Nightside bit feats (Just Another Judgment Day)

John and Suzie encounter a stabilized Timeslip:

In the end, we found the answer behind a very ordinary-looking door. The sophisticated electronic lock aroused our suspicions, and Suzie opened it easily with her skeleton keys. (Magic still trumps science, usually by two falls and a submission.) She pulled the door open, and we both stepped quickly back. There was nothing behind the door. Lots and lots of nothing. Space that wasn’t space, filled with squirming, shimmering lights you could only see with your mind, or your soul. There was a terrible appeal to it, an attraction, that made you want to throw yourself into it and fall forever . . . I carefully pushed the door shut again.

“A Timeslip,” I said. “Someone’s stabilised a Timeslip and held it in neutral; a ready-made door into another reality.” That would take time and serious money. Timeslips are inherently unstable. The universe is self-correcting, and it hates anomalies. “The only people I know to have worked successfully with Timeslips are Mammon Emporium, that mall that specialises in providing goods and services from alternate time-lines. And they’ve never shared that knowledge with anyone.”

“Could they be behind this?” said Suzie.

“No. I don’t think so. They’ve already made themselves rich beyond the dreams of tax accountants by legitimate means. Why risk all that, for this? Still, at least now we know where the duplicates come from. Whoever owns this place goes fishing in some other world, for that place’s equivalent of our important people. Exact physical duplicates . . . forcibly abducted and brought here, to suffer every conceivable illness, surgery, and self-inflicted injury, so their other selves don’t have to and can remain young and pretty forever . . .” -Just Another Judgment Day

Lilith's existence within the Nightside was (apparently...) part of what was keeping out the many direct agents of Heaven and Hell as well as weakening them when they entered. Her disappearance causes a subtle change in this aspect of the Nightside's nature:

“Let us talk about the Walking Man,” I said. Everything else could wait till later, after I’d had more time to think about it. “He’s never come here before. So, why now?”

“In the past, the Nightside’s unique nature kept out all direct agents of Heaven and Hell,” said Walker. “But since Lilith was banished again, it appears a subtle change has come over the Nightside, and many things that were not possible before are cropping up now with regrettable regularity.”

“So all kinds of agents for the Good could be turning up here?” I said.

“Or agents of Evil,” said Suzie.

“Well, quite,” murmured Walker. “As if things weren’t complicated enough . . .” -Just Another Judgment Day

Walker reveals that he carries a portable Timeslip disguised as a pocket watch:

“I’m about to share one of my greatest secrets with you, John, Suzie. So do pay attention. I don’t tell them to just anyone. So, basically, Timeslips don’t just happen. Well, actually yes they do, suddenly and violently and all over the place. Bloody things are always popping up exactly where they’re least needed and making trouble for everyone . . . But, there is a reason, a pattern, behind their appearances, and some people have learned to control them. Like Mammon Emporium . . .”

“Like the one we found in Frankenstein’s cellar,” said Suzie, determined not to be left out of things.

“Well, quite,” said Walker. “They learned how to stabilise Timeslips, for their own profit. The old Authorities learned how to control them, for their own purposes. And the old Authorities didn’t just give me my Voice—they also gave me this.” He indicated the gold pocket-watch in his hand. “A Portable Timeslip. A doorway to everywhere, in and out of the Nightside. So that I can be wherever I need to be, whenever I need to be there. And sometimes just a little bit in advance.”

“That explains a lot,” said Suzie.

“I’ll be damned,” I said, staring at the watch. I’d seen it in Walker’s hands a hundred times before and never thought twice about it. Typical of the man, to hide his greatest secret in plain sight. -Just Another Judgment Day

As described above, it allows him to freely travel wherever he wants, to whichever point in time he wants. Here's an example of him using it:

He fiddled with the rolled gold fob on the side of his watch, and the lid flew open, revealing an impenetrable darkness within. A deep, deep dark that seemed to draw my gaze in, till it felt like I was standing on the edge of an abyss and might fall in at any moment. And then the darkness leapt up and out, enveloping us all, and when it fell back again, we were somewhere else.

