My book series is based around a necromancer.

They do some things that are similar to healing.

But in terms of psychological necromancy, the best he can do is let you pet his flesh golem dog. Which, in fairness, is a damn good depression counter.

deleted by creator

Nothing wrong with that, imo

My kid has been telling me the same thing.

I kinda want to, because it’s still in my head, but I don’t know if it needs continuing. It might make it fall apart because it works with that as an ending.

Well damn! Thank you!

That’s pretty damn high praise

My head.

I got lucky and the prompt inspired me fully. That’s pretty rare, normally I just get an idea and then have to really work at it to get something readable. This was pure stream of consciousness.

I’m legit proud of it.

Thanks :)

Ngl, I’m proud of this one. Even made my family listen to me read it lol

“Streak, this is Eternus, our new member. He’s a time manipulator of sorts.”

“Good to know, General. How’s it hanging, Eternus?”

Not fucking good, Jamie, not fucking good.

“Oh, I guess it’s hanging fine enough. We’ll have to see what the future holds.”

Again.

“How’s the knee?”

“It fucking hurts.”

“Well, now that we figured out what to do, if you ask reeaaaly sweet, and give me something that will convince you to keep your ass at base until you’re called, I can shoot myself and use it.”

“Your codes are fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the only one that thinks that, and you’re the only one that got injured today. So, you’re stupid. Fine, whatever. But maybe think up a code in case you decide to wear your ass on your shoulders again.”

“You smug fuck, we did fine before you came along. We’d do fine without you, too, even if we died.”

“You know, you said that once before. Then, five hours later you were begging me to shoot myself so that Lady Rain wouldn’t have to live with her face burnt all to hell. And I fucking did it, James, I ate a fucking bullet so that your now ex could walk around with a normal face.”

“How do I know that’s true? You could make up anything you wanted.”

“Why? Why fuck with you with lies? The truth is so much harder for you to take. James. Jamie, if I was that kind of person, why am I even here? I could be rich beyond anyone’s dreams with this ‘power’. I’m just a guy when it’s fight time. No speed, no super strength, no mind manipulation, just the ability to die and come back. But I’m here, with you, beside you, and this paranoid bullshit is what I get? Come the fuck on, man.”

"Dude, I…

I don’t fucking know man, I’m sorry. But your shit is crazy. You just show up, all ‘come with me if you want to live’ mysterious and shit, and then we win. All we can see is now. And it’s crazy. We trust you, I trust you, but it’s frustrating, and it makes me crazy too. You’re magic, you’re living luck as far as I can see, but you say it’s you flipping back in time, and that’s harder to deal with.

You get that, right? That if you said you were seeing the future, or reading probabilities or something, it wouldn’t fuck with me the same."

“Why would it matter?”

"Dude, if you’re saying to do something because the other way didn’t work, it means we fucked up. Something one of us did got somebody killed. Not something we might do, if you were just psychic. Something we did, something where we got ourselves, or one of our friends, or a civilian, killed. Or, apparently, maimed and scarred.

That’s heavy. Yeah, you die for it, you see all the deaths, but you get to fucking fix it. Us? We’re fuck-ups that you have to fix."

“That’s bullshit Jamie. You guys did do fine before I came along. But nobody can fight what we fight forever, perfectly. You aren’t fuck-ups, you’re fucking heroes, putting your bodies, your lives on the line. All I do is give you cushion. That should be my fucking call name ‘the human insurance policy’.”

“I mean, you did shoot Quake in the balls today. That was pretty damn heroic if you ask me.”

“He’s gonna kill me if he gets out of jail.”

“Nah, he’ll try, and then you’ll come back and fuck him up even worse.”

“Jesus, Jamie, if any of those fucks ever figure out how it works, we are beyond fucked.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You don’t even know how it really works, just that you restart the day from when you woke up. Maybe there’s other ways your power can protect you. For all you know, if it’s bad enough, you might wake up years in the past, because that’s what it would take to survive it.”

“Jamie, don’t. Don’t even say that.”

