Blood, sweat and tears

A beautiful Sunday, April 4, 1937. The light of the New Orleans spring sunlight streamed brightly through the small window of the sad four-by-four-meter cell what had been his home for the last three years.

Alesteir, or Alastor, as he liked to present himself in his “real” job (outside of his hobby as a radio broadcaster), thought surely the world outside his new reality would be bubbling with joy and effervescing with spring. .

In truth, his life in seclusion was not bad, in fact, they treated him kindly, he had three meals per day; and sometimes the priest who came to confess his sins brought him some classic books. Also, the guards liked to listen good jazz, and sometimes offered him cigarettes. It was like being on vacation, permanently.

Of course, he had earned all that good treatment. Politeness is a great part of himself and it was natural to behave kindly towards his hosts; Furthermore, his sins had been forgiven in any way by those who saw his face daily, probably due to his motive.

They actually lost their minds about what Alastor did with his victims after killing them; some people considered him a kind of strange and well-educated antihero who only murdered human trash. Of course, very few people knew he also liked the occult a little, but what was the problem? In Alastor's experience, society loved looks for things what would lessen tragedies a little, just so they wouldn't bother being afraid thinking about some monster living around the corner.

Fools, that's what they were in his eyes; however, he didn't want to take them out of their fantasies. In any case, thanks to those meaningless fantasies he was not having such a bad time awaiting execution.

Sometimes he wondered if his case had already been forgotten in the wave of events happening in the world; sadly, the unique news about the world came to him as mere political whispers what Franklin and Joseph, his most academically trained guards, had in their parleys.

Alas! But those Alastor questions could not be answered because the interesting thing about this spring Sunday in April is the fact Alesteir Doucet, the former radio celebrity, would be executed by the electric chair method.

Alesteir, or Alastor, lying in the cot in his small prison room, focused his gaze on the portion of limpid blue sky behind the bars of the tiny window. He would have appreciated if the guards been able him go out to the prison yard at least once more and see the landscape, maybe hear a few chirps from those mischievous birds used to eating the crumbs what some well-behaved inmates gave them.

But he was clear, since a couple of years, he was strictly prohibited get outside of his cell, and approaching his other colleagues due to some incidents that arose thanks to the lack of education of his imprisoned peers.

If he had been allowed, Alastor wished his last meal had been some meat from those pigs in the East Ward that the government of the United States of America was fattening. But, sadly, human meat, even if they were pigs that looked like a person, was forbidden to him.

The door to his cell opened with a shrill screech. That was one of the things he disliked about the place, but he couldn't complain because the human ability to adapt even to what repulses him was incredible, and somehow, he managed to get used to it.

Behind the heavy metal door, a young man appeared dressed in uniform, with blue eyes as blue as the morning sky and hair dark as the night sky, mature in appearance, but with gentle manners, as gentle as could be an officer.

“Good morning, Roses.” Alastor greeted with a wide smile as he sat up from where he was lying down. His striped prison uniform made him look thinner than he was. Indeed, life in prison was monotonous, boring and sedentary for him, but that did not stop him from keeping his body healthy in the hope that somehow he could miraculously free himself from his imprisonment.

It was obvious never was going to happen, much less in the hour before his execution.

"Are you ready?" Roses responded with a hint in his voice, as if he considered that perhaps for his interlocutor, what would happen next would be terrible. Alastor found it funny that good and upright people like Roses showed empathy towards him. He didn't need that empathy, nor did he want it, but he found those displays of humanity extremely entertaining.

“I have never been more so than now, dear friend!” For the guard, Alesteir Doucet was a complete enigma. He could not understand how someone as educated, intelligent and friendly as Doucet could have committed such crimes, nor how he could face his imminent death with that eternal smile that characterized him.

Indeed, Roses knew that Alesteir was not sorry, not one bit; and he also accepted that he himself would not be sorry if he had done the same. Because who didn't fantasize about killing one or two sons of bitch who abused women and children? Who wouldn't have wanted to kill one or two social outcasts, rapists and murderers? That is why Roses had entered the police force, because he wanted justice for the helpless, but he soon understood the law is not enough for justice.

Then, he met Alesteir. An exemplary, common citizen, whose childhood was not very common but was marked by injustice and the fear of violence. Someone who was not afraid to take the so-called justice into his own hands, and who helped more people than he could have killed.

He did not admire him but he did respect him, because Doucet did terrible things in order to slightly improve the living conditions of some women and children. Or that's what Roses had understood after reading the entire file case. Of course, Doucet had denied meet his own victims, and declared on each occasion he simply did it because he liked to hunt wild pigs in human skin.

