Chapter One
Richard Meinser sat at his work studio carefully studying over the old books he had got from a
secondhand store earlier in the night. He hadn't been in that part of the city in months and was suprised to
see a dark red sign reading "Black's Occult" - it seemed hokey enough, he thought he'd check inside. He
stopped before he opened the door and thought - expected to find a leather-clad, pierced punk type who
would be more willing to rip him limb from limb than tell him what was in stock - but he was pleasantly
suprised when he shoved the door open. The first thing he noticed was that the place was strangely clean
yet unkept at the same time - it was very well polished but underneath the surface it appeared dusty and
distant, he shrugged, maybe he was tired? "Can I help you sir,?" he heard the voice from behind the
counter before he could register the body. "Maybe, I saw the sign...and I didn't know what to expect...so I
jus..." "Just decided to come in?" she asked, Richard nodded. Richard finally noticed the girl in her full
form, flowing brownish black hair, cold yet alluring features, and the simple black dress she was wearing fit
her nicely. "So, what do you sell here, Mrs...?" Richard fumbeled out - the girl smiled and giggled.
"MISS...Angelique, and your name is...?" Richard smiled, "Richard...Angelique...that's a pretty name, I
guess everyone asks if you're an angel, right?" Angelique laughed, Richard wondered why she was
laughing, but finally she said "Sometimes they do, sometimes...but I'm known to be a demon at times," and
with that she winked at him.
"In the bed, I hope," Richard thought to himself, he hadn't seen an attractive girl like this in
months, should he make a pass? "So...what do you sell here?" Angelique's eyes became bright and
glistening, all though her face was still sullen and indifferent. "Well, Mister Richard, we sell a variety of
books, mainly old books, some mystical text, and a few artifacts..." "Artifacts?" he asked, he hadn't heard
artificats ever being sold in a cheap store. "Yes, artifacts...y'know older antiques...boxes...music boxes...all
kinds of various stuff..." Richard nodded along, and then something caught his eye. He walked over to a
large section of volumes, massive books piled and stacked on top of each other, all most not staying in their
holding places, he noticed a strange word. "What is..Cannahrd?" he asked, not really understanding the
hand written spine that covered the loose text. "Ah, that's Channard, Dr. Channard. He's a brilliant doctor,
a psychiatrist, he's written so much on the human brain, he has his own institute for the mentally ill...you
can kind of say I've had an 'attraction' to his work, my colleauges and I are very interested in him." Richard
nodded, "Colleauges? Do other people work here?" Angelique shook her head, "No, I'm the only one here,
but I have other friends...associates...we're kind of everywhere, y'know." "Like a corporation?" Richard
dumbly asked, he felt rather stupid for saying it. "Something like that...listen, I don't mean to sound
rude...but are you going to buy anything?" Richard shrugged, "Do you mind if I take this Channard work?
It looks like it's a copy, anyway." Angelique nodded, "Go ahead, in fact, take these three too," she
carefully chose three black wrapped books, the cover had a metallic sheen and the pages were dyed dark
red. Richard nodded, "How much do I owe you?" "Let me see your driver's license" Richard shrugged,
Angelique wrote something down on scrap paper, "This is your current address?" she asked, Richard
nodded yes. "I'll be by later, maybe we can read them together?" Richard nodded and walked home, happy.
