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There was really no such thing as a “good cleanse”, a “pleasant extermination day”, not unless you were an overlord or a member of the nobility. There was an army of nigh-on invincible angels armed with various soul-erasing sharp objects winging down for the express purpose of slaughtering as many demons as they possibly could before the clocktower had a chance to chime. That was just a bad time overall for anyone who didn’t have a halo floating over their head. This particular demon, however, was having an especially bad time of it.
After a long, long run of rotten luck, and more than a few stupid decisions, they’d found themselves without a safe place to hide out during the cleanse. They were out on the streets when the murder-angels started swarming the skies over Pentagram City, completely exposed. So their only other option was to run from one crappy piece of cover to another, hoping to Satan that they could outrun any other demons as luckless as they were, because they sure as shit couldn’t outrun an exterminator.
It was an awful task. All around them, every flicker of movement and every point of light standing out from the shadows seemed to take on the shape of an exterminator, thirsty for demonic blood. Pops of gunfire, whines and hums of energy weapons, the crackle of hellfire, and the wet slink of sharp edges invading flesh filled the air. And screaming. Constant screaming. Sometimes it was in pain, sometimes in fear, sometimes just a warning to some other hapless damned soul. But it never seemed to stop, mingling with the terrifying electronic wails and screeches and buzzes that the exterminators themselves emitted in a nightmarish chorus of destruction. Almost more than finding cover from the exterminators, they desperately wished they could just find somewhere quiet. But wishing alone would get you little, especially in Hell.
The narrow alley between the two buildings was as loud as anywhere else, but not so loud that they couldn’t hear the approach of metal-clad feet and heavy wing-beats. The dumpster proved no better after they realized that there was an exterminator just walking down the line, thrusting its spear into every trash receptacle, just in case any of them happened to hold a demon who thought they could hide. The debris pile was no good. The shrubs by the broken street light were no good. There seemed to be nowhere to hide. Until at last, after hours of burning muscles and constant, heart-strangling fear, they arrived in The Wreck.
A pair of overlords had, once upon a time, decided that some worthless little scrap of something or other in this part of town was worth a brawl for control. Their own fragile egos and infinite stubbornness and ever growing arsenals had done the rest. The place was a literal rubble pit, several feet below the surrounding grade for blocks around, littered with heaps of half collapsed buildings reigned over by a few structures that had somehow only sagged slightly rather than going all to pieces as the ground gave way beneath them. No demon ever ventured here, no demon had any interest at all in this miniature post-apocalytpic wasteland, it would just have been far more trouble than it was worth to attempt to squeeze anything of value from these ruins, what with the assorted hazards and the herculean labor that would be required to clear them. Other than the occasional late-sleeper taking a shortcut, the place was devoid of damned souls 24/7. No reason for an exterminator to be deployed here. The only reason they would cross paths with one was if its sensors picked them up. All they had to do was find a nice quiet, dark hole to hide in, and they’d be in the clear to wait out the rest of this horror show in safety, with one hand gripping their phone and the other down their pants.
Their run slowed to a trot as the endless screaming faded from cacophony to background noise. Time was still of the essence, but it was no longer fleeting; they could pick and choose the best shelter. The more-or-less intact structures were out. Too open. Even if a stray exterminator wasn’t running an active sweep, they could still just look through a window and spot them if they were high enough up. The rubble stacks were out as well. Very concealing, but very unstable. Liable to collapse if you breathed too hard on the wrong speck of dust, and undoubtedly loaded with the highest concentration of random pointy surfaces, poisons, undetonated ordnance, leaking pipes, and other hazards. No, the middle ground was the clear path. An half-trashed structure with three fourths or maybe a little less of its walls intact would do nicely.
Hmmm….
No, not that one. An especially heavy bomb had put a rather nice skylight in it.
Not that one either. Reeked of petroleum. Total firetrap.
And that one over there just had no good entrances.
Ah, there, that one. Must have been a hold-out house before the whole neighborhood got wrecked. Most of the windows that weren’t totally collapsed had some kind of blocking on them. Sheet metal, wooden boards, this and that. But one of them just had a scrap of cloth covering it. Perfect.
