The Department of Hate - A Love Story

by Anthony O'connor

  They continued around the side of the pit, along the road, finally approaching the Great Hall. It was a large building, a dull stony grey monolith like the others but somehow distinctive. It didn’t have any windows, but it did have a large ornate entrance at the front facing the pit. A number of demons made their way through the entrance, every one of them casting a curious glance at Jarrod and his group as they approached. From the hall there came the sound of loud booming music, loud enough to shake the sides of the building and only growing louder as they got closer. Jarrod managed to ask

  “What is this, a rock concert?” Abaddon replied

  “No my Lord. A celebration. We always welcome back one of our own. Of course they have usually reverted to demonic form by now." Jarrod thought about this, not liking the implications very much.

  “So, how is it that everyone recognizes me?” Abaddon replied quickly

  “We see the essence my Lord, not just the outer form.” Jarrod thought about this. The implications were even more dubious. He said

  “Well, that’s hardly encouraging.” He looked at Cassandra. She shrugged and didn’t reply.

  As they went up the steps towards the main door one of the demons already there turned towards them. He was larger than most of the others and dressed more elaborately. He was leading three naked humans on a chain leash, two females and a male. They looked such small defenceless puny things in comparison to him. They kept their heads down and were obviously completely submissive. It was Asmodeous. He boomed out a greeting

  “Beelzebub, welcome back.” He waited for some response. Abaddon intervened quickly pointing out

  “He does not yet remember, my Lord.” The large demon looked at them, apparently surprised. Then he said

  “Oh yes, so I heard, how peculiar.” Abaddon continued

  “Yes, my lord.” Then turning to Jarrod he made the introductions

  “My Lord, this is Lord Asmodeous. He is the head of the Department of Lust.” Jarrod surveyed him with some distrust. He seemed sleazy. He was already openly leering at Cassandra. Licking his lips he made the casual remark

  “Nice looking female you have there.” Jarrod replied carefully

  “I see that you have two.” Cassandra was surprised and annoyed by Jarrod’s reply but said nothing. Asmodeous stared back at Jarrod with an evil gleam in his eye.

  “They’re gifts; the females are for Lord Belial and the male for Lord Marbas.” There was already some kind of bristling hostility here. Jarrod didn’t need Abaddon to tell him that he and Asmodeous were not on good terms. Jarrod looked suspiciously at Asmodeous's male slave. He asked

  “I thought that the demons here only kept female slaves?” Asmodeous licked his lips again and sneered

  “Mostly we do, but some prefer a little variety. I keep a few of the prettier males. Marbas in particular enjoys breaking them in, introducing them to their feminine side. He finds it amusing. They don’t of course - well, not at first.” Jarrod could hardly begin to think of a reply to that and said nothing. Asmodeous continued to stare at him. He stared back. They were sizing each other up. There was obviously a very great depth of hostility here. Finally Asmodeous relented. With a conspiratorial wink he said quietly

  "Come see me, I'll tell you what I'm sure you most want to know." Jarrod was instantly wary.

  "And what would that be?" Asmodeous raised his eyebrows

  “Well I assume you would like to get out of here and back to Earth.” Before Jarrod could reply he turned back towards the open door and with a tug on the leash led his captives on into the hall.

  Jarrod, Cassandra and Abaddon followed him in. There was an alcove the size of a small room. Asmodeous had already gone through the door on the other side. Jarrod looked about. The walls seemed to be filled with torture instruments and weapons of various kinds - a rack, a metal cage, whips and floggers, thumbnail devices, saws, hammers, spikes, collars, barbed wire, face masks, chains, knives, axes, studded hoods. Abaddon was amused at his apparent dismay.

  “All human devices my Lord. They are so much more inventive than us. Makes you wonder. Cassandra knows what some of these are, don’t you darling. I’ve been checking up on you. That one for instance....” He said this nastily, mockingly – while pointing to an iron and leather flogging device. Cassandra looked annoyed – but didn’t say anything. Jarrod was curious but decided to ignore him. He would ask Cassandra later, privately. He said out loud

  “Enough! Let’s go in now.”

