“Getting out…" Jazen frowned. "To be honest, I hadn’t thought about that. I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. If we can get back to the plains, I can return us, but from within Hell we are stuck. As for your thanks, save them for when we're safely back on Earth with Jasmine."
“There's no need to thank me, Michael." Claire added. she gestured into the distance. "Let’s get this done so we can all go back."
Michael nodded. He followed Jazen’s instructions and, after a few attempts, his wings disappeared. He could still feel them there, but they were invisible. Should he try to manifest armour and a weapon? No, it best to not push it. With any luck, he wouldn’t need them, considering he was entering most human's worst nightmare, he probably would.
They set off across the fire plains, Jazen leading the way. He explained that, although they weren’t physically present, the flames could still burn away their souls and cause irreparable harm. The unlikely trio picked a path across rivers of lava, seas of flame and forests of fire. Time slowed to a crawl as they stepped carefully on small black stones or narrow pathways of obsidian, sometimes mere inches away from the blistering fires. With every passing moment, the ominous red gates drew closer.
***
After what seemed like an eternity of walking, but was mere moments, Michael stood staring up at the red gates of Hell. Jazen had cheerfully (for once) explained that time didn’t exist, and causality moved in a different way in the non-material plains. Michael had felt like telling him to cram it with the way he felt, but kept his cool.
Michael, Claire and Jazen huddled behind a large obsidian rock. Perhaps it had once been a statue; still vaguely retained the shape of wings, but now was just another black, crudely shaped mass, battered by merciless fires. Michael glanced at the gate ,as Jazen spoke softly to Claire, her anxiety attacking her again. The sight before him filled Michael with the same fear and panic he could see on her face.
A huge crimson door stood alone a few hundred meters from where Michael peered over his hiding place. The door was huge, towering above Michael even from such a distance. Shadows blurred its edges, flowing around the frame in a constant stream of motion. No carvings decorated the doors solid crimson slabs except for one, a huge, leering skull with horns jutting from its temple. The skull's sockets burned orange and, as Michael let his eyes drift over it, he felt the skull staring back at him. He ducked his head back into cover.
Claire seemed to have calmed down again and looked up at him, smiling.
“Well, looks like I’m taking a big step towards facing my anxieties today.” Her voice was a little shaky.
“You didn’t have to come, Claire. You’ve done enough,” Michael told her, pushing down his own fear.
“Don’t be so silly. You need me and Jazen, and I’m not going to let a little thing like fear stop me now, not now I’m finally doing something worthwhile. No, Michael." Claire's voice gained strength. "I...we are with you until this is done."
He turned his attention to Jazen and looked the angel up and down. In his suppressed form, Michael would have pegged him as just another average person he'd meet on the street, if he didn’t know better.
“So, what now?” Michael asked.
“We wait until another bunch of souls descend. When an evil soul dies, the Guardian either ascend or descends, dependant on circumstance. The Guardian ends up in Hell, while the evil soul is dumped here outside its gates, to be herded in like cattle. That’s how we are going to get in. When the next lot get deposited, we slip in with them. I just hope Cerberus doesn’t sniff us out.”
“Wha? Cerberus, I thought that was Greek mythology?” Claire's interest perked up.
Jazen smiled. “A lot of it is one in the same. Most religions and beliefs share the same constants. Cerberus is a very real Guardian of Hell. He was born from the souls of millions of slaughtered animals, killed for sport or fun. But enough history. He has a keen nose, so I hope we blend in with the rest of the damned."
“Great…!" Claire looked disgusted. "I finally face my fears, only to be eaten by a three- headed dog."
Michael got lost in thought. All those souls they were about to use as camouflage were people, living people who, for whatever reason, turned to a path that led them down here. The thought was sobering and left Michael feeling faintly sick. He pushed it aside to focus on Jasmine. Nothing else mattered, apart from saving her.
