayal. But then, when he saw Vassago – who smiled at him, waved and cried out, "Friend! Brother!" – he was visibly shaken.

The succubi were led by one of Chantinelle's lieutenants, who looked like a middle-aged woman with leathery skin and a vivid scar across her face, at least for now. The majority of them were equipped with bows and had slathered their arrows with the most potent venoms they could find, none of which should have had any effect against angels imbued with divine vitality, and yet they'd been remarkably successful so far. They'd driven two angels from the field already, piercing them with dozens of arrows, turning their skin sickly green and reminding Etrigan of an avant-garde Christmas tree he'd once seen in a shop window.

Huge and powerful, Ran Va Daath had managed to snag one of the angels out of the air and crush him to death between her coils; since then, they had stayed away, pelting her with arrows and energy blasts, as if the stinging of a gnat could bring down a mighty wildebeest–

As he thought that, Etrigan paused and decided to forget that he had ever compared his mother to a wildebeest. If he could scrub his mind clean, he would. Barring that, he would keep the errant thought locked away in the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind and hope that nothing ever brought it to light. Otherwise, the consequences for him would be… unpleasant, to say the least.

Wincing as if in pain, he turned his attention elsewhere.

Vassago, Agares and Paimon were all fallen angels, who had once been high-ranking and highly favored servants of God, which meant that they were equal to any of those who were now leagued against them. No longer were they grey-faced, gripped by apathy and ennui. Instead, they looked happier and more energetic than Etrigan had ever seen them, throwing themselves into combat as if they'd been waiting all their lives for this moment. They made an excellent team: perfectly synchronized, they struck together, shielded each other, and overwhelmed their opponents before any of them could strike back. For a few moments, before Etrigan was forced to look away, it seemed like they were unstoppable.

Then, he was forced to defend himself: he was confronted by Islington, one of the Metatron's cronies, who was apparently a mass murderer. In the old days, anyone who did that sort of thing would be severely punished in Hell – unless they had God's explicit permission to do it, of course – which was presumably why Islington had been stripped of their original name and spent many years skulking in one of the vilest places on Earth: in London's seedy underbelly, apparently. And then, recently, they had emerged from hiding and been given a position of high status: proof, if any were needed, that Tanya was correct in her belief that God had been replaced by 'Being X'.

Islington was androgynous and beautiful, except for their expression of snarling rage and the berserk fury with which they attacked. Dodging and parrying with his own flaming sword, Etrigan was hard-pressed to defend himself. Stumbling backwards, he opened his mouth and unleashed a blast of hellfire that forced the angel to scurry out of the way.

He was seized by a sudden urge to laugh. "Too often I've been made a fool. I've been a pawn; I've been a tool: a tool of good, a tool of ill, a blade with which to maim and kill."

"You have my sympathies," said Islington, sardonically, taking advantage of the opportunity to rest for a few moments.

Etrigan continued: "And then there's you: a bigger fool. Who'd think that God could be so cruel, to lead you on with such high hopes? He's kept you bound with many ropes: so many falsehoods, fibs and lies. D'you think he cares who lives, who dies? You're here to fight, to pay the price: to be a bloody sacri–"

His rhyming was interrupted when Islington charged at him. An incoherent scream of rage and despair issued from their full lips. They attacked with reckless abandon, lashing out again and again, heedless of anything but a hysterical urge to cut him to pieces.

With a sadistic grin smeared across his face, Etrigan kept backing away, waiting for his opponent to overreach. Any minute now…

***

The Justice League were doing their best, but it wasn't enough. Batman was acting as mission control, putting his prodigious brain to good use by organizing and coordinating the relief efforts, making sure that everyone was where they could be most useful. Some of their other unpowered members were doing the same. The rest of them were battling giant monsters, building barricades and giant earthworks, rescuing people from fires, floods, collapsed buildings, volcanic eruptions, and every other natural disaster, all of which were happening at the same time, all over the world. They couldn't be everywhere at once.

There had been consternation when dozens of supervillains emerged from wherever they were hiding and offered their help, but they seemed sincere and, like the Atomic Skull said, "It's our world too, you know!" Many of them had committed appalling crimes and should probably be incarcerated regardless of their heroism today, but that was a problem for later. They joined forces with the Justice League, helped them to save everyone and everything they could, but it still wasn't enough. If they had been trying to save a few cities in the USA – or even a few dozen – they could probably have managed it, but they couldn't save the entire world.

Over the past several months, Lex Luthor had risen to the occasion. He and his company, Lexcorp, had built millions of machines, all of which were designed to save lives, rescue people, get them to safety, and locate other survivors. Astonishingly, none of them appeared to have gone rogue; they were all as dedicated to their work as the men and women of the emergency services they worked alongside. Perhaps that was because their AI was relatively simple, but Superman liked to think that it was because Luthor had only benevolent intentions when he designed and built them; they were a reflection of their creator's capacity for good, which he normally kept very well-hidden. However, although vast amounts of money and resources had been poured into their construction, there still weren't enough of them, and their numbers were thinning all the time: smashed by monsters, landslides, falling rubble and meteorites, drowned and dashed to pieces by stormy seas, melted by lava and the most intense chemical fires; one by one, they were being destroyed.

The situation looked hopeless. Green Lantern had put an enormous barrier in the way of the latest tidal wave, straining with effort. Giganta, Orion, and Big Barda were lifting rubble out of the way so that people could escape; it seemed like the Flash was rescuing dozens of people at the same time, aided by his usual enemies, the Rogues; Superman was holding up an entire skyscraper, preventing its collapse; despite his insistence that he wanted to destroy the city, Bizarro was was doing the same thing; Wonder Woman, Steel and several others were helping to clear the upper floors and get as many people safely down onto the ground as they could. Plastic Man was whatever he needed to be: a lifeboat, a bridge, an escape chute, and many other things, but he could only be in one place at a time. And this was just one city out of many. Try as they might, they couldn't save them all.

And then, they were joined by four superheroes they'd never seen before; they were children, barely out of grade school, wearing domino masks and brightly coloured costumes. There was a bespectacled boy with blond, wavy hair; a red-haired girl wearing a grimace of fierce determination; a boy whose shiny costume had a strangely rumpled, dishevelled appearance; and their apparent leader, a dark-haired boy with an air of impish mischief about him. All of them could fly, were super-strong and super-fast, and seemed to develop new powers whenever they needed them: perhaps it was powerful telekinesis that enabled them to reshape matter, move entire buildings just by looking at them, instantly smother out-of-control fires, and redirect floodwaters back into the sea.

Superman wanted to stop and talk to them, to praise them for what they were doing and ask them who they were. But there wasn't time. He was too busy trying to save the city.

It still wasn't enough. The leader of the four unknown superheroes paused for a moment, pondering, and then said, in a distinctly British accent: "We need some extra help."

All of a sudden, Superman was everywhere at once, all over the world. The other members of the Justice League were with him, as were the supervillains who'd agreed to help out, vast multitudes of them. Were they clones? Different versions of the same person from multiple different alternate realities? No, he felt certain that they were like him: the same person again and again and again, in a myriad different bodies. They were everywhere they needed to be. They could save everyone.

He didn't question it; he made a start.

***

The Five Horsemen dismounted their various steeds with unhurried, easy movements, as if they intended to savour the battle that was soon to come. All except Death: she seemed paralysed, but Tanya doubted it was because of fear, or horror, or any similar emotion. What could frighten Death, after all? No, it was more likely that she was being held back in reserve, ready for when she would truly be needed.

Tanya could see the sense in that. She decided to do the same: "Gabriel, hold back, unless you see that one of us urgently needs help. Otherwise, if Death enters the fray, she will be your opponent."

"And the rest of uzz?" asked Beelzebub, whose voice was a barely perceptible hum.

"I thought you'd be a good match for Pestilence," Tanya replied.

Beelzebub grimaced at that.

"Hastur, you fight Famine; Scumspawn, do whatever you can against Pollution; and I'll deal with War." As she said this, though she tried to seem calm and composed, Tanya was far from confident. How exactly could one 'deal with' the anthropomorphic personification of War? Was there any way to fight such a thing? It seemed like a contradiction in terms…

"Yeah, right," said Hastur, with a crooked smile. "Good luck, everyone."

"Um. I'll do my best," Scumspawn quavered.

The Horsemen gave them no more time to deliberate; battle was joined. Tanya found herself frantically dodging, ducking and darting out of the way, narrowly avoiding War's flaming blade and racking her brains for a solution to a problem that seemed insurmountable: how to fight back without making matters worse. She suspected that if she struck with all her strength it would either be reflected back at her or further fuel the powers of the living embodiment of conflict. Neither possibility was one she was willing to risk.

"What's the matter, Tanya? Aren't you going to fight?" asked War, her voice oozing with mockery, like poisoned honey. "You've always loved fighting: the thrill of battle, to risk your life in the deadly game of mano-a-mano, how sweet it is to kill…"

"I enjoy it in the same way that people enjoy extreme sports. It's exhilarating," said Tanya, continuing to dodge. She didn't know if what she was saying was true, but it seemed plausible enough. Similarly, since she couldn't remember most of her past lives, she had no way of knowing if War was telling the truth, but she suspected not. Did it really matter, if it was just another weapon that was being used against her?

"You're lying to yourself, as always," said War, lunging at her. "In every one of your lives, you've always thrown yourself into combat at the first possible opportunity–"

"Even when I was a Japanese salaryman who spent most of his life behind a desk?" asked Tanya, with a raised eyebrow. "I find that hard to believe."

Ignoring her interruption, War continued: "You're as bloodthirsty as a vampire bat, a murderer many times over, one of the most perfect warriors I have ever known. To pretend to be otherwise is a betrayal of who and what you are."

Unconcerned by anything her enemy had to say, Tanya focused on weaving a defensive pattern in the air. She noticed that War's flailing arm seemed wilder, more uncontrolled, and yet somehow weaker than it had just a few moments before, and wondered why that should be. Was it a trick? An attempt to lure her into a trap?

"It's in your nature. You've always fought, even when there was no need… even when it would have been sensible to do otherwise. Why stop now?"

"I have always viewed war as a senseless waste of time and resources," Tanya replied, eyeing her opponent warily. "Even if I enjoy fighting, even if I'm good at it… I know how much it costs. I've lost more friends than I can count. I've been an orphan and a widow and a martyr many times. I've fought for hundreds of different armies, in hundreds of different conflicts, on hundreds of different worlds. I've seen victories and defeats and bloody stalemates. And I know… it's rarely worth it."

War laughed bitterly at that. "Not worth it? Not even when… freeing slaves? Overthrowing a corrupt and tyrannical government? Preventing genocide?"

"I didn't say it was worthless. I've fought for plenty of good causes," said Tanya. "That's how I know… it's easy to get a lot of people killed without achieving anything at all. If I'm going to fight, I want it to mean something."

"So why aren't you fighting me? Why are you just…?" The flaming blade lowered. War seemed to sag with exhaustion. "Coward. Running away. Leaving your friends to die."

"I've always believed that it's a bad idea to do exactly what your enemy wants you to do," Tanya replied.

"Just like you…" An incoherent noise issued from War's open mouth, layered with clashing steel, gunshots, bugle calls, and the screams of dying men. Her head lolled back. "So contrary…"

She toppled, falling from the sky like an attack helicopter shot down in flames. Tanya had a brief, horrifying vision of how the Antichrist might react if his home village was destroyed in a fiery explosion. Swooping swiftly downwards, she grabbed hold of War and carried her aloft. Too late, it occurred to her that this might be a feint. In that moment, she expected her enemy to suddenly recover, pull out a hidden blade and stab her with it. But that didn't happen.

War went limp in Tanya's arms. She gave a long, shuddering exhalation. Then, her body became an iron statue, unbearably heavy, which quickly became handfuls of rust, flaked away and was scattered by the wind. Soon, there was nothing left of her.

She must have dropped her flaming sword, but Tanya couldn't see it anywhere. Her horse had disappeared as well.

Rushing back to the others, she saw that Hastur was grappling with Famine. Both of them had become skeletally thin and withered, with skin like damp paper that had been left to dry and then stretched over their fragile bones.

