Hell's Hero

by Temple Madison

  “Yes, sire. Completely.”

  “One more thing…You will be there alone. Nothing to protect you, and if by some chance you meet with disaster, you will be thrust back into Hell, and spend the rest of eternity in the Lake of Fire. It is something to think about.”

  “I understand, sire, but remember that I have lived on Earth before.”

  “Not in this era. It is new, different. Don’t act too quickly.”

  “It is not something I cannot handle, sire. Please let me prove to you that I am capable of this.”

  “Very well. I will release him by midnight, Earth’s time, so plan on leaving no later.”

  “Yes, sire,” Dismas said, feeling a big rush of excitement. “Sire, may we leave? I have much to do before I depart.”

  “Good thinking. Come, we will go.”

  Once they were back in Satan’s chamber, Dismas moved hastily as he made a proper departure, and then turned and hurried out. When he finally stood on the other side of the door, he hesitated a moment, and spread his lips in a shrewd, sharp-witted smile.

  He couldn’t wait to meet Dante in the flesh, Satan’s first superdevil—Hell’s Hero.

  Chapter 1

  TWELVE midnight…

  Rise, Dante.

  The moment the command came the ground began to tear open, to crumble, to give way to a leap of flames that surrounded a being that rose up out of the midst of Hell. He was large, muscled, his naked skin decorated with tattoos across his chest and down his arms. He gave off the pungent odor of sulfur, and was dirty with coal dust that flaked and fell off him as he stood alone—waiting.

  Rise, Dante…

  There they were again—the words. Words that would lead him, guide him. Words of authority that invaded the shadowy darkness of his intelligence. They were words of strength that forced him to respond. Where had he heard them before? Where had he heard these words of control that slowly, very slowly made him aware? And then suddenly he felt a rush of emotions that erupted like a black wind inside his soul coming in great gusts giving him not only the ability to breathe, but to move. As he stood there, tall, like a giant, a storm of feelings gushed through him, including the images of his enemy who he wanted only to “Kill! Kill! Kill!” He hated the sight of each man, woman and child, and was filled with the desire to strangle, maim, and crush them with his hands.

  Now, as the ground beneath his feet had begun to repair itself, the flames receded back into Hell from where they come, and swirls of not only evil, but civility and balance filled him, and his stomach began to growl with hunger, and thirst. Not only did he need food, he needed water. He looked around, but there was nothing but puddles from a recent rain. He ran, lay down and gulped from a small pool, his thirst disappearing gradually. He got up, rubbing the moisture from his mouth, still thinking of food. He saw dumpsters full of trash, and debris. He followed the smell. When he found something edible he didn’t hesitate, but gulped it down until he was reasonably full. When he began to wipe his hands along his body to rub the food residue off, he looked down, and realized he was naked.

  He quickly began rummaging around for something he could wear and came up with a pair of ragged overalls, but couldn’t find a shirt. This left his muscled chest, and tattoos exposed giving him the powerful look of a gladiator. He didn’t realize that it was a cool look, and was searching for something else when suddenly his body jerked. He frowned, feeling something rushing through his head. He sensed all kinds of printed word—math equations, history, astronomy, biology, and then he suddenly knew how to speak languages he’d never heard. Bad and good raged for supremacy in his mind. Finally, giving up his search, he walked away from the dumpster, and his gaze raked over the narrow space. He turned when he noticed that up ahead there was light and activity. He moved to go toward the light, stumbling at first, but then he became a little steadier and continued. His slightly unbalanced sway took him to the mouth of the dirty alleyway where he took his first look at the world he had found himself in.

  He grimaced when he saw lights blazing down, and immediately lifted his arms to block the brightness. Finally, after his eyes adjusted to the intensity, he looked around and saw crowds of people, cars, and tall buildings piercing the sky. He walked unsteadily for a time until he saw people coming and going, blinking lights, and so much chaos it was almost too big, and too busy to comprehend. To escape this onslaught on his mind he began to run. He was sprinting across the street when he noticed two cars, both skidding to a stop to keep from colliding, but clearly weren’t going to make it. At that instant Dante jumped into action, ran between the two cars, put out both arms, and stopped them with his hands.

