I CAN'T LIVE IN A WORLD WITHOUT LIGHT
CHAPTER VI:
AND THE DEVIL CRIED
R.I.P. RONNIE JAMES DIO
1942-2010
Searching for the answer
Christ hasn't come
Awaiting the final moment
The birth of Satan's son!
-Slayer
O blessed glorious Trinity,
Bones to philosophy, but milk to faith,
Which, as wise serpents, diversely
Most slipperiness, yet most entanglings hath,
As you distinguish'd, undistinct,
By power, love, knowledge be,
Give me a such self different instinct,
Of these let all me elemented be,
Of power, to love, to know you unnumbered three.
-John Donne
Hope our little world will last.
-The Doors
By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.
"Toodles," Teru quickly said before hastily running off.
Flagg rolled his eyes and sighed, not really all that surprised with Teru's preference for flight rather than fight. The little bastard may have been the "one", but he was also going to need quite a bit of work.
However, Flagg soon fell back onto his snake grin. If Teru thought that he could weasel his way out of his fate after all of the work that Flagg and his kin had put in, then he had another thing coming (No Judas Priest pun intended, Flagg thought with some humor).
Flagg began to whistle "Magical Mystery Tour" while calmly searching inside his coat once more. After only a few moments of digging, he had found what he was looking for: a black bola.
Still whistling, Flagg calmly and professionally aimed the bola at Teru and released it.
Teru was only about thirty five feet away, just beginning to think that he might have a chance at evading his dreaded appointment with The Dark Man when he felt something strong and leathery slip around his feet. Seconds later, Teru found himself in the curious position of lying face first in the sand.
What had captured him, Teru did not know. Still, despite being a bit uncomfortably tight, it wasn't hurting him all that much; apparently, Flagg had not set a crow, wolf, panther, or any other savage familiar after him to dine upon his anatomy. With this comforting knowledge in tow, Teru began to use his arms to crawl forward.
I feel like I'm in Apocalypse Now, Teru thought with dry humor while the rest of his mind screamed at him to move as far and as fast as he could.
Teru managed to only make it a few more feet before he heard Flagg's unmistakable whistling distant at first, but increasingly louder as it came closer. At the first hearing of the whistling, Teru forced himself to move even faster despite the fact that he was now running so short of breath and that his ribs felt like they had been repeatedly kicked in by a pair of steel toed boots. However, despite Teru's best efforts to flee with the greatest speed that he could muster, he could still hear Flagg drawing closer and closer, his merry whistling a death knell in Teru's ears, like a hive of angry bees being pressed nearer and nearer to its selected victim.
Eventually, Teru felt Flagg's cowboy boot stomp into his back and Teru cried out in sharp pain; it felt like the Looney Tunes reject had dropped a thick boulder onto his spine. Taking advantage of Teru's temporary paralysis, Flagg quickly but expertly grabbed both of Teru's hands and held them behind his back. The next thing Teru knew, he felt something cold and rough snap around both of his wrists with a metallic clink.
Handcuffs? Teru thought, both terrified at his now certain fate and insulted that he was being treated like some devious malcontent.
"Sorry there, vaquero," Flagg said, walking in front of Teru, kneeling down, and leering at his captive with an obscene grin. "But like I said, you've got yourself a destiny to fulfill, and I've got myself an errand to complete. That, and I don't want The Dark Man to spread honey all over my naked body and then let the red fire ants have their way with me. You see, kiddo, it-"
Flagg was interrupted by a noise as welcome as nails screeching across a blackboard. Teru craned his neck as far up as he could and saw a vulture approach them in mid-flight, eventually landing on Flagg's shoulder. The repellent, feathered raptor cawed and Flagg nodded his head in understanding, as if he and the carrion could speak the same language. Eventually, Flagg pulled out a handful of dead mice out of his coat pocket and fed them to the vulture with his bare hand like a master feeding his beloved pet. Teru wanted to scream.
Mercifully, the vulture gobbled up his meal quickly and then made as if to fly off from Flagg's shoulders. However, the vulture first glanced at Teru with its beady, conniving little eyes, gave one more insufferably horrendous screech, and then few off.
Teru rolled over onto his back, and stared at Flagg with wild and desperate eyes. "Randall, please!" Teru cried. "You don't know The Dark Man, not like I do! You don't know what he's like! I've seen him destroy entire cities with just a single glance! He's the living embodiment of all that's inhumane and evil! He'll flay me the first chance he gets!"
"Maybe that's true, kid, but... oh hell, you're probably right," Flagg conceded, still kneeling and grinning at Teru. "But what The Dark Man wants, The Dark Man gets. Besides, we're already too close to back out now, and our ride is on its way," Flagg pronounced, lifting Teru by the center of the handcuffs; Teru winced and hissed in pain as the steel cut against his skin. "Shouldn't take too long given the speed of the thing and- oh, hey there, petimetre, don't look so glum! Sure, you're about to risk both your life and your sanity on this little errand of yours, but hey at least we'll get to listen to some damn good music on the ship."
"The ship?" Teru exclaimed. "What ship? This is a goddamn desert, Randall! How could a water vessel ever make its way out-"
Teru's words fell flat as she spotted something off in the distance, something flying in the sky. And the closer that this stupefying object came, the wider Teru's mouth gaped and the wider his eyes became wider until he was finally unable to stretch them any further.
What Teru saw that shocked him so greatly was indeed a ship, but it was no ordinary ship by any stretch of the imagination. Its model was that of centuries past, mammoth and intricate, majestic and adventurous. In the real world, it would have been used as a charming museum, enabling visitors to marvel at how efficient other cruise ships were by comparison.
Of course, Teru thought, it's not as if this kind of ship could be used for a tourist attraction. It's not just that the ship itself is flying; it's all made off bloody crystal to boot.
Teru was very much correct in his observation as the ship, powered by propellers situated towards the bottom end of the vessel, hovered over him and Flagg about twenty feet in the air. With the exception of the flag (showing of all things, an embroidery of a lizard standing upright with a crown on its head), the entire thing was improbably, impossibly, and unthinkably made of crystal.
Speakers attached to the ship announced its exceptional presence, an incongruent feature perhaps, but one necessary to channel the voice of the late Jim Morrison from beyond the grave: "The Crystal Ship is being filled, a thousand girls, a thousand thrills..."
"I am the Lizard King!" Flagg shouted triumphantly, with his arms stretched out as if to hug the incoming crystalline vehicle. "I can do anything!"
"This is insane, Randall!" Teru yelled, squinting his eyes as the lowering ship's propellers swept sand every which way. "This is isn't even a part of modernism! This is an American song from the sixties!"
"I know!" Flagg replied, not looking at Teru, but grinning proudly at the Crystal Ship as a rope ladder was tossed down by invisible hands. "But The Doors are timeless, hijo! You've gotta give me that much!"
"I HATE YOU, RANDALL!" Teru screamed.
"Join the club!" Flagg retorted. And before Teru could even respond, Flagg grabbed Teru, lifted him over his shoulders like a sack of fertilizer, and began to climb the ladder. Teru would have struggled even if it meant a perilous fall to the sand below if not for the creeping suspicion that Flagg would have beaten him to death with a sledgehammer for his efforts.
"Take me, Spanish caravan, yes, I know you can," the ghost voice of Morrison blared out from the speakers, as if trying to console Teru.
At the top of the ladder, Flagg nonchalantly dropped Teru onto the ship's deck (allowing Teru to learn firsthand the age old wisdom that landing on ship made of crystal handcuffed hands first really, really hurt). A snap of Flagg's fingers later, and the rope ladder rolled up on its own towards the deck. Flagg turned towards Teru, now looking very much like a pirate who had escaped from an insane asylum.
"Onwards, me buckaneer!" Flagg shouted jubilantly. "We'll rape their horses and ride their women in the words of the immortal and soon to be very dead Chevy Chase!"
"You're out of your mind!" Teru screamed.
"I know!" Flagg shouted gleefully at the sky. "AND I FUCKIN' LOVE IT!"
It was here that Flagg unleashed a laugh so obscene that Teru thanked Kira for the even louder volume of the speakers, now bellowing: "Lying on stained, wretched sheets with a bleeding virgin, we could plan a murder or start a religion."
The Crystal Ship flew away, Flagg continued to cackle, and Teru continued to scream that before the night was through he was going to feed Flagg's head to the bottom of a working lawn mower.
The speakers, on the other hand, displayed neither malevolent joy nor infuriated outrage as it changed its tune and headed even higher into the sky:
"You know the day destroys the night, night divides the day..."
