---Comma---

     My brain feels like a sackful of pebbles, rattling every time we hit a bump in the road. And considering we're speeding through a post-apocalyptic urban jungle on a motorcycle that's more rust than metal, that's pretty frequently. My coughs sound like a squirrel caught beneath a stuttering lawnmower. Three days my ass.

     "Got the hots for me, don'tcha?" snarls Mutt, the hairy demon whose stinking fur I'm forced to cling to for dear life unless I want to fall off the back of his motorcycle and get run over by the rest of Rex's demon posse.

     I haven't got the energy to explain to him that I'm running a fever of nuclear meltdown proportions. I must look repulsive; at least they won't be trying to feel me up. But until I can kick this fever, I'm as helpless as a punching bag. Then again, a punching bag doesn't puke up its entire body weight in phlegm when you sock it one.

     I don't think I've ever been this out of it, and that's including those five hundred years I spent without a consciousness. A cold wind splashes against my steaming forehead. I start shivering, and dog-boy up front seems to get off on it. This is some sort of sick joke, right? I'm supposed to go out in a blaze of glory, dragging as many of my enemies with me as I can. Not kick it from some stupid demon flu.

     When we finally come to a stop, my stomach craps out, and I vomit all over dog-boy. That cheers me up a little. But when he treats my acid discharge in a manner befitting of one of his namesakes, I succumb to my nausea all over again. Vicious circle.

     "Got a touch of the flu, do you love?" Rex pushes past his demon cohorts to come and collect me. "I'll have Bertha brew you a hot cuppa." He brushes my sweaty, matted hair away from my forehead. "Fancy a tour?"

     I stumble over the vines and upturned roots that clutter the walkways. He escorts me inside their lair: an abandoned warehouse that reeks of blood and hot steel. There's a bloated corpse lying in a patch of congealed blood on the floor. Maggots the size of golf balls, with bulging pus-filled sacs protruding from their backs, chow down on the decomposing body.

     Three more corpses dangle from the ceiling on meat hooks: a boy with his head smashed to bits, a girl with a crushed ribcage, and a guy who bit the bullet in the literal sense. The maggots haven't gotten to those yet, though the horseflies—named so because of their hooves and shaggy manes—are going to town.

     "Home sweet home."

     Three, no, four demons lounge on the ground floor. I count six up on the balcony. A black-scaled demon, the kravlar equivalent of a bodybuilder, comes stomping over to us. The ground trembles beneath his footfalls.

     "Welcome back, Rex," rasps the demon, picking raw meat out of its teeth. It stresses Rex's name, as if to emphasize that it refuses to call him sir.

      "Tell me Dügg," says Rex, "what's the boss man up to?"

     Dügg crosses his massive arms, his scales scraping together unpleasantly. "In the boiler room. Not to be disturbed."

     "He'll want to see this."

     Rex tries to sidestep Dügg, only for the muscled demon to block his way yet again. "I said he's not to be—"

     A door against the back wall swings open. Out steps a demon with crimson scales, arachnid eyes, and a pointed tail. "That's all right Dügg." The demon approaches us, wiping blood off of his hands with a dishrag. "So the portents are true. You've come, at last."

     I glance around. "You talking to me?" My voice croaks—could really use a lozenge here.

     "Got you a li'l sumthin' boss," says Rex, beaming stupidly.

     "Alpen." The demon stares at me for the longest time, scrutinizing every inch of me. He doesn't watch me with the same twisted perversion as the rest of the demons; his eyes are brimming with intense fascination. Awe, even.

     Rex clears his throat. "What do you want I should do with her?"

     "Follow me, alpen," says the demon, ignoring Rex. "Your destiny awaits."

     He takes me by the arm and leads me across the room, going out of his way to step right through the blood-stains and maggot heaps. Good thing I'm wearing shoes this time—the last thing I need is to contract maggot-plague on top of all this.

