M Being Dead is Kinda Lame... I guess

[Amalia Eckern]

Amalia froze as the Dullahan sunk its impossibly strong fingers into her back. Paralyzed, all she could do was suffer as the fae monstrosity grasped her spinal column and tugged. It didn’t break free, not right away, instead a series of pops traveled along her insides as connective tissue snapped like rubber bands. Another tug ripped her spine partially free from its fleshy prison. It was a jagged cable of pinkish-white bone. Small spirits spilled out from their home within the joints of her spine, tumbling to the ground in a fit of confusion. Amalia gasped, her entire body trembling as nerves were torn apart. A final wrenching tug ripped the rest of her spine free and she collapsed, her final moments spent watching the Dullahan speed off after an injured Nico.

Then? Nothing. An absence of sensation so devoid of description that it might as well not exist.























Then, she woke up. Sensations filled her body as if it was wax being poured into a mold. Her skin prickled. Her chest filled with breath and her eyes with light. Floating, thousands of feet beneath the ocean’s surface, she was suspended in an iron barred shark cage. And despite being completely submerged, breathing came easily. Amalia stood on shaky legs, the naked soles of her feet growing cold against the cage’s floor. She was naked, bare against the open and unending sea. Worst of all was the silence. The near-constant chatter of her inner spirits had vanished. Quietly she whispered for Erin, but the bird-spirit did not answer.

It was sort of peaceful. This was death. She had always assumed Davy Jones’ locker was reserved for pirates, but maybe this was the fate of every Opealonean? She closed her eyes and let herself simply float. No chittering spirits? No Darkseid? Yeah, she could get used to this. She could get used to this. What about Juno? She’d be worried sick. She was probably already worried sick. But… she’d be fine. She was a lot tougher than Amalia was, she’d move on and it’d be fine. Amalia wondered if her parents would even care that she died, hell she wasn’t even sure if they were alive anymore. Whatever, it didn’t matter, not anymore.

As she was settling back into comfortable nonexistence a screeching voice cut through the peace, “Amalia! We must leave from this terrible place!”

“Go away Erin,” Amalia said, “I’m dead.”

Erin flew through the water and landed on the cage, sending it tumbling end-over-end in the water. To Amalia’s surprise the bird-spirit had grown massive, becoming almost as large as a sloop. Amalia’s naked body slammed against the bars and she cried out in pain. Erin’s talons grabbed the cage and with a mighty flap of her wings they were propelled upwards.

Amalia steadied herself and shouted upwards, “Let me go, Erin!”

“You do not desire this fate, Amalia!” Erin screeched, drawing them higher and higher.

“How do you know what I want?” She shouted, “I don’t want my spine ripped out anymore, I don’t want my parents to try and kill me, I don’t want my home to sink, and I don’t want spirits treating my body like a fucking hostel!”

“How do I know?” Erin responded, “We’ve shared a body since you were a child, you cannot hide your lust for life from me.”

Amalia paused. It wasn’t as if she wanted to die, but, in her experience, living wasn’t all that great. It really was just jumping from one tragedy to the next. There were only brief moments of happiness, like little oases dotting a dried-out landscape of suffering. If she was meant to crawl through this blistering desert for the rest of her life, then yeah, death didn’t seem so bad. So when Erin referred to her “lust for life” she had no real clue of what the bird-spirit meant.

“Erin… really, it’s fine,” Amalia said, “Let me go, just move on and… do whatever spirits do without a host, I want to stay.”

“If this is your true wish, I will oblige, but you should look below before you make your decision.”

That sounded ominous. Amalia went to her knees and crawled to the edge of the cage, peering over the edge. From the inky depths below appeared a gigantic skeleton. It surged after them, its unfathomably large body unfurling from seeming nonexistence. It opened its mouth, rising ever closer in an attempt to swallow them whole. Amalia pulled back and muttered, “Is that…?”

“Indeed, The Gashadokuro,” Erin answered, “This realm allows us spirits to manifest freely and completely, I believe it wishes to quench its endless thirst using your blood.”

Did she even have blood anymore?

“Do you still wish to languish?” Erin asked.

Amalia didn’t think of it as languishing, more like acceptance, but neither seemed possible when a several story tall skeleton monster was trying to drink her blood. A task that it was growing ever closer to completing. It lunged upwards, and Amalia screamed in terror as the monster’s teeth scraped against the bottomside of her cage. Above them the surface of the ocean grew ever closer and just as the skeleton wound up for another lunge they burst free.

The sky above was black as night and devoid of stars, but below the ocean glittered with thousands of shimmering lights. It appeared as a swirling mass of cosmic bodies drifting along. Quasars and nebulas zoomed past as Erin stopped going upwards and instead soared alongside the astral sea.