Teru was still not ecstatic about the idea of meeting the one monstrosity that he feared most in the world, that he feared even more than Kira Almighty, but his previous all-consuming hysteria had gradually thawed into a smaller yet significantly sized pebble in his shoe the more the ship sailed onwards. At this high altitude, Teru was able to see plenty of activity in the Wasteland, mostly packs of individuals that kept their distance from one another. Once Flagg untied the bola from Teru's legs and unlocked the handcuffs from his wrists ("You even think about leaping off this ship, and I pummel your legs with the anchor before dragging your worthless hide to the cave," Flagg had whispered merrily while releasing Teru), Teru was free to wander the perimeters of the Crystal Ship while the speakers played "Riders on the Storm".
Teru noticed a telescope made out of (What else?) crystal, attached to the railing, designated it as ignorable for a few seconds, and then did a slight double take when he realized what the crystal telescope entailed. Mentally chiding himself permitting such cerebral density, Teru approached the telescope, gave it a once-look-over, looked through it, and began to marvel at what he saw.
The Wasteland was indeed a hotbed of bizarre, inexplicable activity. The first thing that Teru saw was the bottom half of a once tall and proud stone statue, the top half left victim to the ravages of time. Right by the bottom half of the statue was the top half, and Teru noted with a sagging heart (but no surprise, except that his lack of surprise did surprise him a little) that the entire statue was that of Kira. Whoever has sculptured the statue knew his stuff: the face was calm, handsome, and dignified, but not even Kira could prevent himself from curling his nose just a little bit, and the sculpture had apparently caught Kira in every single positive and negative detail. Beneath the legs, on the plaque of the foundation was an inscription; however, most of it had been faded and rusted over. However, Teru was able to make out a few words: " My name is Kira, king of kings: look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"
Adrian, millions will die!
Yes, so that billions may live!
Just like that Shelly poem, Teru thought with a heavy heart, Without Kira, the world will become just like the Wasteland: irrational, capricious, and perplexing. It will be chaos.
Teru sighed. Thank Kira that this is only a dream, he thought before moving the telescope once more.
Not very far away from the dispiriting likeness of Kira, Teru saw what appeared to be a strong young man adorned in ancient Greco-Roman warrior attire parlaying with yet another sphinx. The sphinx was at least twice the height and weight of the man, yet the man showed not the slightest bit of intimidation while speaking with the beast. After a few moments, the sphinx lowered its head; the man equipped a sleek hoplite sword (an ancient Greek weapon, Teru noted) and then tried to slice its head off. Despite the great strength of the man, it took several more swings before he could completely sever the head from the neck. The bloodshed was not what troubled Teru though, for as Teru watched the steel digging into the flesh and the blood bursting forth in thick gallons, he was more than sure that he could see the sphinx chuckle until the very moment that its head was totally detached. And even after its most unsightly death, the head of the sphinx continued to smirk.
Wait, I know this one, Teru thought. A man. A sphinx. A conversation, no, a riddle... a death... Oedipus?
Teru shook his head of such thoughts. After all, this was the Wasteland, where everything and anything came together in one implausible orgy of farcical lunacy. Flagg aside, it wasn't as if any of these psychotic visions had anything to do with Teru. What could he possibly learn from seeing a broken statue of his lord and master and from watching a mythical warrior hack off the head of a monster like a hunter unleashing all of his ferocity onto some game?
Teru moved the telescope upwards and noticed a very long river whose end reached even further than Teru could see. In any event, the water of the river was clouded and gray; Teru would have gaped at the sight of countless corpses wading through the water, as if they were all trying to reach some mutual destination, had he not been in so irrational a world as the Wasteland. Instead, his skin merely developed some goose bumps, and for once he could not help but be grateful that the speakers were drowning out what very well could have been the wails and moans of the condemned below.
Floating on the river was an old steam-ship. The ship was an old, grimy tugboat, it's hull an apparent survivor of many a disaster judging from the scars of rusted metal and torn steel. Standing inside the wheelhouse and controlling the wheel was a gaunt old man with only dirty shreds of cloth to cover his genitals and some of his chest. The old man's gray hair was long but thinning terribly, and he looked as if he had not enjoyed the luxury of bathing in quite some time. For whatever reason, the old man seemed to be very irritated as he grasped tightly onto the wheel with white knuckled hands, clenching his teeth as he did so.
Turning his attention to the main deck, Teru was able to see why this ferryman was making an effort to suppress his anger. Lying on the deck behind the wheelhouse was another man. This man was almost as impossibly pale and thin as the ferryman, and as there was a thin sheet thrown over him and a wet towel placed over his forehead, Teru guessed that he was stricken with some sort of illness. However, this man did not appear to be suffering from the various forms of feebleness often attributed to sickness, for he railed and ranted against the ferryman with the frenetic vocal energy of a dozen men injected with adrenaline. Teru tried to read the lips of this vociferous person (a secret skill he had learned especially to improve his courtroom performances; his peers were dumbfounded as to how Teru could know so much of what they had said to their clients , as if Teru had been following them and observing their discussions in public places), but he had a surprisingly difficult time at doing so. For one thing, the man was twisting, turning, and raving so wildly that Teru could hardly catch sight of his lips. He was only able to pick up a few words here and there, "limeys", "savages", and "civilize" being among them. For another thing, the speakers were blaring "The End", and Teru had more than a little trouble trying to interpret the sick man's diatribe while the specter of Morrison howled on about insane children waiting for the summer rain. Luckily, the song ended just as the sick man, finally weary and spent, uttered one last clear message:
"The horror... the horror..."
Then the sick man closed his eyes, lied still, and did not move.
Mistah Kurtz... he dead.
I'm beginning to regret having ever taking that English literature class back in high school, Teru thought humorlessly.
On the bottom side of the malodorous river was a row of variously constructed scarecrows. None of them moved nor spoke. But then, a prickly pear fell from the sky and landed in front of one of the middle scarecrows, somehow with no visible damage. This scarecrow, a mild-mannered looking creation, leaped off his pole, picked up the pear, studied it momentarily, and then forced it through a loose stitching into his head as if he was trying to use it as a brain. At this, all of the other hollow men were upon this tragically inquisitive individual, and they mercifully beat him with their poles until he was no more than a dismembered pile of fabric, straw, and crushed pear remnants.
"'We are the hollow men,'" Teru muttered to himself, "We are the stuffed men, leaning together, headpiece filled with straw.' Can't help but think that this isn't quite what Eliot meant by that though."
Above the river bank, another curious incident was occurring. A (probably) dead and exceedingly thin horse lying on its side, a medieval aide with a palpable degree of dignity, an outspoken and energetic jester, a poorly dressed and groomed lunatic, a bulky king who looked as if he was in the process of losing his mind, and a young man in the armor of a fledgling childe were all involved in this large, unstable occurrence. The aide and the childe were in some sort of argument: apparently, the childe had come across the horse ( "I never saw a brute I hated so!" the childe proclaimed) limping in the opposite direction and then slayed the animal with his sword. According to the childe, the horse grossly offended both his olfactory and ocular ranges, and that was cause enough to take its life. The aide argued back that such logic was ridiculous, that even the strong could succumb to weakness, and that the weak deserved just as much mercy as anyone else. Besides, the aide had added, the childe had slashed the horse before their king, an act that reeked of impudence and impropriety.
At this, the childe turned his head in order to look at the entire company. The king, a leader who could have been strong and commanding once but was now flaccid and pitiful, held onto the neck of the dead horse sobbing loudly, as if he was cradling the corpse of his daughter. Then the king would abruptly look up at the sky and shout at the wind to blow. The wind having boldly defied its liege's orders, the king responded by resuming his weeping. Meanwhile, the jester, in his attempt to make the dour inevitabilities of life and death more comedic and less excruciating, pulled out some Punch and Judy dolls and went about recreating the renowned tragical comedy, though with only three dolls and no stage.
Incredibly enough, the sights of a renegade psychopath tossing his wailing infant out a window and then beating his hysterical wife to death with a stick did not comfort the king, for he began to weep for the horse and bellow at the sky once more. At this same time, the lunatic cavorted carelessly across the scene, singing gibberish in a merrily insane tone. Despite the lunatic's rambunctious behavior, Teru was able to read his lips, and what he heard caused an explosion of sensation in his cerebrum:
"Child Rowland to the dark tower came, his word was still 'Fie, foh, and fum, I smell the blood of a British man!"
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!
"King Lear?" Teru whispered to the wind. The wind did not answer, and the ship continued forth. (6)
All this and more Teru saw and marveled at. He had seen a group of young boys, naked but adorned with tribal markings and carrying a bloody stake crowned with a severed pig's head, attack Sigmund Freud and Jacques Lacan with makeshift spears. He had seen a large sign held up by a massive frame which read: ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE. At least a dozen bodies were hanging from the rafters of the frame via nooses; crows, ravens, and other birds of prey magnanimously facilitated the tissue decomposition phase of the deaths. Teru even seen a young, pretty woman with trendy gothic clothes, blond hair, blue eyes, and a childish smile carry a baby in her arms, all wrapped up in a bundle: him. Teru had no idea who the woman was, he had never met her before in his life, but the sight of his infant duplicate being carried in such a caring manner caused him to choke up just a bit (enough for him to clench his fists so as to keep calm; not enough to get Flagg's attention). Becoming uncomfortable, Teru decided to classify the scene as some released tension related to his childhood, but the thought that there was something more beyond his dismissal lingered after him.
