Hellraiser: The Will of One

It was eight thirty-five, Friday night, and Harold was in a fit. Late from the office on the most important night of his life and the auditors choose Friday to begin a recount. He stood there, fighting his rising anger and helplessness at the situation, he watched as they went over figures over and over for the better part of two hours, then closed the books with self-satisfied smirks, eager to get to the pub for drinks and skirt-chasing.

They were morons, Harold concluded; with no more love for the company than he had, only a love of covering their own asses, and increasing their individual profits. He sighed; there was no more love of an organization, only love for themselves.

He drove on, the traffic even at this time of night still hectic, hoping to reach the Goddess and not incur further wrath. She had said after nine but was not specific, which meant any time after the stroke of the hour but gave her latitude to punish if she felt he was late. The black carved case of the Flagellum on the seat next to him flashed its lacquered surface in reflection of the street’s lights, vivid splashes of blue and red neon as he drove, increasing his speed to match his desire. He had to slow down, knew it would not do to have the police stop him for a traffic violation, and again risk the same said wrath. But impatience was rising in him like flood waters over a dam wall, threatening to spill over, and he could not afford to look hurried. The Goddess disliked a man who looked too eager.

Finally, after winding through narrow streets, some not even wide enough to support parking on both sides and flowing traffic, he was there; Number 11, Rillington Place. He parked the car and walked across the street, tugging his suit jacket closed. Late fall always brought about the chill in the air, but this time the heat in his own mind kept him warm. He walked up to her place, still he wanted to move her to fancier digs, but she was adamant about liking where she was. He stopped before the lair of his Goddess, looked up from the street. The familiar brown front door was nondescript as always, the peephole visible but no other indication of what lay behind that door could be seen.

Harold checked his watch, nine oh three. He’d made it. He almost knocked when he realized something.

Dammit, he’d forgotten the gift! He ran back to the car, rounding its front end as he fumbled for the keys in his pocket. Mumbling curses, he opened the car door and retrieved her tribute, ignoring the looks from a couple walking arm in arm, wondering what the man was cursing so much for. He pulled out the case, slamming to door shut in an angered outburst and walked across the street again, trying to calm himself. He could not look hurried, and certainly not appear to be angry when she opened the door to let him in. That would be disastrous.

He reached the step again, walked up, took one last breath to calm his nerves and rang the bell.

The door opened, and the first thought Harold had was...Blue lighting, why blue lighting?

She stood there, looking at him, draped in her now familiar black robe. “Well...come in.”

Harold almost beamed with delight. It was a childish look, he was certain, but he didn’t care, she’d allowed him back to her lair; she could have been holding syringes filled with acid and he wouldn’t have made a qualm. “Thank you,” he replied too quickly, walking in. He noticed at once her hair was worn up, held into place by six-inch long needles. She shut the door behind him just as he entered, locking it tightly, her eyes scanning him with cold determination and appraisal.

“Is that my gift, Harold?” She asked expectantly.

He looked down at the case, stammered. “Y-Yes, it is, Goddess.” He held it out to her, smiling.

“Not yet.” Kirsty ordered. “Downstairs. I want it to be…special. This night will be special, Harold…for both of us.” She smiled at him, a rising eyebrow and the slight lift in her lips indicating…what? Harold couldn’t be sure, but he was certain he wanted it, no matter what it was. Kirsty gestured the way down, to the lair, and he stepped lightly knowing the path from many visits.

Once through the door that led to her dungeon, he could sense a noticeable change in the room. The floors had been recently polished, and the blue lighting scheme followed him down here as well, only the glow of some candles brought any sort of cheer to the surroundings. And most confusing, a small bed, freshly sheeted was there close to the cross. He was confused.

“Goddess,” he began, licking his lips nervously,”the lighting’s changed.”

“Yes.” She replied, a whisper completely seductive reached his left ear. “Psychodrama, Slave. We’re going to play a new game, this time. Something I’ve never tried before.”

The revelation of this to Harold sent his heart into overdrive. He was being tested for a new torment? This went beyond his wildest hopes. “I-I hope to be worthy of your new game.” He went on, but she silenced him with a glove to the back of his neck.

“No more talking until I say so. Now strip.” She commanded, pointing to a chair for the deposit of his clothes.

Harold followed to the letter, placed the case on a table, silently removing everything he had on, unashamed of his nakedness in front of her; he’d been this way so many times before, it scarcely mattered by now. He stood there, hands at his sides, waiting.