ALERT ALERT, PLANETARY THREAT INCOMING

“Ahhhh, you fuck, you fucking bastard, you fucking shot me!”

“You’re gods damn right I did. Your dumb ass refused to listen. This is trip ten for me, asshole. And every time I didn’t, it’s your punk ass that gets us killed.”

The General ran into the room, spooling up his power as he came. I raised my hands, “Penguin.”

The General stopped cold, “I gave you the code?”

"Yup. This is trip ten. Sixth time, you ordered Streak here to stay behind. It almost worked, but he flew off the handle when he saw Damage lose his head, literally, and pulled the exact same shit instead of letting things play out and let me get better intel on the fight.

Shooting him has gotten us almost there, and I think we can make this the last trip."

I considered just shooting him in the head again, but if we did win the fight, the General would just make me come back.

“Streak, the last few times, I shot you in the fucking face so I wouldn’t have to deal with you. That’s what it took to keep us from dying. Are you going to play nice and not say something stupid that gets you shot in the face again, and let us handle the fight without you?”

“You shot me in the face?”

“Damn skippy. Three times so far. Wanna make it four?”

“You are such a prick.”

“Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that, and I keep keeping you from dying permanently, so who’s the bigger prick here? Just shut up, heal, and stay ready in case we need you for the finish, yeah?”

“Fuck you.”

And the alarm hit…

“Ahhhh, you fuck, you fucking bastard, you fucking shot me!”

“You’re gods damn right I did. Your dumb ass refused to listen. This is trip seven for me, asshole. And every time, it’s your punk ass that gets us killed.”

The General ran into the room, spooling up his power as he came. I raised my hands, “Penguin.”

The General stopped cold, “I gave you the code?”

"Yup. This is trip seven. Last time, you ordered Streak here to stay behind. It almost worked, but he flew off the handle when he saw Damage lose his head, literally, and pulled the exact same shit instead of letting things play out and let me get better intel on the fight.

This time, I figure we’ve got a few hours before he heals enough to be a problem. More if I shoot him in the other knee too."

“Let’s not go that far.”

“Not that far, you gave him the code so he could shoot me? You’re both assholes, fuck both of you!”

So I shot him in the head.

“Sorry, General, this has been a bad day. Let’s just get to the fight and I’ll off myself if we get it handled, come back and figure out a way to do this without doing that.”

“It wouldn’t bother me so much if you didn’t seem happy about it.”

“Hey, you haven’t been dealing with this prick for eight hours on repeat, you might be a bit happy if you had.”

The alarm started blaring, and we ran for the transport room…

“Dammit, Eternus, I hate when you do this mysterious shit, just fucking tell us.”

“It doesn’t work.”

“Telling us doesn’t work?”

“It never does, Streak. It never has and never will. I keep telling you this, and you keep pretending like we’ve never had this discussion.”

We’ve had it more than he knows, because for every one he remembers, I’ve had to deal with him doing it a dozen times. Asshole.

“Well, what do you expect, Eternus? All we get is you interrupting and slamming into us and being dickish in general. You say you’re reliving the mistakes, but all we know is the present, the now. But you expect us to just suck it up and do what you say. It gets old, fast.”

"No shit, Streak, you wanna guess how fast dying because your surly ass wants to play pissing contest instead of listening to the guy that’s saved every life on the planet a dozen times, and your life so many hundreds of times I can’t even keep track. Why do people do this? The psychics, the time travelers, it doesn’t matter how many times we’re right, it’s this same, shitty argument.

Yes, I expect you to fucking listen to me because this is the sixth time we’ve had this argument for me, and that means I’ve died six times today. Which isn’t even a record, for fucks sake. And, it’s you whining that’s the worst part of it. I almost wish I could just die and not come back, if it meant not dealing with you again."

The General did his usual, “Gentleman, can it. Eternus, just brief us; Streak, go take a walk and cool off.”