“Its… beautiful,” Amalia whispered.

 

[Nico Cinder]

"Hrk..."

Nico's blood exited his body from several places. It spilled from his mouth and left nostril like a lopsided faucet, painting the Dullahan's arm slick crimson. It also flowed freely from the new hole in his chest, the source of his leaky pipes. A chittering hiss creaked from the Dullahan's gullet - or maybe that was the last of Nico's breath, escaping his gullet. The entity enjoyed the last beats of its victim's heart in its slender grasp, reveling in the ebb and tide of life.
















...

Well, here we are again. Going to hell remained one of Nico's favorite hobbies, despite the generically violent ways it tended to happen. He always felt like he took something away by the time he was done with his punishment, like he left with a little piece of hell in his pocket. A piece of metaphorical brimstone burning a metaphorical hole in your nice threads goes a long way in motivating you to be your best damned self. Speaking of, the dead rockstar was surprised when there was no cheeky demon waiting for him, wherever he was. Usually, but not always, one of hell's minions would check on his progress and general feelings and status after death, like some kind of counselor or parole officer. Sometimes, they would assign him a specific punishment for those fleeting, interim moments that he found himself dead to rights. But there was no interview with a devil this death, no, just inky black for an imperceptible amount of time.

His legs felt like hot sand, but Nico still couldn't quite feel his feet, or even his legs. He felt his eyes come back to him though. Looking down, he realized that his feet were definitely there, and they were definitely on fire. Plasmatic flames licked at his heels, shifting from orange to green to blue to red over and over again, flickering shades with a vengeance. It is warm, piercing, but not throbbing. Just present, ever-enveloping. Constant. He only feels the heat up to his calves. This pain is something familiar, and familiar things are comfortable in comparison to the void, so Nico took it in like a deep breath. Comfort in discomfort, if such a thing could be true. An odd form of torture.

More time passes. Nico has grown so used to time passing that he has forgone the use of most time-keeping devices, when applicable. This really helps him adjust to places without clocks, like the afterlife. The dead man on fire crossed his arms. He supposed that perhaps in some places the dead kept clocks. They are known for their timeliness, after all. Aside from the nebulae of fire he stood on, Nico couldn't 'see' much. Colors arranged vaguely in the shape of shapes, and not much else. Coming back into one's mortal coil is an uncomfortable experience, muddled by the limitations placed on a consciousness by the human body. Makes it hard to understand one's surroundings, especially when half your body feels as if it's coming and going as it pleases. The fire continued to be warmer than necessary. He tried to stretch, but wasn't even spared the sensation of stretching. So wavering were his senses that he did not notice himself being yanked in the direction of what he could only ascertain to be "up", or something like it.

When Amalia first spotted a pair of hands jutting from the sea of stars, her first instinct was admittedly not to reach out and try to touch them. But, something about the way this particular pair of hands seemed to really reach out of the stars sparked her curiosity enough to ask Erin to make a pass. Crouching low against the corner of her cage, she snatched up a wrist. She was surprised by how easy it was to drag Nico out of the water. She certainly didn't feel as weightless as he appeared to be, only needing the one hand. Entire galaxies dripped into the ocean below from Nico's limp body as Erin regained altitude. Amalia could not help but notice that the boy's feet were on fire.

"Nico?"

"Yeap?" came a weak response. She looked at him with a bit of concern, and had little trouble standing up despite carrying the boy by his wrist. He really was, for some reason, practically made of air. Awkwardly, he attempted to wrap his free arm around one of the bars, leaning against the cage with one flaming foot on it, one off. Amalia did not feel comfortable letting go of him yet. He might float off. The fire around his feet did not seem to give off any heat.

"What were you doing down there?" she asked.

"Same as you, probably," he said.

"Why are your feet on fire?" she asked, to which Nico looked down and shrugged.

"Couldn't tell ya," he said.

"Well...doesn't it hurt?" Amalia said hesitantly, as if she wasn't even sure that it did.

"Kiiiinda," murmured Nico.

"Well...don't you wanna do something about it?" she ventured again. Nico pursed his lips.

"Yeah, guess I fuckin' should, huh?" he sighed. Amalia let go of his wrist, and he grabbed another bar. When both feet were squarely on the cage, the fire flickered out. Nico supposed he could hang out for a while and look at the stars.

 

[Amalia Eckern]

They continued along the astral sea for a spell. It was completely devoid of sound, save for the steady beating of Erin’s wings. Now that Nico had a solid hold on the cage Amalia slunk back into the corner furthest from him. She was naked, and for a moment she thought being dead would have cured her of embarrassment and other “mundane” things, but with Nico here she realized that wasn’t the case. To his credit, he kept his gaze forward and out across the cosmic ocean. Why was he lucky enough to get clothing and cool fire-feet? As she lamented her situation Amalia came to a realization - she wasn’t nude anymore. Familiar clothing had seemingly materialized on her body without her knowledge.

