King of Hell

by Melody Rose

  “She’s a vegan!” she shouted gleefully as we walked by, and she proceeded to blast a handful of meat across the air into the girl’s mouth somehow. “She also does Crossfit! Just wait and see what I have in store for her next!”

  The girl looked defeated as if she had been fighting it for a long time. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she was slouched over her restraints. She seemed resigned to the fact that it was happening. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Even for a non-vegan, that whole scene was nauseating. I wondered how long she had been in there, and how much meat she had already been forced to consume. I felt myself turning green and forced myself to keep my composure.

  I was still stunned by what had to be some kind of telekinesis, which wasn’t real, or was it meat-o-kinesis? I didn’t know. As I tried to recover, the blonde picked up another chunk and did it again. After a moment, my captor ushered me past the doorway, still stunned, and we continued down the hall.

  “Okay, stop!” I demanded and came to a halt.

  The man stopped suddenly, snapped his finger, and all the doors flew shut simultaneously. Then he turned to me. His muscles tensed, and he clenched his jaw. His eyes darkened as he stared me down. I could immediately tell he did not like taking commands from anyone.

  “Excuse me?” he uttered as if he could not believe he had just been spoken to that way.

  “Where the fuck are we, and who the fuck are you?!” I screamed. “This is inhumane! I demand to be let free!”

  “Yes, it’s inhumane.” He spoke slowly and carefully, his deep voice intimidating even at this low volume. “This is all inhumane, but at the same time, there are no humans here. Only you.”

  “What?” I stared at him, slack jawed. Did he really just tell me I was the only human here? I immediately wondered what that meant. Who were all the people I had just seen in all those rooms? What was all the mistreatment about? The biggest question of all slammed into the forefront of my mind: Where the fuck was I?

  He took a deep breath then, and the walls dissolved around us, leaving us in a big black expanse. His eyes glowed red, almost as if they were on fire (I knew I hadn’t imagined it earlier!), and he adjusted his posture, almost as if he was tensing all his muscles. Before I could roll my eyes, I saw them, the black, glossy wings, slowly opening up to fill the expanse. I’ve never even imagined a wingspan like this existing. It was, at once, gorgeous and utterly frightening. If this guy didn’t scream bad news before, he just fucking plastered it on a billboard. I was officially in way over my head.

  “What the hell?” I muttered in awe and disbelief.

  “Yes, exactly. Hell.” His voice was a low growl now. His wings folded up, and with them, the walls flowed inward, until we were back in the hallway. I almost felt as if I had imagined that whole dramatic scene. I blinked a few times to be sure I was really there, with four walls, a ceiling, and a floor.

  “Welcome to Hell,” he declared, “where I am the King.”

  “The King?” I blurted out. “That’d make you Lucifer or some shit.”

  He smirked. “You’d think you’d be more frightened.” Why did he look so amused all the damn time?

  “Okay, I’ll entertain it. If you’re the Devil, what the hell do you want with me?” I kept my posture straight. While I was getting pretty fucking terrified, I wasn’t about to let him know it.

  “You hurt me,” he stated simply.

  “So why don’t you kill me?” I asked.

  “Because I want answers. I’m good at getting answers, and if you don’t give me the answers I want, you’ll be in one of these rooms.” He gestured toward the row of now-closed doors. He was so matter-of-fact about all of this. Honestly, he almost seemed bored with it all, which was, in and of itself, disturbing.

  “Torturing random people for fun?” I pressed. I was hopeful that my voice sounded more confident than I felt.

  He looked at me with a furrowed brow and tilted his head in confusion. “Not for fun,” he insisted, and then straightened up and changed his tone. “Well,” he corrected, “Yes, it’s plenty of fun. But it’s not that they don’t deserve it.”

  “Oh yeah?” I snapped. “Who the fuck deserves chopped meat shoved in her face? What the fuck did she do to deserve that? Vegan or not!” I was shouting now.

  He looked pissed that I dared to yell at him. He paused, muscles still tense. I was suddenly afraid that he would retaliate.

  He didn’t retaliate, though. Instead, he paused and then answered me.

