Chapter 3

I had just barely returned to my throne in Hell for about a week when I got a rather unwelcome visitor. It was the Archangel Raphael and he had a mission, evidently. His luminescence was striking in my infernal domain and I had to remind myself that I was once brilliant, a shining light of angelic holiness, before my fall from grace. I had joined Lucifer's revolt aeons ago and never regretted my choice, but it had cost me the radiance that still came so easily to this archangel. It was clear that he had a message to deliver personally to me, so I awaited his notice on my diabolical throne, opting not to rise from it yet.

"So ... Lord Asmodeus, is it? You are the new King of Hell? Very well, then. Lust reigns supreme, I can see that. Fitting, I suppose, for this new, more permissive age. Before you, it was Lucifer and his sin of pride. Anyway, I am here on behalf of the court of Heaven to speak with you, the new master of Hell. I represent, specifically, Lord Michael, the new King of Heaven. The new God, as it were. No longer is he simply Michael the Archangel, but now he has claimed the empty throne left by the passing of Jehovah God and Christ Jesus. Both are slain, as was Lucifer," Raphael rather dramatically announced to me.

"So, it's true. Sin has destroyed God and His Son, too. Well, that's the risk that came with their rather sadomasochistic plan for salvation, isn't it? If he hadn't been crucified, there would have been no old wounds to fester and reopen with their sin released into Heaven, would there? What do you want from me, Raphael?

"We both have better things to do with our time than taunt each other, my once comrade and brother, wasn't it? You have unrealistic nudes to appreciate and pretend that you're not lusting for them, of course. I have my own version of justice to deliver, rough as it is. It's my own idea of what these damned souls really deserve, not what Heaven prefers to believe. In fact, if you want Uriel back, you can have him. He's annoying and constantly bemoans his everlasting damnation. It gets old and pathetic after a while," I smirked.

Raphael scowled at my insinuation of erotic desire on his part, preferring to assert that he only enjoyed the aesthetics of nudes. We both knew better and were aware that eventually, he would have been banished from Heaven if Jehovah and Jesus hadn't perished. Lucky break for him, but he could never admit it. Michael just didn't have his former master's hang-ups about sin, not like Jehovah or Jesus did.

"Yes, as it happens, we do want the Archangel Uriel back where he belongs. In Heaven, with us. As for other business, we also want: Mohandas K. Gandhi, John Lennon, George Harrison, Mark Twain, Jim Morrison, Robin Williams, George Reeves, Liberace, and Freddie Mercury. You can have Jeffrey Dahmer, Ted Bundy, David Berkowitz, Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, John Taylor, John Calvin, John Knox, Pope Paul VI, Cardinal Law, Generalissimo Francisco Franco, Loyola, Torquemada, Joan of Arc, and Sir Thomas More. Evidently, More has annoyed Michael one time too many," Raphael brazenly proposed.

"Should we consider this at least a temporary truce, so we can both lick our wounds and recover, then?" I suggested.

"Well, I was thinking something more permanent, but that remains to be seen. How about we make this pact and see what happens after it?" Raphael replied, something in his face indicating that he was still trying to talk Michael into making a final peace.

"Fair enough, but why do you want rid of Joan of Arc? She was burned at the stake for your team. Is she that annoying?" I asked, truly puzzled by that.

"In a word, yes. She keeps preaching at me about the nudes, okay, and it's getting rather old. Maybe you can break her of that," Raphael answered, visibly agitated.

"Well, we will, but you won't get her back. Just a warning. Once we swap, this is a one-time deal. No more prisoner exchanges. Are we clear?" I declared.

"Very well, then. Let's do this now," Raphael called down the "saints" who were about to be damned, while I nodded, and had Lilith bring in those about to be turned over to Heaven for a different kind of torment.

Joan of Arc was furious and I could tell just how much she hated being consigned to Hell, but the real shock was the terror on Torquemada's face. Finally, someone had broken his calm, his sanctimonious serenity, and he dropped to his knees, begging Raphael not to give him to me. I smirked as Raphael kicked him until he ended up at my feet. Well, he had reason to fear this. I wasn't going to go easy on the likes of him. At least Franco and Loyola kept their dignity and pride in the middle of all of this, being the soldiers that they were.

