Lovely Demons

Part 17

The outskirts of Hell are more dismal than you imagined. Tartarus stinks worse than any sewer or back alley of Virago; worse than the grimmest butchery within Gehenna. Its reek is ancient, wafting from the earth and soured by many millennia of the worst souls imaginable.

You hover before its entrance, not daring to enter without reason.

Standing at your side, Jimin stares grimly at the gates which many – mistakenly – imagine to be the gates of Hell. Tartarus' entrance is carved from a strange, dark stone which seems to absorb all light. The sight makes you shiver; unable to look at it for long, you glance away.

"Are we going in?" you ask, breaking the silence.

Jimin looks amused. "So eager to fight demons."

You shrug a shoulder. "Who knew all I needed was to enter Hell's Maw?"

He pauses, and an indiscernible expression flits over his face.

"You know," Jimin says, turning to face you. "Hell contains more than just demons and Princes. More than the mortal souls you met in Gehenna. There are... other souls which arrive here in their afterlife. Souls deemed 'impure' by Heavenly standards."

A frown creases your lips. "What do you do with them?"

"It depends." He tilts his head. "If the souls are truly repentant, they mostly live as they once did – with some benefits, of course. No poverty. No disease. Little warfare."

"As for the rest?"

Jimin's expression hardens, and you again glimpse the High Prince.

"They suffer," he says.

Absorbing all this, you glance at the gates before you. "And the souls within Tartarus?"

Moving to stand alongside you, Jimin looks up at the gates. "The souls confined here committed the worst crimes in their mortal life," he says quietly. "And they would do so again, if given the chance."

A shudder runs through you. Although you consider yourself strong, you aren't so foolish as to be unafraid. When you left Infernal Palace, you magicked your clothes into witch-hunter leathers. Jemisha is strapped to your side, and you grip her pommel tightly. Lucian's words flood your brain, reminding you to keep your grip loose and your motions fluid.

"I'm ready," you murmur.

Inclining his head, Jimin lifts a hand and the gates creak slowly open. A blast of withering heat follows the motion, chased by a rotted cloyingness which almost makes you recoil. Smoke and darkness emerge from the maw, dissipating to nothing once the doors stand ajar.

A shadowy host of jointed shapes are revealed, startled by your entrance.

"Were you going somewhere?" Jimin says calmly, longsword appearing in his grasp.

Ripples of flame spiral down its length, burning hotter and brighter until you're forced to look away. Raven-black wings extend from Jimin's shoulders as interlaced armor spreads down his biceps and wrists. Above his hair, a halo of violet flames bursts into existence.

As one, the creatures inhale – and attack.

There's barely time to draw Jemisha before you stand in their midst. On reflex, you categorize each demon you strike. A boggart – swampish creatures which seek out mortal misery. Only killed by beheading, which you do with one savage blow.

Without pause, you whirl and slice a ghoul in half. Ghouls are able to shape-shift, so it's imperative to strike through a major organ. Gore splatters your visage, and you wipe your face clean before facing the next. A wendigo, howling at the inky, black nothingness up above.