Chapter Text
Ranjit Singh often spent his days wandering through hell.
It was a familiar, though arduous journey; the scalding warmth of the air upon his skin, the way his round framed glasses would fog up upon his face, leaving him blurry vision with or without them. On the ground before him footprints overlapped, markers of the journeys that had passed, serving as a reminder of the journey he still faced. Size 5 shoes left imprints in the ground beneath him, but he never stopped to look at them. No, he’d made that mistake once before; never look too deeply at the path, or it may change its course.
Hell often didn’t take kindly to intruders. And Ranjit Singh, who frequently showed up unannounced, was one of them. Ranjit, however, was a different kind of intruder- an unwilling one. Therefore Hell, though famously tormenting, was kind enough to guide him towards an exit. The roads towards the exit were often littered with harrow, a torture he’d gotten accustomed to over time. Licks of flamed dewdrops landing upon his cheeks, visions and premonitions spiking and plaguing his mind, the foul smell of charred carcassess. His sister, his dad, his nani. He’d learnt to ignore it, often grateful for the fog on his glasses. He’d grown to learn that fear got you nowhere in Hell; its residents trembled with it, and its hosts relished in it. He was untouchable if he was not afraid.
It was hard not to be scared when you were an eleven year old boy in Hell.
This particular travel had been agonisingly long, the blending of night into day and day into night being of no assistance in this matter. Ranjit sniffled, pushing his glasses further up his nose with his tarred sleeve. His feet were aching, and the paths he’d taken intertwined beneath them. He was utterly lost. The lump in his throat wobbled, and he hiccuped back a tear, rubbing his eyes as he clenched his jaw. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t allowed to be scared. From his right there came a deep, tortured groan, and in his upset state, he looked. Usually he avoided looking at Hell’s creations face on, but all sense of logic was beginning to escape him. Fear did that to people. Before him was a sight so gruesome it made his stomach churn; a man was knelt on the ground with his head hung low, and through his skull the spiked tail of a creature he identified as a Tiresseon [their Understanding teacher was a very proper man, using only the official, formal names of the monsters they studied]. A strip of red fabric pierced by its tail hung limply from his face, and Ranjit could hear the faint sound of dripping blood from its silky material. The nerve-like tail had torn through the man’s socket, piercing what looked like his eyeball firmly to the ground. The man’s finger twitched almost robotically, before the squelching of tail pushing further through skull silenced his movements. Ranjit couldn’t help it anymore; he let out a wrangled sob as he stumbled away from the sight, shaking his head desperately. He didn’t want to see any more of this- he didn’t know the man who’d died before him, but nonetheless the vision was unbearably cruel. A small part of him was glad it wasn’t his sister, or his pa, like it usually was, but instead a stranger.
A disjointed whimper tore him from his frenzy, and he almost collapsed straight into another tormented scene. This one, however, the poor soul was still living, even if only just. Through his blurred vision [wether the tears or his glasses were to blame, he wasn't quite sure] he managed to make out a horned figure, half human and half goat- a Satyr, he assumed. What seemed to be vines, or perhaps ropes, were wrapped around his hooves and tugging him backwards along the thorned ground below. The spikes caught his skin, fighting through fur to slice at his stomach, causing the figure to bleat painfully. He didn’t seem to see Ranjit, unlike the other visions he’d had, where his family would call to him and he’d stand there aimlessly, pitifully, unable to help. The creature’s vine-like appendages strung him upwards, and it was only then could Ranjit properly see the messy slices that gaped open atop the man’s skin. It was only then that Ranjit panicked. The man had gone limp, and Ranjit covered his eyes with his hand, tearing his glasses off of his face desperately. Hiccuped, messy sobs escaped him, and he fell to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest.
“I want to go home,” he wailed, voice muffled by the hand he held to his mouth. Of course, he knew nobody would answer. Hell wasn't exactly renowned for being empathetic.
“Hey-”
Ranjit let out a frightened yell, choking on an interrupting sob as he scrambled backwards, spluttering.
“Woah, woah it's alright. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Before him was a woman, her skin tainted a burgundy colour, and hair soaked in what seemed to be blood. Her voice was soft, and her hands were held up in surrender as she knelt to his level. It was only then he saw the side of her face; her cheek was torn to shreds, and from it came a flicker of white that looked suspiciously like a tooth. He whimpered, unable to voice his fear- unwilling to admit he was scared.
“You-you’re…please don’t trick me.” His voice was hardly above a whisper, and the woman let out a soft chuckle.
“I’m not here to trick you.” She attempted a smile, but only the intact half of her face managed it. “You wanna go home, yeah?”
Despite being in Hell, surrounded by trickery, Ranjit felt inclined to believe her. He nodded, sniffling. She glanced behind her for a moment, surveying the area. “All right.” She turned to face him once more, and he flinched upon seeing her face.
“Shit- sorry, yeah. That’s…I probably don’t look so good, do I?” Her tone was gentle, kinder than he’d heard in a while. The last time he’d heard anyone speak so softly was at home, with his mother. And he hadn’t heard her speak in a long time.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” He whispered, eyes wide, body trembling slightly.
“Nah,” she shook her head gently, but couldn’t hold back the sharp inhale.
“Oh. Sorry.” His voice was quiet, tentative.
“Don’t-look. Don’t you be sorry. This, none of this, is your fault, alright? You, you’re a very brave young lad, and this,” she gestures to her face, “was my choice. And this,” she waved her arm around her, “has nothing to do with you. You are so strong, and so brave.” She paused. “Ranjit.”
His eyes widened and he stuttered in confusion. “How..”
“It’s Hell.” She smiled faintly, shrugging a little.
“You, Ranjit, are so brave. You are so strong, for fighting through all of this. And I need you to keep being strong, okay?”
He nodded, and she got to her feet. She extended a hand, and after a moment, he cautiously took it. Helping him to his feet, she gave him a soft, reassuring nod.
“You’re going to want to turn back, alright? Head back that way, and you’ll find a little crevice to fit through. That should get you back to where you need to be.”
“Are…you’re not going to come with me?”
She let out a small sigh.
“No. No, not this time.” An echoing howl from behind her caused the woman (who Ranjit suspected to be some escaped demon, or something of the sort) to frown, turning quickly back to the boy.
“Go. Be brave, alright?” He nodded, beginning to step back. “Oh- and, no matter what you hear, or see, don't turn back. The paths are being…pesky, today.”
He didn’t want to look away- the demon-woman before him had been nothing but kind, and he didn’t want to forget that. Or, to forget her. As though hearing his thoughts, ashen dewdrop landed upon his shoulder pulled his eyes away from her, and as quickly as she’d been there, he knew she was gone. His lip shook, but tentatively he put one foot in front of the other, beginning his journey back towards his school.
What felt like an hour had passed, and he’d heard nor seen nothing, and he began to believe that perhaps she’d made it- perhaps she, just like he had, was on her way home.
A guttural scream pierced the air, followed by a wrangled, gurgled groan. He tensed; his foot paused in mid air, and his lip quivered once more. He felt the urge to turn, to run back to save her, but he knew it was too late. He held back his tears, wiping the few that escaped quickly from his face. He replayed her words in his mind, like a broken record that he had no desire to toss.
He was brave.
He was strong.
And it wasn’t his fault.