Death waz here!
“Thanks, man!” Satan smiles and a giant spider demon creeps out of his mouth and scuttles toward Death. Death may be drunk, but he has made this move countless times in the past. Not so much in the last few days, but plenty before that. He slices down and then rips the giant scythe sideways, which leaves the demon still moving, but in two pieces that pass him by. Flaming blood and demon guts splatter across the white sand and Death, but they leave no mark upon Death or his clothing.
“You just killed one of my spider demons! Dude, calm down. He was probably just coming out to high five you, and you swiped him. Bah. Look boys, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have a giant box to fuck the shit out of.”
“Wait!” Jesus commands.
“Oh, for your sake!”
“Look Satan, I know we are supposed to fight each other and all, but I think the rules have changed. I’m sick of being everyone’s whipping boy. I’m tired of running around helping people and listening to them whine and cry. I have problems. I have issues.” He mimics a little girl crying.
“Look dude, if you need relationship advice, just call Dr. Phil. I own him. Tell him I said to give you a freebie or I’ll collect early. Then again, he could be in my ass for all I know.” Satan chuckles, sending shivers through the ground. A fresh group of people falls into his butt, screaming all the way down.
“That’s not what I…” Jesus starts to back up, his hands in the air.
“Nah hold on; he’s probably right here.” Satan reaches back with his free hand. “Just kidding, buddy!”
Jesus crosses his arms and taps his foot.
“Ah hell, J-man, just fucking with you.”
“Seriously, Satan, what do we do now?”
“Well here is how I see it. Things have changed. The rules don’t apply. Seals are still intact, and the Horsemen are a mess.” He glances at Death.
Death gives him the finger.
“Go on,” Jesus says.
“Where is the big guy?”
“Meh, haven’t seen him in a while. Something about starting over in another galaxy with fewer humans. All he ever talks about is chicken pot pies anyway.”
“Oh yeah. Good call.”
“Yeah. Not a bad idea.” Death nods.
“So here’s my proposition. We just let things run their course. I make this part mine and you go grab another part. Like Europe. The chicks there like their underarms hairy just like the old days.”
“Nice.” Death nods again.
“Hmm,” Jesus says. He fingers the bruise around his eye.
“Seriously. Go build your flock, brainwash a bunch of new people, won’t take long. You know how dumb these idiots are.”
Death nods and chuckles. Why didn’t he think of this earlier?
“Tell them you were busy and didn’t have time to make the Apocalypse. Tell them you’ll reschedule it. They’ll understand.”
Jesus smiles at Satan then spits in his eye. It’s a beauty. He draws deep, nose snort and all, gets a big old mouthful and lets it rip. The green gob of goo flies in a graceful arc that splatters in the malevolent eye of the Prince of Lies himself. Satan blinks and shakes his head.
“That’s for the cock slap!” Jesus roars.
Satan does not look pleased.
“I’ll give you something to think about, buddy. I’ll show you and the world how badly I am going to fuck you.”
The ground shakes and moans as Satan heaves himself out of the earth. Death is pretty impressed that they escaped the crash somehow alive, but he does not want to be picked up and shoved up the red guy’s asshole. No thank you very much.
Jesus grabs him by the shoulder and tugs. They both race away from the scene, stumbling as they duck the falling debris. The earth shifts again, and there is a sucking noise as the Devil comes to his feet. Death risks a glance back and falls on his face. Jesus slows down and comes back for him, but he stops in his tracks as Satan reaches his full height.
It’s not the size, nor the fact that he is standing that freaks them out. Nor the fact that he is as tall as a skyscraper. It’s not the big red legs that shake dust free, and it’s not the globs of people falling, screaming, from his ass.
It’s the fact that Satan has three massive cocks and they are all rising to the occasion.
A blinding flash of light in the distance draws their attention away from the Devil. A silence descends as the entire valley goes from roaring to nothing in a few seconds.
“What the…” Death trails off as a giant mushroom cloud forms over the hills in the direction of Vegas.
To each other, General O’Coddle and Sheriff Smoochole are the only two things that exist in the world. Neither warrior sees the massive glory hole box shaking and cooing at the Lord of Darkness. Neither feels the chill that permeates the air when Death is near, although that could be because Death is shitfaced. And neither feels compelled by the power of Christ—or anyone else—to do anything other than kill each other.
Behind his aviators, Sheriff Smoochole’s eyes are focused on his approaching foe, but his bullets blow gray brains out of soldier skulls and blast yellow kneecaps from rotting legs. The horde tries to press forward, but only General O’Coddle is allowed to advance. The general smiles, and his handlebar mustache twitches as a foot-long millipede crawls from his grin and over his stout shoulders. His dead eyes bloat with rage and fury as his heavy footsteps pound forward. His men are being ripped to shreds with his own guns.
Smoochole clicks empty, and General O’Coddle grins wicked and wide as he dives face first at his stolen Hummer. The g-string-clad sheriff jumps into the air. He tucks his bony knees to his birdlike chest and flips off the Hummer just a pubic hair of an instant before the charging general rams his skull into the vehicle with all his might. The Hummer crumples in half like a melted model toy and rolls across the sand. Satan’s giant hooves step on the rolling Hummer as he moves to embrace the giant glory hole box. Flames erupt from between his hooves, and he screams with a million voices.
Smoochole flips twice more and lands with his pale pancake ass facing what’s left of the zombie horde. The dead soldiers stop as one and moan at the flabby ass cheeks before them.
General O’Coddle watches the explosion before turning back. His men are distracted by the sheriff’s hypnotic flabby ass cheeks. He screams a warning so loud and hard it comes out not as a word, but as black phlegm. It’s too late; Sheriff Smoochole has reloaded his guns. Now he turns on the remaining zombies and sends them back to Hell.
The two closest zombies’ heads explode in perfect gory unison.
The next two in line catch bullets, one in his right eye and the other in his left. They fall on top of the first two.
The last remaining zombie looks at his fallen comrades before he turns to stumble away. He only makes it a few staggered steps before a cursing Satan steps on him.
A massive gray fist smashes into Sheriff Smoochole‘s face. His aviators fly in two different directions, and blood gushes from his shattered nose. Smoochole staggers back and opens fire with the .357s. The slugs slam into the general’s chest. O’Coddle flexes his dead muscles, and the bullets turn to hot lead pellets when they hit, doing nothing worse than knocking him back a few inches across the sand.
The general charges the sheriff, and the sheriff uses the guns to move his foe backwards, frantically trying to come up with a plan. General O’Coddle raises his arms and roars at Smoochole as the sheriff sinks six more slugs into his enemy’s chest. Each pushes the general back a bit more. Frustrated, Sheriff Smoochole aims instead at O’Coddle’s meaty gray hands. The pinky and ring finger on the general’s left hand disappear with a spurt of black goo and yellow bone. Half a second later, the pinky and ring finger on his right hand vanish in the same fashion.