  “That so-called vegan that you’re defending? She made her own version of Mrs. Lovett’s meat pies.”

  I stared at him for a moment, slack-jawed, trying to comprehend what he just said. I swallowed hard, trying to collect my thoughts. “Did you… Uh… What?”

  Lucifer smirked. “Humans. She cooked humans. Felt that it gave non-vegans a taste of their own medicine. You still want to defend her?”

  I stood there silently. It wasn’t often I was struck speechless.

  Lucifer continued. “The peanut butter woman gagged her husband in his sleep. The closest thing she had to gag him with was her kid’s peanut butter sandwich.” He gestured toward another door. “The headless man stole the neighborhood cats and drowned them all in the local lake.” He nodded back toward the Bieberette. “The superfan over there was a nurse. She euthanized multiple patients without permission. The Justin Bieber bit is just because it humors me.” He paused then, and I could see thoughts running through his mind in rapid succession. “As a matter of fact, maybe a sneak preview is in order here. Asmodeus.” As he spoke, a very sharply dressed man appeared next to him.

  I blinked several times, in disbelief that a full-grown man had just magically appeared in front of me. With each logic-defying trick I had encountered, I felt a fog inch a bit further over my brain, one similar to a few too many drinks or a bad trip. This was the moment that it all came to a head for me. My palms were sweaty, and my stomach was in knots. Every muscle was tense as if prepped to make a run for it, and no amount of mental exercise would allow them to relax. My mouth felt dry, and the walls seemed to close in on me, the sensation of being trapped causing a taste of panic to crawl up my throat. I swallowed hard and forced myself to focus. The questions piled up in my mind, doing nothing to quell my fear.

  Asmodeus wore a turquoise suit, with a turquoise and purple paisley tie, and a purple dress shirt beneath it. His shoes looked to be crocodile skin, but they were the same shade of purple as the rest of his clothes. His hair was a copper color, shiny and silky and full, falling in perfect waves down to his shoulders. He had a perfectly groomed goatee and sparkling blue eyes that only enhanced the mischievous look on his face. It was like he was part of some inside joke he had literally just heard. I wondered how much time he planned on picking out his outfit. It was impeccably put together, even if it wasn’t my taste.

  “Yes, sir,” he drawled, his voice carrying a happy tone. His happiness made me immediately suspicious.

  “See to it that she gets a proper greeting.” On that ominous note, Lucifer slowly turned and proceeded to walk down the hall and turned out of sight. Realizing my adventure was just getting started, I turned with trepidation toward Lucifer’s fabulously dressed co-conspirator.

  “Hello, my darling.” Asmodeus had a voice that sounded like honey. He took his time on each word, letting them roll smoothly over his tongue. “Welcome to Hell.”

  Asmodeus stood there for a moment and looked down his nose at me.

  “I know why you’re here,” he said slowly and meticulously. “And you need to cooperate with us.” He gave me a small, sad smile. “But, you seem like the stubborn type, so, if you decide not to cooperate, I’ll show you what lies at the end of that road.”

  He sighed. “I almost wish I didn’t have to show you, by the way.” He twirled one hand. “If you just listened, we wouldn’t do anything, but no, you people never listen, do you? Never just take the easy way.” He looked at me in a way that made me think he could see all
the way to my soul, and it was all I could do not to shrink away from his gaze. “But I can tell, it is always going to be the hard way with you.”

  “What are you going to do? Put me in one of those rooms?” I snapped. I wasn’t sure if that was the wisest move on my end. Something told me that despite the obnoxious outfit, this wasn’t a guy I wanted to piss off.

  Asmodeus raised an eyebrow at me. After a beat, he smiled a sinister smile.

  “Not one of those rooms,” he said ominously. “Your own room.”

  “My own room?” I asked in confusion. “You mean the one in the bloody dungeon?”

  “No,” he answered with a dismissive wave. “The dungeon is just a place for you to stay for now. Your room will be much more… personalized.” He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, and a file appeared in his hand out of thin air. A picture of my face was taped to the front, and even from here, I could see it was thick, with multiple sections in it, with some loose pages and post-it notes sticking out of it. “Now then, let’s see what’s in your file.”

