Devil’s Kingdom

by King, Bella

  I place it on the side of the sink, careful not to let it fall in and get lost in the plumbing.

  My eyes grow wide as I look back at myself. The pendant was a part of me for so long that I feel especially naked without it, like I’m really nude now instead of just pretending to me. I run my fingers over my breasts, feeling the stiffness of my skin in the clinical coldness of the bathroom. I wish I could feel warmth, but all I get is cold numbness.

  Aside from my hand, which is still throbbing like a bitch.

  I toss a few more blue capsules into the back of my throat, bending over and slurping water from the sink before turning away from my reflection.

  Even the heat of the shower doesn’t seem to warm me, and my nipples are still hard peaks when I step out, either from the excitement or the cold. I’m not sure which, but whatever it is, I wish that it would stop. I need to keep a level head going forward, and the feeling of misplaced arousal is bothersome.

  I slip into light-blue lace lingerie, a nod to the days in which I wasn’t always cloaked in black. It must be covered entirely with the stringent darkness of tight cotton, leather, and wool, but having it on allows me to retain some normalcy as I slip deeper into the underbelly of society. To lose that would mean to forget what life was like before my sister vanished and to slip away forever into the black sea of human suffering.

  My normal scent is covered with a deeper smell of spices and autumn fruits, and my face is cloaked with the glossy red mask I got from the arts and crafts store.

  I peer through the brown contact lenses that sit over my natural blue eyes, observing the masked woman in the mirror.

  The mask is evil, like the cashier insisted, but not in a harsh sort of way. It’s devoid of any emotion, uncaring, and smoothed out until it barely resembles that of a person. It’s like the memory of a face without a personality, a depiction of a face without a soul behind it.

  This is the face that will be among the others at initiation, the one that will ruin the Devil’s Kingdom from the inside out. I want to feel confident about this, but my stomach is in knots, and my subconscious is drifting toward failure instead of the success that I’m so close to.

  I don’t want to leave, but I’m good at forcing my feet to move when there’s nothing left in me. I march out the front door and back out into the streets, on my way to meet the devil and give him my soul.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Diavolo

  I need to find a replacement for Jenny.

  I brush a flake of cigar ash off the sleeve of my blood-stained white robe, kicking aside a trash bag I forgot to take out for the millionth time today. I’m a mess without a personal assistant, but I don’t have time right now to remedy that. I’ll seek a solution tomorrow.

  For now, my priority is to appear in front of a dozen or so masked faces, going through the initiation ritual in such a way that guarantees none of the new members of the Devil’s Kingdom ever dream about doing anything but serving the organization. I am their guidance into the dark, from which they’ll never return.

  I drop a silver mask over my face, squashing the end of my cigar in a glass ashtray on my desk. I used to wear a different mask during ceremonies, but I had this one made by a metalworker who used to be a crew member on one of my cargo ships. He makes art now, but he still serves the Devil’s Kingdom.

  I glance in the body-length mirror next to the door and wipe a smudge off the cheek of the mask with the end of my sleeve. The metal is polished to a mirror-shine, but it bends the light around it in such a way that even the simplest shapes are twisted into a warped version of reality. Looking at it is like looking into another dimension.

  The book that I’m supposed to read during initiation is sitting on my desk, but I don’t care to bring it. I can remember most of the speech from memory, and the rest I can make up as I go. I’m no stranger to these rituals. They take place often enough for them to feel like just another work obligation.

  Which is why I’ve decided to take this one a little further, to challenge the new recruits even more. They must be tough for the opposition that faces us, and I want to make sure we’re bringing on people who can handle stress well enough to endure a lifetime in the organization.

  I grab the bottle of whiskey from my desk before I leave, pushing up my mask and taking a hefty swig of the amber liquid. It burns my throat like fire, but it won’t be the only fire that I experience tonight.

  Slate is outside already, nervously tapping his fingers against the leather-bound ritual manual in his hands. His mask is similar to mine, but it’s nowhere near as reflective or light-warping. This is his first initiation as an assistant. I’m pretty sure he’s still traumatized from the one that brought him into the Devil’s Kingdom.

  “You ready?” I ask cheerfully, laying a hand on his shoulder.

  “Ready as I can ever be, sir.”

  I chuckle. “Don’t take it too seriously. Mostly, it’s just to spook the new blood. You just have to keep watch and make sure nobody tries to leave once the action starts.”

  “Yes, sir. Nobody leaves the Devil’s Kingdom once they enter.”

  “You’re goddamn right, Slate,” I say with a grin. “Now, let’s go. I don’t want to be late for the fun.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Zella

  There’s no moon tonight, and the streetlights don’t go past the end of the road onto the port. I’m consumed by the velvet black of night, and I haven’t brought any sort of light with me.

  I don’t have a gun either.

  I feel totally exposed out here, the cold seeping through my robe like water from the ocean, drenching my skin with its deadly sensation. I walk quickly to stay warm, but I find myself shivering before I’ve even reached the taped-off portion of the port.

  My footsteps sound like a million decibels against the quietness of the night. Not even the waves make sounds, drifting onto the shore with the softness of mist instead of thick, murky water. I don’t hear anyone else out here, even though I’m certain others will be arriving at the same place.

