Chapter 11:

"Die!"

Herbert Rheinhold stopped dead in his tracks at the terrifying sight of a blast of hellish flame coming straight at him, his eyes big as plates. Just before impact, his bodyguard pushed him out of the way, taking the brunt of the blast. The explosion and the horrifying screaming that followed could be heard across the park, eliciting a panic among the folk there.

The fat peanut stared up at his bodyguard's murderer, as she sauntered up, hips wig-waggling sensually and stiletto heels click-clacking on the pavement. "W-w-w-what," he babbled? "Not personal," chuckled the elemental, as she casually drew one of the clubs from his now-burning bag, "business." Burning the grip off, she heated the steel shaft until it was white hot before plunging it through the hapless executive's eye-socket, boiling his brain away in a cloud of noxious steam.

Shouts announced that enforcers were on their way. While she could have killed them, Marysia Okonski had learned that her new profession required some level of discretion. She couldn't kill all the flesh creatures—yet. Nor did she want to reveal her activities to her family. Stepping into the burning pyre that had been a burly, black-haired giant from Warrior Kingdom, the curvy lass emerged in her bedroom. Two down. One more to go.

News of the brazen murder in a public park reached the ears of the Minister of Security within a scant hour of the event. It was the second such murder within days, both seemingly committed by an elemental. With all that was going on already, this new problem had Star Mertens vexed.

"No witnesses again," she rumbled? "Only from a distance," Captain Garcia responded. "Who was the victim," she asked? The banana-guard officer responded, "a Mr. Herbert Rheinhold. Money-bags type out of Peanut Kingdom." Star frowned. The previous decedent had been some joker out of Bee Kingdom.

Peter Taylor had been almost a ghost—just a name and a bank-account—until he'd come a cropper by falling off a thirty-story tower downtown. The fact that he was a bee made the death incongruous, but the fact that he'd been burning like a fucking bonfire the whole way down made it suspicious.

Mr. Taylor was a shitbag who was deep into the Candy Kingdom's awful pedophile scene. His money and connections gave him the power to access the young stuff and get away with it. That meant there were plenty of people who had a reason to shed themselves of the scummy bee-person, and that had been the direction the investigation was going up until now.

Odessa, thought Star. The name popped into her mind unbidden. Rumblings from Star's agents in Muscle Kingdom suggested that a lot of rich fucks had gone up in smoke after hacking off Odessa and her family. They'd been part of Kim's faction, when he'd made a play to disrupt the bond offering the previous year. For reasons that Star still found unclear, Odessa had smashed his scheme by the expedient of simply killing all the participants in her kingdom.

That's her right, Star thought. The people in question had been belatedly charged and convicted of crimes, and Star had let the business get swept under the rug as an 'internal matter'. Now, the bitch thought she could bring that here to the Candy Kingdom. Time to have a conversation, thought Star.

"Alright," announced the wood-nymph wonder. "This has just passed out of the realm of a police matter. I'm now handling this. Please turn over any files you have by COB today." Frank Garcia sat up and took notice. That was a very big deal, suggesting that politics had just entered the room. He'd split from Muscle Kingdom—leaving a pretty good career as a cop there—to get away from such business. When the royals wanted to play, you could get really badly hemmed up.

The little woman in front of him was a nymph. It was easy to dismiss her as a little sexpot, like the rest of her kind. This woman didn't dress in low-cut tops, with her junk hanging out for the world to see. The chill of those blue-green eyes suggested that she was always on the ragged edge of bloodshed. Frank knew she was on the edge because his new colleagues had told him that.

Princess, Frank, he thought. Star Mertens was a princess and just as dangerous as any of the bitches and bastards in his homeland. At the same time, she was agreeing to take what was apparently a big fucking problem off his hands, sight unseen. "Right," he agreed. "Close of Business today." With no further word, the cop rose and departed, leaving the princess to her dark thoughts.