Mark Twain grimaced a bit, but finally laughed when Robin Williams whispered a joke in his ear. In the past week, since I had stopped the unconditional torments, they had both gotten to lounge and joke a bit in my palace, eating potato chips, French fries, and hamburgers without getting sick or fat, and even drinking chocolate malts to wash them down. Gandhi stuck to a perfectly vegan treat, chocolate covered almonds. He wasn't even protesting this thing, of course, though he was admittedly not one for self-indulgence. He even had a heated debate (how appropriate for Hell, right) with Anton LaVey over that, in fact. Jim Morrison was enjoying one last acid trip and one last puff before he had to give up his drugs for eternity. Liberace and Freddie Mercury shared a last dance before leaving me forever.

"Too bad that you didn't take over Hell sooner, friend. You are quite the honest bloke," John Lennon assured me with a handshake before he left my presence for Heaven.

"Yes, and I'm just glad that I continue to spend eternity with John and with Gandhi. That's a real honor, whether in Heaven or Hell," George Harrison noted philosophically.

Uriel and George Reeves high-fived each other, knowing that they would make it safely to Heaven. I got the impression that Reeves was seeing Heaven through Uriel's eyes, not a realist's. Uriel was nostalgic for his former abode, but he must have forgotten what a jackass Michael could be (at times, though not always), and now the Archangel ran the show there. The rules might be loosened a bit, but only so much. Lilith and I had a running bet about sexual things. I thought that it would take a week for Michael to introduce marriage into Heaven, thus ending the total celibacy requirement there. She thought that it would take three days, tops.

Once Raphael had left with his trophies, I turned to Pope Paul VI and told him, "Not sure what you did to anger the new boss, but it must have been big. However, you haven't really pissed me off that much. I wasn't fond of your positions on sexuality and things like that, but that was your job and all that, what side you were on back then. I'll have Lilith find a place for you. No torment or anything like that. Just don't start undermining my plans for the new Hell and we'll get along fine. Capiche?"

The former pontiff answered quietly in Italian, and followed Lilith to his new apartments, reportedly pleased that he wouldn't have to pay any bills for electricity and such. He got a permanent supply of cannolis and cappuccino, and he was good. Amazing what consuming a lot of coffee and unhealthy food does one's mood, right? He also apparently looked at a lot of male nudity on Hell TV (my new network, full of interesting programming). This reinforced to me the old rumors of the man's repressed homosexuality.

I then spoke to Sir Thomas More, "Hey, what exactly have you been doing to anger Michael so much? I know that he isn't bound to follow the canon anymore, but damn! This I've got to hear!"

"I drew up a proposed constitution for Heaven, including courts of chancery, law, etc. I also proposed that all wealth be held in common up there as well, and the rulers stop flashing so much gold around. I further suggested that only God had the right to be King of Heaven, so that office should be abolished in favor of a Council. Then I proposed that a new Gospel be commissioned for Man, telling him the truth about what had taken place, this to replace the Holy Scriptures of the past. All of my proposals were rejected out of hand, but I continued to agitate for such reforms," Sir Thomas boldly announced.

"Wow, that would do it! A bit Luciferian of you, More. I'm impressed. I'm almost prepared to forgive you the burning of dissidents, especially in light of your own beheading by Henry VIII. Instead, I will make you roommates with Good King Harry and Thomas Cromwell for eternity. That will be a perfect punishment. What, are you shocked they're down here? They've been here for a good while, in fact.

"The King wasn't cheerful about his past torment, but I awarded him free pheasant, meat pies, English stout, and buttered bread for life, a Rhine maiden, and an MP3 player full of Bach, and he hasn't been happier. Cromwell required a typewriter, paper, endless ice cream sandwiches, a Thai ladyboy, and all of the absinthe that he could drink before he'd get over being tormented for centuries. I don't blame them. They were unfairly roasted for hundreds of years. They deserve a little pampering, but only a little. Now, what are your requests? Think well on them. They're everlasting. Women? Food?" I asked him.

"I want all of the drawings of Da Vinci's, Mona Lisa, maybe a fresh painting of myself by Holbein, the use of a Mac for anything that I want to write, a CD collection of everything Kansas ever sang, lots of pepperoni, deep dish pizza, iced tea, and a dominatrix to whip me into shape now and then, if you can arrange it," Sir Thomas coughed.

"I knew it!" Martin Fiske, who was now an incubus (by his own request) chuckled in response to that last part.

"Done!" I winked at Becky, one of my consorts in Hell and my former human girlfriend, who giggled a little in her new demonic body, her pointed tail swishing in response to her good mood.

"What to do with you?" I now looked at Torquemada, "Rack him for a thousand years, and then we'll review his case for possible parole."