  Unless this really is just a trap.

  I tuck my hand into the pocket of my robe, hiding the crusted scab of the Devil’s Kingdom scarification from the wet air. It hurts less now that I’ve consumed the maximum dosage of painkillers, but I’m sure it will start acting up later tonight. I wonder how long this initiation is and what it will involve.

  Mentally, I’m prepared for a whole host of horrors. I know that Diavolo doesn’t like to play things safe. He pushes limits and has created a cult following through the years that seems impossible for even strong minds to avoid. If my sister can get sucked in, then I had better be careful.

  I squint my eyes through the darkness as I pass the first barrier toward the coordinates I was given. I can’t see the old tape that separates the good part of the dock from the bad, but I can tell by the smell of old rotted wood that I’m already past that line.

  I adjust the mask on my face, wishing that I had something a little more comfortable. My breath is collecting against the plastic, condensing onto it, and dripping down my chin. If I have to wear this for hours, it’s not going to be comfortable.

  But this goes beyond comfort. My mission is clear, and my intentions are to eliminate Diavolo. I will endure even the greatest suffering if it helps me to achieve my ultimate goal.

  I slow down my walk as I hear a murmur of voices in the distance. Just as I hear them, orange light comes into view, dancing across the uneven wooden floorboards. It appears to be a torch, and I suspect that I’m getting quite close to where I need to be. I couldn’t bring my phone for obvious reasons.

  More voices can be heard as I get closer, but they stop talking suddenly, disappearing into the night, and failing to return. The orange light goes out, and I’m left to stumble back in the dark, rushing forward to figure out where the light was coming from. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with the initiation tonight.

  “Show me your hand,” a deep voice
barks from a few feet beside me.

  I jump, my hand instinctively reaching for a gun that’s no longer on my person. An orange light flickers by the corner of my eye, and I turn my head to find a masked figure holding a torch standing by a small wooden structure that resembles an outhouse.

  “Your hand,” the masked man says.

  My heart hammers in my chest, aching with its intensity as I pull my hand out of the robe to show the man the geometrical mutilation on the back.

  He leans forward, waving his torch toward it and then leaning back just as quickly. “Enter,” he says, motioning to the outhouse.

  I assume this is some type of secret entrance, but Diavolo must have a weird sense of humor to make it in the shape of an outhouse. I pull on the handle, lowering my head and avoiding the torch-holder’s gaze as I step into a dimly lit room, barely large enough for one person.

  I let out the breath that I had been holding and look around. I don’t see anything at first, but then I notice that I’m standing on a latch. I bend over, scooting my feet away from the small square, and bumping my rear against the door.

  This had better be the entrance.

  I pull on the little metal ring attached to the latch, and it opens, light flooding in from a narrow staircase leading down beneath the ground. The only thing below us is the ocean, but there’s no water in the stairwell.

  I try to breathe normally, taking slow breaths as I hunch down and enter the stairwell. It’s built from thick slabs of stone, and it’s surprisingly warm. The heat grows as I descend it, as though I’m walking through the earth, heading straight to hell.

  The staircase begins to widen out as I go further down, and at this point, I’m certain that it’s leading deep below the ocean floor. I wonder if it will even end, or if I will be moving down these stone steps forever, trapped in an inescapable loop.

  I twist my neck, looking backward to check that I’m actually leaving the top of the staircase behind me. The door is a tiny dot in the distance, seemingly miles away already.

  This place freaks me the fuck out.

  But now isn’t the time to get spooked and turn back running. I march down the stairs, counting my heartbeat until it slows to something more reasonable. Unfortunately, that doesn’t last. It picks up again as the end of the staircase comes into view.

  I slow down, taking the stairs cautiously as I near an open doorway at the bottom. I can see more light dancing against the stone, and the crackling of a fire and increased warmth confirms that I’ve come to the right place.

  I have reached the Devil’s Kingdom.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Zella

  A cold mist sweeps my ankles, penetrating through the thick fabric of my socks and pants. The air is separated into two portions – dry and hot at the top ninety percent of the room from the torches lining the walls, and deathly cold at the bottom ten percent.

  There are others in the room, standing stoically in a semi-circle around an elevated stage made of stone. The floors, walls, and ceilings are made from the same stone, seemingly carved from one solid block. This kind of place shouldn’t exist, and yet, it does.

  My eyes wander down to the hands of the other new members, observing the similar geometrical scabs that they also wear. Whoever guided me here wasn’t wrong or deceitful. They gave me exactly what I needed to make my entrance into the Devil’s Kingdom.

  I take my place beside a shorter member in a similar red mask as I have on. I assume them to be female, which makes me feel a little more at home here. If it were it all men, I might be singled out.

  It’s entirely possible that the woman standing beside me, wearing a similar red mask, is the daughter of the women I spoke to at the arts and crafts store in the town center. It’s bizarre how disconnected parents can be from their children, as were mine when my sister ran off to join the mafia.

  I count thirteen people here, including myself, a fitting number for such an evil organization. I would think it to be intentional if not for the fact that I’m an extra.

