In four days the fate of the world will be decided by two men. It's just a damn shame it had to be Seth Black and Jimmy Fetcher. On one side is Seth Black, a down-on-his-luck loser who just happens to be the Antichrist. Depressed and highly suicidal, Seth is thrust headlong into a startling world of dark miracles, trips to Hell, angelic assassinations, a reunion with his estranged father Satan, and into the very thralls of Armageddon itself. In the end Seth must decide if he should fight for his father and save the woman he loves, or save mankind from extinction.
On the other side is Seth’s nemesis and last of God’s mortal bloodline, a gay novelist named Jimmy Fetcher. Successful and happy, Jimmy gets sucked into a battle he wants nothing to do with. As his fears mount and his own personal doubts grow, Jimmy must come to terms with his destiny or else the world will surely burn.
Book One
In the beginning there was nothing and God said,
“Let there be light,” and there was still nothing
but now everyone could see it.
- Dave Thomas-
(1.)
At the Gates of Hell
A 1980 Ford Granada spewed from the gates of Hell like a regurgitated piece of beef. Bathed in hellfire, the car swerved drunkenly along a deserted back road.
The arrival should have been a secret, but that didn’t prevent a curious stray lamb from witnessing the unusual event. Before it had a chance to blink or even Baaa, the car slammed into it. The lamb burst like a watermelon packed with TNT, sending blood and entrails flying in a multitude of directions.
As for the car, it looked like some forgotten relic stolen from a junkyard by some mentally challenged vagrants. It had dents, dings, and a tailpipe that dragged noisily behind it and kicked up a trial of yellow sparks. Cancerous brown rust covered much of the frame.
The car came to a thunderous halt. As the dust began to settle and the last remnants of the hellfire dissipated on the car’s hood, an eerie calm crept over the area as the world seemed to wait nervously for the occupants to appear.
It didn’t wait long.
The passenger door creaked open, and from its interior came the rotten smell of gym socks and maggoty meat. The repugnant stench caused birds roosting nearby to bolt.
A black male, wheezing and coughing like an asthmatic after a marathon, slithered out of the car on his hands and knees. He didn’t look threatening, but that’s how Asteroth, one of the Seven Princes of Hell, wanted it.
The demon struggled to rise but instead, ended up tumbling down a nearby ditch. Aster landed with splash in about five inches of vile gutter water. Breathing like a rabid dog, Aster began his painful adjustment to the world of the living. He hacked and heaved as his lungs expelled massive amounts of blackish phlegm. Desperate to rid himself of it, the demon took huge gulps of the water swirling around his skinny ankles not caring what he swallowed.
This proved fatal to his digestive system, which revolted instantly. Doubling over, hands resting on his shaky knees, all the water came spewing out of his mouth. The stench of the rancid water made when mixed with his vomit proved grave to the mosquito’s population who used the area as a breeding ground for more of their blood-sucking spawn. They died in droves.
The fumes didn’t serve Aster any better. His head throbbed as his stomach continued expelling everything from his intestines, even things he couldn’t remember eating. Exhausted, Aster collapsed on the soft rise of the ditch.
Back at the car stood an identically dressed demon. Stout like an overripe cherry and bearded like one of the Caribbean pirates, this bald demon wore his repugnance for humanity proudly.
With his baldhead glistening in the deepening twilight, the High Marshal of Hell, Beelzebub, enjoyed a cigarette. In order to avoid suspicion while traveling through the world of the living, he shortened his name to Buzz.
Home sweet home, he thought maniacally, his eyes transfixed on the lambs entrails smeared across the blacktop. He could see the head and body lying on opposite sides of the road. Nonchalantly, Buzz took out his cigarette, cleared his throat loud enough for people in Thailand to hear, and then spat a wad of snot on the pavement. He watched with gunmetal eyes as the vile substance ate through the concrete.
I hate this fucking place, Buzz thought as he took another drag from his smoke. Can’t wait to watch it burn.
