The first one born on Earth

The hotel was surprisingly quiet. After the saints appeared, things went even better than before, to be objective. Father Francis woke up a small number of hotel guests every morning by alarm at the same time, took them out to exercise and then to a communal breakfast and morning prayer. The most hardened sinners resisted and hurried away, but the children, whose main sin was the lack of a baptism ceremony immediately after birth, usually stayed. Most of them were too young to understand anything about religion at all, but the massive and tall holy father was perceived as an authority. And if you think about it that way, he was probably the first living being in hell who treated them like a real adult. He wasn't just another pervert or bandit who used them as couriers for his dark deeds. After that, Sister Maria sat down to study with them. It seemed to be ordinary school lessons, but the main focus of the woman was on something like home economics, teaching children to lead independent lives without relying on adults, who in hell for the most part could not be trusted. In general, this is relatively useful knowledge for those who were not raised by anyone until their death. Charlie probably made a bigger fuss when she was outraged by the offer to be baptized. The children who already trusted the saints were not against it, but a couple of particularly impressionable ones refused, succumbing to the tantrums of the infernal princess. However, the face of this charmingly silly girl, at the moment when the little ones ascended to heaven during a ceremony held on the street outside the hotel and watched by passing onlookers, was simply priceless. Alastor then realized that it was not for nothing that he decided to watch all this live. From that moment on, real hell began in Hell. The hustle and bustle, breaking news from Vox workers, apocalyptic sentiments, posters on cardboard from the homeless and beggars on the streets. This despair of sinners could be scooped up by hand and fed on without any effort. And the princess herself... Oh, how disappointed and furious she felt at the same time. After two whole years she could boast she could only boast of Pentius, whose redemption she had an extremely mediocre attitude towards. And here's a whole first class of little angels who turned out to be unworthy of Heaven just because of some formal nonsense. Such a drama is based on the injustice of the system and the incompetence of others. Stunningly. Of course, after that, new visitors came to the hotel, wishing to leave this hell garbage in which they found themselves. But unfortunately for Charlie, they did not want to entrust their soul to her delicate royal hands, and prefer Mary's wrinkled palms and Francis' callused and rough fingers. ― It's unbelievable! It's just incredible! ― Morningstar ran into the hotel kitchen, slamming the double doors and interrupting the radio demon's coffee break after another amazing broadcast. After the atonement, which took place on the air, he had more listeners, and as a result, more work. The princess was followed by her girlfriend, who was trying to calm her overly distracted lover. Apparently, once again the sinners refused to perform her naive exercise of falling into trust, preferring the company of Mary and Francis, who read the Holy Scriptures to the newcomers and tried to understand how it happened that they ended up in hell. It would seem an elementary action that should be done in first place. But apparently, this thought was still not very obvious to Charlotte. — Charlie, but you've seen for yourself that their approach works, — Veggi tried to reason with the princess. ― Maybe it's worth talking to them after all. Start working together and then... — But I managed to atonement for sins Pentius. What I came up with should also work in this case! — Charlie was almost crying. — I tried so hard. The embodiment of the sin of pride and the true daughter of her father. Herself has always been above logic and common sense. Alastor usually considered himself arrogant, but the hellborn clearly surpassed him in this sin by tens and hundreds of times. The radio demon thought that this was probably the recipe for her almost limitless powers and magic. And regretfully realizing that he could not sacrifice his own intelligence to raise his pride to the same level. ―Well, don't worry so much, kitty,― Vaggi said gently and almost motherly, stroking the girl's hair. ― During lunch or at any available free time, we will approach the saints and try to find out what the problem might be. Let's find out their secret of success. ― There is no secret, ― Maria's voice sounded unexpectedly. ― Those who redeemed themselves just really wanted to go to heaven and understand how they deserved their own punishment. Not everyone wants to leave this place, they feel good here. Some sinners are happy with their lives and none of us can make them see the world differently. Isn't that right, Mr. Alastor? The radio demon smiled back. It was impossible to disagree with the saint's conclusion. Charmingly simple conclusion, and reason why Charlie's idea was initially doomed to failure. ― My dear, you are incredibly perceptive as always, ― the radio demon left the empty