On the far side of the ocean, the young princess's adoptive uncle sat in the palace's indoor exercise center, working on his rehabilitation—work that was a long time coming. The palace doctors had been pressuring the King's adopted brother to get out and about and learn to walk again, but it had been clear from the start that Jermaine just didn't have his heart in the business. He was dying inside—or at least he had been until an unlikely exercise partner had shown up to help.

"C'mon, Jerry," Bryce rumbled! "Just one more! You got just one more to do!" The job of the day was strengthening his legs with the leg-press, and Bryce had thrown himself into helping Jermaine with all his considerable energy.

Now, as the demon watched, Jermaine gathered all his will, pushing on the heavy bar with all the strength he had left. Finally, he inched the thing past the goal. "Easy, Jerry," Bryce exhorted him. "Ease it down." That was the tough part. He couldn't just let the bar bang down. That was cheating. It was all the way up and then back down, using his withered, injured legs to hold the bar back against the hundred pounds of iron that wanted to slam it against the stops.

As Jermaine felt the bar touch the rest, he finally allowed himself to relax. "One more than last week," Bryce remarked, as he mopped at Jermaine's brow with a big, fluffy towel. The dog looked up at him, his expression thoughtful and melancholy.

Bryce turned and crossed the room, retrieving a couple of ice-cold bottles of water. Returning to Jermaine's side, he handed him one of the bottles, asking, "what's eating you?" Jermaine gave him an ironic look. The demon chortled, "hey, man. Tryin'a get that soul. Still." Sitting down besides Jermaine, he remarked, "you're the only friend I ever had." Frowning, he added, "besides maybe Finn and Jake."

Of course, that precipitated the mood. Jermaine glanced away and then spent several minutes contemplating the bottle in his hands as if thinking of something much stronger. "Jake ain't stopped by, huh," Bryce burbled. Jermaine glared at him. Nobody had stopped by. Not even Finn.

Glancing up, Bryce reminded him, "folks got t'live their lives, Jerry. You know that." Jermaine sighed heavily. Finn and Jake had 'lived their lives' without him for years before finally returning to the house they'd grown up in. "Big doings, Jerry," Bryce sighed.

Jermaine knew Bryce had been part of those big doings. He'd been brutally honest about whacking dudes that crossed Finn. He'd collected a fair number of souls these last few months. It was a terrifyingly eye-opening reality. There were a whole lot of shitbags amongst the rich. It seemed they couldn't help screwing the little guy, even when they already had a lot of money to gain.

"Don't understand it," Jermaine rumbled. "Why now?" With a sigh, Bryce responded, "maybe it's the cosmic beings, Jerry. Why did Jake and Finn show up at our old place when they did? We were there for years after Josh passed away. Then Finn and Jake show up out of the blue. Anyways... it's all above my pay-grade..." The demon always said that, when they were edging up on things he knew but couldn't speak of. It would've been laugh-out-loud funny, if Jermaine was in a mood for laughter.

Just then Bryce's phone rang. Flicking his finger, he conjured up a literal hole in the air. Reaching into the space beyond, he came up with a diamond-and-gold encrusted phone. Glancing at the face, the demon frowned in puzzlement before flicking it open. "Hey, Bill," the demon intoned. "What's up?"

As Jermaine watched and listened, his coach nodded now and again, offering Jermaine's nephew an occasional 'uh-huh'. Finally, Bryce confirmed, "yeah, I can pr'olly do that, Bill. When d'ya need me? Tonight? Ok. I'll be down there. Sounds good." Flicking the phone off, Bryce turned to his best bud and said, "one lap around the gym, then we go for ice-cream? 'kay?" Jermaine nodded. It wasn't like he had anywhere to be, and ice-cream sounded like it would hit the spot.

Far to the south, Billy slipped his phone back into his pocket. One task down. Thor's expression was cryptic, as if he was having doubts. "He'll do what we need," Billy announced. Thor's eyes flicked to the woman in the corner, telling Billy some of what was on his mind. Cameron hadn't moved in quite some time. The nymph was frighteningly still, just now.

