1943, Hadamar Mental Institution, Germany

Dr. Guido Von Streicher was a dedicated man: dedicated to the Nazi movement, dedicated to the development of mental purity, and utterly devoted to the occult regimes his masters in Berlin had assigned him.
   Streicher was Chief of Occult Investigations; a title no one outside of Berlin knew existed, and was always to be found deep below the institution’s cellars in his hidden sanctum, Annexe V15.
   Days would pass with the tall man bent crooked deciphering tomes of power his commanders sent him to analyse. It was his job, amongst the elimination of the weak from Germany’s society, to gleam every aspect from these books that could prove valuable in the Nazi’s plans for world domination.
   There were so many books. The shelves in his study heaved under the weight of tomes man had not gazed upon for centuries, his desks were littered in occult artefacts and relics only legend had hinted at. He was a proud man, knowing he had been entrusted with a weighty mission. He would see his masters satisfied.
   If it cost him the lives of every weakling sent to his institution, he would give the powers in Berlin the strength they needed to wash away the foulness of impurity that covered his country like a plague, then, when the pure had swollen in rank and grown large with power, the Nazis would wash away all weakness from the earth, leaving only the master race to rule in its holy glory.
   It was a crusade, he’d often told himself; I am a soldier, a knight on a holy crusade for Germany. The people of my fine land depend on me. I shall not let them down.
   And so he’d go to his chamber, another set of demented weaklings in tow, and begin his magickal rituals afresh.
   The horrors they’d suffer there were indescribable.
   But the miracle he dreamed of discovering had so far eluded the doctor.

One frozen autumn morning, Dr. Von Streicher’s work took a new and exciting turn.
   The Lament Configuration came to Annex V15.
He’d read in his tomes of this legendary artefact. The box was told to open doors to forbidden realms, to sights mortal man was not meant to witness. The Nazis were not to be mortal men for much longer, if he’d have his way, and so the box was seen as a gift to his kind, a tool with which he could learn the secrets of immortality and open the gates to these lost dimensions where death was forgotten.
   He would solve its puzzles and send the secrets to his masters.
But Dr. Von Streicher was no fool.
   His hands had examined many an occult item, his mind had read and understood the information he’d discovered about the Lament Configuration; With its opening came demons, demons that would care not for the growing might of the German people and their desires to rule all. These demons, these things called Cenobites, would cull any that called them from their Hell realm.
   He would not be amongst that number of lost souls.
He also knew that to use another, a stooge, willing or not to open the box, was also folly. The Cenobites would take him just the same, his hands in direct play on the box or not.
   Another month passed, then three of the same.
   During this time, many files were examined, many tomes read, until finally his eyes found what they had searched for: The pages of a lost Tibetan text, a piece of parchment once used by the ancient order of Bon to call forth…miracles of the flesh. These forgotten Tibetan mages were told to have solved the riddle of the box and to do what no other man had ever dared dream: they had captured a Cenobite.
   The papers did not mention what had happened to this creature, or indeed what had befallen those of the order of Bon that had performed such an unholy miracle, the documents having been destroyed as overzealous Nazi soldiers stormed their secret chambers hidden high in the mountains.
   But what Streicher did learn was that the deed had been done, the rite had been successful, and death had not come to those brave heathen conjurers who had performed such a magickal rite.
   He too would execute such a ritual. With the power of these Cenobites, he would help create a new army of Nazi soldiers, ones impervious to pain, ones that could not be killed by gas, bomb, or bullet. Then they would walk across the map of the world sweeping all opposition aside. No force would be able to withstand the assault of such an army! It would be the massacre his commanders in Berlin longed for, and he, Dr. Guido Von Streicher, would be instrumental in its creation. He would become a legend!

More months passed with the doctor gathering all the tools and supplies the ritual specified. He had Tibetan monks, the surviving members of the order of Bon, brought to Annexe V15. Here they suffered immeasurably as the secrets of the rite, the specifics that were so vitally important in the correct performance of the ritual, had been cut from them.
   How they had screamed. His men, himself at times, had used their skills of torture to ensure their pleas for death had not been granted until every last gem of information had been pulled from their mouths as had their smashed teeth.
   It was one such Bon cultist who had finally spoken the words he’d wished to hear: the final pieces of the puzzle that would bring a Cenobite to him without his own soul being forfeit.
   With this information in hand, Von Streicher began to prepare the chambers of this most secret of sanctums for the gruelling work ahead.
   Fifty souls had been cut from their human hosts as offerings, lures for the Cenobite. The blood of these weakling inferiors had been doused about the chamber in thick washes of red. His men, hardened by years of torture and the smell of murder, had done their duty well. But after their hands had finished their acts, they themselves had been sent to the gas chambers: the secrets Von Streicher was to perform in Annexe V15 that night were not for any ears other than he and his masters. They died as heroes, he assured them as they’d been led off with faces lined in confusion.

