FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Arise! Minion of Hell

The sky became a wash of red as evening settled into the wasteland of Purgatory. A storm was brewing; one you could set your watch by, a torrent of wind and rain that would thunder through this desolate place of abandonment as if trying to rid it of its existence. Without success. Every night the weather would gang up on the only building to still stand here on the edge of nowhere as though summoned by forces unseen and lightning would strike at the old forgotten structure mercilessly. The high rise tower block. Within, the windows would tremble and the temperature would plummet while the ancient generator buried deep within the cobwebbed basement would give its all to keep the lights on and the heaters running. This slender monolith was once one of many out here in limbo; temporary accomodation for recently departed souls, a place for them to linger that was familiar and comforting while living memories were fresh. Death involved a lot of paperwork meaning it would take a little while before the big decision on where to send them was made, were they headed west to the golden gates of Heaven glorious in its divinity – or east, to Hell and its many tortures? Of course it was different now in the digital age. A soul was transferred instantaneously. The once busy metropolis was emptied overnight, left to crumble back into the tainted earth that it had been erected from. All except this last building, alone and forgotten but not unoccupied. Not any more...

“What shall I make for tea?” Rap asked, calling through an open door leading to a lounge where his partner sat flicking through television stations while pummelling a tattered cushion in a desperate attempt to make it more comfortable than a brick. He grunted noncommittally.

“I've got chips. You can have something and chips...”

More vague grunting followed so Rap took himself into the lounge and stood in front of the television until Rave, now semi-comfortable on the sofa, finally paid attention to him.

“Oi! I'm watching that! Shark week on the Discovery channel that is, get out the effin' way!” he shooed his boyfriend out of viewing range and tutted crossly; “I don't care what's for tea. I've never bleeding cared what's for tea! Just cook it.”

Rap sighed and returned back to the kitchen where the kettle was flicked on and a mug prepared for coffee. The dilapidated oven door creaked reluctantly open for 'something and chips' to be placed inside. He muttered to himself, “shark week! Always rotten shark week, its shark week every flipping week. Just our luck we can only pick up six channels after the antennae got blown off the roof...”

A loud bang sounded from way down below.

Rave leapt up from the sofa and turned the channel to Home and Away. Sharp footsteps ascended the bare concrete steps to the flat and the front door was flung open with malevolence; it vibrated as it hit the wall and another millimetre or so of plaster was removed in a puff of dust.

The aardvarkian demon flung his bag down on the lounge floor, whipped off his official cloak and tie and landed on the still-warm sofa making it groan with pain.

“Dinner's in the oven,” Rap announced, “would you like your coffee now?”

“Yes please,” Anar replied, not taking his eyes off the Australian soap being broadcast. “I'm bloody starving, how long til food's ready? So much for that buffet meeting – salad, salad and more fucking salad. Who feeds demons leaves for crying out loud? Oh and mineral water. I swear if I see so much as a tomato in the next forty-eight hours I'll scream.”

Rap deftly put the bowl of prepared salad leaves back in the fridge and brought out a steaming mug of coffee for his best friend. “So, apart from the meeting, and the food have you had a good day?”

Anar eyed Rap sulkily, “no I have not! They're upgrading our software. Again. And that means I've got to learn how to do my job again. They've done nothing but muck about with the system all year. Driving me round the bend. Click this, select that, dropdown the other – then bam! Blue screen of death and I'm just about ready to cut a bitch.”

Rave, who had settled for one of the dining chairs but who had eyes for the sofa once Anar was asleep, laughed hollowly, “you know full well they test all that irritating Windows stuff out on you guys first before letting it loose Upstairs. If it's sending you stir crazy then they're doing something right.” The chair gave a warning creak, making Rave leap off it quickly, “dammit to Hell!” he cussed.

“Bit late for that,” Anar yawned, turning back to his programme.

“Why can't we have some new shit around here?” the angry velociraptor demanded, kicking the offending piece of household furniture.

The closing theme tune to Home and Away warbled through the speakers and Anar growled at missing more pieces of vital plot, “you know why, you stupid reptile – I can't just walk into Habitat and throw my credit card at them you know! Nip into Argos-”

“Could get it delivered,” Rave mumbled.

“Oh yeah, 'hi, can I have those chairs sent priority shipping to the underworld, please?' Anyway I don't want anyone finding out we're even here or I'll be kicked out and carted off to Pandemonium. I am not living there with those freaks!”

Rap's laugh echoed from the kitchen, “you're already in the company of freaks, dear.”

Rave carried on, “what about the fancy apartment up on the river bank? It's massive! Bet everything works in there...”

Rap appeared at the doorway urgently flapping his hands to cease his partners line of inquiry before a fight broke out, “there's nothing wrong with this little place,” he hissed through sharp teeth.

