I.N.F.E.R.N.O.: HELL STARTS ON EARTH

Ghosty creature in blood-stained jeans approaches, stretches thin, bare to the elbow hands, with palms, wet with flowing scarlet liquid. Pink t-shirt is ripped; girlish breasts can be seen through holes. Neck is stained in blood. He saw pretty narrow chin and black threads of pale lips and eyelids. She seeks to inform him about something; but the mouth will never be open.

The body is trembling, blood, wildly pulsing through his veins, is tormenting the flesh, as well as bodily fear, paralysing instincts of common sense. Sanity is fading, thought is put to death, and only the eyes and facial expressions are showing the despair, the horror, together with painful experience, the anguish of despair which is beyond understanding.

Sinister and at the same time innocent silhouette is moving to the man writhing on the floor, trying to escape and be saved from unbearably squeezing damned shirt.

Heels are sticking to the adhesive floor and, coming off it, are pulling clumps of coagulating blood. The lowing can be heard coming from the closed mouth; she is trying to warn, but in vain effort.

Lying on the floor frozen with fear, he starts crying with the rush of feelings and circumstances; and a few tears are sliding his cheeks right into a puddle of blood on the floor.

And with the spirit found a material condition, something similar is happening, but his tears are not clean and clear as crystal. He is suffering and closing, stretching his long fingers to the face of helpless man; the incredible effort of will liberates heart-rending scream.

***

It’s a silent night. Stars are twinkling above the sleepless town. The

darkness is covering a cold room. The reflection of the full moon illuminates 27

a reclining young man, resting his hands on the bed, who is swallowing the air randomly. He, holding the palms of both hands on his sweating face, gradually starts massaging his forehead with the left hand, staring tiredly at the blackness of the bedroom, and, having realized the absolute lack of sleep, gives a long sigh and, lying down again, closes his eyes.

The terrible picture continues existing in his mind, having been inspired by the dream, the fear won’t dissipate.

Spiral tube are twisted along the walls and ceiling; mercury rib plates of the bed base being risen at each other, glimmered brilliantly when rays of light fell on them.

So to say this apartment has given neither warmth of the home nor coziness; both the design and decor were extraordinary, for it has been designed in accordance with the plans and drawings produced in the new branch of figurative and abstract art that is closely related to futuristic outlook at the technological revolution.

Modernization and technical arrangement, performed at a strikingly high level, were impressive, particularly the natures experienced in this area. He got up again, put his feet on the transparent glass floor plates. Leaning forward, rested his elbows on his knees and after some reflection, got up, and going round the bed, walked to the window. Traffic typical for a big city reigned on the road there were mostly cars hurrying goodness

knows where.

Extracting with his mouth an expensive cigarette soon lit with the flame

of rare petrol lighter from the white pack taken from the table he fell into a sad reverie, which was suddenly interrupted by strumming notification from the computer, located in a tiny but stylish room. He wearily looked at rounded to the left of him doorway and monitor glimmering with snow color and yellow-brown envelope highlighted on it.

Inhaling the smoke of a cigarette, leaning against the window and passing his right hand over his head, as if sleeking his hair back, he said in a husky voice, turning his head toward the computer for a moment, «read», and then fastened his eyes on the view of the still torpid night city.

– I’m reading the notification! – a pleasant female voice wafted to his ears from the computer, and in a second the screen was ‘decorated’ with white sheet of paper with the text: «To Arthur Georgua King from the Ministry

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of Sociable Enterprise Armory Supply, officials of the main constituent office of law enforcement. The general adoption of new models of weapons according to the decree of the Military Council «KDC» is obliged to all officials, who are in the army and/or Federal districts police departments. «In the context of the government sponsorship of the armament and supply appropriate equipment according to the affected tasks in the context of the specific service in the erected,» and other trumpery encountered in standard reports.

– Sleep, darling… – Arthur ordered in a husky voice, and a huge computer monitor went out.