“So…” Amalia began, clearing her throat to speak.

“So,” Nico responded, glancing towards her in surprise, “Oh! Hey! Nice threads.”

“Uhm, thanks,” She said, “...We’re dead, so now what?”

“First time?”

“What?”

“First time being dead?” He clarified.

She wasn’t aware of there being any time besides the first time for being dead. Sure there were always stories of long lost pirates re-emerging to terrorize the seas. But, surely they were just on a vacation or something, right? After all, pirates needed breaks from the rise and grind too.

“You’ve been dead before?” She asked, “Like, more than once?”

“Oh yeah totally,” He explained, “A few times, actually… I think I’ve got enough punches for a free smoothie.”

“Wait… they’ve got punch cards? They’ve got smoothies?” Her mind was spinning.

Nico snirked, “No, at least I don’t think so, it was a joke.”

“Oh…” A smoothie would’ve been nice, “So, wait, how do we get out of here?”

Nico shrugged, his grip slipped slightly and he scrambled to reattach himself to the cage, “I mean, usually I just kind of hang around until the lads do a bit of cheeky resurrection.”

“Resurrection?”

“Yeah, you know, like some sort of forbidden occult ritual with questionable side effects,” He said plainly, “Or a deal with a devil for some vague poorly defined cost, the ushe.”

Amalia frowned. She didn’t have any “lads” with which to perform some potentially dangerous ritual. To be fair, she had Juno, but Juneberry wasn’t a lad and definitely didn’t seem like the type that would be interested in the occult. Her parents, however, were certainly the types to dabble in the occult (though she did wonder if the unmade were even considered occult, like what even were they?) She shuddered to think what they’d have in store for her if they were the ones to bring her back. But besides Juno and her parents, who would even care if she was gone? Not a single soul.

“Woah,” Nico exclaimed, his gaze back towards the sea, “What is that?”

Amalia didn’t like the way he put that. She leaned over the edge and saw a form breaching through the water. A spindly arm, wrapped in leathery red skin and adorned with sharp talons, reached out towards them. Around it the sea had taken on a bloody tinge as if the contents of a butcher shop had been dumped overboard. Amalia’s gut tingled and before she could speak the hand flexed open. As fast as lightning a spike of black iron sprouted from the hand, extending outwards towards them. It greedily swallowed the distance separating them and Erin cried out as it skewered her body. Amalia screamed as the bird spirit dropped her cage and she and Nico were sent tumbling into the abyss below.

 

[Nico Cinder]

Firelight, laughter. The distant sound of music. Things to be remembered, for the dead and dying. To be greeted by these harbingers after death is to be counted among the luckiest of souls found in creation. Amalia had never really been known for her luck, but she could, at least, take solace in this one choice instance of defying fate. A cacophony of voices and noises rang out, somewhat resembling any number of instruments and singing. Music. This was her first indication that she was 'awake', or anywhere at all. When her eyes instinctively fluttered their way open, all she saw were blurry glows, sharply colored smears. The sounds of glass clinked somewhere nearby, and more and more voices joined the fray. Amalia was beginning to become acutely aware that there were many people in this room. Her hands blindly felt their way to her arms in a snug hug. As her fingertips hit her skin, Amalia was once again graced with sight, and the fellas in the brass section began to let it roll.

For Those Lucky Few

My personal favorite as I wrote this ended up being 39:42. But go nuts, pick a random starting point. For all you know, they're all playing different songs at the same time.

Amalia was sitting alone at the bar in the middle of a very crowded jazz lounge. Smoke and conversation languished about the expansive, lowlit room with a lazy fervor, and the big band was in full swing. Candles with red and pink flames adorned the walls and clothed tables, the bar. What she could only describe as demons stood on stage, swaying about as they tended to their notes and chords and discordant melodies. Horned men and women of varying appendages and unnatural skin tones - or no skin at all, even, made merry. One of them was even strumming something with its spaded tail. Looking around, she noticed that all the silhouettes milling about the lounge too, had eyes that glowed a crystalline ghostly yellow. She did her best not to meet any of them. The bartender nearest her erupted in laughter, sharp fanged teeth glinting in the candlelight as she poured another drink with finesse. A neon sign of a winking skeleton blinked behind the demon woman:

"Mr. Bones' Wild Dive"

Well, at least she knew where she was now. Sort of. Turning around on her bar stool, she tried to get a better look at the dark room. There were several windows scattered about, but she couldn't see a thing through them. Just empty. Black. Upon further investigation, there didn't seem to be a door to this place, least not one she could see so...No exit. Then, Amalia bit back a small gasp. Where the hell was Nico? She did her best to try and remember how she got here, but it was altogether foggy and unpleasant. Trying not to seem too obvious, she scanned the room with her heartbeat in her ears. Then she looked at the band again.

