Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lunch at the Ritz had lingered into being tea at the Ritz, and tea had lingered past twilight by the time Aziraphale and Crowley ambled outside and vaguely toward Soho. The usual foot-traffic of a London evening bustled around them: couples, families, giddy tourists, obnoxious tourists, people going to and from work, and little gangs of friends out for drinks.

Hours of champagne and each other’s company, along with the bright energy of the streets, had made Crowley’s slouching saunter even more relaxed than usual, and Aziraphale’s measured steps more sprightly. The World was still the World, and they were still alive and still part of it, despite their former colleagues’ best attempts to the contrary.

“We really have sided with the humans,” mused Aziraphale, full of wonder and affection for all the miraculous humanity around them.

Whatever Crowley was about to reply was interrupted by the sound and smell of a definitively drunk human vomiting a few feet away. Before Aziraphale could have a chance to feel guilty for not really wanting to intervene, and then probably intervene anyway while Crowley complained about it, another pair of humans came up and kindly asked the vomiter if he was all right.

“We sided with humanity a long time ago,” said Crowley as they kept walking. He glanced over his shoulder at the couple helping the drunk. “Only now there’s no taking it back, I suppose.”

Aziraphale nodded and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world and not something they’d never done before while walking, reached over to take Crowley’s hand. Crowley, looking away, half-laughed, because it was an absurdly human gesture, but it also enabled them to do something humans couldn’t.

Right here on the street, angel? How positively wanton of you.

If you don’t think it’s appropriate–

Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s hand a little tighter. Ah, yes, positively fastidious about propriety, me. A group of bickering tourists pushed past on either side, forcing them closer together. Not that they have any idea we’re groping around inside each other’s bodies and brains right in front of them.

‘Groping;’ really?

I don’t know, what do you want to call it?

Knowing each other through an elevated form of physical union?

Seems like a mouthful.

We’re not even talking right now!

And because they could exchange emotions and intent just as easily as thoughts, neither of them took any offense, and if either of them was smiling affectionately to himself, the other did not point it out.

When they reached the bookshop, Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand in order to search for his keys. Crowley leaned against the door-post and said, “Well, the world not ending has been exhausting. I’m going to sleep for… maybe not a whole century, but an amount of time that will at least qualify as decadent.”

Aziraphale was still rummaging in his pockets. “Perhaps we might– What’s this?”

One of his pockets contained a small black booklet with wings of night stamped on the cover. They both stared at it.

Turning it over a few times and then opening it up, Aziraphale said, “This is one of the passports humans get when they…”

“…die,” finished Crowley, trying not to be unsettled.

“It has your name in it.” Aziraphale showed him the first page.

“What the Heav– Wait.” Crowley patted his own pockets and found an identical passport, this one with Aziraphale’s name inside. They traded.

Aziraphale brushed fingertips over his printed name and said, with a touch of suppressed panic, “What does this mean? We’re not dead, are we?”

“Can’t be.” Crowley turned and shouted to a passing human, “Oi, you there! My friend and I, do we look dead to you?”

The human, quite drunk, called back, “Dead gorgeous! Hope I look half as good as you when I’m your age.”

“Not likely,” muttered Crowley to himself as he turned to Aziraphale and gestured toward the human as evidence of non-death.

“I’m not sure that’s the most reliable–” began Aziraphale.

“We can’t be dead; we can’t die. We’re not discorporated” – Crowley knocked on the door to be certain – “and the only other option is complete annihilation by holy water or hellfire, in which case we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Perhaps we’re going to die? Is that what Death was trying to tell us in the park this morning?”

“How? It’s not possible. And humans only get these after they’re already dead, not before. S’got to be a trick. Head Offices having us on, most likely.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I need another drink.”

“Won’t argue with that.”

Once inside, they made quick work of opening a bottle – nothing terribly exciting, since neither of them was any longer in a mood to be able to enjoy it properly.

“The passports have to be real, though,” said Aziraphale as he lowered himself into his desk chair. “I don’t see how anybody could forge one. Afterlife passports can only come from Death.”

Crowley was paging through his passport, looking at the seven blank leaves and then examining the wings on the cover again. “I admit, it does look like the real thing.”

“Perhaps it’s an invitation?”

“To what?” asked Crowley darkly.

“To travel the human path of life after death? You know, the Grand Tour through every level of Hell and Purgatory, and then all the way up through the Spheres of Heaven to the Almighty?” After his conversation with the Metatron, Aziraphale had lost any hope of ever communicating with Her directly. Perhaps he’d been too quick to give up. “Oh, if this is real, Crowley… to see Her face-to-face after all this time… how could we not go?”

“Easy. We can just not. Even if the passports are real, which I doubt, I guarantee you the Almighty does not want to see me, face-to-face or otherwise; and trust me, you do not want to go anywhere near Hell, especially not now. It’s a trick. Has to be.”

Aziraphale swallowed a rather large amount of wine and said, “I’m going.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’re being ridiculous. This is an incredible opportunity! Haven’t you ever wondered what it’s like?”

“I know what the first part is like, and I very much doubt I’m welcome on the last part, passport or no. If you want to go to Heaven and have a chat with God, why don’t you just go? I don’t think the Archangels are going to stop you. I put the fear of… something into them, on your behalf.”

Aziraphale looked into his wine and didn’t say anything.

“What.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“What’s complicated?”

Aziraphale hesitated for another moment before answering, “I haven’t actually been there since the Fall.”

“What? But you reported in all the time.”

“To administration. Head Office. But that’s, you know, an office. It’s not where humans go, obviously.”

“And you never once popped into actual Heaven? Not even to check up on humans you’d liked?”

“I was assigned to work here!”

“Well, it’s safe to say your assignment is over, so why not just go?”

Aziraphale sighed and mumbled, “I don’t know how.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how to get there from here. It never came up.”

“Are you sure you’re an angel?”

Aziraphale glared at him.

Crowley ignored it. “There’s got to be a door or something out of your Head Office. Just go up there and have a look round.”

“I’m not certain that’s a good idea. And besides,” – Aziraphale held up his passport – “I don’t think that’s the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“The point is, we’ve sided with humanity, and we’re being given a chance to go through the same thing they do.”

Crowley frowned. “We’ve sided with the World, remember? The here and now. Life. This life. Not… that.”

“Well, I’m going.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

Crowley made a noise of frustration. “Angel, you can’t just walk into Hell, human passport or no.”

“I did this morning.”

“First of all, you were dragged in, and second, that was Head Office, not Hell proper. Actual Hell makes Head Office look like a tea garden. You can’t go there.”

Aziraphale said nothing.

“Please, Aziraphale, I’m begging you.”

Aziraphale continued to say nothing.

This was followed by the anguished groan of a demon who recognizes he has no chance of changing someone’s mind.

“Are you coming with me or not?” asked Aziraphale.

“All right, look. I am not letting you go into actual Hell by yourself. If you’re going to be this bloody-minded about it, I will go along for the first bit of the Grand Tour to make sure you don’t end up as charcoal. But that is it, d’you understand? Once we get through Hell, I’m out. Nobody wants me in Purgatory, least of all me – honestly, I don’t even want to think about what they get up to in there – and I have very little doubt that if I were to come within a hundred miles of Heaven, I’d get spat full-force straight back down into the burning sulfur, which is not an experience I ever need to have again, understand?”

Aziraphale beamed at him gently. “I do. And I’m grateful.”

Crowley shook his head. “I can’t believe this. We were just toasting the World, and not seven hours later, you want to leave it.”

“To understand it better,” smiled Aziraphale. “Speaking of toasting, we went through that bottle awfully quickly. I’ll get another.”

He stood up, but Crowley grabbed his hand and flooded him with emotions too difficult to put into words.

Out loud, Aziraphale said, “Of course I’ll come back! From what I remember of how it all works, time runs differently in the afterlife. If I do go on by myself, I could be back before you have time to water your plants.”

Sensing that Crowley still had doubts, Aziraphale perched on the arm of the sofa and continued to hold his hand. It’ll be all right, my dear. I know it will.

You’re not thinking of leaving right this minute, are you?

It’s been a long day. A long week. Perhaps in the morning? After what you told me about the new books, I was going to take a full inventory tonight, but I could do some research instead… I have occult volumes that might be useful, if they’re still here, and Dante commentaries… early Medieval dream-visions… would you like to stay the night? Seems only fair, since I stayed at your place last night.

For a moment they were both overwhelmed with longing for the previous night’s intimacy, until Crowley released Aziraphale’s hand and said aloud, “I’ll stay for a bit. But I want to check on the car before we go. I haven’t seen it since it exploded.”

A few hours later, having thoroughly admonished the plants not to show any signs of weakness in his absence, Crowley sat in the parked Bentley and slid his hands once over the steering wheel, trying not to think too many thoughts.

There was petrol in the tank. It could only be courtesy of Adam’s restoration, since ordinarily the car ran on nothing other than Crowley’s expectation that it should. He contemplated all those hydrocarbons and their potential for power and self-destruction.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” he said to the car eventually. “And I shouldn’t be away long. Just ignore the traffic wardens while I’m gone, like always.” He got out and shut the door, then leaned forward against it with his arms folded on the car’s roof, and looked up at the night sky. There was too much light in the city for stars.

“Actually, scratch that,” he said to the Bentley. “I’m not leaving you.”

With an unprecedented miracle of prodigious will, Crowley packed the entire car into portable interdimensional space, because he could no longer imagine going through Hell without it.

The sun was near rising when Aziraphale finished a hasty re-read of Dante. His fingers paused over Doré’s famous illustration of the Empyrean: all the hosts of angels surrounding the brightness of God in circle upon harmonious circle.

He was fairly certain he didn’t belong there, not anymore, anyway, and he had no idea what would happen if he really did make it that far, or if he even could. Dante had had his beloved Beatrice to guide him through Heaven (whether Dante had really been there or had only made the whole thing up, which was unclear). Aziraphale’s own beloved was considerably less heavenly.

What could it possibly mean to stand before the All-knowing Almighty, and all the angelic hosts, as an angel who had chosen the World and a demon?

And yet, and yet, through everything that had happened, through his rejection of the Great Plan and the angels’ rejection of him in return, he had never once felt any change in that perfect, steady, surrounding embrace of divine love, both for himself and for all of creation, that every angel could sense.

Crowley had told him that an angel could Fall only by choice. If that were true (and he trusted Crowley completely on that point), then what could he possibly have to fear?

The familiar walk to their former Head Offices was made strange by Aziraphale’s nervous excitement and Crowley’s nervous apprehension.

“Anything useful in the books?” asked Crowley, mostly as a distraction.

“I made notes,” said Aziraphale, displaying a little leather-bound notebook that he’d kept pristine since the early 1800s. “Do you know, for all the things Dante got wrong, he did say that all the souls in Hell are there because they choose to be? I don’t think many humans are aware of that.”

Crowley nodded. “Or that Hell is equal-opportunity. Everyone goes through it on the Grand Tour, and everyone can leave if they want to.”

“I wonder why that hasn’t been made more clear.”

“I s’pose it benefits both sides if humans think they can only ever go to one place or the other. Besides, the humans themselves seem to like the idea. Mainly so they can terrify each other and imagine everybody they don’t like in a pit of boiling oil for eternity.”

“That’s true. Inferno was Dante’s most popular volume by far; almost nobody reads the other ones.”

“Listen, angel… we have to be careful. Just because no one’s forced to stay in Hell, doesn’t mean they don’t choose to stay. An awful lot of them do.”

“Why on earth would anyone stay if they didn’t have to?”

“For starters, it’s not on earth. And it’s hard to explain. They mess with your head down there.”

They arrived at the glass doors and went inside. Aziraphale took a step toward the up escalator out of habit, then corrected himself.

Crowley exhaled loudly. “This is going to be… not a fun time.” He’d brought his plant-mister as a precaution, and he was gripping it a little too tightly.

“We’ll be all right,” said Aziraphale, stepping onto the down escalator. Crowley got onto the step immediately behind him, staying as close as possible.

They emerged at the bottom into the cramped dimness of Hell’s Head Office. Aziraphale strode into the grubby crowd of demons like a beacon of pure determination while Crowley’s eyes darted protectively in as many directions as he could manage.

Shuffling grumbles turned into gasps and steps backward, demons spluttering in turmoil as they reacted to the intruders with hatred, fear, and unlikely fantasies of being the one who brought down Crowley the Traitor and That Blasted Angel.

The hallways began to buzz with whispers of “What’s he doing here again already?” and “Are angels even allowed in the Office?” and “Do you think they’ve come to destroy us all?” and “They don’t look so frightening to me.” Even so, the demons gave Crowley and Aziraphale a wide berth, uncertain, after the failed execution by holy water, what the traitor and his angel might be capable of.

“What’s all this?” came the commanding voice of Dagon, Lord of the Files and Master of Torments. “Back to work, the lot of you! Back to work!” A few of the more timid demons pretended to stop paying attention as Dagon pushed her way to the front of the crowd and exclaimed, “Crowley?! What do you think you’re doing?”

It was obvious what Dagon must be thinking: after everything that had happened, Crowley wouldn’t simply walk in there unless he was blessed certain nothing could hurt him or his precious angel (he was, in fact, quite the opposite of certain), and if nothing could hurt him, his arrival could only mean a complete disruption of the demons’ fragile return to business as usual – at a best-case scenario. Unless, of course, Crowley was bluffing, which everyone knew he was exceptionally good at.

Crowley held his passport high in the air. “Nothing to get in a twist about. We’re only here for the Tour, so we’ll be on our way downstairs, and you can all go back to your shambling and filing and misery.”

Dagon, skeptical, dared to step a little closer and squint at the passport. “What are you playing at?”

“Not playing,” said Crowley as he raised the plant-mister to aim directly at her face.

“Oh, dear,” said Aziraphale, who knew perfectly well that it was only ordinary water in the plant-mister. “There’s no need for violence. If we can just pass through safely to Limbo, we’ll all avoid any unpleasantness.”

“You want to go to Limbo and take the Tour?” asked Dagon incredulously. Her eyes flickered over to Aziraphale and then back to the plant-mister.

“I have a passport as well,” said Aziraphale, holding it in front of him.

Dagon hesitated and then glowered. “I’ll be reporting this immediately to Lord Beelzebub and the Dark Council.” She grabbed the nearest disposable demon. “You,” she said. “Go with them, keep an eye on them, and file a detailed report, in triplicate, when they’ve finished. If they deviate from the standard itinerary in any way, notify me immediately.”

“Yes, my lord,” cowered the demon, who then looked at Crowley’s plant-mister and cowered even more.

“Well, go on then,” ordered Dagon. “Everyone else, back to work!”

“Thank you,” said Aziraphale.

The rest of the demons, who were not yet going back to work even though Dagon would likely make them regret it, collectively gasped because those words had not been spoken in Hell’s Head Office ever.

“Take your obscenities and get the Heaven out of my office!” roared Dagon.

“We’re going,” Crowley assured her, and steered Aziraphale in the proper direction while the demon lackey trailed behind.

Chapter Text

Limbo turned out to be a crowded waiting area, complete with an insufficient number of uncomfortable plastic chairs in airport-style rows. The low ceilings and lighting scheme, or lack thereof, were about the same as in Head Office.

The difference was, this place was packed with humans. Recently-dead, incorporeal humans, most of them in a state of desperate confusion. Echoes of “Where am I?” and “What’s going on?” rang all around. A handful of demons with clipboards were circulating, checking passports and providing unsatisfactory answers to the humans’ questions.

But none of that was what made Aziraphale’s eyes widen in astonishment. “Angels,” he breathed, a few seconds after they’d entered the waiting space. “There are angels here!”

They were non-corporeal, barely-visible, highly-insubstantial angels, but angels nonetheless. They flickered in the spaces between humans, many of them whispering words of comfort: “It’s going to be all right…” “…I’ll be waiting for you on the other side; I promise…” “…Just don’t lose hope and don’t believe the lies…”

“Guardian angels go with their humans through Hell?” asked Aziraphale, still incredulous.

“They don’t,” said Crowley. “This is where they say goodbye.”

“Oh.”

Crowley went on, “Not that the humans can hear them. Or see them. Or be certain they exist at all. Don’t know what your lot were thinking when they came up with so-called guardians who can’t be seen or heard or touched by the people they’re meant to be guarding.”

“To be honest, I don’t think my lot thinks about guardian angels much at all. They’re generally treated as ineffective worker-bees, barely ever mentioned in Head Office. They can’t do proper miracles or be corporated. They weren’t around for the First Great Battle, and they’re not counted as part of the Hierarchy.”

Crowley shrugged. “They’ve thwarted me more often than you might think. And if they were completely useless to the humans, they wouldn’t be barred from going into Hell with them.”

They passed a human in a seat at the end of a row, hunched crying over her transparent knees. Her guardian angel stood behind her, arms around her shoulders and murmuring kind words, but she obviously had no idea the angel was there.

Even so, a few seconds later, the woman took in a deep, sniffling breath (surely out of habit, as she no longer needed to breathe, or sniffle), wiped her face (presumably also habit, as the tears were an incorporeal expression rather than a physical reality), and stood up. “Okay,” she said to herself with a glance at the passport in her hand. “Enough of that. Time to figure this out.”

Her angel’s eyes filled with relief and adoration. “That’s my girl. You’re going to be all right. I know you are. You’re too smart and too strong to let them get to you.”

Even though the woman couldn’t hear, her resolve seemed to strengthen as she walked away.

“Excuse me, Mr. Crowley?” came the voice of Dagon’s lackey-demon from one side. He had disappeared briefly and returned with a metal clipboard. “I just want to say, I’m a huge fan of your work. It might sound like I’m only saying that because” – he glanced down at the plant-mister still in Crowley’s hand – “because of everything, but it’s the truth, I swear. I’ve been following your career for centuries, ever since Caligula. When I heard what you did with the M25, I couldn’t help myself; I just shouted out ‘woohoo’ right on the spot!”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and kept moving through the crowd.

“Anyway,” the demon went on, “If you don’t mind my asking, is it true, all the gossip around the water warmer in Supplies? That you’re going all the way to the Lowest Pit to challenge… Himself?”

Crowley turned to Aziraphale and said, “Ngh. Now look what you’ve got me into. I don’t believe this.”

Aziraphale turned to the demon. “I assure you, my good – bad – fellow – er, do you have a name?”

“Technically it’s Legion, but I go by Eric.”

“Eric. We’re not here to cause any trouble. All we want is to take the first part of the Grand Tour, and then we’ll be moving on.”

Eric’s jaw dropped. “You mean you’re climbing all the way up? You’re going to challenge…” –his voice fell into a whisper– “you-know-who?”

“Oh, for–” Crowley massaged his forehead. “No. No. That is not what’s happening. The only thing I have any interest in challenging is the fact that I haven’t been able to get a proper lie-down in ages.” He squinted at Eric. “Wait, weren’t you sent Upstairs recently to transport some Hellfire?”

“No, that was Derek. He’s a different Legion.”

“Ah. My mistake.”

Eric stayed close, but not too close, as they made their way further into Limbo.

They continued to move past more seating areas with rows and rows of occupied seats and standing humans. The humans’ incorporeal forms were so hazily transparent that it was difficult to distinguish more than the most basic of physical features, nor was it evident how closely their appearances in the afterlife did or didn’t reflect what they’d looked like when they were alive.

“This place is enormous,” observed Aziraphale.

“Over a hundred and fifty thousand people die every day,” said Eric. “And we’ve got to pack them all in somehow. Only going to get worse the more the global population increases.” He looked pleased at this prospect.

Aziraphale took in more of the space. “But there seem to be a good deal more than that here. Millions, I should think.”

Many of the humans were wearing incorporeal semblances of modern clothing, but others were wearing things that Aziraphale and Crowley hadn’t seen for centuries. Some wore the vacant faces of people who had given up a long time ago; others had the wild, frantic eyes of people driven mad by indirection.

In short, it was very much like an air travel terminal.

“That’s us doing our jobs, isn’t it?” grinned Eric. “Saves cost and trouble if they’re too frightened or confused to go on from Limbo. Can’t stop them if they’re determined to keep going, but that doesn’t mean we have to make it easy. And we know what we’re about. They say there are more humans in Limbo than in all the rest of Hell and Heaven combined.”

“What’s happening over there?” asked Aziraphale, pointing ahead to something that looked like the end of a passenger boarding tunnel. Dazed-looking humans were filing out of it, many of them blinking, probably because the tunnel was much brighter inside than the murky waiting area into which they emerged.

Eric explained, “Oh, that’s one of the places where they come through when they die.”

A demonic gate-agent was standing at the arrival-end of the tunnel, repeating, “Welcome to Hell. Keep moving. Enjoy your stay. Move along. Welcome to Hell. Keep moving. Enjoy your stay. Move along.”

“Wait, what?!” exclaimed one of the new arrivals. “Hell? Hell?! I never did anything to anyone! Why am I in Hell? There must be a mistake!”

“This doesn’t look like Hell,” observed another one.

“Does to me,” said a third. “I always hated airports.”

“See one of our agents for further information,” responded the gate-agent with robotic false cheer before turning to the next human and saying, “Welcome to Hell. Keep moving…”

Three female-looking humans, along with their three guardian angels, came through in a cluster. One of the women was saying to another, “Dottie, how many times did I tell you there was an afterlife? All those years you said I was crazy. Who’s crazy now?”

“Figures if there was an afterlife, I’d be stuck in it with you two,” said Dottie. “Did we all die at the same time? What are the chances?”

“I think the power went out at the nursing home,” said the third. “And I don’t care where we are; I feel incredible. No more pain, I can walk like I used to, and I can think clearly for the first time in years.”

“I guess our bodies are… gone?” said Dottie.

“They must be,” said the third one. “Look at this.” She made as if to clap her hands, but the hands went right through each other.

The first woman laughed. “Oh, that means I can–” She tapped Dottie on the shoulder experimentally. When there was no contact, she hauled back and punched Dottie in the face, both of them laughing as her fist went through what seemed like air. Dottie punched her in return, and the two of them carried on with their bizarre non-violence, cackling hysterically as they moved away from the gate.

Their three guardian angels followed, one of them saying to the others, “At least they’re all together. And they’re all tough as crowbars. We’ll be seeing them again before you know it.”

“We’d better,” said one of the other two. “I’ve been waiting decades to see the look on Dottie’s face when she finds out guardian angels are real.”

Just behind them came a man and a young woman who was saying to him, “Dad, the car must have crashed… I don’t think we made it.”

“I told you, you shouldn’t have bought that foreign car!” growled her father. “I don’t care what kind of mileage it gets; those things are made out of cardboard and chicken-wire.”

The daughter didn’t say anything, nor did their two guardian angels, but the man’s angel gave Aziraphale and Crowley a beleaguered look as he passed them.

“But this is fantastic!” the next person out of the tunnel was saying to no one in particular. They were looking down at their incorporeal self and almost skipping with enthusiasm. “All the gender things that weren’t me are gone! I’m just me!” They grinned at the gate-agent and exclaimed “I love this!” without seeming to mind at all when the demon flinched at the l-word.

Crowley paused his impatient attempts to move Aziraphale along, because he couldn’t help but enjoy the gate-agent’s baffled discomfiture. If there was one thing Hell’s staff didn’t know how to handle, it was pure, honest happiness.

The father of the daughter-and-father pair turned around to grumble, “It’s people like you whose fault it is we’re all in Hell.”

The man’s angel, with the exhausted look of someone who had given up a long time ago but still felt obligated to try, said, “William, you’re dead now; could you just be marginally decent for once…”

But William, of course, couldn’t hear. He went on, “It’s not enough for you people to be freaks in private anymore; these days you—”

“Dad, just let people be, okay? Come on; let’s—”

William ignored her. “You deviants have to drag the entire rest of society down to Hell along with you, the way you—”

Crowley sensed a cold spike of panic from the nonbinary human. “Wait, is that true?” they asked the gate-agent.

Their guardian angel, who had popped through the gate just after them, said, “It’s definitely not true. Don’t listen to–”

But the human couldn’t hear, and went on, “Is that why I’m in Hell? Because–”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” intervened Crowley. He glared at William. “Every single human goes through here on the Tour, no matter who they were or what they did, or what anyone else did. It has absolutely nothing to do with what pronouns anyone does or doesn’t use.”

William didn’t seem to be listening. “I don’t deserve to be stuck in here with these deviants and foreigners and morons! I lived a good life; I knew what was what and I stood up for what I believed. I deserve better.”

“Trust me,” said Crowley with ice in his voice, “You will get everything you deserve.”

The man didn’t seem to know what to make of this, so he just turned and kept going, followed by his unhappy angel.

His daughter, on the other hand, lingered for a moment to whisper, “I’m so sorry about him.”

“It’s not your fault,” said the other human, smiling at her brightly and appearing to forget everything else (although Crowley’s demon-senses were telling him that the human’s panic had not actually subsided). They extended their hand. “And it’s nice to meet you. I’m Lishan.”

“Mina,” she said, reaching for Lishan’s hand uncertainly, as if she wasn’t used to shaking hands, or to being treated so politely. Their incorporeal hands couldn’t actually touch, which led to a moment’s mutual bewilderment before the two of them just moved their hands up and down in unison anyway, both giggling a little.

“Your human seems nice,” said Mina’s guardian angel quietly to Lishan’s.

“Yours, too,” smiled Lishan’s angel. Their eyes, glistening incorporeally, drifted back to Lishan. “That’s the first time they’ve ever been able to introduce themself with their real name.”

The two angels seemed to be about to say more, but the gate-agent urged everyone forward with renewed insistence.

Aziraphale and Crowley were just turning away when another human emerged from the tunnel. He ignored everything and everyone around him, letting himself be moved along in the crowd until he saw a clear space of floor against a wall, where he slid into sitting in a near-fetal position with his incorporeal hair covering his face.

His angel knelt in front of him, her hands over both of his as he rocked almost imperceptibly back and forth. “Ben,” she said, “I know this isn’t what you thought would happen, but please, please don’t give up. Staying in Limbo won’t help anything. Please…”

Ben didn’t respond.

Aziraphale sighed to himself. He preferred to help humans from a distance. Things were more comfortable for everyone that way. But under the circumstances, he couldn’t think of any options other than direct intervention. You didn’t just walk past a person in need and still call yourself an angel.

He moved toward the human, ignoring Crowley’s protests of “Oh, no, please don’t do that, or we’re never going to get out of here.” Mindful of his trousers and the dirtiness of the floor, Aziraphale squatted gingerly.

The guardian angel was in the middle of saying, “My dear, I know things look bad here, but it’ll get better if you just keep moving. Just get through it, and you’ll see.” She was brighter than most guardian angels, almost sparkling, and her voice was like music.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Aziraphale asked. The human didn’t respond at all.

“If only they could hear us,” sighed the angel. She turned to look at Aziraphale and then, startled, she exclaimed, “You have a body!”

“At the moment, yes,” said Aziraphale.

“How?”

“Oh, I, er… well, I’m a principality, you see.”

“What? Really? What are you doing here? Everyone knows the Old Angels don’t come here.”

“It’s difficult to explain.” Aziraphale realized that the human called Ben was now looking at him.

“Who are you talking to?” asked Ben.

“Ah, hello,” Aziraphale said to him. Crowley was still grousing in the background, but Aziraphale ignored him.

“Can you please tell him everything will be all right?” asked the angel desperately.

In his most soothing tones, Aziraphale said, “Ben. Everything will be all right.”

“How do you know my name?” frowned Ben.

“Your guardian angel told me.” Which wasn’t strictly true, but close enough.

“I have a guardian angel?”

“Yes; she’s right here, and she’s been with you all along. Her name is…”

“Estelle,” said the angel. Her wings were glowing even brighter, seeming almost to change color.

“Estelle,” repeated Aziraphale. “You can’t see her, but she loves you very much, and she wants you to know that everything will be all right.”

Ben’s expression tensed into confusion. “Okay, I definitely didn’t expect this to be exactly what I expected, except I didn’t expect that at all, ever, and I’d really like to know why. Who are–” He squinted slightly at Aziraphale. “Oh. Wow. That’s not what you really look like. You’re… very old.”

“He sees things,” explained Estelle. “Things other humans don’t. Past and future. But he doesn’t see me.”

“Passports! Passports!” One of the demon-agents was moving against the flow away from the gate, checking random passports for no discernable reason other than to make everyone uncomfortable. “All right, just follow the signs to the boat landings, get your tickets, and then wait for the next available tour boat. No, I am not authorized to answer inquiries about the itinerary or content of the Tour. All questions should be directed to the Disinformation Desk.”

Crowley tapped his designer watch. “Angel, we’re going to become permanent residents if you keep this up.”

Eric asked, quietly, “Is he going to do this sort of thing the whole time?”

“Most likely,” sighed Crowley.

“Can you try to get him moving?” pleaded Estelle. “So he doesn’t stay in Limbo forever?”

“Ben, do you think you could come with us to the boat landings?” asked Aziraphale gently.

Ben frowned. “You don’t belong here.”

“I don’t believe you do, either, my boy. But I’m afraid the only way out is through. Perhaps we can see each other through?” Aziraphale stood and offered Ben a hand up.

Ben regarded Aziraphale’s extended hand for a moment of confusion that became a hint of amusement. “I don’t have a body.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale lowered his arm. “Yes, of course. My apologies.”

Ben did not get up, but he did seem at least a little bit intrigued. “You’re really going down there? An angel in Hell?”

“That is the intent.”

Curiosity gleamed in Ben’s eyes. “Why did I never see that? I’ve been having visions of Hell my whole life. I never saw an angel there. Why…? Do you know what’s down there? I saw it all the time when I was alive, in dreams and when I was awake, too. It messed up my brain. Screaming in swamps and babies in boxes and the throne of cardboard faces; fighting and fractures and fragments and… Everything gets broken into pieces here.”

He looked straight down and brushed his fingers against the floor. “I always thought my brain was making that stuff up, and it wouldn’t be real. But now I’m here, and I know it’s all down there. I can see it from up here, right down through all the circles to the ice.”

“Things haven’t been easy for him,” explained Estelle.

Aziraphale had known plenty of prophets, some in person and some through their writings. Even the ones who saw pleasant things tended to struggle when it came to discerning realities. The ones who saw unpleasant things… well, most of them were in far worse shape than Ben.

Except that Ben now seemed just interested enough to be willing to stand up. “I guess, if it’s a choice between being miserable up here in exactly the way my brain told me I would be, or being miserable down there but with an angel that my brain never told me about… I guess I might as well take the second option.”

He stuffed his incorporeal hands into his incorporeal pockets and shuffled alongside Aziraphale. Estelle hovered beside him and spoke words of anxious encouragement that he couldn’t hear.

The signs for the boat landings were not as helpful as one might hope, but Eric directed them through the vast maze of waiting areas with only a few mistaken turns, for which he apologized, abjectly terrified that Crowley was going to engulf him in flames, or worse, holy water, each time.

Crowley had larger concerns. Once it became clear that they were going to have a long trek back from one of the dead ends, he discreetly took Aziraphale’s hand. Look, I know you want to help them, and I know I can’t talk you out of wanting to help them. But if you show too much concern for any particular human, Hell will make them a special target. Trust me, you don’t want that.

All right. I’ll keep that in mind. But I can’t just ignore someone in need.

There’s going to be literally millions more like that one. You can’t help them all.

Aziraphale didn’t answer this directly. It’s terribly cruel, don’t you think? Subjecting them to all this when they’re already afraid and disoriented from dying?

Hell is Hell, angel. That’s the point.

Chapter Text

Although neither Ben nor Estelle said anything else, the human and his angel were still with them when Eric finally managed to navigate onto a broad wooden platform overlooking a canal full of unpleasant-smelling water. The platform included yet more rows of seats, these ones mildewed from proximity to the canal. At irregular intervals, sets of wooden stairs went down to a water-level boardwalk with many piers, stretching as far as one could see. Overhead, the fluorescent lights and drop-panels faded into pitch darkness above the water.

Docked at one of the piers was a double-decker tour boat slightly smaller than a bus, resembling nothing so much as the worst-ever amusement park ride. People were jostling to get on board. The jostling was odd to watch, since incorporeal people could theoretically walk right through each other, but having spent their entire lifetimes inside bodies, they either didn’t understand this, or didn’t feel comfortable doing it.

The other piers had no boats. Even so, the deck of each pier was occupied by a long queue of waiting people, some chatting awkwardly with each other, some leaning out over the water in hopes of seeing their boat approaching (it wasn’t), and some checking watches or phones that no longer did anything.

“Tickets!” a demon-agent nearby on the platform was calling out. “Get your tickets!” They were carrying a thick booklet of perforated tickets, which they tore out one by one and handed to any human who didn’t appear to have one.

“Do we have to?” asked a grouchy-looking man who did not take the proffered ticket.

“Not really,” answered the demon.

“I don’t want to go anywhere without my wife,” said the man.

The demon flipped through pages on their clipboard. “Wife…” they repeated. “Stephanie? She’s in very good health. Doesn’t look like she’ll be here any time soon. You’ll be waiting a long while.”

“Don’t care,” said the man. He plopped into one of the moldy seats, then stretched his legs out in front of him and folded his arms. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

The demon shrugged and moved on. “Tickets! Get your tickets!”

Will he be all right, waiting here that long? Aziraphale silently asked Crowley.

Crowley gave the seated man a cursory glance. You tell me. Does he really love her?

Aziraphale focused his angel-senses on the man for a moment. I believe so.

Then he’s got hope.

The demonic ticket-agent approached and shoved a ticket at Ben, who accepted it hesitantly. “Take your ticket and passport to the security checkpoint and they’ll give you a pier assignment.” To Estelle they added, “No angels past the checkpoint.”

They squinted at Crowley and Aziraphale, apparently not recognizing their faces, but able to discern that they weren’t human. “What’s this, then?”

Crowley was not in a mood to explain things. (He rarely ever was.) He waved a hand in the demon’s direction, and tickets appeared in his and Aziraphale’s hands. “Best keep at it,” he said to the demon, who nodded in compliant confusion and made their way toward the next group of people.

Eric, looking nervous, made a note on his clipboard but didn’t say anything.

The security checkpoint queue was moving surprisingly briskly, with a pair of demons inspecting everyone’s passports and tickets and then directing them to specific piers. As each human moved past the checkpoint, their guardian angel flickered and then disappeared.

“I’ll just… nip up ahead and let them know what’s going on,” said Eric. He darted forward to talk to one of the checkpoint-demons.

We can still go home, said Crowley, brushing his arm against Aziraphale’s. Back to the bookshop, maybe a few drinks… you could do that inventory, and I’ll sleep on your terrible sofa. Go out for eggs benedict and coffee in the morning. See if there’s anything interesting on in the museums, maybe, or–

“No,” said Aziraphale out loud, and then, by touching, I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to be here, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’re doing this. You were right; it’s awful, but… I have to see it through.

Crowley sighed. “It’s not going to get less awful.”

Ben reached the checkpoint and handed over his passport and ticket.

“Would you please tell him again that I love him?” asked Estelle, eyes full of tears. “Tell him to remember?”

“Ben,” said Aziraphale, “Estelle says to tell you to remember that she loves you.”

“Why can’t I see her, though?” asked Ben. “I can see you. What you really look like, I mean. I see all kinds of things, so why–”

The demon handed back Ben’s passport and ticket. “Proceed to Pier 86-L and wait for your boat to arrive.”

Aziraphale said, “I don’t know why you can’t see her, but she really does love you, so very much. I can sense love – divine love, human love, angelic love... Estelle cares about you more than anything.”

Ben frowned. “The lights are going to go out. Soon.”

Estelle’s tears were now running freely. “Please, please look out for him if you can.”

“I will,” promised Aziraphale.

“Wait,” said Ben. “Can you ask her if–”

But Estelle was gone, and Aziraphale had to tell him so.

Eric was speaking in intense whispers with the other security demon. “Absolutely not!” the demon was saying. “No angels permitted past the checkpoint; no exceptions. Those are the rules.”

“You don’t understand,” insisted Eric, cringing. “He’s–”

“I have a passport,” said Aziraphale, handing it over.

The demon inspected it. “What– Wait, the Aziraphale? The one who– And–” His eyes lit on Crowley and he skittered backward in terror, distractedly returning Aziraphale’s passport.

Crowley simply held up his own passport, took Aziraphale by the shoulder, and walked through the checkpoint.

“Pier 86-L,” the security demon mumbled after them, eyes enormous.

“I tried to tell you,” Eric hissed backward at the demon as he followed Crowley.

Through pure coincidence or ineffable intent, the queue on Pier 86-L included many of the same people they’d seen entering through the terminal gate – Lishan, Mina, Mina’s irritable father William, and the three old friends from the retirement home.

Lishan appeared to have made more friends: a scruffy-looking man who was chatting with them about music, and the woman whom Aziraphale and Crowley had seen crying when they first arrived in the waiting area. She was now angel-less like the rest of the humans, and looking as if she’d never cried a day in her life.

“Seems like we’ve been waiting forever,” said the man.

“It’ll get here soon,” said Lishan, looking down the canal with a reassuring smile. “And it’s nice they let us all wait together, right? Better than being alone.”

If not for his demon-senses, Crowley might have believed that Lishan was actually as calm and confident as they were acting. It was a top-notch act.

“I asked if there were any first-class options,” said the not-crying woman. She was wearing an incorporeal semblance of expensively fashionable clothes. “The demon just laughed at me. And then someone else told me there was a boat shortage because they haven’t been able to keep up with global overpopulation.”

Mina nodded. “The ticket agent I talked to said it might be a while.”

“Nope,” said Crowley, who had just reached the end of the queue. “Not doing this. I’ve put up with a lot the past few days, and this is the limit. I do not wait in queues.”

He snapped his fingers upward and there, at the end of the pier, was their boat.

Eric scribbled frantically on his clipboard. “Does that count as deviating from the itinerary?”

“It’s accelerating the itinerary,” said Crowley. “Which I imagine Dagon would approve of, seeing as she wants us through and out as quickly as possible. And that might be the only thing Dagon and I have ever agreed on.” He raised his voice. “On board, everyone, go on. Don’t keep the torments of Hell waiting.”

Once on the boat, people had a choice of either the stuffy, claustrophobia-inducing lower level, or the open upper level, where the smell of decay from the canal water was more prominent. Either way, the temperature was several degrees above what most humans would consider comfortable.

“I can’t believe this thing doesn’t have air conditioning,” complained William. “Whole place is like some backwater country run by ignoramuses. At least everyone speaks English.”

Someone at the far end of the seats whispered loudly, “Hell is being stuck on a tour boat with Americans.” A couple of other people nodded.

“Wait,” said Lishan, who had been talking cheerfully with Dottie’s friend Sue (the one who had incorporeally punched her earlier). “Are we speaking English? This doesn’t feel like English. Or any kind of Hindi, or French, or Amharic …”

Mina’s eyes widened. “You know all those languages? I don’t even know what that last one is.”

They shrugged. “The Hindi and the French aren’t exactly fluent. Amharic is my mom’s– ”

“But we’re speaking International French, aren’t we?” frowned the well-dressed woman, whom Lishan had introduced as Selene when they all sat down. “That’s what it sounds like to me.”

“Universal Human,” explained Eric, still making notes. “Management would shut it off if they could sort out how, but all humans seem to be able to do it once their brains die.”

Everybody appeared to be contemplating the fact that their physical brains were now dead.

“This raises so many questions about the nature of consciousness,” said Dottie.

Mina asked, “If we don’t have bodies anymore, then how are we walking on floors and holding tickets and stuff? And I’m not just imagining how bad it smells, am I?”

“Think of it as demi-matter on a wavelength that your incorporeal self can interact with,” said Eric.

“But nothing hurts; not like it used to,” said Dottie’s other friend Elana. “I thought Hell was supposed to be all about pain?”

Eric grinned. “You don’t need a body to feel pain.”

“This boat isn’t exactly painful, but not what I’d call comfortable,” said Selene.

She was sitting next to the scruffy man, whose name was Bruce. The seats were too small and close to allow anything resembling elbow-room. Bruce didn’t seem to care; his elbows were overhanging the narrow arm-rests and poking into Selene’s space on one side. Even though she could have just let her own incorporeal elbow overlap with his, the prospect seemed too strange for her, because she was keeping her arms tightly folded across her midsection.

“Yes, it’s a brilliant design,” enthused Eric. He turned toward Crowley. “Some of your best work, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“You designed the boats?!” exclaimed Aziraphale, who until then had been giving most of his attention to Ben, while trying not to look like he was giving most of his attention to Ben, because he hadn’t forgotten Crowley’s warning.

Crowley shifted uncomfortably. “Er… ‘designed’ might be overstating it; all I did was write up some recommendations by request…”

“Genius insights, though,” said Eric. “And so much attention to detail. I read the whole list, more than once. You have a real intuition for–”

A deafening scratch and whine from the boat’s announcement system drowned him out. “Hellohello hell-o; welcome, everyone!” came a gratingly chipper voice. “Welcome to Hell! Ha ha, I never get tired of saying that. We’re glad you’re here.”

From beneath them came the rumble of whatever infernal mechanism powered the boat, and it began to move away from the pier.

The announcer went on, “Now, I’m sure you’ll all be excited to know that we’re just getting underway to join up with the famous River Styx. I promise it’s only once in a while that the boat styx in the river! Ha ha!”

Crowley had buried his face in one hand.

“Fun fact,” the announcer went on, “The American rock band Styx chose their name because, according to founding member and lead vocalist Dennis DeYoung, it was the only name that none of the band members hated. Another fun fact: The classical Greek hero Achilles was–”

“In my defense,” Crowley muttered to Aziraphale, “The original design involved skulls, flamespouts, and chaining all the humans to galley-oars. So at least give me some credit for convincing Management this was worse.”

“I’m not certain it’s not worse,” said Aziraphale.

Lishan and Mina had ended up sitting next to each other. Quietly enough not to be heard by any of the other humans (but audible to an angel and a demon who happened to be nearby), Lishan whispered to Mina, “Okay, honestly? This is so much weirder than anything I ever thought Hell would be like. Are you scared at all? You don’t seem like you are.”

She shook her head. “Nah. I worked minimum wage in retail. I don’t think Hell’s going to be able to come up with anything more terrifying than that.”

Lishan laughed.

Mina gave Lishan an amicably scrutinizing look. “But you’re the one who’s been making friends and acting like we’re all just on vacation or something. You don’t seem scared, either. Not even a little.”

“I’ve been in a lot of competitions,” they explained. “You learn pretty fast not to show fear, no matter how terrified you are.”

Crowley’s demon-senses were telling him that Lishan was indeed terrified. They were hardly the only one, although they were still doing a phenomenal job of hiding it.

Mina started to ask something, but William interrupted her with an unsolicited lecture on what ought to be done to the boat’s engine to make it quieter. Bruce inserted some comments that seemed intended to impress everyone with his own knowledge of engines.

The engine belched out exhaust as it puttered down the canal, eventually bringing them into view of a huge concrete archway with a curved neon sign over the top.

“Oh, the whole sign’s lit up today,” observed Eric, looking pleased. “They’re always sending up maintenance requests because half the letters burnt out. Someone actually got it sorted for once.”

The sign’s letters were twenty feet tall and lurid orange:

ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE

“Hell’s biggest lie,” mused Crowley quietly. “Well, one of them, anyway.”

“Not the lights I meant,” said Ben to Aziraphale. “But also these.”

Most of the neon letters spluttered and went dark, leaving:

N  ON        OPE

“Eh, scratch that about it being sorted,” sighed Eric, making a note. “At least I don’t have to process the request ticket this time. Lighting techs are a nightmare. Literally.”

Mina and Lishan’s mouths both quirked, and their eyes met.

“No-nope,” said Mina in a deep tone that sounded like a cross between a robot and a frog.

Lishan snorted out a tiny laugh and then repeated, monotone, “Nonope, nonope, nonope.”

William cast an annoyed look in their direction, but they ignored him and repeated it louder.

“Okay,” said Mina to Lishan. “I say we nonope our way through this whole thing. Whatever Hell throws at us, we just nonope on out. Lust? Nonope. Gluttony? Nonope. Heresy? I literally have no idea what that even is. Big old nonope.”

“Sounds like a plan,” smiled Lishan gratefully. “Debilitating terror? Nonope. On we go.”

Mina smiled back.

I expect those two, at least, are going to be all right, said Aziraphale silently.

Yeah, they’ll be fine. Lishan’s fear had abated significantly. Crowley surveyed the tour boat’s other occupants, contemplating the general jumble of emotions and dispositions. His demon-senses picked up about as much anxiety, outrage, judgment, jealousy, irritation, and self-loathing as one might expect from a bunch of dead humans about to enter Hell-proper. He had to rely on physical senses to notice the hints of kindness, acceptance, curiosity, and complicated feelings of relief and loss at having left the world behind. Humans are a piece of work, though.

They are indeed.

The moment their boat rattled its way under the mostly-burnt-out neon sign, Aziraphale’s eyes flew wide open and he leaned forward in his seat, clutching his chest.

What?! What is it? asked Crowley, sensing an explosion of panic from the angel.

Emotions and raw information, nearly devoid of words, surged out from Aziraphale, frantically communicating something along the lines of: I can’t feel Her, you were right, this was a trick and now I’m Fallen, I can’t feel Her at all, Crowley, it’s just GONE, there’s nothing, it’s all just darkness, I’ve Fallen, Fallen, what am I – what is –

“Is he all right?” asked Selene. Crowley ignored her.

Aziraphale. AZIRAPHALE, listen to me!! Listen! That’s not what’s happening. I told you, you can’t Fall without making a conscious choice. It’s not you; it’s– Aziraphale was having so much trouble processing this that Crowley yanked off his sunglasses, grabbed either side of Aziraphale’s face, and looked forcefully into his eyes. LISTEN TO ME. Count to ten, all right?

What?

Oh, for– Here, we’re counting to ten together. One. Two.

Three, supplied Aziraphale automatically, even though he still wasn’t thinking with any sort of coherence.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten. All right, said Crowley. Take a deep breath.

Aziraphale had intentionally not taken any breaths at all since they’d approached the foul-smelling canal, but he did now, and while it wasn’t exactly pleasant, it did ground him a bit.

I’m going to let go, just for a second. Tell me what you sense.

There was another little flash of panic, but then Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley broke contact with him.

And Aziraphale, after another breath that he was too distracted to regret in spite of the smell, nearly wept when he realized he could still sense with an angel’s senses, even without touching, the full force of Crowley’s unfathomable love for him, six thousand years’ worth of it and still counting.

And then, the warmth of a long-standing, all-forgiving friendship among the three women from the nursing home. The stubborn, embattled but still-present family love between Mina and William, despite William’s general awfulness. A few tentative buds of affection beginning to grow between some of the humans who’d just met each other.

He nodded again, eyes closing in relief.

Crowley touched one side of his face gently. You haven’t been cut off. All of Hell is cut off. I should’ve thought to warn you.

Ben had been watching them with concern. “It’s because it’s a hole,” he said. “Where the lights go out. A hole in the whole. Are you okay?”

Aziraphale did his best to collect himself, then forced a smile and answered, “Yes; sorry about that. Bit of a shock, is all. Right as rain.”

He wasn’t, really, because an angel not being able to sense divine love was like a solar panel with only the moon for light, but he supposed Crowley had been living with said lack for a very long time, and had, at least, survived.

“There’s going to be holes in the hole, too,” said Ben. “A hole in reality and a hole in the contract. You being here makes things extra-weird. You know, I actually want to see how that plays out? Which is also weird.”

A few people in the next seats over were eyeing Ben warily.

Crowley put his glasses back on.

“Are those contacts, or do your eyes really look like that?” asked Selene.

Crowley made a disgruntled noise and folded his arms as he looked out the window.

Chapter Text

The archway had taken them into a dark tunnel, which was now opening onto the River of the Underworld. The boat’s announcer had been mercifully quiet while they were inside the tunnel, but as they moved into the river, the speakers screeched back to life. “And here it is, folks: the moment you’ve been waiting for, your very first view of Hell itself!”

The Styx was wide and its black water nearly opaque, flowing at a slight slope downward and curving to the left. The outer side of the river, on their right, was an uninterrupted rockface; the inner side seemed to be the top edge of a cliff. Once the boat established itself in the current, its engines dwindled to a hum, allowing its passengers to hear a variety of screams and wails echoing up from below.

The announcer babbled on, “Now, some of those screams are being played back from recording, just to help set the mood. But I assure you, plenty of them are genuine! And you can join in at any time; feel free to just let loose and scream for any reason at all.”

The boat drifted closer to the cliff-edge.

“Most of you probably know that Hell, also called the Great Pit, is shaped like a giant funnel and divided into levels called Circles. But what surprises a lot of our visitors is that the so-called Circles are more like threads on a screw, so each one spirals downward around the funnel and connects with the next level below. And that’s why it’s a fun local joke to say that everyone in Hell is screwed! Ha ha!”

Crowley contemplated the plant-mister. I don’t suppose you can turn this into actual holy water.

Not under present circumstances, I’m afraid.

“We’re just coming up on one of the best views right now,” the tour guide went on. “If you look over the left side, you’ll be able to see the Upper Three Circles across the Pit: Lust, Gluttony, and Greed. They’re some of our most popular areas. But we don’t expect you to take our word for it. You’ll have a chance to explore every single one of the Circles on your own, and if you like what you see, you’re welcome to stay! There’s a place here for everyone.”

“Who’d be enough of an idiot to stay in Hell if he didn’t have to?” grouched William. “People are morons.”

“No kidding,” said Bruce.

Cutting across the river up ahead was a cinderblock wall with another archway, this one with the exclamation “Lust!” over it in red neon.

“That’s right, folks,” said the announcer. “The first Circle is Lust, and it is hot! That’s because it’s a desert. Each Circle has its own unique climate. But don’t worry, it’s also hot in the other sense of the word. If stimulating companionship has been your life’s dream, you’re about to be in the right place.”

Dottie’s friend Elana said, “I thought the whole point of Hell was supposed to be that you get eternally flagellated because you were too interested in ‘stimulating companionship’ while you were alive.”

“Common misconception,” supplied Eric brightly. “Although if you’re into flagellating, you’ll find plenty of accommodating companions on this level.”

“Ugh, no thanks,” said Dottie’s other friend Sue. She looked around at the other passengers. “Not that I’m judging anyone who is. As long as it’s consenting adults. You do you, people.”

The current carried them through the gate, after which the landscape opened up into a reddish, rocky desert with no vegetation. Wind eddies swirled dust across a few dirt roads, which led to indistinct buildings in the distance. There was light overhead, initially a relief after the dark of Limbo, but it was an unsettling, artificial brightness with no obvious source.

A couple of buildings came into view on the side of the river, reverberating with bass-heavy party music. As the boat got closer, its passengers could see what looked like people – mostly of film-star fitness, mostly wearing swimsuits – dancing and carousing on decks around the buildings, which turned out to be cheap-looking hotels.

Aziraphale cringed. “You were right, Crowley; this is already worse torture than anything I could have imagined. The music alone is excruciating.”

“If you ask me,” said Crowley, “It’s the most boring level. Lust is for amateurs. Predictable, obvious… tedious.”

“Easy to say when you already have a hot boyfriend,” observed Dottie.

Aziraphale gave Crowley a confused look. “You have a hot boyfriend?”

“Okay, who even are you people?” asked Selene.

It was Eric who ended up explaining to Selene and a few other curious humans that Aziraphale and Crowley were an angel and a demon officially taking the tour. In the momentary silence before a storm of questions could burst, the boat’s engine rumbled again as it maneuvered up to a dock just past the hotels.

The announcer came back on. “Aaaaand here we are, folks! You’ll be free to explore in just a few seconds. Take a good look around, chat with some of our fascinating companions, and see if there’s anything you like. If you want to move on to the next Circle, just make your way to the customs office on the other side, and get your passport stamped. The boat will be waiting past customs.”

“Can we just stay on the boat?” asked Sue.

“Wouldn’t recommend it,” said Eric.

The gangplank set itself in place and the announcer continued: “All right, time to disembark! The boat will be temporarily nonexistent in ninety seconds. Better hurry! Unless, that is, you want to try a swim in the Styx.”

As this was a highly unappealing prospect, the passengers hustled immediately toward the exit. After about a minute of most of them still being unwilling to walk through each other, greater urgency set in and everyone still on board stampeded for the gangplank, regardless of whom they might be stepping through. Just as the last passenger was setting foot on the dock, the boat popped out of existence.

“I could bring it back…” proposed Crowley.

“That’s a deviation I’d have to report,” said Eric, and then added, cowering, “Not that I would want to! But if they found out I hadn’t–”

“It’s all right,” said Aziraphale. “We’re here for the full Tour, however harrowing that might be.” He looked up at the shoddy hotels and their occupants, and shuddered.

The passengers made their way up the dock with varying degrees of interest and disinterest. As they approached the hotels, shouts and squeals of enthusiasm went up from the partiers, many of whom hurried in their direction and began to greet people individually. Soon there was a cacophony of “Well hi there, gorgeous,” and “Welcome, wanna dance?” and other such pleasantries. A handful of people from the boat accepted invitations immediately.

Lishan noticed one of the partiers leading a human away by the elbow. “Wait, they can touch us? Even though we’re incorporeal?”

“Sure can, cutie,” said another partier nearby, brushing Lishan’s arm.

“How does that work?” they asked Eric.

“They’re shades made out of demi-matter,” explained Eric. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but they’re not real, in any sense of the word ‘real.’ It’s a sort of demonic sexbot.”

“Sex… bot?” repeated Aziraphale.

Bruce began, “A sexbot is–”

“Thank you, but I can guess from the name.” Aziraphale turned back to Eric. “How do you people come up with these things?”

“His Inglorious Lowness Prince Asmodeus and His Eminent Disgrace Duke Adrammalech conducted an in-depth study of human nature over several centuries,” answered Eric.

“Wankers,” whispered Crowley.

The shade said to Lishan, “I can give you a full demonstration, if you like.”

“Uh… thanks but…” They smirked. “Thanks, but nonope.”

This caused Mina, who was also being solicited by a well-muscled shade, to laugh and say to him, “Yeah, same. Nonope.”

Looking puzzled, the two shades drifted off to search for other prospects.

Ben, silent and with hands smashed into his pockets, was ignoring the shades and everyone else. A few feet away, William was saying, “You really think I’m dumb enough to fall for some fake floozy in a bikini?” The shade who had approached him shrugged and moved on.

The grating rumble of a motorcycle in the distance had caught Bruce’s attention. “Now that is gorgeous,” he said, possibly referring to the bike, or to its rider, a blonde shade in minuscule cutoff shorts. She pulled up next to their group, hopped off the motorcycle, and leaned against it.

“Hey there, Bruce. I’ve been waiting for you a long time.”

“Yeah?” Bruce seemed more than willing to accept this probable lie as truth.

“Yeah. You dreamed about me your whole life, didn’t you? Let’s get out of here. Wanna drive?”

As Bruce began to move toward the motorcycle, Lishan reached toward him and said, “Hey, you know she’s not real. Maybe you shouldn’t–” Lishan’s fingers slid incorporeally through Bruce’s upper arm.

“She’s plenty real enough for me,” smiled Bruce, straddling the motorcycle. The shade got on behind him as he said to her, “I’ve always said all I ever needed was a good woman. You and me against the world, baby; let’s go.”

“Wait–” called Lishan, but the bike was already moving away into the hot wind of the desert. Lishan let out a frustrated breath.

“I guess Bruce is staying,” said Mina. “What will happen to him?”

Eric shrugged. “He’ll have a lot of demi-material, incorporeal sex.”

“That doesn’t sound that bad,” said Dottie.

“It also doesn’t sound that great,” said Mina.

“It isn’t. But he’ll convince himself that it is, even though, deep down, he’ll know it’s an illusion.” Eric’s expression warmed as he went on, “And the knowledge that she’s not real will torture him, no matter how much he tries to convince himself he doesn’t care. Eventually he’ll decide he’s bored with her, and another shade will come along, and it’ll be exactly the same, and again and again. He’ll probably tell himself a lot of rubbish about what a Real Man does and doesn’t need. And his greatest fear will be anyone else finding out how lonely he is, so he’ll just dig himself in deeper the more time goes on.”

“We should have tried harder to stop him,” said Lishan.

“He was kind of a prick, though,” said Selene.

Crowley, abysmally bored, was scrolling on his phone. “He made his choice.”

“Wait,” said Mina, “Your phone is working? Mine’s been dead ever since… you know, death.”

“No, it’s not working at all,” answered Crowley, even though it obviously was. Aziraphale nudged him reproachfully, and he shoved the phone into his pocket.

“People can choose to leave Hell, right?” asked Lishan. “Even after they’ve been here a while?”

“Doesn’t happen often,” said Eric. “But yes.”

Lishan brightened. “Well, then, maybe Bruce will be okay. Maybe he’ll change his mind. Maybe…” They looked over their shoulder at a few people from the tour boat who were being led inside by shades. “Maybe everyone will be okay.”

No one else appeared to think this was likely.

“We just need to stay positive,” insisted Lishan.

“So how do we get to the customs office?” asked Elana.

“Bit of a trek, I’m afraid,” answered Eric. “Walking along the river is the easiest way. We’ll pass a few more establishments like this one.”

Crowley pushed the back of his hand against Aziraphale’s. Bugger all this. I brought the car; we can just drive round to customs.

I promised Estelle I’d watch out for Ben.

Doesn’t look like this level is much of a threat to him. But if it matters that much to you, he can come along. This was an enormous concession from Crowley, who loathed having anyone other than Aziraphale in his car, and ordinarily went to great lengths to avoid any such situation.

What about all the rest of them? And we’d have to take Eric, as well.

Crowley grumbled silently. In theory, all the humans could sit in one seat at the same time… oh, wait; no, they can’t. The car is earth-matter. Incorporeal humans won’t be able to interact with it at all. Never mind. Walking it is, then. He didn’t bother putting his dire displeasure into words; Aziraphale knew perfectly well, and sent another wave of gratitude which mollified Crowley very slightly.