Incense, candles, sigils, and banners of ancient power had been used to decorate the chamber, to prepare it for the coming of this demon. The Bon’s sigils of containment had been reproduced perfectly.
   As he stood gazing at the glory that was his sanctum, he marvelled at the artistic accuracy Germany’s finest craftsmen had achieved when copying the Tibetan’s magickal sigils. They stood at least twenty foot tall, at least the same wide. Each of the four faces had been arranged to mimic the sides of the mystical box he would use to call the Cenobite forth.
   The huge copper intricacies glimmered in the light of a thousand candles as he cast fresh incense onto a roaring fire, the smoke rising to fill the Annexe in a pungent stench of burning flesh, and spices brought from the hills of Tibet.
   Then, with the screams of four fresh kills - one for each face of the configuration - and more waiting to take their place in history, he sat atop an overlooking scaffold on the lip of the huge cube he had created, and began to work his fingers over the box.
   His years of research into the Configuration had served him well; it did not take him long to solve it.

It came as he’d read. First, a burst of light had snapped from the box to fill the mouths of those he’d prepared as blood sacrifices. They’d cried long and hard, until hooks had found their flesh to tear them apart, and they had screamed no more.
   He’d raised an eyebrow – he’d expected them to suffer far longer for his efforts. Perhaps these demons were not as powerful as he’d anticipated. But he knew also not to underestimate his foes, or the desires of demons.
   Blue electric light scored about the faces on the mighty box fashioned from Tibetan sigils before him. Then a shudder came from below – a chime. It was the mightiest song he’d ever witnessed, sending his hands to his ears.
   From a blast of energy that made the doctor wince, a shape came.
It stood in the centre of his sigil box and glowed with the after effects of the strange electrical burst.
   Streicher snarled and wiped the double vision sweat from his amazed eyes – it had worked. The Cenobite was here! But had his containment spell been effective? Dragging another of his sacrifices to his feet, a mute boy who’d deserved to be killed at birth such were his defects, he brandished the boy like a piece of fresh meat before an angry dog.
   “Taste this!” he’d offered.
   Hooks on chains had shot forth from the shadows about the creature…but had simply snapped against an invisible barrier, ineffective and useless! The spells had been worth every day he’d spent in his torture booths. He was on the path to discovering a miracle.
   “Come forth, creature. Show yourself to your new master!” the doctor commanded. “Let me see the wonders of your flesh!”
As the doctor scribbled notes in his record book, the Cenobite finally revealed itself to the light of the room...

The journal of Doctor Guido Von Streicher, October 19th 1943

The conjuration was a success! Mastering the box proved easy, as if the puzzle yearned to be solved.
A   gainst the ritual’s containments, the demon’s - the Cenobite’s - attacks were useless!
   I stepped closer and examined the beast, demanding it to obey my orders to reveal itself. It did so; rendered completely at my will such was the might of those lost Bon rites.
   It is a stocky, well built creature bathed in black leather that hangs from its bulk like a soldier’s trench coat, only tighter, more constricting. Gashes of red meat line its garb’s depths.
   Its face…! Its features are shielded in a cruel mask that has been fastened to its face by both long bolts and strips of razor wire. The bolts have been fed through the lower portion of the mask’s jaw until they have resurfaced from the upper jaw section in an act, I believe, that completely seals the mouth shut. The razor wire fastens the face shield to its head at the rear in three long strips that are rusted with dried blood.
   The mask itself appears to have been forged from two separate pieces of iron, these, I again deduce, being heated to blistering degrees and applied to the face of the creature during its ‘initiation’ process – which I shall call ‘Cenobitation’. The mask’s features are worn and corroded, dappled with rusty bloodstains and at once reminds me of an insect’s face. The lower section - the jaw - overlaps the upper in a fierce, almost mandible, manner lending the demon much menace. Where eyeholes should sit, instead are dark, sealed pits that dig into the mask offering the owner no real chance of sight. I know this demon does not require such faculties, as it watches me constantly.
   The Cenobite’s hands are sealed in the most ferocious set of iron claws I have seen on any beast. Measuring approximately sixty centimetres in length, but seemingly able to extend and contract at will, they appear scalpel sharp. I intend to test this theory by offering it a sacrifice, which I shall now do…

By god, what savagery! The Cenobite cut the man to smithereens before my eyes, delighting in the way it tore the man asunder! The claws past through muscle and bone as a sword would silk. If these weapons can be recreated on the willing hands of German troops, what would dare stand in our way!

