11

“Why aren’t we fighting them?” Pyro asked. “We could. Logan, just do that animal thing again.”

He gave him a sidelong glare. “Animal thing?” He then scowled and mentally dismissed his thought train. “I don’t think fightin’s gonna help much at the moment.”

Pyro scoffed in disbelief. “Excuse me? What pod person are you exactly? We can kick their asses - “

“Follow my lead, kid,” he snapped, hoping John would just shut the hell up.

Big giant ugly - Abra - chuckled, sounding like an avalanche down a mountainside. "You think you can fight a god, little Human? How dumb are you?"

"You're no more a god than I am," John spat, apparently thinking Abra was referring to himself.

The expression on the giant's face changed, and Logan realized that had offended him for some reason. He looked at Giles, whose glance was concerned. Had John really screwed the pooch here?

He hardly had time to wonder. Reality seemed to blink, and Logan found himself in a dark place, standing in cold, ankle deep - and judging by the smell - stagnant water. "Motherfucker," he growled to no one, his curse echoing through the dark space. He'd been separated from the others. Because he was Bob's avatar? Good bet. They couldn't risk killing him and bringing Bob to the party, so they just sent him elsewhere.

His eyes adjusted, but he didn't know why they bothered, as he was in a place that was empty as it was dark. There were walls and a ceiling - stone by the feel of them - but it could have been nothing more than a part of a sewer system. If he'd smelled Humans he'd think he was back on Earth, but he wasn't picking up anything human besides himself.

He decided to explore the space, see if there was an exit, but after about ten minutes he realized that he just might be inside something enclosed, something that looped around on itself like an ouroboros. But he heard a noise, tiny and wet, and continued on cautiously, finally picking up a scent of something ... demonic. Unrecognizable, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Although he saw nothing, no movement in the dark, he sprung his claws.

"Holy shit!" a voice yelped, and Logan caught a quiver of movement on the far right hand side ahead of him. Was it flat against the wall? "I ain't gonna do anything to ya, man! I'm harmless!"

Was it ..? As he neared the area where he saw the movement, he realized that it was indeed flat against the wall - it was clinging to the wall.

This demon was unlike any he'd seen before, although it could have been a relative of Thrak's. It was a spongy wet mass spread over a patch of wall about two feet in length and a foot and a half wide. He could only tell where the top of it was because it had two eye stalks that swiveled to face him as he sloshed near, thin antennae that ended in eyeballs the size of small apples, and very nearly the same color pale green. "What the hell are you?"

The eyes blinked at him in a manner that could have signified offense. "What kind of question is that? I'm a clergon."

"Klingon?"

"CLER-gon! Jeeze, why do all you humans say that?"

Logan still couldn't tell where it was speaking from. "You've met other humans?"

"Yeah, this is the place Abra flushes the ones he has no interest in. I can see why he flushed you ... you gonna put those away? I don't have a spine or a skeleton, you know. You could probably punch a hole through me; you don't need knives."

Although it looked like it was telling the truth, you couldn't take such things for granted with a demon. “You related to ughs at all?"

"Ugh demons? Yeah, we're distant cousins." Logan retracted his claws. The worst thing Thrak could do - besides sing and make everyone's brain explode out their ears - was stain his clothes. “Thank you. So you've met ughs?"

"I know one, kinda. named Thrak."

"Thrakazog? Oh man, he gets around, don't he?" There was a gurgling noise that could have been a chuckle. "So he's on Earth now, huh?"

"He really is a he?"

The clergon paused and blinked at him for a moment. "Technically, we're all hermaphrodites. We're both he and she."

"Ah. yeah, I know a kid like that." Somehow he didn't think Sunshine would take any comfort in knowing that some demons could be both sexes at once too. "So why are you down here if this is Abra's toilet?"

There was a strange chittering noise that Logan realized was laughter as soon as the clergon said, “Ha, toilet. Well, I'm in the crapper - so to speak - 'cause I pissed him off. Apparently I talk too much. Do I talk too much? No fucking way. The problem is, he's a grumpy bastard. He's still sore about being abandoned by the gods, or whatever the fuck he thinks."

Oh great. He could just tell this flattened slug was a chatterbox. Just his luck. "If he hates the gods, why is he working with one?"

There was a squelching noise as the clergon shifted position on the wall. It was like watching a flattened wet pelt realign itself. "Ah, see, he's a vain bugger too. He was buttered up until he could squeeze through a Bruggan's blowhole, you know what I mean?"

"No." He didn't have the slightest idea what the fuck he was talking about. “Who's the god?"

"Ralph."

“Ralph?" Logan repeated in disbelief. Well, if Bob could be Bob, he supposed a god could call itself whatever it wanted. But Ralph?

“Well, he says it's pronounced "rafe", but fuck me, it's Ralph."

“So what does Ralph do? What does he look like?"

The rubbery brown skin of the clergon rippled like a flag in the wind, and Logan decided to interpret that as a shrug. "A guy. Bipedal. Sometimes he's a woman. He likes to shift persona. As far as powers go ... I dunno. He's a god. They do god stuff. Shouldn't you know? You gotta whiff of god about you."

