Armageddon???? (Part Fifty Up)

[Academia Nut]

I can easily see Hell suddenly having all sorts of problems securing their own borders. Before they could at least perpetuate the lie that anyone down there deserved their fate and use guilt and self-doubt to contain people. The demons would badly outnumber any of the virtuous atheists or the like and be able to contain them.

But now that everyone coming to Hell knows that they don't deserve this shit, and better yet, that the demons can be killed, I would expect to see massive uprisings. With the nearly unlimited growth in the human population over the past 200 years, many of those new people coming from outside the Abrahamic traditions that might be capable of actually getting into Heaven, I would expect Hell to be overflowing with angry souls ready to overthrow their jailers.

Also, as an addendum as to why Hell might not have kept up, they may be nearly physically incapable of advancing technologically. If Hell in this story is the standard boiling sulfur sort of thing, then how are they going to make advanced technology in those sorts of conditions? All of modern technology depends one way or another on having precision control over a mindboggling number of chemical reactions.

In fact, I can see an exchange between one of the smarter demon lords and some damned soul (perhaps a Nazi scientist or something) contracted to upgrade their technology go like this:

"Make for me the magical weapons that you humans use to defy us."

"I can't."

"How dare you defy me!"

"This isn't defiance, this is simple fact. If you want to make the explosives and propellants, you need a lot of chemicals that you simply can't make down here. The temperature and the sulfur interfere with the processes. I suppose you could create an isolated environment, but to do that you would have to first make some sort of pressure vessel, which requires a large quantity of stainless steel... which you can't make down here because that requires precision chemistry."

Cue dawning sense of horror for the demon lord.

This of course says nothing about the impossibility of building any sort of microelectronics, or shit, any sort of electronics beyond the most basic set-ups (if they could get a current to flow with the crap they would have to use). Any even then it would take decades if not centuries to build the tools to build the tools to... ...to build the tools required to build any sort of equipment that could compete with modern technology.

[Stravo]

The whole issue with Demonic/Angelic technological stasis can simply be an issue of paradigm or interpretation of reality. Demons and Angels use magic. There's no other explanation for appearing in two places at once, teleportation, turning people into pillars of salt, (And BTW Sodom and Gomorrha imply that at least angels can deploy WMD like effects that can devastate cities) and all other manner of biblical miracles.

Unless we're taking the tact that they have a science so advanced that it is magic then we must assume magic and since we are technological/scientific creatures we cannot understand magic or make it happen. For example Christ implies that with enough faith humanity could move mountains yet we cannot but we can with explosives and machinery indicating a rejection of a magical paradigm in place of a scientific one.

Demons and Angels can't understand computers and explosives just as we can't understand magical runes and fire bolts hurled with bare hands. It's two different paradigms at war. Angels and demons haven't had to change in thousands of years because their magic has been just fine for them.

[Stuart]

Cabinet Conference Room, White House, Washington D.C.

“Condi, could you summarize the international situation at this point?”

“Mister President. So far, more than two dozen of these invaders, Baldricks the Brits call them, have been killed around the world. The latest was off Tokyo where a monster similar to the one killed by HMS Astute came ashore. It was engaged by the Japanese Ground Self Defense Forces and destroyed. According to the Japanese Ambassador, all that time spent shooting at Godzilla finally paid off.” A laugh ran around the room, partly a release of nervous tension but mostly in appreciation of the unexpected sense of humor shown by Ambassador Nishamura. “Most of the Far Eastern countries are coming on board pretty quickly. China, of course, has taken an early stand. The People’s Liberation Army, Army Air Force and Army Navy have all gone to full alert. Europe’s following the same approach, they’re all shooting at any Baldricks that appear on their territory.

“On the debit side, South America and Southern Europe appear to be in shock still. Christianity was deeply rooted there and The Message struck them very hard. The idea that they’ve been systematically deceived by the very being they worshipped has left them adrift.” Secretary Rice paused for a moment. Coming from a religious background herself, she could empathize with the degree of bewilderment that was paralyzing so many governments around the world. “The Middle East is a mixed bag. We’d expected the area to be virtually depopulated; after all the word Islam means submission to the will of god and we assumed that the populations there would just lie down and die according to demand. Well, that hasn’t happened, not universally at any rate. It’s hard to work out exactly what is going on but it seems as if, with radical Islam being discredited by The Message, the alternative philosophy of assertive Arab nationalism is returning. The largely socialist Arab nationalist movements have been eclipsed by the Jihadists in recent years but now, they’re coming back and coming back strong. Of course, the Sunnis are blaming the Shia and the Shia are blaming the Sunnis for The Message and they both blame us. Business as usual there. Equally predictably, the Israelis have gone to work with a vengeance. Apparently one of the Russian Baldricks appeared there, homing in on Jerusalem and the Israeli Defense Forces shot it to pieces. According to the Israeli Ambassador, 120mm shells are much more effective than sounding trumpets. They’ve sent word by the way, don’t use armor piercing shot to take the Baldricks down. Just whips straight through them. HEAT, high explosive and canister all work much better.”