So far, after seven hours of incarceration, the Cenobite has said nothing. As its eyes are perfectly operational, though it has no logical means by which to see, I am assuming its oratory faculties are similarly unimpaired by the bolts that have been driven through its jaws.
   I shall attempt to communicate with the beast now. Please note, a recording of my attempts will accompany this journal under the code: CBC 101

The following is a transcription of recording CBC 101

Streicher: Cenobite, do you hear me?

Silence from the Cenobite.

Streicher: Answer me in the name of Germany! Do as I command or I will make you suffer!

A long hiss of breath, like steam escaping the bowels of a great engine.

Streicher: Ah, you do hear me. So, then, what do they call you? I am...

Cenobite (Its tones are a hiss that sends static through the recording): I know…who you are...Streicher...you amuse me...

Streicher: How dare you! I am your jailer. You are powerless to resist. What is your name? Answer!

Cenobite: ...others of your kind...have called me…Ripper…

Streicher: So, Ripper, tell me the secrets of Cenobitation – how do you become the thing you are, impervious to pain, a cheater of death?

Cenobite: ...let me...show you...

Streicher: You think me a fool? Instruct me in the secrets of the flesh. Tell me how I may create an army of souls such as yours, ones loyal to Germany and the Nazi ideals!

Cenobite: ...such things…are only for…the Chosen... You are not...amongst them…

A hiss of static that bleaches out the recording for exactly six seconds.

Streicher: You mock me? Is that laughter you make? Perhaps you would enjoy then this...?

Streicher (into recorder): I am now bringing forth one of the lost seals of Bon. It was told to me that such a talisman would bring great discomfort to the captured demon. I am now going to brandish it before this ‘Ripper’. It will not mock Nazi Germany again!

Streicher: Here, Cenobite, witness the power of the seal
of Bon!

More intense hissing that lasts for seventeen seconds.

Streicher: The Cenobite is reeling! Yes, demon, feel its power!

More hissing for eleven seconds.

Streicher (into recorder): I am now covering over the seal.

Streicher: So, you see I am not powerless against you, that it is in fact you who is my slave!

Cenobite: ...the secrets...are not for ears...they can only...be shown... Would you see them...Streicher...?

Cenobite (loud): ...would you travel...with me...to Hell...?

Streicher: How is this possible? I need to bring back the secrets for my masters to understand. Can you guarantee I will return from your realm with such knowledge?

Cenobite: ...I can...

Streicher: Unharmed, unspoiled?

Silence for five seconds.

Streicher: I am no apprentice to the ways of demons, creature. I know your tricks. Assure me that you will return me here, unharmed, and I shall come with you, learn your secrets, and take them to my commanders for their use. Promise me!

Cenobite: ...so be it...you shall return…unharmed…but only if...you follow my every order...the paths of Hell are...dangerous...if you should stray...from my words...

Streicher (obviously energized by this development): I understand. No tricks, though...or the seal!

Cenobite: ...indeed...the seal...

Streicher (into recorder): I am now going to step into the sealing box.

Streicher: Know this, Cenobite: if you kill me here, if you betray me; you’ll be trapped in this hellish prison for all times. No one will come for you, no one will free you. Imagine, an eternity in this small place with no hope of release. Do not try to fool me...

There is a loud hissing from the Cenobite that lasts six seconds.

Streicher: Show me! For the glory of Germany!

Cenobite: ...so it shall be done...!

There is loud static. After six seconds, the recording ends.

Streicher climbed down the steps that led into the cube with a heart beating double time in his chest. This was it! He would travel into Hell with the creature and under its protection and guidance, return with the secrets of the Cenobites to forge a brand new army of unstoppable soldiers!
   He tensed as the thing came towards him, its claws raised.
   Streicher held up the seal of Bon at its approach.
   “Remember; I have the seal! Show me the sights or be trapped here forever!”
   The Cenobite winced at the seal, and bowed to the doctor.
   “I must…lay my hands upon you…for you to…return with me…I shall not…harm you…as I have promised…though the process will be…disturbing…” its voice whispered coldly.
   Streicher felt the kiss of its claws as they grabbed his shoulders, pulling him close. The creature smelt of blood and sweat, of sex and damp. He gagged. The Cenobite hissed, its breath cold and cruel.

And then Streicher was falling through Hell.