"I'm an avatar, but I'm not possessed right now."

"An avatar? Fuck you! Since when can a human be an avatar?"

"I have a healing factor. And fuck you, I am. You said I had a whiff of god about me yourself."

He made a noise that could have been a chuckle, but sounded like water burping in a clogged drain. "So who's the god?"

"Bob."

The clergon suddenly fell from the wall and splashed into the water, disappearing entirely beneath its dark, still surface. Then after a moment, the two eyestalks popped out of the water and blinked up at him nervously. "Bob? You haven't told him I'm here, have you?"

Wow - Bob got around, didn't he? “I'm not talking to him right now, and I have no idea who the fuck you are." Hey, wait a minute - how was he talking underwater? This was fucking weird.

“Okay, good.” It paused, the water slowing down its sloshing. “I’m Whoomp, by the way.”

“No yer not,” he snapped. “Whoomp is not a name. It’s the worst alias I’ve ever heard in my life.” He grimaced as he realized he really didn’t give a shit. “Fuck it, call yourself Banana Boat, see if I care. Is there a way out of here?”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s generally a yes or no question.”

“I don’t like to look around too much. I’m afraid of what I might find.”

That was actually sensible. He couldn’t find too much fault with that. Logan sloshed on ahead, doing his best to avoid stepping on whatever Whoomp was. (He was not calling him Whoomp. For no reason at all, he mentally dubbed him “Frank”.) But the sounds in the water and the sense of disturbance clued him in that Frank was following him. “Go back to hangin’ on the wall if you can’t be helpful.”

“I’d like to get out of here,” the demon said. “It’s dark and it smells funny, and there’s no one to talk to. Also, there isn’t a single Belgian waffle to be found. Believe me, I’ve looked.”

Belgian waffles? If someone told him that none of this actually happened, that the last few years of his life was an imposed delusion by a psychotic telepath who wanted to drive him crazy, he’d believe it. They’d have to be the most fucked up person in the world, and probably constantly on mescaline, but he wouldn’t put anything past the Organization. He mentally waved a white flag - he gave up; he’d give them absolutely anything they wanted - but no one bit. Damn it, maybe this was all real.

Maybe he was on mescaline. Hey, yeah - he probably had no tolerance for peyote yet. Maybe, while his immune system was adjusting, he was hallucinating all this shit. Oh man, he so wished that was true. Why couldn’t it be true?

“Unless you can find an exit, get the fuck away from me.”

For a long moment, there was no sound but the sloshing of the water, and then Frank said, almost hesitantly, “I think there’s a tunnel up.”

“A tunnel up? Where?”

“Well, if you follow this place long enough, you’ll find it.”

This guy was as helpful as a teaspoon in a flood. What did he think he was doing?! Listening to a demon who could have been a manta ray’s uglier cousin. Somewhere above him there was big ugly talking to his god - who was probably going to double cross him; did that never occur to these idiots? - with Giles, John, and all the others. He had to get back to them, even if he started cutting through whatever these tunnels were made of.

It was in the second - third? Maybe fourth - length of similar looking tunnels that he smelled something familiar. It was vaguely canine, and vaguely Human. “Oz?” he asked. He was used to the darkness, but he still followed the scent to a shape slumped against the far wall. Oz was back in Human form, and his torso was so pale it almost glowed. He also wore a gold ring in one nipple, and had a tattoo of a bleeding heart on his chest. He was really one of those guys that benefited from a shirt. “Oz. Hey, wake up.” He was forced to crouch down and shake him, and was contemplating moving on to slapping when he finally started to regain consciousness. He opened his eyes slowly, and looked around as if half asleep. Finally, when he looked back at Logan, he asked, “So, is there a reason I’m naked and sitting in someone’s flooded basement? Or did I fall asleep during a performance art piece?”

“I wish. You wolfed out and attacked a bunch of demons. The head honcho’s working with some deranged god, and because we hurt a lot of the shook troops, we were exiled to the sub-basement.”

For a long moment, he just stared at him. Then he moved his shoulders slightly, a faint shrug, and admitted, “It happens.” He started to stand up, but then sat back down. “Say, you don’t see my clothes floating around, do you?”

“No.” And it wasn’t like there was a lot of stuff they could use in lieu of it. Logan had no choice but to take off what was left of his shirt, torn and bloody as it was, and handed it to him. “All I got.”

“Thanks,” he said, taking it. “I’m cool with nudity - I mean, I’m a werewolf, I better be by now - but I don’t like the idea of the big bads being able to see easy to rip off parts.”

“Understood.” That had occasionally occurred to Logan, but only as an afterthought; if he was in fight mode, he could be wearing a tutu. He really didn’t notice these things until after the fact.

Oz looked at his t-shirt for a moment, and Logan thought he was going to comment on its ragged state, but instead he said, “You’ve got quite the chest, don’t you? Is that what they mean by barrel chest? ‘Cause when I was kid, I always imagined one of those guys wearing a barrel.”