  He made a show of flipping it open and thumbing through it for a few minutes while I stood there awkwardly.

  “What is that?” I asked, unsure if I actually wanted to know. Because what it seemed like was a list of everything I’d ever done… and in exquisite detail too because the section he was reading was entitled first grade and looked like it talked about the time I’d put bubblegum in Suzy’s hair after she broke my favorite toy. I remembered the plastic horse distinctly, the long black mane shiny and slick from my hours of brushing it with the small pink hairbrush, and the brown body with several scratches dug into the painted finish from a few too many impacts on our tile floor at home. I know it wasn’t the best thing to have done at the time, but in my defense, I’d spent all of my tooth fairy money on that horse.

  “It is exactly what you think it is,” he muttered as he snapped the file shut, closed the distance between us, and touched my forearm. “Come, I have just the thing.”

  Suddenly we were in a dimly lit dark room, with another dirt floor. I could not make out where the walls were in the dark. Asmodeus let go of me. I heard fabric rustling, and then a small flame. He lit a few candles, which emanated just enough light for me to be able to make out my surroundings. In addition to the ceiling, it seemed as if the walls themselves were also made of dark stone. The candlelight bounced haphazardly off the uneven surfaces, making the entire room feel eerie. I noticed what looked to be my favorite worn-in recliner from home, along with the matching ottoman. I also noticed an incredibly uncomfortable folding chair. I thought back to the endless Justin Bieber concert and wondered if this was that same chair.

  “Come, sit.” Asmodeus pulled out the chair and gestured for me to sit. Then, when I didn’t immediately move to comply, he continued. “Hard way or easy way? Trust me, I can and will make you sit.”

  “Right, fine,” I said with more confidence than I felt. I took a quick step forward and then, very slowly, sat in the chair. And when nothing immediately started shoving meat down my throat or playing Justin Bieber, I let out a small sigh of relief.

  “Comfortable?” Asmodeus asked, and after I’d nodded, he presented me with the thinnest yarn I’d ever seen, and a single, thin crochet hook. The hook and the yarn were both black. “I read that you like to crochet when you’re upset. Perhaps you give it a go?”

  “Um… okay?” I said as I took the yarn and hook from him. This must have satisfied him because when I put the items in my lap, he proceeded to sit back into my recliner and prop his feet up on the ottoman, ankles crossed. He intertwined his fingers behind his head and leaned back.

  “Can we turn the lights on, maybe?” I asked defiantly. “And what the hell is this supposed to accomplish, anyway? Why am I here? What the fuck is going on? And, most importantly, when are you going to let me go!”

  “Did you miss the memo, babe? This is Hell! No lights.” He chuckled. “And the purpose of this is to accomplish a very specific task.” He leaned toward me with a huge, Cheshire cat grin. “My goal here is to take your passions and use them against you. Crochet, and quickly. If you don’t…” The friendly tone was gone now as his voice trailed off threateningly.

  I looked down, unsure of where to start, or what to do next. I could get up and leave. Deep down, I knew that wasn’t an option, though. Besides, where would I go? I didn’t know how I got here, or where the exit was, or where to even begin figuring that out. So, I had to stay. I could barely see anything, and I hated working with such thin yarn, to begin with. The longer I sat there, the warmer the crochet hook got, until it felt like hot brass hitting my skin at the gun range. I quickly dropped the hook, and it magically re-appeared in my hand. It was cool to the touch now, but I could feel it warming up again.

  “Better get to work, or that’ll keep happening,” he suggested, unconcerned.

  With all other options eliminated, I started crocheting the best I could. The hook was cool to the touch until I stopped, but would cool off once I started again. This went on for what felt like hours. The thin metal hook was uncomfortable in my hand, and the thin yarn cut into my finger as I tried to pull it taut to see it clearly in the dark. I kept missing stitches and slipping the yarn out from under the hook because of my inability to make heads or tails of what I was looking at. One by one, the candles slowly blew out, making my task more and more difficult as time went on.