“You like the term Baldrick then Condi?” Department of Energy Secretary Bodman seemed to favor the expression as well.

“I do Sammy, it has a nice, contemptuous ring to it. But, much more importantly I think it is very important to distinguish between the mythological demon and the creatures we face in reality. There is little doubt that the monsters we face today are the source of the myths we have all read about but I believe we must make the difference between the two very clear. There is nothing ghostly or ethereal about the Baldricks, they are very solid reality. As to what their powers are, that we must find out.”

“On that note, we need some scientific input. Thank you Condi. I have asked the Department of Defense to coordinate the scientific research into these Baldricks. Secretary Gates has resigned from his position as head of Defense, I have appointed, subject to confirmation by the Senate, Senator John Warner to be the new SecDef. John?”

“Thank you Mister President. At the moment we know very little about these creatures. Factually, we have identified three separate types which have very different characteristics.

“The first are the flying Baldricks we shot down off California. They’re the same ones that were whacked in Singapore and Bangkok. Working on camera gun footage from the F-18s, we can size them at around 30 feet long from tip of horns to root of tail with a wingspan of around 60 feet.” Warner gestured and a picture was projected onto the screen at the end of the Cabinet Room. “As you can see, they look rather like the traditional depiction of a demon or a cartoon devil. Horns, tail pointed beard. Two arms, two legs, two wings. This raises an interesting point, the combination of weight and musculature mean these things can’t possibly fly.”

“Just like a bumblebee?” Education Secretary Margaret Spellings tossed the quip in, one that gained her a reproachful glance from the President.

“In a way yes. You see, the musculature of the back doesn’t give any great strength to the wings, it can’t the bone structure won’t support it. The only way this thing can fly is if it weighs virtually nothing so its wings provide propulsion and lift, not steerage. The only way we can think of doing that is if the body contains a lot of very light gas, probably hydrogen. We think that is why they burned so fiercely when they were hit. The pilots reported that the creature’s blood set them on fire, we can only think that there’s some sort of body process in there where very acid blood reacts with a mineral to give off the hydrogen needed. That would allow the Baldrick to breath fire as well. There are things about these flying Baldricks that are reminiscent of humans, its almost as if they were a parallel evolutionary path from a common ancestor somewhere.

“The second class we’ve run into are the aquatic ones. According to Astute, the one they killed was more than a hundred feet long, about 20 feet in diameter and has flipper-like legs, six of them. They did careful pH testing on the water as they closed on the corpse and detected no sign of acidity. Also, note, despite being hit by two torpedoes, it didn’t burn. So, our working hypothesis is that this one doesn’t have acid blood. The one that came ashore near Tokyo walked on its flipper-legs, all six of them. Apparently it fought by shooting jets of water at things. Anyway, the JMSDF-GF will be sending over information as it develops. One thing they have said, apparently the flesh doesn’t make good Sushi. I’m not sure what worries me most about that, the fact that doesn’t make good Sushi or that somebody tried it. Either way, at the moment we’ll know more about the Aquatic ones than the others soon.

“The third group are the land ones. These have just started to appear. According to the Russians, they’re over a hundred feet tall. They’re tough, they walk on their hind legs using their forearms to strike blows. They have vestigial wings only. No acid blood again. The ones that appeared have been killed so quickly we have no idea whether they breath fire or what.”

“We’re going to need names for all these types. Baldrick’s good enough for a generic name, I agree with Condi, we have to distinguish between the mythology we’ve all read and the reality we have to fight.” President Bush leaned back in his seat, rubbing his eyes. “Does it seem to anybody that these Baldricks are getting tougher.”

“Certainly Sir.” Senator Warner tapped the pictures of the three types of demons. “There’s a definite progression here. There’s another thing, we have people going through ancient records, demonologies, grimoires that sort of stuff. Now, the information in there is undoubtedly corrupted and distorted but we’re hoping it gives us some form of clue as to what we can expect. One thing we have noted. You’ll note that these Baldricks haven’t come in blasting. We would, under the same circumstances, we’d be advancing behind a wall of missiles, tactical air and artillery fire. These just cruised straight into our defenses and died on them.

“We think we may have discovered the reason for this. One of our early readings found a mention of demonic heralds who were supposed to carry the word of their master to his new subjects. Apparently they would just appear in a population center, announce that all within were now subjects of their master and carry them off to hell. As far as we can see, nobody ever resisted. There’s even a suggestion that, by some sort of celestial Geneva Convention, these heralds are immune from attack.”

Bush frowned. “Attorney General Mukasey, has the United States ever signed an agreement to that effect.”

“No Sir, we have not.”