cup of coffee and called his microphone out of the shadows. ― However, this explains your effectiveness. — Thank you for the compliment, — the saint's voice was rather bored. The evaluation of her work did not seem to give her any special pleasure at all. Or at least she didn't show it openly. ― Can I have a word with you? ― Of course, my dear Maria, — Alastor disappeared into the shadows and materialized immediately behind the woman. — But I think we should find a more private place to talk. Woman nodded silently. A calm and polite half-smile appeared on her face. As they climbed the stairs to the second floor, the Radio Demon took a quick glance at the newcomers. They were mostly children under the age of about ten and women. There were almost no men, but for some reason this discovery did not surprise him. Perhaps it was worth bringing up this topic on the next broadcast or discussing it with the saints first. It was really pleasant to spend evenings with them for philosophical conversations. And launching such dialogues on the air is even more enjoyable. Alastor immerse listeners in sweet melancholy and painfully depressive hopelessness. For at least half an hour or an hour, Hell became philosophical for those who listened to this calm conversation. Just like Dante's. ― What did you want to talk about? — Alastor asked as they walked out onto the small balcony on the second floor, closing the door behind them. ― About your and your Master, Cain,― Maria began, looking at the sphere of Paradise hovering over Pentagram City. Far away and inaccessible, but still too clearly visible. ― I think you are in the same close relationship with him as we are with Paradise. This means that the news should reach you soon. — An interesting start to the conversation, ― the demon smiled wider, and there was more static in his voice. ― What kind of news have you received from paradise that you decided to tell me about it first of all. I'm the one who is least interested in redeeming sinners. ― It was precisely because of the last fact that I turned to you, ― the woman's face seemed sad. ― For you, Hell is Heaven in its essence and according to your worldview. Don't think too bad, but in Paradise, many people are well aware of this fact. And they are worried that Hell has turned from a place of eternal torment and punishment for souls into an amusement park. No one can die here unless angel steel is used to kill. You can't lose your life here because of illness or an excess of food, alcohol, and dope. There is nothing here that forces living people to control themselves and avoid sinful actions, if not for the sake of Heaven and God, then at least for their own safety. ― What are you driving at, Holy Sister Mary? — The woman's sad face looked almost frightening to Alastor. ― Are the heavens planning to resume the extermination? ― Without the problems that sins cause, lost souls won't even be able to realize their severity. And this is what Mastres Sif and Master Abel would like to correct, — by the end of the sentence, the saint was speaking more and more softly. And the meaning of her words finally reached Alastor. ― And I believe that such an idea occurred not only to them, but also to their brother. To Cain. And perhaps he will contact you soon. Will there be new Barons in Hell? New faces that will create problems for them? Or are they planning to change the very structure of hell so that life doesn't seem like honey to them? Alastor didn't care about all the other sinners. He aspired to get to this place during his lifetime and more than consciously. He was not just a sinner here, but a demon who tortures and torments everyone who, in his opinion, deserves torment. This was his credo and his happiness, but what he heard... It's going to be so much fun!

***

The first killer actually approached Alastor a couple of hours later. This saint's word about her strong connection with heaven only added even more weight. And it also led him to a lot of interesting thoughts about the fact that the real apostates and those going against the system were actually not Charlie, Lucifer or Lilith at all, but the most ancient first people. Descendants of creatures created by God, not creatures of hell or heaven. Which was quite an interesting discovery, if start thinking about this topic a little deeper. Cain offered Alastor an interesting case. To return to earth for just one night and still preserve your strength. Of course, these conditions were limited by the space on earth available to him for movement, and the ways of interacting with the world of the living. However, the beginning was already intriguing. The roots connected Hell, Heaven and Earth. They was the very substance that could potentially erase any boundaries. Wreak real havoc. True horror and suffering. Thinking about it made him feel tachycardia. Alastor followed the instructions exactly. The roots entwined him in hell, and released him at a small crossroads in a swampy area. There was a pale moon in the sky, crickets were singing, and it felt a little chilly, although it was probably still summer outside. Alastor tried to inhale and coughed, doubled over. Clouds of black smoke and dry ash flowed out of his mouth onto the dirt road. Over the years in