  “Stop,” he muttered, and the hook and yarn vanished. My hands were cramping like nobody’s business, but above that, I was annoyed that my hard work had just vanished. I was pretty damned proud of those socks.

  “Follow me.” He got up and casually strolled to the door. Still seeing no other choice, I silently followed him back to the room I started in. He chained me back up.

  “This is insane,” I argued. “You are keeping me here because Lucifer wants to know something I can’t give him the answer to. He’s insane. Have I mentioned how insane this is?” I was getting hysterical by this point. I saw no way out of my predicament. I fought to keep myself calm.

  “Listen, sweetheart,” he replied casually. “This is Hell. This kind of thing will keep happening to you for all eternity until he gets what he wants. Today was a warning. Imagine being in that chair for a year, ten years, a hundred years! The Devil always gets his way. If I were you, I’d give him the information. Otherwise, we will be getting real acquainted from here on out.”

  I stood there, speechless. He smirked and walked out, closing the door behind him, and I sank down to the floor.

  I tried to think about all I had just experienced, all I had seen, as insane as it all looked, and tried to process it all. The one thing I kept coming back to was: Now what was I going to do?

  3

  Lucifer

  My throne room used to be my sanctuary. It’s where I perched myself and spat orders out and watched as my demons set people on fire before me. After all these millennia, I had grown bored. I sat and stared down the curved steps at the expansive floor below my elevated throne.

  At first glance, the glossy dark gray tile floors looked simple enough, but upon closer inspection, there was a seam running down the center of the room. I used to love opening up my pit and sending a variety of demons and damned souls tumbling down to my current torture of choice. I hadn’t used it in a long time. I debated bringing it back into rotation, but it no longer brought me any excitement.

  I looked straight ahead at the oversized wooden double doors that graced the entrance to the room, and I noticed the arcs that were worn into the tile by the doors’ movement throughout the years. To my left, along the wall, was my own personal collection of torture devices that I’d collected over the millennia. Most of them were there for pure intimidation, but I had put a few of them to use when I wanted to spice things up. My eyes were drawn to a rusted iron maiden. The hinged double doors hung open, revealing the spike-covered interior. About half of the spikes had broken off, probably due to rust over the years, and one
of the hinges was also broken, making it impossible to close it. It was a shame, as it was a great relic that I would have loved to get some use out of it.

  To my right, my fully stocked bar took up the entire length of the room. The wall behind it was mirrored, with an ornate frame of engraved mahogany, and displayed a complete collection of rare, high-end liquors. There was the Casa Dragones Joven Tequila that Abbadon had given me, alongside the Balvenie 21-year single-malt scotch whiskey from Baphomet.

  Then there was my favorite, my Louis XIII cognac, that I always made sure was stocked in triplicate. There was a small collection of exquisitely engraved glasses on the far end of the bar, ready for any guests that wanted to help themselves. I looked down at the glass in my hand, and swirled the cognac, watching the liquid coat the sides of the glass and distorting my view of the throne beneath it.

  And then there was my throne. Making a throne from the skulls of my enemies sounded incredibly intimidating at first, but man, was it uncomfortable. I stood over my throne, trying to figure out a new configuration of skulls that wouldn’t be a literal pain in my ass.

  I was intrigued by my newest guest, though. It wasn’t because she’d shot me. Hell, I’d been shot at more times than anyone could imagine, but this time was different. This was the first time it had truly hurt. This was the first time I had ever bled.

  I lifted my shirt and looked down at my stomach. Lilith had done a great job stitching me back up. I thought back to last night after I had returned from the summoning. I had wanted to show up myself and teach the kids a lesson for messing with witchcraft way above their skill level. Instead, I had to summon Abbadon to handle it for me, so I could tend to my wounds. Abbadon did not know why he was called to do the job, but he never tended to ask questions, which made him perfect for the job. Lilith found me in one of the holding cells chaining up an innocuous-looking woman. The first thing she noticed was my blood-soaked shirt, but she hadn’t thought anything of it.