Chapter Text
He walked through the wide dark corridor. He tried to stay in the middle to avoid the waves of cold air coming from the walls. His bare feet were already covered in frost. He hated this place, he hated walking through that corridor. It always left him tired and frozen to death.
The little rectangle, whose blackness seemed denser than the surrounding darkness, was getting bigger with each step, and the corridor seemed to lose its width, the piercing cold air now touching every part of his being until he felt nothing but the freezing cold from three sides. Thankfully, the ceiling was way beyond his field of view. And perception, overall. He once heard that the temperature there was able to turn tears into ice, not that many beings dared to cry there.
The moment he pushed the obsidian black door, a wave of heat hit his body. It always had been overwhelming, this sudden change. His eyes watered from how dry they had become in a matter of seconds, and he had to blink rapidly to see properly.
The room, or rather a hall, was a complete opposite of the corridor that seemed to want to suffocate the intruder with its gradual narrowness. The walls were marble, unstained by any signs of the cruelty that had taken place between them. Only the scarlet veins of the stones looked as if they cried bloodlike tears of despair, not wanting to witness any blasphemous acts that could never match their white purity. He would have laughed at the irony if it had not been for his determination and fear.
Just like in the corridor, the ceiling seemed too up high to reach, however, he was sure the black columns that formed a path towards the throne were supporting it, and he even heard insane stories of others trying to climb up them, hoping to find the escape, a gate to the Purgatory or at least the Surface. The only thing they had found, though, was their Lord’s wrath.
The hall was so light it almost seemed as if the Heaven’s Gate was waiting right at the end of the path. The gentle flames in orange lanterns were dancing happily and inviting, but he knew that if he came closer, he would burn from the heat wave only. His so far frozen feet were now stinging, feeling as if the marble floor was covered with smoldering coal.
He felt the presence of others behind the columns, behind him, but he paid them no mind. It would be stupid of him to get distracted now when he was able to defeat the claustrophobic corridor. He could never get used to this cold even though his own chamber was rather chilly. But all of the Hell was cold and dark. Except for this very marble-walled hall.
The throne was getting bigger, however, he felt as if eons passed since he opened the obsidian door. Once he got closer, he could see a figure sitting lazily on a black throne made of the same stone as the columns. The figure’s black robes blended with the stone and it seemed as though the unidentifiable darkness stared at him with its cold eyes, one was ruby, the other sapphire. He felt the sudden sadness and hopelessness flooding his whole being as he approached the figure and felt its eyes bored into his own, the figure’s expression blank, uninterested. But he had to keep the eye-contact even though he knew the figure could read all the feelings in his own golden orbs.
He noticed some poor souls chained to the spikes of the throne, their heads down in fear as the figure stroked each of their hair in some kind of mockery of the affection they all desperately craved.
The figure sighed and, finally, spoken up as he kneeled in front of the throne, his knees burning.
“What brings you to my humble layer, General?” the Lord’s voice was sweet and low.
“I think you know, my Lord,” he answered, trying to make his own voice clear and loud, to not show any sign of anxiety even though he knew the Lord could feel it.
“But I want to hear it from you, General, it never gets tiring!” the Lord’s eyes shone in excitement and mischief, but he knew better than to trust it. Because right after they turned even colder.
Silence followed his exclamation. Silence and the chained souls’ sniffling and pathetic whimpers. He wondered for a second how had they managed to get themselves into that position, however, another wave of hopeless sorrow reminded him of the only thing he should care about.
“I felt it again, my Lord…” he started, but his voice cracked. He saw as a derisory smirk curved the Lord’s lips. “And it seemed ten times stronger than the last time…”
“Oh, I know it did!” his Lord exclaimed, his posture shifting so he could sit straight. “I own your soul, General, I know about everything it feels.”
He knew. He knew it all too well.
