In my life, I have made several decisions which led to several consequences, and those have resulted with my being in the various hellholes I so willingly plunge myself into on the daily. But despite the atrocities I scourge from the universe, none so sickens me as the plights and wickedness of mankind. I do hold a softness from them, I, unfortunately, admit, which is why I haven’t bleached the entire species already.
I have tried my hardest to aid in saving humanity, keeping them safe from the horrors the cosmos hosts, all for the lingering hope that it might make a different future, for the path they head now is filled with nothing but darkness and shit. All of that beside, there was one man who…well…let’s just say, I fucking hated, more than any grotesque manifestation I faced. Dear old Tombe…
Somewhere, everywhere, really, in the office, clocks struck upon the hour of zero, blaring varying sounds as they did. The chimes filled the empty room with resonating song, accompanied by the everpresent ticking noises of the ticker tape machines, all echoing through the empty space. Well, mostly empty. While most of the brokers had departed, retired for the evening, alas, one man remained, even at this hour, hunched over his desk, poured over his work. His visage was that of a typical, sleazy businessman, donned in a white button-up shirt, stained with ink, sweat and booze, peppered aesthetically with a pair of striped suspenders, which alternated colors of noir and purity.
His skin was dark; his hair; darker, falling in twisted locks just below his ears. His pants were work slacks of a noirceur disposition, and upon his feet he wore a pair of black dress shoes. Wrapped around his neck like a corporate noose was a tie resplendent of his shoes, pants, and every-other stripe upon his suspenders. To complete the picture of the era, a cigarette was perched within his lips, puffing smoke every few seconds.
Documents, photographs, leads, and the like were stacked and scattered across his desk. Beside them, a small glass was just nearing empty, once holding several pours of whiskey from a flask within the drawers, as if it even needed to be hidden, really. Somewhere, buried beneath the papers and ring-stains, was a nameplate that bore the man’s moniker. If one were to gaze upon such placard, it would read as such:
Joseph Tombe
Upon hearing the chimes, the man, whom could be expected to go by the very name which decorates his workspace, exhausted, leaned back in his desk-chair to observe his work thus far. He had spent days working over numbers and reconciling accounts; figuring ways to skew the numbers just slightly for things to look temporary. The market was bleeding, he knew that, but the investors could never know, at least, not until they had all pulled out. The wise thing to do would be to leave while one still good, but alas, every scoured bilgerat within the stock market was a moneyhungered sonofabitch, and as a result, each wanted to see how much they could rack up out of everyone. They were on borrowed time, truly.
Joseph leaned back, peering out of the window of the scraper he worked from. Ah, the City. It was the central sandwich of oddities: raucous parties, inexplicable disappearances, smiling politicians, supposedly cursed individuals, but above all of that; McCoys with deep, very deep, pockets. Joseph was one of the top brokers of the office this month, having landed the Achroous account just last Friday. Oh, how the crew worshipped the ground he walked on after that.
The market was simply chaos, and Joseph loved it. It was a shame it was dying, of course, as he truly wanted nothing more than to live it out forevermore. In fact, it was as if he never left the office at all. Some of his coworkers said he was the office, incarnate. Joseph always digressed from these comments, but secretly, he agreed. For some reason, Joseph continuously lived his life consumed with his work. It wasn’t as if he lived a subpar one at that, no, contrarily, he held a lovely place to live with a lovely family. A wife and kids; the perfect nuclear dream.
Yet some assholes can’t get enough out of anything.
Joseph looked back at the office, finding gaze upon the loudest of chimes, an impressively sized grandfather clock upon the center of the wall on the far end of the office, at Eleven strikes now. He strained his eyes to see the face of the vigilant, wood-and-brass guardian which was the sole observer of his late-night activities. His gaze could not see from this distance the time, but upon the twelfth strike, and waiting a moment more, he gathered the concept of midnight within his present-day mind. Ah, he had lost track of time again. With a dreary sigh, he thought he ought to set off home for the night. Joseph gathered his things within an old leather briefcase, one of which belonged to his father, and his father before that, and left the office.
It was a mere Two days before the New Year would arrive, the end of a decade. It would be poetic for the market to die then, but surely, it would not, right? The thought of it sparked a migraine onset, as his head ached most days by the end of his work. He drove his well-endowed automobile to his place of residence. There was nothing which made itself prevalent to his midnight drive, simply a radio persona warbling about with stories of the incoming celebration, reminders of the Underground’s inadequacy, political fearmongering; the usual. Upon arriving home, everyone was asleep, or so he thought. Sunken-eyed and perfumed with alcohol, Joseph sauntered into his house, dropping his case upon the kitchen counter, and shuffling to the bedroom. And behold; a concerned and upset spouse. She spoke in a worried voice masked behind an accusatory tone.
“Joseph. We talked about this.”
“Oh, hi honey.”
“Please, don’t ‘hi honey’ me. You promised me you would be home by six today.”
“Lost track of time, I apologize.”
“No, no, Joseph, don’t apologize to me, I’ve heard such about a thousand times by now, yet nothing changes. It feels as if you are completely absent from your family! The one who needs your apology is our children. Our children, let me remind you, who spent all day looking forward to watching that-that, oh whatever the hell-ass film with you that they’ve been waiting all month for. Our children who missed that film they’ve been waiting all month for because they didn’t wanna watch it without ‘daddy’.”
She roughly brandished a finger to the window outside, her tone distraught.
“They were sat, right there, right fucking there, out on the front porch steps waiting for you since three o’clock! I called your office several times hoping that I could reach my husband to tell him, to plead with him, to come home, but no, little miss whatever her name is said you were too busy for your family.”
“Marie, I’m sorry, okay? Look, I lost track of time, I don’t know what you want me to say, I don’t know what you want from me.”
“They were still out there at eight, Joseph! I had to drag them in through tears to get them to eat something and I, by myself, had to try to cheer them up. I make excuses for you every time, but our kids are getting too old to buy them anymore! And do you not remember telling your father last week that you would take him into town to get a haircut today?”
“Oh, please, ‘I guess I forgot that too’ oh, sorry, I’m the devil, I made a mistake, send me to Hell, Marie!”
“YOU WOULD BE BETTER OFF THERE THAN HERE WITH ME! I feel so alone in caring for our house, our children, YOUR fucking parents! I took your father today to get a haircut, me, because the poor man couldn’t see two-feet in front of him due to the hair in his face.”
Joseph waved away the statement rashly.
“Ah, take a pair of scissors and cut the front off, damn it, he doesn’t need to be wasting my time and my money to go to the barber.”
“He LIKES the barber, you asshole! He’s old, he’s allowed to still enjoy the life he has left, what is wrong with you?”
Joseph closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Marie, please, I’ve got a splitting headache, I don’t really have the…mental fortitude…to be shouted at right now, especially not after work. I would’ve hoped you know this by now, really.”
