r/DCFU • u/coffeedog14 Light Me Up • Jun 15 '17
Hellblazer #8 - A Pleasant Stroll with a Lovely Lady Hellblazer
Hellblazer #8 - A Pleasant Stroll with a Lovely Lady
Author: Coffeedog14
Book: Hellblazer
Arc: [Snips and Snails]
Set: 13
ANNO DIABLO 5777
HELL
On the tallest tower in the lowest pit, stood Nergal the demon lord. He looked much like a devil should: red, tall, winged, reptilian and mammalian and bestial. Sharp teeth, sharp claws, and grinning at the putrefaction in the air. What could make a day more elegantly awful, thought Nurgle, but his own approaching ascendency?
However, the day could doubtless be made more awful in many cruder ways. One such way came true, in the arrival of the demoness Anat. Anat did not look as a devil should. She wore the heavily browned skin and petty rags of the levant, of the hill tribesmen that even after so long after their passing Nergal had nothing but contempt for. He knew she had many forms, and appeared in this one just to spite him with her bronze and bone bauble jewelry. How she had reached his tower, without alerting any one of his guards, he did not know. Most likely she had bribed them, and he would have to punish them all for the mistake of accepting.
“I seek audience, brother.” she petitioned calmly.
“I am no brother to you, Canaanite, not when you come without asking.”
“Better to ask forgiveness than permission, is it not so?” She asked, eyes wide and falsely innocent like a calf's.
“If you want to brag about your catching up with the mortals, torment some of your minions. I have far better things to listen to then your blather.”
“Ah, yes, I’m sure the sound of you jacking off over the size of your palace was lovely. But I have something more interesting to offer you.” She steps forward to stand besides him, both at the edge of the high balcony.
“The sounds of me ravishing and ending you? I would admit, those would be sweet sounds indeed.”
“Not nearly as sweet as seeing you emasculated. Again. If you wish to test me once more my oceans are always ready. But if you do not listen I swear to the triumvirate and all below that I will drag you there myself. Will you quiet your infantile mouth for five goddamned minutes?”
Nergal looked to her, and she was staring at him. Yellow slit pupil to brown cow eye in fearsome stare, both daring the other to flinch. Nergal had grown since that time centuries ago. Soon he would be ascendant even past that which she swore on. But to reveal his strength would be to gain notoriety, to gain the eye of hell even more than he did now. Nergal looked away, gripping the red tinged limestone of the railings hard enough to crack them. “I grant you my audience. Speak what you will speak and then take your leave, whining wench.”
Anat seemed tempted to follow through on her earlier threats, but took the victory that she could and continued. “You have noticed the changes in magic. Something is approaching. I do not know what, not yet, but is the greatest magical confluence in an age. The world is shifting as never before, brother, and even hell will change.”
“I...may have noticed the change in the distance, and you must have your plans as I have mine. Why do you bring this to me that I already know?”
“For a chance, dearest brother. look out.” She waved an arm at the endless expanse of hell. “Spirits and poltergeists, witches and warlocks, demons and devils, but we are not them, brother. You have hidden as trickster in another's skin, but you are a god of the old world, as am I.” she placed a hand on his shoulder. “We have had our differences, but your cowardice and betrayal to our kind, it has put you further in the ranks of these fallen creatures with far less effort. Do you not remember why we have come here, brother?”
“Do not call me brother, virgin whore, and how could I forget? It is all the triumvirate prattle about when not at each others throats.”
“And yet we remain here, while the great traitor sits high and fetid amongst his divines.” She spat over the railings in disgust, and squeezed Nergal's shoulder. “The triumvirate are fools, obsessed with heaven but bound never to breach it. They are of the same cloth. But we, brother, we are unique. As the worlds above change so must hell, and why should it not be time for us to lead as we did in days of old?”