She looked over him, still a perfect physical specimen, nodding her head in approval. “You’ve kept yourself up, Slave.” She noted with amusement. “That pleases me.” Her hands went to the belt of her robe, she looked at him squarely. “Maybe this will please you.”

She undid her robe in front of him, and let it fall. Harold looked down for a moment, knowing she thought it ill when he gazed on her for too long, took it as a sign of disrespect. “Look at me, Slave.” She commanded. “Look at your Goddess and kneel.”

Harold raised his head, and went to his knees automatically. Her outfit was different this time, less revealing, but somehow, far more enticing than he’d ever imagined something like this could be.

The corset of the outfit almost covered her form neck to waist, high-collared and somehow he sensed thicker than normal. Stitched in a way to represent her own form and musculature, it was ribbed along her sides but open at the middle and exposed her breasts, which Harold had always thought perfect, in symmetry and size. A flowing black leather skirt attached to the corset, split in front, offering her body servant a glance at what lay underneath. A leather chastity belt encircled her, covering her sex, but conspicuously open in the center, it ringed her labia in spikes. The boots covered her thighs, the entire outfit giving an air of absolute untouchabiility and was yet to him wonderfully accessible, if you didn’t mind shredding your cock to try and be so bold as to enter her. Long gloves completed it, save for a tool belt of sorts bolted to the front of her corset, holding several menacing-looking objects.

Looking closer now, Harold also discerned one other detail. He left nipple held a silver ring in it. She had undergone some form of ritual before he’d ever been welcomed back. It was as if she was somehow new to him, even her demeanor was different…somehow, more aloof, calculating. She walked closer to him, took hold of his law in one hand. She looked down at him expectantly. “Well?” she asked, it was absolutely rhetorical.

“Goddess, I…you’re more beautiful now than ever.” He said, and the shock in his heart told him this was utter truth he was speaking to her now, baring his soul. “Far, far more than a worthless shit like me deserves.”

She tsked, shaking her head. “No, Slave. You don’t realize how important you are to me.” She smiled, and for one moment, Harold saw something in her eyes…sadness? No, innocence, touched with regret. Then it flashed away from her visage, as she placed a collar around his neck, buckling it into place. “Shall we begin?” she looked down at him.

The eyes that met hers were filled with utter adoration. “Yes, Goddess.” He replied, kissing her hand.
She walked to the table, running a hand over the case. “Is this it, or are there contents?” She asked him perfunctorily.

“Open it, Goddess, please.” Harold begged, kneeling on the polished flooring, his every breath a measure of sincerity. This was the moment he’d waited so long for; the ultimate expression of his desire.

The Goddess of Misery undid the latch on the case and opened it. The lid raised and it was revealed. Kirsty gasped in surprise. “Harold…this is…exquisite.”

He practically beamed again, smiling widely. “Do you like it?” he asked, ever the eager puppy. “Please tell me you like it.”

Kirsty raised the flogger from its case and held it like a mink stole. Her eyes roamed over the details of the handle, its carvings, and the braided straps, each ending in lethal-looking barbs and slicers. The pommel shaped like a phallus drew a raised eyebrow. “Am I pegging you tonight?” she asked quietly, a touch of mirth in her voice. “I will treasure this, Harold, my precious Slave.” She walked back to him, took hold of the ring in his collar. “Stand.”

He did as ordered, a breathy reply on his lips, when suddenly, without warning, she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

It was long, that kiss, full and inviting, the kind one gives a lover who’s been left alone a while. Harold was shocked into stillness by it. He didn’t know how to react to it exactly, so he let her kiss him, gave a little back in response. She stopped, broke the kiss, looked at him. “Thank You.”

His mind, in spite of, or perhaps because of that kiss, went quickly to facts. “It’s called the Flagellum Iniquitatus.” He began, wanting to impress her with his knowledge of the lore behind the object. “It was made for the Marquis de Sade, but from what the seller told me, never used.”

Kirsty stared at Harold a moment, confused. “That old?... It looks brand new.”

“It had to be steeped…in special oils, then cleaned off and dried to look that way, and to...be used.” Harold glanced at her, hope pouring out of his eyes.

Kirsty looked at him, understanding of his intent flooded into her. “That thing, used on your flesh?” she asked, it was almost incredulous. “It would kill you…I can’t have that.”

