Jack's Back ((Ascension: Book 2))

Jack's Back

Adam Moon

Jack's Back copyright 2013 Adam Moon

All rights reserved

Prologue:

God had to be destroyed and Lucifer could do it. But only if Jack helped him shuck off the shackles of hell. Jack hated God more than he'd ever allowed himself to realize. He knew that Lucifer wasn't the root cause of the hatred in man's heart, God was the creator of man, the heart, and the hatred.

Lucifer's hands were clean; he'd been tucked away in hell the whole time.

Before he could stop himself, he said to Lucifer, "Let's kill that mother fucker."

Lucifer cocked his head to the side and a lopsided grin played on his lips. "You won't regret this, I promise."

Lucifer reached his charred fingers through the opening of the hole between realms and began to pry it wider, inch by inch. Jack reached inside and helped him. Together they were able to really put some muscle into it. His fingers brushed against Lucifer's and he felt a thrill run through him; he couldn't wait to meld himself with this perfect being. He couldn't wait to unleash Lucifer's awesome power against their complacent, lazy, good for nothing God.

When the hole was roughly four feet around, Lucifer put one charred leg through. Jack reached in and took his hand to help. Lucifer grabbed it in a tight squeeze. Jack felt that thrill once again, but also something else. He felt uneasy, like what he was so sure of a second ago would not turn out well for him at all.

Lucifer reached through and grabbed his other hand with unreal force. He pulled himself free from the hole and stood before Jack in all his splendid glory. He let go of Jack's hands and started to brush the charred bits of flesh off of his body. When he was done, the floor around him was covered in two inches of ash. But the amazing thing was that Lucifer looked exactly like Jack when he was done.

Jack shook the disbelief from his thoughts and said, "So what now? How do we do this?"

Lucifer laughed heartily. "I can't believe how eager you are. I can't believe the strength of hatred you possess. It is perfect. You are perfect."

Jack smiled and nodded.

Lucifer mused aloud, "I tricked an atheist into releasing me from hell. I'm a fucking genius. Hey atheist, did it ever occur to you that I am about to make free will a thing of the past? God gave you free will, the greatest gift ever bestowed, and I am about to take it away. You knew that and yet you released me anyway. Your hatred for God overpowered your rational thoughts."

Jack furrowed his brow. This wasn't really going the way he'd expected it to.

Lucifer said, "Get in the pit." With that, he grabbed Jack around the waist and picked him up. Jack was startled by it and tried in vain to resist but the angel had him in a death grip.

As Lucifer walked towards the still enlarged hole, he said, "He'll be watching to see if my embittered soul has escaped. He does check in from time to time, just to make sure I haven't found a way out. When he looks in and sees your twisted carcass of a soul, he'll assume all's well in hell. He'll think you're me."

Jack yelled out but it was a waste of breath. He finally gave up and mumbled to Lucifer, "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Please stop."

Lucifer smirked and said, "Yeah, I can't be trusted. Most people know that. Sorry pal but there's no other way."

Lucifer shoved him forcibly through the hole, into the firey agony of hell.

"Sorry again buddy, I wish it didn't have to be like this, I really do, but you have to take my place."

Jack's skin erupted. He screamed out in agony as his clothes disintegrated away from his body. As his skin bubbled, his hatred intensified.

His tears of frustration and torment immediately sizzled as they left their ducts. He helplessly watched as Lucifer pulled the hole shut on him.

One Year Later

Jack's Back

Jack fe
ll flat on his face, wheezing. Thick white smoke trailed out of his mouth as he exhaled. His skin tingled. He stood up, barely comprehending where he was and why he was naked.

His legs were
weak beneath his weight.

His skin was on fire, literally. He couldn't feel the heat from it. The flames died out within seconds.

He brushed at his charred flesh with his hands. The pain failed to register. Thick ashes fell away from his body and gathered at his feet in large clumps.

He started to feel better.

He noticed a baseball sized red metallic sphere on the ground at his feet and he stooped to pick it up. As he touched it, he knew it was important, but he didn't know why or how. If only he had a pocket to put it in?

He knew he shouldn't be here, but where was he and where had he com
e from? His head ached too much, he couldn't concentrate. Maybe it would come to him later, and maybe not.

What he needed more than anything right now was clothing and a warm place to sit.

The air was frigid and the sidewalk was glazed in ice. His hooves slipped out from under him as he tried to move.

He had a vague sense that where he'd
just come from was the opposite of this. He'd come from a hot place, and now he was freezing. He'd sell his soul for something right in between.

He looked around but his vision was swimming in and out
, making everything hazy. The icy air stung his eyes, causing further vision loss as the tears welled up.

He heard human voices, and they were screaming
bloody murder. The screams were full of instinctive fear, revulsion, and awe. Or maybe his ears were going bad too?

He saw vague shapes moving
quickly away from him.

He stumbled against a wall and
used it to guide him as he made his way forward.

He needed clothes in the worst way, not because he cared about his public nudity of course. Screw what others thought of him. They were all lichen on the undersides of his hooves.

He would crush this world beneath his knees as he prayed to God for sweet release. The thought of God sent his fury twirling upwards, higher and higher, almost taking him with it.

