Page 22 of Not Today, Satan
He stutters and looks to his coworker, who bobs his head. “Of course you may enter, Your Highness.”
Well, that was easy.
I give them a curt nod. “I thought so.”
They part, but as I step between them, the first souldier grabs my wrist. My heart snaps in my chest. “What is it now?”
“I’d prefer to escort you, Your Highness.” He releases my arm and raises his head. “I’d feel better if one of us were by your side.”
I repress the urge to groan. I’m not a child. It would be nice if everyone would stop treating me like one.
Lifting my cape to expose the sword at my side, I shoot him a pointed look. “I can take care of myself. Just do your actual job of keeping them inside these doors.”
He backs away before bowing again. “Yes, Your Highness. Apologies again.”
I will my body to remain steady as they open the doors and watch me walk into the lot. It takes everything I have not to look back at them.
When the doors leading into Lot Thirteen slam behind me, my blood turns cold.
No wonder they scream.
I thought I’d prepared myself for this. Hell has been home my entire life. But dark and miserable as my city is, it doesn’t come close to the horrors that surround me.
Lot Thirteen is massive. Not only in width and length, but in depth. Even though I didn’t noticeably descend on my journey here, I’m standing in a gaping pit. Above, the sky is the same black as Dominus—an unending void of despair.
I’m surrounded by cliffs of stone, their walls painted in the blood of shadelings. Pools of red collect in divots around my feet, and I swallow hard. Blood stains every rock, every bit of sand, the rusty, acidic scent permeating my nose. Screams burst through the air around me like fireworks.
All of my senses are flooded to the point I can’t discern one from the other. I wrap my arms around myself to quiet the shivers rippling through my bones.
I’m lonely all the time in Dominus, but I’m never alone. Even if they don’t speak to me, Father’s souldiers keep a close watch. But standing in the middle of this darkness and gore, I realize I’m on my own for the first time in my life. And I’ve chosen the lot that houses the worst of humanity to seek that independence.
Smart, Devica.
I survey my surroundings, wondering how I’ll find one shadeling among the masses of flesh and bones and teeth snarling at me. I pull the cloak back over my face as a shadeling chained to a rock lets out an inhuman sound that sends shivers down my spine.
My hand finds the hilt of my sword, and I tighten my fingers around it as I weave further into the lot, forcing myself to look beyond the agony on the faces around me and focus only on their features. I can’t study them for long without sensing their fear, their guilt, and their pain.
I’m not sure why it makes my insides ache. It never affects Father or the other demons—at least, not as far as they let on. Maybe it’s the human side of me. No wonder Father wanted to bury it.
Awful as their cries are, they don’t warrant sympathy. These were the worst of the worst on Earth. Murderers, rapists, pedophiles. If any humans deserve to be down here, it’s them. I block out their cries and continue through the lot.
The soles of my boots stain red with their blood, and I bite back a sigh. These shadelings may deserve all of this, but my new boots do not.
After what feels like hours of searching and hiding from souldiers patrolling the lot, I find Nathan Reynolds shackled to a wall. Despite everything I’ve already seen in here, my chest aches at the sight of him, and I cover my mouth to contain a cry.
He’s shirtless, bleeding from multiple openings in his torso and wrists. The wounds will close on their own soon, so that the demons can come back and open them again. This is his punishment: to be brought as close to death as possible, without the peace that comes with a final ending.
His head hangs over his chest, his eyes closed, but his moans indicate he’s still conscious. Of course he is. Father wouldn’t grant anyone the reprieve of sleep in here.
I’ve stared at his photo so often that I’d forgotten Hell would find every way possible to erase that lopsided grin of his. I’ve walked past shadelings with limbs removed and their insides sprawled on their outsides, but none of that shocks me like finding the boy who smiled at me on his first day here sliced open.
“Nathan Reynolds,” I say, my voice wavering.
He lifts his head and squints through blood pooling from a gash over his eye. “Devica?”
I frown and turn away from him so he can’t see his pain mirrored in my eyes.
Get it together, Dev. There’s nothing special about this one. He’s as bad as the rest of them.