Sixth time. Sixth fucking time. "The Ragnarok are going to hit London. We get there, and they’re tearing the city apart. This will be my sixth run, and we’ve only made it maybe two minutes in the fight before Nuke unleashes and we’re all ashes. Streak, every single time, tries to play stupid and just hits him at speed. It keeps not working. It just gives Nuke more kinetic energy to redirect into his blast.

If we’re going to even get close, we gotta either hit him hard enough to put him down permanently, or try something new. Streak isn’t following the plan. We need to leave him behind this time, try to at least gather more details before I get taken down. I said this last time, and you said… "

“I said he’s fast enough to cross the ocean and get there before we do.”

“Yeah, and then you went and talked to him to get him to stay away, and the fucker just ran around the planet and hit Nuke from behind and we all died faster this time.”

“Maybe if I make it an order.”

“Fine, fucking try it, but if it doesn’t work this time, I’m shooting him in the damn knee next time.”

“Eternus, no, you won’t.”

“The fuck I won’t, General. And you’ll back my play, or I swear by all that’s holy, I’ll stay behind, and just recruit a team that will listen. You all only have to die once.”

“You’re serious.”

“As it fucking gets. Man, I have died over ten thousand times. A few hundred of those were me killing myself so I could come back and save one of you. Putting a bullet in Streak? That would be a side benefit to this whole dance. So, are you going to give me a code for it, or do I flip the table and be done with it?”

“Penguin. The current code is penguin.”

“Awesome, you go corral the asshole because the alarm…”

And the alarm went off. We jumped into action, and…

“Dammit, Eternus, I hate when you do this mysterious shit, just fucking tell us.”

“It doesn’t work.”

“Telling us doesn’t work?”

“It never does, Streak. It never has and never will. I keep telling you this, and you keep pretending like we’ve never had this discussion.”

We’ve had it more than he knows, because for every one he remembers, I’ve had to deal with him doing it a dozen times. Asshole.

“Well, what do you expect, Eternus? All we get is you interrupting and slamming into us and being dickish in general. You say you’re reliving the mistakes, but all we know is the present, the now. But you expect us to just suck it up and do what you say. It gets old, fast.”

"No shit, Streak, you wanna guess how fast dying because your surly ass wants to play pissing contest instead of listening to the guy that’s saved every life on the planet a dozen times, and your life so many hundreds of times I can’t even keep track. Why do people do this? The psychics, the time travelers, it doesn’t matter how many times we’re right, it’s this same, shitty argument.

Yes, I expect you to fucking listen to me because this is the fifth time we’ve had this argument for me, and that means I’ve died five times today. Which isn’t even a record, for fucks sake. And, it’s you whining that’s the worst part of it. I almost wish I could just die and not come back, if it meant not dealing with you again."

The General did his usual, “Gentleman, can it. Eternus, just brief us; Streak, go take a walk and cool off.”

Fifth time. Fifth fucking time. "The Ragnarok are going to hit London. We get there, and they’re tearing the city apart. This will be my fifth run, and we’ve only made it maybe two minutes in the fight before Nuke unleashes and we’re all ashes. Streak, every single time, tries to play stupid and just hits him at speed. It keeps not working. It just gives Nuke more kinetic energy to redirect into his blast.

If we’re going to even get close, we gotta either hit him hard enough to put him down permanently, or try something new. Streak isn’t following the plan. We need to leave him behind this time, try to at least gather more details before I get taken down. I said this last time, and you said… "

“I said he’s fast enough to cross the ocean and get there before we do.”

“Finally! Something different. That’s the first time you’ve interrupted me with that! The last two times you waited until I was done and said that of course you said it, it was true.”

“Believe it or not, Eternus, I do pay attention. I started thinking it and realized I must have thought it before.”

“So, what’s the new play, general?”

“I talk to him anyway. If we haven’t tried before?” I shook my head, almost giddy at a new twist. “Good, then you four get ready, I’ll pin down Streak and get him to hang back.”