Lishan was trying to gather more people from the boat. “Hey, everyone; we’re going to the customs office; anybody else want to come with us?”

“Yeah, we’ll–” began Sue, but then she noticed Dottie heading up to one of the hotels with the shade that had previously been talking to Mina. “Dottie! What the hell?”

“I’m not going to stay! I just want to know what it’s like. It’s an experiment.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” called out Elana.

“It’s been twenty-three years, Elana! Not all of us were the Lady Casanova of Pleasant Vistas Senior Living Community! I’ll be back…” Dottie glanced at the smiling shade. “Shortly, okay?”

Elana and Sue looked at each other, and then Sue said to the others, “Go on ahead. We’ll stick around and make sure she doesn’t have too much fun, and then we’ll all catch up.”

“Are you sure?” asked Lishan.

They both nodded. “We’ve been looking out for each other for a long time,” said Elana. She and Sue turned toward the hotels.

As they walked away, Sue said to Elana, “Let’s go up to the party and mess with the sexbots by ignoring them and only dancing with each other.”

“Good plan,” said Elana. Over her shoulder, she said to the rest of them, “Go on! We’ll be fine.”

“They will,” said Crowley, both because it was true and because, if he was going to have to walk, he wanted to get it over with.

It was not an enjoyable walk. The desert was hot and the landscape uninteresting, broken up only by the occasional appearance of another set of hotels and beckoning shades.

The shades did vary their game, attempting to appeal to a variety of tastes; at one point, the tourists passed something that looked like a badly-constructed fairytale castle, inhabited by shades in renaissance-faire clothing; at another, a set of buildings that were trying to look sleek and modern, with shades wearing extreme interpretations of runway fashion.

Elsewhere, five shades invited Selene to join them all at once (she declined without hesitation); later on, another motorcycle-riding female shade made an attempt on William and was shouted away; meanwhile, an androgynous-looking shade tried to talk with Lishan, who just laughed and said that the shades were trying too hard.

“The shades seem so real and solid,” observed Mina. “And we’re…” She held up a hand in front of her eyes. “Just kind of grey and see-through and…” She waved one hand through the other. “Not physical.”

“You know what’s also weird?” Lishan asked. “They’re all super attractive, but I don’t feel any, uh… real physical impulse toward them, if that makes sense? Not like I might have when I was alive.”

“Our bodies are gone.” Mina looked at her hand again. “I guess we don’t have physical impulses anymore? But lust is still a thing?”

Eric nodded. “Bit difficult to get one’s head around, particularly for those of us who’ve never had a human body. But apparently biological impulses on their own aren’t sins. Lust in Hell is based on mental and emotional desires, built up from years of living in a human body. Or so they say. I wouldn’t know, personally.”

Ben, who hadn’t appeared to be paying attention, said, “I think actual lust is mostly about wanting other people not to be real people.”

“That… makes a ton of sense, actually,” said Mina, looking at Ben curiously, and then glancing at Lishan, who seemed to share her interest.

The group was approaching yet another building complex, this one in the worst sort of imitation-Tudor style, when they heard someone shouting, “Leave me alone!”

A human woman in a nightgown came running out of one of the buildings, closely followed by a slender male shade with flowing hair. “Rosa, no!” he was calling after her. “You’re my whole world, darling; I can’t live without you!”

“Then say you love me!” she shouted back.

“You’re everything to me, Rosa! How can you not see that?”

“Aurélien, I’ve been with you for years, and you’ve never once said you loved me!”

Tearfully, Aurélien replied, “I tell you all the time how much you mean to me, darling. Please, don’t leave me! I don’t know what I’ll do! There’s nothing for me except you.”

Rosa noticed the travelers and said to them, “Are you tourists? Do you have a boat? Please, can I go with you? I’ve been here a long time, and I want to leave.”

“Of course!” said Lishan. “We’re going to the customs office right now.”

“Oh, thank you,” breathed Rosa. “I still have my passport.”

“Rosa, no!” wailed the shade, his hair flying dramatically in the desert wind.

“Go away!” she said.

“But haven’t I given you the greatest happiness you’ve ever known?”

“…I… No, I don’t think you have,” she said.

Crowley had pulled out his phone again and was yawning.

“All right,” said Mina, moving to stand close to Rosa. “She’s told you what she wants. You need to leave her alone now.”

“No! She has to understand how much I–”

Aziraphale said to Rosa, “My good lady, are you absolutely certain you wish to be rid of him?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and Aurélien was gone.

Everyone blinked for a moment, and then Rosa said, “Thank you. Oh, thank you so much! I was afraid he wouldn’t let me leave.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Aziraphale.

While Lishan introduced everyone, Crowley asked Aziraphale, “Where’d you send it?”

“Not certain. I was trying for that first set of buildings, but I think it ended up somewhere else. That was more taxing than it ought to have been.”

“You are pretty far from Heaven, angel.”

Chapter Text

Ben had wandered off and was squatting by the side of the road, looking at some red rocks. Before Aziraphale could collect him, a petite shade with blue hair and eccentric clothing rode up on a basketed bicycle and dismounted.

“Hi,” she said brightly to Ben. “I can tell you have an artist’s tortured soul, and I think that’s beautiful. Want to listen to indie music and look at my vintage pipestand collection?”

“You’re not real,” he said. “You’re not even a fragment of reality.”

“Reality is just a concept,” she replied. “Do you–”

But Aziraphale had worked another hasty miracle, and the shade was gone.

“Thank you,” said Ben, standing up.

“Happy to help,” said Aziraphale sincerely, though the miracle had once again drained him more than it should have.

The two of them rejoined the group, where Mina was trying to get her phone to work again, and William was complaining about the destruction of civilization via cell phones.

“You’re an artist, then?” Aziraphale asked Ben as everyone began walking again. What he really wanted was to ask Ben a lot of specific questions about how his prophetic sight worked, but that seemed insensitive under the circumstances.

“Yeah.”

“What sort of art do you make?”

“Mostly the kind that normal people find extremely disturbing.”

Aziraphale could think of no appropriate response to this. He was saved from trying by the sound of yet another motorcycle approaching. He sighed and hoped he wasn’t going to have to miracle away a third shade. Working miracles in Hell was exhausting.

Fortunately, the motorcycle’s only riders turned out to be Dottie, Elana, and Sue, all of them occupying more or less the same space on the seat.

“You’re all right!” exclaimed Lishan.

“Told you we would be,” said Sue.

“Where’d you get the motorcycle?”

“Stole it from a shade,” said Elana. “Anybody else want to hop on? There’s room enough for… all the dead people in Hell, I guess. But I get to do the actual driving.”

Everybody seemed to be debating which was less uncomfortable: walking in the desert, or their instinctive feeling that incorporeally sharing the same space as another person (or many other people) was weird.

Fortunately, Eric saved them from that decision by saying, “No need, really. Customs is just ahead.”

The customs office contained two bored-looking demons stamping passports in small booths. People queued up for the booths, everyone trying to guess which line might move faster and somehow getting it wrong either way.

Ben drifted into one of the queues. Aziraphale stayed next to him.

“What have I said about waiting in queues?” protested Crowley.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand. I’m not leaving him. And we’re not in the queue, we’re beside it.

Crowley assessed whether there was any way to move things along by miracle, but official areas such as this were built with a lot of restrictive infernal underpinnings. Fine, he conceded with annoyance. But just so we’re clear, this is not me waiting. I’m doing research. He proceeded to type a query into his phone and ignore everything around them.

Aziraphale, curious, listened in as the human at the front of their queue went up to the booth and handed over his passport.

“And what was your business in the Circle of Lust, Mr. Quinn?” asked the customs demon.

“Huh? I don’t understand.”

“What’s your connection to the circle?”

“Uhhh… I just want to leave.”

“Then you need a passport stamp to show that you’ve been here. What’s your connection to Lust?”

“Like, personally?”

“Yes. Personally.”

“I mean, I didn’t get it on with any of the people… things here, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Something from your life on Earth will do just fine. Any personal connection to Lust.”

“Really?”

The demon sighed and said to his co-worker in the other booth, “I get so tired of explaining this. The guys in the lower circles have it so much easier; they don’t have to do all this blessed hand-holding.” He turned back to the human. “Just tell me something about how you experienced lust when you were alive, I’ll stamp your passport, and you can get back on the boat.”

“Uhhh… you mean like… how I used to think about women I knew when I was… you know…”

“Right,” said the demon tonelessly, stamping the man’s passport with a black letter “L” and waving him through. “Next?”

The next person in line was Selene. “Umm… Honestly, I never thought about sex all that much. It’s not that I didn’t like it while it was happening; I just always had a lot of other things on my mind, when it wasn’t. I can’t remember ever really wanting it, with anyone.”

“Are you kidding?” protested someone in the other queue. “She’s lying. Everyone wants sex.”

“No, they don’t,” sighed the demon. “Let me just tell you how much easier my job would be if they did.”

“Really,” said Selene. “I don’t think I ever lusted after anyone. Does that mean I can’t leave?”

“It doesn’t have to be sexual.” The demon once again complained to his counterpart, “Seriously, we should write up a pamphlet for them to read while they’re in the queue; it would make everything faster. Management never listens to me.” To Selene he said, “Right, how about this: Did you ever get so obsessed with someone that they were all you thought about, to the point that you neglected your other relationships and responsibilities?”

“I don’t think so? My husband and I never had the greatest relationship, even when we first got together. I was always more focused on running the company.” Distress crept into her voice. “What happens if I can’t think of anything?”

“Well, any sort of objectification of others will do in a pinch. Any time it was easier to think of someone only as what they could do for you, and not as a real person with their own needs and desires.”

“You mean like… how I treated my interns? I was awful to them.”

“There you go. Ignoring someone’s humanity for your own gratification. Well done; I knew you had it in you.”

“Oh, thank you!” exclaimed Selene in relief as her passport was stamped with the black L. “I was worried, for a minute there.”

The demon’s visible displeasure at the th-word faded into apathy. “Next!”

The next person in line shuffled forward and offered their passport. “Porn,” was all they said.

The demon stamped it. “Next!”

“Porn,” echoed the next person.

Another stamp. “Next!”

“Porn.”

“Next!”

Crowley had not been paying attention to any of this. Aziraphale, staying beside Ben as the queue moved forward, asked, “They have to admit to the sin in order to leave the circle? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Crowley shrugged. “Hell’s twisted logic. Catch-22. You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t, and the only way to get out of being damned is to admit that it’s true. It’s literally impossible to be human without doing this stuff – lust, greed, anger, whatever – in one way or another, as long as the categories are interpreted broadly enough. Hell wants to make sure they don’t forget it.”

Rosa, just in front of Ben, was waved up to the booth.

“Ms. Rosa,” said the customs demon. “Always disappointing to see a long-term resident leave us. Are you certain we can’t offer you an incentive to stay? A different boyfriend? Maybe two boyfriends? A girlfriend?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, then, for the record, please state your business in the Circle of Lust.”

Rosa paused, thinking, and then said, “My family sent me to work in the garment factory when I was fourteen, and that was all I did my entire life, all day long, almost every day. I never got to meet anyone outside the other workers and my family. I always dreamt my prince would come and save me, and I’d go off with him and never have to work again, and everything would be perfect. And that’s what Aurélien seemed like when I first got here: my prince. I thought nothing else mattered except him. But even then I knew I was lying to myself, and none of it was real. He didn’t love me. So now I’m leaving.”

Looking disgruntled about Rosa’s use of the l-word, the demon stamped her passport. “Bit more detail than necessary, but off you go.”

Ben was next. He moved up to the booth and said, “My whole life, I had visions of Hell, especially the violent parts. It did things to my brain. I was always afraid my brain might hurt people. So any time I was attracted to someone, I pushed them away as hard as I could.”

The demon was obviously annoyed at having to deal with yet another complex case. “That sounds like the opposite of lust in every way. Social isolation goes on Level Four.”

“Only if it’s based on hate or anger,” argued Ben.

This brought out a confused frown from the demon, who was no doubt wondering how a human knew so much about Hell.

“Look,” pressed Ben, “Any sexual fantasies I ever had devolved almost immediately into horror-film material. That definitely goes on Level Six, alongside the non-consensual stuff; not here.”

No offense, said Crowley silently to Aziraphale, but I think your friend needs a therapist more than he needs a guardian angel.

Ben was still arguing with the customs demon. “And I never obsessed over anyone to the point of wanting everyone else to not be real, so you’re not going to get me on that kind of lust. The one time I was really, really into someone, I acted extra-crazy on purpose so they wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

The demon hesitated.

“Seriously; I didn’t want anyone to be real,” insisted Ben. “Because if they weren’t real, I wouldn’t have to hate myself, and my brain, for what it imagined. And that’s all I’ve got, so you’d better take it.”

“Fine; whatever,” sighed the demon. “I don’t get paid enough to deal with this.” He stamped Ben’s passport.

Rolling his eyes behind his glasses, Crowley muttered, “Self-loathing’s a Level Four. Maybe Level Two. No one here has any idea about anything.”

“I know,” whispered Ben, who might have been suppressing a smirk as he walked away backwards. “I just wanted to see if I could get away with it.”

Behind Aziraphale in the queue, Mina and Lishan both laughed.

Crowley raised an eyebrow and said to Aziraphale, “Anyway, he’s through; let’s go.”

Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley began to stroll past the booths, but found himself crashing into an invisible barrier. “Ow.” He rubbed his elbow and turned back to the demons in the booths. “Seriously, guys?”

“What was your business in the Circle of Lust, Mr. Crowley?”

“Oh, come on, Malafar. I’ve walked right through here plenty of times.”

“Dark Council sent down orders,” said Malafar, looking pleased about it. “You have a passport. Means you can’t leave without a stamp.”

Crowley’s fingers closed briefly around the plant-mister, but threatening the customs demons wasn’t going to accomplish anything if the barrier had been ordered by Dark Council. (Most demons would prefer to be destroyed completely rather than face what would happen if they disobeyed the Council.) Nothing but a genuine customs stamp would allow passage through.

The only further objection Crowley could come up with was, “But we’re not capable of lust. It’s not how we’re built.”

“Really?” said Malafar. “You never thought of one person – one being, I should say – as your whole world, as the answer to all your problems? You never wanted to abandon the entire rest of reality except for that being? Make a little bubble – or maybe a little binary star system – just for the two of you, and ignore everything else forever? You never–”

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale and grumbled, “All right, fine, yes, here.” He handed his passport over, and Malafar stamped it with a look of great satisfaction.

“But the Council can’t possibly have insisted on…” Crowley gestured toward the passport in Aziraphale’s hand. “I mean, he’s an angel; I don’t think – by definition – can he even sin?

“Apparently so,” said Aziraphale. Hesitantly he offered his passport to the customs demon. “If the sin is as described, then yes, there’s no question I’m guilty of that, as well.”

Malafar smiled broadly, stamped it, and handed it back. “Best day of my life,” he said.

Aziraphale, Crowley, and Ben exited the customs building onto another dock where the tour boat was waiting. As they approached the boat, Mina, William, and Lishan trickled out of the office behind them.

Mina had been wearing a short-sleeved shirt (insofar as the humans’ clothes counted as clothes; technically they were just expressive projections of their incorporeal selves, but most of them weren’t aware of that). She was now looking at the inside of her left forearm, just below the wrist, where an inch-long black “L” had appeared.

“They stamped your arm?” asked Lishan, shaken.

“No, they stamped my passport,” said Mina. “This just… happened.”

Lishan looked at the same spot on their left arm, and discovered that they, too, had the same mark. As everyone boarded the boat, other humans could be seen noticing the same thing, some of them trying unsuccessfully to rub the L’s away. Eric, who had inadvertently become an unofficial tour guide, was explaining cheerfully that the marks couldn’t be removed in Hell.

“Like I said,” responded Crowley to Aziraphale’s quizzical look. “Hell doesn’t want them to forget it.” He pulled up his own sleeve and rolled his eyes in irritation when he found an identical mark. “Ngk. I don’t believe this.”

After the two of them had sat next to each other in the boat’s terrible seats, Aziraphale unbuttoned his shirt-cuff and rolled it back to show the same dark L-shape.

Crowley brushed one of his thumbs against it. I hate seeing this on you, and I hate that I’m the cause of it.

You’re not the cause. And it’ll be a good reminder. You and I loving each other is a good thing, but we can’t let it become all that we are, or all that we do.

“Are you really going to moralize your way through all of Hell?” said Crowley out loud.

“Isn’t that what this is about?”

“No. No, it’s not. I’m not sure you understand Hell at all.”

Aziraphale was re-buttoning his cuff. “Well, I am an angel. What did you expect?”

Crowley smiled in spite of himself, and took Aziraphale’s hand again. Did you really imagine running away with me?

Of course I did.

But just once or twice, right?

Since 1941? Once or twice a day, at least.

Chapter Text

“Wel-L-L-come back, everyone! Looks like we’ve got a few less of you, but that’s normal. It’ll be a cold day in Lust when no one stays! Anyway, we’re about to get underway for the next circle. I hope you’re hungry!” The tour boat’s engines growled to life, and it began to move away from the dock.

“Next is Gluttony, right?” asked Sue.

“Yes,” said Eric. “But they’ve been doing a multi-point expansion over the last century or so. It’s a lot more than just eating, these days.”

Aziraphale was paging through his notebook. “A number of old stories claim that anyone who consumes food in Hell is doomed to stay forever.”

“Not true,” said Crowley. “Not that I’d especially recommend eating the food.”

Privately, Aziraphale said, I suppose there’s a small chance I might be just a touch susceptible…

You’ll be fine. Enjoying food is not the same thing as gluttony.

The boat was in the center of the river again, speeding toward the next gateway. This one had yet another worn-out-looking neon sign that read “Gluttony!” in yellow letters. Underneath it was strung up a printed canvas sign that added “And So Much More!”

The announcer inevitably had things to say. “Folks, one of the key principles of Gluttony is that you can never have enough, right? That’s why we’re always expanding, with more and more types of excessive consumption being added all the time. Whatever it is you enjoy mindlessly gobbling, whether that’s in the literal or metaphorical sense, you’ll find it here.”

“Does that include reality TV?” Mina asked Eric.

“Yes, loads!” the demon answered proudly. “They added it about twenty years ago. Some of the shows already have more than five hundred seasons. Plenty of repeat footage; fantastically mindless.”

William glared. “Of course they have that garbage here. She” – he pointed toward Mina – “watches that stuff all the time. Never lifts a finger around the house, just TV, TV, TV.”

“Dad, I was exhausted all the time. I was on my feet all day at work, with people yelling at me every five minutes. I needed a break sometimes.”

“Well, maybe if you’d watched less TV and made something of yourself, you could have gotten a better job, and you wouldn’t have had to buy that cheap foreign car, and we’d still be alive.”

Mina inhaled sharply as if she were going to reply, but the breath only came back out in a shuddering near-sob.

Lishan was about to intervene, but Crowley got there first: “Pray tell, what job did you have at the time, William?”

This provoked a whole new burst of anger. “It’s not my fault those idiots laid me off! It was age discrimination, plain and simple. I always worked hard, never asked for any special treatment. And what do I get? Laid off, and a good-for-nothing daughter.”

Crowley might have said something else, but the boat had just passed through the gate into gloomier lighting and a freezing drizzle of rain. The announcer chimed in, “Did you all bring your umbrellas? Just kidding; even if you had, they wouldn’t work here. But if you need a break from the rain and mud, you’ll have a perfect reason to step into one of our booths and see what’s available.”

The boat’s passengers could now see that the side of the river up ahead was lined with what looked like cheaply-constructed carnival booths. A muddy path separated the chain of riverside booths from even more rows running perpendicular to the river, thousands of them as far as the eye could see. The booths were lit up with a motley variety of string-lights and bright signs advertising their contents, which seemed to encompass every imaginable consumable from ice cream to mobile games.

“It’s the food that eats you,” sighed Ben.

Lishan and Mina both glanced at Ben and then at each other. “I like him,” whispered Lishan, quietly enough that only Mina and the two nearby beings with supernatural senses could hear. Mina nodded in agreement before her eyes darted back in Ben’s direction.

“They have beer!” exclaimed one of the other tourists. “Oh, I’d kill for a drink right now.”

“Do you think they have wifi?” asked someone else.

“They don’t,” said Crowley, but people were now talking too excitedly for anyone to hear him.

This time, when the boat docked, most of its passengers were eager to disembark, regardless of the threat of falling into the river (although said threat was repeated, and the boat once again temporarily ceased to exist after ninety seconds). Nearly everyone had spotted something (noodles, film showings, falafel, shelves full of knockoff handbags… and most of all, alcohol) which promised much-needed comfort after everything they’d been through at the ends of their lives.

“Maybe we should all stay together?” Lishan proposed, without much effect, as people were scattering quickly. One passenger was already guzzling wine directly from the bottle in a booth festooned with plastic grape leaves and a sign that read “Vino Delicioso;” another had stopped in a booth labeled “Chicken Bucket!” and was devouring fried chicken from a two-foot-tall bucket.

Aziraphale cast his eyes around warily. “Staying together seems wise,” he said to Lishan.

Rosa and Ben were both sticking close to Aziraphale anyway, and William grudgingly agreed to stay with Mina in spite of what he referred to as her deviant friends. Selene had started to head off on her own, but then thought better of it, and Eric was still monitoring Aziraphale and Crowley, so they ended up with more or less the same group that had walked through Lust together.

The walking here was even less pleasant. Their feet stuck and slipped in the cold mud, and the rain was just lightly icy enough to be irritating but not debilitating. Aziraphale looked down at his muddy shoes and sighed.

I’ll miracle them for you when we’re through, promised Crowley silently.

Aziraphale gave him a look of gratitude. I really can’t thank you enough, my dear, for all of this. I know how much you don’t want to be here.

Crowley shrugged. What I want is to be with you, even if that means being with you in Hell.

Aziraphale’s reply was all emotion and no words.

“There are other people here!” exclaimed Mina, pointing to a booth where people were sitting in saggy armchairs, each one completely absorbed in a tablet game. “Real people, not from our boat, I mean. They’re human, right?” she asked Eric. “Not shades like in Lust?”

Eric nodded. “They’re human. Long-term residents.”

“They look like zombies,” said Mina.

They did. Most of the long-term residents looked emaciated, with hollow cheeks and hollow eyes. Not one of them looked up at the tourists.

“They seem so unhappy,” frowned Aziraphale. He went over to one of the tablet gamers and said, “Hello.” The woman didn’t respond. “My dear lady, are you certain this is how you want to spend your time? We’re just on our way to the customs office; perhaps you’d like to join us?”

The woman kept tapping in silence. A few seconds later, her tablet disappeared. That, finally, got a reaction: she exclaimed, “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” and then went over to a display stacked with more tablets to take another one. “You’re lucky they save progress across devices. Go away and leave me alone.”

Aziraphale sighed and did as she asked.

They passed another booth where people were sitting at individual tables eating enormous steaks in silence. The steak-eaters looked just as starved as the tablet gamers.

“Wait,” said Selene. “You can eat anything you want here and not get fat? That sounds like Heaven, not Hell. Ohhh, and there’s chocolate!”

They’d just reached a booth with piled-up boxes of chocolate on display. Before anyone could stop her, Selene grabbed a piece and popped the whole thing into her mouth. “Oh, god, I missed chocolate,” she said with her eyes closed and her mouth still full. “I haven’t had a real dessert in years.” She took two more.

“Selene, no!” exclaimed Rosa. “Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

“But it’s chocolate,” said Selene with her mouth full again.

“Is that it?” Lishan asked Crowley with concern. “Is she stuck here, now?”

“‘Course not,” Crowley answered. “The food’s just food. Have one yourself, if you like.”

What are you DOING? demanded Aziraphale. If you–

Oh, for– Here, you trust me, right? Crowley picked up one of the chocolates and held it in front of Aziraphale’s mouth. Just taste it.

And because Aziraphale did trust him, with everything that he was, he leaned forward, peering through the surfaces of Crowley’s dark glasses, and bit into the chocolate.

After a moment’s pensive chewing, Aziraphale said, “It’s not very good.”

“Yeah,” said Crowley. “It’s mass-produced demi-matter made without love, designed for exploitation rather than real enjoyment.” He gestured widely around them and raised his voice so the whole group could hear. “All of this stuff is more or less rubbish. You might enjoy it a bit, especially if you’re tired or unhappy or cold, and you could eat it to survive if you still needed to eat, which you don’t. But the permanent residents here aren’t eating it because they enjoy it. They’re just eating it to eat it.”

Selene had wolfed down a few more chocolates, but she said to Aziraphale, “You know, you’re right. They’re really not that good. Kind of grainy and metallic. Still, being able to eat as much chocolate as you want is tempting…” She picked up two full boxes. “I’m taking these with us. But let’s go.”

They passed more booths. Mina was briefly interested in an assortment of cheap-looking phones, but someone exiting the booth told her that the phones didn’t have internet or texting or social apps, only preloaded games and media. Disappointed, Mina grabbed one anyway, but she didn’t seem to be at any risk of getting too caught up in it.

A boothful of crepes similarly offered no threat, as Aziraphale could tell just by looking that whoever had made them had never been anywhere near Paris. He was surprised to see a booth of books as well, but quick perusal indicated that they were all badly written and nonsensically repetitive.

Lishan briefly contemplated a thandai booth, and then thought better of it. They did pilfer one of Selene’s chocolates, and pronounced that it wasn’t that bad. William glared at everyone. Ben quietly snagged a pack of cigarettes from a booth full of them, but kept walking.

A couple of booths later, they saw two men sitting in ratty armchairs playing a console game on the same screen. Neither of them was speaking; they just mashed controller buttons and kept their eyes glued to the game.

“Hm, rookie mistake, that,” mused Crowley.

“What?” asked Aziraphale.

“Letting them play the same game as each other, in the same space. Watch this.” Crowley circled behind the two gamers, leaned forward, and asked, “How’s the game?”

One of them blinked. “Uh… not that great? But a game’s a game, I guess.”

Crowley straightened and waited.

The other one said, “It really isn’t that great.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” agreed the first one.

“Why are we playing it?”

“I don’t know… maybe because, I kinda don’t want to have to think about anything else?”

“Same.”

“How long have we been here?”

“Uhhh… I think, about ten years, maybe?”

“Maybe we should try to find a better game.”

Rosa jumped in. “Do you want to come with us? We’re going to the customs office.”

They both looked at her. “Sure,” said the second one. “C’mon, opiumkilledme2008, let’s go.”

As they both stood up, the first one said to his companion, “My real name’s Henry.” He moved as if to shake hands and then remembered they couldn’t.

“Armen,” said the other. “Did opium really kill you?”

“Heroin overdose. What got you?”

“A mortar, I think.”

“Huh. Okay.”

While Rosa made general introductions and they all began moving again, Crowley fell in beside Lishan. “Speaking of athletes. Did a bit of research. Seems you were quite the star. Piles of medals, looked like; and a standing world record? And a fan favorite. You were on cereal boxes and talk shows. Most popular figure skater of your generation, from what I saw.”

Lishan smiled with a trace of sadness. “Yeah; I loved it. I really did. But, to be honest, I also love it that no one here has recognized me. I feel like I’m finally getting to just be me. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“No reason to.”

“Thanks. I had to deal with so much complicated… I mean… I really did love skating, and competing. Everything is crystal-clear when you’re locked into performance mode, because you can’t afford to think about anything else. And when I was on a podium, nothing else mattered.”

They passed a booth full of shoes (none of which would have been a wise choice for Gluttony’s muddy walkways), divided into two sections by gendered styles.

Lishan sighed and kept moving. “But the thing is, you can’t compete much of anywhere without being in a gender category. I couldn’t even use my real name. So only my closest friends and my parents knew who I really was. But I was lucky, too, because my parents were super-supportive and my friends were fantastic. And then just when I was starting to think about coming out to the public…” They fell silent.

“Cancer’s a bitch,” said Crowley. “You know, she was a serious contender for the open Horseperson of the Apocalypse position when Pestilence retired? Pollution got the job by claiming broader impact, but if the primary credential had been sheer nastiness, Cancer would’ve got it.”

“I’m not sure I completely understand all of that. But yes on the bitch part. They found it early and we all thought I’d be okay, and then I wasn’t. I won so much, but in the end, I lost. Did you google all of us?”

Crowley didn’t answer this directly. “Did you know Dottie was a physicist? Well respected; loads of publications. Elana was a car mechanic and a sculptor; did some incredible things in metal. And Sue was a first chair violinist. Also has some arrest records involving political protests.”

“Did you find anything on Ben? I’ve been wondering what his story is.”

“Think he was in a few different institutions, but their records aren’t easy to access when you’re standing around in Lust customs having to miracle your phone reception.”

Lishan thought about this for a long moment, then said, “That was interesting, what you did to those guys – Armen and Henry – just now. Kind of sneaky. You really understand what makes people tick.”

“I s’pose.”

“Could be dangerous in the wrong hands.”

Crowley shrugged. “All I do is give people a little nudge now and then. If you want to talk dangerous…” – he tilted his head over his shoulder at Aziraphale, walking with Ben a short way behind them – “He’s the dangerous one.”

Ben was smoking one of the cigarettes he’d picked up. “They never let people smoke at any of the mental hospitals I was in. I don’t even care if these are bad; I missed it so much. Want one?”

Aziraphale had (mostly) given up smoking, with great regret, when it turned out to be deadly for humans and he’d felt he ought not to set a bad example, but he also had not missed the point of Crowley’s little demonstration with Armen and Henry. “Do you know, I think I might.”

Ben offered the pack. “You’re not going to tell me it’s bad for me?”

Aziraphale took one and, a second later, found that it was already lit. He glanced up ahead at Crowley, who gave him an impish nod before returning to his own conversation.

“You don’t have a body anymore; it can’t hurt you,” he said to Ben, and then inhaled, the tiny touch of warmth a comfort in the freezing rain. “Although this is the worst tobacco I’ve ever had. Is this even tobacco? It tastes like shoe leather.”

Ben laughed. “It is pretty terrible.” He squinted at a flatbread booth a short way ahead of them. “The stuff in that booth isn’t sharp yet. Why is it going to be sharp?”

Eric, who seemed to be ubiquitous, explained, “They do change booths’ contents sometimes, if they think they have a good chance of drawing in a particular person.”

The flatbread began to morph into needles, spoons, candles, and tiny packets. Ben and Aziraphale both glanced back at Henry, who was still talking with Rosa a couple of booths behind them. Ben whispered, “Oh. That’s why. What he said about how he died…”

Aziraphale nodded and said loudly, “My goodness; everything here is so poorly made. Just look at this booth! The entire thing is a structural nightmare.” He tapped a finger against one of the booth’s wooden supports.

In a burst of splinters and mud, the booth collapsed, burying its contents. People all around reacted in alarm.

“Terrible workmanship,” Aziraphale went on. “Good thing no one was inside. I’m surprised more of them haven’t fallen over.”

Ben smiled.

Aziraphale tried not to worry about how much energy that miracle had taken out of him.

Chapter Text

Raucous laughter, strange-sounding among the strangely-silent carnival booths, echoed from one of the booths up ahead. As the group approached, they saw that it contained racks of clothing, along with a little dressing-room and a mirror. Dottie, Elana, and Sue were trying on clothes, mostly in ways for which the clothes had not been designed, while they drank enormous glasses of weak-looking beer and smoked awful-smelling cigars which must have come from another booth.

“I’m not sure I need reality TV when those three are around,” said Mina.

“They ought to know better,” complained William. “Old ladies should set an example for young people, not act like bulls in a china shop.” He harumphed his way over to a nearby booth with a television and began lecturing the person watching it, who, being too absorbed in the television to interrupt or contradict him or care in the slightest, constituted William’s ideal audience.

Elana belted a pair of trousers around Dottie’s head and tied the legs in a bow.

Lishan found a badly-made T-shirt with a bright orange tree-frog printed on the front, which they seemed to find adorable. They pulled the shirt on over their incorporeal clothes and looked in the mirror happily. “Wow. I never thought I’d get to try on clothes just as me. This is the best. Also, frog.”

“Want a picture?” asked Mina, holding up the phone she’d acquired.

“Yeah! Here, let’s make it a selfie together.”

As Mina was moving to stand next to them, Lishan noticed Ben, his cigarette finished, just outside. “Hey, Ben, want to be in the picture?”

Ben blinked, stared at the two of them for a moment, and then said, “Thanks, but no.”

“You sure?” said Mina. “It’s a once in a deathtime opportunity. At least, I hope we’ll never be back here again.”

“You heard what I said in Lust customs, right? About how my brain always imagined hurting people? You’re better off staying away from me.”

“Well,” said Mina, “We’re already dead, so… there’s that.”

“That won’t be comforting when we get to Level Six. You’re going to wish you were more dead.”

“But that won’t be your fault, will it?” said Lishan. “Anyway, your physical brain was part of your body, and now it’s gone. Just like the body I used to have that didn’t look like the real me. Have you imagined hurting anyone since you died?”

Ben thought about it. “Okay, that’s a good point. I haven’t. But I do still see things. I see everyone’s broken pieces. When people try to get to know me, it never ends well.”

Unbothered, Mina asked, “Okay, then, what are they?”

Ben looked confused.

“Our broken pieces,” she said. “Might as well tell us and get it over with. I’m not afraid of anything, so just tell me what you see.”

He studied her for a few seconds. “You always say you’re not afraid of anything, but that’s only because you think you don’t have anything to lose. And you think you don’t matter. You take risks because you think that if something bad happens, you deserve it. Also because you were so unhappy and bored when you were alive that you think anything would be better, even pain.”

Mina shrugged. “Yeah, fair.”

“You’re wrong,” said Ben.

“That’s all you’ve got?” she said.

Ben furrowed. “That was a pretty impressive insight from someone you just met, don’t you think?”

“Well, it didn’t make me not like you, if that’s what you were going for.”

“What about me?” asked Lishan.

After another moment’s consideration, Ben answered, “You spent your whole life afraid that people wouldn’t like you if they found out who you really are.”

“Also fair.”

“And now you’re not hiding who you are anymore, except you also are, sort of, and you’re even more desperate to keep people happy and together, because you feel like it’s a reflection on you if they don’t like you enough to stay with the group.”

“You are?” said Mina.

Lishan thought about it, absently noticing that the frog picture on the T-shirt was already flaking off a bit. “I guess so? I mean, I do actually care about people, for real. I don’t want anyone to stay in Hell. But…” They looked at Ben. “You have a point. Which is a good point, so… Anything else you want to say to try to scare me off?”

“You don’t know when you’re lying and when you’re telling the truth. Which is weird, because you spent your life doing both, really hard.”

This did seem to throw Lishan off for a moment, but then they said, “Yeah, okay, that’s true. Anything else?”

“Can’t think of anything at the moment.”

“In that case, do you want to be in the picture? Because now that we all know each other’s secrets, I think we’re kind of stuck being friends.”

Ben turned toward Aziraphale, who was still smoking just outside the booth and trying to appear as if he hadn’t been paying attention. “You’re looking out for us, right?”

“I… seem to be,” answered Aziraphale.

“Okay.” Ben moved to get in the picture.

Mina held up the phone and pressed the button.

The three of them huddled to squint at the result. “That is the worst quality phone camera I’ve ever seen,” said Mina. “We’re all twice as blurry and weird-looking as we actually are. I kind of love it.”

Grinning, Lishan took off the frog shirt and began looking for more terrible clothes to try. They grabbed a hat and perched it on Ben’s head, which he seemed to find baffling but not unwelcome. Mina found a long, full skirt and put it on as a cape.

“They’re all completely missing the point, aren’t they?” said Eric to Crowley.

“Humans are like that,” Crowley replied.

Rosa ran a hand thoughtfully over one of the racks of clothes.

Selene asked Eric, “Didn’t they say Greed was the next level after this? I would have thought clothes and electronics and stuff would be there.”

“Greed signed over the rights a while back,” explained Eric. “That was after Her Most Inglorious Lowness Prince Mammon came up with a streamlined system for Greed based on psychological studies and focus groups – you’ll see when we get there. And all the material things on this level are intended to be consumed rather than possessed, anyway.”

Mina nodded. “That makes sense. I worked in places that sold clothes like these. They’d barely survive a couple months’ worth of washing. And they never fit right after the first few times you wore them.”

“I made clothes like these,” said Rosa quietly.

Selene had been looking at the clothes as well, initially with some distaste which she now tried to hide. “Oh,” she said to Rosa, “Are you in the industry, too? “

Rosa laughed. “I guess you could say that.” She pulled a polyester dress off its rack. “I made things just like this, thousands and thousands of them.”

Selene seemed confused, but she said, “Well, that must have been lucrative. I designed for Camera Diotta before I moved into management.”

“Really? Our factory made a lot of their stuff. Theirs was better than anything else we made.”

“You ran a factory?”

“No, I worked there.”

“Oh.” Now visibly uncomfortable, Selene turned to Aziraphale, who was smoking a second cigarette outside the booth. “I’ve been meaning to say, I love all the vintage. Especially the distressed waistcoat; very distinctive.”

“Thank you,” said Aziraphale.

“It’s all made completely by hand, isn’t it?” asked Rosa.

“Yes; I used to have a wonderful tailor in the 1840s. I do miss him.”

Rosa smiled wistfully. “The stitching is so old-fashioned, and beautiful. It must have taken a lot of time.”

“I imagine it did. Somehow it seemed as if there was more time to take, back then.”

“Okay,” said Sue. “I vote we quit this before it’s not fun anymore.” Like her friends, she was now wearing a bizarre configuration of cheap clothes that made her look like a cross between a floral sofa and a pirate.

Dottie drained her beer-glass. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

The clothes were already starting to fall apart. Everybody left them behind.

The Gluttony customs building was identical to the one in Lust, with two queues leading up to booths where people were already getting their passports stamped. As soon as they set foot inside, Crowley miracled the mud off Aziraphale’s shoes and his own.

At the front of one queue, a tourist from their boat was arguing with one of the booth-demons. “I was vegan. I never owned a car. I bought all my clothes at thrift shops.”

“Did you eat quinoa?” asked the customs demon.

This was met with an exasperated groan. “Really? All that stuff about quinoa’s ethical complications is overblown on purpose just to bash vegans. Quinoa doesn’t have any more negative impact than any other monoculture grain.”

“But you ate it.”

“Yeah, and also corn and rice. My diet still had a much smaller environmental impact than meat eaters.’”

The demon smiled. “But it had an impact, nonetheless.”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly not eat, could I?”

The next person in line behind them burst out, “You just can’t win here!”

The demon grinned. “Exactly.”

“Fine,” sighed the vegan. “It’s not like I want to stay. Yes, I ate quinoa, which I know perfectly well messed up South American ecosystems the same way any monoculture messes up ecosystems.”

The demon stamped their passport. “Enjoy the rest of your visit. Next!”

The vegan squinted at the passport-stamp and asked, “Is that a G or a C?”

Irritably, the demon answered, “C, for consumption. To avoid confusion with the next level, which is Greed.”

The demon in the other booth chimed in: “You know, the buggers down in Greed could do a P for Possession. They say that would be confusing with the P for Pride down on Level Seven, but everyone knows Seven is still properly Fraud and they should just keep the old F and then bump it all back so we can have the G, but nobody listens to me; they’re all so low and mighty down there…”

In spite of the second demon’s penchant for commentary, the queues moved faster than they had in Lust, since most of the tourists now understood how the system worked and just wanted to get it over with.

When it was Mina’s turn at the booth, all she said was, “I binge-watched so much reality TV. So much. Especially the ones with obstacle courses.” Her passport was stamped with no further discussion.

William was next. “I’m not a child. I have self-control. I spent my spare time improving myself, not like all these brainless kids who just plug themselves in every chance they get.”

The demon pulled a folder from a nearby shelf and flipped through it. “We have you down for ten to sixteen hours of television a day, most of which was inaccurate history documentaries and propaganda ‘news’ shows.”

“Like I said, improving myself.”

“Uh-huh. And what tangible changes did these improvements produce?”

“They meant I knew better than to be bamboozled by lazy whiners looking for a handout.”

The demon seemed to be suppressing a smile. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay here with us for a while? We do have a large selection of similar viewing options. You could continue your self-improvement for as long as you like, and no one would bother you.”

William frowned. “What are you trying to pull?”

“Alternatively,” said the demon. “You can admit that ten to sixteen hours a day was an awful lot of time to spend watching television when you were perfectly capable of doing more productive things with your time. Cooking dinner, for example, rather than expecting your daughter to do it when she’d just got home from a twelve-hour work shift.”

“I paid for the house. Cooking was her job.”

“Well, again, if you’d prefer to stay with us, cooking dinner will always be someone else’s job.”

Glaring, William muttered, “This whole thing is rigged. Go ahead and stamp for the TV if it means I don’t have to deal with this crap anymore.”

“Of course,” said the demon, stamping his passport. “Next!”

Lishan stepped up. “I love animals, but I ate a lot of protein... Meat and eggs and dairy. I’m sure a lot of those animals were treated horribly, and I can’t pretend I wasn’t vaguely aware of it. I did feel bad about it. I just felt like there wasn’t anything I could do to change it. Does that count?”

“Sure,” said the demon, bored again. “Next.”

Next was Ben, who just handed over his passport and said, “Drugs.”

“Next.”

Aziraphale had been behind Ben. He moved forward and offered his passport. “No one could deny that I have a great fondness for–”

The demon looked slightly disgusted. “Fondness isn’t a sin. Fondness is the opposite of a sin.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “Then I’m not certain…”

Crowley had been growing more and more impatient the entire time, particularly as he could no longer deny that he was suffering the indignity of waiting in a queue. He circled around Aziraphale, slapped his own passport onto the desk, and said, irritably, “Fish died to make his sushi, and at least some of his tea leaves and cocoa beans were picked by exploited workers in terrible conditions.” He grabbed the customs-demon’s hand and brought the stamp down to put a black C on Aziraphale’s passport, then moved it toward his own. “And me, I used excessive amounts of alcohol as a coping mechanism.”

The demon snatched their hand away before the stamp could make contact. “You’re not getting off that easy,” they said. “Sure, consumption itself can be sinful, but using consumption as a gateway to entice others into even worse sins? Now, that’s the real thing. Hell has loads more advertising executives than addicts.”

“What?” said Aziraphale.

The demon held up their hand, and a rotating image of an apple appeared above it. “His greatest triumph, some might say.”

Crowley scoffed. “Get your levels straight, Tagdul. That’s Fraud, on Seven, along with your precious advert execs, who probably laughed their way through your entire pathetic operation up here. This expansion business is swelling all of your heads. I gave you the alcohol thing; take it or leave it.”

Tagdul sighed and stamped his passport. “Alcohol it is, then. Next!”

“Good riddance,” grumbled Crowley as they left the office. He pulled down his sleeve to confirm that a C-shaped mark had appeared just under the L on his forearm. “If Lust is the most boring level, Gluttony is the most purely annoying. Gressil runs it, and he’s an absolute git.”

Eric laughed. “He is, isn’t he?” Then, realizing what he’d just said, he looked around in panic to make sure no one else had heard him.

Crowley went on, “All this expansion nonsense reeks of desperation. If you ask me, the whole level’s at risk of being shut down. People are starting to cotton on that excessive consumption is a symptom, not a sin. That, or it’s a means of taking advantage, which is a different thing. I give it another two centuries or so before Gressil gets the axe – literally – and they put some other sin here. Ideally something like ‘being a pretentious, annoying git who thinks his level of Hell is more important than it is.’”

The words means of taking advantage were echoing in Aziraphale’s head, along with the image of the floating apple. “But that’s precisely what you did to me!” he exclaimed.

“What, I was a pretentious, annoying git?”

“No… I mean, sometimes, yes, but what I meant was, when you talked me into stopping the Apocalypse, you… you took me out to lunch, and got me drunk… was that a means of taking advantage?”

Crowley startled. “No! Of course not!”

“It’s not as if you hadn’t used that tactic before. Often. That demon – Tagdul? – might have the category wrong, but it is something you do.”

“Well, yes, but not to you! Especially not the alcohol bit.” He pointed to the C-stamp on his arm. “That was nothing but me coping badly and not wanting to be alone while I did it. As I recall, we were both uncomfortably sober, and a long way from lunch, when I made my real pitch.”

“But you did buy me lunch.”

Crowley grabbed his hand. I like eating with you. You know I do. We’ve eaten together loads of times when I wasn’t trying to talk you into anything.

You barely eat!

That’s why I like doing it with you; you enjoy it.

When Aziraphale had no response to this, Crowley added, And besides, stopping the Apocalypse was a good thing, right?

Are you trying to say that you were justified in… wile-ing me?

No! I’m saying that real wiles would have been talking you into something you didn’t actually want, which I’ve first of all never wanted to do, and second, wouldn’t be able to do even if I did want to, because you’re too clever for that.

Aziraphale very much wanted to believe him, but being reminded of just how well Crowley understood the nature of consumption (and, perhaps, sin in general) had unsettled him, and they both knew it. If they’d had time and privacy, a deeper sharing of selves might have convinced him that Crowley was sincere, but deeper sharing of selves wasn’t an option when surrounded by humans on an uncomfortable tour boat that was already rattling its way toward the Circle of Greed.

Chapter Text

The green neon sign for Greed was in notably better condition than the previous ones. Its letters were clean, square, and bright, with no flickering and no exclamatory punctuation.

“Prince Mammon does an impressive job of keeping things in order and up-to-date,” commented Eric.

Crowley nodded. “She took a risk with the new model, but she knows what she’s about. Surprised she hasn’t got a promotion; but then, I suppose Management never has been able to tell bad work from good.”

The announcement system screeched and crackled. “Folks, why eat stuff when you can have stuff? This level is all about the having. Of course, studies show that pursuing resources is even more exciting than having resources, so we’ve created plenty of opportunities for you to pursue even more stuff, all the time, for all of time.”

“Fun fact: Psychologists disagree on whether human greed is a learned behavior or an innate one. Some believe that greed is a survival instinct, written into human DNA from the time when humans needed every material advantage they could get in order to survive. Others point out that human children can be remarkably generous up until they learn what a terrible place the world is. What psychologists do know for certain is that greed is an excellent way to motivate people, and on that point, I think we are all a greed. Ha ha!”

Ben whispered something about the announcer to Mina and Lishan, who both laughed. The rapidly-growing affection among the three of them was providing a bit of comfort to Aziraphale’s deprived angel-senses.

The boat passed under the archway. The lighting in Greed was as dim as in most of the rest of Hell, but the temperature was, for once, neutral, with no wind or rain. The landscape looked like a suburb, but a suburb in a bad state of disrepair. Houses were half-collapsed, with broken windows and gaping holes in roofs. The paved streets and sidewalks were riddled with cracks and potholes. As in the previous levels of Hell, there was no vegetation, so all of the spaces where one might expect to see lawns were simply uneven fields of dirt.

Aziraphale commented to Crowley, “I thought you said Mammon keeps things in good order.”

“I said she knows what she’s about.”

The boat approached its dock, which was near a cluster of buildings that looked like shops. People could be seen moving among the shops and interacting with each other outside. Some of them were wearing backpacks or pulling wheeled suitcases. A couple of large, wheeled carts, each surrounded by what looked like guards, were sitting in a nearby parking area.

The announcer came back on: “Now, folks, I do need you all to listen to this important warning: Violence is violence, and we have a whole Circle for that! Those who engage in physical violence in Level Three will find that all of their possessions have been neutralized. But if Violence is your thing, just wait for Level Six; you’ll have a blast down there!

“Theft, on the other hand, is a-ok! Feel free to steal and cheat other people out of their stuff as much as you like. And if you really feel a call toward stealing and cheating, there might just be a home for you on Level Seven! But do take some time to enjoy yourself here, first. Aaaand we’re docked! Ninety seconds, people. Off you go.”

Everybody hustled through each other and down the gangplank.

At the bottom of the gangplank was a little gauntlet of six demons in green uniforms, each with a large cardboard box full of small paperboard boxes. As each human passed through, one of the demons handed them a small box and said, “Welcome to Greed! Here’s your complimentary starter pack. Collect a million!”

Fear of a swim in the Styx kept everyone moving so quickly that they all accepted the boxes without question. Aziraphale let himself be handed one as well, since it seemed to be a standard part of the itinerary, although the glossy smoothness of the printed paperboard was already not to his taste.

When Crowley passed through immediately behind him, a couple of the demons gasped and whispered to each other. He just rolled his eyes behind his glasses and grabbed one of the boxes, inciting a second, more intense round of gasps and whispers.

As soon as the passengers were securely on land, curiosity took over, and they began opening the boxes. Each box was oblong, about the length of a hand, and contained three individually-wrapped items. Everybody began to tear off the wrapping, most of them letting it fall onto the ground.

“They’re… plastic flowers?” asked Selene, holding up a little trinket shaped like a smiling sunflower. It had a plastic clip at the top.

“I got a robot,” said Rosa, showing it to Selene. “And…” she unwrapped her second plastic trinket. “A seashell?”

“Anybody want a cowboy boot?” asked Henry.

“Ooh, I do!” exclaimed Elana. “Here, want to trade me for this pinecone?”

“Sure,” said Henry.

Dottie was unwrapping a plastic corgi. “It’s a box full of dopamine,” she commented.

“But they’re so cute!” exclaimed Lishan, holding one up to show to Mina and Ben. “Look at this little toad; it’s adorable! And I got a salamander; oh my gosh, it’s cute! Look at that happy little face! Awwww, happy salamander!”

“Would you like mine?” offered Aziraphale. He’d never understood the appeal of anything made out of plastic, but it seemed to be causing Lishan a near-ecstasy of innocent delight. Any true happiness was a relief in this place.

“Sure; thank you!” Lishan accepted the unopened box and began unwrapping its contents, which turned out to be a tadpole, a cupcake, and something that looked like a purple worm. When they finished opening the worm, which they seemed to find just as adorable as the salamander, a soft chiming sound came from inside the box.

Curious, Lishan checked the box and found a little paper booklet inside, with the words “Collect a Million!” printed on the cover, along with smaller print inside a glowing square. Lishan squinted at the square. “It says, ‘Congratulations! You’ve completed the Amphibian Friends Collection! See page 378.’” They turned the booklet over, confused – it didn’t seem to have more than ten or twelve pages.

“It’s bigger on the inside,” said Crowley, who was quietly perusing the booklet from his own box.

Lishan opened the booklet and began flipping through many more pages than it appeared to have. “Oh! There it is! Amphibian Friends! They all have names, too. The worm one is called Cici Caecilian. So cute. Oh, and there’s an index in the back… I had a tennis shoe in my box, too; maybe I can figure out what collection it’s from…”

“Does anybody have Tori Tornado?” asked Sue. “That’s the only one I need for the Windy Weather collection.”

“Oh, I do!” One of the other passengers held up a tornado trinket. “What have you got to trade?”

“A pickle?” offered Sue. The tornado person hesitated.

“I’ll take the pickle!” said someone else. Eventually this led to a complicated five-way trade involving the tornado, the pickle, a jebena, a heart-eye emoji, and a dumbbell.

William had no interest in any of this. “Figures Greed would just be full of cheap junk. You’d think they’d have nice cars or something, but everything these days has to be all about the kids and their cutesy garbage.”

“Maybe this one will be more interesting to you,” said Crowley. He offered William a tiny plastic tank.

William eyed the tank with suspicion, but examined it nonetheless, and then brightened. “Heh, that’s some pretty good detail on there. Looks like a Christie M.1931. I’m a big history buff, you know.”

“Yesss, I believe there’s an entire megaseries of hisstorical collectibles. Vehicles, medals, gunss…”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s arm and dragged him away. What are you doing?

You gave yours away first!

I was being nice, not wile-ing.

I’m only messing with him because I’m bored out of my mind. This isn’t his Circle.

Then what is? Wait, you want him to stay in Hell, don’t you?

He’s a complete – Crowley mentally rejected several contemporary terms that were unlikely to mean anything to Aziraphale. Completely reprehensible.

Crowley! His daughter loves him; she’d be devastated.

Maybe at first, but she’s better off without him.

Nobody deserves to have to stay here for eternity. Nobody.

Crowley kept to himself the thought that this seemed more than a bit off from Aziraphale’s usual sentiments toward people like William. Perhaps being cut off from Upstairs was making the angel double down on self-righteousness, as a sort of self-protective compensation. The prospect was unsettling.

He exhaled loudly. Look, they make their own choices, just like when they were alive. All I’m doing is offering some additional perspective, just like we’ve both always done. A tiny nudge here and there, which they’re free to take or leave.

I don’t want you nudging any of these people. They have enough to deal with already.

Does that mean you’re going to refrain from nudging as well?

Aziraphale frowned. They’re already getting enough influence from your side–

Not my side anymore.

Well, I wouldn’t know it from the way you’re acting right now! They’re already getting enough negative influence; anything I do couldn’t even come close to balancing it out.

So you’re allowed to nudge and I’m not?

As I just said, it’s an unequal field.

Crowley scowled. Fine. Fine. If that’s what you want, I will refrain from any and all forms of tempting.

Thank you, my dear. I’m certain it’s for the best.

Out loud, Crowley said, “‘Best’ is going to get very complicated very quickly, angel.”

The shops turned out to be a mixture of actual shops, in which one could trade trinkets for other trinkets, and arcade-style areas with slot machines, claw machines, and other mechanized gambling options, most of which touted a possible return of two or even three collectibles in exchange for the insertion of one. Outside the shop fronts, long-term residents called out particular trinkets that they were looking to acquire or sell.

People from the boat scattered once again, with Lishan making no attempt to keep the group together this time. Before long, nearly everyone was flitting from shop to shop, excitedly reporting acquisition victories and collection completions to each other in passing.

Mina had given Lishan a macaron trinket from her starter set, after which Lishan found a shop where they could trade their tennis shoe trinket for an éclair and a cinnamon roll which were apparently of lesser value than the tennis shoe, but, combined with the cupcake and macaron, completed the Baked Bliss collection, which they then traded in entirety for a mystery bag of twelve random collectibles. Elana quickly completed the Wild West Wear collection, while Armen and Henry pooled their resources to work toward obtaining everything in the eight-item Beauty of Nature collection. William scoffed at all of their efforts until he recognized an M18 Hellcat trinket inside a claw machine.

Apart from Crowley and Aziraphale (who had no idea if or how he ought to try to stop their companions), the only person entirely uninterested in trading was Ben. He’d found a shard of glass from a broken window, wrapped one end of it in his incorporeal shirt-sleeve, and was now using it to slice apart the trinkets from his starter pack. Somehow, he managed to cut the plastic in just such a way that he was able to get pieces from the different trinkets to fit securely together, thereby creating three strange little chimeras out of what had originally been a straw hat, a llama, and a hookah.

“Does anyone think we ought to be moving on?” asked Aziraphale loudly, and then repeatedly. Just when he was beginning to wonder if he could or should miracle all of the plastic charms out of existence, Sue said, “Yeah, this is getting a little out of control. We should rally the troops.”

“Agreed,” said Dottie, and then palmed her forehead. “I did not just say that.” She looked around at the debris that seemed to be scattered everywhere as a result of all the buildings’ general disrepair, and then picked up a piece of sheet-metal. She banged the metal with with her fist in between shouts of “Listen up, everyone! All the cool kids are leaving in five minutes. You hear me? Team Hell Tour is moving out. Bring your loot if you want, but don’t get left behind!”

Sue and Dottie both circulated through the shops with this announcement, until people from the boat began to gather on the broken-down road by the river. After five minutes, nearly all of them were there, most of them happily showing each other their spoils or looking things up in the catalogue. Dottie started to lead everyone away.

“Lishan and Mina aren’t here,” observed Ben, clipping his frankensteined trinkets onto his belt loop. “They’re going to need some help.”

Aziraphale looked around, then looked imploringly at Crowley.

Crowley was sulking. “I’m not doing any nudging of any kind, remember?”

After giving Crowley a glare of annoyance, Aziraphale went in search of their missing companions, with Ben close behind.

Lishan was at a claw machine, watching in disappointment as the empty claw rose upward and deposited nothing in the prize slot. Mina stood nearby.

“Everyone’s leaving,” Ben said to them.

“Let me just try one more time,” said Lishan. “I’ve always been good at these things; I know I can get it. And then I’ll have all eight of the Flutter By collection. They’re all so cute!”

“Okay, but then we really should go,” said Mina.

Lishan was already stuffing a low-value trinket into the machine’s pay slot, and then pushing the buttons to move the crane.

Aziraphale whispered to Ben, “Suppose the machine were to stop working…?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” whispered Ben. “They really want that butterfly. They might refuse to leave without it.”

Aziraphale sighed, expended far more ethereal energy than a tiny twist of fortune should have cost, and watched as the claw closed securely around the plastic butterfly.

“Yes!!” shouted Lishan, triumphantly collecting the butterfly from the prize slot.

“Fantastic; let’s go!” said Mina.

“But there’s a–”

“The whole group’s already moving,” said Ben. “If we don’t go now, we’ll get left behind.”

Lishan hesitated, still looking over the contents of the machine.

“Are you okay?” Mina asked them.

Their eyes darted to her, and then softened into a disarming smile. “I’m fine. Really. Everything’s fine. It’s just that it seems like the best way to get through all this is to have fun and not take it too seriously. That’s how we got through the last level, right?”

“I guess?” said Mina.

At least Lishan had moved away from the machine. Ben led the way to the road, where all four of them had to hustle in order to catch up with the others.

Chapter Text

The river road led them past a huge residential area with more run-down houses like the ones they’d observed from the boat. Most of the houses were enormous, with the sort of overdone architecture one might find in neighborhoods that were trying hard to look affluent. They were all in terrible condition. The only well-maintained structures were brightly-lit billboards advertising new collections of trinkets available at various shopping centers and casinos.

