Chapter 1

It was an most uncommon precedence. A new Prince of darkness, not even dead yet. How the hell asked the imps, how the hell could it be that they were bound to the pit, when it seemed like any flaming human just could 'drop in'? Not even decently dead? 'There's going to be a revolution here' was the unspoken word down there, where was those 'equal opportunities' that the committee had babbled so much about? The very devils who had started the lottery hadn't really taken the possibility into consideration, that a living entity would be admissible to it, all because some sorry assed devil had forgotten his lottery-ticket up there.

Through committee after committee they had discussed and wrangled through the concepts and ideas that presented their new proud proof of independence. As many of them had been bureaucrats in their former life too, and also thanks to the way World War two had contributed the Neitherlands with a lot of new juridical principles, they had found a veritable plethora of new ideas and concepts to craft into their proud document of undepedence. The old Lord of the flies had fortunately, or most unfortunately, depending on ones view, lost both his post and form due to unforeseen incompatibility problems between realities. So here they were and had been for the last couple of eons, trying to draft that new document into shape whilst giving it some resemblance of modernity.

None of the bureaucrats found it much to their liking but the masses, hordes and throngs of smaller evil were pressing upon them in no mean numbers. Still, decidedly using most of their jurisprudential guidance from such undisputed sages of fairness and justice as Atilla the hun, Stalin, and last but not least The Third Reich undisputed flavor of 'peoples right' they had found themselves allotted more than their expected share of maneuverability in that never ending search for justice and power for the doomed. And all would have been fine if it hadn't been for that idiotic novelty notion of a lottery. It had started when they had discussed what would be the guiding principles for choosing their leader.

They had quickly gone through enlightened monarchy, 'guided' democracy or as some called it 'representative democracy', totalitarian monarchy, unenlightened democracy, entangled totaliarinism, fascism with or without any 'light' to it, but to their dismal surprise in the end had found none to be to their liking. That's when an Imp had whispered in Stanislaws ear. "lottery, sir. The ultimate chaos Sir, evil uncontrolled.". Somehow, nobody really understanding why or how and with none wanting to take the blame, after all they were a committee were they not, they had agreed on this imposturous idea as a guiding principle although forgetting to oversee what its restrictions and definitions should be.

That responsibility they magnanimously left to a under committee, as finding it under their notice to further bother with it as they went on to lunch. Fine specimens all, waiting and writhing under their chains, not taking into consideration what havoc that oversight might make of it. That under-committee in its turn had showed the sublime effrontery to leave it to yet another sub committee and from thereon the stampede had just grown on in dimension. What they got back was such a kludge of bureaucratic incomprehensibility with so many stamps of approval on it that no one had had the stamina to read it through, and now the over committee found themselves residing before the result of their ineptness.

A new Prince of darkness, human, and not even dead. "But he is evil?" Someone asked hopefully. Stanislaw slowly lifted his monumental head, preceded by those two extremely pointy on a daily basis honed horns. "As all men are naturally evil, we only need to remember history. It all depends on the observer, does it not." He smiled entreatingly at them as he lifted one cynical eyebrow, in the process displaying his three glittering rows of teeth's, slightly mangled by the red fleshed remains of a skull still stuck in there. "It's all in the eye of the beholder my dear colleagues. The worst thing that could happen to us would be if the living would learn how to think by them selves, but that enigma is not in front of us yet and with any luck it won't happen before judgement day." There went a sound not unlike the sound of that quiet wind in the willows through the chamber 'hear hear' as the other potentates nodded their agreement horns gleaming in the chill flames emanating from the fire pit. "But are we sure he will accept his nomination?" Another wondered, Stanislaw hawked, at last succeeding in loosening the skull that had stuck at his inner row of teeth's, leaving it merrily bouncing over the immense table wrecking all lesser objects in its way. Following its movements as it at last found a place of rest amongst some half-gnawed thighbones he thoughtfully answered. " Sir, place a fork to any mans jugular and ask him if he wants to live. Without doubt a majority suddenly will find a new pleasure in life, no matter their former state of mind as fear of death is the engine driving all living. So if I may paraphrase one of our lesser devils. 'we'll make him a offer he can't refuse'."