It had been four hours and Richard had been studying the books slowly. The Channard writings
were very interesting, he had wondered what he meant by labyrinths, and he noticed that the writing was
filled with supernatural overtones. This had really intriqued him, he thought he would dig into the other
books. Richard had spent most of 1980 in a depressed state, he had also got into fantasy and some bits of
the occult - it felt naturally to him. One year later and here he was. He picked up the black book and heard
and felt a strange feeling - the feeling of his nerves being ratteled and the sound of a metallic hiss. He
opened the cover and began reading. A few hours into the book and he heard a knock on the door. He
jumped up and swung the door open, he knew it would be Angelique on the other side, it was a
subconcious feeling. Angelique was wearing the same attractive dress - she all most glided into his room
and sat down on his leather sofa. "You don't clean up, do you?" Richard knew he forgot something! His
face grew into a panic, he went to gather up piles of food, character sheets, and loose papers when
Angelique grabbed his hand. "No...no...it's ok, you're fine...I enjoy the 'lived' in look." Richard smiled. "I
read some of the book...it was odd, it didn't look like a langauge I'd seen?" Angelique nodded, and took the
straps of her dress off, "But it's such a romantic langauge don't you think?" - she smiled at him, but her face
was still dead. "I guess so...would you like me to read you some?" They spent a good hour together, he
reading passes from the book, and her pleasuring herself to the words, it was very strange for Richard. He
had trouble pronouncing the words right, and she would occassionally tell him the correct form, as if it
mattered. Richard didn't care, he was going to get a hot night of sex for free, and it wasn't with some cheap
prostitute. "Enough!" Angelique screamed and jumped up, Richard thought he saw her skin ripple. "Open
the book and put your hand on it, and close your eyes" Angelique ordered, Richard did as he was told, he
expected to feel a nice hand caressing his body when he felt a sharp burning in his hand. His eyes shot
open, and he realized a rather large blade had been jammed through his hand and forced into the book, he
tried to remove it but to no avail. "I'm sorry, baby, but I've got more pressing needs...but...you are
nice...maybe I have another use for you?" "Fuck......fuck fuck fuck my fucking hand!" Richard screamed
and then Angelique gave him a strong passionate kiss, it was the last moment of ectasy and his face had a
look of pleasure on it, even as Angelique was scraping at his eyes with a large blade.
Chapter Two
The executives of the Tristan Communications Company sat silently whilst people argued over the
programming for the next year - it was all British television shows that had been re-done for the American
audiences; half of the executives knew the shows would fail without their British writers and the other half
didn't know where "British"was. The meeting closed with someone offering to get some writers together
for a sitcom about a group of friends putting up with their mundane lives in Boston when Andrew, the
youngest head producer for Tristan, had an idea. It was very rude to run out while someone was doing their
speech but he didn't care, it was an idea so simple yet unheard of. Andrew ran to his office and locked the
door, his office was a rather large one; overlooking the massive river and cityscape that he had loved at first
(it was better than his cubicle) but grew more tiring over time. He drew the curtains on his office and turned
on his large television. He was simply going to watch the other networ's programming and see what was
doing good then emulate those shows until he could come up with a great idea. He had a scratch note
where he wrote down "Wrestling - hire older wrestlers for nostalgic value", he laughed at this and then
wrote "Sitcom - try one without a laugh track," and finally he wrote "Talk Show - copy cheap lowest
common denominator feel." It was very smart, he knew cheap shows could be thrown together; he had
worked some of last year's programming.
Most of the executives pushed the shit up to the front line while great shows were left to go, it had
made Andrew mad so many times. Andrew's television began to make weird reception noises, the signal
was being interrupted by something, Andrew didn't know what. As he made his way to the television he
saw the signal come back, but it wasn't what he was watching. "Howdy everyone, welcome to WLTV, your
great Labyrinth station!" Andrew was staring at a long dungeon-esque tunnel that echoed fear for some
reason; standing in the camera frame were two clowns - their eyes were bloody red and their face paint was
smeared and aging, dirty came to mind. "Ahuck, welcome again! We're going to show you the answer!
Ahuck!" Eighteen images flashed on the screen at once, Andrew saw a woman being slashed open with a
razor blade, a blossoming blue tulip, a strange pillar spinning, pools of blood bubbling and shifting, Andrew
was very afraid, he couldn't explain why. "Now, one for the gentlemen!" the clowns exclaimed in unison,
dancing and hopping around in coregraphed insanity. Andrew was treated to an amazing delight, a hard
core pornography film. The woman appeared to be having sex with a strange looking albino-esque man on
an office table, the mystery man had scarred skin and his flesh was healed and sutured with scars and
tattered leather clothing. The woman was the ideal for Andrew, all most like his ultimate vision. He dropped
his pants and began to pleasure himself, he didn't care who heard him, he orgasmed loudly as his semen hit
the floor and ran through his fingers. "Shit, how am I going to explain that?! FUCK!" Andrew exclaimed
and took his handkerchief and wiped off his hands, he muted the television but the moanings continued.
