Chapter Three:

God’s Right Hand Man

     St. Christopher’s Cathedral in downtown Baton Rouge seemed to sprout from the concrete of the city streets.  The cathedral was the oldest, most historic church in the area, but it wasn’t the most attractive.  The town grew up around it, and left the church with little space of its own.  A bank built a skyscraper next door to the church.  Bums congregated in the park across the street.  Violent crimes were sometimes committed right outside the doors of the church, and drugs were often to be blamed.  Urban expansion swallowed St. Christopher’s neighborhood over the years, but the church refused to disappear.
     The church evolved with the times, and responded to the urban problems of drug abuse and homelessness with community outreach services.  Nobody in the church believed that drug abuse or homelessness could be alleviated, but they hoped that by confronting the issues the severity of the problems could be reduced.  St. Christopher’s Community Outreach Center focused on providing support, information and access to services.  The program helped a lot of people who didn’t have much to feel hopeful about, and word of the program spread to the city’s poverty stricken and disenfranchised.
     Father Michael Flannery managed and directed St. Christopher’s Community Outreach services.  Michael was the child of Irish immigrants, and he showed his ancestry.  He was a very big man.  He looked almost like a giant, even when he was with other large Irish men.  He was 6’5”, and he weighed 275 pounds.  Somewhere in his family tree there must have been a proud Scotsman, because Michael’s hair was a remarkable golden red.   He had penetrating blue eyes, and his sober intelligence never lurked far beneath their surface.
     At an early age Michael dedicated his life to helping the less fortunate.  For a decade he ran a waterfront mission for the poor in New Orleans, and he spent two years ministering to victims of Hansen’s Disease in Carrvile, Louisiana.  After Father Flannery transferred to Baton Rouge he became familiar with the work at the Outreach Center, and in no time he decided to make the work his own special project.
     The Outreach Center opened its doors to the public at eight o’clock every morning.  It offered hot coffee and doughnuts to the poor, and there was usually a line to get in.  Father Flannery instituted a lot of positive changes at the center.  He added mail service for the homeless, and installed public access phones.  The front desk also took incoming calls and recorded messages.  Some of the homeless were merely down on their luck, and something as simple as receiving a phone call for a job offer could turn someone’s life around. 
     After Father Flannery took over the Outreach Center, he put a stop to people lounging around or spending the day there.  Father Flannery believed that providing people with a place to waste time only worsened their problems.  He insisted that the primary focus of the center should be helping people to work.  That shift in focus was very unpopular with the diehard stew bums, but it helped a lot of the people who were ashamed of their lives and wanted to change.
     Father Flannery worked sixteen hours a day at the center.  He began his day at four o’clock in the morning, with prayers and meditation.  He didn’t return to his quarters until eight o’clock at night.  Everybody who knew him considered him to be one of the most diligent, hard working people they had ever known.  The Diocese constantly sought to parade him at social gatherings and dinners for the purpose of raising money.  Donations to the center increased two hundred percent after Father Flannery took over.  People didn’t mind contributing to an effort to get the bums working, and believed in the priest’s work because of the example he led.
    In July of 2005, Father Flannery returned to his living quarters in the clergy apartments behind St. Christopher’s at the end of a long day.  The apartment contained nothing but a bed, a chair, a table, a bathroom and a small kitchenette.  Father Flannery didn’t even have a television set, as he believed television ruined good minds.  There was a picture of the Holy Mother in a garden on one wall, and a crucifix above the bed.  An apartment could not get much more ascetic.
     Closing the door of the apartment behind him, Father Flannery crossed to the bed and kneeled down to say his nighttime prayers.  The priest was so preoccupied he didn’t notice the man standing in the bathroom doorway.  The man was white, and looked completely normal.  The man appeared to be middle aged.  He was wearing an LSU shirt and a pair of blue jeans.  He watched father Flannery pray for a minute.  When the pries raised his hands to the sky, the man spoke up.
     “You probably don’t know the greater significance of raising your arms to the sky, but not many people do.  It’s an ancient gesture used in the opening of dimensional portals.  Only God knows who incorporated the move into Christian worship.  It actually predates Christianity by about 200,000 years,” the man in the doorway said in an informative tone.
     Father Flannery gasped and leapt to his feet.  He shouted at the stranger, “Who are you, and how did you get in here?”
     “You spend your entire life in worship to our lord, yet when one of his messengers comes you do not know him.  Fear not, Michael Brennan Flannery, for you and I are of the same beliefs.  My name is Peter, and I arrived by a means of travel you would not understand.”
     “Listen, sir.  If you leave now I’ll forget all about this.  I won’t call the police.  If you give me any problem, however, you will find yourself in a world of trouble,” Father Flannery warned him.
     “They told me that things had changed here on Earth.  I found it hard to believe that a priest wouldn’t recognize an angel, and quite a famous angel at that.  Things really have changed, more than I ever thought possible,” Peter observed with sadness.
     “Look, son, we’ll get you some professional help,” Father Flannery said gently.    
     The priest stepped over to Peter to escort him out.  Peter held out his hand to Father Flannery, as if to be led away.  When the priest took Peter’s hand the air in the room became charged with positive ions, and time slowed to a standstill.  Something passed from Peter’s hand into Michael’s, though it wasn’t something that could be seen with the eyes.  Father Flannery staggered back a few steps with shock in his eyes, and then he fell down on his knees before Peter and humbled himself.
     “Oh, forgive me.  There was no way I could know you were telling the truth.  I’ve always been told that angels don’t visit the land of humans anymore. You must know that I have done my best to live by the laws that God set down, and after all these years to treat an agent of the Lord so rudely… How can I atone for my carelessness?”
     “Relax, Michael.  I’m not upset.  It has been over a hundred years since the last angel visited the earth, and I don’t think too many people heard about that.  There was no way for you to know.  I tell you what.  If you make me some coffee, then we’ll forget about how you thought I was a crazy homeless person.”
     “Coffee?  Coffee?”
     “Yes, Michael.  Coffee.  People do still grow coffee, I assume.  I mean it hasn’t been that long.”
     “Yes, certainly.  I’m just caught off guard by this whole thing.  An angel has come to visit me, and he wants coffee.  I’ll get right on it,” said Father Flannery.  He rose and stepped over to the kitchenette to boil some water.  He thanked his lucky stars that he still drank coffee, even though he felt guilty about it sometimes.
     Peter sat down in the room’s only chair.  He looked admiringly at the priest.  Peter knew everything about Michael Flannery.  Few men displayed the uncorrupted piety of Father Flannery.  Peter figured that was why God chose the man.  Peter mused at how fortunate it was that the Irish priest happened to be a resident of Baton Rouge, but then he thought about Yahweh.  Yahweh never left anything to chance.
     Peter didn’t say anything while Michael prepared the coffee.  When the brew was ready, Father Flannery asked, “Do you take sugar, Peter?”
     “No, thank you.  Just give it to me black,” the angel replied cheerfully.  Michael handed him the cup of coffee, and Peter took a little sip.  “My goodness.  That’s even better than I remember it.  Of course it’s been two hundred years since I had any.”
     Father Flannery stood with his hands clasped in front of him, waiting for the angel to speak.  The silence may have seemed awkward among normal human beings, but Peter’s presence filled the room with a great and tangible tranquillity.  Michael Flannery had never before felt so at peace.
     After a few enjoyable sips, Peter set the cup down on the table and turned to the task of telling the priest his life on earth was over.  Peter cringed from the task at hand, but he knew that it had to be done.  God had willed it.
     “Michael, I know how faithful you have been.  You’re the most devout man in the state of Louisiana, not that that means too much,” Peter laughed silently at his own joke and continued, “and that’s what makes this so hard.  God has chosen you for a terrible and difficult assignment.  If you accept God’s charge, then you will never see this place again.  You will die in the commission of your duty, but you will earn greater rewards in heaven than you could ever imagine.”
      “What sort of assignment?”
     “God wants you to go to a terrible place, a place filled with death and evil.  You should know that even though God has chosen you, it is still your decision.  Do you accept the burden of doing God’s will?”
     “Of course,” Father Flannery, and even though he spoke to an angel a touch if indignation crept into his voice.
     “That was only a formality.  God made the rules; I just follow them.  You might want to make yourself comfortable.  This could take a while,” Peter mentioned while he picked up the coffee cup and took another sip.  Father Flannery sat down anxiously on the edge of the bed.
     “I can’t follow you where you are going, so I have to give you all the details before I send you on your way.  Some of the things I am about to tell you may seem far-fetched, but every word is true.  You have seen my true identity.  You know that I could not deceive you.
     “Every god that ever lived still lives.  All of the old gods combined don’t come close to having the kind of power Yahweh holds, but they still live.  Yahweh assumed control over the heavens and the earth, but the old gods could not be destroyed.   The old gods still live, and they pass their time with hundreds of demons and devils.  Their favorite hobby is to pit humans against each other, and watch the outcome from the safety of the astral plane.
     “God won’t let immortals interfere directly in human affairs here on Earth.  God placed extreme limitations on their power in this dimension.  Notice I said dimension.  This entire business is about another dimension.  God gave the old gods a playground, but it’s a little bigger than the playgrounds you’re familiar with.  He gave them an entire dimension.  The residents call it Discordia, others call it the warfare dimension.  A few people call it the hell dimension, because life is harsh there, and ghastly things take place.  Are you with me so far?”
     “I think so.  You say the old gods are still alive, and in league with demons and devils.  They have their own dimension, called Discordia,” Michael summed up for him.
     “That’s close, but the old gods and devils aren’t in league with each other; they just hang out together.  And Discordia doesn’t belong to the immortals.  They use Discordia for their entertainment, but they don’t own it or control it.  All the gods and devils have certain powers and influence.  They aren’t allowed to initiate contact with people, but that rule is sort of a joke, since huge numbers of people contact the immortals, gods and devils, on a daily basis.  The immortals influence the people of Discordia through those communications.”
     “That must be horrible.  You said that some people call it the warfare dimension and others call it the hell dimension. Why is that?” asked the priest.
