Author's Note: And here's the first post of 2013. Hope everybody had a safe holiday. This chapter came at a fast pace mainly because I had an idea of how I wanted it to go. Can't say the same for the next chapter but it'll be coming out in due time. Might take a little bit longer since I have class starting up next week. Damn, I haven't updated a story twice in one week in a long time, haven't I? Don't get used to it. Anyway, a plot device that I came up with a few weeks ago is being introduced. If the title of this chapter doesn't give it away, I don't know what will. As a bit of a spoiler, it'll be driving the plot from here on in. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.
Warning: language, graphic imagery
The Book of Nemesis
Butters couldn't believe that he was late but he had had some car trouble that had prevented him from arriving on time for the last event scheduled for the reunion. He hoped nobody would hold it against him. He was trying his best, you know.
Power walking through the parking lot, he approached the entrance to the bowling alley. He wiped off imaginary dirt from the coat he wore, trying to make himself more presentable to his former classmates. This was going to be the last time he saw any of them for quite some time and he didn't want to leave them all on the wrong note.
Sure that he was the best that he could be, he entered the bowling alley, expecting to hear the sounds of bowling balls ramming into bowling pins.
What he got was absolute silence.
Curious, he ventured further into the building. The place was empty he found, even after he called out to see if there was indeed anyone here. Nothing. The lights were on, the bowling ball dispensers were running. The monitors keeping track of the games were fired up. But no one was here.
"Aw geez, I hope I'm not the only one showing up," Butters said to himself.
Before one could go into Heaven, one first had to pass through the Pearly Gates and St. Peter. However, if you have an escort, you got to pass by without incident and since St. Peter was half deaf and on the verge of going senile, it would make such an attempt all the more easier.
At least that's how Gabriel explained it.
"This is so great," Cartman said, rubbing his hands together and eyes alight with anticipation. "I get to see Heaven. Maybe I can get the ten thousand dollars you get when you come here now instead of after I die."
"What makes you think someone like you can get into Heaven?" Wendy replied rhetorically.
Naturally, Cartman had to answer though it wasn't in a rhetorical fashion. "Why shouldn't I? I'm a devout follower of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I fight the good fight to prevent the Jews from making the world a worse place. I am not part of a minority and have a soul unlike someone who is Ginger. Why wouldn't I get in?"
"Get comfortable, I have a list somewhere," Wendy said.
"Oh ha ha. You're just scared," Cartman accused of her. "You're scared that you haven't lived a humble and pious life and that you won't get in. Well, sucks to be you, hippie. I'll be sure to take a lot of photos and that way you can at least see what it's like to be in the wonderful land of Heaven."
"Halt!" Gabriel called out from the head of the group. "Behold! The Pearly Gates that guard Heaven from all intruders and invaders." The angel gestured grandly with an arm to gates that were quite huge but not pearly at all. Actually, they looked more like gold than anything. So then why were they called the Pearly Gates? With a booming voice, Gabriel called out, "Open the gates! It is the Archangel Gabriel!"
From high up and behind the gates, another voice called out "Open the gates!"
The gates shuddered and then slowly began to open, a bright light beyond them. It was hard to see anything behind it but Wendy figured that was the point. Those who had yet to enter weren't allowed to see what was there.
Then a figured emerged from the light and telling by the wings and how old he looked, Wendy guessed that this was St. Peter.
Before St. Peter could say anything, Gabriel said, "This party is with me. We won't be too long, hopefully."
"What? What party? I wasn't told there was a party!" St. Peter demanded.
"There isn't any party. I mean this group," Gabriel tried again.
"What? Whatever. But I want to be invited to that party," St. Peter grumbled.
"Fine," Gabriel sighed. Then to the rest of them, he said, "The path is open. Let us enter."
Wendy squared her shoulders and readied herself. She was about to enter the one place that everybody wanted to be. It was going to be great. It was going to be fantastic. It was going to be—OW! What the hell!
Wendy jolted back away from the gates, crying out and attracting the attention of everyone around her.
"Wendy? Is something wrong?" Gary asked worriedly.
"Something shocked me!" Wendy exclaimed. She couldn't understand why.
"Oh, that means that you can't enter," Gabriel said helpfully.
"What? But why?" Wendy protested. Getting a good look of who was in front of her, she saw nothing but guys. Her eyes narrowed at this. "Oh, I see. There's sexual discrimination going on here."
"Whatever do you mean?" Gabriel asked, confused.
"You don't allow women in here!" Wendy accused. "You've made a bad enemy, pal. I'm a lawyer and I'm going to sue your asses for—"
"That's why," Gabriel said simply, stopping her midsentence.
