Shattered Line

Chapter 40: The First King

"You're crazy. Do you think you can just waltz into the Underworld and expect a fine reception? They won't help you just because you ask. Don't trust Demons didn't you learn that. And why the hell would you return, Lucifer purposefully sent you away because he knew the dangers. Did you not think the repercussions of your escape would be light?" Lance roared, pacing around before her.

"I don't have a choice. You know—you don't need to be here, so stop complaining," Isla retorted, returning her gaze to the double doors.

The black tar surface rippled as screaming faces emerged. They contorted and twisted from wailing to growling, warning trespassers of the door's barrier field. How befitting for the Demon King's throne room.

Still, the door represented her trial. She had one chance to persuade their King. For death stood sharp, widening their stance and ready to swing.

Courage had melted, destroyed by the Underworld's hottest hell. She heaved as her airways constricted. A dark and heavy air compressed around her, nipping and clawing her skin. Sweat dripped from her nape and a chill swamped her insides. Isla swiped at the droplets dotting her forehead, but her eyes never flinched from forward.

"Here," Asterick mentioned, a gray cloth hazing her peripheral.

Isla glanced at the linen he extended. "No need."

Asterick retracted the encouraging item. "You're responding to his killing intent. A normal reaction for one unaccustomed. But don't worry, he does this to all. Especially foreigners seeking an audience."

"I'm sure the said foreigner being a God doesn't help either." Lance snorted, cleaving a hand through his hair.

"As always, your words are incredibly helpful," she muttered.

"Look." Lance stopped his march, pointing a finger in her direction. "I tried stopping you from coming here. I told you. Nothing good will come from this. You're the stubborn fool hell-bent on dying."

Isla glared at him and the irony his words slew. "This is my choice. And for my own sake."

"Calm down, children." Asterick's voice cooed. He faced Isla before continuing, "but, I'm afraid he's right. Our King does not trifle with the likes of Gods. Success will be unlikely, so expect the worst outcome."

Isla doused her snap and clenched her hands. "Death—so be it."

"Do not give your life away so easily," interrupted Lucifer, striding from the nearby stairwell. His cane tapping across the black tiled floor.

She approached him, a spontaneous smile tugging her lips up. "I thought you would come."

His deep velvet eyes softened. "Of course, my dear. I'll help where I can. It's the least I can do." Lucifer outstretched his arms, opening them wide.

She entered his arm-length and his close embrace. One whiff, and his earthly smell pacified the scythe-wielding lunatic, granting a reprieve.

Stepping back, she gazed upon him whole. His loving fatherly expression faded and he sighed.

"Be careful," he voiced.

She hesitated, parsing her response together. "I'll try," she murmured.

His hard-worn demeanor shifted into a frown. "Know this, your father wouldn't be the first our King has killed. I fear he may not be inclined to assist."

The revelation swathed her feet in flames, the smoke billowing towards heaven. Burned alive—a small price to accept for her decision's resolve.

She pinched her thigh, refocusing. "How many others have there been?"