"Her heart is slowing," Billy rumbled. "The curse is disrupting her central nervous system. Eventually, her heart will stop or her diaphragm will stop, and she'll suffocate." Thor grimaced. That was a helluva fucking way to go! Billy reminded him, "the sooner we take care of business, the sooner she's either free of the curse or..."

It was a fifty-fifty shot that the curse would die with him who'd placed it. The woman Emeraude had tried to free passed on to dead world moments after the assailant. It had been an ugly reminder to Billy of the stakes of the game he'd entered. His sisters had gotten another year to enjoy the lives of children before they too entered the ugly world Billy had stepped into.

"Let's go over it one more time," the big man rumbled. Readily, Thor began to lay out the plan. According to Justin Wilson, there were no soldiers and no town watch in the nameless hellhole that Whiskey Pete ruled beyond what this or that wealthy hostel owner or businessman could pay. The leading lights of the town held forth from fortified businesses and were patently uninterested in helping anyone beyond their walls.

The only real order in the place was the undead pirate himself. The evil specter granted magic charms as boons to those he favored. Those boons made you untouchable, as nobody in the town was stupid enough to harm someone bearing the Pirate King's dark favor.

"So, we're basically looking at whatever undead he can conjure up," Billy sighed. Thor nodded. That was already a big fucking problem. The dart rifles his men typically carried were designed to pierce the heart and vital organs of living creatures. They'd go right through the typical steel armor the typical soldier in the civilized kingdoms was accustomed to wearing. Against a creature that was already dead, though? And me without my powers, Billy thought.

"I've got some fuel oil," Thor sighed. "I had my guys acquire some hand pumps from the locals. We can spray the undead and set them alight." Billy wanted to roll his eyes. That sounded suspiciously like they were counting on hopes and prayers. You just need to get to Whiskey Pete's lair, Bill, he reminded himself. Follow the plan. Follow the plan and pray it doesn't cost too many lives.

Elsewhere, Cenobia climbed to wakefulness after an unpleasant, fitful sleep. Having arrived like a thief in the night, she'd spent several hours all but pleading for one of the hostels to let her in with her entourage. A corner of her mind suggested that she really ought to have just gone back to her yacht. The best hostel in this miserable town was far below the standards she was used to. Yet, there was a larger she chose that direction, she'd be running away—letting others make choices for her. She'd already cut and run twice now, choosing to flee from Tequila Kingdom and then from Stilt Town. What would it say, if she ran from the nominal protection of her ally?

Clambering out of bed, she made her way to the window and drew the shutter. The worn wood was another reminder of her fall from grace. The suite in Stilt-Town had windows made of glass. More to the point, the view out that window was of a real town, with real subjects, even if they were the degenerate descendants of pirates.

He's becoming a problem, Cenobia, thought the nymph, though which of the two problems was foremost in her mind depended on the moment. The strangers from over the sea were becoming a rather severe test for her resources and skills at politics, and a terror was slowly stealing over her. Having risen to her position from rather humble beginnings, Cenobia feared having all she'd gained slip through her fingers once more.

Just then, knocking on the door announced she had a visitor. "Come," the nymph responded. Her personal maid entered. Bowing before her, the servant announced, "Madam Abella is here, my lady." Cenobia's lovely face curled in a frown of irritation. Before she could utter a word, the fat matron who owned the towering fortress where she now resided came through her door, foreclosing debate.

"Do come in," Cenobia greeted the fat Tequila-person, with no trace of irony in her voice. Gesturing grandly, the nymph motioned for her host to be seated at the little table that was hers in this space. Abella moved with surprising speed and grace, considering her bulk. Turning to the maid, she said, "my servants should have tea at this hour, just down the hall. Ask at the entry to my quarters."

Cenobia didn't quite grimace at the way the wench ordered her maid around, though a sliver of fear suggested that, did she mis-step, she could find herself slaving away here under this woman's command. Of course, she had an edge there.