Harold dropped to his knees, his heart bursting to tell her everything. “ You must understand, if you use it, my dreams come true. Mine…and yours.” He bowed himself to her, exposing his back, forehead touching the floor. “Please, Goddess, I beg you, I’m pleading…you’re all I ever wanted in my life, I’ve searched so long for the one. You’re that one, my Goddess.” Tears streamed down his face, but he didn’t care, he would bare his soul to her, nothing else mattered. “So long. Please. End my search.”

Kirsty realized what was happening, what his pleading truly meant. It came through to her as absolute clarity. He was finished, he wanted the sacrifice, for Harold was indeed the one she was searching for as well. And this put the final turn on the screw. They were for each other, in ways they both understood and wanted. No better match could have been made. She gripped the handle of the Flagellum. It felt good and right and solid in her hands, almost as if it was made for her.

“Rise up from the floor, Slave.” She ordered, her own voice breathy with anticipation, excitement and arousal rising in her like a tornado. She looked him in the eyes when his face met hers. “There is no going back, you understand this. No cries to stop, no safe words. This is for real. Do you understand me?”

Harold’s eyes shone with understanding and devotion. He was devoted to her, and he knew there was no turning back. “Yes, Goddess, I understand.”

She pulled him up from the floor, the knowledge this was the end of it all giving her strength to do what she must. She walked towards the cross, buckling his collar to the upright. He raised his arms to the crossbeam, and she deftly buckled them into place, his ankles following suit. It was a mockery of the crucifixion, the irony lost on neither of them.

Harold suddenly remembered. “Sixty-six times!” he said almost all at once.

Kirsty stopped a moment. “What?”

“For it to work, you have to strike me…sixty-six lashes, Goddess.”

“For it to-“

“Work. For what it’s made for to happen. He told me so.”

What was this one he referred to, she wondered, did the demon visit him as well? Kirsty’s face appeared to him suddenly over his left shoulder, to scan his eyes. “This will be the end, Harold. You’ll die from blood loss alone.” She swallowed, and somehow, despite his pleas and agreement, she hesitated. Did she really have what it took, even after everything she’d been though, her whole life? Now in the moment, after all the preparations, she wasn’t sure. She walked around the cross, faced him, she needed to see his eyes fully, to make sure he understood.

“I know it.” Harold said flatly. “In my suit…there’s a letter. I…contracted a man to handle everything when you’re done. Just call him. It’s all paid for, no questions asked.”

“Somehow, I don’t think it’ll be necessary.” Kirsty replied forlornly. “You’re sure of this, Harold? I understand things like this…If I start, I won’t stop.” She asked with utter finality, and she knew there was no going back. Her studies in college had told her of other ways to summon them. This must be one of them, and she now held it in her hands.

“Don’t ask me again, Goddess,” Harold replied, he took a breath, then, “I’m sure.”

Kirsty knew what he expected, what he wanted, and that must have been why he kept wanting her to push him harder, not to let up, no matter what she could think up. He’d been preparing himself for this.

“As you wish, Slave.” She knew what to do. “Time to Play.”

Chapter 13 Part 2

She raised the Flagellum, tensed the muscles in her arm, it was now or never. She coiled back and let fly, the Flagellum’s barbs sending thirteen slits into Harold’s back, blood began to seep almost immediately.

“Yes!” He cried aloud. This was it, the final act to his life…to bring the demon to her…

She struck again, and again. Twenty lashes were done and his back was a bloody ruin. He began screaming after the tenth, and she was forced to gag him, not so much for the neighbors, but her own peace of mind. Another ten and bits of his flesh clung to the Flagellum, and even through the glove, Kirsty could feel something moving on the handle of her new weapon. She looked down a moment, and the figures began somehow…it was impossible, but they were… writhing. She stared at the handle in shock. Harold noticed the delay, turned his head over his shoulder.

Kirsty saw his movement out of the corner of her eye, looked to him. He nodded his assent, thinking she’d stopped in fear of his condition.

But he was far beyond caring about his own life; or indeed his reputation or sanity. All that mattered to him was that she continue, and that the summoning should begin.

