Arioch

I suppose before I tell you all this I should say straight up that I'm not a good person. I'm a killer. I'm a rapist. I enjoy what I do. I don't care what you think.

I made a deal with a devil. I am owned by absolute evil. In exchange for tenancy of my soul, I became an link, one of a chain you meet in the eternal cycle of Hell.

I'm damned forever, damned, damned, double damned. My trajectory is set away from God, never towards. I sacrificed my chance to see the light of angels.

The big black starless mass that swallowed me up told me that it was all a gamble anyway, that only one in a million souls reach Heaven, that the probabilities are stacked in Hell's favour. So rather than risk the big win, I dedicated my services to the other side.

It wasn't an easy choice to make. I suppose it's a bit of a tragic story because I sacrificed everything... but it was for a worthy cause.

I was a spiritual man when I was alive, passionately believing in the presence of higher powers and angelic entities. My faith in God was strong. I adored the majesty of numerous religions, all faces of the same bountiful spirit.

I worshipped all the gods, but when I tried to get close to the congregations, people were so quick to tell me that I didn't belong. I wasn't welcome. Just because I was gay. Bastards. A stiff woman once stared me in the face and sang "God hates fags."

I started to hate the world, no, not the world, but the pious inhabitants, truly, madly, deeply hate the so-called holy men of the human race.

I kept searching for some loophole in the scriptures that would prove a primacy or holy purpose for homosexuals, but the road was blocked. The Bible is tightly knit, edited and stitched together by the greatest minds of the Millennium. Never forget that.

Free Presbyterians, Born Again Christians, Roman Catholics, the whole brigade had something to say about me, even though they didn't even know me.

One night in September, when I was waiting for a friend in town, I got queerbashed by four teenage hoodies. Beaten to a pulp. The youngest one was 12. He came behind me, asked for the time, and when I turned around his older friends jumped me. The oldest would have been about 18.

I lay on the streets broken, bloodied, black and blue. That was the last time I ever cried.

Curled up in a ball on the ground, something snapped in me. It was a harder hate, diamond hard and brilliant. That hate stayed with me for months. Diamond hard hate, so sharp that it could cut the fabric of the universe if you made the right sacrifice or motion.

In every unknown, dark forces exist. I recovered, but my mind was rocked. Still, I made the decision to let my hate slash and cut. I welcomed the monstrous powers of the universe. I wanted to see my hate fulfilled.

I vowed to take revenge on them all, every homophobe in the entire world. No matter the cost.

I was enough of a theologian and demonologist to know the names and signs of certain devils. I had studied semiotics as well so I knew how to break their names down to times, numbers, constellations and spaces.

Demons don't appear before anybody. Not every scummy human rat is worthy of our attention.

Serendipity brought me to a tattered copy of a 17th century manuscript which betrayed a few clues about landowners and ravenous men enjoying the company of devils.

Weeks became months of research. It was years before I tracked down the name and trajectory of the fallen angel's name. Arioch.

I translated his codec. Unraveling his message was terrifying and intense.

I followed the trail to contact a demon, and I had to walk down a road of debauchery and sin. It's ironic that my enemies called me disgusting, unnatural, amoral sinner. Because that's what I became.

To reach Arioch I had to dredge through the arena of prostitution. So I waited around the Clock and spent months wrecking the temple of my body, but Arioch would not be summoned so easily.

Months of decrypting told me that he required grand pomp and display to announce his arrival.

Demons never stay in the same place - corruption is their addiction. Pandemics and endemics are like gambling games. They blaze around the world unseen.

Arioch circled the globe, steered by the stars. The fallen would not come to me. His trajectory was too strong. I had to run to him and beg his attention.

I spent years counting the stars and moving from county to county, nation to nation. Prostitution was the only ticket I had that could support me while I followed my studious search.

I followed Arioch's trail and felt the heat of his power.

Let me say that it's hard work to climb the game ladder, to reach the best client list without sullying your reputation too often with the animals who come hunting you or the drunkards who find you in the streets.

I dedicated myself to Arioch's name, constantly polishing my razor sharp hate. But as I closed in on the blazing trail, I realized that the path to Arioch was more gruesome than I had ever imagined. I found the demon's pattern in men who liked to fuck rough, like the man from of American Psycho.

I followed it from there, found the niche, the right men found me, and when I was pushed, cut, slapped, stifled and choked, I found the fallen.

Brutality was the key.

That's when it got serious, and bloody.

I knew the road I chose wouldn't be easy. What choice did I have? It was too late to turn back then.

The cycle continued faster and faster. I was active every night, sometimes slammed against a wall and fucked raw, sometimes with my hand pushed up between my shoulder blades and screaming, sometimes with a knife on my body, the buyer knowing it's £30 an inch.

It was exhausting, but I was popular and successful in my game. You had to know how to please the men, and you did that by bending yourself, transforming into anything they wanted you to be, a scared little boy, a pompous dick, or a vicious little cunt who deserved to be punished. I bruised easily. That turned them on, and they came back, again and again.