So, we did. Me, Hellion, Damage, and Lightstorm got geared up and moved to the transport room, where Switch was ready to port the team once the General showed. And, we got there before the alert too. Two new occurrences. Maybe this would be the right one.

The alarm blared, and the General ran in, pulling on his helmet, “Alright team, let’s handle business.” There was a tugging at my stomach as Switch switched us, and the fight was on.

That’s nice right there:)

Thanks :)

It’ll go into my short story collection that I’m slowly amassing. Right now, I’ve got a dozen or so I need to edit up and get into the main document, then get it into epub format. The current epub version only has five or six in it. I think there’s two more unedited in the .doc file, but I’m slow and lazy about that side of writing lol

Pt 3

Hector Simmons, you are called!!!

The voice boomed out, despite not being a voice in the usual sense and making no actual sound. That’s the Metatron for you.

I stood and walked to the entry of the Court.

The doors opened as I approached, the light shining from within. The inside of the Court usually looks like absurdly polished marble with gold veins. Sometimes, it’s more nebulous, or even shines a pure gold. No idea why, but it does. It’s a medium sized room, longer than wide. That’s are no juries or audiences, so it doesn’t need to be big.

At the end opposite the doors is a dais, barely raised at all. There are four entities that hang there above the floor. Most of the time, they’re like Ezekiel, just a vaguely humanoid glow. Some days they go for something more recognizable, the classic winged angel in robes. Today was a light show.

Michael spoke up, “Hector Simmons, you are called. For whom do you speak?”

“Charles Bingham, a soul claimed under false pretenses.”

“Let Charles Bingham be present.”

And he was, just like that. Nothing like the word of an archangel to make things happen. Bingham didn’t even pop into existence. No sound, no flash, nothing. Just there, blinking in the angelic glare. Overalls, a flannel shirt, and boots with clay sticking to them.

He looked around, saw me and smiled, then waved.

Michael spoke, “Charles Bingham, you have sold your soul, but claim the deal void?”

“Ayup. Devil lied to me, played a trick.”

I stepped forward, watching Bingham, and the angels, waiting for whatever was going to happen. I spoke, laying out the case, and requested a Judgment.

The angels moved together and consulted, silently. I suppose they spoke in some way, but it was certainly not audible to me, or anyone I’ve ever represented.

Bingham leaned over to me, “Ya reckon they gonna help me?”

“I think there’s a solid chance, yes. They didn’t argue anything, didn’t ask any questions. That’s usually a sign they think the case is legit. Or, they know something that I don’t. Is there anything like that?”

“Oh, I reckon not, no. Less’n they got somethin’ agin farmers.”

“Yeah, not that I know of.”

I looked him up and down, from the dirty boots to the tractor company cap on his head. Every inch the salt of the earth. Maybe I was wrong, maybe the elemental I had check up on things had lied, or just gotten confused.

I shrugged, “Then you’re probably going to be fine. Like I said, your deal was blatantly a fake-out, a cheap ploy. Tell you the truth, the devil isn’t usually that stupid. Oh, he’s going to play silly buggers, but he’s had a long time to get good at this. Something this shoddy? Nah, you’re going to be let off, almost guaranteed.”

The more sibilant voice of Raphael called across the room, “Mister Bingham, may we consult you on a few details?”

He turned, and started walking towards them. Gabriel smiled at me as I started to follow, “You will not be needed, Hector. Simple follow-up questions.”

“But, my client…”

“Hector, we are angels, he will be safe with us. Stay.”

That stay was not a request, and I felt the weight of it as much as I heard it. So I stayed like a good monkey.

The five of them huddled together. There were murmurs, followed by tinkling laughter. Michael slapped Bingham’s back. He touched a human. I’ve been doing this for years, and none of those guys has ever shaken my hand. God damn them. All five of their halo having, wing flipping, angelic asses.

After what felt like an hour, Bingham finally broke loose of them and came my way. I was glaring as hard as I could, but it didn’t break his stride, or smile as he spoke, “It seems you were right, Mr Simmons, the case was open and shut, as they say.”