Nico was off stage left strumming some sort of large three stringed instrument she didn't quite recognize. Little did she know, Nico didn't recognize it either. He had no idea what he was doing, but he was definitely doing it, keeping tempo with the rest of the demonic band's crescendo. He and a group of three jovial devils that were sitting closest to him below the stage were singing along with the rest of the band. Horribly off key from them, but no one seemed to mind or care. Nico and his...friends? They sure seemed to like the way they sounded. By sheer luck, their eyes met across the busy room. Nico grinned, and did his best to shoot her a look that hopefully translated to "don't freak out." With some quick thinking, he tossed his rather heavy instrument to a fluttering imp-like creature that had no business catching it as easy as it did. The thing cackled so hard Amalia heard it from her spot at the bar, and it flew up stage to take Nico's spot. The dead punk made his way to his dead cohort, taking the empty seat next to her.

"Sup?" he said with a grin before flagging down the lady bartender from earlier. "That and that," he said, pointing indiscriminately.

"How are you so calm about all these things that happen to you?" She asked. Her fingers rolled and twisted the cloth napkin hanging off the bar. Whatever fabric it consisted of had a strange texture, somehow soft and rough at the same time. It was something completely foreign to Amalia. Some might find this paradox infuriating, but it was oddly comforting to the girl. "You really looked at home up there."

Nico glanced back to the stage, and the demons. He wasn't sure if he should laugh or not. The bartender returned, leaving a mug of something foaming over at Nico's spot and a short glass of some purple liquid in front of Amalia. She leaned over and sniffed it. No, maybe not, she reckoned.

"Oh c'mon," Nico continued. "You have a giant bird."

"Erin!" Amalia practically shouted. "Oh my god! W-what happened to her? The last thing I-"

Nico shook his head, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Erin's fine," he said.

I think, he thought.

"This establishment just has a 'no giant birds' policy. That's all." She gave him a look. Nico was used to this look. "As soon as I woke up here, I had a feeling some magic metaphysical fuckery was going on. Don't sweat it, I promise. We'll be out of here in uh, heheh. No time."

God. Time in this place, yeah right. Good luck keeping track of that clock. Nico looked around, reconfirming that this was not, in fact, one of those places where the dead kept clocks.

"Where exactly is here, Nico?" Amalia asked, the worry still written in her voice. He gave her a spooky look.

"Hell," he said plainly. "Where were we before?"

"Hell?" She asked, ignoring his question. "Like, the Hell?"

He shrugged. "One of 'em. One of many."

She gulped, suddenly reminded of how she was unable to locate an entrance or an exit to this place. "I thought like...Hell was full of torture. And hot? Like lava hot. Lots of fire and lava, that was my understanding of what hell was like."

"Well, usually it is hot as balls in here. Daggery must've finally fixed the AC," the musician said with a chuckle. "But the torture is out there," he said, nodding at one of the pitch black windows. Peering closer revealed nothing to Amalia. It was just spilled ink. Nothingness.

"It's there, even if you can't see it. Like the god damned stars. Somewhere, for some reason." he finished softly.

"Well..." Amalia began, after a brief silence. "You guys seem to be having fun in here. It doesn't seem to be very torturous at all."

"Right you'd be. It's not all torture," he explained. "There are waiting rooms. Places to rest, relax, after you've done your daily dose. You'd be surprised how quickly an eternity of torture stops being torture. Besides, not all these demons are bad guys. You'd be surprised how much you have in common with them. Most folks are."

The girl held back a shudder. "So what category does this place fall into?"

"Here? Here we wait," he said.

"For how long?"

Her question was met with a stare, and a sip of the drink. Not much else.

 

[Amalia Eckern]

Amalia eyed her drink and listened to the band. It was kinda nice. Better than being locked up in a cage underwater for the rest of her… life? She took a drink. The liquor stung at her throat and had a tart, tangy aftertaste. Blech. Still, after a moment of revulsion she took another sip. Wasn’t so bad the second time around. Nico was already on his second drink and had managed to light up a smoke in between the two. Occasionally a demon would approach the table, greeting Nico like an old friend. The two would spend a few moments catching up, and then, he’d introduce Amalia. Now, she wasn’t exactly anti-social, but the rapid-fire introductions with literal fire-and-brimstone devils left her anxious and awkward.