     “A few people call it the hell dimension for a number of reasons.  Life cannot be conceived there.  There are women in Discordia, but they can’t get pregnant.  God made it that way.  It would have been unfair to the innocents to open their eyes in such a place. 
     “Also, a lot of people feel abandoned by God there.  Most of the people who go there have evil in their hearts.  The good people, and the people who turn to goodness once they are there, are constantly reminded of the evil in that place.  With so much darkness around them, some people liken it to hell.  It isn’t hell, though.  Not by a long shot.
     “Another thing about Discordia is that no one ages there.  There are no deaths from natural causes.  That may sound fantastic, unless you have seen the gruesome ways people die there.  Death by violence is the one and only cause of death.  That’s the main reason the place is usually called the warfare dimension.  Constant, savage combat perpetually takes place there, and gods and devils wager on the action.”
     “Are there a lot of people in Discordia, Peter?”
     “There aren’t nearly as many people on Discordia as on Earth, Michael, but there are still millions of people there.”
     “If people are still alive there, then it’s not part of an afterlife.  How do all the people get there?” Michael asked with keen insight.
     “I warned you this would be complicated.  Not everybody on Discordia is still alive, at least not in the way you think of life.  The vast majority of people there actually died on Earth, but they still have living bodies when they are transported to the warfare dimension.  Those people usually died during the commission of acts of extreme violence.  They are visited by a vision that offers them one last chance on Discordia.  They don’t stand any chance of returning to Earth, but they still have a chance to change the fate of their eternal soul.
     “The opportunity isn’t offered to everyone, or Discordia would be more populated than Earth.  That chance is only given to people who straddle the line between good and evil.  God thinks the call is too close to make, so He gives them one more life.  It’s not the same as a life on Earth, with good reason.  Most of them blow their final opportunity and turn evil.  So in some ways Discordia is like a pit stop on the way to hell.
     “A very small number of people go to Discordia at the behest of Yahweh.  Now and then through the millennia, God calls upon a brave soul to act as a missionary to the violent dimension.  He only does that in exceptional circumstances, when the fate of large numbers of souls hangs in the balance.  That is why He asked you, Michael.  Your assistance there could determine the fate of the entire dimension. 
     “A tiny number of people discover the scientific method for dimensional travel.  The easiest way to get there is by magic, but the place exists in scientific and mathematical reality.  The dimensional gap can be bridged through scientific research.  A number of gifted minds discovered the way, but only a couple of them actually crossed over.  Once on the other side they were trapped.  Only one of them ever survived long enough to find a way back, but by the time he could return he didn’t want to.  He had succumbed to the temptations of evil.
     “A good number of people accidentally open the dimensional portal while hallucinating, through the use of mind altering chemicals such as LSD and mescaline.  There are people walking around in Discordia who still think they are having a bad trip.  Those people, if they ever recover their sanity, generally seek out the forces of goodness and law.  Drug use doesn’t make someone evil, just stupid.
     “There are people who arrived in Discordia involuntarily.  It’s a terrible truth that demon and devil worshippers exist on Earth, and sometimes they offer living sacrifices to evil.  In such cases the victim usually winds up in Discordia, because demons and devils can’t take someone directly to hell against their will.  Those evil entities delight in the pain and misery of innocent victims, though, and so deliver them into the hands of brutal, sadistic people on Discordia.  Most of those victims taken against their will die in captivity.
     “Some idiots wind up there through agreements with gods or devils, though those people usually don’t know the nature of the place they will arrive in.  The number of people who contact old gods and devils always amazes me.  Once they have contacted a deity or a devil, the door is wide open to trickery.  God allows the old gods and devils to send humans to Discordia.  God figures the people who get tricked into it deserve it, for their stupidity.  He sacrificed His only son, and they make deals with goats.  That’s not respectful.
     “There are major differences between the hell dimension and Hell proper.  Discordia is like Disneyland compared to Hell.  Nobody leaves Hell, ever, but people sometimes make it out of Discordia.  The hell dimension reminds me of a bad housing project, except there aren’t any babies in Discordia,” Peter chuckled, but Michael must not have caught the humor.  Michael looked gravely serious.
     “How do people make it out of Discordia?” asked Michael.
     “Lots of good people wind up there.  Good people make mistakes, just like evil people do.  Yahweh loves His children.  He always seems to give them a second chance, even if they don’t deserve it.  Some people achieve redemption there.  They either return here or go directly to heaven, depending on their circumstances.”
     “There are people here on earth who have been to Discordia?  Why hasn’t anything ever been said on the subject?”
     “Their memories are erased, Michael.  The hell dimension does things to a person’s mind.  Nobody could return from there and retain sanity, unless their memories were erased.  If they achieve redemption, which is not easy, then they deserve peace of mind.  I might as well tell you, you won’t remember most of this conversation, only the pertinent facts.  There’s no reason to shake your sanity with such disturbing details.  The knowledge of Discordia’s existence alone would rock the foundations of all modern religions.  I don’t think you need to know everything,” Peter told him kindly.
     “I’m afraid I was daydreaming.  What were we talking about.  I almost feel as though something has slipped my mind.  Do you mind if I get a cup of coffee?” Michael asked, totally unaware that the angel had just altered his memories.
     “It’s your coffee, Michael.  There’s no need to ask me if you can have some.  And you haven’t lost your mind.  You’re experiencing the kind of thing Job went through, and that can test anyone’s faith, in their own sanity or even in God.”
     “My faith remains strong, but your story sounds like something out of a cheap novel,” Father Flannery observed suspiciously.  He looked all around the room, as if he expected to spot a hidden camera.  He didn’t see anything.  He arched his eyebrows at the angel, and squinted his eyes.  Nothing happened.  He poured his cup of coffee and returned to his seat on the bed.
     “Where was I?  Now a lot of people in Discordia either fail to achieve redemption, or don’t bother to try.  God judges the unredeemed on a case by case basis when they die, in another display of His love.  Some good souls are saved from damnation that way, but most of the unredeemed souls do go to Hell.
     “There is one group of people in Discordia I forgot to mention.  Since nobody dies of natural causes there, it’s technically possible to live forever.  There are people in Discordia who have survived thousands of years  (time moves faster there than it does here, but that’s not the point).  Can you imagine surviving thousands of years of warfare?  There are people in Discordia who have done just that.  Their level of combat skill must be phenomenal.  I have heard tales about the warlords of Discordia, though I have never seen one.  You’ll need to avoid those people at all costs.
     “I’m afraid I haven’t given you all the bad news yet, Michael.  Magic exists in Discordia.  Anybody can use magic there, although it takes decades to know how to use it properly.  The odds are stacked against newcomers in Discordia.  Newcomers have to face magic, but they can’t use it themselves.  Like most things in Discordia, it’s just not fair,” Peter finished his coffee and put the cup back on the table.  He looked at Father Flannery sympathetically.
     “I think I already know more about the place than I want to.  Provided I’m not hallucinating this and I’m on my way to Discordia, what does God expect me to do when I get there?”  Michael’s hands were shaking, and he set his cup of coffee down.  Most of it remained in the cup.
     “As I’ve said, the old gods and devils wager on the outcome of events in Discordia.  They call these events ‘games.’  The stage is set for the largest game to take place in Discordia in hundreds of years.  A huge crowd of gods and devils has assembled to witness the action.  They have pitted one young man against the warmongers of an entire dimension.  He faces incredible adversity.  He needs all the help he can get, and God has chosen you to be the young man’s spiritual advisor,” Peter told him matter-of-factly.
     “According to everything I have heard, one young man doesn’t stand a chance.  Why has this ‘game’ drawn the attention of so many gods and devils?”  Michael asked.  The sound of his question struck him as strange.  He cleared his throat a number of times after asking it.
     “The young man’s name is Louis.  He doesn’t know it, but magic runs in his blood.  If he can survive long enough to unlock the potential inside him, then nobody on the planet will be a match for him.  Also, the gods have enlisted the services of one of the most lethal men in Discordia to assist him, a contract killer named Jesus Mendoza.  Should Louis survive, and the odds are about even, then he faces a greater danger.  Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.  Louis contains more power inside him than the strongest warlord of Discordia does.  The challenge will be to prevent him from becoming evil.  That’s where you come in,” Peter punctuated his statement by clasping his hands in front of him, as if in prayer.
     “Did this young man, Louis, ask to go to the hell dimension?”
     “Absolutely not.  The old gods and the devils set him up at every turn.  The old gods arranged to have his parents murdered.  The devils whispered in the ears of all Louis’ friends and acquaintances.  Louis made some terrible decisions, but he suffered a lot of indirect coaxing from the forces of evil.  He finally killed himself, on schedule and according to evil’s plan. 
     “I find it difficult to explain to you how these things work, but all of the gods, Yahweh included, have known how the situation would play out for hundreds of years.  Evil won a great victory when Louis succumbed to drug addiction, but God wouldn’t let it end that way.  He decided to give Louis a chance in Discordia.  Instead of dying, Louis crossed through a dimensional portal.  The game is set to begin.
     “Actually, I’ve been telling you this story all wrong.  From my perspective, all of those things have already taken place.  Here in your time, though, Louis hasn’t crossed over into Discordia yet.  We decided to send you through in advance of his arrival, to welcome him,” Peter revealed with a flourish, as if everything would make sense to the priest after that last statement.
     “For heaven’s sake, why don’t you just let me go save his life right now then?”
     “Time travel was never my field of expertise.  I can tell you that had Louis not already injected a lethal quantity of heroin, then you and I would not be talking.  There is no changing it.”
     “My head hurts.  God decided to send me to a savage dimension to help a junkie, a magical junkie.  I’m supposed to keep him on the straight and narrow while he finds himself.  Everybody in Discordia will be out to kill us, but we’ll be protected by a very skilled murderer.  Is there anything else?”
     “Oh, the murderer has a prostitute with him named Lena.  Look on the bright side, Padre.  Your salvation has already been guaranteed.  The evil people of Discordia could torture you and kill you a thousand times, and you would still go to heaven,” said Peter with a great big smile.   Michael put his face in his hands.