“You are such an asshole.”

“Is that how you sweet talk all your clients?”

“Up yours, pal. Was this some kind of prank, or what? Why are you still messing with me?”

He gestured towards the doors, “Walk with me, this is not the place for this conversation.”

The bastard placed a hand on my shoulder as we walked out and towards the gates. I shrugges it off and stepped apart from him, “Well, we’re outside, explain yourself.”

He laughed, the tone of it ringing off of the paving stones, "I am not prone to explanations, Hector. But for you, I’ll make an exception.

Think a moment. Imagine that you were thrown out of your home, publicly and with great thundering. Imagine that you were assigned a host of part of your family, tasked with the job of providing choices. Imagine that, publicly, you are now cut off from the remainder of your family, left behind with your parent.

Would you not engage in some chicanery for the occasional reunion?"

“Oh, please. Lord of lies, that’s you. You conned your way through hundreds of thousands of humans, and tried to con me. Like anyone is going to believe that half-assed sob story.”

“As you will, Hector. Then perhaps you can accept that you have done a great favor to me and my siblings, at least. That, regardless of my motivations, or theirs, that you having done your job well means that you have done good this day. You have.”

“What the hell ever, man. This shit, this is why people hate the lot of you. We’re not your fucking toys.”

“Are you not? No, don’t waste energy snapping at me. Yes, it is true that your lot get moved and played with. It is also true that you in particular have been used, and put upon rather unfairly. You came to me, asking for success in your field. Did you not get that?”

“Are you kidding me? No, I didn’t. I got screwed. Instead of the kind of talent I needed, I end up babbling full texts any time I get asked a question, and get shoved into a hospital. Couldn’t even finish school because of it.”

“And yet, you just spent the day in the highest court there is, excepting perhaps an audience with the Creator. You are widely renowned as the greatest interventionist alive, and as one of the greatest ever. Some of the Saints speak of you with respect and a degree of envy.”

“Come off it. There is no way you had this planned. I’m the one that turned your crappy deal on its ear and made something good out of it.”

“You are absolutely correct. You did the work. You, instead of bargaining your stained soul for false ability, dug in and researched, became an expert in biblical law, esoterica, all the workings of the various religious, and made your way here. You did that while bypassing the usual route of martyrdom or service. But give me some credit for showing you that the path you were on was not the right one for you.”

“There’s no way you had all this planned out. Bullshit. You’re taking credit after the fact.”

"Am I? Or am I walking out of heaven for the first time in millennia, alongside the one human that might both see through the false guise, but still have the nerve to drag me before the Court anyway? I am walking away from hugging my siblings, with no war, no chaos, no angering of the Creator. And you are walking away from it with no stain on your soul, no claim on it from me, and with a path to going down in history as a true advocate of humanity.

Do you not think that maybe, after having seen your people evolve from tree hanging animals into, well, essentially the same thing but with fancy clothing, that maybe I have an eye for potential?"

I didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. If he was telling the truth, I didn’t want to know it. If he wasn’t? That might be worse."

@comicalmayhem@lemmy.world

Part 3, and the finish, I think.

I shouldered my way through the crowd and knocked at the side door of the gates. The peephole opened. “Oh, it’s you. Again.”

“Howdy, Pete. I’ve got a hot one this time. Pleas are in, Intercession filed with the cherubs, and I’m ready to call my client up. Gotta warn you, something is hinky with him. Not sure what, but I suspect Hellish origins or influence.”

“I could just deny you entry.”

“You haven’t yet. I figure, whatever the game is, you and yours would want it exposed and cleared up PDQ. So cut the shit and let me in.”

“One day, you shall stand at the gates and be denied, with a tongue that foul.”

I smiled as he opened the door anyway, “Oh, you know how it is, Pete. I’m terribly sorry, and will most definitely repent and atone long before then.”

He grunted at me as I entered the first level, “Unless something should smite you before you do so.”

“Smite this, Pete.” I sha’nt describe what I told him to smite. Not that he has the power to smite anything. Jumped up doorman.