During one of these meetings she found herself staring out the window. Someone had pulled a black curtain over the window, or, at least that’s what it looked like. In reality she wasn’t sure if anything actually existed out there in all that blackness. Nico said the torture was out there. Somewhere out there in all that dark were souls being picked apart by some vengeful creature. She imagined all sorts of people scrambling around, naked and blind, their bodies being torn and then sewn back together just so they could keep running. She spiraled further and further down that morbid rabid hole, only breaking free when Nico reached out and touched her wrist. She jumped.

“You okay?” He asked.

She stammered a response, realizing he had been calling her name, “I…uh…sorry.”

“S’all good,” Nico answered, chancing a glance to the window himself, “Things can get a bit dizzying here. ‘Specially if you have too much to drink.”

She had only taken two sips. She wasn’t even buzzed. Still, she pushed the drink away. The music had switched to a slower blues melody. Without a drink in hand she started to fidget, picking at the edges of her fingernails.

“So,” She started, “You said your boys will bring you back, what if… you don’t have any boys?”

Nico shrugged, “There’s a million other ways out, I wouldn’t sweat it.”

Her sister had been buried for years now and she hadn’t come back. Amalia wondered if she even wanted to come back. Who could blame her if she didn’t? She had nowhere to go, their home had followed Nausicaa back into the ocean. Their parents, if they were even still alive, were some super fucked up cultists. And, worst of all? Her sister was a freak whose body was practically a hostel for all sorts of nasty spirits. Amalia couldn’t blame her for wanting to stay dead.

“So we can just leave whenever we want?”

“Bit more complicated than that, but… yeah,” Nico ashed his smoke, “Course that doesn’t mean death won’t stick to you one day, but I’m thinking we’ll be fine.”

Neither of them noticed the demon that approached their table. At least not consciously. The place was full of demons, why would they have been paying attention to any one of them in particular? Regardless, this demon approached and helped himself to a seat at their table. Nico raised an eyebrow and Amalia sheepishly shrank away. This wasn’t one of Nico’s buddies, at least he didn’t introduce himself like all of the others. The demon was built from cord-like muscles and sharp features wrapped in a pressed suit. He reached across the table with too-long arms and grabbed Amalia’s pushed aside drink. WIthout a word and in one smooth motion he downed the drink whole - glass and all.

“Can we help you?” Nico asked, clearly annoyed at the demon’s appearance.

“You can’t,” The demon answered, voice slick as grease, “But, she can.”

“Me?” Amalia nearly choked.

“Hey, whatever it is, we’re not interested,” Nico interjected, stamping his smoke out for emphasis, “Beat it.”

The demon looked Nico up and down, sucking on his fanged teeth. Without a word or even a nod of acknowledgement he turned back to Amalia. “My name is Kuzuru,” The demon said, “And I've got an offer for you.”

“I said, we’re not interested,” Nico said.

“I think the lady can speak for herself,” Kuzuru said, not even bothering to look at Nico, “What’s your name?”

“Amalia,” She answered and immediately kicked herself for doing so. Her heart was racing and leg thumping beneath the table. She got that tunnel vision foggy brain feeling and panicked, giving her name in hopes that he’d be satisfied and leave. He stuck around.

“Amalia,” He repeated, “Well, Miss Amalia, you’re quite the special one, aren’t you? I’ve been stuck here for quite a while and I’ve been pining for a way out, and I think you can give that to me.”

“Uhm… sorry, but--”

“I can give you power,” Kuzuru interrupted, “All you need to do is take me with you, allow me to inhabit your body, just like all the others. Except, I’m not some hapless spirit like the others, I can give you strength and power and you’ll never have to feel fear ever again.”

“No… sorry,” Amalia stammered. She looked towards the window. The abyss was gone, instead the window was filled with an off-white material. It was so far from what she expected that she was brought out of her fear for but a moment. She furrowed her brow, trying to figure out what the hell she was looking at. Then the whole building shook. The band stopped playing. Dust fell from the rafters. Nico looked up, and Kuzuru had vanished. As the roof was peeled away she realized just what was on the other side of that window. Skeletal fingers ripped the roof off, flinging it out of sight. Looming over the entire barroom was the same massive skeleton that had chased her - the Gashadokuro.

It reached down, plucking one of the demons off the stage. People started screaming and yelling and throwing shit at the skeleton, but it didn’t care. Silently it brought the demon up to its mouth. A wet crunch was all anyone heard as the demon chomped the demon in half. It squeezed what was left of the thing’s body, like some sort of twisted ice-pop. It tried to guzzle the rush of blood, but without a throat the blood simply rained down upon the bar. Amalia crouched under her table and the Gashadokuro reached back in for another snack.

“Nico!” Amalia shouted, “Where the fuck do we go!?”

 

[Nico Cinder]

Ahhh fuck. He didn't know.

