15.

The Temptation

As Ms Rice continued to deliberate about the tower, standing on the pier, pacing aimlessly, to and fro, a strong wind came from the direction of the other side of the gulf, blowing, and blowing away the smoke and pollution in the air. It was this certain day cloud was lifted like dry-ice vapor, that wouldn't move before, now it disappeared. The mist passed her, falling on the mass beyond her gate city: the legions of homeless, half asleep in their encaged museum of the living dead; --even the sound of running rodents on the wharf now were amused at the happening.

As Ms Rice walked towards the gates, there stood Agaliarept, a powerful figure to say the least, just his stance, his look and his shape-changing diaphragm, his ugly demonic identity was present now: he had a tale, a horrid face, horns; he was knowing ahead of time— foresight, or a touch of for mysterious intuition—her motive, her secret motive, or if not he was a good guesser, for moving toward the gates at the same time she did. Agaliarept stood now in the middle of the gateway, like a tower monarch—as if to say: here I am, here is the real me, the Commander of two legions stood froze like granite, like an obelisk in Egypt. He had an empty face; no cardsharp could have guessed his next move, a flat affect. His black robe, netted with dead diversity: dead black spiders, rodent skins, layered with dust, spider webs thick as wool, butterflies with eyes on their wings, all attached to one another, all making up his wardrobe, now taken off, his hairy and strong looking body stood the length of the gateway in high. The two guards and Opiel, stood by with only a leather belt on with clubs and knifes attached to them; they stood by as if they were Greek Olympic wrestlers ready to jump this little lady with messed up hair, and thick eyebrows, and a round oval shaped face, that was no more than 5'2”, and weighted less then a hundred pounds. But Agaliarept was not quick to act; he measured the scene with all his minds-eye: with realism and no-nonsense and knowledge. He was no fool, Lucifer did not pay him tribute because he was, but because he was not—and Alexandra Rice knew this. If anything she knew the cleverness, the lies the distortions, the deletions he and his bunch had played her with, to keep her their toy.

"You cannot pass!” he said in a grave tone, ecstatic voice, scratching his fingernails on his palm nervously. But that might have been fine nine years ago, but it wasn't anymore. It wasn't good enough, it wasn't even half scary.

"You died nine years ago—this is your home, I will make you my assistant.” The most popular view was for her to grab the opportunity, but she shook her head: 'no,' it just wasn't going to be she finished: for romantic it wasn't, the irony was sublime, uplifting, she ech

oed in her brain, moving if anything, one would have to take note of this, a special guard in the henchman's legion, under Lucifer himself. Doggedly and at the cost of possible hardship she walked forward a few more feet, a hundred or more of the general's guards, ancient killers took flight from all corners of Hades, and blocked the gate passage. Yes, a hundred or so stood in her way: and yet, as you shall see, she pushed on.

16.

The Henchman's Guards

Some of the soldiers had mammal-reptilian looks, some with scales: herbivores, scavengers, diggers, tree dwellers, hunters, some with lion tails, and bodies [like a Manticore]; ancient carnivores. Some with large lizard eyes—some with no visible ears, reptilian scales and tufts. Still others with mammalian hair allover their body, many again I say so many, with long and short tails, two tails on some: flat feet, hideously long large claws, wolf-like fangs, sober teeth: it was a repugnant horde, his second-legion: the killers, deceivers—the curse of Hell was standing in front of Alexandra Rice, Ms Rice.

"Monsters,” she said out loud, "you're all monsters!” she yelled a second time. Some looked half dragon, half lion. They all looked like a part of a mass extinction that took place some 250-million years ago—a genetic crack in some kind of earthly catastrophe. She had come to the bare conclusion this was a much more dangerous and troubled world than the one she had come from: perception after the fact, yes indeed.

With a commanding, ardent, yet logical and smooth voice, the words came out slow: "Mo ve, ov er, or you will ha ve to o take a mill ion years to keep me e busy, and that my dear Horde will take you away from your precious duties; —if you can afford to have one person occupying your duties, so be it?”

Agaliarept noticed many of the new passengers were not waiting in the boats, rather they were listening as they could, to what was gong on.

"You will get tired of killing me over and over, and beating me day after day, and night after night…endlessly, I swear I will endlessly occupy your time, needlessly. On another note, if you could—so I've learned—you would, do more to me, you would have stopped me long ago. But for some reason you couldn't.” She shook her head oddly, as if she didn't even know what she was saying, but just chancing it: for she had come to the winding up point of unwinding or cracking: they knew something she didn't know.

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