hellmagi. THE END.
a mephistophelian choir is crying, moaning: all engaged in a bated crescendo of antediluvian, loud incanting grating the hemorrhagic - cyst of a desquamating throat that HELL is. it’s a bombed - out hull of a pigfuck nightmare reality, a dry, dehisced orgy of bedlam climaxing into a caustic orchestra of unified SADOMASOCHISM. 𝚆𝙴'𝚁𝙴 𝚂𝚄𝙵𝙵𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳'𝚂 𝚁𝙰𝚆 𝚂𝙿𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚅𝙸𝚃𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝙾𝙵 𝙲𝙰𝚂𝚄𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈'𝚂 𝚂𝙷𝙸𝚃𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚁𝙼. somewhere in the schism of a world pried apart with the blunt grace of pomegranate torn asunder by thousands of malnourished, 𝘨𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥 , 𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐃 - 𝐑𝐔𝐌 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃, and somewhere in a pocket - heaven where nothing is mingling with the promiscuous void , my name is sung in a guttural baritone of ebbing vitality. the twin lover of casuality is pulled against the fabric of death and smothered in cashmere: FATE DIED IN A VACUUM OF INFINITE LIKE A BELIEF WITHOUT VISION. he is PAVLOV’S FAILURE, suspended in a stasis of classical allegiance and subjected to a bliss in some puppy daycare for all GOOD DOGS. my bowels are grinding into rocksalt, the guilt eats me from the inside like a famished tapeworm. 𝘨𝘰 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘰𝘯.
𝙸 𝙰𝙼 𝚂𝙻𝙾𝚆 𝙳𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝙰 𝙿𝙸𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝙿𝙸𝚃𝙴𝙵𝚄𝙻 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙽𝚃𝚂, 𝙱𝙸𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝙰 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙵𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝙰 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴𝚆𝙸𝙵𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙰 𝚂𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙰𝙻𝙾𝚄𝚂 𝚁𝚄𝙼𝙾𝚁. 𝙿𝙴𝙾𝙿𝙻𝙴 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙱𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙸 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚆𝙰𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰 𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙰𝙻 𝚁𝙴𝙴𝙵 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙰𝙴𝙼𝙾𝙽 𝚆𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙼𝚈 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙰𝙻 𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙻.
I AM JOHN CONSTANTINE. 𝘐 𝘏𝘈𝘝𝘌 𝘉𝘌𝘈𝘛 𝘋𝘌𝘝𝘐𝘓𝘚. 𝘐 𝘏𝘈𝘝𝘌 𝘛𝘙𝘐𝘊𝘒𝘌𝘋 𝘎𝘖𝘋𝘚.
[ WHO THE FUCK DO THEY THINK I AM? ]
LESSER KNIGHT: 𝒐𝒐𝑶𝒐𝒐𝒐𝑶𝒐𝘩ʰᴴ𝐇 LORD, THEY MOCK Uuu𝙪uᵁUSS, YES. JO𝗢𝗼𝗢𝗼𝗢HN CONSTANT - TINE, DO LET US HAVE HIM BEFORE THE CHILDREN OF THE WYRᴿRᴿ𝘙ᴹᴹ𝘔ᴹM QUEEN ... HE WILL NEVER LAUGH AGAIN!
ELIGOS: AH, DOES THOU HEAR THEM CALL FOR THEE, CONSTANT ONE? MY OWN PROPOSAL IS STILL OFFERED TO YOU, A HAND IN THE DARK, HELLSPAWN ... FORSAKE THY DEAD LORD IN NAME AND SERVE UNDER MYSELF, FOR THE INFERNAL WAR. THIS WITCH SHALL BURN IN THE PIT FOR THY VILE TRANSGRESSIONS, NONETHELESS. ALL IS WITHIN THE FLOW OF CASUALITY. CONSTANTINE: Alright then, I’m up for a laugh. None of you will lay a sodding hand on us. None.
Dumbfounded, they rally a disconnected set of stares like starstruck fans at a reunion special. it’s almost comical.