They slipped in, leaving the murderous shrieking behind them, the musty darkness warm and comforting by comparison. They fished out their phone and began using it as a flashlight. The bigger rooms were too risky. Too many side entrances from elsewhere. Too much to keep an eye on. They wanted an out-of-the-way room in this out-of-the-way building in this out-of-the-way part of the city, preferably with only one entrance to watch, for maximum safety. After a few more moments of searching, they found one. A heavy door tucked away in a corner. What had probably been a supply closet or something when the building was still in use. Grab a heavy hunk of junk, duck inside, brace the door, done.
They turned and cast their light about the place, searching for something good to cop a squat on.
The quickly wished they hadn’t.
This room they were in was wrong. All wrong. The rest of the place was dusty, old, and mostly empty. This particular room was about as crisp as you could expect from a dilapidated hulk like this, and it was densely decorated, in the most macabre of ways.
At first blush, it looked like the place was just a menagerie of junk. Random crap heaped here and there. Nailed to the walls. Hanging from the ceiling.
Other demon’s phones. Newspapers. Neckties. Hair pins. Pipes. Lighters. Many of them with old, dark, crusty blood stains still clinging to them.
Pistols, rifles, and shotguns, with their barrels bent ninety degrees or more out of shape. Horns, crudely cracked off from whatever demon they belonged to. Severed claws. Dislodged eyeballs. On the walls surrounding them were delicately drawn crosses and fish and other holy symbols, rendered in thin lines of dull, white chalk.
They were in an exterminator’s trophy room.
Those things couldn’t keep any record of their innumerable victories over every demon who had the audacity to draw breath up in Heaven, no matter how much they wanted to. That was vanity. So they had to keep little clutches of mementos down here, and here they were holed up in one.
What.
Fucking.
Luck.
Should they even really be surprised at this point?
Alright. No need to panic yet. There was still a few hours left before the cleanse was over. Whatever murderangel owned this particular pile of horrors might not be by to drop off their latest acquisitions for a while yet. It hadn’t taken them THAT long to venture this far into the structure. If they really hit the pavement they could get out of here before there was any danger. Just a quick hop out the door, then left, past that nasty old cabinet that was too big for the corner it occupied, then around the corner, then down the hall and then…
Left?
Left then right at the end of the next hall?
Or was it a right and another right, and there weren’t any extra turns in the hall.
They couldn’t remember.
It had seemed so straightforward coming in to the building, but now, trying to remember the way back, the place seemed like a maze.
A clatter, somewhere in the darkness beyond them.
A crunching, humming, electrical noise, and a delicate click of form-fitting metal boots against old, ruined concrete.
Too late, you sorry, jinxed, snakebitten asshole. The demon-eaters have come home to roost. Your life was enough to get you damned, and now your afterlife ends with a terrible coincidence that will probably result in an agonizing mutilation.
The luckless demon wrenched the door open as quietly as possible and hurled themselves away from whatever sort of exterminator or group thereof’s destination must surely be with the utmost delicacy. The effort was in vain. Utterly in vain.
There it was.
An exterminator.
And not even the usual sort. This was a snazzy, glitzy, double-decker-deluxe exterminator. A head or so taller than the usual variety. With a much shinier halo. Enviable armor too. There were big round pieces of brilliant yellow gold dotting the heavenly hell-bringers scale mail. That joyless smile that graced its mask gleamed with an unusual campfire-type light. Something in its body language made it unmistakably clear that they were looking right at them, even though the inscrutable neon glare.
So what now? Begging? Empty threats? Lies about where meatier demons could be found?
There was no time available to weigh the options. They felt cool stone against their back as they tried to evade the merciless destroyer angel.
They’d backed themselves into a corner without even really thinking about it. The exterminator continued to approach, in no hurry. Adding to their upper-echelon-killer appearance was their weapon, also different from that of your garden variety angelic death trooper. They carried a pretty straightforward spear, or the occasional sword. This one’s polearm had a blade at both ends. A humble crescent of edged metal at one end, a broad, heavy, bell-shaped edge on the other. Both were still dripping with blood, a trail of droplets tracing out the path the weapon’s owner had walked through the building. Whatever that thing was, it looked lethal. They had tried to force something out, even a scream would be better than dying in silence, but their vocal chords had seized up at the sight of the dreadful weapon that would be their soul’s eraser.
They raised their hands in surrender, more out of feeble instinct than any true hope that they might be shown mercy. No quarter would be granted here.
