My Terror Tuesday for this week is ready. Rumor has it that Ed is playing tag with Satan. Don't they know this is end days?
Check out the Youtube video that Nathanael Munn did for me. It rocks!
THE MISTS OF PAPOOSE POND
Chapter Thirty
Shit! I'm on my own. Satan has a hold of my leg, pulling me down into the depths, ever closer to the magma waiting to create barbequed Ed. His strength is certainly superior to mine. My warriors, as effective as they are at battling their evil counterparts, are no match for the Dark Angel. Only God can match up to him.
But that's physical strength. the Devil does have a temper, and he does get rattled easily. "Yes, Ed," I think. "You are the chief rattler."
My number one weapon appears to be that I'm a pain in the ass. I'm not sure how to take that. "Go ahead, you bastard! Pull me down below; let my balls roast in the fire; yours will get singed as well, and guess what?"
"What, you little twerp?!"
"I'll be an undead spirit so fucking agitated that I'll breathe fire up your damn ass; I'll be a supreme hemorrhoid. You'll scratch and pluck , but you'll have no luck getting rid of me. God's not ready for me yet, prick. I missed the last train to Heaven. I'll have a long wait for the next chance. I get bored real easy, so you'll be my entertainment. You won't be able to kill me. I'll already be dead."
A huge shout fills the cavern and the pressure increases on my leg. Maybe I used the wrong tactics. Oops.
My body is slammed downwards towards the flowing lava waiting to fry me as well as anyone or anything else coming close to it. Intestines and body parts of the Zombies making the trip ahead of me adorn the walls, not quite disintegrated yet, calling out to me to use them like gloves and socks to protect my already burned skin from total annihilation.
Spiritual essences from the final moments of these creatures rip through my mind, the torture of the good and the wickedness of the evil assaulting my senses at the same time, the last remnants of their physicality containing their souls. My screams of mental anguish rival those of Satan's cries of anger for my insolence and failure to bow down to the bastard.
I cling to the wall, shaking from the anguish, but not allowing myself to be taken over by it. My strength is in my mind. And I will use it!
"Give up, Ed! Let go! God's not here. It's you and me, and guess who's going to win?"
The heat rips through my hand and foot holds, once more filling the cavern with the stench of my burning flesh, but bringing me back to reality, stealing my mind from the voices of the dead and undead calling out to me, and making Satan's mockery a mere nuisance.
"Fuck you, you bastard! You can't destroy me. I will play mind games with your head and draw the reasoning out of that worthless skull of yours. You will know where I am, but you won't know where I am. The ball's in my court now."
The walls shake from his anger, resonating around him and everything close by. But that anger works against him as the magma rises up to meet the vacuum created in the air by the air sucked into the Dark Angel's lungs.
Holy shit! I climb as fast as I can, roll into a cavern and run for my life! The heat, as the lava tears up the walls, reaches Satan and totally engulfs him. Yes, he is immortal, but he can still feel pain, and this pain is real; it's intense; and it's mind blowing. I almost want to laugh at him, but I don't dare. I need to get the fuck out of here.
But I can't! Louise is still down here. I need to draw him away from her; I need to dangle the carrot of hatred before his eyes. Yes, that's it. I need to lead Him out of here like the evil ass he is.
Blocking my mind to Louise's presence down here so Satan doesn't reach into my skull, discover she's here, and go after her, I run back where I came from and yell down to him. "Hey, hot stuff, you going to come after me or what, you pussy?!"
Moving away from the main shaft, where it would be easier for him to get ahold of me once more, I dart through the myriad collection of tunnels and caverns, bobbing and weaving around like a drunken sailor, repeating my steps many times, going into reverse then forward, so as to leave the scent and sound of my presence everywhere. "He'll be one confused little bastard," I think.
I find a passageway to a level closer to the surface and scramble up, feeling him behind and below me. That works in my favor because as pissed as he is, he won't hear me move when I don't want him to.
The cat and mouse game is repeated over and over again. Satan's strength and speed offset his agitation and confusion, and he steadily gains on me. The surface gets closer and I resort to an all out sprint to get topside. It's my only choice now.
My webbed brethren are gathered by the entrance when I stumble out from down below and land face first in the dirt in a most embarrassing moment. The pain of the sand rubbing into my open burns is excruciating, but there is no time to tend to it now. The Devil is on my ass.
