This was originally going to be a one-shot, but it got kind of long for that, so I'm guessing it's going to be two chapters. This is tied in with works on my other name, but you don't have to read those to understand this, it just makes it cooler if you have. I'd tell you my other name, but part of the fun is figuring out for yourself, if you can. Enjoy this dark tale so far. Strangely, I enjoyed writing it, and will continue to do so for Chapter 2.

The Incinerator

Chapter One

Saint Torment

Nobody knew where the victims of the Shadow went. Nobody had even known they were criminal abductions until he had been seen once. He didn't care. He always wore a black shroud around him, even over his face, and was never visible until the second he struck. He had been seen on his third crusade, one that would get him his nickname. He liked that name. it was exactly what he was, a harbinger of the black, a crusader of darkness. He took them, he brought them to his hidden sanctuary, and he made them his for eternity.

Chatham was a big city Chatham-Kent county, and the abandoned hospital served as a perfect citadel for him. He did not remember his real name, only the one that had been given to him by the malicious voice that had formulated inside his head all those years ago. He was the darkness, he was malice, he was Saint Torment. Apostle of the great ones. The Shadow suited him as well, but he would always be Saint Torment. It was just what he did. His victims never died painlessly, and never died swiftly. Heated iron pokers, hand-crafted iron maidens, fishhooks between the sensitive webbing of delicate fingers...

All at his disposal. He had never created anything in his life, but somehow he knew how to create these implements of torture. His master told him, in the voice of the Dark Father he had never had. He vaguely remembered his old life. Parents whose voices had faded, and whose faces just eluded his grasp. He remembered church, and how he had scoffed at it. God? What God is one who saves through a strict code of laws that make very little sense? No, he knew his real God. The winged corpse-man of his dreams, Ogourus. His yellow eyes and glowering crimson tattoos were what haunted his dreams, not a Christ or a God.

His way was the way of blades and blood, of pain and suffering. And the Shadow was his Saint, appointed by this demigod, to reap his way. And what a way it was. His victims were random, the methods never. Under his belt he had over forty mutilated corpses, and as long as he obeyed the sickly sweet whispers of his master, he would gain many more. Or so he thought.

His name had once been Samuel Waller. ten years ago years ago he had suddenly snapped at the posing of a single question. Why do I exist? His mind had literally shattered after a week of no sleep, spent turning this question over in his head. His parents had him interred at the St. Thomas Psyche Center, but he had broken out in 2006. He had found his master then, and the question had been answered at the cost of his memory. He slid into the dank and musty solace of the hospital and tossed the unconscious body of twelve year old Tara Bridges onto the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Yes, this was why he existed. To rip, to tear, to torment... To kill. He had sedated his victim with chloroform. The alert had already been raised about a possible serial abductor, but kids rarely listened to such things. His master told him this smugly as he drifted off to sleep one night. The children were the easiest to take. Children and men. Children because their innocence made them ignorant, and men because they were cocky and stupid.

And the media was partly to blame for that. Everything had to be sexual to the media. Abductions were always custody issues or pedophiles, never one who simply wanted to smear blood upon the ground in gallons. The men thought they were safe in their own macho heaven. What they failed to account for is that strength makes little difference when a cloth drenched in chloroform closes around your mouth. While the Shadow cared very little who he killed, he did get an extra little kick out of butchering these fellows. He'd only killed two, but he found it so interesting how much they wept and plead for their lives.

But now was not the time to dwell on previous victims. Why, he had fresh meat for the table! She began to twitch mildly, and Samuel tossed off his shroud, revealing a body so covered with tattoo's it was nearly impossible to look at. Upon his bare chest were three circles, two smaller inside a much large one. The middle circle contained a 6-pointed star, the nexus of which was an upside-down pentagram. Simple as this was... The very sight of it seemed to whisper of unspeakable malice and evil. The second circle contained lines leading from each star point, to the symbols on the final circle.

Each one was dark and terrible as the center. To describe each one would be to gaze into the deepest aspect of each human vice the world has ever offered. Chaos... Fear... Agony... Rage... Isolation... and Torment. Samuel did not know what the markings he had gotten tattooed upon his body meant, only that his master had demanded it. He knew only the one. The mark of his master. The upside down arrow with the three lines intersecting through it. The mark of Torment.

The rest of him was not nearly as arcane. Rotting faces had been tattooed on every other blank space of his body save for his neck. Upon his neck a noose had been drawn, a noose that was also a serpent. The rest of it trailed down his formidable back. He did not bask in his own image, though Samuel Waller was quite attractive. Girls often tried to share conversation with him, but Samuel had as much interest in sex and relationships as his own demon lord did. His mind had been warped and shaped into a weaker yet just as malicious copy of Ogourus'.

