Hell's Preacher

“Not at all! The inverted cross has many meanings, but here it represents the burden of the Penetentes del Infierno. The Holy Cross symbolizes the absolution of sin. Of forgiveness and spiritual growth. As such, this mark symbolizes the loss of that absolution, of the fact that we have turned our backs on all that is holy and thus have been cast from it. We live in the cross’s shadow. Its inversion...”

“An honor.” He responded, returning the bow with one of his own. “I am Valesco de Leon.” He paused a moment trying to remember where exactly Japan was, but it didn’t come to him. “Indeed, I hail from the land of Spain. I traveled quite a lot for a man of my time, but alas, I never saw the eastern lands with my own eyes.” He chuckled, “‘Tis heartening, in a way, to see that Hell accepts the wicked of all walks.”

“Velasco-san, well met.” ‘Spain? Where was that?’, Rushi wondered for a minute, but what the tall demon last said caught him off guard.  

“Wicked, you say? I was sold to a brothel when I could barely walk. I was forced to learn how to please men, regardless of my own desires. The one who was meant to save me from all that turns out to be a maniac who only wanted me for my eyes. Once he gouged them out of my head, I threw myself at him in anger, killing us both. I am not WICKED, sir. I was unfortunately involved with wicked people.” 

The cat huffed, trying to calm himself. He didn’t mean to voice his past to a stranger, but what the priest said brought up bitter memories. 

The Preacher’s grin widened at Rushi’s outburst. “Oh, my child...” He said, sounding sympathetic. “A sad tale to be sure, but one does not find themselves here by mistake. I too once thought that my damnation here was unjust. A mistake by God. Sadly, ‘twas not to be.”

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“No, I have not.” He confirmed. “I felt it would defeat the purpose of the task at hand. She has challenged me to accept the possibility for redemption, you see. Both my own and those  This outpouring of spiritual uplifting is part of my own penance.” 

“I will admit that I’ve found it… somewhat difficult to spread ideals of hope and redemption to the damned without blatantly lying to them…” The way he spat the words seemed to indicate that he was not especially sold on Charlie’s vision, but for some reason was still going along with it. It also became clear that Charlie had devised this little challenge for Velasco himself more than anyone else.

He cleared his throat and reapplied his ‘friendly’ face. “Nevertheless, I have made a promise to attempt this futile task, and so I here I am, bringing the word of God to your patrons.”

“I am sure her sight on the subject would have been really ressourceful, and would have helped you quite a lot, my friend” he said as he folded the paper and got it in one of his pockets. “I am affraid your message of hope misses… well… hope, my dear” he chuckled. 

“Plus, she does not do that for god or to preach their good will, but to help people not to be killed in the next cleanse” Well at least it’s what he understood. 

His expression soured slightly, his frustration with the task becoming obvious. “I’m aware of her goals, sir Alastor. Already I stretch the truth by even suggesting there may be but a tiny ray of hope somewhere in Hell! And surely that is greatly soothing compared to the crushing despair of our reality.”

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Velasco was well aware of Alastor’s reputation, having witnessed his past rampage firsthand. He raised an eyebrow skeptically but then simply shrugged. After all, the Radio Demon was not exactly antithetical to Hell, so in his own way Alastor served His divine purpose.

“Charlotte, Saint of Hell, deemed my usual sermons too bleak for her liking.” He explained, “And so I crafted a somewhat more… edited message to perhaps lift a few ailing spirits. I fear you have little interest in such a thing, but nevertheless take a tract if you wish.”

The shark demon handed Alastor a slightly-crumpled pamphlet. It was clear just by looking at it that whoever designed it had no expertise in the area, since it was just a big box with a massive, rambling title printed on the front. It read:

‘Cheer up, because if we all pretend very, very hard there is a small chance that maybe Jesus doesn’t hate you, or at the very least tolerates your miserable existence and that is wonderful :D’

Alastor looked up at the demon as he spoke, wondering why Charlie didnt speak to him about this, after all, he would expect her to speak about what she does for the hotel, now that they are business partners. Oh well. “thank you” he said as he got a hold on the flyer, reading it quickly, getting a hold on his monocle, only to chuckle a bit as he saw what was written on it.

“That is…” how could he say that without being offensive? “a really original way to preach” he said. “Did you show this to Charlie before sharing it?” he asked, turning his back on the other as he walked back to his desk to get his coffee.

“No, I have not.” He confirmed. “I felt it would defeat the purpose of the task at hand. She has challenged me to accept the possibility for redemption, you see. Both my own and those  This outpouring of spiritual uplifting is part of my own penance.” 

“I will admit that I’ve found it... somewhat difficult to spread ideals of hope and redemption to the damned without blatantly lying to them...” The way he spat the words seemed to indicate that he was not especially sold on Charlie’s vision, but for some reason was still going along with it. It also became clear that Charlie had devised this little challenge for Velasco himself more than anyone else.

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From the doorway he could see the wall of teeth that served as Velasco’s own smile as the big demon ducked his head slightly to see through the opening. “Troubled is all a soul can be here in the Pit!” He insisted, again doing his best to be friendly. Cradled in one arm was a jostled stack of papers, ones no doubt he had been handing to everyone who was unlucky enough to cross his path.

“By Princess Charlotte’s wishes, I come bearing the salve of hope, as slim as it may be.” He was about to hand the deer demon a flier before he suddenly paused, taking a deep inhale as though picking up a strong scent.