     “How will I find Louis?  Will I need to take anything with me?  Why me?”   Stress oozed from Father Flannery’s voice.  He liked the plan less and less.
     “Louis’ will be sent to you.  You won’t need to take anything with you.  I told you that there are good people in Discordia.  Some of them will help you when you cross over.  As for your last question, God chose you because you are the right person for the job.  Now, are you ready?”
     “I can’t say that I am, but I gave my word.  The sooner you send me to Discordia the better,” Michael said with resignation.
     Peter stood up and lifted his arms to the heavens.  A big glowing circle appeared large enough for a man to pass through appeared in the air before him.  Peter turned to Michael proudly, but Michael looked more frightened than impressed.
     “Just so you know, opening that portal usually takes a lot longer, and involves a lot more concentration.  God gave angels special power over dimensional travel, because we’re always coming and going from heaven.  I can open and close the portal effortlessly,” Peter remarked triumphantly.  Michael didn’t seem to hear him, and Peter’s pride was slightly injured.
     The Irishman walked over to the portal and stepped through.  He felt slightly nauseous when he came out the other side, but not terribly so.  He looked around him, and instantly recognized the location.  He crossed over to Discordia exactly on the spot where Huey P. Long erected the State Capital, but the skyscraper wasn’t there.  In its place a concrete fortress the size of a large high school rose five stories from the ground.  The walls of the fortress intersected at irregular angles, and Michael wondered what it looked like from the air.  A twenty-foot high stone wall surrounded the fort.  Michael made a mental note to investigate Discordia’s construction industry.
     A number of men manning the top of the wall called down to him.  Michael waved back at them.  He noticed they directed him to a large gate, and he set off to enter the fortress.  He looked up at the sky, and noticed the sun looked slightly more orange than it did at home, though how he could tell was beyond him.
     Before he passed through the gate he turned his attention to what vegetation he could make out.  Everything looked the same.  The landscape was just as lush as the Louisiana he knew.  The priest expected the environment to look alien, but it did not.  He loved plants and trees.  At times when he felt whimsical he prayed for the plants in the cathedral courtyard.  He wondered if the plants of Discordia had committed sins to be there, and the thought made him chuckle.  It was silly to think such things.
     As soon as Michael passed through the gate in the wall, a man ran up to meet him.  The man was armed with a holstered pistol on one side of his belt and a sword in a scabbard on the other side.  The man saluted and said, “You must be the Holy Father.  Welcome to Discordia, sir.  The High Priest of the Order told us you were coming.  Please follow me.”
      The man conducted Michael through a grassy area inside the wall.  Michael had faith in God and the angel Peter, so he humbly allowed himself to be led.  The sights inside the stockade made Michael sad for humanity.  Men and women trained in all aspects of combat, and with a variety of weapons, in every visible corner.  They stabbed, speared and slashed dummies mounted on poles.  A few practiced their aim with guns, shooting into a backboard that allowed them to recover the lead.  There was even martial arts training beside the massive iron front door of the fortress.  Father Flannery had seen all of the evidence he needed to see.  He really had entered a world of savage warfare.

Chapter Four:

Rosie Takes a Ride

     Deep beneath a fortified estate in North Baton Rouge a woman screamed for mercy to no avail.  The stronghold boasted a fully equipped dungeon, and the lord of the manor enjoyed putting his facilities to good use.  Soundproofing lined the walls of the dungeon, not that anyone could have heard the woman thirty feet underground.  The owner simply thought it made the place cozier to muffle all the sound that originated there.
     The screams emanated from a naked woman who hung upside down in the center of the room.  She hung from leather straps around her ankles, and her arms were bound behind her.  The owner of the house, an enormous man clad in leather armor, thrashed her slowly but steadily with a long, thin bamboo cane.  Welts covered her backside from her thighs to her neck, evidence that the brute had been at work on her for a while.  The man hummed cheerfully while his victim begged for leniency.
     The man decided to step up the intensity of his attack.  He made his way over to the flogging instruments hanging from one wall, and ran his hands lovingly over the items in the collection.  The woman moaned loudly as the man selected a nasty bullwhip.  He took his place behind her and off to one side, excited by the suffering he was about to inflict.  Just as he pulled back his arm to deliver the first stroke, one of his minions ran breathlessly down the stairs.
     “Lord Viper, there’s trouble on the grounds,” the minion spat out between breaths.  The man looked as pale as the moon, and the color of his skin contrasted sharply with the black leather he wore.  The simple leather armor also appeared to be several sizes too big for the minion.  He looked almost like a misshapen human turtle.
     “I told you never to disturb me while I was relaxing,” the giant man called Lord Viper roared at his minion.  “Deal with the problem, Cecil, and don’t bother me again.”
     “I’m sorry, Lord Viper, but I think it may be a warlord.  He’s killing everyone.  We need your help, or we’ll lose control of the estate,” whined Cecil, the turtle man.
     Lord Viper cursed and threw the bullwhip to the floor.  He stepped close to the woman, grabbed her by the hair and pulled her face close to his.  With a menacing growl he threatened, “Don’t think this is over, bitch.  I’ll be right back.”
She swung back and forth from the overhead chains when he released her, and passed out from relief after he stormed up the stairs.
     The chaos beyond the door at the top of the stairs reminded Lord Viper that he needed to find better lackeys.  Shouting reached his ears from every direction, but no sounds of battle.  He calmly took the key to his gun closet out of his pocket and strode across the living room to a locked steel door.  He unlocked the door and threw it open.  The arsenal inside never failed to fill him with pride.  Not many men in Discordia could claim to own such firepower.
     “Twenty full-time henchmen, and I still have to do my own dirty work,” thought Lord Viper angrily.
     Viper could tell from what he was hearing that there was no full-scale attack on the house.  He promised himself a full day torturing his minions.  It would almost make up for being interrupted with a beautiful lady.
     He took a fully loaded M16 from its place on a shelf, and threw an ammo belt over his shoulder.  Lord Viper figured ten clips would be enough to deal with the problem.  He closed the gun closet and locked it behind him.  He never left the door to his guns unlocked.
     The shouting diminished significantly before Lord Viper came out of the closet with the M16.  The relative quiet concerned the big man.  Disturbances didn’t suddenly go quiet.  It was contrary to the nature of a disturbance.  Lord Viper slowly made his way to the front door while he pondered his perceptions.
     Before Viper made it into the foyer, the scrawny man called Cecil staggered into the living room with blood streaming down his right arm.  Cecil took one look at Lord Viper and collapsed with a strangled gasp.  Cecil’s limbs twitched wildly, and his eyes registered absolute horror.  Lord Viper hated watching the souls of the damned depart their bodies.  It was obvious they got a good look at where they were going, even before their body died completely.
     The big man knew now that the threat was real.  He chambered the rifle and held it at ready as he rounded the corner into the foyer.  Six bodies clogged the main entrance to the house.  Lord Viper cursed.  He couldn’t jump over the bodies, and he would be a perfect target trying to walk over them without losing his balance.  He turned to make his way to the back door, and stared directly into the barrel of a .45 caliber Colt with a silencer fitted on the end.
     “Hi.  My name’s Jesus.  Who might you be?” asked the handsome Hispanic man holding the pistol.
     Lord Viper bellowed, and attempted to bring the barrel of the M16 back into play.  The last thing he ever regretted was dropping his guard as he turned around.  Jesus put a bullet through Viper’s left eye, which left a nasty hole in the back of the man’s head on its way out.
     “I didn’t want to know your name anyway, ugly,” Jesus admitted to the oversized corpse as it fell to the ground. 
     Jesus took one look at the M16 and whistled softly.  The assassin picked up the rifle and the ammo belt, and slung both of them over his shoulder.  He stood motionless for a moment, listening for any sign of life in the house.  Satisfied that nobody remained alive, he vaulted over the bodies inside the front door and waved his arms over his head.
     The sight of Lena making her way out of the undergrowth at the edge of the property relieved some of Jesus’ worries.  He took heart in her ability to follow his instructions.  He hated the idea of leaving her behind because she wouldn’t listen.  He had worried about it ever since they crossed dimensions.  The things Lena said while they were alone caused Jesus to doubt her sanity, and Jesus never wanted to hear about tampons again.
     Lena ran up to him very quickly.  Jesus was impressed by her athleticism, and made a mental note to ask her about it when they reached safer territory.  For a second he worried the sight of the corpses would cause her distress.  She looked at all of the bodies, and then looked at him.  Lena remained as cool as a cucumber.  That didn’t escape Jesus’ attention either.
     “You think they have anything to eat inside, big daddy?” Lena asked him anxiously.
     “I’m sure they do.  There may be a weapons cache as well.  Let’s take a look around,” Jesus responded in a very businesslike tone.
     As Lena climbed over the bodies at the front door she said, “I hope they have peanut butter and jelly.  It’s my favorite.”
     Immediately following their dimensional crossing, Jesus and Lena jogged quietly down the road called Choctaw.  They made it about a half-mile before Jesus sensed a patrol.  In the two thousand years he lived in Discordia he picked up a lot of magic.  He never wanted to rule the world, so he developed his magic to aid him in self-defense, evasion and covert tactics.  He always kept his senses supernaturally acute when he ventured into hostile territory.  Jesus had an advantage over most people, because he enhanced his abilities by dealing with a devil.
     Discordia was always dangerous, but the danger increased exponentially in proximity to new arrivals.  The options available to Jesus and the new girl following him were extremely limited.  Sensing the patrol, he immediately turned around to find another route.  That was when he sensed that another patrol had sealed off their avenue of escape.  He looked on either side of the road, and saw that there was no place to hide.  Jesus hated to do it, but he knew that he had to resort to the nuclear option.  “Kill them all.  Let God sort them out.”
     Jesus finished off the last man of the foot patrols just as someone from the nearby house noticed Lena.  Jesus cursed, knowing that if word spread they were done for.  He threw Lena over his shoulder and power vaulted over a ten-foot wall.  There was a bank of low shrubs on the other side.  He admonished her not to come out until he gave her the okay, and then he sprinted into the night.