Marie looked at him with the utmost pity in her eyes, for how could a man have everything, yet be so empty inside? She got closer, a softness in her voice, as she held back sorrow.
“What’s worse, Joseph, and I don’t even think you realize, is that despite your flaws, they, both of your parents, love you so much; our children, love you so much; I love you so much. But why, Lord, help me, tell me why does it feel like we are never worth a damn, worth a mere thought in your head? Worth anything in your heart?”
Joseph’s migraine was only worsening with the conversation. Her tone was so damn bothersome, goodness. Rubbing his eyes, he responded, somewhat exasperated.
“I’ll talk with the kids in the morning, buy them some new toys or shit, okay? That sound good? And, and I’ll schedule Ma a, a fuckin’ massage or something. You can go to, you both need it. That good? That worth something, huh?”
Marie stood before him, a look of utter dismay crossed upon her face, unsure of how her beloved husband could feel so little after hearing her lament. She spoke quietly, but the softness had been entirely removed, and her words held much malice.
“Goodnight, Joseph.”
And with those words, she left the room, closing the door behind her. Joseph breathed deeply, exhausted and now holding a soured disposition from his wife’s qualms. He looked around at the now empty room with a frustrated expression, loosening his tie, he creaked open the bedroom door. From it, he could see into the living room, and there she lay, his beloved Marie, curled up upon the sofa with a pullover blanket. He called out to her in a hushed voice so as to not wake his child nor his parents who also slept in a room across the house.
“Marie. Marie, damn it, stop the game, or act, or whatever the hell your deal is; come to bed! Marie!”
She bore no response to his summons, and with an annoyed huff, Joseph closed the door once more and began his recluse to bed. He undressed himself from business attire and replaced it with sleepwear clothes consisting of a union suit and a comfortable robe, which had some wear and tear over the years, but still held its comfortability. Beside his bed upon the nightstand was a glass of water next to a pill of Ergotamine; migraine medication. Marie did know of his pain and was prepared as such for his arrival at six. A twinge of guilt wracked Joseph’s conscious as he took the pill, but his exhaustion won the tussle over conviction, and he drifted off to sleep.
Joseph was awoken at an unknown hour by an unknown source. His eyes snapped open and all he saw was the ceiling of his bedroom. Blinking, he groggily moved his hand to rub the gristly sleep from his eyes. When he removed his hand, a dark figure hovered right before him. It spoke to him, a deep, masculine voice with a slight rasp, and a faint foreign-sounding accent to it.
“Hello, Joseph Tombe.”
Joseph tried to scream but found his mouth had been sewn shut with stitches. His widened in horror as he began to scoot his body all the way back to sit up in the bed. The figure lazily waved his hand as spectral ropes sprouted up from the sheets, binding him to the bed. Joseph winced and shut his eyes tight as if preparing for torture. The figure spoke calmly.
“Look, calm yourself. I am only here to talk.”
Joseph opened his eyes, terrified, but apprehensive.
“I will remove these bindings. You will not scream, you will not flee, is that understood?”
Joseph hastily nodded his head up and down, indicating a ‘yes’. Satisfied, the figure waved his hand once more. As if offended by something, the ropes and stitches recoiled away from Joseph and out from his skin, wiggling away into pools of darkness. Joseph licked his lips nervously, as his eyes darted around the room. The figure spoke with warning.
“Don’t–”
But Joseph had already sprung out from his bed and ran towards the bedroom door. He knew not who or what this thing wanted; all he knew was he wanted to be as far away from it as possible. He opened the bedroom door, and beyond it was a most unsettling sight. A spiraling maw of swirling darkness befell his vision. His heart sunk in utter terror. On all sides of the door, fleshlike hands began to slowly creep their way into the frame. Joseph couldn’t move; paralyzed. The hands gripped tightly, pulling more of themselves into the doorway. In an instant, they lurched towards Joseph, and one grasped upon his face, squeezing it with supernatural strength. He felt his skull being crushed inward and began to cry out in agony.
“aHHHH
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
AHHHHHHHH
AHHHHH!!!!!!”
Just a moment later, the pain stopped at once, and he was shoved backwards, falling to the floor. When Joseph steeled himself and could see oncemore, his gaze saw the dark figure whom had plucked the hand away from Joseph’s face, casting it into the abyss. Its very presence seemed to repulse the remaining hands as it walked to the door, slamming it shut. The figure looked back at Joseph over his shoulder; it didn’t take a genius to know that it was not pleased.
“You are every bit as incompetent and vile as I thought you might be.”
It was only now which Joseph fully perceived the full visage of this figure before him. It was intimidatingly sized, much larger than anyone should normally be. It wore layered garments of jetblack underneath a crisp leather jacket, with a hood attached, which was draped over a black baseball hat. The pants had several odd pockets and straps attached at weird points and were tucked into a pair of rugged combat boots, which, judging by the sound they made as the figure took deliberate steps, had some sort of metal infused into the tips. Various symbols decorated seemingly random spots all over the clothing; some were incoherent shapes, but Joseph could make out a few of them: something like two pieces of wheat crossed in an incomplete circle, a pair of hands with blood being poured over them, and the phrase “Straight Reapin’”. As Joseph scanned the figure, his eyes fell upon the face of this figure.
He wished they hadn’t.
A skeletal structure that was close to canine in nature protruded forth from underneath the hood. The skull had no eyes, save for empty, void-filled sockets, which an uncanny white glow emanated from within. Behind the head, there were two halos the same color of the void within his eyesockets. The outer held an alternating pattern of spikes and diamonds, the inner, a ring. Joseph scuttled backwards, terrified, but a realization dawned on him of a possible explanation to his situation.
“Oh, I see, I get it now! This is just a dream, or like a vision, or something. You gonna show me my past, present, and future, yeah?”
“Not exactly, asshole.”
Joseph’s last sight was the boot of the dark figure forcefully coming down on his face.
He awoke in a haphazard panic, tossing his bedspread in wild thrashes. His breath came in shallow bursts as his eyes darted rapidly all across his room, searching for something that wasn’t there. His heart slammed against his chest furiously. A few moments later, Joseph began to calm himself. Judging by the absence of light within the bedroom, the sun had not arisen yet. A soft hand gently grabbed his arm, and a voice whispered beside him.
“Honey? Are you okay? What is it?”
Joseph jumped, startled by the sudden sound and touch, and whipped his head back to look, which his gaze landed upon Marie. Her face looked tired and worn, but a concerned expression was prevalent. Joseph gave a couple of hard swallows and rapid blinks before responding.
“I– yes, I’m fine. Just a nightmare. I…I see you came to your senses and came to bed.”
“How could I stay mad at you?”
He gently chuckled and kissed Marie’s hand.
“Ha…well, I forgive you too. Say, what time is it?”
“How could I stay mad at you?”
Joseph rubbed his eyes, lazily looking for something to tell the time from his bed, finding nothing in his haze. He then turned over to look at the alarm clock by his bed.