  He pushed open the door and strode in, the others followed. The hall was filled with hundreds of demons. Large monstrous figures stamping their feet in time with the music. Many of them had naked human slaves on short leashes - mostly female. They turned as one towards him. Then, in time with the music, they began chanting loudly, while continuing to stamp their feet,

  “Beel-za-bub, Beel-za-bub, Beel-za-bub.” They went on and on, endlessly, with wild and desperate enthusiasm. The effect might have been overwhelming, but somehow Jarrod felt nothing. He stared back at them, catching the eyes of a few of the demons closest to him – who quickly lowered their gaze. He felt for them nothing but contempt. This surprised him at first. They continued chanting for some time - Jarrod stared right back at them, eyes dark and cold, daring them to challenge him. Obviously none of them would ever even consider it. If what they saw was his true form, his essence, he briefly wondered what it was they were seeing – evidently enough to forestall the wrath of hundreds of the foulest beings from the inner depths of Hell. ‘A cause for concern’ he thought to himself. But to them, right now, no other response was possible - contempt, arrogance. He almost enjoyed it - the pure savagery of the moment. If one of them were to move on him he would rip his fucking head off without pausing to even blink.

  Cassandra came up beside him, which brought him back to his senses. She was horrified. The chanting stopped and some of their attention became less focused on Jarrod. Abaddon was standing there silently. Jarrod motioned to him to come closer and then asked him

  “So why isn't Lucifer here?” He knew he wasn’t but he wasn’t sure how he knew. Abaddon shrugged.

  “He doesn’t come to these events my Lord. No-one has seen him anywhere at all for twenty years my Lord. He’s said to be preparing." Jarrod asked

  “Preparing for what?” Abaddon seemed very hesitant.

  “I’m sure he would prefer to tell you himself my Lord.” He was drowned out by a roar of cheering and raucous laughter from the front of the room. Abaddon, clearly relieved to change topic, said loudly

  “My Lord, the entertainment is ready.” Jarrod took Cassandra by the hand – he had a feeling they weren’t going to like this. Abaddon was excited. He explained to Jarrod

  “Lord Paimon has a new challenger for Lord Belial’s reigning champion Marie. It should be an excellent match.” The demons had cleared out the centre of the Great Hall making space for the combatants. A female human strode into the centre of the hall. She was completely naked. She wasn’t tall but she looked fit and wiry and more than ready to fight. She had fierce blue eyes and short black hair, cut page boy style. She held a knife in each hand and stood there waiting for her opponent – patient, cold, determined. The demons on one side of the hall went wild, chanting

  “Marie, Marie, Marie.” Jarrod turned to Abaddon not knowing exactly what to ask. Abaddon could see his confusion

  “They can’t die down here, they’re already dead. Outside the Pit they will eventually recover from any injury, once in the Pit they stay as they are for eternity.”

  He laughed wickedly.

  “The loser is cast into the Pit.” There was a commotion from the other side of the hall and another female human strode forward. She was also completely naked. She was much bigger than Marie, tall and muscular. Her face was scarred. She also held a knife in each hand. She was just as determined as her opponent. Supporters from her side of the hall screamed out

  “Jezebel, Jezebel, Jezebel.” Jarrod tried to see through t
he crowd but he couldn’t make out which of the demons was Paimon or Belial. He looked back at the women. He could see that they were both terrified – but not of each other. They feared the Pit. Anything, even life in hell as a demon’s slave and plaything, was better than the Pit. For each of them the other was entirely expendable. One of the demons called out

  “Begin.” The two women closed in on each other. Jezebel slashed out scoring a surprising first hit. Her blade sliced across Marie’s stomach, opening it slightly, drawing blood. The demons screamed with delight. Some of them cursed. They were betting on the outcome, though with what Jarrod had no idea.