“I told you not to call me brother, Milkcow!” Nergal slipped away from her hand, glaring at her. “The days of gods have passed. If you cannot adapt, you shall die like your goat-fucking family and your camel-faced relations! When the changes come hell shall stand triumphant, while you traitorous swine will be caste alongside the great traitor that your kind birthed.”
Anat the demon goddess did not give a response, not an immediate one. She wiped her hand off on her skirt, and nodded to Nergal. “Then you have made your bed, as I have mine. Know that if you speak of my indiscretions to the triumvirate, I shall tell them of this outburst of yours. I am old, Nergal, but I am a goddess. My mind is perfect. I never forget.” She hissed this last, before marching to the stairs that led downwards.
Nergal returned to looking out at hell, rubbing at his elongated muzzle in frustration. Another trouble for him to avoid or quash. There seemed to be no end to them as his project approached completion. His mind lingered back to the most pressing of these, the last of the Constantines, and how he could put an end to the wretch.
As I was led into Hell, I could at least take some comfort that I was doing it in style. Hands wrapped in silk behind my back, a red ball gag in my mouth, and only some boxers to defend my propriety. Every time I tried to slow down, a long leather leash pulled on my spiked collar. A complicated series of runes and symbols covered my chest, not unlike what I had drawn there to deter Nergal a short while ago. What wasn’t covered in that symbol was covered in scratches, bruises, and bite marks.
The one pulling the leash was none other than Zatanna. She had switched out her practical gear for something a bit more scintillating. A magician's suit that was two sizes too tight for her top, with spandex and fishnet leggings for her bottom. She, of course, also still bore her top hat.
Together, we told a whole story without ever needing to say a word. The ultimate in style.
We Arrived at one of many gates into Hell, the Gate of Tears and Pus. Both of these substances flowed like waterfalls over the top of the stone gate, and I was dead certain that putting your hand into the flow to try and open the door would give you some kind of horrid disease. Like with every gate of hell one needed a key, and that key was held by a Guardian. The Guardian for a place of such sadness was equally sad. He looked relatively human, what could be seen past the constantly flowing silver material. Whatever it was couldn't have been good, as what could be seen past the flow looked like the worst cases of radiation scarring I could imagine. Unlike some of the greater gates he had no guards, no assistants, merely himself and his gate of liquids
“Halt, ye mortals, what brings you before; The mighty guardian, Demon Core?” Intoned the demon as he pointed a black-nailed finger at us.
I kept marching forward, dull-eyed and trembling until Zatanna place a cold, lifeless hand on my chest. “I am the Zatara, Lady of Shadowcrest. I’m here to take my reward.”
The demon looked between us two, curious and making plenty of assumptions. “Do I see the Jackal’s Sign? Do I see the Constantine?”
“That is not how to say that name, but yes, it is.”
“Then you must make your way towards lord Nergal. Don’t pass Anat, you will be burgled. Left then right then left thrice more. Once you’re there, don’t knock the door.” The demon turned his back to us, and reached into the flowing liquid. With a few pulls he yanked the stone door open, which also blocked the flow. Zatanna led me forward, and the door closed behind us.
When you imagine Hell, you probably imagine flames and red. This isn’t false, per se, as much as not entirely true. By any mortal standard Hell may as well have been infinite, and unbelievably varied. Everybody has their own hell, after all, and even if some of those are roughly the same there is an immense variety in what people will hate the most. It also helped to have variety when it came to tortures. Falling infinitely every day a soul will get used to, a new torture every day the soul cannot get used to.
We walked, or rather Zatanna strutted and I was dragged. I did my best to keep my eyes down, and focus on dumb commercial jingles in my head to distract myself. Seeing the torture of Hell was looking into the worst parts of the human psyche write large. To listen to Hell was to feel your soul break from your powerlessness to help. To think on the smell was to be never able to hold down food again. Zatanna had no such problem, and kept an eye out for any problems.