But Rave was on one and wouldn't be halted, “there's nothing bleedin' right with it! Gets hit by lightning every night, looks more and more like the leaning tower of Pisa with every gust of wind! We're going to wake up one morning to find the whole bastard roof missing!”

“Wish I'd wake up to find you missing,” Anar growled.

“What was that, big ears?”

Oh crap, thought Rap, here we go, the insults are coming out, “it's got character,” he said hopefully, “dinner's not going to be long now, let's not have a falling out. Why don't we do some breathing exercises? Get us all in a good head space? In the nose, one two three. Out the mouth, one two three...”

With dagger eyes full of bloody murder Anar and Rave pandered to the small raptor's attempts at peacekeeping and followed his instructions, nostrils flaring and loud exhaling mixed with jabbing middle digits and 'wanker' gestures.

Rave knew that he was only wasting his breath, that the flat they currently resided in was the best one out of the whole tower block – that it was the driest, warmest, best-smelling, that everything worked to a certain extent and that nothing, no power mortal or immortal would make Anar move.

Wherever Anarchy Warlock went, they followed. It had been that way since Rap had wandered through a rogue inter-dimensional portal years ago and made friends with the annoying mammal. Rave had tried to make a tasty snack of him when they had first met and had received a punch for his trouble. He was still sore about it. Rave wasn't the sentimental sort but he carried that grudge like it was a prized family heirloom.

Of course Rave knew the luxury apartment on the river Styx was out of bounds, it belonged to Anar's father who sat on the Board of Directors in the inner circle. Anar hated his father almost as much as he hated Rave. The bastard was a pushy asshole who had washed his hands of his son when he'd displayed signs of natural magic. Had told him to his face that the only thing he could achieve in his miserable life was to follow him into the underworld and make upper management. Then when Anar had accepted his fate and travelled through the abyssal gate with his two pals steeling himself for ten years of misery his father had extended his contract to twenty without his permission. Rave almost, almost felt a little sorry for the aardvark. He couldn't imagine what it was like to have pushy parents who were disappointed in you – he'd hatched from a clutch of eggs three hundred and sixty four million years ago and had struck out on his own until he'd met Rap. He'd never been expected to achieve anything in his life and he hadn't disappointed; he'd never sat an exam though he had attended Holy College as Anar's familiar and he had no intention of working a day in his life. Anar was always coming up with crazy schemes to get out of Hell because he hated it here but truth was for all Rave's complaining he couldn't give a damn where you stuck him as long as there was television and central heating. Still, giving Anar a hard time was his favourite hobby. Wasn't about to stop now.

They ate tea in silence, congregating on the sofa together to watch Crystal Maze and shout instructions to the hapless contestants as they failed to figure out the puzzles or ran out of time and got themselves locked in the rooms. A few shouts of 'not that one, you knob!' and 'don't spend a crystal getting him out- he's useless!' and the friends had forgotten all about their earlier squabble, uniting together in disdain for this weeks bunch of idiots. They all agreed they could do better – the dinosaurs had tails for balancing and would never fall in the water, Anar was a whizz at puzzle solving and would have that crystal in a heartbeat etc etc.

“That was great, Rap, thanks,” thanked Anar taking his tray back to the kitchen once the show had finished. He headed off to the bathroom for a shower. The water travelled a long way through rusty pipes and was always on the cold side which was absolutely ideal for a demon who worked in the centre of a burning pit. The massive generators fanning the flames roared constantly throwing a shimmering haze over the city. The offices were said to have air-conditioning but even wind straight from Siberia would have difficulty doing the job. He stood under the steady trickle and sighed. Another day done. Another date to cross off on the calendar. One more solar rotation on the mortal plane. He'd done all he could think of to get back Upstairs, none of it had worked. One of his efforts had landed him in quite a bit of trouble and now he was under a fair bit of scrutiny. Demons were meant to be troublesome and mischievous but only in handbook-approved methods. Breaking the rules was allowed as long as you weren't caught. It was a small mercy that he hadn't been deleted completely. At least every day was the same and there were no nasty surprises, there was comfort to be found in mundane repetitiveness, even when things went to shit it was predictable. Chaos you could set your watch to.

Stepping out from the cubicle and reaching for the fluffiest towel, Anar caught sight of his reflection in the fogged-up mirror and winced. His demon form, which had been with him since his Holy College days was not like his old mortal self in a number of ways; the darker yellow-tinged eyes, the claws, the dark hair which he'd loved dying blonde back in his careless youth, the flipping horns and wings and tail. Rotten things. All underlings were expected to be in their infernal form at all times and Anar had a real fear that one day he would forget what he had looked like back in the mortal realm. To think once upon a time he'd wanted to be a United Colours of Benetton model. Back before his magic had started to show and he was an outcast. He couldn't even really do anything magical- that was the kicker! He could understand being a menace to society if he was blowing shit up left and right or controlling the Queen via mind-control or some rubbish but no, all he could do was see magic, identify it, and then magnify it. Oh and sometimes he attracted weird creatures. Couldn't really take over the world with two velociraptors, an astral cat and a bad tempered horse! Though it could be fun to try...