Uptown is the very best part of the Nightside, where all the very best people go. The most exclusive and exciting night spots, the most expensive bars and restaurants, and all the richest, most famous and powerful and totally up themselves people you could ever hope not to meet. And all the most exclusive, members-only, circle the wagons to keep out the riffraff clubs in Uptown gather together in Clubland. Where distinguished and discreet establishments cater to every need, enthusiasm, and obsession known to man. Some are nearly as old as the Nightside itself, while others deal in fads and fancies that come and go like mayflies. But they all have one thing in common. Membership is by invitation only. Plebs need not apply. -Just Another Judgment Day

John, Suzie and Walker walk into The Adventurer's Club:

Then there’s Pagan’s Place, for barbarian warriors who want to better themselves, and right next to that, the Adventurers Club. Older than all the others put together, the original Club was supposedly founded back in the sixth century, and has been a watering hole for heroes between quests ever since. You wouldn’t have thought any real hero would be seen dead in a place like the Nightside, but something about its reputation draws them here, possibly like moths to a flame, and the Adventurers Club is where they gather. Getting in is not easy. In fact, simply getting past the Doorman can be an adventure in itself. I think you have to slay an ogre and rescue a princess just to be allowed to use the rest rooms.

Still, every adventurer with a name or a reputation worth the knowing is supposed to have passed through its doors at one time or another. Why? Perhaps because the Nightside is the single greatest challenge any hero can face, the Mount Everest of challenges, and you can’t call yourself a real hero until you’ve tested yourself against it. I only know about the Club because my sometime friend Julien Advent has been a Member in good standing on two separate occasions. First, when he was the greatest hero and adventurer of the Victorian Age, then again after a Timeslip brought him here in the nineteen sixties. Julien’s a good man and a revered personage; I planned to drop his name at every opportunity and hope some of his respectability rubbed off on me.

I said as much to Suzie, but she just shrugged. She’s never cared about being respectable. -Just Another Judgment Day

First mention of two new characters:

I decided immediately to piss in the first potted plant I

saw, on general principles, but I got distracted. The interior of the Adventurers Club was as impressive as I’d always thought it would be. The Club proper was all gleaming wood-panelled walls, waxed floors, portraits and chandeliers, and proudly antique furnishings. Familiar faces passed by on every side, or gathered together to chat happily in the luxurious meeting rooms, or consult the leather-bound volumes of Club history in the huge private Library, or just brag to each other in the Club bar about their latest exploits.

Chandra Singh, the monster hunter, and Janissary Jane, the demon killer, were discussing new tracking techniques in the Library. They completely ignored me as I peered in through the open door. Jane was wearing her usual battered combat fatigues, which I knew from personal experience would smell of smoke, blood, and brimstone up close. Because they always did. She’d fought in every major demon war in the last twenty years, in as many different time-lines and dimensions, and while she’d been on as many losing as winning sides, she was a true professional, feared and respected by all who knew her. Especially when she had a few drinks in her.

Chandra Singh was tall, dark-skinned, and distinguished, with a sophisticated style and a truly impressive black beard. He was wearing his usual height-of-the-Raj finery, all splendid silks and satins, topped with a jet-black turban boasting the biggest single diamond I’d ever seen. Chandra hunted monsters in and around the Indian subcontinent, with a passion and enthusiasm unmatched anywhere in the world. His wall of trophies was legendary. He says he does it to protect the innocent and keep them safe, but I think he just likes killing monsters.

Well hell, who doesn’t? -Just Another Judgment Day

By the way, Owen Deathstalker from the Deathstalker series has been to the Nightside before. See here:

A dozen good men and women stood scattered about the oversized bar, in various garb from various times and places, all intent on each other and thoroughly ignoring Suzie and me. So I just as deliberately ignored them, giving my full attention to the various displays and trophies and portraits that adorned the bar. The walls were positively crowded with portraits of old Club Members who’d distinguished themselves down the years. There were Admiral Syn, Salvation Kane, Julien Advent, Owen Deathstalker, in a whole series of clashing styles and periods. And the bar was positively lousy with impressive trophies. -Just Another Judgment Day

Yet another statement of Razor Eddie's rampage in the Street of the Gods several books ago.

I indicated Walker, still standing politely off to one side. “What about him? Why isn’t he a part of the new Authorities? He’s got more experience in running the Nightside than all of you put together.”