God's Angels swoop down as soon as Satan shows his ugly head and attack him from all directions. At the same time, my special friends start getting inside his head, taunting and teasing Him until He can no longer take it. The Dark Angel is attacked both physically and mentally, and immortal or not, there is still the experience of the pain involved: pain he doesn't wish to deal with right now. Before our eyes, he vanishes, there being no sensory perceptions to any of us that he remains close at all.
As happy as I might be to see that the bastard is gone, my own pain tears at me, the blisters and open sores reacting to the very air around me. The slightest breeze creates a whole new experience of torture; the reverberations from the sounds of the battle act like whips against my torn frame; and the stench of torn humanity and demonic monstrosities eats into the pores within every wound.
With the battle waging around me, and my soul wanting to jump into the middle of it all, my body merely wants relief, and I try to isolate myself from what is happening, my mind wishing me to create a shield between actuality and illusion. No one could be that good of a magician.
Pushing myself up as carefully as I can, I stumble to my feet and wobble around, shaking off all attempts of those trying to help me. I can't have anyone touch me right now. The mere thought of any sort of pressure on me sends me into spasms of pure torture.
Water! I need to submerge myself in the coolness of that wet relief. Even though the optimal time has elapsed for the therapeutic value of the natural balm, it will remove the dirt from my wounds and stop that irritation and pain.
Retreating back to the safety of the caverns for a few precious moments, I follow my nose to the coolest of the pools and ease my body in, relishing every glorious moment. The water works its magic on me, and I even completely submerge myself from time to time, not wanting to allow any part of my body to escape the rejuvenating powers.
Something special resides within this pool, because I feel the pain in my skin slowly ebb, and the normality of my functions returning to me. What the . . .
Yes, I am aware of the powers of hot springs acting in medicinal ways, but for a cold spring to do the same is completely foreign to me. "Shit, Ed: it's happening. Don't try to figure it out. Accept it," I think.
Is this why my webbed friends live as long as they do? Have they discovered some kind of "fountain of youth?" They have so many tricks residing within them that it is more than this single element of rejuvenation. Within their minds and souls resides much more.
As good as it feels in the pool, I only remain long enough to get myself back to the point where I can battle once more. I pick up my battle-scarred machete and head to the surface, feeling like a warrior again.
Jumping to the front line once more, I shake off the stares of Tom, reaching into his mind and knowing he wants me to tell him what just happened. Fuck that! It's history; it can't be changed. The present is where we live, and there will be no future unless we get past this point in time.
My mindset is relentless; my focus is sharp and unswerving. The Zombies must be destroyed: at whatever cost to me. They are everywhere, and they just keep coming. Nephilim and regular sized as well. Our bolstered forces are waging a war of immense proportions where the math is not in our favor. Plurality resides within the army of evil.
What was that song I sang in Sunday School? Onward Christian Soldiers. Yes, that was it. And that is what we are now. But this is not the way I envisioned things back then. This is a whole new ball game, one without white steeds and pure raiment. This is blood and guts and nasty fuckers eating you alive as you slice into them; this is machetes instead of swords; this is on foot versus galloping around on a super horse; and this is just plain down and dirty.
War, any kind of war, is brutal. You either win or lose. There is no middle ground. Just as in 'Nam with all the brutality going on and neither side wanting to budge, the onslaught went on and on. The only difference then was that politics played too much of a part. We weren't allowed to win; we were fucking pawns for the "greater good." We were sold out. This time it's different: there will be no senseless listening to cowards without the balls to fight, hiding behind their little college deferments. This is the LAST war. However it ends, there will be no more.
That is why I chose not to take the easy way out and embrace Rapture. This time . . .this time I must win. At what cost doesn't matter to me. I have been thrust into a position of power and responsibility, and I will not back down. Never!
Blood and guts fly everywhere, and the acrid odor of Molotov cocktails fills the air as we slice and dice, and burn our way to a position of renewed strength. Our numbers are depleted by the ruthlessness of the encounter with the advancing onslaught of evil, but we administer losses to them as well.
"We got you now, you fucking bastards!" I holler, advancing beyond the front lines even more, leading by example, showing my troops I am not afraid of our enemy, instilling hope in their hearts. Even God's zombies, undead as they are, rally to the call, excited by the fervor of the moment.
The air rips in half, and the viscous opening appears once more. Dark Angels fly out in immense numbers, swooping down on us, slowing our advance. God's Angels meet them and a wild battle ensues in the sky.
Shit! It is all a diversionary tactic! Out they come: their ruthlessness showing on every move they make, every look they give. They give no quarter, cutting a swath through anyone or thing in their way. They exist! They actually exist! And they are destroying us!
Blaze McRob
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