by Quinn Loftis
There was no sense in simply standing there wondering while the place burned. He started forward and tried not to breathe too deeply. “At least there are no demons,” he muttered under his breath as he looked around to verify there was nothing lurking behind the crumbling structures or burning cars.
“So far so good,” Ra said. “Now to just keep from getting crushed by falling pieces of the buildings.”
Osiris, ruler of the underworld, stared at the demon, Crescious, before him. The little mongrel was going on and on about some mortal female falling into hell.
“She’s on fire, my lord, but she’s not burning up,” Crescious whined as if the mortal not burning up was an affront to him personally.
“Creature.”
“Crescious, it’s Crescious,” he huffed. But then he recoiled as Osiris snarled. “But you can call me whatever you want, my lord.”
“Do not forget your place, demon.”
The demon bowed low and raised his hands in surrender. “Of course, my lord, of course.” He panted as the fear wafted off of him.
Osiris wanted to kick the affronting muck, but then he’d just have to find a new lackey to report back to him. He’d already gone through twenty before he finally found one who didn’t tremble and try to hide behind things when Osiris summoned him. Though Crescious was an annoying twit, at least he trembled in front of the king of the underworld instead of behind a wall.
“Did you see this mortal with your own eyes?” Osiris asked the demon.
Crescious nodded vigorously. “I did. I wouldn’t waste your time if I hadn’t. I overheard two of the level-seven demons whispering about it.”
Osiris frowned. “I thought you said the mortal was on level one.”
“She is. She is.”
“So how would the level-seven demons know about her?”
“They were on level one and heading down to level two when I heard them. I assumed they were headed back to seven, though I cannot guess as to why they were on one to begin with,” Crescious explained quickly.
Osiris stood up from his throne and paced restlessly. It had been a very long time since a mortal had fallen into his lap.
“Did you try to touch her?” he asked.
The small demon nodded. “Yes, and she burned me. The fire on her is not hellfire. It’s something strange.”
This made Osiris curious, and very little made him curious anymore. Then something else occurred to him. “Why didn’t the Beast report this to me?” he asked, speaking of the demon he’d put in charge of level one.
Crescious shrugged and then must have remembered how much Osiris despised the stupid human movement and hurried to speak. “I do not know, my lord. When I realized the mortal was there, I looked for him, but he was nowhere to be found.”
Hmm, another curious development. Osiris reached out through his mind to the Beast, a feat the king of the underworld could perform with all of his minions. “You are to report to me immediately,” he said into the demon’s mind.
“Yes, my lord,” the Beast replied. “I am in the upworld. It will take me some time.”
Osiris gritted his teeth. He did not like to wait. It wasn’t that he didn’t have patience. He had tons of patience, but that didn’t mean he wanted to use it. “Why are you in the overworld?” he asked the demon.
“Searching for information.”
“The information you seek wouldn’t concern a burning mortal female in my realm, would it?” Osiris could feel Beast’s irritation, which made him chuckle. When would they learn that he will always know? However, it was strange he hadn’t known the moment she’d entered his realm. He knew about the young Pharaoh king and had been keeping tabs on his progress up the levels.
“It does,” the Beast replied. “I was hoping to obtain some information before reporting to you. I didn’t want to waste your time if I had no answers for you, my lord.” He added that last part after a moment's pause. The older demons hated the fact that no matter how powerful they were, Osiris would always be more powerful.
“Get me the answers and then return immediately.” He closed the link before the Beast could respond. He looked down at Crescious, who was wringing his claws together and chewing on his tongue. Osiris rolled his eyes. “You know I hate it when you chew your damn tongue. If you do it again, I will rip it out.”
“Of course, my lord, of course,” Crescious said, bowing over and over.
“Let’s go,” Osiris said. From one breath to the next, he had teleported from his throne room to the first level of the underworld. It had been quite a while since he’d been to the first level. It wasn’t his favorite. The souls on this level still had some semblance of morals when they had kicked the bucket. They almost weren’t worthy of hell, to be honest, but if the pearly gates didn’t open, then here they came.
He glanced around and huffed. There were no flames here, but it was hot as hell. He chuckled to himself. Hot as hell, get it? Yeah, yeah, whatever. One tries to keep a sense of humor as the ruler of the underworld. Even though the temperature was hot, there was actually a forest made of frost on level one. And yes, it was literally called the Forest of Frost. A river ran through the middle of the landscape, the River of Shame, dividing the Forest of Frost from the Swamps of Futility. It was almost picturesque. See? Not nearly enough torture going on here.
The Forest of Frost infused the inhabitants with a bone-deep coldness, while their outside bodies maintained a second-degree burn. The souls in the forest were tormented by their lack of empathy for the world they’d been a part of. They were paying for the secret scorn, the whispered cruelty, or the passive-aggressive pain they had purposely inflicted. Their souls were enduring physically and emotionally what they had done to others, multiplied infinitely. But really, it was a slap on the hand. Throw ’em in the lake. That was what Osiris wanted. But alas, even he had rules to follow.
