And Now, We'll Go To Our Reporter On The Scene . . .


Teraphim sighed. The streets of Shal-Mari seemed somehow lacking next to the mortal world. It has to be the quality of light, he thought. I need to run a survey on the quality of light, get some Vapulan opinion polls and alternative resources, get sun-tan reports, see if I could push water-powered luminous lava lamps, maybe . . .

The imp standing beside him coughed politely, and adjusted his camera fittings. "Ready for the next shot, Boss?"

The Balseraph sighed, and flexed all six wings, admiring their gleaming chrome. "All right, Fetzi baby. Let's roll. Witness?"

The Djinn who was pinning a weeping Impudite against the wall grunted. "Ready to go, Boss."

Teraphim grinned. "Showtime. Action!" He glided across to the Impudite as the Djinn released her, and pushed a microphone under her nose. "Hello! And how are you feeling at the moment?"

"How am I feeling?" The Impudite's voice rose to a shriek, and she took a deep breath that showed off her two best features. "How the hell do you think I'm feeling?"

Teraphim turned to flash a smile at the camera. "Yes, that's what they're all saying. Here in the aftermath of one of the latest Giant Blob incidents, we're questioning a survivor." His gesture took in the surrounding rubble, the slimy tracks down the street, and the Impudite -- who had abruptly changed her attitude to one of tearful shock and sexiness. "This lovely Taker was witness to the brutal attack." He turned back to the bat-winged woman, and his voice dripped syrup as he coaxed, "Tell me about it, baby. Tell everyone in Hell. Don't hold back."

This sucks, the Balseraph reflected. This really, really sucks. I - and I mean I, baby, one of the hottest up-and-coming guys in all the Media, have had my vessel's nose fried and groin stung to boils, my role blown, my best friend in all the world brainwashed and being felt up by black-winged idiot molesters, and I've been shuffled sideways into interviewing streetwalkers in Shal-Mari. He blinked all six eyes at the Impudite enticingly.

The Impudite herself was staring into the camera like a hypnotised rabbit on heat, but with dewier eyes and bigger wings. "Oh, yes," she breathed, parting her lips. "I saw it. It was so big, it was even bigger than Prince Nybbas' Penthouse!"

Teraphim subtly made the, "Edit that out," sign at the imp, who nodded back.

The Impudite paused for some deep breathing practice, then continued, "I was just serving three of my favourite customers, when boom!" She gave a little shriek. "This thing came oozing down the street. It was just like Godzilla, you know, all huge and monstrous and icky. Porzias and I ran to the window, and we saw it slam into a cinema there, then wham into that cafe, and we could see all the demons running away shrieking." She paused. "Oh, and all the souls too."

"What happened then?" Teraphim prompted.

She dimpled. "Well, I thought it would be safer to stay where we were, as it wasn't getting near us. But then we felt it." She lowered her tone conspiratorially. "It was like this wave, this total head-splitting weirdness. Porzias said afterwards that it was making him feel all paranoid, but I think that was just him being normal. It made me think of all sorts of weird conspiracy stuff. I mean, I had this theory about Belial having a plot with Saminga to fry Vapula in order to seize power from Baal and rule Hell with Beleth as his queen -- which has these logical holes in it, I mean, you know."

Teraphim flashed his best grin at her. "I know, baby, I know." In the distance, he could hear screams and crunching. They must be clearing up some of the mess, he thought. "So, what happened to the demons who got caught in it?"

The Impudite shuddered prettily. "They just vanished into it. And then they sort of dissolved when they were inside it. You could see it right through the goo."

The Balseraph sighed to himself. No true sense of description. He'd have to edit in some model shots at that point, get the CGI on it, whatever. "And then it just oozed past. So, honey, where did it go?"

At that point he noticed that the Impudite's focus had shifted to over his shoulder. "Well . . ." she hesitated. "Around the block, it looks like. Hey, you do have those defence things you mentioned?"

He turned, and he saw it. Big as Godzilla, check. Slimy, check. Knocking down buildings, check. Oozing right in his direction, check. Interview opportunity of a lifetime! his instincts screamed at him.

"Of course, baby!" Teraphim resonated, driving the force of his belief into her, and watched her relax. "Now, how about you stay right here," he peered back over his shoulder, "while we go get a personal interview. Perhaps we can have you posing in a string bikini next to it, you know, do a product placement . . ." He let his mouth go on automatic as he considered camera angles.

The imp hissed, "Boss, are you sure about this one?"

He turned to grin brilliantly at the imp. "Of course I am, kiddo! We've got defences, remember! We'll be just fine. Cutie," he turned to the Impudite, "how about you go pose close to it for some shots? We can splash them across Hell, baby! You'll be famous."

The Impudite hesitated. "Are you sure about this?"

He slithered to fold three wings around her shoulders. "Sweetheart, baby, honey, I take good care of my stars. They're important to me. They matter to me. I want your face up there, I want the whole of Hell to see it, I want you so famous that the Beautiful Prince is going to be queueing in line to nibble your toes." His resonance affirmed the words. "Prime time tv!"

The Impudite made it halfway to the Blob before she began to reconsider, turning back. He had the camera full on her as she began to say, "Hang on a moment, what precisely are these defences . . ."

"Ooooh, yummy." The look on her face as the wave of ooze crashed over her was going to be an image he could get on every newspaper front page, Teraphim decided, and he yelled, "Keep filming! Keep filming! Get the digestion!"

"Boss," the Djinn pointed out, edging backwards, "it's coming this way."

"Don't worry, we've got defences," the Balseraph pointed out. Then he paused. Come to think of it, he didn't have defences. The Martian mind rays had deactivated them. I should have worn a foil cap! he thought. Damn those Martians and their three-legged tripod war machines! Damn their foul and insidious war on Hell! Still, no Martian was going to get him to retreat. It was time for him to use all the skills he'd learned as a Michaelite! It was time for him to go hand-to-hand with this oozing blob Martian and personally subdue it! It was time . . .

"Boss, run!" the imp shrieked, running backwards, keeping the camera pointed at the Blob.

"Don't worry." Teraphim flexed his wings. Ah yes, the old moves were still there. "I'll handle it."

Then the world fell on top of him.

Slowly he blinked and opened his eyes. The imp was standing next to him, camera pointed at the seething crater that was where the Blob had been. From the centre of it came the sounds of vast and hungry munching, thunderously shaking the earth.

Teraphim reared up shakily, and muttered, "Haagenti?" at the Djinn who was looming over him.

The Djinn grunted. "Yeah. Just showed up. Eating it right now. Pity, we could have done a brilliant documentary about your life and career."

The Balseraph sighed, and reminded himself, Only a truly great artist such as me is ever appreciated in their lifetime. Shaking rubble off his wings, he slithered into the camera view. "We now take you for a close and in-depth view of Prince Haagenti at lunch . . ."

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Fiat Justitia