"What's why?" Wendy demanded.
"You're a lawyer," Gabriel explained. "Lawyers are not allowed in Heaven." He pointed towards a small plaque just to a side of the Pearly Gates to emphasize his point.
NO LAWYERS ALLOWED
Aw man.
"Ha! Sucks to be you!" Cartman taunted from beside her. "This is great. A Heaven where Wendy can't get in! Don't worry, I'll be sure to document this historical occasion and—OW! What the fuck?!"
As he had been speaking, Cartman had started walking ahead of her but then experienced the same thing she had and had to back up back to her side.
"This is odd," Gabriel said. "You're not a lawyer too, are you?"
"Of course not! What the fuck is going on?" Cartman cried out.
"Well if you're not a lawyer and nowadays not much is kept out of Heaven," Gabriel mused out loud, "you'd have to be a bigoted, anti-Semitic, minority discriminating, practically pure evil, Mel Gibson-worshipping, sociopathic asshole to not be allowed in."
"But I'm not sociopathic!" Cartman protested. "And I don't see a sign like that anywhere!"
"Under the no lawyers one," Gabriel said.
And sure enough…
NO BIGOTED ANTI-SEMITIC MINORITY DISCRIMINATING PRACTICALLY PURE EVIL MEL GIBSON-WORSHIPPING SOCIOPATHIC ASSHOLES ALLOWED
"Oh come on!" Cartman shouted.
"Sorry, those are the rules as decreed by God himself," Gabriel shrugged. "You two are going to have to wait here until we come back for you. St. Peter can keep you company until then."
"Wait what about Jews? You don't let Jesus-killing Jews in, right?" Cartman asked with desperation in his voice.
"All Jews go to Heaven regardless of their Jesus-killing status," Gabriel answered. "It was the least God could do for having them build the pyramids."
"You mean…that Jesus-killing Jewrat Kyle gets to go into Heaven…and I can't?" Cartman asked in a small voice though no one deigned to answer him. "No… No. NOOOOO!"
Wendy sighed in disappointment as everyone else got to walk pass her and into Heaven, the gates closing behind them. Now she had to wait out here with a devastated Cartman and a practically senile St. Peter.
Joy.
On the outskirts of Palo Alto, California was a small community known as Stanford. Within that community was a well-known college of the same name. However, that is not where we are going to go.
Instead, we go into a basement of sorts where dirt and grime have taken their hold on the tiles that line the walls. From up above, dim lighting fixtures light up the spacious room, revealing wheeled carts that held many sharp and blunt instruments on their flat surface, thick cables snaking on the floor, a revolving chair, and a floor drain in the middle of it all.
The revolving chair had an occupant this fine night, an unwilling occupant but an occupant nonetheless. He was stripped down to his white briefs, his mushy gut visible and hairy chest a sight to behold even though his limbs were strapped down tightly. Fear was apparently in the man's eyes but there was also anger, like who dared do something like this to a man like him. He couldn't vocalize his displeasure due to the ball gag in his mouth but he could still make grunts and growls.
In front of the restrained man stood another who wore an odd plastic coating that covered the majority of his body. It could be vaguely seen that there was casual clothing beneath the plastic but it was obscured by the plastic material, not that it mattered. The only portion of this man's body that was not covered by plastic was the head but that was hidden away by a flimsy Halloween mask. Black in color with a cowl design, the face was made of mesh, cloaking the face but giving a vague outline of a cheek.
This masked man stood before the restrained one, arms crossed and fingers tapping against a clothed bicep in thought. What was he going to do? What delights would be bring out of this walking carcass of meat and flesh? There was just so much to choose from.
"Don't look at me like that," the masked man chided. "We're more alike than you can imagine. Yet that's not why you're here today. Oh no, that's far from the reason why. What? You don't like my charming voice? Well, I'll give you that one. I've been told that it's one that you have to grow used to, an acquired taste if you will."
The masked man began pacing around his captive like a predator about to pounce, eyeing and calculating the man. Lazily, he unfolded his arms and reached out to a wheeled cart and picked up one of the items, a large hunting knife with a handle made of cool metal. The masked man gave the impression of admiring the blade, almost fondly if that could be said, but because of the mask you couldn't quite tell.
The restrained man was eyeing the knife warily, trying to put two and two together and figure out what his captor planned to do with the weapon.
