The goblin perched near the pinnacle of the Peace Tower, a gothic stone structure reaching high above the Canadian parliament buildings. The sun was still a few hours from rising in the east. The Canadian flag flapped above in a cold north wind. Below the occasional RCMP car patrolled slowly across the grounds of Parliament. Slasher’s razor-sharp talons dug into the sides of a stone gargoyle. Unusual for the building’s gargoyles, this one was draped with Christmas tree garlands and a salmon.
Slasher’s many eyes blinked separately as it scraped flakes of dried blood from beneath its nails. For so many years nothing had changed. The people below were born, lived, and died their inconsequential lives like the vermin they were. But now, after all this time, there was change! Slasher was giddy with excitement. First Olivia, and then the Traitor, Fist. It had found the Fist and now the Fist was dead. That sanctimonious groveller, that prince of contempt, that traitor! Fuck the Fist! Fuck his entrails! Fuck his cold dead spleen! Every day the Fist was dead was a glorious day. Slasher wished it could kill him again, but that was a risk it wasn’t going to take, it had made sure of that.
It had gathered the scattered bits of Fist into its sack, leaving Olivia alone in the kitchen with her thoughts. Later, it had spread every slab of muscle, every chewy tendon, every fatty slice of organ, all except a few small morsels, throughout the city. There they would be gnawed and consumed by vermin and shat into the dark recesses of the urban underground. That was a fitting end for the Traitor. Mother betrayer!
Yes, the Fist was destroyed for good this time.
The wind blew a large flake of dried blood into the night. It shimmered as the floodlights caught it fluttering away.
Slasher leaned down and brushed its face longingly against the stone face of its gargoyle companion.
“Oh darling,” it said gleefully. “Dead, dead! The Fist is dead! You must celebrate with me!”
It reached into its sack and withdrew Fist’s tongue and stuffed it into the gaping maw of the Gargoyle.
“He got what he deserved! Eat!”
The Gargoyle stared resolutely ahead, bloody tongue hanging from its mouth, refusing to respond. It never did. Its stone hewn face remained frozen in a snarl. But Slasher had come to accept its unwillingness to engage. Gargoyles were a stoic breed, and Slasher’s choice of companionship was limited. If only Skulker had been there to enjoy the moment, rather than buried in his tomb.
“It’s okay, my dear,” it said. “I understand.”
Slasher reached down and took a bite from the tongue, chewing contentedly, staring off into the night. It had been a remarkable few days. First it had found Olivia, the first living creature to see it in uncountable years, and then the Fist, living an undeservedly long life. Fist should have been dead, like all the others. Only Slasher had survived, it was certain. Well, not anymore! Two extraordinary events! It couldn’t be a coincidence. Something had changed, something that hadn’t changed since the End of all Things.
Its thoughts turned to Olivia. Thinking about her gave it a chill of excitement. Slasher had been captured once in the halls of the Renouncer. Curse the Earl of Limbs and his disciples! The torture had been nearly unbearable, on the very knife edge of pain and pleasure. It felt that way now. She brought both opportunity and danger. Each time it saw her, its connection to the world grew stronger. It had been alone for a very long time, with only stone and the dead for companionship. To walk amongst the living once more…it was almost too much to hope for. But it would need to be more careful in the future. At their last encounter Olivia had nearly shattered its bones. The path ahead was perilous.
“We’ll learn her secrets,” whispered Slasher to the Gargoyle. “Yes, we will!”
The Gargoyle said nothing.
But…
There was something more, something nagging like a jagged blade slicing up from the dark recesses of its memory. Slasher grew troubled and its mood soured. It had tried removing its memory once, tired of being nagged by memories of what once was, but it had grown back. Everything grew back eventually. Its shattered teeth were nearly whole again.
It hissed in frustration. There was something it was forgetting. Something important.
Never mind. Whatever it was, it could wait. It danced atop the tower. Nothing was going to stop it from revelling in its victory over the Fist. Knowing that the Fist had survived, but was now dead, helped it overcome its sense of frustration.
There it was again.
The memory stabbed harder.
What?
That.
What that?
The thing you just thought.
I think many things!
About Fist.
The Fist survived?
Yes.
I don’t….
Say it again.
The Fist survived.
Right. Keep going.
I don’t understand. Oh. The Fist hadn’t died?
Right.
He’s been here all this time. Alive?
Yes.
Why does that matter?
Maybe not just him.
Others too?
Others too.
One other?
Now you’ve got it.
Oh. Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
“Goodbye my love!” Slasher cried to the gargoyle before leaping off, and scurrying down the tower, face first, bits of stone and mortar chipping away. It had left something buried a long time ago and if that something was still alive, it was going to be mighty pissed.
A Sneak, a Slayer, and a God 