And well, he was right. Criminals like those were mere pigs, there was no other word to describe them.

Roses asked, with a soft and kind voice, for Alesteir to extend his hands to place the handcuffs. He obeyed meekly, with his eyes half-closed as if what was happening he had expected for a long, long time. Perhaps, Roses thought, Alesteir had simply accepted death, just as he had accepted his crimes.

However, Roses' thoughts couldn't be more wrong.

Alastor was simply enjoying the last few moments of his life, remembering some of his most notable violent acts. He was delighting in remembering the texture, taste and volume of the bloody human flesh in his mouth, being chewed calmly by his jaw.

Also, Alesteir Doucet was amused by everything was happening.

He had never imagined it would end like this, especially since he believed his final day would be when Lucifer himself came for his soul. Of course, this image he had taken literally from the moment he struck a deal with the ruler of the hell himself.

For people like Roses, if Alastor had declared that he had sold his soul and made a deal with Lucifer himself from an early age, in a public declaration, they would think he was joking. In fact, he once confessed to Father Gilbert, who saw fit to visit him for the salvation of his soul on a weekly basis, and the Father just burst out laughing, believing it to be one of many little Alastor´s jokes sometimes tended to say as a means of avoiding certain topics.

First of all, the summoning of Lucifer was a pure luck event he had in his youth, after his first great murder.

Parricide, it seemed, was one of entity’s favorite things to do, because his father's blood made the pentagram and the whole summoning ritual work, something he failed before with animal blood.

Certainly, Alastor sold his soul for power in this world and the next. He was young but he was no fool, and studied the contract he had made quite well. It appeared, however, Lucifer did not plan to fully live up to his part when, a little over a decade later, Alastor was to die a humiliating death under the law of man.

He expected, upon his arrival in hell, make a small claim due to his partner's breach of contract.

He didn't even realize it when he reached the execution chamber. Roses was looking at him pitifully and that shocked him, however, he did not fail to smile, and as an act of farewell, he thanked him for the cigarettes and the music he was sometimes allowed to listen to.

Father Gilbert stayed at the door of the room, waiting to escort him to the electric chair, surely. Unfortunately, it appeared that Roses, nor Franklin or Joseph could enter the place. He simply saw them and thanked them with a look and a smile for being present even though it was the day off for two of them.

The priest, with barely any gray in his hair and a jovial appearance, took Alastor's shoulder and escorted him to his destination.

The room was completely empty, with a few chairs arranged behind a table, and in front of that, stay the device with his life would come to an end: the electric chair.

That thing was quite an image to see. It reminded him some of the inquisition artifacts used for torture. He hoped at least this one wasn't as brutal.

Through another door that he had entered, a couple of guys in suits arrived. Probably judges, escorted by a couple of military men. The latter was new, because civilian affairs never mixed with martial, it was common knowledge.

One of the men in suits ordered the military men to proceed to make Alastor comfortable, which they did abruptly and without manners, managing to annoy the serial killer. However, his smile remained, a little darker and darker, but constant.

Alastor, deep in thought as to who these two in suits were, quickly forgot the rudeness of his escorts. He was dying of curiosity, and if he was allowed a few last words, he wanted to spend them on finding out who they were.

"Today, Alesteir Doucet, you have to die, one way or another." Said one of the men in suits. The tallest and burly one, who had a kind face even though he was so big he looked like a bear.

The military men had returned to their places, behind those two men. What struck Alastor as curious was, although Father Gilbert was there, no one but him and those unknown people were in the room.

Not even the man in charge of operating the electric current lever was there.

It was just... strange?

A pleased smile graced Alastor's face. He was beginning to understand everything a little.

Sunday, April 4, 1937. Berlin.

Deustches Ahnenerbe. Building of the German Ancestral Heritage Research and Teaching Unit; third floor, devoted to Agartha and Shambhala research.

Hermann Wirth, a man who studied the runes, religiosity and paganism of the Aryan race, was completely ecstatic.

Since his days as a member of the Thule society, and later with his annexation to the Ahnenerbe, he had dreamed of this moment. His face adorned by his thick mustache and aquiline nose could not contain the joy of what they had just obtained after decades of research.

An inhabitant of Agartha.

The young girl, who had appeared through the barely stable portal they had been able to create for less than a minute, lay on the floor.

Her blonde hair, almost golden with pink subtone, her stature, her beauty. She was the quintessential Aryan ideal. With her, he could give proof to the world about Aryan supremacy and their connections to the hollow earth country of Agartha.