“My Lord… please…” he started, feeling the tears threatening to drip, “I beg you… give me just a lifetime, you know the best it’s nothing compared to eternity, compared to how long I’ve been serving you, a life-“
But he could not finish his pitiful begging because a sharp, cruel sound of laughter echoed between the white marble, its sound reaching the darkest corners of Hell, sending a message that some fool, once again, had tried to reach the throne and find just a small portion of the hope they all had lost.
“General, thank you, you do not know how much joy you give me every time you kneel right in front of me. Honestly, I feared you had given up, I have not seen you in centuries like that! But you could never fail me, General, right?” he knew his case had been lost from the very beginning but the sorrow that grew, the memory of his soul breaking apart still fresh and painful made him more desperate than he had ever been.
“Please, my Lord, I’m asking for just a lifetime, and I will be back and never ask you again,” he had not noticed when did his voice start trembling or when did the sour tears find their way down his cheeks.
The Lord’s smile did not falter, though his blue eye started darkening in a silent warning. He stood up and walked towards the kneeling General, their eyes still locked. He had always admired this General’s determination. He bent down and took his face into his palm.
“General,” he started, his voice dripping in honey, “you know better than me that it is not possible. And it’s your own. Fault.”
With each accented word he dig his nails deeper into the General’s jaw, and his smile turned into a grimace of disgust. General felt his empty body shuddering in terror. He never liked the feeling of the Lord’s touch. His hands felt as though they were made out of smoke and gas, something not materialistic, something no one could grasp in their own hands. His Lord was all like that, from the pointy nails to the black robes. His feet always left these bizarre stains that seemed like a dense black liquid that evaporated within seconds. However, his grip was always strong and painful. The places he touched burned and were scared for weeks, a stigma of being foolish enough to beg.
“I know my Lord, I know it is my fault but-“
“What would you even offer me, General? You know I don’t do things out of the kindness of my heart.”
General’s breath hitched when he felt his Lord’s nails breaking through his paper-thin skin.
“You have nothing to offer, General. Because everything you own belongs to me.”
The tears reached the shallow wounds and his face started stinging.
“I… I will offer myself, my Lord,” he whispered, finally looking down, trying to take a break from these burning eyes.
This time, the Lord was left unable to form any words. His hand fell weightless down his hip but his lips, once again, curved into a smile.
“As I said, you could never fail me…” he, too, was whispering. “Look at me,” he ordered, “and tell me, what makes you think I would want to lose one of my Generals, huh?”
“Because,” the General slowly raised his head and once again locked his golden eyes with the Lord’s, “it would make you stronger, my Lord. And my punishment in the Abyss would be to your benefit.”
“You seem to have thought it out, General, but that was expected.”
The Lord turned around and walked back to his throne, not forgetting to kick one of the chained souls somewhere across the stomach. He sat down in the same lazy position the General found him in.
“Alright then,” he started, his face, once again, indifferent but his eyes were shining curiously, “this might be interesting so I will let you go back to the surface.”
The General could not believe his ears. Even his tears suddenly stopped.
“But,” the Lord lifted one long blood-stained finger, “under my conditions. You will not go back as a creature you once were. You will go there as a Tiefling. You can’t forget where you came from, General. I will not give you a whole lifetime. You will get twenty… no, thirty years. And you will have to find that poor soul you left there yourself. But given your… unusual bond… I’m sure it won’t be a problem, General.”
He could not believe it. It was way more than what he had expected.
“Oh, and you can’t try any funny tricks or else I’ll come for you earlier. And… I guess I’m generous today, but during the time on the Surface, you can try and release this poor soul from the curse you put it under. If you plan on ending up in the Abyss, you might as well save it from such an unbearable pain… Do you agree, General?”
“Yes, my Lord, yes, thank you, thank you,” he was bowing down, not really understanding what was happening. All he knew was that after centuries, he would be able to feel the peace. And give them peace. Something they both longed for even more than for love.
“You will thank me later,” the Lord snickered, his eyes lighting up with a dangerous, cruel flame for the last time before snapping his fingers and the General was suddenly surrounded by darkness and burning flames that turned into something gentler, something, surprisingly, warmer and poignantly familiar. The air.
He finally breathed.