Killbo wasted no time making his way to the clown\u2019s lair and promptly explained that the deed was done. \u201cNow it\u2019s time for you to meet you end of the contract,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat contract?\u201d The clown looked puzzled.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t toy with me, beast.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m being sincere,\u201d the clown said, blinking absently and looking dumbfounded. \u201cI remember giving you a little pep talk and opening a portal and you went in it before I could show you anything to sign. You should have heard me shouting, \u2018wait, Killbo, wait! You forgot to sign this!\u2019 after you went in. Sorry. No contract, no deal. I\u2019ve got standards to uphold. Verbal agreements are legally non-binding. My legal advisers would never let me hear the end of it if I\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
Killbo cut him off right there. \u201cI did what you asked,\u201d he spat through gritted teeth. \u201cYou\u2019ll teach me your tricks or it will be you I send to hell next.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou say that as if I\u2019ve never been,\u201d the clown mused in a droll, unimpressed tone. Then it rubbed its tummy jovially. \u201cRemember that little bit about me being the 9th Lord of Hell? I wasn\u2019t joking. Need proof? Do you want to see my ID?\u201d The creature rummaged through its pockets histrionically, but never came up with anything.<\/p>\n
\u201cHell\u2019s my hometown. Not that I\u2019m in any rush to get back. The place has really gone to piss over the years. All these immigrants moving in, can you imagine? Where are they coming from if they\u2019re in such a rush to get into hell of all places! And to think we used to have such quiet neighborhoods. Hardly anyone even speaks Demonic any more. Though I do suppose my folks would appreciate the visit. My mother always says, \u2018son you never write\u2019. She sounds so disappointed. I tell her, mom I\u2019m busy with my career mom, there\u2019s always something I have to do mom, you wouldn\u2019t believe the hours I\u2019m working, this holiday season, I promise mom, I\u2019ll\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
Killbo leapt like a lynx on crack straight onto the clown\u2019s face and buried a dagger into its eye down to the hilt.<\/p>\n
The clown threw its head back in shock and stood completely still for a moment. \u201cOh my god. My eye. You took out my eye. No, oh god no, my eye! It hurts, oh god no it hurts. God no. Please no.\u201d The creature retched and shook. \u201cDear god no!\u201d It screamed and wailed with hands over its face in an abject portrait of agony.<\/p>\n
Then Dimply stopped the performance abruptly and brought its head back up and smirked. \u201cJust kidding. Stop. Just stop. Seriously. You\u2019ll embarrass yourself.\u201d The creature grasped the handle of the dagger and pulled it out with his whole eye skewered on it. In the empty socket Killbo could see fires flit and flicker like serpent\u2019s tongues. Dimply casually grasped the dislodged eye with thumb and forefinger and yanked it free from the blade and flicked it away. It then brought out a balloon, blew it up slightly so that it was the size of an egg, tied it off and popped it into the eye socket. Its eyeball was restored as good as new.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd get this. To top it all off, you just killed, in totally overblown, theatrical fashion I might add, the one guy who recognized how much of a cosmic threat I am and sought to banish me from the material plane! So thanks for that.\u201d<\/p>\n
Killbo seethed with unthinkable rage but stayed motionless.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou halflings are so easy to manipulate. You made a bargain with the sketchiest blighter anyone could possibly imagine, and all it took was me is suggesting a good time and you scampered right off to do it. One look at me just screams \u2018get away\u2019\u201d The creature grinned savagely, basking in total victory. \u201cWant to know what I think?\u201d The demon continued.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think you want to fancy yourself above the your halfwit, I mean halfling, race. I know your record. Why is it that you kill more halflings than any other race? Is it self-loathing?\u201d The clown put its finger on its chin clinically.<\/p>\n
Killbo assumed the clown was being rhetorical but then realized it was expecting an answer.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not playing any more of your games, hellhound.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHumor me. It\u2019s for your own good.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI highly doubt it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll never leave here if you don\u2019t.\u201d the clown said with utter seriousness.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it because you\u2019ll kill me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSomething will.\u201d<\/p>\n
Killbo sighed, and cursed himself for putting himself in this fruitless situation. \u201cYou\u2019re wrong. That my marks tend to be of my own kind is a fluke, owing to halflings being the most populous fodder in the region. It\u2019s simply a matter of convenience.\u201d\u2028<\/p>\n
\u201cElaborate.\u201d The clown blinked emptily, taking on the airs of a concerned therapist.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s nothing more to be elaborated. That\u2019s the explanation.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s always something more.\u201d The clown hinted at mysteriously.<\/p>\n
Killbo put some thought into it. \u201cIt\u2019s true that I sometimes kill because I don\u2019t like the look of someone, but I want my works to be individualized, bespoke. I want to eradicate the person, not exterminate the type. I read of killers who only hunt blondes, or go only for those of swarthy complexion, and scoff. Though indeed I do find most examples of my race soft and weak, I don\u2019t kill them for it. Frankly, I feel that discriminating on the basis of race is bigoted.\u201d<\/p>\n
The clown was perfectly quiet for a few seconds. Then it exploded into an uproarious, world-upending laughter. The laughter was a sonic assault. It seemed to shake the very foundations of the cosmic order, as if it threatening to shatter it into a thousand pieces and to reset the cycle of creation. \u201cBecause, because it\u2019s b\u2026b\u2026bigoted!\u201d, Dimply spluttered the words out, hardly able to suppress its giggles enough to utter the sentence. A canned laugh track also erupted from the crowd of animatronic trash people in the audience. Their syringe and spoon arms clapped.<\/p>\n
Killbo endured this harassment in bitter silence.