The daemon sitting at the lower end bent his head in pleased acknowledge of the hidden praise as well as of the hidden reprimand Stanislaw's words contained, while others still seemed less than pleased with what the idea presented. "Yes, that may be true." Said one. "But what we are offering is no less than death, is it not?" Stanislaw lifted his hand above his head to materialize the grand tome of negotiation out of the air. "According to our agreement as adversarys of, ah, that other Realm we are the sole enforcers of justice and punishment for the guilty after death and as far as I have concluded there are no clauses relating to in which capacity we are expected to live up to those standards. That is, there are no demands of us or any of our minions needing to be, ah, dead as compared to, ah, alive. That may be a sad oversight by all as no one expected this, ah, notion of a lottery deciding our Lord. Be that as it may, if we want to have a living entity as our Prince of Darkness there seems to be nothing forbidding it." Stanislaw concluded gravely although his heart, metaphorically speaking, was filled with both revulsion and regret at the prospect of allowing a live being to that immense responsibility. Silently he thought that if the powers that be had been anyway near sane he should have been appointed successor in stead of that silly lottery thing, but one had to make the worst of what there was he thought philosophically as the meeting dragged on.

Leonard Draft foresaw nothing of this palaver taking place as he woke up in his apartment in downtown Syracose two weeks earlier. To him it was just another boring day placed in front of yet another boring day in front of, well you get the gist of it. He went to the table where he had his electric drop-warmer to make himself a cup of tea, it wasn't that he was particularly exited about tea, just that his money couldn't afford him anything better for now. Yes you are guessing correctly, he was a writer and not a particularly successful one at that and for the moment a writer with a monumental writing block. He had started his new story two weeks ago 'It was a cold night' and that was it. He had stared at those five words on and of for three days now without finding any continuance, by now having a feeling that no help would be coming however long he stared. "Time to find a job" he muttered under his breath as he drank his tea, silently contemplating life's disgusting demands. Afterwards, going to the lavatory, he proceeded with his usual morning ritual although this morning also including a shave. Even though a two feet long unruly beard was nothing wrong in a writer and a poet it might present his possible future employer with somewhat of a problem he suspected.

One good thing with being a writer was that he didn't really have to explain his periods of non working, every body knew that writers were no good lazy son's of a gun anyway he thought wryly as he finished his shave. He had worked in construction before as a bricklayer and had some knowledge of concrete, there should be something for him he thought hopefully as he studied himself in the mirror. What he saw wasn't that imposing, a man of middle length, around thirty, with a angular face of no great substance, it wasn't that he was ugly looking just ordinary, except when he smiled, as he did just now taking stock of himself. Then his appearance miraculously transformed gaining both vitality and a sudden force of impact that made both men and women take notice. But those days there were no reasons for smiles he admitted to himself, they had melted away to the same distant beat that his money had. He had had some inexplicable luck with cards some months ago, not that he was a cardsharp far from it.

He had just happened to be in the vicinity being at a small gathering of literate's having a go on the muse. Well, not him, he was just there for the free booze and eggrolls provided. None the less he had found it a real bore until that strangely dressed dude had materialized from nowhere asking him if he liked cards. "I know of a friendly game, interested?" It had been Texas hold down, a variant of poker that was new to him but he had found the rules to be simple enough, and much to his surprise he had walked away from it some three thousand dollars richer next morning. "That must have been the fastest bucks I've ever made" he remembered telling the other guy as they left. "Well, spend it on sensible things then dude." The other guy had replied. "Wine, women and song my friend and don't you forget the women" as they parted, the guy disappearing as if he never had been there at all. But that was then and this was now he thought wistfully, he needed a job badly.