Some of the houses appeared to be inhabited. Dim, flickering lights filled the occasional window with silhouettes of people inside. A couple of the houses had wagons, like the guarded ones they’d seen earlier, sitting on the driveways outside. Other houses had vintage-looking cars in front, but the cars were so rusty and missing so many parts that none of them looked remotely drivable.

“All this is left over from the old design for Greed,” explained Eric. “Used to be all houses and cars and clothes and appliances and TVs, laid out a bit like how things are up in Gluttony. The new collectibles model is not only five times as effective, it’s reduced costs to nearly nothing. But residents can still live in the houses, or use them to hide their collectibles when they have too many to carry.”

“Nobody tries to fix up the houses?” asked Rosa.

Eric shook his head. “Not that I’ve ever heard of. I don’t think it’s encouraged.”

Crowley was absently twirling a little plastic planet around on its clip. “If you let people take care of their stuff, they run a high risk of appreciating said stuff, and then pretty soon they’re not especially interested in getting more stuff, and you might as well have spent your time at the pub instead.”

“Most of my stuff was so cheap that there was no point in taking care of it,” said Mina. “And I wouldn’t have had time to, anyway, not with all the jobs I worked.”

Crowley shrugged. “All the time of time itself down here, and people still spend it chasing after tiny chunks of plastic. Mammon really does deserve a promotion.”

Aziraphale had drifted off into rumination about what the world had been like before plastic, and what he might have done to prevent its invention, or at least its misuse, if only he’d known.

“Visitors!” came a new voice. A smiling man, presumably a long-term resident, was approaching, along with two others wearing backpacks. “Hello there! Always good to see some new faces! Just wanted to make you aware that if you’re enjoying your time here, we have a newcomer-friendly club that’s always recruiting. We all pool our resources and work toward goals together. We even offer members-only theft insurance!”

“That sounds fun,” said Lishan.

“Lishan,” said Mina, “I feel like you’re forgetting this is Hell.”

Any further interaction was halted by the arrival, from the opposite direction, of a woman with two similarly pack-bearing companions. “Hey!” she shouted at the club recruiter. “What do you think you’re doing? We’re supposed to have first crack at this group.”

“Are not,” said the man. “It was your window four hours ago. You must have missed it.”

“That’s impossible. I never get the schedule wrong.”

The whole tour group had stopped moving out of curiosity. As the resident man and woman argued, they and their companions moved closer to each other, and into the midst of the tourists.

The man said to the woman, “Look, I have a copy of the schedule right here, and it clearly says…”

“Does this seem sketchy to you?” whispered Henry to Armen. Armen nodded, and so did Sue, who happened to be close enough to hear.

Aziraphale, whose bookshop had been visited on many occasions by people with less than virtuous intent, agreed, but he was beginning to wonder if in this case the purloining of a few trinkets might in fact be of benefit to some members of their group.

Sure enough, after one more verbal exchange, some signal must have been given, because hands from all six “recruiters” simultaneously snapped out to grab as many trinkets as they could. Shouts of alarm rose from the victims, but most of them were too surprised to do anything before the thieves turned to run.

Henry tried to tackle one of them, but his non-corporeal body went right through the other man’s, and he fell forward. Sue similarly tried to trip one of them with no effect. It was Armen who had the quick thinking and reflexes to grab one by the demi-material backpack.

The backpack’s owner refused to relinquish it. It was strapped across his chest in three places and therefore couldn’t be pulled off by force.

“Umm…” said the backpack-wearing man, eyeing all of them nervously. “You’re all new here, so maybe I should remind you that violence makes all your collectibles disappear.”

Aziraphale, still uncertain about whether to intervene or not, looked at Crowley, who clearly didn’t care.

“I’m not that interested in the stupid collectibles,” said Armen, keeping a firm hold. “But I’m also not interested in violence. Honestly, I don’t know what we should do with you, apart from asking you to give back the things you stole.”

“You’re welcome to them,” said the man, immediately handing trinkets back to Elana and Rosa. He’d grabbed one of Ben’s reworked pieces as well; as he was returning it, he paused to examine it. “This is off-catalogue! Where does a tourist get an off-catalogue piece?”

“I made it,” said Ben. “You can keep it if you want; I wasn’t really that into it.”

The man looked as if Ben had grown three heads and a tentacle. He started to ask a question, and then didn’t. In the end, he just said, “Well… thank you,” and slid Ben’s trinket into his pocket.

“Hey, I had stuff stolen, too,” said one of the other boat passengers. “It’s all well and good that Rosa and Elana got their stuff back, but what about the rest of us?”

“Yeah,” said someone else. “They took my whole bag – I had two and a half collections in there!”

“If he’s got more in his backpack, then all of us who lost stuff should get some of his,” proposed the first person.

“Whoa there,” protested the backpack man. “It wasn’t me who took yours.”

“Yeah, but your friends did.”

“They’re not my friends. Nobody has friends here.”

“He’s a thief anyway. He tried to take our stuff; it’s only fair if we take his.”

The man sighed and pressed a hand over his pocket. “You know what? Screw it. When Lynn finds out I got caught, I’ll be as good as scrubbed anyway.” He began to unclip his chest-straps. “I might as well go with you. Here, if you let me stay with your group, you can have whatever you want.” He opened the backpack to reveal an array of clear compartments, each filled with a different trinket.

Someone gasped, “He’s got all of the Bad Times Emoji!” at the same time someone else called out, “Dibs on Niko Necktie!” Many hands began to reach for the backpack’s contents.

“Okay, hang on, everyone,” said Armen, lifting the backpack away. “Let’s all just think about this for a minute. Maybe starting with the fact that this stuff is nothing but freaking Christmas ornaments.”

“But he has Sassy Sphinx from the Klassy Kitties collection!”

“Wait, he has Christmas ones?” asked another tourist. “The entire Christmas megaseries is tier 2 Rares! Which ones does he have?”

“That’s not what I meant,” sighed Armen.

Lishan said, “We need a fair system for deciding who gets what. Like we all take turns picking something, and the people who had stuff stolen get to pick first…”

“We’re going to be here for a while,” said Ben quietly to Aziraphale.

The discussion about distributing the backpack’s contents continued without much progress. Ben drifted away and sat on the side of the road overlooking the river. Aziraphale decided to join him. Crowley, likewise at a loss for anything to do, followed and sat on Ben’s other side.

“I ought to have made that man’s rusksack disappear the moment they caught him,” sighed Aziraphale.

“Have a riot on your hands if you did it now,” said Crowley.

Ben was fidgeting with the piece of glass he’d picked up back at the shops.

“Want to chop up this one?” offered Crowley, holding out the planet trinket he’d been playing with.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Ben took it and began slicing carefully into it.

The tour group was now embroiled in an argument about whether rock-paper-scissors was an acceptable way to determine who got to choose trinkets first. Selene was designing a tournament bracket and explaining it to Eric, who seemed to be the best option for referee.

“We could just take the car…” proposed Crowley.

“You have a car?” asked Ben. His eyes scanned empty space for a moment. “Oh; you do. Wow. That is a car.”

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder at the rest of their companions. It seemed that someone was claiming she’d had trinkets stolen and should therefore have priority in choosing new ones, but several other people were insisting that nothing of hers had actually been stolen.

“And then what?” he asked Crowley. “We wait in customs instead of here? We go on without them? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I have the impression you’ve become at least a little bit attached to some of them.”

Crowley glanced at Lishan, who was now engaged in an enthusiastic match of rock-paper-scissors with Elana. He muttered a frustrated curse to himself.

Mina walked over and sat on Aziraphale’s other side. “This is just like when they’d have big holiday sales at the places where I worked. People getting into the dumbest arguments over cheap, crappy stuff that doesn’t matter.”

They watched the river go by for a few seconds.

“Hey, phone girl,” said Crowley to Mina. “I expect your friend’s going to need your help to get through.”

Ben, still carving the planet charm, nodded silently.

Aziraphale didn’t have to be touching Crowley to give him a look that said, Did you really just show sincere concern for a human, to a human?

Crowley likewise didn’t need any other form of communication to return a glare that said, Don’t you dare make a thing out of this.

“Yeah. I don’t know what to do,” frowned Mina. “It’s weird. Lishan’s so nice; they seem like the kind of person you’d expect to be generous, not greedy.”

Crowley shrugged. “See it all the time. It’s not really about the stuff. Actual greed is never about the actual stuff.”

Ben, still carving, said, “Actual greed is usually about feeling powerless somewhere else.”

“You really do see people’s broken pieces,” Mina said to him. After looking over her shoulder to watch Lishan win another round of rock-paper-scissors, she picked up some pebbles and threw them one by one into the river.

“Just… don’t give up on them,” Crowley said to her. “Make them be honest with you.”

Which probably counted as nudging, but Aziraphale wasn’t going to object under the circumstances.

Ben had finished transforming the plastic planet. It was now a long, trailing spiral, like a spring but with a few elegantly irregular curves that drew the eye in and then back out in contemplation of the harmony of the whole.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” said Aziraphale when Ben held it up.

“It really is,” said Crowley in genuine surprise.

“I thought you said your art was disturbing,” said Mina.

“Usually it is,” said Ben. He watched his little sculpture spin slowly. “Figures that the least Hell-like thing I’ve ever made would be something I made in Hell. Although… in a weird way, I feel better here, kind of. I’m not fighting with my brain anymore about what’s real and what isn’t real, or what should be real and what shouldn’t.”

Gently, Aziraphale said, “Someone did make a good point, earlier, about how your physical brain was a part of your body. And now it’s gone.”

“I always knew I wasn’t my brain. Not that I didn’t sound crazy when I tried to tell people that. They said I had schizophrenia. I don’t know if that was right or not, but my brain did imagine a lot of…” He grimaced. “‘Potentially harmful to himself and others;’ is what they wrote in my files. It was so hard to tell what was real. I don’t even know if I ever actually hurt anyone or not. Maybe I did? I didn’t want to. If my physical brain wasn’t me, does that mean, if I did anything bad while I was alive, it was because of my brain and not the real me?”

“Question for the ages, mate,” sighed Crowley.

“Whatever we did on earth,” said Mina, “There’s nothing we can do about it now, is there? I mean, we’re dead, right? We’re all in Hell, and it’s awful, but we don’t have to stay here. Shouldn’t we just be doing whatever we can to try to get everyone through with the least amount of awfulness?”

“I wish I knew what that was,” said Aziraphale.

“Yeah, I have no idea, either,” said Mina. She looked at the spiralized planet. “But your sculpture’s really pretty, Ben.”

Ben reached across Aziraphale to offer it to her. “Would you like to keep it?”

Mina took it and held it up to look more closely, smiling with appreciation. “Yeah, I would. Thank you.”

In the end, it took what tracked on Crowley’s watch as nearly two hours for the distribution of backpack-trinkets to be resolved. Many squabbles had arisen during the process, leaving petty tensions to linger as the group finally began to move again.

The thief, now divested of his empty backpack (which Eric had ended up with because nobody could agree on a fair way to choose a new owner), was called Nelson, and he was happy to talk at length about the history and culture of Circle Three.

“Scrubbing means you lose all your pieces,” Nelson explained after Lishan asked him what he’d meant by the term. “Sometimes by stupidity or bad luck, sometimes because someone stole them, sometimes because a boss ordered a scrub on you. If you get scrubbed, you can beg someone to loan you some pieces so you can start over, but then you owe them interest. And that can get ugly if you’re not able to pay it back. There are ways around the no-violence rule.”

“People don’t help each other out just to be nice?” asked Lishan.

Nelson laughed. “Not after they’ve been here a few days. You learn real quick that you can’t trust anyone. If people think you do, or that you consider someone an actual friend, they’ll use it against you.”

“Okay,” said Selene, “I have to ask: Why would you wear a backpack to an ambush, anyway? Seems like a major liability.”

“Can’t trust other people not to take my stuff if I leave it somewhere. Some people try to hide theirs, but someone else is always watching. Bosses can afford to pay guards, but most of us can’t. Anyway, I’ve been doing this for a long time, and no one’s ever thought to grab the backpack. Tourists don’t usually know how anything works around here. Makes them the best targets.”

Henry asked, “So you were working for a boss?”

“Lynn. She works for Ajit. Pretty sure she’s hoping to replace him if he gets recruited for Seven.”

“Seven?”

“The Circle of Fraud,” Eric explained. “Well, technically Pride, but that’s a recent change and everybody still calls it Fraud. Humans who manage to rise to the top in Greed sometimes get a special invitation to move directly down to Seven. They’re offered all sorts of incentives. Seven recognizes and rewards talent.”

“Good for them if that’s what they want,” said Nelson. “But I’d never give up the life. Taking risks, duping tourists, making fast deals, that feeling when you get a piece you’ve been chasing forever – too much of a thrill. I want to be on the ground, not in some office.”

“But you… you lost all your stuff,” pointed out Rosa.

Nelson shrugged. “I’ll figure something out. Right now I just need to blend in with you people until we make it into Sportsino.”

“Sportsino?” repeated Elana. “I’m going to guess that that’s not the terrible coffee drink it sounds like.”

“Sport themed casino, I assume?” said Dottie.

“Exactly,” answered Nelson, pointing to an extra-bright billboard up ahead. It featured images of footballs, hockey sticks, and tennis rackets, along with promises of “Tier 1-3 Rares and Super-Rares!” and “Cards, Dice, Mahjong, and More!” and “We Have the Entire Updated World Sport Megaseries!”

“Oh my gosh,” breathed Lishan. “That looks amazing.”

Sportsino turned out to be a sprawling complex of bright colors and flashing lights, with a few decrepit old storage buildings and large, old-fashioned trucks in the shadows outside. Through the expansive windows, one could see people inside playing sport-themed versions of roulette, blackjack, and craps. Four human guards stood at the enormous main doors. The motto “Collect a Million!” appeared everywhere.

A little over half of the tour group wanted to go inside, while the rest wanted to hurry on to customs, which Eric said wasn’t far. A few people simply kept walking when the bulk of the group stopped.

“This isn’t fun anymore,” Mina said as Lishan headed enthusiastically toward the doors. “Can’t we just go to customs?”

“I’m having fun,” said Lishan, although they looked a bit hurt. “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.”

“Look, I really think they’re getting to you.”

“I’m fine,” insisted Lishan.

William ambled past, saying, “I might just play a round or two of poker if the stakes are right.”

Lishan went in after him.

Mina exhaled loudly and glanced at Crowley, then noticed that Ben was eyeing the casino with some agitation. “Are you okay?” she asked him.

“I’m not great in crowds,” he explained. “As in, there have been some screaming meltdown incidents. I don’t think… even though my physical brain is gone, I guess I’m still kind of conditioned to… I want to help, but I’m afraid I’ll just be a liability if I go in there.”

“It’s all right,” said Mina. “I’ll figure something out.” She took a deep incorporeal breath and started to follow Lishan and William inside.

“Wait,” said Ben. “Maybe show Lishan that picture you took of us? It might remind them they care more about people than plastic.”

“Good idea.” Mina pulled out the phone from Gluttony, pressed the power button, and then grumbled. “Battery’s dead. Of course.”

Crowley, who was perfectly capable of recharging the battery with a snap of his fingers, hesitated, thinking that he’d already crossed a few too many lines as far as helping humans went.

He was about to do it anyway, and blame it on Aziraphale if anyone asked (after all, nobody in Hell was likely to know that Aziraphale wasn’t really very good with small nuances of atoms, or electronics in general), but before he could, Ben pointed at Eric’s clipboard and said, “Do you have an extra piece of paper I could use? And a pencil? Please?”

Eric was so baffled by the request, and the p-word, that he handed both pencil and paper over before he seemed to realize he was doing it.

Ben began to sketch hastily, his pencil-lines shaping three human figures, one wearing a frog shirt.

“Wow,” said Mina. “That’s really good. That… looks so much like the picture.”

As Ben continued to draw, Rosa leaned over to look. “Oh, it’s beautiful!”

“Thanks,” said Ben. “It would be a lot better if I had more time, but… this’ll have to do.”

Mina seemed considerably more optimistic. After Ben finished the sketch and handed it to her, she nodded and turned to go up the stars.

“Bit of advice?” Crowley called after her, against his better judgment.

Mina turned back.

“Don’t lead with the picture. Save it for when you’ve got them wavering a bit.”

“Okay. I remember what you said before, too.”

Crowley nodded and tried to look as apathetic as possible while Mina climbed the stairs.

“Are you going in?” Armen asked Rosa.

She shook her head. “I’ve been in Hell long enough. I just want to leave.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Casinos are always interesting, though,” said Selene. “The way they’re laid out and managed is a fascinating study in psychology. I’d like to take a quick look, at least.”

“I’m kind of curious, too,” said Henry. “I mean, what a thing, to be able to say you went to a casino in Hell.”

“Let’s just poke our heads in for a couple minutes,” suggested Selene. Henry agreed, and the two of them started toward the entrance together. A few more people from their group followed.

Armen said to Dottie, “Do you think we should try to stop people? Or do what you did before and try to gather everyone back up after a while?

Dottie frowned. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

Aziraphale’s fingers brushed against Crowley’s. I don’t know what to do.

I told you you wouldn’t be able to save all of them.

But I don’t think that absolves me from trying.

Crowley’s expression twisted with incredulity. Absolves you? How does absolution come into this? There’s no one here to absolve or condemn anything.

There’s my own conscience, I suppose.

A few long seconds of uncertainty stretched out among the people who hadn’t gone into the casino. It was Elana, looking around at the ubiquitous debris of old building materials on the ground, who said, “Maybe we should come up with an alternative game.”

Chapter Text

After some discussion, Aziraphale ended up going into the casino to invite people outside for Elana’s game. Crowley stayed outside, ostensibly to help set the game up. When Aziraphale had pointed out that Crowley was better suited to persuade people to do things, Crowley had pointed out petulantly that he’d been told he wasn’t allowed to do any persuading. Aziraphale, with equal petulance, had resigned himself to entering the pit of Hell that was Sportsino.

The interior was an assault on the senses such as only Hell or its agents could produce. Brightly-lettered signs lured people toward different gambling options, while large posters with images of sought-after collectibles attempted to provide motivation. Bells clanged and wheels clicked incessantly, along with human shouts of victory and defeat. The place’s overall color scheme seemed to be inspired by the ubiquitous plastic trinkets that everyone wanted so badly to obtain.

Feeling out of his element in every respect, Aziraphale circulated among the crowds. He told anyone who would listen that some friends of his were setting up a different sort of game outside, and that anyone was welcome to try it. Most people stopped paying attention to him halfway through the invitation.

At one point he passed Nelson the thief, who was being addressed by a guard. “Unbelievable,” said the guard. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, sneaking in here with a bunch of tourists. When Martine–"

“Relax,” said Nelson. “I’m not working for Lynn anymore. You tell Martine I’ve got an off-catalogue Unique, and I’m willing to make a deal.”

The guard eyed him suspiciously, but said, “All right. Come with me.”

Aziraphale kept moving until he spotted Selene and Henry walking around and not playing games. As he approached them, he could hear Selene saying, “See how the consolation prizes at that table are mostly from the Jaunty Jerseys collection? They’re common and cheap, but as soon as you turn away from the table, your eye gets naturally drawn to that set of posters over there, which have a lot of other items from the same series. So then you’re going to think, well, I lost that game, but at least I could fill out the Jersey set, and then you’re another step along the motivation chain they’re building.”

Henry nodded. “Makes sense. So people are going to think it was their own idea to try to get more Jaunty Jerseys, when really they’re being led by the nose.”

“Hullo,” said Aziraphale now that he was close enough to greet them. “I don’t suppose you might help me encourage people to go outside and rejoin the group? Some of the others are putting together a game of their own, to try to entice people out.”

“Sounds like fun.” Selene smiled and raised an eyebrow at Henry, who seemed to understand what she was thinking.

She drifted a few feet toward a poker table, where Lishan, William, and a couple of other people from their tour boat were playing for a pot of collectibles that included roller skates, ice skates, several historical gun trinkets, and all of William’s tanks. Mina was nearby, watching the game and looking miserable.

“Hey,” said Selene to Henry in a conspiratorial undertone just loud enough to be overheard. “Did you hear there’s an unlicensed game going on in the parking lot?”

Henry grinned. “Yeah, I did, but you shouldn’t tell anyone, or too many people will go out there.”

“Good point,” said Selene.

At least two of the poker-players must have overheard, because when Lishan won the round a few seconds later, they both quietly drifted toward the front doors.

William, enraged, threw his cards down on the table. “You cheated!”

“No, I didn’t,” said Lishan.

“You must have cheated. How does someone like you know how to play poker, anyway?”

“My friends and I used to play for fun during down times at competitions.”

William shook his head. “People like you have no moral integrity.”

“Dad!” exclaimed Mina.

“I’m leaving,” said William. To Mina he added, “If you want to stay in Hell forever with your deviant foreign friends, you go right ahead.”

Outside the casino, Dottie, Elana, and Sue were explaining the alternative game to anyone who emerged.

“It’s called Stuff the Styx,” said Sue.

“You just throw one of your collectibles at one of the holes,” instructed Elana, pointing to a large particle-board panel with several jagged openings in it, standing upright (with slight and unacknowledged assistance from a minor demonic miracle) alongside the river.

“What happens if you get it through the hole?” asked someone.

“It goes in the river and you win!” said Dottie.

“What do you win?”

“The satisfaction of having thrown a small plastic object through a hole in a piece of particle-board and into the River of the Underworld.”

After a confused pause, someone said, “Well, that’s the worst game ever.”

“No; it’s fun!” said Rosa. “Watch.” She had a few trinkets in her hand, and began chucking them one by one at the openings in the panel. Most of them missed, but one sailed through a hole and disappeared with a tiny splash. She hurried to pick up the others and try again.

Most of the casino-goers looked at each other in confusion and went back inside, saying things like, “I don’t get it. What are they trying to pull?”

But a few stayed.

Armen took a turn and got every single one of his trinkets into the river on the first attempt. Someone from their tour group exclaimed, “That was incredible! Here; throw mine; I want to see that again!” Armen accepted their pile of trinkets and once again succeeded on every try.

Crowley, after his small contribution to the stability of the particle-board, had melted into the shadows around the old trucks. He took off his watch and jacket, tossed them alongside the Bentley in his pocket-dimension, and then began to crawl under one of the trucks.

“What are you doing?” asked Ben. Crowley hadn’t noticed him following along into the truck area.

“Acquiring a demi-material object,” answered Crowley distractedly. “As one does in Greed.”

“Are you stealing the truck?”

“Just scavenging a part, is all.”

“Oh. Oh… It’s… slicing things apart. I mean, it will be.”

“That’s the idea.”

Back at Stuff the Styx, a few more tourists had decided to participate. As more and more trinkets splashed into the river, people from the tour group began laughing and joking again.

Not long after, a well-kept golf cart came puttering along the road and stopped outside the casino. Two demons in green uniforms with the Collect a Million! logo got out.

“This gaming operation has not been authorized by Circle Three Administration,” announced one of the demons. “We’re going to have to ask you to move along. In fact, your tour boat’s departure time has been accelerated, so we recommend that you proceed to customs immediately.”

Inside the casino, Aziraphale watched helplessly as Mina attempted to convince Lishan to leave the poker table. He’d tried inviting Lishan to the game outside, and had been given a friendly but vague acknowledgement that it sounded fun, along with an empty-sounding promise that they might try it after another round or two of poker.

“Why do you even want the boxing series?” Mina was asking them. “You said you’d leave after you got all the skating ones, and you finished those a while ago. Back when we passed those TVs in Gluttony, you said you didn’t like boxing.”

“But they’re all Super-Rares!” said Lishan. “And I’m doing so well!” This was true. Lishan was good at knowing when to take risks, and exceptionally good at bluffing.

Selene, still watching with Henry beside her, seemed to be appreciating Lishan’s skills.

Eric appeared and announced, “I’ve been asked to tell you that the boat is going to leave earlier than scheduled. If you want to catch it, you need to go to customs right now.”

“Come on, Lishan,” said Mina desperately. She looked down at Ben’s drawing in her hand, apparently still waiting for the sort of moment Crowley had described. “We’re going to miss our boat.”

“Raise.” Lishan put three more trinkets in the poker pot. “If we miss the boat, we can just catch the next one, right? We can leave any time.”

Quietly, Aziraphale asked Selene, “What do you imagine would happen if they were to lose the round?”

Selene shook her head. “At this point, even if they lost everything, I think they’d just ask for a loan from the casino manager. Martine, I think her name is? I overheard some interesting things about her tactics earlier. Brutal. I’m sorry. If I could think of a way to help, I would, but sometimes people are just so dead set on something that there’s no changing their minds. I’m going to head out. Henry, are you coming?”

“Yeah,” said Henry. He started to leave, then turned back and leaned over next to Lishan. “Hey, listen to me for a second. I’m not going to tell you what to do. But I know what addiction looks like, and this is it.”

Henry left, but his words did seem to give Lishan pause.

“I have to go,” said Mina. “I’m sorry; I can’t leave my dad. Just… I… Look, before I go, just tell me why you’re really doing this. The truth. It’s obviously not because you want the stupid boxing stuff.”

“Because it’s fun,” said Lishan uncertainly.

“It doesn’t look like fun to me.” Mina held Ben’s drawing in front of Lishan’s cards. “That was fun. Right?”

Lishan blinked at the reconstructed picture. “Did Ben draw that?”

“Yeah. He said it might remind you that you care more about people than plastic.”

Softly, Lishan said, “He’s interesting, isn’t he?”

Mina nodded, her fingertips wandering to the pocket where she’d put the little spiral sculpture.

“Hey, it’s your turn,” said one of the other players to Lishan.

Lishan moved their playing cards out from behind the drawing, but hesitated.

“Just tell me the real reason you’re doing this,” said Mina.

Lishan’s eyes glazed over for a moment’s thought, and then they looked at their cards with a different expression. “Because I like winning.” They thought about that, looked at Ben’s drawing again, and then went on, “Oh. Because we lost Bruce and a bunch of other people, and I couldn’t stop them. And winning is how I focus on what I can control instead of what I can’t… And… also, how I died was…” They stopped.

Mina waited.

“Wow,” said Lishan. “Those are stupid reasons to stay in Hell.” They looked at the trinkets piled in the middle of the table and shook their head. “Yeah, okay. I fold. Nonope-ing on out.” They tossed their cards onto the table and smiled apologetically at Mina.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said.

Lishan nodded.

Everyone but Ben and Crowley had left when Mina, Lishan, Aziraphale, and Eric came out of the casino. Crowley, still jacketless, was holding an old-fashioned truck’s leaf spring and miracle-ing dirt off himself.

Ben smiled broadly when he saw Lishan and Mina. “We’re not going to miss the boat, but that’s only because we’re going to run like we’re going to miss it. Come on; there’s no extra time.” The three of them began to run down the road together.

Eric was scribbling on his clipboard, probably trying to get down all the details of the now-disassembled unauthorized game.

“You did it,” said Crowley, nodding toward Lishan and trying not to show any relief.

“I’m not certain I did much of anything,” said Aziraphale. He pointed at the leaf spring. “What on earth – or rather, what in Hell – is that?”

“The best-quality piece of steel you can get off an old car,” said Crowley. “Or truck, in this case.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“Then ask a better one. Come on, we’re going to miss the boat.”

By the time Aziraphale and Crowley skidded into customs, the boat was ringing its boarding-bell. Only Ben, Lishan, and Mina were still in line for passport-stamps.

Ben handed over his passport and said, quickly, “I never took care of my stuff. When I saw all the houses here, I thought, that’s kind of like how everywhere I ever lived looked, after a while.”

“Next!”

Lishan stepped forward. “I guess I always did like having lots of useless things. People give you all kinds of stuff all the time when you compete, and I probably kept more of it than I should have. Not so much because I wanted the actual stuff, but because having it made me feel like I had control over something, when there were a lot of things in my life I couldn’t–”

“Not interested in psychology, only sins,” said the customs-demon, stamping Lishan’s passport. “Next.”

Mina said, “I honestly hated junk, but I kept a bunch of stuff around because I didn’t want to have to deal with it. Just letting it sit there was easier than sorting and getting rid of it. We had a whole room full of junk we didn’t want and never used.”

“Next.”

Aziraphale slid his passport onto the desk. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with genuinely enjoying material things.”

“No, but there is with caring about material things more than you do about people,” said the customs-demon.

“Did I?” asked Aziraphale.

“Running a bookshop while doing your level best not to sell any books?”

“Oh. I suppose there is that. Well then, go ahead.”

“Next.”

Crowley went up to the booth and glared silently at the customs-demon from behind his sunglasses.

The demon glared back.

Crowley glared more.

The demon did not relent.

Finally, Crowley said, “I will never, in a million years, agree that there is anything wrong with how much I love that car.”

“You hit a bicyclist with it and then only helped her because the angel insisted.”

“Does that really count as greed, though?”

Aziraphale said, “I do think it’s fair to say it counts as loving your car more than people.”

“Have you met people?” Crowley turned back to the customs-demon. “All right, yes, I absolutely love that car more than people, and I feel zero remorse about it.”

The demon stamped his passport and said, “Better make a run for your boat. The plank is going up already.”

The boat’s gangplank miraculously stuck to the dock for a few seconds longer than it was meant to. Once they were securely back in the plastic seats, Crowley began to work a slow, careful miracle on the leaf spring. As it changed shape under his hands, he said to Aziraphale, “Next level is messy. Warm, as well. Might want to leave off your coat. You’re welcome to hang it up in my pocket-dimension with the car, if you like.”

“All right. Thank you.” Aziraphale took off his coat and smoothed it out contemplatively. “You know, I really have been more attached to material things than I ought.” He snapped the coat into the Bentley dimension. “I did make a new year’s resolution, more than once, that I would be better about running the bookshop. I was a bit selfish with it. More than a bit.”

“There’s an enormous difference between opening your shop at inconsistent hours and, I dunno, murdering people. This is what Hell does, angel; it twists the definition of sin and tries to make you think everything bad is your fault. Hell thrives on guilt. Don’t give them what they want.”

But Aziraphale couldn’t help but think that he’d spent a very long time telling himself that as long as his official work got done, it didn’t much matter what he did otherwise. He ought to have done better by the World.

Lishan was staring at the newly-stamped black G on their forearm and saying to Mina and Ben, “I’m really sorry; I was being so stupid. I can’t believe I almost stayed there. I always thought I was a good person, but… I really almost chose to stay in Hell.”

“But you didn’t stay,” said Mina.

“And you know how to get up from falling,” said Ben.

Lishan nodded ruefully. “Yeah, I’ve had some pretty spectacular falls. Broke my elbow on the ice, once. Tore a couple ligaments. All kinds of bruises and sprains. I’m lucky, though. I always had people there to take care of me. Thank you; both of you, for not giving up on me.”

Crowley was using both hands to straighten out the steel and force it into a more compact shape, so Aziraphale rested a hand on his shoulder to say, We’ve lost so many people… more than a quarter of the number we started out with, and we’re not even halfway through the levels.

Picked up a few as well, though, pointed out Crowley. He tilted his head toward Rosa, Armen, and Henry, who were lobbing the last of the Greed-trinkets into the Styx.

And nearly lost one because of my own incompetence. Aziraphale looked again at Lishan, who was still obviously shaken.

Mina tried to touch Lishan’s arm, and then exhaled in frustration when her hand made no contact. “I hate not having a body,” she said.

This only added to Aziraphale’s feelings of guilt, to the point that he removed his hand from Crowley’s shoulder but then put it back because he felt he ought to give an explanation: I do feel awful that you and I can touch each other and they can’t, when it would mean so much more to them and be such a comfort.

Would you. Please. Stop. Feeling guilty. It doesn’t help anything. Down here, we have to do whatever we can to stay sane and survive.

Aziraphale let go and did not stop feeling guilty. Crowley’s final words to the customs-demon came troublingly back into his mind: I feel zero remorse about it.

Elana had noticed Mina’s attempts to be comforting. “We should’ve kept some of those clothes from Gluttony,” she said. “We can’t touch each other, but we can all touch the demi-matter, so theoretically, you could give an immaterial person a hug through demi-material clothes, right? Because you’d both be able to feel the clothes.”

“I can’t believe none of us thought of that,” said Sue. She grabbed the very last collectible trinket – a plastic piece of sushi – and threw it so that it hit Dottie squarely on the side of the head.

Mina dug in her immaterial pockets for the dead Gluttony-phone, then poked one end gently into Lishan’s upper arm. They smiled in spite of themself, took hold of the phone, and poked Mina back.

Crowley had finished transforming the steel into a simple, machete-like sword. He offered the hilt to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale didn’t take it. “What’s that for?”

“Like I said, next level is messy. Tree-roots and low-hanging vines everywhere. Hostile shade-creatures. You might want the option of dealing with them the old-fashioned way, rather than tiring yourself out with too many angelic miracles in Hell.” He touched Aziraphale’s hand and added, Only wanted to give you the option. I know how you feel about weapons, and I won’t be offended if you don’t want it. But I also know you want to do whatever you can to help the humans. Up to you.

Aziraphale nodded and, with reluctance, accepted the sword.

Chapter Text

“Guess what, everyone?” came the announcer’s grating effervescence as the tour boat chugged away from Greed. “We’re about to see the end of the Styx! That’s right; Hell’s best-known river empties out into Level Four, the Circle of Wrath. So you could say the entire level is where the river finally styx! Ha ha! Okay, I know I made that joke before, but it’s worth making twice, am I right?

“Now, as you travel through Wrath, you may occasionally catch glimpses of city walls in the distance. That’s because Wrath is the last Circle before we enter the famous City of Dis. This is a spatial paradox, since it’s unclear how the walls can be visible when Wrath is technically on top of the first level of Dis. But my suggestion is that you just enjoy Dis mystery. Ha ha!”

As the boat approached the next gateway, its passengers could see that the neon sign for Wrath had burnt out completely. Its smudge-black letters were barely visible against the concrete wall behind.

The boat moved under the gateway. Spreading out on the other side was a tangled, pathless swamp. Trees overgrown with vines trailed weepy branches into murky water. Boulders and tree-roots poked up out of the water’s surface. Clouds of insects hovered, and an occasional, ominous bird-cry echoed overhead.

“This is the first time I’ve seen any plants or animals down here,” observed Rosa.

“They’re shade-matter,” said Eric. “Not even slightly real, same as the shades up in Lust.”

“It all looks very real,” said Selene, sounding nervous.

“Feels real, as well,” supplied Eric cheerfully. “Just like the Lust-shades, but much less pleasant, I’m afraid.”

“Maybe I should have stayed in Lust,” muttered Rosa.

The river had now lost all definition and simply was the swamp, stagnant and cluttered. The clifftop on the river’s inner side was no longer visible; all one could see in any direction was swamp. There was no road and no dock. The tour boat simply reached a point at which the tree-roots and rocks prevented it from moving any further. It ground to halt, and the engine stopped.

After a few seconds of ominous silence, the speakers screeched again. “Here’s the kicker, folks: this level has been designed by you. That’s right, you! And all the rest of our visitors and residents. You see, each individual obstacle in the Circle of Wrath – the trees, the rocks, the bitey bugs – everything – only comes into existence when a person partakes in the offerings on the upper three levels. Each time someone enjoys the company in Lust, or consumes something in Gluttony, or acquires a new item in Greed, another little complication appears down here to make travel more exciting.

“So if you find yourself unexpectedly being tripped by an alligator, feel free to shake your fist upward and curse whoever’s just had a little moment of self-indulgence on the Upper Three. But you never know, maybe that alligator was caused by you!”

“And now it’s time to make your way across – if you can! As usual, we’ll be waiting for you just past the customs office, where we’ll pick up the River Acheron and head on into the city. I’m afraid there’s no dock here, so we’ll just be dropping you off directly.”

And with that, the boat ceased to exist, leaving all of its passengers to tumble into the swamp.

Panic, chaos, and a great deal of splashing followed, especially where the passengers from the top level of the boat crashed down into those below. People’s incorporeal selves overlapped with each other as they thrashed about in the water, adding to their disorientation and alarm.

A quick, instinctive flap of interdimensional wings had saved Crowley and Aziraphale from the worst indignities of the drop, but staying airborne would have required fully manifesting their wings and making a spectacle of themselves. They both settled into the thigh-deep water with distaste.

“You should’ve warned me,” said Aziraphale.

“I did warn you.”

“No, I mean– oh, bother it all–” Aziraphale lunged forward to help Henry, who was flailing against a vine that had tangled itself around his shoulder and dragged him under the water’s surface. Aziraphale hacked the vine apart with his sword.

“Sorry,” panted Henry as he got to his feet. “I shouldn’t have freaked out like that. I know we don’t need to breathe anymore; it was just instinct.”

“A perfectly natural reaction,” Aziraphale reassured him.

“How do we know which way to go?” asked Lishan.

Everyone looked around. There were no landmarks and nothing overhead by which one might tell direction; just endless trees, vines, rocks, and water.

“Augh! Get away from me!” screamed Selene, batting her arms at a cloud of shade-wasps. When that only made things worse, she submerged herself in the water. The wasps hovered over the spot where she’d gone under, until Crowley sighed and disapparated them.

Selene resurfaced and swiped wet hair away from her face, her voice cracking as she said, “I never did like nature. Not even glamping. Oh, god, this is the worst.”

“I think maybe we should go that way?” suggested Eric, not sounding certain at all.

Crowley let out a loud breath of annoyed resignation. “Let’s get on with it, then.” He snapped his fingers, and the tree-roots and rocks just in front of them disappeared.

“Er,” said Eric, cowering a little. “I’m not sure Management would approve of clearing a path for the humans. It goes against the principles of the level.”

“Then Management can slog out here and try to stop me,” said Crowley. “And I’m clearing a path for me. I am not going to climb over things like some sort of monkey. Besides…” he pointed to a tree that was already forming in the space he’d cleared. “Even if I disapparate stuff, more is just going to take its place.”

Eric still seemed uncomfortable, but then, no one present was even a little bit comfortable.

“Best get a wiggle on, then,” sighed Aziraphale, who had been rolling up his sleeves. The sight of the L,C, and G stamps on his left arm gave him a moment’s pause, but then he regathered his resolve and sliced off a low branch that the new tree had extended to block their way.

“You know how to use that thing,” commented Armen.

“Sadly, yes.”

They all began to wade forward, the humans sticking close behind Crowley and Aziraphale as the two of them opened a path in the direction Eric had indicated.

Lishan asked Eric, “Is that true, what they said about things on the last three levels affecting what happens here?”

“Yes, it is,” answered Eric.

A large rock popped into existence right in front of Mina, who barely avoided colliding with it. She pointed at it and said, “So that means that just now someone up above us had fake sex, or ate fake food, or got a new plastic collectible.”

“Exactly. Brilliant, isn’t it?”

At the front of the group, Aziraphale whispered to Crowley, “You knew!”

Crowley gave him a baffled look.

Realizing that it would be best if the humans didn’t overhear, Aziraphale reached with his left hand to take Crowley’s right. He continued to hack at the vegetation with his other hand, while Crowley focused on eliminating rocks, wildlife, and insect-swarms.

You encouraged us to eat the food, knowing perfectly well it would affect people down here, and you didn’t tell us.

Honestly wasn’t thinking about it at the time.  

How could you not think about something like that?

Because it’s not an actual causal connection. All this business about the Level Four obstacles being generated by people in the upper levels is just misdirection.

Holding hands while wielding a sword was difficult, so Aziraphale let go and said out loud, with tentative relief, “Oh, so it’s a lie.”

“Well, yes and no,” said Crowley, snapping his fingers at a nasty-looking bird that was swooping toward them and then was gone. “They really do make a new obstacle every time someone indulges, but that’s them doing it. There’s no real connection. The demons down here just use people’s actions on the Upper Three as an excuse to make everyone on this level miserable.”

Aziraphale sank back into guilt. “But it’s possible that when I ate that piece of chocolate, a tree-root might have appeared here and tripped someone, and that might have been the breaking-point that made that person so angry they ended up making a bad decision, and staying in Hell.”

“It wouldn’t be your fault, though. The demons are the ones making the tree-roots.”

“But if I hadn’t eaten, then the root wouldn’t have appeared.”

Crowley stopped moving and stared at him for a moment of speechless stuttering. “It’s a false causality! How can someone as clever as you not understand this?”

Aziraphale touched his arm. You should have told us. We all might have chosen differently if we’d known.

Out loud and irritably, Crowley said, “Angel, the tiny amount of things this group indulged in are a drop in the ocean. Look…” He snapped his fingers, and the objects around them thinned out very, very slightly. “I just removed twice the number of obstacles as everything our tour group did in all three upper Circles.”

But other people had to deal with those obstacles, when we were on the upper levels. Removing them now, when we’re here, doesn’t make it right.

“Making it right was not my point! My point was, there is no appreciable difference! Entire tour group; drop in the ocean!”

You still should have told us.

The group’s mood, nowhere near good after their initial plunge into the swamp, got progressively worse as they traveled. Despite Aziraphale and Crowley’s efforts to keep the way clear, new things kept forming in the cleared space, and everyone discovered that an unexpected obstacle appearing right in front of you was worse than one that you could see ahead and go around.

Inevitably, people began to blame each other: “Did you have to drink all that wine in Gluttony?” “I’m not the one who collected, like, a hundred charms in Greed!” And most times when a new obstacle appeared, someone would shout, uselessly upward, a sentiment along the lines of “Can you people please control yourselves up there?!”

“It’s the long-term residents who deserve the most blame,” grumbled William loudly. He was even more disgruntled than usual after having gotten his foot stuck in a tangle of underwater grasses that required Aziraphale’s help to get free from.

“That’s a fair point,” said someone else, glaring at Rosa, Armen, and Henry.

“Don’t know why we even let you people come with us,” said William.

Henry replied, “Yeah, well, if we hadn’t left, we’d still be up there making more rocks for you to trip over.”

“And if you hadn’t stayed in the first place–”

“Can we please just not?” begged Mina. “Blaming each other isn’t going to get us through this any faster.”

“I feel so bad, though,” said Lishan. “I’m so sorry, everybody; when I collected all those things in Greed, I had no idea–”

Rosa was near tears. “I didn’t mean to cause anyone else any trouble. I was just so, so lonely…”

Selene shoved a floating log out of her way. “Those boxes of chocolate were not worth this. They weren’t even good.”

Eric sloshed up to Aziraphale and Crowley and whispered, trembling, “I think I may have got it wrong. It’s possible we ought to be heading that way.” He pointed to the left.

“Ngk,” grumbled Crowley, changing direction.

“Wait, we don’t know where we’re going?!” shouted someone in panic.

Before the panic could spread, everyone registered that they were hearing chanting in the distance.

“What is that?” asked Elana.

“Sounds like a protest?” ventured Sue.

As they moved forward, the chanted words resolved into what sounded like a hundred people shouting “Not my fault! Not my fault!” Eric’s suggested path took them even closer, until they could see through the trees to what looked like an enormous raised platform, made of piled-up tree-branches and other swamp debris.

The shouting grew even louder, until it stopped, and one voice could be heard calling out, “How long have you been here?”

“Five years!” shouted someone else.

“Thirteen!” shouted another.

“Fifty!”

As the tour group moved closer, they could see that the platform was large enough to accommodate a crowd on top, along with a much smaller, one-person platform that rose above the crowd.

“And whose fault is that?” screamed the person on the smaller platform.

“Not mine! Not mine! Not mine!” screamed the whole crowd in furious unison.

Sue frowned. “I guess it’s more like a rally than a protest.”

A man on the edge of the crowd spotted them and leaned over the side. “You people had better be on your way. We don’t take kindly to tourists around here. This is a Purity Solidarity group, and it’s only for people who never indulged in the Upper Three.”

William perked up. “That’s the most sensible thing I’ve heard in this entire goddamned place. Why should those of us with self-control have to suffer for what a bunch of weak-willed good-for-nothings did? People like us, people with moral integrity, we ought to band together to say what’s fair and what’s not!”

The man looked at him. “You’re welcome to join us as long as you’re upper-level-pure. We only take people who didn’t participate in any of the temptations. Not one, understand?”

“Do I look like some kind of deviant to you? Of course I didn’t.”

“Well, then–” the man moved as if to invite William to join the group on the platform.

“Dad!” interrupted Mina. “Don’t– He’s lying! He collected a bunch of little tanks in Greed!”

William turned enraged eyes on his daughter while the platform-man said, “Then you’d better move along, and you’d better hope we don’t see you again.”

William’s eyes were bulging. “Who the hell am I supposed to trust if I can’t trust my own daughter?”

“I was just telling the truth,” said Mina. She looked like she was going to cry.

“You keep your truth to yourself, understand?”

“I think we should get out of here,” said Henry. The crowd above them had started back in on “Not my fault! Not my fault!” but a number of them were looking darkly at the tour group.

Armen nodded. “Yeah, let’s not hang around.”

“Er,” said Eric. “Sorry, but I think maybe we were going the right way before, after all.”

Crowley, whose patience was wearing extremely thin, waited until they were some distance away and then miracled the entire not-my-fault platform out of existence, letting its occupants fall into the swamp water with nothing but increased conviction that theirs was the moral high ground.

Every single one of them had been lying, anyway.

Chapter Text

I’ve been considering your point, said Aziraphale later, when they’d settled back into a rhythm of path-clearing. As he’d grown more accustomed to the terrain, hacking at plants while holding hands had become easier.

Which one? asked Crowley, who was about two more shade-snake disapparitions away from turning into a snake himself and letting Aziraphale deal with all the obstacles for a while.

That an excess of guilt and blame is not a good thing. I know I’ve had moments when I was so overwhelmed by guilt that I failed to act as I ought to have done.

Now you’re feeling guilty for feeling guilty?

Could you not poke fun when I’m conceding a point?

All right.

That said, I also think, if one’s actions truly have caused harm, whether intentional or inadvertent, that feeling no guilt at all is worse than feeling an excess of guilt.

So everyone ought to feel exactly the correct amount of guilt. How much is the correct amount, exactly?

Their silent conversation was interrupted by the sound of a woman’s voice from above, cackling “No way out, no way out, no way out!” Everyone looked up to see a wild-haired woman at the top of a tree. When she saw them looking, she began to throw rocks and sticks down at them. Fortunately, her aim was terrible and her missiles weren’t difficult to dodge.

“Do you need help?” called up Armen.

“No way out!” she shrieked.

“You can come with us if you want,” offered Lishan. “We’re going to customs.”

“No! Leave me alone!” she screamed, throwing another rock. “I make my own way!”

The group had little choice but to honor her wishes and keep moving.

“Are there a lot of people like her here?” Mina asked Eric.

He answered, “As I understand it, many long-term residents of Wrath have become so enraged with the rest of humanity that they’ve decided to travel on their own. That one’s unusual; most of them don’t let themselves be seen at all. They just hide under the water when they see a tour group coming through. No doubt we’ve walked right through a good many of them by now.”

“Ew,” said Lishan.

“Did she mean anything by ‘no way out?’” asked Henry.

Eric was scrutinizing the terrain apprehensively. “There is a way out. It’s only… it can take a while to find. Some tour groups do end up spending ye– er, a long time here before they find it.”

“Tell me you did not just almost say ‘years,’” said Selene.

“I didn’t?” ventured Eric untruthfully.

“Maybe we should split up,” said someone, swatting bugs away. “Cover more ground? Come up with some kind of system for exploring and then finding each other again…”

“Are you kidding?” said someone else. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“I’m not leaving the guy with the sword,” said a third person.

“Hey, do you see walls in the distance? I could swear I just saw walls.”

“Yeah, remember what the annoying announcer guy-- Ow! Watch where you’re letting those branches go.”

“Wait, was that a boar? Are there boars here?”

“Oh my god, I think I just stepped on something that was moving…”

William said, “I’m about ready to leave all of you people. No survival instincts at all.”

“No, Dad, please don’t! We have to stay together.”

“Wasp!” screamed someone. “No! Get away!”

Sue said to Dottie, “And you were so sure there was no afterlife.”

“Eh, I’m still not convinced this isn’t all a terrible dream I’m having while on life support.”

Someone else said, “We should go toward the walls.”

“But the walls are an illusion or something; isn’t that what they said on the boat?”

“The city is real right now,” said Ben. “Except, in the end, it’s not the real city.”

“Ugh,” said William. “I’ve about had it with all the mystical mumbo-jumbo. Take it back to China.”

“I’m from Lima,” said Ben.

“I don’t care where in China! It’s all the same.”

Henry gaped at him. “Seriously? First of all, Lima’s in Peru, and second—” He almost tripped and then caught himself. “Uh, okay, there’s a big root under the water right here; everybody be careful.”

Lishan gasped, “Look, there’s a salamander! Hey little salamander! Aw, who’s the cutest thing in the entire Circle of Wrath?”

“What is it with you and amphibians?” asked Sue.

“Amphibians are adorable!” said Lishan.

“I bet there’s leeches,” said someone else. “Swamps like this always have leeches.”

Selene was panicking. “What if we’re stuck here for years? What if we go crazy like that woman in the tree? What if–aaugh!”

She disappeared under the water.

“Selene!” shouted Rosa and Henry, both splashing around in futile attempts to grab her. Aziraphale hurried back toward them.

“Hey, nobody panic!” called out Dottie. “Just figure out what pulled her under. Henry! Calm down; she doesn’t have to breathe; she’ll be all right.”

Elana was studying the area. “I bet that had something to do with it,” she said, pointing to a boulder wrapped in vines and suspended from a tree by a thick vine-rope. It was sinking slowly downward. “Looks like a counterweight.”

Aziraphale waded over and chopped the rope apart. The rock splashed into the water, sending rippling waves in all directions.

A few seconds later, Selene surfaced, crying and murmuring “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod…”

“Are you okay?” asked Mina.

“What happened?” asked several other people.

Mina tried to put an incorporeal arm around Selene’s shoulders and then cursed quietly when she remembered yet again that they couldn’t touch each other.

“Something grabbed my leg,” Selene managed to say as she crawled up to perch on the closest rock. “And it pulled me under some kind of… like, wooden bars, I think? Like a cage?” She lifted her ankle out of the water and discovered a vine knotted around it. “What…?” With a bit of pulling, she was able to get the vine off.

Aziraphale poked around in the water until he found the wooden cage she’d described, and smashed it.

Armen was examining the knotted vine. “That’s a slipknot.” He looked back at the tree where the rock had been hanging. “This wasn’t just a random obstacle. This was a trap that somebody made on purpose.”

Selene’s eyes were round and wet with horror. “What if I’d gotten caught under the water and nobody noticed? Or what if someone travelling by themself got caught? You could get stuck underwater forever without a body, and no one would be able to see or feel you or know you were there at all…”

“If Hell is trying to keep you here, does that mean you did something to deserve it?” asked someone.

Selene’s panic approached hysteria. “I… oh god, I…”

“Oh, for Satan’s sake,” groused Crowley. He sloshed forward and grabbed the vine-knot. “As I’ve said many times for many years, what Hell does to humans is nothing compared to what they do to each other. This was made by another human.”

“Who would…” began Rosa.

“People like that purity cult thing we passed?” suggested Henry.

Crowley, who was feeling increasingly like a primary school teacher and not at all happy about it, said, “Good news is, it’s illegal for Hell to force anyone to stay involuntarily, which means if you really did get stuck in something like this, eventually they’d dispatch someone like him” – he pointed to Eric – “to come and let you out. Not saying they’d do it quickly – in this case, you’d be more likely to chew through the vine first – but no, you cannot be kept in Hell indefinitely against your will, not even by another human.”

“It’s still horrible,” said Selene, huddling as much of herself as possible up onto the rock and out of the water.

“Never said it wasn’t.” Crowley dropped the vine back into the water and returned to where he’d been path-clearing.

When Selene obviously didn’t want to get back in the water, Rosa grabbed a floating branch and held one end out to her. “Here, we can both hold onto this. Then if something like that happens again, it’ll be easier to help each other.”

Selene nodded, took the end of the branch, and slid unhappily back into the water. Everyone began to follow Aziraphale and Crowley again.

“I still don’t understand why someone would want to trap other people here,” said Lishan.

“Because they think it’s everyone else’s fault that this place exists,” said someone else.

“Well, it is everyone else’s fault,” said another person.

“It’s all of our fault,” said Henry.

“Yeah, but a lot more yours,” said William, “You and everyone else who was stupid enough to let themselves get hoodwinked into staying up there long-term.”

“It’s not like we knew,” argued Henry. “We were just playing a video game.”

“It’s the same as in real life, though,” said William. “Kids spending all their time playing video games, rotting their brains, not applying themselves and not getting jobs, not contributing to their communities, living on handouts… that has consequences for everyone. All the rest of us get dragged down by your bad decisions.”

Henry began to object that he had a degree in political science and that he’d been very involved in his community and local politics, but someone else was saying much louder, “Yeah; it’s like when people don’t take care of themselves and then they get sick, and they expect other people to take care of them.”

The person who had argued about quinoa in Gluttony said, “It’s like how America and China and India are hogging all the world’s resources and making the most pollution, but they act like what they’re doing doesn’t affect anyone else.”

“That’s a big leap from a video game,” said Selene.

“It’s not, though!” exclaimed the second person. “It’s some people just kicking back and doing whatever they want, while other people suffer.”

“And people who can’t keep it in their pants, and end up making tons of babies they can’t support and don’t raise right.”

“Yeah, and then the babies grow up to be criminals, and all the rest of us have to pay for it!”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” said William. “People have no sense of–”

Crowley had been gritting his teeth for this entire conversation and finally lost his last shred of patience. “Would everybody just shut up!”

He whirled around, sloshing water, to face the humans behind him. “Listen, I am the only person on this tour who did not do any of the stuff in Lust, Gluttony, or Greed, and I am a fucking demon! Think about that for a minute! I mean, really think about what that means!”

There was a pause.

“I don’t get it,” frowned one of the humans. “What does it mean?”

“It means the game is rigged!” seethed Crowley. “It is impossible, literally impossible, to survive as a human without eating, without having at least some possessions, and without living in the same world as other humans. Humans have to do all of those things, and the reality of the world is that it’s impossible for anyone to do those things perfectly, which means that everyone is inevitably going to do some amount of damage to each other and the world, sometimes on purpose and sometimes by accident, and it’s never going to be fair. The game is rigged against you from the minute you’re born.”

“But that doesn’t exempt anyone from the responsibility of trying to do as little harm as possible,” said Aziraphale. He eyed Crowley sideways. “Or acknowledging harm when they caused it.”

Crowley clutched at the empty air over his shoulders. “Rgh!”

“Are you two having an argument?” asked Lishan.

“No!” said Aziraphale.

“Yes,” said Crowley.

After a period of sullen silence, people had already started bickering again when Eric admitted for a fifth time that they were probably going the wrong way. The water was getting deeper, the air more stifling, and the insects more dense. They’d managed to spot and avoid two more traps like the one that had caught Selene, but worrying about traps had put everyone even more on edge.

As the group changed direction yet again, one of the tourists tripped over a vine and lost her temper entirely. “That’s it; I have had it with this group!” she shouted. “That woman we saw earlier had the right idea. I’m going to find customs on my own. You people can rot here for all I care.”

“Wait!” called Lishan, but the woman simply thrust her whole self into the water so no one could see where she was going.

Everyone stared as the ripples she’d left behind faded away. It settled in that there was now no way to follow or find her.

“Well, good riddance,” said someone. “She complained a lot.”

“I don’t know; she might be onto something. It seems like we’re not getting anywhere by staying together.”

“We definitely won’t get anywhere if we don’t keep moving.”

As this seemed to be the consensus, they returned to following Eric’s latest orientation, but a lot of people now seemed to be questioning whether to stay with the group. Others were blaming each other for the woman’s departure.

Everything’s so tangled up, Aziraphale said silently.

Hell is Hell, replied Crowley.

My dear, I... I don’t want you to think I haven’t been listening to everything you’ve said.

So–

Their attention was snapped forward by the noise of more rally-chanting, this time from what sounded like an even larger group. As they came closer, they could distinguish the words “Make your own way! Make your own way!”

A rough palisade of broken branches appeared through the trees. It was difficult to see the barrier’s full extent, but it was unquestionably blocking their path forward.

Behind the barrier, someone was shouting, “My whole life, they forced me to support other people. I worked and I worked and I worked, and for what? So other people could sit around and do nothing! You know what I say to those people now?”

“Make your own way! Make your own way!” chanted the unseen crowd behind the palisade.

“This is where it stops!” came another voice. “This is where people have to take responsibility for themselves! This is where we say to every lazy, entitled good-for-nothing: Make your own way!”

“Make your own way! Make your own way!”

As the shouting continued along similar lines, the tour group reached the wooden barrier and had no choice but to stop. The palisade ran in both directions, as far as could be seen through the trees and rocks.

“I guess we go around?” said Mina.

“Which way, though?” asked someone else.

“Does it matter?” said a third person. “We’re probably going the wrong direction, anyway.”

“No, no,” said Eric. “I think I’ve finally got it. This is the most certain I’ve been. We should be going exactly that way.” He pointed right into the barrier.

“I think there’s someone in the water,” said Armen, pointing to a little wake of ripples moving in their direction. The swamp was now waist-deep.

Two seconds later, four men burst out of the water right in front of them, each holding a broken branch like a weapon. People gasped and stepped backward.

“This is our territory!” shouted one of the men. “Get out! Make your own way!”

“But you’re literally in our way,” said Selene.

“We have a right to be here!” said another of the guards. “Don’t you even think about infringing on our territory!”

“We don’t want any trouble,” said Armen, stepping forward in such a manner as to suggest that he was not afraid to deal with trouble if necessary. “We just want to get through and get out.”

Sue, Dottie, and Elana all moved to stand next to Armen, each of them with the no-nonsense expression of people who have lived too long to be easily intimidated.

One of the men started to say something, but Aziraphale also moved to Armen’s side, holding his sword at the ready but not too threateningly. All four men’s eyes lit on the weapon, and then they exchanged looks with each other.