His face was reflected in the glass of the window, keeping the sharpness of lines and pale color of the face. He pressed his forehead against his arm hoisted to the frame, and screwing up his eyes looked at the reflection. Perfectly set eyes were staring at him sternly and severely. His face was also of perfect shape: broad high forehead, stately nose, manly chins; daring protruding cheekbones, huge expressive brown eyes, and curly thick hair. Also in his features one could clearly see features of the valor, honor and courage, like those of the noble men of old times.

Arthur released a puff of smoke from his mouth when he suddenly heard a rustling in the remote rooms. Not a muscle moved; he slowly turned his head, glancing over, went into the next room where huge, computer equipped in the latest state-of-the-art technology. In a markedly quiet manner he went to the wall, where all kinds of weapons hung, he pulled the silver pistol with a broad and elongated carved barrel out of its holster. He checked whether it was loaded, turned his head and, passing wires hanging from the ceiling (which, by the way, were part of the decor), entered the bedroom again.

His tentative steps and a police stance, which was the special position of the left arm on the right one, guaranteed steady aim in the case he would need to bring his gun into play in a strained situation. Obviously, the actions of Arthur were the result of the skills in carrying out operations to capture leaders of the underworld learnt in the Academy. He could shoot and reload with his left or right hand standing on his head.

He walked past the bed, passed the rounded aisle and once in the dark hallway, first glanced to the left and gently continued to step to the right side.

The rustle was heard again… Now these acts are really justified.

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Glass floor slabs made his feet cold; heart started to beat faster from step to step with incredible swiftness, causing pain in the temples.

«What's wrong with me… Quiet, Arthur, quiet.»

Inexplicable fear came back.

Arthur managed to pass two translucent doors. Shadows from chrome-

plated pipes hung in various places: the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. They seemed fancy and twisted silhouettes, concealing a hidden reality which was turning into ignorant phobias peculiar to rocky human consciousness.

Rustle, so inexplicable and unexpected, was heard to his left. Arthur stoped, closed his eyes, and, bending his elbows, brought the gun to his face; drops of sweat stood out on his forehead, marking extreme storm of emotional experience spilled everywhere.

Rat-tat… Rat-tat… Rat-tat, through his teeth he uttered the sound from the dream imprinted in his memory.

His neck was wet with sweat, two drops of sweat fell on the glass floor slabs, clearly ringing out on the entire length of the corridor; his head seemed to be pressed against the iron grip, the body was burning with blood boiling in the veins. «Make up your mind… you or it»… Arthur opened his eyes and motionless was staring at the door; wrinkles appeared on his face. By the fiat of will he skillfully swung to the left, with a scream he rushed through easily opened door to the illuminated room… The bathroom was empty, shimmering with mercury color and twisted thick pipes.... A rustling came from the adjacent to the toilet thin plastic tube.

«What the hell! – cried Arthur, having changed his countenance.

Breathing fast, he slowly turned back and, at seeing the horned ugly mug, bended back and started shooting. A moment later the index finger of his left hand went on pressing the trigger of the gun which was just clicking the shutter, though the cartridge clip had already been emptied.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Arthur stood up and headed for the door. The monster turned to be just a shadow of two bottles of aromatic oils with red and blue sprigs of ikebana put on the nightstand next to a metal vase. The place of the «devil's head» was dotted with bullet holes.

A beep of a new message was heard from the bedroom. Stooping down, Arthur sadly went to the bedroom. Respiratory slowed down, heart

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rate went back to normal, but dragging pain, ruthlessly undermining the soul, had not stopped.

– Message from Thierry Zemeckis – began the computer in an unctuous voice. – «Detective, start to the police station, we have arrested a subject with a severe fotoaugliofobia». The reading is finished. There are no more messages.

– Damn! The world is crazy, and it has involved me into the vortex of madness; I will not stand the new regime. No, I can't stand it! Listen, I can't stand it! – He shouted in syllables, turning to the extinct computer monitor.

The clock on the nightstand to the right of the bed, highlighted figures showing that it was two o’clock a.m. Arthur took remote control, turned on the miniature music center which started playing a melody with a dash of gentle and invigorating notes of rock ballads; the composition provided a smooth awakening.

The lights studding the ceiling crossed with iridescent unevenness flashed. Arthur passed to the bathroom again, turned on the faucet adjacent to massive rounded tub, set the water temperature and, after removing the tight-fitting trunks, put his body under the hot water flow.

