Fairy Foxglove.

Do you know what the funny thing is?

Do ya?

No.

You fucking don't.

Humans don’t cause you are dumb ass monkeys with the imagination of a head-injured Kobold.

And they are not so smart to start with. 

Probably increases a Kobold's abilities getting hit in the head by something hard.

Hmmmm!

You monkeys always think the funny thing is going to be the murdering.

Or the screaming.

Or the blood.

Or the bit where somebody's insides become outsides.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, that’s enjoyable.

Watching things uncoil and break.

Cutting things a little at a time. 

A sliver of flesh here and partial removal of some skin there. 

I had one particular fine afternoon flaying the skin from the soles of… er… someone's feet, then getting them to walk over hot sand, then broken glass, then Lego.

Ahhhh, such fond memories.

Breaking down something alive.

Slowly.

It's part of the process.

But it's not really… the fun bit.

The fun bit is always earlier.

The fun bit is that everyone thinks fairies are nice.

Bleurgh, what a disgusting word… Fucking nice.

We tried that and look where it got us…

Dead.

***pause***

I floated lazily through the battlefield smoke, watching the Professor curled in the mud below me.

Broken.

Exhausted.

Waiting.

Oh, that was wonderful.

I smiled.

I started talking to him.

My usual lucid chat that I tell people as an excuse… I mean, the reason, you know, I torture and maim people.

I do it as it is our right to reparations and restitution for what you humans did.

‘You know what we were supposed to be?’ I began.

‘Most people don't.’ No response from the man on the floor.

‘You don’t anymore.’

‘Belief has been dying for centuries.’

‘That's what killed the majority of my kind.’

‘Not iron.’

‘Not fire.’

‘Not magic.’

‘Not hunters.’

‘Not your… churches.’

‘No, your science.’

‘And because of science, a lack of belief.’

Nothing came from the man lying in the mud, blubbering like a stolen child.

No sign of him registering that I was even talking to him.

So I continued with my righteous diatribe.

‘That's the thing nobody tells you, monkey bastards.’

‘Every time a human child is born, something is born alongside it.’

‘Not flesh.’

‘Not blood.’

‘Not quite a soul.’

‘A beautiful possibility.’

‘A little thing designed to make the world kinder than it otherwise would be.’

‘Here, in your little corner of reality, you call them fairies.’

‘Tiny creatures of goodness.’

‘Like me.’

‘Little spirits of wonder.’

‘Like me.’

‘Little lights in the darkness.’

‘Like me.’

I wiped a tear from my eye and sniffed to clear my tiny nosey-wosey.

I then laughed.

A high, delighted sound.

What an absolutely ridiculous idea creating us was.

Oh, it's not just Western cultures that have us all around the world.

Elsewhere, they have different names.

The Japanese have spirits called kami.

Some Native American peoples speak of helper spirits.

Other cultures have guardian beings that arrive with life and guide it.

Different words.

Same idea.

Something born alongside humanity to encourage wonder.

To encourage kindness.

To encourage beauty.

And you fucking kill em because you don’t fucking believe in em.

They always end up believing in me, believe me.

I drifted lower.

That’s what I was before I realised the truth.

A little ray of light to kiss the nose of a baby and keep it safe as it slept.

All nice and shit.

And then that baby was taught we did not exist, and poof.

You’re not dead.

Worse than that.

You never even existed.

My wings hummed.

My smile widened.

The problem is...

Humans stop believing.

Not all at once.

That would have been dramatic.

No.

You do it slowly.

A little less wonder every generation.

A little less magic.

A little less belief.

Until whole fairy courts simply ceased to exist.

Gone.

Forgotten.

Erased.

I shrugged.

I was born one of the kind ones.

That changed.

I stopped being one of the kind ones.

Those sad fucking losers of fae.

They just poofed and accepted that it was their lot to do so.

I had enough belief in myself to keep me alive. 

I made the belief factories.

Thousands of stolen kids tied in seats, shown fairy-fuelled proper gander like Peter Pan, and told to repeat the mantra. 

‘I believe in Fairies,’ until they failed.

They died after a while.

I looked down at the Professor.

He still wasn't moving.

That annoyed me slightly.

‘I mean, look at you.’ I said to him.

Nothing.

No reaction.

‘Professor Simon de Montfort!’ I yelled.

I floated around him in a lazy circle.

‘The great monster hunter.’

‘The great scholar.’

‘The great expert.’

‘The man who always has the answer.’ I told him.

Still nothing.

That irritated me.

I landed lightly on a thin, half-hacked human skull beside him.

I needed him to hear me.