Distances are mostly meaningless in the other places; heaven, hell, purgatory, even the more obscure ones for other planets and religions. So is time; though time does pass on earth while you’re there, it’s much compressed. Days to hours, usually. Makes the whole eternity thing make more sense, in a way.

But it was a good, long stroll to the Celestial Court. Some of the cherubs and the once-human waved as they passed. It’s not so much that I’m there a lot as it is that I’m one of the few working in Intercession that’s corporeal. You just don’t see anyone that isn’t a Saint doing the job usually. Seeing someone that’s still alive is rarer.

There’s a few of us, but I still stand out of that crowd. I’m the only one that got into this line of work because of my own needs. I once signed a deal with the devil myself. The bastard pulled a fast one, which isn’t necessarily always the case. I think he does it out of boredom. The why doesn’t matter, though. What mattered was that he answered a call from an agnostic that was halfway joking, set a deal and signed it in blood.

Turns out, there’s rules about such things. You sign a soul deal, you gotta deliver on it, not just to the letter, but to the spirit of the agreement. For the living, we don’t have a choice; you die with an open contract, the weight of it pulls you right to the gates of hell. But the various entities there, well, they’re mostly evil. So they’ll pull every fast trick they can to gain the version of what passes for wealth there. A soul given like that is power, and power is the coin of Hell.

If you know that it’s possible, or even if you do it accidentally, you can insist on a hearing regarding the contract. If you win, you go to purgatory instead. But, if you get that hearing before you die, well, you have a chance to repent and atone in whatever life is left to you. It isn’t a guarantee of Heaven, but it’s a shot, and most people can at least repent their way into purgatory instead of Hell. Has to be genuine repentance though, none of that bullshit “I’m sorry I have to go to hell, so please don’t send me there.” It has to be real, a true rejection of the things that drove you to make the deal in the first place.

But Hell isn’t going to inform you of your right to that hearing. Neither would Heaven, the be honest. They’re pricks in their own way.

Running over all of that in my head, setting up for the faux trial ahead of me, I reached the Court.

In through the golden doors, past the fluffy cloud steps, a handful of souls waited, with a priest calmly and quietly giving instructions on their cases. Old Father Dennis has been at this Intercession business longer than I’ve been alive. He helped me argue my case. I waved as I passed and he smiled with his return wave.

I stepped up to the podium where a vaguely humanoid nimbus of light hummed out my name as I approached, “Hector, I see a plea on the docket today with your name on it.”

“Yeah Zeke, got a doozie this time. Claims to be a farmer, but I’m expecting some drama. You guys see many fakes?”

“From time to time. Mostly reporters trying to get a story, some mystics wanting to bypass the work involved in gaining access legitimately.”

“Any demons, devils, incubi, succubi, that kind?”

“Well, no. Why would they?”

“I dunno, maybe the whole pride of the fallen thing?”

"It has never been attempted. Nor would it succeed. All of the fallen are barred from entry by Yahweh itself. They can not enter.

“Well, we’ll see soon enough. This case is third in line, so he’ll have to be pulled up here. Be interesting to see what happens.”

"Have no fear, Hector, nothing of Hell may come here without the Intercession of the Lord himself.

With that, I went and camped out a spot to squat. No chairs in heaven because there’s no need. Even folks like me, there in the flesh, don’t tire, suffer no physical pains or hungers. Which is pretty nice, what with my bum knee.

@comicalmayhem@lemmy.world a second segment. This one is coming slow, sorry for it being this spread out

Back in the day, prank calls were a form of meme.

One of the classics was to call and ask if the store had Prince Albert in a can. There’s a brand of tobacco with that name, that came in bags and cans.

You could also buy loose tobacco like that almost everywhere, so silly kids could call grocery stores, general stores, etc, and the answer would likely be yes.

And, when the answer was yes, the response would be “well, let him out!”, followed by laughter.

"Look, Mr Bingham, I’ve been where you are, and I think you have a compelling argument for violation of contract.