00:00
Joseph, a bit confused, spoke.
“What? That’s…odd.”
Joseph picked up the alarm clock, examining it for a moment, but there was nothing physically wrong with it that he could see; perhaps there was a power outage. He bit his lip and furrowed his brow—hang on, did Marie repeat herself? Joseph turned back around.
Her pupils were extremely small.
Her skin was oddly shiny.
An unholy smile sliced across her face.
There was no Marie anymore.
Joseph screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed.
The bed began to feel like spikes starting to stab him if he moved.
Marie laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed.
Joseph felt his vocal chords snap, the flesh choking him.
He could no longer scream, and slowly began to die as he stared at the horror in front of him.
His vision faded into blackness…again.
A nauseating feeling overcame Joseph Tombe as he felt his very soul being pulled by a force inexplicable back into the bedroom, except it wasn’t his bedroom, or was it? He felt his body convulsing, seizing, every muscle tensed, until it suddenly stopped. A loud voice reverberated around him.
“READY TO TALK NOW?”
The sound was excruciatingly loud, booming in overlapping echoes rapidly. The overstimulation was torturous. It was overwhelming to the point where he almost didn’t realize he was currently hanging from the ceiling by his wrists by way of frigid, obsidian chains. Joseph cried out.
“Yes, yes! Please, stop, please, stop!”
The source of the voice, the previous dark, skeletal figure, stepped closer and grabbed the chains. It yanked forcefully, pulling Joseph to meet its eye level. The halos were spinning rapidly, but when it spoke, they slowed down, and its voice was no longer a source of torment.
“Good.”
The being turned away in a slow stride, and busied itself with lighting a quality cigar. As its back turned, Joseph heard a rapid series of aggressive clanks above him, almost like metal banging against metal. He craned his neck to see the chains from which he hung from, and saw as each chain link mystically snapped with great force. He felt the pull holding him to the ceiling slack, more and more, until the final link was disintegrated and Joseph came crashing to the ground.
A crumpled heap, Joseph felt his whole body sore from the fall, the seizing, the bruised face, and a lingering feeling of pain from within his throat. He coughed several times, mulling over his agony, before addressing the thing that stood, having successfully lit its cigar and was becoming engulfed in smoke.
“What…what do you want with me?”
The figure turned to face Joseph, taking a long drag on its cigar before responding.
“Do you know that neglect is quite a serious form of abuse? One of which can have detrimental long-term effects on anyone who suffers from it, but most of all, children?”
“I…I don’t–”
“No, no, you don’t, of course. Plead ignorance, right. Fucking worm.”
With the insult, the figure swept its foot forcefully into Joseph’s side. Joseph groaned loudly in pain. The figure continued.
“See, I’ve been around a very, very, long time, and I’ve seen an abundance of suffrage from a multitude of beings, races, peoples, societies, you name it. It would be exhausting to punish every single fuckwad that commits an atrocity. I deal with far greater threats than such things. But…but, but, but! Sometimes, you just happen to see the wrong thing at the right time and decide to do something about it.”
“Wh…what do you-”
“So, and, mind you, I thought about this for a bit, and I have precisely the act of justice to balance this little predicament: you are going to work for me until I feel that you are a changed man. In short, I own your ass.”
“You’re not, you’re not serious-!”
“Oh, believe me, I am–”
Anger swelled up within Joseph, as sprung to his feet, practically frothing at the mouth, arguing back with the figure.
“GO TO HELL! You better fucking kill me, because I will spend every motherfucking second fighting your sorry ass, if you don’t; I am not going to live as a FUCKING SLAVE! Fuck, YOU!”
He spit at the figure.
The figure, visibly both surprised and bemused, took a moment before it said anything. It seemed to be pondering to itself, as the halos started to spin. A moment later, it acted with a shrug, flicking its cigar at Joseph’s feet. Flames immediately sprung forth, engulfing Joseph entirely. Joseph wailed in agony as he felt and watched the very flesh from his body melt off in drippings, splashing against the ground in sickening slops.
His skin and muscle were evanesced in fire, until the flames unnaturally reversed themselves, sucking back into the cigar. Simultaneously, the flesh upon the ground slithered back up the remains of Joseph, reconstitutionalizing his body. Joseph, reeling from the experience, clutched his stomach and violently hyperventilated, trying to catch his mentality and his breath.
A mere moment was all he was allowed, as he looked up just in time to see the figure pushing him backwards into a chair that certainly wasn’t there before, and the figure spoke to him, almost in a dramatic fashion.
“Woah, woah, straight to racism? Come on, Joseph—low blow. Certainly not, no, haha, I like all races, even the bad ones! No, no, see, you are a terrible father, an atrocious husband, and a worthless son. Couldn’t care less what you look like, ugly and damned regardless. Now, I could simply kill you, but where’s the lesson in that? No, see, I want to—rather, I am going to—exhibit such a torturous existence, that by the time we’re through, the entire waking cosmos will send Thank You cards by the hundreds to my very address, because finally, finally, we got rid of the skidmark that the great Joseph Tombe shat out upon the world.”
The figure leaned in close.
“Until then: you are mine. Is that clear?”
Joseph, afraid, exhausted, crestfallen, and full of hate, stared at the figure before him. The figure grabbed his face, forcefully making him nod. Joseph flinched, before pulling away. The figure, satisfied, stepped away.
“Get up, come with me.”
Joseph slowly got up as the figure went to leave the room, through a separate door that also, certainly, wasn’t there before. Right before it opened the door, Joseph yelled.
“Wait!”
The figure, tensed, annoyed, turned back.
“Yes?”
Joseph wasn’t sure what his plan was with halting this being’s departure, so he said the only thing he could think of.
“I’m…I’m sorry.”
The figure narrowed its eyes, staring at Joseph for a prolonged moment. The halos revolved gently as it studied the human before it. Then it spoke with an almost disappointed air to its words.
“You don’t mean it.”
It opened the door.
Joseph blinked, and he was outside of the room just as the figure was closing the door, presumably to the room they just left.
“What the hell-?”
“Look, its going to get really irritating for me as your human brain gets gently mindfucked from what you’re about to see, and I’m going to end up forcing you through horrors unimaginable to rid me of your whines that will inevitably ensue, so if you want to avoid that, shut up completely and entirely as best as you can, hear?”
Joseph scowled but obliged, instead focusing his attention on where they were now. It appeared to be a massive mansion, and they were in the foyer. The center of the room was oversought by a chandelier of candles, which looked upon a grand staircase which branched to smaller staircases. With a deep sigh, the figure spoke as they walked to the center of the room.
“Right, so, let’s catch you up just a bit: I am a Reaper, one of a few spread across galaxies. Reapers uphold the balance of the universe itself, in accordance to a higher power. We are timeless beings; I simultaneously exist and do not. My name is Reinigen, and I clean the universe of its dirtiest corners, places in which entities were never supposed to exist. Basically, I’m the janitor one prays they don’t spill a drop around.”