She understood the nodding, began again. Forty, forty-five, and she could see Harold’s frame slacken on the cross, had he passed out from the pain, or loss of blood, she couldn’t be sure, Then again a nod from him, and she kept going. Fifty, fifty-five…it amazed her that he could in fact withstand this. She stopped, walked to him began to unbuckle the gag. If he could withstand this, she could tolerate his screams. After all, had she not made her own father scream? And he deserved it far less than poor Harold here. Blood ran down his legs, pooling onto the floor. His back was no longer recognizable, so she aimed for a fresher target, and began striking his ass. Harold’s screams began reaching a frantic pitch, had he been counting the blows while gagged?

Sixty. Sixty blows and he still lived. Suddenly, a change began in the room, Kirsty noticed there was magic circling around then, the candles on the shelf burnt out in a wind that came from nowhere. They were coming, she realized.
It was a tool, not a box, but a means to summon, none the less. She set at her task with grim determination; there were only six lashes left. But nowhere fresh left on his back to strike; she would have to turn him around, the last six would be on his chest. It was better that way, that he witness the damnation of her soul with his eyes wide open, and that he give up his own soul facing them, so he could understand the horror she’d been facing the last five months, see what his trophy had wrought on the earth.

Moving to the cross again, she unbuckled the blood-drenched man from his upright, turned him around, and recaptured him. It was impossible for him to do anything but what she wished, he was woozy from the whipping and blood loss, but still coherent and, outrageously, aroused. His cock stood straight out from him. Kirsty stared down at his engorged member, and with a glove covered in his own blood, began to stroke him. Harold closed his eyes. “You’ve liked that, haven’t you?” She asked teasingly, moving her hand up and down on him. “Maybe I should fuck you, before we say goodbye forever.”

“You’d…actually?” Harold could not believe what he was hearing, the agony in his back and buttocks was matched only by the pleasure he was experiencing now at her hands. That she would suggest allowing him in her was near miraculous, she’d never even so much as mentioned the possibility of this before. “I’m not worthy…Goddess”

“Oh yes, Slave, yes you are.” Kirsty cooed into his ear, her tongue slipping from between her lips to run along his earlobe before she took hold of that tender flesh with her teeth and began to bite. Harold moaned aloud into her ear, this was so much better than he’d even hoped for. “You are the only one worthy of that gift. My glorious, tight little self…on this.” She tugged on him harder, and he began to whimper, Kirsty smiled. He did deserve it, one last moment of pleasure before she sent him to Hell, before the demons had their fun. “Before we finish, Slave?” she purred, dropped the Flagellum. Grabbing onto the crossbeam with her hands, she raised herself up, wrapping her legs around him. Kirsty’s breasts swayed in front of him so teasingly, the nipple ring barely inches away from Harold’s mouth. He stared at it, fixated.

The Goddess noticed his adoration. “You like that, Slave, my little ring?” she asked, swaying it back and forth in front of his mouth. “Kiss it, if you can.” She brushed her breast against his mouth, and he kissed it, but not deftly.

“C’mon, you can do better than that.” She taunted him. Harold opened his mouth a little wider, caught the ring with his lips, sucked the tender flesh of her nipple with them. Kirsty moaned into his ear.

“Yes, that’s right, Slave.” She cooed again. “Harder… No, harder. Bite it.” She instructed, and cried out with undisguised pleasure at her slave’s mouth on her. Harold sucked on the ring, biting down as told, and the Goddess moaned with abandon. He felt her suddenly, her sex, hot and wet, at the tip of his cock. He ached for it, wanted that so very much. “You feel that?” she asked, but he could not answer, she pressed the rest of her breast into his mouth, crushing him with them. He nodded gently.

“Now, you’re going to have it. Now.” She told him, and she lowered herself on him, slowly, controlling every inch of him sliding into her. The spikes on the crotch guard did not pierce him, but the sensation was undeniable. A low moan of satisfaction came from the Goddess, matched only by her slave’s. She raised herself off him again, and repeated the entry, slower this time, making sure it counted. Harold was beside himself, he could not take this much longer. Slowly, she began riding him, kissing his face, sucking on his slackened mouth as she gave everything she could to her sacrifice, for he truly deserved it. Harold’s breathing would signal his readiness to come, and she would stop, chuckling at his eagerness. Kirsty would begin again, riding him languorously, wanting the last time he would experience this kind of pleasure to be one worth remembering…for she was certain this was her last time as well.