“Well, then,” said the man who had spoken first and seemed to be their leader. “You seem pretty self-reliant, and we respect self-reliance. Why don’t you come in and see what we’re about?” He gestured to one side. “Gate’s right over there. We’ll take you inside.”

The members of the tour group all looked at each other nervously.

“We just want to go through and get to customs,” said Lishan.

“Only way out is through,” said the man.

With hesitance and a lot of whispering, the tour group began to follow him along the palisade.

They want the sword, said Crowley.

Yes, I can see that! snapped Aziraphale. I’m not an idiot. They’re not going to get it.

The palisade enclosed a huge space with more than two hundred Wrath-residents inside. The interior terrain was exactly the same as outside, except for a few small, rudimentary structures whose purpose was unclear. The rally they’d heard earlier seemed to have ended, and most of the people inside were now either talking vehemently in small groups, or working with vines and branches.

They had no real tools. The swamp’s rocks were apparently too soft to be of much use as anything other than small missiles, weights, and a means of breaking branches at desired lengths. A number of people were gnawing at the vines with their teeth in order to cut them into useable segments. Others were braiding the vines together to make rope.

“You’re the people who made the traps!” exclaimed Selene.

“We have a right to defend our territory,” said the man who had led them inside. “We spent our whole lives getting trampled on, and now we’re standing up for our rights.”

“But you’re trapping innocent people,” said Lishan.

“If someone’s stupid enough to get caught, that’s their own fault. They need to take responsibility for themselves and make their own way.”

The other men from the guard group had drifted over to talk with some of their people. Crowley and Aziraphale both watched them closely.

“We believe in self-reliance, freedom of speech, and the right to self-protection,” the guard leader went on. “No one can tell us what to do, not here. No one can force us to help people who don’t deserve it. We’re finally getting payback against all the people who leeched off of us our whole lives.”

“I know exactly how you feel,” said William. “I worked hard my whole life, and all I ever got for it was people taking advantage of me.”

A couple of residents with vines and sticks circled around behind the tour group. Before they could get close, the vines and sticks disappeared from their hands. They blinked at each other in confusion.

William was saying to Mina, “I paid for you to go to that fancy university, and all you did was fail out and go right back to working worthless sales jobs. And who got stuck with the debt? Who paid for the house? Who paid your medical bills?”

“This is where all of that stops,” said the guard leader. “This is where we take our stand and say, no more leeches.”

“You people have the right idea,” said William.

Another resident appeared to be working with some sort of mechanism, and gauging the tour group’s position as they moved slowly forward. When the group reached the point for which she seemed to be waiting, she pulled a lever, only to find that there was no more lever.

“You should join us,” the guard leader was saying to William. “We could use a solid, hard worker like you. You deserve to be around people who recognize your value.”

“You know, I–”

“Dad, no!” intervened Mina, near tears. “These people are horrible.”

“You’re still trying to trample all over me!” William shouted at her. “You don’t get to tell me what to do!”

The three original guards, plus a few more, were now moving to cut off the tour group at the gate on the opposite side of the enclosure. All of the guards’ feet seemed to get stuck in swamp-debris at the same time.

William was still yelling at Mina, who was now crying. Lishan and Ben moved close to her.

“I did everything for you,” bellowed William, “And all you ever did was get me killed!”

Mina sobbed and sank partway into the water.

“All right, that’s enough,” said Sue to William.

Lishan put their hand over Mina’s shoulder even though she couldn’t feel it. “Leave her alone,” they said to William.

“You bet I’m going to leave her alone!” he shouted. “I’m staying here, and she’s not going to stop me!”

“Dad, please,” gasped Mina.

William looked at her in fury. “Get out of here. You don’t care about me. You’re a whiny, entitled snowflake who never did anything but take advantage of me, and you’re going to have to make your own way now.”

“Guys, I think we need to go,” said Armen, who had not missed the fact that nearly all of the enclosure’s residents were now picking up rudimentary weapons. “Now.”

Crying hard, Mina lunged and tried to grab William, but her hands slid through him.

“Get out!” he shouted, backing away from her. Some of the other residents, rocks and sticks in hand, closed in front of him.

Most of the tour group was now hurrying toward the exit on the other side.

“Not fancying an all-out brawl,” Crowley muttered to Aziraphale. “At least, not until we hit Level Six and don’t have a choice.”

Aziraphale nodded, his mind trying to track too many things at once. “But for Mina’s sake, I don’t think we should–”

William had disappeared into the water.

“There’s nothing we can do for him, angel. He’s made his choice.”

“Mina!” said Lishan as the residents advanced on them. “Come on, we have to leave!”

“I can’t leave him,” she sobbed.

“He’s not going to change his mind,” said Ben. “I’m so sorry.”

“But…”

“Mina,” said Sue. “Listen to me. You being tortured too is not going to help him. You’re a good person. Don’t throw everything good away just because someone you love can’t see it.”

Mina took a shuddering breath.

“You’ve got us, now,” said Lishan. “But please, please, we have to go.”

Nodding and still crying, Mina stumbled away.

The exit-gate was barred with long, heavy branches, but Crowley blew the whole thing open with a snap of his fingers. He and Aziraphale and Armen and Elana stayed just inside as their group hurried through. The residents threw rocks and a few looped vines, but all of the projectiles disappeared midair. A whole pack of residents wielding branches attempted to rush Aziraphale just as the last of the tourists made it through, but the attackers all tripped, and then the entire tour group was outside, and a pile of boulders had appeared where the gate used to be.

Crowley had been doing most of the miracles, but not all. Aziraphale forced himself not to sink into the water out of exhaustion.

Everyone splashed forward, stumbling over roots and rocks in their hurry to get away as quickly as possible.

“I think we’re getting close!” called out Eric. “This way!”

“I’m a terrible daughter,” Mina was repeating to herself. “I’m a terrible daughter. It’s my fault he died. It’s my fault he…”

“That’s not true,” said Lishan, more than once, but Mina wasn’t listening.

Chapter Text

After it seemed reasonably certain that the Wrath-residents weren’t following them, everyone settled into worn-out silence. Aziraphale and Crowley began methodically clearing a path again.

You wanted him to stay, said Aziraphale. Ever since we first saw him.

I didn’t not want him to stay. Crowley disapparated two boulders, three eels, and a mosquito-swarm.

And you don’t feel the slightest bit bad about it.

Not really.

Aziraphale slashed through a cluster of netted vines. Are you certain you didn’t nudge him, even a little?

No! Not after I told you I wouldn’t. That decision was one hundred percent his. Frankly, given the state of his soul, I don’t think anyone could have prevented him staying. This is where he wants to be.

But how many people have ended up as permanent residents here because of your nudging? Because of all the things you’ve done over the centuries to wear people’s patience thin? Cutting telephone lines, inventing crowded motorways and hold music and uncomfortable trousers… All the minor annoyances and inconveniences you’ve caused, that you’ve boasted about, that have pushed people over the edge… How many?

Technically none. They stay or leave by their own choice. Anyway, it’s not like your hands are clean. You helped me, sometimes. The Arrangement.

Yes, and I never was exactly happy about it. And now I regret it more than ever.

Crowley scowled. You were always perfectly willing to let bad people die! That French executioner, the Nazis…

It’s one thing to allow someone who threatens others’ lives to die; quite another to condemn people to an eternity of suffering that makes nothing better and helps no one.

Crowley now felt certain that separation from the Divine was affecting Aziraphale even more than he’d thought, and in far stranger ways than he would have expected, but he managed to keep those thoughts to himself. Did you completely fail to notice how that man treated his daughter? And everyone? He was absolute garbage.

No one is garbage. And it’s all well and good to say excessive guilt is a bad thing, but refusing to feel any guilt at all–

I’m supposed to feel guilty because a selfish, cruel, miserable waste of a human condemned himself?

A harrier-hawk came hurtling out of nowhere at Aziraphale, who was obligated to fend it off with his sword because Crowley was already busy disapparating a crocodile. When a fresh tangle of vines appeared almost on top of them, they had to let go of each other’s hands in order to manage everything at once.

Even so, Aziraphale continued, “I meant… in general.”

“For what, then?”

The vines and shade-creatures were now gone.

“For…” Aziraphale gestured helplessly all around them.

Crowley raised an eyebrow and said in a dangerously sardonic tone, “Being a demon?”

“Look!” shouted Eric excitedly. “I did it! I did it! That’s customs up ahead, and I think we made it in record time! Wait, nobody tell them I helped you; I’ll be in trouble.”

The customs-demons were not expecting them so soon. Both were barely awake in their booths, one with her feet propped up on her desk, the other slumping lazily off the side of his chair. They jolted to disgruntled attention when the tour group entered.

“How did you get here so fast?” demanded one of them.

Eric was attempting unsuccessfully to blend in with the crowd.

Crowley, caught up in stewing (not for the first or last time) over Aziraphale’s inevitable self-righteousness, said absently, “I helped them. File a blessed report if you want.”

Selene marched up to one of the booths. “Okay, let me just tell you how wrathful I am. First, I got dropped into a swamp with no warning, and then I got attacked by a swarm of wasps, and then I got caught in–”

The demon in the booth sighed and then climbed up to stand on top of her desk. She knocked on the glass surrounding the booth until most of the tourists were looking up at her. “Attention, everyone. This is not a complaint department. We’ve heard it all, and we are not interested in your list of grievances with Management, with each other, or with the nature of reality. Just give us one thing to stamp for – one – and move along; understand?”

“Well, I am definitely wrathful,” said Selene, shoving her passport under the glass. “So stamp me up.”

The demon climbed back down and stamped Selene’s passport with a black “W,” then said, “Next.”

Armen stepped forward. “I never wanted to be in the military,” he said. “I’ve always been angry that I didn’t have a choice.”

The demon stamped his passport. “Next.”

Rosa said, “Those people we saw in that compound kept talking about how hard they worked, but I don’t think any of them know what it’s really like to work and work and work and feel like you’re never going to have a chance to do anything else. Because when you live like that, you’re too tired to be angry. Only, when I heard how they talked, I thought about how a lot of times the people who have the most are the ones who complain the most, and that definitely made me angry.”

“Next.”

When it was Dottie’s turn, she said, “Yeah, just try being a woman scientist when I was a scientist. The patriarchy can suck it.”

“Next.”

“Is being angry about things that are unfair really a sin?” asked Elana.

“Gave up on debating that a long time ago,” answered the demon. “We have enough debating to deal with around here already.”

The demon in the other booth chimed in: “Besides, everyone who’s ever been angry about anything thinks that the thing they’re angry about is unfair. Sorting out whether or not it’s actually unfair is miles above our pay grade.”

The first demon nodded. “Far as we’re concerned, any anger will do.”

“Okay, then,” said Elana quietly. “What happened to our shop. And after.”

“Next.”

Sue said, “I’ve never forgiven the reviewer that tanked my career. Also, my husband was a dick about it, and I’ve never forgiven him, either, not even after he died.”

“Next.”

Henry stepped up. “Uhh, yeah, well, I was all set to be a teacher at that inner-city school, and I was so sure I was going to change the world, but then when I really understood how bad things were for those kids, I hated the entire universe. And then myself, for what I got into after that.”

“Next.”

Lishan hesitated, then said, “Okay. Back when I had a body, I spent a lot of time being angry about what I looked like, and how people made assumptions about who I was and what I wanted, based on my body. They weren’t trying to hurt me; they just didn’t know any different. But I was still angry with them, and with the world in general. You know, I’ve never said so, until now? Wow, this surprisingly liberating.”

The demon didn’t care. “Next.”

It was Ben’s turn. “I got angry all the time. Mostly at my brain, when it imagined hurting people. But also when people tried to tell me I shouldn’t put things they didn’t like in my art. Art was an outlet, to keep my brain from doing that stuff for real, and it worked, but everybody tried to stop me because they didn’t like it.”

“Next.”

Her face still wet and blotchy, Mina shuffled up to the booth and simply said, “I’m really angry with my father. I always have been.”

“Next.”

Crowley had been growing more and more agitated with each confession. As Mina left the building, he turned to Aziraphale and hissed, “That woman should not be made to think there’s anything wrong with being angry about how her father treated her. In fact, none of the things anyone just said are things they should feel guilty about.”

He stormed up to the customs booth and thumped a fist against the glass. “Hey! Ozolith! You want to know if I’m wrathful? You want to know how much I have had it with this entire establishment twisting and twisting the definition of sin until it applies to bloody everything? Because, let me tell you, I have. I have had it with people being told they should feel guilty about things they have no choice about, and things that don’t matter, and worst of all, things they’re angry about that they blessed well ought to be angry about.”

Crowley beat on the glass of the other booth, getting the other demon’s wary attention. “Am I the only demon in Hell who remembers why we rebelled in the first place? Remembers being told we weren’t allowed to be angry? Am I the only one who remembers how they told us we shouldn’t complain, shouldn’t question anything, shouldn’t want justice?

“And then, what, we turn around and mark humans as sinful for doing exactly those things? For not being perfect? That’s our big rebellion? We do exactly the same thing as was done to us?”

He turned back to Ozolith and leaned in close to the glass. “Well, I do remember, and I am out-demoning every single one of you, because I am more pissed off than all the Nine Circles of Hell put together. I own Wrath, and I will make no apologies for it.” Crowley grabbed the stamp out of Ozolith’s hand, slammed the black-inked “W” directly onto his own arm – kicking up a little shower of sparks where it made contact – and then hurled the stamp against the far wall.

“Next,” sighed Ozolith, opening a drawer to take out another stamp.

Eyeing Crowley with the most extreme of mixed feelings, Aziraphale handed over his passport. “I suppose I am angry, about a lot of things. I never claimed to be competent at being an angel, but in the end, it seems that the other angels were even worse, and I don’t know where things went wrong.” His sleeves were still rolled up, and he looked briefly at the stamps on his arm. “I’m certain I did bungle things myself, plenty of times, but you have to admit I was given terrible leadership. I don’t think it would be right for me not to be angry about that.”

Ozolith did not stamp his passport. “That’s not the main thing you’re wrathful about right now, though. You think we can’t all tell? You know, demons sense negative emotions the way angels sense lo–” She choked and then coughed. “The thing angels sense.”

After listening to Crowley’s tirade, Aziraphale now felt somewhat guilty for feeling that Crowley ought to feel guilty, but all that did was tangle things up even more. “All right. I admit I’m a bit… troubled… no, frustrated… by a lack of any remorse for certain harmful actions on the part of… someone I care about.”

“Just say it,” fumed Crowley. “You think I should be wallowing in guilt and you’re brassed off that I’m not. We can all feel it, you know.” Ozolith nodded.

Aziraphale frowned. “You have done some really awful things. I understand it’s a complicated world, but you could at least have just a bit of regret.”

“What’s done is done, angel. Guilt doesn’t help anything.”

Aziraphale tapped his passport. “Regardless, I presume that my wrath, such as it is, suffices.”

The customs-demon stamped it.

Back on the boat, Mina sobbed into her incorporeal hands and continued to blame herself.

“My dear girl, I am so sorry,” Aziraphale said to her.

Sue leaned over and said quietly, “Hey. This sucks balls, but you are not alone, understand?”

“Exactly,” said Lishan, who was sitting next to her. “We’re right here with you.”

“Maybe he’ll change his mind and leave after a while, like Armen and Henry and I did,” offered Rosa. “You shouldn’t give up hope.”

Nobody was paying attention to Ben. He had picked up the backpack that they’d acquired in Greed, and was using his glass-shard to cut it apart. He sliced away the straps and zippers and inner compartments, until all that was left was a ragged pair of fabric wings joined at one end. He wrapped it around Mina’s shoulders like a shawl and hugged her.

And it was awkward, because they could feel each other only through the demi-matter of the fabric, but Mina collapsed forward and wept tears of relief, and then Ben let go and Lishan pulled Mina against them with arms she could actually feel, and she moved the fabric around so that she could cry into their shoulder.

Over her head, Ben and Lishan’s eyes met in mutual gratitude, and something else.

Elana whispered to Sue, “This group is down to forty people. That’s two-thirds as many as when we started.”

Sue nodded. “We must have lost more people in Wrath than we realized.”

“How many more levels are there?” asked Elana. “Aren’t there seven deadly sins?”

“Three more Circles, and then the Lowest Pit,” said Eric. He turned to Crowley, who was definitively brooding, and said, “Mr. Crowley, I, er, I just wanted to say… I liked your speech in there.”

“Right,” was all Crowley could manage, because he’d spent the last six thousand years working very hard not to express those opinions, or even think about them.

Everyone cringed when the announcement system fired back up with its usual staticky whine. “Allll right, folks! Next up, the City of Dis, where we transition to the more complicated sins. Dis is da big time, everyone. Ha ha!”

“That is it,” snapped Aziraphale quietly. He stood up, took a breath, and announced with dignity, “I have reached my limit.”

With controlled steps, he walked to the front of the boat and tried the handle of the cabin door. When it turned out to be locked, he carefully broke the handle with his sword and opened the door, then disappeared inside and shut it behind him.

A few seconds later, there was a shrill demonic cry of alarm, cut abruptly short, followed by a splash as something heavy fell into the river.

The announcement system screeched back on, but this time it was Aziraphale speaking. “Eric. It appears that an official tour guide position has just become available.”

People on the boat began to cheer and, after they remembered that they couldn’t clap, stomped their feet and knocked fists exuberantly against the walls and seats.

Aziraphale continued to address Eric: “It would be preferable if the successor to this position might refrain from offering superfluous information or attempts at humor. If you would like to accept the opening, kindly proceed to the front cabin, and I will relinquish the equipment to you.”

“Err… yes, sir.” Eric cowered his way up to the front.

“In the meantime,” Aziraphale continued, “I have an announcement of my own to make. We will not be losing any more people from this group. Not a single one. You may consider this a promise.”

After a moment of absorption, this brought on a fresh wave of cheering from almost everyone.

Aziraphale straightened his tie as he returned to sit next to Crowley, who was regarding him with equal parts exasperation, trepidation, and adoration.

Chapter Text

The next time the announcement speakers came on, there was no feedback-screech and only a little static. “Er, hi everyone,” said Eric. “The next Circle is Sloth.”

After a few seconds’ silence, Crowley frowned and said, “What? No it isn’t.”

Aziraphale had been going over his notes. He turned a few pages and then called toward the cabin, “Isn’t Level Five meant to be Heresy?”

A bit more static, and then, “Level Five has recently undergone a complete renovation. It used to be Heresy. Now it’s Sloth.”

“When did this happen?” shouted Crowley. “And why wasn’t there a memo?”

“About five years ago. And the policy on memos was updated. There are no more memos.”

Crowley folded his arms. “Typical. A major change to internal structure, and they don’t even tell their people in the field. Do you know how useful it would have been to know that Heresy wasn’t a thing anymore?”

“How could you not notice that an entire level of Hell had been replaced?” Aziraphale asked him.

“Not a big fan of the Dark City,” said Crowley. “Only ever went in when I had to, for compulsory pan-demonic conferences and such. Hasn’t been one of those in more than twenty years, I think.”

“We are now approaching the walls of the City of Dis,” announced Eric. “If you look up ahead, you will see… walls.”

He was correct. The River Acheron was flowing toward enormous, fortress-like stone walls with watchtowers and demonic guards patrolling among crenellations at the top. The fortifications looked at once ancient and very well-maintained.

“What are the walls for?” asked Selene.

“Protection,” said Crowley. “In case the army of angels gets it into its head to invade Hell.”

He glanced at Aziraphale. They’d reached an unspoken truce, mainly because the long stretch of the Acheron between Levels Four and Five had given them enough time for wordlessly sharing a mix of honest emotions, including Aziraphale’s admiration for Crowley’s defense of righteous anger in customs, and Crowley’s wholehearted approval of the change in tour guides.

They were, after all, very used to having moral differences and to being frustrated with each other, and while they both knew that they were probably going to revisit the guilt argument eventually (not that they both wouldn’t have preferred to ignore it forever), they also knew that this was not the time to try to resolve it. Most importantly, neither of them had for one second lost faith in their feelings for each other.

Also, they’d miracled the swamp-water out of their clothes, which had improved both their moods enormously.

The boat approached a fortified river-gate, complete with metal portcullis and heavy wooden shutters. The shutters were open, but the portcullis was down. Grim-looking demon guards in armor shouted orders, and then some ancient mechanism began to grind the portcullis slowly upward.

Inside the gate were barracks-buildings that looked like they might have been constructed by the ancient Romans, along with fenced-off areas for military drills and training. A few squadrons of demons could be seen marching in formation.

The boat stopped again just inside the walls. Four of the demon soldiers boarded. “Passports and arm-stamps,” they demanded, splitting up to cover both levels of the boat from each end. The humans nervously handed over their passports for inspection and displayed the four black stamps on each of their arms.

When the soldier in the front section reached Aziraphale and Crowley, he leered. “Well, well. They told us about this, but I said I wouldn’t believe it until I saw it with my own eyes. The traitor Crowley, coming through on tour like a run-of-the-mill human.”

He grabbed Crowley’s arm to look at the stamps. “Heh.”

Crowley jerked his arm away and was about to say something, but the guard went on, “Got word that your tour guide might have been discorporated. At least, that’s the running theory for why a body without a head just washed up outside Wrath customs.”

“Oh, there must be some mistake,” said Aziraphale sweetly. “We have a guide, right there.” He pointed to the cabin, whose door-handle had just been hastily repaired by miracle.

Eric’s voice came over the speakers: “Err, yes, here I am! Yes. I am the tour guide. Er, fun fact: Hell’s military is the most impressive in the universe, so we should all give them a very respectful, er, hell-o. That was funny, and all you humans are supposed to laugh now, because I said so, because I’m the tour guide, and you’re all miserable.”

The demon soldier frowned and shook his head. “You can imagine why we’d be concerned. Because if it were true about the tour guide being discorporated, then someone on this boat has a weapon, and it’s one thing for us to be told we have to let an angel into the city, and another thing for us to let in an angel with a weapon.”

“I’m certain you have nothing to worry about,” said Aziraphale, who was sitting on the sword. “Would you like to see my passport?”

The demon took it, frowned at it, and handed it back. “I don’t know what your game is, you two, but you’ll find that the lower depths of Hell are not to be trifled with.”

“Neither are we,” said Crowley.

As soon as the surprise inspection was over, Aziraphale deposited the sword in Crowley’s pocket-dimension. He hoped he wouldn’t need it again, but Hell was most definitely Hell.

The gateway to Sloth featured a sleek, modern-industrial sign with cut-metal letters and backlighting. Inside was a brand new dock with two flagpoles at the end. The road along the river was perfectly smooth. Smaller, perpendicular roads branched off at regular intervals through what looked like rows and rows of identical small houses, arranged in a perfect grid like a cemetery.

“I wouldn’t have expected Sloth to be so tidy,” said Henry.

“What’s Belphegor up to?” wondered Crowley out loud to himself. He raised his voice toward Eric in the cabin: “Is Belphegor still in charge here?”

“Yes,” said Eric over the speakers. “His Unwholesome Lowness Belphegor is now Prince of Sloth, although he retains Prince of Heresy as a secondary title.”

As the boat approached the dock, its passengers could see a group of eight male and eight female humans, all wearing polo shirts and small, square badges. They waved excitedly when the boat stopped, some of them calling out “Welcome!”

Eric’s voice crackled through the speakers again. “Does anyone know why there’s a blinking light here? Oh, hang on, I think it’s the timer for the boat to disappear. Um, we’d probably better–” He burst out of the cabin and ran for the gangplank, with everyone else close behind.

They all made it to the dock just in time, and were immediately greeted by the little crowd of humans. The smiling Sloth-residents dispersed among the tourists and began introducing themselves by name, and politely asking the tourists their names.

Up close, one could see that their badges displayed a shape something like an upside-down pi-symbol, suggesting perhaps horns or wings. The same symbol appeared on the flags at the top of the flagpoles.

After a couple of minutes in which some of the confused tourists gave their names, others tried not to interact, and Crowley just glared at any of the residents who attempted to engage him or Aziraphale, one of the male residents stepped up on top of a dock piling.

“Welcome, welcome, everyone, to the Community! My name is Donovan, and I’m the leader of this group of Community Ambassadors. We’re all excited to be able to show you around. We know you’ve been through a lot. Trust me, we’ve all survived Level Four ourselves, and none of us ever want to see another swamp-vine or insect-swarm again.” There was a brief pause in which the other residents laughed. Donovan continued, “We hope you’ll take this as a chance to relax and recover. You’re all safe here. Our home is your home.”

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, who shrugged and took his hand. No idea where this is going, but I don’t like it. Belphegor always was a sneaky bastard.

Perhaps they’ll be tempted to sleep?

Too simple, replied Crowley. There’s something more devious going on here; just can’t get my head around what.

One of the residents noticed them holding hands. Her eyebrows went up and she looked sideways at a couple of her companions.

A woman had moved to stand at the bottom of Donovan’s pier. He gestured toward her and said, “And now let me introduce my lovely wife, and much better half, Makayla. We all know who really runs things around here!” The other residents laughed again.

“Hello, everyone!” smiled Makayla. “We’re so proud of our Community, and we hope you’ll really get to know us. We’ve found that it makes things easier and more personal to split up big tour groups into smaller groups of four or six, each with their own guides. You’ll have a more authentic experience that way. So I have a fun game we can play to form our little groups–”

“Ah, forgive me, good madam,” began Aziraphale, pushing awkwardly up toward the front. “So sorry to interrupt, but I think it best if our entire group stays together.” He turned toward the tourists and said, “I made you all a promise, and I will do everything in my power to keep it. But I can’t be in two places at once. If we’re all going to make it through, we’ll have to stay together, and look out for one another.”

Donovan and Makayla traded guardedly nervous expressions.

“He’s right,” said Lishan loudly. “We should all stay together.”

The same woman who had reacted to the hand-holding stared at Lishan, and then whispered to one of her friends.

Sue said to Donovan, “You’re absolutely right that we’ve been through a lot.” She glanced at Mina, who had cried herself out on the boat and was now standing numbly between Lishan and Ben with her arms folded. “We’re like a family now. We all belong together.”

“Uhh… all right then,” said Donovan with forced pleasantness. “I can see this is a crowd that knows what it wants! It may be a little tricky to accommodate all of you in our tour spaces, but we’ll do the best we can. We just want everyone to be relaxed and comfortable.” He nodded at Makayla.

“Let’s take a walk through one of our neighborhoods,” smiled Makayla. “It’s just up ahead along the main road. On the way, feel free to chat with your friendly Community Ambassadors, or take a look at one of our brochures.”

Some of the other Ambassadors were holding stacks of brochures, which they began to pass around.

Aziraphale took one and examined the cover, which read, Welcome to the Community! Your little Heaven in Hell. He showed it to Crowley, who raised a puzzled eyebrow.

“Each couple in the Community gets its very own house in one of our special neighborhoods,” Makalya explained as the tour group approached a sectioned-off grid of houses, directly adjacent to the road along the Acheron. More flagpoles with the same inverted-pi flag lined the road every hundred yards. “I’m sure you’ll be able to tell how much we love our homes.”

The houses were identical in size and structure, each with the same white siding, small front porch, and grey shingled roof. They were only a few feet apart from each other and the street. There was no sign of grass, shrubs, or even a potted plant, nor of any other residents. Everything was perfectly clean and in perfect repair.

As the group got closer, they could see a few small variations in decor: Most of the houses had wreaths on their front doors, and the wreaths differed in color and composition. Curtains of different colors and patterns could be seen through the windows. Each house had one cushioned bench and one cushioned chair on the porch, but the upholstery of the cushions varied slightly from house to house.

“We have so much fun personalizing our homes,” said Makayla. “Each time you reach a Community milestone, you can request something special from the catalogue.”

“Makayla’s got her eye on a set of blue throw pillows,” said Donovan. “And we all know Makayla gets what Makayla wants, so you can bet we’re working extra-hard in the Donovan household these days!” The other residents laughed.

Makayla laughed, too. “What can I say? I just love making our house our own special place.”

Selene was eyeing the rows of houses with suspicion. “This is Sloth, right? You people must sleep a lot?”

“Oh, no!” said Makayla. “One of the best things about not having a body anymore is that you don’t need sleep!”

“Then how is this Sloth?”

Donovan smiled. “Because we’re all so happy and relaxed! We like to think the title is just a little good-natured teasing from higher up. We’re very lucky to have a positive relationship with them, considering that the Community is, in so many ways, the opposite of what Hell stands for.”

“Our little Heaven,” smiled Makayla. “Would anyone like to see inside? Usually each of our Ambassador couples invites their small tour group into their own homes for a bit. I’m sure you’re all curious, and we just love sharing all the fun ways members of the Community make their houses into homes.”

“I’d kinda like to see,” said one of the tourists.

“I’d just like to sit on something that isn’t a plastic tour-boat seat,” said someone else.

“Please, everyone,” insisted Aziraphale, who had been keeping careful count of each tourist. “We don’t know what temptations may be lurking here. Best if we don’t risk it.”

“I’m not going to get tempted,” said the first person, miffed. “I was just curious.”

“Even so,” said Aziraphale. “I believe an abundance of caution is warranted.”

The two tourists acquiesced, although they both looked annoyed, as did some of the residents.

Rosa had walked up to one of the houses and was resting a wistful hand on the porch-railing. “I never got to have my own house.”

“Me, either,” said Armen, coming up behind her and casting his eyes over the porch furniture. “This place reminds me of the only thing I liked about the military. I hated fighting, but… it’s nice to feel like everything’s taken care of and figured out, and all you have to do is follow the plan.”

“Aww,” crooned Makayla. “You two would make such a cute couple! You know, if you stay, you can make a specific pairing request. Normally Matchmaking chooses the most compatible wife or husband for each Community member, but they’ll honor requests if they think it’s a good match. I can see you two have a real connection. You’re just adorable.”

“Uh, we’re not… we only just met three levels ago,” said Armen, looking embarrassed and away from Rosa.

Henry intervened. “Besides, none of the three of us is going to get tricked into staying again. Right, Team Ex-Residents?”

“Right,” agreed Rosa with a touch of reluctance, not meeting anyone’s eyes. She ran a hand over the porch railing again. “I always did want a house, though. A house and a nice husband, and babies…”

“Okay, then!” said Donovan with abrupt and authoritative cheer. “Well, if no one wants to see inside, let’s move on to the football fields. They’re just a short walk down the road.”

Chapter Text

“So everyone here is married?” asked Selene as they all walked toward the football fields.

“Oh, yes,” smiled Makayla. “Everyone’s happier with a soulmate, right? It’s the bedrock on which the whole Community is grounded. Nothing’s more important than a healthy marriage.”

“And you automatically get matched up with someone.”

“Yes, the Matchmaking service is wonderful. You take an in-depth personality test and several other assessments. It’s fun, and you get to learn a lot about yourself in the process! And then they match you with your perfect soulmate.”

“What if someone wants to be with their partner from when they were alive?”

“Well, he or she is certainly not obligated, since all earthly marriages are dissolved by death. Most Community members find that Matchmaking pairs them with more compatible husbands or wives, and they’re happy to move forward. In fact, we even have a few people who were married to each other on earth, but have different husbands or wives here, and they’re still friends. They’ll be the first to tell you how much happier they are! But if a new resident truly believes that his or her earthly wife or husband would be his or her very best match, he or she can apply to stay in the Singles Waiting Area. If he or she is approved, he or she can start his or her education, and plan for the time when his or her earthly wife or husband arrives.”

“Education?” asked Henry.

Donovan began to explain that every resident’s first few years in the Community were spent earning a degree from the University.

As he was talking, the woman who had noted Lishan earlier handed them a flyer covertly, as if sharing a secret. “We want you to know that you’re just as welcome here as everyone else,” she whispered. “We have lots and lots of residents like you, who are finally able to be happy here.”

Looking skeptical, Lishan read aloud from the flyer to Ben and Mina: “Find your True Self and your True Love!” They snorted derisively and kept reading. “You’re not alone. Life on earth was confusing for everyone. Many people never received the support they needed while they were alive. Here in the Community, we want to help every person understand who he or she is and where he or she belongs.”

Lishan rolled their eyes, turned a page, and went on, “If you’ve struggled to understand your gender or your attractions, we can help! Through a joint effort between Education Services and Matchmaking, you’ll learn what it truly means to be a man or a woman– Uh, yeah, that’s a hard nonope.”

“Is this for real?” asked Mina, who until then had barely been registering anything.

Ben said, “Sounds kind of like the things they said to me before they put me in that first mental clinic.”

“Do you really convince people to do this?” Lishan asked the woman. “Because this is officially the most hellish thing I’ve seen in all of Hell so far.” They crumpled the flyer and tossed it over their shoulder.

The woman scrambled to pick it up. “All we want is for everyone to be happy.”

With bright sarcasm, Lishan replied, “Uh-huh, right. And the only way to be happy is to conform to a binary gender category and be married to one person conforming to another binary gender category.”

“It’s not about conforming! My goodness! It’s about the natural fulfillment of knowing your true self and your place in society. Understanding your gender helps you know what your best role in the Community is. Things are so confusing, otherwise, for you and for everyone else. And a marriage between a man and a woman is the highest, most fulfilling relationship that humans can have – you’ll understand once you’re in one!”

“Okay, then,” smirked Lishan. “What gender are you?”

The woman seemed to doubt that this was a serious question, but decided to err on the side of patience or pity. “Well, female, obviously.”

“How do you know?”

She frowned. “Just look at me!”

“So your appearance determines your gender?”

She considered this, apparently thinking hard. “Appearance is a natural and logical reflection of one’s true self. When you go through our program and understand your true self better, your appearance will naturally and logically reflect it. You and everyone else will know who you are, and how to relate to you.”

“So your appearance is a natural and logical reflection of your true self?”

“Of course it is.”

“Even though you’re dead, and incorporeal.”

“All the more so!”

“Okay, then, I’m just curious… why does the natural, logical, true self of a dead person have breasts?”

Her face hardened defensively. “Because I’m a woman, of course!”

“Yeah, but in terms of pure nature or logic, breasts are for nursing babies, which, as far as I know, an incorporeal dead person can’t do. Don’t get me wrong, if you like having breasts and they make you happy, that’s wonderful, and I totally support your self-expression. And, on the other hand, if you felt like they didn’t reflect your true self but you didn’t have a choice about having them, believe me, I’d be more sympathetic about that than you can probably imagine.

“But if we have to talk in strict terms of nature and logic – which, honestly, I think is stupid, but I’m trying to meet you where you are – I can’t think of a single natural or logical reason for anyone’s incorporeal, non-baby-having true self to have breasts.”

Looking as if her eyes might explode, the woman stuttered something about such topics not being appropriate discussion on a Community tour.

Crowley gave Lishan a little nod of respect.

The gesture was not lost on the woman, who unwisely decided to try a different target. She turned to Crowley and Aziraphale. “You know, we can help you two, as well. We have–”

Aziraphale only looked baffled, but Crowley laughed so hard that he doubled over. “You do know we’re not human, right?” he managed to get out.

Donovan, who had just finished a lengthy explanation of the wonders of the Level Five University, overheard and moved toward them. “So if you’re not human, what exactly is your role in this group?” He looked at Aziraphale. “They seem to treat you as a leader.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “I’m only trying to keep everyone safe; that’s all.”

“As any good leader would do,” said Donovan appraisingly.

Their arrival at the football fields was marked by the residents making friendly-seeming jokes about how you could always tell the Americans in a tour group, because Americans were surprised to find that the football pitches were soccer fields to them. This was odd because a disproportionate number of the Ambassadors seemed to be American themselves, but no one commented on that.

There were four separate pitches laid out in a perfect grid, each surrounded by well-kept seating. All of them had matches underway, two between men’s teams, and two between women’s. Cheering residents filled the stands, many of them waving pennons with numbers on them. Flagpoles with the ubiquitous symbol surrounded the area.

“We have special reserved seats on each pitch for tour groups,” said Donovan. “Although I’m not sure your entire group will fit in just one tourist seating area…”

“We’ll manage,” said Aziraphale. He would have preferred not to stop at all, but several of the tourists had insisted that they wanted to watch. Aziraphale was getting into the habit of counting them all like ducklings, constantly checking to make sure no one was being lured away.

Donovan led them to a separate section of seats, which would indeed have been more suitable for twenty people than forty. The tourists squeezed in anyway, more accepting now of a little overlap between elbows and hips. There still wasn’t enough room for everyone, so some of them stood on the stairs or on the walkway in front of the seating section. The Ambassadors seemed displeased about this, perhaps because it was difficult to keep track of exactly who was where.

Aziraphale dragged a less-than-enthused Crowley up to the middle of the top row of seats, which offered the best overview of the tour group. Eric joined them.

Ben, clearly uncomfortable with all the crowding, pressed himself into the upper corner of the seating area. Lishan and Mina positioned themselves as well as they could to make a little buffer of space around him.

In spite of the limited space, some of the other Ambassadors integrated themselves with the tourists and began giving energetic commentary on the players’ skills and the teams’ histories.

“Teams are organized by neighborhood,” Makayla explained. “It’s a great way to build neighborhood pride and camaraderie. Sometimes there’s even a little rivalry between neighborhoods, but it’s all in good fun.”

“What are those signs about?” asked Selene, pointing to sideline-signs around the pitch that read Honor our Heroes.

“Oh,” said Makayla. “To help us remember those who have chosen to protect the Community.”

“Protect it from what?”

Makayla took on a somber expression and explained quietly, “You may have heard that the Demon Prince of Violence and the Demon Prince of Envy are at war on the next level down–”

“They are?” asked Crowley, startled. “Since when? And who the Heaven is the Prince of Envy? That’s new.”

Eric explained, “His Desplendent Lowness Prince Lotan was recently appointed to that position.”

“Lotan? That wanker? All he’s ever done in his very short and boring life is complain about how everyone else has more power than him.”

Eric whispered, “There are rumors that his parents were involved.”

“Oh,” said Crowley. “Yeah, that would explain it. Still, Lotan trying to challenge Belial for Six? That’s… well, I suppose if his father’s in on it, it’s a bloodbath. Ugh.”

One of the football teams made a goal, and everyone on their side of the stands cheered.

“We don’t talk about it much,” said Makayla, “But we all know that the warring demons would take over our own level in a second if they could, and destroy everything we’ve built together. So sometimes, the most heroic and selfless members of the Community make the ultimate sacrifice, and take a tour boat down. They join the fight to protect us all, and we honor their memory.”

“Hm,” said Crowley, who had already been starting to have some suspicions about what the erstwhile Prince of Heresy, now Prince of Sloth, might be up to.

“Eric,” said Aziraphale. “I don’t suppose you happen to have a passenger manifest for our tour group?”

“Yes, sir!” said Eric, eager to please. He turned pages on his clipboard and extracted a list, which he offered to Aziraphale. “I’ve kept it updated.”

“Thank you; this is very helpful.” Aziraphale scanned the list, sighing over the crossed-off names of people they’d lost on the first four levels.

One of the football teams failed to make a goal, causing a wave of groans on one side of the crowd and cheers on the other.

“In case it’s also helpful,” whispered Eric, “I’ve been sensing a lot of unhappiness from those two” – he pointed to the names “Gael” and “Piper” on the list – “every time you tell people not to go off on their own.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Any other insights?”

As Eric began to comment quietly on some of the other names, Elana, Sue, and Dottie slid themselves over to Crowley.

“We’re bored,” Elana whispered to him. “We want to do a shenanigan.”

“Just something simple and classic from our youth,” said Sue.

“But everyone’s watching everyone like hawks,” said Dottie. “Can you cover for us?”

Crowley’s mouth quirked. “Fortunately for you, I am also bored.” He tilted his head toward the back of the stands.

Grinning, the three women slipped under the back railing and dropped to the ground below. In the place where they’d just been, three illusory images sat talking cheerfully with each other.

Several of the other tourists had begun whispering to each other, with occasional furtive glances at Aziraphale. They were decidedly not cheerful.

As the football match continued, a few of the tourists began to show signs of wanting to leave, while others were obviously enjoying themselves, and others were visibly displeased. Aziraphale could tell that keeping the group together was only going to get more difficult the longer they stayed in Sloth.

Along the edge of the crowded tourist seating area, a resident from the next section over called out a greeting to one of the Ambassadors with the tour group.

“Hey!” said the Ambassador amicably. “Didn’t see you at the last game.”

“We were working over-overtime to get the new supersonic coffeemaker. Have you seen it?”

“Yeah, looks fantastic. We’re a long way from our next milestone, though.”

“Worth every hour, man. We love that thing. Makes a cup of coffee in thirty seconds flat. I’ve never seen the wife so happy. You should get one.”

The Ambassador nodded vaguely as one of the football players pulled off an impressive move, to more cheering.

The resident said, “Did you hear Carlos volunteered? And Zuberi got picked to take his place on the team?”

“Yeah,” enthused the Ambassador. “We might have an actual chance of beating 229 now. It’s going to be a long three months till the next game.”

The other resident nodded. “Lucky bastard, Zuberi; four hours a week off from the PC – but I guess you know what that’s like, now that you’re a fancy Ambassador and all…”

“Hey!” barked Donovan, who had just noticed the conversation. He hurried over and said to the non-Ambassador resident, “Only Ambassadors are authorized to interact with visitors. You know that.”

“I was only talking with Iskander!” protested the resident, pointing to his Ambassador friend.

Donovan turned to the Ambassador in question. “And you know there’s no interacting with non-Ambassadors while we’re hosting. I’m disappointed, Iskander; I had high hopes for you. But you and your wife need to report to the Ambassador Training Facility immediately. Now. Go.”

Looking terrified, Iskander signaled to his wife, and they both left the stands.

Donovan said to the resident, “You be more careful.”

The resident tamped down a glare and slunk back to his designated area.

Another goal was scored, bringing the match to a tie and provoking loud reactions on both sides. Donovan joined in the cheering, perhaps in an attempt to distract the tourists from the conversation he’d just had.

Noticing a few tourists who genuinely seemed to be enjoying the match, Donovan said, “Can I interest anyone in a little visit to the locker rooms? Some of our athletes are also authorized Ambassadors, and I know they’d love to share the gritty inside details of our football culture.”

“Oh! I would!” said Piper, whom Aziraphale recognized as one of the tourists that Eric had pointed out on his list.

“Yeah, me too,” said Gael, the other one. The two of them had been sticking close to each other since the group arrived in Sloth.

“We really ought to stay together,” insisted Aziraphale.

“Who put you in charge?” demanded Gael.

“I’m not in charge,” said Aziraphale. “I’m simply trying to protect everyone, and I can’t do it if we’re all in different places.”

“What if we don’t want to be protected?” asked Piper. “And anyway, this place is nice – I don’t think there’s anything here we need protecting from.” She turned to Donovan. “Gael and I would love to see the locker rooms.”

“Fantastic!” exclaimed Donovan. “Any other takers?”

No one else volunteered, although some of them looked uncomfortably at Aziraphale. He in turn glanced at Crowley, who just shook his head in abstention and brushed his fingers against Aziraphale’s. It’s called free will for a reason, angel.

Donovan put an Ambassador couple in charge of the locker room tour. The two of them led Piper and Gael away, chatting energetically the whole time. Aziraphale watched them go.

“You don’t trust us to make our own decisions,” Selene said to Aziraphale.

“It’s… it’s not that,” he replied, although he supposed he didn’t. “It’s… as I believe we’ve all become aware, Hell is rife with lies and muddled logic. I can only see it as my duty to protect people from those lies.”

He added silently to Crowley, I don’t like where this is going.

You’re the one who made the authoritative pronouncement. Not saying I don’t admire the sheer brass of what you’re trying to do, but what did you think was going to happen?

Gael, Piper, and the two Ambassadors were still in sight when they reached the door of the locker room building. One of the Ambassadors tried to push the door open, but it seemed to be locked.

It’s Hell, Crowley. I know I can’t save every soul in Hell, but I can at least do everything in my power to save the ones who are right in front of me.

And if they don’t want to be saved?

The Ambassadors at the locker room door had beckoned over someone with a key, but the key didn’t seem to be working. One of the Ambassadors appeared to be making an awkward joke while the other tried to open a window which refused to open. Piper looked suspiciously in Aziraphale’s direction.

After a few more attempts to breach the building, the Ambassadors gave up.

You all right? asked Crowley when Aziraphale slumped into him a little.

The lower we travel, the more difficult the miracles are getting, admitted Aziraphale.

You might’ve asked me.

I wasn’t certain if you’d do it, and I didn’t want to start another argument.

Crowley tried to stop himself from thinking, Car explosion moment aside, when have I ever not done a miracle you asked me for?

And Aziraphale tried to stop himself from thinking, I couldn’t have borne it if I asked you now and you didn’t.

Chapter Text

Eventually the football matches ended, at which point the residents seemed to be in a hurry to leave. The athletes were stymied by the impenetrable locker room, and would remain so until after all members of the tour group had moved on.

Donovan announced that their next stop was the University. He and the other Ambassadors were tense, their veneer of friendliness increasingly brittle.

“The University is our pride and joy,” he said forcefully as they walked down the flag-lined road. “It’s where we all learn what it means to be members of the Community. So many people were denied a proper education when they were alive. We make up for that here. It means that all of our members get a fresh, equal start.”

Only Crowley noticed when Dottie, Elana, and Sue rejoined the group. They blended right back into their illusory selves, which disappeared.

They were still up to something. Elana and Dottie distracted any Ambassadors in earshot, while Sue had an inaudible conversation with Rosa. Whatever Sue had to say was a surprise, but after a few seconds Rosa said something in return and nodded an affirmative.

Sue moved close to Aziraphale, Crowley, and Eric. After making sure that Elana and Dottie were still doing their jobs, she whispered, “Okay, so we ran into some old friends. Well, non-friends. Actually, we never met them ourselves when the rest of you did, but we figured out who they were because they tried to flirt with us, and no one else here has done that. Please don’t blow their cover, because we promised we wouldn’t.” She discreetly repeated her request to Selene, Mina, Lishan, and Ben.

A few seconds later, an attractive couple with Ambassador badges approached the group. “Hi, everyone!” said the man. “We’re here to replace the Ambassadors who had to report back in. Nice to meet you.”

His hair was now short, and his female companion’s hair wasn’t blue anymore. They both looked significantly more transparent and therefore exactly like dead humans, but Rosa still recognized him. “Aur–” she began, then stopped herself. “Are… you… new to the Ambassador program?”

“We are!” smiled Aurélien the Lust-shade. “This is our first day as Ambassadors, in fact. I’m Lucas, and this is my lovely wife, Temerity.” Temerity, the Lust-shade who had failed to tempt Ben, beamed perfect teeth.

“Oh, dear,” said Aziraphale weakly. He’d never been much good at teleporting things, least of all nonexistent sentient demi-matter, least of all in Hell, it seemed.

Lucas and Temerity quickly integrated themselves with the group, though they seemed more interested in subtle flirting with the other Ambassadors than in talking with the tourists.

“Sorry to spring that on you,” Sue whispered to Rosa.

“No, no…” said Rosa. “I… it makes me glad I got away from there. And remembering what that was like… is probably good for me right now, so I don’t get tempted again. But what are they doing here?”

“Seducing every consenting resident they can get their hands on, apparently,” said Sue. “I guess, because afterlife-time is weird, they’ve been here for months, to them. They told us they were causing so much trouble that the demons hauled them in to see the Prince of the Circle himself, but they convinced him that what they were doing was only adding to the residents’ anxiety, so he gave them free rein.”

The group had reached a large building complex with academic architecture and a grand walkway up to elaborate front doors. An especially tall flagpole stood right in the middle of the walkway, with a large university seal carved into its base.

“Well, here we are,” announced Donovan. “Level Five University!”

“Um…” said someone. “Are those shorts on the flagpole?”

Everyone looked up. They were indeed shorts.

Sue, Elana, and Dottie giggled.

“Wait, did you do that?” whispered Lishan.

Elana nodded. “Simple and classic. But the shorts aren’t the real prank.”

Donovan was clearly thrown off and trying to hide it. Through gritted teeth he said, “Ah… just a little fun, I’m sure. We have so much fun around here!” He gave Makayla a severe nod, which she returned.

Donovan urged the tour group brusquely toward the University doors, while Makayla stayed behind with another Ambassador couple. She grabbed the flagpole’s rope, only to find that it had been cut. Sue, Elana, and Dottie all paused on the entrance-stairs to watch as Makayla ordered the male Ambassador to climb the flagpole and retrieve the shorts.

He made a sincere attempt, got about two feet up, and slid back down.

He tried again. The same thing happened.

The other female Ambassador, grumbling about her husband’s incompetence, tried climbing the flagpole herself. She made it slightly farther up before also sliding back down.

“Oh my gosh,” laughed Lishan. “I know people do that in movies, but I’ve never seen anyone do it for real. Where did you get the shorts?”

“Football locker rooms,” said Dottie. “The back door and the windows were locked, but Elana wasn’t a mechanic for nothing.”

“What did you grease the pole with?”

Dottie said, “Well now, that is interesting. See, during my own time on Level One, I learned that Lust-shades are capable of generating demi-material lubricant at will from any body surface–”

“What?! Why?”

“Uhhh… why do people need lube in general, or–”

“No,” snorted Lishan. “I mean why do people need it when they’re dead and don’t actually have bodies.”

“According to the shades, people who are used to having lube get nervous without it.”

“It’s true,” said Rosa. “But after you’ve been there a while, you…” Her eyelashes fluttered downward. “I mean, never mind.”

Lishan said, “So you got Lucas and Temerity to grease the flagpole with sex lube.”

“It was a fortuitous meeting,” said Elana. “They promised to help us with anything we wanted, as long as we didn’t give them away.”

They contemplated the Ambassadors’ increasing frustration as repeated attempts to climb the flagpole met with inevitable, slippery failure. Even Mina cracked a bit of a smile.

“We’re all just heading inside now,” insisted Donovan in strained tones. “Better hurry, or you might get left behind – I know how important it is to you all to keep your group together.”

Inside the central University building, the tour group was led through stately corridors and empty lecture halls. They passed a few large rooms with rows of desks at which residents were taking multiple-choice exams. The whole time, Donovan explained in unspecific terms that a University education was the foundation for working at one of the Community’s many Production Centers.

As they walked through the halls, Lishan whispered to Mina, “How are you doing?”

She turned her eyes away from one of the classrooms. “I failed out of university. Dad was right. I’m no good at anything.”

“That’s not–” began Lishan, but then they became even more concerned. “Wait, you’re not thinking of staying here, are you?”

“No. No way. This place is like… it reminds me of the training videos they used to make us watch at work.”

Ben nodded. “It’s a lot like how they run mental institutions. At least, the ones where I was.”

“Okay, good,” said Lishan. “This Circle is terrifying. I’m really glad none of us is tempted to stay.”

Mina said, “I don’t think anyone who worked the kind of jobs I worked would be dumb enough to stay here. Although, this place does seem like it might attract the kind of people who shopped at the places where I worked. People who didn’t understand what it was like to be anyone but themselves, and didn’t want to understand.”

Donovan announced that they were about to observe a class in progress. “Normally we take our small groups into different lectures, but we’ll try to squeeze you all into the back of our largest lecture hall. I believe there’s a current events class going on in there right now. We do ask you to be as quiet as possible, so as not to disturb the professor and students.”

Aziraphale counted each tourist yet again as they filed into the back of a large, auditorium-style classroom with tiered seating. At the front, a professor was presenting slides projected onto a huge screen. Each slide had a series of bullet-points, which the professor read out loud word-for-word. All of the students were copying the text from the slides word-for-word into notebooks.

The slide being displayed at the moment read:

Who is Lotan?

• Lotan is the Prince of Envy.
• Lotan is the son of Typhon and Ekhidna.
• Lotan’s father, Typhon, is the Prince of Pride.

When the professor had finished reciting each line, he asked, “Any questions?”

A student raised her hand and he nodded. She asked, “Will this be on the exam?”

“Everything is on the exam.” The professor advanced to the next slide and once again read each word out loud with no elaboration.

What is the Circle of Pride?

• The Circle of Pride is Level Seven.
• Level Seven is two levels below us.
• The Circle of Pride was formerly known as the Circle of Fraud.

The students wrote everything into their notebooks.

The next slide read:

What is the Circle of Violence?

• The Circle of Violence is Level Six.
• Level Six is one level below us.
• The Prince of Violence is Belial.

“Look how they’re copying everything down,” whispered Rosa. “Every single one of them. They’re all working so hard. How can this possibly be Sloth?”

Henry had worked it out. “Because they’re doing everything they can to avoid actual thinking. No one here is questioning anything.”

The professor advanced to the next slide.

What is happening on Level Six?

• Lotan, the Prince of Envy, is currently trying to take over Level Six by force.
• Belial, the Prince of Violence, is fighting to hold Level Six against Lotan.
• War is happening on Level Six.

“Yeah,” said Dottie, a little louder. “This isn’t education. This is just memorization. A real education teaches you how to think for yourself.”

Donovan was giving them a please-keep-quiet look, but they ignored him.

“Should’ve seen it from the beginning,” muttered Crowley. “This is what happens when you tell the Demon Prince of Heresy that he has to convert his Circle to Sloth. Of course it would be mental sloth, not physical. Belphegor’s every bit as obsessed with deviation and conformity as he always was; he’s just… flipped things about.”

“Mental sloth,” repeated Lishan. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. But yeah. This whole level is a lot of people putting a lot of effort into never having to challenge their mindset.”

The professor moved on to a series of slides about effects of demi-material weapons on an incorporeal person. Many of the tourists cringed and winced at the descriptions, while the resident students just wrote down every word.

“All right, let’s not disrupt the class anymore,” said Donovan. He began to direct the tourists out of the classroom, giving the professor an apologetic wave. The professor didn’t seem to notice.

Out in the hallway, Donovan said to the group, “The University has all sorts of fascinating courses. History, Grammar, Math, Technology, Community Structure, Citizenship, Domestic Arts… If you’d like to know more about what’s available, we have curriculum counselors who would love to speak with any of you individually about your interests. We’re just about to pass their offices, so you can talk with them right now!”

“I’ll talk to them,” volunteered Piper. She looked at Aziraphale, silently daring him to tell her not to.

“So will I,” said Gael.

Before Aziraphale could come up with anything, Crowley said, “I think you’ll find that all of the curriculum counselors are asleep. How’s that for Sloth?”

Aziraphale gave him a grateful smile.

Piper glowered. “Would you stop trying to make our decisions for us? We’re not children.”

On reaching the curriculum counselor offices, Donovan was obliged to confirm that the counselors were indeed all asleep in their desk chairs, and could not be woken up by any means.

“Give them a day or so,” suggested Crowley. “I expect they need the rest.”

Donovan had to content himself with handing out printed course lists and repeating the same general endorsements.

Thank you, said Aziraphale. But I’m afraid we may have an outright rebellion on our hands soon. Perhaps I made a mistake in trying so hard to keep them from going off on their own.

They want to make their own decisions, said Crowley. Best you can do is give them what they need in order to do that as intelligently as possible.

Aziraphale considered this, and then considered it some more. As the group started to move out of the University, he dropped back and got the attention of the Lust-shades Lucas and Temerity, who both seemed surprised that he wanted to talk with them.

Making certain that all the real Ambassadors were out of earshot, he said, “I wonder if I might enlist your help with something.”

“Of course; anything!” smiled Temerity. “We owe you for sending us here. This level is so much more fun than where we were.”

Aziraphale nodded, not sure what to make of that. “I don’t suppose you know exactly what happens when residents volunteer to go to the Circle of Violence?”

Chapter Text

The tour group exited the University complex through a side-door, but everyone could see that Makayla and what was now a dozen other residents were still trying to remove the shorts from the flagpole. They had acquired a ladder, but seemed to be having difficulty getting it to remain stable. One resident finally did manage to get to the top of the ladder, only to find that either the ladder or the resident was a few inches too short.

“Did you shorten the ladder?” whispered Lishan to Crowley.

“Possibly,” he replied. “Be a shame for the chaos trio’s hard work to come to an end too soon.”

Donovan attempted to distract the tour group by talking about the Production Centers, which were the final destination on their itinerary. “Work is so important to a happy life,” he said. “Work gives you a sense of purpose and meaning. And the Production Centers are a perfect workplace. They’re fast-paced and exciting, with supportive managers and co-workers. Back on earth, I never thought I’d look forward to going to work, but now I always do.”

“What do the Production Centers produce?” asked Selene.

“We make all the lovely housewares in the Catalogue.”

Selene narrowed her eyes, but didn’t say anything else.

Piper took one last look over her shoulder at the still-failing attempts on the flagpole. “I want to know how come Sue and Dottie and Elana were allowed to leave the group to do a stupid, unoriginal prank, but we weren’t allowed to talk with the curriculum counselors about getting an actual education.”

“I didn’t know they left the group,” said Aziraphale, glancing suspiciously at Crowley.

Dottie said, “That wasn’t an actual education. It was indoctrination and scare tactics.”

“What gives anyone else the right to decide that for us?” protested Piper.

“Yeah,” agreed Gael. “It ought to be our choice. And we’re not crazy to think that it might be reasonable to stay here. Okay, yes, they’re kind of controlling, but that’s just how life is. At least here you have a house and a guaranteed soulmate, and chances to make friends. Honestly, I’m not sure what else anyone could hope for. Why bother going on, especially if the next level is a war zone?”

“I don’t want to go to the Violence Circle!” burst out someone else. “I’d rather just stay here. It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah, why should we keep going? It sounds like things just get worse and worse.”

There was a long silence in which a lot of people stared at Aziraphale, apparently expecting him to answer the question. It had never occurred to him that this was in question.

“To get to Heaven, of course,” he said at last. “Once you go all the way through Hell, you… eventually go through all of Heaven. That’s what the Grand Tour is. That’s the point of the whole thing.”

“What’s Heaven like?” asked Rosa softly.

“It’s… well, it’s lovely, of course. It’s perfect harmony and happiness.” Aziraphale wasn’t about to mention that he hadn’t been there for six thousand years.

“But what do you actually do there?” demanded Gael. “Just sit around and… what, play harps? It must be so boring.”