He kicked open the door to his sparse bedroom, still rubbing his hair dry and turned on the light. An unhappy growl sounded from beneath the bed and it was clear Guen wasn't happy at being woken up from his ten hour nap.

“Are you still here?” Anar asked as the starry cat slinked out from beneath the metal bed frame and stretched with a yawn, almost spanning the whole room. He turned sulky eyes onto his master and washed his ears. “Don't look at me, I'm not going to feed you. Go and bother Rap in the kitchen for some milk.”

Great pointy ears pricked at the 'm' word and he bounded straight through the door as if it wasn't there. A startled yelp declared that Guen had indeed found Rap and was probably nudging him in his trademark gentle manner. He was such a big cat that when he purred he roared and when he loved you he knocked you over and smothered you. The magical animal had come to Anar as a plushie won from a fair many years ago. It had looked like every other stuffed animal ever made, albeit a little cooler purely by being a black panther. He'd spent his last bit of pocket money purely on a whim, knowing full well that fair stand games were rigged and it had been a surprise to just about everyone when he'd actually got the ball through the funny-shaped hoop at his first try. Edward, his little brother (who was the worst) had snivelled and whined for the plushie all the way home but Anar had told him tough shit. It was his. He didn't care if Edward went running to mom and dad to tell them how mean he was, this was his. He was meant to win it. Meant to have it. Didnt matter that teenage boys shouldn't have toy animals, that it was a sissy thing to carry around, that other people might stare – this was his.

Then once he'd taken it home and placed it on top of his wardrobe in pride of place naturally it had jumped back down again and started rubbing at his legs. He had a knack for finding these sorts of things. Just as he'd found the raptors in the forest behind his parents house. And the nightmare out in the fields at the old family estate run by his uncle. It was a shame that all this cool stuff that happened to him was seen as 'bad'. Uncle Mortimer was the only other person he knew who thought it was all absolutely wonderful and without that bit of support he'd probably have gone loopy a long time ago. This is to say unless he had actually gone loopy and all this was just a bad dream that had played out for five years. As he pulled the covers over his head he idly wondered if he would ever wake up in the living realm again. Snug under the freshly laundered sheets he was fast asleep in minutes, leaving Rap to turn off his light.

Anar was always the first up in the morning. He dressed to the sounds of multiple snores and nearly tripped over Guen who had taken up sentry outside his room like a good guardian should. Rap and Rave wouldn't emerge for a few hours yet and by that time Anar would be at work. They didn't see too much of each other really until the weekend and it suited them fine; no chance to get fed up with each other too soon. The two velociraptors were meant to take care of the flat while he sat at his desk but the housework was done by Rap who didn't trust Rave with anything chemical or delicate and who couldn't read a fabric care label if his life depended on it. Not that Rave would ever get his hands dirty, he was the 'overseeing' type, happy to point out if you missed a spot but never volunteering to do it himself. Today was Wednesday, slap bang in the middle of the week and they would probably go out for lunch and have a nice day wandering through Pandemonium. It was alright for some! Anar worked and they dossed about. It had been the same back in college. Familiars, they were classed as. Skivers was what they were. Big green pointy-teethed lazy arses. Everyone else had sprites and fairies at their beck and call and he had Rap trying to do yoga in the middle of class and Rave calling him a 'bell-end' in his final exam. He'd ask for a book and it would be lobbed at his head. Good times.

Anar envied them; they came from a different time, a time where all you needed was a clean water source and something to sink your teeth into. A simpler time full of peace and contentment. Well, unless of course you were the ones who were being eaten. Now that he thought about it the time of the dinosaurs was too full of running for your life and dodging meteors to be peaceful and contented. He briefly considered smothering Rave with a pillow. Ah, but Rap thought the world of the smug green bastard didn't he? And let's face it, without Rap in his life he'd be a broken man by now.

Anar retrieved his bag from where he'd discarded it the previous evening; he should really treat the magical artefact better he knew but there were a lot of things he should do that he didn't. It had been given to him by his uncle the last Christmas they'd spent at Warlock Court together. It had been a bit of a mystery. It looked new but it was old. It could do something but no-one knew what. Then he'd touched an old painting in one of the many disused rooms at the grand old country house because it was a funny blue glowy colour that apparently only he could see and what did you know? Weird dreams told him how his Christmas present worked. It held everything you could imagine and probably plenty you couldn't, limited only by its physical measurements. Anar used it as a day to day item stuffing it with paperwork and files, his work phone, wallet and car keys but it was actually a priceless sorcerous relic that he slung over his shoulder every day like it was no big deal. The entire population of Heaven and Hell would probably do unspeakable things to get their hands on it. Anar used it to stock the fridge with beer and summon Mars bars. Reaching inside for his car keys he left his snoozing flatmates and exited the building.