While the two were having their little pow-wow underneath the counters and tables, there was the distinct rattling of shells and clatter of metal or machinery. A sharp whistle from Nico's right gave him cause to peek up from his hiding spot. He was greeted with a row of angry demon bartenders mounting all manner of assorted and varied weaponry along the bar. An exceptionally larger, bull-horned demon gave a fierce rallying cry as the barrels on her minigun began to whir in excitement. Her fellows all roared in unison and as one, they began to spit unfathomable amounts of lead at the uninvited spirit. The skeleton let loose its own fierce scream as it tried to shield its face from the hail of gunfire, dropping an exceptionally lucky, uneaten demon from its grip as he does. Nico held his eyes on this particular demon for a moment while Big Bones was distracted. The survivor, a thin looking fellow with nubby horns that barely peaked through a mane of bright red hair, desperately found his feet and began sprinting towards the back wall, as if an exit were waiting there for him. Nico snorted, knowing better, knowing a goner when he saw one. Not a single door in this entire establish-

The creature in question promptly found the handle of a door that was not there mere moments before. Flinging it open without a second thought, the demon made his escape into the shadows of the night. Exceptionally lucky indeed.

"Door," Nico said bluntly with a point. She nodded, almost at once catching sight of the eerie black rectangle across the chaos. His other hand lightly tapped her back, urging her to move with him to the next point of cover. And again, and again, they dove and crawled and sprinted and slid through jazzy furniture and flying bodies and bullets. The last stretch was a mad dash, the open door seeming to thrum and vibrate with a stilted rhythm as they approached. The skeleton spirit must've seen their frenzied movement, as it screeched again- god, the sounds this thing was making. It's giant hand made a desperate sweeping clutch for them, but it was too late. Nico and Amalia had left the building.

---

After the slam of the door being shut, the silence outside was unnerving. Nico's chest heaved as he tried to quiet his frenzied breathing. He slumped against the door of the club to a sit. Amalia was having similar struggles, and found a place next to him. The two's combined adrenaline was the only sound for miles. Behind them, the front of the jazz club seemed to not be destroyed, or being attacked by a giant skeleton spirit. It was simply the front of a swanky looking place, red and yellow neon trim, nice warm windows. There was even parking lot beneath their feet, and a bit of sidewalk bordering the building. No sign giving it a name though. No giant skeleton spirit. Looking around, the pavement for both parking lot and sidewalk did not go on for very long before it gave way to more of that black nothingness that seemed to haunt the windows of the bar, and the doorway they went through. There was a single motorcycle in the parking lot, a nice one, pearly white with ebony trim. A tall, ornate street lamp lit the other corner of the bar. It seemed gas powered, for some reason? Wordlessly, Amalia walked to the end of the pavement, and tried to peek around what looked to be an alleyway leading to the back of the bar. She sucked in her breath.

"Nico," she said. "Come over here."

He did. When he approached the alleyway, he swore.

The 'alleyway' only went on for about three steps into it. There was no back of the club. It was just more empty nothing, nothing nothing nothing. When looking at the bar from this angle, the front of the building almost appeared to be 2-D, as if it were a still flat image of a bar, not a place you could walk into...or out of. Nico took two steps in. Sure enough, his view of the bar disappeared, and all he could see was a concerned Amalia looking back at him, a halo of nightlights around her. Everything else might as well have been pitch.

"Trippy...been a while since this place caught me off guard," he muttered, stepping back into the parking lot.

Amalia scrunched up her face. "Why, um is it...?"

"I dunno man, I dunno." he said, with a tinge of frustration in his voice. Amalia got the sense it wasn't directed at her, though, or even anything in particular. Nico gestured at all the void surrounding their slice of pavement. "I see some of it every time I come back, sometimes a lot of it, sometimes just a little. Sometimes its in windows and doors, sometimes it's on people's clothes or their jewelry, or in the fucking water. It's weird because it seems like its a thing right? Like it's not just, ah, light or shadows, something intangible like that. It feels like you could just reach out and touch it, or pick some of it up and-and separate it from the rest, and it'd be there-"

"But it's not...?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know. I mean, this place looks to be built on top of it. Or into it. So it's THERE, but- ah look, I don't know, okay? So best let that be the end of it until we learn more - if we learn more. I don't wanna tell you something about Hell that ain't true. Then I'd be the church, and we can't have that," he said, with some semblance of finality and whimsy, if such a thing were possible. The two walk back to the parking lot without saying much. They stand there for a moment, breathing and thinking, maybe trying not to think. Nico's eyes alight on the bike again, and he scampers over with a bit of fresh energy.

"Is that yours?" Amalia asked as he got on the bike. Nico turned the key and gave 'er some throttlin'.

"Nope," he said, after the engine had subsided to a gentle rumble. "Well, it is now."