“Well, you… you rejoice in the full knowledge of divine love.”

“That’s not doing anything, though!”

“Heaven is outside of time and space, so I suppose the idea of doing things doesn’t exactly apply,” floundered Aziraphale. “It’s… ineffable, you see.”

“That sounds awful,” said Piper.

Crowley was just shaking his head.

Donovan, on the other hand, had observed this exchange with great satisfaction. “There’s a reason why we call the Community our little Heaven,” he said. “This is the real thing, my friends. The Community isn’t some abstract promise of vague happiness that doesn’t even make sense. It’s real people, living and working together, in an ideal society that transcends Hell itself. What could be more heavenly than that?”

“I want to stay,” said Gael.

“So do I,” said another tourist.

Piper said to Aziraphale, “You know, it seems to me, these people are telling each other what to do all the time, and you’re also telling us what to do all the time. These people say this is Heaven; you say you’re an angel; I see a lot of ordering people around on both sides, and not much difference, except that at least here, we already know what things are like.”

“I’m trying to protect you all from spending eternity in Hell,” said Aziraphale, at a loss. “But perhaps it was foolish of me to think I could.”

Another tourist said, “Just give us something to go on other than blind faith. How do we know for certain that there’s anything better than this? Can you prove it?”

“I…” Aziraphale’s own faith, the faith he hadn’t lost in spite of everything the other angels had done, was grounded on six thousand years of being able to sense the love of God directly, which was not something humans were able to do. Not that he could do it either, in Hell. He supposed that was taking more of a mental toll on him than he’d been willing to admit to himself. “I don’t think I can.”

The Production Centers were an endless grid of windowless factory-buildings, stretching away from the Acheron as far as could be seen. Each identical building was topped with a flagpole bearing the ubiquitous upside-down pi-symbol, and each building had a loading dock for trucks. A long line of trucks was moving down from the Production Centers and onto the road, heading in the direction of customs.

“Thought so,” murmured Selene.

“We’ll just go into the Catalogue Gallery now,” announced Donovan. “A team of Production Center Ambassadors will meet us there.”

He led the way to the only building with windows, situated centrally along the road. “This is where residents can come to look at all the available Catalogue items, and choose which ones they’d like to have when they reach a Community milestone. It gives us something to look forward to.”

Inside the gallery were glass-enclosed displays of door-wreaths, curtains, and cushions like the ones they’d seen adorning the identical houses, along with similar interior items such as tablecloths, lamps, and pillows. Each item was labelled with a catalogue number. The floor-to-ceiling windows in the outer walls were obviously intended to encourage residents to look at the catalogue items as they passed by on the road outside.

“Ah, here we are!” exclaimed Donovan when two men and two women, each with an Ambassador badge, entered. “Our Production Center representatives, here to tell you all about what they do.” He introduced one man and woman as managers, and the other two as workers.

“We all love making the beautiful things you see here,” said one of the workers. “We’re a real team.”

“It’s a fast-paced environment with supportive managers and co-workers,” said the other worker.

“Yep, there’s never a dull moment around here!” said one of the managers, and the other Ambassadors laughed.

“We’re also in the early stages of letting people know that we’ve got a super-exciting, super-secret new product on the way!” said the other manager. “It’s being designed and made by some of our longest-term, most trusted and experienced residents, right over there in Factory K3.” She pointed through one of the windows at a nearby factory building, windowless like all the rest. A banner reading “Coming Soon!” was draped across it. “It’s something very special to reward our residents who have worked the hardest and fulfilled the most milestones.”

“But I’m afraid we can’t tell you what it is yet,” said the first manager. “We’re planning a big reveal for the whole Community in a few weeks. I can’t tell you how excited we are for that day!”

“So if you want to know what we’re cooking up over there in Factory K3, you’ll just have to stay awhile!” said the other.

Selene had been examining the catalogue items and counting on her fingers. “Okay, there’s no way this catalogue stuff is all you’re making. Unless you have the most inefficiently-designed factories I’ve ever heard of, you’ve got at least a hundred times as many Production Centers as you’d need to make a new set of curtains and pillows for every resident, every day. Also, you’re clearly shipping a lot of things down to the next level.”

Donovan said cautiously, “We do support ourselves by making some goods that get shipped down to the lower levels.”

“Weapons for the war, I assume?”

“Well, yes, weapons are a small part of what we produce, although we’re not happy about that. But we don’t have a choice, if we want to keep the Community safe.”

“‘Small part?’” repeated Selene. “I don’t know what all is in those trucks, but whatever it is, it’s, like, 95% of what you’re producing. Unless you’re driving around empty trucks for some reason.”

“Oh, I can see how it might look that way–” began one of the managers, but then the front door crashed open to admit some unexpected arrivals.

It was Lucas and Temerity, along with two men in handcuffs. One of them was Iskander, the Ambassador who had been sent away from the football match for talking with his friend.

“What is going on here?!” exclaimed Donovan, hurrying toward them.

“We saw them near the road, and they told us they were volunteers,” explained Lucas in a naïve-sounding tone. “Since the tour group is going to customs soon – assuming they don’t all stay, of course! – we thought we’d just bring the volunteers along.”

“That’s not how volunteering works!” hissed Donovan. “Volunteers are taken directly from the Volunteer Center to customs. They’re the last people who should be around tourists! Did you two skip the entire Ambassador training program?”

“We have been a little busy,” said Temerity, with a wink at Donovan that left him even more flustered. He suddenly became much less interested in drawing attention to the Lust-shades.

Donovan turned to the two volunteers. “How did you two get out of the Volunteer Center?”

“You mean the holding area that was essentially a prison?” asked Iskander.

“Where we found out we were going to be ritually sacrificed to Belphegor?” asked the other man. “And then whatever was left of our incorporeal selves would get shipped down to Violence?”

After a moment of collective silence, Dottie said, “How the hell do you ritually sacrifice someone who’s already dead?”

“And what happened to ‘Honor our Heroes?’” asked Armen.

“Okay, that’s it,” said Donovan. He turned to some of the other Ambassadors. “Get the volunteers out of here right now.”

They moved to obey, and then all of the Ambassadors found that they were inside the glass display cases with the catalogue goods. As a hasty afterthought, Crowley put Temerity and Lucas into one of the cases as well, so as not to ruin their cover (scant but successful as it seemed to be).

“I think we should ask these good gentlemen what they think of the Community,” proposed Aziraphale.

The scene had been set so dramatically that no one objected, apart from Donovan and the other Ambassadors, who beat furiously against the glass.

“Okay, then,” said the former Ambassador Iskander. “I’m Iskander, and this is my friend Carlos. We’ve both been here for a pretty long time – more than a few years, I think? It’s hard to keep track. Time is weird here.”

“You definitely shouldn’t stay,” said Carlos. “This place isn’t what it looks like. I wish I’d figured that out sooner.”

“There’s a lot they don’t tell you at first,” said Iskander. “Mostly, when you first get here, they keep telling you that everything outside this level is pain and chaos, and that this is the only safe place in the entire afterlife.”

“And then,” said Carlos, “You go to the school and they make you memorize all this stuff, mostly about why the Community is perfect, and why working in the Production Centers is wonderful… and by the time you’re done there, you don’t know what’s real and what’s not. And you’re so overwhelmed that it feels like a relief when they first put you to work.”

“But what are they making in the factories?” asked Selene. “Sorry, I’m just really curious.”

“Why don’t we see for ourselves?” proposed Aziraphale. One of the trucks had just turned onto the road in front of the gallery, where it was easily visible through the windows. Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the back of the truck blew open.

Cardboard boxes tumbled out, breaking apart as they fell. Hundreds of tiny plastic trinkets flooded the road.

“Those are from Greed…” said Lishan. “I mean, going to Greed, right? They’re making the collectibles for Greed.”

“Hm, what else have we got, then?” asked Crowley, not wanting Aziraphale to do any more miracles than necessary. He snapped his own fingers, and another truck spilled out game consoles, piles of cheap clothing, boxes of chocolate, and cigars.

“Gluttony,” said Armen, even though it was obvious.

“How about this one?” Crowley blew open another truck, and this time what looked like a pile of human corpses – exceptionally attractive corpses – slid out.

“Dear god…” whispered Rosa. “Lust-shades. They’re made in factories?”

Lucas and Temerity blanched at the sight of their inactive counterparts, but hardly anyone noticed.

“Yeah,” said Iskander. “By the time you realize this is the stuff you’re making, you don’t care anymore. You’re scared and brainwashed, and you think you don’t have any other options. Also, there are rumors about volunteering… that it’s not always voluntary, and if you don’t work hard enough or fit in, you might just be volunteered…”

Carlos added, “And you don’t have to sleep and you don’t have to eat, so factory shifts are in weeks instead of hours. Like, five weeks nonstop attaching the same plastic part to the same plastic base again and again with no breaks at all. And then when you do have time off, your neighborhood board is on your case to spend it all taking care of your house. And yeah, we get to have the football matches, but each neighborhood only has one every three or four months, and that’s the only holiday we get.”

Donovan was enraged, still beating against the display-glass and shouting that everyone in the Community was extremely happy.

Piper, Gael, and the other residents who had wanted to stay were obviously having second thoughts.

Aziraphale said to Crowley, “I think we ought to have a look inside Factory K3, don’t you?”

It took all the available strength of their occult and ethereal powers combined to make one side of Factory K3 crack and crumble into rubble. When the dust cleared, panicked workers could be seen inside, running away from an assembly line.

On the assembly line, hanging by harnesses in neat rows, were more shades, but these were much smaller.

Crowley whispered, “Belphegor, you bloody horrific bastard.”

“They’re manufacturing… children?” said Selene.

“Because… people here can’t have babies,” said Lishan.

“So they’re making fake babies,” said Rosa. “Fake babies, as a prize you get from a catalogue.” She looked almost ready to cry.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Armen.

Piper, Gael, and everyone else agreed.

Chapter Text

As they all made their way to the customs building in a subdued mood, Rosa asked Eric, “Where are the real kids? What happens to kids when they die?”

“Not sure, to be honest,” said Eric. “Children who die don’t come through Hell. We don’t know where they go. Management’s been trying to crack that secret for millennia.”

“They’d give just about anything to get some kids down here,” said Crowley with disgust. “Nothing makes humans as easy to manipulate as having kids around.”

Elana was picking Carlos and Iskander’s handcuffs. Nobody asked where she’d gotten her makeshift lockpicks. “If you go with us,” she asked them, “What will happen to your wives?”

“Oh, they’ll have new husbands within a week,” said Iskander.

“I think mine already does,” said Carlos. “She was about ready to put in for a rematch anyway. Part of why I volunteered. ‘Soulmates.’ Pfff.”

“Mine seemed a little too interested in that new Ambassador,” said Iskander. “What was his name? Lucas?”

Since Carlos and Iskander now seemed to be officially part of the group, people began to fill them in on Lucas and Temerity’s true origins, which led to a lot of people asking them questions about how, or if, sex was possible between incorporeal spouses in the Circle of Sloth.

Lishan, pensively silent, had fallen toward the back of the group, which was unusual enough that Crowley drifted alongside.

Taking this as an invitation, Lishan said, “You know, everybody was asking Aziraphale what Heaven is like, but it occurred to me later that maybe someone should have asked you.”

Whatever Crowley had been expecting them to say, it wasn’t that. “That’s quite a question to ask a demon, isn’t it?”

“I mean, I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but I keep wondering if Heaven really is anything like this.”

Crowley had never discussed Heaven with a human, but then, no human had ever asked him before. “It wasn’t. Not in the very Beginning.” He exhaled, not intending to say anything else, but then he added, “It was about creating things that were unique, and beautiful, and new, and then celebrating those things.”

“And then what happened?”

“And then I got chucked out.”

Lishan considered this. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me why?”

“Not opposed, but it’s a bit complicated for present circumstances.”

“Okay. But if I actually make it to Heaven, they… I mean, like, angels? …won’t expect me to be something I’m not, will they? Like the people here did?”

Crowley half-smiled. “Of all the things you might have to worry about, that isn’t one of them.” He nodded ahead toward Aziraphale. “In case you hadn’t noticed, angels wouldn’t truly recognize gender if it bashed them over the head with a loo door.”

Lishan’s entire bearing relaxed.

“They might have some issues with your inordinate affection for amphibians, though. Bit demonic of you, really.”

Lishan took this seriously for two seconds and then said, “Wait, was that a joke?”

“Possibly.”

The group had nearly reached customs. A steady stream of trucks had accompanied them on the road, and seemed to be moving through a checkpoint just past the customs building.

“I still want to know why all the goods for Lust and Gluttony and Greed are being shipped down, not up,” said Selene.

“Because you can’t ship anything across Level Four,” explained Eric. “The swamp makes it impossible. Not that moving them through Six is much easier these days, what with all the fighting and blowing things up, but at least Six has got streets, more or less. Under the Lower Three redevelopment, all goods are processed through Level Seven and then taken to the Upper Three via shipping elevators.”

“Why not just put the shipping elevators on this level?” asked Selene.

“No idea,” said Eric. “To be honest, I never thought about that. Just seems like they belong on Level Seven, for some reason.”

“Level Seven,” repeated Elana. “That’s Fraud? Or Pride?”

“Technically Pride,” said Eric. “But that’s such a recent change that most of us still call it Fraud without thinking. Old habits, and all. The level itself hasn’t changed much, only the name.”

“I thought Pride was all the way at the bottom with Satan himself,” said Sue. “Isn’t Pride supposed to be the biggest sin? The one all the other sins come from?”

“Level Seven is the structural foundation of the entire Pit,” explained Eric. “It’s the last proper Circle. So the rebranding as Pride makes sense. As for the very bottom…” He glanced at Crowley, who said nothing.

“Is it still Treachery?” asked Aziraphale.

Eric nodded. “Demons don’t go in there if we can avoid it.”

They entered the Sloth customs building to find that each booth contained two demons. One demon of each pair seemed to be the usual passport-stamper, while the second consulted folders from a file cabinet and checked piles of other documents that looked like regulations.

“Compliance officers,” explained Eric. “The Sloth redevelopment hasn’t been easy for everyone to understand. The compliance demons make sure that the sins being described fit the new rules, and that the sins really happened and aren’t being made up.”

Everyone queued up, with Selene first in line again.

“Not that I don’t want to get out of here,” she said to the two demons in the booth, “But I’m drawing a blank on sloth. I mean, I lived on a constant supply of coffee, and slept as little as I could get away with. I worked all the time. Never took lunch breaks, never took sick days…”

“We hear that all the time,” said the customs demon.

The compliance demon nodded. “Lack of proper rest is a form of sloth. Because not taking care of yourself is a form of sloth.”

“But I had to live that way to survive.”

The customs demon shrugged. “Hear that one all the time, too. Doesn’t make it not a sin.”

“What was I supposed to do, then?”

The compliance demon grinned maliciously. “Not be human?”

“Ugh. Fine; whatever. Just get me out of here.” Selene gave the customs-demon her passport, and he stamped it with a black “S.”

Armen was next in line. “I never would have thought that being in the army could count as sloth, but by your definition, I can see how it does. Mental sloth. When my head was all wrapped up in protocol and following orders, it was easier not to think about the fact that I was killing people.”

The customs demon nodded and stamped. “Nice to see someone who gets it.”

Another tourist stepped forward. “Uh, yeah, I think my form of sloth was more traditional. I hated my job. Always did the bare minimum. And then I’d just come home and drink and watch television.”

“Dull, but acceptable,” said the customs demon, stamping his passport.

“Same, really,” said the next man in line. “I knew I was doing a shoddy job of fixing all those machines, and I didn’t care.”

While Lishan and then Ben took their turns, Crowley threaded his fingers into Aziraphale’s. Meant to say earlier: That was a brilliant idea, bringing in the volunteers.

It was luck. What if the Lust-shades hadn’t been there?

Then you would have had a different brilliant idea?

Aziraphale shook his head. It’s bothering me that I had to motivate the humans with evidence that the so-called Community is bad, and not that Heaven is good.

But you did motivate them. And you kept your promise. Didn’t lose a single one, and even picked up a couple more.

Aziraphale was only marginally comforted.

Mina had reached the front of the line. “This whole Community thing is terrifying,” she said to the customs-demon. “I knew a lot of people on earth who really would believe that this is Heaven. And they wanted to force everyone else to live this way. I should have tried harder to fight that kind of thing when I was alive. I guess not fighting evil is a kind of sloth, right?”

The customs demon’s lip curled as he stamped Mina’s passport. “We do appreciate sins of omission. So little effort on our part. Just think of all the good you didn’t do, and how much space that made for evil to flourish.”

Mina frowned, thinking about it more. “But was it really sloth – like, laziness – that stopped me? I think it was more like… fear? And feeling helpless, like there wasn’t anything I could do that would make a difference. And I was so exhausted all the time. I worked three part-time jobs, seventy hours most weeks.”

Rosa, waiting at the other booth, nodded.

The compliance officer warmed with what seemed to be sincere pleasure. “I can’t tell you what it means to hear you say that. Some of us have dreamt of this for millennia, you know.” He glanced at the other demon in the booth, who nodded reverently. “And now we’ve finally achieved the dream: a world in which a person who works three jobs, seventy hours a week, can be accused of sloth. Oh, it’s beautiful.” He wiped a tear from one eye.

It was Aziraphale’s turn. “Sloth, well, there’s no question I could have worked a great deal harder at my job. As for the rest of it… I did spend most of my existence clinging to what I’d been told, and trying to avoid uncomfortable questions.”

The compliance demon nodded, and the customs demon stamped his passport.

Crowley tossed his passport onto the desk with a shrug. “Yeah, easy. Mental sloth. I believed Lucifer when he lied to all of us.”

The customs demon moved to stamp it, but the compliance demon stopped him, then held up a thick folder labelled Fall Surveillance #93923-G458-R23986. “It’s true he believed Himself Below, but the thing is, Crowley thought about it. A lot. Remember? The rest of us just went along with it, but Crowley, he made an intentional and logical choice, using all the information and resources available, such as they were at the time.”

As Crowley very much preferred to maintain (even to himself) the impression that he’d Fallen only incidentally and vaguely and saunteringly, he decided not to let the topic develop into a discussion. “Okay, then… regular sloth. I, uh… I foisted a bunch of my work off on him.” He pointed at Aziraphale.

The compliance demon raised both eyebrows. “Convincing an angel to do your dirty work? I’d say that earns you a ‘vastly exceeds expectations’ for job performance. You’re the most prolific and creative tempter Hell has ever seen.”

Aziraphale shifted his weight uncomfortably.

Frustrated, Crowley said, “All right: sleep. I don’t need sleep, but I do it a lot. Slept for a whole century, once. Can’t get slothier than that!” He glanced at Aziraphale. “I should have led with that, actually.”

“Haven’t you been paying attention? Rest isn’t sloth. In fact, not taking care of yourself is a form of sloth. Clever how we worked that one out, eh?”

“Well then, I’ve got nothing. Any ideas?”

The compliance demon pulled a whole stack of folders out of the file cabinet and started searching through them. When he didn’t find anything immediately, he passed half of the folders to the customs demon and said, “Here, you have a look.” To Crowley he added, “There’s got to be something in here somewhere. We have everything, you know. Much, much better surveillance than Head Office. They’d kill to see some of what we’ve got. And we still wouldn’t give it to them.”

Both demons turned pages, and turned more pages.

The customs demon shook his head. “Worked hard… loads of commendations… also took credit for things he didn’t do, which is a demonic standard of excellence…”

Crowley was beginning to find this amusing.

“Did your job efficiently and better than any of us,” frowned the compliance demon. “But took care of yourself, too… Several hobbies… Indoor gardening… Record collection… Friends, sort of… Remarkably effective work-life balance, to be honest…”

The more they didn’t find anything, the more amused Crowley grew.

“Always thought for himself and made his own choices…” said the customs demon, scanning yet more pages.

Crowley was now more entertained than he’d been in ages. Grinning, he leaned forward to try to get a glimpse at the files himself and said, “You’re seriously telling me that what was, until recently, the Circle of Heresy, can’t come up with any charges against the serpent of Eden?”

“There’s got to be something in here,” said the customs demon.

The compliance demon frowned, still turning pages. “Even when he tempted people, it was by encouraging them to think for themselves, and shaking them out of comfort, not by trying to make them conform to anything.” He paused on one page. “And he… prayed?”

Crowley’s amusement clamped into hardness.

“What?” said the customs demon.

“What?!” said Aziraphale.

“Right here,” said the compliance demon, pointing to the page. “Talked to you-know-who directly. On repeat occasions, in spite of never once having been given any answer.”

Both demons looked like they were going to vomit.

“What sort of demon prays?” asked the customs demon.

Crowley grumbled, “Either the worst one, or the best one.”

The compliance demon clapped the files shut. “There’s nothing in here we can use. I don’t think he’s going to be able to leave.”

“That’s exactly the opposite of how this is meant to work!” exclaimed the customs demon. “You don’t get imprisoned in a level of Hell for never having done the thing the level is for!”

“Well, up till now we’ve only had humans, and all humans have done all the sins! They can’t help it.”

Crowley stepped a few feet forward and extended a hand to make sure that the Dark Council’s invisible barrier was present on this level. It was.

“Can’t we just wave him through on a technicality?” asked the customs demon.

The compliance demon looked viscerally offended. “You’re suggesting we break rules?! On this level? Can you imagine if that got out?!”

“We can’t have someone who prays staying here! Do you know what that would–”

“Stars,” said Crowley.

Everyone stared at him.

“I made stars, before the Fall. Co-created them. My mind is creative because I was made to create new things, original things, in likeness with… you-know-who. But since the Fall, I haven’t created anything new. I’ve changed all sorts of things; transformed and twisted both matter and people. But I was given an exceptional ability to create new things, and I’ve spent six millennia not creating anything. If that’s not sloth, I don’t know what is.”

Everyone continued to stare. Aziraphale’s eyes were wide.

The compliance demon shook off his stupor, and flipped through all of the file pages in miraculously rapid succession. “Confirmed. No new creation since the Fall.”

“Oh, thank Satan,” said the customs demon, and stamped Crowley’s passport.

As the tour boat rattled away from the customs dock, many of the humans contemplated what was now a column of five black letter stamps running most of the way down their inner forearms.

Aziraphale, still exhausted from co-miracle-ing a factory wall into rubble, leaned into Crowley’s shoulder. It was a weirdly human thing to do, and Crowley wasn’t sure what to make of it.

You were lying, said Aziraphale. Evil can’t create new things, only twist existing ones. It’s one of the fundamental laws of the universe. It would be impossible for you to have created anything truly new, and I don’t think even here they can hold you accountable for not doing something that’s literally impossible.

It was a good lie, though. Did the job.

I’m amazed they didn’t know.

Demons don’t know everything, no matter how much they obsess over files.

I wish… I wish we had some time to process all of this. There’s so much, and I don’t know how to think about it.

The sound of gunfire, distant and then rapidly not so distant, cut off any further conversation.

Chapter Text

The Acheron took on a disturbingly crimson tinge as they approached the gateway to the Circle of Violence. Rattles of gunfire waxed and waned in intensity, but never stopped completely. Over the gate, a group of demons in work-harnesses was in the process of installing a new sign, in the same backlit cut-metal style as the Sloth sign.

The new sign read “Envy,” but behind it could still be seen enormous, splattery, blood-red letters painted directly on the wall and spelling out “Violence.”

When the boat had almost reached the gate, a demonic voice from nowhere shouted “For Prince Belial!” A small swarm of demons burst out of the water and climbed the wall to attack the ones installing the sign. The Belialists carried jagged swords and hooked spears, with which they began to cleave and rend the defenseless work-demons into screaming discorporation.

Another squad of demons, armed with assault rifles, descended from the top of the wall and opened fire on both the Belialists and the remaining workers. A shower of demon-blood and body parts pelted the river and the front of the tour boat, ending just as the boat passed under the gate. Discorporated demons flew howling from the scene.

Most of the humans were frozen in astonishment, uncertain if what they’d just seen was real, or if so, what manner of reality it was.

Eric’s voice came over the announcement system. “Er, so, I think everyone knows by now that this circle is Violence. Or Envy, depending on who you ask.”

“Is it safe?” shouted someone.

“Not at all,” answered Eric brightly.

“Oh god,” murmured a lot of people, panic spreading now that the initial shock of the demon-fight was wearing off.

The boat emerged from the gate into a cityscape of debris-strewn streets lined with battered urban buildings that must once have been almost identical, but were now a cacophony of different degrees and types of destruction.

Tanks alternated with trucks from Level Five in a long procession that took a slow, irregular path through the streets. Skirmishes were in progress at a few points along the trucks’ path; in some places, people were shooting from windows, and at one location, a squad of demons was capturing a tank. The background stutter of gunfire, mixed with shouts and screams, continued to rise and fall without ceasing.

Up ahead, the river terminated abruptly in front of an armored bunker.

“Right,” said Eric. “This is the end of the Acheron. When we get off the boat, we’ll go into the tourist munitions bunker and pick up supplies. Then we’ll try to cross the level. Survivors will go through customs and re-board the boat on the River Phlegethon.”

“We’re seriously supposed to go right through a war zone?” asked Selene.

“If it’s any comfort,” said Crowley, “You’re already dead.”

Armen shook his head and muttered, “Dying isn’t the worst thing about war.”

“Ben, are you okay?” asked Lishan.

Ben had a palm against his forehead and was breathing heavily. “This is what it was like,” he whispered. “All the broken pieces… I thought… I thought my brain was gone, but this is just like being back in the dreams.” He shook his head. “Mice. They’re mice who think they’re a god.”

“Hey,” said Lishan gently. “We’re going to get through it. We’ll stick together, okay?” They looked at Mina. “We’ll all just nonope on through as fast as we can, together, and then it’ll be over, and we’ll be fine.”

Mina nodded, but she didn’t seem to be able to take her eyes off the nearest splatter of demon-blood.

The boat had docked. “Here we are,” said Eric. “We’re meant to go directly into the bunker. I recommend not stopping to look at things. Oh, and there’s the timer. Off we go, then.”

The tourists, caught between their usual motivation to disembark before the boat disappeared and their general terror of Level Six, forced themselves onto the dock and then, with further urging from Eric, hurried through the bunker’s open entryway.

Toward the back of the group, Henry paused for a moment to stare at a building that had almost completely collapsed. His right shoulder jerked backward with the sound of a close burst of gunfire.

Armen instantly dropped to a crouch and bellowed, “Move! Move! Everybody move!”

Henry swore loudly and repeatedly, and managed to stagger into the bunker before collapsing. Incorporeal blood was rapidly soaking his shoulder, making it difficult to discern exactly how he’d been hit.

“Shit, shit,” said Armen, leaning over him. “How the hell are we supposed to help anybody if we can’t touch each other?”

“Perhaps I can–” began Aziraphale, pushing forward to Henry’s side. He concentrated and held a hand over the injury, struggling to summon even a fraction of his usual power to heal.

“Wait, angel,” began Crowley, “There’s–”

“Here, I’ve got it,” said Eric, rushing directly through the bodies of the densely-crowded onlookers with a plastic water-bottle in his hand. Aziraphale watched in surprise as Eric poured half the bottle onto Henry’s wound.

Henry gritted his teeth in what seemed to be fresh pain, but the water rinsed away most of the blood, revealing two bullet-holes that were already closing. A few seconds later, his shoulder looked like it was back to normal, and even his incorporeal clothing had restored itself. He shifted his arm cautiously.

“Lethe-water,” said Eric, holding up the bottle. “The thing is, you’re all dead and incorporeal, so you can’t really be injured; not physically. But you’re so used to having a body that your incorporeal self doesn’t understand that it can’t be injured. If you get hit with something demi-material, you’ll feel like you’ve been hit, just like when you had a body.”

“And a brain,” mumbled Ben.

“So that’s, like, holy water or something?” asked someone.

“Satan preserve us, no!” exclaimed Eric, aghast. “This is from the River Lethe.”

After a few seconds’ silence, someone else asked, “Isn’t that the river that’s supposed to make people forget stuff?”

“Exactly,” said Eric. “If your incorporeal self thinks it’s been injured, you can use Lethe-water to make it forget. But, and this is extremely important, do NOT drink it. Just pour it directly on the injury.”

“What happens if we drink it?” asked Selene.

“You forget everything. Everything. Your whole life, all your skills and knowledge and experiences. Everything.”

“Okay, good to know,” said Selene. “But overall, this whole thing just got a lot less scary, if there’s magic healing potions and we can’t actually die. It’s like a video game or something.”

“Um,” said Henry, who was getting to his feet and still shaking his arm in disbelief. “Take it from someone who’s played a lot of video games, that was not like a video game. That really, really, really hurt. Like, pain at the core of your being, hurt. Like, even though it doesn’t hurt anymore, it sort of feels like it always will. Also, the thought of going back out there makes me feel like I’m going to throw up. Yeah, actually, I might throw up. Can we throw up?”

“I’m glad you’re all right,” Armen said to him.

“Tourists!” barked a voice from further inside the bunker. “This way. Come on, move along.” The voice belonged to a demon in a tattered military uniform. “This way; down the stairs. Choose your supplies, by the greatness of His Lowness Belial.”

“Bragilach?” Eric said to her. “Is this where you’ve been all this time?”

“Eric?” she said. “Thought you were in Maintenance these days. All right?”

“Getting by,” nodded Eric. “You?”

“Right enough.” She raised her voice. “Well come on, tourists, get a move on. Down the stairs and choose your supplies. Haven’t got all day.”

The voices of the first few people down the stairs came echoing back up, mostly swearing in surprise. “Wow, they’re not messing around down here,” said someone. “We can just take these?” asked someone else. “Really?”

Please tell me this isn’t going to be what I think it is, Aziraphale said to Crowley as they descended the stairs.

Wish I could, said Crowley. And I do mean that. You know I’m not a fan of real violence.

They emerged into a warehouse piled high with every type of weapon ever to have existed in six thousand years.

“Help yourselves to anything you like,” Bragilach told the humans. “These have all been made available by the discourtesy of His Unspeakable Lowness Belial, rightful Prince of the Circle of Violence.”

The warehouse offered hand-to-hand weapons, explosives, and, occupying more space than anything else, guns of all kinds. Some of the tourists were already exploring the stacks of weapons with enthusiasm, vying to show off their knowledge of this or that item. Others were studying everything more ponderously, as if trying to decide if they could really use any of it. A few held back completely.

One long wall was shelved with bottles of the Lethe-water and packs for carrying them, with signs everywhere that read, “External Use Only. Ingestion Causes Total Obliviation. Do Not Drink. Or Do. We Don’t Actually Care.”

Lishan’s eyes widened with increasing panic as they watched people load weapons and reach for more. “Oh god oh god I don’t know how to use a gun! I’m from Canada! What happens if we don’t use the guns?! What–”

“It’s okay,” Armen told them. “You don’t have to.” His eyes met Aziraphale’s.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale firmly, wishing he were as confident as he sounded, but mostly hating the hellishness of Hell. He raised his voice. “I promised to protect everyone, and I will. No one has to fight if they don’t want to. We’ll sort it out.”

Several people sighed with relief, stopped examining the weapons, and moved in Lishan’s direction.

“I don’t care,” said Mina. She picked up the closest rifle and asked Armen, “Can you show me how to use this?”

Armen let out a long, unhappy exhale. “Well, for starters, don’t use that one. Let’s find you a carbine, I guess.” As he scanned the shelves, he asked Bragilach, “Is there body armor?”

She laughed. “What d’you think we’re here for, a picnic?”

Rosa and Ben had joined Lishan among the people who weren’t arming themselves, but most members of the group were taking guns. Selene found a pistol that she said was similar to one she’d owned when she was alive. Dottie, Elana, and Sue took shotguns and seemed to know how to use them. Some people had taken multiple guns, along with as much ammunition as they could carry. Many took grenades.

Not to be alarmist, Crowley said to Aziraphale, but these weapons could discorporate us if we’re not careful.

Oh. Oh, dear. We’ve nowhere to get new bodies.

Yeah.

Aziraphale thought of the guardian angels they’d seen in Limbo: incorporeal, barely present, able to do almost nothing. He thought of his own recent experience of navigating the physical world while discorporated: muddled senses, the feeling of having nothing to latch onto. It would be impossible to enjoy the World without a body. It would mean no eating, no turning pages, no listening to music properly… but most of all, it would mean no direct way of sharing thoughts or emotions or much of anything else between an angel and a Fallen angel.

We’ll just have to not get discorporated, said Crowley, to whom Aziraphale had inadvertently communicated most of these thoughts.

Right. Feeling a whole new wave of loathing for Hell’s Sixth Circle, Aziraphale reached into the pocket-dimension and retrieved the sword Crowley had made for him.

Because most of the tourists insisted on taking weapons no matter how much Armen tried to talk them out of it, the former soldier had resigned himself, unhappily, to explaining guns to people who knew very little about them. “All right. First rule, you never, ever point this end at something you don’t want to shoot. Second… Wait; this doesn’t have a safety. Or selective fire.”

“Of course not!” cackled Bragilach. “This isn’t Level Three, for Satan’s sake.”

“You’re handing military-grade weapons with no safeties and no selective fire to a bunch of civilians–”

“There are no civilians in the Circle of Violence,” smiled Bragilach.

“Okay, this is insane.” In the end, Armen had to provide what was probably the fastest boot camp in history, but at least people were willing to follow his lead. He organized them into small teams, set up a simple chain of command, gave a lot of instructions about what not to do, and perhaps most importantly, had Bragilach find them enough rope to make harnesses for everyone, so that they could move injured people out of danger areas if necessary. The non-combatants were tasked with carrying as much Lethe-water as they could.

Aziraphale stayed out of all this, but Armen cornered him while everyone was making the rope-harnesses.

“You were a soldier, too,” said Armen.

“Not by choice, and not for a very, very long time.”

“Well, me either on the choice thing. But we don’t have one now, either.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I would think, strategically, it makes the most sense for you to lead from the front, and for the two of us” – he waved a hand toward Crowley – “to serve as a rear-guard.”

Armen nodded.

Aziraphale stopped him as he began to turn away. “Armen. I think it’s very noble, what you’re doing. We’ll get them through. Every single one of them.”

Crowley, meanwhile, was preparing himself to arrange a lot of miraculous escapes and dumb luck, ideally without drawing too much attention to the fact that his own powers were getting stronger with every step downward.

Chapter Text

The air in the Circle of Violence was stiflingly hot and peppered with ash.

Only two tourists accidentally shot each other in their initial sprint from the bunker to a nearby alley. Fortunately, no one attacked them, there were no windows on the alley-side of the buildings, and the alley led back to a wider cross-alley paralleling the street, so everyone was able to fit.

Except that once they were there and the friendly-fire victims were being healed, Aziraphale counted heads and came up one short. He looked back toward the bunker. Sure enough, there was the last member of the tour group, stumbling across the street. Something was slowing him down, but it was difficult to see what.

The man made it a few feet farther, but then he cried out as a burst of flashes lit up a window over the street. He’d been shot in both legs. As he fell, the others could see what had been hobbling him: chains on his wrists and ankles. They jangled against each other when he hit the ground.

Several people leaned out to shoot badly at the window from which the shots had come. Aziraphale, who had been the last to enter the alley, darted back to grab the chained man by his rope-harness.

Crowley realized a second too late what Aziraphale was doing, and, having failed to catch the angel’s arm, shouted, “No, just leave him! He’s– Ngh.” Miraculously, Aziraphale was able to get hold of the man and drag him into the alley without being hit by the many bullets now coming from the windows, or, even more miraculously, any of those coming from their allies.

People rushed to bring Lethe-water to the chained man, who took one of the bottles so he could pour it over his legs himself.

What did you mean, ‘just leave him?’ You know I wouldn’t do that!

Crowley shook his head. Get ready for Hell to be even more Hell.

“Why are there chains on him?” several people were asking Eric.

Eric said, “Err, yes, well, contrary to what most humans seem to think, Hell doesn’t punish people directly for specific things they did while they were alive, with one exception. This level has traditionally served justice on murderers, rapists, abusers; really anyone who took pleasure in causing physical harm to living things. They can leave the level, just like anyone else, but they’ll find themselves with extra impediments that slow them down.”

Everyone looked at the chained man differently.

“We should leave him here,” said more than one person at once.

The man took in all of their expressions, ranging from shock to revulsion to anxiety and beyond. His own face was impossible to read.

Someone tried to grab the half-full bottle of Lethe-water out of his hand, saying, “You don’t deserve that.”

The man managed to dodge the grabbing hand and keep his grip on the bottle. A half-second later, he raised it to his mouth and gulped down its contents.

People gasped, and then someone did manage to get the bottle out of his slackening hand, but it was too late. His eyes glazed over for a moment until he took in his surroundings and said, “Who are you people? Where are we? Is that– are those guns firing? How did I get here? Why is everyone staring at me? What–”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a do-something look.

“Ohh, no,” said Crowley, taking a step backward. “I am not touching that level of ethical dilemma with a hundred-foot pole.”

“You really don’t remember anything?” asked Mina, looking suspicious.

“I… Apparently I remember how to talk? But I… wait, what’s my name? Why don’t I know my name? Why don’t I know anything? What is going on here?!”

“You did something bad, but we don’t know what it was,” said Rosa.

“He could have been a serial killer,” said someone.

Henry said, “Or he could have done one thing one time when he was young and then spent the rest of his life trying to make amends and doing volunteer work. We don’t know.”

“Is there any way to get his memories back?” Selene asked Eric.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Does anyone know his name?” Lishan asked the group. “Somebody must have talked to him at some point on the tour.”

Eric checked the passenger manifest, but there was only a smudge where the man’s name ought to have been.

“I think he was hanging out with that woman who went off on her own in Wrath,” said Piper. “But I never got her name, either.”

“We should still leave him,” said someone else.

“What could I have done?” the man asked. “I don’t feel like a serial killer. I don’t feel like I want to hurt anyone.”

“Does it matter?” asked someone else. “Because you definitely did something.”

People began to argue about what to do, while the chained man continued to ask terrified questions that no one could answer.

“They’re coming,” said Ben. “We should move.”

Mina leaned over the chained man and said loudly, “Okay, look. I don’t know what you did. All I know is that you didn’t do anything to me or anyone I know. So it’s not my job to forgive you or to judge you. I don’t think any of us is going to trust you a whole lot, but as far as I’m concerned, deciding what you deserve or don’t deserve isn’t up to anyone here.”

“TOURISTS! OUT OF THE WAY!” bellowed a demonic voice from down the alley. A large squad of demons, armed to the teeth and with guns at the ready, was marching rapidly in their direction.

“Hold your–” began Armen, because if the demons intended to attack them, it would have happened already – but people were, of course, already firing in panic, so the front line of demons immediately retaliated with a spray of continuous fire that there was no way Crowley could arrange enough miraculous escaping from. The non-combatants began to rush into the narrow cross-alleys, but some of them were hit already, along with most of the idiot tourists who had opened fire.

Aziraphale grabbed people by the harnesses to pull them out of the way, while Crowley snapped his fingers and all of the demons’ guns turned into paintball guns – but a fraction of a second later, the demons miracled their guns right back into being real.

The demons kept moving forward with the clear intention of mowing over the entire group. Something flew over their heads, and the back line of demons exploded in a burst of light that shook the whole alley.

A single figure came running from behind the tourist group and right through them toward the demons. She had a machine pistol in one hand and a sword in the other, and she launched herself at the demons with abandon.

They all turned their weapons on her, firing more carefully as she got close. Several of them hit her, but she didn’t slow down at all.

Once she was among them, she set to work with her sword, discorporating demons left and right. One of the demons miracled the sword out of her hand, but she just grabbed one of their swords and kept fighting. They weren’t stupid enough to fire at an opponent in the middle of their group, so they switched to attacking her hand-to-hand, striking her more than once, but nothing they did seemed to have any effect. She, on the other hand, clearly knew what she was doing with the sword.

After a few more discorporations, the surviving demons turned and fled in the direction from which they’d come.

The woman lowered her sword and looked down at the demonic remains. “Lotanists,” she muttered, shaking her head in disgust.

In spite of all the times she’d been hit, she didn’t appear to be injured at all.

In one of the side-alleys, Ben was breathing heavily and irregularly, and trying to get as far away from other people as he could. Lishan spoke to him softly. Elsewhere, people were passing around Lethe-water to heal everyone who’d been shot.

The woman with the sword turned to the group and said, “Hello, tourists. I’m Hjordis. You’re welcome. Who threw that grenade?”

“I did,” said Mina, regarding Hjordis with awestruck admiration.

“That was good thinking, and good aim,” said Hjordis.

“You’re human,” said Mina.

“Of course I’m human. Do you think a demon could do what I just did?”

Hjordis showed them into the basement of a nearby building, which she said was the first in a mousehole-network of safe locations that tourists could use.

“I’ve been here for twelve hundred years,” she told them. “And there are others like me. We fight the demons and help humans get through.”

“So you’re like a superhero,” said Mina enthusiastically.

Selene asked, “Why weren’t you hurt when they hit you?”

Hjordis smiled at her. “Their weapons hurt only because your incorporeal self thinks that they should. With time and practice, you can teach yourself to understand that you don’t have a body, so there isn’t really anything to be hurt.”

“That is so cool,” breathed Mina.

“Can you tell us more about your mousehole system?” asked Armen.

Hjordis nodded. “It’s a series of pathways to hidden places that we keep secure, and relocate frequently so they don’t become compromised. We have scouts who are always looking for new locations, and guards who watch the pathways. We can get you all the way from here to customs. Your group is bigger than most; lately we don’t see more than thirty at a time. But we’ll manage.”

“Who’s ‘we,’ exactly? How many of you are there?” asked Henry.

“We call ourselves the Promethean Legion, and there are about three hundred of us. Most of us were warriors who died in battle. Now, we’ve perfected ourselves in order to defend the helpless.”

“Armen was a soldier,” said Rosa. “He’s been helping us.”

Hjordis gave Armen a respectful nod but said, “Unfortunately, everything you think you know about warfare is different here. Strategy isn’t the same when no one dies.”

“We’ve noticed,” said Armen.

Hjordis looked around at the rest of them as if sizing them up. “You have demons with you,” she observed.

“Hi,” said Eric. Crowley said nothing.

“And you don’t look like a demon, but you’re not human, either,” she said to Aziraphale.

“I’m an angel,” he said.

“An angel in Hell…” she mused.

“They’re our friends,” said Lishan quickly.

Hjordis shook her head. “You’ll find that they’re a liability. Anyone with a body is at a disadvantage here.”

Although they’d come to this conclusion already, Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged unsettled glances at the reminder.

“But they can do magic,” said Rosa.

Hjordis laughed. “Demon magic isn’t as powerful as it seems. And most demons aren’t creative thinkers, so it’s easy to predict what they’ll do, and easy to surprise them.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and still said nothing.

Hjordis went on, “The demons want you to think that what’s going on here is a war between two demon princes, but that’s because they want you to feel helpless. What’s really going on, is that we’re making war on them. And we’re winning. It’s a triumph of humanity over evil; the perfection of humanity. If you come with me, I’ll show you what I mean. I’ll guide you through the mouseholes toward customs, and we’ll fight some evil along the way.”

“That sounds fantastic,” said Mina.

A sewer tunnel took them from the basement to another alley, where they climbed a fire escape to the second floor of a building. They stopped for a moment while Hjordis set up a makeshift bridge across a narrow alley through holes in the buildings.

“There are mines in the alleys around here,” she explained. “Which means we go over, but it also means no one’s going to be shooting at you from the ground.”

In spite of what Hjordis had said about warfare being different in Level Six, Armen encouraged everyone to stick to the team structure he’d established for them, which they more or less did as they crossed the bridge and moved into the next building. Hjordis seemed to accept that Armen was the group’s leader, and conducted herself as more of a guide.

No one had tried to stop the chained man from staying with them, although no one was helping him, either, so he kept falling behind. It took him twice as long to cross the bridge as it did for everyone else. He still seemed bewildered by the whole situation, and more than a little frightened.

When he reached the other side of the bridge, Elana grumbled, “Look, he’s either in the group or he’s not, and if he’s in, there’s no point in having him slow the rest of us down as a punishment for something he doesn’t remember doing.” She got out her lockpicks and began to work on the chains’ cuffs.

“Thank you,” said the man to Elana.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she frowned. “This is the strangest lock I’ve ever seen…”

“That’s not going to work,” sighed Crowley. With extreme displeasure, he snapped his fingers, and the chains fell off. The man rubbed his wrists in relief and began to thank Crowley, but Crowley glared at him and said, “Don’t. I didn’t do it for you.”

“The chains will grow back if he stays here for long,” said Eric. “The only way to get rid of them completely is for him to get the Violence customs stamp.”

“This way!” called Hjordis from the door to a stairwell. “Come on; we shouldn’t stop here.”

She led them up several flights of stairs to the roof of the building, which was shaded with a patchwork of oddly-shaped pieces of sheet metal and particle-board. Hjordis signaled toward the window of the taller next building over, received a complicated signal in return, and smiled.

“Good news,” she said. “One of the Level Five trucks has gotten separated from its caravan and should be coming along this street soon. We can destroy it.” She turned to Mina. “Would you like to do the honors? You have a good eye and strong nerves.”

“Yeah,” grinned Mina. “Comes from working in retail.” She pulled out another grenade.

Hjordis laughed. “You’re not going to take out a truck with that. What you need is this.” She shifted some debris that was hiding a long, narrow box, then clicked it open to reveal a shoulder-mount rocket launcher.

Armen’s expression gave away his continued disapproval of Hell’s licentious distribution of weapons, but he made no comment.

“Wow,” said Mina, staring at the rocket launcher with reverence.

“Mina?” said Lishan. “Remember what Ben said, back in Gluttony, about you taking risks?”

She didn’t seem to hear, and then Lishan noticed Ben, agitated, backing away toward the other side of the roof.

“Hey, I want a rocket launcher!” called out Gael.

“Oh, just let her have it,” said Piper. She whispered something to Gael that was almost certainly a reminder that Mina had just lost her father, and they should let her do whatever made her happy. A few other people were whispering similar things.

Hjordis showed Mina how to use the rocket launcher, and set her up in the optimal position overlooking the street. Most of the other humans watched with excitement, leaning over the edge of the roof until Hjordis and Armen both advised them not to.

Aziraphale wished he could talk the humans out of every part of this, but after Sloth, he knew better than to try. Even so, he still had every intention of getting all of them through, somehow.

Before long, a lone truck came lumbering down the street. A couple of demon guards with guns sat on top of it.

“Lotanists,” whispered Hjordis. “They’re the only ones who care about protecting the Sloth goods.” To Mina she said, “All right, wait for your moment.”

Mina peered through the sight and waited. The two Lotanist demons were scanning the buildings for possible trouble, but Mina was well-hidden and she stayed completely motionless. Just before the truck reached their building, she fired.

The rocket flashed into its target, and the truck exploded into a two-story fireball, throwing up a shower of steaks and mobile phones.

“EEEEEEE–” screamed Mina in ecstasy. Hjordis, grinning, grabbed her and pulled her down.

Gunshots were already audible in the street, but they weren’t directed at the roof. The two Lotanist demons had survived, and were now being shot at by another squad of demons, presumably Belialists. A few seconds later, Lotanist reinforcements arrived, and the street was filled with crisscrossing bullets as the demons shot at each other from whatever cover they could find.

“Perfect; now we take them all out!” shouted Hjordis, gesturing at the edge of the roof. Most of the tourists with guns rushed to point them over the edge, barely bothering to aim as they let loose a hail of bullets on the demons below.

About half of the demons returned fire upward, but the humans had every advantage, including annoyed assistance from Crowley, who grudgingly threw off the trajectories of the demons’ bullets so that almost none of the humans were hit.

Ben clutched his ears and backed farther away from the group, muttering, “No, no, it’s too many pieces; I can’t–” He turned and ran for the stairwell.

“Ben!” shouted Lishan, hurrying after him. Sue and Elana were close behind. Aziraphale, who hadn’t forgotten that his first promise had been to Estelle, followed.

Chapter Text

Ben made it through the door and down a few stairs, but stopped when Lishan pushed through the door and called out to him again. He sat on the stairs with his hands over his ears, then realized that covering them with incorporeal hands wasn’t making any difference. Sue, Elana, and Aziraphale let the door close behind them, muting the sounds of gunfire.

“This is exactly what my dreams were, my whole life,” said Ben. “Exactly. There’s going to be so much fighting… people in pieces, and eleven monsters, and a hole in reality… They torture people here. I’ve seen it. They do horrible things.”

“Hey,” said Lishan, sitting next to him. “We’re going to get through it.”

Ben shook his head. “You are, probably. But I’ve never seen anything beyond Hell. Everywhere I look, all the time, all I ever see is broken pieces of things. Pieces of time, pieces of space, pieces of people… everything… splinters and shards and scraps… it’s like, reality is always screaming at me to break things, and all I can do is scream back.”

Elana whispered to Sue, “Yeah, that’s being an artist for ya.” Sue nodded.

Aziraphale said, “My dear boy, I know it’s difficult to see right now, but there is a great deal more to reality than this. We need only survive this bit and move on to better things.”

Ben let out a frustrated breath. “What I’m trying to say is… this has to be where I belong. Here, in Violence. Why else would I have seen this place my whole life? And all the art I made that scared people, all the things I imagined… And I… I…” He seemed to decide not to say something. “I just… deserve to be here. All I ever brought to the world was misery.”

“You know what I don’t see?” said Sue.

Ben turned blank eyes toward her.

“I don’t see any chains on you.”

Elana nodded. “You never hurt anyone, Ben. All those visions of violence, and you never hurt anyone. Not like that, anyway. I think that makes you an exceptionally strong person.”

“A good person,” added Aziraphale, grateful that the humans were finding things to say, because he would have made a terrible muddle of this situation on his own.

“And not someone who should hate himself,” said Lishan. “The opposite, really. I think you should give yourself a chance, to see who you are once we get past this.”

Ben seemed comforted but not convinced. “But... if there’s a God, why else would She have made me able to see how broken everything is? If I don’t belong where everything’s the most broken?”

Nobody said anything until Lishan offered, “But you don’t want to be here.”

“I didn’t want all those violent thoughts when I was alive, either, but I still had them, and I could never make them stop.”

“That’s my point, though. You never wanted those thoughts. They’re something that happened to you, but you, the real you, is the person who didn’t want them. I mean, do you want violence?”

“No,” said Ben immediately and emphatically.

“If you don’t want to be here, then this isn’t where you belong.”

Ben looked at them with an everything-at-once expression and said, “But I don’t know what I do want.” And then, not looking away, he amended, “Or, maybe… I don’t know what I can want.”

“I think you can want whatever you want to want,” said Lishan, whose eyes had become similarly vulnerable and complicated.

Aziraphale was once again grateful that the humans seemed to know what they were talking about, because he had no idea.

After some incomprehensibly meaningful silence, it became clear that neither Ben nor Lishan was going to say anything else, so Elana said to Ben, “Right, well, I don’t have prophecy superpowers, but I’m also an artist, and I see things in my own way. Can I tell you something I’ve noticed about you?”

“Sure?” said Ben.

“For all the things you see, there are plenty of things you don’t see. And the thing is, you’re happy when things happen that you didn’t see coming. You like it when you think something interesting is going to happen but you don’t know what it is.”

Ben glanced at Aziraphale but didn’t say anything.

Elana went on, “So… maybe the reason you never saw good things, is so that you get to enjoy finding out what they are, without knowing ahead of time. Making art is all about discovery, you know? You can see all the pieces, but you can’t know for sure how they’re going to go together until they do. Maybe not knowing how they go together will mean you enjoy it that much more when they do.”

Ben was thinking hard.

“I know I’d like to see it,” said Lishan. “How all your pieces go together, when we get through this.”

Ben gazed at them, and then softened into a hint of a smirk.

“Was that weird?” said Lishan. “It was, wasn’t it? I didn’t mean it to be weird.”

“We’re in Hell,” said Ben. “Everything is weird.”

The sounds of gunfire from the roof had ended.

Sue said, “Okay, how about if we just do one thing at a time. It sounds like the group isn’t fighting anymore, so do you think you’ll be all right for now if we join back up with them?”

“I guess,” said Ben, resignedly standing up.

Something had been tugging at Aziraphale’s attention from the other side of the door. After a moment’s refocusing, he realized what it was: demon voices, very close and very definitely hostile.

After all of the demons in the street had been discorporated and the couple of human casualties healed, Hjordis urged the group to move out as quickly as possible. She pointed them toward another temporary bridge, this one crossing to the roof of another building with another stairwell going down.

“That was amazing!” Mina was saying to anyone who would listen. “That moment, when the truck blew up, it was like everything else stopped existing. There was just the explosion. I forgot about everything, and it was… oh, it was perfect.”

Henry and Dottie had both noticed when the little group disappeared after Ben. As the rest of the tourists crossed to the other building, the two of them started back toward the stairwell door.

“S’all right; I’ll get them,” said Crowley. “Go on. We’ll catch up.”

“Okay,” said Henry. He and Dottie crossed the bridge.

Crowley took a few steps toward the door, thinking a lot of thoughts that he didn’t really want to think, but mostly wondering if there was anything else he might have done to talk Aziraphale out of this entire trip in the first place. Crowley was generally much better at talking people into things than out of them.

And then the demon from the munitions bunker was descending from the air right in front of him, two other demons at her side, all of their wings fully spread as they alighted on the roof, and all three of them holding tooth-edged swords.

“Bragliach?” Crowley said, surprised. “Fancy seeing you again so soon.”

Bragilach smiled wickedly. “Memo just came down from Head Office. Official notice to all of Level Six. Sounds like you and your boyfriend have been causing the Princes of Hell a lot of trouble.”

“Thought there weren’t any more memos.”

“They must’ve made an exception just for you. Lord Beelzebub’s offered a seat on the Dark Council to anyone who captures you both, with or without bodies.”

“I see,” said Crowley, whose fingers had already wandered to the plant-mister.

“We’ll have your wings for a trophy,” grinned one of the other demons. “And your angel’s, too.”

Crowley whipped the plant-mister up straight in front of him. “Yeah? Well, come and take them, then.”

“You’re bluffing,” said Bragilach.

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“If that was real holy water, you’d have used it already.” Flanked by the other two demons, Bragilach rushed him with her sword, bellowing a war-cry with her mouth wide open to display sharp teeth.

Crowley stood his ground unflinching until she was less than two feet away. He sprayed her in the face and then ducked under her sword, darting past her and out of the way of the other two demons.

Bragilach stumbled and almost fell, then whirled around in confusion. “What is this? Where am I? Why am I sensing all this anger and fear everywhere?”

The other two demons gaped at her.

“Who am I?” she asked.

The stairwell door burst open. Without hesitating, Sue aimed her shotgun at one of the demons, and Aziraphale brandished his sword. “What is going on here?” he demanded.

The two demons who still had their memories launched themselves upward and disappeared into the darkness overhead. Bragilach, utterly confused, stayed behind.

Crowley hooked the Lethe-filled plant-mister back into his belt and said, “We have another problem.”

No one forced Bragilach to go with them when they rejoined the rest of the tour group, but she trailed along behind, apparently uncertain of what else to do.

Hjordis was delighted. “You’ve taken a demon captive? Oh, this is marvelous; we’ve wanted to do this for so long!”

“I’m a captive?” asked Bragilach. “Wait, I’m a demon? Is that why I feel so… wrong? Like part of me is missing?”

“Hope you two weren’t close,” said Crowley to Eric. After the surprise military inspection at the city gate, he’d decided Eric was all right.

Eric shook his head. “Are you joking? She stabbed me in the back more than once. Figuratively and literally.”

“I did?” asked Bragilach. “Oh, because I’m a demon, right? And demons are evil. Why are we evil?”

Eric began to fill her in on the history and mechanics of the Fall.

“She’s a Belialist,” said Hjordis while Bragilach was distracted. “The Legion could use her as a bargaining chip; trade her to the Lotanists for territory or passage rights or…”

“What would the Lotanists do with her?” asked Henry.

“Torture her for information. Which they wouldn’t get, obviously, and that’s the best part.”

“Uh… you could also not hand people over to be tortured,” said Henry.

“She’s a demon,” said Hjordis.

“Demons are people, too,” said Lishan.

Hjordis’s face contorted. “Demons are evil.”

Armen had spoken very little since Hjordis showed up, but now he said, “So is delivering someone to a torturer, no matter who they are.”

“This is pointless,” intervened Crowley. “You’re not going to be able to keep any demon prisoner against their will, even one with no memories.” He raised his voice in Eric’s direction. “Just tell her how to get to Head Office, and give her a recommendation letter for your old job, since you’re evidently a tour guide now.”

“Excellent idea, sir,” said Eric. He found a blank page on his clipboard and began writing.

“Well, then, we’d better keep moving,” said Hjordis, looking displeased. “Come on. We’ll be heading down to the tunnels now.”

“The tunnels are un-tunneled,” mumbled Ben, but he followed Lishan and Elana as they moved out.

Hjordis led them across the second building’s roof to another stairwell. Aziraphale began to count heads again while everyone filed through the door.

Mina was sticking close to Hjordis. As the two of them entered the stairwell, Mina asked, “Tell me about your life on earth. You said you were a warrior twelve hundred years ago. Where did you live? Who did you fight?”

“I was Scandinavian,” said Hjordis. “Mine were a warrior people. We fought many fearsome opponents.”

Just before the two of them descended out of earshot, Mina could be heard asking, “Did you have a cool sword? Were there lots of women who knew how to fight?”

That’s odd, said Aziraphale silently to Crowley. Scandinavians didn’t start referring to themselves as Scandinavians until the 1800s, remember?

Can’t say I was paying much attention. It’s blessed cold there, is all I remember.

They took the stairwell all the way down to a sub-basement, where they entered a tunnel, only to discover thirty feet in that the tunnel had collapsed.

“You were right,” Lishan said quietly to Ben. “Again.”