Andrew spun around and saw that the pair were having intercourse on his desk, he didn't see a camera, but
it was the same scene that he was just watching. He looked at the tv and saw the back of his head staring at
the tv, a continium of images. The mystery man picked up Andrew's letter opener and began to stab the
woman in her abdomen, this made her exclaim more cries of pleasure...and pain...intermixed. Andrew
sprinted out of the room and into the hallway.
"Holy Shit!" Andrew yelled, the hallway wasn't the one he had just entered a few minutes earlier.
He was in the dungeon hallway he saw on the television screen, he saw strange tentacle like appendages
crawling along the neon back lit halls and it made his skin grow tense, he heard the sound of
clicking...chattering all most and cries of pain and anquish echoed through the Labyrinth. He spun around
and saw a horrid site. A figure stood in front of him, a camera hoisted on his shoulder, his skin was
motteled greyish white and his long white beard was whispy and sharp. "You would experience pain and
pleasure beyond your wildest dreams...but you need to do us a favour. The Order of the Gash is re-
expanding...under new management...time is not a constant here...I've probably been here two Earth years;
though it feels like an eternity. What would you say if I promised you tons of ratings, money, power, all of
this... for a favour?" "What favour?" Andrew exclaimed nervously... "There are some who are not aware of
our organization...the Labyrinth is emptying...we need more souls" Andrew gulped, "There are some who
would call me names, 'Camerahead' maybe...I think I heard that...I'm a counterfeit of a Cenobite...listen to me,
look into my lens...and you will see power...'
Andrew awoke the next day at his office, he thought he had been dreaming when he looked on his
lovely carpet and saw the semen stain, on his desk table was the stain of bodily fluids, some that he had
seen before, others alien to him, and then he saw the centerpiece, a drawing of a strange perfect diamond
with "Tristan Comm. Co." written underneath it in blood. Andrew picked up the phone, "Lucille, this is
Andrew, schedule a meeting, I found a way to be the top network" The exectutives had piled in, they all
had stacks of papers, demographics sheets, folders, and the what not - Andrew had a single solitary sheet
of paper. "I called you in here today, I found a way to make millions, to be the top promotion, we can do
this for everything, but I have a speciality show to go with it!" "What is it?" the executive of Marketing
asked, indifferent and insensitive. Andrew grinned, "Subliminal pornography!" Everyone was silent, their
faces shocked, some of them disgusted. "We can show people fucking on a subliminal level, I mean
hardcore shit, I mean snuff film, I mean drop your pants and do the old four knuckle shuffle!" The emphasis
he put on the words was sickening, and his sick grin made it look like he dropped I.Q points. "But that's not
it, you dumbasses! We'll show the most violent pictures of self torture, mutilation, we can do it, we'll be the
first network, the FCC won't stand up to us, trust me!" "This is crazy, we'll get busted for sure, the Christian
Coalition, Woman's Suffrage groups...they'll burn us at the stake!" A woman stood up, dressed in a sleek
black business suit with a skimpy skirt. "Mr. Andrew is right, we can do this, I vote we do it, we can be the
top power, I've got a cast set up...some twins who would you die for...and the end titles logo" "Should
be...should be this...?" Andrew asked, holding it up. "Good boy, Andrew. Now what is it called?" Andrew
Andrew a blank, then he said..."Levi...ia...Leviathan?" The unknown woman nodded and licked her lips,
Andrew then recognized her as the woman he had pleasured himself too... he knew her name, it was
subliminally engraved, he grinned at her, she smiled back. "And we should get a pair of clowns to host the
show." Andrew added, smiling.
Chapter Three
1997 wasn't a good year for Paul. Paul had lost his job at a local pharmacy and had turned to heavy
alcohol, he also found himself addicted to a new tv show that was sweeping the nation's airwaves.