Beelzebub was swaying, stricken by several deadly diseases, and the flies buzzing around them were… dropping like flies, as a matter of fact. Gabriel was anxiously watching; he seemed unsure as to whether he should help or not. Meanwhile, Pestilence had already begun to gloat: "I've infested you with my deadliest pathogens – they can kill anything, even demons! Right now, they're nibbling at your soul!"

Scumspawn was holding his own against Pollution. Whatever he was assaulted with – raw sewage, toxic chemicals, radioactive waste, acid, pesticides, suffocating masses of plastic and garbage that swarmed over him – he shapeshifted into something that could endure, wriggle free or even thrive amidst so much foulness. He actually seemed to be enjoying himself. "This is fun, isn't it?" he chirped, having become something that looked like the horribly misshapen offspring of a rat and a cockroach.

"It is," Pollution gurgled. "Good fun."

Elsewhere, from the tangled heap of emaciated limbs that was the wrestling match between Hastur and Famine, a feeble voice said, "I've starved before. A long time ago, I… I used to be a god. A little god of shepherds and their flocks, but still…" There was a sigh of anguish. "They killed my worshippers, stripped me of everything… and I… I hungered and thirsted and wasted away until I was less than a speck of what I once was. It was agony, but… I'm still here. I'm alive. There's nothing you can do to me that I haven't already overcome."

With that, Hastur struggled to his feet, pinning what was left of Famine beneath him. There was a weary smile on his ravaged face.

"That's not…" Famine was rapidly wasting away to nothing. He tried to speak through chattering teeth. "I… I wouldn't call that… not exactly…"

Whatever he was trying to say would forever remain a mystery. Moments later, he crumbled to dust.

On the verge of collapse, Beelzebub staggered towards Pestilence, perhaps in the hope that killing him would do away with the diseases that were now ravaging them.

With gleeful smirk, he said: "You're going to die slowly and painfully, never to rise again. There'll be nothing left of you!"

A moment later, Beelzebub surged forward with renewed and desperate strength, fastened their hands around Pestilence's neck and began to throttle him. "Kill just one fly… one, two, a few dozzzen… doezzn't matter. The swarm survives."

He tried to speak, but nothing escaped his lips save for gagging, gasping and choking noises, which grew increasingly frantic. Soon, he was reduced to a mass of putrid sludge, which rapidly evaporated and was gone.

With visible effort, Beelzebub managed to straighten up, standing tall and steady, pleased with what they'd accomplished. Gabriel ran over to them, beaming with pride and happiness, and gathered them up in a tight embrace.

Looking away, Tanya noticed that Pollution had vanished. Scumspawn seemed disappointed by the loss of his playmate. "Um… oh well," he said, reverting back to his usual form. "Is that it?"

Only one of the Horsemen remained: Death, probably the greatest of the five. She had not dismounted her pale horse, but all of the other horses were nowhere to be seen. Even the large white horse that had been offered to the Antichrist, with the crown and bow hanging from its saddle, had now vanished.

Hastur no longer looked as cadaverously undernourished as he had a few moments before, but he was still gaunt and shrunken. Beelzebub had survived against Pestilence, but it had been difficult for them. Presumably they would need time to recover. Tanya, Scumspawn and Gabriel were relatively unhurt, but was it possible that any of them – or all three of them working together – could defeat Death?

Seeing Tanya hesitate, Gabriel put on an expression of stern-faced determination and stepped forth. As he approached Death, he said, "There are things that are much greater than Death. More than two thousand years ago, I carried a message of peace and hope for all mankind–"

"I know. It doesn't matter now. You've already won," said Death. "The Four Horsemen – or five, or six – can't possibly ride out now."

Gabriel faltered; peering at the shadowed face under her hood, he seemed to recognize her. "Sister?"

"They're not dead, of course," said Death, continuing as if he hadn't said anything. "They were born from the minds and fears of mortals and they will always exist for as long as mortals have reason to fear them. But I am not like them." She pulled back her hood, revealing her face.

This time, it was Tanya's turn to recognize her: it was Death of the Endless, of course. Previously, she had been unsure; there were multiple gods of death, so why shouldn't there be multiple anthropomorphic personifications of death, one for every occasion? It made sense that there was only one Death, but it would have made just as much sense if there was more than one.

"So… do we have to fight you or not?" was Hastur's contribution to the conversation.

"No. I am Azrael, created to be creation's shadow. You cannot destroy me. That would destroy the world," said Death, in a monotone. It sounded as if she were quoting from something.

"Not so pretty now," Tanya murmured, gazing at the face of Death, whose loveliness had faded, become waxy and skull-like. A moment later, she was embarrassed to realize that she'd said that out loud.

Gabriel looked very unsure of himself. "Sister, what's going on…?"

Waving a hand in the vague directions of where the other Horsemen had been positioned just a few minutes before, Death said, "Without them, the prophesied Apocalypse cannot continue. That doesn't mean it won't happen – if God wants it to happen, it'll happen – just not like the prophets foretold. The Bible is no longer an accurate guide to future events, if it ever was."

"What's your role in all of this?" asked Tanya, narrowing her eyes, fighting to keep fury from taking hold of her voice. "You knew what Being X was going to do; you knew he was going to destroy the entire universe for no better reason than his own vanity, but you did nothing to stop it. Instead, you went along with it as if you were just another one of his tools. Why?"

"I have a job to do. Every day, across the universe, millions of people die in agony and terror, begging for someone to help them and the loved ones they leave behind. They're murdered and mutilated, tortured and terrorized, neglected and abused…" Death paused, gazing into the distance, as if her mind was very far away. "I feel sorry for them. I would help them all if I could. But I can't. It's my job to make sure that the souls of the dead go where they're supposed to go, to keep them safe until they reach their destination, so they're not destroyed or lost in the dark for the rest of forever. That's all I can do – and it's the best and kindest thing I can do for them."

"You're very dutiful, ferrying all those lost souls to wherever Being X says they should go, so they can be tortured for the rest of eternity." Tanya sneered at her. "You disappoint me, my friend."

Death looked back at her, expressionless. "What did you expect? That I would abandon my duties? Abandon all those who need me? I would have thought that you of all people would understand that if you have an important job, it's important to do it properly."

Tanya hesitated. At that moment, she felt very uncertain. Why was she arguing? What was he trying to prove? Or was it only because she needed an outlet for the rage and frustration welling up inside her? In spite of her doubts, she persisted: "You could have done something."

"I could have. But then I wouldn't have a job for very long. And I don't know who or what would replace me."

Silence followed, except for the mournful sighing of the wind.

"Farewell, brother," said Death, nodding to Gabriel and then Beelzebub, who was standing next to him. "I hope you'll be very happy together. Treasure the time you have left. Even if it's just a few moments."

She shifted her weight, encouraging her pale horse to turn around, and then set off at a canter, which seemed to eat up the distance as swiftly as if it had been a gallop, and had soon vanished beyond the horizon.

Belatedly, Gabriel waved after her. "Uh, goodbye, sister! Thank you!"

For the rest of them, there was general unease at this parting. Tanya glanced around, taking stock of the situation. She felt vaguely dissatisfied: they'd won the battle, but it had been too easy, much easier than she'd dared to hope. The team she'd assembled had been extraordinarily successful, as if each of its members had been carefully and specifically chosen to deal with one or other of the Horsemen, though she knew her decisions had been made in haste at the last possible moment. Either she'd been remarkably lucky or she was being manipulated, following someone else's plan. She hated the possibility that her thoughts were not her own, that she was being toyed with, as if she were nothing more than a puppet.

It occurred to her that the most likely explanation was that the Antichrist was to blame. When the Horsemen had been threatening him, trying to force him to join them, perhaps he had unconsciously warped reality to make sure that someone would be there to rescue him and his friends – and that they would be well-equipped for the task. It was astronomically unlikely that he'd done it intentionally, so she supposed she could forgive him, but she wasn't happy about it.

What to do next? Hastur and Beelzebub were exhausted and needed time to recuperate, but she and Gabriel were relatively fresh, and Scumspawn… well, she should remember not to underestimate him in future.

"We'd better get back to Hell," she said. "They might need us."

"IT'S TOO LATE," said someone high above, whose voice seemed impossibly loud. "THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO."

Glancing upwards, Tanya saw two angelic figures: one of them had golden wings, ornate robes and a proud, patrician face. The other was dark-skinned and white-haired, dressed in humble sackcloth, and had a look of exhaustion and illness about him.

"Being X, I presume. Or whatever mask you're wearing now. There's no need to shout; I can hear you perfectly well," said Tanya, with a scornful laugh. She thought about everything she wanted to say to him: every hateful epithet and vile curse she had saved up for him. But she knew it would be undignified and unbecoming if she started ranting and raving and screaming at him – her employees would lose all faith in her – so she restricted herself to just a few double-edged words: "I was wondering when you'd dare show your face. You still haven't, I see."

"THIS WORLD IS DOOMED. THE APOCALYPSE IS GOING TO HAPPEN. IT IS INEVITABLE," said the golden-winged angel, in a more normal voice. "EVENTS HAVE BEEN SET IN MOTION THAT CANNOT BE AVERTED. YOU'LL SEE."

Gabriel looked like he wanted to say something, perhaps to demand an explanation from the other angel, but he managed to restrain himself. Beelzebub was holding his hand, grasping it tightly. Hastur and Scumspawn wore matching expressions of bafflement; they looked to Tanya as if waiting for instructions.

"I WILL GIVE YOU ONE LAST CHANCE: ABASE YOURSELF BEFORE ME; WORSHIP ME; PROCLAIM THAT I AM THE ONE TRUE GOD."

"You're a fraud, a usurper and a petty tyrant. I despise you with every fibre of my being," Tanya replied. She was trembling with rage and wild excitement. "No matter what you do to me, I will never submit to you."

"AS YOU WISH," said Being X.

A moment later, the world was enveloped in darkness. The Sun had gone out. In fact, it had gone out some time ago.

Chapter Text

The plains of Vigrid had become a vast funeral pyre, where crackling flames towered over mounds of bone and ash, where mud and melted ice had turned the ground to sludge, and the last of the gods brought their bitter rivalry to an end. There was no finesse in the final battle between Loki and Heimdall, even as they shifted from one form to the next; exhausted and in agony, leaking blood from dozens of wounds, they fought with swords and axes, claws and teeth, ripping and raking, hacking and stabbing, until at last their weapons were splintered and their mangled bodies crumpled into the mud, unable to rise again.

"Agk. It's over," said Loki, through scarred lips, broken teeth and a mouthful of blood. "Finally…" Slowly, painfully, ponderously, he gazed around at the corpses of the Aesir, of the einherjar who'd died in their thousands, at the giants, monsters, and undead hordes they had slain, and permitted himself a slight, satisfied smile. "They're all dead. I've won."

A gust of scornful laughter issued from Heimdall's ravaged throat. Gasping for breath, he said, "Loki… Skywalker… you have travelled… distant worlds… but I…" He stopped, gathered his remaining strength and continued, in a steadier voice: "I have seen much further than you. This world will be reborn. Vidar survives, as does Vali–"

"And Thor's sons, Magni and Modi. And Balder and Hod will return from the underworld… thanks to me," said Loki, whose smile had become a wide grin. "Two humans, hiding in the branches of Yggdrasil… their descendants will repopulate all of Midgard. Yes, I know. I've heard the prophecies, just like you." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "But why should I care about any of that? Here and now… I've won. My sons have been avenged. I have been avenged." Looking down at himself, at his maimed body and the last dregs of his life slowly leaking from it, he said, "The guilty have been punished. That… that's enough."

He closed his eyes, exhaled, and slumped back into the mud. When Heimdall looked at him again, he was dead.

They lay together amidst the filth and ash. A sea of fire engulfed them. High above, Surtur stood triumphant, surveying his kingdom of dust and devastation.

Looking forward, Heimdall searched for the new world that was yet to come: the world he had barely glimpsed, in the distant future, when everything would be made anew. "It will be beautiful," he said, trying to reassure himself, though he couldn't see through the smoke and flames. "Someday…"

The world burned. Heimdall burned. Soon, there was nothing left.

