A Newer Darkness

by Athanasios Galanis 

Time: March 23^rd, 1974, Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Today was always special in the Hess family. All the transplanted Reichians celebrated it in the same way because it commemorated the Ermachtigungsgesetz of 1933 when the Reichstag gave power to the National Socialists in Deutschland. They passed the Enabling Act, which went on to dissolve the Reichstag and start the Third Reich. Everyone wore their best uniforms accessorized with family heirlooms worn in the Fuhrer's ranks.

Rolf Hess arched his heavy brows down and felt a surge of pride looking through the ordered ranks of the faithful. Tight, square phalanxes of four men deep, four across stood at attention. The damp cavern that they gathered in was illuminated by many a bare bulb reflecting off of their polished jack boots.

They stood before a massive portrait of Adolph Hitler who looked on in what Rolf swore was profound approval. On either side of the portrait and before a massive podium were long banners of a field of red and white stripes with an updated swastika. The hall grew silent save for Rolf’s boots going closer to the podium at the center of the raised dais. He was so like his father that most gasped when they met him thinking the former Reichsfuhrer was come again. He had the thinning hair and heavy brows that met over startling blue eyes when he was confused or angry. The long aquiline nose seemed harsh, for his lips were thin and near slit of a mouth.

Everyone in the hall, including Rolf was dressed in updated SS black. He was a man of rippled proportions whose lean, muscled form was rigid in rider’s pants with a thin blood stripe down both sides. He was clean-shaven, his dirty blonde, crew cut hair in stark contrast to the high collar of his immaculately tailored jacket. Blood piping trimmed its edges and four pockets. Cold blue eyes scanned the crowd and clasping his hands behind his back he launched into his sermon.

“Fellow Reichians. We commemorate the hour of our deliverance with the Ermachtigungsgesetz of 1933 but we also commemorate the acquisition of the holy relics of 1956. The Fuhrer’s remains were in the hands of the Bolsheviks and jealously guarded. With His guidance, His old Reichsfuhrer, my father, Rudolf Hess entered the KGB Headquarters and liberated them for their return to us, their rightful keepers.” This was an update of the usual rehashing of the events of 1933 when the Nazi party had taken over the German Parliament and ended the Weimar Republic. Many in the audience became excited at the new stories their esteemed leader was sharing with them.

“My father did not stay in Spandau Prison as the world long believed. He was not without his own allies and within a decade of his imprisonment he came to our holdings here in Argentina.” He looked on through the crowd and saw nothing but attentive faces. “He was then responsible for the continuation of our movement and from the ashes of the Third Reich came our present, Final Reich. We have an exalted name to carry and we will not be found lacking. The First Reich lasted for a thousand years under the Teutonic Order and their Holy Roman Empire. The Second Reich burned brightly yet only for a short time with the Prussian Empire. The Third burned the brightest and would’ve eclipsed them had it succeeded.” At every mention of their near success Rolf fought back tears of frustration. They had been so close.

“We honor their achievements every time we congregate with more than one of our number or when we show pride in our race and heritage. The world does not share our beliefs. In the Americas, the United Kingdoms, and even in our Deutschland wherever our kind come together we are persecuted like schvartze or juden.” Coiled rage shook Rolf’s face as he continued. “Yet we still come together. We cannot be stopped. Even The Lords of Hell admired our resolve to go on in the face of this overwhelming opposition.”

Many in the audience turned to one another in confused discomfort but were quieted by steely stares that did not tolerate weakness. They didn't understand this infernal reference. Rolf was familiar with this intolerance of weakness, and it had made him the man he was today. “These Lords of Hell, Nephilim, came to my father when I was but four and bade him sacrifice to them. They were Dark Nobility and wanted to recruit Third Reich survivors to their ranks. He refused to bow down before anyone but the Fuhrer. This adamant faith in the face of doom beyond mortal death gave them pause.” Those uncomfortable had mostly settled into their seats and began to be swayed by his sermon. “At their indecision Rudolf Hess, our Prophet, offered up this consideration to them. If they wanted to capture the hearts of evil men in the modern age, they should give them a newer evil.”

