He was a long way from home.
He scurried across the street and up a streetlight. It was night. The creature liked the night. He didn't have to try to blend in as hard during night. Darkness was his kingdom.
There was a shriek of laughter from beneath him. Dangling down he saw a male and a female coming out of the nearest drinking establishment, both of them weaving as they walked. He growled low at the alcohol-sodden primates.
They would soon know their place in the world.
He dropped to the ground silently. The humans were swiftly coming upon him; through they could not possibly hope to see the creature, as one-dimensional as they were.
The creature growled once more, running his tongue across his teeth. Two more Underdemons would thread this earth tonight.
He leapt.
He could feel his claws sinking into flesh as the humans screamed. He ignored them. They were only the means to an end. Finally the pair of them lay dead in this back alleyway, one block away from the bright lights of the police station.
He looked at the bodies, and he felt no remorse for what he had just done. The human plague that walked this planet was only fit die for their Overlords. He submerged his hand in blood.
Come, brother. Come, sister.
Stepping back, he watched as the red blood began to bubble and boil. A shadow slowly seeped out of the spreading stain, followed by another, smaller. He watched as they shaped themselves before his eyes.
Greetings, brother.
Ah, the Overworld! Sweet Lord, it's absolutely vile.
They spoke in fragments of languages, yet still understood each other, as family spawn often did.
They had come through the portal, which had been opened by the spilling of blood on the ground. The humans of old would have known how to prevent such a thing, but the old ways had been lost for many years now. The three of them stood in a circle, staring down at the mess.
Should we remove them?
No. We may require their services later. The youngest turned to the eldest. You fool, approaching them like that.
They believe that the Undead have been unleashed. They are unaware of who we truly are. The old ways have been lost to them.
Do not underestimate the hunters. Who were the ones that drove us under the ground? Their ancestors. The ones that called themselves the Slayers.
Yes.
For the Mother.
For Lilith, soon to be Queen of Hell.
Unbeknown to the three minor demons, someone was watching them. Someone could see their figures in the darkness, stick thin and spindly and comical, as if someone had taken a sheet of latex and stretched it firmly over a fake skeleton, where half the bones were missing.
The Trickster watched these little demons, demons that he would have been too proud and dignified to consort with in the past. Before that bleedin' Mother decided to declare war and had forced the subservience of each creature that existed within her domain.
"Look at this filth." He commented. "What the flamin' heck does she think she's gonna do with that rubbish? So, it'll keep the human numbers down. What happens when all that are left are those little creeps?"
"Mother knows what she is doing."
"So you say, Cerberus, but all I have seen so far of your precious mother is a scary and sometimes frankly unbalanced Archdemon. I don't know anything of the plan, if she has one, or whether she's making it up as she goes along."
"Mother knows the plan. And as such she is only giving out the pieces that apply to each one of you insubordinate fleshcrawlers. Very useful in forcing the traitorous into line." The Trickster heard the sting in the demon's reply and bristled.
"Are you saying I'm one of the traitorous?"
"You have been given free rein for too long, creature. And as soon as Mother begins to restrain you and give you less room to strut about, you pull at the line and yip and snap like a dog."
"How dare-?"
"Easily. If not for my intervention on your behalf, you would have been dead long before now. Mother does not like you. But I insisted that you be kept alive as you and her captain have such a repertoire."
"So I owe you for your mercy?" He sneered.
"You may rebuff me at any time, refuse my protection and reclaim your dignity. But then you would be quite dead." His eyes menacingly sparkled a poisonous green. "I would not stand in your way. You are a rather annoying being."
"So I've been told." The Trickster growled as Cerberus stood in his borrowed body. "Cerberus, you miserable son of a bitch."
"Yes. I am."
The Trickster watched as he walked away through narrowed eyes. The plan, whatever it was, had to be heating up if the guardian of the mouth of Hell was once again walking the surface.
The Anorexia Demons had vanished. The Trickster didn't bother looking around for them. He stood and straightened the suit he was wearing. Contempt for all demonkind was no excuse for sloppy dressing.
