The Back Nine

The Shark lowered Kevin toward his maw. "Any last words? Keep them brief, time is money."

"I have one," Zarkon spat. "Indigestion."

"Unlikely." The Shark prepared to bite.

* THWACK.*

A golf ball, traveling at terminal velocity, struck the Shark directly in his dead, black eye.

The Shark roared, dropping Kevin. Zarkon scrambled backward, gasping.

Jax Vane stood on top of the windmill, holding a rusty 9-iron.

"Fore!" Jax grinned. "Sorry, I forgot my keys. And I hate walking home."

"You came back!" Zarkon yelled, sounding surprisingly touched.

"Don't get used to it," Jax jumped down, landing in a roll. He tossed a heavy iron wedge to Kevin. "Catch!"

Zarkon caught the club. "A weapon of steel! Finally!"

"It’s a sand wedge, but it’ll do," Jax said. "He’s a greed demon. He’s distracted by value. Insult him!"

"Insult him?" Zarkon asked.

"His assets! His portfolio!" Jax dodged a swing of the Shark’s gold putter. "Hey, Sharky! Your suit looks like it’s off the rack from T.J. Maxx!"

The Shark froze, looking down at his lapel. "Liar! This is bespoke!"

"And your interest rates are sub-prime!" Jax taunted, circling him. "You’re not a loan shark; you’re a goldfish with a payday loan app!"

The Shark roared in fury, swinging wildly. He was losing focus. The rage was making him sloppy.

"Now, Zarkon!" Jax yelled. "Channel it! Use the anger!"

Zarkon looked at the sand wedge. He looked at the Shark. And he felt Kevin’s anger too—years of being pushed around, of being the nice guy, of being glued to a demon.

"I," Zarkon bellowed, "AM AUDITED!"

He didn't summon a fireball. He channeled the fires of Hell directly into the golf club. The iron glowed cherry-red, then white-hot.

Zarkon swung. It was a perfect drive.

The club connected with the Shark’s jaw. The impact was thunderous. The heat of the hellfire combined with the kinetic energy of a desperate accountant launched the Shark backward.

He flew through the air, flailing, and landed with a massive splash in the water hazard of the 18th hole.

The water hissed and boiled.

"That water..." Zarkon panted, lowering the club.

"Blessed by a priest in '98," Jax said, dusting off his hands. "Holy Water Hazard. Standard mini-golf regulation."

The Shark didn't resurface. Only his bespoke suit jacket floated to the top, sizzling.

Jax walked over and picked up the parchment the Shark had dropped. "The Unbinding Scroll. We got it."