  “Oh, my God, did you see that?” someone shouted from the sidelines. “That man just…”

  With the noise and the yelling, and people running toward him, Dante became overwhelmed, and turned and ran.

  “Hey, come back,” the stranger called out.

  “Who was he?” the man standing beside him asked.

  “I don’t know, but did you see that? He stopped those cars from hitting each other with his bare hands.”

  Dante ran through the streets. Zig-zagging this way and that until he found himself on a dark street where he heard loud voices. He saw that a fight had begun. There was pushing and shoving as two men became boisterous and rowdy. He watched for a moment as he didn’t understand what was happening, and then he saw fists flailing and men rolling on the ground in the midst of shouts of anger. When he saw one pull a knife, he didn’t know what to do except to run into the mix and stop what was happening. With the strength of a giant, he headed in, grabbed the brawlers by their collars and lifted them into the air with their feet flailing.

  “I…d-don’t know who s-started this fight,” he said, his first words firm, but disjointed, “but if you don’t stop it n-now, I’ll…I’ll make that decision myself.” As the two men hung in the air, their faces reflected fear and unbelief until Dante finally threw them down and shouted, “Get out of here!”

  Each of the brawlers ran in opposite directions.

  When they were gone, Dante began to run until he found himself on another street. It looked to be a vacant street with few lights that were made dim by the floating mist in the air, and steam that rose up from the grates. Music and honking horns echoed down the empty streets with ghostly blinking lights that made it seem hauntingly lonely. Thankful for the quiet, Dante slowed down and wandered along until he saw a shadow take shape at the end of the street. He stopped and looked at the dark form that by now was standing tall and foreboding amidst the floating vapor, and against the dim light. As he watched, the black silhouette began walking slowly toward him.

  “Dante?”

  “Y-Yes, I’m D-Dante,” he said.

  “Dante, my name is Dismas.”

  “I d-don’t know you. Who…Who are you? How do you know me?”

  “There’s no reason to be afraid. I’m a friend. I’m here to help you.”

  “Maybe you can tell me…Where am I? What…What is this place?”

  “This is New York City. The Big Apple. Don’t worry, along with the facts and data you’ve been given, a super sense of your surroundings will kick in very soon. Words will come easily to you, and their meanings. Along with a good command of the English language, you’ll become acquainted with every dirty hole, every alleyway, and every gorge in this place.”

  Just then Dismas stepped into a shaft of light, and Dante gasped at the dappled darkness that cast his face in planes of light and shadow. His eyes that glowed green and yellow were surprisingly cat-like. Dante noticed that his stare was hard and focused, and he could almost see the evil within the shadows of his hoodie that fell forward over his face. His hair—what Dante could see of it—was a thick black, and when he moved, it was as if every step he took was almost strategized.

  “I don’t think you want to help me,” Dante said, his speech finally kicking in, and a natural protective nature along
with it. “I might not know why I’m here, or what my purpose is, but I’ll find out…I don’t need your help.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Dante. I’m the only one that can help you. Right now the world is strange to you. You don’t know who you are, or where you came from. I can help you find the answers if you’ll come with me. I’ll take care of you, help you.”

  Dante considered his words for a moment, knowing that this might be the answer he sought, but there was something about this man that didn’t feel right, and something inside told him not to trust him. Finally, he remarked, “I can figure it out for myself.”

  “Why make it hard on yourself, Dante? Why not let me help?”

  “At what price? What do you want in return?”

  “Only your company, a kind word, a smile, a—”

  “To what end?” Dante asked suspiciously.

  Dismas gave a lopsided, nasty grin. “Can’t you guess?”

  “All I know is you came out of nowhere and want me to go with you. You must be mad.”