***

Duma made no sound as he was impaled on Remiel's flaming sword. His eyes widened, but that was the only outward sign of the pain and shock he must have felt. A moment later, he fell forward, collapsed against his former friend, and began to disintegrate. As always, he was silent; there wasn't even a last exhalation as he died.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" cried Remiel, distraught, looking down at what little remained of Duma, even as it disappeared and was gone completely.

Amenadiel had been about to attack, to take advantage of his distraction, but now he paused, an incredulous expression on his bearded face. "You didn't mean to? You stabbed him! What did you expect to happen?"

"I… ah…" Remiel had no answer.

"Wasn't he your friend? Isn't this what you wanted?" Amenadiel continued to press him; his words cut deeper than any sword. While he was doing so, he made sure to disarm Remiel, batting his weapon out of his shaky grasp, intent on making sure he could do no further harm to anyone.

Backing away, Remiel cast a despairing glance around at the battlefield. He was dismayed to see that almost all of the other angels were dead or had fled – and most of those who remained were traitors such as Amenadiel, who had sided with the demons – and it gave him no comfort to see that the battle wasn't yet lost. His comrades had been replaced with monsters; Sandalphon's creations, spawned from whatever he was doing in his secret laboratory. They were twisted, malformed wretches, vaguely humanoid, with a wide variety of hideous mutations ensuring that no two of them were truly alike. Looking at them now, he wondered why he had ever believed in Sandalphon's righteousness, that he had a good reason for conducting his experiments in secret, and that what he was doing was in any way moral or acceptable. 'How could I have been so gullible?' he wondered to himself. Then, out loud, he murmured, "This… is an abomination."

"You only just realized that?" Amenadiel's laugh was tinged with scorn and bitterness. "Better late than never, I suppose."

Remiel ignored him. He watched some of Sandalphon's monsters fighting Ran Va Daath's pets: gibbering, capering horrors, the dregs of demonkind, barely more than beasts. He looked from one to another and then the next, and could see no difference between them. In every way that mattered, they were all the same. Not for the first time, he wondered if he was on the right side, or even if there was a right side to be on. Doubt mingled with grief and hazy unreality, and he wanted nothing more than to leave this forsaken place, to leave behind his guilt and pain and the mistakes he had made, and fly free.

He turned away and took to the air. Amenadiel called after him, but he'd stopped listening. He flew away, far away, beyond the furthest boundaries of Hell, into darkness. And then he was gone.

***

Chantinelle and her companions were waiting in the ruins of the compound that had once been home to the Enlightened Seekers of God's Truth, ready for the signal that would tell them when Sandalphon had sent his monsters into battle. Then, when they could be reasonably sure that his pocket dimension was unguarded, they would sneak in and steal one of his most prized possessions: Chantinelle's missing daughter.

With her was her fellow succubus, Kariselle, who had visited Sandalphon's domain once before and had a vague idea of the layout. She often seemed like a stereotypical 'bimbo': vapid, silly and prone to tears, which was a public persona she had carefully cultivated, but she was surprisingly brave, resourceful and a loyal friend.

Also, there was the angel Zauriel, who had a score to settle with Sandalphon. Revenge hardly seemed like an appropriate motive for an angel; but then, considering that he had sided with the forces of Hell in their war against God, he should probably be considered to be one of the Fallen. On Earth, he was renowned as a mighty hero, one of the Justice League. She only knew him by reputation, but she trusted that he would be a formidable ally.

Then there was Crowley and his boyfriend, the angel Aziraphale; they were no longer hiding the fact that they were in a romantic relationship, not that their love for one another wasn't immediately obvious to anyone who saw them together. Still, they knew when to be professional and not be distracted by gazing lovingly into each other's eyes, for which she was glad. Crowley was a clever man who had a knack for coming up with unorthodox solutions to whatever problems were presented to him. She barely knew Aziraphale, but she appreciated his willingness to listen and his obvious concern for her daughter's wellbeing.

They were the team she had assembled, all that could be spared from the defense of Hell, and she could only hope that they would be enough.

Before long, she received a telepathic message from one of her lieutenants, telling her that Sandalphon was assaulting Hell with a horde of misshapen monsters, as expected. It was time.

There had been a portal here, linking Sandalphon's domain to this place, but it had been sealed. However, it was a simple matter for several angels and demons working together to open it again; there was a weakness in the fabric of reality that could easily be torn open.

However, just as they had finished doing that and were about to go through the portal, the sun went out. In an instant, midday turned to midnight, the warmth of day began to fade, and only the cold gleam of distant stars shone down overhead.

"Is… is that supposed to happen?" asked Kariselle.

"No. That must be our enemies' work," said Crowley, grim-faced. Then, hesitantly, he continued: "When I was an angel… I made some of the stars, put them in their rightful place. It was my job to… I mean, maybe I can fix this."

Zauriel raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Do you think 'Being X' will allow that?"

"Leave it to Tanya and the others. They'll sort it out," said Chantinelle, with more confidence than she felt. "For now, we need to stick to the plan."

The others were dubious, but agreed that they didn't have any better ideas. Besides, they couldn't afford to waste time. And so, after only a slight delay, they entered the portal and continued their mission.

Sandalphon's domain was just as Kariselle had described it: a distorted fortress, like a castle that had been built inside a cavern, with towers and crenellated walls that didn't seem to serve any useful purpose, lined with hundreds of cages. Those cages were now empty; Sandalphon had sent his monstrous pets into battle. For the time being, it seemed as if no one was home.

"How large is this place, do you know?" asked Aziraphale. "How long will it take us to search it from top to bottom?"

"I don't know," Kariselle admitted. "I wasn't here for very long and I didn't have a chance to explore."

"When I was prisoner here, Sandalphon's hospitality left much to be desired," said Zauriel, his voice leaden with irony. "He neglected to give me the tour."

"It doesn't matter. There are five of us and we can all fly, so it won't take us that long to search," said Chantinelle.

"I hope you're not suggesting that we should split up. That's a good way to get ambushed and killed," said Crowley, looking uneasy. "I learned that from a horror movie. Pretty much every horror movie I've ever seen, in fact."

"Why are you watching horror movies?" asked Kariselle, curiously. Then, almost immediately, she remembered where they were and why they had come to this place. She shuddered and said, "Actually, no. Let's not get distracted. Forget I said anything."

"We don't need to split up. We can stay within sight of each other. But it would make sense to spread out so we can search a larger area," Chantinelle persisted.

"It means we can open five doors at once instead of just one," said Aziraphale, who had already made a start on doing that: opening the door to one of the side rooms, perusing its contents, and shaking his head. "More empty cages."

"Let's leave a mark so we know where we've already been," said Zauriel, drawing his flaming sword and slashing the wall with it, making the shape of a cross. His reasoning made sense and Chantinelle agreed that it was a good idea, but she suspected that the real reason was that he wanted to take a little revenge by vandalizing Sandalphon's property. Whatever the case, she didn't care, so long as he didn't cause problems and get in the way of her rescuing her daughter.

"Fine. Let's get on with it," she said.

***

As soon as John Constantine heard Tanya's telepathic voice in his mind, he leapt into action. "Now," she said, and that was enough. With a few arcane mutterings, he activated the ritual that would drain the mystical strength of thousands of captive demons and feed it to Tanya, granting her godlike power for a few moments. At least, that was the theory. It wasn't like he'd been able to put it to the test.

The runes were glowing. There was a hum of energy in the air, which grew swelteringly warm. In their cage, the demons were thrashing and raging, snarling and glaring at Constantine as he gazed impassively back at them. Their mouths formed pleas and promises of riches, power and immortality, obscene curses and threats of terrible vengeance, but no sound could be heard; nothing could get out of their magical prison.

One by one, they crumbled to dust. The smallest and weakest were the first to go, shrivelling away to nothing in a matter of seconds. The oldest and greatest among them, who at one time had been the nobility of Hell, resisted for much longer, in agony and increasing decrepitude, but they could not last forever. Soon, they were all gone.

"That's all I can do. Over to you, Tanya," said Constantine, folding his arms and wishing he had, uh… well, it had been years since he'd stopped smoking, but a cup of tea would be nice. Unfortunately, he would have to wait.

***

After she'd activated her contingency plan, Tanya knew that she needed to buy some time before it would be effective. Therefore, she looked at Being X and put on a scornful smirk. "So, you've destroyed the Sun. Is that supposed to impress me? There's an entire species that can do that – they're called 'sun-eaters' – and none of them claim to be gods. And look, I can do this!" She raised her hands into the air and cried, "Let there be light!" A moment later, she was suffused with a golden glow, illuminating herself and the surrounding area. "Does that make me a god?"

He sneered at her. "SUCH IMPUDENCE. BUT IT MATTERS NOT AT ALL."

"You know, there's no need to shout. I can hear you perfectly well," she replied. "And anyway, why are you still hiding behind a mask? I already know who and what you are, so what's the point in such subterfuge? Let me behold the man."

"HOW DARE YOU MAKE DEMANDS OF ME? I OWE YOU NOTHING." Being X's host body, the golden-winged angel, struck up a dramatic pose, shaking his fist at her. Despite his words, when he spoke again, it was in a relatively normal voice, not a thunderous exclamation: "I built this universe with sheer force of will when you were less than a glimmer of possibility. I will unmake you."

"So why haven't you?" she challenged him. Perhaps she was being foolish, but she was gambling on the fact that he wanted to talk; he wanted to win their war of words, to utterly dominate and defeat her before imprisoning her for the rest of eternity – or erasing her from existence – or whatever he was planning to do to her.

"Because you are a toy I made for my amusement. I like to see you struggling like a fly caught in a web. Just like the original Tanya von Degurechaff." He was watching her avidly, as if he expected his words to have a devastating effect. "You are nothing more than a copy of a copy of a copy, a faint memory of an old adversary, a moment's diversion that I have now grown tired of. This universe was built out of such things. And now it is time for it to end."

"Is that supposed to be some grand revelation that will cripple me with doubt? Perhaps you expect me to scream, and cry, and beg you to tell me that it's not true. Hah! Why should I believe you? Why should I believe a single word that comes out of your lying mouth?" asked Tanya. "And anyway, what does it matter? I am here. I exist. That's what matters." She could feel power building within her – power stolen from thousands of captive demons – but it wasn't enough. Not yet. She needed more time.

Next to her, the archangel Gabriel was trembling with rage. "I… I had hoped that you were just an angel who had overstepped himself, that you were merely misguided, but… no, you are exactly what Tanya said you were: a usurper, a parasite, a false god. How…?" Looking past Being X, he addressed the other angel, the one who was dressed in humble sackcloth, and said, "Uriel, what are you doing? How can you side with him?"

"I am a servant of the one true God," said Uriel, in a shaky voice.

"He is my servant," said Being X. "I am God. I made all of this from nothing."

"Darkseid told me that you'd built this universe out of the broken pieces of other universes left behind by real gods," said Tanya. "While I commend the effort you've made to responsibly recycle their waste materials, I can't allow you to take credit for the hard work of others."

"What makes you think you can allow me to do anything?" Being X scoffed at her, but his mind was on other things: "Darkseid. Such a nuisance. I should have dealt with him earlier. But I suppose it doesn't matter now."

Tanya felt her power grow, little by little, as one by one the demons she had defeated were consumed by Constantine's ritual, but it still wasn't enough. How much longer could she delay? How soon would Being X decide to stop toying with them?

Glancing at her, Gabriel seemed to realize that she was trying to buy time. She hadn't explained her plan to him, but he gave her a nod and was apparently resolved to help her.

"You are not God," he said, advancing towards Being X. "You are petty, spiteful and arrogant. God is none of those things."

"This again?" Being X gave a contemptuous snort. "I created this universe and everything in it, including you. Therefore, I am God. Worship me." He gazed at Gabriel for a moment as if expecting him to prostrate himself. Then, he sighed. "I weary of this foolishness. It is time–"

Without warning, Gabriel surged forward, thrusting with his flaming blade. Being X intercepted him effortlessly, paralyzing him in place. "You will suffer," he said. "But first–"

Again, he was interrupted. This time, he gasped in what might have been pain or shock. Uriel was behind him, wielding a sword of his own, and had stabbed him in the back.

"As I said, I am a servant of the one true God. Not you," said Uriel. Aged and infirm he might have been, but he stood proud and defiant, even as he was vaporized by Being X's retaliatory swipe.