     Rex starts to come after us, but the boss shoots him a threatening glare. Thwarted, and visibly flummoxed, Rex skulks off to who knows where. I'm focused on the boss demon's aura; I bask in the ancientness of his essence and the power that comes from it. My knees stop being all wobbly for a moment, and then get wobbly again for a different reason.

     He ushers me through the opened door and secures it shut behind us. We descend a blood-slicked stairwell into what I can only describe as the single most horrific thing I've ever seen in my centuries-long existence. The boiler room lacks a furnace, or any sort of equipment, for that matter.

     The walls, the floor, and the ceiling are all lined with gore—the innards of eviscerated animals and humans, packed tightly together. The pinks and reds clash with the rotted browns, blacks, and yellows of the disembodied organs. But the worst of it all is that it's alive. The accumulated guts and innards have assembled into a living, breathing entity. I can feel it watching me, probably because of all the blood-soaked eyeballs scattered across the walls that direct their attention to me the second my shoes squish onto the intestinal carpet.

     If it weren't for the worst case of congestion in the history of the multi-verse, the smell alone would probably be enough to make me drop dead.

     The demon bows his head reverently. "Isn't it breathtaking?"

     "I won't be taking any breaths in here," I mutter.

     "The oracle knows all," he says, dragging me to the entity's core, where a golden chalice the size of a bathtub sits filled to the brim with blood. "It foresaw your coming."

     "No surprise there." It's not just the eyes—this thing reeks of mystical energy. And I'm talking more than Eloise, Selina, and the zillbane combined. And when that much energy is gathered in a single spot, it tends to lack stability. Set it off, and you risk rupturing the entire universe.

     The demon takes my hand. "I am Dante. Tell me your name, alpen."

     "Ask the oracle," I say, sniffling. "Apparently, it knows all."

     Dante chuckles. "You've got a sharp tongue; I like that. But don't test my patience. I don't have very much of it."

     No kidding; those bodies upstairs are a testament to that. And as crummy as I feel, I'm not exactly in a hurry to get this pretty face of mine all smashed up. "Comma," I offer.

     "Comma," he repeats, swishing his tongue as if tasting the word. "I see. There's power in that name."

     "It's not the name you need to be afraid of."

     "Do you know why you're here, Comma?" he asks, staring into the blood pool.

     "Yeah. Because your goons kidnapped me."

     "No. Stare into the chalice. It'll show you your destiny." 

     I do as he says, but all I see is my own reflection. I smirk. "You're right; it did!"

     "Don't mock me, alpen." Dante pulls me away from the pool. "Our kinds are two halves of a perfect whole. The kravlar seek to disrupt the great balance, while the alpen seek to maintain it. Our kinds have warred since the dawn of time. Of course, we're all but extinct these days."

     "Tell me about it."

     "I was never big on religion. But my grandmother... there was a story she would tell me every night as she tucked me in. It always stuck with me. A prophecy."

     "Oh, great. I love those." I roll my eyes, and even that hurts.

     "According to the prophecy, a great conqueror will one day rise and rule not just this universe but all the others as well. This conqueror will embody both chaos and order. He shall be born of a kravlar..." He stares into my eyes. "And an alpen."

     Nausea strikes again. "Please tell me you're not implying what I think you're implying."

     "It's your destiny," says Dante. "You will bear me a child. That's why you're here." He strokes my cheek, and I think I might die right here right now. I have to... with him... Oh, god, don't tell me here... He dips his finger in the blood pool. It ripples. "But not tonight." He turns his back on me. "Go. Rex will show you to your room."

     No need to tell me twice; I'm out of there so fast I don't even have time to come up with a metaphor for it. Needless to say, the exertion doesn't agree with me. Luckily, I'm all out of vomit. So I just collapse instead. I black out.

     When I come to, I'm lying in what passes for a comfortable bed these days. I've been changed into a night slip—the sort of thing you might catch Selina wearing. There's a damp cloth on my forehead and a thick blanket over me. If I ignore the dark stains on the walls and the mould on the ceiling, it's the nicest room I've stayed in for some time now. On the other hand, if I'm going to be sharing a bed with a demon...

