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Ah, Hell, the land of eternal torture. A vast land filled with thousands of thousands of souls constantly being ripped apart, and Belphegor was one of these souls.
The hooks holding him in place cut deep through him as the demon, Ardat, smiled over him, thrusting her blade into whatever there was left for her to poke at. As she pushed her blade in deeper, Belphegor let out a snarl -- not a scream, not a plea... just a huff of frustration at the continual torture.
When footsteps echoed through the chamber, Belphegor strained his neck, ignoring Ardat’s attempts to break him, to see who had entered. Unfortunately, the angle and shadows blocked his view. It was presumably another demon, but even if Belphegor could see, he doubted it would tell him anything, because he only knew a handful of demons. Ardat did seem to recognize the new arrival; she straightened up at the sight of him, as though he was her drill sergeant.
“Well, well, Ardat, what do we have going on here?” the new demon inquired.
“Just your prescribed torture session, sir.”
The demon walked into the light, over to the hanging Belphegor. Belphegor’s first thought was that he was hideous, but all demons were hideous. When Belphegor had first seen demons, he had been horrified -- they had come straight out of the awful stories he had told the children in his tribe to give them a good scare.
Now, he didn’t mind so much. Demons were monstrous and hideous beings, but Belphegor couldn’t care less. He knew exactly why this demon had come. Torture. It was always torture.
The new hideous demon prodded at one of Belphegor’s open wounds, causing him to clench his teeth harder and groan in pain.
“Hmmm, I think this one’s ready, Ardat. A ripe little demon ready for the picking.” The demon spoke the last sentence in a sing-song sort of way, as though mocking Belphegor, which certainly would not be uncharacteristic of a demon. Then, the demon distorted its face in what Belphegor could only assume was meant to be a smile. “Get him off.”
Off? Belphegor’s eyes widened in surprise. He had spent hundreds of years being tortured, so long that he could no longer remember how much time had passed. He had come to believe that there was no “off,” that this was his permanent punishment.
Ardat slowly pulled Belphegor free from the hooks. He felt the sting as the barbs parted from his flesh, but it was numbed by the excitement for freedom that rushed through him. Without the hooks, Belphegor fell hard on the rocky ground. Staring down at his body he realized that his fresh wounds had been healed, as they usually were at the “end” of every day, but his skin no longer looked his own. It had a greyish tinge to it, the color of the dead, and it was covered in the scars left from the torture.
The demon who Belphegor had just met looked down at him. “What’s your name, boy?”
Belphegor swallowed and stumbled to speak.
“If you can’t remember your old one or didn’t like it, pick a new one,” the demon said boredly, as though reading from a pamphlet.
Belphegor looked up at Ardat, who was staring down at him impatiently. “Bel- Belphegor. The name’s Belphegor.”
The demon nodded, “You’ll call me Alastair. I’ll be your teacher.” The demon looked at Ardat. “I believe you already know the lovely Ardat.” Alastair gave his twisted smile once more, and with that turned on his heel and left Belphegor alone with his former torturer.
Belphegor stood, and Ardat still looked down at him. Once Alastair had left, she breathed, “Listen, you little bitch. You may think that you’ve gained some sort of higher status, but you’re still nothing, and you still follow my orders, got it?”
Belphegor shrugged. “Got it, mistress.”
* * *
“Gotta say, boy, I do like your style.” Alastair was examining Belphegor’s latest victim, giving him pointers on his torture technique.
Belphegor turned to Ardat, giving her a smug smile. She glared back at him. She had been invited to see how to improve her own technique, and she was bitter about the situation.
As it turned out, Belphegor was great at torture. Ardat, not so much. At least not compared to Belphegor. Unfortunately, Belphegor couldn’t physically torture Ardat. But settling for showing her up always did put a hop in his step.
Belphegor had learned much in the weeks following his leave from the rack. The torture came naturally to him, but it was the learning about the hierarchy of Hell that interested him the most.
He had learned that Alastair was considered the King of Torture, and that all of the new demons who saw promise for torture were trained by him. But Alastair himself? Well, he tortured only the greatest, most important souls that came to Hell. The others, the unimportant humans that came through the gates, like Belphegor himself, were deemed too insignificant for the King of Torture to be concerned with and were handed off to his apprentices.