Reinigen finished the last statement with something of a growl, looking into Joseph’s eyes. He thought that was kind of cringe, but, smartly, kept his opinion to himself. They both stood before the grand staircase. Reinigen took a couple of steps upon the felted platforms, Joseph followed, yet as he blinked, they were at the top of a completely different, wooden, creaking staircase facing a splintered wooden door. Reinigen looked taken aback, and calmly declared a couple words with the air of a shrug.
“Oh, shit.”
As the door was suddenly shattered by the blade of an axe, Joseph took a half step back which caused the wood underneath to break apart, sending the two falling, then landing on a fleshy mass. It was almost like ground meat. Behind, they heard a guttural screech of something certainly not human. Reinigen and Joseph turned as they saw a flesh wall of human faces start to speed towards them. As it closed in, Reinigen, exasperated, shouted at his servant.
“Aw, come on, you brought us to the fucking Face Chamber!”
“WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING!”
“Hey, hey! Do you want unimaginable horrors, huh? Do you want that?”
“I’M ALREADY LIVING IN THEM!”
“Oh, believe me, buddy, this is not the worst it can get.”
Joseph felt as if he might faint, but as he saw the face wall coming close, a full panic struck him aggressively. He backed up, running, but there was another wall of flesh blocking him in. The faces were coming closer, closer, CLOSER.
…Just then, Reinigen was twisting together an odd cube made of meat. And Joseph was watching him do so, as the two of them stood on the sidewalk of some busy street midday.
“There, here, you can keep that. First day prize, have fun.”
Joseph slowly took the cube of meat, peeled a bit off, and peered inside. There was a mini wall with a bunch of tiny faces on it on one of the internal sides.
Joseph’s brain hurt. He put the box in his pocket. Joseph’s brain hurt.
Reinigen started a brisk stroll along the sidewalk, and motioned for Joseph to come along, speaking as they walked.
“So, that was an accidental taste of what lies across reality. Reapers have the ability to move in Non-Euclidian ways across space and time, stepping into any plane or reality we desire, as to navigate to our destinations quickly, with like…magic and shit. Its dangerous without training and practice, as it can lead to being trapped in an eternal void of warping realities very quickly. You’ll be required to utilize Shifting under your service to me in order to maintain efficiency.”
Joseph kept in stride, trying to absorb all of Reinigen’s words.
“Don’t worry, we’ll practice plenty-‘ish’. I’d rather get some use out of you rather then just send you to die instantly. I could’ve done that way easier myself. Oh, which reminds me—watch your step.”
As Reinigen said this, Joseph was instantly a step away from walking over the ledge of a skyscraper building. With a huge gasp, he wobbled, imbalanced, before he felt the back of his shirt being pulled, and he fell backward onto level ground. Reinigen walked past him to look out over a city, actually, it was the City. Joseph, clambering to his feet, stood beside his new antimatter master, nervously gazing out upon the streets. It was night now, even though moments ago the sun held itself in an afternoon’s prose.
Fuck, this is inconsistent.
Reinigen spoke towards the City, but addressing Joseph.
“This is your domain? It’s beautiful, no doubt, albeit a bit rowdy. However, there is a…stench in the air. While I would attribute its foulness to you in Planck time, oddly, I cannot properly sense its source.”
Reinigen took an awkward pause as the glow within those bone sockets seemed to lose themselves in slow, swirling thought. Then, Reinigen seemed to come to a decision within its own mind.
“You, and you should thank me for this, will be remaining here when you are not actively ‘on-the-clock’. Perhaps you can make use of your stay as, ah, you know, an extension of myself.”
Joseph furrowed his brow, looking up at Reinigen, before responding.
“Stay here? So, I get to go back to my family?”
“HAHAHA, no.”
“Wait…what? No…no, they need me!”
“Blatantly untrue, first off, and second, I’ve already taken care of them.”
Upon hearing this creature before him utter the words ‘taken care of’, Joseph’s heart sank, a glimmer of panic setting in as the worst of conclusions assumed themselves in his mind. With a cocked head, he eyed Reinigen fiercely, uttering through a rising anger.
“What. Do. You-”
But before he could finish his interrogation, Reinigen waved a hand, cutting him off with crass reassurance.
“Keep your shirt on, damn. I assure you, they are safe. Maybe, if you are good, I’ll let you see them later. For now, we need to focus on an integral part of this whole operation.”
Joseph was disgruntled, hardly put at ease by Reinigen’s promise of his family’s safety, but chose to drop the matter for now, throwing his hands up almost in exasperation, looking anywhere but towards the skeletal visage of the thing he most hated right now.
“Fine. What is it.”
“As my servant, you are going to be in a variety of excruciating and horrific situations, and often, you are going to require more force than you currently have…”
Reinigen coughed to cover an insult.
“ACKGHEH WEAK ACHGKEGH!”
Joseph was unamused. Reinigen continued.
“…And as I previously stated, I am not interested in having a servant of mine die on the job. So, you are going to be imbued with a portion of the Eldritch power that the Reapers possess.”
“Okay…how does that work?”
“Like this.”
The last thing he saw was Reinigen’s halos spinning rapidly. In an instant, the entire world around Joseph was plunged into complete and utter darkness, yet strangely, he swore he could see faint, extremely faint, glints of bright, white light; almost like stars. Within the blackness, there was a spotlight of vacant shadow which was set on Joseph. Within the light, he could see his own breath, as the temperature seemed to have rapidly dropped instantaneously. Joseph gently shivered, but his focus was shifted when he saw the only other thing in this space besides himself: a full-length mirror. He saw himself. Bloodied, stained, sweaty, tired.
Damn.
Reinigen’s voice echoed, not as intensely as before, but enough to bounce around Joseph’s ears.
“Ugh, look at you. Alright, alright, let’s see…”
“Where are you?”
“Nowhere. Or everywhere, pick one. Do me a favor and stop asking questions for four fucking seconds.”
The darkness pooled from the shadows by Joseph’s feet, filling up the space up to his neck, so that the mirror only displayed a decapitated victim, before finally retreating, revealing some odd looking attire which seemed to resemble cloths of a sturdy material which wrapped around his legs, donned with various chains and pockets and graffiti. Across his upper body was a leather jacket buttoned all the way up, the collar popped, and odd lumps sticking out across the sleeves and chest; his shoes had morphed from office wear to steel-toed combat boots. Almost as if it were a trick of the light, it seemed his clothes were…breathing.
“Wonderful. The perfect picture of an Eldritch jackass.”
“You know, I don’t hate this look.”
“Oh, that’s good, really, really, that’s good. Actually, I just about forgot, there’s one extra piece of this masterpiece, and your big mouth is the perfect muse. Hold still, bucko…”
As Reinigen told him to stay still, those ‘odd lumps’ suddenly thrashed to life, revealing to be a series of belts. They forcefully strapped themselves across to one another, binding Joseph’s arms crossed in a form akin to a straightjacket.