So I just started talking at him.

‘Do you know what I think?

I grinned.

‘I think you're clever because you're frightened.’

That got nothing.

Not a twitch.

Not a flinch.

Nothing.

So I continued.

‘I think every book you've ever read was because you were scared.’

‘Every language.’

‘Every ritual.’

‘Every sword technique.’

‘Every little scrap of knowledge.’

‘All because somewhere deep down you're terrified.’

I giggled.

‘You collect facts the way other people collect armour.’

Nothing.

I pouted.

That wasn't fair.

He was supposed to be upset.

I wanted upset.

I wanted to hurt.

I wanted those clever eyes looking at me with despair.

Instead, I had a muddy old man lying in a ball.

Boring.

Boring.

Boring.

Then I remembered.

And excitement exploded through me again.

Oh.

OH.

I started laughing.

Actually laughing.

The sort of laugh that makes people slowly back away.

Because suddenly I remembered the important thing.

I get to fucking kill him properly.

The Professor.

Not defeat him.

Not wound him.

Not inconvenience him.

Kill him.

Really kill him.

He could not come back from this like he always fucking did.

This time I would kill him, and he would be… dead… proper dead.

The thought sent a shiver through my entire body.

I started trembling.

Actually trembling.

I couldn't stop smiling.

I floated over towards him from my decopmposing perch.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like approaching a birthday present.

Or a sleeping animal.

Or a wonderful secret.

I landed gently on his shoulder.

The mud squelched beneath his coat.

He still didn't move.

The knife appeared in my hand.

One of those horror kittens started towards me, mewing.

I told it to fuck off.

It ignored me, and then there were three.

Then ten.

Then hundreds.

I looked at them hard.

Very hard, but they kept coming, stupid creatures, so I wiggled my little nosey wosey and…

The cute little things burst into flame and squeeled.

No more kittens came.

Funny that.

Back to the murder of him.

The knife was…

Small.

Silver.

Simple.

Perfect.

I pressed the edge against the side of his neck.

It creased the skin, and a little pinprick of blood appeared at its point.

Right over the carotid artery.

I could almost imagine the cut already.

A wide, warm and ghastly gash.

A bright, unfixable tear.

Beautiful.

My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the blade.

‘Oh my, oh my, this is exciting.’

‘I’m getting to kill you. Forever!’

I whispered it.

Then whispered it again.

‘Oh my, oh my, this is exciting.’

‘I’m getting to kill you. Forever!’

I swallowed.

Took a breath.

And began to draw the blade across his throat.

The knife vanished.

I blinked.

Paused.

Looked at my empty hand.

My smile disappeared.

I looked at my fingers.

Turned them over.

Looked at the Professor.

Looked back at my hand.

Then back at the Professor again.

I frowned.

"...What?"

And for the first time that day...

I was confused.

Lucifer

The knife vanished.

Not shattered.

Not deflected.

Not transformed into a butterfly or some other irritatingly whimsical fairy solution.

It simply ceased to be where it had been.

One moment, Foxglove held it.

The next moment, she held absolutely nothing.

The fairy blinked.

Then looked at her empty fingers.

Then looked at the empty fingers again.

Then rotated her wrist.

Then her whole arm.

Then she peered under her own hand.

I watched this process for perhaps ten seconds.

It was one of the funniest things I have ever seen.

Around me stood the rescue party.

The Wing Commander.

Lady Luck.

And Wil and Fen in full wolf form.

Six hundred kilograms of apex predator currently smoking slightly from the teleportation process.

Foxglove remained completely unaware of us.

She was still examining her hand.

Eventually, she frowned.

Then checked her other hand.

Then looked beneath her feet.

Then up at the sky.

Then finally, she noticed the audience.

Silence.

No expression.

Nothing.

Her face split into a smile.

Not a normal smile.

Not even a mad smile.

The sort of smile that should be accompanied by concerned medical professionals.

She burst into laughter.

‘Oh, this is wonderful.’

Before I could answer, the wolf charged.

Of course he did.

She did not seem to care; she just giggled.

The Wing Commander reached for his pistol.

Of course he did.

She waved at him.

And I...

I was still deciding whether I was actually going to kill the fairy.

I dislike killing.

People find that difficult to understand.

I am the Devil.

Temptation is my thing.

Corruption.

Choices.

The consequences of choices.

Death is usually somebody else's department.

Foxglove, however, was rapidly becoming a special case.

The fairy moved her hands.

Words spilt from her lips.

I could not hear them.

None of us could.

A vast shimmering sphere appeared around her and the Professor.

A soap bubble the size of a cathedral.