Stanislaw took control over the committee again. "Order." He growled banging a femur on the table. "We are here to decide how to proceed under the guidance of our new charter. Liam, you have been overseeing our ruler at work. How did he strike you?" Liam bowed to the committee, being a dark leprechaun he had no real influence into this committee but as the guide and observer of their new supreme ruler he was still of a not uneven importance. "Sir, I set him up with some money to see what his mortal inclinations might be but to my everlasting regret I have nothing positive to report. I'm sorry to say that he handled them without greed, spending them on his bare necessities not even going on a binge Sir. There is work still to be done with him before allowing him to his incline if I may say so, oh much feared raptor Sir." Stanislaw gave him a thin smile lifting his upper lip slightly to show the gleam of his fangs. "Well presented Liam." He said. "Do I take it that you find him lacking in quality then?" "Sir, if I may conclude my presentation, he is of an even temperament not inclined to bullying, without greed and to my surprise without any female companionship. In short he presents something of a disappointment to me."

As Liam furtively studied the congregation observing the steely cloud of disappointment suddenly materializing over the committee's collective heads he found it for good to add. "Although Sir, a proper seductress might still save him from the error of his ways." Not a bad idea thought Stanislaw coldly amused, quite good in fact. He had wrangled to long with how he should enforce the proper guidance needed for the realm and here Liam presented him with a most ingenious suggestion. "A proper Succuba Liam, do I understand that to be your recommendation" "Absolutely Sir, I believe that if he was to be properly, ah, adjusted to our moral values before descending his and ours accommodations would become so much easier." Now the illsmelling clouds of resentment seemed to lift from under the caverns roof as the committee, each member on its own, pondered the newfound implications of the 'guidance' this suggestion made possible. "Splendid young Liam." Said a old bitterly gnarled daemon residing at the lower half of the pentagram shaped table. "Then there is just the matter of which Succubus we should choose. As it is dear colleagues I just happen to have obtained one such of unprecedented beauty and grace. May I offer her for your pleasure?" "Instead of the altar Giemol." Another daemon hollered guffawing.

Sir Giemol seemed to take no offence as he ingratiatory continued. "A small joke I see, my dear dear Igrameel. No Sires, she is of the most innocent appearance, only feed from the bare receptacles of men and of a most wholesome quality. There is no limit of vice to her, I assure you." Stanislaw who first had thought to suggest one of his own quickly realized that he wasn't the only one seeing the possibilities opening here. Thinking of it he decided that Giemol's choice might present a more politically correct alternative than him offering one. That one was after all a daemon of the lower echelon's and as such easily controllable, better him than some of the others he admitted to himself grudgingly. "A most interesting Sir Giemol." He said suavely. "May I suggest all interested parties present their choices as fast as possible so that we can rule on their appropriateness." Hearing the spread Aye's in the congregation he hastily rapped for order stating. "Let it be taken to the protocol then that all bitches are to be presented, at the latest, our next meeting for evaluation." It was strange how the hierarchies flowed down the strata Stanislaw reflected, admitting to himself that humans for once had it better planned than them, with their equal opportunities strategy and all. In Hell the pecking order still only had two definitions, one for males and the other for females and never did they meet. For eons Stanislaw had seen it as the right and proper way, just like the rest of his denizens of Neitherland but following the recent developments on Earth had made him see the error of his ways. How was it that his marketing division had explained it? Ah yes...

'Master, Before "the female liberation" if he wanted "it" it could take him a good six months of courtship, incredible amounts of candy, flowers and dinners, phone calls, cute little stuffed animals with gushy Hallmark cards in their paws, and a lot of fancy talking and emotional blackmail. With the "liberation" he instead found women that had talked themselves out of 'sentimentality' mistrusting all romantic trappings, so good-bye stuffed animals and halloo sex. Paranoid about their career and financial independence franticly splitting all his tabs saving him tons of money. And when he slipped saying something chauvinistic he only needed to let his 'girlfriend' rant some on the gross inadequacies of men, then look sheepishly at her and explain how sorry he was being a victim of society's training. Finally, when getting bored he would get out by extending her that firm handshake saying, "I want us both to continue to grow and respect one another, but I fear that we've started to cramp each other in our relation, and although it's painful to part like this I still want us to do it as mature friends." The cleric laughed a little at that, explaining how it loosely translated into "Fuck you bitch, I just met this blonde, even easier than you."'