As she approached the table, the nymph drew the dangerous pendant she wore from under her nightgown, giving her host a clear look at it. Abella paled visibly, suggesting the message was received. Don't push.

Cenobia opened with, "I do apologize for all the fuss last night. We hadn't intended to be so late in traveling. I've been apprised that there's an important matter awaiting me at home. I had to leave off the business that brought me here."

While that was a lie, Cenobia was used to bending the truth. More to the point, it established that she was leaving quite soon and that there were people who'd be missing her presence, regardless. While Cenobia doubted that fucking Margarida would lift a finger at this point to help her, Cenobia's own clan had ways to make this woman miserable.

Smiling back gleefully, Abella responded, "that's why I stopped by. We rarely get such pleasant visitation here. As you can see by the arrangement of my hostel, our custom is nowhere near so... genteel." Cenobia grimaced. There had been a knifing in progress, when she was passing through the 'commons' of this awful inn. Two pirates had been rather invested in brutally stabbing a third through his gizzard over and over and over. That voice intruded once more, whispering, go home, Cenobia. Margarida's threats are empty air. She wouldn't dare to touch you.

The nymph sat herself at the table, crossing her legs artfully. Her host quickly moved to take the opposite seat. Minutes later, the maid returned, bearing tea. Laying out cups of the hot, steaming liquid, the young slave doled out some precious molasses to sweeten both cups before stepping back to await her mistress's next request.

The conversation was more in the way of what Cenobia would've called gossip than anything else. Apparently, her host got little in the way of news from the wider world. She'd heard whispers that a cache of humans had been found—and that they might have even been shipped through Stilt-Town to the east. Abella apparently found the concept of owning a few delightful enough to sell some of her precious jewelry collection to fund the purchase.

Unfortunately, Cenobia had to disabuse her of the idea. "Their owner isn't much interested in parting with them," the nymph chuckled. "He's a bit of a boor. We've been working at making alliances in his domain... Unfortunately, males are... troublesome... which is why we don't let them roam free in the Confederation..." Taking up her tea-cup, the nymph said, "it's a bit of a sore subject. Let's talk of something else..."

As the sun slipped below the horizon, an armada of boats touched down on the shore of the lake. The sounds of the pirates' ugly revelry was already rising, as the denizens of Whiskey Pete's awful domain crawled out from under whatever table they'd passed out beneath, ready for another round of carousing.

The dichotomy was somewhat mad, if Billy let himself think about it for a few moments. Kate had been striving to maintain some form of order in a world that was anything but orderly, while just on shore, a colony of the damned partied as if the world would end tomorrow. The nominal master of their awful home detested the island of relative peace and stability on his doorstep so much, that he'd struggled to subvert and control it almost since he'd arrived here.

But you grew up in a world of relative privilege, Bill, he reminded himself. Bonnie's efforts to claw sanity out of the hell left behind by the Mushroom War had assured that William Simon Mertens and his siblings never suffered the deprivations many of the folk of Ooo suffered. Who knew what the creature that became Whiskey Pete had seen and been forced to do to survive before he'd landed here?

All the more reason to restore what was lost, Bill thought, as his little armada reached the shore. They needed to put an end to the brutality that had raised countless Whiskey Pete's out of the wreckage of civilization.

As each boat touched down on shore, a dozen men piled out. They came fitted with dart guns against the ugly inhabitants of the town. More to the point, one man on each boat carried a bottle filled with bunker oil and a jerry-rigged air-compressor to spray it. Just in case, Bill, thought the young hero. Pray it stays that way.

The soldiers fanned out into the streets in mutually supporting columns. Street by street, they moved forward into the little town, weapons at the ready. In an effort to avoid the risk of using his powers, Billy stayed close to Thor. In any event, he had a small battle of his own to deal with just keeping Cameron moving forward.