Rolf looked about the crowd and saw a few had gotten up and were heading to the doors; he nodded to a few hidden brown-shirt security men and went on. “As they had not taken his soul my father continued to entrÈe them. Who else in recent history had even approached the brilliant evil of Adolph Hitler?” Some in the hall were insulted at the idea of their Fuhrer being evil. Whatever he’d done had been to sub-humans, hardly more than the animals they ate.

“Do you know what they answered? Joseph Stalin.“ A shockwave went through the assembled: the Bolshevik, communist brute. What an insult.

Still others stood, not liking this turn of their little social club. Getting together and beating a few natives, juden, or schwartzs was a communal bonding experience; this talk of evil was very discomforting, very gauche.

“They were answered by a cry straight out of Hell’s black ninth ring.”

“Stalin!?!”

“Stalin’s not good enough to throw pebbles at my shit! He killed out of greed and lust for power. His successes were nothing more than an over-achieving mobster. Mine were out of pure hate! I couldn’t abide living with those filthy vermin. If the Third Reich had gone for a thousand years, I could have rid this world of every sub-human.” More brown-shirts had come to the exits blocking them. Those that tried to leave were protesting their detainment and were met with fascist argument of fist or cudgel across the face and head. Protest soon stopped.

“What audacity, who else could have struck out from Hell’s own heart like that? My father dropped to his knees in dread worship of his Fuhrer’s voice. He remembered its shrill command and was overjoyed to hear it once more.” He motioned for more brown-shirts to come through the ranks and take over vacated seats. “The Dark Nobility were justly impressed and summoned him forth like we will today.”

There was further shock going through the crowd, but none got up to leave. They were all captivated by the sermon and only reacted to its excitement. Those who did were removed by the brown-shirts who then closed ranks by filling the vacated seats.

“When our Prophet beheld his Fuhrer once more he kissed his feet. Among the Dark Nobility had been an Arch-Nephilim, Melusine Rothschild, who pronounced my father elevated from damned to favored apostle for his unflinching dedication. He would go forth and establish His Fuhrer's worship.” Rolf continued intent on his missioned sermon.

“His remains are enshrined in a gold cabinet beneath this podium. He is exulted like no other. There has never been a man damned by his life’s work who was then elevated to predator, a carnivore from cattle.”

Some of the still seated black-shirts looked contemptuously at those that tried to leave. Rolf was happy with the night’s progress. He thought there would’ve been more dissenters but was pleased that they had just enough. Someone was looking out for them.

“All who have kept their seats through this Revelation are Reichians of the first order. All true Teutonic Knights. Everyone of you has been tested, their lineage investigated and found to be of purest Aryan stock. Those who tried to leave showed their treachery at their refusal to listen to our most revered lessons. Pity. They will, however, be fitting sacrifices to the rebirth of our Fuhrer.” Silence met Rolf’s pronouncement. He had expected this and had allotted some pause in his sermon hoping for the help that came. He left some of his plans up to faith and was not disappointed.

A voice that moved a nation to monstrous, collective acts on innocent and guilty rose from beneath the podium. None who earlier had doubted their senses clung to further skepticism. They threw it out when his unmistakable voice and charismatic power grabbed their attention and squeezed.

“Who among you would not willingly give your life for our race? I did, and it has put me at the top of Hell itself! I stand beside fallen angels and contribute to the Great Plan with Azazel, Ba-al, and Lucifer.”

Unnoticed by the rapt assemblage, three brown-shirts brought one of the dissenting black-shirts bound to his knees at Rolf’s feet. Two held the man down while the third handed Rolf a ceremonial SS dagger. Rolf sliced the man’s throat left to right, ear to ear, in an elegant arc ending dagger-point first directed at the crowd. The action was reflected and frozen forever in the victim’s eyes while the blood flowed like a fountain to soak the platform.

He was left to flop onto his back while Rolf straddled his body and sliced the thorax from his pelvis to the earlier cut. Dipping his hands into the open cavity they come out holding the heart, kidney, and liver he placed reverently aside. He returned to the now unmoving form and with a few deft cuts removed the colon.

The body was then taken out of view leaving a gory trail as mute evidence of what was done. A bloody altar heaped with similar gore was wheeled out and left just behind him. Rolf placed the still warm heart and organs on the altar. He sliced each in two while intoning an incantation.