They closed their eyes. They would pray that the end would be quick, but obviously, no one was going to listen any of their prayers, so they had to just hope instead. Hope that the end would be quick. That blade looked wide enough to decapitate in a single, well-placed blow. Maybe the exterminator was in more of a one-and-done mood than in one to savor the kill. If they were lucky.
…if they were lucky…
They weren’t.
This was going to hurt.
They drew a breath with renewed determination to at least scream with all their might before The Abyss welcomed them into its dark, frigid fold. Then they heard a gentle tap of metal against concrete. They remained there, frozen. Waiting for the strike that would put an end to them once and for all.
It didn’t come.
Moments dragged on, and their head remained firmly attached to their neck. Then they felt glossy, metallic hands on them. A strip of cloth, warm and wet and reeking of death, slid around their neck. They opened their eyes. The exterminator had leaned their weapon against the wall, and was trying to tie a new necktie, its latest trophy, around them. Not using it as a garrote. Actually trying to tie it.
And it wasn’t equal to the task. In fact, it sucked. This was like watching a kid who didn’t know how to tie their shoes yet. Except this kid was also a towering, taciturn demon slayer who reeked of blood and silicon. As the murderangel continued to struggle with the wet fabric, the ear-to-ear psycho smile the mask’s screen displayed flickered over to a crude digital rendering of a face somewhere in between concentration and mild annoyance.
Without really thinking they threw their own hands into the mix. Maybe if they just did what the exterminator wanted, it would let them live? The exterminator paused for a moment, then let them get to work. They tied the dripping length of fabric around themselves in a sloppy half-windsor and then put their hands back up beside their head.
Damn this thing was fucking hideous. Would have been even if it weren’t soaked in blood. Must have belonged to a sinner who’d died in the 80s. Wide enough to land a plane on, patterned in a way that managed to remind one of an old, battered candy cane and a mess of spilled paints at the same time.
The exterminator seemed unbothered by how fuck-awful they looked. Its mask slipped back into a smiley face. It clapped its hands together, an ugly sound, like a pair of empty tin cans thwacking together. A dull, throbbing hum came out of it, and the actual smile portion of the smiley-face flickered. Evidently it was pleased.
Using the newly arranged tie like a leash, the exterminator dragged them back whence they came, into the trophy chamber. Its wings knocked against them several times as they were hauled along, but eventually it caught on to the trouble and tucked them in a bit tighter, sparing them another feathery bitch-slap. Once back in place, the LEDs in the angel’s mask brightened and soon the horrible, fiery glow filled the entire room.
The exterminator retrieved another one of its trophies from the wall. A shotgun that told a story with all the damage done to it. A clean gash cut about halfway through the barrel at a sharp angle, where it had served as an impromptu shield, absorbing an otherwise lethal blow as the weapon’s original wielder spotted the approaching exterminator at the last minute. A wide split and several splintered dents in the stock from when it had been used as an ineffectual club once the ammunition ran out. Finally, a dark, rusty stain covering much of the metal from where the wielder’s freshly spilled blood had been allowed to dry and linger for years before it finally flaked away. The exterminator pushed it into their hands and stepped back.
…what the fuck were they supposed to do with this? It was unloaded, they could tell by the weight, and even if it was, it didn’t seem terribly likely that it worked anymore. They heard sliding metal and looked back up from the weapon. The exterminator had its forefingers extended as mock barrels and their thumbs up as imaginary hammers. It struck an awkward aiming pose.
…still not clear on the goal here you sacred psycho…
It clearly had no idea how to properly hold a long gun, having no need to learn given that it clearly enjoyed the tactile pleasure of picking things apart with blades and had little to fear in the way of harm from most demons. They turned the trashed weapon over in their hands, incapable of imagining what they were supposed to do with this long-dead man’s gun, wearing a freshly-dead man’s tie. The exterminator made a sharp, clitter-clatter sound, like someone screwing up the connections while trying to jump start their car. Not good.
Shocked and acting on instinct, they brought the worthless weapon up into a firing position. The exterminator clapped its hands together and made that weird electro-hum again. Okay, it liked that……..it liked having a gun pointed at it….
