Free Infernus by Mike Jones

reality of their self-righteous world, which means that you can torture them most heinously and they won't even believe it is happening to them. To escape their torment here, they dreamed of a world where they were superior to others. Their man-made religion allowed them to believe they could treat any mortal with contempt, or kill, or slaughter thousands in holy wars. Or, better and funnier, they thought they could oppress children or other mortals with breasts. Infernus is too good for them. Their reality is that they burn and burn, as they always have."
    "Suppose," the vampire satyr replied, licking his blood-encrusted lips, "I do both. I mean, refuse to torment them, then torment them."
    "You are truly the most hideous son ever born by a father. And you are my burden to bear. Prepare for my mounting."
    The father tore the son open from behind and intercoursed the wound for many lifetimes. The son screamed throughout, as did everything else that died there.
    "Now we may enter, my child."
    "It is indeed a large pit, Father. Look here at the entrance. What do I see? On the left side of the wicker, decayed gate, it looks like a corpse lying - is its eyes nothing but seething worms? Yes! With a long wad of cloth rolling out of its mouth."
    "This is delightful!"
    "Oh, Father, it is so enigmatic! It has writing on it. It says: 'Suppose that servant is wicked and beats his fellow servants. He shall be torn to pieces and assigned a place for hypocrites.' Is that what this place is, Father?"
    "Let us proceed and see, shall we? Your threshold of pain will be increased many fold by the time you approach 'The Wall of Full Cycles' on the other side."
    "Please do not tell me, Father, that this is a place of religion , for my fury at what these demons have done in the names of the gods is hideous."
    "It is!"
    "Then I now see how unnecessary it is to make us participate here. It will be my pleasure."
    "And mine," Red said, blood flowing from his blackened sockets in pride for his son. "Look at our first charade."
    "But wait, Father - you have not allowed me to say what scene is repeated over and over on the right side of this wrecked wicker gate."
    "Oh, well, if you must, you pus-born bastard, proceed!"
    "There are seven or eight men dressed in flowing robes that are chained to a great chest."
    "And what sign is attached on the treasure chest, my son?"
    "It says: 'It was for freedom that you were set free! Do not become slaves to legalities again.' What can that mean?"
    "There never was a more stupid race than man, my blood-filled bag. Not only would this foolish lot lock up the freedom they were given in a great chest of rules and regulations, but they willingly kept their own eyes from seeing it. Watch what the approaching beasts do to them. You won't stop laughing for many lifetimes."
    Indeed, large blood-encrusted harpies came with razor-sharp spoons. They fell on all the self-imposed victims with no delay or mercy, scooping the tongues and eyes out of the screaming creatures. The job was efficiently done, as it had been done billions of times before, and the bound preachers screamed with exactly the same measure as they had before the harpies fell upon them.
    "Don't worry," said the father to his son. "They will heal and you will get to see this again before you fulfill your destiny as our (the only) world's greatest horror - The Scream. I promised you. Isn't this hilarious?"
    The son was already rolling on the hissing floor, helplessly laughing/screaming.
    *****

"My son, look at this, the first episode of 'The Milling Murderers.' Now, this is not - I repeat - not a tableau. Not a viewing of something long past, long dead. This is actually happening as we speak, and as I remount you."
    A man was writhing face down on the floor of a metal room that glowed red-hot. Another man stood above him and poured acid from a bucket over every inch of his body. Anonymous mewls issued from the pudgy potato head as he screamed in horror and