Not that any females was to be trusted he thought musing over the clerics explanation, on the other hand he had to admit that when in Hell only fools would trust anyone, be they male or female. In many ways the human realm were a reflection of Hell holding the same preconceived opinions that he himself used to have, being none the better for that. It was somewhat distressing to Stanislaw to find himself comparable to mere mortals but in all honesty he had to admit to it containing that metaphorical grain of truth. Not that truth was worth anything, here as well as there he thought cynically, if it had Hell would surely have shown a decline but as it was it was rather the opposite, business was booming and the souls arriving holding all the old vices. In fact it became quite tedious after some time observing all those politicians, 'great names' etc. Stripped of pompousness and power they all to often turned out to be like inflated balloons. The only thing accomplished by them being a certain flair for self-grandiosity and that art of temptation, promising fast lanes to power to those licking their boots, not that different from hell he had to admit thinking of it. But they were almost without exception devoid of originality, empty mirrors reflecting others expectations. Take Hitler for example, so strong and enigmatic in Germany but here, such a disappointment. Stanislaw had held such high hope for him once, but forced to listen to the mans incoherent ravings he, to his sorrow, had come to the unavoidable conclusion that the man was just another lunatic. And Stalin, that 'man of steel' had crumbled like some cheap alloy when he found himself here too.

How do they do it, he wondered idly, how do humans fool each other so completely. There was that human adage of course, proposing that all the best lies starts with yourself, and if it was anything he had noticed as their 'guest's' first arrived, it was their self-aggrandizing attitude combined with that total lack of self-awareness. Ah well, it wouldn't work if there weren't enough people around accepting them as real, all in all just another case of the emperors new clothes he suspected as he smugly picked his teeth's with a splintered finger-bone. If it were anything mankind was good for it had to be lying through their teeth's he thought ironically. Sometimes he wondered where the real hell was for those humans, here or there? At least we have a certain coherence down here he thought darkly proud over hells achivements. The first thing meeting those tainted souls arriving was hells own slogan 'Lies are your truth', it really helped them adapt, and so much clearer than 'Arbeit macht frei' he thought wryly.

But he had really enjoyed the ingenuity shown recently, where was it now? Ah yes Bosnia was it, with their 'ethnical cleansing' such a sweet euphemism for slaughter of cattle. And the way African's were destroying whole societies by putting mass-rape into practice, destroying family ties for ever, truly impressive even if encroaching on Hells own domains. And their idea of robbing children from the very cradle to train as killers of their own did have a certain surrealistic fascination. And the way Israeli's used civilians as human shields to hide their soldiers behind, in taste with hells finest traditions he thought, just as the Americans new ingenious re-definitions of what constituted 'Torture', almost Russian in its machinations. And the Arabic definitions of Honor when it came to women's, as well as of their interpretation of how to come to 'Paradise' by suicide-bombing, not to mention the tasteful way they entrapped ignorant women into those schemes. We need to get our 'declaration of wrongs' working again he thought, worried anew, otherwise we might find ourselves left a second-rate power and where will hells flames be then. All to probably at the human side he feared leaving his behated Hell an impotent spectator. And what that would do to the Day Of Judgement he didn't even dare contemplate, leaving hell to be judged instead as the humans already punished themselves better in life than when dead. "That must not happen!" He exclaimed in sudden horror as he raised from the throne in a mighty sweep, he had 'loaned' the throne from Shaitans own inventory and found it normally most soothing after a night's work being inlayed with ivory and human remains in a most aesthetic blend. "We need a Prince now by the horned one!" Feeling the need for action he moved betwixt in a flash leaving only an oily dark cloud behind redolently hanging, his claws relentlessly twitching as he went in search for the leprechaun.