Alastair did not appear to have favorites when it came to his apprentices, yet every one of them was trying to gain his favor and outshine all the rest.
The demon who had seemed to gain Alastair’s greatest favor was Ardat, but Belphegor was slowly changing that. Of course, what none of the apprentices had truly realized was that Alastair did not care about them, not even a little bit. He saw them as weak little demons, and he only tolerated them because he loved to teach torture. He loved the look on his pupils’ faces when they ripped apart their first soul, and he found it worth dealing with all the kiss-ass groveling.
However, Alastair had to admit, there was something beautiful about seeing his apprentices compete against each other for his favor, and Ardat and Belphegor had true fire. Alastair would have to pit them against each other more often.
Life in Hell was an endless battle, but this battle was strictly between Belphegor and Ardat, constantly competing to be the best, to gain what they could never achieve in life: importance.
* * *
All the demons watched the new torturer, but he did not even seem to notice, too enthralled in the pain he was inflicting. Of all the souls Belphegor had seen take up the blade, the only one better than this man was Alastair himself.
Belphegor was in awe of the talents he was witnessing, but more than that, he was jealous of them. This man was important, so important that he had been tortured by Alastair personally, so important that Alastair had forbidden to be interrupted during their sessions.
Belphegor was no longer a young demon, he knew the dance: Alastair plucked out a new apprentice who would spend his time torturing and desperately trying to gain Alastair’s favor. Eventually, the newbie would, for a while at least, until someone else came along. Then, Alastair lost interest in that apprentice, too.
If you were lucky, or good enough, Alastair might circle back to you as a favorite, but everyone eventually lost that position when another more interesting, skilled soul came along. It was a roundabout game, but the demons were always willing to play because there was something invigorating about being the King of Torture’s favorite.
This man, however, was different. Alastair spent all his time with him. He was his favorite, and every demon instinctively knew this would never change.
When Alastair had finished his session with his favorite, Ardat, stupidly bubbling with envy, approached her master.
“I don’t understand. This Dean Winchester, what makes him so special? Why does he get off the rack so easily? Thirty years hardly seems like enough time to make a ruthless demon.”
Alastair turned, looking at Ardat sharply. “Sir,” Ardat added hastily.
“Since you so rudely asked, pretty little Ardat, I’ll tell you.” Alastair gave a smug smile. “It’s none of your damn business! Now, question me again, and you’ll end up the next one I rip apart on the rack.”
Ardat stared dumbly at the King of Torture. The corners of Belphegor’s mouth twitched, but he hid his smile in front of Alastair. Ardat passed Belphegor to leave, giving him a scowl as she went.
* * *
Belphegor had now been a demon in Hell for a long time, and he was under the impression nothing ever changed -- until, all of a sudden, it did.
It all started with an attack by beings Belphegor had never seen before, who came to Hell to fight the demons. The creatures left with Alastair’s prized possession: Dean Winchester. Strangely, Alastair did not seem to care. Perhaps there was still a chance for Belphegor to get back to the top of Alastair’s favorites, to become important.
But not that long after that, Alastair himself died. Belphegor could hardly believe it, and the kicker? He was said to have been killed by the brother of Dean Winchester. Belphegor did not despair; if he could not impress Alastair, he would impress whoever became the next-most-powerful. It was then Belphegor began to dream that perhaps one day he would become the most powerful, but only if he played his cards right.
* * *
“I assume all of you know who I am by now.”
The demons gave each other looks. They did not know who this demon was, but more importantly, they did not care.
“Crowley. The name’s Crowley. I’m your new king. And under my rule, there’ll be some changes in Hell.”
The demons waited impatiently. By this point, they were all used to the ever-revolving leaders of Hell, and they were quite sure that this new king would be dead in a few years. Belphegor, however, liked to play it safe, just in case he could get a leg up with someone in power.
Crowley snapped his fingers, and the pits of Hell became… office halls?
“No more of that torture stuff. It’s so… medieval, don’t you think? The new Hell is all about waiting, because, after all, no one likes to wait.”
“Seriously? That’s your big plan?” Belphegor turned to the voice and rolled his eyes. It was Ardat who spoke, and Ardat always had something to say.