He grabbed the girl by the hair as she came to and began to drag her down the hallway. Her screams did nothing to him. The hospital was surrounded by equally empty buildings, and was far enough from the road, and big enough inside, so the sounds simply reverberated and died inside it's hallowed hallways. Windows had been broken, yes, but the Shadow had taken pains to board those over. Even claimed a few of the ballsy teenagers who had chosen to undergo such an unwittingly dangerous mission.

"Mommy? Daddy?" The girl screamed when she actually could articulate words. For the most part it was simply indiscernible shrieking, of pain and fear. And why not? Samuel was now her worst nightmare, and she had no idea how bad it was about to get. He turned left into a set of double doors, and into a room his master had dubbed the Abattoir. It had been an observational operating room, sunken in a pit for other surgeons and students to watch the surgeries. It was no longer used for the kind of operations people would like to watch. Not normal ones, at least.

The floor was smeared in multiple layers by the blood of multiple victims. There were very few places where the white of the tile was visible. The table itself was caked in much more than blood. It had been stained sheer brown, and bits of bone had been glued there by the residue as well. His instruments sat beside, just as unsanitary. It was safe to say that Samuel did not care. And his master was present as well. He did not exist physically, not yet, at least. He had assured Samuel he was working on that, nearby, and soon he would join his loyal apostle.

The demon was nothing more than an image, but he could communicate his intentions quite easily with his Saint. He leaned against the far wall of the operating pit, his yellow eyes glittering with anticipation at the next victim. His vast expanse of obsidian muscle rippled as he pushed himself to a standing position to observe the child. Samuel grinned as his master sucked in his breath through his razor teeth and clasped his hands together before his skeletal face.

"This... Is a remarkable specimen, Saint Torment." Ogourus praised as circled about Samuel and the screaming girl, who's screams had intensified with no signs of stopping at the sight of the towering, winged beast she now shared a room with. Ogourus' tail lashed behind him as he observed the child, making no sound as it cut through the air, as it did not actually exist. "So tiny, so delicate, and so innocent!" His yellow eyes flashed, and he grinned. It was a sick and vicious smile, one that we may have all seen in the grip of our darkest dreams. "Such an offense to cut her, to kill her. Perfect."

Piercings also adorned much of the demon's face, as little flesh as there was there. Samuel had always found these things objects of vanity, but they were as much a part of his master as his haunting eyes, and he did not question it. "Thank you, my Lord. I thought you'd like her."

"Yes, yes." Ogourus said absently and leaned over, bringing his face only inches away from the girl. "Tell me child, do you believe in Jesus?"

"Yes, I do. He died for all our sins." She sobbed, turning her face away from his and shivering violently.

"That's good. He did exist, you know." Ogourus said in a voice that was somehow soothing, even in his snakelike voice.

"Really?" She said in a hoarse whisper.

"Oh yes. I fucking killed him. Who whispered to Judas? No devil, it was I! Who stood and laughed behind the guard who drove the spear into Christ's 'divine' breast? I!!!" The hideous demon was screaming into the girls face now, and Samuel simply watched.

The girl was crying again, but she did not scream, and Ogourus stopped, his breath heaving in and out, nonexistent upon the girls face. "But he came back! Jesus came back!" She whimpered.

Ogourus wheeled around and pointed his hand at a gurney that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. His mind alone careened it up and into the invisible audience. Samuel winced. He liked to pretend people watched his excursions, and half his attendance had just been decapitated. "THEN WHERE IS HE NOW!?! WHERE IS YOUR SAVIOR???"

"In my heart..." She said, less sure, but still resisting. Ogourus shook uncontrollably for a moment, before becoming still.

"Do your thing, Saint." The demon snapped and turned swiftly away from the girl, his tail lashing through the operating table. "And do it slowly."

"With pleasure, Lord." Samuel bowed his head, and with one arm tossed the girl upon the table. The steel wheelie-cart beside the operating table held all the instruments he would need. Two massive meat hooks, a length of rusted barbed wire, an extension chord powering a very large and exposed fan, several aging corkscrews, a cheese grater, and a darkly whirring nail-gun. This could be fast yes, but it could also be very, very slow. That was how his Master wanted it, and that was how Samuel would make it.