“Good, doesn’t apply to us then. Tell everybody to keep shooting. A question John, does ‘immune from attack’ mean that they can’t be shot at or that they are immune to weapons fire?”

“Our guess at this time Sir is that the second lead to the former. People found their bows and arrows and so on didn’t work against them so they rationalized it by creating the former. Of course, we could be wrong on that. But the key point is, if these are the heralds referred to in the Grimoire, the real armies of hell are still to get here. We have to stack our defenses ready.”

“I agree, Henry.” Treasury Secretary Paulson started. “Henry, we need supplementals, huge ones. This is a war, we have to fund it as such. We’re going to be spending serious money. Organize it. Elaine, Carlos, get to work shifting our industry to a war footing, get the missile factories and tank lines on triple shifts. Tell Boeing we’ll take every F-22 they can build, cost-plus basis. I believe the B-2 jigs and tooling are still in storage, if they are, get the Spirit back into production. Same with the Bone. What we can’t build, we’ll buy from abroad.

“Oh and John. Defense is fine but nobody ever won a war by defending. We have to go onto the offensive and attack. Find out how.”

Throne Room, Infernal Palace of Dis, Hell.

“They have done what?” The infernal voice boomed across the hall, making the thick red vapor boil and eddy as the banners of long-forgotten kingdoms twisted and furled in the smog.

“Your Eminence, I cower at your feet.

“I know. Do it some more. Then tell me what you meant.”

Abigor cringed on the ground at Satan’s feet, his tongue flicking over the great hooked claws. “Sire, forgive me”

“No. But continue.”

“Sire, they killed your heralds.”

“My gentlemen!” The scream of anger made the very foundations of hell shake. Across the fields of burning rock where the souls of the dead were forever held in torment, the devils looked up from their work and shuddered in fear. “They killed my gentlemen. It is laid down by our immortal will that the heralds shall be forever immune from attack.”

“Sire.” Abigor whimpered and abased himself still further. If he had been human he would have lost control of his bowels several minutes ago. “We believe that one of the heralds may have lived long enough to say that.”

“And what did those insignificant humans say to that? Do they cry for my forgiveness? Not that they’ll get it.”

“No Sire. It is reported they replied ‘screw you and the horse you rode in on’. We don’t quite understand that Sire.”

“Then they must learn obedience. I blame this all on Yahweh. He was supposed to have softened this lot up, got them to believe anything and obey everything. I thought he had too. Abigor, you will rectify this. You command 60 of the 999 legions of Hell. You will take them and wipe these upstarts out.”

“Sire, may I beg your indulgence for one moment of your time.”

“No.”

“But Sire, the heralds are dead and we do not know how or why. The impossible, the impermissible, the unforgivable has been done and we know nothing of this. Sire, we should find out before we invade, then we can inflict yet greater suffering and despair upon them.”

“Greater suffering and despair, I like the sound of that. What do you propose?”

“Sire, I suggest that I ask Deumos send the comeliest and most seductive of her Succubi to Washington, capital of the greatest nation on Earth. There is one there, peculiarly susceptible to her charms who might be seduced into telling us what we need to know. Think, Sire, of his grief when he learns his lusts have betrayed all humanity.”

Macdonald’s Restaurant, just off Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington D.C.

Former President William Jefferson Clinton jogged up to the restaurant and headed through the doors, his Secret Service detail following behind. He stopped to mop his forehead, his sides heaving with the exercise. He carefully did not look at the two Secret Service agents, he guessed that they were unmoved by his evening routine. In fact, he doubted if they were even breathing heavily. Fortunately, the place was empty, or nearly so. It pretty much always was this late at night.

“Can I help you Sir?” The young Latina girl behind the counter was too tired to recognize the former President.

“I’ll have a double quarter-pounder with extra cheese, two super-size portions of fries, oh and a small diet soda please.”

“Coming right up Sir.” The girl got her order from the pass and gave it to Clinton. He paid his bill and went to a table.

“Hi Sir, mind if a girl sits with you? Don’t want to be on my own this late at night.” Clinton glanced up. The woman waiting politely by his table had a mane of jet-black hair that fell in curls half way down her back. Great, luminous black eyes and a mouth that promised everything imaginable without saying a word. “I’m Sheba, please I won’t bother you, your such a big, strong man. I’m sure I’ll be safe with you.”

A few feet away, the two Secret Service agents registered the scene with horror. How in hell had she slipped in there? It was appalling, a total breech of security, one which the senior agent had to do something about.

“Hey Lady get away from here. Don’t you know who….” Sheba looked at him her eyes pleading for understanding. “Well, alright I suppose it’ll be OK.”

Clinton finished his snack, leaving the garbage to be thrown away by one of the Secret Service men. As he left the restaurant, the girl was trotting along beside him. Clinton kept throwing calculating glances at her, she was, perhaps, a little on the heavy side but that mouth was so enticing.

“This is so wonderful, what is it?” Sheba was stroking the great black wheeled vehicle that stood on the road.