  The fight continued. The two women circled each other warily, stabbing at each other with the knives. The demons screamed at them. Jarrod knew that it would rapidly escalate. He had some dim memory of previous encounters. One or both of the combatants would become desperate. They would charge each other and lock into a deadly embrace – each of them cutting and gouging wildly, each of them desperate to be the one who survived for just another day. They would scream and howl at each other and the watching demons would scream even louder – until finally one of them would lie stretched out on the ground choking on her own blood - arms, legs, torso cut to the bone. The victor would look on, bloody and enraged – as the demons dragged away her vanquished foe - but unsteady in the knowledge that one day that way she too would go. Jarrod wanted to see none of this - he wanted no part in this kind of brutality. He was still holding Cassandra’s hand. He could see that she felt the same way. Together they turned and left the Hall. Most of the demons didn't notice them go. They rushed through the foyer and then out the main door – eager to escape. As they came outside they were again confronted with the sight of the stream of lost souls still screaming, always screaming, as they poured down into the pit. Cassandra stepped back

  “Oh god, it never ends, this is awful.” Jarrod could only agree

  “Of course it is. Let’s go back to the apartment.” Cassandra was shaking

  “But what are we going to do?” Jarrod reassured her as best he could.

  “We will escape. Go back to earth. I don’t know how, but I did it before.” Cassandra stared at him

  “What about me?” Jarrod replied firmly

  “I will take you with me of course. I will never abandon you.” Cassandra didn't seem so sure.

  “I hope you can. We have to get out of this disgusting place. We just have to.” They continued on in silence back around the vast pit, back along the promenade towards the Department of Hate, around the building itself and into the side entrance – still holding hands, with a great feeling of anxiety and shared desperation.

  As they went around the corner from just behind the corner of the next building the gnome watched them intently. He was muttering to himself

  “Ah Master you will be pleased, it's all going as planned.” He heard a sound from behind, turned quickly and then almost screamed out loud in surprise and terror. He saw, just standing there looking at him, a tall dark demon, the most evil of them all. He screeched

  “Lucifer!” Then without another word he turned in the opposite direction and fled. Lucifer ignored him and simply moved forward watching Jarrod and Cassandra carefully. As they disappeared from view Lucifer spoke quietly, but with brooding menace

  "So, finally, Beelzebub is back, still in human form though, and with his human bitch in tow." He stared across at where they'd just been, brooding, pondering.

  "At the beginning of time you and I stood side by side against the might of God's angels - superior to us only in number. And we will again very soon, this time victoriously. And yet now ... what foul treachery do you plot? I will gouge your brains out of your skull and piss into it if you cross me." He strode off. He could hear in the distance the loud booming music coming from the Great Hall. He turned briefly in that direction – with a dismissive and disdainful look he cried out loud

  “Worthless simpletons. Useless fucks.” He didn’t care how many of them perished in the coming conflagration, as long as he emerged victorious. Beelzebub too was entirely expendable.

  Chapter 6 – Michiko

  Michiko was on Japan Airlines flight 217 from Sydney to Tokyo. The flight had departed from Kingsford Smith international airport at 9:00 AM on a Monday morning and they had been in the air for several hours. Michiko was returning home from an all styles combined Jiu Jitsu competition held in Sydney over the weekend. She had competed in the women’s open event and had won easily. She had trained in the martial arts since she was five years old, to the exclusion of almost everything else and now at twenty nine was very formidable. She tried to relax back in her seat but without much success. She’d learnt not to ignore her intuition and her intuition told her that something terrible was about to occur.

  She found herself replaying her final fight. Her opponent, an Australian girl, was much bigger than her and physically stronger but she lacked the refinement and sheer determination that was the result of decades of training. After some initial scuffling her opponent had gone for a choke hold but Michiko had easily taken her opponent’s balance, flipped her over her hips and slammed her into the ground snapping her arm into an elbow break position as she did so. She applied just enough pressure forcing her opponent to tap out with her other hand and then that was it – victory. The whole match had taken thirty seconds. Michiko was disappointed that it had taken more than three seconds – but with no rules and a level of fury not permitted in formal competition, she didn’t think it would have.

