It seemed that I had been left with no option other than to have a face off; a showdown with the big man downstairs. I would have been pleased to find myself in any other scenario rather than this, but circumstances had made my conflict with Lucifer non-negotiable.
So there was going to be a war, a battle to define all battles, a big-ball kicking competition between he & I. I needed to get tough, I needed to be strong, I needed to be prepared and armed to the teeth. I needed to win, needed my secret weapon, I needed my authority from the almighty to beat the bastard beast with heavenly blessing.
I was locked, I was loaded, I was pumped, I was hyped, I was like a coiled spring ready for action.
Just as well.
The beast arose through the floor at the centre of the arena staring at me with hate, licking its lips and quietly baying for my blood. The air fell silent and the floor turned black.
It was time, time for decisive action, time to neither hesitate nor falter, time to flex muscle, show no fear and draw my weapon. Reaching over my shoulder I grabbed the stock of my gun and swiftly pulled it from my back holster. In a fluid motion, like a striking cobra, I swung the gun in the direction of the fallen one and unloaded two rounds into the face of evil.
Splats of colour ripped across its snarling features, its horrible horned head recoiled in the double impact.
Something, however, was wrong with this picture…
Satan’s head snapped back into its original position, only this time with an even more baleful expression. Vibrant fluid dripped down the side of its face from the places my two bullets had met.
It was then that I looked down in horror, the sinking feeling in the depths of my miserable soul, the gun in my hand, the fucking gun in my trembling hands…was a paintball gun.
Was that shit arriving unexpectedly in my pants?…