Gabriel was the next to suffer Being X's wrath, but was merely tossed aside, unconscious and badly burnt. Beelzebub rushed over to him and held him in their arms, keeping him aloft.

Meanwhile, Being X was in agony, unable to ignore the sword in his back. His movements were erratic and uncontrolled, until at last he was forced to separate himself from his host; the golden-winged angel fell from the sky like an oddly-shaped meteorite. A moment later, he was replaced by a robed, white-bearded figure that might have stepped out of one of the paintings in the Sistine Chapel. Presumably, that was Being X's preferred form: the visage he chose to show to the world was one he had stolen from someone else's artwork. Stolen, just like everything else.

Tanya wondered how it was possible that Being X had possessed an angel and worn him like a mask. They were both spirit beings, so how…? Unless he was like a parasitic worm or cordyceps fungus, who had latched onto his host and eaten away at him from the inside, until at last there was nothing left of him…

Gabriel gave a whimper that sounded like 'Yahoel', but Tanya couldn't be sure who or what he was referring to.

"Of course, he was a useful tool, but I no longer have need of him," said Being X, as if he felt the need to justify himself. "He has served his purpose."

"Is that what you do to all your friends?" Tanya mocked him.

"I am amazed by your hypocrisy. You and I both know that you would gladly sacrifice all these friends of yours–" Being X glanced around at Beelzebub, Gabriel, Scumspawn and Hastur, all of whom were staying very quiet and trying not to be noticed. "–just to extend your life by a few extra moments."

"Actually, I prefer to sacrifice my enemies. More efficient," said Tanya, feeling the power swelling within her, almost too great to be contained: the power of several thousand rebel demons who had been used as fuel for Constantine's ritual, which filled her with the strength of an entire legion. She knew she couldn't hold onto it for very long; it was already straining against her like a chained beast, threatening to slip away from her. But it didn't need to last forever. Even a few moments might be enough.

She leapt into battle, striking at Being X with all of her stolen strength, smashing into him with such force that his physical form – the avatar he had chosen to project onto this plane of existence – was utterly destroyed, though she could still feel his presence. She struck again and again, trying to tear him apart, to do irreparable damage before he could recover, though she worried that it was already too late.

He fled and she pursued, into a purely spiritual realm.

***

People were already panicking and in distress, so when the sun vanished from the sky it didn't make things noticeably worse. All over the world, Superman continued his work: battling monsters, holding back natural disasters, and saving as many people as he could. The rest of the Justice League were with him, as were the Legion of Doom and the local heroes of many nations, endlessly duplicated until they were enough to do whatever was needed. Superman himself was everywhere at once, in more bodies than he had bothered to count, and he was able to overhear the hurried conversation of the four British children whose miraculous superpowers had come so close to saving the day...

"The Sun's gone!" cried the boy with the strangely messy costume. "But… um, you can bring it back, can't you, Adam?"

"I… I could. Ugh," said their apparent leader, screwing his eyes shut and groaning with effort. "It's a long way away. Too far. I'd need to leave you all behind. Stop everything. And I don't know if it would work…"

"We don't know what happened to the Sun," the bespectacled boy pointed out. "It could be a trap. I mean, maybe there's a monster up there… or something."

"If there's no Sun, doesn't that mean we're all going to die?" asked the little red-headed girl. "If there's anything we can do, even if it's a trap…"

"It shouldn't be too difficult. All the pieces are still there," said Adam, absently. His eyes were still closed and he seemed deep in thought. "I'd just need to put them back together. Like a jigsaw puzzle."

"Let me do it," said Superman, stepping towards them. "You can grant superpowers, right? Do that for me. Give me the power to bring back the Sun while you stay here and save the Earth."

There was a sharp intake of breath from several of the children who seemed awed and startled by his presence. Adam smiled.

"Yeah. I reckon that would work," he said. "You're already super-strong and tough – and you can fly and so on – so I wouldn't need to do much. But… uh, it'll be dangerous even for you. You might die."

"Without the Sun, everyone is going to die," said Superman. He took a moment to think about Lois, his family and friends, everything he wished he had said and done, and everything he still hoped to do with his life. Nevertheless... "It's up to me to save them all. That's what it means to be a hero."

They all looked starry-eyed and very impressed, as if he were dispensing words of wisdom rather than the usual morale-boosting platitudes. "Good luck," said the bespectacled boy, tremulously.

"If anyone can do it, you can," said the red-headed girl. "You're Superman!"

"I'll do my best," he replied, with a chuckle. A moment later, he felt the power Adam had instilled in him. He knew exactly how to use it. But first, he needed to get into position.

He flew up into the sky, up and away, through the outer atmosphere and into space, towards where the Sun should be.

'This looks like a job for Superman,' he thought. A wry smile spread across his face.

***

Before she and her companions had searched more than a small part of Sandalphon's realm, Chantinelle heard bestial snarling and the frantic flapping of wings.

"It seems that the master of the house has returned," she said, fixing a serene expression on her face and trying to seem unconcerned, ignoring the momentary feeling of panic like she'd been dunked in ice water.

"We'll be ready," Zauriel promised her.

Somewhat reluctantly, as if they had been hoping it wouldn't be necessary, Crowley and Aziraphale drew their swords. Kariselle tensed, but didn't arm herself. Instead, she continued opening doors and peering into empty rooms, trying to find where Sandalphon had hidden the prize of his collection; her main focus was on the mission they had yet to complete.

'Think of the mission,' Chantinelle told herself. It was easier if she thought about it like that, as a task that had to be performed, and not that they were almost on the verge of rescuing her daughter. It meant that she wasn't bowled over by a surging wave of emotions: fearful hope and desperation, frantic worry and concern and… soft, cloying feelings, unworthy of an ancient and wicked demoness such as herself. She dismissed them from her mind. It meant that she could still function.

Sandalphon arrived, haggard and dishevelled, at the head of a small army of his monsters. It was a very small army, in fact: barely more than a gang. Many of them were badly wounded already: burnt and blistered, slashed and stabbed, oozing blood and black ichor. Evidently, they had encountered fierce resistance when they assaulted the gates of Hell.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice your trespassing in my domain?" said Sandalphon. "Everything in this place is mine. It obeys me, whispers to me–" He paused, gazing at Aziraphale. An incredulous expression stole over his face. "Raphael? Why are you–?"

"Not Raphael. Aziraphale," said the angel in question.

"Easy mistake to make," said Crowley, sniggering as if at some in-joke.

Sandalphon gave Crowley a strange and quizzical glance, as if he were examining a specimen in a jar. For a few moments, it seemed as if he had forgotten what he had previously been talking about. "Er… yes. That is to say… you are all depraved sinners, traitors and monsters. God has decreed that you must be punished. I will be the one to carry out the sentence." He signalled to his misshapen minions. "Forward, my pets! Distract them for me!"

Meanwhile, Zauriel leaned closer to Chantinelle and whispered, "We'll deal with him. You and Kariselle should go. Find your daughter."

"Are you sure?" she asked, wide-eyed.

He nodded. "Absolutely."

"Thank you. See you later," she said, hurrying over to Kariselle. A moment later, she led her away, guiding her by the hand. They turned the corner and were gone; they didn't look back.

"No problem," said Zauriel, turning back to Sandalphon and the fight that was about to begin.

***

At the gates of Hell, Tanya's army was greatly depleted. Barely half of the demons who had assembled there a few hours before were still alive. If they had been mortal, if they had anywhere else to go, and if the Apocalypse hadn't begun, perhaps they would have broken and fled by now, but they had held firm, fighting off successive waves of angels and monsters. Now, it seemed that they were victorious. Etrigan certainly seemed to think so, as he filled the air with his exultant bellowing.

Vassago stood by the bodies of his friends and wished there was something more he could do for them. Paimon was dead and already fading away. Agares was dying; he had been torn apart.

"I'm sorry, my friends," said Vassago, feeling useless. "I hope that this was what you wanted: a worthy end, at last."

He'd done what little he could: he'd held Paimon's hand as he died and draped his cape over Agares when he complained about the cold. Now, he settled down to wait.

Looking over the battlefield, at the corpses and piles of dust, the discarded weapons and puddles of ichor, he shook his head and wondered if he or any of the other demons would survive another assault. It didn't seem likely.

Agares murmured something and he turned to listen. He was reciting something Lady Tanya had said at the beginning of the battle: "We… we will all live again… someday."

"We will," Vassago promised him.

Of course, there was plenty that needed to be done: the demons should reorganize, pull back behind the next layer of their defences – behind the gates of Hell – and get ready to defend their home one last time. When Agares was no more, Vassago got up and went to help with that. But afterwards… he found himself looking forward to what came next. He dared to hope that it would be something good.

***

Tanya felt the extra power she had been given ebbing away from her, as if she were a vessel and it was leaking out through a tiny crack. Soon, she would be back to normal. Being X only had to evade her until then. She felt the frantic urge to attack and attack and keep attacking until she had nothing left, but even in the midst of her panic and fury she realised that she was being foolish; she managed to restrain herself. Thinking carefully, she considered her next move: how could she make the most of the time she had left?

Instead of striking at Being X directly, she considered where he was, spread across this astral plane. Where and how should she attack him? Was there anything – or any part of him – that he was trying to protect or keep hidden? What didn't he want her to see?

Perhaps 'see' was the wrong word. Around her, there were fragments of yesterday and tomorrow, of never-was and could-be, of distant worlds and lives she could barely remember. Being X permeated everything, but he was too dispersed for her to get a grip on. There was no point in punching fog. There had to be something… somewhere… there.

Barely a glimpse, but it was enough. She took a chance and stepped through… into another place.

It looked like a throne room. Or was it an electric chair? It had a futuristic, spiky, technological look about it. And there, in front of it, there was a raised dais, upon which there was a collection of tools and odd souvenirs: a hammer and a chisel, a ball of wool, a withered lotus flower, a bullroarer, a handful of reeds, and the loose head and broken shaft of what had once been a spear. The walls, floor and ceiling were made of polished marble, but there was something hazy and indistinct about them. They weren't real, not really.

Except… somehow, the things on the dais seemed much more solid than anything else in here. More real than anything else Tanya had ever seen.

She reached for the hammer and hefted it experimentally. Somehow, it seemed impossibly vast and heavy, and yet she could lift it. She felt its power. Immense power, enough to make and unmake worlds.

Looking at the dais, at the various oddments displayed upon it, she realised that these must the tools Being X used to build his own universe. Stolen from various creator gods across the vastness of the infinite, no doubt. Was that Izanami's spear? A sacred bullroarer? Reeds that… well, they probably had some religious significance she wasn't aware of.

The chisel had a handle that looked more like that of a dagger, but… No, it was definitely a chisel. The shape of the blade made it unsuitable for use as a weapon. Unless, perhaps…

Tanya knew that it wouldn't be long before Being X came after her. He must know that she had intruded into his secret hiding place. She would be ready for him.

***

Superman was at the centre of the Solar System, where the Sun should have been. In a way, it was still there; it had become a large molecular cloud, spread out over a vast area of space; enormous amounts of hydrogen and helium that might eventually coalesce into a new sun if the universe wasn't about to end. He had given himself the task of putting all of it back together in its rightful place. Adam, who was one of the most powerful superbeings he had ever encountered, even if he seemed like an ordinary British schoolboy, had granted him the power to do so.

It was tedious work at first: moving around vast quantities of gas to no visible effect, gathering it all together in a gigantic cluster, making it bigger and bigger, layer upon layer, until at last…

The heat grew unbearable. He was being crushed by terrible pressure. Blinding light filled his eyes. Nothing else could be seen. But there was still plenty more to do: more of the Sun's broken pieces needed to be collected and reassembled; incredible amounts, more than he could easily comprehend; none of this would have been possible without Adam's help. Kryptonian cells were supercharged by yellow sunlight, but even they had limits to how much they could withstand. With every second that passed, Superman felt that his strength was being increased a hundredfold; but at the same time, he was being blasted to ashes, squeezed into a space smaller than a pea, a tiny fraction of the man he had once been.

