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.