     The man who spotted Lena raised quite a fuss, right up to the moment when Jesus plunged a razor sharp knife into his neck.  After that Jesus made himself invisible, which took a terrible toll on his magical energy, and proceeded to kill every person on the property. 
     Jesus could tell by the way his victims died that they belonged to evil, so he didn’t feel the least bit bad about it.  The only thing that bothered him was his heavy consumption of magic.  It took a lot of time to replenish magical energy, but he knew their situation warranted the use.  He prayed he wouldn’t need magic again before he could rest.
     A triumphant yell from inside the house brought Jesus back to the present, and indicated that Lena had discovered food.  Jesus was barely through the front door.  His opinion of his companion went up by the minute.  She either had good instincts or a nose like a bloodhound.  Jesus made eating his highest priority.  He hadn’t eaten since long before his mark on earth tried to run him down in a Monte Carlo.  That seemed like an eternity ago, and the thought of a sandwich made his stomach growl.
     Even without his sense of hearing turned up, Jesus could hear Lena banging around.  He followed the noise, and it led him into a genuinely well stocked kitchen.  Lena had thrown open most of the cupboards, and Jesus heart quickened in his chest at what he saw.  He felt pure delight to see caviar, champagne, smoked oysters and pickled eggs.  It was a cornucopia of sinful goodies.
     Jesus hated to spoil the fun, but he knew what it meant to find such spoils.  “We can’t stay here long,” he told Lena.  “Whoever this guy was, he was well connected.  A lot of that stuff came directly from earth, and only heavy hitters here have access to earth items.  That means he’ll be missed before too long.  We need to be far away from here when that happens.”
     Lena had a mouth full of Brie cheese and wheat crackers.  She grunted assent in his general direction.  Jesus wasted no time diving into the cheese and crackers himself.  After that he wolfed down a half pound of turkey breast.  He stuffed a number of the small tins of goodies into his combat fatigues, and then set off to conduct a quick search of the house.  Lena was on her fourth peanut butter and jelly sandwich when he left.  Dimensional travel made people hungry.
     The locked metal door in the living room caught his attention immediately.  He tried unsuccessfully to force it open.  He could have pulled off the attempt before he used up all his magic, but his natural physical strength wasn’t enough.  On a hunch he walked over to the corpse of the big ugly guy who had the M16.  A quick search of the body produced a set of keys.  Jesus felt like an early archaeologist as he found the right key and opened the door. 
     The contents of the closet almost made him climax in his pants.  Reality settled him down a little bit, though.  Almost every gun he ever wanted was in the closet, but there was no way he could carry everything.  He picked up a case labeled “Rockets” and opened it.  Sure enough, it contained rockets.  He spotted the launcher in a corner.  Jesus almost cried when he returned the rockets to the floor.  It felt like putting down a very needy baby.  He could hear it calling out to him as he closed and locked the closet behind him.
     Jesus decided it was worth taking extra time to search the rest of the house.  If what he had found so far was any indication, there could be incredibly valuable things hidden inside.  The stairs behind a door on the other side of the living room looked like a good place to start.  Just as he descended the first step, Lena turned the corner from the kitchen.  She crossed the room and followed him down the stairs, contented by a full stomach.
     The stairs ended in a sharp turn thirty feet down.  Jesus stopped so suddenly Lena smashed into his back.  He went sprawling into the room.  That gave Lena her first glimpse of the upside down naked woman.  The woman was beautiful, even in the terrible physical state they found her in. She wasn’t any more than five foot six.  She had a flat stomach and small, perky breasts.  Her long, curly black hair dragged the ground.  Torture and abuse had taken a heavy toll on the woman.  She was unconscious, and drool dripped from the corner of her mouth.
     Jesus set the M16 down carefully, picked himself up off of the floor and dusted himself off.  He winced at the condition of the woman, and set about lowering her to the floor.  She woke up in a panic, and made a sound similar to a kicked dog.  When she saw Lena and felt herself being lowered to the floor, she started whimpering.  Lena helped set her free while Jesus searched the room for clothing.
     “Where’s Lord Viper?  He’ll take this out on me,” the woman said in a panic stricken tone.  She cast her eyes at the stairs.
     “Is that what that guy called himself?  That guy was a joke,” Jesus said vaingloriously.  He found some rags that resembled a dress, and threw them at the woman.
     “You ain’t gotta worry about nobody hurtin’ you anymore.  They’re all dead,” Lena informed her summarily.
     “I hope that God will forgive me.  I know I was always a materialistic girl, but I grew up poor.  And I was really lonely,” the woman lamented, “I never wanted to go to hell.”
     “You ain’t in hell, lady.  You’re alive,” Lena gave her the good news with a pat on the back.  “Besides, we’ve all done things we regret.” 
     Lena helped her pull the rags over her head.  The woman regained a little composure after she covered her nakedness.  Jesus shook his head in frustration.  He wished he had not decided to search the house.
     “Who are you people?  Am I really free?” the woman asked.  She rose unsteadily to her feet, obviously afraid to remain where she was.
     “I’m Lena, and the guy who never talks is named Jesus.  I don’t know exactly where we are, because Jesus hasn’t told me yet, but you’re as free as we are,” Lena told her soothingly.
     “What’s your name?” Jesus asked her bluntly.
     “My name is Rosie,” she answered, “and words can not express how happy I am to see you. Being chained up and whipped seemed a lot sexier when I fantasized about it in college.  It wasn’t sexy at all.”
     “Let me give you the bad news, Rosie.  You can’t come with us,” Jesus said in a firm tone.  “I have to move fast, and you would be too much dead weight.  Lena here can keep up with me, but you don’t appear to be in any condition to run.  I’m surprised you can even stand up.  I’m very sorry.  That’s just the way it is.”
    Lena gave him a look of pure hatred.  She muttered, “You ain’t no different than all the rest of ‘em.”
     Rosie appeared not to have heard any bad news.  Instead she spoke up optimistically, “So the reason I can’t go with you is because I can’t run?”
     Jesus hung his head shamefully and responded, “Yes.  I am sorry.  Believe me.”
     “What if we left here in a car?  If everyone here is dead, then they don’t need one anymore,” Rosie offered.
     “There’s a car in this compound?”  Jesus eyes lit up triumphantly.  His life may have gotten a whole lot easier.
     “There certainly was.  Before they brought me down to the basement I could hear them coming and going in it.  It’s probably here right now, but I can’t be sure,” Rosie told him.
      “If there is a car here, then I’d say that not only can you come with us, you can ride in the front seat,” Jesus bubbled joyfully, and did a little dance.  His celebration was short lived.
     “She gets to ride in the front seat?  She gets to ride in the front seat?  I see how it is.  I guess she’s more your type,” Lena said acidly and tromped back up the stairs. 
     Jesus made a mental note to sleep lightly around Lena.  Rosie paid no attention to the tirade.  She was focused on making her legs work long enough to climb the stairs.  Jesus became impatient.  He slung the M16 over one shoulder, threw Rosie over his other shoulder and took the stairs two at a time.
     Lena found the garage quickly.  If jealousy still lurked inside of her, she had hidden it well before Jesus and Rosie caught up.  She stood in the middle of the garage beside a big, beautiful 1964 Chevrolet Impala.  It was metallic black with a custom paint job that depicted tortured souls on the hood, and skulls and flames down the sides.
     “It’s not a car.  It’s a tank,” Lena said as she peered through the windows.
     Jesus responded, “Yeah.  Isn’t it glorious.” 
     Jesus put Rosie down, and pulled Lord Viper’s keys out of his pocket.  There was indeed a set of car keys on the chain that he had not noticed.  Again he wondered who Lord Viper was.  Motorcycles were common on Discordia.  Beat up battle vehicles, such as trucks and Jeeps, were also easy to find.  Not too many people had mint condition low riders, though.
     Jesus opened the car for the women and deposited the M16 and ammo belt inside.  “Wait here for me.  I’ll be back,” he told them before rushing back into the house.
     “I honestly hate those two phrases now,” Rosie stated without thinking.  Her face turned a deep shade of red when the implications of her statement registered.
     “If you steal Jesus away from me, I will kill you,” Lena said sweetly from the back seat.  Lena hadn’t paid attention to what Rosie said.  She was still upset about riding in the back seat, which was a big deal to her.  Neither one of them spoke for a while after that.
     Jesus returned to the car carrying the rocket launcher over one shoulder and a crate of rockets over the other.  He went to the rear of the car, and by some superhuman feat put the items in the trunk without setting them down.  He sprinted back into the house.
     “I would never do that Lena.  I’m not that kind of girl,” Rosie, with pouted lips, finally responded to Lena’s jab.  She looked luscious when she poked out her lower lip.  Lena noticed.
     “You just remember what I said, Rosie.”
    The second time Jesus came out of the house he carried four cases of ammo in his arms.  He chose to evacuate the premises rather than go back inside again, however.  He knew that every second they stayed there brought them closer to danger.  He jumped into the driver’s seat and started the car.
     The compact disc player worked.  A couple of seconds after the car started the music loaded up, and death metal churned out of the speakers.  Nobody in the car liked it.  Rosie looked in the glove box for another CD, and a hand grenade rolled out.  There was a moment of panic in the vehicle, until Jesus determined that the pin was intact.
     “Please don’t do anything like that again, Rosie.  We have more important things to worry about, like making it through ten miles of patrols and checkpoints without getting killed.  The closest friendly stronghold is down by the river.  We have a lot of ground to cover,” Jesus pointed out.
     “Could you please explain a few things to me now, Jesus?  I have been very patient, and I have done everything you told me to,” pleaded Lena.
     “Yes.  You deserve to know what’s going on.  I may have told you sooner, but some of the things I have to say aren’t pleasant,” he explained.  “You nearly died in a car accident back on earth.  Do you remember the car accident?”
    “I remember parts of it.  I remember looking up at the sky from the side of the road, and being in terrible pain.  I remember I couldn’t move my arms or my legs.  The next thing I recall was waking up with you.  I wondered if I finally lost my mind,” Lena confessed with emotion creeping into her voice.
