Hell With a Side of Horses
Chapter 1: Hell Can Go To Hell
Adriano Dinozzo found himself in front of a man dressed in white amongst a plain of clouds. Was this death? Was he at the gates of heaven? Glancing back he saw his body still on the forrest floor, his face pressed against the base of a tree with his neck perpendicular to the rest of his spine. What a way to go, shot in the back by traitorous former allies would have been something he could live- or rather die… with, but “Cause of death: tripped on a shallow root and died while running away like a little bitch” was pretty shameful.
He looked back at the man and wondered why the man was getting taller. He quickly realized that the man before him was not growing taller but rather he was sinking down bellow the clouds. “Am I being sent to hell?!” he said as the panic began setting in, eventually his panic being overtaken by rage, “Fucking Saint Peter is that you?! I made a pilgrimage to your damn basilica and you send me to hell?!”
“It’s just a prank, why do you guys always have to be so mad?” was the man’s only reply. Adriano was plummeting now, and he felt something shift at the back of his neck just before he hit the ground.
Coming to he found himself in a dense forest, trying to remember how hell worked in The Inferno he remembered that the second ring of the seventh circle had something to do with trees, “Really God?! Tripping counts as suicide?!” He bellowed upwards. Trying to think of where else he may be he recalled that the first circle was basically just an inferior version of heaven so this might be it, but that was for unbaptized yet otherwise virtuous people so he shouldn’t be there. Maybe it was purgatory, but he had only skimmed Purgatorio and didn’t recall any of its descriptions.
Perhaps he was tackling the question from the wrong angle, maybe this was Hades as described in the Aeneid. He paced back and forth trying to remember how Virgil described the place then abruptly stopped when he noticed how close he had been to almost tripping on a shallow root. He then noticed that the ground was covered in shallow roots, “Gah! Sorry God! I swear I’ll never contemplate pagan writings ever again!” He said while frantically looking for anywhere free of roots to stand.
He heard movement in the near by bushes and shouldered his SMG, “Come out! Hands above your head!”
The wooden monstrosity that emerged was unable to comply, as it had no hands. Instead it lunged towards Adriano and was seemingly unfazed by the burst of 9mm bullets he put into it. Adriano soon found himself being carried in the mouth of the beast as it sprinted through the woods, screaming for someone to save him the entire way.
As it crossed through a clearing there was a distinctive volley of cracks and bangs that Adriano knew all to well. He fell to the ground, the wooden beast now reduced to saw dust. That was the sound of multiple SMLEs, just his luck that the first people he would meet in hell would be a squad of British soldiers. Slowly he got to his feet, hands raised above his head as he heard them approaching.
“Bloody ‘ell even in this new world we’re still having to pull Italy’s dead weight.” One of them remarked.
Between that remark and the out of period uniforms worn by the five soldiers, he guessed that they had died during the Great War, and he quickly threw together a cover story. “Thank you, which way is the front line? My unit was tasked with blunting the Austrian’s Trentino Offensive when I was knocked-” he was cut off by the one man whose uniform didn’t seem to be from the Great War.
“Judging by your M33 helmet you died in the Second World War, not the First. Furthermore the Ms on your lapels make it clear that you are in fact a card carrying fascist!” The man exclaimed with a finger pointed at him.
The mood of the other soldiers quickly darkened and their bayonets were suddenly all pointed at him. “You thought you could pull a fast one on us, but we have someone from the future!” A female member of the group exclaimed.
“1951 to be specific.” The future man clarified.
“Uh guys…” The member who was dressed as a sailor asked meekly.
“So when and where did you die?” The eldest of the infantrymen asked.
“More importantly, how many crimes against humanity did you commit?!” The one with an American accent demanded.
Adriano blinked as his mind processed their questions, “Um, I died in September 1943 on the island of Cephalonia. I don’t think I committed any crimes against humanity though I’m not entirely sure what can be defined as one.”
“Guys?” The sailor asked again.
“Ah, at ease everyone, this guy is a genocide victim rather than a perpetrator.” The future man said.
“WHAT?!” Adriano exclaimed.
“Yeah your entire division got massacred by the Nazis when Italy switched sides.” He explained.
“What did the Duce do in response?” Adriano asked, finally realizing why those Germans had been chasing and shooting him.
“Oh he was cool with it.” The future man replied. Adriano angrily pulled a sheet of paper out of his coat pocket a ripped it up. “What was that?” The future man asked.
“My party membership card…” Adriano seethed.
“Guys! He’s speaking Italian and we’re speaking English, yet we understand each other perfectly. I know this because as a sailor I’ve picked up so Italian words and I hear him say those in Italian but the rest in English.” The sailor exclaimed.
“That can’t be he’s speaking the clearest English I’ve ever heard from an Italian!” The oldest infantryman replied.
“You’re both wrong because clearly we’re all speaking Neapolitan, the greatest Italic language ever.” Adriano shot back.
“Maybe there’s something magical going on…” The girl suggested with a smile.
“That’s stupid. But come on, we should get back to the path.” The American suggested.
Adriano followed them back through the woods to the path that they had apparently been on prior to going to rescue him. As they got back on the path a man in desert camo pointed at them. “See, here’s some more cosplayers, they can show you to the convention center, now will you please quit following me?” the camouflaged man said to the pair of knights following him
“For the last time knave we know not of the cosplay you accuse us of, nor are we going to this center of conventions.” The first knight stated.
“Indeed! We are going to take Jerusalem!” The second added.
“Man is there anyone who wasn’t sent to hell?” Adriano asked out loud.
As if on cue, an affluently dressed old French man with a powdered wig stumbled out of the woods. Then collapsed to his knees on the path looked up and screamed, “KANT! YOU DID THIS TO ME!”