That, and Flagg's snickering made Teru feel uncomfortable about whole thing. (7)
Mom? Do you think I'm a bad person?
Honey, how can I answer that when I don't even know you?
Flagg at behind the stairwell of the ship, close enough to observe Teru, but not too close that the little overeducated psychopath could notice that he was watching him. Flagg played some solo solitaire, keeping his eyes on the cards before slyly moving them to Teru and vice-versa. Oh yes, Teru was responding to the Wasteland exactly as Flagg had planned and hoped he would: back in the "normal" and "sensible" Waking, Teru would have been more or less comfortable even if he was the black sheep of his community. However, taken out of his natural environment and put inside a world that made even less sense than that one Jap "Evangelion" movie that Flagg had seen once (Oh, but to see that whiny kid choke that little redheaded bitch... ah, good times, good times...), Teru was flipping, flopping, and gaping like a fish out of water. And these were merely the movie previews as it were to the feature presentation, to the sight that would truly shake the little snot up. Oh, if Teru had any idea of what was to come, then he-
WE HAVE NOT HEARD FROM YOU IN SOME TIME, RANDALL FLAGG OF GILEAD.
Flagg gritted his teeth, and cold sweat began to appear on his face. The multi-vocal voice of his employers rang through his head like a hammer cracking against a bell rapidly, but at this point he had no choice but to endure it. Flagg had stabbed his fair share of backs in the past, but even thinking of doing such a thing to... to "them" would probably land him in more hot water than even he could abide. For being such "advanced" entities, they were an impatient lot, but this too Flagg had to endure.
Correction, Flagg, my man, he thought. You really have no choice in the manner. They may be locked out there in the space beyond space or whatever, but their power still extends to the earthly plains. You're just lucky that they were generous enough to offer you something out of this intergalactic bullshit. Besides, it'll all be worth it once they deliver their end of the bargain.
"You ever bother to think that maybe that's because I've been working my ass off trying to get this kid to believe the crazy shit I've been telling him?" Flagg partly growled, but mostly stated nonchalantly (a full growl would be pushing it, and Flagg had no desire to experience the curious sensation of having his sanity raped). "Teru may be wet behind the ears, but he's no Forrest Gump. He's not ready yet, and if you really want to see those two go at it, then you're going to need to let me do things my way."
WE HAVE ALLOWED YOU ENOUGH TIME, FLAGG. YOUR RESULTS ARE LESS THAN PREFERABLE. PERHAPS SOME INCENTIVE WOULD-
"I only need a little more time!" Flagg exclaimed louder than he would have liked. He took a quick peak at Teru to make sure that the boy wasn't looking over in curiosity; thankfully, he was still staring out that telescope like some kid at the zoo fascinated with the monkeys jerking off and throwing their own shit at each other. In a quieter voice, Flagg continued: "Listen to me! Teru is unlike anything this planet has seen in a long time! The very fact that he lives in a time with an unprecedented number of adepts is a godsend! My work is almost complete! He just needs a few more touches, and Kira will be yours! But I need more time!"
Sweat was now plastered to Flagg's clothes; for the first time since he had entered this lunatic realm, he was actually beginning to feel uncomfortably hot. As he took a handkerchief from his coat pocket, and wiped the sweat off of his face, he found himself almost praying to God that he hadn't offended his arrogant, volatile proprietors. A lengthy silence followed, and Flagg was beginning to think that maybe he would spontaneously combust right then and there when their collective voice returned, harsher and more alien than reality should have allowed:
AND YOU ARE SURE THAT KIRA WILL BE ABLE TO SUMMON US ONCE MORE? YOU STILL GUARANTEE THAT HE WILL BE ABLE TO ELIMINATE THE SHOGGOTH? THAT HE WILL AWAKEN ZTHOOD'ALU, HE WHO STILL SLEEPS UNDER THE SEAS?
"Yes, oh Christ, yes," Flagg said, clenching his eyes, trying to deal with the excruciating voices as best as he could without bashing his head against the ship's flooring. "I promise you, I swear to you, he will fulfill the prophecy! Once he conquers The Dark Man, everything will go as according to plan. If you can just wait a little longer, then it will become all yours again, all yours! I-"
THAT IS ENOUGH, WARLOCK. WE HAVE HEARD YOUR PLEAS AND ARE WILLING TO GIVE YOU MORE TIME TO COMPLETE YOUR MISSION. BUT DO NOT THINK TO TRIFLE WITH US, MORTAL. DO NOT FORGET WHO IT WAS THAT BROUGHT YOU BACK FROM OBLIVION AND WHO CAN SEND YOU THERE AGAIN.
"Heh, you really think I'm so stupid that I would try to screw you all over?" Flagg managed to smirk (though with considerable effort). "I may not be Kepler, but I'm not such a dumb asshole that I actually think I can pull the wool over every single eye you lot have. Trust me, he's nearly done here. The time for the summoning will be here in no time at all."
Flagg waited a few more moments for the dreaded voice to sound out once more; mercifully, the gnashing, waspish, and utterly alien utterances of his masters did not reappear. At this, he sighed in relief. That Flagg was able to withstand the grating, eldritch tone of his overlords was a miracle in itself; that he could actually make sense of that unimaginably advanced language was something that Flagg could sometimes have trouble believing, if not for the fact that he had the displeasure of speaking with them on more then one occasion. Still, he hadn't gone stark raving mad upon hearing one syllable of theirs, and that was a lot more that could be said for others.
However, he and Teru weren't out of the woods yet. If Flagg didn't get this wrapped up all nice and tidy soon, then it would only be a matter of time before the both of them would be subjected to a fate literally impossible to describe, a nightmare so goddamn terrible that no human language or equation could even begin to imagine. And if-
"Randall?" Teru called over from his telescope, casually enough, not knowing that he had jolted Flagg abruptedly out of his terrified train of thought. "Are you OK? I haven't heard from you in a while and I-"
"I'm fine! I'm fine, goddammit!" Flagg snapped. "I'm just... I'm just resting! You just go back to jerking off at that little peep-show of yours, Norman Bates, and I'll call for you when the time is ready! Now piss off!"
Teru didn't respond to this rather rude reply, and Flagg with trembling fingers, pulled out a joint and lit it. Christ, he was losing it when he needed it the most, and he simply couldn't afford to lose anything at this point, no siree Bob.
Keep it together, old man, Flagg chided himself. You've lasted this long. You can last even longer. Soon, you'll have more power than you've ever even dreamed of. Patience is all you need, old boy; patience is all you need.
But what if the little shit tries to squirm his way out at the last minute? Flagg asked himself.
Flagg was well aware that at this juncture, he would have normally joked in the most sadistic way he could have. A regular harlequin of Hell is what he was, and he took pride in such a distinction. But the time for cuteness was over, the curtain had closed on Mr. Rogers and his retarded, inbred Neighborhood of Make-Believe, and the time for action was now, now, and fucking now.
If he tries to weasel his way out of his little appointment? Flagg thought humorlessly. Then I stomp on his neck before I drag him to The Dark Man myself. He's nothing right now. He's dirt. No, he's below dirt. He's just an ant that I can crush underneath my boots anytime I wish. I have nothing to fear from him until after the metamorphosis. Nothing to fear. Nothing to fear at all.
Flagg continued to perspire profusely. The ship continued to sail.
One cried, "God bless us!" and "Amen" the other, As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. List'ning their fear I could not say "Amen," When they did say "God bless us!" But wherefore could not I pronounce "Amen"? I had most need of blessing, and "Amen" stuck in my throat.
In the Wasteland, Teru had seen things that he thought he never would have believed had existed before. And while witnessing such inexplicable, such incredible sights, Teru did not see how he would be able to see anything that would be able to supersede it all.
However, as astonishing as these sights were, as firmly ingrained as they would become in his mind even after the dream had ended, there was one spectacle that trumped all others. It was a picture that could not have been done justice without a lengthy examination of what it all bloody meant, but it was striking nonetheless and it struck Teru particularly hard. At first, Teru saw only three individual humanoid shadows off in the distance. Accordingly, the closer the Crystal Ship got to the three shapes, the bigger they became. Eventually, the ship hovered in just the right spot to take in as much of the sight of all the figures as the telescope could.
These sights were simple enough on paper.
But what Teru and Flagg both saw and then nervously registered was something else entirely.
Below two massive pair of blue legs and an equally colossal pair of tanned brown legs, there was a man on the sand, kneeling on both knees and on both hands. The man was trembling; Teru assumed that the man was fiercely sobbing. From where he was, Teru could only see the back of the crouched man, but could easily see that he was wearing the professional garb of a scientist: a white safety coat and formal trousers.