"You know, you probably think right now that I'm some kind of freak," the masked man commented lightly. "That I'm some sick individual that needs to be either put down or sterilized. But that's not why you are in that chair right now. If you want the honest truth, I'll give it to you right now. I hate that little smug smirk you get on your face whenever things seem to be going your way. You and I have never met formally but I've seen you around. The dislike was automatic; I just didn't like you the moment I saw you. But I've been close a few times and always at a time when that stupid little smile of yours was pasted on that ridiculous face."
He continued to circle the bound man even as he monologued but his circles were getting smaller as if he was walking in a spiral. He toyed with the large knife in his hands with a familiarity that said he had done this before. Soon enough, the masked man came to a stop in front of the captive and was not moved but the baleful glare he was given.
"It's a good thing you do not know my name or even know of me," the masked man continued. "No one will connect me to you. But you know what's even better? It's that you are so fucking stupid. It just made it easier to abduct you. The easiest in fact. That must piss you off so much…"
The restrained man shook in the chair, trying to lunge at him but ultimately held back. There was just so much hatred in those eyes and if this man were free…
"You're lively, a fighter. Good," the masked man said. "So pissed off at how easily I made you powerless…just as much as you piss me off with that Goddamn smirk!" Without warning, the masked man stabbed the knife right into the man's knee and he reveled in the muffled scream of agony. The masked man twisted the knife ever so slightly, back and forth, grinding the blade into the bone, ligaments, and tendon.
"Go ahead, scream. No one will hear you." the masked man whispered to the wounded man. "We're going to have a good time, you and I. The only question is what condition you'll be left in." Jerking the knife out, the masked man rammed the butt end of the knife into the side of the man's face, interrupting the muffled screams. Of course, the whimpers and moans didn't stop.
Oh yes, they were just getting started…
A loud brrriiiiinggg! caused him to pause and look up. That sounded like…someone else was in the building and calling for him.
Let's put the thoughts of torture and death on hold for a moment.
"Excuse me. I have to attend to something," he told his victim as he spun as on his heel and marched towards the far wall. Pressed against it was a small table with a laptop on it and on the portable computer was a split screen showing various images of locations outside the room. One of them held the image of a couple in front of a door.
As if to underscore it, one of the individuals raised their arm and pressed a small button, the ringing from earlier sounding simultaneously. The masked man whipped his head to the left where dead ahead was a large, metal, sliding door. The masked man gripped his mask and pulled it off, revealing brown hair that was in disarray and pale skin that looked as if it rarely saw the light of day. Heterochromatic eyes flashed with irritation and the man made his way to the door though he took care to step carefully and not have the plastic he was wearing squeak out his presence.
Retrospectively, he hadn't taken such care when he had marched over to the computer but at the moment, the thought hadn't occurred to him. By the time he had reached the door, whoever it was that was on the other side was banging a knock against the metal surface. Peering through a small peephole, the man spied out who it was on the other side…
…and groaned in exasperation.
What the hell was she doing here?
"Open up asshole! I know you're in there. You've been smelled out!" a muffled voice declared followed by some more banging. With a self-suffering sigh, the young man with some difficulty, thanks to the plastic, unlocked the door and pulled on the handle, sliding the metal barricade open.
"What are you doing here?" Bain Cynis demanded as he glared at Charlotte White.
"What? I can't visit?" Charlotte retorted as she pushed her way in. Looking him up and down, she added, "Well you're dressed up fancy."
"I'm busy," Bain stated. "Now is not a good time."
"I can see that," Charlotte said as she spotted his latest victim who was wriggling in his seat, making pathetic sounds to try to get her attention and maybe help him.
"I ask again, what are you doing here?" Bain repeated his earlier demand. "I wasn't aware there were red-eye flights this late." He gripped the handle to the door and began to slide it shut only to be stopped by the other person Charlotte had been with. Damn, he had forgotten about the other. A costly oversight if Charlotte hadn't been one of them. "And what are you doing here?" Bain asked, eyeing Damien suspiciously.
"I'm her ride," Damien deadpanned as he himself pushed by the sociopath.
"Great, let's have a party," Bain spat out. "Invite the whole neighborhood why don't you?"
"Sounds like a smashing idea," Damien commented as he strolled up to the bound man who was practically screaming at the newcomers to help him. "So you're sending another one down to my father?"
"Would you prefer it if I gave him a first class ticket?" Bain growled as he slid the door shut.
"You haven't changed," Charlie said. "Just started?"
Bain raised an eyebrow at her as if asking isn't that obvious?
"So how'd you get this one?" Charlotte asked.
"Anonymous note that claimed I had some dirt on him. Come alone or it goes public," Bain said dully as he came up to Charlotte's side. "He was smarter than a few others. He was packing heat when he went to the location, hoped to 'silence' me and accuse me of a crime to justify it. The part he fucked up on was that he brought the only evidence of my trap in his front pocket."