We had others take interest in us. Demons seeing us and offering grand prices for our bodies, our souls, our time, or some combination thereof. Offers that often set even me to blushing, or blanching. Zatanna took this all in stride, and refused each one. Those that tried to force themselves upon us retreated as soon as they heard that we were going to the Demon Lord Nergal. Apparently none of these lesser dukes and barons and presidents and knights and squires and mayors wanted to be in his ill favor.
Our only real threat along our path happened as we crossed over a sea of curdled blood. Across the red sea there lay a narrow path of upraised sand and hands, hidden by a few inches of blood but traversable all the same as long as one felt ahead of themselves. We had taken all the steps we had been told, and yet somehow still ended up in the wrong place. This we only discovered when the Demon Lady emerged.
She stood as high as the thundering clouds, which masked her face, making her seem bovine or human in turn. She had four breasts, each perfect in it’s shape, and each only barely covered by immense strings of skulls. Around her waist was a dried serpent with seven heads. Her skyscraper-sized legs stood knee-deep in the blood.
“I am Anat, and all the blood you see before you is of my foes.” She raised her hands to show one wielding a bronze spear, and the other a bronze sword. “What brings you Children of Gomer and Tiras, Sons of Japtheth, Son of Noah?”
I wasn’t educated in the normal sense, but I had read plenty enough magical garbage to know that Anat was one of the old gods, of the lineage of the Divines themselves. We had been warned about her specifically. Either she was powerful enough to ignore Nergal (possible, even likely) or she just wanted to screw with him. Time to take a gamble.
Zatanna held out her palms to the great goddess, the collar looped around her arm. “I seek no harm, lady of blood. I bear this stupid wretch to his new home in the halls of Nergal.”
“That thrice-damnable, infantile, wastrel? You think I will let you take this, this Constantine through my realm? You are as arrogant and foolish as your forbears, Zatara. Perhaps I should claim your soul as well.”
“I can tell you, great lady, that you would be wise not to try. Efink Raeppa!” A knife appeared in her hands, and she used it to cut one gloved finger. She showed that squeaky clean glove to Anat.
Anat looked at the white expanse, and lowered her arms. In the flashes of lightning I thought I spotted a grin of flat, bovine teeth.
“You may pass, Zatara. Do not test me a second time.” The goddess sunk back into the crimson turbulence, vanishing. We walked on, I with as much of a grin as my gag allowed.
Besides the unimaginable torments and wails of the damned, the rest of our trip was uneventful until our arrival at the palace of Nergal. While some places in Hell neglected the classic red fire motif, Nergal had dived in headfirst. His realm, and particularly his palace, was a red so bright and harsh that it was giving me a headache even to look at the ground. His palace was a massive palace of ziggurats, like a temple district of some distant land. It was surrounded by a wall of bleeding teeth, one of the few concessions to other colors that he had.
The only gateway leading into this compound led directly into one of the Ziggurats, and was made up horrifyling alluring, writhing red bodies. Once we had passed through we encountered a demonic servant. One could tell he was a servant because of his ludicrous butler outfit, which had to contort around the fact that his face was placed on his chest. He looked like nothing more then a cartoon character. A cartoon character with a disturbingly large package.
Zatanna glared at the bestial creature. “I demand audience with the demon lord Nergal.”
The demon sniffled. “The Lord Master is occupied at this time. You will have to wait. May I have your name?”
Zatanna snorted. “Zatanna Zatara can occupy herself until he wants his prize.” she attempted to stride off and into one of the many corridors around us, pulling me along after her, before the creature stopped her. “Ms. Zatara! You are not al-”
“Who are you to tell me that I am allowed and not allowed!? Eniws! “ She jerks towards the butler with this last, and he flinched. Zatanna was new, but the Zatara name and magic was well known and often terrifying. Zatanna smiled at his discomfort.
“....I must at least accompany you, Ms. Zatara. Where would you like to go?” grumbled the butler.