Amalia gave him another look. Nico stared past her and nodded in that direction. "You tryna walk?" he asked. She turned her head, remembering the vast expanse that surrounded them, how deeply it encroached and how capable it seemed of swallowing them, the bar, and the pavement whole if it so chose to. Amalia got on the bike behind Nico and held on tight.

"Don't worry about it," Nico said, as their new ride began to coast past the edge of the known world. "Demons down here have me on speed dial, and word travels fast." The spirit medium did not find this comforting. "If they want their bike back they'll come and get it, and be real polite about it. Besides, you saw what it looked like in there as we were leaving. Whoever owned this bike is probably dead anyways."

Somewhere, not far from their receding tail lights, a figure emerged from the depths of black. His suit was neatly pressed, its tailoring and stitching perfected to accommodate the muscles of his body as he moved. A low hiss blew past his wicked fangs as he exhaled, neatening the sleeves of his jacket. Kuzuru watched the two dissipate into the veil, a volatile glint in his eye.

 

[Amalia Eckern]

Kuzuru sighed. It seemed he wasn’t the only spirit after the girl. That damned yokai had interrupted their negotiations and then the moronic thing didn’t even bother with the girl. In a way he wasn’t much different. Where the O-dokuro had an insatiable drive to devour living things he had a similar predilection towards bloodshed. His nature was fixed, but he was not dumb. He could connive and deceive and do all manner of things as long as they served the larger goal of mayhem. The yokai spirit could do nothing but eternally fail to fill its aching and nonexistent stomach.

And that boy. Stepping into business that frankly had nothing to do with him. He reeked of daemonhood, and yet he appeared as human as they came. Was he just another spirit hoping to ingratiate himself into the girl’s heart? Or was he something else entirely? Kuzuru started walking down the highway after them. It didn’t really matter. Even an archdaemon would have a hard time stopping him and that punk was certainly no archdaemon. Kuzuru grinned his wicked grin and sank into the asphalt as if it were water. They were tourists in this world he lived here.

- -

Amalia had never ridden on a motorcycle before. In fact, after being exiled from the city of hope she could count on one hand the amount of motorized vehicles she had ever ridden on. It was exhilarating. The little machine devoured the road, swallowing painted lines in fractions of a second. And as they drove a curious thing happened. Everything fell away except the road itself, until they were driving on asphalt suspended over a dark and impregnable void. At any moment the road could have swerved and they would have been sent flying off into non-existence. But, that never happened. No, the road continued on straight and narrow and stretched off into infinity.

“This is great!” Amalia shouted over the engine’s roar.

Nico goosed the throttle and shouted back, “Do you trust me?!”

Amalia laughed, but didn’t answer, not right away at least. She hadn’t honestly considered if she trusted him. It wasn’t like they had met before the Death Games and she had chosen him as her partner. No, she had just kind of stumbled across him and when you’re stranded on a death island any sort of alliance was welcome. That said, he had sacrificed himself to buy her an escape against the Rider. And, even after their deaths he had gone out of his way to comfort her in this strange world. He wasn’t Juno, but damned if she didn’t think they shared a similar sort of heart.

“Yeah!” She said, “Yeah, I trust you!”

“Then hang on!”

With that he hammered the throttle and the bike roared with the intensity of a starving beast. The sudden burst of power kicked their front wheels off the ground. Nico’s body flexed and moved with the bike, carefully balancing the throttle so as to not send them tipping over. He hooted and hollered and she followed suit. The bike landed back on two wheels, screeching and wobbling slightly as Nico adjusted for the sudden change. For just a moment she had forgotten they were, in fact, dead. This was better than some mellow existence inside a floating cage. She desperately hoped that this wouldn’t end, that some cosmic hall monitor wouldn’t come along and plop them back into their respective afterlifes. And, after a lifetime of disappointment, Amalia had found herself hoping.

“Where are we going?” She asked, still shouting over the motorcycle.

“Wherever the road takes us,” He responded, “Though, it looks like we may be at the end of said road.”

Amalia peeked over his shoulder and gasped. The road, which had originally stretched on further than she could see, had developed a clear end. This end was a wall of light, like a gateway of some sort. It was pure white like fresh snow, but somehow shimmered like water in the sun. Nico showed no signs of slowing down.

“Shouldn’t we stop or something?!” She asked.

“Nah, where would the fun be in that?!”

“Not dy…” Her voice faded out. They were already dead. What was the worst that could happen?

Well, they certainly were dead, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t feel pain. A spike sprung from the pavement. Nico reacted, but they were going too fast. *SCRUNCH* The skewer punctured the body of the bike, wrenching it from the ground and sending them flying. All things considered, Nico fared pretty well. His “frequent flyer” bod managed to absorb the impact without completely disintegrating. Amalia, however, her body had no such conditioning. But she did have a guardian angel. Raven wings wrapped around the suspended highway, cushioning her fall.