  “Don’t you understand? Isn’t it coming clear yet? This is the night of your birth, Dante. You were born in a lab deep in the earth. Your creator is Satan. He gave you life. Taught you all you know. He sent me here to help you. I’m your only family, Dante. You’re new, like a babe in the woods.” He paused, his voice becoming insistent. “You need a friend. Someone who can help guide you in the mission you were sent here to do. You need me, Dante.”

  “A friend? Don’t you mean a lover? Does this…this…Satan know that? You stay away from me. I know what you want. You want to touch me, feel me. You want to do disgusting things to me.”

  “Disgusting? Is a kiss, a stroke, a caress disgusting? Is pleasure disgusting?”

  “You could get those things from anyone. Why me?”

  “I fell in love, Dante. It happened the first time I saw you. Oh, I admit that I fought it at first, but when I saw you take on life, my heart skipped a beat. I simply couldn’t let you face this world alone. To get lost in it, to be swallowed up, to be influenced by it. If I had made a blueprint of what I wanted in a lover, and gave it to Satan to create, He couldn’t have made you more perfect.”

  “Lover,” Dante scoffed. “I knew it.” He began backing up, and looked around to see where he could run to get away from this insane cat-eyed creature. “A man who has to create a lover—”

  “Is that so wrong?” Dismas asked as he advanced on Dante.

  “Stay back. I warn you.”

  “All right, tell me. Why is it wrong to want to love you, to bring pleasure to both of us?”

  “Because love is only love when it is given and returned. If it goes only one way, it is obsession, not love.”

  “Very astute. You seem to be learning quickly,” Dismas said, his voice becoming harsh with anger. “Who do you think you are to refuse me? I’ll tell you who you are. You’re nothing. A thing created from the mind of an evil genius. A bit of skin and bone molded into a pleasing form. A zombie from Hell made from the ravages of war, from parts that were discarded until Satan found a use for them. You’re nothing but trash, Dante. Taken and created from the dregs of Hell, and you have the audacity to refuse me?” Dismas continued to proceed toward him slowly. “You’ll pay for it, you dirty hybrid. If I can’t have you, no one else will. Before I let that happen I’ll tear you limb from limb.”

  Dante kept backing away, knowing because he had refused his stupid flirtations, this…this…person wanted to hurt him. He kept retreating while Dismas kept coming closer, until Dante became desperate. It was then that pure instinct took over, and he grew into a beast of fire with horns that resembled the tips of a crescent moon. With a growl, Dante opened his mouth, took a deep breath sucking in the night air, and then blew. When he did, his breath leapt forward like a blowtorch, catching Dismas on fire.

  “Aaaaarrrrrgggghhhh!” Dismas yelled while wildly turning and trying to put the flames out, but it was too late. Slowly Dismas fell, nothing of him left but a pile of ashes that were mysteriously lifted on a black wind and dumped into Hell’s Lake of Fire.

  Dante stood staring, not really understanding what had happened, or why. He hadn’t meant to kill Dismas. He was in danger, and acted on pure instinct. And then he remembered something that Dismas had called him. A zombie from Hell.

  That thought stayed with Dante for the next few days. Since he had no place to live, he hid in corners, in recessed doorways. He lost himself in crowds, hid among bushes, behind trees, until his stomach could no longer be denied. He ate from dumpsters until he got sick, and knew the food was contaminated. He passed by restaurants, vendors on the street. He closed his eyes in pleasure when he smelled the odor of food floating on the air, but to have it he needed money. Where would he get it? Just then he saw a man with a cup in his hand, and saw people putting coins into it. Many gave him only change, but some gave him bills.

  He knew this was his answer, at least for the time being, so he looked inside a dumpster for something he could use as a cup, and found a Starbucks container. He grabbed it, wiped it off, and quickly found himself a place on the street.

  Minutes passed as he watched each person that went by. Some acted as if they didn’t see him, others saw, but didn’t care. But there were those that parted with their hard earned money with a sad look in their eyes, and a smile that told him they were glad to help. From them he got a few cents that slowly added up to a hot dog and a Coke.

  And this was Dante’s life for a short time—until he met Fate Ferguson.