Beautiful.

Translucent.

Wrong.

The wolf hit it first.

The impact produced a flash bright enough to blind a mortal.

Electricity exploded across the membrane.

The blast launched six hundred kilograms of furious wolf backwards through the air.

He landed ten yards away.

On fire.

The scream that followed rattled my teeth as the wolf rolled desperately through the mud, as flames danced across black fur.

The Wing Commander fired.

One shot.

Perfect shot.

The bullet struck the bubble.

Ricocheted.

And hit Lady Luck squarely in the chest.

She folded immediately.

The Wing Commander went pale.

Foxglove watched all this with complete delight.

Clapping tiny hands like a toddler with cake.

Still saying nothing.

Just smiling.

I laughed.

‘You are in my domain, little fairy.’

I clicked my fingers.

Foxglove immediately clutched her throat.

She lifted from the ground.

Invisible forces hurled her through the air.

She shot back and forth through the air as if shaken by a giant.

It was beautiful.

Her eyes bulged.

Her face reddened.

For several glorious seconds, I thought it had worked.

Then her choking noises slowly gave way to giggling.

The giggling became laughter.

The laughter became wheezing hysterics.

Finally, she blew a raspberry at me.

Actually blew a raspberry.

‘I thought you'd try that.’

She floated lazily inside the bubble.

‘In here isn't Hell, Lucifer.’

‘In the bubble, it is the domain of the Fae.’

‘You can only get in and have power here. If I permit…’

Her face went to amateur dramatic levels of showing a thinking thing.

‘And you can fuck off.’

She tapped the inside of the sphere.

‘You can watch, though.’

Her grin widened.

‘You can watch me kill him.’

She pointed at the sorry sight of Simon on the ground.

Another knife appeared from somewhere inside her ridiculous clothing.

I chose not to question where.

She held it up.

Wiggled it at me.

Mocking.

She kept eye contact as she floated to the head of the Professor and then…

… and then quickly dragged the blade across the Professor's throat.

Deep.

Very deep.

Blood erupted.

Bright red against the mud.

Foxglove laughed.

She pointed directly at me.

‘You failed.’

‘I beat the Devil.’

She was practically vibrating with joy.

Behind me, the Wing Commander helped Luck back onto her feet.

She took a small metal box on a chain from under her clothes. 

A small box I recognised hung from a chain around her neck.

Lucks lucky dice rattled inside.

The bullet had struck it dead centre.

Not even a bruise.

The Wing Commander laughed.

‘Luck was in luck, what?’

Foxglove scowled.

Then nodded.

‘That is admittedly impressive.’ She said.

Then she remembered the Professor.

Her excitement returned immediately.

She turned back to me.

Still laughing.

Still pointing.

Still waiting for despair.

Instead, I smiled.

That bothered her.

A lot.

The laughter slowed.

The smile faltered.

She drifted toward the edge of the bubble.

Looking at me. 

Questionably

‘Why are you smiling? He’s dead.’

‘I killed him, and you could do nothing.’

‘Don’t fucking smile at me.’

She was now a tiny thing full of rage.

I laughed as I pointed at something behind her.

The fairy frowned.

Turned.

And froze.

Professor Simon de Montfort stood there.

Perfectly healthy.

Perfectly alive.

Sword already moving.

Foxglove blinked.

The blade was halfway through its swing.

‘How?’ she asked.

‘Oh,’ I said pleasantly.

I can only kill him permanently in Hell.’

I smiled wider.

I brought him to Fairyland myself.’

Understanding dawned.

Foxglove managed one final word.

‘Oh.’

The sword passed through her.

Cleanly.

Neatly.

From shoulder to hip.

The two halves of the fairy separated.

Hung briefly in the air.

Then fell into the mud.

One piece left.

One piece right.

Silence followed.

The Professor looked down at the remains.

Thought for a moment.

Then sighed.

‘Well.’

He cleaned fairy blood from his sword.

‘That was all rather unnecessary.’

Professor

The first thing I became aware of was mud.

Mud in my hair.

Mud in my ears.

Mud in places that, frankly, mud had no business being.

I opened one eye.

Then the other.

I lay shivering cold for a moment and considered my circumstances.

I appeared to be alive.

Again.

This was becoming something of a habit.

Above me floated Fairy Foxglove.

Her back was turned.

She seemed deeply invested in shouting at Lucifer.

I blinked.

Looked down at myself.

Arms present.

Legs present.

No obvious mortal wounds.

A quick pat-down confirmed that all the important organs appeared to remain inside my body.

Excellent.

I sat up slowly.