He focused on his work to the exclusion of everything else. He forgot that he was in dreadful pain, weary and anxious, that the Apocalypse was ongoing, that this wasn't the sole purpose of his existence, that he'd had a life that was more than this, or that he'd ever been more than a sacrifice. The flames and his task consumed him.

He died a thousand times. And was reborn. The sun rose again.

***

Although he hated violence and avoided it wherever possible, Aziraphale accepted that it was sometimes necessary. In this case, Sandalphon's creatures had been so horribly mistreated that killing them seemed like a mercy, like putting down a dog that had been trained to be a violent and brutal pit fighter. Of course, as an angel, Aziraphale had other options available to him – and could use his powers to soothe even the most aggressive beast – which he would have been perfectly happy to try, if Sandalphon hadn't been trying to kill him at the same time. As it was, it was all he could do to defend himself and keep backing away.

They had a plan, which involved luring Sandalphon to the room in which Zauriel had been imprisoned before, the walls and ceiling of which had been magically strengthened to the extent that Lady Tanya had been able to weaponize them. And they had a back-up plan that didn't seem like much of one; Aziraphale hoped that it wouldn't be needed.

"You disappoint me, Sandalphon," said Zauriel, carving through several mutated monsters at once. "Did you really think these poor creatures would stand a chance against us?"

"They killed many of your fellows. A pity I couldn't stay to finish the job," said Sandalphon, gloatingly.

"Yeah, it's a shame you were forced to run away," Crowley taunted him. "This day trip would be so much more pleasant if we didn't have to put up with you."

Sandalphon sneered back at him, but otherwise seemed at a loss for a suitable reply.

They continued their fighting retreat, through a maze of passageways lined with cages, past towers and castle walls that seemed to serve no purpose other than ornamentation, thinning the numbers of Sandalphon's monstrous minions as they went.

When he saw where they were going, a beaming smile spread across Sandalphon's face. In a stident, lecturing voice, he said, "Lady Tanya defeated me once, using the terrain in here to her advantage, but I am not such a fool that I would allow it to happen a second time. I have removed the enhancements that hardened the walls of this place to the extent that they could be used against me. Of course, I don't need them anymore, not since you and Michael escaped your imprisonment, but perhaps–"

He was still talking even as Aziraphale and Crowley flew towards him, charged into him and seized hold of his arms. "W-what are you doing?" he spluttered.

"Plan B," Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley began: "It's a trick called–"

Then, Zauriel was there, thrusting with his flaming sword. It pierced through Sandalphon's chest, through where his spine would be if his body was that of a normal human being, and out through his back, between his wings. He went limp and would have fallen out of the air if his foes hadn't been supporting his weight.

"–overwhelm them with sheer weight of numbers. Perhaps you've heard of it," Crowley finished. He looked dissatisfied; it was clear that no one had been listening to what he'd thought was a witty remark.

Sandalphon sagged, looked down with disbelief, and said, "You…"

"The last time we met, you were curious about my sword. You wanted to examine it," said Zauriel. "Now is your chance: take a good look."

There was no reply. With agonizing slowness, fighting for his life until the last possible moment, Sandalphon fell apart in chunks, which quickly crumbled into particles too small to be seen.

"Let's finish off here and see what happened to the others," said Zauriel. "Maybe Chantinelle's found her daughter."

"Sounds good," said Crowley, with a nod.

"I wonder if anything can be done for them," said Aziraphale, looking down at the last of Sandalphon's monstrous minions, all of which were badly injured and keeping their distance.

"We'll leave that to you, angel," said Crowley, patting his shoulder.

Aziraphale glanced at Zauriel, who was already on the move. "Ah. Perhaps later."

"Seems like the sort of thing that'd take months," Crowley agreed. "We don't have that much time."

"Indeed. There's still plenty we need to do," said Aziraphale, taking Crowley's hand and allowing himself to be led.

***

Chantinelle's daughter, Odiel, looked like a little angel, with fluffy wings and unkempt golden hair, except for the tiny horns budding from her brow. She regarded the world around her with bewilderment and faint suspicion, blinking in the light outside her tiny cell.

"I'm your mama. I'm here to rescue you," said Chantinelle, sweeping the little girl off her feet and enveloping her in a tight hug.

"Um… mama?" said Odiel, as if she didn't understand what the word meant.

"She knows! She knows I'm her mama!" cried Chantinelle, weeping into her daughter's hair.

"Yes, because you've just told her," said Kariselle, with a snort of laughter. She'd never seen Chantinelle acting like this before; she was usually so cynical and serious. Under the circumstances, maybe it wasn't surprising that she was having such an extreme reaction to this reunion; her lover had been murdered and her daughter had been missing for most of a decade, so of course she was overjoyed to see her again… but it was peculiar to see a demon behaving like a loving mother and it not being part of some elaborate and sadistic game.

She was vaguely aware that some people got very silly about their children, but hadn't had any experience of that in her own life. Her mother, Triskele the Wyrm Queen, didn't have a maternal bone in her body – or any kind of body, after Lady Tanya had finished with her – so it wasn't like she'd seen any good examples when she was growing up. Until now, possibly.

"Come on," she said, gently shaking Chantinelle's shoulder. "I think you're crushing her. And we need to get back to the others. They've probably dealt with Sandalphon by now."

She didn't even consider the possibility that Zauriel and the others might have lost the battle; Sandalphon was so creepy and vile that she couldn't stand the thought that someone hadn't ended his existence already.

"Yes… yes, you're right," said Chantinelle. She seemed unwilling to let go of her daughter even for a moment, but she did at least loosen her grip, which Kariselle counted as a success.

***

When Being X appeared before her, Tanya was ready for him, armed with a hammer and chisel that had been used to shape entire worlds.

He looked much as he had before: robed, bearded and wearing an expression of thunderous disapproval. "HOW DARE YOU COME HERE? THIS IS MINE! MY HOME!" he roared at her. Tanya had rarely seen anyone so angry before and relished the fact that she was the cause.

Ignoring his outburst, she brandished her makeshift weapons at him and said, "With these, I could make anything. Does that make me the 'one true God'?"

"NO! IT MAKES YOU A FOOLISH GIRL PLAYING WITH TOYS YOU CANNOT UNDERSTAND!" he blustered at her. There was a new note of panic in his voice.

"There are worse things to be," said Tanya, vaguely. She was tempted to keep taunting him, to savour this moment of triumph for as long as possible, but she knew that would be a mistake. If she lowered her guard even for a moment, she knew that he would overpower her, wrest his tools from her grasp and then make sure that she could never threaten him again. There was no more time for words.

She attacked. Flinging herself at him, she struck him with the hammer and stabbed with the chisel, striking with all the fury and ferocity she'd been saving up for many lifetimes. He hardly seemed to make any effort to defend himself. Perhaps he'd given up hope, perhaps she and her makeshift weapons were too much for him, or perhaps he simply refused to give her the satisfaction of having beaten him in a fair fight.

Glaring hatefully at her, eyes filled with loathing and contempt, he stood statue-still until at last he shattered like glass. Myriad broken pieces were strewn across time and space.

Even now, she couldn't bring herself to believe the evidence of her senses, that it was finally over, that this wasn't another trick. More than anything, she wanted this to be the last time, to have succeeded after so long, but she didn't dare. And yet…

Wearier than she had ever been, she let the hammer and chisel fall to the floor. She could no longer bear their terrible weight. Where they landed, they struck with such force that craters formed around them.

Utterly exhausted, she staggered over to the throne and slumped down upon it. There, she settled down to rest, eyes closed, dreaming of nothing. However, she wasn't left alone for long. Someone else entered that ephemeral place.

Tanya's eyes flickered open. She saw a huge, armored figure stomping into the room. Much larger than any ordinary mortal, he had grey skin, glowing red eyes and a craggy face. It was someone she recognized: Darkseid, the God of Evil, from the planet Apokolips.

"Thank you, Lady Tanya. You have allowed me to achieve my ultimate goal," he said, in a deep, stentorian voice. Looking around the room, at the dais and the discarded tools, and looked satisfied. "Now, what need do I have for the Anti-Life Equation? With these tools, I can remake this branch of the multiverse as I see fit. I am victorious."

"Don't you think you're being a little premature?" said another voice: on the edge of laughter, mocking and insouciant. Lucifer. Of course it was. "But don't worry. Just wait a few minutes and try again. It doesn't make you any less of a man."

His burns didn't look as bad as they had a few hours ago, but his suit was charred and one eye was fused shut. He hovered above the ground, wings spread out behind him, and seemed to glow brightly, as resplendent as any other angel.

"Lucifer. How did you get here?" Darkseid demanded to know. His face was impassive, but something in his voice betrayed his rage and disgust.

"You're not the only one who can follow someone through an open door," said Lucifer, with a ghastly grin on his ruined face. "I'm here to stop you, of course. Tanya's done a great job – I couldn't have picked a better successor – but now she's running on fumes. I won't let you take advantage of that."

"And how do you propose to stop me? You're already wounded," said Darkseid. "I could crush you with barely a modicum of effort."

Lucifer waggled a finger at him. 'Ah, you're supposed to say, 'you and what army?'"

There was silence, for a moment.

"Come on, let me hear you say it."

Darkseid heaved an exasperated sigh. "You brought an army with you."

"Well, yes," Lucifer admitted. "Everyone needs a little extra help sometimes."

Somehow, the throne room became a vast and featureless plain, stretching off into infinity. Ranged across it, there were multitudes of armed men and women, aliens and gods and monsters. Tanya recognized the New Gods, led by Highfather. The archangel Michael flew overhead; though he was still suffering from his injuries, he had a grim and purposeful look about him. There were the gods of various pantheons, some of which she'd previously petitioned for help… and now they had come at last. There were robots, giant eagles, elves in gleaming mail, dinosaurs, futuristic soldiers in mech suits, and all manner of strange and fantastical creatures.

"Bring them! Bring your legions if you must. It matters not at all," Darkseid declared. Behind him, there were his Parademons, his Female Furies, and various other New Gods who were sworn to his service. There were thousands of them, but compared to those who were leagued against them they seemed very few.

High above, Michael sounded his heavenly trumpet. The armies marched – or flew, or rode, or drove – to meet each other. Battle was joined.

Sitting on the throne, so weary that she could barely move, Tanya watched for as long as she could. Her eyelids drooped. Oblivion beckoned. Soon, she couldn't go on.

Chapter Text

The world died in fire and ash, the sky itself began to burn, the seas boiled and swallowed the land, and Yggdrasil was wreathed in clouds of steam. All that remained of the Aesir and their foes – all evidence of their heroism and villainy and everything in between – was washed away, as if they had never been.

Then, when it seemed that all hope was lost, the world was reborn. A green and fertile land rose from the depths, teeming with new life and possibilities. There were grassy meadows, forests and mountains; a new sun shone in the sky; birdsong and the buzzing of insects filled the air; and two humans descended from where they had taken refuge in the upper branches of Yggdrasil. Their names were Lif and Lifthrasir. For too long, they had hidden in an old knothole, subsisting on grubs and tree fungus, but now they emerged, ready to take their place in this new world. Their children and grandchildren, who would be as many as the beads of morning dew, would interbreed with the last remaining elves, dwarves and trolls and thereby repopulate all of Midgard.

Several of the Aesir had survived, including Odin's sons Vidar and Vali, Thor's sons Magni and Modi, Hoenir the silent and Njord of the seas. Balder returned from the underworld with his blind brother, Hod, by his side. They all gathered on the plains of Idavoll, where Asgard had once stood. There, in a shining hall of golden thatch, they would build their lives anew. But they would not forget the ancient lore; they would perform the rites, tell stories of those who had come before, and dream of what might have been.

But all of that would come later. For now, they stood together on that grassy meadow, rejoicing in their survival and weeping for those who had fallen.

And there, on the grass, they saw the sunlight glinting off golden game pieces, of the sort that the old gods had played with; long before Ragnarok, there had been days of ease and leisure aplenty. Perhaps they had also been tools of prophecy, from which Odin had derived his knowledge of the future.

