As Eric addressed the laws of the Satanic religion to its founder, Thet gestured to Asmodeus, Kristoph, and Mabel. While the rest of their party seemed to be hanging on to the Welshman's every word, the four of them slipped away to a more secluded space where an outcrop of evergreen trees filled their senses with the homely smell of pine. The collection of fallen pine needles at their feet carpeted the sandy earth, muting their footsteps from the soft crunch. Once again, Mabel found herself marvelling at the beauty and serenity in Cain's garden.
Thet smiled at both Mabel and Kristoph and spread his arms wide.
"I thought I would call you all aside as we need to determine how to get Kris to enter into a spiritual state," he hastily whispered.
Asmodeus chuckled, excitedly, "ah yes, would you like me to do that now?"
Mabel and Kristoph exchanged a nervous look, "how?" They asked, cautiously.
"Like this," Asmodeus said, and taking a swift step toward Kristoph, he lashed out and delivered the most intense right hook to the right temple of the man's head.
Mabel yelped and covered her mouth, as Kristoph's body fell limply into Thet's outstretched arms. Mabel watched on in horror, as her lover's physical body slipped gracefully through Thet's grip and sank into the ground, out of sight; leaving behind his unconscious spirit, draped like a large ragdoll across the reaper's arms.
"You killed him!" Mabel squeaked accusingly at Asmodeus, "you killed Kris!"
Asmodeus scoffed as he wrung his right hand, wincing "nonsense. It would take more than the Duke of Hell's upper-cut to kill your little sweetheart."
Mabel stared at the demon in disgust, "the Duke of Hell's uppercut?" She asked.
"Before Kristle here, I had a brief stint inside a wrestler," the Demon sighed. "No where near as snug as your beloved's slender frame. Ah, he was lavishly roomy, yet as dainty and gentle as they come. Weakest handshake I've ever had," he shuddered. "He made a deal with me and next thing he knew, he had the finisher the Duke of Hell's upper cut. He climbed to fame, only for his life to be cut short during a DIY job with his home's electrics. In my defence, I did warn him that live electrics and wet, sweaty hands would never end well. Long story short, he saw a flash of light, and I found myself thrown back into my Dukedom – rather unceremoniously, I might add," Asmodeus sniffed, disapprovingly.
Thet snickered, "I remember Tony 'the demon' Jonson, he did have a rather limp handshake, didn't he? Even gave me the heebie-jeebies," he wiggled his slender fingers under Kristoph's prone soul, as if trying to rid them of the ghostly touch of the deceased wrestler's weak grip.
"Anyway," Thet rippled his shoulders. "Asmo' if you could, I believe you still have some life essence?"
"Just enough for half a day's worth of reimagined life," the demon grinned, as he pulled the same pouch he'd presented to Helga, out from under his robe.
The fabric of the bag was impossibly black. Mabel stared at it, puzzled. All around her was darkness, yet even in Purgatory there was light, albeit dim. The pouch that Asmodeus held seemed to ignore this point, however. It was like a black void was dangling on the end of a silken pull string. As Mabel watched on, Asmodeus weighed the bag in his hand, and made a show of calculating the weight of its contents before he upturned the entirety of the fine powder over Kristoph's soul. The effect was not unlike watching cast offs from brushed away golden leaf, scattering, and floating through the air.
Within moments, Kristoph's soul was upright and patting itself down.
"I don't think I'll ever get used to being in this state," Kristoph murmured, disconcertedly. "I want to breath, I feel like I need to breath, and yet my form is telling me 'nah, it's cool'."
"All things considered," Mabel mused; "I've got to say, that one's at the top of my list too."
Thet smiled warmly at them both and shook his head, "I don't think I will ever get tired of the adorable pat downs you humans give yourselves whenever I give your souls a sense of form."
Asmodeus nodded, "mmm, it is rather endearing, isn't it? I particularly love the range of expressions. Wonder, euphoria, betrayal, confusion, denial;" the demon duke looked wistfully off into space.
"That escalated," Mabel frowned.
"Well," Asmodeus shrugged, "the betrayal sets in when they see me or one of my kin loping over to say 'heyo, tar muchly m'lord, I'll take it from here!'"
YOU ARE READING
After-Life
ФэнтезиGone but not at rest. Granted a new lease of life, but unable to live it freely. Mabel Weaver quickly learns that death does not always mean the end. Who says the after-life doesn't have a sense of humour?
