Hello, Hell-o, Oh Hell

[Brism Wanor]

     Satan T. Lucifer Jones was unhappy.
     Which, when you come to think of it, is rather like saying that water
is wet, or that politicians are corrupt. In fact, the number of times
Satan has been truly happy could be counted on one hand, and his demonic
staff has instead spent considerable time working out levels of
unhappiness. Today, for example, His Evilness is in mood 418, no coffee
and too much paperwork, but heading for 38, I'm surrounded by idiots.
     This progression was interrupted when a small demon burst into
Satan's office, and began cowering most abjectly.
     "My Lord, my Lord of Evil, most foul and vial--" the demon began.
     "Yes," Satan groaned, "what is it now?"
     "Well, sir, you see, um, there's this, um, Author, and... um... well,
I didn't... that is, we didn't... want to bother you, 'cause I, um, we
figured you were busy, and--"
     Satan leaned across his paper-covered desk, and glowered at the
shrinking demon. Authors! Authors were the bane of his existence. The only
good thing, from his perspective, was that they'd been very quiet lately.
     The Swede meddled occasionally, but Satan knew it was best with that
one to just grit his teeth and bear it.
     There'd been brief signs that Lord Sabre might return, but that had
faded quickly enough, nothing to worry about.
     Frobozz and that Dvandrelon, or whatever he called himself, were
writing, but they, as a rule, brought in their own monsters, rather than
threaten his plans.
     As for The Cowboy, well, Satan had no intention of ever risking
letting that one back into the multiversal mix.
     In truth, Satan was getting bored. No Authors meant no annoyances,
but also no grand plans for conquering the multiverse. These days, it was
all used-car salesmen, and televangelists. Pretty useless, the whole lot.
     Finally, after letting the demon stammer itself into incoherency,
Satan growled, "which Author?"
     "Er, Brism... Brism Wanor."
     "Never heard of," Satan muttered, "what an absurd name."
     "Yes, that's what I, we, thought, so, I, er, we, well, I... *we*
tried to get rid of this Author before it became a problem."
     "And, exactly *how* did you do that?" Satan was getting a very bad
feeling. This was definitely a 38 day.
     "We influenced events in REALLIFE."
     "What!" Satan exploded (not literally, that comes later.) "Do you
have any idea the paperwork involved in that?"
     "Well, I, we, that is, we didn't do anything too bad, just enough to
get this Brism out of the Author pool."
     "How?"
     "Er, we, um, we moved Brism without moving the internet connection.
Brism's cut off from the multiverse, trapped in REALLIFE."
     "Impressive," Satan purred, his mood slowly drifting toward 283, at
least someone around here is doing there job, and continued, "so, why...
Why... *WHY* are you skulking like a cockroach?!"
     "It didn't work."
     "Explain."
     "Well, er, I, that is, we, well, we didn't know Brism had an
old-fashioned modem, or was willing to use it."
     "I see," Satan growled, veering sharply back toward mood 38.
     "That's not the worst part, sir," the demon groveled.
     "What *is* the *worst* part," hissed a now very irate Lord of
Darkness.
     "Well, our attack was, um, scheduled for the eighteenth of August--"
     "Why the eighteenth?" Satan interrupted. He didn't really care about
the answer, he just wanted to fluster this particular demon again.
     "It's six plus six plus six, you see, um, sir?"
     "Oh, right. Of course. So, what's the problem?"
     "Well, um, sir--"
     "Get on with it!!!" roared the Earl of Evil.
     "BrismsnuckastorypastusandnowisafullfledgedAuthorsir!"
     "What?!" Satan nearly exploded.
     "We didn't notice, sir, 'cause it was in overlapped time, but there
are three stories in the same series out there by the Author and--"
     "You mean to tell me," Satan began slowly, "that you attacked an
Author on the brink of full power?"
     "I didn't, we didn't, I..."
     "You *FOOL*!!!" Satan exploded, which was, on the whole, rather
messy.
     The demon whimpered quietly as the great evil re-collected himself.
     "You cost me a once in a lifetime chance," hissed the Devil.
     "Sir?" the demon whimpered.
     "An Author, an Author just gaining power, without any of the
knowledge of what is, and is not allowed, an unrestricted, new Author. I
could have had an agent in their camp, someone working for me, and none of
*them* would have suspected a thing, because it was an unknown Author, and
*YOU* have *RUINED* it for me!!!"
     "Sir, I, we, just--"
     "Who do you work for?" Satan's voice was deceptively mild.
     "Bureau 666, sir."
     "Which one?!"
     "Um, minor annoyances and technical problems, sir."
     "I see," Satan mused. "Right, you, and your fellow shift workers, are
fired!"
     The demon burst into flame, and burned away to ash before it could
protest. Elsewhere in the infinite corridors of Hell Inc. there were
suddenly a great number of job vacancies.
     "That won't do you any good, Jones," a voice blared. The air was
filled with beams of radiant, searingly bright light, which bent, curved
and wound around each other, fitting together like a strange, glowing,
three-dimensional jigsaw. The final form was that of a face, infinitely
detailed, drawn with fractal images. A computer's face.
     "Impressive," remarked Satan, in a tone which said the exact
opposite.
     "Jones?" this face asked.
     "Yes."
     "Satan T. Lucifer Jones?"
     "Yes," Satan said again, getting more annoyed.
     "Outcast of Heaven, major stock-holder in Hell Incorporated, Lord of
Evil, Prince of lies, Duke--"
     "YES!" Satan howled.
     "--of smelly--"
     "What do you want?"
     "--feet?"
     "Did you *have* to mention that?" Satan snapped.
     "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did." The face returned, smugly.
     "You're Brism, I suppose."
     "Obviously."
     "I've never seen a presentation like *that* before."
     "Thank you." The face looked rather pleased with itself.
     "It's flashy, it's silly, and it's wasteful," Satan continued.
     "Ahh," the face sighed. "A true Author, after all. I was starting to
worry about that."
     "What do you want?" Satan exploded.
     Brism whistled a Bach fugue while the Evil One reconstructed himself.
     "Your attempts to be rid of me have failed," Brism began.
     "Yes, yes, I can see that."
     "And they will fail. I will find a way to return, no matter what you
do. I will finish my plots, no matter what you try."
     "Brave words," sneered Satan. "I am stronger than any one Author, no
matter how determined."
     Brism's expression turned thoughtful. Finally, it said, "I do enjoy a
contest."
     "What? No threats? No challenges?" Satan flustered.
     "None are needed," Brism explained. "We both know where we stand."
     With that, the face contracted, blurred, and winked out, like an old
cathode ray tube without any power.
     Satan sighed, popped a brimstone breathmint, and went back to his
paperwork.
     He was annoyed, yes, but Satan's always annoyed. And, at last, he
might have a challenge.


                DOES THIS EXPLAIN WHERE THE AUTHOR'S BEEN?

                        WHAT WILL SATAN TRY NEXT?

            CAN ANYONE GIVE ME SOMETHING FOR THIS SORE THROAT?

                            AND THE HEADACHE?

               More chaos and confusion coming your way...
                                    ON
                                 SUPERGUY

It's great to be back.

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Brism Wanor, Lord Dougl, Keeper of the Eighth Echo
brism at earthlink.net

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