“Mo-ther-fucker.”
Bonelike hands appeared from the shadows and slowly grasped Joseph’s head. He started to jerk away, but whispy tendrils of shadow deftly shot out from the darkness, holding him still, lifting him up in the air. The hands revolved around his head to pry open his mouth, similar to a dentist, if the dentistry was a version of purgatory. Bone fingers deliberately slid into his mouth, placing themselves on the roof and tongue. With an aggressive shred, Joseph’s jaw was forcibly ripped apart, his jaw dangling uselessly. Before Joseph could even scream, the shadows themselves started to flood inside his mouth, gagging majority of any noise that could’ve tried to be released.
It felt like a rubbery liquid was drowning him, choking him, and he could do nothing to save himself. He thrashed and thrashed, but he was held still, as he felt his head begin to swim, dizziness overtaking him with pounding waves of headache. Surely, this was when he died. If he had been of any more attentiveness, perhaps he would’ve noticed that the shadows themselves around him were beginning to dissipate as they flooded inside his lungs.
Until all ceased, moonlight returned, and he fell to the ground, his face pressed against the cold stone upon the skyscraper rooftop. A reverberating voice commanded his soul.
“Bathed in shadow to cleanse with blood; fall away, Joseph Tombe, and rise, Säuberung; Purge the universe of its impurities!”
ss-eye-ber-(r)ung//(uvular fricative ‘r’ or simple English, if you prefer)
Säuberung slowly began to pick himself up, staring at Reinigen with the most bitter of dispositions. A moment ago, he was certain he was drowning, dying by the bony hands of this monstrosity, but now, now…he felt as if he could breathe deeper than he ever could before. He felt the darkness of night was a comforting blanket of protection, and yet he felt that with or without it, there was little which could oppose him that could hinder him from achieving whatever he wanted. He felt like a walking nightmare.
What the hell happened?
He spoke to Reinigen, directly confronting it on the circumstance of this situation.
“What the hell was that, what did you do?”
Reinigen, whose eye glow was currently cut in half, forming a semicircle, insinuating a bored emotion, deftly drew a small, handheld mirror, pointing it towards Säuberung. It revealed the true nature of the Servant of the Reaper; his face was gone, being made up of a vast mouth with grotesque teeth, as if it had belonged to a larger creature whom swallowed his head whole, perhaps akin to a whale or a horse. Set into his head were deep, sunken eyes with no irises; just black ovals on a creepy, pale canvas.
Paradoxically, his dreadlocks still hung themselves down to just below his ears—ah, no, those were dark, sickeningly engorged veins which gave the disposition of dreadlocks. The previous belt restraints dangled uselessly from the chest and arms of the jacket; he must’ve broke free amidst the transformation. Underneath the jacket, he wore no shirt, and his chest looked eerily changed. Large bones protruded from underneath the skin, as strange, pulsing veins seemed to spread and writher across the surface. Within his mouth was nothing but darkness, but as Säuberung dared to peer a bit closer, he swore he saw a set of thin, white, glowing rings peer back before disappearing back into the void. Upon seeing the horrific sight that was himself, Säuberung promptly lost his shit.
“OH HELL NO!”
As he talked, the mouth moved as well, as it was his, after all. Säuberung jumped backward, his emotions somewhere between laughter and sobbing, continuously looking back at the mirror.
“Is, is that me? No, hell no, I—motherfucker did I just see a tongue in there? I swear I just saw a motherfucking tongue all up in that-that, that- all that shit!”
Reinigen rolled his eyes and lazily concealed the mirror once more as he spoke.
“Goodness fuck, you are whiny. What, you thought you were gonna look as pretty as me while scrubbing Eldritch goop off of the Möbius strip? Nooo, no, I don’t know who told you that, I certainly didn’t. So ungrateful too, a minute ago you were praising me for the updated wardrobe, now, suddenly, I’M the asshole?”
“Oh my gosh, what is happening.”
“Work, that’s what’s happening. Come on, time to clock in.”
Reinigen grabbed Säuberung by the scruff of his neck and walked to the edge of the building, despite his chaotic protests.
“Wa-wa-wa-wait, wait, wait-!”
Reinigen promptly tossed him over.
As Joseph, er, apologies, Säuberung, plummeted towards the ground, his arms and legs flailing and his screams a plenty, however, it seemed that they were drowned out by the assaulting sounds of brass Big Band from the traveling bards along the City streets. No one seemed to notice the impending homicide victim. As the asphalt came closer and closer to Säuberung’s face; pure instinct took over his body. With a flapping flourish, Säuberung brandished his jacket in a falling riposte, covering over his shoulder. When impact finally struck, he felt his shoulder dislocate in a forceful slam, the bones snapping, shattering, shoving themselves into places they shouldn’t be.
The pain rocketed through his body as he gritted his large teeth hard enough to chip off a few small pieces, which was also covering his sight. However, a moment later, Säuberung realized that while he was in agony, certainly, a fall from that height would’ve killed him. He also realized he was now feeling an odd sensation of weightlessness. When he opened his mouth to see, a torrent of water rushed inside, blinding him momentarily, until he realized he had other eyes outside his mouth as well.
Looking out didn’t help much, as the only truths to be ascertained was that he was in some body of water, and he was actively running out of oxygen. With his limp arm hanging malformed, he clawed and kicked his way up to the top, breaking the surface of the water. A desperate breath later, Säuberung attempted to gain the bearings of his surroundings. A horrible smell permeated his scent as he rapidly became aware that he was in something of a sewer. Objects of concerning shape and malleability floated around him. He splashed and cried out in disgust and frustration.
“Aw, fucking shit!”
Säuberung aggressively spun himself around, looking for a ladder or ledge of sorts, which he found the latter. He pulled himself up and out of the murky waters, one handedly, and stood for a moment, catching his breath and clutching his worthless arm. As the pain truly began to set in, a panic began to overtake him as his eyes darted around the sewer, the stench overwhelming, the taste in his mouth; he couldn’t hold back, the night’s trauma finally caught up to him as he vigorously wrenched his insides, throwing up forcibly all over the ground before him, some spilling into the sewer waters.
As his sick subsided, he clutched his jaw shut and let his sight be enveloped into darkness, falling to his knees as his breath was short and rapid, his heart pounding quickly. He was in so much pain, his life was completely upheaved, he had no idea what he was doing, he was constantly in fear, he knew nothing of reality, his hands reeked of feces. Yet as the blackness consumed him, he felt an uncanny form of…security? A haunting whisper slowly waning in his ears became prevalent. It got louder, and then it got softer, almost disappearing entirely, before it repeated, this time in reverse. It repeated the loop over and over; loud, then soft, forwards, then backwards, layered, and still…
hhhhA
…
Ahhhh
…
hhhhA
…
Ahhh
Säuberung realized his chest was heaving, breathing along to the whisper, and a calming presence overtook him.