He fastened her to it with restraints that had seen many unorthodox operations, as indicated by the their sick brown tint. She struggled and screamed, scratched and kicked, but Saint Torment felt nothing. He had eyes only for his work, and it was about to ensue. As her feet and arms were finally fastened into position, it was time to begin. The nail gun was raised first, held loosely in Samuel's hands. He was not stupid, he just knew that if the police ever found this place, they would already have him in custody, or dead. His work was slow and efficient, and the little girl's screams made the hospital come to life.

The very building seemed to shake as he nailed her to the operating table by the webs of her fingers and toes. Her screams reduced to deep, whooping gasps as her mind could no longer articulate words for the pain she felt. Ogourus stood against the wall, his eyes glittering with joy. "Soon, my child!" The demon assured Samuel. "We will work together, be as one! And perhaps, when I am free... I will make you one of my children. My blood will flow through your veins, Saint Torment! Oh the things we will do!"

Samuel finished his job slowly, in manners that I will not even write. Every one of his slick, blood-soaked tools were used against the picture of innocence on the table, and by the time she finally stopped moving, she was not recognizable. The demon raised his arms skyward and cackled. "See, Gods?! This is your world now! Blood, violence! Carnage! Your children are all weak, like lambs to the slaughterhouse! My children are the destroying angels! You will fall, and I will rise!"

Samuel smiled and bowed his head as his Master screamed, and his eyes rested upon the girl ont he table. Her face had been perfection, and now it was split and cracked by the crude blow-torch he had made with an old vacuum, a Zippo and some gas. Samuel Waller's mind was far gone, but he was still human, for now at least, and a shudder ran up his spine. All this, at his very fingertips. If he were to become a demon like his master...

Ogourus drew up behind him and studied the corpse. "It's perfect, Saint. A work of bleeding art... You will be a sound ally. Your feeble human mind is leaving you bit by bit each day. Soon, you will be able to become without your mind truly breaking. Most humans cannot comprehend the immense power bestowed upon them if they are turned. Their minds do more than become insane, they simply shatter. I have confidence in you. You, will not break. Pray with me Samuel."

Samuel smiled and raised his head as the words of his Master's language slipped from his own lips. "Tartarus, Infernus, Grigorus-" And he saw her. The girl. Not only on the table, but up in the audience, staring down, directly into his eyes. She was as if he had never completed his deadly work. Samuel screamed and backed up, passing through the image of his master and falling down upon his ass.

"Master!" Samuel sobbed, and cowered at Ogourus' feet. "The girl! In the seats!" The demon looked down at him, in pity and laughter and shook his horned head.

"Scared of a vengeful spirit, Saint? For shame. You see, vengeance is an evil virtue, a power I myself command. As long as you bear my mark, she cannot hurt you. She's simply an image, much like myself." The demon studied the stands. "Besides, there's nothing there. I can see ghosts where mortals cannot. You are safe."

Samuel peeked timidly up and found that the demon was right. "I'm so sorry, Master... My weakness..."

"Forget it, Saint. What are you still doing here? Toss her in the Incinerator, and go collect another." The demon stepped backward into the shadows. Only his yellow eyes remained visible. "I must leave, and rest my mind. It takes a remarkable amount of energy to be here with you. I suggest you be grateful."

"Oh, I am, Master. Every second I breathe the air..."

"Yes, yes. Grovel later. You should rest as well, before your next kill. I want a woman, next. One safe in her belief that nothing will ever change. A belief you will completely devastate with your presence. It amuses me so." There was a burst of blue flames and the eyes disappeared. Samuel took a deep breath and grabbed the bloody girl off the table and slung her tattered corpse over his shoulder. He walked down empty halls, halls he knew well, who knew him too.

In this place most people would be terrified of, Samuel found solace. The decaying building were the loving parents he never had. They comforted him, and...

The little girl stared out at him from one of the rooms. He whirled, but the apparition he had seen from the corner of his eye was gone. It was simply an empty room, with only a single gurney and a large viewing window. The only little girl that he saw was the burnt and ravaged one that stared at him with eyes that had been pierced with his nail gun.

With a shudder that was not exaltation, Samuel turned away. The words of his dark Master comforted him, made him feel safe. He trudged on, his heavy boots thudding in the hallowed halls of the damned. That was what this place was, now. A little slice of Hell... Lair of not just one demon, but two. One of human face, and another who wasn't even close to human. His Master would not even pretend to be. He could possess people, yes, but only as pawns in his grand picture. When things really needed to be done, the demon would do it himself.