“A Chevvy Suburban. It belongs to my bodyguards.” Clinton threw another calculating glance at Sheba. “Would you like to see inside.”

“Ohhh, yes please.” Sheba peered in, the front seat was like any other automobile, controls, a steering wheel, pedals on the floor. “How many horses does it take.”

“Three hundred and thirty five.” Sheba blinked trying to imagine the sight.

“The front’s standard, all the good stuff is in the back.” He turned to his Secret Service men. “Open up the back please?”

“But Sir..”

“Open it up please.” Clinton’s voice was insistent. The agent sighed and did as he was told. A lot of the equipment in the back was classified. “Isn’t that one of the new automatic shotguns?”

Clinton took the nod for an answer and reached in, picking the heavy weapon up. With slickness born of long practice, he spun around, racking the mechanism as he did. Then, with the barrel less than a foot from Sheba’s stomach, he pulled the trigger.

The long roaring burst drowned out her scream and the blasts of buckshot hurled her backwards across the sidewalk, rolling her over as she started to fall apart. The Secret Servicemen’s faces were expressions of utter horror at the scene, horror that was replaced by revulsion as the figure sprawled on the ground began to change, its flesh going black, horns growing from its head, a tail sprouting from under the absurdly-short skirt. Their reactions were, under the circumstances commendable. They stopped their dive for Clinton in mid-lunge, spun, drew their SIG-Sauer P-229s and each emptied all twelve rounds of .357SIG into the writhing demon. Clinton had dropped the empty magazine of his shotgun, loaded another and a second roar finished the job. The demon was dead, its bright yellow blood spreading across the sidewalk.

“It was a demon.”

“Hey, Bill’s killed a demon.”

The whispers from the crowd grew as they recovered from the shock of the violent confrontation. One man, obviously the worse for drink, staggered up and smacked Clinton on the back. “Well done Bill. Have a drink.” Clinton grabbed the bottle in its brown paper bag and took a swig.

The senior of the secret servicemen was speaking on the radio. “Stay away from the body please, we don’t know what we’re dealing with here.” Then he turned to Clinton. “Well done sir, but, how did you know?”

Clinton grinned, the easy, friendly grin that won him elections. “I’ve been married to Hilary for thirty years. Believe me, after going through that, I have no trouble recognizing a fiend from hell.”

[Raj Ahten]

This story is very fun! Demons that can take a few tank shells are likely to be quite a problem for some areas of the earth. Large areas of Africa may be done for, as they can't put up really organized resistance. The demons could likely kill a hell of a lot of people in the less developed countries before they can be brought down.

Edit: looking at the first part again, the demons have very keen senses, and their skin itches when they get lit up with radars and lasers. That's ominous if they start realizing that. Things may get very interesting indeed for the humans.

[CaptainChewbacca]

Oh, sweet zombie JESUS that was funny! You're gonna get me fired for laughing so hard. After the way the Kennedys got handled in TBO, I was expecting some rather harsh badness would befall Billy Jeff. Good show.

One wonders how the appearance of demons will be affecting the Primaries, and the candidates platforms. Could this be the end for Huckabee and Romney?

P.S. For the Baldrick names, I'd go with leviathan, behemoth, and harpie for sea, land, and airborne.

edit: One question, though: 999 legions of hell? Did they downsize from 6,666 as a cost-saving measure?

[KlavoHunter]

I think I just pissed myself laughing. And I have class in a few minutes!

[Kodiak]

As a minor nitpick, It's McDonald's, not Macdonald's. Other than that, I say "Cry Havoc! And let slip the dogs of war!"

One question though: Is satan totally unaware of what's happening on the earth? He has new "recruits" coming into his domain every day, so you'd think he'd at least be up to snuff on modern weaponry.

[Sean Mulligan]

“Sir, I have to warn you, this may well be committing a war crime. We haven’t had United Nations approval for any action and without a vote in the UN, we are committing an act of aggressive war, which is a war crime. I therefore rule that we must hold off any action until there had been a full meeting of the Security Council. I will also issue orders for the pilots involved in this incident to be arrested and brought up on war crimes charges.”

There was a rumble of discontent around the war room. Bush heard it and that made up his mind. He looked at the JAG officer with contempt. “Place this man under arrest. Remove him, get rid of him. From now on, the United States will act in its own best interests and defend itself as best it can. Any other nations who want to join in this struggle are welcome to do so.”

“\.”

“”

I don't think the military actions against the heralds qualifies as an act of agression under the U.N. Charter. The U.S. was defending its own territory not attacking hell. Are you just mocking the U.N? Also, I thought it Secretary Gates who made that statement not a JAG officer. Arresting the man seems a bit extreme. It would be interesting to see what happens to Bush's base and the Republican party now that the Religious conservatives are all gone.