"Odin's arse." He breathed. "Arrogant piece a'- Thinks he can get the better of me, we'll see about that, see who gets the last laugh, then he won't be so smug." The Trickster looked up at the tall building opposite to where they had been sitting. There was one light still on, near the very top. In the last half-hour, both man and woman had walked past that window.
He knew who they were, though this was as close as he dared to go, in case he really was killed this time. The Mother, she really had reined him in. He was no longer allowed to put his powers to use unless it profited her directly, and that's probably what he missed the most.
Straightening the lapel of his jacket, he continued to stare at the window. Any other time he wouldn't have even pondered it, not even a little. But now…
It was time to pay an old friend a visit.
The light in the window finally flickered off.
It struck Jo as amusing that once she used to feel safe in the darkness. Not anymore.
She glanced over to Sam's bed. He was lying on his uninjured side, completely still. He almost could have been asleep, but she knew he too was lying awake, musing. As she finally closed her eyes, something dropped off the side of the counter and shattered.
Someone uttered a string of expletives before all was quiet once more.
Jo shot up from bed. Sam did the same, jolting his shoulder as he did so. As one they reached for their weapons. He nudged the door open with his foot and she raised her shotgun to her shoulder, finger tightening on the trigger…
"Don't shoot!"
"Who? You!" Sam was shocked, but the grip on his knife didn't slacken. He was standing there, hands to the sky, dressed to the nines. He was there… yet Sam couldn't believe it.
"You know this maniac?" Jo demanded. She glanced toward the door. It was still locked and chained; nothing had been moved.
He ignored her. "You're dead!"
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
"Am not!"
"Stop it!" Jo cut across them both. "What the f- what's going on?"
"You first." Sam brandished the knife around erratically.
"One, children shouldn't play with knives." The dark haired man said stoutly. Jo waved her hand at Sam and he reluctantly put down the blade.
"So. You're the replacement for old Deano." He looked her up and down, and it kind of made her skin crawl. "Not bad. Not bad at all." It was then Jo realised she was wearing just boxers and a tee shirt.
"Who are you?" She asked again, patience running thin. It was only a matter of time before the neighbours started pounding on the walls, demanding silence.
"There's a better question you could be asking right about now." He said slyly. Jo thought for a moment.
"What are you?"
"Very good, grasshopper." He smiled at her, then his gaze switched to Sam. "I come under the white flag of truce."
"A truce? With us? What sort of insane world did I wake up in?" Sam asked sarcastically. "You bring down the high and mighty. Look around; we aren't exactly high or mighty."
The intruder smiled. "'Cause I need your help."
"What?"
"You said it yourself. Bring down the high and mighty. That's what I do. I'm old. Very old. And in all that time I have never had to ask anyone else for a hand." He scowled. "Do you know what that's like? To finally give in and say 'I need help'?"
"Can't say I have." But he carefully avoided looking at Jo as he said it.
"I've got this old bag lined up for a shakedown, see, but I can't get in there and do it myself."
"So don't do it yourself. Conjure up something from your bag of tricks. I'm sure there's a few clichés you haven't used yet. Homicidal ghosts. Deranged psychopath." His eyes narrowed triumphantly. "Ah. But you wouldn't be here if it was that easy."
The scowl on the other man's face deepened. Then he smirked. "How about I make you a deal?"
"A deal."
"Yeah. Sort of a 'you scratch my back I'll scratch yours' thing. I know you're here about all these missing bodies that turn up again in a few days. And I can tell you that you're way off the mark with what you're working on. You're looking for the wrong thing."
"Really. Then what are we looking for?"
"Uh huh. We shake first." And Sam was offered the Trickster's hand. He smiled furtively. "Come on, Sammy, I don't double cross the people I'm working with."
"Really." He said again. "Then what about this 'old bag' that you're so afraid of? I take it you're working for her?" And although Sam was determined to keep up the 'tough' façade, inside he was certain he knew who the Trickster was referring to.
The creature's grin widened. "Yes. But strictly speaking, she's not a person, see?"