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  Theo took a long drag on the cigarette and slowly exhaled. "There was a time when Legion's lesser minions numbered some few hundred upon this plane, and Greater Demons were fewer still. Even then, men had difficulty dealing with those few. But this... should you allow even a handful of Greater Demons access to this plane.... Would you rule over a barren world? Had I any choice, I would not be a willing party to such a thing."

  The Runner wrapped himself in elemental energy drawn from the very air. His bronze skin shimmered from the aura generated by negative ions extracted from lightning in the earth's outer atmosphere, and Theo smelled the unmistakable odor of burnt ozone. The Runner was angry. Dangerously so.

  "It comes to this, my brother? You would turn your back on me in the hour of my greatest need? You abandon me now, just before my ultimate triumph?" the Runner asked in a low, dangerous tone.

  Theo chuckled. "You know better. I've not managed to stay alive all this time by being foolish. My destiny is ultimately... and unfortunately, tied to your own."

  The air rippled about them. "Then say it," demanded the Runner. "Say it and be done with the fucking word games. Do you stand with me?"

  Theo knew that his next words could be his last. The Runner's wrath was the stuff of legend, though no legend or myth could truly capture his capacity for cruelty. The Runner was vanity, envy, greed, hatred, deviance, and violence personified.

  Yet, Theo remained unafraid. He clearly understood his place in the scheme of things and his mind was already made up. "I cast my lot with you before the Fall, my Lord, and I stand with you still. Whatever comes of this, and I freely admit that I fear the consequences, I am with you."

  The Runner relaxed and the currents of wild electricity faded into the wind. Theo had tested the Runner's volatile nature and survived. Again.

  "The gates of Heaven may still fall, however it won't be by my hand. My day has passed, and oh, how this fact grieves me. Yet, we still have a world to win, and in doing so, I may still claim the ultimate victory. I intend to subjugate His children, Theo, and claim them for my own. Can you even imagine the pain this will cause Him? Enslaved and broken, both in spirit and in body, His children will call out to me for salvation. Can you grasp the irony?

  "Oh, how He must be sorely wounded that a new Usurper, one of His precious Seraphim, has rebelled, and seeks the Throne of Heaven! The Usurper unwittingly serves me by engaging God's Host at Heaven's Gate. Thus, the defenders face a terrible dilemma; Defend Heaven's Gate, or quit the field and come to the aid of Man. Of course, the Host will never cede Heaven to a Usurper, thus Mankind is left defenseless save for the token few who walk the earth as Man's guardians.

  "All that remains is to eliminate the guardians. They are among the Host's most powerful, but they are too few. We would likely win any direct confrontation with them, but with Legion now under my command, the outcome is assured."

  "What of humanity?" asked Theo. "Will they not choose to fall upon the sword rather than bend their knee to you?"

  "Ah, alas, you ask a worthy question, and I answer you thus; I have walked among Man, I have stood shoulder to shoulder with mad tyrants whilst they slew entire cities. I've embraced the husband as he murdered his sleeping wife. I have whispered encouragement to the mother as she smothered her newborn with pillows. I have fed Man's madness, and tasted his fears. Simply put, I understand Man's base nature, Theo. I understand that Man secretly admires, even reveres, his blackest instincts. Humanity will succumb when faced with a greater evil than itself. Thus enters Legion.

  "Legion serves two purposes, sweet Theo, the least of which is to aid us in battle against the earthbound Host. With their near-infinite numbers, the demons of Legion will provide me with the capacity to completely destroy the will of Man. Hounded, hunted, and feasted upon, Man will first cry out to God for mercy and intervention. But God fights a war upon the very threshold of Heaven and the new Usurper will give Him no room to breathe. Meanwhile, with the help of my brothers, our new allies Legion, I will inflict untold misery upon humanity. Mankind will believe they have been abandoned, and they will curse Him in the name of their butchered children. As their faith dwindles, so does the power of a once omnipotent God.

  "In the last days, I will intercede on Man's behalf and hold the beasts at bay. When Mankind sees this, they will yield to me, Theo, have no doubt. I will be hailed as the true savior of humanity, and thus have my revenge on Him, for all time."