However, Teru could still see the three objects that the scientist was weeping in front of, and he zoomed in on them to take a closer look. When he saw what he saw, Teru drew in a sharp intake of breath and did not release it until he quietly reminded himself that he needed to breathe. The three objects that he had layed eyes on were not just of the utmost historical significance, but also something that sent tremors of dread shuddering down his spine. They were something that had irrevocably ended Japan's imperial age. They were the forefathers of the potential destruction of the planet. They were perhaps the greatest mistake known to man, created by man, yet relished by those who fed on power and exuded greed.
There were three atomic bombs lying on the ground. They looked old and rusty, as if they had not been used in ages. Still, the blood that was smeared across their surfaces was fresh and had to be recent.
It was what the blood said on the bombs that caused Teru to lose his breath:
Thin Man. Little Boy. Fat Man.
They were the three atomic bombs that had not just opened Pandora's box, but had also jammed a stick in between the hinges to insure that the box wouldn't close again.
The truth is... my grandfather was part of the Manhattan Project. He suffered with the guilt for the rest of his life. And my father... he was born on August 6, 1945...
The day of the Hiroshima bomb. God's got a sense of humor all right.
"Impossible," Teru whispered.
Though still far from achieving emotional equilibrium, Teru wasted no time in taking a better look at the kneeling scientist as soon as the Crystal Ship had circled around. The scientist was probably in his forties and fifties, and though his facial features were somewhat reptilian, his appearance was average, neither attractive nor repellent. His hair was graying, his strong nose was somewhat crooked, and he was Caucasian; he looked like no one and everyone, someone who could easily blend into a crowd and not arouse suspicion. However, it was not, as Teru was to shortly discover, what the man looked like that earned his scrutiny; rather, it was what he said that brutally took possession of Teru. True, the man was miles below the Crystal Ship, but Teru's telescope and lip-reading talent allowed him to decipher the man's miserable words. However, as valuable as this skill was for his occupation, here it brought nothing much more than further revelations of angst, and Teru almost immediately regretted reading the trembling lips of the scientist below.
"'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds'?" Teru whispered. "Oppenheimer?"
As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods, they kill us for their sport.
Having seen possibly the most skilled and talented engineer of the Manhattan Project of World War II, a schemata that resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands and helped usher in the paranoia-fueled Cold War, Teru began to feel weak in his knees. Still, he held his ground. A potent sense of ill foreboding had struck Teru: intuition told him that whatever stood above the bombs and Oppenheimer would be the final piece of this sickening puzzle. Knowing, not believing, that it was his duty to see this out to its very end, come what may, come what might, Teru quickly raised the telescope upwards. As he did so, he tried to convince himself that the worst was over, that the last act could not be as anguishing as what he had just seen. True, he felt so tired and so weak now, but he managed to convince himself, even if only for only a fraction of a second, that nothing else would be able to shake away what little confidence and ambition he had left.
With no great surprise, Teru saw that he had failed in this endeavor completely and utterly.
For far above the mortals and the Crystal Ship, there stood three enormous, towering, contemplating gods. Teru knew these giants; he had studied them and the religion used to worship them while in school. He had considered this useful, as there were many of these kinds of worshipers living in his own country, men and women from India, Pakistan, and other Eastern nations. Teru had even considered the existence of these beings to be more likely than not before Kira arrived and earned his total devotion. But whatever Teru may or may not have believed in, they stood there all the same, tall, proud, and awe-inspiring.
There stood Shiva, Vishnu, and Brahma.
There stood the Hindu trinity.
There stood the Trimurti.
Shiva, the great creator and terrible destroyer, stood to the left with his four arms crossed, his androgynous face twisted into a skeptical scowl. He did not look pleased, but he did not look irate either though the snakes in his long, matted hair, necklaces, pelt, and bracelets writhes and hissed angrily, as if they could compute the grave danger below them. Teru thought he saw something in Shiva's eye and zoomed in on it; what Teru saw was not shock in Shiva's eyes, but casual interest. Despite being deprived of one half of his occupation, Shiva watched the scene below with a gaze that strongly suggested his desire to see just how much destruction humans and their creations could incur. Perhaps they would all kill one another. Perhaps they would destroy the Earth itself. Whatever the outcome, it was sure to be entertaining, more proof for the gods that the creatures who lived beneath the clouds were inherently petty and fallacious.
To the left stood Brahma, the god of creation, each of his four bearded heads looking heartbroken. Conspicuously absent was Brahma's vehicle, his nameless but divine swan; however, just about all of Brahma's other trademark attributes were present. The rosary around his neck, and all four of his heads' crowns were attendant. Brahma also wore his customary yellow gown and pink silk scarf thrown over his neck. In two of his four hands, he held his legendary book of vedas and his equally legendary lotus flower. But for all the glory that Brahma's physical appearance commanded, he held the pitiful expression of a child who, having worked so hard on building a sand castle, was only moments away from sobbing after watching a contrastingly destruction-inclined child stomp it flat.
Stranding in the center was Vishnu, the sustainer of the universe, he whose dreams are the world, adorned in clothes very similar to Brahma's. However, not only could Teru tell that Vishnu was not dreaming nor sleeping as per usual, he could also discern that several things were "off" with respect to the supreme Hindu deity. For one thing, Ananta, the great serpent that Vishnu usually slept on, was noticeably absent; missing too was the Milky Ocean, the universal stream that Ananta usually glided over. Despite these conspicuous absences, Teru noted that most of the other features were held intact, if not altered somewhat. The srivatsa mark upon Vishnu's chest, the kaustabha jewel worn about his neck, the crown upon his ears, the earing that signified the universe's inherent nature of dualism, and all the four attributes literally held in his four hands (Shanka, his conch; Sudarshana, his sharp-spinning, discuss-like chakra; Kaumodaki, his mace; and, lastly, a lotus flower) were all present. However, Vishnu did not stand so much as he drooped, and his expression was that of controlled dismay as if the universe that he had gone at such great lengths to sustain was now doomed to die at the hands of the heretical trinity below.
Whenever I despair, I remember that the way of truth and love has always won.
"This is the kind of thing that'll happen if Yagami's power goes unchecked, you know," Flagg said in a strangely sombre voice, coming up from behind Teru. Teru was too captivated by the scene in front of him to avert his gaze but listened to his docent. "Probably not all this Hindu and nuclear stuff, mind you, but something like it, something similar to it. That's why you need to come to terms with Kira, kid. That's why I'm taking you to see The Dark Man."
There may be tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they may seem invincible, but in the end, they always fail.
"The Dark Man is a monster", Teru retorted calmly enough; the sight drained him of all immediate fear concerning the epitome of his nightmares. He was also losing energy: Teru found that simply standing and speaking were tiring his scarce reserve of energy. "I don't see how he could help a person like me and a god like Kira, we who are dedicated to saving the world. If anything, the Dark Man would probably try to use us in order to destroy what little beauty and dignity this planet has left."
Think of it:
"I'll tell you this," the speakers commented, "No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn."
Always.
At this time, the ship began to move away from the Trimurti. The ship increased its altitude, coming closer to Shiva, standing more towards the center of the god's chest. After lifting his head in order to see exactly where the ship was heading, Teru looked back through the telescope so that he could study the features of Shiva once more. Teru was aware that this probably wasn't the wisest course of action to take, but decided to indulge his more base, voyeuristic desires. Come what may, Teru needed to gaze on Shiva once more and come to terms with the living paradox, the coin with two starkly polar sides. Teru tried to reach out to Shiva's seemingly better nature, tried to absorb not so much the power of creation, but the positive energy that had to have come with it. Teru rarely admitted it, but he was actually starting to become tired of all the eliminating, of all the killing. It was true that he was eradicating evil on an unprecedented level, but... it was as if he was getting the short end of the bargain, as if that in order to experience the incredible catharsis that eliminating brought, he would have to take all the contagion and cancer that the deceased once carried and then store it inside himself. And it was this poison that Teru thought might be slowing him down, might be preventing him from undergoing the rush that he deserved for acting practically as Kira's own samurai. Great deeds deserved great rewards, after all.
Teru gave in to the blind hope that looking god would somehow negate all of his anxiety, impatience, and tension; he decided not to give in to the idea that this was probably the kind of flawed logic a junkie would use to justify his own disreputable habits.
Teru began to hate himself for that the moment he looked through his telescope.
Staring at Shiva was gratifying in the sense that Teru took comfort from knowing that a higher power actually existed, but it also significantly increased his own sense of insecurity. And this was the case for just observing the great god observe something else entirely. Teru shuddered to think how he would feel if Shiva deigned to turn his eyes upon him.