  * * * *

  Fate Ferguson was a retro enthusiast. Instead of dressing up and going to an office every day, he spent his time at auctions, little hole-in-the-wall stores that very few people knew about, and searching the internet for anything retro that he could find. He hoped one day to open his own department store specializing in superhero comics, old video games, jukeboxes, furniture, and memorabilia of the stars. He was still looking for Liberace’s candelabra and Bela Lugosi’s cape, and with any luck someday he would find them. He wanted his store stocked with merchandise not available anywhere else, and he was well on his way to having enough connections to make that dream come true.

  He sat in his living room knee-deep in his latest collection of superhero comics when a breaking news report with an attention-getting intro took his attention.

  “It looks as if the comic book world might have a new hero. Like all superheroes, he jumped in the middle of a dangerous situation, took care of it, and was gone, all in a matter of seconds. The only thing we know about this man is, he was dark, quick, and moved like a steam engine. If anyone out there knows anything about this man, please call the WABC-TV Channel Seven Newsroom…”

  The words caught Fate’s attention, and he looked up, seeing an attractive anchorwoman telling the public about the phenomenon that had happened in midtown Manhattan.

  “He appeared as nothing more than a man on the street when suddenly he saw an accident waiting to happen, and went into action. The darkness covered his identity as he jumped in between two cars careening toward each other. With nothing more than his outstretched hands on the hood of each car, he managed to bring them to a skidding halt that kept them from colliding. This awesome act kept a man, his wife, and his three children from being injured.” The woman looked up at a screen adjacent to her, and said, “Let’s go to Chip Dawson who happens to be in the exact place where it all happened. Chip, can you tell us anymore?”

  “Hello, Jan,” the young field reporter said when the camera came on. “I’m standing here with Mr. Lucas Carr, the driver of one of the automobiles, and as you can well imagine, he was rather shook up when all this took place.” He turned to the man, and said, “Are you all right, Mr. Carr? Do you think you can tell us exactly what occurred?”

  “Well, it all came about so quickly, I’m afraid my mind is still in a whirl,” the harried man said into the microphone.

  “Tell us, sir, did you get a look at the man
at all? Even a glimpse?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. He seemed to move quickly. One minute he was there, and the next, he was gone.”

  “Did you lose control of your car? It certainly looked that way.”

  “I was just dead tired. Me and my family have just returned from a vacation up in the Adirondacks, and since I’ve been driving almost around the clock. I’m afraid that I might have dozed off at the wheel. It was a stupid move on my part, and I’m so thankful that this stranger was there. Because of his quick thinking, and incredible strength, I have no doubt that he saved both me and my family from a pretty nasty accident, and a long hospital stay. We might even owe him our lives. Whoever he is, I would certainly like to thank him for his incredible act of heroism.”

  “As you can see, Jan, this mystery man remains in the shadows. Back to you.”

  “Thank you, Chip,” the woman said when the picture flipped back to the newsroom. “Who is he? No one knows. After his mind-boggling act of bravery, all the onlookers saw of this man was a swift exit into the night. Apparently this elusive Superman, whoever he is, doesn’t want his picture in the paper.” The attractive anchorwoman, with a look of admiration on her face, smiled into the camera. “Now, isn’t that just like a hero?”

  Later, as Fate was walking through the low rent district of Greenwich Village he happened to notice someone he hadn’t seen before. He couldn’t take his eyes off him. He was dirty with some kind of black dust all over him, and his clothes were ripped so badly they looked like they belonged in a dumpster somewhere. Not paying attention to where he was going, he accidently tripped over a young man who was sitting down against a tree reading.

  “Excuse me,” he mumbled quickly, and glanced back at the guy he was looking at before.

  From there he continued walking, pretending to stop and listen to a local songwriter strumming on his guitar while he kept his furtive gaze on the guy he found so interesting before. He then ambled over to the street artist who was sketching on his pad and subtly slid his gaze from the pad back to the guy that fascinated him. While staring at him, he almost ran into a couple of old men playing chess.