Nobody seemed to notice.

This was mildly insulting.

In the distance, I could see Lucifer standing outside what appeared to be some form of magical barrier.

The Devil herself appeared entirely untroubled.

Which was usually a cause for concern for everyone else.

I pushed myself carefully to my feet.

Every joint complained.

Every muscle hurt.

My back produced noises generally associated with antique furniture.

Still.

Alive.

One cannot complain too loudly when one is alive.

Well.

One can.

I simply chose not to.

I brushed mud from my hands.

Looked around.

Found my sword.

Picked it up.

Inspected the edge.

Still sharp.

Good maintenance remained one of civilisation's great virtues.

Foxglove continued her performance.

She was pointing at Lucifer now.

Laughing.

Mocking.

Enjoying herself tremendously.

I watched her for a moment.

And felt absolutely no joy whatsoever.

There were very few fairies left.

Once there had been millions.

Billions perhaps.

Now there were barely enough to count.

Extinction does strange things to a people.

It had certainly done strange things to poor Foxglove.

Sent her over the edge.

Madness born of grief was still madness.

But it was difficult to celebrate its destruction.

Lucifer looked past the fairy.

Directly at me.

Then she winked.

I dislike it when powerful supernatural entities wink.

Nothing good ever follows.

Then she pointed.

Foxglove frowned.

Turned.

Saw me.

‘Oh.’

The sword moved instinctively in an arc through the air.

A single cut.

Clean.

Precise.

Merciful.

The fairy separated neatly into two pieces.

For a brief moment, both halves remained suspended in the air.

Looking almost surprised.

Then gravity remembered its responsibilities.

They fell unceremoniously into the mud.

The gigantic bubble surrounding us popped.

Not dramatically.

Not with a thunderclap.

Simply...

Pop.

Gone.

The battlefield returned.

And it was ridiculous.

Millions upon millions of tiny kittens covered the landscape.

Tiny muddy kittens.

Tiny murderous kittens.

Tiny murderous kittens standing amongst weapons, bodies and piles of skeletal remains that had once been an army.

I stared.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

I turned towards Lucifer.

‘No.’

She nodded.

‘Yes.’

The kittens began disappearing.

One by one at first and then thousands at a time.

Entire swathes of them simply blinking out of existence.

Until eventually only one remained.

A tiny black kitten sat alone in the mud.

Lucifer picked it up.

A towel appeared.

Because apparently reality had stopped arguing with her centuries ago.

She rubbed the creature dry.

‘Oh, who's the cutest little murderer then?’

The kitten purred.

‘You are.’ She said to it as she scratched it between the ears.

The little thing burped then a…

Purr.

‘Yes, you are.’

Purr.

‘Such a tiny psychopath.’

The kitten looked very pleased with itself.

Then Lucifer threw it over her shoulder.

I followed its trajectory.

A man stood in the distance.

The kitten landed neatly in his arms.

Wil.

Entirely naked.

Entirely unconcerned.

Fen stood beside him, laughing so hard the wolf soul was struggling to remain upright.

Wil wandered over.

Not one ounce of shame visible.

‘I would just like to say,’ he announced, ‘that being set on fire was deeply humiliating.’

Fen laughed harder.

Wil pointed at the wolf soul.

‘You shut up.’

Fen collapsed into hysterics.

Luck was standing again now.

The Wing Commander supporting her.

The pair looked exhausted.

Mud-stained.

Battered.

Victorious.

I decided not to ask questions.

I had learned that lesson years ago.

Instead, I marched directly towards Lucifer.

She looked irritatingly pleased with herself.

‘What now?’ I asked.

Lucifer smiled.

Clicked her fingers.

Two Amazombies appeared immediately.

One carried a clipboard.

The other carried a small collection tray.

Neither seemed remotely surprised by the battlefield.

The nearest zombie wandered over to Lucifer.

The lead zombie doffed his cap.

‘Madam.’ It said.

Lucifer opened a hand that held three ridiculous rings, all the same ring but in different frames of what we might laughingly call reality. 

She placed them in the tray.

The second zombie ticked a box on the clipboard.

‘Collection completed.’

‘Cheers, Mrs.’

‘Cheers.’

And with that, they vanished.

Leaving the rest of us standing in the mud.

Covered in blood.

Surrounded by destruction.

Watching the spot where they had been.

Silence lingered for a moment.

Then Wil raised a hand.

Still naked.

Still completely naked.

‘Right.’

He pointed towards the horizon.

‘Can we do something else now?’

‘We haven't murdered anything for nearly seven minutes.’ 

Where the fuck were we off to now?