Rolf was then lost in a trance. He chanted the incantation over and over and didn’t notice the change in the silence around him. There was only the sound of hundreds of rapt breaths before, but now it was the collective silence of those breaths held. He came out of his trance when he felt the weight of an approving hand fall on his shoulder.

The Fuhrer had come to stand beside him. In his life Adolph Hitler wore the grey unadorned officer’s jacket, but in his rebirth there were rider’s pants and jackboots of the Final Reich replacing the older plain black slacks. The face was as the massive portrait behind him but on closer scrutiny seemed colder, with more venom, barely leashed hatred and intolerance.

He cared only about the Final Reich and its members.

He stood before the altar and breathed in the souls that were held in the organs upon it. Once finished, he was lost in its rapture until it came back to the souls still here. He was lost further in the terror and betrayal the dead felt just before their sacrifice. It was good to be the Fuhrer and to have such faithful souls.

His souls.

Promised and marked for him in Hell. Every one of these fine young men and women would be his to enjoy in eternity. There would be even more now that the Redeemer, The One had come.

The Storm.

It would make the Great War and its sequel, the Third Reich War seem like a bloody nose.

The Second Coming but not for the Son of God.

The Second Coming was evil’s chance.

Fair was fair. This was their turn.

“The pure men and women who for a brief time followed me and made the earth tremble would be proud of their sons and daughters here today. You are all Teutons strong and pure. I salute you!”

At that utterance, his right hand rigidly flew up and out in a heil. It was answered instantly by the entire assembly with a booming…

Siege Heil!

It dwarfed any remembered from Nuremburg.

The salute promised the renewed majesty of the First Reich when the Teutonic Knights ruled under the Holy Roman Empire. It hearkened back to the time when Rome was more than just the political machinations and intrigues of today’s Catholic Church. When Rome ruled and meant its Legions and its knights. The might of Rome now would return in the Legion of Hell and the knight would be reborn with the new Teutons of the Final Reich.

Rolf felt this in his almost bursting, prideful heart. His father was one of the few Teutonic Knights who survived the Templar’s near annihilation. He taught him the mysteries and secrets of the mystical men at arms. They had taken much of their strength from the pure, clean Christianity the filthy Catholics put down in the French Southlands centuries before.

The Catharae had not relied on a worship of a Jew, no matter how extraordinary He may have been. A talking dog is still a dog. The Teutons flourished in the First Reich and had gone on to be part of the Templars when their first Messiah had come. The Fuhrer had almost achieved the return of the Holy Roman Empire and came so close that its end was all more tragic when it failed.

Now as the portrait behind His God rose to reveal the rest of the waiting sacrifices Rolf knew they would have another chance to avenge the injustices committed upon them.

About the cringing black-shirts were many brown-shirts, men and women, hands behind their backs. Upon sight of Him and the Reichsfuhrer, they clicked their heels and salute with an arrogant snap of their arms. The Fuhrer and deputy jutted their chins forward in response and forgetting the crowd in the hall walked to the assembled victims.

The first person they came to was moving his head about trying to discern what was going on. He had been beaten so unmercifully his eyes were covered in blood from bruises and cuts. On his right upper arm was a concentration camp tattoo. Rolf saw it and chuckled. He'd been told there was a Nazi hunter trying to find him and his father but did not know he had penetrated this far. It was too rich an irony to have come so far and meet a more horrible end than he survived decades before.

Rolf motioned for one of the Reichians to clean the fellow’s eyes. He wanted him to know who was before him and to let his Fuhrer have his fill of the desperate horror to come. Once his eyes were whipped clean he squinted and blinked to see an unmistakably familiar face. He still saw it in nightmares and horrible memory yet he saw it now, with his eyes, not memory or nightmare, and he screamed.

“I’m in Hell!”

“No, Juden, Hell has come to you,” Rolf Hess pleasantly replied and gave his Fuhrer a ceremonial dagger to begin the feast whetted by this delicious appetizer. Adolph Hitler’s rapturous face thanked the Reichsfuhrer for this succulent preparation.

Copyright © Athanasios Galanis  2012