I endured it, because I had a goal. My hatred was sharper still, because the men who ravaged me were often the ones who oppressed me in the first place.

The ring of Arioch swooped deeper and deeper. I was raped and beaten by politicians, judges, thugs, and the odd miserable husband who would save up for one walloping night with me.

They treated me like I was a worthless bag of flesh. I became what they needed, a punching bag, a doll, and so many of them sneered at the scars on my body. I carried razor blades in my wallet. £30 an inch, £50 a centimetre on the cock.

Abominable. This is the path to Arioch.

The final definition of Arioch is very specific. The pronunciation of his name is not set in words but sounds, and the movements needed to express the sounds are difficult to arrange.

The codec read:

From height to height of ecstasy

An Hundred and

Eleven

the more they detest

him the more do they adore him

In the silence of a dewdrop

I wrenched DOG backwards to find GOD; and now GOD

barks.

That is Arioch's name.

How do you express that name in sounds and motion?

I knew what it meant. It meant fuck a man, and when you're about to cum, kill him. The crossing of life and death and sex and sacrifice will trigger a reaction that will blow a hole in your subconscious, opening a door to Arioch.

I calculated the constellations. Orion was due to face Andromeda. By the geographical patterns I observed, the energy Arioch was approaching.

I followed the intensity of his trail to London. The roaring soaring beast could easily feast on the sex and wreckage of that town.

I planned to call him and offer myself as the main course.

It was on a hot summer day when an American man phoned to set up a meet. A client of mine recommended me to him. We met at the Hilton hotel.

The American was a stocky middle-aged man, confidently rich, arrogant, and sleazy. He swaggered about in his suit, engaged with me courteously and slapped me randomly.

The night was right for demonic arrival, and it occurred to me that this man might also be aware of the fallen angel I was chasing.

He ordered over £500 worth of dick cutting and £500 on the flesh. It would spill quite a lot of blood, worthy of a big welcome.

I was convinced. And I was right. I found a 6 inch knife under his mattress.

He lay flat on his back, took his cock out and ordered me to sit on it. He gripped my pelvis and jabbed his dick inside me, blowing smoke and slicing the razor blade across my chest. He groaned, sweating and closing to cum. I was ready to burst as well. My cock was pure, shining red.

It was a race and a fatal risk for both of us, but I had the advantage. He didn't know that I knew. When he made the first squeal of pleasure and reached his hand over the rim of the bed, I bent back and grabbed the shifted knife.

The fat bastard wanted me on top so he could stick the knife clean in my heart while he shat his load inside me. I think that's what his plan was. He would stab, ejaculate, wrench out, and a fountain of my blood would squirt over his face. That was his idea of a red carpet.

But the knife was in my hand. I leaned back and let him stab his short dick into me. I enjoyed the look of confusion on his face when his fingers found nothing sharp.

He didn't see me slip the knife out from the end of the bed. I lunged forward plunged the full blade deep into his heart.

The fat man looked up at me, in pain and amazed. It's so common for Americans to underestimate others. He knew that was his weakness.

I twisted the knife in a 90 degree wrist pivot and pulled the blade out. A geyser of red blood burst out from that punctured hole, in perfect conjunction with the long squirt of white cum crisscrossing it and landing on the yank's chest, chin and lips.

I tell ya, the moment was fucking divine. The afterglow was a second long tidal wave of agony and ecstacy. A rush swallowed by a rush.

The door to Arioch opened. Destiny was at hand.

The fallen angel was impressed enough. A thousand eyes looked at my bloody scarred body. Arioch could see the stream of my entire life. It could see that I was filled with hate. He saw all the shits at school who called me faggot and fruity bollocks, the sanctimonious cunts who scorned me at work, the queerbashers, the cousins who laughed at me, all the scum of the world.

He knew exactly what I wanted.

He swallowed me whole. And he rewarded me. He made me one the links that worked in his chain.

I don't have a name now. I'm just a place, a psychic space that your spiritual body is pulled to after you die.

I'm one of the many, many deaths you meet in the never ending chain of Hell.

Revenge is mine. I have fulfilled my vow.

The loathers come to me now. I sweep through the world like a wind and sow my ticket onto their ears. Even if it's just a whisper, I can hear homophobia. I'll burn my number on your head.

Eventually they come to my chamber.

You're probably thinking that I fuck them up the ass for all eternity. No. That would be merciful and unimaginative.

Instead, I prefer to drill holes in their spiritual bodies and fuck them in foreign places.

I'd drill a hole in the small of their back and fuck them there. Or I'd drill holes in their feet, thighs, lungs, armpits, temples and crowns, then multiple myself and fuck them in every hole simultaneously.

I'll never leave this chain. But I think I made the right choice. The number coming in my direction keeps getting bigger; queers are still despised. And I'm the retribution.

So watch what you say about fruits. I'll hear it.

The message will sink through the air and find me. And I'll wait for you. And when you get down here I'm going to drill a hole in your forehead and fuck your brains out, or fuck you in the heart until you're nothing but a glowing sack of mush.

The sad thing is, I still dream of Heaven, but I forget what Heaven was.