Teru did not have to wait long to find out how he would feel in that scenario. Shiva eventually gave Teru a brief yet paralyzing side-long glance and then gave an equally concise, petrifying, knowing smirk; Teru instantly felt too shaken up to keep staring out the telescope. Mercifully, Shiva and the rest of the Trimurti were fast becoming a speck in the distance when Teru lifted his head from the telescope. But even then, Teru was feeling so weak and light-headed that he had to lie with his back against the ship's railing.
"Listen to this, and I'll tell you 'bout the heartache," the ghost of Morrison sang in a consoling voice, "I'll tell you 'bout the heartache and the loss of God."
"Shut the hell up," Teru grumbled.
The ship continued on its way, and Teru felt less ready than ever to face The Dark Man.
I will be hanged, if some eternal villain, some busy and insinuating rogue, some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office, have not devised this slander; I will be hanged else.
Fie, there is no such man; it is impossible.
If any such there be, heaven pardon him.
Eventually, the ship came to a stop and hovered mid-air. Flagg, who had been taking a nap on the floor and snoring loudly enough to wake the dead, startled the living hell out of Teru when he unexpectedly opened his eyes and then leaped to his feet.
"Right then, here we are!" Flagg said cheerfully enough for someone who had just seen a ghastly premonition of the future. He grabbed the rope ladder and tossed it from the holdings to the ground below. "Now I suggest you get your little ass down there before I kick it down, you dig?"
"... sure," Teru cautiously replied. He didn't know what Flagg meant by "dig", but thought it best to comply with his demented guide's demands. Teru was now closer than ever to meeting the Dark Man, and though he could taste the panic rise in his throat like rancid bile, he was able to control it.
Teru climbed down the ladder and began to think through what options he had. After only a few moments, Teru acknowledged that, despite the somewhat good but mostly horrible and regrettable times he had shared with Flagg, he now had no other alternative but to eliminate his guide. But how to do it? Teru considered this as he climbed down the ladder, the speaker's volume becoming more and more faint until Teru could barely hear the ghost voice of Morrison wail something about faces coming out the rain. I can probably improvise something, Teru reassured himself, For Kira's sake, Teru, Randall may be evil made flesh but he's not all that bright and... wow, I think this is the first time I've noticed that he put a "Keep the guv'mint out of my health care" bumper sticker on the side of the ship.
Eventually, Teru reached the ground and immediately began to survey the area. Teru quickly became relieved that this was one area of The Wasteland that didn't resemble a Hieronymus Bosch painting on PCP and actually looked relatively normal. To the south, only about forty feet away or so, was the cave, a yawning black abyss, the one single opening of a series of a series of combined, dusty and aged mountains. To the east and only some ten feet away was a pile of rocks, the majority of them in the small to medium category. If I can just get a hold on one of them, I might be able to get myself out of this mess, Teru thought to himself.
"Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!" Flagg said, leaping down from the ladder, his back turned to Teru as he watched the ship sail off and as Teru sneaked off and grabbed a good sized rock. Flagg, placing an arm in front of his eyes to protect himself from the flying sand, was somewhat too busy to turn his attention to his passenger. "End of the line, sunshine! If you have any pot, booze, or sedatives on you, I suggest you consume those little fuckers quickly, as meeting The Dark Man tends to race the human heart until it explodes! In the words of Motley Crue, you're about to shout at the devil, muchacho!"
Teru, having silently run to the pile of rocks and grabbing one, turned back in Flagg's direction, hoping to bash the back of his head in. A possibly underhanded way to kill a man, Teru thought, but I really don't have any options at this point and-
Teru found both his train of thought and hopes for freedom dashed to Hell when he turned around, only to find himself face to face with a wickedly beaming Flagg. Teru might have screamed in any other situation, but here he clamped his teeth shut with such force that he could hear the clomp sound ringing through his ears, much louder than on any other given occasion. For a single moment that seemed to last a single eternity, Flagg's violent red eyes bore into Teru's toffee-colored eyes, and Teru was nearly convinced that his heart had stopped beating, that his blood had stopped circulating, and that his brain had lost all of its neural electricity. But if all the observations of this morbid panic were true, then Teru could die right here and right now, mercifully spared the cruel and unusual punishment that was The Dark Man.
Teru did not die, and he came close to cursing Kira's lack of clemency.
"Oh ho ho ho ho!" Flagg laughed, like an escaped insane asylum murderer who believed that he was Santa Clause. "And here I had you pegged as some sort of spineless yuppie! But lookie here: you were going to try to take down The Dark Man all by yourself, and with that little rock of yours! Man oh man, that may be the stupidest goddamn thing I've seen next to that one guy who was trying to get a cat out of a crawl space by putting even more cats in there, but it's also got to be one of the gutsiest things I've ever had the pleasure of seeing. Good job, kiddo!"
"Uh... thanks," Teru muttered, not letting go of the rock, and trying to keep his legs from trembling.
Flagg somehow grinned even wider, took a step back, and, quicker than even Teru could see, took out two black objects from his outward coat pockets. Before Teru could even see what they were, Flagg started twirling them about so fast that all Teru could make out were two black blurs. The objects came to a sudden halt, and Teru found himself looking at the barrels of two automatic Russian Stechkin APS'. But before Teru could even exclaim in horror, Flagg twirled the guns again so that the butts were now facing toward him. Teru blinked at the guns.
"Unfortunately, rocks aren't going to do much against someone like the Dark Man other than make him laugh," Flagg grinned. "Of course, it might convince him to take it easy on a natural born comedian such as yourself; Hell, if you're lucky, he may just cripple your neck rather than choke you with your own severed hand!"
"So... these guns will help put me on a more or less equal level with him?" Teru asked hopefully.
"What? Fuck no!" Flagg barked with laughter. "Thinking that these little babies are gonna help you take the Dark Man down old school-John Woo style is like thinking that it was a good idea for the members of KISS to show themselves without make-up: it's fucking stupid!"
"Then why are you giving them to me in the first place?" Teru snapped.
"Well, you need some form of defense other than that shit-kicker rock," Flagg grinned. "Also, it's better than nothing. So unless you don't want a sliver of a chance that the Dark Man won't use your head as a paper weight after your encounter, I suggest you take the guns right fucking now."
Teru grumbled at this (mostly at himself for stupidly allowing his hopes to go up), but dropped the rock and took the guns. Once he had done this, he stared at the guns with a stupefied expression.
"OK, I've never used one of these before," Teru admitted. "So, um, I just need to pull the trigger to fire it, right?"
"Well, first you need to take off the safety," Flagg said.
Teru looked at Flagg with an even more confounded look. "Safety?" he asked.
"Forget it, friend, forget it," Flagg said, wrapping one arm around Teru's neck and walking toward the cave with him. If Teru stomach hadn't been cramping itself in growing, abject horror, Flagg might have reminded him of some slimy but proficient car salesman. "All that's important is that you go head to head, toe to toe with tall, dark, and spooky in there. I have the utmost faith that you'll use what skills you have to at least stall him before he tries to rip out all of your tendons."
"Wonderful," Teru muttered.
"Oh, and kid?" Flagg asked right when he and Teru were before the cave.
"Hmm?" Teru responded.
Flagg uttered a sharp cry like a shaolin monk from an old Shaw Brothers flick, and then hit Teru's face with a brutal, stiff back kick. The kick grounded Teru like no other, and the first thing that Teru thought before he was left dazed on the sand was how peculiar it was that Flagg should try to imitate one of those old mechanical water-drinking birds.
Flagg grabbed Teru by the back of his neck, and started dragging him even closer to the cave. "Word of advice, compadre," Flagg grinned. "Next time you run into me or one of my kind, I suggest that you don't even think about attacking one of us, much less attacking one of us with a goddamn rock. That is, if you don't want one of us to tear out your kidney and then start slapping you silly with it."
Teru mumbled something incoherent to this; he would have tried to reply with better articulation, but he decided that trying to get his eyesight to stop spinning was a bit more significant for the moment.
"See? I'd knew you understand!" Flagg beamed, releasing the neck, and then kicking Teru's side so hard that the young man went sailing and spinning into the cave. Though still groggy, Teru gave sharp cry of pain when his arm slammed against the stone wall inside. Still moving quickly, Flagg grabbed both of Teru's guns and tossed them in. "Well, that settles that! Good luck, kid, and try not to scream too loudly when he tears out chunks of your neck with his teeth!"
"RANDALL, NO!" Teru suddenly screamed, regaining consciousness rapidly at the idea of seeing The Dark Man, holding one arm out to Flagg, as if there was any chance that he would take pity on this poor sacrifice. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! YOU CAN'T-"
"Que sera, sera kiddo," Flagg smirked, his eyes alight like young children taking pleasure in a Christmas fireplace. The very sight caused Teru's throat to choke a little in astonishment and briefly cut off his wailing. And the last thing that Teru saw of Flagg was those monstrous red eyes and grin before Flagg snapped his fingers, causing the mouth of the cave to suddenly shoot upright, effectively sealing the cave shut.
