Hell's Heroes

MR. GRUMPY-PUSS

I’m not going to the hospital to have myself tended to. Prae’s concern was touching but unwarranted. I’ll be in a lot of pain until the next attack, but as soon as a window opens and magic floods the air, I’ll revive spectacularly. No, I’m going to look in on a patient. A guy not much older than me, whose eyes I clawed out a month ago.

As I enter the ward where I left Kernel before the battle started, I fill with guilt, as I do every time I face him. My stomach still gives a turn when I recall the callous way I blinded my friend, ripping his eyes from their sockets the way a bully might swipe a bag of sweets from a child.

The doctors and nurses are rushed off their feet trying to deal with a flood of wounded. Abandoning the more seriously injured to chance, they focus on those most likely to respond to treatment.

Nobody pays much attention to me as I pad through the corridors. I’ve made myself a bit smaller, but I still cut a sinister sight. I’m taller and broader than any human, naked except for a pair of torn, tattered pants, hairy, bloody, and foul-smelling. I’d inspire terror if these were normal times. But we’ve passed way beyond the bounds of normality. These days, in the cities and towns where the war takes me, I draw nothing more than curious glances.

I stop at the door of Kernel’s room and study the bald, brown-skinned teenager through the glass. He’s sitting on a chair in the corner. I left him lying on a bed, but he’s given that up to one of the recently wounded. Kirilli Kovacs is by his side, chatting animatedly, making sweeping gestures with his hands. I smile at the ridiculous Kirilli. He still wears a stage magician’s costume, though he replaced his ruined original suit with a new one a few weeks back. It didn’t have gold and silver stars down the sides, but he found some and has been stitching them on in quieter moments.

Two fingers on Kirilli’s left hand are missing, he’s scarred and bruised all over, and his right foot was bitten off at the ankle—he wears a prosthetic. Kirilli is proud of his injuries. He whined to begin with, but when he saw the impression they made on people—especially pretty nurses—he adopted a stoic stance. He loves telling exaggerated tales about how he lost his various body parts.

Kirilli’s a natural coward, but he came good when we last fought the demons in their own universe. He was a hero that day, surprising even himself. He hasn’t been called into action too often since, but has handled himself capably when required. I think he’s over the worst of his cowardice, though he’ll never be an out-and-out warrior.

I push the door open. Kernel is smiling at whatever tall tale Kirilli’s spinning. The pair have become good friends. Kirilli helps Kernel forget about his missing eyes. I should really set the Disciple more demanding tasks—he’s too important to waste on babysitting duties—but guilt over what I did to Kernel stays my hand.

There’s a growl to my left. It’s Larry, crouched in the corner. I leave one of my most trusted werewolves with Kernel whenever I’m not around. Officially they’re here to protect him. But the truth—as Kernel knows—is that I don’t trust my blind companion. I’m afraid he’ll create a pair of eyes when a window is open and slip away. Larry’s instructions—hammered into him with difficulty—are to watch over Kernel and disable him if the teenager ever starts fiddling with his sockets.

Kernel and Kirilli glance up when Larry growls. Kernel’s expression instantly changes, even though he can’t see me. I guess the smell gives me away.

“Here comes our triumphant general,” Kernel sneers. “Kill many demons today, Grubbs? Blind any of them?”

“How is he?” I ask Kirilli, ignoring the taunts.

“Blind!” Kernel snaps before the Disciple can answer. “In agony. A doctor had a look at me earlier, before the window opened. Infection has set in. I used magic to clean it—carefully, so as not to arouse my guard’s suspicions—but the rot will return. I’ll probably drop dead of some disease of the brain any day now. Give me back my eyes, you son of a wolfen hound!”

“Does he ever change the track?” I sigh.

“He only gets like this when you’re around,” Kirilli murmurs. “And, as I’m sure you acknowledge, he has genuine cause for complaint.”

I grunt sourly and step aside as a patient is bundled past by a couple of nurses. “We’ve had this conversation too many times. I won’t restore your eyes until we rescue Bec. If you promised not to take off, I’d let you fix them now.”

“I promise to kick your ass every day for all eternity in hell,” Kernel snarls. “How about that?”

I scowl at the blind magician, hating myself more than him. Kernel’s part of a demonic weapon known as the Kah-Gash. I am too. It can be used to settle this war, handing ultimate victory to us or the Demonata. The third part is in a girl called Bec, currently a prisoner of the demon master, Lord Loss.

The original plan was for the three of us to unite, unleash the power of the Kah-Gash, destroy the Demonata, and ride off into the sunset, champions of the universe, the greatest heroes ever. Easy.

Then Death came along and complicated matters. Death used to be a force, the same as gravity or light, without thought or form. Now it has a mind and it created a body from the souls of the dead that it reaped. We christened it the Shadow before we found out its true identity.

Death doesn’t like us. Life’s too abundant in this universe. It wants to go back to the way things were, when only demons and the Old Creatures were around. It’s thrown its support behind the Demonata. Under Death’s guidance, the demons have banded together and launched an assault on Earth. Their reward if they triumph will be the obliteration of mankind, control of our universe, and immortality. Not a bad little package!

One of the ancient Old Creatures took Kernel on a trip to the center of the universe, explaining the origins of life along the way. Apparently there was one universe to begin with, divided into sixty-four zones, half white and half black, like a chessboard. The Kah-Gash held it all together, keeping the demons and Old Creatures apart. Then law and order broke down, the Big Bang shattered everything, and life as we know it began.

The Old Creatures protected us from the Demonata as long as they could, but they’ve been fighting a losing battle. Unlike the demons, they can’t reproduce, so when the last one dies, we’ll be left to the devices of the inhuman armies. That spells curtains for this world and all the others in our universe.