“I personally think it’s a brilliant plan, King Crowley,” Belphegor spoke up, earning him a signature scowl from Ardat.
“Ah, nice to see I have one loyal subject. For the rest of you who have doubts,” Crowley glared at Ardat, “remember how I got to my position, by cutting down my competition! And I’m never afraid to get my hands dirty. Now, my personal demons will assign you all new jobs in this organized Hell.”
As the demons scrambled to get their new assignments, Belphegor was pulled aside by Ardat. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Belphy,” she hissed.
Belphegor gave her an innocent face.
“You’re treating this new king like all the rest who’ve led us. Your groveling, not very attractive, and it’s certainly not gonna get you anywhere.”
“Oh, if that was true, my pretty little Ardat, then you wouldn’t be so threatened by me now. I will rise to power. Just watch, sweetheart.”
“You’re nothing but an ant, Belphegor. You’ve never been important, and you never will be. Remember, I know you better than anyone else in this damned place. Hell, I made you. The day you rise to power will be the day I’m an angel.”
“We’ll see, Ardat. But don’t be so self-righteous, we both know you’re after the same thing I am.”
Ardat let go of Belphegor, and stalked past him to get her new assignment. She didn’t even look back. Belphegor smiled. He was going to break her, just as she had done to him all those eons ago. He was going to show her just how powerful he could be.
* * *
Belphegor may have played at liking Crowley’s new Hell, but he hated it. He had enjoyed the torture and loathed it being gone, though he was careful to never express this to anyone.
When Crowley had died, and Asmodeus had become the new leader, Belphegor was glad to have the torture back. He had forgotten how freeing it could be. Then, Asmodeus died, too. Figures. They all died eventually.
Belphegor would be different. He would succeed where they had failed, because he would be more powerful than them all, somehow. He had not quite figured out how yet.
Then, the perfect opportunity seemed to fall straight into Belphegor’s lap.
He had just finished a torture session when he found some of the other demons standing in the hall, gossiping. Demons loved to gossip, about anything and everything.
Belphegor approached them, and they immediately stopped their talking. “Who are you? Can we help you with something?”
Belphegor scowled at the demons. “I’m Belphegor. You know, only one of the greatest torturers in Hell?”
“Right. Is that supposed to mean something to us, or did you just think you could eavesdrop on our conversation for no reason?”
Belphegor curled his hands, ready to put the demons in their place. All demons were naturally suspicious of others, but Belphegor took their ignorance of his name personally. Before he could lift a fist, the rumbling started. The other demons looked around in a panic. “What the hell is that?”
Belphegor stared up at the sky in awe. It was splitting; the sky was literally splitting apart. “I believe that would be the doors to Hell being ripped open.”
The demons, realizing what Belphegor said, began to run. Run towards any door they could find out of the blood-soaked Hell.
Belphegor watched them go. He watched them all go, all the demons running to leave Hell, all the souls, the ghosts, flowing out.
Belphegor sighed. He was used to it by now, the random things that happened in Hell. It had become boring years ago; after all, it always boiled down to the same thing: the Winchesters. Whatever happened to Hell, it always had something to do with the Winchesters.
The Winchesters... Belphegor chewed on the name for a moment, then gave a wholehearted smile. If there was anyone he could use to help him with his problem, with his longing to rise to power, it was the Winchesters. This was it, it was now, it was time for Belphegor to get exactly what he wanted. And then? Every demon -- no, every being on Hell and Earth -- would know his name, and they would cower in his presence.
Belphegor took off for the doors, for Earth, for his chance at greatness.
Ardat watched curiously as Belphegor fled, wondering what he was up to. Then, seeing the multitude of beings leaving Hell, she realized now, now was the perfect time to make a move. With all the demons and ghosts in chaos, it would be the perfect time to huddle them together and rise above to rule them. That must be Belphegor’s plan.
Ardat shook her head. “Never gonna happen, Belphy.” She had been looking after that boy from the moment he arrived in Hell. Well, perhaps looking after wasn’t the right phrase. Nevertheless, she had kept him under her thumb, kept him from rising to the power he so desperately wanted -- the power that Ardat knew he could never handle, the power he was not meant for.
If anyone deserved that power, she did. Ardat pushed through the crowd as she ran after Belphegor. Their battle wasn’t over.