Fiends now seized the architect of the Spanish Inquisition for some real, rather karmic punishment. He was to spend a millennium on the rack, just as a beginning, his body stretched and broken repeatedly until I was done with his torture. He shrieked as he was laid out on the rack for his new life of agony and torment. His screams could be heard halfway across Hell, in fact.

John Calvin and Cardinal Law were put into glory holes, forced to suck large demon cocks, nonstop, for the next three centuries, with the option on my part to continue or terminate this penalty. Their entire diet would consist of demon jizz and piss, of course, which turned out to be rather hot, burning their throats worse than whiskey. That would get them out of my hair for a good while, thank you very much. John Knox was made Lilith's personal toilet slave for three centuries, though only for number one, and he was also forced to eat her out whenever she wished it for that long. I figured that serving a succubus was a fitting penalty for his extreme misogyny.

Franco was sentenced to five hundred years in a replica of a Masonic lodge, with nothing but Masonic literature to read for that long, and having to be fed by men dressed as Freemasons. His wine was to be served from a chalice with Masonic symbols, and he was given only thin wafers like those used in Communion to eat, but again with Masonic symbols on the plate and the wafers themselves. Yes, his torment was deliberately kept more psychological than physiological, but no less agonizing for that fact, given his hatred of all things Masonic. The rooms were full of portraits of great Freemasons throughout history, too, such as Benjamin Franklin, George Washington, and Frederick the Great.

Ted Bundy and David Berkowitz were sentenced to be chased for a thousand years by mobs of angry brunettes armed with .44 caliber revolvers. If shot, they didn't die, just suffered the effects of flesh growing back, only to be struck by bullets again, and to have to stay ahead of the brunettes. Jeffrey Dahmer was to be partially eaten, repeatedly, by young Asian men, without the release of death to end the agony. His tortured cries were going to be heard by all for another thousand years. Every time a body part was eaten, it grew back, much like the liver of Prometheus with the vulture. The whole time that he was eaten, however, he was to be brutally sodomized by the Asian youths as well.

Loyola's punishment was mitigated by the mixed legacy of his Jesuits, so he ended up serving as Nietzsche's butler for the next four centuries. This meant wearing a tuxedo at all times, not to mention listening to old Fritz lecturing him about his Superman concept and how morality was subjective, not objective. On the plus side, he got to eat plenty of burritos and chimichangas, which he found too good to resist, and drink nothing but Spanish red wine. I found this to be fitting for a man like the founder of the Jesuits, to have to work for a lifelong atheist like Nietzsche.

"You three ... well, polygamy is no sin in my sight, but you also terrorized people, persecuted them, and several other crimes, including a racist dogma. However, it should be noted that you were also spoonfed a lot of nonsense by that Moroni character, who was just an angel angry at both sides, as I recall. He threw you guys under the bus, I can see that. Damn coward. Now he's back in Heaven, hobnobbing with Michael as if nothing happened.

"So, here's the deal. For the next thousand years, you're to be the plural husbands of Joan of Arc. Don't fret. I will ensure that she won't expect you to be faithful, but that's beside the point. You'll have to share your spouse with other spouses, just as your wives did, the only difference being that she'll let you fool around. She'll be your primary partner, but you won't know which one is hers.

"Joan, this is also partly a punishment for you, as well as a consolation prize. No more virginity. No more preaching, either. And since the three men are going to share you for a thousand years, you'll have to get over any jealous feelings if they have an affair or two. Trust me, being faithful in Hell is going to be nearly impossible, unless I do something to interfere for whatever reason. Too many succubi and incubi around for that, and I take pride in their work.

"Oh, and Joan is in charge of the marriage, for the entire millennium. You're her harem, though she'll have to share you, and of course, she's free to fool around, too, so don't interfere with that. Joan, you'll be expected to let them use all three holes if they want them, especially if you're getting it all at once. For the most part, in any case, they're to do as you tell them, Joan. If you want them to eat you out after another man has fucked you, they'd better do it. Just no scat and no mayhem. Here, there's no release of death, so mutilation is permanent, making it that much worse.

"Thoughts?" I asked the group.

The men looked mutinous for a moment, but then I pointed out, "Hey, she's a famous warrior, and was even in your day. And she's a complete virgin, so you'll each get to deflower one of her holes. John gets her ass, Joseph her pussy, and Brigham her mouth. Relax, in a thousand years, this will be reviewed and we'll decide what to do with you afterward. Now, go consummate that marriage, and Joan, remember, no withholding sex. If you want to punish them, make them eat a creampie, spank them, or piss in their mouths. Just don't deny them sex."