Dirges of Hell

THE DIRGE'S OF HELL

The fight of the century, that’s what happened at the end of my little… adventure, as you might say, in eternal embers of Hell. What happened? Oh yeah, and as you imagine all of this, I was completely drenched in blood, all the time. To see something non-red was a miracle. Anyway, I can recall that day as clearly as the day when I first had an eggnog-flavored donut. And when it comes to eggnog-flavored donuts, I am great at memorizing. History, too. That includes donut history. Anyhow, the details of the First Encounter are as true as the fact that I love donuts. One question, before we begin, that you might have is how did I venture through the fires and the flames, (I’m sorry, but that Dragon Force title is best for this) while in the Devil’s domain? The holiness negated Satan’s strength to completely obliterate me in His domain, but it couldn’t stop evil from attacking me. If I ever wanted to have a moments rest, I had to set up a holy ward, usually a crucifix blessed by Richercent. Sleep, food, rest: Most of it was in short supply. Hell isn’t a place where you can walk up to the local, hellish Dunkin’ Donuts and order a Boston Kreme, or go to a KFC for a buffet, or one of those bowl things. Man, those are good! But I could take some of the evil food things from Hell and use my Immortate to change it to something edible. Well, let me continue with the main story: The fight of the century was where I fought one of Satan’s main dudes, like in an army, Satan is the president dude, and below him are the Generals, and then so on. I took on one of the Warlocks, as there called, who was feared by even those in Hell. How I did it, maybe it was the thought that I could live to see another glass of eggnog, or listen to some more Papa Roach, or maybe to play some Castlevania. Everyone loves Castlevania. Right? I mean, come on, if you don’t like Castlevania, your probably some loser geek that sits at home all day watching his dogs hump each other. Just like the Red Teletubby. Oh, what? You don’t know about him? They were talking about it on E, that entertainment channel, with gossip 24-7. He’s gone into a deep depression; smoking his crack and drinking his booze all day. He also has a pretty rugged beard, so if he ever decided to smoke a cob pipe, he could pull it off. But, enough about Red Teletubbies that are coke-addicted-Smirnoff-loving-radical-beard-problematic moron that watch’s his dogs hump each other and doesn’t play Castlevania. You see all the bad stuff that happens? So, about my fight… I stood at the cliff of an endless pit filled with the blood-stained faces of the tormented souls captured when Satan’s boarding party was sent to our world. The world around me was ablaze, as it usually is in Hell. I mean, seriously man, they need to get organized, get a structure. There were dead bodies strewn about, hideous abominations that only knew the agonizing pain of death, eternally. The things that were down in Hell were sick, twisted things. One hallway I was in had half-eaten bodies hooked onto the wall with barbed wire, and the only thing you could hear where the anguished moans. There were blood dripping from the black emptiness above me, and half-decayed arms would always reach out of the walls, which appeared to be made out of human skin. The flesh would tear and start to bleed. There were always deathly screams coming from nowhere, echoing from the darkness into your mind. Some things I’ve seen are too graphic for right now. But there is one conclusion that you can draw from all of this: Hell… Is… Not... Very… Fun… I stress each word. As I was first rambling about, you could see infernos everywhere, and more splotches of different reds then you can imagine. I mean, it wasn’t even blood red! Some places were guitar-hero-fret red, from the guitar controller for Guitar Hero 2, which is a rad game. Others were red like the red colored pencil that’s actually a shade of orange. And some were just red. Also, there was Hawaiian Punch red, can’t forget that one. Some sort of stitched-together corpses were always wandering about, the stitches running throughout the cadaver’s body, gaping holes in the torso, the whole body a kinda dead-bluish color. There were also some personal touches on the bodies, too, like a few spikes in the neck to show the rocker in them, or maybe a barb-wire bracelet to show their toughness, or maybe, like this one dude, they had some sort of tentacles for legs that were always trying to grab something. I thought it was best to give those guys a bit of room. When I came back here, I never even noticed the screaming when I got back to the Golden Donut until I actually listened because I had gotten so used to it. The screams were scarring, though, once you remember them: The would pierce into each other, so loud, so chilling, that it you had some rice, and you just made it, and it was steaming, it would stop steaming. That bad. And I happen to like rice. The Warlock that I killed was coming for me, and I wasn’t too confident at the time. I mean, only being 