Buzz took a few calculated steps towards the edge of the ditch and paused. Down below he could see the worthless prick sprawled on the side, motionless.
“You gonna stay down there all damn night or what?”
Aster waved his hand dismissively at the High Marshal.
“Well, shake it off already, we got a schedule to keep!”
Buzz was clueless as to why, out of all the Lords in Hell, Lucious had paired him with the damn blossom among the thorns. Most demons, from the lowest ranking imps to the most powerful of lords, despised the human race. Aster, on the other hand, tended to embrace them. It turned out the asshole loved their humble characteristics and their wide range of emotions like forgiveness, optimism, compassion, and even the most appalling of mortal traits, love. For something of this magnitude, Buzz preferred to have the aid of Moloch or Baal, demons renowned for their hatred of humankind. But no, he got stuck with Hell’s only flower child. This sucks, he thought returning to the car to wait.
Leaning against it, Buzz took one last drag of his smoke and then flicked it into the nearby brush, hoping for a blaze. Reaching into his pocket, Buzz pulled out a pack of Halleluiah Lights and patted it against his plump palm.
Come on, Aster, for Christ’s sake.
Tearing open the packaging with his jagged teeth, he could hear Aster moaning. Shaking his head he shouted, “For shit sake, Aster, shake it off! Did Lucious send me here with a lord or godforsaken imp?”
That silence that preceded his question told him everything.
“Retard,” Buzz grumbled, snapping his finger. Instantly, a reddish flame appeared on the end of his fat finger. Using the unholy fire to light his cigarette, Buzz took a large satisfying drag and then blew out his finger.
He rubbed the edges of his eyes and prepared to do the one thing he loathed more than innocence, waiting. With Armageddon approaching, Buzz didn’t have the time to stand around for Aster. If he didn’t move his ass quick, Buzz had no issues leaving him there to rot.
Back in the ditch, Aster struggled to muster enough strength to start the difficult climb topside. Buzz never had a problem with the adjustment phase, probably because of his high pain threshold, but Aster went from a one-man wrecking crew to a fish out of water. His joints felt like jelly, and he was having difficulty breathing. Aster wasn’t sure how he was going to manage, but he knew he had to do something, because Buzz wasn’t going to wait long. Patience was not in the High Marshall’s vocabulary, which meant if he didn’t suck-it-up, he might find himself walking to Judgment Day.
He took a deep breath and started his ascension.
Though slow, he made steady progress. Thankfully, Aster reached the road. Pulling himself to his feet, he noticed an enormous sign off in distance illuminated by a few dull yellow lights. Deciphering the monkey dialect, he read the sign: Welcome to New Jersey. Under normal circumstances, the predicament wouldn’t be very bad, especially since New Jersey had its own devil, but for them this proved to be a grievous error.
“Oh shit,” Aster muttered as he headed towards the car at a quick stumble. Getting closer, he saw Buzz resting against it asleep. Asleep!
Aster opened his mouth to speak, but Buzz cut him off. “You finished, princess, or would you like to squander more of our precious time?”
“I’m finished, but didn’t you…”
Buzz cut him. “Fuck me, Aster, do you know how bad you smell?” Buzz asked, shaking his head.
“You smell like human fecal mater.”
“Buzz—”
“You know, I’ve never met a Lord who had more trouble adjusting to the Middle World than you. Shit, I’ve seen imps do it more gracefully than you just did.”
“We’re in the wrong place,” Aster said, too fatigued to listen to Buzz belittle him. Too bad for him, Buzz continued his rant with the expert decorum of a purebred asshole.
“Do you have any idea of how much time you just cost us?” Buzz asked, rolling the sleeves of his black suit jacket to reveal a watch made out of human bone. He read it and then said curtly, “Two hours and twenty-five-fucking-minutes. Poof, gone, because your sorry ass is weaker than a scrawny imp.”