     The door creaks open, thankfully derailing my increasingly disturbing train of thought. Rex pokes his head through the crack. "Sorry to disturb." He enters the room, carrying a steaming mug that smells so strongly of citrus that it penetrates my congestion. "Here's that cuppa what I promised."

     He hands me the mug. I gulp it down, allowing the scalding liquid to burn my gums. Wash away the taste of vomit. At this point, I'm praying that it's poison. "Thanks," I mutter afterwards, resting the mug on my lap. Not sure why I'm thanking him, of all non-people. A sharp pain bubbles to a crescendo in my gut. My toque... Apostrophe's toque is on the scuffed up night table next to me. I clutch it to my breast... and I break.

     The tears sting.

     "What's the matter, love?"

     "This..." I can't even get a coherent sentence out. The mug suddenly feels very heavy; I barely have the strength to lift it. Rex holds it up to my lips for me, but I only dribble snot and tears over it.

     "Right. I'll just leave you to it then." He sets the mug down on the night table and leaves.

     I don't cry for long; I'm dehydrated from all the hurling. When the tears stop, the shivering starts. I curl up beneath the blanket, but the shaking won't stop. I try to remind myself that... that I deserve this. That this is my punishment.

     I'm not sure how long I lie there. Sleep never comes—that'd be too easy an escape. Time seems to vanish altogether, leaving me to contemplate my miserable state. I try to imagine myself pregnant. Birthing a scaly, bug-eyed demon spawn...

     Rex is back. I'm not sure when he got here.

     "On the mend?"

     I wipe my nose. "My head's probably hot enough to melt a crowbar, so I'm going to go out on a limb and say no."

     "You're not shaking anymore." He stares at me, his back to the wall. His hands folded behind his back.

     "What do you care?" I sigh. "I'm a prisoner."

     "You're a lot more than that, love."

     "Don't remind me."

     "What I mean is..." Rex breathes deeply. "I know you. Who you are. What you've done." He licks his lips. "The people you've killed."

     Maybe I'm too distraught to feel any shock at that last statement. I roll over onto my side, which doesn't ache as much as my chest. "What do you mean?"

     "It's a gift, or so says me mum. I just need to touch something, and I can see where it's been. Where it's headed. Sometimes it's just bits and bobs. Flashes. Sometimes memories. Visions. Like a shoddy telly."

     I look down at my night slip. Grit my teeth. "You... touched me?"

     "Not you, love." He pulls his hands out from behind his back. Tosses something leathery onto my lap. "That."

     Impossible. I stare in disbelief at Selina's gauntlet, the one she used to rip through world after world on our unholy crusade against humanity. The one I stole from her when I severed her hand. The one I thought was lost for good.

     Rex reaches into his breast pocket. He lights a cigarette—great, as if I wasn't having enough trouble breathing already. "I don't believe in coincidences."

     "If you say destiny, I'll slice your head off."

     "What I'm saying is I know you. I know everything about you." Not everything. "And I love you."

     At that, I start laughing. Because of the absurdity of it. To hear that coming from a reptilian, scaly-skinned demon with a conch-shaped bone for an ear...

     "Go on then, laugh it up." He snatches back the gauntlet. "But I mean it."

     "You abducted me."

     Rex shrugs. "Well I am a demon." He reaches over to an ashtray on top of the night table and puts out his cigarette. "Dante won't take no for an answer—especially when it's down to a good rodgering. He'll have you, like it or not." He pauses. "Unless we leave." He holds up the gauntlet. "Together."

     Can this day get any worse? Yes it can; welcome back nausea, shivering, and brain-melting fever. Oh, how I've missed you. I withdraw under the covers. I lay still until I hear him leave. The nausea intensifies, and I wish I could just hurry up and die already.

     "Please..." I whisper, closing my eyes and curling up into a ball. "Em."

Author's Note:

There are fates so much worse than death. So. Comma + Rex anybody?

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