It only took a brief moment for the Preacher to piece together who’s office he’d found. “Dios mío. ‘Tis true then? The Radio Demon himself haunts this place of salvation?” His friendly tone dipped slightly, but he sounded more surprised than anything else.

“I can assure you mine isnt” he simply answered in a chuckle, looking at the papers, getting ready to take the one the bigger demon was about to hand him, only to frown as he stopped. 

The red and black ears slightly twitched as the preacher inhaled his scent like some kind of predator. “Himself” the deerman nodded. “I would say i do not haunt the place, more than anything, i manage it” he said, his hands going in his own back. “what did the princess wanted you to share, my tall fellow?”

Velasco was well aware of Alastor’s reputation, having witnessed his past rampage firsthand. He raised an eyebrow skeptically but then simply shrugged. After all, the Radio Demon was not exactly antithetical to Hell, so in his own way Alastor served His divine purpose.

“Charlotte, Saint of Hell, deemed my usual sermons too bleak for her liking.” He explained, “And so I crafted a somewhat more... edited message to perhaps lift a few ailing spirits. I fear you have little interest in such a thing, but nevertheless take a tract if you wish.”

The shark demon handed Alastor a slightly-crumpled pamphlet. It was clear just by looking at it that whoever designed it had no expertise in the area, since it was just a big box with a massive, rambling title printed on the front. It read:

Rushi was surprised. This demon was nicer than he looked. Still, one thing caught him off guard. A Man of God? Down HERE?

“You are a western Priest, sir? I have only read about people outside of Japan when I was alive, but never really met any until I came here. I am Rushi. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”, the cat said as he bowed once more to the tall demon. He felt pity for the guy. If not even a Man of God could go to Heaven, what hope did the rest of them have? Not even children were spared from this place, it seemed.

“Ah, yes! I fought in what those after us would call the First Crusade.” He explained, apparently happy to talk history. “I was born to a proud military family, so when Pope Urban’s words of the pilgrimage spread across France, I and many others jumped at the call when we caught wind of it. Unlike most Spaniards who stayed behind to fight against the Moors, I was among the few to follow the wake of the French led by Lord Raymond of Saint-Gilles on his march for Jerusalem.”

He shrugged, “‘Tis unsurprising, I suppose, that we did not mesh well with the Frenchmen, but as there were far too few of us to form our own regiment we marched with them nonetheless. The oath to God and the promise of absolution was far stronger than loyalty to any crown. Thankfully Raymond had enough respect for Spain to see us treated fairly, though his lack of oversight perhaps encouraged our... degeneracy.”

“I and some number of other crusaders became stricken with a lust for a number of vices.” He grimaced, as though the memory was painful. “Of course our commanders rightly condemned our frequent use of opium, wine, and whores, but their trifling punishments did little to curb our appetites... It grew worse once we had left Constantinople and begun our conflicts with the Saracens.”

“Believing ourselves to be in God’s favor and they to be agents of Hell, we allowed ourselves to commit all manner of atrocities against the Saracens, whether it be combatants or civilians. Our commanders of course disavowed our actions, but so long as no Byzantines were there to witness us, they turned a blind eye to our wanton cruelty. So blinded by the promises of the clergy we were that none of us could see what we were becoming nor the insult we were heaping upon His name.”

He let out a short sigh, “The siege of Antioch was especially heinous. I suppose you could say ‘twas where I finally crossed the threshold of damnation but... that is a story for another time. Suffice to say ‘twas a gruesome sight. Little changed as we approached Jerusalem.”

“‘Twas at the siege of Jerusalem that my crusade was put to an end. Upon breaching the walls, we stormed the city, delivering upon it a bloodbath beyond words. In that hellish din, an arrow managed to find a gap in my breastplate. For better or worse, my fellows continued the fight, and God, in his mercy or cruelty I know not, saw to it that they would succeed. I understand there were many more crusades after my time, but their outcomes bore little success.”

“Hmm. So you have a sense of self-awareness, if a warped one. Normally, this would be the part where I sympathize with you, try consoling you, attempt to play therapist. But after everything you say you’ve done, I think you’ll agree that you don’t deserve that. What’s more, you don’t deserve sympathy for denying sinners any slim chance at redemption by erasing them. You’re not mercy-killing; you’re just doing the same thing you did in life, but for different reasons. That’s where we differ: since I’ve died, I’ve abstained from outright attacking anybody unless they do so first.” Clearly, he was still sticking to his lie about his “former life,” and would unless outright confronted with evidence against him.

“You are right, I deserve every ounce of scorn and hate given and much more. But those I lead to the light choose to do so, boy.” Valesco was quick to correct him. “Never have I cast someone to oblivion by my own hand! To use an Angelic weapon against the damned is sacrilege!” The big demon lurched closer to Ash, clearly disregarding any respect for his personal space.

“What you believe is mercy is nothing more than furthering their damnation! What you will bring unto all of us is nothing less than eternal pain. To see us languish forever, slipping further and further into depravity until we are nothing more than the animals we have come to resemble. You would deny us both our dignity and our chance for rest.” He finally backed up a bit, gesturing upwards at the sky.

“Alas, we do possess an angelic blade in the chapel for our ritual scars, so the thought has crossed my mind many times. The Angels have denied me my release for centuries, so ‘tis clear that God wishes me to continue my sentence.”