The whisper dissipated.
It was an odd experience all over, but oddly, Säuberung felt much better than he did moments before. He got to his feet, shaking off the remainders of his breakdown, and looked around oncemore. A few steps away was a ladder leading upwards to somewhere unknown. His arm was still in much pain and not of much use, so it was probably unwise to try to wrestle his way up the ladder, but perhaps, perhaps, there would be another way. Säuberung peered over the landing and into the disgusting depths below and had the oddest idea.
He stepped back into the water.
His body dipped down quickly, submerging itself back into the sewage, waterborne weightlessness resuming its power, but then gravity overtook his lower half, pulling him down faster. Suddenly, his legs were no longer weightless, and Säuberung dropped onto a patch of grass kneeling, crouched over, his hand placed in front of him, in a pose of proper determination. A voice came from slightly ahead of him.
“Took you long enough. I was moments away from summoning you myself. Which hurts, by the way; aah, it doesn’t matter, I’ll do it later, you’ll find out, it’s fine.”
Säuberung stood up and saw Reinigen standing, looking over a forest from the clearing they were in now. He felt a bit of pride amidst the suffering, as he successfully Shifted on his own. Reinigen’s focus was intent on something, but he spoke aloud.
“Well, welcome, Säuberung, to your first task. Do you see–”
Säuberung cut off Reinigen harshly with an echoing voice of his own, as the adrenaline from the Shift had worn off and his eviscerated arm had resumed its agony.
“Hey, can you shut the fuck up? Actually, shut the fuck up. Please. I need, I need you to fix my arm. This, this hurts so bad, I’m begging, Reinigen, please.”
Reinigen’s glowing sockets brightened in perhaps surprise as he gazed upon the dangling spectacle of Säuberung’s limp arm. Suddenly and sadistically, Reinigen’s skull burst open in raucous shouts of laughter and mockery.
“HAH HAH HAAAAAA! Oh shit, dude, look at you! Didn’t Shift in time, huh? Ha haa, damn! Ooh, ew, its hard to look at, gross. Säuberung, that looks fucked up.”
“REINIGEN DAMN IT!”
“Aughgh, no, because I have to fix that before I throw up, that’s so foul. Ha ha, alright, alright.”
Säuberung grit his teeth, preparing for some sort of torture or torment as price for restoration, which did, indeed, come by way of Reinigen lazily waving its hand. Instantly, the bones in Säuberung’s arm began to crack and shatter themselves in chaotic ways. Excruciating pain racked through his whole body; especially so when a piece of bone aggressively stabbed through his skin, protruding out of his arm. Säuberung fell to his knees, gasping and shouting and cursing, however, a moment later, the bones all seemed to snap into place, the wounds healed and the muscles reformed. Still breathing heavily, Säuberung took a moment on the ground, recovering from the experience. Reinigen, truly, only granted him a moment.
“Alright, you whiny bastard, get up.”
Reinigen offered a hand to Säuberung, who took it. Well, he tried to, but never made contact as Reinigen pulled its hand away before he could. Frustration fueled Säuberung, as he begrudgingly got to his feet, walking over to Reinigen, whom had resumed his crouched position overlooking a section of a forest. He gazed at the same spot and saw what the Reaper was staring at: a fat mass of crimson was currently waddling down a clearing, flames spewing out from some unknown orifice. It seemed almost aimless, its only goal to cause chaos or destruction; or both. Reinigen stood up, stepping back, and rubbed its hands together with an air of excitement.
“Right, go on then.”
Säuberung looked back, confused.
“What, what do you mean?”
“There it is, your first job.”
“What is it?”
“That is a demon, actually, the demon Damar. Now, typically we’ll be dealing with much larger anomalies than common demons, but I decided to be nice and give you an easy job for your introductory task.”
“So, what, am I supposed to kill it?”
“Well, I don’t want suppose you want to take it on a date, do you? Get your ass down there and start brawling! Fucks sake.”
“How am I supposed to kill a demon?!”
“I WILL PEEL YOUR SKIN OFF IN FIESTA STRIPS IF YOU DO NOT CLEAN UP THIS HELLBORNE FUCKER!”
Interrupting their argument, a bright flash of light beamed down from the sky as a winged figure appeared in front of the demon. Reinigen waved his hand rashly, interrupting Säuberung’s next retort, causing stitches to sew his mouth shut.
“HOW, HOW?! WHAT KINDA-MNH-!”
“Sh, sh, shut up for a second. What the…?”
Reinigen hastily stepped back over to the ledge, the lights in its bone sockets narrowing as it looked at the angelic figure.
“Hmm…”
Säuberung ripped off the stitches, causing light trickles of blood to appear in the small holes they left behind, as he stepped over to Reinigen inquisitively.
“What, what? What is it?”
“It’s just strange, I guess. There shouldn’t be a Distruttor here right now, I checked before we came here.”
Säuberung chose not to ask any questions following this odd statement. Reinigen, eyes still narrowed and watching the two figures in the clearing. He spoke out loud while moving his hand in a couple of complicated gestures.
“Alright, alright, I got Four-fifty on Angel-boy against that bastard Damar, any takers?”
As it was speaking, a rift appeared in the air, inside was a void of black and white static and spirals. Säuberung heard a mosh of voices of extremely varying tones and dialects, most entirely Eldritch sounding, but he heard various English voices as well. He also realized he could understand some of the commotion, and the hand signals Reinigen was doing were…stock market signals? Just as he realized it, he saw the angelic figure swoop around the demon, soaring into its side with a glowing fist. Reinigen gasped, a fist going to its mouth.
“Oh, damn! He is beating ass! No, no, no, you can’t pull out now, none of you, okay okay-”
The dealings in the void erupted in a loud burst of shambles as more void ruptures tore around Reinigen, but all were silenced as the demon, Damar, bellowed a horrendous roar, as vomits of flames spilled around him. Säuberung felt the heat even from where they were crouched. Reinigen hurriedly shut rifts closed.
“You watch it, you watch it, I want my money if he wins, you hear?”
He turned his attention back to Joseph.
“Okay, we’re getting the fuck out of here, I ain’t sticking around when things get ugly.”
“But you wanted me to fight it??”
“Yeah, yeah, full confidence you woulda won.”
“So you would’ve bet on my victory, yeah?”
“Mm…”
Reinigen did not answer, but widened his eyes in a non-committal sort of half nod as the halo behind his head began to spin. He spoke after a moment.
“Right, right, no, this is better, actually. Change of plans, we’re going here instead.”
“Going-
As he began his sentence, they were suddenly back in the City, seemingly at an earlier time in the day, as the sky wasn’t as dark as it was moments ago; but perhaps evening onset.
“-where?”