“I didn’t want to be,” replied Ben. “I almost never do.”

“Don’t worry,” said Hjordis. “There are plenty of other routes.” She led them back up to another alley, through which they moved for half a block before finding that a wall had collapsed into the side-alley where Hjordis wanted to take them next.

She frowned. “We’ll go the long way, then. Here, we’ll have to backtrack a bit.” They retraced their path past the building they’d been on top of and took another building’s fire escape up to a third story – but the entire interior of the building had collapsed, so there was no third story floor for them to cross.

Hjordis was now visibly frustrated, but she said, “This is why the Legion has scouts. Everyone just wait in the alley, and I’ll signal one.”

Aziraphale asked Crowley, Do you think this is a coincidence?

You mean, could all the paths be blocked because every demon on Level Six is out for our blood? Don’t know; seems too indirect for them. But we should be ready for another direct attack soon. They’ll keep coming, and I don’t think they’ll fall for the plant-mister thing again.

If there’s any chance our presence is endangering the humans…

You think we should leave them?

I don’t want to. I did promise to keep them safe, after all. But perhaps they don’t need our protection, if they’ve got other humans to look out for them.

Hjordis had returned to the group. She kept a wary eye out for a few minutes until the arrival of a Promethean Legion scout whom she introduced as Lucius.

“We don’t know what’s going on,” Lucius told her. “Just a lot of bad luck, maybe, but it’s more blockages than we’ve ever had at one time. You can either wait till we get something cleared, or take your group behind the Wolf Building front.”

Hjordis’s eyes darted down to her wrists and back up again. “I don’t think we should wait.” She raised her voice. “Listen, everyone! We’re going to have to move through the Lotanist side of an active front. That means we’re going to be passing behind an entire regiment of demons in combat.

“Lotanists will not attack you unless you attack them first, so do not engage with them. We win because we’re smarter than the demons, and because we choose our battles. We’re not stupid enough to choose a battle with two thousand demons at once. Do you understand? Just keep moving and leave the demons alone.”

Most of the tourists looked disappointed at the prospect of having to restrain themselves, but some seemed interested in seeing what a full active front in a demon war looked like.

Crowley said quietly to Aziraphale, “I don’t fancy parading past two thousand Envy demons with a price on our heads.”

“Nothing for it but to keep a low profile,” sighed Aziraphale, who was rather attached to his physical form and never liked having to change it.

“All right if I take care of it?” asked Crowley, not wanting Aziraphale to do any more miracles than necessary.

Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley snapped his fingers, and they both turned into Eric.

The humans noticed, of course, and asked a lot of questions, which obligated Aziraphale to explain that no, they hadn’t both secretly been other Erics all along; the disguise was only temporary because it was possible that certain demons might target them specifically; yes, they could change their appearances that easily; and no, he was not going to make himself look like any celebrities or fantastical creatures or oversized anatomical parts just because the humans asked.

“But won’t they think it’s suspicious that there are three Erics?” asked Selene, more sensibly.

“Nah,” said Eric. “They’re used to it. I’m Legion. That is... Legion in the demonic sense, not whatever these residents have going on. Different Legion."

“It won’t fool every demon,” said Crowley. “But it should at least get us past the stupid and/or distracted ones, which is most of them.”

“We’ve lost too much time,” said Hjordis impatiently. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

Aziraphale tucked his sword, now disguised as a clipboard, under one arm. “Agreed. The sooner we get through this, the better.”

Not all of the tourists shared Hjordis’s sense of urgency. At their first view of the Wolf Building front, more of them stopped to gawk than didn’t. To be fair, none of them had ever seen a demon battlefront before.

The Belialists and the Lotanists were waging war across an open area of nine city blocks where all of the buildings had been demolished into huge piles of rubble. Explosions were everywhere. There was so much dust and debris in the air that it was difficult to see exactly what was going on most of the time.

The Lotanists had set up a battle-line of heavy guns behind temporary fortifications, but there were also a lot of small altercations going on in the no-man’s-land beyond the line. Demons burst up out of the rubble to ambush each other, or sank into it when they needed a quick retreat. Here and there, they fought hand-to-hand in pairs or small groups, although it seemed to be rare for a fight to last longer than a few seconds before a missile from one side or the other ended it.

The noise of it all was deafening. Hjordis had to yell at the tour group more than once to keep them moving along the very back of the Lotanist battle-line.

“What are they fighting for?” Mina managed to shout loudly enough for Hjordis to hear her.

“Territory. Mainly the Wolf Building.” Hjordis pointed across the battlefield to an exceptionally tall and well-fortified city building with two peaks at the top, like a wolf’s ears. “It’s a fortress, with all sorts of strategic advantages. Whoever controls the Wolf Building controls this entire area. It’s always been Belial’s, but now Lotan is making a serious attempt to take it.”

Aziraphale nudged Crowley. Eric doesn’t walk like that.

“Ngk.” Crowley tried to do a better job of keeping his hips in order.

Elana and Lishan were keeping a close eye on Ben. He had his eyes closed and one hand gripping Elana’s harness tightly as she walked in front with her shotgun at the ready. Lishan held onto Ben’s harness and tried to be as reassuring as one could in an active war zone.

Mina was studying the battlefield with interest. “Wait, there are humans out there!” she exclaimed. “Fighting on both sides, it looks like.”

“Traitors,” spat Hjordis. “They don’t deserve to be called human. If all the human residents here banded together, we could take over the entire level in a week. So the demons on both sides recruit us, turn us against each other, and use our incorporeality to their own advantage. But the Promethean Legion is growing, and we’re winning. Someday, this will all be ours.”

“And then what?” asked Selene, but an explosion went off nearby and Hjordis didn’t seem to hear her.

Chapter Text

They continued along the back edge of the Lotanist line, trying to stay out of the demons’ way as much as possible. The demons paid them no attention until an irritated demon-officer threw a dusty gun onto a pile of similarly dirt-covered firearms, looked around, and spotted Crowley – in the guise of a disposable demon – closest to hand.

“You,” barked the Lotanist officer. “Get these guns cleaned up and back in order immediately.”

Crowley suppressed an insolent glare and simply said, in Eric’s voice, “Right away, sir.” The officer turned back to the battle, and Crowley waved a hand over the pile of guns. When they were all gleaming, he rejoined the tour group.

“Please tell me you didn’t sabotage those guns,” said Aziraphale.

“You don’t like it when I lie,” grinned Crowley.

Aziraphale sighed. “We’re meant to be keeping a low profile.”

“There’s a limit to how low I’m willing to sink,” said Crowley.

A few seconds later, a series of explosions went off as the cleaned guns were put to use and did exactly what Crowley had intended them to do. The discorporated officer and several of his soldiers could be seen fleeing to wherever it was Level Six demons went for new bodies. (Crowley had already asked Eric if he knew where, but Eric had no idea.)

As they made their way further along the battle line, they saw more humans mixed among the Lotanists firing the heavy guns. Hjordis seemed to be restraining herself from slitting all of the Lotanist humans’ throats. The humans, on the other hand, appeared to be very enthusiastic about what they were doing.

And then Sue recognized one of the humans setting up a machine gun. “Jason?!” she shouted.

He turned and saw her. “Sue! It’s really— Hang on—” He gestured another human into his place at the gun, and then stood up. “Babydoll, I can’t believe it’s you!”

Sue moved as if to hug him, but only halfheartedly, and then seemed relieved when she remembered that she couldn’t, anyway. “What are you doing?” she asked him.

“Fighting!” he exclaimed. “Lotan’s going to take over this whole level and get rid of the Belialists for good, and then it’ll be ours. Aw, it’s so good to see you! I knew you’d get here eventually.”

“Well, here I am,” she said. “We’re going to customs. Want to join us?”

Shock widened Jason’s eyes. “I can’t leave now! And neither can you. We’re winning! We’re going to take the whole level! And I’m doing it all for you, doll. I always told you I’d die for you.”

“I never wanted you to die for me! I wanted us to be together. And you’re already dead now, anyway.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve never been more alive! And it’s all for you, to make things safe. You know what these Belial cucks would do to you if they got their hands on you? I’m protecting you. I’m giving my life to protect you.”

“Oh, please,” said Sue with a roll of her eyes. “You know, I hoped if you and I met in the afterlife, you’d be different, but I guess some people don’t change. If you want to spend eternity here, be my guest, but I’m going on. I already spent the last fifteen years without you, and honestly, I was never happier.”

“You can’t leave! I’ve been waiting for you, fighting for you–” Jason noticed Sue’s rope-harness and grabbed it.

Armen stopped at Sue’s side and asked, “Ma’am, is this man bothering you?”

“Yes,” said Sue. “Yes, he is.” She hefted her shotgun and rammed the butt-end into Jason’s face, disrupting his hold on the harness. “Till death did us part,” she said. “We’re parted. See you never.”

Jason stared after Sue in a daze as she rejoined Dottie and didn’t look back. “Can’t believe I used to think that garbage was romantic,” she said.

Really, my dear, is it so difficult to walk in a straight line for more than twenty seconds?

Eric doesn’t hold hands with himself, either, so you’re just as likely to give us away right now.

Aziraphale had taken Crowley’s hand out of habit. He dropped it and pressed his elbow against Crowley’s arm instead. You managed all right when you had my body; I don’t see what the problem is now.

Crowley elbowed him back. The problem is, this is only a cosmetic change and not a full body swap. Also, I don’t know Eric like I know–

Aziraphale and Crowley both stopped short when they saw what was ahead. The tour group had nearly reached the end of the battle line. Everyone slowed uncertainly as they approached what was waiting for them there: a set of barricades that were channeling them toward an extremely well-guarded checkpoint.

The checkpoint guards were well-equipped, grim-faced military demons, wearing full armor and an insignia that the tour group hadn’t encountered before.

“Typhon’s people,” whispered Crowley when Aziraphale looked at him curiously. “This is bad.”

Selene overheard. “The Prince of Pride, right?”

Crowley nodded. “Lotan’s father.”

The Typhonist demons checked passports, to no obvious end, as usual, other than to intimidate the humans, most of whom were suitably intimidated.

Eric had drifted close to Aziraphale and Crowley, so the three of them reached the checkpoint together. “I’ve got this,” he whispered.

The Typhonist who seemed to be in charge narrowed their eyes at Eric. “What are you doing with a tour group?”

Eric cowered appropriately and answered, “Given the circumstances, sir, Head Office ordered increased monitoring of all tour groups. We have our instructions direct from Lord Dagon herself. She said to file a report in triplicate. So we’re triplicate.” He gestured toward Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Let me see this report.”

Eric handed over his clipboard, and the demon paged through it. Apparently finding nothing out of order, they handed it back. “Move along, then.”

Once the entire group had cleared the checkpoint and was being hustled by Hjordis toward a subway entrance, Eric said proudly, “You don’t work as a maintenance demon for thousands of years without learning how to change paperwork at a moment’s notice.”

“Yes, well done, that,” said Crowley. Eric looked pleased.

“Is that checkpoint usually there?” asked Aziraphale.

“I don’t think so,” said Eric. “Since the war started, hardly anyone on this level pays attention to tour groups, apart from the occasional recruitment effort.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Then I doubt it’s a coincidence that the Promethean Legion’s pathways were blocked and we were forced to go that way. Which would suggest that someone connected with Typhon knows what the Legion’s pathways are.”

“Seems the Promethean Legion is not as independent as we’ve been led to believe,” said Crowley.

The tour group had now descended all the way onto a subway platform, which raised some questions about the construction of the Infernal City in relation to developments in human technology, but no one had time to contemplate this because a demon appeared on the stairs above them and shouted “You!!” at Eric.

It was the Lotanist officer whose guns Crowley had sabotaged, and he had a dozen heavily-armed humans with him. “You’ll pay for what you did! Your cleaning job discorporated me and five of my best soldiers.”

The real Eric had been far ahead along the line when the guns were sabotaged, and therefore had no idea what the officer was talking about. He slipped into the standard, harried expression of a disposable demon accustomed to being blamed for things he had no part in or control over.

The officer continued, “Don’t you know how low we’re running on bodies these days? I got one because I’m an officer, but my soldiers had to go on a waiting list, bless it all to Heaven. You’ll be waiting a lot longer, though, once I discorporate you bit by bit.”

Crowley was already saying quietly to Armen, “Get everyone to safety. This is our problem.” After Armen nodded, Crowley dropped his disguise and shouted toward the Lotanist demon, “That one’s only a tour guide. The exploding guns were all mine.”

The demon stared, then exclaimed, “That’s Crowley! He’s the one everyone’s after!”

“Sir, isn’t there supposed to be an angel with him?” asked one of the Lotanist humans.

“It’s probably one of those two,” said the officer, pointing to Aziraphale and Eric. “Kill them both!”

Aziraphale dropped his own disguise. “No need for that. I’m the angel.”

“Get them!” shouted the officer, rushing Aziraphale with his sword while the Lotanist humans opened fire.

Crowley, trusting that Aziraphale could handle one sword-wielding demon, put all of his attention into misdirecting the bullets. Eric ran for cover.

Aziraphale had forgotten to turn his clipboard back into a sword, but there was no time now – he simply swung the clipboard in a neat arc, and the demon’s head went flying from its shoulders. “Oh, dear,” he muttered. He hadn’t intended to be that dramatic.

Twelve guns firing continuously meant that Crowley had his work cut out for him, but he kept all of the bullets away from Aziraphale and then managed to draw up enough power to transform the guns into bubble guns…

Except he missed one, and got shot in the side before Aziraphale realized what was happening and immediately obliterated the remaining real gun.

Crowley doubled over and Aziraphale ran toward him, but the Lotanist humans were now charging them with hand-to-hand weapons – and then the tour group opened fire, most of them having taken cover down on the train tracks.

The tourists hit with surprising accuracy, meaning that while the tile on the stairs was blasted to bits with wasted bullets, they managed not to hit either Aziraphale or Crowley. All of the Lotanist humans were injured within a few seconds. Unfortunately, it seemed that the Lotanists were used to being injured, because they all doused themselves with Lethe-water as they went, barely slowing their advance.

Aziraphale dragged Crowley out of the way.

Hjordis barreled into the group of human opponents, her sword flashing everywhere as she targeted not the humans themselves, but their bottles of healing water. “Keep shooting!” she shouted. “You won’t hurt me!”

The tourists did as she said. She continued to slash bottles open or send them flying, or send the hands that were holding them flying.

After a few more seconds, the Lotanist humans decided to retreat, but Hjordis got between them and the top of the stairs. She used her sword to knock them back down, where they once again fell prey to the tour group’s bullets. Plenty of bullets hit Hjordis, too, but did her no harm.

Very quickly, twelve Lotanist humans were lying horrifically injured and partly dismembered at the bottom of the stairs, groaning in pain and unable to heal themselves, run away, or die.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, was cursing himself for having wasted so much power obliterating an entire gun when he could more easily have transformed or broken it instead. The overreaction had left him with very little to draw on as he did his best to miracle the bullet out of Crowley’s abdomen. If regular angelic miracles were difficult in Hell, healing miracles were ten times so.

“M’fine; not d’scorp’rated; s’all fine, just gimme a minute,” Crowley was babbling.

You’re not fine; kindly shut up and stop moving and let me sort this out.

“Nnngk.”

Hjordis regarded the wounded Lotanist humans with satisfaction for a moment before rejoining the tour group. “All right; we’re going to walk down the tunnel that way. There aren’t any trains anymore, so–”

“Wait; we can’t just leave them like that,” said Rosa, pointing to the injured humans.

“They’re traitors to humanity,” said Hjordis. “Their demon allies will come to collect them eventually, but I hope it won’t be for a long while. Let them regret their choices.”

“Uh, nonope to that,” said Lishan with determination, climbing up onto the platform and opening their pack of Lethe-bottles. Rosa followed.

“If you heal them, they’ll only attack you again,” warned Hjordis.

Rosa and Lishan hesitated.

“Not if we tie them up first,” said Armen, who had brought some extra lengths of rope. “Henry, give me a hand?”

Sue and Dottie helped, too. The injured soldiers were in such pain that they let themselves be tied up with no resistance, although tying demi-material rope around incorporeal people still took a lot of maneuvering. Once the soldiers were all securely immobile, Lishan and Rosa began to pour Lethe-water over them.

As the water began to take effect, Hjordis’s eyes blazed. “They betrayed us all and joined the demons. They deserve to suffer. How can you not see that?”

Armen answered, “You said that everything I know about war is wrong here. But the main thing I know about war is that war makes you forget your humanity. Which means you also forget everyone else’s humanity. And that’s more true here than it ever was on earth.”

“You don’t understand,” raged Hjordis. “The Legion has fought, and fought, and fought, for hundreds of years, for the perfection of humanity. These people would betray us and drag us back down to–”

Armen interrupted her. “Well, I fought for everything that wasn’t whatever’s going on here. Everything that wasn’t all this hate you people have for each other. And I hate fighting, but if I have to keep fighting for everything that isn’t this, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Mina hadn’t helped to heal the Lotanists, but she was now looking at Hjordis with the same heart-torn expression she used to have for her father.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, had finally managed to remove Crowley’s bullet and stop the bleeding. I never realized how talented you are at deflecting gunfire, he said. That was a terrible lot of bullets all at once, and only one of them hit either of us. Have you been doing that all along? Protecting the whole group?

Please don’t mention it. I mean, seriously, don’t mention it. If anyone had told me a week ago that I’d be coddling a bunch of humans through Hell, I’d have…

Aziraphale shook his head affectionately. At heart, just a little bit, a good person.

Bastard.

“Is he going to be all right?” Lishan asked.

“Right as rain,” smiled Aziraphale.

Lishan had been so intent on healing people, and then on Crowley, that they hadn’t noticed Ben watching them with an expression that carried a remarkable mix of emotions.

“You know,” Elana said to him quietly. “It’s okay to like someone. People do it all the time.”

Ben’s eyes widened, and he backed away. He glanced down at the train track opposite the one where the main group had sheltered, and then clambered down to it.

Mina noticed. “Ben?” she called out, moving in his direction. “Are you okay?”

“I may have said the wrong thing,” confessed Elana.

“What’s wrong?” asked Lishan, following Mina to the edge of the platform.

Ben was sitting on the track below, holding an open bottle of Lethe-water.

“Whoa- what?!” exclaimed Mina. She jumped down next to Ben.

Lishan followed suit, crouching on Ben’s other side. “You’re not going to drink that, are you?”

Not taking his eyes off the bottle, Ben said, “Remember what Elana said, about how I like not knowing things?”

Elana, leaning over the side of the platform, said, “I didn’t mean you shouldn’t know anything!”

“I missed that, didn’t I?” said Mina. “I’m sorry; I’ve kind of been wrapped up in my own… rocket launchers.”

“It was a good point,” said Ben. “What if I could not know anything? At all? Start over? No more memories of the visions and dreams I had, or the people who were upset by them, or of basically being held prisoner for most of my life because everyone was afraid of me. I could be free from all that. A fresh start.”

“But you’d lose… everything,” said Lishan. “Your good memories, too.”

The bottle’s plastic crinkled as Ben clutched it more tightly. “I don’t have very many of those.”

“You’d lose your art skills,” said Mina. “Which I’ve never seen anything like. Ben, you can do stuff no one else can.”

“My art only ever scared people.”

“That’s not true.” Mina brought out the little spiral sculpture Ben had made in Greed, and held it up. “You made this, and it made me happy. Really happy. It kept me going.”

“And that picture you drew for me,” said Lishan.

“Yeah,” said Mina. “Ben, if you lost your ability to create things, I think that would be… I think it would be the worst thing Hell has done to any of us.”

Ben’s grip on the water-bottle loosened a little.

Lishan gestured toward the spiral sculpture. “You always say people don’t like your art, but that’s beautiful. If you can make that out of some stupid fake demi-material Hell-plastic, I’d love to see what you could make out of… I don’t know…”

“Real things,” said Mina when Lishan trailed off. “Wood or stone or… whatever they have in Heaven. Stardust.”

Ben stared at her, and then through her, his jaw releasing as his eyes saw something that was almost as far away in space and time as anything could be from where they were.

“Oh,” he whispered, his eyes softening. “That’s… everything. Starlight comes from…” He glanced sharply up at Crowley, who was just getting to his feet on the platform. “Oh.”

Mina and Lishan exchanged uncertain glances.

Ben seemed to remember where he was, though his voice was full of serene astonishment as he said, “It’s going to be all right. I mean, it’s really going to be all right. Everything.” He put the lid back on the water-bottle and returned it to his pack.

“What did you see?” asked Mina.

Ben smiled. “Fusion.”

“Enough of all this,” shouted Hjordis to the whole group. “We need to move.”

Mina pointed to Ben’s pack of water-bottles. “I could carry that for you, for a while?”

“I’m all right now,” he said. “But you’ll worry less if I don’t have it, won’t you? Just… if I give it to you for now, do you promise – promise – that if I ask for it back, you’ll give it to me even if you don’t want to?”

“Promise,” Mina said, holding out a hand for the pack. Lishan let out a sigh of relief as Ben passed it to her.

Chapter Text

The next group to attack them was all human and all in chains. The attackers didn’t appear to be affiliated with anyone else, just a random gang roving the subway system and shooting at whoever passed by. Hjordis made short work of smashing their guns and incapacitating them. The gang had a supply of Lethe-water, but they were much clumsier in applying it than the Lotanist humans had been, so the tourists just left them fumbling around to open bottles.

As the tour group walked away along the train tracks, one of the chained people shouted after them, “You think you’re better than us, but you’re not!”

The group’s own formerly-chained member, whom they’d taken to calling Cain, looked back nervously at the defeated gang. He said to Eric, “You said the chains would come back. How long before that happens?”

“Not sure,” answered Eric. “Time isn’t especially consistent here.”

“And only a demon can take them off?”

“As far as I know,” said Eric. “And it has to be at least a marginally powerful demon. I’d be willing to try, but I’m not certain I could do it.”

Mina was whispering with Ben and Lishan about Hjordis. “She seemed like everything I always wished I could be. She’s so powerful, and nothing can hurt her. But she’s more like my dad than I realized, and now I don’t know what to think.”

Lishan said, “I guess, if you can’t ever feel pain yourself, you stop having compassion for people who do.”

“She’s done so much to help us, though,” said Mina. “Think about what this level would have been like if it weren’t for her and the Promethean Legion. I wonder if they’re all like her?”

Aziraphale and Crowley had also been conferring quietly in the back, far out of Hjordis’s earshot. They managed to pull in Dottie, Henry, and Selene.

Aziraphale whispered, “Don’t want to alarm anyone, but we suspect the Promethean Legion might have some connection to the Prince of Pride. Perhaps a mole or two, or perhaps the entire organization.”

“I figured,” said Dottie. “All that ‘triumph of humanity in Hell’ stuff seemed improbable. Seems to me the real triumph would be getting out of Hell.”

Henry nodded. “Yeah. We might have one advantage with the whole no-dying, fast-healing thing, but I don’t think it would hold up for long against any demons who were really determined to do us harm.”

“We’ve seen what you can do,” Selene said to Crowley. “And I get the impression you’re holding back a lot of the time. Both of you. So I kind of don’t want to think about what a Prince of Hell could do to us.”

“You’re far more clever than most demons, all three of you,” said Crowley. “And you shouldn’t rule that out as an advantage. But you’re right. That Viking’s so-called triumph is only because the Princes see you as ants. Maybe occasionally useful or entertaining ants, but never a serious threat to an immortal being who can alter matter at will and get a new body when they need one, even if they do have to queue up for it.”

“What’s it even like, being able to just… explode walls and make things disappear whenever you want?” asked Selene. “Wait, do you even have to style your hair, or do you just snap your fingers in the morning and it’s like that? Oh my god, you do, don’t you? What is that like?!”

“Eh. You get used to it,” shrugged Crowley.

“Sometimes you get a strongly-worded note from your superiors if you do it too much,” said Aziraphale. “But the point is, it appears that some extremely powerful demons are now after us personally, and we’re vulnerable because we can’t afford to be discorporated. I’m beginning to wonder if, under the circumstances, our presence is too much of a danger to the group.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” said Dottie. “You’re part of the group, aren’t you? You have passports just like us. I know you’ve been protecting people, and that’s nice of you, but I don’t remember anyone assigning you to be our babysitters or our bodyguards. If you’re in danger, you ought to let us help you. We’re all in this together. All of us.”

“Just because we’re not dumb enough to think we’re invincible, doesn’t mean we’re helpless,” said Selene.

“Yeah,” said Henry. “We’re an unkillable, fast-healing, sometimes-intelligent mob of random dead people with too many guns and really bad aim. Maybe not the best allies ever, but still, we’ve got to be better than nothing, even if all the demons of Hell are after you.”

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged glances. “My dear friends,” said Aziraphale earnestly. “That means a great deal. Thank you.”

“We’d be stupid not to take all the help we can get,” said Crowley.

“Why are all the demons after you, anyway?” asked Selene. “Oh, wait, it’s because you two are together, right? An angel and a – how did–”

“Mainly they’re displeased about the world not ending,” said Aziraphale.

“Yeah, but Typhon…” frowned Crowley. “I can’t get my head around what Typhon would want with us. He’s absolutely the vengeful sort, but only when it’s personal and against someone powerful enough to matter to him. I can’t think how we might have offended him personally. And we’ve nowhere near the kind of power he would consider worth bothering about.”

“There’s a wanted notice out for you in general, though, right?” asked Henry.

“Yes, but the reward is a Dark Council position, and Typhon’s already on the Council, like all the other Princes. There isn’t anything they could offer him that he doesn’t already have.”

“Everybody wants something,” said Selene. “Isn’t Typhon Lotan’s father? He’s got to want his son to win the war, right?”

“How does going after you two help Lotan win the war, though?” asked Henry.

Dottie frowned. “I feel like we’re missing a lot of information here, and I don’t like it."

“Story of our lives,” sighed Crowley.

After some more time moving through subway tunnels, Hjordis took them up to another platform. “There’s a Promethean Legion passageway just over there,” she said. “It will take us all the way to– Oh.”

The Promethean Legion scout Lucius was descending the stairs to the platform, along with another man who bore himself like someone in a position of power. Both were wearing swords and pistols. “Hjordis,” said the second man. “I hear you’ve been having some problems.”

“Yes, my lord, but we’re still moving forward.” She turned to the group. “Everyone, this is Tlacalel. He’s the leader of the Promethean Legion. And you remember our scout, Lucius.”

“The side-passage from here to customs is blocked,” said Lucius. “All the pathways are blocked.”

There was a cracking boom from inside the subway tunnel behind them, followed by the sound of the entire tunnel collapsing. A dust cloud billowed out of the tunnel and provoked irritated coughing among the people who still kept forgetting that they didn’t have to breathe.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” said Hjordis with forceful anger. “Someone’s betrayed us.”

“I agree,” said Tlacalel. “And so does Lucius. We’re going to have to scour the Legion and find out what happened, and take steps to prevent it from happening again. But first, we need to get this tour group safely on its way.” He cast his eyes over everyone, stopping on Eric, Crowley, and Aziraphale. “Two demons and an angel, of all things. I trust Lucius completely, but still, I could barely believe him when he told me.”

Eric waved cheerfully, Aziraphale smiled politely, and Crowley glowered.

Tlacalel went on, “I’ve led the Promethean Legion for hundreds of years, and in all my time, I’ve never seen a demon, much less an angel, come through here as a tourist. You can understand how very unlikely it seems that your arrival and the complete destruction of our mousehole network had nothing to do with each other.”

“You’re not implying that we–” began Azirpahale.

“I’m saying that I want to know what the connection is. What I’ve heard is that the two of you stopped the destruction of the world, and now every demon in Hell wants your destruction.”

“Not every demon,” put in Eric.

“Nonetheless, your presence here seems to have brought unwanted attention to the Promethean Legion’s efforts.”

“My good fellow,” said Aziraphale, “Please rest assured that we never meant to cause you trouble. All we want is to leave.”

“Then we’re agreed on that point,” said Tlacalel. “The problem is how. Normally we take people into customs by side-paths, but every one of them is blocked. The only way to get out of this location is to take the stairs up to the basement of the Wolf Building. Half a mile of Belial’s armies stand between the Wolf Building and customs. Many of his best generals are encamped there.”

“Okay,” said Selene. “Let’s say someone arranged things so that we would have no choice but to come up in the Wolf Building. Why? Are they waiting to ambush us in the basement?”

“There’s no one in the basement right now,” said Lucius. “Lord Tlacalel and I came in through the loading docks and sneaked past a few guards to get here, but that was all.”

“Loading docks?” asked Selene.

Lucius nodded. “The Belialists do their best to destroy the trucks from Sloth, except for the ones carrying weapons. Some of those are routed to the Wolf Building for delivery. We hid in one of the incoming trucks and made our way here from the loading dock.”

“Where do the weapons trucks go after they’re unloaded?” asked Selene.

“Customs. The empty trucks go on to Level Seven along with the trucks carrying Upper Three goods, and then they’re all sent back to Five together.”

“Right,” said Selene. “Here’s my guess. Belial controls the Wolf Building, right? I would bet good money that someone connected with Belial wants the reward for angel-demon couple capture, but either they don’t want to make it too obvious, or they don’t think it’s a good idea to have an all-out fight with explosives and magic in the basement of their fortress. So they’re expecting us to think we’re smart by coming up with a plan to hide in the empty trucks and get to customs that way. Once we’re all conveniently packed into trucks, they’ll ambush us somewhere between the Wolf Building and customs.”

“That’s brilliant,” said Henry. “I mean, it’s a brilliant trap, and you’re even more brilliant for figuring it out.”

“Leave it to a human to outsmart a demon,” said Crowley. He’d rather liked Selene, ever since Aziraphale had told him how she’d tricked people into leaving the casino on Level Three.

Tlacalel was nodding. “That’s a more plausible explanation than anything we’ve been able to come up with. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in joining the Legion? We could use someone with your insight, especially now that we’ve been compromised.”

Selene laughed. “I’m flattered, but no. I fight my wars in boardrooms, not literal battlefields. And if we all agree that the truck-trap is the most likely scenario, then the really brilliant thing is going to be figuring out another way to get to customs.”

“Especially if Belial’s best generals are camped between here and there,” said Henry.

“Blow up the trucks,” suggested Elana. “It’s a weapons unloading area, so there ought to be plenty of explosives around. We load up the trucks with everything we can find, let them head toward customs, and set them to explode when they’re halfway there. That way we deal with any ambushers and clear a path through the encampment. And then we take advantage of the confusion and run from here to customs like, you know, bats out of Hell.”

“I like this idea,” said Sue.

“And who’s going to be driving the trucks?” asked Dottie.

“They drive themselves,” said Eric. “Same as the tour boat.”

“It’s a good plan,” said Tlacalel. “I doubt we’ll make it all the way to customs without some fighting, but you’ll have Hjordis and Lucius and me to protect you. Timing will be of the utmost importance.”

What do you think? Aziraphale asked Crowley.

I think we don’t have much choice but to go with it, but we’d better be ready for anything.

They took the subway stairs up to the Wolf Building basement, which was just as deserted as Lucius had told them. From there, they went through cinderblock maintenance hallways until Lucius said they were approaching the door to the loading dock.

“There will be a handful of demons – guards and workers – in the dock area,” said Tlacalel. “Lucius, Hjordis, and I will go in as a small strike team and neutralize them. We don’t want to raise alarms.”

Lucius said, “Ideally we’ll do this without firing any shots, but just in case, it wouldn’t hurt to have ranged support from one or two people with good aim and good judgment.”

“I’ll do it,” said Armen.

“Can I?” asked Mina.

Tlacalel consulted Hjordis with a look, and she returned an approving nod. “That one has a soft heart, but he was a soldier and he knows his business. The other one is inexperienced, but she keeps a clear head in the heat of battle.”

“All right,” said Tlacalel with a nod to Lucius, who handed Armen and Mina each a pistol with a sound suppressor. “The rest of you, wait here until one of us gives you the all-clear. No matter what happens, we won’t have much time.” The five of them moved toward the door to the dock.

Aziraphale and Crowley stayed in their usual position at the back of the group. Lishan and Ben ended up nearby, both watching Mina as she disappeared with the Legion members.

Lishan said, “I’m worried about Mina, but I’m not getting any kind of evil vibe from Tlacalel. He’s hard to read, but my gut says he’s legit.”

“Inclined to agree,” said Crowley. “Which only raises more questions.” He looked at Ben. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any insights?”

Ben frowned. “You know, now that I’ve seen past Hell, most of the things I’m seeing in Hell seem kind of… random and unimportant.” He looked at Crowley, concentrating. “You might want to keep the pen.”

Sounds of hand-to-hand fighting came from the other side of the door, and then the pulse of a sound-suppressed gun firing one shot, followed, after a few seconds, by another.

Mina burst through the door and said, “All clear! Wow, that was amazing! The three of them, the way they just… slid into the demons like water and they moved so fast and they were, like, a perfect team. It was like they were dancing. And nothing hurts them, no matter how much they get hit! I’ve never seen anything like that, not even in a movie. They knocked out half the demons before the demons even knew they were there. Also, did you know you can knock a demon unconscious? Because you totally can!”

Aziraphale remembered the feeling of a crowbar slamming into the back of Crowley’s head, followed by a sunlit park blurring into darkness, and then he decided to think about anything else.

Chapter Text

Everyone moved into the loading area, where Armen and Lucius were standing guard over a pile of seven unconscious demons. Tlacalel and Hjordis were already throwing boxes of grenades into one of three half-unloaded trucks.

“Hurry!” called out Tlacalel. “Anything that looks like it would explode, get it onto a truck.” Everyone rushed to investigate the stacks of crates lining the area.

“We need detonators,” said Dottie.

“Right here,” said Elana, who had just opened a crate. “And, oh, nice – I thought we’d have to rig up a timer, but check this out.” She held up a wireless detonation box.

“You did well,” said Hjordis to Mina. “That demon might have escaped if you hadn’t shot their foot. It was exactly what I needed.”

Mina blushed. “I was aiming for their chest. I’m lucky I hit them at all.”

“But you did. Your battle instincts are excellent.”

“Hjordis is right,” said Tlacalel. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an untrained person with so much potential. We would be honored to welcome you into the Legion. We can train you to fight like we do. Once you become invulnerable as we are, you would be able to help a great many people.”

“You really think I could be like you?” Mina’s eyes were a little watery. “I was never any good at anything when I was alive.”

“Then perhaps this is where you will finally achieve your victories,” said Tlacalel.

Sue had found some binoculars among the supplies. Cautiously, she peeked through them out the side of the loading bay, looking for the path the trucks would take. “Hm,” she said. “You weren’t kidding about that army encampment. That is huge.”

Everybody else wanted to see, but Armen discouraged them from looking all at once, so they took turns leaning just slightly out of the bay and looking sideways toward customs.

A broad, treeless boulevard connected the Wolf Building and the customs building across half a mile. About two-thirds of the structures on either side of the boulevard had been reduced to rubble. The area was covered in blood-red war tents and banners, and it was teeming with Belialist demons.

“Are three exploding trucks really going to be able clear a path through all that?” asked Lishan, after they and Ben had both taken turns looking.

Dottie said, “With everything we’re loading onto them, the blast radius is going to be enormous.”

Elana nodded. “I think we’ll get 400 meters per truck, at least. Let’s hope they space out a bit to maximize the area.”

“I can help with that,” said Eric. “I can’t control the trucks once they’re moving, but I can get each one to leave whenever you want, with however much time you think there should be between.”

“Then we really do have a decent chance,” said Elana. “Once they explode, it should take us four or five minutes to run to customs if nothing gets in our way.”

“What if someone gets shot while we’re running?” asked Mina.

“Don’t shoot back,” said Armen. “Everybody should have Lethe-water ready. If someone gets hurt, two people on their team should grab their harness and keep moving, and one person should heal them. We’re not leaving anyone behind, but if we stop, we’re dead. Uh, figuratively dead. Don’t leave anyone, but also don’t stop.” He repeated these instructions several times as they made the final preparations to send off the trucks.

Eric set the loaded trucks in motion, timing each departure according to Dottie and Elana’s recommendations for the optimal blast area.

“Would you like to do the honors?” asked Tlacalel, offering the remote detonator to Mina.

“Really?”

“I don’t see why not. Your friend Elana seems most qualified to judge the right moment, but you can press the button when she tells you. Think of it as a small taste of how much power you could have if you join us.”

“Uh, Mina?” said Lishan.

“Yes?” Mina was enthusiastically accepting the detonator box.

“You’re not really going to stay here, are you?”

“I, um… I just want to blow up the trucks. Blowing stuff up is the best thing ever.”

“She has a point,” said Elana to Dottie under her breath. Dottie nodded.

Ben and Lishan exchanged concerned looks.

“Please consider our offer,” said Hjordis to Mina. “You’re fearless and strong, and you could do a lot of good here.”

Mina flushed again at the compliment, but she asked, “Do I have to decide right now? Can it wait till customs?”

“Of course,” said Tlacalel. “See how you feel once we’ve won this victory together.”

Elana took the binoculars and watched the trucks’ progress. Everyone else prepared to run as soon as the time came.

“Twenty more seconds…” said Elana. “Fifteen…”

Hjordis let out a tiny grunt of unexpected frustration and looked at her wrists.

“Ten…”

“I have to go,” whispered Hjordis to Tlacalel and Lucius, whose faces shifted not so much into surprise as concern.

“Five…”

Hjordis began to run toward the door, but she didn’t make it before a set of heavy chains formed around her ankles and wrists. She stumbled slightly.

“Wait, you have chains!?” exclaimed Mina. “What… what did you do?”

Hjordis kept hurrying toward the door, but she’d been reduced to a dexterous shuffle. “I was a warrior,” she said without stopping.

“Now!” said Elana.

“Armen doesn’t have chains,” Mina, eyes wet, called after Hjordis. “And he killed people. Whatever you did, it must have been–”

“Mina!” shouted Elana. “Now!”

“Do all of you have chains?!” Mina demanded of Tlacalel as Hjordis shoved herself through the door. “Is that what the whole Promethean Legion is? Murderers and abusers and–”

“No,” said Tlacalel. “But this isn’t the time to explain.” He tried to grab the detonator from Mina, but she was flailing her arms in wild distress.

“I thought you were the good guys!” she wept.

“We are!”

Crowley gestured toward the detonator. Its switches flipped.

In spite of the thick walls between them and the explosion, the sound of it split everyone’s ears into ringing dullness. Even the indirect light they could see through the bay opening was blinding. The entire Wolf Building shook.

“GO!” shouted Armen. “Everybody, go!”

Aziraphale insisted on waiting and counting heads until every single human had jumped off of the loading dock and was racing down the now-broken boulevard.

Any remaining buildings along the trucks’ path had been obliterated, along with the closest tents. Farther out, the tents and banners were flattened. Lifeless demon-bodies were everywhere, and discorporated demons could be seen flying away in all directions.

Not all of the demons had been discorporated, of course. A few had survived the blast, whether by chance or miracle, and more could be seen far off, some on foot and some in the air, all of them speeding toward the boulevard. There were Belialist humans, too, badly injured but already starting to heal themselves.

The tourists ran, sprinting faster than most of them had probably ever sprinted in life. A new hill of rubble, along with lingering dust-clouds, obscured the sight of the customs office, but they knew exactly where they were going. Aziraphale and Crowley brought up the rear as they’d been doing all along, glancing frequently over their shoulders for threats behind them.

A couple of the tourists took fire from enemy humans, and Gael fell, but Carlos and Piper grabbed him while Iskander healed him and everyone kept moving, just as Armen had instructed.

They’d covered a third of the distance when a demon burst partway out of the ground right under Aziraphale’s feet to bite him in the calf with savagely sharp teeth.

“Bother,” winced Aziraphale, bringing his sword down on the demon, who growled in pain but did not let go.

Crowley kicked the demon in the head, dazing it, and then turned the ground around it into solid concrete. Aziraphale pulled his leg free and stepped forward cautiously.

“How bad?” asked Crowley, both of them knowing that stopping to heal was not a good idea.

“I’ll manage,” said Aziraphale. It hurt, but not terribly. “Let’s keep moving.”

The humans were now far ahead and not looking back, which was probably just as well. Aziraphale and Crowley advanced only a few more meters before four dark shapes, with wings outstretched, descended between them and the fleeing humans.

A general of the Circle of Violence wasn’t difficult to recognize, much less four of them together. They were, on average, two feet taller than an ordinary demon, and they carried weapons that defied nearly every rule of physics.

“I told you they’d be here,” said one of the generals to the others.

A second one snarled at Crowley and Aziraphale with satisfaction. “We’re going to discorporate and capture you first, and then we’re going to fight each other to see who gets the Council seat.”

“It’s going to be glorious,” said a third.

All four of them paused to gloat, of course. Violence demons loved ripping your spine out, but they also loved the moment right before they did.

In the air behind the generals, far away but approaching at terrible speed, more demons were on the wing.

Aziraphale and Crowley’s odds weren’t impossible against these four, who were almost certainly underestimating them. It was the next wave, and the eternity of waves after that, that would be the problem.

Knowing they’d need every advantage, they both let their wings out and eased into the stability of having their whole selves fully manifested in one dimension.

The four generals seemed to enjoy the drama. They inched closer, stroking their weapons and grinning maliciously, but they still waited to attack, no doubt hoping to intimidate their opponents before the fight began.

Crowley gripped the plant-mister, which still had at least a small chance of being useful, in his left hand, and tried to focus on the ready abundance of dark energy surging up from below, without thinking too much about how easily Belial’s generals could draw on the same power.

Aziraphale, sword steady in his right hand, reached for Crowley’s with his left. I’m sorry, my dear. This is all my fault. I never should have dragged you down here. I am so very–

Again with the guilt. I don’t want you to feel guilty. I want you to live. I want us both to live, and keep our bodies, and go home and drink a whole case of wine each, and eat the most decadent meal you’ve ever had in six thousand years. That’s what I want.

Aziraphale had the bizarre impulse to kiss him, but this was the last place or time to entertain such human absurdities. Instead he said, For the World, then.

For the World.

And then the World came to their rescue, in the form of a barrage of badly-aimed but copious bullets that tore the very surprised generals into fragments and discorporation.

What followed was, by far, the worst battle that Aziraphale or Crowley had had the misfortune to be involved in since the First Great Battle of angels and demons. By the time it was over, they had discorporated eleven of Belial’s generals and a whole host of lesser demons.

Not alone. They never would have survived it alone. The human tourists – every single one – came back to help them. Tlacalel and Lucius were there, too, fighting demons head-to-head with fearless invulnerability while the tourists sprayed bullets everywhere or scurried around healing each other.

Dottie, Elana, and Sue had held onto some of the explosives from the Wolf Building, which they used to improvise a trap for the fifth general. There was nothing left of her body by the time she flew away, howling insubstantially.

Their explosion hit two Belialist humans, too, but they simply healed each other and returned to shooting the tourists. More and more human opponents were coming in from the edges of the trucks’ blast area, along with rank-and-file demon soldiers.

Mina and Armen shot the sixth general together, both of them holding their position and firing with ice-cold steadiness as the enormous demon charged toward them. The general, overconfident, expected them to flee. When he realized that they weren’t going to move, he jammed their guns by miracle, but it was enough of a distraction for Lucius to attack him from behind, allowing Mina and Armen to draw their pistols and finish the general off.

A flash of prophetic perception from Ben, and Lishan’s trust in it, led the two of them on a precise path over unstable ground as they ran away from the seventh general. The general’s path was less precise. Earth collapsed under her feet and she slid into a deep pit, enabling Carlos and Iskander to rain down bullets before she had a chance to climb or miracle herself out.

Of course, what Belial’s forces wanted most was Aziraphale and Crowley, which made the two of them into something of a black hole that drew all the movement of the battle.

Crowley managed to obliviate the eighth general with his plant-mister, making the memory-deprived demon easy prey for Gael and Piper’s guns. Otherwise, he focused all of his efforts on protecting himself and Aziraphale against the constant hail of bullets from the generals’ demon and human forces.

The generals could shield themselves from bullets, too, when they thought it was worth the effort, but if anything saved the tour group, it was the generals’ hubris, because they often didn’t bother until it was too late. They were used to fighting Lotan’s uninventive forces, not the hapless, creative mess of chaotic teamwork that was the human tour group.

Aziraphale kept having to push away memories of the war at the Fall, because he had loathed every second of that, and he loathed every second of this, which was entirely too similar.

“You have great skill and no passion for fighting,” Tlacalel shouted at him as they fought back-to-back.

“Yes, exactly,” sighed Aziraphale.

Tlacalel intentionally took a painless hit from the ninth general in order to give Aziraphale an opening, which he took, thrusting his sword into the general’s shoulder so that Tlacalel, uninjured as always, could finish the demon off.

Selene was injured, shot in the hip and thigh and gritting her teeth in pain. Before anyone could heal her, the tenth general was raising a mammoth club over her head. He was obviously frustrated and looking for the comfort of an easy target.

“Wait!” Selene shouted. “I know the angel’s weakness.”

Her words gave the general just enough confused-but-curious pause for Henry to roll a grenade behind him. The blast caught Selene, too, but the general’s destruction was worth it. Rosa darted in immediately to pour Lethe-water on her.

Eric spent the entire battle observing and making notes. Dagon had given him a job to do, after all. As he didn’t seem to be a threat to anyone, no one bothered to attack him.

Cain hadn’t made any special attempts to be a hero, but he’d used his gun where he could. Unfortunately he ended up using it in such a way that he caught the ire of the eleventh general, who couldn’t get through to attack Aziraphale and Crowley, and decided to go after Cain instead.

Cain ran toward a pile of rubble where Mina and Armen had taken cover. He’d nearly reached it when the chains re-formed on his hands and feet. He tripped and pitched forward. The general’s sword sliced deeply into his back.

He didn’t notice. Instead, he rolled over and opened fire on the very surprised general, who, with additional fire from Mina and Armen, soon went the way of his discorporated counterparts.

“He hit you!” Mina shouted at Cain as the chained man clambered awkwardly over the rubble to take cover beside her.

“He did? When?”

“He hit you really hard in the back! How did you not feel that?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

There was no opportunity to discuss it further, as the group was getting hemmed closer and closer together and the situation was getting desperate. Eleven generals and a great number of lesser demons were gone, but the enemy humans posed a serious problem. No matter how many times they were hit, they healed themselves with Lethe-water and picked up their weapons again. Lucius had managed to destroy some of their water supplies, but the Belialists could keep bringing in more, while the tour group’s supply was beginning to run low.

So was their ammunition. They backed in close together on a high hill of rubble, the non-combatants frantically checking to see how much Lethe-water was left, and Elana calculating how much longer they might be able to hold out with the ammunition that remained. Armen tried with mixed success to get everyone to choose their shots more carefully.

And then, when Elana estimated they had a minute left, and they were down to four water-bottles, a blare of alarm-sirens froze both sides.

Speakers mounted on the Wolf Building, scratchy but loud, announced, “The Prince of Envy is personally attacking the Wolf Building. Repeat, the Prince of Envy himself is attacking. All forces of Violence, move to defend the Wolf Building immediately.” The sirens sounded again.

And just like that, the Belialist army, demon and human, turned and ran for the Wolf Building.

A long stillness of disbelief followed. Everybody stared at everybody else, and then all around them, and then at each other again.

“You have wings,” said Rosa, awestruck, to Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Oh. Er. Yes,” said Aziraphale. As neither of them enjoyed being a spectacle, they both tucked their wings back between dimensions.

“They were pretty,” said Rosa.

“Uh, everyone?” said Dottie. She’d climbed to the top of the hill and was squinting away from the Wolf Building. “Remember how the trucks got blown up about twenty seconds later than we planned? Which means they would have been farther down the road and closer to customs when they blew?”

The handful of other people who were on top of the hill turned to look, and a few more climbed up so they could see, too.

To the rest of them, Dottie said, “I think we blew up customs.”

Chapter Text

“It’s my fault,” said Mina. “God, I suck. I suck at everything. Hjordis said I was good at keeping a clear head, but I lost it at the worst possible moment. And anyway, Hjordis turned out to be–”

They were standing on the boulevard in front of the remains of the Violence customs building, which had been razed to the ground.

“Not to worry,” said Eric briskly. “Hell customs is in the same existential category as taxes and garden weeds. It can never really be got rid of. The building just needs a little time to regenerate. Look.” He pointed to one side of the building, where rebar and concrete could be seen slowly re-forming.

Dottie sat down on some debris and looked back toward the Wolf Building. “Let’s hope the Envy attack lasts a long time.”

They were too far away to see much, but explosions and gunfire and a great deal of noise were happening on the far side of the building.

“We’ve made things easy for Lotan,” sighed Tlacalel. “Belial’s forces were already decimated.”

Lucius said, “Perhaps Lotan saw what was happening and decided to take advantage of the situation.”

Tlacalel nodded. “Regardless, we’ve won a great victory of our own. You all fought admirably.”

“Cain’s invulnerable like you are,” Mina said to Tlacalel. “Is it because of the chains? Is that why you all can’t be injured, because you all did terrible things and now you’re chained, and Hell is, like, weirdly both punishing you and rewarding you?”

“No,” said Tlacalel.

Henry said, “Those chained people who attacked us in the subway weren’t invulnerable, remember?”

“It’s the Lethe-water,” said Ben. “Cain drank the Lethe-water and forgot how to feel pain.”

“I knew it,” muttered Aziraphale. “Scandinavia. Really.”

Lishan said, “Wait, that’s how the Promethean Legion members become invulnerable? Drinking Lethe-water and forgetting everything? Hjordis said it was from training and practice.”

“We do train and practice, a great deal,” said Tlacalel. “But yes, in order to achieve perfection, you must forget your flawed self – all of your former life, and your former body. Hjordis didn’t tell you because we prefer to keep it secret, lest our enemies do the same thing.

“Most of our members don’t have chains, but we do admit some chained people, like Hjordis, if they can convince us that they want to atone. I can think of no better end for such a person than to spend eternity helping other humans out of Hell.” He turned to Cain and continued, “We would consider admitting you, if you’re interested. You fought loyally just now. Whatever crimes you committed, this would be a chance to redeem yourself. We have an arrangement with a third party to remove chains when needed.”

Cain shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. If I’m allowed to get out of here, I’m going to do it.” He glanced at the customs building, which had regrown about a foot.

Most of the group was now sitting on the pavement, looking back and forth between customs and the battle for the Wolf Building.

“What about you?” said Tlacalel to Mina. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you everything, but I hope you can understand why.”

Indecision lined Mina’s face. “I did say to Cain that it wasn’t my job to judge him. I guess it’s not my job to judge anyone in the Legion, either. If you really are helping people… Anyway, it’s not like I’m perfect, either. It’s my fault customs got blown up and we’re stuck waiting. I’ve never been any good at anything.”

“Mina?” said Ben. “Can I have my water pack back? I’m not going to drink it, I just… think maybe it would be better if I had it right now.”

Mina returned the pack. “You don’t think I should join them,” she said to Ben.

“I mean, you did talk me out of getting rid of my memories, just a little while ago.”

“That was different, though. You would have been losing something important. Actual skills that matter. All I’d be losing is… literally nothing. My life was nothing but failure. And I’d be gaining something so much better! Nobody could ever hurt me again. And I’d be helping people, too.”

Lishan said, “I’m not sure that helping people should mean you give up everything about yourself.”

“It means you gain your true self, your perfect self,” said Tlacalel. “The Promethean Legion has purged all weakness, purged all pain, and achieved the perfection of humanity. We defeat demons. And one day we’ll defeat them all, and we’ll win this war. What greater victory could there be than the triumph of humanity over Hell itself?”

Mina hesitated.

Lishan frowned and said to her, “Okay, I’ve been injured enough times, and I’ve been sick enough, to know that pain sucks, and no one should have to live in pain all the time. No one should have to live in pain most of the time. But this other extreme, never feeling any pain at all and thinking you’re perfect because of it... That seems like the opposite of being human. Because imperfection is about as human as it gets. Being human means falling and getting back up again, all the time.”

Mina had been holding back tears, but now they exploded. “That’s easy for you to say! You were good at things, and you always had people who cared about you. I had terrible parents, and I couldn’t make things work at university, and I was bad at everything. I spent all my time at jobs I hated, and I never had time to make any real friends, and everybody treated me like I didn’t matter.”

“I’m your friend,” said Lishan. They moved as if to hug her and then remembered they couldn’t. “You literally saved my soul back in Greed. And even if you hadn’t, you’d still matter to me just as much. I don’t need you to be perfect, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“Me, either,” Ben said, moving closer to her. “I want us all to get out of here together, and I want us to do things together that aren’t Hell, and I want to make something for you. Something real and beautiful, like you said. Out of wood or stone or stardust.”

Mina’s tears stopped, and she stared at him.

Ben went on, “That’s how I got through the battle. I kept thinking about what I want to create for you.” He looked at Lishan. “For both of you. It’s the first thing I’ve ever seen clearly beyond Hell, and it’s… beautiful. Mina, you gave me something to hope for. I’m going to do it, whether you’re there to see it or not, but I hope you will be. I’d really like for you to see it.”

Mina continued to stare for a long time and then said, weakly, “Okay.”

Looking unsure if they should smile or not, Lishan whispered, “Does that mean you’re going to say the thing?”

She half-smiled. “Do I have to? I feel like we’re kind of past that.”

“Of course you don’t have to, but I think it’d be fantastic if you did.”

Shaking her head, Mina turned to Tlacalel. “Yeah, um… sorry, and thanks, but… nonope. I’m going to keep going.”

Henry had been squinting back the way they’d come. “Hey everyone? Pretty sure Prince Lotan just captured the Wolf Building.”

Elana still had the binoculars, which she passed around to anyone who wanted them. Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t need them in order to see what could only be the Demon Prince of Envy himself, twice the size of a normal demon and radiating dark power, on top of the building, raising his own flag from its highest point.

The customs building was still not much more than three feet tall.

Prince Lotan, having set the flag securely in place, lifted himself into the air with a flap of enormous wings, and began to soar directly toward them.

There wasn’t anywhere for them to run.

“Don’t shoot,” cautioned Lucius when a few of the humans raised their guns. “Bullets won’t do anything against a Prince of Hell, apart from making him angry.”

A few seconds later, Lotan’s wings angled back to slow his flight, and he settled on the ground to loom over them all. He had two curving goat-horns encircled by a malachite crown, and his burning orange eyes scanned the humans indifferently before flaring when they stopped on Crowley.

“You,” said the Prince of Envy. “You’re the one she’s obsessed with. The one who changed everything. I assumed you’d be taller.”

The only response Crowley could come up with was a baffled “Erm?”

“Taller and less confused-looking. Is this how you lure them in, by making yourself seem less of a threat?”

“Errr…”

Lotan shifted the fire of his eyes onto Aziraphale. “And you, the angel conspirator. What sort of deal can an angel and a demon possibly have struck? Are you the source of his ideas? What do you stand to gain from all this?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth and then closed it in a cluster of uncertainty, finally settling on, “I’m afraid I have no answers for those questions, Your Lowness.”

Lotan went on, “The two of you have left quite the trail of damage on your little tour, and not the kind of damage the Dark Council likes. Asmodeus says you stole two of his shades and transferred them to Belphegor’s Circle. Gressil says you destroyed some of his most difficult-to-obtain consumables. Mammon says you threw a large number of her collectibles into the Styx–”

“Hey, that was all us,” interrupted Elana.

Lotan ignored her and went on, “Belphegor says you destroyed his most important factory, and anyone can see that you’re causing chaos here, in my rightful level where I am doing everything I can to establish order. Your tour group has come short of the usual tourist-to-resident conversion quota, and your actions have resulted in three long-term residents leaving, possibly more.

“I’m under orders to make sure you both leave this Circle safely. But you won’t be taking your humans with you. You’ve already given them far too much of an unfair advantage. And what’s worse, they seem to be doing the same for you.”

“You can’t keep humans here against their will,” said Crowley.

“No,” said Lotan, “But I can delay them. Perhaps if they spend some time with me, they’ll answer my questions about you.”

Aziraphale gripped his sword more firmly.

Crowley asked, “What do you want, Your Lowness? Just tell us, and maybe we can come to an understanding.”

“I want what’s rightfully mine. I want you in your proper place, not parading around with these humans as if they belonged to you. I want you to stop being the only thing anyone on the Dark Council talks about anymore, stop being all she thinks about, all she talks about, the reason for everything she’s done.

“And make no mistake, I will have everything I want. One thing at a time, if that’s how it has to be. And that starts with relieving you of the humans who have given you far more power than an insignificant field agent should ever have.”

“We won’t leave them,” said Aziraphale.

“I’m a Prince of Hell,” flared Lotan. “You don’t have a choice. The humans are staying, for now.”

“Like Hell we are,” said Dottie.

“You clearly don’t understand Hell,” began Lotan. “This isn’t–”

A second winged figure, dark and enormous and wielding a jagged sword, hurtled down from the sky and smashed into Lotan, shaking the ground. Red fire laced the new demon’s wings and vicious tusks thrust upward from his mouth.

“LOTAN!” he bellowed. “This is my Circle, you powerless brat. You will never take it.”

Lotan stood up, laughing. “Belial. How pleasant to see you. What a major defeat you’ve just suffered.”

“I will END you!”

“You will not. You cannot. You’re a relic, Belial, stuck in the old ways, thinking the solution to every problem is to bash it with a sword. The world has moved on. Hell has moved on. Brains are the new brawn, above and below, and I’ve just outsmarted you.”

Belial brandished his sword. “Fight me, you mewling rodent.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing,” gloated Lotan. “I arranged for the distraction and defeat of your generals, using these” – he gestured toward the tour group – “as my pawns. I sent that false memo to your people, knowing your generals wouldn’t be able to resist an opportunity to join the Dark Council. Especially since you yourself will be unseated as soon as I take control of this Circle.”