"Fuck...fuckin bastards...make their millions...I'll be out of rent in a few weeks," Paul muttered, slurring half
the words and coughing the others. Paul was a miserable wreck, he had once had a glistening shine to him,
well groomed hair, perfect teeth, and a great attitude - now he was a sulky, depressed waste of human life.
Paul stood up, knocking over his glass and the last remnants of beer that gurgled and poured happily onto
the messy floor of the bar - the floor that Paul's feet made sick noises on as he pulled himself to the door.
"I'll find work...eventually... bah...fucking bastards," Paul muttered under his breath when he saw the figure
staring at him from the dark alley, the figure was massive, wearing a heavy set trenchcoat, muscular frame,
and a pinkish skin tone. "You, the drunk, c'mere, I need to talk to you!" the figure exclaimed, Paul
shrugged, if he was going to get mugged the guy wasn't getting much and if he was going to die it would be
better than this. "Waddya...want?" Paul asked, hiccups emenating from the deeper regions of his chest.
"My name is not important, but I belong to a tribe..." "I don't give a fuck about Native Americans, man"
Paul deadpanned his voice, he didn't know what to think. The figure breathed in and laughed and then with
one swift stroke of his might forearm was holding Paul off the ground by his throat - the figure laughed.
"You hate those tv executive people right?" Paul tried to gasp for breath, tried to respond, the Figure
loosened his grip some, "I hate them too. There a lot of people who know what they're doing, they're trying
to convert the masses - we can't have that. You're going to help us." The figure dropped Paul, Paul fell to
his knees, he felt blood in his throat, tasted it in his saliva, he looked up and said "Who is we?" The figure
leaned against the wall and opened it's mouth, revealing sharp fangs. "Sure, sure, there are some like those
fucking Harrowers...we know all about them...we're the Tribes of the Moon, that tv show is converting the
minds of people, we would feel it is on our best interest if that dosen't happen."
The figure reached into it's trenchcoat and pulled out a rather large shotgun, dropping it by Paul's
hands, along with several smaller handguns, and a rather large combat knife. "You are going to go into the
executive building, and you're going to kill them, then you're going to blame the tv show, right?" Paul
nodded, he was beginning to like where this was going. "This will make people realize what the show really
is, say it was subliminal messages, say it was mind control, they'll send you to temporary anaylsis, that's
when we'll help you out." Paul stood up, wiped the blood from his mouth, and stared at the figure. "Where
do I start?" he asked with a sick grin on his face.
Paul stood at the gate to Tristan Comm. Co; he realized the guard was asleep at his post, what luck.
Paul crept up and shot him in the face with the shotgun - the blood, sinew, and flesh splattered throughout
the area as Paul sprinted toward the building's main entrance, he barreled through the glass sheeting and
rolled through, then stood up and looked around. "Who produces that new tv show, the one everyone
loves?" he yelled, the young, black haired receptionist calmly said "His name is Andrew, top floor, third
office," and nervously fumbeled for the phone when Paul shot her in the shoulder with the shotgun, she
went flying back and landed against the wall, tumbling her papers over. Paul ran towards the service stairs
and sprinted to the top floor, he came to the door and kicked it in with ferocious might, might he didn't know
he possessed. He carefully stalked to the third office, the one with Andrew Lesman, Head Producer
engraved on it, and with a sigh he heaved up his gun.
With a blast he shot the door handle off and kicked the door in, he stumbeled through and saw
Andrew sitting at his desk, a beautiful woman by his side, and some unseen object in her hand. "Stand up,
Andrew, time to die, I know what you're doing...and I don't like it" - with that he shot Andrew several times,
blood splattered and painted the office carpet and walls, Andrew's body fell through the glass window that
overlooked the river and his body plummeted to the garden below, Andrew was now alone with the woman.
"You, stand up..." He blinked, she was gone, Paul took a deep breath, where did she go? Paul didn't have a
chance to respond when he felt the cold barrel against the back of his neck and the deep voice exclaiming,
"Drop your weapon, slowly" Paul laughed, "The tv show made me do it, the subliminal messages."