And then there was nothing but darkness.
"NO!" Teru screamed hysterically, dragging himself to the newly constructed wall, and banging on it for dear life, ignoring the blisters and scratches his hands were receiving. "NO NO NO NO NO! RANDALL! DON'T YOU LEAVE ME LIKE THIS, YOU FUCK! YOU LET ME OUT RIGHT GODDAMN NOW, DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU LET ME OUT OR... OR... OH FUCK, HAVE MERCY ON ME, RANDALL! DON'T MAKE ME GO THROUGH THIS! RANDALL? RANDALL!"
Teru continued to holler and bellow himself hoarse, pounding ineffectively against the rocky wall all the while. But it was no use. He was all alone now, all alone in the dark, and no amount of desperate pleas or threats would save him now.
"OH MY DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN, SAVE ME!" Teru hollered in sheer panic before exhausting himself and lying on the ground, panting and gasping for breath.
But Kira didn't answer, and so Teru was left alone in the dark.
All alone in the dark with the Dark Man.
I feel cold, death.
That place... is strong with the dark side of the Force. A domain of evil it is. In you must go.
What's in there?
Only what you take with you.
"And that takes care of that," Flagg said, sounding quite pleased with himself, clapping and rubbing his hands together in an askew manner, as if he had just finished mowing the lawn or paving the driveway. "Oh, how I do love helping young men fulfill their potential."
Flagg began to whistle once more, contemplating the victory that he and Teru were practically guaranteed to achieve. Teru was brilliant in his fashion, but the boy had no idea what he was getting himself into nor did he have the slightest idea that he was the key strategic piece in a war that was even older than all of mankind. Of course, it was best that way, best that the kid didn't know who was pulling the strings behind this little grindhouse double feature, best that he didn't know the vast extent of his own potential power. Still, Teru would, more likely than not, find out that all of this journey of the hero crap was worth it in the end.
"That boy is going places," Flagg said to himself, closing his eyes in relaxation and placing his arms beneath his head. "I can goddamn well guarantee it. That hunk of shit planet is finally going to get the god it deserves. And won't it be a glorious sight, all that fire, all that rubble, the Dead Sea rising up once more, the capture of the tower-"
He will not take the tower. He will not win this war.
Flagg snapped open his eyes and then twisted his head and body in every which way. He found no one but himself by what was once the cave's entrance, yet he had definitely heard a voice. But it wasn't the sensation of having someone whispering so near his ear that unnerved Flagg.
The voice had come from inside. And it was definitely not his voice. This voice was chilling, harsh, yet effortless. It was arguably even more intimidating than Flagg's own voice. With Flagg, his voice was a nucleus of twisted sadism hidden underneath layers of good cheer and hokey jokes. With this new voice, there was no humor, there was no spiteful glee, and there was no charm. There was only the voice of a man who had seen all the dangers in the world and spat on them. A voice whose owner was not on good terms with Flagg.
Roland, Flagg thought. He didn't know why and how he said that name. It simply matched the voice, and even without any concrete proof, Flagg was sure that the voice and the name were connected.
Exactly who Roland was was largely a mystery to Flagg. What wasn't so much a mystery was the effect that hearing that name had on Flagg; the name itself summoned familiar and nearly tangible feelings of frustration, humiliation, outrage, and fear without any clear memories to attach them to. Flagg only had a handful of memories inside his labyrinth-in-a-Chinese-box-inside-a-Matryoshka-doll, and though the memories themselves were murky, he could not stop recalling them whenever he was on his own. Flagg suspected that this was intentional; How else could he possess all this power yet possess a mind not up to par? Someone was responsible for the discombobulation, probably to chain Flagg, to control him, to prevent him from becoming infuriated with whoever was pulling his strings. Who was the culprit? Was it this Roland? Or was it someone else entirely? There was, so far as Flagg knew, no way of figuring out these questions.
But this much he knew: the name Roland belonged to a right bastard, one that had probably been a continual thorn in his side in one of his lives. And there was a single image to accompany both name and sound, one that appeared frequently in his head. It had come up during meditations. It had come up during dreams. It came up when his mind was simply wandering away.
A black tower in the background. A raven sitting on thorned vines in the foreground. The entire setting a desert not unlike The Wasteland. And there, in the center, standing upright and proud, with a look of complete, pitiless contempt, stood a man expertly holding two large pistols with a brown leather coat, a red scarf, and rugged pants.
It was a gunslinger.
But... was it truly Roland?
"I don't know who you are," Flagg snarled, "but I suggest you turn around and piss off. The boy belongs to us, understand? He will become Kira! He will take the tower! And, this I can assure you, he will stomp on the entire planet without mercy and I'll be right there, by his side, laughing my ass off."
Roland or whoever the hell the voice belonged to did not reply to this declaration; Flagg hawked and spat a good sized portion of phlegm onto the ground, hoping that whatever had spoken to him would get the hint that Flagg was not afraid of defeat and that he did not believe his plans wouldn't come to fruition.
This much was a lie. There were only a handful of non-metahuman/non-superhuman/non-whatever adepts on the planet, Yagami and Teru included. And in addition to the world virtually being on the brink of annihilation due to the humans themselves, there was Kira's rule and Teru's disillusionment that had to be taken into consideration. This was a rare time, a rare time indeed, a time that Flagg intended to take advantage of in any way he could. He and his new masters could simply not afford to.
Flagg paused, crouched down, and picked up a patch of sand with one hand. He held it there in his palms for a moment, then allowed it to gently dance away from his hands into the sky.
"I will show you fear in a handful of dust," Flagg quoted with sober eyes, with a tone of surprising reverence.
But then, sooner than one would like to admit, the soberness of the eyes and the reverence of the eyes died and the grin with no soul returned to Flagg's lips.
"Maybe that poem isn't complete bullshit after all," he chuckled.
The Walking Dude laughed again and levitated himself into the air, enjoying the magic that he was granted whenever key transfigurations were imminent. He did not know for sure if Teru would pass his test or not, but Flagg held confidence in Teru, and that was enough for now. And in the grand scheme of things, did it really matter? Flagg thrived after the spread of the disease Captain Trips and nearly succeeded in winning the war. But to focus solely or mostly on the disease in any account of the war would have been unwise. Captain Trips was, for all its destruction, merely a plot device. It was by sheer luck (or misfortune, depending on who you asked, not that Flagg was asking) that the disease spread and created the chaos that Flagg loved more than anything else.
The Death Note was no different. In and of itself, it wasn't all that impressive. Put it in the right hands (or wrong, again depending on who you asked, not that Flagg cared about any answer save his), and you've got yourself a potential catastrophe. You've got World War II. You've got the Dark Ages. You've got rape, murder, pillaging, and all the aspects of humanity that God ever regretted creating.
Yep, whatever way you looked at things, Flagg and his kind were likely to benefit handsomely from this conflict. It mattered little if Light won. It mattered equally little if Teru won. What mattered is that someone won.
Of course, Flagg thought, Teru was filled with all kinds of hatred, venom that tunneled deep into nearly every single fiber of his being. The kid may have graduated summa cum laude or caput capitis sursum suus ass or whatever, but so long as he didn't consciously know that he wanted revenge against humanity for rejecting his naïve and narrow scope of justice, then the fire was sure to scorch all corners of the planet. It could even be that Teru possessed even more wrath than Yagami, and that, should Teru succeed, he would create even more chaos than his dear old pa.
Just like good ol' Adolf. Christ, did Flagg have fun with that one.
Ah, but Flagg's role had been played out, and all he could really do now was sit back and watch. It was time for a well-deserved break and for considerable restraint. Flagg wished that he could be at the forefront of Teru's army, choking the collective throat of man and woman, but contented himself with the knowledge that he was not necessary for such a lofty goal.
For if either the father or the son won, then humanity lost.
Flagg's grin somehow stretched even wider at this thought; it compelled him to begin whistling "Paint It Black", one of his favorites, as he softly landed back on the ground and walked away.
The future looked bright indeed.
Teru must have passed out from exorbitant panic and physical and mental exhaustion, for he came to in what was largely darkness, feeling both groggy and addled, temporarily unsure of where he was and what he was doing there. It took only some seconds for him to recall that Flagg, that treacherous lunatic, had abandoned him in this Kira-forsaken den in order to meet his dreaded antagonist. Teru briefly worried that panic would overtake him once more but failed to freak out as before; he supposed that he must have purged out all of hysteria out of him with his last little demeaning outburst.
Well, isn't that just fantastic, Teru thought sardonically. I've managed to arrive at the "acceptance" stage of the Kübler-Ross model. And, here's yet another surprise, Teru, my boy, it doesn't look like your pituitary gland is generous enough today to flood your spinal cord and brain with endorphins.
