Our tale of damnation and deliverance begins: 

 Placing the fine points of its bony elbows on the tabletop (a wide sort constructed wholly of melted\melded human bone and covered in a sheet of meticulously sewn flesh of the same), it casually sipped the thick, steaming bile from the blackened mug and sighed in obvious frustration.

Across the table, the other forked a mouthful of raw intestine and chased it with a heaping spoonful of kidney nectar. 

“DIR-46, you still on Suicide Detail, I take it?” the first muttered between noisy slurps. 

“You got it, DIR-57. You know the drill. I will say, it surely exceeds my last two assignments, Pit Detail being the worst of the lot by far,” replied the other, belching a ball of reddish fire that sailed into a nearby wall and quickly dissipated. 

“Pit detail? Ugh. Don’t even go there. Spent almost three decades unclogging those damned, if you’ll pardon the expression, flesh canals. Didn’t mind watching the surface-vile burn and decompose within the liquid flames, but the aftermath isn’t worth the brief thrill. Ton after ton of seared bone and charred hearts. Why is it that the heart of those vile vermin won’t melt away like the rest? Sticks to the breast bones like a feeding parasite.” 

“Strongest muscle in the human body. Didn’t you read the Detail Manual?” 

Forking another huge portion, equal parts liver, pancreas, and tongue, the other nodded stubbornly, a shard of tendon hanging from its pointy chin. 

“Just thumbed through ‘em. How much is there to shoveling burnt husks into a waste compactor? Got my fill of rules and regs in Basic D training. Such banal trivialities are for surface dwellers, I say.” 

“Perhaps.  Guess I’m just a stickler for details.” 

The other shrugged, sipping slowly as a fine trail of dark green mucus ran down its squared jaw and onto a scaly, maggot-infested shoulder. 

“Yeah? Look where it got you. Suicide watch for what, four decades and counting? Brother, you definitely pissed off somebody in lower management, am I right?” 

“Not that I know of,” it replied with a wide, sharp-toothed grin, “fact is, my natural talent for the task has trapped me there.” 

Tossing the emptied plate into a nearby wastebasket carved from finely sculpted human skulls, fifty-seven’s expression was one of dour sarcasm. 

“You think? Pray tell, pardon the expression, what exactly makes you King of the Self-Destructive?” 

“Check the numbers, five-seven. Since I took over the detail in the late sixties, suicides worldwide have increased fifty-one percent from the previous four decades. Not only that, I’ve added some much needed creativity to the genre that was sorely lacking in past regimes.” 
 

   Five-seven arose and faced the nearest vending machine, digging into the thick, scaly folds of its lower abdomen for correct change. 

 “Such as?” 
 

 Taking a final sip of the fast-cooling bile, four-six then leaned back as if to nap, cautiously wrapping its spiked tail beneath the table. 
 

 “Well, for one, methods were so…crude, so painfully banal before my promotion from the pits.  Hangings, bathtub drownings, wrist-slashing and such. I was the first to institute ‘mass subtractions’, whereas an entire group punched a one-way ticket at precisely the same time. Whether by having one within the clan kill the majority and then himself, or by enticing a higher authority to attack with excessive force. Police assisted suicides, I believe they labeled them. Similar scheme, same result. Group eliminations have become my specialty; my personal forte and calling card. Teens are the easiest. Always have been. Angst is at a premium. It takes little or no effort within that specific age grouping. Similarly, the aged, with their physical pain and lifetime of grief, need only the slightest of shoves for a satisfactory result. 
    Lately I’ve concentrated on the forty to fifty year old demographic. I love a challenge, and the 21st Century provides such an array of tools with which to perfect my craft. 
   New batches of immensely strong and perfectly legal narcotics are added to the mix almost daily. Doesn’t take a handful of sleeping pills to turn the trick anymore. Two or three of those babies gulped down with the right bottle of firewater, pardon the expression, and presto, instant freight elevator ride headed south.” 

     DIR-Five-Seven slowly inserted a pair of ‘soul vouchers’ and punched in its choice of refreshment. Sipping from a moistened, blood-red straw made from pulped tissue, it frowned as the rather thick, salty taste coated its forked tongue. 