It was building in him, she could feel it, would not stop him this time, for her own orgasm was as close as his was. Surprised by her own stamina, she quickened her pace, Harold’s breathing matching her own, and soon it was there, the little death, and they were screaming each other’s names, crying aloud in the solitary confines of the room.
The fierceness of her coming brought about a savagery in her, and Kirsty lowered her head to his chest and bit hard, breaking the flesh, blood squirting into her mouth. The collision of pain and pleasure brought Harold back from his ebbing and sent his orgasm into spastic shudders, bucking his hips into her as best he could. He spent himself inside her to her enthusiastic cries, egging him on to more. After a few more thrusts, they were both spent.

Finally, their moment gone, Kirsty eased herself off him, set her feet back on the floor. She looked at the unused bed, smiled slightly to herself. Standing there before him, so close she could feel the hammering of his heart against her own, she whispered again. “That was…wonderful, Harold.” She said, all pretenses and act gone, her true self exposed before him. “I…haven’t felt that way in a…long time.”

He knew this was truth, for it matched his own emotions. “Me, either. I’ve always wanted to deserve you like that.” He admitted. It was truth, this death was all he’d ever wanted from his miserable life. A life wasted searching for the one, and now that was all he’d ever know of her.

She bent down, retrieved her treasure, hefted it in front of him. “The last six, Slave,” She informed him, and he steeled himself, knowing what she meant before she said it. “Will be facing you.” She lowered her gaze, met his eyes with her own. “Are you ready?”

Harold summoned up what courage he had left. “Yes, my most beautiful Goddess of Misery, I’m ready.”
She smiled. “Such pretties you use.” She raised the Flagellum, smiled one last time. “I’ll remember them, Harold. Every one of them.” And she struck.

One, and his chest tore open, blood again seeping from the wounds the whip made, and the wind grew stronger in the room, the blue lighting flickering as the energy in the bulbs surged.

Two, and the room began to seem, wider…as thought the walls were moving apart.

Three, then the bulbs burst, but light still came, a flickering, sickening light, greenish and utterly without charm filled the room, the rack of implements fell over, spilling whips and gags and crops all over the floor.

Four and the walls did separate, fissures growing wider as they moved aside; and with that, a second glowing light came from inside those fissures. Blue this time, and again without warmth. It filled the room, and the whirlwind died down. Steam issued from the walls, clouding the room.

Five. Harold cried aloud, not believing what his eyes witnessed. His Goddess stood before him, perspiration dotting her forehead, and the walls grew wider still, and beyond that, a tolling of a bell…

The Black Pope stood there, eyes cast upward, as the Flagellum performed its tasks, and the summoning began. He raised his hands towards the call, welcoming the chance to once again wage war upon the chaos that is earth. Next to him, the Virgin stood, her arms raised as his. Chatterer also welcomed the call. The philosopher was, as usual, licking his lips already in anticipation of the coming conquest. The fifth in their party stood there, but apart from them. Inquisitor simply turned to the Favored Son and asked, “Shall we bring him?”

Pinhead looked at him. “Trail behind us, Inquisitor, let this be a genuine surprise.”

The Cenobite smiled and bowed his head. Waiting for his moment.

Six lashes completed the summoning, and Harold slumped there, on the cross, bloody and defeated. The task he hoped for was accomplished, they would come, the demon had promised him, after the Sixty-sixth lash. He was dying, he knew it, could see in Kirsty’s eyes that his Goddess knew it as well. Yet it mattered not to him, for it was what he’d wanted all along. His eyes drooped slightly, his vision dimming, and yet, they came. He could see them, walking down the halls in between the fissures they’d created, the demons were advancing. They were different from the one he’d encountered in his dreams, one of them taller than the rest, despite the fact they had not spoken yet, that one was clearly in command.

“Ah, Kirsty.” The one with the pins in his face said, with a voice as cold as the Arctic. “Are you finally ready to play?” the pinned one smiled at her, an apparent inside joke that Harold didn’t quite get.

One of them, surprisingly female, said; “No, she will try to deal again. Take her now.”

“NO.” The leader replied, and Harold knew that voice would broach no dissent. “We will hear her readiness to play.” The demon turned to the Goddess, looked at her expectantly.

Kirsty knew what was required of her. The Flagellum was only a summoning tool, she would have to prove herself to them to show her mettle. “I’ve trained, for you, eight years, and since your protector took my gift of life…I will cause pain and death.” She turned to Harold, and the kindness from her eyes vanished, replaced with a look of cold, calculating menace. Her hand drifted to the belt hanging on her waist, gripped a curved, barbed knife that hung there, and drew it. She looked at him, and there was no pity in her eyes, the Goddess, was now empowered. “You’ve served me well so far, Slave.” She informed him, moving closer. “And now you’ve one final task. Sacrifice.”