"What'd you do to bring him down?" Charlotte asked.
"The plan was always to dose him up with some tranq and smuggle him here," Bain smirked. "That part didn't change."
"And what'll be the theme for this one? Which killer are you copying?" Charlotte asked.
"Haven't decided," Bain shrugged. "Carroll Cole. Jeffery Dahmer. Maybe Colin Ireland just to piss him off."
"I didn't know you did homages to female killers," Charlotte said.
"Carroll Cole was a man whose mother gave him a female name because she was a bitch and didn't like men," Bain corrected. "His is a case where the legal system failed as they kept putting him back on the streets again and again. Even for his final murder, the police were going to let him go despite his obvious guilt. There was plenty of evidence to charge him but they thought the death was an accident. Texas' finest, y'all."
"I find it disturbing that you would know all that," Damien said.
"The Antichrist sees my encyclopedic knowledge of various serial killers disturbing," Bain said, tilting his head slightly. "Should I be insulted?"
"I'm not here because I want to be, mortal," Damien stated. "I'm here for my former babysitter and I need the aid that her office can provide me. I'd rather do without you."
"I'm touched," Bain said dryly. Returning his attention to Charlotte, he made the contents of his mind very clear. "What is it?"
"Damien's picking a fight with Heaven and I figure he could use some brains," Charlotte stated. "You're the only person I know who has that even though you're crazy as shit."
"I would imagine that Damien here has access to some of the greatest minds in history," Bain replied. "I have no care what goes on between Heaven and Hell so long as I'm left out of it."
"He's spoken his answer," Damien said. "This whole trip was a waste of time."
"Not yet," Charlotte scowled at the Antichrist. "Bain, you know what's going to happen to you after you die, right?"
"All too well," Bain growled, eyes darkening at the memory. "Ten years ago during that one winter, I got a taste of it. The prospect of being immersed in a river of boiling blood and fire does not appeal to me but the outer ring of the seventh circle of Hell seems to be my destination. Why?"
"You're a smart fucker. Why don't you use that brain of yours," Charlotte taunted, tapping his head much to his annoyance. "You help out Hell and they'll owe you one. Maybe you won't have to go to the Seventh Circle."
"Doubtful," Damien chuckled.
"Not everyone gets lucky like you, dear Charlotte, and has Satan cut them a break with a favorable deal," Bain glowered. "But you do raise a good point. A very good point."
"So what's your answer?" Charlotte asked.
"If you can get me out of that punishment, I do believe I can lend a hand to your cause," Bain drawled out, leaning closer to the author. "Of course I will need your word, preferable something unbreakable and written, of course."
"You're exceeding your authority Charlie," Damien warned.
"I have some cred with your father. It will be his decision, won't it?" Charlotte challenged. Getting the sense that negotiations were over, she glanced at Bain's latest victim. "So who's this guy? He's not another talent agent, is he?"
"Campus police," Bain answered. "Reminds me too much of Eric Cartman. I wanted to improve the grounds of Stanford and disposing of him will be a good start."
"Even though you know your afterlife, you still continue your transgressions?" Damien questioned.
"It doesn't matter if I kill one or one million, the punishment is still the same," Bain replied dismissively. "If I'm damned to that, I might as well enjoy my time up here, wouldn't you agree?"
"How about you finish up here so that we can go," Charlotte grumbled. "I don't like this Saw atmosphere you have going here. You can do better than that."
"Already nagging me and we aren't even married?" Bain commented as he casually stabbed the remodeled Winslow into the restrained man's throat. Out of spite, Bain twisted the knife before pulling it out and began cleaning off the blade, taking care of it with a tenderness rarely expressed towards other people. "Dispose of that, will you?" he asked of his "guests" as he sauntered over towards his laptop and began shutting the system down. "I'm guessing I don't have time to make an homage this time around."
Behind the murderer's back, Charlotte and Damien shared a silent conversation, language conveyed mostly through facial features, including twitches, nods, shakes, and glares. It ended with Charlotte raising an eyebrow at the Antichrist and Damien rolled his eyes as he snapped his fingers.
The corpse erupted into a blaze of hellfire that greedily devoured it. It took less than ten seconds but once the fire was gone, there was nothing of the body left and only blackened cushions left behind that suggested a fire had even existed.
"Thank you," Bain offered generously as he shut the laptop closed. Turning back to them while reaching towards a chair where a black trenchcoat hung from its back, he asked, "Where to?"
"Stay on your best behavior," Gabriel warned. "You are about to enter the Portal of Joy."