“Erin!” Amalia shouted.

The Erinyes rose from the void, taller than any building Amalia had ever seen. The ginormous bird spirit used its wings to form a wall in front of Amalia. Its eyes shone red as embers and her squawk echoed for miles.

“LEAVE HER ALONE!”

Kuzuru, in a similar manner, materialized up from the asphalt. He grew and grew until he met Erin’s size. His grinning fangs were the size of cars and sharp enough to cut atoms. His suit, clean pressed and well-fitted carried buttons large enough to squash Nico and Amalia with enough room left over for a few other people. He inhaled slowly, as if savoring the torment in the air.

“Come on, you really thought you could just leave without me?”

Down on the ground Nico helped Amalia to her feet. He was bleeding profusely from a head wound and she was pretty sure he had left a couple teeth behind. Somewhere he had found a guitar and it simply radiated a grimy sort of malice. He spit up some blood and strummed a few daemon-cursed notes. He nodded towards the white portal and said, “There’s your exit, you should really get going.”

“What about you?”

“You kidding?” He answered, hitting a nasty chord, “I live for this kind of shit.”

Above them the giants clashed. Kuzuru called forth all manner of spikes and blades and knives while Erin took flight. She swooped down, tearing gash after gash into Kuzuru’s body while he tried in vain to strike her from the sky. Nico screeched a heavy metal sort of screech and laid into his instrument. There was no build up. There was no opening crescendo. There was only face-melting chord progression and arpeggios crafted by the devil’s bard himself. Musical notes sprang to life, given form in this impressionable void. They wrapped around Erin’s body filling the bloodthirsty creature with a mighty and unquenchable thirst.

Amalia took a step back. The exit gateway was only a few hundred feet. If she ran she could reach it in short order. She’d be back home. She’d be back in her cabin. She could sleep on the most comfortable bed she had ever slept on (courtesy of Juno). She could listen to the ocean. And she could relax. It was so damned tempting. But, she watched Nico shudder as a particular lick strained his wounds. Erin cried out in pain as a bladed pierced one of her wings. These were her friends. These were people she cared about. She trusted Nico, but what was that worth if he couldn’t trust her?

“No,” Amalia whispered, her voice so tiny compared to the chaos.

“No,” She said.

“No!”

No! No! No! She would not leave her friends behind. She would not just abandon those she loved. She would not become her parents. She strode forwards. She stepped past Nico. She moved towards the gigantic daemon. These were her friends and he couldn’t take them from her. And in that moment of fury. In that moment where self-preservation gave way to friendship. She realized something. Erin was not just her friend, but she was also her spirit. And it wasn’t just Erin that was her spirit, but also the Gashadokuro. She closed her eyes and turned inwards. There it was, the yokai that had been hunting her since her arrival. That terrifying skeleton spirit had always called her body home and she had rejected it vehemently. It resided in her right tibia, and it was hers

Kuzuru swiped up towards the swooping bird. She had done well to stay out of his range and attack his blind spots. It was a smart strategy, but it was flawed. It was flawed for one simple fact: she had no idea the extent of his capabilities. He swiped towards her, missing initially, but another spike sprouted from his forearm. It erupted from his flesh so violently that the bird was unable to change trajectory. Without effort the pinpoint lance skewered the bird spirit, stopping it in mid air. He laughed as he pulled her thrashing body from the sky. With his free hand he swiped away Nico’s infernal notes.

“How obnoxious,” Kuzuru chortled, “A low-level spirit thinking it could best me? Pathetic.”

He held up two fingers in a “peace” sign, but peace was not something he ever intended to bring. His fingers transformed into two thin blades, forming a makeshift pair of scissors. He brought them to the bird’s neck, savoring its screams and its thrashings. Oh how sweet this was. How delectable. Kill the bird and then the boy and all that he desired would be within his grasp.

“Hey dipshit!” Nico shouted. He had stopped playing his discordant tune. In fact he had lit up a smoke and was grinning from ear-to-ear.

Kuzuru sighed, “Dipshit? Seriously? Why the fuck are you smiling? Are you brain damaged or are you incapable of realizing just how fucked you are?”

“Nah… well, I might have a bit of head trauma, but I figured I’d get a few verbal jabs in before you get your shit rocked.”

“Oh, spare me…” Kuzuru answered, “You might smell like a daemon boy, but you’re not much more than a poser. Now, keeping smiling while---”

He never finished the sentiment. With a lungless battlecry the Gashadokuro full-body tackled Kuzuru. It was a mindless creature, sure, but it was far from weak.