“They asked me,” Walker said calmly. “I declined. My feelings about the Nightside are no secret, and I have to admit; my recent attempts at imposing some kind of order on the various Beings of the Street of the Gods...didn’t work out too well. I was called in to organise, regulate, and modernise all the various churches, religions, and Beings, but despite my best efforts, things . . . deteriorated quite rapidly. It’s not my fault the make-overs didn’t take. Worshippers can be so literal, and very stubborn. And then the Punk God of the Straight Razor got involved, and it all went to Hell in a hurry.”

“I remember that,” I said. “For a while you couldn’t move in some parts of the Nightside for Beings running out of the Street of the Gods, crying their eyes out.” -Just Another Judgment Day

Our first major description of the Walking Man:

Julien Advent took the lead, as always. “Throughout history, there has always been the legend of the Walking Man. That once in every generation, a man can make a deal with God to become more than a man. He can swear his life to God, and if that man will swear to serve the Light and the Good with all his heart and all his will, forsaking all other paths, such as love or family or personal needs...then that man will become stronger, faster, and more terrible than any other man. He will be invulnerable to all harm, as long as his faith remains true and he walks in Heaven’s path. God’s will in the world, God’s warrior, the wrath of God in the world of men, sent forth to punish the guilty and stamp out evil wherever he finds it. Called the Walking Man because he will walk in straight lines to get where he has to go, and do what he has to do, and no-one will be able to stop him or turn him aside.”

“Some Walking Men have killed kings,” said Walker. “Some have overturned countries and changed the fate of the world. Others have followed more personal paths, clearing the world of evil one death at a time. Some stick to the shadows, some lead armies; and now one has come to the Nightside.”

“If some of them have been so important, why don’t I know their names?” I said.

“You probably do, if you think about it,” said Julien.

“Ah,” I said. “Like that, is it?”

“Mostly,” said Julien. “There have never been that many, down the centuries. Perhaps because no normal man would take such a deal, giving up love and friends and everything that makes life worth living.”

“They’re killers,” said Larry. “Cold-blooded, cold-hearted killers. Judge and jury and executioner. No mercy, no compassion, no pity.”

“And only he gets to decide what’s evil and what isn’t,” said Count Video. “He doesn’t care what the law has to say. He doesn’t have to. He answers to a higher power.” -Just Another Judgment Day

The Walking Man is apparently "invulnerable" to remote viewing of any kind:

“So as far as he’s concerned, just by being here we’re all guilty,” I said. “I can see why you thought you needed me.” I considered the matter for a while. “What do we know about the current Walking Man?”

“Nothing,” said Larry Oblivion. “Not even his real name. He’s invulnerable to all forms of remote viewing. We’ve tried science and sorcery, seers and oracles, and computers, gone cap in hand begging answers from important personages on all sides, and no-one knows anything. No-one wants to know anything. They’re all afraid of being . . . noticed. All we know for sure is that he’s on his way here. Hell, he could be here right now, walking our streets, and we wouldn’t know it till the bodies started piling up.” -Just Another Judgment Day

The novel makes very clear that he is basically unstoppable in-verse:

“I still don’t get this,” Suzie said stubbornly. “I mean, God’s wrath, fast and strong, yes, get all that. But what does he actually do ?”

“Anything he wants,” said Walker. “He’s as strong as he needs to be, and as fast. He can kill with any weapon, or with his bare hands. No door can keep him out, no argument can turn him aside, and nothing in science or magic can protect you from him.”

“Yeah,” said Suzie. “But is he bullet-proof?”

“As long as he walks in Heaven’s path, nothing in this world can touch him,” said Julien.

“Even blessed or cursed bullets, with crosses carved in the end?” said Suzie.

“He wouldn’t even blink,” said Walker. -Just Another Judgment Day

-Just Another Judgment Day

The entire Street of the Gods has apparently considered packing up and leaving the Nightside until the Walking Man has finished his business there:

“Well, what about the Street of the Gods?” I said, doggedly. “Isn’t there any Being there who feels strong enough to—”

“Not one,” said Walker. “The whole Street is discussing moving itself out of phase with the Nightside, until this is all over, and it’s safe for them to return.” -Just Another Judgment Day

Walker's Voice of Authority is confirmed to derive its power from the original voice of God which said "Let there be light!", and he is confident that it won't work on the Walking Man:

“Hold everything,” I said. “Are we missing the obvious here? Why not send Walker? He can use his Voice on the Walking Man and command him to leave the Nightside and never come back.”