Leonard who by now felt almost ready to meet the new day went in search for some clean clothes. As luck would have it he found some in a bag behind the bed, freshly hand washed in the washbasin just some days ago. "Ahh, Nothing like a change of clothes." He mused as he buttoned up his shirt, he couldn't help but notice how wrinkled it was but at least it was clean. As he went down the stairs his landlady came out. "Mr. Draft. You're late." Leonard smiled at her. "Don't you worry Ms. Leigh, you will get your money this week, I promise." "That better be Mr, Draft." She muttered darkly at his receding back, she raised her voice. "No longer than Sunday Mr. Draft. I have a policy to uphold here." He waved back at her acknowledging her words as he opened the front door turning out to the street. And what will I do if I don't he wondered listlessly as he a little later walked over to join the others standing in front of the window of the office of 'Amalgamated Labors', reading the adds inside it. He had just enough money to make it until Monday he guessed so he really needed to find something quickly. 'Carpenter wanted', nah, not for him. He couldn't find anyone needing a bricklayer though and no concrete workers either. He had to admit it being fall nearing winter and at that time of year most concrete works vanished along with the temperature, but he still had expected some adds to be there. After some more fruitless reading he gave up on the window in favor for a cafeteria situated just beside it. Ordering a coffee and a sandwich he sat down at a nearby table to contemplate his situation. Somebody had left a magazine there, it was a new one to him, 'from here and back' it said, idly he pocketed it in his overcoat to read later as he sipped the hot coffee chewing his sandwich.

Stanislaw found Liam hidden under three excessively writhing and fulsome unclad wenches assailing and arguing over him. "Can't get it up love?" The sound of a slap and then. "My turn you..." "Oh no, don't you stick it there, you bastard." Disgusted Stanislaw shook his head visiting anew the depths of depravation of this particular leprechaun's lecherousness as he begun lifting the wenches away. "Oh, hi Master, joining up?" Stanislaws mood that already bordered on a red rage took a dive into the bloodred. He gave the women his best dark brooding look. "Leave wenches, this is a private matter." Negligently flicking them away with his fingers. "And we weren't?" One of them sputtered under her breath as they hurriedly left, their clothes in their arms. He turned back to Liam baring his three rows of fangs. "What in hell are you still doing there? No, don't answer imbecile. Come." Sweeping the room in into a shroud of flames and darkness he took them both back to his cavern with him on his throne and Liam still without clothes, most properly left in a unordered heap of limbs on the floor. "So frolicking is better then my dear leprechaun?" He said musingly as he watched Liam trying to sort himself out. "Better than doing ones work, eh, Liam." He finished glowing with inner rage.

"No no, Master. I was leaving, I swear. It was just a small diversion before departure Sir. A appetizer of hells delights Sir, if you will" "Yes." Sneezed Stainslaw disgusted as he fastened his eyes on Liam's unclad appearance. "Small indeed I see." Wit a small economic gesture he materialized Liam's ticket. "Leaving directly you say clot? Strange, your ticket seems to disagree." He turned a even darker brooding look at Liam, behind which Liam now observed a insane fire flickering soon to break out into full flame. "You Clot ... Are ... Leaving ... Now!" Stanislaw said it with an even heavily pounding emphasis on each and every syllable and then continued somewhat more placid. "Normally I would choose another caretaker but this matter can't wait. I am only entrusting you with it as I have no other soul briefed to exchange your useless carcass with. Do not mistake that for benevolence Clot. Get dressed and wait for my command." Another negligent gesture materialized a strangely dressed small man in lederhosen.

"Take that one away." Stanislaw curtly ordered watching as his servile servant started leading Liam away. "Haven't I told you to shave that silly moustache." Stanislaw roared as they were leaving. "Ja ganz naturlich master, zu befehl." bowed the servile retainer as he stooped under the double onslaught of Stanislaws bad breath and watching his Evilness's rage at last bursting out in full flames. Liam himself had to admit to being quite happy to get out with his skin still intact as the servitor took him to a small cubicle. "Dein room jah. Bist du schnell dressed tou Shweinehund." Leaving him the man made a strange gesture, stretching out his arm in a bent angle as if to touch the roofs, swiveling around on his heels much like some wound up mechanical doll as he marched out. A strange one that one thought Liam as he watched the wall close up after the servitor. Stanislaw who still sat on his throne brooding seemed to reach to a decision and made a gesture. Materializing in front of him came a small mirror of some green fleshy substance. "Call to Sir Giemol." He ordered. The fleshy substance vibrated for a moment and then the head of Sir Giemol appeared. "What, can't you see I'm busy." He sputtered before recognizing his visitor. "Ah, Sir Stanislaw. A pleasure seeing you Sire."

