Inferno 7000

"Shouldn't we get naked?" said Greg hopefully.

Sofia shot him a dirty look.

"This is scientific, not Satanic, Greg," she said.

"Whatever." Six hours ago he'd come to her apartment with flowers and a huge bottle of strawberry vodka; he'd ended up drinking the vodka, while Sofia drank black coffee and drew on the floor of her apartment. It figured that his first date with a hottie from Miskatonic U would consist of watching her draw pentagrams.

"Okay, you can start lighting the candles, Greg," she said. "If you're not too drunk already."

"I'm not drunk at all," said Greg, congratulating himself on the minimal amount of slur in his voice. He pulled out his lighter and tried to flick it on casually, slipped and burned his finger a little, said "Ow" before he could stop himself, and then dropped the lighter. He scrabbled on the floor for a moment. "Fuck," he said.

Sofia watched him silently.

Finally he got the lighter and started lighting up the ring of candles Sofia had arranged around the pentagram. Each of the nine candles was in the centre of a weird symbol, drawn in red paint; Sofia had copied them all out of a heavy leather-bound tome she kept on the table. "Where'd you get that?" Greg had asked when he first saw it. "Don't touch it," had been Sofia's only reply. She had incredible legs and perfect tits, but even Greg had to admit she came across a bit cold.

"Okay," said Sofia, "now you stand in the centre and I'm going to read from the Ritual of Black Khazaghul."

"Uh, is this safe?" said Greg.

"Probably," said Sofia, "I mean, why wouldn't it be?"

Greg thought he detected a note of sarcasm in her voice but he decided to ignore it. He stood in the middle of the pentagram and folded his arms.

"I'm pretty sure we're supposed to be naked for this," he said. "I saw it in a movie -"

"Yeah, I bet you did," said Sofia.

"I'm just saying, what if it doesn't work because -"

"Let me just check the instructions written by Khazaghul, First Sorcerer of the Ark of Infernal Shadows," said Sofia. "Hm, oh look, I've already read it two hundred times and there's nothing about clothes in there at all, so shut your dumb face, Greg, or I'll find someone else to help me with this."

"Who else is going to put up with this bullshit," Greg mumbled, fully aware that the answer was "anyone horny and attracted to knockout girls in gym pants." Sofia ignored him and leaned over the book. "Quiet now," she said, "I'm going to start reading and I swear to God, if you interrupt me, it could open a rift in the Veil between Earth and the Infernal Realms that will devour us all, so for fuck's sake please keep your mouth shut."

"Fine."

"Okay," said Sofia. "Here we go. IYO ENCANTAR KE KZEGAZA. SHAVASHASHA KHUGRAR CH'THYOREKK, KHA ULALUKLA KOVESH GHULKEL. MAGRASHTA YANG-KLUD WYR FULLUK. KHE DASHKA TAKL'ZUL! KHE DASHKA TAKL'ZUL!"

Greg very carefully did not say anything, but he noticed that two of the symbols on the floor had changed from dull red to flaming orange, and were emitting a blazing light, which he thought was fairly unusual.

"KHE DASHA TAKL'ZUL! KHE DASHKA TAKL'ZUL!" Sofia wailed, nine times in all. After each wail another symbol blazed with infernal fire. When all nine had lit, the pentagram burst into flame, as did Greg's hair. He screamed and started punching himself in the scalp.

"FUCK!" he yelled. "Sofia, I'm on fire! Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck fuckfuckfuckfuck!"

Greg realized that he was no longer standing in Sofia's apartment but on a vast plain of dark stone. Above him the sky was the colour of dull blood, and a skull-shaped moon leered down upon him with awful iridescence. On the horizon of the blasted plain loomed sullen ruins and crumbling pillars of ancient stone, forgotten by the living. Also his clothes were now on fire.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," said Greg, swatting at his clothes. In front of him stood a man in mouldering grey robes, his face a wreck of scars, blood issuing from his wrists. "Thank the Spirits of Light," gasped the man. "The incantation worked! Who are you, traveler of worlds?"