Before the group of mostly South Park natives stood the doorway to the actual city of Heaven which happened to resemble a woman's labia. Anyone of the female persuasion looked quite uncomfortable at the sight.
"Fantastic, isn't it?" Gabriel asked in awe.
No one had the guts to answer him.
Kenny didn't have to look back at everyone to know that in some way they were in awe of this place, as well as anxious. The holiness of this place could make anyone mortal nervous about whether they should be here or not. Even when he had the chance to show up here, he still felt that way. There was a sanctity here that was not to be disturbed, especially by those who were impure by nature.
In essence, human.
With maybe the exception of Gary who looked like he felt right at home, Kenny was the only one unbothered by their surroundings. He had seen them before and while it took some time getting used to it, he had long since passed the time when he had gotten used to it.
The denizens of this place however…
"Gabriel! What do you think you're doing?" Uriel demanded as he stomped towards them. Kenny didn't fail to notice how the females of this group couldn't help but stare at the angel's musculature. "And where's Mysterion? You just have—oh, it's our Keanu Reeves. Not as good as that dark vigilante but I suppose he'll do. But the others! They shouldn't be here!"
"Michael already gave me his permission," Gabriel said. "We're going to need their help if we want to totally pwn the Antichrist and whatever he throws at us."
"As if we need mortal help," Uriel grumbled. "This is starting to look like that time we outsourced our tech support to India."
"You don't know that they'll give crappy service," Gabriel argued.
Beside Kenny, Stan leaned over and whispered to the blond, "Is it just me or are some of these guys dicks?"
"It's not just you," Kenny answered somewhat sadly.
From there they continued forth to the Mammary Courtyard where they had to avoid looking at a few gazebos that happened to resemble women's boobs. Well, most of them looked away; Kenny would never pass up the chance to gaze at some voluptuous breasts even if they weren't squeezable whatsoever.
He had to get his fix somewhere!
"Ah, so you've returned," Michael greeted them and was it Kenny or did the archangel quickly try to hide an uncapped dry erase marker behind his back? "And you've brought recruits. Very good."
"If you will take over," Gabriel bowed his way out of responsibility which Michael readily accepted.
"Of course," Michael agreed as his presence seemed to envelop the group of mortals. Kenny felt more than saw Brittany sidle up next to him, more than likely cowed by the radiance that was Michael. If she only knew the truth… "Gary," he nodded at the Mormon, "Keanu Reeves," to him, "friends of Gary and Keanu Reeves," to the rest of them, "I welcome you to the city of Heaven. It's best we get right down to business."
"Whatever's best," Gary said, patting the shoulder of Kyra, most likely to comfort her Kenny supposed.
"There's been a lot of activity on Earth," Michael began as he turned to a dry erase board that had been set to a side. "The Antichrist is gathering whatever forces he can on Earth and so far, we've been able to count at least four individuals he has won over." As he spoke, the archangel drew a circle that was supposed to represent the Earth and drew a line that had arrows on either side of it to try and show the enemy's movements. "Seeing as how we have eight to his four and if you count the two who are with St. Peter and Gary and Keanu Reeves, that would be twelve," he wrote the numbers on the board, "and that means we're, like, three times stronger than he is."
He brought the felt end of the marker up to his nose and took a quick sniff of it.
"Now, I am not going to pretend that the forces of Hell do not have spies up here, which they most likely do, and it's going to be a matter of time until Damien learns of our superior numbers," Michael continued. "He's going to go back home," he drew two lines that descended below the circle representing Earth, "to Hell where he'll most likely whine and complain until his father," he added two curved lines to the bottom of each of the straight lines he had just drawn to represent the vastness of Hell, "agrees to give him access to Hell's armies."
The archangel stopped in his briefing to take another smell of the marker.
Kenny and co. stared at the drawing on the board that Michael had just made.
"Is that a dick?" Clyde asked pointing at it.
Instead of looking at the board, Michael looked at what was behind the board and towards an oddly shape tower in the distance. "Damn it, I told them not to use that design for the Tower of Phallic Pride! Now what's God going to think about our watchtower?"
"I wasn't talking about that," Clyde spoke in a small voice.
"Huh?" Michael glanced at the mortal who was shrinking in on himself. Kenny felt some pity for his former classmate but he wasn't about to save him from the archangel's attention any time soon. The archangel just stared Clyde down, his eyes not blinking once which was a bit creepy in Kenny's book.
"Um, can I ask a question?" Nathan asked, raising his hand up a bit like he was a kid in grade school.
"Shoot, sport," Michael nodded.
