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~What do you wish to ask me? Lucifer says. The words do not come from him so much as the air around my ears, a chorus of deep musical voices rather than a single one.
"Your aid, as you no doubt have surmised. The Norns are dead, killed by a lucky Druid, and I am no longer doomed to suffer defeat in Ragnarok. Fate no longer applies to me, and I, along with many others, may choose my own."
~So?
"So we who desire to play a different role than what we've been assigned may seize this opportunity to sweep aside the current world order and forge a better one. I have already secured the assurances of many others who will act when Ragnarok begins, and your help will ensure our collective victory."
~Oh, yes. I know of your machinations. These eyes see much. But I am not one to indulge in collective victories. I am not what humans would call a "team player." I am the adversary.
The blanket statement disturbs me.
"Surely not my adversary?"
~Not yet.
That's not reassuring. "Does that mean you may become my adversary later?"
~It remains to be seen. As you said, a significant aspect of fate has been unchained. What will happen cannot be told.
"If I begin Ragnarok, then, what should I expect from you?"
~You may not expect my aid, Loki Firestarter. It may come should it amuse me at the time, but do not count on it.
"May I at least hope you will not interfere?"
~You may not. I may also find interference amusing. At this point I am primarily interested in amusement. The world is going to hell largely without my involvement, and that has been most entertaining to watch. The chaos increased significantly after the deaths of David Bowie and Prince in 2016.
"Who?"
~Bah! Mediocre. I am revising what I said earlier: You may not expect my aid at all. I have no interest in your dreams of power. Whether you win or lose, I shall remain as I am: Puissant. Sexy. The naughtiest cherub.
My mouth gapes at his words and something flies in, diving down my throat. It's hot and squirming and tickles, and I begin to hack desperately to get it out. Something eventually gets ejected--a many-legged winged creature with a tiny human head, teal and green and still alive. It hacks and coughs, too, suffers through some high-pitched wheezing, and then it shakes itself free of phlegm and saliva and giggles. At the same time, Lucifer's wings shudder, and he wobbles slightly in the air.
~Hurr hurr.
He laughs. At my expense. Because he probably set the whole thing up. Say something shocking to make my jaw drop, and a minor demon dives in to make me choke. Very well.
"Apologies for taking up so much of your time, Lucifer. I will not waste any more of it."
~Nonsense. I was amused. But do be careful upon your exit. Some of hell's creatures are jealous and have been known to attack those who have spoken to me personally.
I nod, not trusting myself to say anything diplomatic, and turn to exit the way I entered.
"Not that way," the dog-insect says. "That road's closed now. You never leave the same way you came in. Follow me."
My muscles tense but I follow, seeing little other choice. Perhaps it is an ambush he leads me to. Perhaps I will have a chance to pay someone back for the humiliation I just suffered. Once out of sight of Lucifer, I change myself to the shape of a true fire giant and set my skin aflame. I pull out two weapons I hid before: a tremendous bastard sword, which I also set alight, and an unusual ice knife crafted by the yetis that I stole from the young Druid Granuaile MacTiernan. Even in the blistering furnace of hell it remains frozen and unmelting.
Satisfied that I look nothing like my usual self and quite a bit more intimidating, I keep scanning my surroundings for possible threats and follow the Bosch nightmare.
It's fine, honestly, that Lucifer will not be joining us. If he stays out of Ragnarok, chances are his opposite will stay out of it, too. It's simply not the Christian pantheon's fight. But I think he's wrong to assume that he'll remain the same afterward. There will be significantly fewer believers of his particular faith afterward and his power will necessarily wane.
Something moves in my peripheral vision, and I look up and to my right. There's a creature much larger than the green and teal thing descending from above. He has bat wings and a humanoid body with a giant dangly snake between his legs and eyes that glow pale yellow. When he sees that I've spotted him, hellfire blooms from his outstretched hand. I point my sword at him and send a gout to block his incoming one. Neither of us will be burned, but there is a certain kinetic force behind such attacks, and I'd rather he be off balance than me when it comes to a melee. He has no weapons except for some wicked claws and probably twice the brute strength I possess. Those wings will no doubt cause some trouble, too. Another muscle-bound bully like Thor.
I keep the sword raised and pointed at him just in case he's stupid enough to fly onto it, but he turns off the fire, folds those wings in, and veers to my left. More difficult for me to guard against that way, with the sword in my right hand. I have seen this before in fighting against some of the Fae: there is a claw on the tip of his wing, and as he sails past on the left, he will open those wings and try to cut me with it. He's going to be about at neck level, aiming for my throat, so I take a knee and thrust up with that ice knife as the wing shoots out and over my head. It pierces the leathery membrane, and I hold it there as his own momentum forces it to tear through his wing.
I expect a cry of rage and a ferocious counterattack on foot afterward, but instead I get a startled squawk, and the damned thing crashes to the sandblasted ground, dead.
The demon dog is agog, and he's not the only one.