  "And if He should defeat the Usurper before your scheme fully materializes, then what? You've had a taste of that bitter draught, once before."

  The Runner's eyes narrowed and Theo was afraid for a moment that he had just added the final straw. To his surprise, the Runner didn't lash out. Instead, he said, "Theo, there are infinite planes of existence in the Multiverse, each containing an infinite number of worlds.

  "However, only one of those worlds offers me the opportunity for complete revenge. In His arrogance, He banished me to that world, and thus granted me the very instrument to rip out His heart. In this, I cannot fail, therefore, I do not fear."

  Theo studied his master for a moment, both frustrated and infuriated by the Runner's single-mindedness. Finally, he said, "You risk us all in your mad quest for revenge. Why not claim one, or ten, or a thousand other worlds, and let us quit this wretched planet!" Theo pleaded.

  The Runner smiled at his second and said, "While there are other life-forms scattered across the Multiverse, Mankind dwells here, Theo, and only here. My revenge is not about a conquest of worlds. This is about the complete and total subjugation of God's most beloved creation, Mankind. I will beat humanity into submission, and those I cannot subjugate, I will devour! Fealty or rivers of blood, Theo, that is the choice I give Mankind. Tell me, Theo, which would you choose?"

  There was no doubt in Theo's mind which of the two choices he would accept. "Rivers of blood" wasn't merely an exaggeration or metaphor. The Runner was more than capable of making good on such a promise.

  "Now, we have two tasks before us," the Runner said. "If I am to set my throne upon this world and you are to be my prince, my heir, we must ensure that Legion continues to pour through the injured Veil. I will see to this. You, my Cherubim, you will draw first blood against the earthbound Host. This is what you will do..."

  For the next several minutes, Theo listened attentively as the Runner outlined his plan. By the time the ferry docked in Seattle, Theo had his orders. In a parting act of subservience, he raised his right hand and placed the tips of his fore and middle fingers to his lips. Then turning his palm out toward the Runner, he bowed his head.

  "Thy will be done." An instant later, Theo abandoned his physical persona and dissolved into the ethereal realm.

  The Runner smiled and whispered, "Oh, well done, sweet Theo. Exceedingly well done."

  CHAPTER 10

  Lexington, Kentucky

  The ambulance attendant wiped the spittle from his mouth with a trembling hand, not in the least embarrassed by the sudden loss of his lunch. Fourteen years of driving a county meat wagon, working countless head-on collisions, suicides by shotgun, even a multifatality chemical factory explosion that sent bits and pieces flying over a half-acre, but never had he witnessed anything remotely similar to the carnage inside room thirty-six of the Route 10 Motor Court.

  Thankfully, it was only one guy. At least, the paramedics thought it was only one guy. It was difficult to tell for sure when the remains appeared to have been run through a sausage grinder. Only the victim's head and a lone hand sporting a gold wedding band gave evidence that the victim had been a Caucasian male.

  Janet Davis stood behind the yellow crime scene do not cross barricade tape, making short, scrawling preliminary notes into a waterproof pocket notebook. Other onlookers crowded around her, but most moved on after a few seconds, unable to bear the stench. Even from fifty feet away, the smell emanating from room thirty-six was horrendous, but like any good reporter, Janet kept a jar of Vicks salve in her purse at all t
imes. Of course, in her five years as a reporter, she had never once had an opportunity to use it. Today she applied a liberal dab to both nostrils and was faring far better than most of the cops.

  An hour earlier, she had been sitting at her desk at the Lexington Chronicle, nibbling at a stale turkey-on-rye, working on a local story about a recent increase in missing children reports and half-listening to the portable police scanner.

  In the middle of a particularly disgusting mouthful of moldy bread, she caught snatches of a police cruiser being dispatched to the Route 10 Motor Court. Nothing so unusual about that, she thought.

  The Motor Court sat out on the north edge of the city limits and was another of those "pay by the hour or by the month" establishments. Dopers and nutcases were always going at each other in that rat-infested flophouse, usually resulting in multiple arrests.