"I was thinking, is there a chance we could bring some more people in on this? You know, bolster our ranks?" Nathan asked.
"Is there someone you have in mind? I wouldn't object to most people," Michael said.
"How about, I don't know, Charlotte White?" Nathan suggested.
"Ooh, sorry, no deal there. Try again," Michael answered automatically.
"Why not?" Nathan frowned.
"About ten and a half years ago, Satan made a deal with this mortal Charlotte White. In exchange for her services, she would take on the position of Beelzebub, and she succeeded in her task," Michael explained. "She's a member of the forces of Hell and according to our sources, she's one of Satan's favorites."
Nathan opened and shut his mouth, unable to say anything to that. To Kenny, it looked like someone had punched him in the gut. Did he have a crush on ol' Lottery Ticket? Sucked to be him, he supposed.
"Can we get on with this?" Craig asked, an edge in his voice that hinted at impatience.
"Right," Michael nodded. "Seeing as how the Antichrist is going to act like a whinny bitch and get his father's army, maybe get Charlotte White to help out, some of the other archangels have gotten together and decided that this might be our best chance."
When Michael didn't continue, Stan decided to be the one to who asked the pertinent question, "Best chance for what?"
"Didn't I say that?" Michael asked in reply frowning. "You probably weren't paying attention. As I had said, this looks like it could be our best chance to get our hands on the Book."
"What book?" Gary asked patiently.
"The Book of Nemesis," Michael answered ominously.
The group of South Park residents, both past and present, all traded looks with one another. The Book of…Nemesis? What was that?
"What is the Book of Nemesis?" Gary asked.
"Basically, its part two of the Book of Revelations," Michael explained. "It foretells the future and not just some kind of vague predictions, I mean, it's specific. Whatever it says is coming true, even if God says it's wrong."
"But doesn't that, like, prove God infallible and cause the end of existence?" Bebe asked. When everybody stared at her with "what the fuck?" looks, she huffed and crossed her arms. "What? Can't a blonde know something?"
"In most cases, you'd be right," Michael admitted. "However, as God Himself once explained it to me, the Book of Nemesis came before Him. He never gave me the details but for a while God used that Book to rise to power on Earth and in the Heavens. Greek Gods? Gone. Egyptian Gods? Who cares. Native American spirits? What Native American spirits. The Book of Nemesis' power was so great it even spooked God Himself."
"So you mean God being the one and only god is not really true?" Gary's voice cracked. "Are you saying He used this book to seize power?"
"No, just crush all the upstarts and show those Egyptian Gods why you don't enslave Jews to build your pyramids," Michael said.
"So…what happened? You said this would be our best chance to get the Book of Nemesis," Kenny said. "Do you mean God no longer has this book?"
"Yes, God feared the Book of Nemesis to the point He didn't trust Himself with it," Michael intoned. "And because it somehow, impossibly, precedes our Lord, God cannot destroy it. So, according to God, He gave it to the one person He knew wouldn't use it if only because his pride alone wouldn't allow him to."
"And that is?" Kenny pressed.
"Satan," Michael answered calmly.
Every earthling exclaimed, "WHAT?"
"Why would He give Satan of all people this book that supposedly can prove God wrong?" Stan continued to exclaim.
"Because, mortal, Satan's pride wouldn't allow him to," Gabriel stepped forward. "Satan would rather take God's throne by himself and his own efforts than to use the universe's cheat codebook. And also, if the Book of Nemesis says God is wrong, the stuff about Him being infallible doesn't count."
"But if we can retrieve this tome that should have been but wasn't included in the Bible, then we can finally put an end to Satan's ambitions, hell, even prevent the Apocalypse from happening at all!" Michael picked back up. "We believe that you mortals have the means and talent to get your hands on that Book and return it to us where it rightfully belongs."
They all remained silent, whether it was because of the magnitude of their task or wondering how they hell they were going to get their hands on the book was not apparent.
"So how do you expect us to do this?" Craig asked breaking the silence.
"Beats me," Michael shrugged.
In Japanese anime, there is a phenomenon known as the facefault. If such a thing was physically possible, that would be the reaction among the mortal earthlings.
"Your exploits in your mountain town are well known to us," Michael continued. "If anyone can sneak into Hell and steal the Book of Nemesis, you're the ones to do it."
"Sneak into Hell?" Stan repeated, his throat dry.
"Isn't stealing one of the Ten Commandments?" Gary wondered. "'Thou shalt not steal?'"
"It's not stealing!" Michael defended. "It's taking back what belonged to us in the first place! Totally legit!"
Unable to argue, not because they accepted the angel's argument but because they recognized that they were dealing with an idiot, Stan said, "I supposed we'll get right on this then. Sooner the better."