     “The accident happened because of me.  The men who ran into you were chasing me.  I accepted a contract to kill one of them,” Jesus said emotionlessly, “but I underestimated him and he got the drop on me.  The accident would have taken your life.  I couldn’t have that on my conscience.  I have enough on my conscience already.  So I saved your life and brought you back here.”
     “You told me you saved my life.  That was true?”  Lena asked with tears in her eyes.
     “And you’re jealous of me,” thought Rosie.
     “Everything I have told you is true.  Anyway, we’re in a place called Discordia.  Nobody knows who named it that, but it fits.  It’s extremely violent, mostly evil and nearly impossible to escape.  But at least you’re still alive,” Jesus reasoned.
     “I’m not sure if I should appreciate this or hate you for it.  If I was so close to death, then how did you put me back together?”
     “I made a deal with an evil god,” he answered.
     “You made a deal with the devil for me?  What did you expect to get from me?  I mean, I’m not worth your soul Jesus,” Lena spoke to the assassin condescendingly, as if he had made an obvious blunder.
     “The deal wasn’t with ‘the devil’, as you so naively put it,” he read her tone and fed it back to her.  “It was with Pan, but he was acting as agent for the rest of the gods.  I didn’t barter my soul either.  I accepted a mission in exchange for your life.  I hope to find out more details when we get to the fortress by the river.”
     Lena hadn’t recovered her full mental capacities after almost dying in the car crash.  She decided that Jesus had stolen her heart.  She didn’t pay any attention to the tone of his voice.  She felt totally in love with him, and that worried her.  She killed the only other man she ever truly loved.  She said a little prayer that Jesus would treat her well.
     Her prayer wafted up out of the car and reached God's ear in heaven.  He made a note of it.  God was watching Lena closely.  He knew all about her troubles, and the sad way she gave up on living a normal life.  God had sent her some much-needed help, even though she didn’t know it.
     Rosie rode in silence during their exchange.  Finally she spoke up, “I envy you, Lena.  You came here because somebody saved your life.  I came here because my life was traded to a devil.  I didn’t choose this fate, and I succumbed to the despair.  Once I was caught up, I did as I was told and traded my soul away.  You’re lucky, Lena.”
     Rosie thought she explained her situation to her companions.  She was so traumatized by her ordeal that she didn’t realize her explanation was not only vague, it cast her in a bad light.  The response she got made her feel worse about herself.  It would be quite some time before the truth about Rosie came to light.
     “We all have to worry about our souls, Rosie.  Nobody here is without sin.  That’s why I saved Lena.  If she died at that moment, her soul was lost.  We’re all struggling to find our way back into grace, each in our own way,” Jesus responded, totally misunderstanding what Rosie tried to say.
      In the back seat, Lena was oblivious to Rosie’s attempted explanation.  Lena focused only on what Jesus said about her, and she decided he had a big mouth.  She was about to interject a jealous comment when Jesus stopped the car short.
     They traveled at a cautious ten miles an hour.  The slower speed hushed the sound of the tires rolling over the gravel, and prevented dust from rising, which an astute observer could see by moonlight.  Jesus put the car in reverse and backed up.  He turned down a side road they had passed a hundred yards back.
     “There was a checkpoint across the road, but I don’t think they spotted us,” Jesus explained.
     Lena didn’t care about the checkpoint.  She wanted to know more about the man who saved her life.  “Tell me about yourself, Jesus.  Where are you from?”
     He kept his attention on driving, but answered her question, “I’m from Medellin, Colombia.”
     “Wasn’t that city controlled by a cocaine cartel?” Rosie asked him.  She knew that it was, but her interest had been peaked.  She, like Lena, wanted to know more about their male companion.
     Jesus sighed.  It was obvious they weren’t going to let him get away without talking to them.  “I was born in 1968.  I was a member of the Medellin Cartel by birthright.  I became one of their most accomplished assassins by the time I was twenty years old.  In 1990 I employed the services of a Brazilian shaman to mystically enhance my abilities through an ancient ritual.  The ritual summoned a greater devil named Belial.  I arrogantly entered into an agreement with Belial.  I gained all the power I wanted, but despite my clever wrangling I was tricked.  Discordia has been my home for two thousand years as a result.  If I can’t hold up my end of the bargain, then I will go to hell for all eternity.  Will that satisfy your questions for now?”
     His speech effectively shut down the conversation.  The car crept slowly down Gus Young Avenue.  The oppressive silence darkened everyone’s mood.  The reality of their situation settled in. 
     Lena silently vowed to change everything about herself.  She realized intuitively that her survival depended on becoming a better person, in every way possible.  She knew that her sex appeal would no longer be enough to sustain her.  She decided that if they made it to the fortress Jesus mentioned, she would ask him to teach her how to stay alive.
     In the front seat Rosie made a similar promise to herself, but she wasn’t concerned about her physical survival.  She pledged to change herself spiritually. Her life on Earth had centered around finding a wealthy husband, and escaping from the poverty she was born into.  Her search ended in horror and suffering so extreme that she thought she was damned.  She began to pray right there in the car, and resolved to continue praying for the rest of her life.  Rosie hadn’t ironed out the details yet, but she couldn’t think of a better plan at the time.
     Jesus stopped the car again.  There was another checkpoint across the road ahead, and this time there was nowhere for the car to turn.  The assassin weighed his options, but all of their options ran out when a flare went up over the road.  The followers of evil spotted had spotted their car.  Jesus knew there was only one thing to do.  The time for timidity had passed.  He stomped on the gas pedal and barreled down the road, aimed straight at the roadblock.

Chapter Five:

Louis’ Dream

     “The gods told us that you would be coming, Father,” said a man dressed in brightly colored robes.  “Seldom indeed does a true man of God venture through our doors.”
     “I follow the will of the Lord,” Michael intoned piously, “no matter the cost.  I can’t say that I am pleased with the circumstances of my journey, but I will do the best I can.  At the moment I need information more than anything else.  I understand you’re the man to get it from, Uri.”
     Uri wore robes the color of his order: emerald green, turquoise and saffron yellow.  He looked very old, so he was advanced in age before he ever arrived in Discordia.  He clutched a gnarled walking staff in his right hand, and he supported much of his weight with it.  The way Uri wrapped himself around the staff eerily resembled a tree frog on a small branch.
     A large emerald sprouted from the middle of Uri’s forehead.  It adhered there with psychic energy.  It could never be removed as long as he lived.  The emerald distinguished him as the high priest of the Order of True Love.  The stone carried great power inside it, and the power passed freely between Uri and the stone.
     “The things I don’t know remain as countless as the stars, but I will gladly share with you what little I am sure of,” Uri started his oration in a sagacious tone.  “A man named Louis Comeaux will arrive tomorrow.  Ancient evil, gods and devils, victimized him in every way possible, finally contributing to the murder of his parents.  Louis chose to ruin his life, but he had help making the decision.  The evil immortals craved Louis total destruction, but God and the forces of goodness would not allow it.  Louis was too soiled to enter heaven either, so he is on his way here.  He has been directed to find True Love.
     “The ultimate reason all of these things happened remains vague, but through the magic inside me I have seen hints of answers.  Louis is just a young human, but there is something inside him, something ancient.  I have studied True Love’s emanations for four thousand years, and I have a theory about Louis.  If he can recover the stone, then the ancient thing inside him will awaken.  I can feel the presence even now.  Pure magic flows through Louis’ veins.  It could be a force for great good, or a force for great evil,” Uri intoned through his thick, weather toughened lips.
     “I thought that his quest for true love was spiritual.  You mean it’s a stone?” the tall priest asked incredulously.
     “Oh, yes.  Didn’t you know?  It’s a giant emerald.  Its power fuels most of the magic of Discordia,” the old man explained.
     “I’m beginning to have a clearer picture of what all the fuss is about: a being of pure magic wielding the source of all magical power.  We don’t know for certain what lurks inside of Louis.  Evil tried desperately to destroy him.  They must have feared something.”
     “Perhaps it wasn’t fear.  Perhaps the only way evil could be sure of the outcome was to destroy Louis.  Maybe Louis remains alive because God preferred to gamble.  Maybe you are here for a cosmic roll of the dice,” Uri countered cryptically.  The Catholic priest didn’t catch the flash in the old magician’s eyes.
     “If Discordia mirrors Earth, how will Louis find the stone in the vastness of seven continents?” Father Flannery despaired.  He remained fixated on difficulties instead of accepting improbable solutions.
     “I know it’s general location.  Asmodeus has it.  It’s in his palace somewhere,” Uri remarked casually.
     “Asmodeus is a devil.  I thought gods and devils were banned from travel to Discordia,”  Father Flannery groaned.  He floundered in a sea of misgivings.  Everything seemed impossible or contradictory.  Nothing made any sense.
    “In Discordia the rules are: there are no rules.  Every law has its loophole and every house its back door.  The truth you’re told is often a lie, and all lies are weapons.  I know you got your information from an angel, and an angel would not intentionally lie to you.  The sad fact remains that there are things angels aren’t allowed to tell humans.  Knowledge exists out there that was never meant for human minds, and a lot of that knowledge deals with Discordia.  Nobody but God knows all the answers.  Old gods, demons and devils will lie every single time they talk about Discordia, and angels just won’t tell you anything useful.  If you have questions about this dimension, then you just joined the club.  We all have lots of questions, and we’re always short on answers.
     “Believe one thing though, Father Michael.  Asmodeus has True Love.  Louis just has to take it from him,” Uri laughed a deep, hearty laugh.  “I haven’t felt so relieved not to be a part of something in hundreds of years.”
     “Some of your information is very specific, Uri.  Did you learn all these things with the magic of Discordia?”
     “I may have given you the wrong idea.  I used magic to look into Louis after I heard about what was going to happen.  Your angel may have told you that true immortals treat this dimension as a great arena.  This quest that God handed down to Louis was planned out as an entertaining game.  It’s all meant to amuse the immortals.  God loves His children, but for His own mysterious reasons He allows these games to go on.  One of the immortals told me about it, and I investigated the information to the best of my ability.”  Uri bowed his head at the conclusion of that revelation, as if to discourage further questions.  It didn’t work.