The little woman was dying. He could see the signs. She was woozy and light-headed and her eyes glazed. She shuffled forward instead of striding and often looked as though she would fall flat on her face at any moment. He halfway feared that did she actually fall, she'd never get up again. Since the nymph was a key part of the plan, they needed to get her to Whiskey Pete's lair. With a sigh, Billy reached down, scooped up the ailing nymph, and began to carry her.

The first problem came in the form of a couple of pirates who decided to step out and pick a fight with one of Thor's squads. Maybe it was a fog of alcohol or liquor-induced bravado, but they went straight up to one of the soldiers and attempted to wrestle his weapon from his hands. Gunshots rang out, as the soldier dropped the pair like a bad habit.

Within moments, everyone in the town was aware that something ugly had just gotten started. The mean little town began to come alive, with faces appearing in windows variously to leer at those below, hurl threats, or to wield weapons in defense of the place they called 'home'.

A running battle broke out, with Thor's soldiers working their way through the narrow streets, shooting any who dared push back too hard, while doing their best not to get bogged down. The liquor was a help as much as a hindrance. While it gave some of those men false courage and bravado, it made them drastically less effective at organizing and fighting.

Of course, the presence of a thousand soldiers had a rather adverse effect on the regular inhabitants of the town. The awful hostels Billy passed shut and barred their doors as the soldiers trooped by or fighting broke out in front of their doors. Prostitutes on the streets fled for their lives, running north or south to get away from the fighting, adding to the chaos. The sight of a yellow-skinned hooker tearing down the street, pear-shaped knockers flailing with every step, left Billy goggling.

Finally, they reached the beginnings of the swamp north of the town, and Whiskey Pete's demonic public house hove into view. This is it, thought Billy. The scheme would hunt or it wouldn't. "It's getting wild," Thor rumbled. He sounded like he was getting cold feet. "Form a perimeter here," Billy responded. "We just need to keep the guys with more courage than sense from interfering..."

Thor's eyes flicked to the swamp. If he was an undead wizard with a couple-hundred years of stacking bodies of people who crossed him, that's where he would've stuffed the bodies. With a flick of his chin, Billy commanded, "place the flamethrowers there at the edge of the swamp. I'll be back." "Uh-uh," Thor responded. "I'm coming too." Rolling his eyes, Billy started up the rickety boardwalk to Whiskey Pete's front door.

Step by step, he made his way to the door. The sound inside suggested the place was jumping, and Billy halfway expected a hundred dudes to come piling through the doors and windows, itching for a fight. Instead, as he stepped through the door, he found nothing but emptiness.

Off to their left, a skeleton pounded the keys of a piano, while a deer-person with a missing throat played the drums. In front of them, a zombie played the saxophone, belting out soulful jazz music with all the panache he'd likely shown when alive. Before them stood a rickety stage, its currents drawn as if waiting for the next act.

Settling Cameron on her feet, Billy declared, "I'm looking for the boss of this shithole of a town! Where's Whiskey Pete?! The Ice-Prince is here to see him!" Thor shivered at that bold challenge, as his mind conjured up a pithy saying. Never rub another man's rhubarb. Bill had just thrown Pete's rhubarb on the floor and stomped on it.

A chill swept the room and the lights flickered as a mass of darkness at the back of the rattletrap pub disgorged a terrifying sight that would have melted their troops bones in their flesh as a glowing apparition came rushing out. The dreadful specter showed the signs of just how he'd died—keel-hauling and drowning.

"You be the troublesome pup, who's stickin' his nose in my business," the pirate growled as his baleful, glowing eyes fell on Bill. Billy responded, "you're the dickhead who's holding my lady hostage."

The specter chuckled, "oh, ye mean that whore, Kate?" With a gesture, he caused the curtains before the stage to be flung open, such that they banged into the stops on either side. Before them stood Red-Kate, dressed in a transparent version of her usual attire. Silvery cords hanging from a pair of spectral crosses held the Lady of the Lake upright for she would surely have fallen given her condition.