“We’re in the wrong place,” Aster repeated, hoping it would register this time. It didn’t, and an annoyed Aster had to stand there and wait for his next chance to speak. Knowing Buzz and his rage, he knew he might be standing there for a long time.
“Did you forget our time frame? This narrow fucking margin in which we have to achieve our goals?” Buzz used four stubby digits to reinforce his point. “We’ve got four days to get everything done. Armageddon is not going to wait for us!”
“WE’RE IN THE WRONG FUCKING PLACE!”
“Say it, don’t spray it,” Buzz said, cleaning a few droplets of spittle from his face. Restrained he asked, “How do you know we’re in the wrong place? Your ass has been at the bottom of a ditch.”
“I saw a sign.”
Buzz scoffed. “You saw a sign?”
“Christ, Buzz, it’s over—”
“I didn’t see any omens. Did it come to you in a dream or something?”
Aster sighed. “Not an omen, you dolt, a bloody sign.” Aster turned and pointed at the billboard glowing brightly in the distance and then focused back on Buzz. “I don’t see anyway around it, we need to notify the boss.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Buzz asked, his eyes burning brightly in their shallow sockets. “Don’t tell me you forgot what he did the last time you made a mistake. If I remember correctly, the wounds are just now starting to mend. And that was over something small. How do you think Lucious is going to respond finding out how we fucked this up?”
“Then what are you suggesting?”
“Keeping our mouths shut for starters.”
“I suppose we could just enter another rift and—”
“And what—hope for the best? What if the rift dropped us in China or at the bottom of the Goddamn Atlantic? What would we do then?”
“What do you suggest?”
Buzz thought, weighing their options on his mental scales before answering, quite matter-of-factly, “We drive.”
“Drive? Isn’t that going to be slow?”
“It’s better than any of your dimwitted suggestions.”
“But what about the deadline?”
“I know about the Goddamn deadline. Since your two suggestions are completely idiotic and undoable, I think we have little choice but to do mine. So let’s go.”
The demons scrambled inside the car with Buzz positioned behind the steering wheel and Aster riding bitch. As the High Marshal punched the gas, Aster opened the glove box and pulled out a red folder.
“Find out where he is,” Buzz commanded. “I don’t want to make any mistakes from here on out. We’ve got to do things perfect from now on.”
Aster opened the folder and saw a smorgasbord of information linked to the Antichrist. Things like family history, various notes on his educational development, travels, previous sexual engagements, and a ton of recent photos. Not interested in any of that, Aster flipped to Seth’s personal information located in the back. Here was more useless information like Seth’s favorite color, height, weight, and even his sexual preferences (straight, but with homosexual undertones).
“Where is his address?” Aster asked feeling discouraged.
“It’s got to be there, keep looking.”
He continued scanning. “Do you remember what they said during the briefing?”
“What?”
Aster looked up. “The briefing? Didn’t you take notes or something?”
“Of course I took notes.”
“Then what did they said, because I don’t remember?”
“Don’t play games with me damn it, just tell me where we’re going.”
Aster cocked his head to the side. “You can’t tell me?”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, you can’t be serious.”
“You didn’t listen, did you?”
“Some.”
Aster started laughing. “That’s why you didn’t know we were in the wrong spot!”
“Shut up, asshole, and tell me where we’re headed.”
Aster reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small black notebook. He flipped past a few pages and a couple of doodles before finding the exact location of the Antichrist. Confidently, he answered, “Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.”
“Get the map.”
Aster reached back inside the glove compartment and pulled out what should have been a road map. Instead, when unfolded, revealed the layout of Michael Jackson’s Neverland Valley Ranch.
“You got it?”
“I got something,” Aster answered, showing him the map.
“You got to be fucking kidding me. How fantastic is that? A map to someplace we ain’t going.”
“We can always ask for directions.”
“I know that, asshole,” Buzz snapped. “It’s just the principle that bothers me. Just once, I wish things would go in our favor. Is that really asking too much?”
“Not at all.”“Shut up, Aster.”
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