After seven minutes he was sitting on the glass chair at the same table. The table had one leg consisting of two winding pipes curved on the floor. Arthur was eating chicken cooked on the electric grill with side dish of brown rice and raisins from transparent deep square dish, washing it down with clean water. Having finished, he put the dishes in the sink, passed the kitchen doorway, and appeared in the bedroom. Doors of the built-in metal wardrobe slided apart and a coat flashed from there with its leather shine. The city was raging in the ebullient night life. The moon was shimmering in shades of blue tones, turning into flushed yellowness, or crimson glow. Silent graveyard was bathing in the dim light, and the pervasive and routine silence was disrupted by a bunch of young people in black clothes. People were the teenage Goths waiting for transformation; and the creatures were

enlightened werewolves.

– There are dark gravestones, lit bonfires and the forthcoming Orgy

with the female of the pack of werewolves who was the witch; there are captives, chained with barbed wire to abandoned, overgrown with morning glories crucifixion; everything is so delightful, – prepuce voice was heard. –

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You’ll behold the reign of darkness this night, and you will change. Darkness will embrace your souls and the blood will wash you, throw you out of the relation… ha… and you will become a part of the new life that will gain you.

The quiet of the night was broken by roar of a motorcycle; chrome turbine was spitting fire.

– You, Sweeney, come. Take this blade from my hands and stick it in the heart. Yes, Sweeney, in your heart. You, Bella, take off your garments, appear before Baal; tie her to the altar… – the speaker tripped and fell with his head crushed by the slug.

Bulky motorcycle shooted up off the sloping roof of the vault and landed on the cemetery's land; and, throwing the ground from under broad rear wheel, whirled, and intensively ran off ahead. The driver in the black fluttering cloak opened out his hands clutching the silver and black handguns and started riddling cartridge clips of lead. Eluding like the lightning werewolves were escaping wounds; suddenly the werewolf grabbed the bumper and knocked the «steel horse» appeared from nowhere.

– Shit, the sect, I see the things seem to be crappy…

Pale werewolf in a suede cloak stood up. The upper part of his head, having been splitted, exposed brain.

– Oh, shit!

– Yes. Yes! – chuckling, said the disfigured. – You showed up on time to become the victim.

– Fuck! Arthur King has two tiddlers, and they like it hot!!! – He grabbed out two guns; werewolves swiftly ran. – A-Ah!!! Devil, die!!!

A Goth, appearing behind him, stuck a folding knife between his ribs. Arthur howled and threw the teenager over his head; bullets flew cursorily, without touching the moving werewolves. His hair dropped on his sweat face and prevented him from seeing the surroundings. The sword ascended, and the detective, dodging the naked blade of the katana, disappeared behind the scattered column with the cherubim. Moving in the flying dust, he took a short blade with the fabric intertwined handle from his trouser-leg. A single swing resulted in a demolished to the ground werewolf’s head; katana of the defeated enemy struck in his hands, and Covenant invested by the master, was expressed in the speech:

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– The debt of the soul is deeper than the seas and higher than the mountains. My enemies are you. Happiness is ephemeral, when a foe’s heart hits shivering of life and bubbling Evil deters willful strike of all- conquering character. Have I frightened you, whoresons?! I’m pouring out my blood; – he laughed madly, – do not rejoice! I will die with you, here and now! Fear, rescued from my soul, will descend in you! – and, playing with the swishing blade, Arthur was rapidly approaching the werewolves, ripping and crushing the Goth who had broken into a run. His sword was seen as a revolving circle, being a perfect mastery of renzoku-waza that is a complex combination of thrusts. His gaze became cold-blooded determination and extraordinary calm; the second werewolf fell, having experienced the power of iaijutsu; the third, being behind Arthur, clasped him in his arms and plunged the claws into the flesh, whispering in his ear:

– You will die a long and painful death. Your words are mere. Fear is inside you, for you are hopeless; the wounds are incurable. You are bleeding profusely. And your blood is blackening. Do you imagine yourself the hero? Nonsense! – the claws sunk deeper into his flesh close to the liver. – Who are you now? Or what will you be? You are nothing. And do you know why? Because you're a human being. And like Neko-Mata I’m going to amuse myself with your lifeless body. Are you terrified with the impending decease?

