Page 19 of The River of Hatred

“And according to me, ten bored archdemons got drunk and made a bet about who could make the sickest torture zone in Hell,” Sariel finishes.

“Oh, lovely,” I quip. “Let me think, stay in the labyrinth of doom or fly out of here?” I brace my chin on my hand in the classicThinkerpose. “I know!” I exclaim. “I’ll take ‘leave’ for five hundred, Alex.”

Sariel grins irreverently. “As much as I’d love to have your sweet ass pressed against me again, poppet, the aforementioned archdemons cursed this place against flying.”

I gape at him. “Cursed? How?”

“Well, if we’d take off, giant hellfire balls would fly out from the ether to incinerate us. And I don’t know about you, but I’m hot enough already.” His grin turns wicked. “What am I saying, you’re definitely hot enough, darling.”

I see how he tried to lighten the mood, really, but the situation is too dire for cheap jokes. “Are you telling me we need to pass the ten trenches of torture on foot?”

“The denizens of the Malebolge would not dare cross us, Jessica,” Ithuriel tries to comfort me.

“Ten trenches of torture…” Sariel mutters pensively before speaking up. “Tots!”

Ithuriel shoots him a look that’s a mix of disgust and disappointment. “You are an infant.”

The Fallen steps between us and throws an arm over each of our shoulders. “I’m also pretty sure we’re gonna find what we’re looking for at the end of the Tots,” he says as the angel tries to escape his clutches in vain.

Ithuriel freezes and eyes Sariel with interest. “Why do you believe that?”

I bite my lip, my mind going to completely inappropriate places. They just look so good together, side by side. A contrast of colors, factions, and personalities. Sariel is the Yin to Ithuriel’s Yang. And I’m within touching distance of both gorgeous angels.

“I believe that because Belial is a crafty motherfucker,” Sariel answers the white-haired male, making him cringe at the cuss word. “You can bet your firm little tush that he had some shortcut to the void.” The owner of the firm little tush blushes furiously at the Fallen’s words. “But putting it here makes it super protected,” the fallen angel finishes.

“It makes sense,” I chime in. “We’re technically still between Asmodeus’ and Belial’s two territories and I bet not a lot of demons bother to come here.”

Sariel shakes his head. “Not unless they’re meant to be here, torturing souls.”

Cringing, I look around me again. “Speaking of tortured souls. Where in the Malebolge are we? How come no one’s here?”

“Ah,” the Fallen winces. “I think we’re at the very start.”

“So, this would be the one for…?” I let my question hang.

“Panderers and Seducers,” the angels reply simultaneously.

Chapter 11 – Ithuriel

The Malebolge: The Trench of Panderers and Seducers

We begin walking the trench and it’s not long until we start encountering sinners. While the souls in Hell are most often disembodied and insentient, these were given an echo of their former lives’ bodies and awareness in order to fully experience the fate they were doomed to. The Trench of Panderers and Seducers hosts those who exploit others’ emotions and desires to fulfill their own selfish wishes.

Though the trench is wide, the jagged stone walls towering above us on each side give a sense of entrapment. The dull orange sky barely illuminates the cracked, barren ground, but it’s enough to see the trails of blood and grime, the leavings of the endless columns of sinners marching up and down the trench to the beat of their demonic overlords’ whips.

The tortured are exhausted, their faces contorted with their eternal suffering, their backs exposed and streaked with open wounds from the repeated lashings. The demonic figures lining the sides of the trenches, long, barbed whips in hand, cackle with glee each time a sinner stumbles.

What Sariel said holds true; the demons avert their eyes as we pass them, though I can feel their hateful gazes heating my back when we do. When a particularly sadistic demon licks his lips and tugs on his exposed crotch, leering at Jessica, I pull out my greatsword. I swing my weapon, ready to decapitate the offending pile of excrement when Sariel’s body suddenly appears between us. There is a shriek as the Fallen tears the demon’s naked member from his body, discarding it on the dirt, and I jump back. Sariel grabs the creature by his hair, pulling his head back and leaning down to say something directly in the demon’s ear. The hellion’s blotchy red face pales as the blood drains from it at Sariel’s quiet words.

“Understood?” Sariel’s murmur is heard over the demon’s sobs. Cupping himself, trying to staunch the flow of blood, the creature merely trembles in shock. “I asked you a question,” the Fallen says, each new word sharper than the previous. Finally, the demon begins nodding frantically and Sariel releases him.

Pulling a canteen out of the ether, he pours water over his hands as he walks toward where the Nephilim and I wait at a safe distance. When he looks up from his task and sees our slack-jawed expressions, he tilts his head and laughs.

Jessica bites her lip. “What did you say to him?”

“Just the truth,” he replies breezily.

“And what is the truth?” I ask.

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