They didn’t have to wait long before a bright flash of crimson lightning crept across the sky above the gate. The crack it left began to widen with a loud grinding, the sky was splitting open. Small dots of red light fell from the hole like rain, streaking down towards the parched ground.
Michael watched in morbid fascination as each red dot grew closer, discerning shapes within the rain of light. He gulped hard as the shapes became more distinct; within each large drop was a human form, writhing as if in great pain, trying to escape the crimson prison of light as it fell mercilessly downwards.
The huge drops hit the ground hard and splashed open in a display of crimson pyrotechnics, hurling glowing red liquid in all directions. The forms within, clearly hurt by the impact, stood and looked around at their surroundings. More and more fell, until hundreds of forms milled about in confusion and pain. It was then the wailing and screaming began, as the dark souls of the fallen finally realised where they were. It was a sound that would haunt Michael in his dreams for years to come.
Claire looked gob smacked and terrified by the sight. She gripped Jazen’s hand tightly and her face contorted into a look of pure pain. She seemed to realise, like Michael, that each and every form before them was a human soul, about to enter a place they would never leave, a place where they would suffer for eternity. She gulped and looked at Jazen, who managed a weak smile to try and comfort her, but restrained himself, knowing it would get them caught.
“It’s time,” Jazen said, although Michael and Claire had to read his lips. The noise of the damned was too loud to be heard over.
The crack in the sky was closing as the last souls fell to the ground. There were so many, the souls at the edge of the group almost touched the rock that Michael, Jazen and Claire hid behind. Jazen led the way into the crowd, darting out and joining the mass, Michael trying his best not to lose his footing. They held hands so as not to be separated and moved their way into the center of the group.
The damned included people from all walks of life. Michael saw old men, young women, middle aged, even a few teenagers, all milling about aimlessly, crying out in pain or screaming in fear. Some crouched on the ground, rocking back and forth, pleading that they didn’t belong here; others stood stoically, their fear turned inwards. Michael noticed that all the red glowing liquid had disappeared, and the people looked as they had on Earth. Michael wanted to ask Jazen why, but didn't dare say anything.
The crimson doors swung open as Michael found a spot to stand in the centre of the group, as far from Cerberus’s keen nose as possible. The giant dog loomed over them, large as a house. Michael could feel the heat radiating from the great beasts heads. Cerberus had sat silently as the souls had been deposited, raising only one head casually to sniff them before lowering it again as if indifferent; tainted souls being deposited outside the gates must have become boring for the giant hound.
Orange light spilled out from the crimson doorway, and a blast of heat smothered the waiting damned. Michael didn’t so much feel it as sense it washing over him. The pain was intense but passed as quickly as it had begun. Others in the crowd wailed, realising that small wave was a taste of things to come. The fact that a blast of heat from Hell felt hotter than the fire plain made Michael shiver in fear, despite how hot he felt.
A small host of demons leapt from the portal. Many were small, shadowy imps or lesser creatures. A Few towered over the humans, their wings casting shadows over the assembled throng; surely these were the true fallen. The smaller demons scuttled around the damned, attaching copper manacles to one foot of each, the
other end trailing along the ground.
Claire flinched as a small, orange-coloured creature attached a copper link to her. He paused to leer up at Claire and licked her leg with a long forked tongue before continuing on to fetter Jazen and Michael. The imp hesitated as he placed the bonds on the two men, but then moved on as if nothing had bothered him. Michael let out a breath they hadn’t known they had been holding as the danger passed.
“What are these?” Michael risked whispering in Jazen’s ear.
“Shackles and marks of bondage. They keep the damned in line and mark them as lost souls. Some, you may notice, are weaker than others. Some souls after serving a time here will be allowed into ascend back through the planes up to Heaven, their punishment served. Others” Jazen indicated a woman, “will be here for eternity.”
“Can we get them off?” Claire asked, looking worried.
“Oh yes, I can do that easily. I don't know how we got away with that though. The Imp surely must have noticed something odd about us, the lack of sins on our soul, but he passed us by."