“Wouldn’t work,” said Walker. “My Voice derives its authority from that original Voice, that said Let there be light. I doubt it would have any effect on one who is a lot closer to the source of that Voice than I will ever be.”

We waited, but that was all he had to say. Trust Walker to give you an answer that left you with more questions than you started with. -Just Another Judgment Day

John's impression of the Walking Man:

“He’s tall and lean,” I said finally. “And he swaggered down the street like he owned it. He wore a long duster coat, earth brown, battered and worn as though through long exposure to the elements. I couldn’t tell you how old he is; he had a blunt, square face, heavily lined, as though life had cut harsh experiences deeply into him. He smiled all the time, a bright, mocking smile, as though all the world was crazy and only he knew why. His eyes . . . looked right through me. As though I was just another obstacle in his path, something to be knocked down and walked over if I got in his way. I’ve lived most of my life in the Nightside, gone head to head with gods and monsters and worse, and I am here to tell you . . . I have never seen anything as scary as that man. So sharp, so intense, so focused. . . . He looked like every human weakness had been scoured out of him—by life, or death, or maybe even God himself.”

“I never knew you to be so eloquent, John,” murmured Walker.

“Yeah, well,” I said. “Stark terror will do that to you.” -Just Another Judgment Day

He's implied to have modified a "memory crystal" made of advanced tech just by touching it:

I moved over to the reception desk. Set directly before the dead receptionist was a single memory crystal. Someone had drawn an arrow in blood on the desk top, pointing to the crystal. We all gathered together before the desk and studied the crystal carefully, without touching it.

“Did he leave this here, for us?” said Chandra. “His . . . explanation, or justification, for this atrocity?”

“Could be a clue as to where he’s gone,” said Suzie. “Hope so. I really want to kill this one.”

“I’ll try it,” I said. “If it looks like it’s a trap, or the memory’s . . . getting to me, slap the bloody thing out of my hand.”

“Got it,” said Suzie.

She put her shotgun away, and moved in close beside me as I nerved myself to pick up the crystal. It looked like such a small, innocent thing, but I didn’t want to touch it. I didn’t trust it. And . . . I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to see what was in it. The things the Walking Man had done here. But in the end I picked it up anyway. Because that was the job.

To my surprise, a giant screen appeared, floating in mid air in the middle of the lobby. And from Suzie and Chandra’s immediate reactions, it was clear they could see it, too.

“This isn’t what I was expecting,” I said.

“He must have modified the crystal,” said Chandra, frowning. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“You can’t,” I said. “At least, not without access to really high tech.”

“He probably just touched it,” said Suzie. “And it had no choice but to do what he and his god wanted.” -Just Another Judgment Day

He wills a high-tech security door into unlocking and opening itself on its own:

It wasn’t a memory. Or a sensory experience. It wasn’t even POV. It showed us a view of the lobby, with men and women standing around, talking quietly. They all seemed quite happy, and relaxed. Ordinary men and women, going about their ordinary business. They had no idea what was coming. No idea who was coming for them. They all looked round in surprise as the door suddenly opened, all the locks and security measures disengaging by themselves. And then the Walking Man strode in, with a smile on his lips and murder in his eyes, his long duster coat flapping about him like some Wild West preacher come to dispense brimstone and hellfire. -Just Another Judgment Day

His aim is always perfect, he always shoots to kill, and his guns never run out of ammunition no matter how much he fires:

The Walking Man was still smiling when he began killing people.

He strode forward into the lobby, shooting the men and women before him with casual, practised skill. No warnings, no chance to surrender, no mercy. He shot them in the head or in the chest, and he never needed more than one bullet. The screaming started then, as surprise turned to shock, and to horror. People fell back as bodies crashed to the floor, and blood and brains flew on the air. The Walking Man never missed, and he never shot to wound, and though he fired and fired without pausing his guns never ran out of bullets. By now the lobby was full of shouting and screaming and pleading, and the sound of continuous gunfire. Some tried to run, and the Walking Man shot them in the back, or in the back of the head.

The huge guns bucked and roared in the Walking Man’s hands, but his aim was always perfect, and he never grew tired. His smile actually widened a little as he worked his way through the lobby, as though the killings invigorated him. Bullets slammed into bodies like sledgehammers, throwing men and women backwards, or slamming them to the ground. Arms flailed wildly amongst spurting blood, and heads exploded in flurries of blood and brains. The Walking Man stepped over kicking bodies, to get at those who remained.