14 years old in Hell surrounded by some the worst things unimaginable is just a bit too hard for me. But if they knew my true weakness… If they had Mrs. Reid there, and she was eating donuts off a plate with my name on it… Man, I would have just broken down… The Warlock came thundering on the rocky ground, or maybe those rocks were skulls… The Warlock had a blood-stained Mohawk, a huge mass of hair on his head, the length streaming all the way down to his knees. His whole body radiated an unholy black darkness. The monster’s face was scarred and scabbed, cuts and depressions in his face everywhere. His eyes where the blackest slits, they looked like Mrs. Reid had cut them with some little kid scissors. That means that she would have one frik of a time trying to get her fat, pudgy little fingers into the holes, and an even harder time trying to cut the Warlock’s face without breaking them. His nose was a mass; it looked as if it had been broken over and over. I think it had once been a human nose, but they just used a mace to shape it right. It was black. His whole face’s color looked charred. He had a mouth that opened up to a lamprey for a tongue, covered in blood, and it always had cuts oozing thick, nauseous pus. His teeth were blades. I mean like actually daggers and stuff, I think I even saw a saw blade in there somewhere. The Warlock was wearing… Guess what, bones. They were all chained together, and they appeared to move. The bone hide armor wasn’t too attractive. I could see multiple tumors through the Warlocks body, lumps of dead flesh attached to its torso, at least a hundred blinking eyes on his left hand, the pupils’ purple-black, and black vessels swarming throughout the white part. His whole body was a black color, the same char as the flesh on his face. There were open spaces in his skin, like on his chest; I could see something red pulsating. There were juts and jagged wounds everywhere, all a dark red and burnt black color. On his right arm, on his hand, he had a huge chunk of moving bone with fingers and arms stapled into it, along with several other hooks piercing the rest of his flesh. He didn’t really have legs, he had a normal upper body, but his lower was a mix of skeletal spider legs and blood-slicked appendages. The first thing I shouted at this thing was “Hey, how can you be a dude if your, like, nut-less? I mean, you seem like a dude, but really…” It understood me, it could comprehend, but it replied in the language of the Damned: Verbal venom. What it said was the most vile things and sounds of all the creatures on the earth: All the cries, and moans, and hisses, and roars. It terrifies you. I unsheathed my sword, holding it above me with my right hand, and then pulling out the Broken. The Broken was a gun made out of the worst in people’s souls, the foulest that had ever lived, including Hitler, Leather face, and some gay dude that no one cares about. Hence it’s name, some of the most broken souls were used to make the gun. Of course, it isn’t not very pleasing to know your wielding a gun that has part of Hitler’s soul in it, and also some gay guy. That’s just not right. But it was powerful, the rage and hate and bloodlust of their evil souls imbued into a gun. It was a full-auto machine gun, light, infinite ammo, kinda, and pretty cool. The one bad thing was that the gun used your own spirit to replenish the ammo, so technically it wasn’t infinite. But it was still rad. Just like Jimi Hendrix, the greatest guitarist of all time. The Warlock had tentacles burst out of its left arm, and shards of metal came out of its bone-hand. I let out a war cry and launched myself into the air, immediately firing off dozens of bullets at the abomination. They pierced the skin, and black tar dribbled down him where the bullets found their mark. But then, its lamprey-tongue came out and it started eating the open wounds. I fell to the ground, doing a roll and getting a piece of bone embedded into my back. “Gay, that is so gay!” I yelled out to no one. I reached back and tried to pull it out, and the Warlock rushed at me, swiping. I quickly slung my Broken onto my back, dodging and deflecting all the blows the Warlock threw at me. I did a quick back-handspring, and then 180 flipped over him, quickly trying to catch him. He turned with agility, his perception precise as he caught the flat of my blade with his blinking hand, holding it in the places where his eyes wouldn’t get cut. I gave a strong kick to its bone armor, and it let out a scream, which scared me. The Warlock quickly used this to his advantage, and back-handed me, sending me flying. “Hey! You need a purple suit and a cane with a diamond on the top to do that!” I yelled out. It leapt into the air, the spidery legs extremely strong, and the squirming appendages started getting excited. My sword had fallen right next to me, and at the last second, and I did a back roll, followed by a quick slice. I had sliced some of the appendages off, and they started squirming around and then dematerializing. Ah, but that was just the bloody beginning.