Demon of Wrath: Fantastic Hell-mobile
It was the late afternoon in Hell, and a woman was wandering a wasteland of blasted red dirt and skeletal ruins. She pushed back her frizzy blonde hair and straightened her red camouflage uniform. She’s about to explore the blackened remains of a house, muttering, “Needs more destruction,” when she heard a crunch. She turned around and aimed her pistol, glowing with golden light, at the intruder.
“Don’t move!” She commanded, and the intruder, a demon with a shock of black hair, whimpered. He held a camera and tripod.
“I’m here to record you for the Inferno’s Kitchen commercial, pleasedon’tkillme”.
Her yellow eyes narrowed, and she scrutinized him before nodding.
“Is that the idiotic show my husband is hosting?” She asked, and put the pistol down.
“Uh, yeah. Inferno’s Kitchen, fridays on Hell Network at 9:00 p.m. Lethean Standard Time.” The Cameraman said, composing himself, and took a few deep breaths. “Do you remember your lines?”
“Just tape it before I break your legs.”
The Cameraman set up his camera and tripod. “Rolling.”
“I’m Ariel, demon of wrath and destroyer of worlds. I’m here today to show you, the mindless consumer, the Hellraiser 6.0.”
A pitch black motorcycle appeared in front of her. The skull mounted on the front clattered its teeth, and tendrils around the handles tightened with anticipation.
“The exterior is made of stygian steel from the bowels of Hell and it runs on a patented mixture of lost souls and gasoline.” She said, scowling. Suddenly, she brightened up.
“Time to ride this baby!”
“That’s not necessary!” The Cameraman shouted.
“Shut up!” She got on the motorcycle and turned on the engine. The skull cackled and the engine roared.
Ariel took the helmet off the handle and threw it into the air. It rocketed up and quickly disappeared into a little dot in the sky.
“The harbinger of war doesn’t need a helmet,” Ariel said, chuckling, and sped off with the motorcycle.
The Cameraman’s eyes widened and he yelled, “You have to give this back to the motorcycle company!”
Ariel ignored him and did a wheelie, the back of the motorcycle spurting fire. After a few minutes of doing stunts, she veered it into a pile of rubble and jumped off. Ectoplasm and gasoline combined in an unholy union of soul and fossil and the motorcycle exploded, blasting flame into the air. The Cameraman quickly hid behind a rock. After a minute he peeked out and saw Ariel get up, covered with a layer of ash. Rocks, stygian steel, and ectoplasm rained from the sky.
“Wasn’t that great?” She shouted, and went towards him.
“We were supposed to give it back.”
“That was the biggest explosion I’ve seen since the Taco Bell Incident of 2009!” She laughed loudly, and the Cameraman inched away.
“By any chance, do you know how to get out of here? The taxi dropped me off five miles away, talking about unhallowed ground or something-”
“I don’t care,” Ariel said flatly, “Now go away, I have souls to interrogate.” A portal to the seventh level of Hell opened up. She stepped inside and it closed, cutting off the sound of screams.
The Cameraman sighed and said, “I hate my job.”
*******
Ryan opened his eyes and groaned. The last thing he remembered was being led down the hall with the other contestants. And now he was in some sort of cell, lying on a hard mattress. Next to it was a half-full bucket and a roll of toilet paper. Ryan looked at the wall and screamed. The walls had ears, literally, and as soon as his high-pitched shriek reached them, they quivered. Ryan leaped out of his bed and curled up in a fetal position in the middle of the squishy floor. What was even the point of having ears on the walls, to scare possible humans?