The River of Shame was a place for the souls that had their secret sins. These were things the sinners thought wouldn’t hurt anyone, so why not indulge? Piece by piece, they gave away their character, morals, and sense of right and wrong. So, for eternity, they would wade in the River of Shame, living out their biggest fear, with all of their secrets being played out for everyone to see. Of course, it wasn’t really happening, but they didn’t know that. For them, it was as real as their life had been.
The Swamp of Futility, this was one he actually kind of liked because of its clever subtlety. How could futility be eternal damnation, you ask? Imagine a life of no worth, no value, no purpose, in which no one cares about you. Did you feed the hungry? No? Did you give clothes to the cold? Did you hug a widow or show love to an orphan? Or did you discard them as though their lives meant nothing? The Swamp of Futility is where the soul lives eternally being tossed aside over and over again. They walk the streets begging for help, and people sneer at them and turn away. They become a child again, wondering if anyone will want them while over and over they are pushed away by society. The souls grow old and sit in a house alone, forgotten, discarded because of their uselessness and infirmity. No one considers them wise or respects them. Instead, they no longer live, just wait to die.
Futility is not only feeling pointless or useless. It is also knowing you have no way to change it. That one was at least a little more painful, Osiris thought as he turned away from the souls that wailed in the swamp. No, level one was not a place he visited often because he wanted to tell those here to shut up and endure it. They were there because of their own choices. The ones burning in fire? Now they had the right to scream and wail and gnash their teeth because that shit burned to the marrow, but the nerves never died.
His attention was pulled from his mental dissection of his realm when he felt the mortal’s presence. It was odd. Normally, if a mortal stumbled into his realm, they began losing pieces of their soul immediately. Those were the ones who were headed for his realm when they died anyway. If they didn’t belong to him, the mortals simply wandered aimlessly while the heat s
corched them. Level one was not nearly as hot as the deeper levels, but it would, over time, eventually burn a mortal. The ones who were not destined for the underworld had the opportunity to leave, but of course, there was a price. Nothing in hell was free.
Power radiated from the newly arrived mortal. Osiris and Crescious followed the power’s trail. The closer they got to her, the more excited Crescious became. He was practically jumping around like a kangaroo by the time they reached her.
“There, there.” The demon pointed and jumped. “There she is. See, I told you. She burns but she doesn’t.”
Osiris let out a slow breath and told himself not to stomp on the demon. He really, really wanted to. But the flaming mortal female held his attention, so Crescious was spared, again.
She was lovely. The flames around her only enhanced her beauty. Long, blonde locks fell around her shoulders. Her skin glowed with life despite the fact that she should have been grey ash. Her lips were red and full. Her body was long and lean in a dress that hugged her thin form. Osiris was curious indeed. How long has it been since I’ve had a bride? The last one had jumped into the Lake of Fire. All right, fine, he’d pushed her, but that little detail wasn’t important. How long ago had that been? Three centuries? Or maybe five? Time was irrelevant to him so he honestly didn’t keep track of it. But as he stared at the mortal beauty laying in his realm like an offering, he realized that perhaps it was time that he took a consort again. Maybe that would assuage his boredom for awhile.
Osiris licked his lips. He wanted to taste her soul, but he couldn’t just yet. The fire surrounding the girl protected her even as it didn’t burn her up. He didn’t want her soul to be completely corrupt. He liked a little innocence, but if she were too pure, she would be much more difficult to groom to his liking. His seduction could only go so far on an unwilling subject, especially one that was not to be his in the afterlife.
Osiris reached out his hand. But before he could touch the fire, Crescious grabbed his arm. “No, my lord, please.” When the demon realized what he’d done, he released Osiris and scuttled away. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Am I going to have to cut off your claws again?” the lord of the underworld asked. He hated to be touched. The lesser beings of hell were not worthy to touch him. He’d cut off many claws and hands for such an offense. There was a pile of them somewhere, maybe on level three or four, he thought. “I’d rather you didn’t, my lord,” Crescious whimpered. “It takes so long for them to grow back, and it really is an inconvenience to you.”
Osiris couldn’t deny that. “True.” He turned his attention back to the girl and once again reached out to see if he could put his hand through the fire. As soon as he made contact with the flames, his skin burned, but he did not pull it back. He pushed through until his fingers brushed her cheek. She felt like silk. The charred skin was a small price to pay compared to the reward of getting to touch such exquisite flesh. When he pulled his hand back, it was black.
He stared at the appendage and watched as the dead skin sloughed off and fresh muscle and tendons appeared, followed by new, pink skin. The rapid healing was normal. The rawness and tenderness of the new skin, however, was not. There was only one type of fire that would keep him from healing completely. “Viscious,” Osiris snarled the name as he glared with new understanding at the flames. What in the hell is the dark fire king elemental’s flames doing in my realm?
“Why did that happen?” Crescious stuttered out. “That never happens.”
“Not all fire is the same, Crescious,” Osiris said. Why he was answering the little burden, he didn’t know, other than the fact that he, too, was dumbfounded. Why would Viscious send a mortal to his realm?
“You can’t remove the flames?” the demon asked.
