TITLE: Time Is Hell
GENRE: urban fantasy
Heckler thinks he has a moment to relax after a highly stressful day (mobbed by faeries, nearly killed by giant clock monsters, and getting morally conflicting choices thrust on him). By now, Heckler is exhausted, beaten, sleep and nicotine deprived, and has been pushed past his limits physically and mentally. He's in his basement, hoping for a rest bit as the end of the world approaches.
It came down to whether or not he'd do what Baal wanted. Why did the damn circumstances have to keep shifting and throwing him for a loop? Moral acrobatics weren't his forte, given he had so few to begin with. Just when he thought for sure he could deal with killing Widower, the man saved his life. Again.
He hated debts.
Something thumped against the window. Heckler jerked and stood. His legs wobbled and his back muscles protested. Any minute now and his whole body would go on strike. Bracing himself on the folding chair, he gripped the saber hilt and waited.
Another thump from the other side of the basement rattled the glass. Green light glowed outside.
Wouldn't the fey ever give it up?
Glass shattered and a dozen faeries burst in. Heckler threw his arm up on reflex, shielding his face.
Oberon was subtler. He created a portal in the center of the room. Wild thorns and negative energy crackled and spiked the air with burnt ozone. The faerie king stepped through with a lance and whip, his neon green hair flaring around him in a mane of static electricity, and lime-green sparks of rage dancing in his eyes. Way too melodramatic. "You are pissing me off, mortal."
Heckler widened his stance and glared back. "Ditto, glitter."
"You are by rights mine." Oberon leveled his lance at Heckler's chest. "And you are not escaping me again."
Oberon charged him.