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓. JOHN CONSTANTINE IS IN THE ‘MIDST OF AN IMPENDING ATTACK, SURROUNDED LIKE MEAT ON THE AFRICAN SAVANNAH, & HE IS WATCHING WITH A DISPOSITION LIKE A EASTWOOD PROTAGONIST; FRIGID, & STRICKEN WITH A NONCHALANCE THAT IS TANGIBLE IN THE CURL OF HIS SCOWL. DUKE OF THE EIGHTH IS APPROACHING IN A PRETERNATURAL MANNER THAT WOULD DRIVE MEN MAD, BUT SIMPLY VEXES CONSTANTINE DUE TO HIS MALODOROUS SPRAWL OF ENTANGLING LIMBS. 𝗘𝗟𝗜𝗚𝗢𝗦: THOU ART IN HELL, MORTAL. VALIANCE IS A BYGONE -- 𝗝𝗢𝗛𝗡 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗘: Y’don’t get it, do you? Collective consciousness, ennit? Dumbass bleeders.
❝ YA’ALL BLOODY WELL KNOW , i ain’t some fuckin’ doe - eyed magician turnin’ card tricks like it’s me arse. nah , no… 𝘯𝘰. ME —— i’m the worst thing to happen to THE DEVIL since 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. the worst thing to mess with MORNING - STAR since 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘍𝘈𝘓𝘓. i can make half’a you dance lik’abunch’a spastics just by saying your maker’s name. ask yourselves: do you really ——— want to fuck with the MAGUS 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 ? ❞
HELL IS SILENT.
the soft, runny yolk of an army of battered eyes bleed irises onto a universal canvas predisposed to trepidation and trauma, and accumulating two - fold in an embolus of discarded pupils. 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. the charred necro - flesh of a hellspawn falls from the bone in protest of living decay , this BLAXPLOITATION EXPOSÉ IS A GRAVEYARD BODY of a maggots eating away at the soft, dead tissue and delivering a new man steeped in half - decay and 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑.
THIS IS THE EXORCISM OF ONE AL SIMMONS.
in the heart of eternal flame is an afterlife submerged in an endless scolding sea of death and bloodshed , boiled bodies bobbing along the coast like discarded apples fat with water weight and diseased with mold. runaway demons with blistered tits and mouthfuls of fetid meat call to THE DIVINE DUO ; 𝑨𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑶𝑵 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑯𝑶𝑷𝑬, 𝒀𝑬 𝑾𝑯𝑶 𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬, & deliver yourself to a forest of hungry eyes and undying flame. FOLLOW YOUR PATRON SAINT TO THE GRAVE and sever his ties to paradise, taking the umbilical cord between your incisors and pressing down until cursed blood fills your mouth. expose mankind to the horrors of sin like a flasher in a playground, studying the loss of innocence and a sudden feverish spike in fear. THEY ARE VIRGIL AND DANTE , blood brothers of hell , the cosmic joke of the heavens, and they have invaded hell.
MY BODY IS A ROACH MOTEL INFESTED WITH SIN AND REGRET, A LONG LINE OF MISTAKES SPELLED OUT IN BODILY TRAUMA AND COLLAPSED NOSTRILS FILLED TO THE BRIM WITH COCAINE AND RODENTICIDE DUST. THE NIGHT CLINGS TO ME , ALL NINE CIRCLES OF HELL FORCED TO KNEEL BEFORE ME.
BEING THE BASTARD KING OF HELL HAS ITS PERKS.
LESSER KNIGHT: AL - BERRRRT SIMMONS, SHOW US! SHOW US THAT DIIIRTY BLACK SKIN, HELLSPA𝒶𝐀ＡWN! I WANT TO SEE THE FACE OF MALEBoO𝗢o𝐨𝐨OLGIA’S GREATEST FAILURE. WORSHIIIIIP ME AND BE MY LITTLE, BLACK PLAYTHIN -
THEN JUST AS SUDDENDLY AS HE APPEARED, THE HELL - SPAWN TEARS THROUGH THE LESSER KNIGHT’S DEMONIC, INCORPOREAL FLESH WITH THE METAL CHAIN - LINK ONCE CLINGING TO HIS PERSON. THE CHAIN HUGS THE DUKE BY THE FATTENED BLUBBER OF HIS NAPE, FORCING HIM TO HIS KNEES IN SUBMISSION BEFORE AL SIMMONS’ VERY FEET.
❝ DON’T FOR ONE SECOND FORGET WHO I AM. I KILLED HIM. i scraped what was left of his brains OFF MY BOOT LIKE DOG SHIT. you’re nothing compared to the malebolgia. he died weeping like a pathetic fucking child under my heel. open your eyes: I. OWN. YOU. ❞