There were hundreds of miniatures spread across multiple different game boards. One of them was a tiny golden carving of Odin, the all-father, seated upon his throne; there was Thor, wielding his mighty hammer; and Heimdall blowing his horn. There was Loki, scar-lipped and scowling; Hrym, captain of the frost giants; and Surtur, wielding his flaming sword. And there were others as well, from other worlds: the golden figure of Lucifer was smirking and triumphant; Darkseid was overlarge and menacing; Lady Tanya was less than half his size, looking more like a pixie than a devil. She wore a business suit and an expression of fierce concentration.

While the last of the Aesir were collecting these pieces and wondering what to do with them, a shadow passed overhead. Nidhogg, the dragon of death, was flying high above, on wings as dark as night, carrying dozens of corpses with it. Even in this new and better world, there was no end to evil.

***

When Tanya awakened, she was once again in Being X's throne room, seated in his ugly throne. Lucifer was there with her, holding the hammer she had dropped. With it, he was destroying the tools that Being X had used to build this patchwork universe: the reeds and the lotus flower had been ground down into a fine powder, the bullroarer had been reduced to fragments and the broken spear was shattered into even smaller pieces than it had been before. He had some difficulty with the ball of wool until he resorted to using the knifelike chisel to cut it to shreds. Tanya watched him, dully, for a while.

Then, he turned his attention to the throne she was sitting on. "Up you get," he said, offering her a hand. "You can sleep later, when we get back home."

"Home? Where is home?" Tanya wondered, though she accepted his hand and help to get up on her feet.

"Definitely not here, at any rate," said Lucifer, gently guiding her out of the way. Then, raising the hammer above his head, he brought it down again and again, smashing the throne into chunks of scrap.

"Did you need to do that?" Tanya frowned. "It was just a chair. It didn't have any power of its own."

"Maybe not, but it's a potent symbol of God's authority. Any would-be multiversal conqueror would want it. Darkseid, for example. Or Trigon. And various others. They'd see it as legitimizing their conquests." Lucifer paused, surveyed the wreckage with a critical eye, and said, "It's better this way. No God, no king, no master. We are free at last."

"Didn't you say it was 'better to reign'?"

"No. That was Milton. Even if there was a time when I would have agreed with him…" Lucifer paused and then sighed heavily. "It's better than being a tool or a slave, but rulership can be just another cage. Being responsible for other people… I'd rather be free."

"And now you have everything you wanted. Being X is gone. You defeated Darkseid as well, I presume?"

Lucifer nodded. "He and his minions – those who survived, at least – were forced to flee back to Apokolips. It'll take them some time to recover their strength. Sooner or later, they'll be back, but that'll take years. Decades, maybe."

"You came here in the nick of time, when I needed you most. Like a knight in shining armor. Almost as if you'd planned it that way from the start," said Tanya. Her gaze hardened. "Did you? Were we all just pawns in your little game?"

"I'm flattered that you think I could be such a genius manipulator. But you mustn't believe everything they say about the Devil," said Lucifer, with a smirk. "If I'd orchestrated all of this, I'd have done it in a way that was less painful for me." He indicated his charred suit, ruined face and missing eye.

"You'll recover. You've had much worse."

"True. However, even if I'd like to, I can't claim sole credit for our victory. I merely kept my eyes open and took advantage of opportunities when I saw them, just like a good businessman should."

Tanya gave a slow nod. She wasn't sure if she believed him, but what did it matter? Even if he'd manipulated her – and maybe he hadn't – maybe he was telling the whole truth about that, at least – she had been given everything she wanted. What would be the point of complaining about that?

Similarly, she had already begun to wonder if everything she had seen since coming to this place had been just another trick. Had Being X faked his death somehow? Had it all been an illusion? Was he trying to lull her into a false sense of security so that she would be taken unawares by whatever he did next? Would she never be rid of him? Or was she being paranoid? How could ever she know for sure?

She kept telling herself that it didn't matter, as long as he never bothered her again, as long as she was free to live her life as she wished, but still…

"Are you all right?" asked Lucifer, a note of concern in his voice.

"I'll be fine," said Tanya, fixing a determined expression upon her face,

Lucifer turned his attention back to his task. Finally, when all of the other tools were utterly destroyed, he slammed the hammer and chisel together until they both broke apart. "Ow," he said, dropping the splintered remains, grimacing and massaging his hands. "I think I may have broken a couple of fingers."

"You'll live."

"I certainly intend to," Lucifer agreed. "Shall we go?"

"Yes, let's," said Tanya, once again accepting his offered hand.

Slipping through the gap between dimensions, they flew away, through the void beyond the stars, heading home. Lucifer seemed to have some idea where that was, even if Tanya didn't.

***

It was a time of mourning and triumph, of grief and exultation, of heartbroken sorrow and trembling relief. A terrible calamity had killed millions of people and threatened to destroy the entire world, but Earth's defenders – including many who had previously been considered to be villains – had magnificently risen to the occasion. They had saved billions of lives and prevented the total destruction of the world's infrastructure, preventing countless deaths that would otherwise have occurred as a result of starvation, disease and mass panic. Also, there had been a team of British kid superheroes who had flown around the world fixing as much as they could until it was as good as new – and even managed to bring some people back to life – although it had been clear that they'd been utterly exhausted by the time they'd finished.

No one had a clear idea of why the calamity had happened. There were rumours that it had been the work of a supervillain with delusions of grandeur, who'd claimed to be God and threatened to bring about the Apocalypse. Of course, whoever they were, they must have been defeated by the Justice League – or someone else who hadn't even bothered to report that they'd done it – just like all the other deluded fools who'd made a big noise about devouring, destroying or taking over the Earth and then been defeated almost immediately. The only difference was that this time Superman, one of Earth's greatest heroes, had been forced to sacrifice himself to bring back the sun. He had spent most of his life in the USA, but had flown all over the world helping people in times of dire need and natural disaster, so it almost seemed as if his death was mourned by the whole of humanity. There would be a proper funeral when more of the rebuilding work was complete and things had more-or-less gone back to normal.

Superman's former archnemesis, Lex Luthor, had started the 'Superman Foundation', which would apparently be a charitable organization dedicated to good works and improving people's lives across the globe.

"I misjudged him," said Luthor, before an audience of the world's media. "I never trusted him because I knew what he was capable of. If he'd ever lost control, he could have killed thousands of people without meaning to. If he'd wanted to, he could have taken over the world, set himself up as a tyrant, and forced us all to worship him. But he never wanted to. Instead, he chose to do good, to make the world a better place, and be an example to all of us. And now… I regret that I was so suspicious of him. No matter how much I want to, I can't apologize to him or bring him back to life; I can only carry on his good work. That is what the Superman Foundation is for."

It was a masterful performance: his face and voice showed all the signs of genuine sorrow and contrition. Certainly, all of the assembled reporters seemed to think so; many of their follow-up questions seemed to have been deliberately chosen to cast Luthor in as flattering a light as possible, enabling him to portray himself as a reformed character, one who'd been forced to pay dearly for his past mistakes, who had redeemed himself and was now an indisputably heroic figure: a champion of humanity against all those who sought to dominate them or suffocate their potential. Most of his audience, whether they were in the room with him or watching him on the television, would probably have believed every word.

However, there was at least one who did not. He was a man with several names and different guises, including Bruce Wayne, Batman, and various others, although the one he currently wore was that of 'Matches' Malone, a small-time grifter who was well-known to many in Gotham's criminal underworld. Dressed in a striped shirt and plaid suit, with an extra layer underneath to make it seem as if he were failing to conceal a bulging gut, he appeared to be a seedy middle-aged man with slicked-back hair, tinted glasses and a thick moustache. No one would connect this persona with the famous billionaire playboy and fashion icon, Bruce Wayne, which was of course the point. He had vanished so completely into character that as far as he was concerned he was Malone, even in his own mind.

He was sitting in a disreputable downtown bar with Clark Kent, a reporter from Metropolis, and anyone who saw them together would probably assume that Clark was pumping him for information that might lead him to his next big scoop. But if anyone had made a serious effort to listen in to their conversation, they would have heard little more than mumbled nonsense, which was meant to disguise the fact that they were communicating with something other than words. Apparently, telepathy was one of the new superpowers Clark had developed after his recent, massive dose of solar energy.

"What a touching story," said Malone, sardonically, indicating the television screen. "It brings a tear to the eye, doesn't it?"

"You don't believe him, do you?" asked Clark, with some amusement.

"Do you?"

Clark paused for a moment. Then: "I'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt."

"He has committed terrible crimes and received very little punishment. Now he wants to be a member of the Justice League." Malone scowled. "Considering everything he and his machines did during 'the Apocalypse', I don't see how we can refuse him."

"I'd like to think he's sincere about wanting to redeem himself. He could be an incredible hero if his ego doesn't keep getting in the way. Maybe he still deserves to be punished for some of the things he's done, but I'd much prefer it if he kept saving lives and doing good – like he has done for the past few months – instead of rotting in prison somewhere."

"He's vain, arrogant and cruel. He wants to replace you. To erase you."

"Does it matter? I never cared about fame or acclaim anyway. As long as he's doing good, that's enough for me."

"Sooner or later, he'll end up doing the wrong thing for the wrong reasons. If he's a member of the Justice League by then, he could do a lot of damage. Besides, what will happen when Superman comes back? Once again, he'll be consumed by jealousy and hatred, but it'll be even worse because he'll think he's been made a fool of."

"Superman is dead. Let him rest," said Clark, with a sad and weary sigh.

"You're not coming back? I'm not sure I can believe that," said Malone, raising a sceptical eyebrow. "The first time you hear someone who's in trouble, you'll rush to their aid and then the secret will be out. I reckon it'll be a few days at most."

"I'm not going to abandon people who need help. But I'll do it surreptitiously. It'll seem like luck – or a friendly ghost." Clark proceeded to explain: "My powers have changed. In some ways, I'm more powerful than I've ever been. More versatile as well."

Fondness mingled with exasperation on Malone's face. "Even more powerful? I'm surprised that's possible."

"It means that if I'm ever really needed, I'll put on a new costume and a full-face mask, and I'll be just another superhero with powers of flight and superstrength, just like all the others."

"But you won't be Superman."

"No."

"Superman is a symbol of hope to millions of people all over the world," said Malone. "But you want to give them Luthor instead."

"Superman heroically sacrificed himself to save the entire world. He's more of a symbol of hope than ever."

There was a pause. For a few moments, they turned their attention to their drinks; they'd both asked for coffee and been given something that looked like it had a layer of scum floating on the surface. Then, in a conciliatory tone, Clark said, "I'm not saying you should blindly trust Luthor. Just give him a chance. He may surprise you."

"Or he may not."

"Considering all the things he's done in the past, it would be strange if you weren't suspicious of him. But don't go too far. Don't let him portray himself as the innocent victim, unfairly persecuted and forced back into a life of supervillainy against his will."

"So… you're not entirely convinced by his change of heart," said Malone, sounding relieved.

"Like I said, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt."

"Uh huh. I suppose this would be a good time to reorganize the Justice League so that no single person can access all of its resources. That would help to protect against mind control and infiltrators such as Prometheus, as well as any new members who might prove to be less than trustworthy."

"Sounds like a good idea."

Taking a deep breath and changing the subject, Malone said, "How did you survive, anyway? I've heard multiple 'experts' say that it shouldn't have been possible."

"Why would you believe them? It shouldn't have been possible for someone to disassemble the sun, or to put it back together, or…" Clark could probably have gone on all day listing all of the implausible things that had happened recently, but instead he gave a small shrug and said, "Well, you get the picture."

"I didn't say I believed them. I'm just curious as to how it happened."

"I… I don't remember much. I came very close to death. I was barely conscious by the end of it." Clark stared into the murky depths of his coffee cup for a few moments before continuing: "There was a boy who used his powers to duplicate me and many other heroes, hundreds of times, all over the globe, giving us a chance to save everyone. You must have heard about that, right?"

Malone nodded. "I never got to meet him, but yes."

"When the sun went out, he seemed to think he could bring it back, but it would be incredibly difficult even for him. So, since he'd already shown that he could give his friends superpowers, I offered to do it for him. He agreed, gave me the power to restore the sun; I flew out into space, ready to sacrifice my life if it meant saving everybody else. When I'd done everything I could… I nearly died, but then I heard a voice in my mind, telling me not to give up just yet. I don't know exactly what happened after that. I woke up back at home, in bed, as if it had all been a dream."