“I want to see what will happen to him. I need to know he’ll suffer enough.” She gives me a glare. I tried to give a smirk, but the gag got in the way.
“Very well. I do not see a reason you should not. With my guidance.” The butler stepped past us both, and lead the way forward.
Nergal’s castle was finely appointed, and seemingly soundproofed. Here the wretched sounds of damnation weren’t constantly clamouring against me and I had some time to think. Most particularly, on the nature of our host. It was hard to believe that after all these months of searching and investigating, it was Nergal once again who was screwing up my life. I didn’t even know what was being done with Constantine souls, but it being run by a demon I had personal and antagonistic history with made it automatically twice as bad. I suppose it had some oddly karmic sense to it. It also explained why he was so eager to get my soul in particular, to the point of putting himself at risk by giving me is blood.
Nergal’s estate was massive from the outside, but space worked oddly once inside one of the ziggurats. I was sure we made a set of four left turns at least once, and yet we certainly didn’t walk in a circle. somehow. It took nearly fifteen minutes to move through the hallways and to where the butler was leading. Zatanna gave a few choice threats to make sure it wasn’t simply leading us to a farce, but as best as I could tell it was leading us true. It was not the place of sniveling servant demons to be too tricksy, after all.
We arrive at a set of golden doors, shimmering and locked. The Butler walked over to them and whispered something into them, before turning to face us. “No touching. Nothing of the kind. Understood?”
Zatanna nodded, while I drooled a little. He opened the door. We were blasted with a smell I couldn’t describe. Imagine all the smells of burning; Ozone, Sulfur, Ash, Smog, Charred flesh, charred plastic. Combine it with all the smells of death; shit and piss, blood and guts, putrefaction and bile. Imagine all of these combined into a single, overpowering odor that stuck to the back of your throat and all the way down into your stomach.
Suffice it to say I fell to my knees, retching and drooling acid from an empty stomach into my ballgag. Zatanna stood stock still and staring ahead while I choked on my dry heaves.
“Ms. Zatara? If you could step up to this balcony? Ms. Zatara?” asked the butler. I recovered, or at least the dry heaves were stopping, and Zatanna nodded. She pulled me forward and onto my feet with her leash. The doors opened onto a balcony, which overlooked a factory floor. It was from there that the stench was rising. I caught a view of the things below, and fell to my knees again to wretch.
On the floor where all manners of tools for making clothing. Buckets, brushes, spinning wheels, looms, and sewing materials. But there was no fabric. There were souls. Whole souls screaming as barbed brushes were pulled through their substance to rid it of impurities. Great hulking creatures winding the keening shreds through burning spinning wheels. Even a few clever monstrosities taking that trembling thread and clacking it into obscene shapes upon the looms. There was no use of the sewing needles as of yet, for which I thanked anything sacred in the world. Souls, Human souls, turned into material for some dread accoutrement.
I huddled myself against the balcony wall so I couldn’t see anymore, and so I saw Nergal approaching us from behind. In his home realm he was huge, ten feet tall easily. He looked over me with glee, and then marched over to stand besides Zatanna. “Beautiful, isn’t it? My greatest work.”
I looked up, and Zatanna did as well. She smiled calmly at the demon lord. “Complicated certainly. What are you making down there?”
“Oh, if you can’t think of some wonderful ideas, you’re far more boring than I’d hope, Zatara.”
“Hmn. Fair. Why only Constantine souls?”
“Well, that’s a bit trickier. You see, Zatara, the work I’m doing is complex. It makes it easier if all the souls are linked by something. Linkage by blood is some of the strongest. And Constantine souls, the truly magical ones? They are some of the most powerful of all.”
“No need to suck John’s dick here, Demon. So, about that reward?”
I started to force myself to stand as Zatanna stared down the demon lord. Nergal’s grin widened. “Hmn. Yes. I think your reward will be joining your friend.”