Logan looked down at himself, and tried to think of a response. Sometimes Oz just said things that he wasn’t sure he should even acknowledge. “I’m not sure I’m barrel chested, I’m just kinda broad.”

Oz stood up (shakily, although he seemed to try and pretend he wasn’t) and tied the remains of Logan’s shirt around his waist. He was skinny enough that it actually fit pretty well, although it looked like he was wearing the world’s weirdest skirt.

There was sloshing as Frank repositioned himself, and then his eyestalks bobbed into view beside him. “Hi, I’m Whoomp.”

Oz didn’t seem at all surprised by the eyestalks blinking at him. Then again, being a werewolf, you probably got used to the odd really fast. “Oh. You just eyes or what?”

“He has a body, it’s just … flat,” Logan said, and quickly added, “There’s no fucking way his name is Whoomp. Just call him Frank.”

Oz shrugged. “Whatever. What’s the deal down here?”

“Again, it’s a sub-basement. I’m tryin’ to find a way out.”

“Sounds good. Let’s go.”

Logan continued on, with Frank and Oz trailing behind him. Again, this could be a hallucination, and it would explain everything.

About seven tunnels down Logan did start to notice a gradient slope, but along with that came a scent that was strange; kind of damp and moldy, like sweat socks left behind a radiator. “Oh man, is that demon farts?” Oz gasped, reacting to it too. Logan wasn’t sure if it was comforting that someone else had super-smelling, or if it was weird that his senses no longer gave him a personal edge.

“It’s the Vrillyan,” Frank said. “They taste like rust.”

Logan and Oz stopped and looked down at the eyestalks. “What’s a Vrillyan?” Logan asked first.

“Just a pest. You know, like an earth insect.”

For some reason, even though Frank said it very casually, it set off alarm bells in his head. “What kinda insect?”

That’s when they heard the noise.

It was like steam venting from a burst radiator, an intense hiss, and Logan and Oz looked ahead of them to see a shape resolve in the darkness, something about the size and shape of a Volkswagen Bug, but with five legs on either side of its bulbous body. It had a sleek black and blue mottled carapace, and black embers for eyes over a wide pair of mandibles that opened and closed with castanet clicks. There were actually two sets of mandibles, one set over the other, and they opened wide enough that they could have theoretically bit off their heads.

“I’m gonna guess spider,” Oz said.

Oh fuck.

****

“Hey!” John shouted, as soon as Logan and the coven disappeared. “Where the fuck did they go?!”

Giles could have told him, but felt too irritated to respond. He was hoping that Abra would get rid of John too, but oh no, he had to leave him and Ate.

This was hell.

More of Abra’s remaining demon soldiers came over, and essentially rounded them up, surrounding them on all sides. John exchanged angry looks with some of them and flicked open his lighter, but Giles grabbed his arm and hissed, “Save it for later.”

John’s look was skeptical. “Why? What are we waiting for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it,” Giles whispered harshly. Had this boy no patience at all?

“Where’s my coven?” Ate demanded, not intimidated by either Abra or the demons surrounding her. And why would she be? She used to be a god, and still carried herself like she was.

“A safer place than here,” Abra replied cryptically, and then motioned for them to lead the way through the rock arch that led deeper into the canyon. Reluctantly, Giles did so, but on the inside he wasn’t reluctant at all; this was pretty much going according to plan. It was just awful when a plan demanded so much of you.

Giles expected more canyon, but stepping through the arch he suddenly moved from canyon to what seemed like a wide, tiled lobby, with an indecipherable black pattern on a white background, and several hard plastic waiting room chairs lined up against the far white walls. There was no way Abra could have fit in this place, he’d have taken the ceiling right out, but he was transformed into a tall - but still realistic - Human man in a neat blue suit. He had thick black hair and a trim figure, he was almost chic, except his skin was still grey, and his eyes were just empty sockets. It was close, but clearly he had to go back to the drawing table. “Have a seat,” Abra said. “He should be by shortly.”

“Who’s he?” Ate demanded, remaining standing.

Giles sat down because he was tired, and John followed suit, looking around intently. “I don’t remember walking through a door.”

“You didn’t.”

He looked confused. “Am I supposed to get any of this?”

“No.”

“You’ll find out,” Abra said to Ate, gesturing to a chair. She made a gesture back at him, a single finger raised, but he didn’t know what it meant and just seemed peeved that she wouldn’t sit down.

Finally someone appeared in the center of the room, a vaguely Humanoid shaped red flame. It wasn’t a man on fire or a flaming aura, just someone made out of flames. Gods could show up in any form they wanted, more often than not, and flames were quite popular for the “awe“ effect, so Giles wasn’t surprised. Abra stood off to the side, looking like he wanted to genuflect but wasn’t sure how.

There was no face, so Giles only knew he was talking to him because he pointed a flaming hand in his direction. “You! You have br -”

“This is bullshit!” Ate suddenly snapped. “Ralph, is that you?!”

Ralph?