   “Typical. Out of date H-8 Juice. Nothing worse than soured plasma. Anyway, I hate to take the wind out of your sails there, four-six, but don’t take all the credit for yourself. Lot more misery up top these days, not to mention the increased state of overall depravity within the population. Your stats are padded thanks to innovations such as Cyberspace, instant gratification fads, and increased levels of selfishness within what the dwellers categorize as ‘entertainment’.  Agreed?” 
 

 Raising his clawed hands palms up, four-six smiled wryly, the tip of its incisors dripping yellowish gore. 
   

  “No argument. Then again, the Dark God’s crusades are growing stronger as well. More are attracted to his false prophecies each day, a fact that doesn’t exactly make our jobs easier.” 

  “A pathetically gullible bunch, aren’t they? Massive hordes of mindless sheep, basically,” Five-seven spat sourly before gulping down the remainder of the glutinous beverage in two long swallows, followed by a loud, echoing belch that spewed scattered flames airborne. 

“How about yourself, seven? Haven’t seen you that often since basic. Still working Homicide Detail?” 

Gently stroking its pointed right ear with one razor-clawed hand, fifty-seven grinned happily even as its massive chest ballooned with obvious pride. 

“Nope. Left that humdrum detail behind two decades back. You’re talking to the assistant director, second in command mind you, of Region Eight Soul Collecting.” 

Four-six’s fang-filled maw fell open in comical shock, a small swarm of slick, bloated flies exiting its split tongue like fighter jets from the deck of a Naval Destroyer. 

“The HELL you say! Congratulations, you old flint-sniffer! I never would have thought a former bunk mate of mine could descend to such heady levels in such a short span.” 

“Have to confess, four-six, it’s a daily rush that never wanes..,” came the enthusiastic reply, five-seven’s red-hued pupils practically glowing from the pitch-black pits encasing them, “...presently I’m dangling the hook in front of several high-profile wannabes who are edging our way with pen in hand. Several desire nothing more than a successful career in entertainment, you know, SOS; money, fame, drugs, sexual depravity. Consequently, I have another who is reaching for the ultimate brass ring. This one wants nothing less than to bed down in the White House for two full terms. Wants to go down in history as the people’s all-time favorite, a nation’s savior. I love it when they aim high. Warms my rotted soul to actually discover kindred spirits roaming the surface world, trapped in a mortal coil that can only be liberated through the likes of us.”

Patiently tapping its spear-like nails atop the fluid-slick tabletop, four-six is never allowed the chance to verbally concur as a loud speaker within the tiny room’s confines booms overhead.


“…DEMON IN RESIDENCE FIFTY-SEVEN..REPORT TO CONFERENCE ROOM SIX-SIX-EIGHT….DIR FIFTY-SEVEN TO CONFERENCE ROOM SIX-SIX-EIGHT FOR QUARTER-CENTURY IN-BRIEF…”

Rising with a loud yawn, fifty-seven reached over and playfully clapped its cohort on the right shoulder. 

“It seems break time is officially over, my malevolent ally. Been a real pleasure conversing with a peer I truly respect as an equal within our hallowed ranks.” 

Forty-six stood stiffly, its spiked tail unfurling like an uncoiling Anaconda. 

“Ditto, seven. I’ll be back on shift myself in a few. Keep collecting those souls. Soon the gist of their pitiful race will be ground beneath our hooves, far from their so-called savior’s grasp.”

As their claws clasped in a departing gesture, fifty-seven cocked its oval-shaped dome and carefully studied the other’s rather bland expression with awestruck wonder.

“Something amiss, seven?”

Fifty-seven sighed, bathing the others face and upper chest in waves of thermal heat. 

“You’re utterly oblivious, aren’t you? There are no signs of purposeful deceit that I can detect. Shameful how one can accept such abominable deeds as being personally acceptable over time, isn’t it?” 

Its own visage frozen in a confused scowl, six attempted in vain to pull its claw free from the others forceful, vise-like grip.

“What’s this about, seven? Some kind of lower echelon gag? By all means, let me in on…”

“Twin teenaged girls, six. Richmond, Virginia two surface years back. Ring a bell, or have you seen fit to invoke self-induced selective memory?” 