Muttering to himself, Teru picked himself up, but noticed that something was new about his clothes. He patted himself to see what was different, then decided that he needed whatever source of light was in the cave to properly diagnose the change. He looked behind him; there was a path of sorts, large enough for a few people to cross into while all walking at the front. On the rock walls were two lines of torches; the torches were made of bones and attached to the walls with wood and metal fastings.
He's expecting me then, Teru thought unenthusiastically.
Picking up his guns, Teru approached one of the torches and then used the light to inspect himself. A pocket had been impossibly sewed onto his ghutra (Flagg, Teru bitterly thought), and when Teru put down the guns for a moment and rummaged inside, he came up with a thick, red road flare. Not knowing exactly what this was for, but hoping that it would come in handy, Teru put the flare and the guns into the pocket. He then took a torch from the wall and, gulping a little with controlled consternation, proceeded down the pathway.
Teru continued down the pathway, the torch lighting up enough for him to move ahead without worrying that zombies were going to come out and tear his body in half. Still, a palpable sense of apprehension possessed Teru, and it did not leave him as he continued to trek down the pathway. There was also something strangely familiar about this place, not so much as it was a place Teru had been before as it was fragments of different elements he had witnessed in the past, all adding up to a macabre summation. There was something primal about this place, something old and best forgotten; it brought out what Teru considered to be an irrational sense of dread, the same apprehension he felt as a boy fearing the monster that was surely waiting underneath his bed or the beast that was doubtlessly biding its time in the closet despite his mother's empty assurances that there were no such things as "monsters". And for a while, Teru had fallen for that story, hook, line, and sinker. For was it not virtually law that a key prerequisite for transition into adulthood be the surrendering of imagination and the acquisition of distaste for the imaginative? Was it not a societal expectation that at some point, a young man give up thoughts of gallant knights, dragons, and magic in favor of the stock market, taxes, and illiberal politics? Teru himself had consented to this faustinian bargain, had traded his belief in magic and adventure for success in a world that he eventually discovered he detested. His mother, his teachers, his counselors, the entire adult society at large, they all played the role of Mephistopheles flawlessly; they lied to Teru, they told him the world made sense, they said there was a clear line between good and evil, and, most unforgivable of all, they told him that monsters did not exist. And that last lie was the "most unkindest cut of all" (Julius Caesar was Teru's favorite work of Shakespeare). Teru suspected that something wasn't quite right with this oath all throughout childhood, as being the victim of several assaults taught Teru that so-called "normal" children took pleasure in battering the weak and in watching the defenseless become oppressed.
As an attorney, his disillusionment had come full circle: there were monsters, only they were the proverbial wolves in sheeps' clothings. It was the only sensible explanation, the only thing that could illuminate why a mild-mannered pharmacy clerk had been murdering and storing the bodies of his customers in his basement, why an obsessed young man had taken the life of his girlfriend (incidentally, by the name of Elisa Day) with the excuse that "all beauty must die". Everyone in the courtrooms agreed unanimously that Teru Mikami had all the restraint and patience of a Taoist monk, but what they didn't know about him could have filled a book of blood. It wasn't just that they didn't know that he was Kira's executioner; it wasn't just that they were unaware of how deep and how raw his antipathy for humankind ran. What they didn't know that was of such great significance was that there was a flame inside Teru, a rage that burned especially furiously whenever he came across such wolves in sheeps' clothings, such monsters in humans' skins. It was at these times in the courtroom that Teru wanted to leap at the monsters, wanted to rip off their ridiculous masks, wanted to show the whole world the truth they refused to recognize and scream, "Show me it! Show me your true fucking face! I don't care what you are, JUST SHOW IT TO ME!"
Teru once thought that he could handle seeing the monster behind the mask. Now, he wasn't so certain.
Show me what you really look like, instead of being a coward, whose only real power is to hide behind other people's faces!
Heh. Do you really want to see?
There was something wrong with the air in the cave, Teru wondered as the path ended and opened into a large, tenebrous space. It wasn't that it smelled bad per se, but rather it was more like something had tainted the oxygen, that something beyond even Teru's worst reckonings had taken the cave as its adobe and exuded something foul and pestilent that perverted the entire geography.
Maybe that's why this place is so melancholy, Teru thought. Maybe it represents the darker caverns of my mind, the tunnels that I try to not travel in. But be that as it may, this cave has a distinct style that is definitely not of my creation. It does seem fairly familiar though. But what could-
Teru suddenly thought of a vacation (that his firm, exhausted of all other options, ordered him to take) he had taken in the lesser populated outskirts of the capital of Switzerland, Bern. He had rented a remotely located cabin in the woods, the silver lining of his forced respite being that he could be miles away from human civilization. However, surprising even himself, Teru's bitterness and anxieties were put at ease as he took in the peaceful beauty of the winter landscape, how he found repose just by listening to the singing of the finches, how he had found tranquility simply by meditating under a humongous tree. This serenity had been effectively interrupted when he had decided to attend an art exhibition inside the city. Teru did not know who or what the art gallery was showing, but his rare good mood convinced him to at least give it a shot and found it unlikely that anything could disrupt his newfound peace. Then, as many times before, Teru would find out that he had been egregiously incorrect.
Hideous, monstrous, mordant, gratuitously sexual... the paintings and sculptures were all these and even more. And by the looks of things, that was exactly how the artist had intended them to be. It was quite a sight for Teru, not just to look at the oeuvre of a potential madman, but to see the apparently reputable patrons of the arts take in the works as if they were something perfectly reasonable and not images of savage creatures humping women who seemed to be part-flesh, part-machine. And yet, despite the grotesqueness of it all, Teru had to admit that he was impressed with the style and the colors, and eventually got to speaking with a fellow art enthusiast and Swiss. This Swiss was small and rotund, in his late middle ages with regular gray hair and a face not unlike that of a bulldog's. Despite the Swiss' less than spectacular looks, he was friendly and greatly learned, and Teru began to find himself having one of those rare conversations with another brilliant human being that he appreciated so much. In addition to the present art itself, the two discussed Salvador Dali, Ernst Fuchs, and H.P. Lovecraft. Had not Teru been fluent in German, he would not have discovered during the conversation that the man he was speaking with was the artist himself, nor that the painter and sculptor was stimulated with both Teru's knowledge of art and opinion that his work wasn't the greatest thing on the planet. At the end of the night, the artist gave Teru a large print of one of his paintings, which Teru would later proudly hang in his living room despite some of the strange looks many of his guests would give him for putting up something that showed a devil using Jesus Christ as a slingshot with demonic snakes writhing beside him.
Knowing that he had seen a similar art style he had seen in an American movie years ago, Teru performed some internet research and learned with no surprise that the Swiss artist was the primary designer on Alien. Teru had always thought that Alien was a great movie, as well as one of the most intelligent horror films he had ever seen. Unfortunately, Ryuk had found the DVD in his bookcase, and it was now not at all uncommon for Teru to come home after a long day at the office only to find Ryuk laughing raucously at the sight of a monster bursting through someone's stomach.
What was that artist's name again? Teru asked himself. It was... oh yes, it was H.R. Giger, I believe.
Teru continued to venture down into the cave as best as he could with the meager torch when a sudden thought stopped him dead in his tracks. When Teru dreamed (something that was rare, given how his mind was burgeoned with thoughts at the end of the day), he often dreamed of all the ugliness in the world, of all the vermin and scum that he needed to eliminate sooner or later, and despite the respect he held for Giger and his art, the gothic and cybersexual images inevitably made their way into his dreams. And if this was quickly shaping up to be a nightmare, then that meant-
Teru's thoughts were interrupted when a horrid screech sounded through the cave, worse than an army's collective fingernails screeching down a blackboard, worse than the shrill cries of a flock of harpies. The sound sucker punched Teru, causing him to drop to his knees, squint his eyes shut, place both hands against his ears, drop his torch, and pray fervently that at least one of his eardrums would remain intact. Eventually, the intolerable shriek died down, and, the torch having been extinguished by the fall, Teru quickly took out his flare, took off its cap, lighted it, and then tossed it a good distance forward. The flare must have been of a good build because it had lit up a better-than-average portion of the cave. And if other things weren't so pertinent at the moment, Teru would have remarked further on the fantastic construction of the flare.
What the flare revealed in the former tranquil darkness of the cave took his breath away and threatened to break his sanity.
There were no rock walls or rock ceilings inside the cave. The walls and the ceiling were made of something different entirely: human flesh and human faces.
I have been shown the path.
Perhaps the faces had been sleeping. Perhaps the bright light of the flare had frightened them. Whatever the case, the thousands, if not millions, of pale and haggard faces opened their eyes and released a deafening cacophony that played on Teru's ears like a pair of scissors being jabbed inside his auditory cavities. The faces, an assortment of wide-ranging, diverse complexions and colors save their mutual necrotic pallidness, screamed, wept, and begged in a grab-bag of languages, a chorus of Babylonian proportions.