No, he couldn’t. But instead of admitting that, he ignored the little demon. Osiris had no control over the fire of the light or dark elementals, a fact he often lamented. That power was from Mother Gaia herself. His realm was not of the earth at all. It was a completely separate realm, a spiritual realm.
“Do you think this mortal has anything to do with why the young pharaoh is here?” Crescious asked.
Orisis’s brow rose. He hadn’t considered that. This particular descendant of Ramses had contacted his ancestors before, around a decade ago, so he thought nothing of the boy entering the underworld. A part of the young king's soul belonged to Osiris simply because it was his legacy. His ancestors had worshiped Osiris, and so they had reaped what they had sown. Though their suffering wasn’t nearly as horrible as those in the lower levels, it still wasn’t what they had thought they’d receive for their years of service. The fact that they had thought they were worthy to share in his glory simply because they worshipped him just proved how unworthy they were. Stupid mortals, always seeking a way to glorify themselves.
“Perhaps,” he finally answered the demon. “Go find the young pharaoh. Find out what he is up to. He is in the burning city where his ancestors reside.” Osiris thought it amusing he’d placed Ramses and his people there. They wanted to be a part of the underworld, thinking they would live in a city of riches. So, he gave them the city, and now they repeatedly watched it burn to ash. That is what their greed earned them.
“I hate the burning city,” Crescious muttered. “It’s not bad when the city is in the final stage, but when it rebuilds and starts over, the screams get annoying.”
Osiris agreed. He only ever visited the pharaohs when the city was simmering at the end of a cycle. “Go,” Osiris barked at the whining demon.
Long after Crescious had left, the king of the underworld continued to stare at the female. He wasn’t sure if it was her that he desired or just the idea of companionship. After all, having a bride wasn’t all hellfire and passion. He hated listening to them moan about how hot it was, how the screams kept them awake, and blah, blah, blah. It was hell, not a bloody resort in the Caribbean. But, if he didn’t like her, there was always the chance that she’d stumble into the lake of fire. It was easy to do. Somehow, many of his brides just seemed to overlook it as they wandered around the underworld trying to find something to do when he was occupied.
Osiris could feel the eyes of the level-one demons peeking at him from behind the dead trees in the Forest of Frost. He glanced around and heard them shift, trying to hide their presence from him.
“Step out,” he growled.
Three level-one demons and two level-four demons stepped out from behind the trees and bushes.
“What are you two doing here?” he asked the level-four minions.
“We … we … we …”
“Are you a damn toddler telling me you have to piss? Spit it out already before hell freezes over.”
The other, non-stuttering demon hit the idiot in the stomach and then said, “We heard about the mortal.”
“And so you just thought, hmm … let’s wander around hell to find this mortal because we are lords and can do whatever we want?”
“Who's going to miss a couple of demons from level four?” The demon, who apparently had a pair of balls, asked. “I mean, how many demons does it really take to torture a few souls? The rest of them can handle it.”
Though the demon had a point, he wasn’t allowed to defy Osiris. So, point or not, he would suffer. “You both will have your tongues cut out. You”—he pointed to the idiot—“for being a simpering fool, and you”—he pointed to ballsy—“for having the nerve to question your lord.” With a thought, he sent both level-four demons back to his hall and instructed the tormentors there to remove the tongues. There was a pile of those in hell somewhere, too.
Osiris looked at the level-one demons. “What has the Beast assigned you to do?”
“We go to the upworld, topside,” the smallest of them said, pointing up as if Osiris couldn’t possibly understand what upworld meant.
“We are the pesterers,” the one in the middle said.
“Then why are you here and not there”—he pointed up,
glaring at the smallest one—“pestering the mortals that need to be pestered? And if you tell me that it’s because you heard about the mortal, I’m going to have you staked to my firing wall.” Osiris had a thing for flaming arrows. They were fun.
The three demons stared at him, blinking in tandem like a trio of robots with their mouths clamped firmly closed. So, they weren’t complete idiots. Good to know he had some semi-quality workers going out into the mortal realm.
“Leave. Do what you’re meant to do, or I will end your existence.” A second later, the place where they stood was empty.
Osiris folded his arms across his chest and tapped his chin with a long, sharp fingernail. He didn’t like the idea of leaving this mortal girl here all alone, but he liked the idea of staying in level one even less. Coming to a decision, he called two of his most faithful demi-lords.
“My lord,” they said in unison and bowed. Their big black wings tipped down in deference along with their heads.
“Rise,” he said.
The two creatures stood up straight. They were over six feet tall, though still a few inches shorter than Osiris. They each bore seven foot tall leather-like wings that rose up over their shoulders like protective shadows. The demons' faces looked much like the depicted gargoyles in human mythology, with bright yellow eyes with vertical pupils. They had forked tongues, pointy bat ears, and slits on the front of their faces that served as nostrils. The bodies of the demi-lords were muscular and black as pitch, with clawed toes and fingers. They scared the fire out of the inhabitants of hell whether souls, mortals, or other demons. Granted, any power they had was because Osiris graciously bestowed it upon them.