Satan's Little Helper

X X V I - [ D A E M O N ]

I'M GUESSING that the purpose of the Third Circle is to starve and thirst myself, but fortunately, the Circle can't exactly affect me since I've never really needed to eat or drink or even breathe. We demons feed off a source, yes, such as a single soul, but we can still go for days without it.

From what I've learned in the past couple of centuries, all you have to do in this level is to embrace death, so passing by this circle would easily be a walk in the park for me.

I stroll around this desert of a level, waiting to feel extreme fatigue or whatever the hell is supposed to make me feel like I'm in so much pain, I'd very much prefer death over staying alive in that state.

This level feels like a loop made for pure survival and torture—but let's be honest here, you'd have to scratch survival from the list of this circle's objectives.

When my throat starts to feel raw and my feet feel numb beyond compare, I drag my tired body to the nearest tree and lay beside it, ready to embrace death and get all this over with. I close my eyes and let go—it's as easy as that, really—and when I open my eyes again, I see a gate towering over me.

Smirking at how much of a breeze this circle's been, I enter the fourth gate with full confidence and eagerness; Hell's hell isn't that torturous after all.

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I CAN'T SEE anything, not really.

Either the level is made dark or there really isn't much to see here. I look around, prepared to face the "obstacle" of this level, but only to hear a familiar sound.

"Hello, Daemon. It's been quite a while."

My eyes widen at the recognition of the voice, and my jaws drop open as my eyes land at the demon who had spoken—my father.

For a moment I just stare at him in total incomprehension, because who on earth wouldn't if they saw their supposedly deceased father right in front of you?

"Daemon?" He says again, this time with an eyebrow raised. "Son? You there?"

"What the fuck?" The three words unexpectedly spill out of my mouth, as if seeing my father once more really fucks me up—and it kind of does, to be honest.

"Language! Didn't I teach you better?" He chides, a not-so-mean scowl on his face. I stay silent, not really knowing whether to act guilty for being disrespectful to my father or act like I'm crazy and your father who is supposedly dead is not actually talking to you.

A big grin breaks out from my father's faux-scowl and he opens his arms instead. "Oh who am I kidding? Come here, boy!"

Once again, I stay silent and still at the spot where I am standing. My face has been taut since the moment I saw my father, and a look of incredulity still lingers on my face.

Really, though. Isn't he supposed to be dead?

"Well come on, now. Don't leave your old man hanging." My father tries once more, but seeing that I'm not moving a single muscle whatsoever, he sighs and place his hands on his hips instead. "You know, your right hand took this far better than how you are doing now."

I blink. "What?"

"He speaks!" He shouts, throwing his arms into the air.

"Feia was here?" I ask, not knowing whether to trust him or not. Satan knows that he may be an imposter of sorts here to mess with me.