I must follow where it leads.
But even this nightmarish bit of interior design paled in comparison to what was coming towards him.
Like Parsifal, I must confront the unreason that threatens me.
The monster was easily over thirty feet tall with luminous gray-blue skin and a gaunt, sharp anatomy. It had no eyes on its pumpkin-shaped head, but the wide, nose-less nostrils suggested that smell made up for lost sight. There were six small horns circled around its head, and a long, sharp tail jutted out from the back of its skull. Behind its shoulders were a pair of wings not unlike a bat's, except that that there was somehow another set of wings attached to the top of each individual appendage. Its mouth was freakishly large with small but undeniably sharp teeth completely filling both sides of the aperture. Elongating from the jaw were two crab-like pinchers connected to a circular shaped chin. The thing crawled on all fours, and it had the lean, edged feet of a raptor. Fins of bone pressed against the skin of its back, making it look even more skeletal and grotesque. It also had the beginning of what could have been a tail, but the accessory had, for whatever reason, split into two tails, long enough to circle around the beast. All three tails had talons at the tips, looking very much like three anatomical scythes.
I must go alone into the Dark Tower.
It was a dragon.
Without a backward glance.
The dragon came closer and when it screeched again, Teru knew that such a sound could have only come from something born in the vast gulfs of chaos, from something that resided in nightmares as black as sin. It could only have come from The Dark Man.
And face the dragon within.
"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" Teru screamed, eyes bulging, hair standing on the back of his neck, distantly surprised that he had not lost control of his bowels. Though far more mind-numbingly terrified than he had ever been in his life, Teru somehow found the fortitude to pull out both of his guns and then fire them simultaneously, screaming incoherently all the while. Bullets tore at the flesh of the monster, causing it to roar furiously at Teru. However, the guns were not enough to bring it down, and it advanced towards Teru without any rush, knowing that Teru stood no chance at surviving this encounter. Blood and flesh dripped from the dragon onto the ground, but in very small doses, more of an irritant than anything else. Teru was getting the worst of the fight by far: not only was he only inflicting a meager amount of damage, but the flare gave what was once the darkness of the cave a red lighting, making it look like the cavern of some hellish inferno. But then again, this wasn't all that far from the truth, was it? For, as the dragon stepped over the flare, spreading its wings, it became covered in red luminescence, and looked like a daemon of Hades, coming to drag its prey into the pits of the damned.
I'm in Hell, Teru thought, amidst the thunder and the lightning of his cannons.
Eventually, both clips of the guns ran out, and soon all Teru heard was the rapid click click click noise of his empty weapons. At this point, the dragon was only a few mere inches away from Teru, jaws opened wide, teeth glistening, drool dripping from its mouth in large quantities, ready to engulf Teru into a sea of saliva and teeth. Teru dropped to his knees, exhausted and numb, his head hung and staring at the ground. And why not meet the end this way, readily accepting defeat and death? He never stood a chance against The Dark Man at all, and this thing born of fire was surely it. It did not look like The Dark Man Teru knew, and it didn't look like Teru, but it could have been nothing else but the very combination of all that he feared and dreaded, the epitome of all the world's evil.
The dragon leaned in, ready to consume Teru's body and soul.
"Forgive me, Kira," Teru whispered, closing his eyes, preparing for oblivion.
Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall and by the doom of death end woes and all.
"Making no mistakes is what establishes the certainty of victory," a new voice boomed throughout the cave, "for it means conquering an enemy that is already defeated!"
An explosion sounded throughout the cavern, and a series of whistling sounds rapidly made their way towards both Teru and the dragon. The progenitor of these high-pitched sounds soon became evident as thirty two barbed arrows rocketed towards the human and the monster. The arrows' trajectory was imprecise; ten of them hit the ground. However, they were simultaneously efficacious, as the dragon screamed in furious agony after the rest of the arrows shot into and through his body. Miraculously, none of the arrows hit Teru, though he dumbly watched the carnage unfold with a look of stupefied wonder; he didn't even blink when a bit of the dragon's black blood flew onto his cheek.
"The important thing in a military operation is victory, not persistence!" The voice roared as a humanoid outline leaped from a inconspicuous indenture, approximately twenty feet in the air, towards the dragon and Teru. Jars and an antique rocket launcher of sorts (A... Ming Dynasty weapon? Teru numbly thought, Isn't that what they called a... a 'nest of bees'?) fell onto the ground with the outline, resulting in several fireballs that illuminated the entire cave. The jars evidently contained some form of liquid explosive.
The explosions shook Teru from his daze, and he dived out of the way of the apparently fearless challenger. Teru ran a few feet away, intending to get the hell as far away from the dragon and this new figure as he could but then stopped abruptedly in his tracks, his intense curiosity having gotten the better of him. Whatever was happening, it directly involved him, and not only would it do Teru no good to run away, he was also sick of acting like a coward and from running away from his responsibilities, from Flagg, from Kira, and even from The Dark Man. And so Teru stood and watched the battle between his hopeful savior and the dragon, witnessing the battle with increasingly shocked and incredulous eyes, but standing his ground all the while.
Whatever was attacking the dragon was moving with such speed and agility that all Teru could see was a black blur with two red, glowing eyes, holding what seemed to be two carved swords in each hand. Now more curious than ever, Teru activated his death god eyes, attempting to at least learn the name of this incredible warrior. However, the swordsman was moving so quickly and so expertly, dodging every attack the dragon made, that the name appeared and disappeared in synchronization with all the leaps, twirls, front flips, and back flips. As a result, Teru could barely make out the first letter of the dragon slayer's name.
Teru's attempt to learn the warrior's name was jarringly interrupted by a horrid screech of pain uttered by the dragon: the warrior had somehow sliced off the right wings of the dragon, and blood spurted from the wound sporadically, but in large amounts, like a lawn sprinkler possessed by a demon. With the right wings severed, the warrior began to decrease his speed, allowing Teru to make out some of the mystery man's features: black, spiky, shoulder-length hair, some sort of ancient Chinese general's armor (From the... from the Zhou Dynasty? Teru observed with bewilderment), and two Chinese dao swords.
The dragon put up the best fight that it could, but it was ultimately no match for its new foe. In the course of only a few minutes, the warrior had sliced off the right leg, left arm, and two tails of the monster. Black blood gushed everywhere in staggering quantities, yet the warrior was somehow able to avoid touching any part of the black life force. Becoming weak from significant blood loss, the dragon made one last attempt to swipe at the warrior with its remaining taloned claws; the warrior easily evaded this by spinning his body out of harm's reach. The warrior, his back to the dragon, then retaliated by taking both of his swords and impaling them into the beast's stomach, all without looking backwards and with no less than awe-inspiring grace. The monster responded to this stunning feat of athleticism by unleashing its worst screech yet, a savage sound that made Teru regret that he didn't have enough ammunition to put himself out of his misery. By contrast, the warrior did not seem fazed in the least. Instead, he ran up the side of the dragon, kicked off of it, front flipped in the air, and brought both swords down onto its neck, effectively beheading it twice.
The dragon, finally slain, fell onto its stomach. It's stump of a neck now pumped out blood like a broken fire hydrant, but the warrior simply and easily leaped out of the way of the nasty stuff. Teru could have wondered just how the warrior was able to both attack and defend so superbly without being tainted by the blood, but he didn't, for his entire attention was focused on finding out the identity of his rescuer.
The warrior studied the corpse of his late opponent for a few moments, and then turned around to face Teru.
Teru's mind went blank. His heart beat ferociously. His breathing became faint and shallow. It was the best moment of his life; it was the worst moment of his life. It was the most important moment of his life. Words failed him. Logic failed him. Nothing in Teru's life had ever prepared him for this, and under less stressful situations, Teru would have suspected that nothing could have ever made him ready to face this man. Yet the man was here all the same.
The warrior was Asian, and, yes, he did have long, spiky, black hair. His eyes, once blaring red, had turned into an ordinary shade of brown. A faint black mustache rested under his nose, and a long but thin strand of black facial hair ran from his chin. He was, judging from his armor, Chinese, likely from the Warring States Period. These details may have been intriguing to others; they were not intriguing to Teru. It was the identity of this warrior that put his brain on stand-by mode.
The warrior was Teru.
And the warrior was Sun Tzu.
"I've been expecting you, Teru," The Dark Man said.
Oh, what may man within him hide, though angel on the outward hide!
WORKS CITED:
Macbeth (Play)
The Watchmen (Graphic Novel)
Heart of Darkness (Novella)
King Lear (Play)
100 Bullets (Graphic Novel)
Metal Gear Solid (Video Game)
Gandhi (Movie)
Othello (Play)
Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back (Movie)
Fullmetal Alchemist (Manga/Anime)
Batman: Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth (Graphic Novel)
The Comedy of Errors (Play)
Measure For Measure (Play)