Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Imposter? Ha!” Mr. Heiss coughed, shaking his head frantically as part of his face melted into black goo. He grabbed his cheek and tried to literally hold himself together. “That’s ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous!”
“Oh, hell to the no.” Seymour glared. “That’s the squawk!”
“Squonk,” Sariel corrected.
“Whatever!”
Mr. Heiss let out a squeal, turned around, and ran toward the front door. He screamed, his voice high enough for most dogs to hear as he shouted, “No! No, not again!”
“That fucker!” Seymour didn’t hesitate to leap away from the table and give chase, ducking through the crowd to pursue Pod Mr. Heiss.
“Seymour!” Sariel scolded as he fell into step behind him. “What are you doing?”
“Chasin’ his ass!”
“Wait for me!” Day cried.
Seymour nearly stumbled as a large ball of calico fur landed on his shoulder. “Oof, hi!”
“Don’t let him get away!” Day hissed. “We will destroy him!”
“Yes, but—”
“Force him to disembowel himself and revel in his shame!”
“Okay, but we need to ask him questions first!”
“Yes, but then shame!”
Pod Mr. Heiss had a good head start on them, but the crowd was enough to slow him down. He got caught up in a cluster leaving from the bar area, and he shouted angrily, pushing at the monsters blocking his path.
A door by the bar opened, no doubt the kitchen, as Marcus emerged juggling three trays packed with food. Judging by the sheer amount of steaks, it had to be theirs.
And Pod Mr. Heiss was headed right for him.
Seymour could see the incoming disaster with no way to stop it, cringing as Marcus and Pod Mr. Heiss collided in an explosion of flying plates and meat.
Marcus remained standing, but Pod Mr. Heiss was knocked to the floor. Marcus squeaked in terror, flailing as he tried to help him up. “Mr. Heiss! I am so, so, so sorry! There are not words to express how sorry—”
“Get away!” Pod Mr. Heiss shrieked and fumbled to his feet.
Sariel dove forward to grab his shoulder, fast as lightning, and Day launched herself right at his face with a fierce yowl.
Pod Mr. Heiss screamed again, though it was difficult to pinpoint if it was the very angry angel or the invisible cat demon fueling his terror.
Probably both.
“What the hell?” Marcus yelped.
“Official, uh, Mostro family type business!” Seymour replied. “Just stay back! Everybody stay back and stay calm—”
The crowd decided that was the moment to do the exact opposite and erupted in a frenzied panic. The majority surged toward the front doors, and two large monsters in suits, presumably bouncers or some other members of the staff, were immediately swallowed up.
Pod Mr. Heiss promptly melted into a black puddle of goo, and he quite literally slipped through Sariel’s and Day’s grasp. He wiggled forward and vanished into the bustle of the monsters all trying to get outside.
Day snarled and gave chase before Seymour or Sariel could stop her, as she could also literally cut through the sea of patrons.
Damn ghost kitty girls!
“Fuck.” Seymour growled. “We gotta get outside!”
“With me!” Sariel grabbed Seymour’s arm. “There’s an exit through the kitchen!”
Marcus looked helplessly confused. “Are you guys not gonna eat?”
“Later, Marcus!” Seymour called out over his shoulder, following Sariel’s lead into the kitchen.
It was a steaming dungeon with chains hanging from the ceiling, roaring fires, and surprisingly modern stainless steel appliances.
There was a large spider beast chopping up vegetables while simultaneously dropping a basket into a fryer and flipping pasta in a frying pan.
The spider paid them no mind, far too focused on the multiple dishes they had cooking.
Dagobert was there reviewing order tickets, however, and he stared at Sariel and Seymour bolting by with a mixture of disgust and shock. “Excuse me?”
“Squick! Pretendin’ to be Mr. Heiss! Bad! Lots of bad!” Seymour called out as they zoomed toward the big steel exit door. “Very bad!”
“Squonk!” Sariel sighed haggardly. “It’s a squonk!”
“Whatever!”
Dagobert sputtered. “What in the—”
Seymour didn’t bother sticking around to hear what else Dagobert had to say. The door opened up into the darkness at the back of the club, and Seymour whipped his head around to get his bearings.
“Let’s go!” Sariel grabbed Seymour and swept him into his arms, taking off from the ground.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—” Seymour scrambled to cling to Sariel as tightly as he could. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ drop me!”
“Never.” Sariel flashed a quick smile, and his wings flapped as they soared over the top of the club.
Seymour closed his eyes, his stomach dropped, and he tried not to think about how high up they were. Of all the many ways he thought he might die recently, being dropped from hundreds of feet in the air by an angel had not been one of them.
“There!” Sariel exclaimed.
Seymour peeked open to catch a glimpse of the scene below.