Thor could see the signs of dehydration and starvation from the door, and he prayed Billy kept his cool. Indeed, as if to punctuate the abuse that the pirate-lord had suffered at his hands, Whiskey Pete growled, "dance, you whore! Dance, I say!"

Before their eyes, Red-Kate began to gyrate, twisting and turning, hips shaking, like an exaggerated version of a stripper on a stage, even bending over to shake that magnificent derriere at them. Thor's grip tightened on the lamp post as Billy's face went red with rage. "Stop it," snapped the Ice-Prince! "Stop it, or so help me...!"

"Make me," the pirate chuckled! Indeed, Kate began to dance faster and then faster still. It was clear from her labored breathing that this was quite literally killing her. "None of you'll leave here," snarled Whiskey Pete! "Ye can join this slut in my little hell..."

Indeed, Thor's radio chirped to punctuate his words. One of the officers outside at the edge of the swamp reported, "a bunch of slimy skeletons just come climbing out of the swamp." Thor grimaced, his eyes flicking to Bill. This was exactly what he was afraid of. Their weapons weren't going to work on a bunch of bones!

Motion out the corner of his eyes alerted him that the plan was in motion, just as Cameron the nymph set fire to a poster near the stage. Out of the blaze oozed a deep blue shape that towered above all the inhabitants of the room. The room seemed to grow darker, if that were at all possible.

"About that," Billy retorted. Gesturing to the terrifying demon that was now leering at Whiskey Pete, Billy declared, "this is my dad's old chum, Bryce. I offered him your soul..." Chaffing his hands in evil glee, Bryce grated, "oh, boy! You've been really naughty!"

Now, Whiskey Pete showed the first signs of fear. Much like the Glass Peeps, indeed much like Marceline's pals Wendy, Booboo, and Georgy, the undead pirate had been ducking his comeuppance for all the shit he'd done to folk over the years. Now, the piper had come calling.

The spectral pirate shrank back from his demonic nemesis, shouting, "I'll kill you! I'll kill you all for this!" Bryce swooped in, latching his powerful hands onto the tainted soul before him. "Thanks, Bill," the demon growled in his horrible voice. Moments later, the oily black mass of the demon's body was oozing back into the portal to hell.

Twin thuds announced Kate and Cameron collapsing to the floor as Whiskey Pete's spells curses collapsed. Billy rushed to where the two women lay. Kate's eyes popped open as he knelt at her side. "Baby," he whispered. Her right hand weakly rose to touch his face. "Lay still," Billy admonished her.

Now, he turned his attention to Cameron. He found the little nymph sitting up on the floor, clutching at her heart, which now sounded like thunder even to his ears. His eyes flicked to Thor. "I have to put her to sleep," he said. "It's small." Thor grimaced in alarm, but Billy was already acting.

With a flick of his wrist, the young wizard lay a sleep spell on the nymph, knocking her unconscious and stilling the runaway acceleration of her heart. He felt a momentary surge of something, but it was just as quickly squelched. He didn't understand, but he was grateful not to be battling the entity just now.

A mile away, Cenobia the nymph turned from the window and the terrifying sight of the bedlam William's soldiers had unleashed in the town. She'd felt something just then. Her eyes flicked down to her chest, just as the pale white glow from her pendant winked out. Her eyes flicked up to her host.

"Well," Abella rumbled, "no human slaves, but I have you..." Before she could finish that thought, the now-terrified nymph snatched a dagger out from under her gown and plunged it into the fat woman's heart. The old woman screamed. She screamed and screamed as Cenobia stabbed her again and then again.

Her terrified maid stood rooted to the spot in horror at what had just happened, but Cenobia's mind was on far more important things. She'd just stabbed the lady of the house dead. With her patron gone, she somehow had to escape this place and get back to her ship through streets that now ran red with blood before she was caught.

Olesia's sister is becoming quite the little bitch. Billy rescues his lady and puts Whiskey Pete in his place. And Cenobia finds herself in very deep trouble.