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. "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."