He was stuck now, trapped in a containment room - in a straight jacket, and wishing he was dead.
The monstrous figure and his "calvary" hadn't arrived and the sedatives were beginning to take place,
gnawing at his nerves and causing his body to involuntarily relax. He had told them everything, yelled
about subliminal messages, about mind control, the hidden messages claims had gotten him thrown into
a solitary cell - darkness filling the room. Amazement! Light penetrated the room in small cracks of light, a
door was opening and footsteps fell on cold stone. "Paul, Paul are you awake?" a voice called out, a lovely
- if cracked female voice. "Y...yesh..." Paul stuttered, his words catching and pulling slowly in his mouth.
He lifted his head up and saw a familiar face - the woman in the executive's office - but she wore a
white lab coat and her facial and hair features had slightly changed...more professional. "You...you're that
bitch in that office" Paul stated bluntly, he felt happy in those word choices. "Some would call me a bitch,
but I'm more like an Empress...a Queen...you've treaded where you don't belong, little boy." Angelique
stepped into the more illuminated part of the room, Paul was horrified by what he saw - Angelique had
white, pale skin and the top of her skull had been split, held apart by wires connecting to various parts of
her body, her nice clothes had been changed to dull black leather. Paul started back, tried to move his arms
but they were quarantined by his straight jacket. "You've been meddling in the wrong affairs - now...you'll
see pain in it's true form..." Paul moved back when he heard screams of pain from down the hall, Angelique
spun her head around to see a door fly off it's hinges, the figures behind it were clad in heavy set clothing
and used the natural dark shadows to protect them from casual sight.
The natural leader was tall, Paul recognized him as the monster that he had talked to previously.
"Hand over the man, bitch, and maybe we'll let you walk out of here!" Peloquin proclaimed, Angelique
spun around to see members of the Tribes of the Moon marching towards her. "So...I should have thought
better - how could a mere cretin meddle with the will of Leviathan? I'm sure Baphomet is holding himself
together quite well?" Peloquin snarled what could be considered a laugh, "That's hilarious...times are
changing, slave..." Peloquin grabbed Paul up with one thrust of his forearm and had him over his shoulder
in a mere second, Angelique spun around and reached for the blade at her side when she looked back up,
she saw nothing there except for blank shadows.
Chapter Four
Archeology wasn't for everyone, but it was what Dr. Allan Keyles lived for. He meticously combed
the world seeking lost artifacts and hidden riches, searching lost cities and deep jungles, caves and ocean
coves, he sought the world seeking, but for what he could not say. War was looming, it was 1942...Britain
was very dismal and dark, in the States a depression was sweeping the country, it was slowly starting to
rebound, but the damage had been done. Allan was a bit of an "adventure" hero, in his own little
mind...something that young kids read from their 10 pence comics, the pulp figures who fought off
the bad guys and saved the lovely dame, Allan admired that. Allan donned his overcoat and hat - stepping
off into the overcasted London weather.
After a quick flight to Paris Allan boarded a train and headed for Italy. Italy was a favorite haunt
for Allan, it had rich history and visible texture. He was heading to visit the Vatican, he had gotten a letter
that requested his prescence. "Why would they need me at the Vatican?" Allan thought as he puffed on
his smoking pipe. "Must be...must be some find they did, probably an old cross or something," Paul took a
heavy puff, "Should be fun." Allan didn't notice the man sitting apart from him, the man had a wicked grin
that never ceased to be, he wore a very obnoxious suit with a bow-tie, his hair was slicked back and
glistening. "Howdyado?!" the man exclaimed, extending his hand, this caught Allan off guard - the
man was brash, loud, and obnoxious - everything Allan wasn't. "Howdyado?!" the figure exclaimed again
his hand grotesqouely shoved out in front of him, "Aren't you that guy Allan Ky...Ky...?" Allan extended
his free hand and shook the man's hand, "Yes, you can call me Dr. Allan" The man laughed, "Whatever you
say Doc!" "So are you heading to Italy?" Allan asked between a puff, the man nodded, "Yep, my boss
wants me to accompany you to the Vatican...well...it's not really MY BOSS y'know, it's like a regional director
y'know, like a union!" Allan nodded, this fool had no idea what he was saying. "So, what's your name?"