"Ahhhhhhhhh," said Greg.

"Wait," said the ragged man, snapping his fingers. Greg stopped being on fire instantly. He patted himself gingerly to make sure he wasn't seared too much.

"Listen," said the ragged man. "I don't have much time before the darkness takes me! Please, listen, walker of the worlds. My name is Alharazed of Kithros. I traveled here to rescue my beloved, the Princess Kitra, who was kidnapped by demons. Alas... the Infernal Realm has many temptations. I entered into a binding contract with the demons of fire, who promised me power in exchange for my soul... and my contract has come due. Please, for my sake, rescue my love from the evil that binds her - the utterly wicked and degenerate Zagrazel, Duke of Filth!"

"Um," said Greg.

"I brought with me an ancient sword, built to slay lesser demons of Hell," gasped Alharazed. "Please, take it! Take my place, warrior, and return the Princess Kitra to her homeland!"

He held up the hilt of an enormous sword with a black of the blackest obsidian, whose hilt glistened with strange jewels. Greg took it automatically and then immediately dropped it. It was heavier than he expected.

"AIEEEEE!" shrieked Alharazed. "HE WITH THE MILLION EYES FINDS ME!"

There was a deafening shriek that shook the firmament, and Alharazed was consumed by a pillar of fire. Greg was left alone in the wasteland with the obsidian sword.

"Huh," said Greg. He looked around. The pentagram at his feet was fading.

"Sofia?" said Greg.

"Hello?" said Greg. "Anyone?"

"Sofia, where are you?" said Greg.

"Sofia, can you hear me?" said Greg.

"Goddammit, Sofia, this isn't funny," said Greg.

He picked up the sword again. It hummed with power.

"Um, ku dizzledee doodle ba boo," said Greg.

Those were not the ancient words of power from the Ritual of Black Khazaghul, he soon realized.

"Maybe there's someone in those ruins who can help me," Greg thought. He started walking.

*

For hours he trudged across the blasted plain, growing no closer to his destination. But at last he saw a thin column of smoke rising in the distance. As he drew closer he saw a circle of deep-red tents gathered around some kind of bonfire. He came a little closer and saw a man in jet-black armour, covered with steel spikes and a face-concealing helmet, standing guard at the camp's edge.

"Hi!" yelled the guard. "Brave companions! An intruder! Ready the Instruments of Pain!"

Greg did not like the sound of that at all. "Wait!" he yelled. "I'm just lost!"

The knight drew a sword of black steel, thin and jagged, with a blood-red poniard. "Lay down your weapon, or I will cut off your arms and legs and cast you limbless into the Pit of Screams," said the knight.

"Sure thing, buddy," said Greg, gingerly putting down his sword. "Dumb thing was pretty heavy anyway."

"Now approach the fire and state your business," said the knight.

Greg walked slowly into the camp. Six more knights, identical in appearance, stood around the fire; at the fire's edge stood a man in red robes, wearing a crown of charred iron. His face was frozen in a rictus of horror.

Nearby, chained between two iron posts, was a beautiful woman with long white hair. She wore only a narrow scale girdle and a translucent wrap of red silk around her torso; both garments served to accentuate, not conceal, her remarkable figure. She glared at the six knights with iron defiance.

"Greetings, swine," said the red-robed man in a shrill whine. "I am Lord Pazgul, and these are Knights of the Order of Pain, devotees of Zagrazel, Duke of Filth. Who are you, who dares venture into the Duke's domain?"

"My name's Greg," said Greg. "I'm just kinda lost, no offence or anything. Can you guys direct me back to, uh, Earth?"

"Where?" Lord Pazgul squinted at him.

"Earth. Um, like the Ritual of Black Khazaghul, do you know that one?"

Lord Pazgul shrieked horribly. "Speak not of the Ritual of Black Khazaghul, or I will send flaying worms to rend the flesh from your living bones!"

"Jeez, okay," said Greg, raising his hands. "Didn't mean to offend."