They stood on a somewhat busy street as people were bustling past, and yet, oddly, no one seemed to notice the horrific visages of a man with a mouth for a face and a tall figure a doglike skull for a head. In the midst of this street, however, there was one prominent figure that somehow…stuck out to Säuberung. It was an old man clod in musky, dirty rags for clothes, holding a wooden picket sign. The sign was also quite dirty, but anyone could see the bright red letters painted onto it, which read:
THE END IS NIGH.
Säuberung pointed him out to Reinigen.
“Uh, is that the thing or whatever I gotta take care of?”
“Yup, have fun, champ!”
And with the last syllable, Reinigen snapped his fingers, causing Säuberung’s world around him to move extremely fast, even though his feet stayed planted. When it stopped, he was mere steps away from the old man. Säuberung sighed; it is what it is. He tapped the man on the shoulder.
“Uh, hey man. Look, I don’t know what your whole, like, deal is, but you gotta go.”
The old man turned slowly, a somber look on his face as he addressed the horrid figure in front of him.
“You…you do not know…the end…it is coming…”
“What?”
“The end…the end! It is here, it is coming, the end!”
The End is Nigh’s eyes had a crazed look within them as they seemed to spin in a manic fashion. Drool sputtered out of his mouth as he got progressively more passionate about his prophecy.
“Yes…yes…I tried to warn them…no…no one listened! NO ONE HEEDED THE HERALD’S WARNINGS! And now the end…the end is nigh…”
Säuberung had about enough of the old man’s ramblings and went to grab his arm.
“Alright grandpa, time to go to sleep.”
But the man shoved Säuberung’s arm away forcefully with surprising strength as he shouted, enraged.
“THE END IS NIGH! THE END, THE END! THE END OF COMFORTS, THE END OF PEACE, NO MORE! ”
“Chill out, you old bastard-!”
“THE END, THE END OF DAY AND THE END OF NIGHT!”
Säuberung turned, unsure of what to do, searching for Reinigen and calling out to it.
“Dude, Reinigen, what the fuck am I supposed to do?”
In a nearby brick-built building behind The End is Nigh, the shape of Reinigen’s skull formed out of the bricks, and responded.
“Figure it out, damn! But I would turn your attention to a few other pressing details going on around you…”
Säuberung, confused, looked around hastily, and was met with some deeply unsettling sights. Firstly, several people around him were starting to get in altercations, shouting and shoving one another. Second, the clothes on his body suddenly felt uncomfortable, slightly irritable, like a tag left in the back of a shirt collar, but all over; subtle, but ever frustrating. And lastly, the sky had turned from shades of setting sun to an empty space devoid of color, stars, and all that made up the cosmos. A multitude of streetlights were all suddenly lit by some unseen force.
“Holy shit.”
Reinigen jeered one last taunt before his face dissipated back into the brick wall.
“Better get cleaning, mop-bucket!”
The End is Nigh was getting more unhinged by the second, his body seizing up in sporadic movements as he spat forth more proclamations of the impending doom.
“THE END OF PURITY, THE END OF NORMALCY! THE END OF-”
But The End is Nigh’s last sentiment was cut off by a ringing right hook from Säuberung’s fist. The impact sent the old man stumbling backward, clutching his jaw, doubled over. When he stood back up, Säuberung stared in shock as The End is Nigh’s jaw had been knocked entirely out of place, and was dangling in its sockets. Säuberung recoiled with a shake of his hand, before leaning forward, taunting the old man.
“OOH, DAYUM! Yeahh, you like that, motherfucker? Come on with it, lets go gramps, put ‘em up, put ‘em up!”
The End is Nigh’s eyes narrowed as he clasped his hand around his jaw, before slamming it back in place. Clambering forward, almost drunkenly, he swung the picket fence sign in wide arcs, brandishing it like an axe. Säuberung dodged and dodged, stepping and ducking to avoid each heavy blow, but with one clumsy misstep, Säuberung tripped and fell backward. An instant later, he watched as The End is Nigh reared back an overhead strike, watching as the large sign came crashing down towards him.
“THE END COMES FOR US ALL!”
Säuberung closed his eyes tight and held out his hands in fear. As every bit of his body tensed, suddenly, he fell through the very asphalt he sat on. And he was falling, the air whooshing around him rapidly. He opened his eyes to see buildings flying past him, and turned over midair, seeing The End is Nigh having shattered his sign into the curbside where he just was, a sizeable piece of wood breaking off, forming the sign’s edge into a point. As the ground raced towards Säuberung’s face, pure instinct took over; he tackled into the old man’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck, placing him into a chokehold.
“THE END IS NIGH, THE END—AAHG-!!”
Säuberung needed to keep him from talking, choking him out was the smartest move right now. He tightened his grip and held on fiercely as The End is Nigh thrashed about, trying to shake Säuberung off of him like the most upset of horned bovines.
“Shutthefuckupshutthefuckup-”
However, since Säuberung was so focused on strangling the old man, he saw not the incoming improvised axe, which abruptly plunged into Säuberung’s shoulder. The End is Nigh dug the point deep into Säuberung’s shoulder, before heaving him off of his back, ripping the wound open wider, and sending him cascading away to the ground. The old man bellowed further declarations in his wake.
“THE END OF YOUR STRENGTH, THE END OF YOUR DEFT!”
Instantly, Säuberung felt his body weaken, his strength, assuredly, leaving him. He clenched the deep wound within his shoulder tightly as blood gushed from betwixt his fingers. He no longer believed he could keep up with this crypt-walker of a man. Wearily, he got to his feet.
“THE END OF THE ECONOMY, IT LOOMS OVER US ALL, WE APPROACH A TIME OF DESPAIR!”
Säuberung had to stop him from speaking, he had to kill him quickly, but fucking how? His eyes darted around rapidly for something, any sort of idea; Reinigen didn’t exactly explain this supposed power he had. Just a moment later, by way of an ethereal guiding hand, a streetlight popped, extinguishing the light. The now dark space around the lamp was a mere few steps away; Säuberung felt drawn to it. He quickly began to shuffle to the shadowed space, his feet feeling heavy and sore beneath him, his body everincreasingly drudging down into exhaustion; the piercing wound wasn’t helping either. The End is Nigh also walked over to him, slowly raising his wooden sign for a final blow on this obstacle of the truth before him. Säuberung reached out his hand, extending his finger as far as he could to just try to reach…
The sign came down. The tip of Säuberung’s finger met the darkness.
With the sound of wind rushing through a tunnel, Säuberung was whisked away into the shadows within the circle of darkness around the unlit streetlight. Once again, the old man’s sign smashed into the concrete, splintering into several pieces. In a howl of rage, the old man gripped the sign aggressively, wielding the remainder of the sign with its splintered edge. He searched the area for the obstruction of truth, but could not see the creature anymore. Cautiously, he looked into the darkness where the thing was trying to get to. Within it, Säuberung.