     “What immortal told you about it?  Are you free to tell me?”  The priest sought as much understanding as possible.  The more Michael learned, the more he felt he needed to know.
     “I have no need to keep the knowledge a secret.  A god called Ishtar told me about Louis, and the people who will be Louis’ allies.  Ishtar and I have a close relationship.  Ishtar works for the good of humanity on Discordia, and has aided me in the past,” Uri said in an almost defensive tone.  The old man knew that some Christians condemned old gods offhand.
     “I don’t know what to trust in this place.  All I can do is help Louis the best I can.  I have enough information to do that, at least,” the priest shrugged, unable to think of any more questions.
     Father Flannery looked up at the darkening sky and shook his head.  Humanity suffered so much pain.   Sometimes he couldn’t grasp it.  He trusted in God, but the path of the righteous was often a very difficult one.
     “I think you should know at least one more thing.  All of this information was disseminated freely to the powerful magicians of both sides.  Evil will know everything that you and I know.  The devils are immortals, and have access to the same information that the gods of goodness do,” Uri cautioned the priest.
     The two men stood on the roof of the small fortress called the Pentacle.  The fortress housed three hundred troops loyal to the ideals of goodness, and the Order of True Love.  Even though the fortress stood on the edge of enemy territory it was fairly safe, mostly because of the Order.  Every member of the group commanded respect and admiration for the strength of their magic, even from the forces of evil.  The troops were no joke either.  There were two warlords in the Pentacle, and dozens of long timers among the soldiers. 
     Father Flannery was shocked when he found out that the warlord who commanded the troops was a woman named Moira the Red, and that every member of her personal guard was also female.  He later learned that gender meant little on Discordia.  Since women no longer played the role of mothers, many of the dimension’s most ferocious warriors were women. 
     Another curious fact was that women fighting for goodness outnumbered evil women by almost four to one.  One sexist belief about that, held among more simple-minded men, was that evil men killed the women who didn’t please them.   The truth was almost as bad.  Demons and devils considered the sacrifice of females a special treat.  Almost every culture treated the murder of women as particularly heinous, so evil immortals found it delightful.  Women who ran afoul of devil worshippers were captured, and then slowly roasted alive during barbaric celebrations.  When that truth came to light, the rescue of women from the forces of evil became a higher priority than the rescue of men.  The armies of evil usually executed men quickly and mercifully.
     Most of the freed women vowed revenge once they were safe, and a woman scorned could frighten the devil himself.  It was said that the commander of the garrison, Moira the Red, lived through three months of torture when she arrived five hundred years earlier.  Her brutality in combat spawned legends, and frightened even her own people.  She wielded a great morning star called “Nutcracker,” and most men winced when they caught sight of it.
     Father Flannery stared down on the oddly dressed soldiers drilling in the courtyard below him, amazed that there was so much he never knew.  Before the angel Peter showed up in his apartment, Michael would have dismissed the idea of Discordia offhand.  Once he experienced the place he could no longer deny the truth, or plead insanity.  He noticed that some of the soldiers wore football jerseys under their makeshift armor, and others wore Roman style tunics.  The reality of Discordia was crazier than anything he could have dreamed up.
     Michael took comfort in the knowledge that all of the people he could see recognized the error of their ways and rededicated their lives to good. He glanced at the clouds overhead one last time and turned back to Uri, who appeared to have fallen asleep leaning on his staff. 
     “I have only one more question before I retire for some much needed rest.  Where is Asmodeus palace, Uri?”
     “It’s in New Orleans, of course,” Uri answered.
     “Oh.  Of course,” Michael spoke up mechanically.
     The priest felt like a fish out of water in the place.  He was totally ignorant of even basic reference facts.  He didn’t expect the knowledge to come easily.  He sympathized with all the poor souls who wound up there without a clue as to where they were.
     When Michael and Uri finished their conversation, an acolyte of the Order showed Michael to a room and provided him with fresh clothes.  There was a hot shower down the hall, and Michael used it gratefully.  He felt no regret as he laid aside his clergyman’s suit and collar in favor of the loose fitting garments.  He didn’t recognize the origin of the clothes, but he imagined they were African.  It was another mystery he chose to ignore.
     The next day Michael prepared to meet Louis entering into Discordia.  He cleaned himself up and kneeled beside the bed to say his morning prayers.  He prayed for the soul of the young man he was supposed to meet that day.  He also said a prayer for the assassin and the prostitute that were to travel with them.
     After morning prayers Michael made his way to the main dining hall.  The relative emptiness didn’t surprise him too much.  Poor eating habits crossed dimensional barriers effortlessly.  Most of the troops skipped breakfast.  Unbearable curiosity overcame Michael while he ate his toast.  He was dying to find out how anybody managed to grow wheat in Discordia.  He picked up his plate and walked back to the kitchen to ask a cook.
     “If Discordia is so violent, then how do farmers grow crops?”  Michael inquired of a portly man stirring a large iron pot.
     The man gave him an amused look.  “Every now and then someone summons delicacies from Earth, but most of the food comes from alchemy.  It may be hard to turn lead into gold, but it’s easy to turn soil into flour.  Even I can do it.”
     Michael felt foolish.  He knew that it would take time to adjust to a place where magic played so large a part.  He had been taught that magic was of the devil, and now he was eating food that came from magic.  He adjusted his way of thinking somewhat.  It wouldn’t do to believe he was eating bread that was of the devil.  The thought made him chuckle.
     Father Flannery found it strange that few people spoke to him, and others avoided him openly.  The members of the Order of True Love proved the exception to that rule.  As Michael finished his breakfast a female acolyte saw him in the dining room, and glided through the room to his table.  She was dressed much like a nun of Mother Teresa’s order in India, but the color of the acolytes robes were different.
     “Good morning, Holy Father,” the woman said pleasantly.  She was a mature woman, and not unpleasant to gaze upon.
     “I appreciate your respect, but there’s no need to call me Holy Father.  I’m just a man.  Call me Michael.”
     A confused look passed over the woman’s face, but she recovered quickly.  “Very well, Michael.  My name is Cara.  I volunteered to assist you in any way you may require.”
     “It’s nice to meet you, Cara.  Maybe you can tell me why nobody will come near me.  You’re the first person who has spoken to me since I left Uri on the roof, yesterday evening.”
     “They feel guilty in your presence.  Even though you are among good people who are making amends for past transgressions, they all arrived here because of their sins.  You alone are without sin, and your presence makes people feel dirty,” Cara explained.  “Most of them could not look you in the eyes.  It is a terrible thing to find yourself in a place God has abandoned, and most of these people are still dealing with that.”
     “I hadn’t thought about that, but they are wrong in their assumptions.  Though it wasn’t my sins that brought me here, I am no better than they are.  And God may have forsaken this place, but He has not forsaken them.  As long as any person draws breath, there is always hope of returning into God’s good graces,” Michael iterated in an authoritative tone. 
     He could see his destiny looming on the horizon.  If he survived long enough, then there was an entire dimension in need of his guidance.  For a moment he daydreamed about leading the entire dimension to salvation.  The peculiar look on Cara’s face brought him back to reality.
     “Uri told me that we know the exact point at which Louis will pass through the dimensional portal.  It’s almost time for me to go.  Can you show me where it is?” he asked the brightly robed Cara.
     “Of course.  That’s why I am here,” she said simply.
     They set out from the dining hall and through the front door of the Pentacle.  Whenever Michael saw something he didn’t understand, he reminded himself that magic whispered on the wind.  The fortress would have taken at least a year to build on Earth, and would have required the use of heavy equipment.  Michael got the feeling that heavy equipment was a scarcity on Discordia.
     Before they passed through the front gate, Michael turned to Cara and asked her, “Will we be safe where we’re going?”
     “Don’t be afraid,” she reassured him, “the place is not far from the fortress.”
     The walked north across the clearing that surrounded the fortress.  On the far side an ancient remnant of natural levee rose twenty or so feet from the level ground, and twisted off into the distance like a snake.  They walked up the side of the incline, and at the top Cara pointed to an area of trees on the other side that looked eerily like the grounds of the State Capital on Earth.
     Cara read Michael’s mind.  “In some places the dimensions bleed together.  There are clearer examples than this park.  Always remember the location of such anomalies.  Evil loathes the feel of Earth, for God blessed the Earth when He created it.”
     In the distance lay the body of water that was Capitol Lake on Earth, but on Discordia was just overflow from the river.  Cara pointed to a place beside the water.  “In those trees by the bar pit there is a convergence of lay lines.  That’s where Louis will cross into this dimension.  The High Priest told me to watch over you, but you must meet Louis alone.”
     Michael didn’t bother to ask why.  He descended from the top of the natural levee and crossed the park to the trees Cara had pointed out.  He stood around for a few minutes, and then settled down under one of the gargantuan oak trees.  He leaned back against the trunk and closed his eyes, and drifted off into a light sleep.  He was awakened by an unusual sound.
     About fifteen feet away, under the next closest tree, a gaunt skeleton of a young man lay on the ground heaving.  Above him the dimensional portal winked shut with a sucking sound and a loud clap.  Michael stood up and studied the young man.  Louis Comeaux resembled a concentration camp survivor, and Michael immediately had concerns he might be malnourished.  Louis noticed he had company, and Michael could see the fright in his eyes.
     Michael approached him calmly and squatted down next to him.  “You must be Louis.  I’ve been waiting for you.  Let’s get you someplace more comfortable.”
     “This is great.  This is all just great.  So either I’m in a hell dimension now, or I’ve lost my mind completely.  You gotta love the choices,” Louis lamented.  Then he screamed at the top of his lungs.  Michael nearly fell over.
     “Please don’t do that, Louis.  I’m here to help you.  The first thing we need to do is get you back to the fortress, and get you fed and cleaned up.  Can you stand?”
     “Back to the fortress?  How lucky am I?  The place has fortresses,” Louis muttered.  He closed his eyes and rolled over onto his back on the ground.
     “Louis, you need to come with me.  Can you stand?”
     “Fuck you,” Louis said nastily.