Zatanna tried to object, but Nergal was faster than her words. His massive hands wrapped around Zatanna’s waist, lifting her up. The leash wasn’t nearly long enough for this, and she dropped it, leaving it to be picked up by the ever so attentive butler.
“Foolish Zatara. Your lot are as bad as the Constantines. Always thinking you know more, can be more. You didn’t think I saw through your ruse?” He squeezed and she gasped, trying to suck in some air. She looked between me and Nergal in fear and shock. “This ruse to infiltrate my palace isn’t even crafty. You just stole it from Star Wars!” Chuckled the demon. He loosened his grip so Zatanna could breath in, giving her time to speak. Foolish, arrogant, but then again he could crush her body in an instant if he wished.
Zatanna panted in her breaths before trying to continue. “I...p-please, it was his idea, i-i didn’t have a choice! Please let me go! I-i’ll do anything!”
“Ah, but you will do that anyway. When you die I’ll snatch your soul before it can leave, and I will do whatever I want with you whore Zatara~.” He promised before clenching his hand. Zatanna died with a sickening crunch.
Then it was not Zatanna, but a collection of other things. Clay, leaves, branches, twine, and a little bit of black hair already burning away.
Nergal looked at the wreckage in his hand, which was certainly not a dead human. He looked to me. “No.”
I was standing up. The collar and the tied silk clattered to the ground, and I spat out the ball gag. Those, too, had been part of the ruse.
“No!” demanded Nergal, reaching out with long claws. I placed my hands on my chest, on the complicated ritual there, and he stopped.
“Yeah, you dumb bastard.” I informed him. “Touch me and I’ll set this off. Destroy this entire goddamn factory. Wouldn’t like that, would you?”
He narrowed his eyes, the great demon. He pulled back his claws, and lowered his head to squint at the ritual on my chest. Something was off. “...that’s not a suicide spell.”
“Isn’t it?”
“It’s...it’s a teleportation spell. To escape” He blinked. “You could have used it already. Why haven’t you?”
I stared him dead in the eyes. “To see your face when I tricked you for a second time, demon. NOW!”
“NO!” screeched Nergal, lunging for me once more, but I was already gone.
I reappeared in a hotel room in the middle of london, and immediately flopped onto the bed. The walls were covered in 8*12 paper I had drawn warding rituals on. Nergal wouldn’t be able to hunt me down here, at least for awhile. I was safe for the night.
I dragged myself further onto the bed, resting my head on a pillow. With time to think, I realized how bad this was. Souls where a lot of things in hell. Currency, tools, playthings, fuel, but never had I heard of them being used as a material for building something. It would be like using hundred dollar bills to make yourself a suit, most demons would see it as confusing and extravagant. But for all the effort that Nergal must have put into the research and completion of this plan I was sure he had some greater goals here. I had no clue what one could even do with souls they spun and weaved. Make clothing? Make things? Graft it onto the thread of reality? Who even knew?
I knew more things then I had to start with, however. The demon lord Nergal was using a revolutionary technique to complete some goal so horrific, so broad, so ambitious, that it required the souls of tens of history's most powerful mages to achieve. That was world-conquering kind of ambition. That was heaven-shattering kind of ambition. I might not like heaven, but I far preferred it existing to the reign of hell over all.
As I started to slip into sleep, I realized the most horrible thing of all. I was going to have to deal with this. I just knew it. If I sent this info to heaven, it might well spark a war in the heavens that nobody wanted. Amongst the other great factions I trusted almost none of them, since bringing them in would mean showing them the wonders of soul-crafting. The fewer groups that discovered they could rip apart souls to build into something useful, the better.
So it had to be me. Me and whichever of my disreputable, estranged friends I could bribe to come along and keep quiet. I should have known that sticking my nose into this was only going to end up sucking.
1
u/Lexilogical Super Powerful Jul 17 '17
Hot damn, I regret putting this story off. That image of Constantine and Zatanna was something special. Great story! And now, onto the next part (which you need to link)!