Allan asked..."I've seen you before...in films, yes?" The man nodded, "I don't have a name...well not a
formal one, it dosen't matter now...but I did some films earlier...nothing as big as my current project."
The two were mainly quiet, chit-chatting a bit until they got off at the Vatican. The mystery man
lead the way, pulling Dr. Allan through the crowd until they got to a large building, a large archive of books
and artifacts, near the large front doors stood a woman of amazing beauty, she wore a low cut black, sultry
dress and her long flowing dark hair cascaded down the back of the dress, she beckoned for them to come
over to hear. "Good work..." she said to the Mystery Man, who laughed and stood to the side, Allan was
now face to face with this woman of amazing beauty. "Miss, I am Dr. Allan K..." The woman smiled, "Save
the introduction, I'm well of aware of you...your desire to find...and to be...well we need you, facists have
slowly taken over the Vatican, you've got to go in and get some holy scriptures...in black leather clad books,
hidden at the bottom, these will open the Schism and help us out." Allan slowly thought, "Schism?"
"You've got to...you've got to go in and kill...kill the people up front, we've supplied the weapons
you go in and you kill the people in the front." Allan thought, "Dear me...this sounds dangerous..." The
woman smiled, "My name is Angelique by the way...and if you help me out...I would be most grateful," with
that she licked her lips, it was all the enticing Allan needed. He had now in his hands a very crude handgun
and a machete strapped to his side, had that Mystery Man been carrying them the entire time? Allan
stepped through the front door, the place was like a huge library, three workers only. Allan pulled out his
gun and shot at them, two fell instantly before his gun began to jam. The priest began to ran and Allan was
upon him, machete in his hand, what was he doing? All thoughts and inhibitions ceased to exist as Allan
charged upon the priest and with a swing of his machete caught him in the back, the priest stumbeled and
Allan plunged the machete to it's hilt into the priest's spine. "It's all clear!" Allan yelled, the Mystery Man
and Angelique entered. "Such anger and slaughter...your blood will do just fine...quickly, we must go
through that door and down the stairs!" Allan burst through the door and flew down the stairs, circling
through the dark damp stone passage way while his allies were behind him, on the lower level they came to
an archaic door - dusted and rusting. "Open it" Angelique ordered.
Allan struggeled against the door, heaving and pushing, trying to strain the door a slight inch.
The door bucked and strained, slowly opening. The passage was dimly light, all most silent, the walls were
covered in ancient scriptures and drawn texts, the end of a small passageway held a pedestal with a set of
books on it. "The books! The configuration...must be there too!" The Mystery Man charged through,
going to the pedestal and laughing, "It's all here, Angel" - Allan thought he saw Angelique cringe at that
name. "Allan go up to the books, open them...and put the box on top of the open pages" Allan did as he
was told, the box seemed very...attractive...all most like he wanted to solve it and see the hidden places.
Allan turned around and was horrified, the mystery man had changed, he had corrugated flesh, dark
acidic brown, his face filled with wires that pierced and stuck into his flesh, his teeth chattering without
cease, his crisp suit changed to dark leather which was partially sewn into his body.
"What the hell?!" Allan exclaimed, and the Chatterer pulled a blade out and slit Allan's throat, the
blood poured and filled over the configuration and the book. In his last dying moments, Allan wouldn't
think that he was a catalsyst in the workings of Leviathan, and that the book would later be used forty or so
years later.
Chapter Five
Barren wastelands filled most of North America...and the rest of the world for that matter. Time
wasn't exactly relevant after the third World War...most of the land had been destroyed or devoid of
producing anything. Small tribes of warriors began to sprout from the ashes of declined civilization, they
fought with guns and knives, with old rusted vehicles. Towns were shanties formed from left over
driftwood or found materials, society was trying to rebuild. There were hundreds and thousands of people
in the world currently, but they had no knowledge that the prior generations greatly had. A better emphasis
was placed on spirituality, books were considered gold, and usually the most esteemed had them. The
fourth patrol division of the Illi-West Tribes rode through the ashy, dry hills when they noticed a large hole
that went deep into the ground. "Hold the engine, lemme see if there's anything in there," one patrol man
said, hopping down onto the rough ground. His boots left crunching sounds as he stompped ahead, his
rifle aimed at the hole. "I see something, looks like a box" he yelled, pulling the box up with his free hand
and going back to the jeep.