To deny the demons their triumph, the Old Creatures created an ark. Like Noah’s, only this is an entire world, staffed by a variety of the universe’s more magical creatures. They want Kernel to captain the ark. As the eyes of the Kah-Gash, he can find shortcuts between any two points in the universe. By keeping him alive forever, the Old Creatures hope that he can steer the ark one step ahead of the pursuing Demonata, ensuring that a small section of our universe survives until the end of time.

It would have been easy for Kernel to accept their offer. But he came back and pitched in with us for one last assault. The Old Creatures said we couldn’t beat Death, that it’s invulnerable, but Kernel refused to write off our chances. He joined with Bec and me, and we confronted the Shadow.

We managed to destroy Death’s body, but it’s only a matter of time before it returns, bigger and badder than before, to lead its followers to victory. Seeing this, Kernel chose to return to the ark. I asked him to stay and fight. Bec had been captured by Lord Loss and I wanted us to free her, then unleash the full force of the Kah-Gash on Death when it returned.

Kernel refused. He thought Bec had switched allegiances and sided with Lord Loss. Even if she hadn’t, he couldn’t see any way of defeating Death. He got ready to open a window and take off for pastures unimaginably distant.

That’s when I lost my cool and tore out his eyes. I needed Kernel to find Bec for us to stand any sort of chance against Death. If I had to blind and imprison him to force his hand, so be it. The human Grubbs Grady could never have acted so viciously, but the new, wolfen me… Well, I don’t sleep with an easy conscience, but I can live with it.

“How does he look?” Kernel asks Kirilli. “Ashamed? He should. What he did to me, I wouldn’t have done to a dog. Or a demon. Not even a werewolf.”

“He looks tired,” Kirilli says, offering me a slight smile.

“Poor Grubbs,” Kernel sneers. “Are you overworked? You should take a week off, treat yourself to a vacation.”

“That’s right,” I sigh. “Go on hating me. It’s not like you’ve got anything else to hate, is it?”

“The Demonata?” Kernel shakes his head. “I don’t hate them. They’re doing what they were born to. Nature spat them out as foul, heartless killers. That’s the way they are. You, on the other hand, chose vileness over humanity. We were friends. I trusted you. But then you did this to me and keep me here against my will, even though you know it’s wrong. I despise you more than I ever thought possible.”

I sniff away his insults. “Whatever,” I deadpan, echoing the girl with the yo-yo. “We’re staying here the rest of the night, then moving out at ten in the morning. If you want anything, ask a nurse.”

“I want new eyes,” Kernel snarls. “Can a nurse fetch me those?”

I start for the door.

“Grubbs,” Kernel stops me. I glance back wearily, preparing myself for more insults. “Why are we still here?”

I frown. “I told you, we’re staying overnight, then—”

“I mean on Earth,” he interrupts. “When you blinded me, you said you needed me to find Bec, that we’d wait for our wounds to heal, then rescue her. But it’s been a month and we haven’t gone after her. Why not?”

I’m surprised Kernel hasn’t mentioned this before. I kept waiting for him to ask and had all sorts of responses lined up. But now my tongue freezes. I flash on the dreams I’ve been having, think about sharing them with him, then shake my head.

“We’re not ready. We’ll go for Bec when the time is right. We can do more good here at the moment.”

“We? Kernel replies archly. “All I do is wait around in hospitals for you to return from the killing fields. If you’re not going to use me, set me free.”

“I will use you,” I mutter. “When it’s time, I’ll take you back to the demon universe and let you build new eyes.”

“And then?” Kernel prompts.

“We’ll find Bec.”

“Find her?” He pounces like a cat. “Not rescue her?”

I gulp, then nod at Kirilli. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Not if I see you first,” Kernel calls after me, then raises his voice as I exit, to make sure I hear his parting shot. “Not that that’s very likely!”

I find an unoccupied room on an upper floor of the hospital and make a bed out of some balled-up surgical gowns. I’d rather not sleep, but rest is vital, even for a creature like me. I have to be at my sharpest to keep on fighting demons.

I think about my conversation with Kernel, and about Dervish, Juni, Lord Loss, Bec. I recall the prophecy again, the way Juni cackled, her delight as she described seeing the world explode, the universe burning beneath my twisted hands.

It’s too much. Guilt, fear, and loneliness overwhelm me. I’m not in close touch with my human emotions these days. I’ve become a detached, brutal excuse for a person. But tonight, for a few brief minutes, my defenses crumble. I become an awkward teenager again. I feel the weight of the expectations that ride upon me… the awful price the world will pay if I fail… those who’ve been lost… the lives I’ve taken, like the confused little girl tonight… the fear of what might be waiting for me when I cross to Lord Loss’s realm… Juni’s prophecy.

As my face contorts and becomes more human, my chest heaves and I weep. Hot, thick, salty tears run down my cheeks as I sob and beg for help from the dead—Dervish and Beranabus, Mum and Dad, Meera and Bill-E. I’ve blinded a friend. Hidden terrible truths from those who’ve placed their trust in me. Killed and lied. And, if Juni’s to be believed, there’s worse to come.

I wail and mumble madly, biting into the gowns to stifle my cries, pounding my chest and face with my fists. I curse the universe, God if he exists, the Old Creatures, the Disciples, Lord Loss, and all the demons. But most of all I curse myself, poor, pitiful, apocalyptic Grubbs Grady.

Then, as the tears dry… as the werewolf regains control and my features harden and transform… as I bury my humanity deep again… as the Kah-Gash whispers and tells me I’m not alone and to stop behaving like a child… I gradually calm down.

I turn and readjust the gowns. Make myself comfortable. Breathe more slowly. Mutter a short spell. And fall into what should be a pure and dreamless sleep—but isn’t.