"Still you have given me no explanation for your presence on the Plains of Blood," screeched Lord Pazgul. "Perhaps ten thousand years of exquisite torture will jog your memory! Men, sieze him!"

"Whoa!" Greg took a step back. "Yo, I was also looking for Princess Kitra, you know her, dudes?"

He felt a rush of air at his side, and then something struck his hand. He turned. He was now holding the obsidian sword. Apparently it had leaped into his hand.

"Whoa," he said, "how'd I do -"

The seven knights of Pain drew their weapons and charged. The black blade swung Greg's hand, cleaving through the first knight's armour and splitting him from skull to groin. The two halves of the knight fell to the earth. Lord Pazgul shrieked an incantation.

"Ummmmmmm," said Greg, as the sword yanked him backward, just in time for three thorned swords to swing in front of his face. The blade rose in a swift arc, and all three thorned swords were slashed in two.

"Ahhhhh," said Greg, as the sword swung again, parting one knight's head from his shoulders and embedding itself in the skull of the other. Red blood spurted from the wound. Greg felt his sword arm jerk back, and his right leg rose, kicking the dead knight away. The sword twirled in his hand. Three more knights closed in, their blades whirling in a complex dance; Greg was jerked right through the whirling blades, bending slightly as they whistled past his face, and the obsidian sword impaled one of the knights on its tip, then cut upward, tearing through flesh and armour alike. Greg ducked and whirled, and another knight found his legs cut out from under him. Greg rolled to the side; two swords buried themselves in the ground, inches from his face. He sprang into the air, raising the blade above his head, and brought it down, in a stroke that cut another knight from shoulder to hip.

"Uhhhhhhhhh," said Greg.

The final knight thrust his sword, and Greg stepped nimbly to one side, twirling his blade around his enemy's until it was embedded in the thorned knight's back. The knight fell to the ground. Greg turned to Lord Pazgul.

"I curse thee with the Incantation of Filth!" screamed Pazgul. He vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving behind a scent of burnt dung.

"Whew," said Greg. He dropped the sword.

"Impressive," said a voice.

Greg turned. It was the nubile woman who had spoked.

"How about letting me down?" she said.

"Uh, sure," said Greg. Her hurried to her side and stared at the chains binding her arms. They were pretty solidly attached to the poles. Also, the proximity of her barely-covered breasts was extremely distracting. He realized that he was breathing heavily.

"Do these have a key or something?" he said.

"Why not rend them with your majestic blade?" she suggested.

"Oh yeah," said Greg.

He went back and picked up the sword. It felt a lot heavier than it had before.

"Who did you say you were looking for?" said the woman.

"Oh yeah," said Greg, "Princess Kitra."

The sword suddenly felt a lot lighter. It raised his hands, and with two mighty strokes shattered the chains. He lowered it again.

"Ohhhhh," said Greg.

The beautiful woman rubbed her wrists. "I thank thee, brave knight," she said formally. "I am Dalile, Warrior-Maiden of the Kullites. May I know the name of my rescuer?"

"Uh, Greg," said Greg. "Greg of, uh, Earth-Land."

"Well met, Greg of Earth-Land," she said. "It is my task also to seek a prisoner of the Duke of Filth: Gwendla, a witch of the Eastern Swamps, and advisor to the Chief-King of my tribe. She is a prisoner of Zagrazel, the Duke of Filth."

"Whoa," said Greg, "so is my princess. What are the odds?"

"Excellent," said Dalile darkly. "The Duke has taken many beautiful captives from all of the Eighty-Nine Worlds. Those who have visited his Court claim that it is a hive of the most foul decadence and perversion."

"Jeez," said Greg.

"I propose that we join forces, Greg of Earth-Land," said Dalile. "I know the path to the Duke's Court, and you are evidently a fearsome warrior. Perhaps we can aid each other."

"Good idea," said Greg.

It was absolutely a great idea - in fact, Greg thought it was one of the best ideas ever. He watched with great interest as Dalile bent over to pick up one of the fallen knights' swords, causing her scale girdle to ride up her long bare legs.

"Follow me," she said, holding the thorned blade at her side.