  However, today, the dispatcher notified the responding police officers that they would be met at the scene by the city coroner. Janet immediately grabbed her microcassette recorder and a fresh notepad and ran for her car. This was, as they say in the big city, "film at eleven" kind of news.

  "Kelly! Over here, Detective Kelly!" Janet called out to a portly, redheaded young man dressed in a rumpled, ill-fitting suit as he emerged from the motel room. He was holding a handkerchief to his nose and looked ready to review his lunch from the inside out, at any moment. Hearing a familiar voice, the man sought out and found Janet's familiar face. From Janet's perspective, Detective Junior Grade Ronald Kelly stepped out of room thirty-six looking for all the world like a man who desperately wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, rather than here.

  Janet knew that Kelly needed no excuse to make time for her. He had stated for the record, that in his humble opinion, she had the finest set of tits in the great state of Kentucky and beyond. Perhaps Kelly had no illusions of his own animal magnetism or lack thereof, but he never missed a chance to cozy up to Janet when opportunity presented itself. Today, however, flirting didn't seem very high on his list of things to do. By the expression on his greenish face, flirting took a backseat to puking up his guts. Walking up to the barricade tape, he stuffed the handkerchief in the inside pocket of his suit coat. In his other hand, he carried what looked like a cheap vinyl shaving kit.

  "Hi ya, Jan. The boys said you damn near beat them here. I don't suppose you saw anything out of the ordinary when you arrived?"

  Janet gave Kelly him her best sugar sweet smile. She knew full well the effect she had on Kelly, or most men for that matter, and had no moral issues regarding the use of her feminine charms in order to get what she wanted from them. Men had used her from an early age, and as Janet grew up, she figured that being screwed could and should work both ways.

  Kelly was an especially easy target. More than just a little arrogant, his ego was made for stroking and the results were often worth the effort. The guy just couldn't keep his mouth shut. But God, she hated being called Jan.

  "Yeah, I got here pretty fast," she replied, still smiling. "A girl has to make a living, ya know. But other than a swarm of paramedics and cops, I didn't notice anything unusual. So, what's going on inside? Everyone that goes in that room comes out tossing their cookies. Present company excluded, of course."

  Instead of responding, Kelly took several deep breaths of the cold, fresh air. Janet noticed that even though the temperature was hovering around the freezing mark, Ronald Kelly was drenched in sweat.

  Finally, he said, "It ain't pretty, babe. In all my time with the P.D., I've never seen anything like it."

  Janet fought back a smirk. Typical overdramatic bullshit from the puffed-up little prick. She knew that Kelly's "years" with the PD. barely totaled two and some change. His sudden rise to the rank of detective wasn't so much a testament to his police prowess as it was his relationship with the deputy chief, Uncle Morton.

  She gave him her most sympathetic look and laid a soothing hand on his meaty forearm.

  "That bad, huh? What is it? A swinger? Suicide shooter? Somebody local?"

  Kelly shook his head. "According to the motel register, there wasn't supposed to be anyone in the room. We found his wallet and the guy was carrying a couple hundred dollars, but no credit cards or other ID. No suitcase, no spare clothing, just this shaving kit we found in the bathroom."

  Kelly unzipped the kit and dug around in the contents. "The usual shit... disposable razor, toothbrush, a Speed-stick, half a bottle of English Leather, a pack of smokes, and a book of matches. Oh, and one of the boys found a plastic rosary lying on the floor just inside the door."

  Janet's interest immediately peaked. Religion! Great angle. As if reading her mind, Kelly shook his head.

  "Forget it, Jan. It looks like the rosary may have been there awhile. Hell, a lot of the beads are missing or melted together."

  Kelly closed his eyes and took another series of deep breaths. "To tell the truth, I'm not sure what happened in there. It looks like what's left of a lone Caucasian male ... damn it, Jan. You know I shouldn't be discussing the details yet—"

  Nodding vigorously, Janet cut him off. "Now, Ronnie. We both know the drill. Don't tell me anything that might hurt your investigation. Just give me what you can, and if you need to unload, that's cool, too. You know I'll hold anything you say until you give me the go-ahead."

  Kelly nodded. He knew, all right. He knew that there was a better than fifty-fifty chance that anything he said at this moment could, and probably would, show up on the front page this very afternoon.