  Or perhaps I’m taking the place of someone who couldn’t come. I have no idea what my secret guidance did in order to get me here, but they showed no concern for human life in the process. I could very well be the replacement for someone who was slain before they could arrive.

  I don’t think I would’ve done any different, to be quite honest. For me, the ends justify the means. The Devil’s Kingdom and their notorious Black Sugar are the cause of untold amounts of misery in the world. Anything I do to stop them will be justified.

  I stand rigid, clasping my hands in front of me, and side-eying my peers without turning my head. Nobody else is moving, and they didn’t so much as glance my way when I joined them in the room. They stare ahead of themselves, like statues waiting to come to life.

  I count the minutes as they pass, sweat beginning to drip from my wool cloak down my back. I’m dressed for the cold, but the stifling heat of the flames surrounding is torture. I really hope this initiation doesn’t go on for very long.

  The sound of footsteps catches my attention, but they don’t sound like they’re coming from another anxious member. They’re heavy, slow enough to be confident, and as they come closer, I feel the air in the room grow thick with anticipation.

  Suddenly, a flash of white appears in the doorway to my right. Heads of the other members turn as a man in blood-splattered white robes and a reflective silver mask steps onto the stage.

  Following his entrance is another man, a bit shorter and narrower. He moves to the door that I came from, standing beside it and crossing his arms over his chest. We’re not going anywhere.

  A familiar scent hits me – rich tobacco, leather, and spices. I know immediately that this man is the one responsible for creating the Devil’s Kingdom.

  It’s Diavolo Morte, the man of my dreams and nightmares, here in the flesh.

  A surge of adrenaline floods my body as he speaks. “Gathered today are the only ones who made it through the screening, but your loyalty will be put to the test one final time before you are allowed to serve the Devil’s Kingdom,” he says in a deep and powerful voice.

  I shiver at the echo of his voice, the sound bouncing around the walls and giving the illusion that he’s behind me and in front of me at the same time.

  “You have all brought something precious with you, something you would never want to part with. For some, it may be the ashes of a relative. For others, a pendant or a necklace.” His eyes cross over mine, but it must be a coincidence. “Tonight, you will part with what you value most dearly, and in doing so, lose that piece of you forever.”

  Thank god I didn’t bring my necklace. I wouldn’t have it in me to destroy it, but now I must think of something else. What could I possibly have on me that would pass as a valued personal possession?

  Diavolo’s voice booms louder as he makes a wide gesture with his arms. “Bring forth your precious possessions, and together, we will discard that which makes us human.”

  Cloaks rustle as people begin to withdraw the items that they came with. I desperately stuff my hands into my pockets, searching for anything that I can use. I wasn’t told about this part of the initiation.

  My fingers clasp around the only thing mistakenly left in my pockets. It’s the receipt for the mask that I’m wearing. I pull it out, folding it over a few times quickly to hide the words on it. Maybe nobody will notice.

  I look around at the others. They’re all holding small objects in their hands, but none of them have paper as I do.

  I jump as Diavolo’s deep voice booms toward me. “What’s that in your hand?” he barks, his shiny mask pointed in my direction.

  My stomach sinks and my mouth goes dry, but I’m able to think quickly enough to save my ass. “A note, sir,” I reply, “from my mother before she passed.”

  “Burn it,” he demands, jabbing a finger toward one of the torches on the wall.

  I pretend to hesitate, but inside I’m glowing for having gotten away
with using a receipt instead of a prized possession. I take slow steps toward the torch, showing both confidence and restraint with my decision to hold the thin piece of paper up to the bitter orange flames.

  As the paper catches fire, Diavolo addresses the others in the room. “Place your items on the floor and stomp them to pieces. Once you are finished, gather the pieces and come forward to place them into this bowl.” He pulls out a wide golden bowl from behind his broad back.

  He looks toward me again. “Take the ashes in your hands and bring them here.”

  I’m able to catch the flakey white ash as it falls from the burning receipt, blowing it out just before the flame reaches my fingertips. There isn’t much, but at least the evidence of my lies is gone.

  The heavy stomping of boots and the sound of broken glass, metal, and ceramic echo through the room as others destroy their precious belongings. I carry my ashes to the bowl as Diavolo places it at the edge of the stage, just in front of his feet.

  I dust my hands off into the bowl, cowering down low in fear of making eye contact with him from this close. I don’t think that he’ll be able to recognize me with the mask on, but there’s no telling. He may be evil, but that doesn’t mean he’s not smart. It takes a genius mind to create billions of dollars and a cult-like criminal organization out of thin air.

  I hurry back to my spot, breathing heavily into my mask as I leave.

  “Now,” Diavolo says, waving his hand over the bowl once everyone has made their contribution. “The broken pieces of who you once were must be bathed in new blood. Who would like to volunteer for the blood sacrifice?” His piercing eyes slowly scan the masked faces in the semicircle around him.

  The room remains quiet.

  “No one?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice. His eyes land on me, and he stops.

  A blood sacrifice sounds painful, but it would also seal my loyalty to the Devil’s Kingdom. He wouldn’t question me if I volunteered myself. I might even gain the trust that I need to get him alone.