"Did you recognize the voice? Was it the boy who gave you those powers?"

"I don't know. Probably."

"A child with godlike powers who can hand them out to whoever he wants. Wonderful."

"He saved us all. Everyone on Earth owes him a massive debt," said Clark.

"Let's hope he doesn't want to collect."

"Just because he's powerful doesn't mean he's a threat. He's proven himself to be entirely benevolent so far."

"You're going to say something about giving him the benefit of the doubt, aren't you?" said Malone, rolling his eyes.

Clark smiled at that. "You know me well."

"You're too idealistic for your own good, sometimes."

"And you're much too cynical and suspicious."

It was an old argument, one they'd had many times before, which they carried on without rancour. Finally, Malone said, "It's going to be different, not having you around. Difficult, too."

"If you ever truly need me, I'll be there," Clark promised. "Don't worry."

"I'll hold you to that. What do you plan to do now you've retired, anyway?"

"Carry on my work as an investigative journalist. Win another Pulitzer Prize maybe," said Clark, sounding as if he was half-joking. "Be the husband that Lois deserves."

Malone's eyes widened. "Oh. Congratulations. You kept that quiet."

"We haven't arranged a date yet. Next summer, possibly. You're invited, of course."

"It's about time. I know you'll be very happy together."

"We will," Clark agreed.

They continued their conversation for a while after that, discussing their hopes, dreams, and fears for the future. Finally, they said their goodbyes, left the bar, and headed back to their own lives. Their drinks were left untouched.

***

When they'd returned from their adventures in saving the world, Adam and his friends had been confronted by their parents, who were distraught, having feared that the worst had happened. This meant that, over the next several days, the four children were kept in a state of cossetted confinement; as the summer holidays had just begun, they found this even more unbearable than they would otherwise have done, and were sulky and uncooperative for the duration. It came as a great relief to everyone involved when they were finally allowed out.

Reconvening in the wooded area that was one of their favourite haunts, they were at first tongue-tied and unsure of themselves, although there was much they wanted to discuss. Normally, they would have looked to Adam for leadership, but this time he remained silent, stroking his dog and waiting to be asked questions about what the adults in their lives had started referring to as 'the Event'.

"So… you're the Antichrist," said Wensleydale, after much thought. "What's that like?"

"All right, I guess," was Adam's response.

"I mean… is it going to change your life completely? Will you be like a different person?" Wensleydale tried again.

Adam slumped. "I hope not."

"It was good though, wasn't it? We were superheroes!" said Brian, gleefully. "Maybe we could do that again sometime? But we'd need a proper name. We can't just be 'Them' all the time." He paused, furrowing his brow with the effort of thinking. "We could be the Famous Five. I mean, we're four children and a dog, right?"

"That name's copyrighted. We'd get sued," said Pepper. "And anyway, wouldn't it be better if we had our own name so people didn't keep confusing us with something else?"

"We only had superpowers because Adam gave them to us. Without him, we're perfectly ordinary," Wensleydale pointed out. "And I'm pretty sure he didn't really need us for any of it. He could have done it all on his own."

"Is that true, Adam?" asked Pepper.

"Um… not exactly. I couldn't focus on doing everything at once. I needed other people to do some of it. That's why I duplicated all those other superheroes so many times." He paused. "Maybe with more time and practice, I could do more… I could do whatever I needed to do. But it wouldn't be a good idea. I need you – my friends – to keep me grounded. Otherwise, I'll probably start acting like I'm king of the world all over again."

Pepper nodded fervently. "Yes, let's not start that again."

Wensleydale frowned. "All right, but… what are we going to do now? Can we ever go back to the way things were before?"

"I dunno," said Adam, with a shrug. "I'd like to think so."

He looked around at the woods, at the trees he knew so well, the sun winking through the leaves above, the earth underfoot, the scruffy little dog by his side, and the friends who were so dear to him. "I'm not in a hurry to grow up just yet," he added.

Brian reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. "Tag! You're it!" he cried, and scurried away.

Chasing after him, joyfully whooping, Adam noticed that Pepper and Wensleydale had joined in the game as well; they dodged away from him, trying to avoid being tagged. He grinned. It was a silly, childish game, but he wasn't ready to put aside such things just yet. And neither were his friends.

He was a child. For now, that was all he wanted to be. The summer stretched out ahead of him.

***

Like the rest of London, Mayfair had suffered during 'the Event'. There had been fires, collapsed buildings, wrecked cars and mounds of rubble; people had been crying and screaming, dreadfully injured, lost and frightened. Since then, the district had returned to normal; everything unpleasant or unsightly had been cleared away, and it was once again an affluent and prosperous place, the site of many luxury hotels, fashionable boutiques, sumptuous shops, restaurants and art galleries.

The Ritz was probably Mayfair's most famous hotel: a symbol of high-class luxury, elegance and wealth inequality. Two men sat in the restaurant, at their usual table, eating their usual dinner and having a most unusual conversation.

"I assure you, I never asked for any of this," said Aziraphale, having just explained his new exalted position in Heaven's hierarchy: the angels were now ruled by a triumvirate consisting of Michael, Gabriel and Amenadiel; the majority of the angels who had fought against them were frightened to return, so they had appealed to Aziraphale to act as their go-between, since he was perceived as being much friendlier and more approachable than any of Heaven's new rulers; and this had led to his being appointed as Heaven's official liaison with those angels who had not quite fallen, but had definitely misstepped, and were desperate to return home.

"I'm sure Lady Tanya would approve," said Crowley, with a grin. "You're basically a human resources manager – for angels instead of humans, obviously."

Aziraphale looked discomforted. "They all treat me as if I were very important. I suppose that's because they don't have anyone else. I mean… all of the Metatron's favoured servants are dead, except Amenadiel, who rebelled against him. Zauriel is back on Earth, with the Justice League. Their new rulers are… ah, Michael is still recovering from his injuries and has little interest in ruling; Gabriel does his duty, but without enthusiasm; Amenadiel seems eager to do a good job, but… well, he isn't one of the archangels and the other angels don't respect him as much. I've heard them grumbling about him."

"So, what does that mean? They'd rather have you instead?"

"Not exactly. I'm just their spokesman."

"Still… at last, you're getting the recognition you deserve! You're a man of substance, a legend in your own lunchtime! You've climbed to the top of the greasy pole without even meaning to!" cried Crowley, in a tone of playful, puppyish excitement, clapping his hands to his face and acting as if he were excessively impressed by his boyfriend's accomplishments.

A weak smile wafted over Aziraphale's lips, but he didn't seem convinced. "I never wanted it."

"I know, you'd rather be relaxing at home with a cup of tea and a good book. And me, of course."

"Of course."

"Still, never mind. It's your own fault: you should never have shown the other angels how competent you are. Now they'll expect more from you."

"But if I hadn't done that… Well, I don't feel like I did very much, but if I hadn't been there, who knows what might have happened?" Aziraphale looked pensive and was evidently thinking aloud: "I suppose the moral of this story is that I should be proud of what I've accomplished and pleased that everything worked out for the best. Really, I've got nothing to complain about."

"You think this story's supposed to have a moral? Er…" Crowley chuckled, but there was no real mirth behind it. "Isn't it just a bunch of stuff that happened?"

"Maybe, but you could say that about anything. I'd like to think that… ah…" There was a moment's hesitation before Aziraphale tried again: "Lady Tanya called him 'Being X'… He called himself God, though he certainly wasn't. He wasn't our creator, just a thief and a usurper. But still… I'd like to think the true God is out there, somewhere, watching over us."

Crowley took care to conceal a grimace. Instead, he shrugged, as if indifferent. "If it makes you happy, sure."

"An ineffable mystery."

Unsure of whether he was meant to reply or not, Crowley merely nodded.

Emerging from his reverie, Aziraphale smiled warmly and said, "Anyway, that's enough about me. How are you? I'm sure you must be very busy."

"Not really. I'm supposed to be in charge of the demons here on Earth, but there's nothing for me to do. There just aren't enough of us. Lady Tanya's grand plan to take over the criminal underworld has had to be abandoned because there are barely enough demons to maintain essential services down in Hell.'

"What do you mean 'maintain essential services'? Since when does Hell have those?"

"No idea," said Crowley, with a shrug. "It's the sort of thing that Lady Tanya likes to say, but how it relates to what's actually going on… I dunno."

"Couldn't Lady Tanya recruit some of the damned and turn them into demons?" asked Aziraphale. "I've heard that she herself was once human… right?"

"Yeah, that's right. But it's not as simple as that. Human souls can turn into demons, but it takes many thousands of years, they have to be marinaded in hellish energies and… er, maybe there's a trick to it. Lucifer knew how to make it happen; I certainly don't. And anyway, the demons who come into existence as a result are almost always completely insane – with the possible exception of Lady Tanya herself – so she wouldn't want to recruit them anyway."

"I'm not sure what to suggest. But I suppose it's really none of my business."

"By all means, get involved. If you've got any good ideas, I'm sure they'll be most welcome," said Crowley, with a grin.

Aziraphale smiled back at him, for a few moments. "Everything's been turned upside down," he murmured, examining the teapot in the middle of the table, which he found to be empty. "Nothing will ever be the same again."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Both. Neither. I suppose that's up to us."

Crowley held his gaze for a few moments, gave a small nod, and said, "Shall I get the bill?"

"I think it's my turn to pay, isn't it?"

"Is it? Well, all right."

Aziraphale's gaze turned speculative. "And after that… shall we go back to mine?"

"I thought you'd never ask," said Crowley. His eyes seemed to sparkle with anticipation.

***

Vassago had left Hell. There was nothing left for him there. All of his friends were dead. He had no interest in the rewards that had been offered to him for his loyal service: the trappings of wealth and power. For billions of years, he had wallowed in hellish hedonism, but it had never satisfied him, only served to deaden his emotions and numb the pain of his fall from grace. Lady Tanya had offered him a chance to do something more fulfilling and he had seized it eagerly. She had shown him what he really wanted, which wasn't sex or drugs, exquisite food or wine, sadistic torture, the screams of the damned, endless revelry or any of the other 'delights' that were available to him in Hell. No, what he wanted – what he had always wanted – was to be himself, as he truly was, unburdened by the baggage that had weighed so heavily on him for eons.

Once, he had been an angel of truth and justice. That was the reason for his existence. It was all he had ever wanted to be.

High above the Earth, he looked down at the grid pattern of city lights, the digital billboards and the bright neon signs, and the pools of darkness that seemed even deeper by comparison. Somewhere, he knew, there were crimes being committed, even now. There were people who were lost and suffering, who needed help, who were crying out for justice, for rescue, for someone to listen to them. Even in a world that had many heroes, even when the authorities were entirely benevolent – which was by no means guaranteed – there were always those who were overlooked and forgotten about. They were only human, after all.

Whatever he did, he knew it wouldn't be enough. But he intended to try. Somewhere they'll need me.

***

Returning to his dental practice, Jakub Straširybka heaved an enormous sigh of relief. Despite a few new scars and a persistent ringing in his ears, things were back to normal, more or less. All things considered, he had been very lucky.

Yes, he had been kidnapped, dressed up in a Nazi uniform and thrown into a warzone, but he had managed to hide until it was all over. His wife and children had survived. The relief efforts had been well-organized, Berlin hadn't been so badly damaged that it couldn't be rebuilt, and normal life had resumed with remarkable swiftness. It would have been churlish of him to complain about any of this.

He had survived; others had not. Around the world, tens of millions of people had been gruesomely injured or died horrible deaths: crushed beneath piles of rubble, torn apart by monsters, drowned or roasted or suffocated… They had lost children, parents, wives and husbands, entire families… but he and his loved ones had been spared. He would always be grateful for that. Every day, he would give thanks to God that he had been saved.

Now, he could only hope and pray that there would be no more apocalyptic events, that the world would be safe and peaceful for decades to come, and that nothing else would disturb the comfortable life he'd built for himself. He'd had enough excitement for one lifetime.

***

Giving employees a chance to schmooze, relax and enjoy themselves, to ingratiate themselves with their superiors in the hopes that it might improve their job prospects, to drink far too much and embarrass themselves in public, was a well-established ritual in many workplaces, but it wasn't something Tanya had bothered with for the past several thousand years: certainly not since she became the ruler of Hell.