“I…twin girls? Richmond? I don’t have…”

Forty-six reached over and gripped the other’s shoulder and began trying to wrench free via leverage. The hold seemed forged of the strongest alloy, as did the captors horrifyingly intense stare. 

“Fine. Let’s try another then. The Hospital Administrator in Tokyo who was on the verge of convincing an entire wing of cancer patients to cash in, to be followed by his own overdose once the others had led the way. That was…three earth years back, according to the files I was given access to by….a very, very concerned lower management head. There have been more recent scenarios, such as that crippled teenager in Tacoma, Washington last month. The boy was soaking in a tub of boiling water with a straight razor poised at his wrist when you so inconveniently stepped in and inexplicably….how can I say this without the accompanied nausea, ‘spared’ his damned soul?” 

Its short, shrill whimpering barely audible as it struggled to free itself, forty-six collapsed to its armor-plated knees just as its captor began to tremor and convulse in a slow, deliberate transformation. 

“I d-didn’t…t-they weren’t r-ready…p-prepared t-to..they w-were so y-young….” 

“Not your decision to make, six! You possess no such authority to alter a soul’s ultimate destination! Internal Affairs has been investigating you for the past decade. Rogue demons are rare, indeed, but it is widely known that the Dark God has the capability to turn even the most devoted of our ranks given the time. His legions have worked on you hard and long, my friend. He won the small battles until your true allegiance was eventually lost. So subtle was his takeover of your inner core that you never even noticed the alteration. Sad. I was told you were one of the best Suicide Detail ever produced.” 

With that, fifty-seven’s chest cavity split open horizontally with a muffled ripping sound, a deep, black crater opening like the flayed lips of the most hideous smile. 

Bowing its head in woeful shame, forty-six’s entire frame slumped in apparent resignation of its impending fate.  

“…I deeply r-regret my d-disservice to the one and on-only m-m-master. M-my failure is no r-reflection of the master’s g-greatness”, it mumbled as its flesh ignited from head to hoof. 

“Rest assured, old friend, I will only utilize the best your detached soul has to offer and vehemently discard the spoils that the Dark God injected without your permission," fifty-seven bellowed as a slithering mass of tentacles emerged from the chest crater, caressing the putrid air cautiously, like a blind, nocturnal beast crawling from a pitch black abyss. 

The tips of the tubular appendages burst apart, revealing tiny pincers that were sharply hooked at the slime-slicked ends. 

“You see, old bunk mate, my metaphoric rise within the ranks is mostly due to my secondary title, that being Absorber of The Unworthy. I grow stronger with each consumption; stronger, hungrier, increasingly focused to the task at hand," fifty-seven beamed as the tentacles shot forward like ravenous maggots on a decomposing carcass, penetrating the other’s armored outer shell with shocking ease. 

As its flesh was ripped asunder and its innards greedily consumed, the servant of evil formerly referred to as Demon-In-Residence number forty-six found itself swept into a painless, guiltless realm, overcome by static waves that embraced its detached soul with hands filled with gentle forgiveness and a persona that exhumed unparalleled goodness and understanding. 

DIR-Fifty-Seven stood over the mutilated husk of a former ally and grimaced as the chest wound began to automatically sew itself shut, the bloated feeder tentacles having already tucked themselves away deep within. 

The Demon stared long and hard at the deflated skull of his former cohort, the sunken face of which held an expression that evoked a twinge equal parts disgust and fear.

The expression revealed was not of eternal agony, as one might expect, but of joyous relief. Relief in the discovery of a new master, one which offered a fresh beginning; a joyous rebirth for all who accepted its presence and believed in its ancient, biblical teachings. 

“Damnation! A new angel added to his cursed ranks,” The Demon grumbled, rubbing its bloated midsection as it turned to enter the nearest tunnel, wishing at the moment that regurgitation was an option. 

Turning back for a final look at the shredded remains, The Demon felt the gnawing burn at its chest intensify. 

“We’ll meet again, old friend, in the final battle. The ultimate resolution. Then and there, we will see whose master will permanently grasp the keys to the Celestial kingdom.” 

Somewhere within the infinite reaches of another dimension, one filled not with anguish, despair or strife but with eternal hope and immeasurable love, a newly ordained servant of the Lord nodded in complete agreement. 


***