  The thought didn't even slow him down. "Well, technically, it isn't even my case. I'm just backing up Lowell and the uniforms. But I can tell ya this; this ain't a suicide. Not unless the guy offed himself with a chainsaw."

  At that moment, the city coroner emerged from the room carrying a Health Department-issued body bag. From her vantage point, it looked to Janet that the bag was less than a third full. The coroner, looking more than a little green around the edges of his surgical mask, made straight for the waiting ambulance and handed the bag to one of the paramedics. He then retrieved an empty bag from the back of the ambulance, took several deep breaths, and walked back into the room.

  "I thought you said it was just one dead guy."

  Kelly looked back in the direction of the room, just as the coroner was disappearing inside. "Yeah, one dead guy... in about a dozen pieces."

  Startled, and suddenly entertaining notions of an Associated Press byline, Janet said, "What? You mean he was dismembered?"

  Kelly shook his head. "Not exactly. More like he was run through a blender. The only recognizable part of this guy is his head.... And a hand, the left, I think. The rest of him looks like canned dog food."

  Janet quickly scrawled some notes into her pad. "Hacked up, like by an ax or something?" God, what a story!

  "Nah," answered Kelly with a shake of his head. "It's... it's kind of hard to describe. It's like something just tore the guy apart, you know, like a bear or something. Pieces of meat, and hair plastered to the ceiling and all four walls. All but his head and hand. They were lying under the edge of the TV stand. And that's pretty fucking weird, too. His head, I mean."

  "How so?" asked Janet as she continued to write, while keeping one eye on the motel room.

  Before Kelly could answer, one of the paramedics approached them. The man gave Janet a thorough visual inspection before shoving a clipboard in Kelly's direction.

  "Sorry for the interruption, Detective, but we're about finished here. Your guys are bagging the last of the remains now. Before I can drop them off at the morgue, I need signatures on the personal property forms."

  Kelly gave Janet an apologetic look and said, "Sorry, babe. Duty calls." Janet almost laughed out loud. Had it been another cop, the remark would have assuredly been made tongue-in-cheek. Not so with Kelly. The pompous ass.

  Kelly tucked the shaving kit underneath his arm, took the clipboard from the paramedic and made a show of inspecting the sparse entries. He didn't see the white-and-red matc
hbook fall from the kit and land at his feet. However Janet did. Janet also saw the words, 36, Route 10 neatly printed across the back cover in black ink.

  Janet started to call Kelly's attention to the matches, then thought better of it. While the two men discussed the need for signatures... in triplicate... she smoothly covered the matchbook with a trim size-seven pump.

  Kelly signed the last of the forms with a flourish, and handed the clipboard back to the paramedic. As the man walked back to the ambulance, Kelly turned to Janet and said, "I guess that wraps it up for me, too. I need to get back to the office, and—"

  Janet cut him off. "You were saying there was something odd about the victim's wounds? His head?"

  "Oh, yeah," said Kelly, nodding. "Usually, in a dismemberment case, you find hack marks. But with this guy... his head, it wasn't severed. No slice or hack marks. None."

  "Then... how? How did the guy lose his head, Ronnie?"

  Ronald Kelly swallowed hard and looked directly at Janet. "It was twisted off. Somebody just twisted his head right off his friggin' shoulders."

  With a sick fascination, Janet looked back in the direction of the room. Uniformed officers wearing disposable dust masks were coming out of the room, carrying what looked like partially filled restroom trash bags. One of the officers dropped the bag he was carrying and retched, violently.

  A few minutes later, the ambulance was loaded and ready for the crosstown trip to the morgue. A uniformed officer climbed into the back of the vehicle along with a paramedic, and a second officer slammed shut the rear double doors. The driver shut down the emergency lights and navigated the vehicle through a maze of police cars and curious onlookers.

  Ronald Kelly promised to give Janet a call if he came across anything she could use, then squeezed his considerable bulk into the bucket seat of an unmarked Chevy Malibu. In his typical over-the-top fashion, Kelly activated his emergency lights and siren, and peeled out of the parking lot with the squeal of burning rubber.