     “That isn’t very nice, Louis.  Look, if you won’t stand up, then I’m going to have to carry you.  Do you really want me to carry you?”  Michael asked condescendingly.
     “You just try it.  Put your hands on me and see what happens.”
     Michael found the threat from the skinny young man genuinely amusing.  He grabbed Louis by the armpits, and slung him over one shoulder.  Louis struggled against the giant Irishman, but he didn’t have enough strength to disturb Michael’s grip.  Louis yelled obscenities as the priest set off for the Pentacle.
    “Would you prefer to walk on your own?”  Michael inquired politely after about a hundred yards.
     “Yeah, man.  Put me down.”
     Michael lowered Louis to the ground.  Louis merely smoothed out his shirt and straightened up to accompany him.  Michael had expected him to lash out, but Louis didn’t want any part of the big priest.  When Michael started walking, Louis kept pace beside him.
     “You look familiar.  Who are you?” Louis prompted for information.  He accepted the reality of his situation, and sought to make the best of it.  Louis had seen the priest in front of St. Joseph’s, but would never realize that.
     Michael began his explanation, “My name is Michael Flannery.  I’m a priest.  God sent an angel named Peter to talk to me.  He told me about you.  I entered this dimension to help you, Louis, because God asked me to.”
     “That’s sounds fishy to me.  If God wanted me to have help, then why didn’t He save my life?  For that matter, why did He take my parents away?”
     “God didn’t kill your parents, Louis, people did.  God didn’t get you strung out on drugs, you did.  In fact, He did save your life.  Here you are, alive,” Michael pointed out.
     “Lucky me.”
     They crossed the length of the park and hiked up the low ridge left behind by eons of sediment deposits.  Cara meditated in the lotus position at the top.  She opened her eyes when Michael and Louis approached.  When she saw Louis a look of shock spread over her face.
     “We were told nothing about this.  What happened to you?  Were you held prisoner and starved?”  Cara fretted in utter seriousness.
     “That’s very funny,” Louis answered in embarrassment.  He turned the color of fresh beets.
     “She’s being serious, Louis.  You look terrible,” Michael informed him.  “I think you should give her an explanation.”
     “I’m a heroin addict,” Louis confessed.  “That reminds me.  I’m going to need a fix soon, or else I’m going to be very, very sick.”
     “I heard about heroin when I was growing up, but I’ve never seen the effects.  It is truly more terrible than I ever imagined.  Don’t worry, Louis.  We will make you well,” Cara told him.  The compassion in her voice touched both of the men.
     “This is Cara, Louis.  She’s one of the good guys.”
     As they walked back to the Pentacle, Michael brought Louis up to speed on Discordia, magic and True Love.  Louis’ condition worsened before they ever got to the fortress.  The stress of everything that happened to him combined with his appalling physical condition, and he collapsed a half kilometer from the front gates.  Michael gathered Louis’ frail form in his arms and carried him the rest of the way.  Louis made no protest as he lapsed in and out of consciousness.
     A couple of soldiers rushed over to give them assistance, but Michael refused.  Louis wasn’t heavy enough to be a real burden.  The Order had prepared a room for Louis.  Cara followed as Michael carried him there. 
     The room was on the third floor, with a view overlooking the river.  The Mississippi was magnificent, even in Discordia.  Michael didn’t take notice of the scenery, however.  The priest laid the young man gently on the bed and knelt down to pray.  It was Michael’s answer to almost everything.
     “I feared as much,” Cara said softly as she examined the young man.  “He was very near death when he crossed dimensions.  The gods agreed to save his life, but they were under no obligation to restore him to full health.  The heroin burrowed through his body like a worm, poisoning everything it touched.  His sickness is too great for me to heal.  I must find Uri, and quickly.”
     Cara hurried from the room.  Michael moved to a chair by the window.  He listened to Louis’ shallow breathing and watched the river flow by.  It was almost noon outside, and the hot orange sun beat down through the haze of Louisiana humidity.  Some things didn’t change, no matter the dimension.
     The sound of footsteps in the hallway signaled the arrival of Cara and Uri.  The old man bent over the bed and placed his hands on Louis’ chest.  A deep frown spread over Uri’s face.  He straightened up and gave Cara instructions that Michael couldn’t make out.  Cara left the room again very quickly.
     Uri pulled a leather pouch from somewhere inside his robes.  He opened it and poured a fine white powder from it.  He inscribed several symbols in thin lines on the bed surrounding Louis, and then moved to the floor.  When Uri was finished, Louis and the bed were fully encircled by runes set within a double circle.  Uri moved to the foot of the bed and began to chant.  Within a minute Cara and several other acolytes filed in and linked hands around the outside of the room.  They joined in the chant until the sound throbbed and took on a life of its own.
     Michael observed in awe as the runes shimmered and became three- dimensional.  The symbols rose off of the bed and spiraled in ever increasing rings above Louis.  The double circles glowed and emitted fluorescent pink light that swirled up through the ceiling as the chanting reached a crescendo.  The emerald on Uri’s head shined brighter than the sun outside. 
     Black shapes rose out of Louis’ abdomen.  Michael strained his eyes to make them out.  They didn’t appear to be tangible, but instead were composed of dark, transparent vapor.  He finally discerned that they were long, narrow serpents, and they were reluctant to leave their host body.  The chanting increased in volume and intensity until the clustered collection of ethereal reptiles tore free from Louis’ body.  The snakes began to burn with an otherworldly fire, in midair above the bed.  An ungodly screeching emanated from the blazing, writhing mass.  Then all evidence of the ceremony vanished without warning, and the room became peaceful again.
     No words passed between the members of the Order.  Cara remained behind as Uri left the room, and all of the others followed.  She moved closer to the bed and placed her hand on Louis’ cheek.  He slept soundly, just as he had through the entire ceremony.  Cara kept her eyes on Michael as she bent over and kissed Louis on the lips.  Louis opened his eyes, and Cara pulled away from him slowly.
     “Hi there.  What’s going on?”  Louis asked sleepily.
     “We removed the poison from your body.  You will recover fully in time.  For now, the most important thing you can do is eat,” Cara told him in a businesslike tone.  She spoke more like a nurse than a mystic.
     “Now that you mention it, I am starving.  Other than that I feel fantastic.  Wow, you are incredibly attractive,” Louis bubbled like a schoolboy.  He sat up and reached for Cara, but she pulled back fluidly as if she expected it. 
     Louis’ words caused Michael to notice Cara for the first time.  Her sandy, golden hair framed soft, pretty features.  Her robes concealed her figure, but her shapeliness was unmistakable beneath the garments.  Michael attributed his failure to appreciate Cara’s beauty to twenty years of priestly celibacy.
     “I’ll have someone bring you a feast fit for a king.  Eat and drink as much as you feel you need,” she instructed Louis, and then she gave a diminutive bow and departed.
     Louis noticed Michael in the chair by the window.  The young man groaned, and lay back against the pillows once more.  He mumbled, “For a second there I forgot I was in hell.”
     Michael sat forward and corrected the statement.  “You aren’t in hell, Louis.  You’re in a place called Discordia.  It’s not good, but it’s not hell.”

     Louis parked his BMW in front of the Spanish Town bungalow and got out with a smile on his face.  He opened the gate to the front yard, and walked right up to the front door.  He could see a million stars in the Baton Rouge night sky, and the moon hung romantically on the horizon.  It was a beautiful night.  Louis inhaled deeply of the sweet, clean air, and then he unlocked the door to his house and went inside.
     The sound of cooking reached Louis’ ears from the kitchen.  He took off his sport coat and hung it in the foyer closet.  He sat his cell phone and keys on the table next to the front door, and then went to greet his lovely wife.  She stood in front of the stove stirring something that smelled wonderful.  When she saw him she gave a little squeal of delight.  She ran over and hugged him tightly, and kissed him sweetly on the lips.
     Paula always looked good when Louis got home from work.  She had on a low-cut, backless black dress, silk mesh stockings and four-inch pumps.  She knew it drove Louis crazy when she cooked him dinner wearing sexy outfits, so she did it on a regular basis.  She liked making her husband crazy.
     With some weak excuse about needing to stir the pot, Paula pulled herself away from him and returned to her place in front of the stove.  Louis walked up behind her and nuzzled the place where her deep red hair met the base of her neck.  She moaned, and her brilliant green eyes rolled back in her head.
     “Not now, honey,” she told him meekly, “I don’t want to ruin the vanilla pudding.”
     The pot simmered and bubbled over the low flame, and the smell of vanilla confirmed the contents.  Paula kept stirring while Louis pulled up her dress and caressed her flanks.  She gripped the stove with her left hand and bent over slightly, but her left hand maintained a constant circular motion with the spoon.  Louis pulled down the zipper of his pants, and in a moment entered her smoothly.  Four minutes later a timer went off on the counter behind them, indicating that the pie in the oven was ready and that Louis had just come.
     Paula stood upright and straightened her dress.  She pulled on an oven mitt and took the pie out of the oven.  Then she took the pudding off of the heat and poured it into little serving dishes on the counter.  Louis saw that she had finished fudge and chocolate chip cookies before he arrived.  Dinner looked perfect, as always.
     “Could you help me set the table dear?  I’ll go ahead and make your plate while you’re at it,” Paula offered in a voice full of love and devotion.
     Louis decided to use the good silverware.  He wanted their evening to be special.  Of course every evening they spent together was special.  He remembered to grab a couple of the linen napkins before he left the kitchen.  It wouldn’t do having nothing to wipe their faces with.  He set the table, lit candles and dimmed the lights.  He sat down just as Paula came in with their plates.
     Fudge and cookies covered in hot caramel was Louis’ favorite dish.  All of the hard work at the office paid off when Paula did special things for him.  He made a big show of complimenting her on the dinner.  Appreciation worked both ways.
     Halfway during the meal Louis noticed that his wife had pulled the straps of her dress off her shoulders and was waiting for him to notice.  He played coy, licking caramel off of his fingers and pretending not to notice.  When he glanced up she gave him a lusty look and exposed one of her breasts.  He returned his eyes to his food, continuing his little game.  The next time his eyes wandered to Paula she had her dress completely off.  Louis decided he had to touch her, but he could not stop eating.