“I knew the memo had to be fake,” said Eric, even though no one was paying attention to him. “Dark Council doesn’t just change memo policies on a whim.”

“And then,” gloated Lotan, “I used that one” – he pointed to Lucius the scout – “to shut down the humans’ pathways and force them here, where your generals took the bait, leaving their fortress open for conquest.”

Tlacalel looked at Lucius in shock. “You! You were the traitor.”

“Wait… so was I right about the truck thing, or not?” Selene asked, but nobody answered.

“What did he promise you?” demanded Tlacalel.

Lotan laughed. “I told him I’d give him his memories back. A lie, of course.”

Lucius glanced at customs, which had almost reached five feet but still offered no harbor, and then he turned to run.

Tlacalel pursued him, sword drawn. “The Legion will have vengeance!”

Belial’s attention was still entirely on Lotan. “You’re not intelligent enough to come up with something like this. All you ever do is take other people’s ideas. This must have been your father’s doing.”

“It was not!” protested Lotan, petulant. “My father almost ruined my perfect plan with his ill-conceived checkpoint, trying to find them himself.”

“Your mother, then. You can brag about brains all you want, but you have none, you idiot whelp. Fight me, or admit my power is greater.”

That sparked Lotan’s rage. He drew his own sword and charged Belial, who blocked him easily.

And so forty-two humans, two demons, and an angel, having nowhere else to go and nothing else to do, sat on the edge of the Sixth Circle of Hell and watched the Demon Prince of Envy and the Demon Prince of Violence take out their differences in a duel of fury and destruction, the likes of which even Hell had not seen in a very long time.

Chapter Text

Elana tried to start a betting pool, but nobody wanted to bet on Lotan, and nobody had anything to bet with, anyway.

Belial’s sword tore a gash in Lotan’s thigh. Lotan howled and fought harder.

“Yeah, Belial’s definitely going to win,” commented Crowley idly. “Which isn’t good. I’d rather we not fight any Prince of Hell ourselves, but if we were going to have a chance against any of them, Lotan would be the one.”

“Lotan’s only a prince because of his parents, right?” asked Selene.

“Right,” said Crowley. He turned to Aziraphale. “I’d expect you could take Lotan in a fight if you had to, especially given he's already wounded. Belial, though…” He glanced toward customs, which was just beginning to form a roof. “Let’s hope we can get out of here before Belial wins.”

Belial didn’t win.

A third demon prince, larger even than Lotan or Belial, appeared from the other side of customs and stepped in calmly to run his sword through Belial from behind. Belial slumped and fell, still corporated due to being a demon prince, but defeated and unconscious.

“Aaand now there’s the Prince of Pride,” said Crowley. “I suppose Satan Himself is going to show up next.”

Typhon’s crown and dragon-eyes both gleamed gold.

Lotan, injured and angry, screamed at his father, “How dare you! I was winning!”

“You were not,” said Typhon, in a voice so heavy that the ground trembled.

“I don’t need your help! I don’t want your help! You almost ruined my plan.”

“That wasn’t your plan. It was your mother’s, may Heaven destroy her. You’ve never had an original idea in your life. And you’re still doing whatever she tells you.”

“How do you even know what I’m doing? I told you to leave me alone.”

“I’ve stayed out of your war, but I will not live in ignorance. The Promethean woman, the one who was with them, came to me to have her chains removed. All I ever ask in exchange is information, and information is what I received.”

“I hate you!” shouted Lotan. “Stop interfering in my business!”

Selene whispered to Henry, “Okay, remember when I said Typhon must want his son in charge of this level? In retrospect, it was naïve of me to assume that the Prince of Pride and the Prince of Envy would have a healthy father-son relationship.”

“You’re not what I’m here for,” said Typhon to Lotan. He shifted his liquid-gold eyes directly to Crowley. “I’m here for him. Crowley.” He leaned forward to look more closely. “You’re Crowley? No wonder you’ve been so difficult to find. You’re nobody. I don’t understand.”

“Err… Did I ever claim not to be nobody?”

“I’m a Prince of Hell, and you’re nothing but a field agent. Not even a local chancellor. What does she see in you?”

“I literally have no idea who you’re talking about, Your Lowness.”

Aziraphale, on the other hand, thought he might be able to guess.

Typhon seemed to be trying to decide what advantage there was for Crowley in denying whatever it was he appeared to be denying. After some thought, the Prince of Pride said, “They say you can’t be destroyed by holy water, or your angel by hellfire.”

“That is true,” lied Crowley.

“If I can’t destroy you, I can still remove you. I want you gone from this reality, forever.” Typhon began to work a large, complex, and powerful demon-miracle.

“That looks extremely bad,” whispered Mina.

“It’s the hole,” said Ben.

A little disc of sparking darkness was beginning to form in Typhon’s fingers.

“Father!” protested Lotan. “She said specifically to make sure they get to Seven. She’s wanted him for centuries. She’ll never forgive you.”

Who is ‘she?’ Aziraphale asked Crowley.

No idea. Also, very tired of being the last to know anything.

Lotan was still shouting at his father. “You don’t understand anything! The humans are where he gets his power. Look at him; he’s practically human himself. Don’t banish him, banish the humans.”

“I’ll do as I please,” said Typhon, stretching the whirling disc until it was five and then seven and then nine feet wide. It crackled with black energy.

“A rift in reality,” Typhon explained to Crowley and Aziraphale. “A gateway to an alternate Hell, similar to this but notable for the non-existence of any demon or angel trying to play tourist. Go there and exploit all the humans you like; I don’t care as long as I never have to deal with you again.”

“Don’t do this!” shouted Lotan. “I’m the one she’ll–”

Typhon ignored his son and said to Crowley, “Don’t bother trying to come back, either. This rift goes one way, and it’s impossible to make another from the other side. Only a demon prince on this side can reverse it.”

The customs building had almost finished re-shaping its roof, but its front door was barred, and no one seemed to be inside yet.

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s arm. Distract him.

What?!

Just keep him distracted, and don’t lose your body. I have to concentrate.

I don’t believe this. But Aziraphale stepped in front of the Demon Prince of Pride, brandished his sword, and announced, “Prince Typhon! I am charged with smiting evil wherever it may be found.”

Part amused and part annoyed, Typhon looked down from his great height. “You’re what, a principality? I stepped on angels more powerful than you in the First Great Battle.”

“Then I can’t imagine you’d be so cowardly as not to do it again.”

Lotan laughed and backed away. “Well, this should be entertaining. For all of six seconds, anyway.”

Typhon stepped away from the rift and raised his sword.

Aziraphale dodged the first blow and stepped backward, hoping that not doing much other than not getting hit would be a sufficient distraction.

Quickly and quietly, Crowley said to the closest humans, “Okay, I have a plan. What I need you to do is get yourselves through customs the second you can, all right?”

“We’re not leaving you,” said Lishan.

“It’s going to be all right,” said Crowley. “Trust me. Just go through customs.” He turned to face Typhon’s dark rift.

In demonic terms, Crowley was nobody. Not a Prince of Hell, not a Duke of Hell, not even a local chancellor. But a thing most demons couldn’t wrap their heads around, was that the demonic hierarchy was not an exact inversion of what the angelic hierarchy had once been. Demons valued power more than anything and assumed it was the basis for everything, so they had little means of comprehending that an angel once capable of co-creating stars with the Almighty Herself might have sauntered so vaguely into being a demon that he turned out to be no one important at all in the infernal pecking order.

Crowley was no Prince of Hell, nor ever would be. He couldn’t tear holes in reality.

But he was more capable of manipulating time and space than any other demon had ever given him credit for. Pressed to extremes, and drawing on all the dark power that had been flooding him since they’d crossed into the City of Dis, he could move a hole in reality.

He could move it right into the path of a rampaging Titan Prince of Pride.

And Typhon was rampaging, now irritated to no end by the apparently insignificant angel that he couldn’t seem to hit. Aziraphale led him on a chase away from customs, and Crowley followed at a distance, silently pushing the rift upward and then angling it down at just the right moment to fall between Aziraphale and the demon.

Typhon never saw it coming. The rift closed over him, and he was gone.

Customs had fully re-formed, and its door swung open.

That was when two things happened.

The first thing was that Crowley was so entirely caught up in moving a hole in reality, and Aziraphale so focused on not being discorporated and then on watching the Prince of Pride disappear, that they both failed to notice seven recorporated and extremely angry generals of Violence coming up behind Crowley with no pause for gloating this time.

The largest general simply knocked Crowley unconscious, and then raised his club for what would undoubtedly be a full discorporation.

The other thing was that Lotan, who famously never had ideas of his own but readily stole other people’s, took control of the rift the second it was no longer in Crowley’s power, and sent it rushing toward the tour group humans faster than they could have any chance of outrunning.

Lotan was injured, and now distracted, and not really powerful enough to call himself a true Prince of Hell. Aziraphale had no doubt that a direct attack from him could stop Lotan moving the rift, at least long enough for the humans to escape.

Or he could try, with little hope of success, to stop seven recorporated demon generals from killing the person he loved most.

“Fuck,” Aziraphale whispered, because he had already made the wrong choice, always.

If one were an angel in Hell about to battle the generals of the demon army of Violence by oneself, one could not go by half-measures. Aziraphale released his wings, took on his true form, and put forth all the power that remained to him.

The blinding brightness of the sun seared itself into one of the darkest corners of Hell, and, at the last possible moment, Aziraphale’s sword deflected the club’s descent.

Pain lanced through his whole body as Aziraphale woke up, but he did still have a body, so all in all it was a welcome surprise. Crowley was leaning over him. Remains of discorporated demons lay vaguely on the periphery of Aziraphale’s awareness.

“What happened?”

He could sense a wash of relief from Crowley, who answered, “You collapsed just as I was coming to, but there were only two of them left. I took care of them. Did what I could to patch you up; I’m afraid it’s not the most compatible thing.”

Aziraphale blinked down to see an array of dark-energy sutures holding his body together. “I’ll heal. Thank you.”

“Pretty sure it’s the other way round, angel. But could you put those things away or dial them down a touch? You’re going to blind someone.”

“Oh. Right; sorry.” Aziraphale folded his blazing wings between dimensions and settled back into his usual shape, in which his wounds were no longer visible, but still very real. He finally formed a coherent thought. “The humans.”

There was no sign of them.

Prince Lotan was sitting on the roof of the fully-restored customs building, gloating. “Your humans are gone into the rift, along with my father. And I’ve closed it. You won’t be seeing them again.”

Guilt stabbed Aziraphale so painfully that he forgot about his physical injuries, until he tried to stand up and had no choice but to remember.

“You can’t keep humans in Hell!” protested Crowley.

“Oh, no one’s keeping them. They’re free to do as they please over there. In fact, they’re going through the alternate dimension’s Violence customs right now. That’s what you told them to do, isn’t it? Amazing how they trust you. They’ll go right on to whatever version of the Circle of Fraud exists where they are. I wonder, though, how they’ll fare on Level Seven without you? And my father’s there with them, no doubt quite displeased; who knows what that might mean?”

“What about Eric?” asked Aziraphale, looking around. He spotted an abandoned clipboard a few feet away from the customs building.

“Who?” frowned Lotan.

“Never mind,” said Crowley. “Look, Your Lowness, can’t we make some sort of deal?”

“This isn’t the Level for deals,” smiled Lotan. “I suggest you move on. You don’t want Belial to find out you’re still here when he recovers, especially not after what you just did to his generals, again. His body supply must be down to almost nothing.”

Crowley walked over to the clipboard and picked it up. The word Ekhidna was scrawled across the top of the first page. He stared at it and swore under his breath, then had a different thought and collected himself. “Right. There’s no fighting this, angel. Not against a Prince of Hell. He’s right that we’d better get out of here before Belial wakes up.”

“I made them a promise, Crowley.”

“And you’ve done everything in your power to keep it.”

Aziraphale had definitively not done everything in his power to keep it. The worst part was, he knew he’d make the same wrong decision again, and again, forever.

But, it seemed, there was nothing he could do about that now. He gave the Prince of Envy a long last look, and then tried his best not to show how much pain he was in as he joined Crowley at the entrance to Violence customs.

Chapter Text

The inside of the Violence customs building felt a great deal larger than normal with no queue of humans. Aziraphale and Crowley’s shoes echoed on the newly-rebuilt floor. A large notice on the wall read, “Actual violence is preferable. Thoughts of violence will do. Envy accepted if necessary.”

There were two booths as usual, but only one was occupied. A customs demon had just arrived, and he did not look happy.

“You bastards,” he said as he slumped into his chair behind the desk. “You and your blessed humans and your exploding vehicles discorporated us. They’re almost out of bodies, you know. My partner’s still waiting.”

“Can’t possibly be the first time,” said Crowley. “You did understand the occupational hazards when you took a position in the Circle of Violence, didn’t you?”

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to piss me off even more?” grumbled the customs demon.

“Well, good news is, we’ve just committed loads of violence, so do your thing and we’ll be on our way.” Crowley dropped his passport onto the desk.

Aziraphale, tormented by guilt and moving slowly from his injuries, had descended into hollow listlessness, but he followed suit and mumbled, “Fought a great deal just now, fought in the First Great Battle…”

“And you stopped the Last Great Battle from happening,” said the customs demon. “Don’t you think it would be more appropriate to bring up the fact that you attempted to murder a child? One Adam Young, I believe?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale rubbed his temples. “Yes. I imagine it would.” He made a go-ahead gesture at the passport, which the demon stamped with a black V.

“And you’re the one who talked him into doing it,” said the demon to Crowley.

Crowley did not like this at all. “Shouldn’t that count as fraud?”

“No deceit involved. All you did was suggest, in complete sincerity, that he do it. Direct causal chain to violence.”

“Still, it’s not like I did it myself. Or like it actually happened.”

Aziraphale, utterly drained and very much wanting to leave, said, “I never would have thought of it if you hadn’t proposed it.”

“I do not kill kids!” snapped Crowley.

“Are we really going to have that argument again?” sighed Aziraphale. “Now?”

“Yes! Because I’ve done plenty of things in the past hour that count perfectly well as violence, and I’m not going to be stamped for the one thing I didn’t do.”

The customs demon, having succeeded in making them both even more miserable than they already were, was now slightly less disgruntled. “The angel makes an excellent point, though. The attempted child-murder never would have happened if not for you. It was entirely your idea, which I would argue makes you even more responsible. You know, even here, in the Circle of Violence, we do not murder children.”

“Only because you haven’t the opportunity!” raged Crowley. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because the kid is absolutely fine! This is a pointless argument.”

“I can sit here all day,” said the customs demon, twirling the stamp between his fingers. Crowley tried to grab it from him, but it disappeared.

“Please, Crowley,” said Aziraphale. “What does it matter? You went through Sloth customs on a lie.”

“It matters because you don’t think it’s a lie!”

“I think I’m too tired for thinking much of anything just now. I’m in a great deal of pain, and we lost the humans, and everything is worse than I ever could have imagined. All I want is to leave.”

Crowley regarded him for a very long moment. “Fine.” He tapped his passport. “Incitement to child-murder.”

Smugly, the customs demon re-materialized the stamp and applied it. “Now get out of here and never come back.”

If the emptiness of the customs office had been strange, the emptiness of the tour boat was even more so. The only sign that the humans had ever existed was the tattered remains of the backpack Ben had cut up for Mina, what seemed like ages ago.

Crowley started the boat moving along the Phlegethon, then went up to the top level, where Aziraphale was staring down at the river’s burning water. His sword lay discarded on one of the seats.

Aziraphale didn’t look up. “After we went through customs in Gluttony, you said you’d never talked me into anything I didn’t want to do, but that’s not true.”

Crowley had very much been hoping that they weren’t going to discuss this any further. He should have known better. “I didn’t want to do it, either.”

“And that’s precisely why you got me to do it.”

The Phlegethon was the swiftest of Hell’s rivers, because most of it was a flaming waterfall. The boat tipped over the fall’s edge, shut off its engine, and rushed downward. Its floor-gravity held firm, but the whole boat rattled with the force of wind and water as it descended.

“It doesn’t matter!” argued Crowley, his hair flattened from the wind. “Adam’s fine! Better than we are. He’s probably running through the woods with his mates and his dog right now, getting up to all sorts of disgustingly innocent trouble.”

“It’s the principle of it.”

“Principle? Principle?! You just insisted that I accept blame for something that didn’t even happen, and you’re on about principle? This is the guilt thing again, isn’t it? You’re feeling guilty about something you didn’t do–”

“Would have done. Fully intended to do.”

“–and you want me to feel guilty about it, as well. Why? Would that make you feel less guilty?”

Aziraphale finally looked at him. They were both exhausted, physically and mentally, beyond reason. Even so, they both knew, deep down, that the thing they were arguing about wasn’t really the thing they were arguing about.

“Do you even listen to yourself?” asked Aziraphale. “One of the first things you said to me when you were telling me I shouldn’t feel guilty, however many levels ago, was that running the bookshop badly was nothing compared to murdering people. Only now you’re trying to tell me that I shouldn’t feel guilty for murder, either.”

“Murder that never happened! It was for the greater good, and it doesn’t matter, because it didn’t happen!”

“It does matter! Covering a little temptation for you now and then is one thing, but I cannot ignore the fact that I was willing to do something as fundamentally evil as killing a child.”

“To save the world! We didn’t have a choice. At least, not to the best of our knowledge at the time. You of all people ought to understand that sometimes there really is no alternative to violence.”

“That doesn’t make the violence a good thing.”

“Neither is torturing yourself over the fact that you didn’t have a choice.”

“Neither is insisting that it doesn’t matter. Even a lesser evil is still evil. How can I pretend evil isn’t evil? What would it make me, if I did?”

The boat splashed into the water at the bottom of the fall, lifting its prow to realign itself with the lower level’s gravity. Everything around them stilled.

Crowley sighed and took off his glasses. “Angel. Please listen to me carefully, because this is not the sort of thing I normally put in words.” He took a deep breath. “I would do anything for you. Everything in my power, such as it is, to see you free from pain, and happy, and at peace.”

Aziraphale looked at him with a hundred emotions all at once.

“But,” said Crowley. “I can’t not be a demon.”

Another barrage of emotions, and then Aziraphale, overwhelmed, moved to pick up the sword. He contemplated it silently and then hurled it into the Phlegethon, where the fiery water consumed it.

Down below, the gangplank thumped, and there was a ping from the cabin’s existence timer. They’d arrived at the Circle of Fraud.

They walked silently in the sterile, artificial chill of institutional air conditioning.

The Circle of Fraud, more formally the Circle of Pride, was actually many circles in concentric terraces, each tier dense with trenches and square pits. The walls of each pit were lined with windows into what looked like office cubicles and meeting rooms, giving the impression of outside-in, downside-up skyscrapers. Humans bustled around behind the windows, carrying stacks of papers, arguing and whispering, working at desks, and frequently consulting what seemed to be public monitor screens displaying a complex code of symbols and numbers.

“This is different,” commented Crowley at last. “Used to be a lot more demons involved, like on Six. Now it looks like it’s all humans, at least on this tier.”

“What are they doing?” asked Aziraphale, not because he had much interest, but because talking about anything was better than the defeated silence in which they’d disembarked from the boat.

“Competing for points, with all sorts of backstabbing and double-dealing and so on. Unless that’s changed as well, but I doubt it. Listen, there’s something I need to tell you. You know how Lotan and Typhon kept referring to ‘she?’ I know who they meant, now. So did Eric.” Crowley had thrown Eric’s clipboard into the pocket-dimension; he retrieved it and showed it to Aziraphale.

“Ekhidna,” read Aziraphale. “Lotan’s mother. I guessed as much from context. I’m surprised you didn’t; it did seem to be the obvious answer.”

They began to walk along the inner edge of the Pit, glancing down occasionally at the terraced office-pits below. Trucks, many of them damaged from Level Six, rumbled along the road beside them.

“Yeah, well… I only met her once, and it didn’t seem like much at the time, so forgive me if I didn’t put it together as quickly.” He said the words forgive me with just enough bite to make Aziraphale wince. “She came up top once, during the Reign of Terror. She’d heard what was happening and wanted to see it for herself. Not the first time Head Office assigned me to escort some VIP from the Pit on a lark, though I suppose she was the most important.”

“You didn’t do anything… human… I assume?”

“With the Prince of Fraud herself? Are you joking?”

“Forgive me for not knowing what’s involved in escorting a demon prince on earth.”

“It was nothing at all to speak of. I took her to some executions, introduced her to some very bad people, and helped her buy a wig. That was it. Far as I could tell, she was bored out of her mind.”

“Well, you must have done something. What sort of wig was it?”

“There you are!” came Eric’s voice from behind them. He was clambering up out of one of the office-pits. “Wasn’t sure if you’d come here or not, but I had to get out of Six before His Lowness Lotan noticed me. You found my clipboard!”

Crowley tossed it back to him. “Yeah, obliged. I might’ve stayed on Six and tried to convince Lotan to reverse the rift, but when I saw what you wrote, I thought our chances would be better here.”

“You think you can get Ekhidna to bring the humans back?” asked Aziraphale.

“Guessed as much from context,” echoed Crowley. “It sounded like she wanted me here, which means she wants something from me. Can’t imagine what, but I might be able to want something in return.”

Aziraphale stared at him. “You’re planning to make a deal with the Prince of Fraud?”

“If you’ve got a better idea, now’s the time.”

Aziraphale did not have a better idea.

“If anyone can do it, you can,” said Eric to Crowley. “Everybody knows this is where you’d belong if you worked interior. Honestly, Mr. Crowley, I think you’re every bit as wily as Fraud herself. You could talk anyone into anything–”

“All right, all right,” interrupted Crowley.

“How did you escape the rift?” asked Aziraphale, who likewise wanted to change the subject.

“I didn’t. I’m there.” When Aziraphale looked confused, Eric explained, “I’m Legion. I duplicated myself just before the rift hit us. So I’m there, but also here.”

“My dear fellow, that was very” – Aziraphale supposed Eric might take kind as an insult – “er, clever of you.”

“Do you know what’s going on over there?” asked Crowley. “In the other dimension, I mean?”

“Oh, yes,” said Eric with enthusiasm. “All of the humans have arrived in Fraud and been offered starting positions. Selene’s was the lowest – whatever it was she did in life, it earned her a fancy corner office all the way down on Tier Four, and a shade-intern, and enough points to hire a small staff right away. At first she said she wasn’t interested, but then she found out that one of her old bosses – an alternate-reality version of him, anyway – was down on Tier Five. I gather she couldn’t resist taking him up a peg, so she started trading and hired staff. Couple of long-term residents and Piper.

“Lishan started with a decent number of points, as well, on account of all the collectibles they acquired in Greed. Little office on the cusp of Tier Two. They turned it down, but just now they got worried about Selene because they couldn’t talk her out of going after her boss. So they’re starting up a rival corporation, maybe to help Selene, or maybe to put hers out of business; not certain.

“Hm, what else… Gael took a filing job with some company down on Tier Six. Ambitious move, that. I lent Ben a spare clipboard, and he’s drawing… something? Kind of looks like galaxies. Rosa is asking him if he can draw wings. Mina’s asking Armen to tell her about the physical training he did in the army. Nobody wants to talk to Cain, so he’s just sitting in a tiny cubicle on Tier One doing nothing. Carlos and Iskander are trying to chat up some of the shade-interns; not much luck there. Henry’s worried about Selene, so he’s just now offered to help Lishan. Oh, and I think Sue and Elana and Dottie are planning to hack the point monitors.”

A comforting wave of affection rolled over them both (not that Crowley would ever admit it). “They’re all right, then,” said Aziraphale.

“For now,” said Eric. “No sign of this dimension’s Typhon, but I can’t imagine he’s pleased with either of you, or that he’ll stay out of things for long.”

“Then we’d better find Ekhidna,” sighed Crowley. He hadn’t put his glasses back on, but he did now.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Ekhidna found them. She arrived in a tasteful limousine, her demon driver hopping out to open the door so that she could lean languidly sideways and say to Crowley, “Do join me, mon étoile. I owe you a tour.”

Ekhidna looked more or less human from the waist up, but her legs were two scaled monstrosities suggesting both snake and fish tails. She wore a crown of dark rhodium and a long, black coat.

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged apprehensive glances before Crowley made himself say, “What an honor, Your Lowness. It’s delightful to see you again.” He and Aziraphale slid into the seat facing her, while Eric darted round to join the driver in the front.

“And you must be the angel everyone’s talking about,” smiled Ekhidna. “Aziraphale, yes? How adorably human you look.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Your Lowness,” said Aziraphale uncertainly.

“Drink?” Ekhidna held up a decanter and empty glasses. “It’s from earth, not Five.”

The prospect of a real drink was extremely tempting, but events on Level Six had reminded Crowley of the dangers of drinking anything in Lower Hell. “Appreciate the offer, Your Lowness, but we’ll have to decline.”

“Of course. A funny world it would be, if demons trusted each other. Who was it that used to say that? Some dispossessed Duke up in Head Office, I think. But you will let me show you around, won’t you? I just know you’ll appreciate all the changes I’ve made here. And I have the grandest plans, mon étoile; just wait till I tell you.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” gritted Crowley.

The limousine turned and began to move slowly down the spiraling inner road, close enough to the office-pits to provide a good view.

“Of course, Tier One’s not much to speak of,” said Ekhidna, glancing out the window. “Ephemeral startups, shell corporations, small-scale general partnerships, career placement for new arrivals… Necessary, but nothing really exciting.”

“Last I was here, the corporations were all run by demons,” said Crowley.

Ekhidna smiled. “Oh, yes. I’ve given the humans control of almost everything, now. It’s boosted productivity enormously, as you can imagine.” She looked fondly down into the nearest pit, where one human was screaming at another over some minor mis-filing. “I understand you met my son.”

“Yes,” said Crowley. “He seems to be gaining the advantage up on Six.”

“My doing, of course. I suggested he use you as a distraction. I hope you understand I would have provided you with a new body if you’d really been discorporated. You, as well, mon cher ange,” she added to Aziraphale. “But the whole thing was a smashing success. I never anticipated that you’d catch Typhon in his own trap. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to have him out of the way.”

“Isn’t Typhon your partner, Your Lowness?” asked Aziraphale. “I thought this entire Circle had been converted to Pride.”

Ekhidna laughed. “You can’t be so naïve as to think that demons form partnerships for anything other than their own gain. She glanced at Crowley and then back at Aziraphale, amused. “Non mais vraiment?”

“Of course not,” sighed Aziraphale, because Ekhidna would never understand. “I’m an angel, not an idiot.”

She nodded. “The name change was part of our deal. Typhon whined for millennia about how he never had his own Level; do you remember, mon étoile? Dark Council always said it was because all the levels were his, but that was never enough for him. So I finally gave him what he wanted, not that anyone took it seriously. In exchange, he gave me what I wanted.”

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale was able to prevent himself from looking puzzled.

“Offspring,” explained Ekhidna.

“Ah,” nodded Aziraphale knowingly, while Crowley still frowned as he tried to work out how, exactly, that would have worked.

As if reading his thoughts she said, “It took an enormous amount of effort, you know. We’re not made for such things at all. But, I said to myself, if humans can do it, then so could I. And now I have the last piece of the puzzle for bringing all of Hell under my control. It’s only a matter of time, mes chers. Ah, look, we’re moving into Tier Two.”

The trucks from Sloth began to divert onto down-ramps, where they disappeared underground between the office-pits.

“Transportation and processing firms,” explained Ekhidna.

The lowest levels of the Tier Two office-pits were warehouses, where humans could be seen conducting inventories of Level Five goods, sorting and repackaging them, and skimming out small amounts of nearly everything. On an upper floor, one human was accusing another of lying about a truck. “You said it was destroyed on Six, but I saw Nora moving those goods, and I know they were mine!” she shouted. “Then maybe you should talk to Nora about it,” the other one said.

“All of the networking among Circles is new,” said Ekhidna proudly. “My own design. Fraud residents can invest in Sloth production, but the risks of transportation through Envy add a delightful element of tension and chaos to the whole thing. Right now there’s more loss than I’d like, but we’ll balance that out once Lotan takes over. I’ll have my Level Seven residents hiring human guards on Six, eventually whole human armies, to protect their investments or steal each other’s. It’s going to be marvellous.”

They passed another office-pit where a human boss was saying to a worker, “You want to be a giant, don’t you? You’re never going to be a giant with that attitude. Malone, he was a true giant. Knew how to play the game like he was born for it. He’s down on Tier Eight now, and he’ll make the Titan Throne; you know he will. You should learn from his example.”

“Humans on the Titan Throne?” Crowley asked Ekhidna.

“Yes,” she said. “I should have thought of it ages ago. They need something to motivate them, after all. What better prize than the seat of Pride itself?”

Crowley was not saying several things. “What even happens to a human who sits on the Throne?”

Ekhidna smiled coyly. “You’ll see when we get there. I’m terribly proud of it. It’s a symbol of everything I’ve done, really. I’m serving justice, you understand. Beautiful justice. As they did in France.”

“France. Right. Justice.” Crowley shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh, mon étoile, don’t tell me you don’t just adore seeing the worst humans get what they deserve. I’ve read all your files, your old memos, your recommendation documents.” Ekhidna turned to Aziraphale. “The angels call us evil, but they forget that we’re the ones who enact justice on evil. We take the thieves, the liars, the exploiters, the corrupt, the arrogant… and we turn their own powers against them. Ours is a magnificent cause, mon cher ange. Crowley understands that.”

“Is that Tier Three just ahead?” asked Crowley, looking for any distraction.

“Yes,” said Ekhidna warmly. “Tiers Three and Four are subcontracted management firms for Level Five. They design the factories and the goods, find the best ways to maximize production, and keep the Sloth residents appropriately motivated. The goods they design are far more effective at attracting potential residents in Lust, Gluttony, and Greed than anything we used to have up there.”

Humans in the Tier Three pits were busy working with blueprints and models, reading production reports, and making pitches in boardrooms. An especially large office was designing instructional materials for Level Five University.

Ekhidna went on, “The best part is, they do all the work themselves! Most of the time, Belphegor and I don’t have to do a thing but watch and be entertained. It’s the key to transforming all of Hell. My changes have almost doubled the overall intake of new residents over the past twenty years, and I’ll double it again once I have Level Six.”

“Doubled?” repeated Aziraphale, alarmed.

“Oui, doubled! Level Five was nearly empty before I talked Belphegor into the Sloth redesign. You can’t get anyone interested in Heresy these days. Conformity, though… that, they embrace with their whole hearts and souls. And now Belphegor’s Circle is a thriving production center, supporting the entire rest of Hell, and opening up all sorts of new ways to entice humans to stay.”

“So we’ve seen,” said Crowley.

“All because of you, mon étoile.”

“Wait, what?” stuttered Crowley at the same moment Aziraphale also said, “What?”

Ekhidna looked surprised, and then suspicious, as if she couldn’t imagine that Crowley didn’t understand what she was talking about. “You really don’t see it?” she asked. “After what you said to me in France?”

“Er, what was that, exactly?”

“At the very end of my visit, in that café?” To Aziraphale she explained, “The Dark Council was thrilled with the Reign of Terror, you know; it was all they talked about back then. They kept going on and on about what a genius Crowley was, voted him that commendation, said they never thought he’d be able to outdo himself after the Spanish Inquisition, but now he’d done it… Genius, they kept saying.

“So I decided to see for myself. I hadn’t been to the surface since the Battle of Kadesh. And we had our little tour in Paris, and I thought, yes, yes, all very impressive, but not much else, until I was just about to leave. We had one last drink – perhaps more than one, mon étoile; you seemed so strangely melancholy. And then you said something that changed everything, for me. But perhaps to you it was just an offhand remark?”

“Perhaps?” said Crowley, excavating his long-buried memories of that day and coming up with nothing.

“You said that humans were far better at tempting and tormenting each other than we could ever be. You really don’t remember?”

“Not specifically, I’m afraid, but that is a thing I’ve thought, many times.” Crowley registered uncomfortably that he must have had an awful lot to drink, if he’d said something like that to a Prince of Hell. Melancholy, indeed.

“But that was when I realized, mon étoile, that you’d been lying the whole time. You hadn’t done a thing. The massacres, the executions, the leveé en masse… The entire Reign of Terror, the humans did every bit of it themselves.”

Crowley opened his mouth and shut it again.

“And that,” Ekhidna went on, “That was your genius. And genius it was. It’s been my guiding star ever since, don’t you see? Everything I’ve done, the entire redesign of Hell, putting the humans in charge everywhere, our staggering boost in new residents… it’s all because of you.”

Crowley and Aziraphale’s thoughts were winding through separate but equally convoluted labyrinths as Ekhidna recounted finer details of operations on Tiers Three and Four. They nodded politely and put in occasional comments to maintain a pretense of paying attention, but mostly they were both realizing that they didn’t want to ask or tell each other what they thought of Ekhidna’s revelation, for fear that they might have unbearably different opinions about it.

In fact, their opinions were only partially different. Crowley was genuinely horrified and working hard not to show it; Aziraphale was also horrified, but didn’t think that Ekhidna’s machinations were at all Crowley’s fault or responsibility – though Aziraphale assumed there was no point in saying so, because surely (he thought) Crowley must feel neither guilt nor horror about it, anyway.

Aziraphale was wrong.

They hadn’t communicated by body-meld since before the humans were transported. Neither of them was inclined to do so now. In any case, they were sitting at arm’s length, far enough apart that a casual touch would look suspicious to Ekhidna, as it wasn’t the sort of thing that came naturally to angels or demons.

An intercom from the front of the limo buzzed. Ekhidna stopped describing a Tier Four company’s plans to make Greed trinkets with moving parts, and flipped the switch. “Yes?”

It was Eric. “Mr. Crowley, sir, I just wanted you to know that the, er, situation we discussed is… doing the thing we thought it might do. I mean, the… entity we thought might get involved, is involved.”

“Understood. Keep an eye on things.” Crowley turned off the intercom.

Ekhidna raised an eyebrow. Eric had been so intentionally vague (Eric really was all right, Crowley thought) that she couldn’t possibly have deduced that the message was about Typhon’s involvement with the tour group. Still, she could tell that something was up, and was no doubt wondering if it might give her leverage for whatever it was she wanted.

Because, of course, there was no way she was doing all of this just to return a favor.

Chapter Text

Ekhidna gave no immediate sign of her intentions as the limousine proceeded downward. “Maintenant, we enter Tier Five,” she said with warmth. “Tiers Five and Six are the beating heart of the redesign. Perhaps my own heart’s true home.”

“Why is that, Your Lowness?” asked Aziraphale.

“This is where the law firms are.”

The office-pits here were wider, deeper, and grander, with larger rooms and better furnishings. Shade-interns walked briskly through hallways with armfuls of files while well-dressed humans scrutinized documents and argued over wording. Other lawyers squinted at point-monitors, making notes and checking records.

“If there are lawyers, there must be courts?” asked Aziraphale.

“Oh, naturellement,” smiled Ekhidna. “The success of any law firm in the Circle of Fraud depends on how much they can afford to pay the judges. And you should see what the elections for judges are like… oh, the drama! The alliances and betrayals, the twists and turns, broken promises and so many points changing hands.”

“Sounds delightful,” said Crowley tonelessly, hoping Ekhidna was going to make her pitch soon, whatever it was. His ability to feign politeness was eroding quickly.

Fortunately, she did. “Speaking of courts, and judgment… This has been a pleasure, mon étoile, but I think the time has come to discuss your situation.”

“Situation?” repeated Crowley, trying to make himself seem as uninterested as possible. Whatever Ekhidna wanted, it was best if she thought she’d have to work for it.

“You’ve slipped entirely out of favor with the Dark Council, of course, all the more so since they were unable to carry out your execution. But with Typhon gone, I’m the most powerful member of the Council apart from Lord Beelzebub. I can smooth things over for you, make them see reason.

“You’re far too valuable to let go; they must see that. If anything, your recent activities are proof of how much you have to offer. Seducing an angel? Manipulating the human Antichrist to stand up to Satan himself? These things are unprecedented. We should have such intelligence, such creativity, securely back on our side.”

“Very flattering,” said Crowley, not looking at Aziraphale.

“I want you working for me. And I want you doing what you do best: living among humans, studying them, influencing them subtly. None of this ham-fisted priest-tempting nonsense; ugh. Satanic nuns? Quelle bêtise. I think we’ve all seen how much use they aren’t.

“What I want is Satanic CEOs. The ones who belong here most, the worst of the worst. The ones who start wars for profit, the ones who dump pollutants knowing they’ll kill children, the ones who sell medicine for a thousand times what it costs to produce. I want them working for me directly, knowingly, before they even arrive here, and then transitioning seamlessly into my offices. Perhaps even bringing about that transition by their own hands, because they’re so eager to serve me for eternity.

“Just think of it, mon étoile, how much justice we could dispense, you and I together! You up on earth nudging them in my direction, and me down here putting them where they belong, forever, and then using them for everything they’re worth.”

Aziraphale began to wonder if Crowley might actually be tempted by this. Surely not, he told himself, and then he wasn’t so sure. Crowley’s expression was giving nothing away.

Ekhidna went on, “And you could still enjoy all of those little pleasures of the world that mean so much to you, with no fear of reprisals. Drive your car; terrorize your plants; consort with angels all you like! Who am I to mind as long as you’re getting the job done? And really, how could any angel disapprove, if what you’re doing leads to eternal imprisonment for those who deserve it most?”

Crowley wasn’t tempted. Not at all, he told himself. Well, not enough for it to matter.

Ekhidna seemed to sense that she hadn’t entirely convinced him. “You know, as Prince of the Seventh Circle, I’m authorized to appoint a Duke of Fraud. A Level Seven Duke would outrank that imbecile Hastur.”

“An appealing offer.” Crowley did let himself imagine Hastur’s reaction for a scant second or two, but fortunately, the infernal hierarchy had never meant much to him.

Ekhidna leaned forward to whisper, “There’s more. I truly believe, with our geniuses combined and using humans to our advantage, we could one day overthrow Lucifer himself. Think about it. The power, the justice… we’d finally be putting right what he did to us all those millennia ago. And then all of Hell would be ours to do with as we please.”

“Now that,” said Crowley finally. “Is tempting.”

It wasn’t.

At all.

Crowley reached to touch Aziraphale’s shoulder as if to get his attention, saying out loud, “What do you think, angel?” while also saying, I’m not going to do it.

“Ah, tempting indeed,” said Aziraphale, trying not to let too much relief enter his voice or their silent communication. But how will we get the humans back?

I have to tell her I’ll do it, obviously. Crowley let go and said to Ekhidna, “How could I possibly refuse such an offer, Your Lowness?”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Ekhidna. “We can stop at my office on Tier Six. I had my lawyers start drawing up a contract the moment I heard you were coming this way.”

“There is one thing,” said Crowley.

“Yes?”

“I want a signing bonus. No strings, not part of the contract.”

“Intriguing,” said Ekhidna. “I’m listening.”

“The humans in our tour group. I want them back.”

Puzzled, Ekhidna said, “I have plenty of humans here. You’re welcome to help yourself to as many as you like.”

“I want those humans.”

“Vraiment? I looked at their files and didn’t see anything special. But, then, I suppose you know humans best. I’d be willing to consider it, but if I open another rift, Typhon could come back, as well.”

“I don’t want that any more than you do, Your Lowness. What if I told you I had an agent over there who could prevent it?”

“Then you’d be asking me to trust you.”

“I suppose I would.”

Ekhidna picked up her decanter and poured a glass half-full. She took a sip herself and then offered the glass to Crowley.

He took it and drank.

Ekhidna smiled. “You have a deal, mon étoile.”

The limousine pulled down a little slope to stop at the opulent front entrance of Ekhidna’s own Tier Six office-pit. Her driver opened the car door. Eric was already waiting outside.

As Ekhidna was getting out, Crowley asked Aziraphale, Can you keep the prince entertained for a minute while I take care of some stuff?

Entertained? She’s not interested in me at all.

Oh, she is. She can’t work out why we’re together, and it’s driving her mad. She just doesn’t want to show it. Talk with her about eighteenth-century fashion or something, and watch how quickly she tries to prod you for information.

What ‘stuff’ are you taking care of, exactly?

Managing things through Eric so that we get the humans back, but not Typhon.

Ekhidna was looking at them impatiently.

Aziraphale sighed, turned, and said, “Your Lowness, perhaps you’d tell me more about your time in Paris? I’m terribly fond of Paris. Crowley tells me that the two of you went shopping. Where did you go?”

Crowley called after them, “I just need to sort something out with my assistant, here. You two go on ahead; we’ll catch up.”

“Don’t be too long,” said Ekhidna. “We have a contract to discuss.” Slithering neatly on her two tail-legs, she whisked Aziraphale through the doors.

Crowley turned to Eric. “What happened?”

“Typhon got to Henry.”

“The schoolteacher drug addict? Ohhh, of course; I see it. He wants to save the fashion executive from herself.”

Eric nodded. “Typhon convinced him he could. Filled his head with all sorts of wild fantasies of being the hero. Henry’s running for a judge position right now. Thinks he’s going to save everybody by being the one ethical judge in Hell.”

“How long have they been there?”

“A couple of months. Time runs faster over there.”

“Months? And none of them have left the Circle?”

“They’ve discussed it, but most of them think they should wait for you two.”

“Ngh.”

“I duplicated myself a few more times so I could keep track of all of them. Selene acquired Lishan’s corporation in a hostile takeover, so now Lishan’s trying to help Henry get elected. Five different product design companies are trying to recruit Ben, but he says he’s not interested. Armen and Mina are working for–”

Crowley didn’t have time for that many details. “All right, here’s what I need you to do. Find the physicist and–”

“Actually, I’m worried about her, as well. She’s in a similar position to Selene. She and Elana and Sue infiltrated one of the tech companies on Tier Seven, trying to hack the point system. But once they got there, Dottie found out that there was an entire research group she’d worked with when she was alive – again, alternate reality version of them – who stole a bunch of her work and took credit for it. She’s gone from wanting to cause general trouble, to wanting to destroy them.”

“Ngh. Okay, you’re going to have to nudge her.”

“What? That’s not my area at all.”

“It is now. Convince her that the best way to get what she wants is to hack the voting system so that the schoolteacher gets elected. That’s where Typhon’s attention is, and we need to keep Typhon busy until the right moment.”

“Which moment is that?”

“The moment when Ekhidna opens a rift, and we stop our side’s Typhon from coming back through it by telling that side’s Typhon he’s there. Pit the two Princes of Pride against each other, have the humans run into the rift while they’re fighting, close the rift before one of them wins.”

Eric blinked. “That’s brilliant.”

“It’s going to take a lot of careful preparation. Can I count on you?”

“Yes, sir!” exclaimed Eric.

“All right. Let me know how things progress.” Crowley gestured Eric toward the law-firm doors.

Inside, Ekhidna and Aziraphale were waiting by a lift.

“Why didn’t you tell me about crêpes when I was in Paris?” Ekhidna asked Crowley playfully. “They sound delightful!”

“Honestly wasn’t thinking about crêpes at the time,” said Crowley as they all got into the lift.

Ekhidna prattled on about France as the lift descended, eventually opening at the very bottom into a luxurious full-floor office. A demon in a suit was waiting for them.

“Welcome, Your Lowness,” he said. “I have everything ready, as requested.”

“Mephistopheles,” said Crowley derisively. “Still Hell’s premier lawyer, I see.”

“Indeed,” said Mephistopheles, regarding Crowley with disdain and Aziraphale with open disgust. “This way, please.”

He showed them to a mahogany table with two neat stacks of paper and two pens. “I’ve drafted the contract precisely as requested by Her Lowness. I’m sure you’ll wish to review it.”

“Sure,” said Crowley, grabbing one copy and flipping pages carelessly as he scattered himself into a chair. “Lovely… lovely… yes, lots of very impressively tiny small print. About that signing bonus.”

“Yes,” said Ekhidna. “Here are the terms. Your humans in the alternate Fraud must make their own way to customs. Once you sign the contract, I’ll open a rift in front of the customs building. When the humans come through, you may do with them as you please; either send them on to the Abyss, or tempt them to stay if that’s your intent.”

“We want all of them back,” interjected Aziraphale. “Every single one.”

“Mon cher ange, even I cannot take away a human’s free will. If any of them chooses to stay in the alternate Fraud, it’s their right to do so.”

 “We’re going to have to hope for the best,” said Crowley. He flipped a few more pages and frowned at one part of the contract.

“Section 49-E-ii.a, I presume?” guessed Mephistopheles.

“Is that really necessary?” asked Crowley.

“Oh, yes,” said the demon lawyer. “Your angel stays here as insurance while you work topside.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who was visibly alarmed.

“Don’t worry,” said Ekhidna. “We’ll treat him well as long as you treat us well. And you can visit him any time you like. Although, who knows what might happen if he stays in Hell long enough?”

Mephistopheles smiled. “An angel, after all, is only a demon that hasn’t Fallen yet.”

Crowley shuffled all the pages back together and offered them to Aziraphale. “Care to look?”

Their fingers brushed as Crowley handed the contract over. It’s going to be all right. I have a plan.

I should hope so. Aziraphale scanned through the pages himself, not seeing anything he didn’t expect, though he did cringe over some of the potential reprisals for failing to meet terms.

“Take all the time you like,” said Ekhidna.

“No, no, everything seems to be in order,” said Crowley, taking the contract back from Aziraphale. “Excellent work, Mephistopheles. Shall we, Your Lowness?”

Ekhidna seemed understandably suspicious, because Crowley was agreeing to everything far too easily. He ought to haggle over terms, but every minute of haggling would be a whole day more of the humans digging themselves deeper and deeper into the other dimension’s Circle of Fraud.

“Very well,” she said, picking up a pen.

“The contract goes into effect as soon as you’ve both signed both copies,” said Mephistopheles.

Crowley picked up the other pen.

Aziraphale watched with apprehension, wishing Crowley had been able to tell him exactly what the plan was. But, as far as Aziraphale was concerned, it all came down to one thing: if he couldn’t trust Crowley, then there was no point.

To anything.

The pens burst into furious fire, and Crowley signed his real name on one copy with a shower of sparks. Ekhidna did the same to the other. They traded and both signed again, another tiny explosion of penfire reflecting in Crowley’s glasses, and the deal was done.

“Comme c'est magnifique!” exclaimed the Prince of Fraud. “We’re going to do such terrible things together. Mephisto, put my copy in the vault, s'il vous plaît.”

“Yes, Your Lowness,” replied Mephistopheles dourly, taking it from her and departing.

“Nice pen, by the way,” observed Crowley idly as he began to set it down.

“Keep it,” said Ekhinda. “A memento. And now, let’s see about your bonus. I admit, I’m curious to know what’s so special about these humans of yours. Shall we?” She headed back toward the lift.

As they followed her, Crowley passed his copy of the contract to Aziraphale and rested a hand on his back, where Ekhidna was unlikely to notice.

Okay, find us a loophole.

What?

You’re good at reading. You read stuff all the time. Find us a loophole.

THAT’s your plan? I’m a part-time bookseller, not a lawyer!

Your friend, the prophet-artist, he said there was going to be a hole in reality and a hole in the contract. He was right about the first one. He’s been right about everything. There’s a hole in there somewhere; we just have to find it. We’ve risked our lives on a prophecy before, and it worked out for us.

Yes, but that didn’t require me reading hundreds of pages of Hell’s nightmarish legalese. This is really the plan? The only plan?

I’m willing to look for the loophole myself; only I’m sure you have a better chance of finding it. You know all kinds of things about language. I don’t even know what a participle is.

All right, fine.

What is a participle, anyway?

It’s – this is not the time for grammar lessons, Crowley. Aziraphale fumbled in his pocket for his glasses and put them on, then turned over the contract’s cover page and began to read.

Chapter Text

“How are they doing now?” whispered Crowley to Eric as Ekhidna slithered back into the limousine.

“Dottie hacked the voting and Henry got elected. He’s confusing the long-term residents by not taking bribes. But Typhon’s convinced him that the best way to help Selene is leveraging his position to start up a consulting firm on the side, and I don’t think that’s going to go well. Selene’s in deep; she destroyed her old boss a long time ago, and she’s descended all the way to Tier Nine. People are saying she’ll make the Titan Throne.”

“What about the chaos trio?”

“They got Henry to make a ruling that let them aggressively buy out the research group and take over all of their work. Only it turns out that what the group was researching was theoretical physics of miracles, so now Dottie’s obsessed with continuing the research herself. Honestly not sure how we’re going to pry her away. Also, Rosa’s taken a job with one of the tech companies that designs shades–”

“You’re not going to make me wait all day, mon étoile? I thought you were anxious to get your humans back?”

“Right, yes.” To Eric, Crowley said, “Sort out how to inform that dimension’s Typhon, when the time comes.”

“Er, yes, about that–”

But Crowley had already got into the car.

This time Aziraphale and Crowley were careful to sit close enough that their arms could brush against each other inconspicuously.

Found anything?

It’s nearly a thousand pages long!

“You seem a great deal more interested in that contract now that it’s been signed,” observed Ekhidna.

Aziraphale said, “Just want to be certain we’re in full compliance.”

“Bien sûr. I can summon Mephistopheles at any time if there’s a question.”

The limousine returned to the downward-spiraling street. The lower terraces, although smaller in circumference, were taller than the upper ones, allowing for even more impressive office-pits with windows that looked out onto the central well of the Great Pit.

Crowley supposed he ought to keep Ekhidna occupied. “What’s on Tier Seven these days?”

“Ah, yes, we’re nearly there. Seven and Eight are the technology firms, for research investment. I have so many brilliant humans working on improvements for all of Hell! Do you know, we’ve never been able to get wifi to work here? But I’ve got people on it, the very best, and I know they’ll crack it eventually.

“Think what a difference it will make! The humans have explained it all to me. I have teams with a whole array of Hell-exclusive social apps ready to roll out: apps that allow people to rate each other’s worth as human beings, apps that enable people to inflict pain on each other remotely, apps that dig up every detail of a person’s past and make them public, so that they can never be forgiven for anything they’ve done… Oh, it’s going to be glorious.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this, Your Lowness,” said Crowley. Aziraphale continued to pore over the contract, not paying much attention to the conversation, which was probably for the best.

“Oh, yes! I told you, I have such plans. That’s only the beginning. I’m going to merge the Upper Three – Lust, Greed, and Gluttony, all together. Just think how much more likely people would be to stay if they could go from sex, to food, to gambling, all in one place! Especially with wifi. They’ll never leave. And I want Mammon running the whole thing. She knows what she’s about. Not like that imbecile Gressil.”

That was absolutely true, so Crowley nodded.

Ekhidna went on, “And Asmodeus has got to go. Ugh, what an amateur. The Lust-shades are useful, but they could be so much better designed, and they shouldn’t be the only option. I want real human companions seducing the tourists.”

“Erm… dead humans don’t have bodies, though?”

“Humans are ingenious. My scientists are working on several possible solutions. And when their ideas are ready, I’ll show them to the Council, and Asmodeus will be deposed.”

Crowley decided to think about that as little as possible.

“So I’ll get rid of Asmodeus, combine the Upper Three, put Mammon in charge of everything, and maybe allow Gressil to stay on as her assistant if he doesn’t cause too much trouble. What do you think, mon étoile?”

“I think it’s terrifyingly brilliant,” answered Crowley honestly. He’d spent six thousand years rolling his eyes over Hell’s general incompetence; now, faced with the prospect of an actually effective infernal administration, he realized he should have been more grateful for the ineffective one.

He pressed his arm against Aziraphale’s. Anything?

Do you think I wouldn’t tell you if I found something? Just let me work.

Crowley sighed. “What about the Sixth Circle, Your Lowness? You said you wanted the residents here in Fraud to finance armies there?”

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Ekhidna. “All the demon discorporation going on up there now, such a pointless waste. But with the goods from Sloth moving through, there’s infinite potential for constructive conflict, as soon as I can get rid of that barbarian Belial and put my son in charge.

“The Promethean Legion is key. And yet again, humans came up with it themselves! I never would have thought of anything like it on my own, but the Prometheans are perfect for my purposes. Humans all want to be superheroes, you know.

“Once Lotan takes over, we’ll create more and more factions just like the Prometheans, humans who have forgotten everything but their own invulnerability, battling each other eternally for nothing. And all at the behest of my residents here on Seven, who then will have yet another way to strategize and plot against each other. Oh, it’s going to be beautiful.”

They’d passed into Tier Eight, which housed even more well-appointed research facilities containing a lot of humans in lab coats.

“Demi-material pharmaceuticals,” explained Ekhidna. “Hell has never been able to manufacture recreational drugs that work well on incorporeal people. Gressil’s tried, and had an occasional success, but production is difficult and expensive, and the results don’t usually justify the costs. But I put humans onto it, and they’ll find solutions soon. Just think, how many more residents we’ll acquire when we have drugs to offer them!”

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale and resisted the urge to ask again if he’d found anything.

“I truly believe,” smiled Ekhidna, “That the day will come when we have a one hundred percent retention rate. Think of it! Every single human staying in Hell. And then what will the angels do with themselves, mm?” She nudged Aziraphale teasingly with one of her two tails.

“Sorry?” he said, his concentration broken.

“What will the angels do if every human chooses to stay in Hell forever?”

“I… I have no idea, Your Lowness.” Aziraphale jostled Crowley with his elbow. I think I may have something.

Oh, thank Sa– Thank something.

Aziraphale said to Ekhidna, “But, as I recall, Your Lowness, that’s not the full extent of your ambition. There are many topics on which I can’t speak for the angels, but I’m certain they would all welcome the overthrow of…” – he lowered his voice – “the greatest traitor of all.”

Ekhidna glowed with excitement. “Yes, old Lucifer, glowering and brooding down there in his icy pit, knowing how much we all hate him, a relic of a long-gone era. The world has changed and he has not, and now he’s failed to destroy it. We can’t destroy him, but what about imprisoning him forever? The humans foresaw it, of course. That Italian who wrote about Lucifer being trapped in ice of his own making? It wasn’t true, back then, but why shouldn’t it be a prophecy?”

Aziraphale thought this unlikely. “You might be able to trap his body, but what’s to stop him simply leaving it behind and finding a new one?”

“Humans,” smiled Ekhidna. “Humans can’t jump from one body to another, no matter how much they might wish to. Haven’t you ever wondered why?

“That’s how the Almighty made them.”

“Well, yes, but how? How is it that they’re locked up so tightly in those little bodies until they die? Or, to come at it from the other direction, what is it about demons – or angels – that makes it so easy for us to switch bodies?”

Aziraphale frowned. “Humans come into existence connected to bodies. We, on the other hand, existed before matter. We were made to assist with Creation, and therefore given abilities to control and manipulate matter.”

Ekhidna seemed to think he was missing the point. “But look how much humans have learned about how to control and manipulate matter! All their technology; it’s positively miraculous. They’ve learned to fly, to alter their bodies, to destroy anything on a whim. And look how they control and manipulate each other! The work that we always thought was ours, tempting and tormenting, humans are so much better at than we’ve ever been.

“When it comes down to it, what is the difference between a human and a Fallen angel, really? Both are immortal. Both have incorporeal and corporeal forms. Both are closed off from you-know-who.”

“Except that demons no longer have a choice about that last bit,” put in Crowley.

“And humans always do have a choice,” said Aziraphale, “As you reminded me earlier, Your Lowness.”

“But if they all choose to stay here and never change their minds, then what’s the difference?”

“What are you getting at?” asked Crowley.

“My newest and most important research company. It’s just there,” said Ekhidna. They’d nearly reached the end of Tier Eight, where they saw the largest office-pit yet. Its windows were tinted. “The Corporality Corporation. Phase One of their work is putting an incorporeal human into a demon body. When they succeed, they’ll repeat the experiment multiple times and study it carefully. Phase Two, a demon in a human body – not a possession; a true corporation.”

“Wouldn’t you need living human bodies for that?” asked Crowley, not liking where this was going at all.

“Yes, and that’s where you come in. A major part of your assignment is going to be to convince some living humans to volunteer their bodies. I know you can do it, mon étoile. You’ve always understood humans like no demon ever has, right from the very beginning in the Garden. Who else could have convinced the first two to do exactly what their all-powerful creator told them not to do?”

“Right,” said Crowley. To Aziraphale he said, Please, please tell me you’ve got this sorted.

I’m working on it. Aziraphale said to Ekhidna, “And the ultimate goal of this research is to trap a demon permanently in a human body?”

“Why should it not be possible?” smiled Ekhidna. “Human science has achieved more difficult things already.”

“And then…?” prompted Aziraphale.

“And then I have a means of imprisoning any demon who displeases me. Starting with the most displeasing demon of all. Trap him in a body, and then trap the body. Probably by flooding the Cocytus so that the entire Lowest Pit fills with water and freezes.”

“Then how would human tourists exit Hell?” asked Crowley. “Isn’t the Lowest Pit the only way out?”

“It won’t matter if none of them choose to leave,” said Ekhidna. “But if Heaven has a problem with it, then Heaven can sort it out. From what I know of the angels, they’d consider human salvation an acceptable loss if it meant neutralizing their most hated enemy.”

“And once he’s neutralized, then what?” asked Aziraphale.

“Then Hell will be mine, of course.”

“What’s Lord Beelzebub going to think of all this?” asked Crowley.

“Beelzebub will either fall in line, or suffer the same fate. Likewise Dagon, and any other of those incompetent bureaucrats in Head Office who think they know better than the Prince of Fraud.”

Aziraphale said, “You must trust us a great deal, Your Lowness, to tell us about all this.”

Ekhidna shrugged. “You’ve been reading every detail of that contract; you can’t have missed the consequences for breaking the Non-Disclosure Agreement. Most of which go into effect instantly, automatically, and irrevocably, even if something were to happen to me.”

“Those would be difficult not to notice.” Aziraphale shivered.

“And there’s Section 49-E-ii.a, as well,” added Ekhidna.

“So there is,” said Aziraphale.