[Kodiak]

“Sir, I have to warn you, this may well be committing a war crime. We haven’t had United Nations approval for any action and without a vote in the UN, we are committing an act of aggressive war, which is a war crime. I therefore rule that we must hold off any action until there had been a full meeting of the Security Council. I will also issue orders for the pilots involved in this incident to be arrested and brought up on war crimes charges.”

There was a rumble of discontent around the war room. Bush heard it and that made up his mind. He looked at the JAG officer with contempt. “Place this man under arrest. Remove him, get rid of him. From now on, the United States will act in its own best interests and defend itself as best it can. Any other nations who want to join in this struggle are welcome to do so.”

“\.”

“”

I don't think the military actions against the heralds qualifies as an act of agression under the U.N. Charter. The U.S. was defending its own territory not attacking hell. Are you just mocking the U.N? Also, I thought it Secretary Gates who made that statement not a JAG officer. Arresting the man seems a bit extreme. It would be interesting to see what happens to Bush's base and the Republican party now that the Religious conservatives are all gone.

Stuart loves to mock, but it's not always against who you'd think. The president may be putting Secretary Gates under arrest for remarks which are "treasonous" which in fact would be arrestable. Also, I wouldn't necessarily conclude that the religious conservatives are gone. In fact it's far more likely that they're upset and "Hell"-bent on revenge.

[The Vortex Empire]

Wow. I never knew Bill Clinton was so bad-ass. Excellent chapter, Stuart. I wonder who else will make an appearance...

[Kodiak]

One wonders how the appearance of demons will be affecting the Primaries, and the candidates platforms. Could this be the end for Huckabee and Romney?

Though I can't speak for Huckabee, I can give some perspective on LDS (Mormon) theology as it might pertain to gov. Romney in the primaries. The voice of God to his people here on Earth for the Latter-Day Saints is the President of the church, referred to as The Prophet. It is not unreasonable to think that the church membership would see The Message as a test from God. In the Book of Mormon, God tells his people on several occasions that he'll abandon them until they can "get their act together". I could invision Mormons carrying on attending church as normal, persevering through the trials and supporting the war effort. Gov. Romney himself served as a missionary for 2 years in France, so I would imagine him to react in following the Prophet of the church.

[Chris OFarrell]

Traitors all of you! Our new Lord and Master has spoken! We must submit to his glorious rule!

We must at once contact the next herald and request an audience to humbly beg forgiveness for our trangressions and pay tribute to our new Lord and Master.

To start, we may offer the Dark Lord a great gift worthy of his glorious malevolence. This box here, with "W-80" on the side and those numbers that count down on that panel, which when it reaches Zero, will surrender our greatest power and secrets to him in tribute of his glorious reign....

[fusion]

I am Happy this is an awesome fic. However, I do second Chewie there.

[Starglider]

Bravo. I hope your muse is in this for the long-haul.

Must confess, couldn't help but feel sorry for Sheba though. I suppose I just have a thing for girls with tails...

Still, /how/ many rounds into an apparently human sized demon? If you're going with exotic biology rather than innate magic, that thing's subdermis must be made of woven single-layer nanotubes to withstand that many rounds before dying.

[CaptainChewbacca]

Alright, here's something I just thought of; demonic defectors!

In short order, the legions of Hell are going to realize that they're fighting a losing war to help the guy who's in charge of how much they suffer. I'm willing to bet we can get a few of Hell's Generals to turn on their master in exchange for an island estate in the Keys and all the pig's blood they want.

Eh?

[Starglider]

In short order, the legions of Hell are going to realize that they're fighting a losing war to help the guy who's in charge of how much they suffer. I'm willing to bet we can get a few of Hell's Generals to turn on their master in exchange for an island estate in the Keys and all the pig's blood they want.

OTOH, if Satan gets desperate he can probably start offering mortals things like physical immortality, created gold, unearthly beauty, magical powers etc in a deperate attempt to get some agents in the human governments. Then again if he continues to acts as naive about intelligence as he is about modern warfare in general, that's likely to result in some very amused meetings in some back room of the CIA followed by something like the WW2 'Double Cross System' taken to extremes. Ah, those poor naive demons.

Still, enemy who can shapechange and appear seemingly anywhere are a major threat. We don't know if it's just succubi who can do it, or if they can immitate other humans or just take on generic forms - and the protagonists don't either. I imagine there will be some serious panic if the full story about Clinton gets out (lots of 'my neighbour looked at me funny - so I shot him because I thought he was a demon' rednecks') - and even if it's supressed, the various governments have to assume the worst and start a crash program to preclude/minimise potential demonic infiltration.

[Kodiak]

Bravo. I hope your muse is in this for the long-haul.

Must confess, couldn't help but feel sorry for Sheba though. I suppose I just have a thing for girls with tails...

Still, /how/ many rounds into an apparently human sized demon? If you're going with exotic biology rather than innate magic, that thing's subdermis must be made of woven single-layer nanotubes to withstand that many rounds before dying.