Samuel hung a right through a set of double doors; upon which he had spray-painted a large pentacle. Through the doors was a great iron room, rusted and coated in blood. A sizable pile of bodies had already been stacked here, and by the smell, they had just begun to turn over. He had a pattern, five body pile, and then into the Incinerator. He had used this pattern since escaping, and had lost count of the bodies he had disposed of. He thought it between 100 and 40, but wasn't quite sure. He moved to the massive black oven he had built himself, under his master's instruction.

It was huge and oval shaped, with a large circular door. He had wire the building so that the smoke would be contained in a few upstairs rooms until a foggy day where he would release it. He would keep the bodies stacked until such a day. And luckily, today was that day. He placed a hand on the door's handle and slid it open. There were many lumps of coal and ash in the chamber of the homemade crematorium, but apparently no ignition system. Not that the rational mind could see.

Samuel hefted the dead girl into the middle of the chamber and retreated back out. He methodically tossed in the bodies until the pile law strewn across the ash-covered floor of the Incinerator, and he slammed the door. He stepped back, closed his eyes, and let the teachings of his master wash through his brain. Green sweat then began to leak slowly from his pores. There was a sudden burst of flames from inside the hulking monstrosity of an oven, and the bodies began to burn.

"In the name of Torment." Samuel breathed the scent of scalded flesh deeply and left the room. He slid through the halls like the shadows he had been named for by the terrified people of Chatham, until he found solace in one of the operating rooms. He had furnished a bed out of the gurney, and numerous paintings he had done himself hung around the nearly bare room. One was pitch black save for two leering yellow eyes. Another showed a girl with her head bowed and a shotgun in her hand, pointed up toward her face. Behind her, a hand on her shoulder, was Ogourus, grinning with hidden knowledge toward the viewer of the painting.

His Master, of course, had shown him how to paint these sick masterpieces. Ogourus was an art fan. Both literally and, as with the bodies, not so literally. He scorned most art that Samuel saw as he walked by stores and buildings while he was hunting. "None of them tell the truth!" Ogourus had scowled as they went to work on one particular night. "None of the so-called artists who make these images know of shadow... Of real darkness. Even the drooling followers and creators of dark music know nothing of the darkness that lies behind their very field of vision..."

Samuel knew. Ogourus had told him of everything that crouched in the shadows. Everything he knew, at least. That scared Samuel. Ogourus talked as if he knew all that lay in World's Beyond, and in his home world, the world of demon's, Golgothana. Apparently it was a massive series of stone catacombs and arena's. Samuel asked him what was on the world above the catacombs, and Ogourus became furious. Not at Samuel, just furious. He had tossed the not-yet dead body against the wall with only his mind and snapped the man like a twig.

"I don't know..." The demon had scowled. "None have seen it." It left Samuel wondering what else his Master had not seen. What lay beyond even the well concealed darkness.

He awoke sometime later, drenched in sweat and shaking from a dream he could not remember. Tears stood out in his eyes, and he tried in vain to recollect what he had seen. He knew it had been terrible, but not necessarily frightening. It had shown him something... Something about his Master... The rest was lost in obscurity. He remembered one other part though, as he looked up to see the little girl frozen in the doorway, her blue eyes regarding him sadly.

Samuel's breath hitched in his throat, and fear bubbled within him but he remained silent. As quickly as she had come, the girl faded. His body shook uncontrollably, and for a reason he could not explain, Samuel Waller put his head between his knees and wept like a broken-hearted child. His master would have slain him where he stood had he seen this, but Samuel knew he was asleep. He could feel his master's presence in his mind always if he was awake, but now he was alone with his own thoughts. He found his mind always became fuzzy when his master was gone.

He was glad Ogourus was rarely gone long. He didn't like how his thoughts seemed to wander whilst his master departed. He usually was so focused... But he asked himself questions during these periods. He moved to get out of bed when the voice spoke in the silence. "This isn't freedom."

"Who's there?!" Samuel screamed, and grabbed the pipe from under his pillow.

"Only you." The voice responded sadly. It was the voice of Tara, he knew. He looked around and saw her nowhere, but her voice continued, and he stood, circling around the room, the pipe clutched tight in his hands. "It should only have ever been you. He did this to you. You could have been yourself. None of this is your fault."

"Leave me alone!" Samuel roared and flung the pipe against a wall. There was no more sound, and Samuel collapsed, his body heaving with sobs. He thought he could remember some of his dream, even if he didn't want to. And as he lay, crying in confusion and unfounded sorrow... The girl watched him from the door, her eyes sad and even caring for the man who had reduced her to nothing more than a charred corpse. In fact, she looked a lot like an angel.