     Louis nibbled at a piece of fudge in alarm.  He wondered why he could not stop.  He turned to Paula for answers.  She had a needle and spoon out in front of her.  She picked up a little packet off of the table and poured the contents into the spoon.  It was heroin.  She used one of the candles on the table to cook the solution, and then she set the spoon down and drew the dope into the needle.  Louis smeared caramel on his spoon and licked it off while he watched her.  He was desperate to say anything, but unable to figure out how.
     Paula grabbed her right breast in her left hand and squeezed tightly.  Her nipple stiffened and enlarged.  Her breast turned purple and all of the veins stood out.  She plunged the needle into her flesh and missed the vein, but she kept digging around.  It was to no avail.  She decided to start over, so she pulled the needle out and plunged it into her breast from a different angle.  She missed, so she dug in and out trying to find the vein.  She continued having the same problem, and repeating the same action, time and time again.  Her breast began to turn black.  Blood ran down her ribs and across her stomach.
     Louis felt a little sick.  All of the food began to crawl around inside him, trying to find its way out.  He knew the solution to that.  He started on his cherry pie.  He scooped a whole cherry onto his spoon and nudged it around with the tip of his tongue.  The cookies and caramel in his stomach cheered for him to eat it. They demanded that he eat it.  He finally took the cherry between his lips and sucked on it.
     Paula stabbed herself for the twelfth time, and then decided she needed to try the other breast.  She switched the needle to the other hand and went to work.  Soon she was slippery with blood, but she couldn’t get the heroin inside her.
     Louis realized what was going wrong.  Paula was doing his heroin.  He pushed the table away, and all of the silverware and fine china went crashing to the floor.  He tried to stand up, but he couldn’t.  He lifted his hands in front of his face.  They were riddled with tracks and abscesses.  He followed the path of the scabs and bruises up his arms.  They were covered in festering sores that drained thick white fluid.  He found a particularly big one and squeezed it, enjoying the pain of forcing the pus out into the light.  He knew there was something he needed to do, but he was too busy to think about it.
     Paula finally got the drug into her veins.  She dropped the needle on the floor and leaned back in the chair.  She ran her hands all over her naked body, smearing the blood onto her face and neck.  Louis looked up from his infected arms and saw what Paula was doing. 
     Without any warning at all the light in the room changed completely.  The candles went out, and the lights in the kitchen disappeared.  Everything took on an electric red tint, and the source was a red glow to the rear of Paula’s chair.  Louis watched her playing with herself in the red light.  He watched her plunge her fingers inside herself and then bring her fingers to her lips to suck on her own juices mingled with blood.  Louis knew that something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
     What looked like a muscular white man walked forward out of the red glow, until he stood beside Paula.  A closer look revealed that it was not merely a man.  He had tiny black horns, and his well-styled black hair was alive.  He wore no clothing at all, and he sported a stiff erection.  He looked directly at Louis and sneered.
     “You’re dreaming this, Louis.  You want to know the fun part?  Paula is dreaming this too, on Earth.  Watch what I can do,” the devil told him.
     Paula writhed under her own manipulations in the straight backed chair.  The devil reached out and touched the middle of her forehead.  She opened her eyes and saw the figure standing next to her for the first time.  She continued to pleasure herself while she stared at the sexual organ in front of her face.
     “I’m going to get her soul, Louis, just to ruin your sleep.  By the way, my name is Asmodeus.”
     Louis couldn’t stop looking at Paula.  He asked her why she wouldn’t stop, but though his lips moved no sound came out.  He wanted to warn her.  He could see the woman had no idea that Asmodeus was a devil.  Louis tried to stand up, but he couldn’t feel his body.
     “I’m running this dream, Louis.  I’m in control.  I’m going to tell you a secret.  Paula here is dying to be a bad girl.  She’s been good so long, she’s bored and she thinks bad is good.  How do you feel about that, Louis?”  Asmodeus took obvious pleasure in taunting him.
     “Paula, look into my eyes,” Asmodeus commanded the green eyed beauty.  She obeyed him.  “Be a bad girl, Paula.  Be a very bad girl.”
     Paula moved her mouth forward and engulfed the throbbing member in front of her.  She delighted in the act.  She moved one hand up to aid in the process.  Asmodeus placed both of his pale hands on top of her head and took control of her motion.  He stared into Louis’ eyes with contempt.
     Horrible visions flashed through Louis’ mind.  He saw Paula helpless, impaled by a monster with long phallic tentacles.  She tried to scream, but there was no room for sound to escape.  She tried to move, but she was held in place.  The tentacles burrowed through her insides from every orifice, tearing her apart internally.  Blood dripped out of her pores.
     The visions threw a switch deep inside of Louis psyche.  He instantly knew the truth of what was happening.  He fell asleep on Discordia, and created an innocent dream of food and sex.  But then Asmodeus stole into the dream, took control and changed the content.  The dream was really taking place on a different plane, and Louis had seen Asmodeus’ plans.  The woman was dreaming the same dream, and she was in grave danger through no fault of her own. 
     “So you finally woke up, Louis?  If you could only see yourself the way I see you.  You are pathetic,” Asmodeus spat at him venomously at him. 
     Panic registered in Paula’s eyes.  She heard what Asmodeus said.  She saw Louis sitting in the chair watching them.  She tried to pull away, but Asmodeus was too strong.
     Rage flowed through every fiber of Louis’ being, and it brought with it a feeling of incredible strength.  Rays of emerald green light tore small holes in Louis’ chest, and the holes expanded and increased in number.  Louis felt his flesh falling away, and stepped clear of his body.  The room disappeared, and suddenly the three were in a place with no boundaries.
     Asmodeus witnessed every second of Louis’ transformation.  The old devil looked shocked at first, and then concerned.  He cast Paula away from him. The woman disappeared into nothingness, screaming as she fell all the way back into her body on the material plane.  Asmodeus turned to face Louis, fully attired in leather armor.  The armor was fashioned from hundreds of layers of human flesh that had been seasoned, tightened and treated countless times. 
     Asmodeus grew in size, and a halberd appeared in his right hand.  The horns on his head turned blood red, as did his skin.  All semblance of humanity fell away from the devil.  Tusks sprouted from his face in all directions, and his eyes turned jet black.  The beast radiated hatred.
     “You dare confront me on the astral plane?” the creature thundered out.  It advanced on Louis’ glowing form.
     Louis’ no longer had human thoughts.  Louis Comeaux was only one small facet of the being that faced Asmodeus.  His true name was Aleph, and he had waited many thousands of years for reincarnation.  Yahweh knew him, and all of the older gods as well.  In the material world Aleph remained fettered by Louis’ body, impotent inside the confines of the flesh.  Once free from the shackles of material reality, Aleph regained the strength of his glory days. 
     Somewhere in the heavens, old gods laughed hysterically.  None of them gave Asmodeus any of that information.  The devil had no idea who he faced.  Asmodeus still thought he was dealing with young Louis Comeaux.  The moment was priceless.
     Aleph drew his arms to his chest and clasped his hands together.  His green glow darkened deeply.  Asmodeus turned his attack into a full charge, but Aleph remained unconcerned.  At the moment the halberd would have impaled him, Aleph cast his hands up and opened them to the heavens.  The entire plane was flooded with brilliant white light, and all of it flowed out of Aleph.
     The halberd melted into a shimmering rainbow with butterflies flying around it.  Asmodeus screamed in agony.  The light raised blisters all over the devil that grew in size and popped.  Every time one of the blisters popped, light burst out of it and splashed all over the devil, raising more blisters.  The pain shrunk the devil in size, as he twisted and contorted in an effort to escape the rays.  Asmodeus regained enough strength to draw in upon himself.  He teleported out of the astral dimension and back into his body, narrowly escaping total, eternal destruction.

     A change crept over Louis’ sleeping body when Aleph escaped into the astral plane.  He stopped breathing and his heart stopped beating.  Louis was technically dead, but something so trivial as reanimation meant nothing to a creature of Aleph’s power.  A faint light floated above the bed.  Aleph was so strong that his astral essence manifested on the material plane. 
     When Aleph cast the light of creation upon Asmodeus, the walls of Louis’ room exploded.  The outside wall shattered out into space three stories above the ground.  The internal walls burst outward into the surrounding rooms and the hallway.  Huge cracks appeared in the ceiling, but miraculously the floor did not cave in.  Almost as a final, whimsical touch, all of the bedposts broke and the mattress collapsed to the floor.
     Louis sat up and rubbed his eyes.  He surveyed the damage all around him, thoroughly unamused.  A number of people skipped through the rubble to find out what happened.  Cara made it to the scene first, and she looked at him with undisguised fear.  Michael climbed over a partially collapsed wall that blocked the stairway and hurried to Louis’ side.  Everyone else kept their distance.
     “What happened Louis?” the priest asked him in alarm.
     “I had a nightmare.  Asmodeus was there, and he was doing things to a girl I met on Earth.  I got really mad, and I changed into something else.  That’s when I almost killed Asmodeus.  He got away, though,” Louis admitted.
     “I mean, what happened to the room?”  Michael asked again.
     “I think that is what happened to the room.  If that’s not what happened to the room, then it’s one hell of a coincidence and I don’t have an answer for you.”
     “Dear God.  Do you feel okay now, though, Louis?”
     “I feel fine, Michael.  Don’t worry.  I’m not sleepy anymore.” 
     Louis picked himself up off of the ruined bed and staggered toward the stairs.  Michael followed him, once again climbing over the partially collapsed wall.  All of the other onlookers stared in disbelief, except Cara.  She composed herself and scrabbled after them.  Louis descended all the way to the ground floor, and walked out into the night.  His two companions joined him there.
     “You should eat again, Louis,” Cara urged him.  Her intentions were good, but her statement didn’t go over well.
     “No, I may never eat again,” Louis told them, and he didn’t bother to explain his statement.  He continued, “I’m going to kill Asmodeus.  If the assassin isn’t here by morning, then I’m leaving without him.”