"That's the spirit!" Michael praised.
"Yeah, let's—" Gary began but was then interrupted.
"Not you Gary. We can't risk you going into Hell where you'll be at your weakest," Michael stated. "You'll stay up here for a while while we get you trained in using your Messiah powers. You'll need it for the next battle against the Antichrist."
"Does this have to end with violence?" Gary protested.
"It's not only the answer, it's the solution!" Michael declared. "As for the rest of you, Godspeed. You'll need all the help you can get in your sacred mission. I don't envy you for what you have to do."
"This is utter bullcrap!" Cartman roared, glaring at the half-deaf St. Peter. "I should be in there! I don't deserve this kind of treatment! I've done my Christian duty I don't know how many times! I shouldn't be excluded on some technicality! If anyone deserves to be in Heaven, it's me!"
"What?" St. Peter yelled. "Led Zeppelin's music is technical? What does that even mean?"
"This joke is so lame that it's a drinking game and an 'it's so lame' joke!" Cartman grumbled.
"Why don't you stop your bitching and moaning?" Wendy groused. "You can yell it for all eternity, the fact is neither of us are allowed in so deal with it."
"Hey, I'm not going to lie down and accept this!" Cartman spat at his only company that didn't have hearing issues. "It's not fair! It's discriminatory!"
"It's exclusive to Mormons," St. Peter mentioned, bringing into question whether he was hearing impaired or not. Neither Cartman nor Wendy paid much attention to this fact though Cartman definitely heard the Mormon bit.
"Mormons? But they're cultists!" Cartman exclaimed.
"They have actual beliefs and values like the rest of us and are recognized as a religious institution," Wendy said dully. "Only ignorant, willfully blind extremists like you are still on about that."
"Well screw you too, Wendy!" Cartman snapped. "It's not fair! I'm a good Christian! I'm part of the majority!"
"You've tried to kill all the Jews," Wendy pointed out. "If all Jews go to Heaven, then God must still like them and trying to kill them all is bound to put you on the naughty list."
"Why don't you shut the hell up Wendy?" Cartman growled. "You're not adding much of anything to this conversation. If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything."
Wendy snorted but said nothing. Yeah, that's what he thought.
"Those assholes in there don't know what they're missing," Cartman continued to rant. "I was the first to volunteer! Yet the black guy who is the last one to say yes is given a free pass! I have more to offer than any of them! In fact, I'll prove it! I'll prove myself and then they gotta let me in!"
"And what do you have in mind to prove yourself?" Wendy asked sarcastically.
"I…don't…know…" Cartman trailed off. Adopting a thinking pose, he wracked his brain, trying to figure out the fastest and easiest way to have Heaven begging for him to enter the city. "But I'll figure something out! And it'll be so great, all the angels will be saying, 'Oh Cartman! You're so brave and sexy' and 'I want to have your babies Cartman' and 'here's a million bucks for saving our asses Cartman. No, no, it is tax-free, in fact, have two million, no, a billion!' And I'll be like 'It was no big deal'."
"What world do you live in?" Wendy asked, sounding shocked but that must have been because his awesomeness was so overwhelming.
He knew, he knew, sometimes even he amazed himself.
Then a thought occurred to him.
This might not be cheap. Whatever he was going to have to do was going to cost him money, whether it be not going to Melanie Wishcast's house to fix her plumbing problem of the day or having to dig into what little savings he had. He still didn't know what he was going to do some expense-wise; he had no idea of how much he was going to need. Second, he had no idea how much money he was going to lose by not working while waiting for his chance.
That just settled it then. Until further notice, he was just going to have to shop at Black Market and as for some cash, well, he had an idea of what to do already.
All he needed now was an opportunity.
It wasn't easy crossing a distance of one thousand miles and back just using Satanic powers. It was harder to ferry others along with you. Nevertheless, Damien managed it though he was quite tired after it. The things he had to do to show Heaven up. Charlie better damn appreciate this.
South Park was still in one piece, so Damien took that as a sign that nothing had happened while he was away. Well, time to get on home and get some rest. Tomorrow promised to be a busy day and all.
Now, he had his own residence somewhere in this town. He had trouble remembering where exactly it was but he would like to point out that there was a good reason for this. You see, after he called it a day at the office, the home he generally found himself in belonged to his "aide." What? He liked going over to Kyle's. So much so he made himself at home.
And so what if he ditched Charlie and her boytoy in the front yard? He'd be seeing them in the morning. What he wanted right now was to see Kyle and—and what was that expression on his Jew's face? He looked…upset about something.