Some pleaded, some protested, some even sank to their knees and begged for their life, tears streaming down their faces. The Walking Man killed them all anyway. A few tried to fight back. They drew guns and knives, and even beat at him with their bare hands. But bullets bounced off him, knives couldn’t cut him, and he didn’t seem to feel their blows. He was the wrath of God in the world of men, and no-one could stop him doing anything he wanted. -Just Another Judgment Day

Yet another example of him willing a security door into unlocking and opening itself:

The view on the screen followed him through the door and down the steps he found there, to the next level. At the bottom of the steps, another heavy door, with state-of-the-art electronic locks and security devices. The Walking Man looked at them, and, one by one, the locks snapped open and the security devices disengaged. The door swung slowly open as he approached it. -Just Another Judgment Day

His bullets can punch through armor like paper if it's getting in the way:

Armed men came running into the room from the other end. They had semi-automatic weapons, and body armour. They opened fire the moment they saw the Walking Man—short, controlled bursts, just the way they’d been trained.

He killed them all anyway. Guards and technicians, armed and unarmed. His bullets punched clean through the body armour as easily as through the technician’s white lab coats. Weapons couldn’t touch him, couldn’t stop him. He walked unhurriedly forward and killed everyone before him. Once again there was shouting and screaming, and pleas for mercy, and blood and brains on the air and on the floor, but the Walking Man never stopped smiling. A cold, grim, satisfied smile. -Just Another Judgment Day

When the series says "nothing can stop him", it's being very, very, very literal:

Another door, at the far end. More stairs, down to the next level. The defences there were really hard core. They would have stopped anyone else. As the Walking Man reached the bottom of the stairs, heavy-duty gun barrels protruded from both walls and opened fire on him. The din in the confined space was appalling, as the guns pumped out thousands of rounds per minute, but he strode unflinchingly through the smoke and the noise, and none of the bullets could touch him. His coat wasn’t holed or tattered, or even scorched by proximity to the red-hot gun barrels. The guns finally fell silent, and the Walking Man went on.

Further down the hallway, energy guns slid smoothly out of the walls, future or alien technology from some Timeslip or another. They blasted the Walking Man with all kinds of energies and radiations, strange lights flaring in the dimly lit hallway, and none of it affected him in the least. He grabbed one gun barrel as he passed, ripping it effortlessly from its mounting. He examined it briefly, then threw it aside, never slowing his pace for a moment.

Force shields sprang into being before him, shimmering walls to block his way. He strode through them, and they burst like soap bubbles. Poison gasses belched into the hallway from hidden vents, and he breathed them in like summer air and kept going. A trap-door opened abruptly beneath his feet, revealing a bottomless pit, but he kept walking, as though the floor was still there to support him. -Just Another Judgment Day

Upon coming across a ten foot tall, eight foot wide steel door, he proceeds to tear it in half with his bare hands:

Finally, he came face-to-face with a massive steel door. Ten feet tall, eight feet wide. Just to look at it was to know it was thick and heavy and solid. Tons of steel, held in place by massive bolts. The Walking Man stopped, and considered the door thoughtfully. Far behind him, the alarms were still shrieking dimly. The Walking Man put away his guns and placed both his hands flat against the steel door. He frowned slightly, and his fingers sank slowly, unstoppably, into the solid steel as though it were so much mud. He buried his hands in the metal, took a good hold, and tore the door apart, splitting it from top to bottom. The steel screeched like a living thing as it broke, forced to left and right like a pair of curtains. The Walking Man pulled his hands free with hardly an effort and walked on. -Just Another Judgment Day

He can look at a person once and know all of their sins:

“I am the Walking Man,” he said grandly. “Latest in a long line of utter bastards, completely dedicated to slapping down villains and scumbags and brown-trousering the ungodly. I am the wrath of God in the world of men, walking in straight lines to punish the guilty, wherever they may be found. And there are so many guilty faces here tonight! Let’s start with you, Big Jake Rackham.”

He stopped right in front of the big man and shook his head sadly, like a teacher disappointed by a determinedly under-achieving student.

“Big Jake. Self-made man and proud of it. Everyone knows you run the sex trade in the Nightside. Everyone knows you take a cut from every sordid little transaction: every blow from every pimp; every disease from every hooker; every mugged and rolled client. Every woman driven to an early grave . . . But, does everyone know what you do to your gorgeous wife, Jezebel, because you can’t do anything else with her?”

