“Say hello to my many friends!” Satan yells so loud that it shakes the entire valley. Another flash of light in the distance punctuates his words. The big red guy shakes his dongs in the general direction of Jesus and Death. From the giant holes in the earth, an army of demons pours forth. Slobbering, slathering, moving with purpose and anger. Red eyes intent, dog shapes, human shapes and downright fucked-up shapes, take to the desert from the holes in the sand.
“Too bad War isn’t here. Well I guess we can what, turn and run?”
“I’m done running.” Jesus squints. “Fuck the Devil, fuck his army and fuck this desert.”
“Right. Fuck ’em.”
They stare at each other for a moment then break into laughter. Jesus leans forward and puts his hand on Death’s shoulder to steady himself. They stare into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, an unspoken bond of friendship between the two men cemented with copious amounts of alcohol.
“Watch this.” Jesus smiles and steps away.
Death turns and watches hundreds, and then thousands of creatures emerging from the three holes in the desert. Most fan out in other directions, but some make a beeline for the two men. Death lowers his scythe and swings it in a massive arc just before the things reach them.
The air ripples where the blade passes, and it moves away from him in a wave that tears the demons apart. They flop into pieces, body parts flying in every direction. A head tumbles from one, a massive thing with two faces set opposite one another other, one smiling and one frowning. They continue to argue as they hit the sand.
“WAR!” Jesus yells behind him. “Get the hell UP! I call you!”
Nothing happens.
“Come on, you Lazarus fuck, you got some death to deal!”
Death shakes his head. Why does everyone think that War causes all the death? Death IS death. End of story.
A silence settles over the valley for a split second. It is like the sound after a lightning strike. It is preternatural, and it makes Death pause in his slaughter. He has never felt such power before; it slashes at his reality and makes him stagger. He is Death, and he decides who falls and when. He reaps souls and sends them along the way to wherever they are bound. But this is something he knows nothing about.
Death turns to watch Jesus wavering in place and calling to the sand. The sand responds by spitting out a shape dressed in rags. The body flies into the air and then tumbles over and over to land in a sprawl at the feet of the son of God.
“Christ that sucked!” The man stands and dusts sand from his robe. He lowers his hood to reveal the face of War. The same old sneer set to one side of his lips, he frowns at Jesus and then drops to his knees. “Uh sorry about that last bit, Jesus master Christ.”
“Get up, War. Get up and kick some ass!” Jesus commands.
“Uh. You brought me back? My thanks, Lord. I have always said that the hand of Jesus is like the uh… ever-flowing eternal life of the…”
“Just shut the hell up and bring some help. There is an army of demons coming toward me, and I don’t feel like dying again.” Jesus gestures with one hand.
War turns around and gets a look at the army of demons. He reaches over his shoulder for his sword, but it is not there.
“WHERE THE FUCK IS MY SWORD?” War bellows.
Death turns his head a second after eliminating another wave of inbound demons. “Check the sand where you were puked out!”
War stalks to the place and pushes his hand inside the spot. He roots around in the sand, but after a moment of searching, he doesn’t find anything. He shakes his hand off and looks about in disgust.
“For my sake,” Jesus sighs. “Moses just needed a stick. Here, use this.” He breaks a twig off a dried-out tree and tosses it to War.
War looks it over and frowns. “I hope you aren’t serious, er, your Lord Jesus Worshipfulness.”
“Just try it. Me!” Jesus looks exasperated.
War holds it aloft and whistles so loud the sound echoes off the valley walls. A horse gallops out of some damn plane of existence. It shoots out, lands on its feet, and runs around in a circle. War sheathes his tiny wooden sword and jumps on the back of the monster horse. The animal screams at the sky, hooves slashing the air like razor blades as it rears back. War stands up in the saddle and waves his sword around in circles as he gallops in Satan’s direction.
“Man, he is motivated! Is he going to take on Satan himself?”
“Me, I hope not. He is going to call up an army.”
“This is War we’re talking about. He doesn’t exactly use his head most of the time.”
But War may be thinking for a change, because he runs the horse at full speed into the press of demons, waving his stick. He strikes around him, and where he flails, the demonic creatures fall. Several cracks open in the crust of the desert opens on the outskirts of the army of red. All around War, creatures rise out of the sand.
They shamble from the ground like a desiccated army of stick figures. They rise by the tens, then by the hundreds. The call is answered from the other end of the valley as well, as a whole regiment of the Army moves in en force. They roll in in tanks, Humvees, transports and on foot. A pair of helicopters sweeps over the ground and takes up station at the outskirts of the war machine.
War himself flashes up the length of the chasm and then back down the other side. Where he passes, the dead claw free of the earth in their multitudes. They are in all states and manners of dress. Some wear nothing while others are dressed in suits and carry bazookas.
“I was supposed to come back and call them back to Heaven. There they are,” Jesus observes, settling in on a nice comfortable rock.
“What happened?” Death asks out of curiosity.
“I lost interest. The devil played me once again. He tempted me with booze and gambling, and I missed the Apocalypse.” He squints in the direction of War, who is rallying his troops. “Sorry about that, man.”
“So this whole thing has been Satan’s doing then?”
“Yep. Asshole.”
Death lowers his scythe and cuts down a column of demons and zombies alike. They fall to pieces and splatter the sand with ooze and body parts. Some of the demons have burning blood; it sputters and smokes as it melts the sand into glass.
“So what now?”
“We wait, and we hope one of those nukes doesn’t hit us.” Jesus says and tosses back a swig of vodka. He leans a little too far back and nearly falls off his rock.
“Ooof!” Jesus chokes on the last swallow, then breaks into laughter.
Another flash of light, this time far to the northwest, brightens the already sunny sky.
Leon stares up at the composite glory hole demon and the equally massive Satan as they do some kind of clumsy primal dance around each other. Their massive shadows roll over the armies of demons and undead crawling from the craters left by Satan’s hasty exit.
“Devil dick hefty hooker, Bud,” Leon says.
Bud frowns at Leon and asks, “Why didn’t you hack that mother fucker in his face?”
He doesn’t give Leon, whose jaw drops and eyebrows curl at the question, time to answer. He lowers his gun and pulls the trigger, spraying the rising zombies and demons with hot death.
The legions of Hell are all around Bud and Leon. Leon stares, mouth agape, while Bud fires recklessly into the oncoming masses.
“Why, Leon?” Bud screams as he reloads yet again.
“YOU… COCK BOX… FUCK,” Leon screams in frustration.
Satan embraces the giant box the way a dog would try to fuck a bear. The box recoils slightly, and Satan waddles after it. Humans fall out of his ass as he totters forward.