Harold swallowed, “I understand, Goddess.” The Cenobites laughed at that glorification, and for a brief moment Kirsty’s will again faltered. But she stood straight, and moved towards him still. “Your blood is one gift, your desire a gift to me, but they require another still.” She reached him, one hand holding his jaw line as she jerked his head into an upward tilt and raised her hand to strike.

“Your flesh.” Kirsty finished, and she struck. The blade cut upwards, slicing through rib and cartilage as she carved a bloody swath through his chest, cutting upwards, searching for her prize. She soon found it, in between Harold’s screams and the dispassionate Cenobites looking on; she wanted his heart, hot and bleeding, in her hands.. Taking hold of the knife with both hands, she cut through the sternum, and Harold’s screams became choked gags as she emptied his chest of life, and cut out his heart.

Kirsty held it out before them, her prize. “This, the heart of my servant, taken with the lash and your own weapon.” She informed them, it was her moment of triumph, the endgame she’d waited years for. She would be welcomed into their fold, to save her father. “I am worthy of your Order. I ask that you count me as one of the Gash.”

Pinhead stepped forward, his eyes fixing hers evenly. “Oh, yes, you’ve come quite the distance with us, haven’t you, Kirsty?” he looked at the corpse now hung on the cross, Harold’s eyes were still open in disbelieving pain, his mouth slack, no spark of life existed. “But a Goddess?...surely not.”

Kirsty dropped the refused gift on the floor. “I have suffered for you! Suffered in more ways than-“

“I can imagine?” Pinhead asked, the laugh escaping his lips. “Surely you jest. There is more to suffering that your flogging this pitiful fool to death, and carving him like a holiday fowl. More even than your own losses,” he rounded her, walking behind the cross to inspect the floor. “Considerable they may be.”

“May be?” she was incredulous. “You took everything from me…I’ll never have a child, I lost my innocence, my dignity, my-“

“Father?” Pinhead asked bluntly. The other Cenobites chuckled, began to carve up Harold.

Kirsty stopped, dead in her tracks. “Yes, my Father especially.” She looked at him, gaining strength from their encounters, she knew it would work, now was the time for the final bargain. “I want to make a deal with you.”

“Not this time, Kirsty, no more bargaining.” Pinhead replied, he was already weary of talking. “You’re coming with us, it was ordained long before this day.”

“I will come, this time, I know it.” She agreed, time now for the trump card. “But my father goes free.”

“Your father’s Hell is never ending, Kirsty. You already know this.”

“I come with you, he goes, that’s the deal.” Kirsty stood firm. Walking to her dresser, she opened the drawer, pulled a wrapped object from it.

The Lemarchand Cube.

The Cenobites stood there, waiting on their leader’s word.

“I go, he stays here, free from you.” Kirsty thrust out the hand holding the puzzle box. “Or I use this, and you get nothing.”

Pinhead advanced on her. “Where did you get that?” he was wary a moment, she knew how to use it-

“It took me years, and countless degrading, disgusting things, but I got it.” She thumbed the circle, and the box began to slide open. “Now give me my father, you bastards!”

“This isn’t what you want, Kirsty, is it?” Pinhead asked, his tone growing coolly soft. “Not what you had in mind for us?”

She stopped, unsure suddenly. The Virgin glared at her with an almost animal hatred. She wanted this girl torn, broken, not kissing his feet, and anything else he desired. “My Lord-“ the Virgin warned, “She has betrayed your wisdom before.”

“Not this time.” Kirsty replied. “Fair trade, that’s all I’m asking. And then… I’m yours.” The last two words were spoken to Pinhead directly, and she tried to throw as much inference into those words as she could.

Pinhead moved closer, their conversation growing more intimate. “You know what this means?” he asked. “Your soul is forfeit. There will be no return to this world.”

She swallowed hard. “I know. But he stays here, safe from your protectors, from anything .”

Pinhead considered a moment. “One of our Order…it’s a prize I will savor for a millennium.”

The Goddess smiled. “I’ll make that time so sweet for you,” now Kirsty advanced, closing the box, she would not need it now, there was no need to threaten, she could sense that.

“There will be pain, unbelievable pain, while Leviathan remakes you.” Pinhead commented. “But nothing compared to what you’ll deliver to those who await you.”

