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."