Hell, he had gotten too used to the local stench and smog and had completely forgotten that the air could be so fresh and clean. — Easy, kid, — Alastor felt a light pat on the back along with familiar voice. It was Cain, coming up from somewhere completely noiselessly from the side. — It really takes a little getting used to this air, especially in your case. Breathing is not necessary for you. You are already dead. — Don't worry about me, Master, — Alastor croaked, gradually regaining the oxygen in his lungs. ― It's just a matter of habit. You obviously didn't involve me for some one-off event, right? — That's right, ― Cain smiled. ― This work may take time. The man gestured to a small bar building near the intersection. Ii first view seemed old and even dilapidated, overgrown with ivy and moss. However, after climbing the small steps inside, Alastor noticed that it seemed to be much bigger from the inside than from the outside, it was much more tidy and pleasant. In the classic style of old bars, decorated with wood, and not with the eye-gouging attributes of the damned Art Deco, which he hated with all his rotten soul. With a snap of Cain's fingers, a soft yellow light lit up in the room. The dust disappeared, and a cabinet with a very strange alcohol appeared behind the bar. Cain asked him to arrange musical accompaniment for the “guests” at the moment and keep a closer eye on what is happening in order to remember all the important details. The man said that he was simply tired of the routine work at the bar and wanted to leave it because he needed free time. And if Alastor does a good job, he can get not only the bar, but also the souls of mortals who foolishly want to make a deal at the crossroads. It already sounded like a serious promotion from the third fiddle of the infernal hierarchy, to a position as close as possible to that of the hellborn. It was worth trying hard for this. When the clock struck midnight, time seemed to stop for a moment. The darkness on the street became terrifyingly impenetrable for a moment. It was as if all the light had disappeared outside the establishment. ― Cain, dear! — The voice sounded a little strange. A naked woman walked through the door, one part of her body was young and beautiful, the other was covered with painful boils, ulcers and mutations. She smelled of pus and something specifically medical. She walked to the bar, dragging her swollen leg a little, covered with strange growths of skin, fat and pus. ― I finally waited for this Friday night. — You're the first one today, Plague, — Cain poured something thick and nasty―looking into a glass. It looked more like swamp mud with dead insects instead of seasoning, and there was something glowing and most likely radioactive floating in the center of the cocktail. A small drop rolled off the edge of the glass onto the bar and burned it to hell. Whatever it was, it was extremely toxic. ― As always, ― a man in a strict light suit appeared in the doorway. A sleek dandy with highly polished shoes and gold cufflinks with precious stones. Outwardly, he looked very much like an Angel. Handsome and neat. Cain had poured something the color of oil into the glass for him, but besides gasoline, this drink also smelled of blood. — I'm not in the habit of being late, War, — the rotting woman smiled with lips painted bright red lipstick. ― You know I always come to a party, even if I haven't been noticed yet. ― Is there a new one among us? — The weak voice with a slight hoarseness belonged to a skinny woman. A skeleton covered in white skin. She seemed to have difficulty moving her feet in stylish high-heeled shoes. She had full, thick makeup on her face, which looked terrifying due to the wild contrast of her emaciated appearance and this perverted glamour. Alastor only briefly and politely introduced himself, continuing to broadcast light, non-committal jazz in order to create a more pleasant mood. But it seems that this skinny lady will be the hardest to please. It was for her that Cain placed on the table a light martini glass made of the thinnest glass, filled not with water or alcohol, but with something like a bunch of small bubbles, which, oddly enough, smelled of medicines and drugs. — Don't grumble like that, Hunger, — War gallantly took the woman to the bar and led her to the counter. She might seem to be the weakest of them all, but for some reason, she was the one who gave off one of the most terrifying auras. — We're here to discuss an important matter, right? — I hope Death won't be late like last time, — Hunger snorted, appreciatively starting to examine the intricate decoration of decorative flowers on her glass. ― It would be extremely unwise to be late for this meeting, ― the voice caught my breath. And there was so much otherworldly energy that the lights in the room blinked. Death was looked as a slender and elderly-looking man with white skin, gray hair neatly combed back and black sunken eyes. ― And since we've all finally gathered for a really important reason, I suggest we waste no time and finally start discussing further plans for Hell and restoring real order there, rather than the sugary abomination that Lilith and Lucifer have created. Hell must once again become a place of endless pain.