The demon didn’t have enough time to react as the shotgun was snatched back out of their hands in the blink of an eye. The angel put it back in its place and now retrieved an old, wrinkled newspaper and a hat that shed dust with every movement it was subjected to. The cap was slapped down onto the demon’s head, temporarily blinding them with a puff of musty powder right into their eyes, and the paper was pressed insistently into their hand. On instinct, they unfolded it and took a look once their eyes stopped stinging. The paper was dated several decades before they’d even died. The exterminator had clearly been at this for a long, long time. It made that ‘time to switch’ sound again and they suddenly found themselves with an old, dented crown shoved uncomfortably close to their face. The exterminator waved the object expectantly. They took the hint.
The next few hours passed in uncomfortable, terrified silence save for the electronic noises the exterminator made. They were forced to model one random bit of blood-stained junk that the warrior angel had a vague fondness for after another, like some kind of twisted game of dress up. Although it seemed to have infinite enthusiasm for the activity, it did not have infinite time. Eventually, they were relieved of the latest trophy they’d been made to pose with and not given a new one. The exterminator tapped at an imaginary watch on its wrist, and the mask shifted from the usual psycho-smile to an image of a ticking clock. All out of time.
The exterminator whipped around, forgetting its wings again and accidentally whapping them across the side with one, and strolled out the door, leaving them alone. They waited. They weren’t sure if they were too afraid to move, or too stunned that they seemed to have been spared erasure for the low-low price of modelling a bunch of dead demon’s belongings for the angel who had killed them. Eventually though, they realized they had to get moving, and carefully crept toward the door.
They screamed in a decidedly undignified manner as they saw the exterminator come streaking across the floor toward them, cruel blade in hand, raised to strike. They closed their eyes, hoping that the pain of the blow would be lessened if they couldn’t see it coming.
They heard metal gouge into old drywall and concrete.
They opened their eyes and found themselves looking into the exterminator’s mask, scant fractions of an inch away, its weapon buried in the wall beside their head. The exterminator abruptly stepped back, prying the blade back out and shouldering the pole arm casually. It threw its head back and made that dreadfully familiar throbbing, computerized hum. They finally realized what it was.
Laughter.
The exterminator had been laughing this whole time.
They didn’t have time to figure out how to feel about that realization before the exterminator had bolted from the room, a single flick of its wings sending it sailing horizontally over the floor. They chased after it, not sure why, but by the time they had rounded the corner it was already gone. They slumped against the wall, numbness and confusion now snowing down within their heart to blanket the terror.
There was no such thing as a “good cleanse”, but this one was really going to stand out in their memory.
---
Sunny kicked her legs idly from her seat, perched atop the clock tower. Cranking her mask’s optics up to maximum, she spied a few slow moving demons on the ground far below, but didn’t bother to take wing and go after them. She’d already done more than her part in helping the lesser exterminators meet their quota, and the Golden Knights had already eliminated their main target. No, she felt like taking it easy now. She was in an even better mood than usual. Not only had she added a new trophy, she’d found a rather meek and pliant demon waiting for her in the wrecked buildings where she kept her collection when she flew by to drop it off. Braver demons usually tried to fight when they saw an exterminator. More cowardly demons tried to run. This one had been both cowardly and weak. Too slow to even stand a chance at outrunning her, but they seemed to know that, and had been very obedient once she had them cornered.
It was great fun getting them to model her many mementos of battles past. She seldom got to appreciate the way her trophies looked on a live demon. The battles were too tense, too focused on winning. The kills were over in seconds. As satisfying as she found severing heads from necks in a single, swift blow, she had to admit that it was a rather brief affair. As such, she never really got to appreciate the aesthetics of the quaint little weapons and accessories the lesser variety of demons sported, and so finding this one in just the right place at just the right time had been quite a stroke of luck.
Sunny heard Band and Grey landing on the clocktower behind her and stood up to go and greet them. Only a little while left before they returned to Heaven. They seemed to be in a good mood as well.
It had been a very good cleanse overall
---
Later on, after the demon had finally collected themselves enough to find their way out of the building and make their way out of The Wreck, they headed down town. When they seated themselves at the bar to begin the long, laborious process of drowning out the memory of the experience, some of the other demons commented on how well they seemed to have weathered this year’s cleanse. Hardly more than a bit of dust on them. How’d they do it?
They opened their mouth to tell the tale of playing fashion model to an elite murderangel, but then decided it just sounded too absurd to even bother with recounting.
They shrugged.
They must have just gotten lucky.