Purgatory was a desolate wasteland of sand and silt and crumbling ruins, strewn with lumps of concrete, decaying wood, rotting signs of past civilisation and then there was the bright red Ferrari parked beneath the remains of another homely residence safely tucked away from the sandstorms and raging weather. Cars were rare in the underworld. 'Paperwork signed in triplicate with signatures from inner circle members for permission' kind of rare but through some sort of outlandish luck the fancy Italian motor had slipped through the system and no-one had checked too closely to see if Anar was supposed to have it Downstairs. It had been another of uncle Mortimer's gifts; he had a swanky garage filled wall to wall with British classic cars, regularly driven carefully for maintenance and polished and shiny for proud display. The Ferrari had been tucked away at the back under a dusty oily tarpaulin and old Monty had pulled a face when it was brought up in conversation; he'd apparently won it in a game of bridge and didn't want the foreign monstrosity. He was very happy to see it go and Anar, as you might expect, was beside himself at having a free sports car to show off.

Then he'd sat in it. And discovered that not even inanimate objects could be trusted to act normal around him. His uncle had assured him that self-driving cars were going to be very common in a few years time – that artificial intelligence had come a long way with the advance of technology but somehow Anar knew that all that was just rationalisation. Weird shit happened to him and he was just going to have to get used to it.

“Morning,” he grunted as the door opened and he quickly took the drivers seat before sand could get inside and onto the hand-stitched leather and start the car off complaining.

“Good morning,” the car replied happily, “the outside temperature is twenty six degrees celsius and the weather forecast is: sunny with thunderstorms. Your calendar entries today-”

“Yeah yeah, save it,” Anar grumbled, fiddling with the key and over-riding the automatic controls.

“Well pardon me, I'm just reading the data,” the car sulked.

“Don't. It's the same every day. Same temperature, same weather. Same everything.” He set off towards the city.

“It snowed once,” the car objected.

“That was one time! And anyway, we fixed it. Bloody cleaners knocking plugs out of sockets. Who knew the flame generators were hooked up to the National Grid? Don't know why I was going to get the blame for that one, anyway. You cause just a little bit of trouble and suddenly everything's your fault...”

The fancy Italian sports car never failed to grab the attention of onlookers and today was no exception as it slid into the car park alongside the Directors' executive saloons and the hierarchy's Range Rovers.

Another day, another dollar, as the saying went. Anar walked through the double doors of the Hell Afterlife Services building that stretched out like an evil shopping mall and rode the lift to the administration department. No eye contact was made with any other minions. No friendly greetings were uttered. This was a serious place, with a nefarious purpose and nobody would be having a good time. With a ping the doors smoothly opened and the now familiar scenery of Floor twenty two stretched before him. Anar was a high level demon in a low level position and that suited him just fine. His co-workers were douchebags sure, but they were underachieving douchebags and he could cope with them just fine. Last thing he wanted was to be subjected to some snotty overachiever types with illusions of grandeur and daddy issues. They were all on the upper floors, lofty and secluded, away from the great unwashed and far from the heat below. Bet they didn't get salad for their buffet meetings.

His desk was by the window, a much sought after location that he had taken by force purely because the person who had originally wanted it had been with him at Holy College and was an absolute wanker. Barely smarter than spinach and with a personality to match. Luckily he wasn't around much these days. Unluckily that was because he was now middle management. Technically superior. Still a wanker. One of Aleister Crowley's many great-great-great grandspawn. Ugh.

He booted up his computer and made coffee while it completed its half hour of updates. Before he'd got himself into trouble, Anar's job had been quite easy and simple; manage, organise and update the demon database. Data input. He'd put his own spin on it by mucking it up on purpose, mis-spelling names, putting funny pictures on entries instead of official etchings, that sort of thing. Now he was being watched so he had to do it all properly and oh boy was that dull. His in-tray was full. It was always full. He sighed as the updates came to a finish and wondered what was in store for him today. Rave had been right about the new software being tested out on them first. Making mortals lives a misery was Hell's purpose and someone was having a lot of fun doing it. Mobile phones had been the new thing; encouraging the living to shout through pieces of plastic, sending incomprehensible text messages full of abbreviations and winky faces and coming up with really annoying ringtones like that bloody frog one that made you want to cut off your ears. Then there was the spotty reception, carrying the curious devices around yelling 'can you hear me now?' All the work of an underworld department. Someone within the building was to blame and they were quite possibly being paid very well for their efforts. He drummed his fingers as his screen came to life. Best get cracking.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he froze; finger mid-press. No-one dared touch another minion. Especially one as infamously bad-tempered as himself.