The Devil’s Nutsack

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.

The Devil’s Nutsack

By Plot Roach

The last rays of sunlight sent the ashes fleeing into the darkness of the tunnel. There they coalesced into four riders upon horseback. Ash bonded, became bone and upon that network undead flesh began to form. They rode forth from the tunnel, chunks of them scattering on the other side as the sunlight touched upon their cursed flesh.

Yet the sun was setting and the effects not so harsh on this end of the mountain. It allowed them to keep their shape as they searched the land for the parcel belonging to the Dark Lord. The bag that promised power to the one who possessed it. The Artifact.

But they were not the only ones in search of the Artifact. It had been rumored to be in existence before God had banished Lucifer from the heavens, for it had fallen to Earth with him. Then mankind had found it, off and on, creating weapons that rivaled God’s own powers, before being lost again during the war between Heaven and Hell.

In the first throes of the battle, the Devil and God pulled their followers from the face of the planet, lining up their troops in an epic game of chess. Those that had not belonged to either side were left alive and fled to the poles of the planet where the last of the living plants and animals existed in a makeshift rainforest caused by a shift in the Earth’s rotation.

Those that searched the sands that comprised the middle of the planet were no longer counted among the living, for they were made of living ash. Spirits called forth from both sides, given half life in order to find the Artifact and use its power to tip the scale so that one side would have power over the other.

Of those who searched, there were the souls of a man and a woman, so in love and bound together that they had remained with one another even in the confines of Hell. Once Armageddon had begun, and the depths of Hell plundered for soldiers, they had managed to slip away together unseen.

They, like all the others, had heard of the powers of the Artifact. It was said that the one who possessed it could return to life -immortal and powerful. Others said that God would use it to bring harmony back to the charred world and that all souls would be forgiven and given a second chance. It was said that the Devil would give the bearer a position at his side when he used the Artifact to win the war and rule the world.

Maxwell did not care which of the stories were true, he only wished to find it to give himself and his beloved, Annie, a chance to get out of the wasteland that had once been the Earth. To have a new life, together again, seemed like too much to hope for. But then again, they had been trapped in Hell for numerous years with little hope of escape, only for it to come to pass at the best possible time.

Annie found the Artifact first, she had seen it in a dream. And though the dead do not dream, she was a powerful being who in life had been both blessed and cursed with the power of visions.

Maxwell left her in a shaded patch of land and said that he would return for her when he found the Artifact. He dared not expose her to the violence of the other searchers, as they tore one another apart, sending ashes scattering on the hot winds.

He found it where she said he would, in the hollow of an old worn oak, blasted to death by the searing fires that swept the land. He clutched the bag to him, returned to his horse and wondered, not for the first time, why the phantom steeds existed here if animals had no souls as his pastor had lectured when he was once a God fearing boy.

Were there good animals and bad animals like the souls of humans? And if this was the mount for a soul of the damned, what did the angels ride?

A shadow crept upon him and he clutched the bag even harder to himself. It was another searcher, a cowboy. He was newly forming, having been blasted by the sun’s rays. The symbol that spoke of his sin carved into his skull, above his empty eyes. The flesh forming over the sign, he had been a rapist and a murderer. Maxwell backed away, ghostly hands holding the reins of his beast when the cowboy called out to him.

“Do you know what you have there, boy?” he rasped. “It’s the Devil’s Nutsack, or nearly so, to hold so much power.”

Maxwell looked down at the leather bag. He had dared not open it, should it be like Pandora’s box and unleash even further waste and destruction on what was left of the Earth. He closed his eyes to let his imagination tell him what his eyes could not. It felt like it was filled will large steel ball bearings, but somehow welded together as if he was holding a large cluster of metal grapes. But the bag was so heavy and felt as if it had a pulse of its own. Not with any known heartbeat, but with a thrum that reminded him of insect wings.
He felt something brush against his wrist. The cursed cowboy had launched himself at Maxwell’s hand and was attempting to bite it off. He felt the paper thin lips press against the frailty of his own flesh and tried to pull away before the cowboy could sink his teeth in and do any real damage. But try as he might, he could not pull the cowboy off of him as the attacker writhed and circled him almost like a snake. If he manages to do enough damage, I’ll drop the bag and it will be his, Maxwell thought. He’ll reform and be away with it before I can pull myself together.

Annie! He called into the night, fighting the cowboy that was chewing his wrist. He held onto the reigns of his horse, urging it to pull him away from the cowboy. His mind reached out to the shaded oasis where he had left his beloved, wishing with what was left of his immortal life that she could hear and aid him. Annie, help me!