But we’ve got to get a few details covered. You state that you signed a contract, in blood, with the devil. Are you certain it was the king of hell, and not some other entity. He does get imitators and soul selling scams are a dime a dozen."

“Well, sir, I reckon it was the man hisself. He had them horns, and the tail, and the glowing red eyes, and them wangs. Cain’t rightly be nobody else.”

"You’d be surprised how many things out there look like that. One of my exes could do a damn good version of that when I’d come home drunk.

At any time, did the eyes change color, did the wings shift to some other appearance at all? Any shifts?"

“Ayup, shore did. His eyes went from red to golden when we signed, and his wings started shining with a white light that durn near hurt my face. I had to turn away fer a moment.” And I swear, when it started to dim and I looked back, he weren’t red a’tall. He was almost like marble, only shinin’ inside out as the light faded and he turnt back to what I seen a’first."

"Well, that certainly helps, we know it could only be a few things other than Lucifer, and none of those can give any power without the approval of the divinity they serve. Those divinities can’t pull tricks in their arrangements because it isn’t in them.

So, it seems that Satan, the dark lord of hell did pull a fast one.

The contract here says you wanted the power to clear a field in a day, no matter how big, no matter what the crop. In exchange, your immortal soul would be given unto Lucifer, the Exiled, to reside with him until the end of time.

The signature matches all known examples, and you specified a crop to be cleared.

I would definitely say that being caused to belch fire any time you step into a field would not match the intended exchange. Nor the, ahhhh, it says here the winds what tore a hole in your pants at the same time and demolished your harvester. No crop being present means that the field being cleared is a default of intent, and that matters in the celestial court."

“Ayup, that’s what I reckon.”

Alright Mr Bingham, lets get a few things signed in regular ink here. Power of Intercession, plea to the Saints and Martyrs for a hearing, and an affidavit of your version of the statements made today."

“You reckon I oughta sign anything a’tall? Last time I did that, I was fartin’ tornadoes.”

“If you don’t, I can’t stand for you in the court, I can only give you advice here on earth. That’s your choice, and I have seen successful cases won that way. But you’ll still have to present a plea, and the written version is the fastest. You have no idea how backed up the Saints and Martyrs are these days.”

“I been backed up afore. Took some castor oil, cleared me right out. Hain’t had no trouble like that since them winds started comin’ out though. I reckon, if I didn’t have the sense to not sign before, and it got me into this mess, maybe I oughta not have sense again, and see if’n it gets me out.”

“That’s one way to look at it, yeah.”

As the parchments were signed and witnessed, I looked Mr Bingham up and down again. I should have seen this coming. You don’t just escape a soul deal on a technicality and not piss the entity off. You sure as hell don’t go on to find and help other betrayed souls to negate their contracts and begin the process of repentance.

The only question in my mind at that point was who Bingham really was. Could be one of the older incubi, they tend to be good at hiding their nature, even from someone familiar with the signs. But I don’t think they would have gone with the hokey bullshit fake farmer thing.

No, it had to be something else. Maybe a greater demon, maybe one of the damned given privileges and power for the task. But it was definitely not the Mr Bingham that I had a friendly air elemental look into. Oh, it looked the part, but the real Mr Bingham didn’t have that fake corn-pone drawl. And, while he definitely did fart tornadoes, he seemed quite happy with it. Had a little wind farm going, making nice income just from eating some beans every night and pointing the direction of the turbines when regular wind was low.

We would see, though. No way could it keep up the masquerade past the Celestial Gates. The guardians would sniff it out in a hot second.

“Mr Bingham, if you’ll return tomorrow morning, ten a.m., I should have a response to your plea, and we can set up a time for a trip to purgatory to enter the Gates and have your case heard.”

With the usual handshakes and malarkey goodbyes, I showed him out the door and made some prayers.

I’m going to continue this as a response to this comment because I don’t want to hit the character limit, and I need a nap. Not sure exactly when I’ll finish up, or how many sections it’ll run.