***

Valentino hated Hell. But it wasn't because his life there was somehow too bad. On the contrary, hell infuriated him that even the dead cattle lived here just fine. During his lifetime, he did not believe, but he hoped that at least after death the creatures would get what their deserve. He went to hell with the idea of becoming the tormentor, to find the creature that used his older brother as a cheap whore, drugged up. He was quite young in those years, but he remembered the condition of his beloved brother very, very well. Unfortunately, due to excessive frequent use and many sexually transmitted diseases contracted due to his lifestyle, his brother left quite early, leaving him alone with this world full of bastards. In such a society, the only way to survive is to become an even bigger bastard. And in such a company, you don't even want to think about faith, because if God really exists, then how did he allow all this? — The first scene went badly, — Valentino muttered, sucking in the pink smoke of a cigarette in a long holder made of someone else's bone. ― We'll reshoot it. Hanging looks pathetic and improbable. ― But... — Do you have any questions? — Angel was abruptly interrupted by the moth demon. — No, — the porn actor looked down. — No questions, Val. Watching this skinny gay man being hung up again and wrapped in latex, Valentino recalled that there had never been such a job before. Perverts in the forties looked the same as they should ― vile and dirty creatures. However, there were not fewer of them, but only more. And it was Val who decided at some point during his lifetime to make a fetish beautiful. He added aesthetics and cinematography to dirt, garbage and liters of bodily fluids. One of his films even made it to the Cannes Film Festival in his lifetime. Looking at how highbrow critics savor banal porn, Val realized that his joke either went too far. And at this moment he realized that people all over the planet are just a bunch of perverted whores obsessed with sex. However, at least from this he managed to earn well and spend the rest of his short life in luxury. Looking at the bright glare of white light on Angel's latex suit, Val thought that in Hell he lacked this very festival aesthetic and a small veil. The sex here is too straightforward and rude. He's too uncouth, because no one tries to hide him. And that makes the audience sophisticated. It's just not enough for them to have sex. Porn is just too boring for them. — He's still suffocating too unnaturally, ― Val replied in a bored tone. ― Move the straps around his neck. — He'll fall into a coma, then we can't take him off until tomorrow, — the Cameraman reminded. — He won't die, ― Val rolled his eyes. ― The rest of the scenes are done fine. He plays a corpse better than anything else. — Well that's true, — the man grinned, signaling the assistants. Angel began to wheeze. He wanted to protect his self, but he couldn't say anything because of the gag in his mouth. You can't even die in Hell, sinners are not threatened by anything but angelic steel. They can't be dead more than they already have. And even more so, they are not in any danger of suffocation. After all, even the body remains relatively intact during such a death. Valentino knew about this for sure precisely because he had tried it the hard way. I think it was right after he went to Hell. When he saw Angel, who continued to get high both during his lifetime and after his death. Yes, he didn't go to Heaven, but where he ended up became heaven. Disneyland for adults. And it made Valentino sick. Fortunately, having pulled himself together, he was able to figure out how to add bitterness to Angel's excessively sweet life. ― Tighten the straps tighter and make a couple more flights. But slower. Angel began to lose consciousness. It was nice to see that. It's nice to know that this dandy is no longer living his best life. During his lifetime, Val once tried to find out what was happening in New York, but it was frankly “hard to see” from Florida. One day, he came across an article about the murder of two clergymen right in the church, and until the very last days of his brother's life, he tried to hide this news from him. He really didn't want his dying brother to leave with a heavy heart, realizing that the only people who had given them a helping hand had been killed. And most likely it was done by someone who considered them his property. The porn actor hung on the belt. His tongue fell out of his mouth like a bluish slug. A postmortem spasm passed through the body. That was what the movie needed. — Great shot, Chief, — the cameraman whispered. ― Wonderful, ― Val exhaled a cloud of pink smoke. ― Cut! Thank to all, — he got up from his seat and headed out of the studio. ― Throw this junkie in his dressing room and you can be free. On his way to his office, moth passed by Vox's studio. The TV, detached from his own body, continued to broadcast, but he hardly left his office. He could only appear on some screen on the street, but not in person. There was a yell and a scream in the Velvet studio. Judging by the clink of glass, she threw one of her models out the window again. His office was dark and quiet. There were a lot of fur coats on the hangers around, which he gnawed from time to time. And through a small curtained window, one could get a good look at the paradise sphere. He can't get into there, but the thought that his brother was most likely there made him feel a little better. Let him be there while Valentino turns the lives of all creatures into horror in Hell, and the existence of one particular whore into a nightmare. The knock on the door caused a wave of irritation. ― Sir, this is Evelyn. You have an urgent message deliver. ― the Valentino has been busy lately. After the Vox failure, he assumed a dominant role in their group, which gave him the opportunity to search for potential victims as Angel Dust. Those who would be more fun to break. — Leave it by the door, ― Val sighed and sank into a chair. — It's from the Hotel, — the woman clarified. — And it's signed with the names of those saints. — Now that's very interesting, ― Val smiled predatorily. When he was little and the saints, while still human, were pumping his brother out after another night of withdrawal, he said he owed them a lot. And the debt still hasn't been paid. Valentino didn't like being beholden to anyone very much.