The Demon Steed from Hell

So Lucifer blazed through the Underworld, at a most furious pace; the howl of his engine could be heard through time and space.

SATAN sat on his throne, uneasy in his thought; it was time for some changes, something new he had sought. So summoning his evil hoard, a fresh decree he made — He had plans for an update, new plans He had laid…

“Listen my Demon Seed and listen to me well, I need a new ride, a new ride forged in Hell. No more firey stallion or creatures of wild look, I want rolling steel, skin and bone, and I want it by the book. Hell on Wheels I demand, and it’s you who will provide, and you’ll suffer like never before, until I get my ride. Make Hades’ bellows glow and echo of anvil’s strike, I want a machine fuelled by souls, I want my fuckin’ bike. Make it howl like a thousand madmen, and colour it black as sin; fashioned the frame from broken bones and seat from tortured skin. The cables must be stripped sinew, and tank of demon skull, and light my way with dragon fire, in case my path is dull.”

The cries of the Damned rose, as Hell’s hammers crashed; the sounds of unholy construction, heard above the lashed. Pistons were forged in the lake of fire, while rims laced and trued; the unholy task slowly took shape, while Satan sat and viewed.

The order came down now as a new tempo was required: “Faster now, my little imps, lest more suffering is desired. Too long have I sat here without the wind in my hair, and the longer I must sit, the longer you’ll despair. Use all the Seven Sins, spare none for this Devil’s ride, but of all the sins make it glow, glow with Devilish pride.”

Long, low, sleek and black, Satan’s ride finally sat; dark as sin and belching flame, human bone was its frame. Skulls of demon, as desired, fuelled by souls as required; dragons’ flame to light its way turning the darkness into day. Pestilence, Famine Disease and War, one gear each for the Horsemen Four, this was the sled the Dark Lord had craved, fashioned by the damned and unsaved.

Twisting the throttle and away with a yell, it was time now to ride the Highway to Hell. So Lucifer blazed through the Underworld, at a most furious pace; the howl of his engine could be heard through time and space.

Satan’s Imps watched as their Master rode away, quietly shitting in their pants as there was something they forgot to say. Seems with all the bellowing, and threats of immortal pain, some things were not quite tightened, like the foot pegs, bars and chain.

“Pretty sure the shift is loose, and the front wheel is on by only a thread,” they said. “Fuck it, what’s He going to do, we can not be made deader than dead.”

Devil poem by Pyro, drinking rum in Cairns.

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