He felt as if his body had been ripped apart by thorns, as if long screws had been slammed into every one of his skeleton’s joints, to be frozen there, only to be pulled out in slow, agonising twists. Skin was burned and his eyes wept tears of blood down scarred and battered cheeks, cheeks that ached under the touch of a million hooks.
   Again he screamed, again the Cenobite whispered its evil breath over his soul.
   “…Exquisite…”

The German scientist fell to his knees, alive, unharmed…and in Hell.
   About him, passages of darkness wound off into the distance in a maze of shadows. These depths were filled with the screams of souls in agony, but he never so much as winced at the songs they made.
   The Cenobite nodded, and waved a clawed hand to the looming arch before it.
“There…that way holds…what you desire…”
   Streicher stepped through the arch, and into the beams of the dark god Leviathan.
   Its colossal edges turned in a black sky, a mighty shape droning out a cry of pain that pierced the German’s mind as sure as any bullet.
   It was more horror than he could ever have prepared himself for.
   His past came stabbing back to haunt him in tides of memories that chewed his soul to weeping. ‘The hundreds of faces he’d sent to their deaths in the gas chambers – they all called to him, spying him, waiting for their time of revenge to come; the men he’d beaten and killed to become the doctor he was, the bribes, the torture of those that had stood in his way - all this retold in vivid sheets of pain; the wife he’d sent off to be killed, her blood unclean, unworthy of his stock and the ideals of this new and glorious Germany – she beat on his chest as guards came to drag her away; the children he’d plied with experimental drugs – they bled onto him and vomited his foul solutions into his face, eyes filled with hate.’ It churned his chest and sent him staggering to the floor.
   After a long age, he climbed back to his feet, shaking and winded.
   As he rose, he smirked and gasped, “What is this purgatory? All these things I did for the greater good; I apologise and regret not one act. Now, show me how I may create soldiers of the forbidden flesh, before I show you the power of the seal once more!!”
   “Then it is this…that you desire…”
   It flashed a claw to the dark behind him.
   A huge configuration box lifted itself from the edges of the maze, and yawned open. Streicher stared inside.
   In the dark corners, he could see tubes tipped with sharp, thorny spikes that looked keen to pierce flesh. Running through one tube was a thick, blue fluid. A series of hollows were laid about the sides of the box. He nodded to them.
   “What are those?”
   “…They create…the uniqueness of each…soldier of the flesh…”
   “I see…”
   “…Not clearly enough…experience…is the greatest…educator…”
Streicher stepped back from the gaping box’s depths. He shook his head, “Not me. Show me with someone else. A lost soul, perhaps.”
   The Cenobite shook its masked head. “…No…I insist… It is…an order…”
   “I refuse. Bring another soul and –
   “…Then it is you…who breaks…our contract…Streicher…”
   The doctor was confused and turned to face his demonic guide. He shook his head again. “No. I simply do not wish to –
   Again the Cenobite cut him short with a wave of a bladed hand towards the god that was Leviathan.
   A voice bellowed out across the halls of Hell, an unforgettable utterance that Streicher’s ears had heard before. It was the Cenobite, speaking from the confines of the Bon sigil.
   “…You shall return…unharmed…but only if…you follow my every order…the paths of Hell are…dangerous…if you should stray…from my words…
   Then came Streicher’s own tones, clear and crisp in the cold air.
   “I understand.” And again, “I understand.” The words echoed about his head as the Cenobite turned to him, claws clicking against sharp edges.
   “Very well,” Streicher called, “The seal of Bon!” He waved the ancient sigil before him.
   His hand hit the floor in a puddle of his own blood.
   He screamed and fell to his knees, weeping. “But the seal…why…why does it not work…?”
   The Cenobite stood over the bleeding man and called down to him in tones of death. “…It was never…effective…the Tibetan monk… You were lied to…”
   “What! No!”
   “…Yes…and now…without the protection…of your pact…you are Hell’s to enjoy…as I warned…” It hissed, “…And I am your Hell…”
   “But the sigil. The box – it still holds you, commands you to return to its jail!”
   It released a long hiss of air that could only have been mirth. “…You released me…sent me to Hell…with you…as a prize…that is the only…contract I need…uphold…” It yanked him to his feet.
   “Then give me to the box. Make me one of you, please!”
   “…Such delights…are not…for you…” It raised a clawed hand high, its blades extending to great, savage lengths. “…This is your reward…”
   The claws bit down. Again, and again, until Streicher lay twitching and red in the dirt, bones split and jutting through ragged muscle, his blood pooling to flow over the edges of the platform and down into the abyss.
   The Cenobite grabbed a tattered leg, a whimper escaping his German toy’s slashed lips, and dragged him into the tunnels ahead.
   There were many souls waiting for Doctor Guido Von Streicher in the depths of the shadows beyond. All were eager to see his face again, to whisper their woes across his skin whilst the Cenobite named Ripper slit the will from his being until the stars burned bright no more.

Note: After Von Streicher failed to report to meetings with German military staff, Annexe V15 was searched by Nazi troops. Finding only the decimated remains of an occult experiment gone horribly wrong, his files and recordings were sent to Military High Command, where they were eventually discovered by US troops at the close of the Second World War.
The Doctor was never located.