The young girl's clothes were strange, similar to worn by males in the last century, yet she looked very feminine, and beautiful. The pink and black fabrics seemed to be woven with gold and silver, with some strange jewelry set in matching colors on the cuffs and collar. The girl's cheeks were still rosy despite being fainted, and her pale skin, as white as snow, further emphasized that red and pink color what seemed her trademark.

Hermann ordered his research colleagues to take her to a warm room and provide her with all the necessary comforts until she regained consciousness.

Immersed in his ecstasy, he believed when she upon awakening, he would be able to woo her and learn things about her world. His language, mainly, and thus continue with the research until the portal was completely finished and stable, to begin to establish relations between that mythical place and the third Reich.

Hermann dreamed of finding behind the portal strong allies, beautiful women, new technologies and, above all, the reason for all their theories had over the years.

And just at that historical moment, science had confirmed everything he had written. He wanted to see the faces of those who contemptuously called him pseudoscientist, liar, chatty occultist when he showed the results of his experiments of the last months.

Really, he could’t wait for the beautiful girl from Agartha to wake up and teach him everything he had to know.

Charlie was in her room at her father's palace. Her fiancé, Seviathan, had sent her a rather large black diamond for the occasion, but she didn't want to wear it.

She knew this day was quite expected, they would finally announce the wedding date, but for Charlie, it felt like being given the date when she would be handed over to the annual executioners.

Razzle and Dazzle were bringing the large metal and gemstone box where the necklace with the large diamond rested on velvet. The princess from hell felt disgusted at such pomposity; seeing shaking her head, the little helpers understood their mistress's mood and left with that item in search of something less ostentatious.

Charlie's long hair had been arranged in an up-do, and her delicate figure covered with the ceremonial robes of the princess of her people. Blood diamonds, fire rubies and twilight geodes surrounded her and made her feel heavy; she never wanted anything like that, really. She was sick of the world of hellish royalty, and being honest with herself, she was sick of Seviathan.

He had been her childhood friend, her first love, and her first bad experience. True, Seviathan could be kind when he’s want, but he exploded easily, dragging her down with him, and she didn't want that anymore. He might be polite, but he didn't believe in her or her dreams or desires, and Charlie didn't want to spend her life with someone who didn't share her vision, and if somehow she had to, she wanted that person to at least refrain from shattering her illusions with derogatory and hurtful words.

Besides, he was being cruel lately. As if he knew she no longer loved him.

Of course, not every man in hell could be like Charlie’s father.

For Lucifer might be the king of hell, the most evil creature in the universe, but at least, he knew how treat the people he loved with the courtesy they deserved, and although he had given Charlie hurtful words because of his stubbornness regarding the redemption of sinners, those words were for her to learn something from her father's own experiences, they were not like Seviathan’s words, which were simply born to hurt and mock.

That's why she was completely convinced had to stop the farce. So, looking at her figure in front of the mirror, she took off the heavy hairstyle had made for herself, dropping the pearl hairpins what were supposed to keep her hair in order, leaving only a long and simple ponytail behind it.

She took off the long skirt, the corset and all the pompous costume, and asked her goats to bring her father clothes that fit her.

In short, instead of dressing like a princess, she would come to the banquet as herself: just Charlie.

And while the clothes they brought her were ostentatious and old-fashioned, they were not as ostentatious as the heavy ceremonial dress. She chose comfortable low-heeled shoes, and stepped out into the ceremonial hall.

The sounds of her footsteps echoed down the hallway toward the stairs leading to the first floor ballroom.

Originally, Razzle and Dazzle were supposed to help her hold the heavy train of her clothes planned for the ceremony, but now, they only escorted her as emotional support, happy about their mistress at last decided to do her bidding.

When she reached the top of the steps which she was to descend, silence hung in the air. Dozens of adorned heads of the infernal nobility turned to look at the princess, a princess who was committing a heresy to their traditions. It wouldn't be so scandalous if it weren't for the fact the family to which she was making the rant was the second most powerful in the place.

Charlie sighed. She knews showing up like this would cause a scandal. What she is doing, refusing to wear the groom's coat of arms and gifts, was a relationship-breaking act. Now, she just needed to declare it out loud, and the years-long commitment to Seviathan and the Eldritch family would be over.

Her father and mother looked at her with surprise, but she knew, they supported her. It was no secret she had been unhappy with their relationship lately, and more than once Lucifer had suggested ending it if that's what she wanted. "You have all eternity to find someone, whatever it is you want," he told her. And he was right.

Just, Charlie wished she had made up her mind much earlier and not now.

And just as she began to speak, a beam of light engulfed her in front of the stupefied gaze of the audience.

The last thing Charlie saw before she was swallowed by the darkness of unconsciousness, was her father trying to reach her with his dark wings outstretched.