NationStates Jolt Archive

The howls and shrieks of the damned echoed in the distance as the two demons loped through the putrid marsh. Below them, the refuse of millions collected with the stinking offal of the nine rings of hell to form a mixture that was of a most unpleasant hue indeed, a mixture of vomit and the innards of some nameless beast. Overhead, cold rains lashed down as a hard wind cried over the vast plain.

They were two spike devils, monstrous creatures whose very bodies hung with the refuse from the marshes underfoot, whose hardened backs conjured up images of rocky peaks. Maws panting, the demons splashed through the muck, their goal rapidly approaching through the churning mists above.

There, ahead, a light. Floating in the distance, almost calling towards the demons, who navigated over rotting bodies and the husks of thing viler than could be imagined. And as the light drew into sight, the fate of those consigned to the third ring of hell, that region the gluttons of the world are consigned to, was made apparent.

There sat the thick, murky waters of a dismal swamp, whose countenance was more appalling then the general landscape. AS far as the eye could see stretched the blight, filled with the sinking and gasping forms of those unfortunate enough to be consigned to the realm. Adrift in the disease-ridden filth, the piteous moans of sinners carried far throughout the rain-soaked night, until snuffed one by one by the foaming mouth of Cerberus.

This three-headed monstrosity traveled back and forth, its ravening maul tearing apart both sinner and muck, spittle mixing with vomit and entrails as it reared its ugly head. Its constant roar could be heard mixing with the groans of the damned, creating an unearthly ballad punctuated only by the harshness of the falling rain.

And into this morass waded the demons. Their goal was clear- the spiral leading downwards towards the next ring, the spiral created by that most holy of enemies, the Son of Him, who came through Hell. One could never guess what these demonic hosts could be plotting, what message they could be bringing with them. And indeed, one never would. At that moment, a sound as if cloth was being torn was heard, faintly, I the rain around the two demons and they instantaneously disappeared.

Where to, only God and his servants might know.

[More to come. Currently closed but for comments, TAgs, etc...]

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Fascinating. Our very own Dante. TAG.

*Clap Clap Clap*
Good read, keep up the good work

A belem tag.

Holding Cell Bank Quattuor

Father Antonious gazed down at the still smoldering forms of the beasts. These had been just two more of the multitude of demons, which the Organization, known as Spiritus Deus Dei had managed to flow back to the world of the living. Meaning literally “Souls of God,” the organization was one, which had always stayed hidden in the shadows of the world, in all the lands in which they worked in. And with good measure, considering what some might call the heretical nature of their mission.

Indeed, many of all faiths believed in an afterlife. Those servants of Spiritus Deus Dei took one step further- they saw. Their members had created and perfected various forms of opening portals into hell itself, the realm of the damned. And as the brothers serving in the Observus sector could attest, it was indeed the abode of punishment for the wicked.

Paving stones ran thick with the charnel blood of the many multitudes of those deemed sinners: the wicked, the depraved, the hateful. No distinction was made in race, creed, gender; no, the only distinction was the crime.

And to hell the wicked were cast, to be smote by evil, to be scourged of their wickedness thought Antonious as he walked down a corridor towards the chapel. Soon, the mission of Spiritus Deus Dei would be made apparent to the members of the organization as a whole. AS it was, only the select few knew of what the men and women involved were soon to be meddling with.

Antonious ruefully thought of the failures that had been visited upon the Organization in the past. The destruction of leader after leader during the witch hunts. The destruction of untold numbers of members and equipment in the massive wars that embroiled the globe. The colossal equipment failures, sending many in the Organization to their God or their Tormentor, however their life had been led. But the divine mission was drawing near.

The oaken doors swung open and reveled the ornate chapel, velvet kneelers aligning he walls and before the altar. Antonious walked to one in the center of the room, the massive fresco of Christ entering Hell stretching over the ceiling above him. And Antonious began to pray.

“Father, give us the guidance that we your faithful never could have had if You had not stood by us. Help us to attain your quest, be it on Earth or in other realms that You might will. As Christ did journey to the bowels of the Inferno himself, help us to travel, safe in Your encompassing embrace. Let all good Christians with us not be consigned to the eternal fires, but the splendors of your gilded paradise.

Lord, I ask you- help our divine mission succeed. Help our organization prevail over all that will oppose us. And may you, God, have mercy upon us all. Amen.”

Antonious stretched his body up, signing himself once again and glancing up towards the intimate painting on the ceiling. The outstretched arm of the Lord Christ seemed almost to point towards Antonious, beckoning him to go forth into the nether regions of the Abyss. And Antonious was prepared for. Indeed, that was the goal of the organization.

Many would travel to Hell. How many might return was only God’s will.
[More to come, of course.]

(T to the A to the G, everytime you look at me you make me pee... err... yeah.)

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