He moved on to Marty DeVore, also known as Devour, though never to his face, of course. Marty with a thin, weaselly figure with an endless appetite for acquiring new businesses. Whether the original owners wanted to sell or not. The Walking Man clapped him familiarly on the shoulder, and DeVore shrank away from the touch.

“Dear old Marty DeVore,” said the Walking Man happily. “Such an unrelenting sinner. Your sheer enthusiasm for awfulness never ceases to impress me. You made your original money in slavery, of course, selling anyone and anything to anyone and anything. Everyone knows that. But do they know what you like to do for a bit of relaxation, Marty? How you bribe mortuary staff to let you lie down with dead bodies, with the prettiest corpses, and have your wicked way with them? Especially if they’re the wives and daughters of your friends and enemies?”

He moved on to the Hellsreich brothers, the twins, Paul and Davey. Big blond blue-eyed Aryan types, young and healthy and rotten to the core. Heading right to the top, through endless alliances and very secret behind-locked-doors deals. Everyone wanted to hang on to their coat-tails.

“Paul and Davey,” said the Walking Man, moving suddenly between them so he could put an arm across both their shoulders. “Does my heart good to see such young men striving for success. You deal in insurance, or more properly protection, taking money to pay yourselves not to do nasty things to your customers. And you’re so good at making deals that profit everyone! Everyone knows that. But, do they know you murdered your loving parents to get the money that got you started? Who could ever trust you again, knowing a thing like that?”

And finally he came to Josie Prince. One of the few women to be accepted by the Boys as their equal. Slim, elegant, stiff-backed in her formal evening gown, she looked like everyone’s stern, grey-haired granny. She’d strangled her eldest son with her bare hands to take over his business because he wasn’t making enough money for her. Josie Prince was a debt-collector, the kind who sent the leg-breakers round if you were a day late paying back what you owed.

The Walking Man swept her a low, sarcastic bow. Her stern, disapproving features didn’t give an inch. He straightened up with a snap, sat in her lap, and threw an arm across her bony shoulders.

“Sweet Josie Prince, as I live and breathe! Old in years and dyed in sin, right down to the bone. I know what I need to know, when I need to know it, so I can do my job, but just knowing what you do makes me sick to my stomach. You deal in enforcement and intimidation, in torture and brutality and murder. Everyone knows that. But does everyone here know you founded and funded Precious Memories? Do they know why your youngest son killed himself?”

Everyone in the Boys Club looked at Josie Prince, as the Walking Man rose easily to his feet and strode away. Even some of her own body-guards looked at her with loathing. Josie Prince’s face didn’t change at all. -Just Another Judgment Day

Chandra Singh's sword is capable of cutting through magic as well as enchanted weapons:

I risked a quick look around. Chandra Singh was holding his own against a whole crowd of opponents, stamping and dancing amongst them, swinging his long sword with glee and gusto. He grinned broadly as enchanted blades shattered against his sword, and magics and curses exploded as he cut them out of the air. As long as he worked in close, no-one could use their guns for fear of shooting their own people, but I had to wonder how long that would last. Still, for a man who said he didn’t want to fight women, he certainly seemed to be getting the hang of it. Bodies fell to the left and to the right as he cut his way through the enemies crowding around him.

They all fell back suddenly to let a combat sorceress approach him, a short and stocky Asian woman in a black dress, with the Tiger’s Claw ideogram tattooed above her right eye. That meant serious magic, and nasty with it. She pulled a spitting and sparking magic out of nowhere and threw it at Chandra. It roared through the air, burning up half a dozen body-guards in its path on its way to Chandra Singh. He laughed aloud and sliced the magic in two in mid air with one slash of his blade. The magic exploded, its sorcerous fires spraying everywhere. People ran screaming, with their flesh on fire. The combat sorceress began a staccato incantation in a language I didn’t recognise. Chandra advanced on her, step by step, pressing against some invisible resistance. The sorceress’s voice rose with urgency as he drew nearer, then she stopped short, and looked down at the blade buried in her stomach. Chandra Singh pulled the sword back, and her guts fell out on to the floor. The sorceress tried to say something, and Chandra cut her head off with one sweep of his blade. He turned away, not bothering to watch her hit the floor. -Just Another Judgment Day

The Walking Man can will doors into sealing themselves shut:

The Walking Man hadn’t moved from his last position. He didn’t need to. He just fired his guns, his old-fashioned long-barrelled Peacemakers that never ran out of ammunition, and blood flew on the air as men and women crashed to the floor and did not rise again.

