Mike looked around nervously. They were in a large open, paved area. In front of them the school squatted ominously, the main entrance a dark mouth that suddenly seemed a long way away.
“Come on,” he said. “Let's stay on mission.”
“Aye aye sir,” Azerus replied, suddenly back to his old form, although he was now clad in a black para-military ou tfit, complete with sidearm and machine gun, which he cradled in his arms.
“Er,” Mike said, looking left and right. “Any chance of getting me a gun?”
“Thought you'd never ask,” Azerus said. Suddenly Mike was holding a large weapon, much like he'd seen on TV.
“What the hell am I doing here?” Mike moaned to himself. He didn't stop walking though, as he adjusted the weapon to a more comfortable position.
“Oh, here we go,” Azerus said, suddenly stopping. “Oh no, it can't be.”
“Can't be what?” Mike asked.
Azerus ignored him, looking in a direction Mike couldn't even fathom. It didn't matter. Several seconds later there was a dull explosion and a cloud of smoke, which quickly cleared to reveal a new player in the game.
“Hello Jelly,” Azerus said.
“Azerus,” the new form replied, in an apparently cheerful fashion. “It's been aeons! How's tricks old demon?”
“I was doing alright until now.”
Mike just gawped. The new demon looked like something out of a particularly twisted Batman movie.
It was in human shape, albeit a very tall and muscular one, wearing ludicrously baggy pantaloons, striped black and white vertically. In complete and utter contrast, as if challenging fashion to find the item of clothing that clashed the most with these, he was wearing a lilac shirt which had more lace and frills than a nine year old girl's bedroom. Over this he wore a chequer-board patterned waistcoat of the most putrid blue and green that one could possibly imagine. One foot was clad in a boot that was black and came to his knee, the other was orange, and came up his calf.
To top this off, he was wearing a mask. Or at least Mike assumed it was a mask. He was demon after all, it could have been his face. In any case, it was pure white, and looked like it had been taken from the emblem for the Thespian guild, except it had glowing red eyes and a nose that was like a fly's proboscis. If it had been taken from the Thespian guild, the demon had chosen the 'crazed grin' side of it.
“Nice outfit,” Azerus commented.
“Thanks,” Jelly replied. “Shall we?” He pulled out an enormous two handed, black sword from nowhere at all.
“Why not?” Azerus said, drawing his own weapon from the same nowhere.
There was a moment of silence, and then the two ran together, attacking each other with speed and skill that put any Star Wars film to shame. Sparks and curses flew as they swung their weapons and leaped around like something from the Matrix on acid.
Mike wasted several moments watching, as both demons attacked each other with a ferocity that he'd never seen before. Whoever this Jelly was, it was no friend of Azerus's.
Still, taking advantage of the distraction, he ran hunched over, past the two underworld beings, and towards the main doors.
Only to be brought up short as a group of, what he assumed were students, filed out and took up position in front of them.
He suddenly found himself facing several dozen teenage girls, dressed in school uniforms that came complete with inappropriately short leather skirts and fishnet stockings.
“Now ladies,” he said. “You should stand aside. I don't want to hurt anyone here.”
“That's a shame,” one of the older girls stepped forward. “Because we like it rough, don't we girls?”
There was a general murmur of acceptance from her classmates.
“Oh bloody hell,” Mike said, as the group pulled out an array of knives.
“So you should just fuck off,” the ringleader. Never taking her eyes off Mike, she slowly licked the blade of her shiny silver dagger.
Mike wasn't sure if he should be crapping his pants or creaming them. Probably both, he concluded. He shook his head, took a deep breath, and Grew a Pair.
“You bitches better stand aside,” he said, bringing his newly acquired demonic gun to bear.
“Oooh, we're so scared of the big man's gun,” his adversary said, in a mocking tone. “Compensating much?” Her tone changed to a more hostile one. “Come on then motherfucker! Try us!”
With that, the group attacked.
Later on, Mike told himself that it must have been the malign influence of the demonic gun that made him do it. He couldn't possible imagine that he would have fired otherwise.
Whatever the reason, he did though. “Come on then bitches!” he cried, and opened up with his big, black, long weapon.
There were shrieks as the lead girls went down in a hail of bullets, blood splattering everywhere.
Still, like the native Australians in that Zulu film, they kept coming.
Mike, overwhelmed by emotion, screamed as he mowed down thirteen-year old girls with his machine gun. Spent cartridges pinged on the ground like a Rambo movie, and the body count mounted.
Still they came though, in an apparently never-ending stream, and eventually their numbers began to tell. One girl, probably no more than eleven, sliced his arm with her knife. He kicked her backwards, knocking her over, and put her down with a blast to her face.
But there was another, and another, and he was forced back, fending off knife attacks as best he could, using his gun as a club as much as firing it.
Young girls fell in as he retreated, mercilessly gunned down.
Mike heard Azerus shout out, just as his assault started to peter out.
He finally stopped firing as the girls suddenly lost heart. At some unseen signal they started to fall back, dragging their wounded with them.
Panting hard, he leaned against a tree, the machine gun hot in his hands. Ahead of him, the entrance hall was littered with dead in leather-skirted school uniforms. It could have been somewhere in the United States it was so bad. Blood was spreading out under the bodies in a horrific dark pool.
“It's a trick!” Azerus' voice managed to penetrate his horror. “They're an ill...” he was cut off.
Mike frowned, and look over at his demonic accomplice. He was still fighting, but the once proud clothes were now tattered and torn, and he was bleeding from several places. Meanwhile his opponent appeared to be barely scratched.
“Don't just bloody stand there,” Azerus shouted, noticing him watching as he desperately fended off another sword swing. “Do something!”
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