I'm thinking that it might have to do more with a lack of vital organs more than anything. Sheba took a buckshot round in the stomach at point-blank, then a dozen rounds from sidearms before she stopped moving. Perhaps it's a simple case of causing enough pain such that the demon decides it's no longer "worth it"

[Typhonis 1]

Playing devils advocate here. The skin could be the only tough thing, ablew to withstand arrows and such but get past that? This is a monster from hell. You are going to basically pump enough shit into it to ensure it doesnt get up. IE emptying a magazine into it to be sure it stays the fuck down.

[Setzer]

If the demons have acid blood, why not an adrenaline system that works like they're flooded with PCP? That would enable them to keep moving after taking fire like that, right?

[Starglider]

I'm thinking that it might have to do more with a lack of vital organs more than anything. Sheba took a buckshot round in the stomach at point-blank, then a dozen rounds from sidearms before she stopped moving. Perhaps it's a simple case of causing enough pain such that the demon decides it's no longer "worth it"

I would say that we have ample evidence of internal organs for most of the demons;

The holocaust of tungsten-steel fragments ripped open his stomach and tore his abdominal cavity to shreds. Even in a mind crazed by the ghastly pain from the first hit, Shingroleth noticed the sudden drop in weight as his intestines dropped out of his body.

Once again, proximity fuses worked to perfection, preformed fragments slashed out, ripping through the slate-black flesh of the demon. Some went up into his brain, bouncing around inside his skull until all that laid within was reduced to a finely-ground slush. Others sawed down through the demon’s chest, carving into his heart and lungs.

In fact, they did a bit better than that, blasting deep cavities in Ralaraspanathsis’s back, severing his spinal column and burning deep into his vital organs. His body tissues, vaporized by the blast, sprayed out and down, searing and cooking his internal organs and bursting open the swim bladder that kept him afloat.

But I'll grant that it's possible that this specific type is some sort of semi-amorphous shapeshifter, consisting mainly of flexible skin, adjustable bone structure and undifferentiated yellow goo. I guess we'll find out after the inevitable autopsy.

Either way, I like the fact that whoever made these demons apparently picked random (and brightly coloured) blood chemistry for each of them.

P.S. For the people saying 'how is it possible Satan doesn't know what's going on when he's got all those human souls down there, well a) he had his (exaggerated) information on Clinton from someone and b) most humans would be utterly insane after a few decades of constant torture, unless hell as some special way to prevent that don't expect most of those souls to be much help to either side.

[Stravo]

Stuart, I noticed in this last section Bush ordering up more fighters and dealing with the extra costs involved with this order. With the human race at stake or at the very least the US at stake is it in the realm of possibility that the US government could nationalize companies like Boeing and sort of force them to make the aircraft with the understanding "I'll pay you Tuesday for a F-22 today....or else."

I was always curious as to whether a nation facing utter annihilation as either an independent state or in the very real sense annihilation would be crippled by an industry that would not work until it was paid. In other words would the arms industry of a nation in the face of losing everything continue producing even if it wasn't being paid. Mind you we'd be talking last gasp moments like Russians streaming towards Berlin and Allies in the Ruhr kind of National emergencies not "Hey we're short on cash this month but I really need 300 more tanks for this cool offensive"

[KlavoHunter]

Stuart, I noticed in this last section Bush ordering up more fighters and dealing with the extra costs involved with this order. With the human race at stake or at the very least the US at stake is it in the realm of possibility that the US government could nationalize companies like Boeing and sort of force them to make the aircraft with the understanding "I'll pay you Tuesday for a F-22 today....or else."

I was always curious as to whether a nation facing utter annihilation as either an independent state or in the very real sense annihilation would be crippled by an industry that would not work until it was paid. In other words would the arms industry of a nation in the face of losing everything continue producing even if it wasn't being paid. Mind you we'd be talking last gasp moments like Russians streaming towards Berlin and Allies in the Ruhr kind of National emergencies not "Hey we're short on cash this month but I really need 300 more tanks for this cool offensive"

I've also wondered the very same thing, but never quite had the thought to articulate that question. "The government's tax-collecting apparatus is shot to hell, so we don't have the hundred million apiece for these neat planes here, but we need them anyways - build them and we'll ensure your workers get their food ration"?

[Starglider]

"The government's tax-collecting apparatus is shot to hell, so we don't have the hundred million apiece for these neat planes here, but we need them anyways - build them and we'll ensure your workers get their food ration"?

I would imagine you would just name a 'reasonable' price and print money to pay for it. You would then tell the management of said companies to accept this price or have their corporate charter revoked, shares annulled and all assets nationalised. If you were at the 'utter anhilation' stage you might break out the house arrests, gulags and firing squads for those who don't co-operate, but I doubt the US is going to get there anytime soon even in this scenario.