\u201cA serial killer with a conscience, now I\u2019ve seen it all.\u201d The clown wiped a tear of joy from its newly reformed eye. \u201cThat\u2019s precious, it really is.\u201d Its laughter began to die down. \u201cBigoted,\u201d it repeated to itself once before cracking up a little again.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know what,\u201d the clown went on ruthlessly, \u201cI yield the floor to you. I concede, I\u2019ve been out-clowned. That was comedy gold. Hold on, let me write that one down.\u201d
\u201cWhy are done you wasting time?\u201d Killbo spat out. \u201cWhat are you getting out of this?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWasting time? My existence precedes the material plane, kiddo. I have all the time in the world and then some. It\u2019s your time I\u2019m wasting. And the reason why is that it amuses me. Why do anything for any other reason? Does me mildly inconveniencing you make me so horrible? You\u2019re the one who commits murder as a hobby.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re lying. You want something. Out with it then. Enough dancing around it like some prissy nonce.\u201d
\u201cAlright, you got me. I confess I do have an aim in all this. I wasn\u2019t just messing around when I had you go kill that guy. It\u2019s true, I needed him gone. I did employ some treachery to get things moving. But I always intended to give you new powers, in a manner of speaking. But, you see, I\u2019m not exactly the most organized unholy abomination slash sentient aggregate of pure negative karma slash walking metaphor for the cruel insanity of the killer instinct. I don\u2019t make bargains. But I do give tests. You passed. So I have a proposal for you.\u201d The clown squared up its shoulders and adopted a regal posture. \u201cLet\u2019s join forces.\u201d
\u201cIf that means I have to constantly hear you speak, best you destroy me body and soul now,\u201d Killbo said.
\u201cHey, hey. Hear me out. Look, I can feel your ennui. I can taste your boredom, smell it. It\u2019s enough to make me sick.\u201d The clown gagged as if holding back vomit. \u201cBoredom is odious to me. Boredom has an intolerable, nauseating presence. It\u2019s the most evil thing there is, far worse than anything you\u2019ll find crawling around in hell. It\u2019s this gelatinous, grey thing. It fills a room, seeps into every crevice. It pools in people\u2019s souls. There it swells, sticks to them, drains them out, dries them up, makes them stale and dusty until they wither and flake away, leaving nothing but a sad, meager shell, the merest, thinnest outline of a life. Hell is known for its tortures, but one thing you can\u2019t say of it is that it\u2019s boring. There are worse fates than hell, believe me. At least the tortured souls in hell are subjected to some thrills in the course of the eternity of their punishment, and different ones all the time to boot, lest the demons get bored. A life without any excitement is just tragic. It\u2019s not even a life, but a mere physiological process, a mockery of what it means to be alive. How many of your victims, whose lives of crushing monotony toiling at their jobs you have graciously deprived them of, sitting in their offices at their desks? *Freed* them from? The reason it\u2019s getting so dull is there\u2019s no real payoff for ending such empty lives. You\u2019re doing them a favor. Even though they\u2019re filled with terror at the prospect of losing those lives as you take them, and even though they can never thank you for taking once they\u2019re dead, they would if they could. That\u2019s not living. That\u2019s not even surviving. That\u2019s simply existing, and that is a travesty. When you boil it down to the basics like that, merely existing does not stack up next to not existing, not like really living does. It\u2019s no good being a gradually spoiling, meaty sack of wasted potential whose every day grows more tiresome than the last. Oblivion is objectively the better alternative.
\u201cYes. You\u2019ve gotten bored with the regular kills. You can\u2019t even make their deaths buy you the hedonism you sacrificed them for. You\u2019re clawing, swiping, desperately lunging at an itch you can never quite scratch, tucked deep in some corner of your lizard brain that\u2019s juuuust out of reach. It\u2019s driving you mad. And it\u2019s not the low-intensity, manageable, cold psychopathy you\u2019re used to. It\u2019s slowly making you certifiably insane. At this rate, Killbo, one day you\u2019ll get sloppy. You\u2019ll get caught because you don\u2019t care any more, and they won\u2019t even have enough respect for you to execute you or even toss you in a dungeon to forget about and leave to rot.\u201d<\/p>\n
The clown paused for dramatic effect.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour future is a padded cell in an insane asylum, your mind reduced to fragments. A broken, rudderless ship caught in a bottomless whirlpool. And you will be deprived of the mercy you\u2019ve granted so many others. In the end the boredom eating away at you will be all that\u2019s left.\u201d<\/p>\n
Killbo\u2019s lip curled with resentment. The fiend was more rhetorically gifted than he wanted to admit.