If Sir Giemol's talk seemed somewhat sputtering it had its reasons. He was slightly preoccupied flogging two humans roasting over a small fire. "The domestic help do need a firm hand guiding them at times." He excused himself slightly breathless as he slowly turned the spit. "I hope I didn't interrupt your dinner." Asked Stanislaw feeling a pang of hunger hearing the drops of fat sizzling in the fire as the odor of slightly roasted flesh whiffed up his olfactory nerves through the mirrors interface. "Oh no, it's only their monthly whipping. I have to admit to being a disciple of the timeless admonitions dealt out from our most unholy book 'The Tome Of Pain'." "Ah." Said Stainslaw feeling impressed. "There are so few true devotees left, most enchanted to make your acquaintance Sir. I was calling to ask you if we could try out your subbucus, on a trial basis as it may be, but observing how you stand on firm moral ground I fear I might have been presumptuous." "Why the hurry Sir." Asked Sir Giemol. As Stanislaw started to explain his need for action and the reasons he saw lurking behind Giemol became more and more serious. "I see Sir. You feel the need of action preempting the possibility of our behated Hell becoming the goal of yet another redemption." He seemed lost in thoughts for a moment and then made up his mind. "In the eye of what you've told me I can find no reason to place obstacles in our path. I fear you are right in your conclusions and that we need to take up the reins over evil as soon as devilishly possible. I hope you will allow me some time to conclude my business though, I will meet you at supper if all goes well, will that be sufficient?" Stanislaw felt himself relax slightly, a true devil of the old school indeed, what in the seven names of hell had made him stay at such a menial post as Pit-watcher? "Your humble servant, my dear colleague. It will be my pleasure, until supper then."

Ah yes humans, victims to the constant enigma of their developmentally challenged sense of existing. Alienating themselves against each other and so proud over it. So alone, each one swept in a cocoon of their own deceit, unable to relate to their environment, all trusting to that redemption they thought existing in consuming. They were so enchantingly warped thought Stanizlaw. How the 'other side', even for a moment, could believe that there was a chance of 'uplift' for creatures like this just left him agape with incomprehension, and not of a very Christian kind either. Take their trust in the 'marketplace', their euphemism for that individual greed expressed as statistics. According to that creed of greed, hey, not bad thought Stanizlaw, kind of catchy, could be something for the marketing compartment there to paraphrase and trend analyze. Anyway, the way the humans presented rampant over-consumption as a health-sign was to Stanizlaw just another human flaw alluding to the serious retardation of their higher brain-functions. At their very best they were a dysfunctional species with an inherently distorted idea of their own superiority.

The ingenious way they were poisoning of the earth and seas in the name of progress at times made him regret that he hadn't came up with the scheme himself. But there was just no way that any one except a human could have thought up such a twisted concoction he thought, and that they had succeeded in it by just being 'human' and alive was troublesome indeed. And this new twist of 'global warming' made him go green with envy, he would love to see what they could made out of the solar-system if they got loose for real. Yes, he thought, we are in serious trouble. If they ever wake up to their true potential hell will be overrun in no time, and for trusting that realms and dimensions were out of humans reach, nah, one only had to look at a Feynman diagram to realize the true extent of their twisted imagination. No dimension were unreachable for those, what did they call them, alchemists? No, a scientist was it? So, in the end it all came down to that old adage. 'What you can't win, enmesh.' But it was still kind of unsettling finding that hell somehow stood for the stauncher more, let us admit it, humane ideals than them humanity itself harbored. Stanislaw rubbed his horn's tiredly wishing that he never had learnt how to cognizance. "That's what comes from frolicking with humans" he muttered to himself. But then again, there was still hope for them, with their new prince properly harnessed to Stanislaws needs and with 'think-tanks', that idea grabbed directly from their human counterparts, he still had hope for hell coming out above, or below as it might be here he thought somewhat wryly.