What was left of the Boys Club Membership was in full rout. Fighting each other to get to the exits, trampling the fallen underfoot, screaming and shouting and trying to use each other as human shields. The exit doors were all sealed shut, though no-one had given any such order. -Just Another Judgment Day

Magical attacks disperse harmlessly against him, and enchanted weapons outright shatter against his coat:

The remaining body-guards grouped together and hit the Walking Man with everything they had. But bullets couldn’t touch him, enchanted blades shattered against his shabby coat, and magics and curses discharged harmlessly about him. He ignored the body-guards, unless they got in his way, then he shot them dead.

He was smiling widely, and it was not the kind of smile you expected to see on a man of God. -Just Another Judgment Day

God literally guides him towards his targets:

“A teenage joy-rider in a stolen car hit my wife and my two children head-on, when he lost control taking a corner too fast. Cut my wife in half, and dragged my children under his car for almost half a mile before he finally had to stop. He ran away, with his friends. The police couldn’t identify any of them.

“I survived. You couldn’t call it living, but I survived. Lost my job, my house, my money . . . and then one of the few friends I hadn’t driven away found me a place in a monastery, in the countryside. A place for solitudes and contemplatives, and those hiding from a world that had become unbearable. It was a good place. I found a kind of peace there, if not comfort. And then one day, while helping to catalog the library, I found a very old book that told me all about the deal a man can make with God, to be his man, to be his Walking Man, and punish the guilty.

“I made the deal. Didn’t hesitate for a moment. I went back into the world transformed, with God’s will and God’s wrath burning within me. I found the teenage joy-rider, with God’s help. Sitting on a sofa, watching television, as though nothing had happened. I beat him to death with my bare hands, and his screams comforted me. I went round to his friends, and killed them all. There’s a fine line between justice and revenge, but as long as it ended up with dead joy-riders, I didn’t care. -Just Another Judgment Day

King of Skin's powers apparently allow him to hide from the likes of the Walking Man. (Albeit while said Walking Man is not directly targeting him):

No telling where that conversation might have gone because that was when King of Skin suddenly materialised out of mid air before us. Chandra and I both fell back a little, startled, as King of Skin skipped and swaggered among the dead bodies, sniggering and cackling and looking very pleased with himself. He stopped suddenly, and looked back over his shoulder at Chandra and me.

“I’ve been here all along,” he said, in his hot breathy voice. “Hidden by my power and my nature, watching and listening. Know thy enemy! He does like to talk, this Walking Man, and says so much more than he realises. He has a weakness, and it’s a very old one. Pride! He cannot ever admit to being wrong . . . Destroy his faith in the righteousness of what he does, even for a moment, and he will crumble . . . Oh yes!” He was suddenly right in front of me again, wrapped in his sleazy glamour, laughing right in my face. “Because of what I was, and what I am, I see the world very clearly. I see the Nightside for what it is, and not for what people on both sides like to think it is, or should be . . . That’s why Julien Advent insisted I be a part of his precious new Authorities. Because I will always see what needs to be done, and the best way to do it, no matter how upsetting.”

And just like that, he was gone again. Or at least, I presumed so. With King of Skin, you could never be sure. -Just Another Judgment Day

The Street of the Gods is stated to contain, among other things, psychenauts originating from higher dimensions:

“The Beings on the Street of the Gods aren’t gods at all, strictly speaking,” I said. “Some of them are other-dimensional travellers, some are psychonauts from higher dimensions, some are aliens or icons or manifestations of abstract concepts. You get all sorts in the Nightside. Many of the older Beings are descendants of my mother Lilith, from when she went down to Hell and lay down with demons, and gave birth to monstrous Powers and Dominations. It’s probably a lot more complicated than that, but there’s a limit to how much weird shit the human mind can cope with.”

“So...some of these Beings are related to you?” said Chandra.

“Only very indirectly,” I said. “We’re not close. Like so many other relationships in the Nightside, it’s complicated.” -Just Another Judgment Day



-Just Another Judgment Day



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-Just Another Judgment Day