\u201cBut just think. With us working together, you can skip the small fry you\u2019re so used to hunting. You\u2019re like a fox chasing rabbits. Where\u2019s the fun? Where\u2019s the challenge? They don\u2019t put up a fight. Come on. You kill halflings man! These innately trusting, gentle critters. It\u2019s actually kind of sad. With me you\u2019ll be a tiger and take down elephants. Go for the big game. Legendary heroes, mighty wizards, powerful kings, ageless demigods. Who knows, maybe even a god or two. Wouldn\u2019t that be just wonderful?\u201d Dimply now seemed to sparkle with a bright and hopeful aura. <\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do I give you in return?\u201d Killbo asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re still thinking in terms of bargains and diabolical pacts. No contracts. No fine prints. No hidden fees. Just fun. You will be my chosen. Together, we will paint this world red. Scour it clean of its most pompous, arrogant pretenders. We will correct the god\u2019s mistakes. Up till now, murder has been a private, secret thing for you. I say, why not make a statement? It\u2019s time to make your presence felt, to carve an ugly, aching scar on the face of all Creation. Now\u2019s your chance for eternal triumph over the ignoble, tedious heat death of the universe, your shot at beating back the restless creep of cosmic tedium, once and for all.
\u201cHave your doubts? How about a demonstration of of my power. I have to be honest with you Killbo. They\u2019re on to you. By they I mean them.\u201d The clown pulled out and displayed an enchanted mirror. The mirror showed what was happening outside the tent in the alleyway. Multiple policelings, armed with muskets and hand cannons, had surrounded the structure and cordoned it off with defensive barricades.<\/p>\n
\u201cSee, turn me down and this is what\u2019s waiting for you. I was right.\u201d<\/p>\n
The clown picked at its nail. \u201cWell, that\u2019s because I tipped them off. But no, not like that. They don\u2019t know your identity. I only left a clue about your murders earlier today, a letter, claiming I knew where the murderer was told them he was armed and extremely dangerous, and told them to come here. I just needed some volunteers for my little performance. So sit back, relax, and enjoy.\u201d Dimply winked and handed Killbo the mirror.<\/p>\n
\u201cWon\u2019t revealing the location of your hideout bring more trouble in the future?\u201d Killbo inquired.
\u201cI wouldn\u2019t worry. This party\u2019s on wheels. Anywhere there\u2019s a lot of trash, I can magically translocate my lair. I\u2019m never found unless I want to be. Or unless people get around to cleaning up this dump of a city. Now, without further ado. The show is about to start.\u201d
The clown did an unexpectedly acrobatic backflip and disappeared into a waiting trash vortex.<\/p>\n
What happened next was unspeakable. When the clown had finished, nothing remained of the policelings but a red mist, a drizzle of viscera raining from the sky and wetly hitting the cobblestones, and as many wide bloodstains as there were once bodies.<\/p>\n
When the clown returned he said, \u201cso what do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n
Killbo said nothing. Instead he just grabbed the clown\u2019s claw, like a lost child grasping at his daddy\u2019s hand.
The crowd cheered and jubilant music played. Colorful lights flashed all around, and bright streamers unfurled from the rafters. Fireworks and sparklers went off and ribbons and confetti puffed into the air.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve got a feeling this is the start of something special,\u201d the clown declared ominously.<\/p>\n
All hell cried out in jubilation.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Killbo wasted no time making his way to the clown\u2019s lair and promptly explained that the deed was done. \u201cNow it\u2019s time for you to meet you end of the contract,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat contract?\u201d The clown looked puzzled. \u201cDon\u2019t toy with me, beast.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m being sincere,\u201d the clown said, blinking absently and looking dumbfounded. … [DO NOT CLICK]<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":1727,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[10],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"entry","1":"post","2":"publish","3":"author-anonymous","4":"post-1728","6":"format-standard","7":"has-post-thumbnail","8":"category-slush"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lampbylit.com\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1728","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lampbylit.com\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lampbylit.com\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lampbylit.com\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lampbylit.com\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1728"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/lampbylit.com\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1728\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1729,"href":"https:\/\/lampbylit.com\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1728\/revisions\/1729"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lampbylit.com\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1727"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lampbylit.com\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1728"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lampbylit.com\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1728"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lampbylit.com\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1728"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}