“Nothing good.”
Our Headmaster steps up to a small wooden podium beside the line of faculty. He raises his long bony arms. He’s tall, skeletal and gray-skinned; a Neanderthal-style forehead hangs over his beady dark eyes. Although he wears standard-issue ghoul black robes, he always tops them with a red and slightly-cockeyed bow tie.
“Greetings to the DL-19 School for Quasi Servitude.” Lowering his hands, the Headmaster tries to straighten his bow tie. He makes it a wee more skewed instead. “I’d like to begin by introducing–”
“Me.” An unforgettable voice booms from the back of the gymnasium. Three hundred students turn around, all their faces twisted in confusion. All the faces, that is, except mine. I know exactly who’s entered the room: Armageddon.
The King of Hell looms seven feet tall and pencil-thin; his short torso, gangly arms, and long legs all fit into a perfectly-sized tux and tails. His pointed face scans the gym, two crimson eyes blazing over a blade-like nose. Beside him stand a pair of Manus demons, their bodies covered in shaggy black fur. Long yellow tusks hang past their chins.
Armageddon steps slowly down the gym’s main aisle. On either side of him, students cringe and huddle, their faces twisted in fear.
Wrapping my hands around Cissy’s, I speak in a low voice. “Remember, greater demons have an aura that causes fear and panic.”
She nods quickly. “The angels said that in class the other day.”
Armageddon steps closer to our aisle. I shoot Cissy what I hope is a calming look, but I’m not sure I’m ready for this, either. I’ve only been close to Armageddon a handful of times. And each one sucked. “Brace yourself.”
Then, it hits. A wall of terror crashes into my body, freezing me in place. Cissy’s hands tremble violently under my own. Unable to turn away, I watch Armageddon speed to the front of the gymnasium, his legs and coattails a blur of movement. Behind him, the Manus demons lumber along on their stumpy gorilla-style legs, knuckles dragging.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. This is bad, very bad.
The Headmaster cowers to one side as Armageddon approaches the podium. Between us, there’s now enough distance that I no longer feel the terror of a greater demon’s presence. I scan the teacher’s stiff bodies. Some of their brows are pockmarked with black sweat. Their turn to feel the full force of Armageddon.
The King of Hell grips the edges of the podium. “This is a demon inspection.” He scans the room, his upper lip bent with a sneer. I might be imagining things, but he seems to find me in the crowd, his gaze glowing red with recognition. “I’m Armageddon.”
My terror-level kicks up a few notches. No way am I imagining this. Twice I’ve stopped Armageddon from getting a purely evil soul into Heaven—first, with the Choker and then Deacon—and he sure looks like the type to hold a grudge. The thought crosses my mind that I might not leave here alive. I grip Cissy’s hands more firmly. A thin sheen of sweat coats our skin.
Armageddon’s three-knuckled fingers grip the podium so firmly, it looks ready to snap in two. “You all look…Ready.”
Miss Thing sniffles a bit, her face lined with long black streaks from her tears. Armageddon struts over to her, pausing before her in the long line of teachers. Her shoulders visibly shake. “Do I frighten you?”
Her voice comes out a ragged whisper. “Yes.”
Armageddon’s mouth winds until an evil grin. “I see.” The King of Hell grips Miss Thing’s shoulder; she gasps. Red light blazes from under her gray flesh, causing her skin to char and crack.
An odd chill creeps over my body. This can’t be real. The King of Hell cannot be sucking the soul from a teacher in front of the entire student body. Why aren’t one of the teachers doing something to protect her? Or better yet, the Oligarchy?
My teacher’s face twists with terror, her long red nails clawing at her glowing skin. This is all too real. Waves of nausea crash through me, each one worse than the last.
A moment later, her body flares into a column of red flame. It all happens so quickly, she barely has a chance to scream. Once the fire dies out, Miss Thing has transformed into a frozen image of herself, only one that’s made entirely of gray ash.
The gymnasium takes on a dream-like quality. No one speaks. No one moves. A charred smell hangs in the air. I cover my nose and mouth so I don’t barf.
Armageddon removes his hand from our teacher’s shoulder; her body crumbles. The King of Hell stares menacingly at the pile of ashes on the gymnasium floor. He bares his teeth slightly, showing shining, blade-like canines in a face of smooth black stone. “Thank you for your answer.”