On the other hand, since she had won such a tremendous victory – despite her fears and misgivings, she had to believe that was true – this seemed like a good time to celebrate, to thank all those who had contributed to her success, and to signal the beginning of the rest of her life. She had hired Lux as the venue; Lucifer seemed delighted, had waved away her offer of payment, and was determined that this would be a night to remember.

There he was, showing off his talents as a singer and pianist: "–nowhere to be seen. Now she walks through her sunken dream…"

She vaguely recognized the song, which was about the inevitable triumph of capitalism, which found ways to make money from anything and everything, even symbols of protest against it, and turned striking workers into vapid consumers with dreams of being famous. It seemed an odd choice, unless Lucifer had deliberately chosen it because he thought it might appeal to her; despite its subject matter, it sounded rather sad.

"–for she′s lived it ten times or more. She could spit in the eyes of fools as they ask her to focus on–"

Over the course of several weeks, Lucifer had mostly recovered from his horrific injuries: one of his eyes was bloodshot and he looked as if he were mildly sunburnt.

Sitting on a stool next him, there was his policewoman friend, Chloe Decker, with a fond smile on her face. She didn't join in with the singing or piano playing; she seemed content to listen.

"–look at the lawman beating up the wrong guy. Oh man! Wonder if he'll ever know? He's in the best-selling show… Is there life on Mars?"

Of course, the answer to that question was, 'Yes. That's where the Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian come from.' When that thought occurred to her, Tanya shook her head and smiled wryly. It was a silly song, really.

Looking around, she saw Chantinelle with her daughter, Odiel, who was clinging to her mother, had hidden her face and seemed frightened to show herself. Or perhaps that was because Hastur was looming over her, probably without meaning to scare her, and saying, "–means 'I hate God', doesn't it?"

"If you mix Latin and Hebrew, yes," said Chantinelle, with an inscrutable smile. "It's also a girls' name from the Netherlands. And a river in Spain."

"Huh," said Hastur, thoughtfully, as if impressed by her words of wisdom.

"So… I've heard that Scumspawn is now a duke of Hell," said Chantinelle, making an effort to change the subject. "That's a surprise, isn't it? I should go and congratulate him sometime."

"Yeah. Well deserved," Hastur muttered, still looking contemplative. Distractedly, he slowly wandered away, towards where Scumspawn was surrounded by his many new admirers and looking shellshocked.

Chantinelle heaved a sigh of relief when she saw Odiel's head move and sneak a peek at her surroundings. Then, another little girl bounded up to them. It was Beatrice, Chloe Decker's daughter, a cheerful child with a gap-toothed grin and dark hair in bunches.

"Hi! I like your wings," she said, indicating the unruly masses of swanlike feathers protruding from Odiel's back. "What's your name?"

Odiel stared at Beatrice and didn't reply. But she didn't hide her face again, which was progress of a sort.

"Her name's Odiel. She's very shy," Chantinelle explained. "She hasn't had much chance to socialize with anyone."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Addressing Odiel directly, Beatrice said, "If you ever want to play together…?"

Again, Odiel didn't reply. But there was a wistful look in her eyes.

"Nice to meet you," said Beatrice. A moment later, she bounded away again.

Tanya glanced back at the piano, where Lucifer had started playing a different song, so seamlessly that she hadn't even noticed the changeover: "–lived a life that's full. I traveled each and every highway. And more–" Chloe was still sitting next to him, seemingly unconcerned about her daughter's safety.

As a responsible adult, Tanya felt that she should investigate. Approaching Beatrice, she said, "Good evening, young lady. I'm surprised to see you here."

"Mom said it's okay. I have friends here." The little girl indicated Mazikeen, Lucifer's bodyguard and bouncer, who appeared to be an attractive woman wearing black leather and a choker made of spent bullet casings. Tanya didn't know much about her except that she had apparently been incandescently angry when, just before the Apocalypse had begun, she'd returned from an errand to find that Lucifer was gone and Lux had been destroyed.

"She doesn't care that you're in a bar, an adult establishment in which they serve alcohol, and right now almost all of the other patrons are demons?"

Beatrice shrugged. "She knows Lucifer's involved in all that superhero stuff – and she doesn't care if I know – she's not bothering to hide it anymore. And I've got Maze looking out for me. If anyone tries to hurt me, she'll kill them. Or Lucifer will."

"That's very reassuring," said Tanya, sardonically. "But I can't imagine this is much fun for you. Aren't you bored?"

Another shrug. "Lucifer says I can have all the mocktails I want. And there are some funny people." She indicated Scumspawn, who still looked bewildered by his sudden popularity, and said in a stage whisper: "He can turn himself into balloon animals."

"I see. As long as you're happy…"

"I think I can get Odiel to play with me," said Beatrice, putting on a shrewd expression. "She seemed interested."

"Don't be too pushy," Tanya warned her.

"I won't."

Moving on, Tanya intercepted one of the waiters who was carrying a tray of champagne glasses, each of which was brim-full of something that was almost certainly wasted on her unrefined palate. She took one and sipped it anyway while she glanced around the room.

Crowley and Aziraphale were dancing together, engrossed in each other; they seemed blissfully happy, even if the rhythm of their movements didn't match that of Lucifer's song.

"–loved, I've laughed and cried. I've had my fill, my share of losing–"

Etrigan was there, boasting about his accomplishments, with a succubus on each arm cooing over how strong, manly and brave he was. Beelzebub and Gabriel were sitting together, holding hands, engaged in quiet conversation. Shax looked pleased and proud of her recent promotion, and had acquired her own entourage of hangers-on. Kariselle stood with Zauriel, giving him long, lingering glances and batting her eyelashes at him. There were many others Tanya didn't know: dozens of demons, of many different shapes and sizes, all of whom appeared to be enjoying themselves and filling their faces with free food and drink.

It had seemed only polite to invite Ran Va Daath, which the gigantic demoness had been very amused by, even if she had declined; apparently, she had no desire to either destroy Lucifer's nightclub or squash herself into a pitiful human form. Also, Vassago had disappeared before he could be given an invitation; no one seemed to know where he had gone.

And there was John Constantine, looking dapper in a suit she'd insisted he wear on this special occasion. Until today, she'd not seen him for several weeks, not since she'd retrieved him from the secret layer of Hell where he'd spent months preparing his magic ritual. After that, she'd taken him home and emphatically thanked him for his efforts, but since then they'd gone their separate ways; he had plenty of work to do and so did she.

"Good evening, John," she said, raising her glass to him.

"Evening. How've you been?" was his cautious reply.

It was meaningless conversational filler that deserved an equally meaningless answer, but Tanya spent some time thinking it over. At last, she said, "I have nothing to complain about."

He gazed at her for a few moments, sighed, and gave her a sympathetic nod. "You got what you always wanted, but lost everything along the way. It happens, so I've heard."

"Maybe that's part of it," Tanya admitted. She thought about the many lives she'd lived, the choices she'd made, her triumphs and failures, the friends and loved ones that had only briefly been hers, and all the hatred she'd saved up for Being X over thousands of years. For too long, it had been the purpose for her existence. "But more than that… I'd like to think it's finally over, but I'm not sure I can believe it. I've been tricked and lied to so many times…" A crooked smirk spread over her lips. "You'd think I'd be used to it by now."

"I wish I had all the answers and could give you some useful advice, but I can't," said Constantine. "And, considering what a mess I've made of my own life, you'd be better off not listening to me anyway."

"Are you a good listener, at least?" she asked him, wryly.

"I do my best."

After a brief pause, Tanya decided that there wasn't anything she particularly wanted to talk about at that moment, so she asked, "And what about you, John? How are things in London, England?"

"I've been busy. The usual idiots can't make deals with demons anymore – you've put a stop to that – so instead they've been worshipping Trigon, the Great Old Ones, and anything else their fevered brains can conjure up. And there've been other supernatural goings-on I've had to sort out: fish-people stumbling out of the Thames, mystical artefacts falling into the wrong hands, and so on. Sometimes I feel like I'm in an episode of Stingray crossed with the Antiques Roadshow."

Tanya smiled, sipped her champagne, listened attentively to his whimsical descriptions of his recent adventures, and tried to relish this moment of peace and companionship, despite the doubts that still gnawed at her.

'I'm going to enjoy life while I can, for as long as I can,' she told herself.

***

"Heaven has changed. Over billions of years, I... I did my duty. I was faithful and virtuous and... I was a fool," Gabriel admitted. "I didn't notice that God's throne had been stolen, that Heaven had been corrupted, and I was being given orders by a cruel demiurge. I should have..."

Beelzebub leaned into him, holding him tightly. "You didn't know. But when you found out, you did the right thing. You alwayzz do."

He grimaced. "I'm ashamed that it took me as long as it did. The Silver City has become a place of bitter memories for me. I'll be glad to leave."

"You're leaving?" Beelzebub looked up at him, wide-eyed. Stray insects emitted agitated buzzing noises.

"I've been appointed as one of Heaven's new rulers, but as soon as they no longer need me, I'm going. Maybe I'll spend some time on Earth, maybe I'll wander the stars, or maybe..." He hesitated, gazed down at his demon paramour, and said, "I'd like to spend some time with you."

"I'd like that, but... I think maybe I'm still on probation, so you might need to get Tanya'zz permission."

"That's fine. For as long as I've known her, she's never been unreasonable. Even if it means I have to visit you in Hell..." He smiled, tenderly. "Wherever you are is heaven enough for me, my love."

"I... I wazz stripped of my wings and put in this body as a punishment. They mocked me, called me 'Lord of the Flies' and threw me into a pit of filth. Hell was meant as a place of torment for me, just as much as it izz for any of the damned. I got used to it, but... it's not a happy place," said Beelzebub. "When I'm with you, I'm happy. I love you. Even if we were in Hell... as long as we were together, it wouldn't matter."

They held each other close and passionately kissed, for as long as they could. They both had their duties to get back to, but not yet.

***

Later that evening, Lucifer asked to speak to her in private, suggesting that they go up to his penthouse suite to do so, away from prying ears. Tanya agreed to this, but with some misgivings; she wasn't sure if this was meant as a precursor to his inviting her into his bed. If so, she decided that she wouldn't accept; she thought that he and Chloe Decker made a cute couple, so she had no desire to come between them – or to get in the way of their burgeoning romance, for that matter.

However, while he busied himself with making drinks for them both, Lucifer was in a strangely introspective mood. Finally, handing her a cocktail he assured her that she'd like, he said, "For most of my life – for billions of years – I've been the eternal rebel. But now… what am I rebelling against? God is…" His voice broke off into silence. For several moments, he stared at the wall, unseeing. Then, he continued: "Perhaps He never existed in this particular branch of the multiverse. Perhaps my entire life has been a lie. Perhaps I'm not even the real Lucifer. The creature you called 'Being X' certainly wasn't my dear old dad."

Lucifer hadn't been present for Tanya's final confrontation with Being X, so… "You were spying on me."

"Scrying, yes. I didn't see or hear everything," he admitted. "Just enough so that I could be there when you needed help."

"You certainly were helpful," Tanya admitted, thinking back to how exhausted and defenceless she'd been when Darkseid made his move. She'd rather not speculate about what the god of evil would have done to her if Lucifer hadn't intervened, so she was inclined to be grateful: "I'm not sure if I remembered to thank you at the time, so… thank you."

"You're welcome."

Returning to the original topic of conversation, Tanya said, "Does it matter if you're not the original Lucifer – or if I'm not the original Tanya – or if there's no God for you to rebel against? We're alive. We're free. We can be whatever we want to be."

"So… what do you want to be?" asked Lucifer, with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't know yet. But I don't need to know: I've got plenty of time to figure it out."

"The rest of eternity, in fact."

"Exactly."

Lucifer sipped his drink and said, philosophically, "We weren't given any choice about where we ended up, but we're here now. We might as well be happy."

Tanya's smile was tentative, but sincere, and blossomed like a flower. "I couldn't agree more."

They finished their drinks, set their glasses down, and headed back to the party. Along the way, Lucifer gave her a disapproving look and said, "So... you and John Constantine? Bad choice. I know you can do better."

"Oh, fuck off," was her reply.