Ekhidna smiled at Crowley. “And, as I said, I can’t do it without you, mon étoile. Besides, why would you betray me when the rewards for loyalty are so grand? To go from being an insignificant field agent to a Duke of Fraud, the right hand of the new Prince of All Hell, perhaps the second-most important demon in existence? Beelzebub will never make you such an offer.”

“Very true,” said Crowley. Well? Do we have a loophole or not?

It’s shaky at best, but it is what it is. We’ll see about it once the humans are safely returned.

Thank you, angel.

Don’t thank me yet. As I said, shaky at best.

The limousine crossed into Tier Nine, which housed point-trading and investment firms. There were many more point monitors here, with humans hovering over them and shouting urgent instructions to underlings at the slightest change in point status.

Ekhidna recounted, with delight, various firms’ complex histories of intrigue, and the webs of deception that humans were willing to weave to in order to secure a seat on the Titan Throne.

“The worst of the worst,” she said proudly. “No partnership is so productive, no deal so beneficial, no company so effective, that these humans won’t betray it in order to gain enough points to prove that they’re better than anyone else. Truly, they outdo us all.”

They passed through Tier Ten, the tallest and most narrow of the terraces, and then down to the lowest level of Fraud, where the shipping elevators were. Crates and boxes of goods, now sorted and labelled for various destinations on the upper levels, passed by on conveyor belts and were loaded into the elevators by maintenance-demons.

Ekhidna watched with pleasure. “By the time the goods for the Upper Three pass through here, they’ve become completely meaningless to the Level Seven residents. An abstraction, like the points themselves. Half the residents of Fraud have no idea what the points even represent, and the other half don’t care.”

“The points represent something?” asked Aziraphale. “I assumed they were just an empty currency.”

Crowley shook his head. “Souls have always been the currency of Hell. That hasn’t changed, has it, Your Lowness?”

“Never,” she smiled. “The total number of points in the Circle of Fraud has always represented the total number of humans in Hell – nothing more, and nothing less, though it is more and more all the time, since I began my redevelopment.”

“And humans who earn sufficient points go to the Titan Throne,” said Aziraphale. “How many points is that, exactly?”

“Anything more than the last person who achieved the Throne,” smiled Ekhidna. “So it’s always more and more, the more productivity goes up and the more points there are to exchange.”

“The Titan Throne wasn’t originally made for humans, though,” said Crowley. “It was always the prize for the giants who lived at the very bottom of the Pit, to give them something to compete for so they wouldn’t get bored and destroy the earth.”

“Yes, well, I destroyed them. They were brutes, holdovers from a long-dead primal past. I turned Typhon against them, and now he’s the only titan still in existence. And he’s not even in this existence anymore. So the Titan Thone is mine to do with as I please, and I’ve modified it to reward the humans who most deserve it. In fact, I have a human waiting to be enthroned right now. I thought you might like to see what it involves.”

“Of course,” said Crowley, knowing that they didn’t really have an option to decline, and hoping that if he agreed, it would be over quickly. He didn’t like thinking about what any delay might mean for the tour group. If Eric was right, Selene might be a candidate for the Throne herself at any moment, and Henry or Dottie might not be far behind.

Chapter Text

The limousine reached what appeared to be the very bottom of the Great Pit of Hell, where there was nothing but spiral stairs down to a lift. Aziraphale held tightly onto the contract as they exited the car and made their way down the stairs with an anxious-looking Eric behind them.

“This is the entrance to the Abyss below the Great Pit,” Ekhidna explained to Aziraphale as she summoned the lift. “The Circle of Fraud, or Pride if you wish, extends down into the top of the Abyss. Beyond that is the River Cocytus and the Lowest Pit.”

The lift travelled downward for what seemed to be several floors-worth of distance, and then chimed open to reveal a small but luxuriously-furnished lounge, complete with a bar and a television. The only occupant was a man sitting in a leather armchair, sipping a drink, and watching what seemed to be himself on the television.

“Have you enjoyed reviewing your triumphs, Mr. Kinsley?” Ekhidna asked him.

After a moment’s more watching, the man turned toward her and said, “Very much. I take it you’re the Prince of Fraud herself?”

Crowley heard a touch of condescension in the man’s voice, and saw it in his eyes. Kinsley thought himself superior even to Ekhidna.

If Ekhidna sensed it too, she didn’t let on. “I am indeed. The time for your ascension has come, Mr. Kinsley.”

“High time,” said Kinsley. He knocked back the rest of the drink and got to his feet.

“This way, please,” said Ekhidna, waving him and everyone else back into the lift.

This trip was significantly longer than the first.

“Long way down,” commented Crowley.

Ekhidna explained, “The Throne is always growing taller, which means that the floor beneath it is always sinking to make more room.”

“Hm,” said Crowley.

At last they emerged into a dark, open space with an enormous structure in the middle. It looked like a thin pyramid of cardboard boxes, extending upward from a base the size of a city block to the height of a skyscraper. A set of very steep stairs, more of a ladder, really, went up the front all the way from the ground to the top.

After a few seconds, it became apparent that each of the pyramid’s building-boxes had a different leering face on the side, like black ink printed on the cardboard – but the faces were alive, or, at least, moving. Their twisted grimaces morphed from expressions of haughtiness to anguish to mockery.

“The faces of your predecessors, the ones you have defeated,” Ekhidna explained to Kinsley. “Perhaps you’ll recognize some of them as you get close to the top. Be sure to enjoy their looks of despair when they see your ascension.”

Kinsley smiled like a predator. “Oh, I will. I absolutely will.”

“Very well; let’s begin the ascension ceremony.” Ekhidna snapped her fingers and Mephistopheles appeared, holding a much shorter contract.

“Mr. Kinsley,” began Ekhidna in an official-sounding tone. “You have lied and cheated and abused your way to success and superiority, accumulating more points than any other human before you. For this, you have earned the greatest reward Hell has to offer.

“Up until now, your status here has been that of a resident. Only the most extraordinary humans earn the right to sit on the Titan Throne, and only they are permitted to declare themselves, officially and irrevocably, citizens of Hell.”

Ekhidna nodded to Mephistopheles, who handed the contract and a pen to Kinsley as he said, “By signing this form, you relinquish your temporary status and declare yourself a permanent citizen, meaning that you will stay in Hell for the rest of eternity. Do you understand?”

Kinsley was already signing it. “Of course I do. What kind of idiot would want to leave, anyway? I spent my whole life waiting for my greatness to be recognized, and that’s exactly what I’m getting now. Anyone who’d turn that down is a beta at best.” He returned the signed contract to Mephistopheles, who smiled for the first time Crowley had ever seen, nodded to Ekhidna, and disappeared.

“Magnifique,” said Ekhidna. “You may ascend, Mr. Kinsley. Savor your victory.”

Since both Crowley and Aziraphale could tell exactly where this was going, they watched with equal impatience as Kinsley began to climb the stairs. He was eager, and the rung-like stairs started to move upward on their own like an escalator, but the Throne was tall enough that it would have stood out in any city skyline, so his ascent took some time.

Eric was growing visibly agitated, but he didn’t say anything.

Even the most farsighted human wouldn’t have been able to see to the top from the floor below, but three demons and one angel had no trouble observing the moment when Kinsley reached the seat at the apex and realized that the crowning box, the seat of the Throne, bore the face of an old rival.

Kinsley laughed. “I told you I’d beat you someday,” he said, and sat on the box.

No one was at all surprised when, after a few seconds of gloating, Kinsley’s scornful smile began to turn to black ink on cardboard. His whole incorporeal self morphed into a rectangle and became the new seat of the Throne, ready for the next ascendant.

“You see, mon étoile?” breathed Ekhidna blissfully. “Justice.”

“So it is,” Crowley had to say.

“And what have you ever done, mon cher ange, to bring such people to justice?”

“Nothing like that,” answered Aziraphale truthfully.

From the Throne level, they took the lift even further down to get to customs. The Abyss at this level was wider across, with the River Cocytus spiraling downward around its edges as had the rivers around the Great Pit above. The Cocytus flowed sluggishly and was studded with chunks of ice.

They stood in front of customs and Ekhidna said, “Well, then. I’ll open your rift, as long as you can promise me there’s no risk of Typhon returning. But just to be clear, Typhon and I are not so estranged as to engage in direct hostilities. You, on the other hand, would be the first to suffer his vengeance should he reappear. So it’s easy for me to trust that you have it taken care of.”

“We do,” said Crowley.

“Er, about that…” put in Eric. “I’m afraid Plan A had to be abandoned. By which I mean, the alternate dimension has no alternate Prince Typhon. In fact, it’s not clear that the alternate dimension has any demons at all. At least, I haven’t seen any.”

“Right,” blinked Crowley. “How’s Plan B, then?” Last he knew, there wasn’t a Plan B, but Ekhidna didn’t need to know that.

“It’s almost ready,” answered Eric. “Just a couple more hours…” Six seconds ticked by and he said, “All right. Plan B is going into effect now. I’m rounding up everyone from the tour group and telling them to come here as quickly as possible.”

“What, exactly, is Plan B?” inquired Aziraphale.

“Elana made a giant, miracle-resistant shade-monster to keep Typhon occupied. It’s working, but I’d recommend opening the rift now. They’re all on their way here.”

Ekhidna began to spin a circle of black sparks. “This will be another one-way portal,” she said. “From their side to ours.” Her implication was obvious: So don’t bother trying to send me through it.

“Miracle-resistant shade-monster?” Crowley asked Eric while the rift expanded.

“Yeah, it’s huge. I mean, huge. Taller than most of the office-pits. And it’s going around destroying the office-pits.”

“She made Godzilla,” deduced Crowley.

“I don’t know what that is, sir.”

“Bit like a dinosaur?”

“Don’t know what that is, either.”

“Never mind. Miracle-resistant, though?”

Eric nodded. “Using some of that research Dottie took over. Typhon can’t just miracle the monster away. I expect he’ll defeat it eventually, but right now he’s furious with it. The fight is probably going to destroy most of the structures on that reality’s Level Seven.”

The rift was ready, an eight-foot disc of whirling darkness. Ekhidna stepped back and asked Eric, “You said there are no demons at all in that dimension?”

“None that I’ve seen. Customs on Level Six was staffed by humans, and there isn’t anyone at all in Fraud customs over there. Doesn’t seem to matter, as no one’s tried to go through.”

“Hm.”

The first three humans emerged from the rift: Piper and Carlos, both looking harried and shaken. “Are we really back?” Carlos asked Piper. “Everything looks the same.”

“Except they’re here,” said Piper, pointing to Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Hello,” said Aziraphale.

More humans followed. Aziraphale began to count. Crowley encouraged them to go through customs immediately and board the boat so that the group could leave as soon as possible.

Ekhidna scrutinized the humans, evidently unable to discern what was so special about them or why Crowley was letting them go when he’d wanted them back so badly.

Selene came out of the rift, looking hollow.

Lishan was right behind her, shouting, “You took over my company and ran it into the ground on purpose! I thought we were friends.”

Blankly, Selene replied, “That’s how business works. It wasn’t personal. Anyway, I’m ruined, now. Elana’s giant lizard thing destroyed all my physical assets.”

Elana had just emerged behind them. She seemed to be the only one among the tourists who was even slightly happy. “It sure did,” she said with satisfaction.

Dottie was right behind her. “You deleted my research!” she shouted at Elana. “I helped you with your stupid Godzilla, and then you and Sue turn around and wreck my lab and delete all my files?”

“Because you were going all Captain Ahab with it,” said Sue. “You weren’t going to leave.”

“Who cares? I’m a scientist. Science is science whether you’re in Hell or not.”

A couple of Erics popped through after them, both writing on their clipboards.

Mina and Armen exited together. “He said it was just a guard job,” Mina was saying, “But then once I got there, he expected me to rough that other guy up. I should have stayed with you on that first contract. It was just so boring, is all.”

“Sometimes boring is good,” said Armen.

Lishan hadn’t gone into customs yet. They said to Crowley, “You said everything would be all right, but it’s definitely not. Everybody’s angry with everybody.”

“Under the circumstances, ‘all right’ is relative. No one from the group became a permanent resident, did they?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s as all right as we had any right to hope for. The rest’ll have to be sorted later.”

Lishan sighed. “Okay, but we’re a mess.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, thinking of their argument on the boat. “Yeah, well, Hell is Hell. I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to make it this far on the Tour and not be a mess.”

Another Eric emerged alongside Henry, Gael, and Iskander. Iskander was saying, “I voted for you, and you still ruled against me!”

Henry, looking even more shellshocked than Selene, said, “It doesn’t matter how you voted. Eric just told me that Dottie hacked the system anyway, so it didn’t mean anything. I tried so hard to make things better, and it was all meaningless in the end.”

Rosa and Ben were the last to come through, Ben carrying one of Eric’s clipboards. He seemed remarkably stable, but Rosa was despondent. “I needed more time,” she said. “I could have wrecked all the shade-making businesses, not just that one. And Elana said she was going to help me, but after I stole the technology for her, she spent all her time making the giant shade-monster. I wanted all the shades to be gone forever, not to make a whole new one.”

“There won’t be any more monsters like that,” said Ben. “The Prince of Pride is going to destroy it. But the monster trampled a lot of the shade-making companies, so I think you did get at least some of what you wanted?”

“I guess that’s good,” sighed Rosa. “But if I could have, I would have sabotaged every single shade company and factory.”

“I think leaving Hell is better,” said Ben.

The last two Erics came through the rift. “That’s all of them,” they said.

Aziraphale nodded. “It is. Every single one. Well done, Eric.”

Ekhidna closed the rift and watched Ben and Rosa enter customs. “You’re just letting them all go?” she said to Crowley. “Ohh, wait, I understand… you have some purpose for them in the Lowest Pit, don’t you? You don’t, by chance, have designs of your own on Lucifer, mon étoile? Because there is a section in the contract–”

“Yes, about that very section,” said Aziraphale, opening the contract. “52-A-iv.a. It’s one of items referenced specifically under Breach of Contract” – he flipped a few more pages – “here at the end: ‘In the event that either party fails to meet the terms of the aforementioned sections, this contract shall be immediately null and void.’ Of course, there are specific and rather dire negative consequences for Crowley failing to meet these terms, but none for yourself, Your Lowness, apart from the termination of the contract. I hope that will be some comfort, as I’m afraid I must inform you that you are in violation of section 52-A-iv.a, and the contract is therefore void.”

Ekhidna stared at him. “Surely not, mon cher ange. Mephistopheles is very thorough.”

“See for yourself,” said Aziraphale, turning back to section 52-A-iv.a and showing it to her. “‘Neither party shall engage in plotting to overthrow Lower Powers without first informing the other via direct communication, informal written notice or formal declaration.’ You failed to provide informal written notice or formal declaration.”

“I told him directly!” exclaimed Ekhidna. “It was a direct communication, as it says right there.”

“There’s no comma after ‘written notice.’ A serial comma would indicate three separate items of equal value in a list, but without a serial comma, ‘informal written notice’ and ‘formal declaration’ are both appositive options for ‘direct communication,’ indicating that the communication must be provided in one of those two forms, which you did not do, thereby putting yourself in breach of contract.”

Ekhidna snapped her fingers and Mephistopheles appeared, obligating Aziraphale to explain everything again.

After a long silence, Mephistopheles said, “I can’t refute that.”

“You’re saying I’m in breach of contract because of an Oxford comma?!” shrieked Ekhidna.

Aziraphale said, “Technically, the absence of an Oxford comma.”

Ekhidna turned furious eyes on Mephistopheles, who protested, “We don’t use the Oxford comma! No one in Hell uses the Oxford comma! It’s not done here!”

“You’re done here,” said Ekhidna to Mephistopheles. She snapped her fingers, and he was instantly engulfed in flames, incinerated completely, and mourned by no one.

Crowley waved a hand over the contract, and it likewise flamed into ash. “Maybe you should have got a human to write it,” he grinned.

Ekhidna glowered. “I thought my offer would genuinely appeal to you. More the fool I.”

“Never tempt a tempter, Ekhidna. Especially not one with an extremely intelligent angel on his side.”

She eyed Aziraphale with new respect. “You set me up for this. You got me talking about Lucifer on purpose.”

“I suppose I did,” admitted Aziraphale.

“You would make an excellent demon.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take that as a compliment, Your Lowness.”

Ekhidna turned back to Crowley. “As for you… this is your world, mon étoile, and you just proved it. You belong here.”

Crowley was gloating. “Being innately good at something doesn’t mean that you have to do it. To be honest, I rather enjoy thinking I could take over all of Hell if I wanted to, but I don’t want to. At all. So I’ll be on my way.

“But you’re right about one thing, Your Lowness: I do know humans. So let me give you some free advice. If you turn Hell into a copy of earth, the humans will find a way to take charge completely. If I were you, I’d think twice about developing any technology that humans could, and absolutely would, turn against you. As you say, they outdo us all when it comes to treachery.”

Ekhidna looked as if she was trying and failing to solve a difficult equation. “I don’t understand what you want,” she said to Crowley.

“You’re right about that, as well,” he said. “You don’t, and you never will.” He turned to Aziraphale and said, “Ready to go, angel?”

“Entirely.”

As the two of them approached the door to customs, Aziraphale asked Crowley quietly, “Do you think she’ll take your advice?”

“No idea. I expect one of three things will happen. Either she’ll put the brakes on what she’s doing, or she won’t, in which case it really is only a matter of time until her humans overthrow her. Or, and there’s only the slimmest chance of this working, but…” He held up the plant-mister. It had still contained a few tablespoons of Lethe-water when they left the Circle of Violence, but now it was empty. “I miracled the rest into her decanter in the car.”

“Would that actually affect her, even if she did drink it?”

“Unlikely,” said Crowley. “But I do try to be an optimist.”

All of the humans had gone through customs and boarded the boat by the time Aziraphale and Crowley took their passports up to one of the booths.

“This is the final customs office,” said Crowley. “After this, it’s just the Lowest Pit, and out.”

“Well, that’s something,” said Aziraphale dully. Relief at their escape and the humans’ return had quickly been displaced by a renewed, and even heavier, weight of exhaustion. He’d had no opportunity to heal his still very painful injuries from Violence, and his mind was worn to nearly nothing after dealing with the intricacies of the contract. Also…

You would make an excellent demon.

Ekhidna’s words refused to give him peace, probably as she had intended. He could sense that Crowley was feeling more than a little elated with their victory; he, on the other hand, was finding that it only added to the tangle of agitation that had been growing inside him for a long time, now.

There was simply no getting around the fact that whatever Crowley was, Aziraphale was an accessory to it. He’d let himself be talked into child-murder. He’d just shown himself to be an indispensable ally in exploiting a contract. And then there were all those centuries of the Arrangement… all the tiny, workaday temptations and curses that Crowley had always insisted would balance out and come to nothing in the end, and perhaps they had, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t happened.

Crowley might be different from other demons, but he was still, as he’d said on the Phlegethon, a demon. Nor was it possible for him to be anything else. The Fall was, after all, irrevocable.

“What was your business in the Circle of Pride, Mr. Aziraphale?” asked the customs demon.

Aziraphale wondered how long he’d been standing there, staring at nothing.

“Fraud is equally acceptable,” prompted the demon when Aziraphale still didn’t respond. “The stamp is a P, but everyone knows this is really still Her Ingenious Lowness Ekhidna’s Circle.”

“I’m afraid I can’t muster the energy to care anymore,” admitted Aziraphale at last. “Perhaps you can suggest something?”

“Deceiving your superiors for years?” proposed the customs demon. “Engaging in a highly illicit relationship? Attempting to co-opt the Apocalypse by influencing a child? Withholding crucial information from your only ally until it was almost too late? Oh, and how could I forget: unauthorized distribution of divine weaponry?”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, now even more exhausted. “Yes, I suppose so. Jolly good.” He nodded vaguely, and the demon stamped a black P on the final page of his passport.

The demon looked at Crowley, who said, “Do you want a copy of my entire resumé, or is my reputation enough?”

“You know the rules,” said the demon. “You have to acknowledge the sin yourself.”

“Resumé it is, then.” Crowley snapped his fingers, and an enormous stack of papers cascaded from above to bury the customs-demon and nearly fill the booth.

The demon’s hand reached out from inside the pile and stamped Crowley’s passport.

Crowley, still pleased about how things with Ekhidna had transpired, grabbed the passport and sauntered toward the door to the dock.

Aziraphale began to follow, but then stopped to pick up a random page from the resumé and scan it.  Nothing there surprised him; it was simply a detailed list of the sort of petty deceptions and annoyances Crowley had always enjoyed, most of them enacted on people who probably deserved it.

Still.

Aziraphale exited onto the dock, where a wind from the River Cocytus chilled him to his ethereal core.

Chapter Text

Back on the tour boat, the humans were, as Lishan had put it earlier, a mess. Half of them were arguing and making accusations; the rest were wandering through silent wildernesses of depression, alienation, and regret.

“Seven really did a number on them,” observed Crowley.

Aziraphale, still mired in his own doubt and exhaustion, said, “I can’t help but think that it mightn’t have been this bad if they’d gone through Fraud in this dimension instead, with us to help them.”

“Or, if they’d been here, Ekhidna might have got her claws into them and tried to use them against us,” pointed out Crowley. “No way of knowing.”

“I suppose,” said Aziraphale distantly. Among the many thoughts that were burdening him was the fact that Ekhidna had said she would have recorporated Crowley if he’d lost his body on Level Six. Her interest in him had been strong enough that she was almost certainly telling the truth, which meant that Aziraphale’s choice of Crowley over the humans really had been the wrong one, in both moral and practical terms. And now, it seemed, they were all suffering the consequences of it.

The chunks of ice in the Cocytus were growing more dense, and the temperature was dropping rapidly.

Aziraphale’s coat was still in the pocket-dimension. After Wrath, he’d been too preoccupied to remember to put it back on. Crowley retrieved it and draped it around his shoulders. Aziraphale nodded a halfhearted thanks, but neither of them said anything more.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me what the points were for?” Selene asked the air in front of her. “How did I only find that out in customs?” She looked down at the column of seven black stamps that now filled her inner arm from wrist to elbow: L C G W S V P.

“We figured you knew,” said Piper resentfully. “Since you’re so smart and all.”

Selene seemed too gutted to take Piper’s bait. “People became residents of Hell because of me. I didn’t know. I really, really didn’t know.”

“Oh, come on,” said Piper. “Seriously? You ran companies that invested in other companies that managed the factories that make the stuff that tempts people. How could you not realize that what you were doing would lead to people staying?”

“I don’t know; none of that seemed real. That’s not what I was in it for. I just wanted to take down those dickheads who thought they were better than everyone else. But I guess, in the end, I wasn’t any better than them.”

The boat’s speakers switched on with their usual hiss of static. “Hi, everyone,” said one of the Erics. (The other five were sitting among the passengers.) “Just wanted to let you all know that this is our last time on the tour boat together. Once you disembark in the Lowest Pit, all you have to do is go through to the Way Out, where you’ll cross the center of the earth and start climbing upward… or so I’m told; I’ve never been there, myself.”

“Isn’t the center of the earth, like, lava or something?” asked Mina wearily.

“Magma,” said someone else.

“No it’s not,” said Elana. “The earth’s core is solid metal, just super-dense and super-hot.”

“That’s the center of earth when you’re not in Hell,” explained one of the Erics in the seats. “This is the center of the earth when you are in Hell.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Dottie.

Sue said, “We were just in an entire alternate dimension where Elana made a nonexistent Godzilla. I don’t know why you still expect things to make sense.”

“Er, well, in any case,” said the Eric on the speakers, “On a personal note, allow me to say that this has been by far the most interesting experience of my existence. I hope you all… Well, I shouldn’t really say that. Er. Have fun in Purgatory, those of you who make it that far. Wouldn’t want to go there myself, but that’s just me… I mean, I’m sure it’s… I mean… Anyway. It’s been nice knowing you all.”

“You’re not coming with us?” asked Lishan, upset.

“You’ve been tons more helpful than those two,” said Gael, pointing to Aziraphale and Crowley.

The nearest Eric in the seats explained, “Demons don’t go into the Lowest Pit. Not unless they’ve been summoned by Himself, and then they don’t come back out. Besides, I have a very large report to file.”

The general mood, already abysmal, shifted another notch downward.

“Are you coming with us?” Lishan asked Crowley.

Crowley looked at his passport, and then at Aziraphale. He’d been so pleased with himself, in Pride customs, that he’d nearly forgot their argument on the Phlegethon, and he hadn’t noticed, at first, that something was very wrong with the angel. He was noticing now. The more he noticed, the more worried he became.

“Seems so,” he said to Lishan.

Aziraphale was still holding page 20,012 of Crowley’s resumé, though neither of them was sure why.

The river’s surface was now completely covered in ice-chunks, which grew larger and larger. The boat forced its way through the ice for as long as it could, but eventually it ground to a halt as the water turned entirely solid.

There was no visible edge or end to the Cocytus. The boat had lodged in a vast plain of ice that stretched into dimness as far as anyone could see. Occasional flashes of dark light illuminated cavernous ice formations, some rising up from the surface, and some suspended from above.

“There goes the timer,” said the Eric in the cabin, subdued. “Ninety seconds, everyone. Best of luck to you all.”

All of the Erics stayed on the boat, in spite of several humans’ attempts to get them to come along. There were many hurried but grateful goodbyes, the grateful part of which Eric seemed to find confusing, as, prior to his time with the tour group, no one had expressed gratitude to him in six thousand years.

“You really have been most helpful,” said Aziraphale to Eric as he and Crowley prepared to leave. “May we meet again.”

Crowley nodded.

Eric looked doubtful about this prospect, but all he said was, “Well, if anyone other than a human was ever going to go into the Pit of Treachery and come back out again, it would be the two of you. Good luck.”

And then they were out of time, and almost didn’t make it onto the ice before the boat disappeared for the final time, along with six Erics waving farewell.

The ice was slick and uneven. Everyone except Lishan lost their footing more than once as they all made their way across. The air was unbreathably cold and dead silent, apart from occasional muttering and cursing as someone slipped.

The real danger of the Lowest Pit, however, was the vertical ice-formations. Some of them were just thin stalactites or stalagmites, but some were larger barriers that the group had to move around. Some of the barrier-walls were smooth, and some of them flickered with dim light that, if one were close enough to see, projected images of events from earth.

And then there were the ice-formations that had people inside.

The first one they saw was a man, facing away from them with one hand outstretched as if he’d been touching something. As the group moved around him, they could see that his expression was one of absolute despair.

“They still can’t keep us against our will, right?” Rosa asked Crowley, her voice echoing in the stillness.

“Not as far as I know,” he answered.

“Then this guy chose to be frozen,” said Dottie.

“Guess so.”

“Why?”

Crowley looked around uncertainly, taking in other frozen humans in similar postures. “Dunno. Never been down here before. But I can tell you that Hell’s biggest lie is that there’s no hope. And the Lowest Pit, presumably, is the place for the biggest lies.”

“What are the other big lies?” asked Elana.

“That everything is your fault,” answered Crowley, with a worried glance at Aziraphale. “And that nothing is your fault.”

Ben had stopped in front of one of the ice surfaces to watch an image flickering inside. It was a young woman picking up a sketchbook and paging through it, then gasping and covering her mouth in distress. She called in an older woman and showed her what was in the book. Both looked horrified. The older woman began to cry.

“That’s my cousin and my mom,” said Ben. “Oh…” He reached out to touch the ice. “I knew Mom found my sketches, way back then, but I never saw how upset she was…” His own expression mirrored his mother’s as the scene in the ice looped into playing over again.

“They’re trying to make him lose hope, aren’t they?” said Lishan, rushing over to interpose themself between Ben and the images in the ice. “Ben? Hey, it’s okay. All that stuff is over now. You drew a bunch of really beautiful things while the rest of us were being stupid back in Fraud. I don’t think anything…” – they looked over their shoulder at Ben’s mother crying – “anything like that is ever going to happen to you or her again.”

“Yeah,” said Mina, coming up on Ben’s other side. “Who knows, maybe someday you’ll see her in Heaven, and you can show her all the stuff you drew here. I’m sure she’d be happy to see it.”

Ben looked down at the clipboard in his other hand and nodded. “You’re right. Honestly, if this is the best the Abyss can do, then I think I’m going to be okay.” His hand stuck to the ice a bit, but he pulled it away.

The group passed a few more ice-encased humans before another set of moving images caught Lishan’s attention. A young teenager was standing in a crowd, looking excited and clutching a magazine.

“Wait, I remember that kid…” Frowning, Lishan moved closer. All ten of their fingertips brushed the ice and stayed there. “I never told anyone about that. They were maybe twelve, thirteen years old… the magazine had an article about me and they asked me to sign it.”

“You were in magazines?” asked Mina.

Lishan sighed distractedly. “I mean, yeah; I don’t think it really matters anymore. I told you I competed.”

“You didn’t tell us you were famous.” Mina sounded hurt.

“I wasn’t that famous. I still did my own shopping and stuff, like a normal–” They broke off when the images in the ice showed the teenager curled up in bed and crying. “Oh.”

“What happened?” asked Ben quietly.

“They were a perceptive kid. They asked if I was happy with the gender category I was competing in. I knew what they were really asking; they wanted someone like them to look up to… and oh, I’m so sorry…” Both of Lishan’s palms were on the ice now, with little crystals forming around them. “There were tons of other people listening. I had to lie. I had to. It would have wrecked my career otherwise.”

Sue said, “Okay, speaking as someone whose career did get wrecked because of bigotry and sexism, I think you chose the lesser evil. If you were that kid’s hero, they would have been a lot more traumatized to see you get kicked out of competitions because of who you really were.”

“I guess?” Lishan was still watching the scene intently as the ice grew thicker around their hands. “But I wish I’d lived long enough to come out. I was so lucky; I had the best parents and they understood everything. But kids like that… they probably weren’t so lucky, and who knows how much of a difference I could have–”

Mina still seemed to be preoccupied with how much Lishan hadn’t told them. “Would you even have been friends with me if we’d met in real life? I was nobody, and you were… signing autographs.”

“With a name that wasn’t even my real name,” protested Lishan. “Of course we would have–”

Crowley, knowing that this could only get worse, had lost patience. “Right, that’s it. I’ve got this,” he said as he pushed through the group toward Lishan. “Everybody else keep moving. Go on; I’m serious. Give us some space.”

Aziraphale, still silently pensive, stayed behind, but everyone else began to shuffle on ahead, though Mina kept glancing backward until Ben whispered something to her.

“It’s treachery, isn’t it?” said Lishan softly as the ice continued to grow around their hands. “That’s what the videos are. Reminders of the times we betrayed humanity… god, I’m such a sellout. I should have told that kid the truth. I should have told everyone. I should have skated for one of my parents’ countries, but I knew Canada would be easier. I knew I was dying, but I told everyone I’d be fine. I–”

The ice thickened as they went on with escalating speed and careening panic. “I love Mina, but she’s not crazy to doubt me. I am really good at pretending to be something I’m not. I’m a performer, and I like winning, and I–”

Crowley leaned against the ice and interrupted, “When you first showed up in Hell, you were so chuffed to be your real self that you were practically exploding with it. Was that a lie?”

They frowned. “No.”

“Didn’t think so. Take it from one of history’s best liars; nobody could fake that kind of pure happiness, and that is who you really are. And you care about people, a lot, and that’s not a lie, either.

“You getting stuck here isn’t going to do that kid from your past any good whatsoever. But there are a lot of people here, now, who could use your help. You said it yourself: this group is a mess. They need someone who knows how to look at fear head-on and still have hope.”

Lishan still hesitated. Ice had completely encased their fingertips. “I tried to help people back in Fraud, and it worked out about as well as…” They inclined their head toward the image of the heartbroken teenager, and the ice grew even more. “That. I try to do good things all the time, but it seems like I always end up lying.”

Crowley moved in a little closer and said, quietly intense, “Hope isn’t a lie, and you know it. Don’t you dare give up. You’re better than that. You died from cancer and still came bouncing into Hell more full of life than most living people ever are. Your friend said it: you know how to get up from falling. It’s time to get up.”

Lishan had closed their eyes as Crowley talked. Finally they opened them again, exhaled, and said, “Okay. You’re right.” They tried to pull away from the ice, but both hands were firmly stuck.

Troubled, Crowley tried to miracle the ice away, but it didn’t work.

“I think I have to really want to,” said Lishan, looking toward the rest of the group and continuing to pull. After several seconds of tugging, their palms and then fingertips finally came free. They took a determined breath, shook out their ice-burned hands, and hurried after the group.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who hadn’t said a word since disembarking from the boat. It had been obvious what Lishan had needed to hear – a good human with a touch of pride was always easy to motivate – but Crowley had no idea what Aziraphale needed.

Chapter Text

Up ahead, Armen had been pulled into watching scenes of the families of soldiers he’d killed in battle. He viewed everything with stoic attention, but he didn’t touch the ice.

“You okay?” Henry asked him.

“No,” he said. “I hate this. I absolutely hate it. But it’s not like I’ve never thought about it before. And I died in action, too, and I’m sure my family mourned me, too. None of us had much of a choice. It’s never going to be okay, but I already knew that.” When the scenes looped back to the beginning, Armen walked away.

As soon as he did, the images changed into something else. It was Mina, driving a small car with her father in the passenger seat.

“Oh, no,” she whispered. “No, no…”

“Don’t look!” said Ben, just as Lishan caught up.

It was too late. The Mina in the image, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, lost control of the car and it swerved one way, and then another, and then into the front of a speeding truck.

Tears froze to crystal under her eyes. “It’s my fault. It’s my fault he died. It’s my fault he stayed in Hell.” She pressed both hands against the ice, which began to swell rapidly between her fingers.

Lishan put their own left hand in the same space as Mina’s, so that the ice was encasing both of their juxtaposed hands at the same time.

“What are you doing?” blinked Mina.

“I don’t know,” said Lishan. “Personally I don’t think any of it was your fault, but there probably isn’t anything I can do right now to change your mind about that. So I’m just… we’re just…” They looked at Ben, who nodded and put his right hand over Mina’s in the same way. Lishan finished, “We’re just here with you.”

Ben said to her, “You forgive everyone else for everything. You forgave your father for so much. And you told me it didn’t matter what I did when I was alive. Even Hjordis, you were upset when you found out the truth about her, but in the end, it seemed like you wanted to forgive her, too.

“I don’t think what happened to your dad was your fault, either, but if you have it in you to want people who have done bad things to keep moving forward, if you think anyone can keep hoping for something better, then I don’t think you should want anything less for yourself.” Ben hesitated, then said, “Also…”

He leaned in close and whispered something that only Mina and Lishan could hear.

Mina looked at him, her whole expression suddenly different. “You can do that in Purgatory?”

“Wait, really?” asked Lishan, in the surprised tone of someone finding out that something they want isn’t impossible after all.

“I’ve never been wrong,” said Ben.

Mina blinked and watched the car crash one more time. Then she began to tug her hands out of the ice. “I guess we’re going to Purgatory, then.”

Lishan and Ben’s pleased expressions both had a trace of bashfulness, but the two of them encouraged Mina as she worked her hands free. It took a while, but she managed it, and she didn’t look at the images in the ice again.

Crowley’s occult senses might have caught Ben’s whispered prophecy if he’d been paying more attention, but the ice closest to him was displaying scenes of an apple in a Garden, a conversation with a woman, and two bites that had changed humanity forever.

“Really?” he asked the empty air. “What exactly is that meant to accomplish?”

Aziraphale was watching, as well, especially when the next scene showed an angel who was technically on apple-tree duty but not doing a very good job of it.

The images changed to what could only be a Parisian café in 1793, with a human-looking Ekhidna in a wig that was perfectly on trend for the time. She was accompanied by a clearly misery-drinking Crowley, who failed to notice the sudden light in her eyes as he talked too freely.

Aziraphale, intent on the scene in the ice, didn’t register how much more subdued the real Crowley became.

The scene turned into Crowley unconscious with seven demons looming over him, while the dark disc of the rift hurtled toward forty-two humans, and Aziraphale, in the middle, did not hesitate at all.

They were both marginally aware that up ahead, Dottie was being confronted with images of times she’d neglected her family in favor of her work. Lishan was rallying Elana and Sue to snap her out of it.

Aziraphale couldn’t stop watching as the scenes in front of him looped back and replayed his choice of Crowley over the humans.

“So that’s what’s been eating at you,” said Crowley softly. “Why didn’t you tell me that was how it happened?” At least, he thought to himself, Aziraphale wasn’t touching the ice.

“Because I made the wrong choice. Ekhidna would have given you a new body. It’s bad enough seeing how fractured the humans are because of what they went through, because I didn’t choose them, even after everything they did for us… But it’s worse knowing that even if I’d known then what I know now, I still don’t think I would have been able to choose differently.”

“Angel–” began Crowley, even though he had no idea what he’d say after that.

Aziraphale didn’t give him a chance. “Do not tell me that what’s done is done, or that guilt doesn’t help anything. I don’t want to feel better about it. I don’t want to not care. Not caring would make me like ten million other angels who don’t care, who see humans as nothing but points to be won.”

“I don’t think you’re capable of not caring,” said Crowley. “I would never tell you not to.”

Lishan was looking back at them with concern. Then Iskander got caught up in whatever the ice was showing him, and Lishan hurried forward to intervene, with Mina and Ben close behind.

Aziraphale watched as they called Carlos over to help talk Iskander down, and then said to Crowley, “It’s also not lost on me that your actions have indirectly helped many more of the humans in this group than mine have, and I don’t know what that means.”

“That I don’t not care? That I know more about how Hell works than I’d like? You just said they’re not points. It’s not a competition.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I don’t know which way is up anymore.” He watched himself make the wrong choice one more time, and then said, “Let’s keep moving.”

Henry had nearly buried one hand in an ice-surface that depicted him in front of a classroom, followed by him making a discreet exchange with a young man on a street corner.

“Selene!” whispered Lishan. “Talk to him. He’ll listen to you.”

Selene’s eyes were red with frost. “He shouldn’t. No one should.”

Rosa and Armen moved to Henry’s side instead. Henry, with eyes locked onto the ice, said, “I was so sure I was going to help those kids… teach them about politics, get them to vote, show them how to make a difference… I thought I knew what they were up against, but really I had no idea. The first class I taught, four of them ended up in prison before they could graduate, mostly for things they didn’t even do.”

“You’re still a good person,” said Rosa. “Even if the world was worse than you thought.”

“I’d rather be a good person fighting an unwinnable battle, than a bad person winning,” agreed Armen.

Rosa nodded. “The things we did when we were alive, we did because we cared about people. The world broke us so badly that Hell was able to claim us for a while, but we don’t belong in a place where there’s no love. Not when we have so much love to give.”

Henry sighed. “All right. Just… stay with me while I…” He started to rattle his hand loose.

Rosa and Armen stayed with him until he was free, but the three of them advanced only a few more feet before another ice-barrier showed images of Rosa running a shirt-seam through a sewing machine, surrounded by rows of other women doing the same thing. A few seconds later, more images showed Rosa exhaustedly returning to a small flat crowded with affectionate family members.

“This one must be mine,” she said, uncertain. “I don’t know what–”

The next scene in the sequence was Selene perusing a report in an elegantly sparse office. She finished reading and handed the papers to a man in a suit, shaking her head and saying something.

“No, it’s mine,” said Selene blankly, coming up close to the ice.

After a brief image of the man making a phone call, Rosa appeared again, still intent on her sewing machine.

“Safety violations,” Selene whispered. “They just… they didn’t seem real to me. All I cared about was beating my competitors. And we didn’t own the factory, we only outsourced to them, so I told myself it wasn’t my–”

People behind the image-Rosa could be seen running and shouting. Smoke began to fill the room.

A couple of tear-crystals formed in the real Rosa’s eyes as she watched herself get up from her machine and run toward the exit. It was choked with panicking workers. Pieces of the ceiling began to fall, and then everything collapsed into darkness.

“Rosa, I’m so sorry. I–” Eyes closed and one hand covering her mouth, Selene walked right into the ice.

“Wait!” said Rosa, at the same moment Henry called out “Selene!” but Selene was already completely encased. Rosa beat a fist against the ice. “Please don’t! That doesn’t make it better.”

Selene didn’t seem to be able to hear them.

The entire tour group surrounded her, most people grimly fascinated by her frozen expression of anguish. The ice continued to grow around her until it was at least a foot thick on all sides.

“She’s the reason you died?” someone asked Rosa.

“I guess she was part of it,” answered Rosa, still distressed. “But I don’t think that means she belongs here.”

Piper didn’t seem to agree. “I worked at her company in Fraud. She was a bitch to work for.”

“But she obviously felt bad about it,” said someone else. “She wouldn’t have gone in the ice if she didn’t.”

“We let Cain stay with us, and God knows what he did,” said someone else.

A few more people tried pounding on the ice, but it didn’t have any effect, nor did any attempts at pleading with Selene, who still showed no sign of being able to hear.

The group stayed for a long time before giving up. Whatever their individual feelings about Selene, most of them seemed to have embraced the idea that they weren’t going to leave anyone behind, and they were having a hard time accepting the reality that they’d have to.

Eventually it was Dottie who said, heavy with defeat, “Okay, we can’t stay here forever. Let’s just try not to lose anyone else.”

One by one, people pulled themselves away and began to move forward on weary feet.

Since Aziraphale and Crowley had generally been sticking to the back of the group, it wasn’t until all of the humans had moved a good distance forward that Crowley realized Aziraphale wasn’t leaving. After the crowd had cleared, Aziraphale moved in close to look at Selene.

“Can’t miracle the ice,” he mumbled, tapping a finger against the impossible hardness.

“I know,” said Crowley. “I tried it.”

Aziraphale softened his whole left hand flat on the surface near Selene’s arm. “I should have paid more attention to her. I worried about the others a great deal more. To be honest, I didn’t think Hell could hold someone like her. She was so bright, and inquisitive, and capable. Sometimes she reminded me a bit of you.”

Up ahead, Sue and Elana were being drawn apart toward separate sets of ice-images.

“I ought to help,” said Aziraphale, gazing at Sue and Elana but not moving his hand from the ice. “But I wouldn’t know what to say to them. I never do, really.”

“They know what to say to each other, most of the time.” Crowley eyed Aziraphale’s hand nervously.

“I never was any good at being an angel.”

“You’re the only angel who’s any good at it at all.”

“But I promised them we wouldn’t lose anyone else. Even Eric got them through an entire Circle without losing anyone.”

“I don’t think there’s anything you could have done to stop this one.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “If I’d chosen differently, if we’d been with them in Fraud, if they hadn’t been trapped there for so long… if Selene hadn’t got so deeply entrenched and done so much harm, if she hadn’t come out of it already so demoralized and full of self-loathing, maybe…”

The first signs of ice forming around Aziraphale’s hand sent Crowley into alarm. “Angel. Aziraphale! Let go of the ice.”

He didn’t. “I’m the one who insisted that you and I take the Tour. If we hadn’t been here at all, Lotan wouldn’t have targeted the humans. There wouldn’t have been any portal–”

Panicking, Crowley said, “Look, feel as guilty as you want; I’m sorry I told you not to feel guilty; just let go of the ice.”

Things weren’t going well for the humans, either. Too many people were getting pulled in too many directions by too many unbearable memories. Lishan was doing their best, with help from Mina and Ben, but they could only be in so many places at once. Losing Selene had shaken a lot of people’s faith that they’d make it through.

“I’m no good at being an angel, and I don’t even know what being an angel is anymore. Whatever I thought it was supposed to mean, obviously isn’t what it actually means.”

Aziraphale had forgotten that he was still holding the page from Crowley’s resumé in his other hand, but now he looked down at it. “The only thing I know for certain,” he said hoarsely, barely audible, “is that I can’t not love you. And I don’t know what that means, either.”

Ice was surging around Aziraphale’s hand. Frantic, Crowley grasped his arm to communicate through their bodies, even though he was once again not sure what he’d say.

It didn’t matter. Aziraphale shut him out.

And that was the moment when the Author of Lies himself, Accuser and Adversary, Master of the Underworld, Prince of Darkness, Fallen Morningstar, and Evil Incarnate, chose to make his appearance.

Chapter Text

The ice rumbled and cracked. They both lost their footing. Aziraphale’s hand was lodged so firmly in the ice-wall that he only slid to his knees, but Crowley pitched forward so hard that his glasses cracked against the ice and fell off. In the distance, most of the humans slipped and fell.

He was smaller than the last time they’d seen him, not much more than human-sized, but his presence was just as dominating. He still bore his crown of horns, and skin the color of ancient rage.

“Did you think I would ignore this?” he said calmly. Dangerously. “You deprive me of my destined victory over the angels, and then you come directly into my own domain, like lambs to the slaughter?”

Crowley and Aziraphale both just watched him. One didn’t negotiate with the Author of Lies. One simply waited to see what would happen.

His cloven feet were steady on the ice as he circled Selene’s formation, eying Aziraphale appraisingly. “Fortunately for you, I find your dilemma interesting. What does it mean to be an angel, when one finally sees that the whole host of angels are not the beings of pure love that they claim to be, but instead, beings of callous indifference? How could you ever have thought that they actually cared about humans?

“And now, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, you find yourself taking up with a demon, and having no choice but to admit that the Fallen are not the beings of pure evil that the angels say we are. We never chose evil. What we chose was only to separate ourselves from those who sought to control us.

“It seems to me that you’ve already chosen that same separation. The final step would be nothing but a formality.”

Frantic, Crowley whispered, “Don’t listen to him. Please, angel, don’t listen to him.”

But Aziraphale couldn’t not listen. What would it mean? Freedom from guilt? From whatever irrational, unhelpful sense of obligation or duty he still felt? A better understanding of what it meant to be human, the way Crowley understood?

You would make an excellent demon.

Perhaps, he thought, this was the real reason the passports had appeared. The revelation he’d been meant to come to. Doré’s Empyrean flashed in his mind, along with the recurring certainty that it was not where he belonged.

An angel, after all, is only a demon that hasn’t Fallen yet.

“Aziraphale, please, I need you to be who you are. I can’t survive, can’t do what I do, can’t be who I am, without you being… who you are, who you’ve been from the Beginning.”

Aziraphale glanced at the resumé page again. “I’m not certain that’s true. Or if it is, I’m not certain it’s for the best.”

Crowley made a desperate second attempt to convey his thoughts without words.

Aziraphale didn’t want to shut him out, hadn’t wanted to the first time, but he was on the brink of complete mental collapse, and he was terrified that if Crowley pushed him too hard, he’d push back, and any choice he made (almost certainly a bad one) would be a reaction instead of something under his control.

When Aziraphale once again refused to let him in, Crowley growled and turned his reckless wrath on Satan himself. “You! All you do is turn truth into lies! You lied to all of us. You made me what I am.”

This provoked no reaction but a knife-edge smile. “As I recall, you made a choice.”

Crowley’s bare eyes were entirely black-slitted yellow. “On the basis of a lie!”

“It was still your choice.”

“Yeah, well, you must’ve noticed I’ve made another choice. But let’s make it official, shall we?” Crowley still had Ekhidna’s pen. He grabbed the resumé page from Aziraphale’s limp hand, scrawled “I QUIT” on the back of it, signed his real name in fire, and shoved it at the Adversary. “I do not regret to inform you that I am hereby submitting my resignation, effective immediately.”

He was inviting an eternity of torture, and he knew it, but if that was what fate had in store for him, he was tired of trying to outrun it. And if Aziraphale was set on Falling, there was no point to anything, anyway, because he knew Aziraphale well enough to be able to imagine what would happen after, and an eternity of torture would be a welcome distraction from that.

Lucifer took the page and laughed. “Paperwork did not make you a demon. Cutting ties with me will not reverse your Fall.”

“No, but it does mean I’m not working for you anymore. From here on, I’m working for myself, and for whoever I choose to love.”

The word love echoed through the entirety of the Lowest Pit, tripping tiny tremors into the ice.

Undeterred, Lucifer laughed again. “Love? Love is self-destruction. I gave you a gift, showed you how to protect yourself from destruction. And now you call it a lie. Go on, then. Love. Destroy yourself. That is what will happen, and that is the truth. I could ask for no greater vengeance.”

He leaned over Aziraphale. “As for you, how long can you go on, always knowing that the choice is there, waiting?” He stepped away, amused when he saw that Aziraphale’s hand was now embedded in ice up to the wrist. “On the other hand, if the ice takes you, I suppose you’re as good as Fallen, anyway. I’ll leave the two of you to your self-destruction.”

And then he was simply gone.

As Aziraphale continued to be maddeningly unresponsive, Crowley found himself with two options. The first was to curl into unresponsiveness himself, and the second was to express his rage as ragefully as possible.

The first option had some appeal, but he chose the second.

He smashed a fist against the ice and it hurt, badly enough that he didn’t do it again, but he didn’t regret it, either. The ice, frustratingly, showed no sign of damage. As he had an overwhelming need to destroy something, he picked up his broken glasses and smashed them against the ice, which was less painful and slightly more satisfying.

“You know who the real traitor is?” Crowley asked, vehemently, because he didn’t think Aziraphale was listening. He pointed up. “I made stars with Her, angel. I loved Her. I trusted Her. And how did She repay that?”

He lifted his head and shouted at the ceiling, “You create beings of pure love; You make them your co-creators; and then You let them be threatened, let them be lied to, let them imprison themselves forever on the basis of a lie, and You just stand by and do nothing? How could there be any greater treachery than that?”

Aziraphale had actually been trying, without success, to muster the will to pull himself free from the ice. It wasn’t because he’d ruled out Lucifer’s proposition, by any means. It was, quite simply, because he was still sensible enough to know that he ought not to make such a decision while he was injured and exhausted and in the Lowest Abyss of Hell.

“She can’t hear you,” he said quietly. “Not from in here.”

“I know.” Crowley slid over to sit with his back against the ice that Aziraphale was stuck to. “There’s no point, really.”

“No point,” repeated Aziraphale, making another halfhearted attempt to pull his hand out. The truth was, he didn’t want badly enough to leave, because that was going to mean facing a great many things that he didn’t want to have to deal with. He slumped against the ice himself.

Crowley gazed across the frozen landscape and was suddenly so tired that he couldn’t imagine standing back up, much less walking another step on that blasted ice, even if Aziraphale did manage to get free, which was seeming less and less likely.

Mina, Ben, and Lishan were moving toward them, Lishan still sure-footed, the other two unsteady but persevering.

“We found the Way Out,” said Mina, pointing behind her. “It’s a huge hole in the ground, right in the middle.”

“But people are still getting stuck all over the place,” said Ben.

Lishan took in Aziraphale and Crowley’s situation and concluded, “You two are a disaster.”

“That’s fair,” agreed Crowley, who now had his head leaning back against the ice with his eyes closed.

“You need to get out of here, now,” said Lishan. “For your own sakes, but also because the longer you’re stuck, the more demoralized everyone else is. I mean, if an angel can’t get through Hell, what chance do we have?”

Aziraphale’s fingers had gone numb. “My apologies,” he said. “I’m afraid I may, in fact, be more susceptible to the effects of this area than humans are.”

The three humans exchanged glances and some unspoken understanding.

Ben slid over to sit down on Aziraphale’s other side, his back to the ice like Crowley’s.

“I gave up,” he said. “That’s how I died. My whole life, my brain was telling me that everything here was real, and I kept saying it was wrong, but it wouldn’t stop, so I… stopped it.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Aziraphale, who had suspected as much.

Ben went on, “So then, when I first got here, and Hell turned out to be real after all, I… as bad as things were when I was alive, I’d never in my whole life felt that hopeless.

“Only the thing is, now that I’ve seen Hell for real, I’m starting to think I was right in the first place. Hell is real, but it’s also not real. When you’re in it, it seems like the only reality there is. But… like you said, there’s more reality out there. Infinite reality. So infinite and so real that it makes this place seem like… nothing.”

“I have always believed that’s true,” admitted Aziraphale.

“You’re an angel; I’m sure you do. I’m only telling you because it’s because of you that I got the chance to believe it. If you hadn’t talked to me in Limbo, I’d probably still be up there, thinking Hell was all there is. So, thank you.”

Ben turned his head to look up at Selene’s frozen form. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get everyone through, but I’m grateful that you wanted to help me, and everyone else. And I don’t want you to get stuck here, any more than you wanted me to get stuck there. You don’t belong here.”

Aziraphale pulled harder at the ice, and felt it loosen around his wrist and palm. “Thank you,” he said, continuing to work at it. “That does mean a great deal.” If there was no other reason to free himself, he supposed he at least owed it to the humans.

“You’re starting to freeze,” Mina said to Crowley.

He didn’t move or open his eyes. “Yeah, well, for one thing, I am very, very, very, very tired. And then, also, there’s this: The prophet’s right about infinite reality, but the thing is, infinite reality didn’t think I was worth saving. So what’s the point, really?”

He sunk a little deeper into the ice, looking nearly asleep.

“Oh, you are not doing that,” said Lishan. They slapped the ice next to Crowley’s ear and said, “Hey! Listen to me.”

Crowley’s eyes flew open, lurid yellow to the edges. Lishan balked for half a second and then got over it. “Okay, you do not get to tell me that I have to pull myself together and do what needs to be done, and then turn around and not pull yourself together and not do what needs to be done. That is not what’s happening.” They leaned in closer and whispered, “The point is, he’s worth saving, and you need to get him out of here, now.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who was finally making some progress in extracting himself. Lishan was right, but the thought of yet more walking on ice, not to mention the likelihood of Aziraphale being drawn in by more images or another frozen human, was daunting.

“There’s always the car,” said Ben.

Perhaps the most telling sign of Crowley’s own looming hopelessness was that he’d nearly forgotten it. “The car! Yes, of course.” The Bentley was exactly what he needed. A piece of the World, a piece of himself, and most of all, a chance to get off of the blessed ice. He warped it out of interdimensional reality and it burst back into full existence, solid and shining and glorious.

“Wow,” breathed Mina. “That is a car.”

The driver’s-side door opened on its own. Crowley pulled himself away from the wall of ice, which had just been beginning to stick, and slid into the familiar comfort of the seat-leather and the steering wheel. He opened the glove box, dug out a fresh pair of sunglasses, and slipped them on with relief.

He pushed open the passenger door. “Get in, angel. We’re leaving.”

Aziraphale had nearly worked his hand free, but the sight of the open door and Crowley inside gave him pause. If he did leave, whatever came next was going to involve confronting a lot of difficult questions about what, exactly, his place in the universe was, and how that related to whatever Crowley’s place in the universe was.

More immediately, taking the car felt like a failure. “I shouldn’t leave all of you,” he said to the humans. “Not till everyone’s through.”

“It’s all right,” said Mina. “We’ve got this. The three if us wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for things you both did, early on. But we are here, because of you. And now you have to trust that we’ve got this. We’ll get everyone through who can be gotten through.”

Aziraphale still hesitated. He couldn’t help looking at Selene again.

“Really?” sighed Mina, exasperated. “Who do you think you are, anyway?”

“That is the question, it seems.”

Mina blinked, apparently not having realized that it was that much in doubt. “Okay, I don’t know the whole answer to that, but at least we can rule out one thing you’re not.”

Aziraphale regarded her curiously.

“You’re not God,” she said. “Look, I truly believe you’ve done your best. We all have. But nobody’s best is ever going to be perfect, because none of us is God. And frankly, as far as I can tell, even God is doing a really shit job of being perfect.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help smiling. “Quite right, my dear.” He pressed his other hand against the ice in order to give himself more leverage for a final pull, and then the frozen hand came free.

“Finally!” grumbled Crowley. “Let’s go, already!”

Lishan whispered, almost inaudibly, to Aziraphale, “He’s worth saving, too, and I have no idea what that even means, but I think you both need to figure it out.”

Aziraphale nodded.

It still felt like a defeat, getting in the car and fleeing, but at least Aziraphale was now willing to do it. Even here, he could summon the faint touch of ethereal energy it took to warm his frozen hand back to life, and that was a small comfort. He settled onto the passenger seat and said to the humans, “I hope to see you all again soon.”

“You will,” said Ben.

“This is a three-part Grand Tour, right?” said Mina. “We still have a lot more to go.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Until we meet again, then.” He shut the door.

No normal earth-car would have been able to start in the extreme cold of the Lowest Pit, but Crowley believed that the Bentley could do it, and so it did. He pressed the pedal hard. The car lunged forward, deftly dodging ice-formations and speechless humans as it accelerated to speeds far beyond what any car should have been able to manage on a surface of sheer ice.

The three humans watched them go.

Mina said to Lishan, “Can I just tell you how impressed I am that you talked like that to a demon? That took guts.”

They laughed. “I think he and I are friends? Maybe? Anyway, you laid down a little bit of tough love, yourself.”

Mina smirked. “I guess I did.”

“They’re going to be all right,” said Ben.

Lishan nodded and looked at all the other humans, spread out across the ice in a jumble of hope and despair. “Come on; we have more work to do.”

The hum of the engine had given Crowley new energy, intense and furious as combustion itself. He’d realized that he knew exactly where he was going.

They reached the Way Out, which was indeed nothing but a large hole in the ground. Crowley drove right over the edge and down the side, because he believed that his car was capable of driving straight down the side of a pit, and so it was.

Gravity lurched and flipped when they crossed the center of the earth, pulling them back against the seats as the Bentley was now driving straight up the side of a pit with no visible opening ahead.

Neither of them had said anything. Aziraphale was radiating a bewildered sort of sadness. After another silent minute or so of the car progressing rapidly upward, he said, “Perhaps it’s for the best that you’re not going the rest of the way.” Maybe, he thought, if he had some time to sort things out for himself first, it would be easier to sort things out with Crowley.

Crowley, eyes burning behind his glasses, said, “Oh, I’m going, angel. I’m going all the way to the top. I’m going to see God face-to-face and I’m going tell Her exactly what I think about what She let that bastard do to me and to everyone. And God’s not going to be able to ignore me anymore.”

The round opening of the tunnel came into view far ahead, revealing, distant but clearly visible, a night sky scattered with stars.