Hand still on the doorknob and the door wide open to advertise his presence, Damien found what looked like a sulking Kyle on the couch. To be fair, Damien had a little trouble telling the difference between Kyle's sulking face and his pissed off face. They were so alike that they could be interchanged with one another.
Without a second thought, Damien crossed the distance between him and his (snicker) aide, and as soon as he was sure Kyle was looking at him and only him, he demanded, "What happened?"
"Cerberus is gone," Kyle said dully. Hmm, sounded like Kyle was both sulking and pissed off. And wait, did he say the dog was gone? He knew that the guard dog from Hell wasn't mentioned much in recent stories but he also knew that Kyle had formed an attachment to the beast.
"Gone? What happened?" Damien reiterated his previous question.
"Your father showed up here with no warning and said he needed Cerberus back," Kyle answered, his voice starting to rise with each word he said. Ah, now we were getting some liveliness. "Do you have any idea of what the hell is going on?"
"My father already knows that I gifted Cerberus to you," Damien said. "I am just as puzzled as you are."
"Good riddance I say, damn guard dogs."
"And then there's this asshole," Kyle full out glared at the…"guest" that Damien hadn't been aware of until this moment. He was slipping. Either he was more tired than he thought and used too much power or he was growing soft and not taking a quick sniff of the place before entering.
"And who might you be?" Damien growled at the intruder, standing up from his crouch.
"I 'ust 'appened to be in ze neighborhood and got a call from Charlie," the large man spoke with a French accent. It didn't take long for Damien to recall this acquaintance.
"And when did Charlie call you?" Damien asked somewhat pleasantly, his ire hidden by the pleasantness.
"Before we left," Charlie answered for him, poking her head from the doorway. "Why are you here Christophe? Why not at my place?"
"You weren't zere," Christophe DeLorne, a.k.a. ze Mole, shrugged his shoulders. 'I remembered you told me zat zis involved a certain Antichrist so I came to the one place I knew he would show up at."
"Why are you bringing him into this?" Damien demanded of his supposed subordinate.
"Extra hands, mostly," Charlie said. "The moment I mentioned the opportunity he would get to bitchslap God, he waived his usual fee."
"Fuckeng cocksucker," Christophe proved her point.
"We aren't going to be going against God any time soon," Damien stated.
"'Is angels will serve as a substitute," Christophe replied. "Anyzing to stick it to zat cocksucking bastard."
"What the hell is all this? Is this some kind of Hell convention? And why is it in my house?" Kyle demanded angrily. "And what is that psycho doing outside my door?"
A glance towards Charlie showed that her boytoy was peeking in and giving Christophe a displeased stare. Right, Charlie's male friends happened to dislike each other to an insane degree. And these were going to be his allies?
"I never agreed to have him," he gestured to Christophe, "involved with this. What makes you think I will agree to his involvement?"
"He's working for me. That's why. Got a problem?" Charlie stated.
Damien released an inhuman growl. It hadn't been two hours since he approached Charlie and already he was getting a headache. If his father hadn't liked this mortal girl so much, oh, he'd give her what for!
"Look, can anybody who's tied up in this whole mess to get back at God or whatever please take it out of my house," Kyle groaned as he flopped back into the couch. "You can stay if you know of any way to get my dog back," he added generously.
"Very well then," Damien said. "We'll continue this discussion tomorrow—"
"Preferably not in my living room," Kyle cut it.
"—when we're all rested up and if you still want to get Cerberus, we'll take a trip back home to get him back," Damien finished.
A beat passed and Kyle said, "We?"
"Whatever reason my father had to take Cerberus back has to be important," Damien told him. "He might be willing to listen if there is more than one voice bitching at him. There's not a thing I can think of that would allow me to figure out his motivation."
"And to get my dog back, I have to go to the one place I never wanted to go…not after you dragged me down into it," Kyle subtly glared at Damien. Sighing, he murmured, "I do miss him…and Dip…and Marley. Fine. Whatever."
"Good," Damien leaned down and placed his lips lightly on Kyle's forehead. "I'll be nice and let you have the rest of tonight to yourself but don't think I've forgotten about our deal from earlier."
"Right, right," Kyle grumbled, looking away.
"So is ze lover's quarrel over?" Christophe asked.
Damien watched as Kyle's cheeks reddened in embarrassment. That's right, Kyle wasn't one for public displays of affection. He had conveniently forgotten about that, heh heh.
"Enough. We'll settle your involvement elsewhere," Damien ordered. "Now leave. All of you. We are all going to have a big day tomorrow. This might be the last time any of you get any rest."