But he had to take one thing at a time. He had to find some nice warm clothes.

He accidentally kicked something. It was heavy, and it was alive. It scurried forward again and bumped into his leg.

Jack bent over and stared at the creature. It was an arachnid of some sort, or maybe a crustacean but it was distinctly different in that it had large mammalian eyes
complete with thick long lashes and what appeared to be a tan, circumcised human penis dangling beneath its grotesque, spider-like body. It measured about two feet around and stood a foot tall.

Jack felt a sort of kinship or maybe an affection towards the creature. It was cute to him in the same way a puppy is cute to a teenage girl. He put a hand on it and it quivered in delight.

He cleared his throat and said, "Get me some clothing at once."

But his voice came out ferocious and coarse. It sounded like
, "Ghett mee summm clothesss aat wunnnssss."

The spider scurried off.

Jack stood where he was, knowing that the weird little creature would not fail him because it was here to serve him.

He heard screams again,
but they were intermittent now and more distant than before.

His vision was beginning to return to him.
And then the world quickly came into sharp relief.

He was on a city street. Shops lined both sides and
snow covered cars were parked up and down the otherwise deserted road. A lone bird circled overhead; apparently it had missed the memo to get out of town until winter passed. Or maybe it wasn't a migratory bird.

Jack didn't know and he didn't care.

He saw a fat woman running from a shop doorway up ahead and his blood boiled. He almost lost himself in the fury her presence brought but he was the master of himself, he controlled the beast inside and allowed her to escape even after she slipped on the ice and fell right on her fat, ugly ass.

He looked down at the iced over sidewalk. He noticed his bare legs were muscled and hairy and red. Instead of weak
, pink human feet, he walked on hooves, black as tar. Each was as big as a canned ham.

He stamped the ground with one and the windows of the shops rattled in their frames.
It made him want to do it again but he controlled the urge.

He held a hand out and inspected it. Instead of fingers, he had muscular, heavily knuckled talons with black
razor-sharp claws at the ends. He flexed his fingers and smiled. He could do some damage with those fuckers.

He reached up and touched his own face. It felt leathery
and too large but it was difficult to discern features simply from touch alone. He turned about to look in a shop window and his reflection shone back from the glass.

No wonder those people ran from him in fright; he was magnificent.

His entire body looked as though it was designed for waging war. He was a mighty war machine. His head was immense, eyes black as obsidian, teeth pointed for consumption of all that stood in his way, horns pointed forward, not for defense, but for mauling his victims. His skin, taut from breeching against the muscles fighting to burst out, was a deep crimson, dappled here and there with coarse black hairs.

He was a physical specimen.

The sight of his own reflection sent a surge of adrenaline through him. Then he saw his tail and his heart sank. It was thin and feeble, with a little tuft of black fur at the end. Where was the musculature? Where were the razor sharp spikes? He reached back and grabbed it. It felt weak. He growled in a deep baritone.

Oh well, he thought, nothing's perfect.

He saw a whirl of motion moving down the street. It was a pile of clothes moving towards him. It bumped into his leg and then stopped.

Jack reached down and picked each article of clothing up to inspect. The spider had done well. Perhaps he'd let it live.

He pulled a large sweater over his head, careful not to destroy it with his horns. It clung to him tightly. He slipped a humungous pair of jeans on and then tucked his stupid fucking tail down one of the pant legs. He pulled a winter coat on and he started to feel warmer.

The spider scurried off once more.

Jack checked himself out in the window again. He looked like a damn dork. The sweater had three snowmen on it, all wearing scarves of different colors. The jeans bulged out in all the wrong places and they were way too short. His body was not designed to be clothed. It was meant to be stared at in awe and fright, not covered up. But it was freezing so he had no choice.

The spider came back with a wood saw clutched between two of its thick legs. Jack picked the saw up and gave the spider a quizzical look. The spider ran up Jack's body, all the way up to his head
, and then it pulled on his horns, as a sort of hint.

Jack guessed what it wanted him to do, but why? Why hide what he was from the world? Why be afraid of revealing his
splendor to a weak, little planet full of pathetic creatures?

He
had no memories, and that was what convinced him to trust the spiders judgment in the end; the spider seemed to know more than he did.

He swatted the spider away
and it clanged off the shop window to his right. It didn't seem too bothered by the rough treatment.

Then Jack
sawed at his horns with all of his might. He must have cut too close because there was a lot of blood when he was done, that was black and oily, and it stunk of smoke and burnt hair. Then again, the stink might have come from the friction burns he'd inflicted on his horns as he sawed away.

Each horn hit the sidewalk with a deafening thud. When he was done he let the saw fall from his grip.

He said to the spider in his deep ominous voice, "That better not have been for nothing."

The spider just stared up at him with its soulful, watery eyes. It was a look that made Jack's heart
melt.

He bent down and put a hand on the spider. It quivered again and then it scurried off.

Jack picked up his horns and put one in each pants pocket. They might come in useful later as weapons.

Then he remembered the red ball he'd seen earlier. He must have dropped it at some point because it was resting on the ground a dozen feet behind him. He clopped over and retrieved it. Its dormant power coursed up his arm.

The ball was important, he just didn't know why
yet.