[Surlethe]

Room 352A, Arkham Asylum, New York City, NY

The voices had been haunting Julie since her sophomore year of high school. Every time she'd tried to tell them to go away, they simply laughed at her. And when she denied they were real, they'd whisper to her, caressing her mind like an unwanted lover, telling her secrets – what was happening far away, what others were thinking about her, telling her things that were never wrong.

And they were always right, always there, always just out of her senses, dripping across her mind like black grease. Even after she'd tried to kill herself – it hadn't worked; they'd told her that it was pointless, that someone was at the door just as she'd watched the blood stream from her wrists with morbid fascination – even after the suicide attempt, when her family had tearfully waved her goodbye, and she'd gone to Arkham for treatment (which hadn't worked) and incarceration, they were telling her things, what was happening outside.

The conquest was on, they'd said. The infernal deal that had haunted her nightmares since she was five, that had haunted every waking moment since the voices had first come, was sealed and complete. Heaven's gates were closed and locked.

Her cell was locked, as always. The white walls were padded, and she was sitting on her cot in the corner murmuring to herself when one of the voices – Domiklespharatu, it called itself – whispered, "Look to the door!" She did; the lock on the door clicked and lifted. "They're coming to get you ... coming to take you away ... to experiment on you ... to rape and torture and mutilate and humiliate you ... ."

The voices were never wrong. She hurled herself back into the corner, away from the strange people filing into the room. Then there was Dr Becky, welcome familiarity, and then some more people in uniforms and white lab coats. Domiklespharatu laughed. “Look at you, pitiful little girl.” The floor reared up, and she stumbled backward into the walls.

Dr Becky Skillman had worked at Arkham for fifteen years, and in all that time she’d never been visited by the government. Two men in suits, with dark sunglasses, guns, and no sense of humor had knocked on her office door, shown her a pair of bright and very impressive badges, and asked her for a list of the patients at Arkham for whom treatment had done absolutely no good.

She wasn’t one to deny the government a request, especially not in this day and age – with the Message, three quarters of the Arkham staff were gone, and the strange reports filing through the news were unsettling. They’d thanked her cordially, gone, and then a half hour later were back with an entire cadre of men in fatigues with rifles, asking to be taken to Room 352A on the third floor.

Julie Adams had been at the top of the list, and they’d decided to take her first. Before Skillman had a chance to ask any questions, they’d waved a piece of paper – subpoena or something like that – in her face, and were demanding the case files.

Adams was an untreatable schizophrenic, and had only gotten worse through the eight years she’d been in Arkham. No treatment had worked – and they’d tried them all, from the newest drugs to some of the oldest tricks in the books, the sort that the staff all mutually agreed to keep quiet because people who didn’t work at psychiatric hospitals just didn’t understand. And now the government wanted to take her away?

Skillman shrugged. Eh – not her place to question or worry. As they filed into the pure white cell, Adams was scrabbling against the back wall, face contorted in fear, the greasy tangles of her long, black hair swabbing the wall. “No! NO! I’m not gonna let you take me!”

The soldiers impassively moved forward, seemingly deaf to the woman’s harsh, pathetic screams. Reaching down, two deftly warded off her slaps and kicks and lifted her by the shoulders so that she hung between them like a rag doll. Brushing past Skillman, they filed back out of the room, Adams’ screams echoing down the corridor. The two men in black thanked her, and walked out, leaving her standing in the silent room, listening to the sick woman being dragged down the hall.

Temporary Headquarters, Randi Institute of Pneumatology, The Pentagon, Arlington, VA

The Amazing James Randi sighed and rolled his eyes. The fakes and charlatans had been lining up in heretofore unseen numbers. Not even a million dollars had gotten as much attention as this plea for any real psychics or necromancers to come forward. True, there had been five or six possible hits – all quiet, shy people who worked ordinary jobs and lived ordinary lives. There were not like the palm-readers and card-players who waited in the antechamber for their turn, all dressed up in beads and eye liner and all sorts of clothes that looked mysterious in smoky, underlit rooms but just appeared absurd under fluorescent business lights.

He was just about to call the next person in when his cell phone rang. He checked it; it was a 000-0000 number. He ansered. “Randi here.” After a moment, he nodded and said, “Will do. Please tell Jeff that was a great idea.” Then he opened the door to the antechamber and just stood there, looking out toward the outside door. It opened, and eight national guardsmen marched in, wearing full combat fatigues. Two of them were carrying what appeared to be a heavily sedated woman, her glassy eyes half-open and a bit of drool trailing down her cheeks. Behind them were three men in lab coats, looking like stereotypical doctors. As they reached where Randi stood, one of the men in lab coats strode forward past the soldiers and offered his hand. Randi shook it, and the man said, “James Randi? Dr Ed Bullmore, psychiatry and neurology at Cambridge. Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine, Dr Bullmore. What do we have here?”

