different now,” the Minotaur said. “Finally think violence no good. Violence no solve anything.”
“What are you babbling about?” Satan snapped. “Earlier today I was just thinking that violence solves a lot of things.”
“Excuse us,” Nero said, pulling Satan aside.
“He’s being a jerk,” Satan said.
“Sir,” Nero said. “When was the last time you were down in the Seventh Circle? A few hundred years ago? Let me handle this.”
“You finish whispering about Minotaur?” the Minotaur asked.
“We’re just surprised – and impressed – by your changes,” Nero said. “You have to admit, renouncing violence is the last thing we’d expect from you.”
“Was crushing skull of Emperor Charles the Fat and think to self, ‘What me hope achieve? Why me so violent?’ After that, no more violence. Only games!”
“Games?” Nero asked.
“Uno! Risk! Monopoly! All very exciting! No violence, but still me always win!”
“You know,” Nero said. “The Ultimate Death Match is a game. It’s wrestling. That’s a game.”
“Is fake!” the Minotaur said. “Minotaur see many wrestlers here. All tell Minotaur wrestling fake.”
“Excuse me,” a voice called. They turned and saw Alexander the Great, soaked in blood up to his chin, stumbling across the rocky ground. “Mr. Minotaur, I was wondering – ”
“Shut up!” the Minotaur roared. “Is you stupid, fat dummy? You no see me talk to King of Hell and Roman Emperor.”
“I’m sorry,” Alexander the Great’s lower lip trembled.
“You sorry? Who cares? You stupid idiot with dumb brain and jiggle thighs. Go sit in River of Blood.”
“I’ve been sitting in the River of Blood for eighty years and you promised – ”
“Me never promise anything! Get back in River of Blood, dum-dum!”
Cowed, Alexander the Great hobbled back to sit in the River of Blood.
“Are you sure that’s the best solution?” Nero asked.
“After hundred years souls no feel physical abuse any more,” the Minotaur explained. “Emotional abuse only way to hurt them now.”
“Don’t you miss the physical abuse?” Nero asked.
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“No.”
“How do you know if you haven’t tried it? Just in the ring? Just wrestling in the Ultimate Death Match? You may find that you miss it more than you think.”
“Minotaur no miss physical violence.”
“You would really be helping us out,” Nero said. “Death is gone and we – ”
“What happen Death?”
“He was...let go,” Nero said.
“You fire Death?!?” the Minotaur said, suddenly looming over them both, steam shooting out of his flapping nostrils, eyes red and blazing.
“Kind of,” Satan said.
“Then maybe you fire Minotaur if Minotaur no good in Death Match. Maybe you fire Minotaur if you no like Minotaur attitude. Minotaur cannot work in conditions like this!”
The Minotaur turned his enormous back on them, sat down and began to brood.
“Now you’ve done it, sir,” Nero said.
“What was I supposed to do?” Satan asked.
“The last time someone upset him that much,” Alexander the Great called out from behind a rock, “He brooded for six years.”
“What do we do?” Nero asked.
“You could try to hurt his feelings,” Alexander the Great said. “That might goad him into reacting.”
“How?” Nero asked.
“Like this: the Minotaur is very insensitive.”
The Minotaur didn’t move. Alexander the Great tried again.
“The Minotaur is often inconsiderate of the feelings of others,” Alexander the Great said.
But no one brooded like the Minotaur. Eventually, Alexander the Great, onetime conqueror of the known world, gave up and moped off to immerse himself in the River of Blood.
“No Death. No Four Horsemen. And now no Minotaur,” Satan said as they left. “At least we’ve got the second stringers. They’ve got a lot of heart.”
“Well, actually, no sir. We don’t have them. The Seven Deadly Sins have that band? They’re playing a Japanese tour.”
“They can’t do that!”
“Their contract says they can. They’re very popular over there. The Japanese think they’re a death metal act.”
“We’ve got the third stringers?”
“Most of them are gone, too.”
“The fourth stringers?”
“Cholesterol, the tobacco lobby and Long Island teens into industrial music? All gone on tour, taking adult enrichment classes or otherwise out of action.”
“Who do we have left?”
“Deep Insecurity.”
“Well, Deep Insecurity is not to be underestimated. Just ask Alexander the Great. If Deep Insecurity wrestles for us that’ll make us the underdog. Underdogs always win.”
“I’ve met with Deep Insecurity,” Nero said.
“And?”
“We don’t have much going for us.”
“Dumb luck?”
Nero shook his head.
“Natural talent?”
Nero shook his head again.
“A catchy theme song?”
“Not this year, sir.”
Satan was stunned.
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Nero said. “Lose?”
“We can’t lose,” Satan said. “That would be...where would everyone go?”
They were walking through the Sixth Circle, with its flaming tombs crammed full of heretics moaning for relief. Nero