"Captain Morse, sir" the patrol man said, he was back at the camp, and standing in front of the
leader of the tribe. Captain Morse was tall, he wore an old army unifom he found, which was all ways
pristine and clean, and he collected all the items that they found in their expeditions. "We found this, sir, it
looks like a puzzle box" The patrolman sat it down at the table and left the room. Captain Morse was now
face to face with the object he had desired the most for ten years, the Lament Configuration. He had
studied the occult ever since he ran into some books and notes written by a late Dr. Channard - whose
mental health facility found itself in a bad light when a massive patient murder spree happened, Dr.
Channard had been missing ever since. Inspections of the hospital and his house found that he was waist-
deep into the occult. He had hundreds of items, and more importantly, dozens of corpses in his house.
Captain Morse was lucky enough to find these rare books and he studied them at any chance he got, was it
fate that now the glorious prize for his obession was on the table in front of him?
He sat down and undid his jacket, putting his fingers around the box, feeling the energy that
swirled from it like a vortex of power. A few hours later his thumb had slipped and cracked some dried
blood, he moved his thumb and the sides of the box opened, and then on their own began to open, like
Dominoes falling and creating a chain reaction - it was going through a motion of action...then it stopped.
Morse noticed that the lights in his room dimmed and dulled, flickering in and out then pitch black and
silence. Out of the darkness he saw figures, each wearing a heavy black cloak that covered them, only their
faces seen. The first was dead in front of the table, his face was sleek and bone white, his face was carved
with intricate designs and glowing symbols, his eyes were glowing reddish black with a tint of green. The
next figure was massive, around seven feet tall with broad shoulders, part of his face had a metal mask, split
vertically covering the whole of his right side - it had bolts that were jammed into the skull and wires came
from the other side stretching around to the back of its skull. The other was a glorious woman whose
succulent body was not inhibited by the opressive black cloak, she looked like the porn stars Morse saw in
old video archives, no sign of torture on her white skin but two wires coming from her face and descending
down into her cloak. The last figure was only visible by green glowing eyes and the outline of a sharp face,
his teeth appeared to be filed with metal fangs and his jaw was fitted with wires that intertwined with his
vaguely human flesh.
"Where's that fellow with nails in his head?" Morse asked, this wasn't what he expected.
"Oh...him" the natural leader, the one in front of the table said, "Hell is restructured, y'see, unfourtantely my
predecessor met his demise by mere smoke and mirrors...poor fool, but he's in Hell...slowly rebuilding..."
They all laughed at this, it was very un-nerving. "He did one good thing...his becoming unbound paved a
new way" Morse gulped, he felt very nervous. "Through the hard work of Angelique we have been able
to be here, we are more efficent, we don't deal with hooks and chains, though it is sort of a hobby" They
laughed again, very un-nerving. "Y'see, that's too industrial, we're very ... organic...more natural than un-
natural, let me show you" His hand thrust out of his cloak, it was very claw-like with no visual form of
injury. Morse gulped, "Show me" - red lightning-like energy shot out of this new Cenobite and pierced
Morse - Morse felt sharp pain...but intense pleasure, he remembered every bad moment of his life, but also
good moments, hugs from his mother, fucking some idiot girl from another tribe, but he didn't notice that the
large Cenobite had pulled out a scythe and rammed it into Morse's rib, the blood flowing and causing Morse
to scream in pain until he very soon died. The Cenobites stood over Morse's dead body and looked at the
door to the outside world - to hundreds of souls and their despair, and walked out the door, for that lone
event in New York was not the last time that Cenobites became unbound by their logic.
The End