Cellar Door III: Animals Hell II Citizens by Valentina Lovecraft

Author:Valentina Lovecraft
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: James Ward Kirk Publishing
Published: 2014-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

Nemesis

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Magenta Nero

I have been known by many names; I prefer Nemesis. Like all deities, my origin and true purpose have been forgotten, denied and sanctified by folklore. I was the dispenser of justice before it became a blindfolded woman in the courts of men. I see into the hidden depths of your soul and make manifest your most despised fears; I deliver what you truly deserve. It is not karma; it is not an eye for an eye, it is pure punishment. I will take both eyes and every other organ as well. I take pride in my work; the dead squabble at the gates of my kingdom as if vying for entrance to an exclusive club. Only the very top skimming of filth, those responsible for the most extraordinary cruelty, may proceed.

There are many realms of Hell. The common evil doers toss and tumble in pits of flame for eternity, a monotonous suffering fit for the feeble minded. Liars, thieves, adulterers, blasphemers, you will wish you had the balls to really follow your dark urges when you are sentenced to those seething pits of tedious torment. Those pathetic souls are not fit to be in Hell but, of course, the gatekeepers of Heaven will not take them. So here they remain, moaning, bitching, and squirming, just as they did in life.

Every moment fresh hoards are ushered through the screaming fields where they first witness the horrors they will be subjected to. Row upon row, as far as can be seen, the damned are staked and raked, enduring the visions of torture I project upon them.

Among my elite charge are infamous mass murderers, pedophiles, tyrants and politicians, and my favourites, the faithful of the Church of Rome. I have them to thank for the more creative implements of torture at my disposal. I don’t often get my own hands dirty; I have gimps to perform the menial tasks, but sometimes a particular soul will just beg for my personal attention.

I have created my world to beautiful perfection. The Infernal Lord respects my artistry and allows me to proceed as I wish. I stroll through the black smoking fields, the rolling hills of ash and debris piled high with torn limbs, rotting organs, and shattered bones. My vulturous familiars flock and feed on the remains, their red eyes glistening like jewels in the fog. The shrieks of the damned are a blissful, primeval hum; the stench of decay is always flourishing. I walk along the rivers of semen and bile that trickle into a thick sea of blood, and I find peace in my work. For a thousand years, I have been content in my kingdom. Then you, my beloved, appeared at my gates.

I, of all beings, should appreciate the irony of Universal Law, but I was stunned. You took my breath away. Never did it occur to me that I would see you again. How could I have been so naive? One of my favourite tasks is to torture soul

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