He felt…good. His body and mind felt rejuvenated, and it was as if his lungs were five times their size as he breathed the deepest breath one could breathe. He felt gently cool and weightless, as if he could slither through any part of this black domain he was in now. On second thought, it almost felt like he were the shadows themself. From eyes unseen, he peered out into the street, seeing the old man looking back in. He felt stronger in the darkness; he could definitely take him now.
Shadowed tendrils sprung out from the darkness, wrapping themselves around The End is Nigh and pulling him into the small void; if one blinked, they would’ve missed it. Inside the darkness, The End is Nigh’s eyes were wide, searching for something to explain the source of this obstruction. Regardless, he was going to bring its end swiftly.
“THE END, THE END! THE END OF THIS DARKNE–”
A black hand came from the darkness and gripped over the old man’s mouth, keeping it tightly shut. All around The End is Nigh, whispers permeated his mind, as the tendrils held him still.
“Shhhhhh, sh sh shhh…no more talking. I’ve heard quite enough of you tonight.”
The End is Nigh struggled against the hold and made to swing at the voidspace with his sign, to no avail, as the shadows took on forms of termites, whom very much enjoyed the taste of the sign. It fell to the ground in shards of pieces, useless. The End is Nigh looked around at the darkness with an expression of dreading fear.
It was delicious.
“Now…tonight has been the worst, undoubtably, the worst night of my entire fucking life…”
More hands began to emerge, gently, softly scraping all over parts of The End is Nigh. A high pitched squeal began to make itself apparent.
“I was ripped away from my family, forced to be a eldritch being’s servant for the foreseeable eternity…”
The hands began to claw a little harder, as the pitch began to get louder.
“…and…haha…every time I tried to argue, or fight back…”
The hands started to grope and scratch furiously, as the old man winced in pain; the squeal grew almost ear-piercingly loud. The End is Nigh was petrified with fear as the ever increasing tension racked his psyche.
“I would get my SKIN taken off or BURNT ALIVE or some OTHER FUCKING ABBERATION OF TORTURE!”
Suddenly…
The whispers ceased.
The tendrils relinquished.
The noise stopped.
Everything…stopped.
“But you. I’m allowed to take my anger out on you.”
The old man burst into choked sobs of anguish as he pleaded with his very soul to the creature of the shadows around him.
“No, no, please! Please, I beg you, please listen, I-i- I’ve been influenced! There is a power, a-a-a man! He made me, I-I can’t think, he puppets my strings, please, spare me, I cannot control myself, PLEASE!!”
“The end comes for us all.”
The vast amount of black hands dug their nails into the old man’s skin. He began to scream in agony as blood was drawn from each scratch. They unceasingly clawed and clawed, digging deeper, grabbing hold of large chunks of flesh. Each hand tore backwards, ripping the old man’s skin off like the skin of a mango; some pieces sticking and pulpous. Bloodied strings of nerves were exposed, dangling off of the screaming mass of the old man, who was looked barely human anymore. The hands dropped the skin, which coiled back into itself a little and splattered to the ground with a sickening, sloppy sound.
After dropping the skin, they went back to the body, digging their nails deep into the bare flesh and muscle of the old man, whose screams were traumatizing; if only anyone could hear such horrors from beyond the darkness. The hands roughly clawed at each bit of flesh they could reach, which was everywhere, tearing the old man apart piece by piece, until he was nothing but a mass of gore and viscera clumped together on the ground, all the while, a large set of teeth smiled at the sight within the shadows.
As the anomaly was cleared, slowly, the shadowed realm dissipated. Säuberung regained his form, leaned against the streetlamp, utterly exhausted. An automobile drove by, and Reinigen stepped out as it was still moving, walking up to Säuberung.
“Well, damn. That was absolutely horrid, holy shit. Dude, you got issues.”
“The job is done, he’s fucking dead, can we go now?”
“I believe we are done here for now, sure. You can rest for at least a couple of hours; I’ll need you again shortly. Consider today to have been…orientation. Reemerge, humanity.”
As Reinigen spoke, Säuberung felt the eldritch power within him start to diminish, as his human form returned, seeing as Reinigen no longer needed him at the moment. The straitjacket and leather fell away, dissipating into naught but the faint smell of bleach, and he realized he was now donned in the stained work-clothes from before. Honestly, Joseph didn’t care that much; he just wanted to go home. He stood there for a moment, watching as Reinigen drew a spray bottle from within its jacket.
The label read: ‘Goop Be Gone’. Reinigen sprayed the pile of organs and flesh several times, to which it recoiled, seemingly unfond of the substance, but it withered with each spritz, until the pile faded away into nothingness. Satisfied, Reinigen sheathed the bottle and turned to walk away. Joseph called out with a hint of frustration.
“HEY! Aren’t you going to take me back to my family?”
Reinigen turned around with an expression challenging the audacity of Joseph’s tone, but it softened, turning into something coy.
“You know what, sure, sure, let’s go. Come on, buddy!”
Joseph didn’t really like the slyness in Reinigen’s voice, but he stepped close regardless. Reinigen placed a hand on Joseph’s shoulder, Shifting them both to the driveway of Joseph’s house. Relieved, Joseph pushed away Reinigen’s hand and jogged up to the door.
“Ah, fuckin’ wonderful! See you later skullface! Great dealing nightmares with you, I’ll catch you later, you horrible, fat bastard.”
Joseph off-wondered if his stash of bourbon had been discovered in his absence. As he approached the front door and knocked, he paused for a moment, as he heard a voice, a man’s voice coming from within. Surely, Marie…? No, she could never cheat on him, not like she could do much better anyway, haha. But Joseph listened, and he heard laughter and loud talking amongst his whole family. He slowly creeped to the window, trying to see what was going on. He could never have prepared himself for what his eyes met.
His family was eating dinner together, all happy as can be.
And at the head of the table sat himself. A separate Joseph Tombe in place of him.
Joseph’s heart skipped several beats, as he saw this inexplicable abnormalcy before him. He looked away, staring down at his feet, trying to understand what he just saw. When he looked back up, he was at the end of the driveway oncemore. Reinigen looked down at him and uttered the following.
“Welcome to your new reality, shitstain.”
As Joseph heard these words, he saw as the door was opened from the house, as the Other Joseph came out, looking around for the source of the knocking, before shrugging, and going back inside. Joseph turned back to Reinigen to ask where the hell he was supposed to go, but Reinigen was gone. In the space where he was lied a newspaper with the headline:
The New Year, 1930, Coming SOON! A New Era For the City!
Below was a picture of Reinigen holding a thumbs-up, the fight between The End and Säuberung in the background. Joseph gripped the newspaper tightly, looking around anxiously, and realizing he had been Shifted back into the midst of the City.
He was alone, he was exhausted, he was overwhelmingly sore, and he had no place to sleep. However, above all of these things, there was one prominent fact.
He was, indeed, in hell, and the devil was a punkass skeleton guy thing.
.
.
fin.
ink stained pages 
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