Bullmore spoke with a pleasant British accent. “Untreatable schizophrenia patient from New York. Name: Julie Adams. Onset at age sixteen. Reported ability to read minds.” He looked meaningfully at one of the soldiers, who spoke up, sounding shaken. “On the way over here, she told me about my daughter who drowned. No way she could have known about that – she was locked up for years before Kelsie was born.”

Randi thought for a moment. “Bring her in.” Briskly, the white-bearded man walked back through the door. He glanced over at his secretary. “Jane, please request brain-imaging at the nearest hospital ASAP. Play the DoD card if you have to.”

Neuroimaging Center, Arlington Hospital, Arlington, VA

Julie Adams woke up in a little tube of metal, found herself immobilized, and felt a little whisper in the edge of her mind. “See? I told you soooo!” Then she slipped back into unconsciousness.

When she next woke up, she was tied to a chair, and sitting across the table from her was a bald little man with an enormous white beard. A voice danced across her vision, and she said, “James Randi?” The man raised one eyebrow, dropped it, and continued to regard her over clasped hands. She struggled with the bonds.

“They told me you’d do this to me! They told me!”

He spoke, a grandfatherly voice, calming and authoritative. “Who told you?”

She’d never been asked that before. Before, they’d always assumed the voices weren’t real, that she was crazy. She wasn’t crazy; she just heard voices. “They did.” A warning buzzed across the back of her mind – “Don’t trust him. He’s going to rape you.”

The man smiled. “Have they ever told you who they are?”

These questions were completely foreign to her. “Uh … I … no … .”

His eyes twinkled through his spectacles. “Well, Julie, we want to help you. We know they’ve hurt you. We’re going to hurt them back, and we’d like your help.”

It was tempting. She’d always thought of them as enemies, even when they were telling her the truth. But they’d been enemies of her enemies, and so they had been her friends. But now, this man was offering his help to her, to her … “DON’T LISTEN TO THEM!” screamed a voice, and spots erupted behind her eyes as Randi morphed, grew – black scales erupted on his face, horns growing from his bald head, his glasses falling to the desk, shattering; furred bat wings unfurled, spread, brushed the walls and ceiling, looming over her. And now a smell like rotten eggs was strengthening; the room was darkening, and she could hear faint screams in the distance, like a chorus of damned souls.

She was dimly aware of her own screaming, of the stabs of pain spiking through her; the thing across the desk was prodding her with a pitchfork, leering at her. It stepped backward and lustily licked its lips, grabbing a giant organ from between its legs and –

The hellish scene strobed suddenly, replaced with a flicker by a room with a bald, grandfatherly man looking concernedly down at her and two men with chiseled faces hovering right above her. Across from her, the demon was looking uncertainly at her, scratching distractedly at its body, and then it was gone – replaced by the kinder, gentler scene. One of the men said, “Hold still, sister. You’re almost safe.” There was a prick in her arm, and then she was happy, floating free down toward blessed oblivion.

The amazing James Randi straightened up and looked over toward the door. The psychiatrists and a lab technician were filing through the door. “Did you guys get it?”

“Yes sir, we did,” said Bullman. “Before we hashed the room, we caught a faint signal. It has some strange properties, and we’re sending the records to the physicists next door, but in the meanwhile we’ve figured out how to keep her safe and sound from any further interference.”

Randi cocked his head curiously. “And what’s that?”

Bullman grinned and pulled a shiny contraption from his lab coat. “A hat made of aluminium foil, sir.”

[Academia Nut]

Awesome chapter Stuart, that bit with Clinton caused me to actually laugh out loud and nearly bust a gut at the thought of Bill suddenly pulling out a full auto shotgun and emptying it into a succubus, and then emptying it again. I suppose it will have to wait for a later chapter though to find out whether or not killing demons on Earth is "for real" or if their souls just return to Hell to give a confused report to very angry superiors. If the latter then that succubus probably has one whopper of a story to tell.

But I think everyone has been looking at this story all wrong. In essence, it is not science vs. magic. Those are two incidental paradigms that do not affect how things are really going down. This Modernity vs. Pre-Modernity. Hell is all in chaos and confusion because they expected to just walk in and smash things like they always did. The thought of them getting their asses kicked literally never entered their minds simply because it has never been done. To a pre-modern thinker, the world is as it is, and there is no changing that, to think otherwise is the heart of folly. The Devil's first impulse was to launch an invasion, sure of victory, and had to be convinced to send out what was really a half assed intelligence operation. They seemed to assume that since Clinton was a former leader then all they had to do was capture him and they would learn everything. Of course, had they grabbed an average Joe off the street, or fuck, interrogated a new arrival, they would have learned about the same amount as from Clinton.

The modern viewpoint, well, you're all familiar with it because the majority of the people on here (with the possible exception of the trolls) are modern thinkers. Our worldview is based around progress and asking questions. While depressingly few people worldwide actually have a modern worldview, those that keep asking questions have managed to drag everyone else into the world as it is today.