Infinite Games

15. Empire

The kiss barely registered. Why would it? I wasn't human, or mortal. There were no more feelings at this stage in the game.

Only winning.

I had torn off half of Taiko's face, and implanted the rest of my human soul --my remaining humanity-- in Joon Faye. There was no turning back.

Even if I wanted to leave, I couldn't. The kiss --which felt more like forcing my cruel lips upon the mouth of a stupid mortal creature than an act of soul-giving-- had transported me back to the afterlife.

Not just anywhere. A reinforced, floor-to-ceiling cage in Demimonde. The usual bingo table rows that had served as my enslavement were rearranged around the arena like spectator stands at a fight, and the audience, gold angels and red demons alike, were still busy playing.

Death has no holiday, I thought with a smug smile.

"Welcome, player. You were successful in removing your soul, as was one other in your group. The limit of contestants in this final round is two, so, naturally, all the other players were eliminated the moment you finished the Soul Kiss," the announcer from the beetle memory game said. "This final round is a battle to the death--"

"I'll kill him!" I growled, tensing so fiercely the brown fur on my hackles raised as my goat's tail did.

Being a demon again after reliving the mortal world felt... so right. Natural, even. I belonged in the afterlife, and that Game Master's seat was mine for the taking. I would kill, torture, and slay my enemy tenfold to win.

A shiver coursed through my fingers. My claws were battle-hungry. I snorted, kicked up clouds, and bleated aloud. A few bingo players looked up at the spectacle, but the all-too-familiar call of the next letter and number sent them back to scanning their cards.

"Bring forth the challenger!" I bellowed, thumping my chest with my ready fist. "Let us see who deserves to be the Master!"

"Very well," the announcer replied.

A door materialized in the side of the cage; a demon stood up at the table nearest, and we locked gazes as he --no, she-- entered. A demoness. Her flaming eyes burnt as brightly as my own. She seemed as tall and as well-built as I.

Yet, there was one flaw. Brown braided hair hung to her waist. A disadvantage. I would grab it and hold her down while I slit her throat. I stomped the ground and bared my teeth.

"I will not lose to you, she-goat."

She curled her lip in return, "Likewise, lobster boy."

"At the sound of the bell, you may fight. There are no rules, except that only one may win."

DING!

We charged one another. The audience cheered --for me, obviously. My talon-like claws closed around that braid as soon as she provided the opportune moment, and tugged her to the floor in one yank. The fall was so harsh that her horns burrowed themselves in the cloud-floor upon impact. She struggled, but they were stuck too deep.

"Die, bitch," I hissed, and impaled my claw into her neck as far as it would go.

Black blood squirted in my face, and inside my mouth. Demon blood tastes like fire whiskey, by the way, except the burn doesn't go away when you swallow. I spit it out as the flow died down. Her body still twitched and spasmed with every pulse of the black fountain flooding from her neck. The fire in the demoness's eyes sputtered and died, smoking into the air like a snuffed out candle.

"Simon Tellard is the winner. Applaud for your new Game Master."

As the clapping and hooting began, the she-demon's body sunk through the cloud floor, tendrils of cloud wisps pulling her below. Where she went, I hoped to never know.

I straightened to my feet, and grinned amongst the cheering. I had known I would win. Now, for my prize...

"The transformation shall commence," the young, golden Game Master bellowed over the noise of the crowd.

I'll let him watch, I thought. See me as the strong being I have become--

But then Demimonde disappeared. There was no one to be strong for, and no applause of encouragement. Blinded, I screamed and dropped to my knees, clutching my face.

"Help!" I cried, crawling forward in nothingness until I reached the cage wall and pressed my lips through the metal mesh. "Help!"

"No one moves, or they die the ultimate death. He must go this alone," the Game Master said to my audience.

"No, please! What's happening? Tell me!" I wailed.

Silence. Until the screams started. But they weren't mine. Hundreds upon thousands of screams, some young and high pitched like a baby's longing wail, others old and weak, a final dying yell.

Then came the visions. Not sight, but visions. I could watch moments of mortal lives as though looking through a director's camera. But the only moments I could see were those of pain.

Three skinny children, bundled up against the rain that had already muddied their ragged blankets as they cried for a mother who had left and not returned.

A lone soldier, his uniform so bloodied that his allegiance was unclear, screaming about legs that no longer existed, and arteries that bled his remaining life onto the sand.

Prisoners, in orange jumpsuits, banging at their cell doors in hysterics. It was, I believe, a max security holding. Spittle flew from their mouths with every obscenity.

Couples in fights, varying degrees of violence. Beatings, brutal beatings. Animals maltreated. Dead loved ones's bodies floating facedown in bathtubs. Murders. Accidents. Stubbed toes. Burnt hands. Paper cuts. So much pain and crying and screaming I began to think I should tear myself apart.