– The teacher had been telling me from the first day of consecration to remember about the death. When I go to sleep or wake up, when I eat or starving, when I’m awake or reflect when I watch the farewell rays or the rising sun, I always remember about death. So behold the feeble person, me Arthur Jorja King!!! The man who doesn’t care about death, who doesn’t care about you, freaks! That’s because God is with me, and you are beneath me! – he burst into insane laughter, stamped his boot – the blade slipped off the soles – a kick in the groin followed; the werewolf recoiled, and Arthur turned around with lightning speed, picked up the fallen sword and cut off werewolf’s head with the blade. – Who wants the tail, who wants the crock, huh? Neko-Mata, dammit!

Sighing heavily, he wiped the blood flowing from his nose, and, clenching his bloodied teeth, with a shout rushed toward the Goth appeared in his way. He hack the body from the shoulder to the belt. The youth fell to

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his knees, breathless with the blood gushing from his mouth. Black bangs fell on his pale forehead, eyes with red lenses look upward. With pain Arthur looked at the ruined soul, at the sacrifice made not by his hands. The barrel of a gun set into his head and he heard a female voice:

– You’ve ruined everything! I'll kill you! You’ve killed them, you’ve shredded them like babies! Damn! Who the hell are you?

– You wish to hear the answer… And who are you and who are they? You’re going to kill me? Do! I’ve seen enough of horror and death! These O-Yama and Beherits are different in the languages but the same in nature. They are those slanderers and opponents, the Devils and Sets that have poured into new regime and flooded the minds of people as parasites, stuck in you, in me. I’m fed up with them for they have filled the whole world! The world is being convinced and has been convinced by them that there is no, no, no, fuck, either Evil, or Good! Because we're Evil and we're Good. Yes! We humans, puny humans are the both. Then, then, then we are Gods, only we are and nobody else! – he turned around and the muzzle of the gun set against Arthur's forehead. – So, bitch, you want to know the answer, don’t you? – he shouted, – Must you know the answer or not?!

– Yes…

– It doesn't exist! The existing thing is Lie! Lie was splashed out abundantly. Dirt and ink peals of Lie corroded and thinned the truth. Verity is ephemeral and forgotten, and conscience is eroded by decay, so there is no truth, there are you, me and these degenerates. It’s full compliance with the reality of our times. And some contrast will be lost. But there is something that keeps me from shooting myself in the head… Are you intrigued? – he slowly grinned. Being honored to be consecrated Mycoden, I renounced the ways of formation of the highest stages of knowledge, in favour of a different achievement of self-improvement.

His hand reached in his bosom and pulled out large crucifix on a black cord carved from pine, – the bent head, and outstretched hands, pained face full of suffering and clearly looking out from under veiled eyelids eyes burnt only by the view of betrayal and apostasy. The eyes finding unattainable and great in the simplicity of greatness, power and spirituality, full of Light and power, enclosed mercy… and understanding.

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– Your hand trembled, and your face contorted. Yes. You see the person who has mourned, but hasn’t rejected, with killed body, but arise from the dead in the soul embodied in the flesh. So who are you? You are destroying the flesh and transformed in the body; you are werewolves, a variable link of ghouls! You are vampires, occult geeks, parasitizing in the bodies. You die and your body comes to life and not as Gods; you, merged with the matter, penetrate into the material world, and you disprove Descartes’s dream by your dependence on space, oppressive and subordinating your nature, for you are the prisoners of the world. And the world will abuse the dependent, will bound by time and space! You are the devil incarnate; your look reflects your emptiness enclosed by the seals of evil, – Arthur snatched the gun put to him and turning back, released the clip in werewolves. One of them fell with scattered skull, and the detective, having thrown unneeded weapons, rushed into battle with the sword. A series of blows, trembling hands and predetermining of slaughter that was the incredible will of a mighty soul, which had plunged enemies.

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