Monsters were fleeing the club and taking off in vehicles, through portals, and any other way they could escape. In the middle of the chaos was a fluffy ball of calico in hot pursuit of a giant black puddle.
The puddle was taking shape now, something on two tiny legs with a hunched upper body.
The overall form reminded Seymour of a moose who lost its antlers and decided to walk upright, but its skin was bright pink and oddly moist, with only thin patches of thick, dark hair.
Its head was broad, with a long snout and two big bulging yellow eyes.
It was ugly.
No, ugly was an understatement.
Looking at it caused physical discomfort, and Seymour grimaced as his guts turned.
Day seemed to have no such issue, and her jaw was already hanging open in preparation of devouring the squonk—who, naturally, had no idea of the danger it was in.
“Please!” the squonk squealed. “Please, listen to me. My, my name is Jerry! Jerry! I, I never wanted to hurt anyone—”
“Hi, Jerry.” Seymour swallowed back a mouthful of bile as Sariel landed and then gently set him down. “We gotta have a lil’ chat.” He wagged a finger at Day. “And you! No eating.”
“But—” Day pouted.
“No, ma’am.”
Jerry blinked his big eyes. “Wh-what?”
Sariel stepped forward, his halo and wings blazing. “You will surrender immediately and face the leaders of the Mostro Family for your crimes. The impersonation of Mr. Heiss Mostro, the impersonation of Louis Morénas-Mostro, the—”
“The murder of my fuckin’ dad!” Seymour snapped angrily.
“And this!” Day pulled out the crystal and waved it around. “Now! For the disemboweling, I will supply a blade if you do not—”
“What, what is that?” Jerry blinked rapidly. “How are you doing that?”
Day growled.
Right.
Because he couldn’t see or hear Day, all he saw was a wiggling, floating crystal.
“Hey! Does it matter?” Seymour snapped. “We know it was you that put that thing under the stage! Whatever the fuck it is!”
“You… You don’t know?” Jerry looked at Seymour and then at Sariel, and he smiled.
Oof, that was rough.
“Well, we know it ain’t fuckin’ good!” Seymour barked back. He turned to Sariel, asking, “Is this the part where we call the real Mr. Heiss to fuck this guy up?”
“I can do the fucking on my own,” Sariel said sternly.
“Fucking up. Fucking up. The fucking up.”
Sariel frowned. “Is the addition of up really that crucial?”
“Yes! Yes, it fuckin’ is!”
“Seymour! Sariel!” Day grabbed Seymour’s leg and tugged frantically.
“Sorry! Freakin’ up is what I should have—”
“No! Look!”
From the darkness around them, two massive figures dressed in all black appeared. They were both hulking behemoths, and Seymour hated that for the first time in his life, he actually recognized the monsters these were immediately.
Trolls.
The shadows moved, and now flanking them were a dozen more monsters—werewolves, lizard guys, a very angry tree, and others Seymour hadn’t seen before and never wanted to again.
Jerry ran to the trolls, squealing, “The beacon! They got the beacon!”
The two trolls looked at each other, nodded, and started toward them.
Great.
More fighting.
As Jerry fled off into the darkness and vanished, there was the distinct sound of chimes. Soft, tinkling, and oddly magical in a familiar way Seymour couldn’t place. He didn’t give himself another second to think about it—it was time to scrap with a bunch of monsters.
Again.
He looked around for a weapon, and he spotted the stanchions lined up in front of the club. He unhooked the closest one from the rope so he could swing it over his shoulder like a bat.
Sariel immediately transformed into what Seymour considered to be Super Saiyan Angel One, which had the most humanoid shape but was still quite otherworldly to behold.
The rings of his head spun rapidly, and he let out a growl, his wings flapping as he roared, “Surrender now! Or face dire consequences.”
“The most dire!” Day meowed ferociously. “Because I didn’t get my dinner…” She licked her lips and stared down the tree. “But a salad sounds so refreshing right now.”
“Yeah!” Seymour grunted, wishing he had something equally cool to say right then. “What they said. Well, what he said since none of you idiots can hear her—”
Day’s jaw unhinged with a loud crunch.
“Oof. Probably good you can’t hear that or y’all would be shittin’ your pants right now.”
The trolls were getting closer now, the left one rumbling, “Return the beacon… or suffer.”
“You can suffer a load of this!” Seymour raised the stanchion.
“Seymour,” Sariel warned. “Stay back.”
“Stay back? You can kiss my—”
One of the werewolves tackled Seymour to the ground, and they went tumbling across the road.
Seymour threw up the stanchion to catch between the werewolf’s jaws, staring up into blazing yellow eyes and big, sharp teeth. He grimaced as he strained to keep the stanchion in place, hissing, “Your breath… fuckin’... reeks!”
The werewolf snarled and bit down, denting the stanchion.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck—”