Free Evil Eternal by Hunter Shea

something about your face that makes me want to hurt you more than you could ever imagine.”
    The good-looking man sneered and slowly approached him.
    “Is it the hair?” Shane blurted out. “A lot of people don’t like the hair. Sure, it’s retro-seventies punk but I like it and, hey, who really gives a frog’s fat ass what anyone else thinks. You know what I mean?”
    Shane couldn’t believe it even as the words flowed from his mouth. He was well aware that he possessed a self-destructive streak that stretched from Earth to Pluto but this was stepping out well past the Milky Way. Somehow, he managed to stand his ground without soiling himself.
    “When I’m done with you, I’ll use your hair to wipe my semen from the bloodied asses of the corpses I defile!” the thing wailed. “I won’t just kill you. I’ll obliterate your soul!”
    They were only several paces apart, a frightened street kid and a naked man whose eyes were swirling from blue to red. Shane braced himself against the garbage can and waited for the worst. Whatever last words he might have wanted to say were lost in a sea of panic. And maybe, if he was lucky for one of the few times in his life, this was just a dream. It all seemed too unreal, to the point where even his self-defense reflexes couldn’t find their cues to kick in.
    The thing’s eyes had transformed into bright-red lasers.
    “Are you ready to glimpse hell, mortal dog?”
    Shane held his breath and waited to die.

Chapter Nine
    Shane squinted as a rippling haze began to form around the creature-man. An actual heat emanated from its body and Shane could just make out a twisted smile through the wavering air between them. It was like looking at pure, shit-stained evil coming at you over a horizon of sunbaked asphalt.
    Shane’s fight-or-flight response decided to kick in, choosing the latter option and ready to do so immediately. Much to his dismay, the pocket of heat had enveloped him in an impenetrable bear hug of death. No matter how he struggled, there was no way to escape its fiery embrace.
    “Just my luck,” Shane said, more to himself than the thing before him. “A day late, a dollar short and screwed like a crack whore.”
    His nose was assaulted by a sharp, pungent odor and he realized the hair on his head was starting a slow burn. Sweat broke out from every pore on his body and each breath brought a gust of fire into his lungs. It wouldn’t be long before he’d suffocate in the sweltering embrace of this fiend that wore human skins like men wore suits.
    “Preview’s over,” the thing said without moving its lips. Its voice boomed in Shane’s head. “Time for the main attraction.”
     
     
    Father Michael strode along Second Avenue, every heightened sense straining for a glimmer of Cain’s presence, when he felt it. A shift in the collective spirit, a dark stain spreading across the fabric of mortal men’s souls that were the unseen glue holding the inhabitants of Manhattan together.
    It clutched at his heart, drawing him in like a beacon. This soul-pulse, as he liked to call it, reeked of Cain. He was cracking open a portal to ultimate annihilation and its foul stench revolted Father Michael’s senses. He wondered if Cain was aware of his arrival and was luring him into a trap. The ancient evil was tearing a hole in time, allowing true hell purchase in this world. It was an awesome power that would rend a man’s body and soul into shreds. Cain was well aware that its use would reveal his whereabouts to Father Michael, like the scent of blood to a shark. It always did.
    He sprinted down Second Avenue and made a left onto Fourteenth Street, allowing the tug of the soul-pulse to lead him to his prey.
     
     
    Three thousand miles to the east, Pope Pius XIII pulled himself up from the padded kneeler with great difficulty. His knees popped and crackled from the effort and bolts of fire shot down his legs. He again made the sign of the cross, pushing the pain from