“I…trust you, MY Lord.” Kirsty replied, and the Virgin slammed a fist into her open palm. “Xipe!-“

“Silence!” the Black Pope commanded, and the members of the Order fell into stillness. “There will be no dissention, my word is Law, and Leviathan wills it. Kirsty Cotton…do you accept your fate in our hands?”

Kirsty looked at him, her Master, her God, and nodded gravely. “I accept…but first, my Father is free.”

“Inquisitor,” Pinhead called down the halls of pain, “bring forth your charge.”

The smiling Cenobite entered the room, a shadowy figure trailing behind him. “Here as always, My Lord.” He stopped just before the grand scene, and the figure behind him stood in the archway of the hall, swathed in vapor and blue gleam.

“First,” Pinhead held out a hand, “You have something for me.”

Kirsty placed the box in his hand, “You won’t regret this,” she said, raising the same hand to trail the pins adorning his mouth gently. “I’ve…waited so long to please you, My Lord.”

Pinhead allowed the caress, the Virgin becoming more and more infuriated with each growing moment, but could do nothing, commanded to silence, she would obey him no matter what. Glaring at the girl in a mockery of their august robes, she silently swore to wait for the time when revenge would be possible. She would make that waiting time seem like a minute compare with what she was thinking of to do to Kirsty.

The Black Pope held the box in his hands, caressing it. He thumbed the circle of influence once, and it opened suddenly, hooked chains spewing forth, into Kirsty’s hands and breasts. She screamed in pain and outright surprise. What was happening- “My Lord!” she exclaimed, “our bargain-“

“Just words, Kirsty.” Pinhead calmly replied, and from the darkness more chains shot out, stripping her of her home-made Cenobitic garb. Stripped naked, the Order of the Gash advanced on her, weapons drawn; they had all waited so long to know her. Now it was time.

“Noooo!” Kirsty screamed. “You lied!, you fuckers lied!”

Pinhead laughed, the others joining in, Inquisitor coming closer into the room, and the shadowy figure was partially revealed. Kirsty eyes bulged in shock and recognition.

“Daddy!” She cried, tears filling her eyes, brimming over the lashes and tracking down her face. “Daddy, I freed you!”

It was Larry Cotton, but Kirsty only saw his features at first, the vapor surrounding him excluded her from seeing anything else of him, but as she advanced, she saw, and her mind reeled.

He stood there, skinless from the neck down, clad in the confining black leather and chains of the Order, his skin blue, even without the lighting. His forehead tattooed with the Mark of Leviathan, a diamond-shaped crimson sigil carved into his flesh. Father looked at daughter, and snarled. It was pure loathing.

“Kiiirrrstyyy…” her now-demonized father hissed, he raised a weapon of his own, advancing on her.

“No, NO!” Kirsty cried, “This isn’t fair, our deal was he went free!.”

“Oh but he is free, Kirsty.” Pinhead replied smoothly. “Free of your foolish tears, free from your guilt, free from all of that.” The Cenobite raised a hand, and the Chatterer moved behind the helpless girl, holding her torso. She could feel his leather clad hands on her, smell the sickly-sweet decay mixed with Vanilla.

“You thought to be my consort?” Pinhead asked her flatly, not caring whether she answered or not. “Surely there are those more deserving, who have suffered and fought the war by my side far longer than you.” The Virgin caught the inference, smiled to herself. She had been right all along; the Black Pope was not one to be trifled with, his will too strong, his evil too great
.
“You promised! You promised me…we would be together, even in my dreams-“

“No, child,” Inquisitor interrupted. “That was my doing, your lust and confusion make a powerful tool against you.” The Smiling one chuckled. “In the end, you lost to yourself.”

“No more delays.” Pinhead said with complete finality, and even as Kirsty screamed, as the Cenobites, her father included closed in for the kill, Pinhead looked into Kirsty’s terror-stricken eyes as she realized what they had meant, that her own lust for their leader was the ultimate weapon against her, Pinhead said with some satisfaction. “But if it helps you, Kirsty, down the ages that I torment your flesh, that I find what makes you truly suffer, you can know this.”

“What?!” Kirsty yelled. “What could you bastards possibly say to comfort me?”

“I am keeping my promise. There will be pain, and in the end, your suffering will be legendary throughout all of Hell.”
They advanced one last time, and their fun began. Laughter and screams filled the room, then silence.