  Years of hard relentless training had formed her into the perfect fighting machine. Endless winter mornings, bitterly cold, running up and down the side of the mountain fighting her way through the snow - followed by day long drills in swordsmanship, athletics and hand to hand fighting - had perfected her patience and forged her spirit into something hard, pure and bright. This was all done under the watchful eyes of her father Mikio TakaHashi, GrandMaster of the TakaKashin Rhu style of Jiu Jitsu and a Shinto priest. His wife was dead, she was his only child - she was the focus of all his hopes. He was determined that she would be as strong as humanly possible – maybe stronger. In the evenings they lit candles and prayed to Suijin or Tenjiin or any other of the thousands of Gods and Goddesses in the Shinto pantheon. They would thank them for their watchful attention and humbly request their guidance and assistance in the coming times of sorrow and slaughter which would make up the World’s final days. Takahashi knew that these times would certainly come in his daughter’s lifetime and quite possibly even in his own. They had to be ready.

  On very special occasions they prayed to the divine Goddess Amaterasu. Her father seemed especially fervent on these occasions, very sad and very devoted at the same time. Just once, one night, when drunk on too much saki, he had told Michiko that his wife, her mother, had been an incarnation of the divine Goddess Amaterasu. Michiko had been astonished by this revelation. She didn’t remember her mother. She had died while Michiko was still very young. Sometimes she found it very likely that she was the daughter of the Goddess, other times not. She had never brought the matter up with her father knowing instinctively that it was something he would refuse to discuss.

  In Sydney she had stayed with Adrienne. It had been a great pleasure to see her old friend again. They had known each other for many years and had often sparred together. Adrienne studied kick boxing as well as TakaKashin Rhu Jiu Jitsu. She was quite skilful and had a great passion for it. Michiko admired her enthusiasm and the great effort that she put into her training. Of course Michiko knew that she wasn’t at the same level as herself – but then neither was anyone else. She was also happy to find that Adrienne had a new girlfriend – Cassandra. Michiko was astonished at how beautiful she was – physically and in spirit and there was something else about her, something quite strange. Michiko had found herself wondering what it would be like with Cassandra. She didn’t know for sure whether she preferred boys or girls – she had never known either, intimately, and was still
a virgin. She had nothing but scorn and derision for the weak and pathetic boys who had so far tried to woo her. The thought of spreading her legs and submitting to being mounted by one of them was simply grotesque. She was sure that only a God was worthy of her. Sometimes she tried to imagine what He would be like.

  She looked up. There was a commotion coming from somewhere further along the cabin. Someone was shouting, loudly. A fight was breaking out. A woman screamed and then there was more angry shouting. Michiko jumped out of her seat and took a few steps forward, trying to see more clearly. A man hit one of the female flight attendants in the face with a black object, knocking her to the floor. Oh my God, it was a gun. He was holding it. Now she could see there were four of them, all armed somehow – knives and guns – moving forward through the cabin towards the stairs to the flight deck. Terrorists! They were being hijacked! She knew that it was up to her to save herself and everyone else – no one else would. She dropped instantly into a cold centred state, ready to fight – more ready than she ever had been. This was it. No rules. Life or death! Any level of brutality and lethality fully authorised and perfectly justified.

  There was now a lot of confusion in the cabin and people were starting to move about. She ignored them and moved through them quickly and silently – heading towards the hijackers. One of them had stayed at the base of the stairway looking back along the cabin. He had a weapon, a gun. She put her head down as she walked towards him, just a girl, lost and confused – her hostile intent carefully masked. He yelled at her to stop then he yelled again. But now she was close enough. In a blur of motion she took the weapon from him taking his balance as she did so. As he fell back onto her she wrapped her arm around his head and snapped his neck, killing him instantly. She lowered him to the ground silently then took a few careful steps up the stairway, leaving the gun behind. Staying close to the ground, looking up over the top of the stairs she could see that the other three hijackers were focusing their attention on the cockpit door. It was locked of course. They were setting up some kind of explosive device. She asked herself how could they have possibly got all of this on board. But there was no time for speculation. They were only ten metres or so from her. When they set off the explosive - immediately afterwards – that would give her a chance to move on them. She would need to be very fast.