“Well, let's not complain about good luck,” Michael said. Looking around, he saw the lesser demons finishing their work.
Three fallen remained to supervise the, while the others filed through the gate, looking bored with the crop of new arrivals. One stepped forward, a true brute of a demon with purple skin like a bad bruise. He leered at the assembled mass and spat on the ground, his spit melting through the rock like acid.
“Welcome, scum. I am Barlan. You are the latest herd of degenerate souls fallen from Earth to fuel the forges of Hell. There is no escape, there is no mercy, and there is only punishment and pain." He barked the words out in a guttural voice.
“Prepare them!” he yelled to his two companion fallen as he turned away to march back in through the gate.
The other two fallen stepped forward and bellowed at the assembled mass. The sound was a shockwave of energy. It felt like the angels songs, but more primal, direct, corrupted. This must be how the Fallen used their abilities. The energy passed through the mass and, as it touched the shackles, chains of flame formed between them.
The lesser demons herded the assembled mass into two columns, using pitchforks and small swords to elicit cooperation from anyone too stubborn to move. Several souls were skewered repeatedly and cried in pain, only to be stabbed more until they stood up. It seemed they couldn’t be incapacitated, but the pain of each injury was very real.
Once the throng had been herded into two lines, the fallen turned on their heels and marched back through the gates. The mass was goaded into movement by the lesser creatures and shuffled forward after them. As they moved, Cerberus perked up; two of his heads rose and sniffed the air.
Michael suppressed a shudder of fear as he passed the great dog who, turned one of his heads to look directly at him. Michael dared not even breathe as the moment seemed to go on forever. Cerberus sniffed in his direction and a deep growl issued from his throat, rising into a rumble. Any moment, Michael thought the great dog would bark and reveal them.
Then a feral-looking man stumbled right in front of the great dog, cursing and thumping his fist into the beasts face by accident. Cerberus immediately seemed to forget Michael and rounded on the man, biting into him with two of his heads. By the time Cerberus had finished only a faint scrap of clothing remained. The little imps and demons jumped around, giggling and laughing at the display.
“Big dog got himself a snack!" one imp yelled gleefully. "Good for him. Bad for the poor damned when he gets shit out the other end in pieces. Hahaha,.”
Cerberus again turned his attention to the source of the noise, Michael forgotten. He snapped at the lesser demon, biting off his pitchfork and sending the creature scurrying away with a trail of burning urine behind him. His compatriots laughed loudly at the display, as the procession, Michael with it, shuffled out of sight of the huge hound.
As Michael passed through the huge doorway and into Hell, a passage he had read from Dante’s Inferno surfaced in his mind. It was a famous line that was supposed to be written over the gates of Hell. “Abandon Hope, all ye who enter here.”
Michael looked up to see if it was there. The inscription had been scrawled in black paint on the doorway, probably by one of the lesser demons to mock the newly arrived damned. A pang of despair ran right through his soul. Surely he'd made a big mistake. He had no chance of saving Jasmine; he was just a small man trying to act like a hero.
The moment passed, and something deep within Michael rebelled against his despair. A little light refused to dim or to give up within him. Michael fanned that little light until it grew again and his despair was banished.
“I will save you Jasmine,” Michael promised through gritted teeth, as the huge, crimson gates closed behind him.
Chapter 11: Hell
Hell was everything Michael had feared and worse. Pools of lava overflowed across obsidian coloured pathways where the damned were forced to tread. Work-gangs of souls toiled, mining rock with bare hands, the only purpose the suffering it caused them. Every sin was punished in kind, and Michael struggling to keep up with the column, could only spare glances, at the torments being inflicted upon the damned.
Every step Michael took was painful, his feet searing on the burning ground. Claire squeezed his and Jazen’s hands, looking strained and clearly suffering. Michael gritted his teeth, focusing on his determination to keep himself on track.
The column passed fields in which people were laid out on racks as if they were crops. Demonic farmers plucked the people from them as they worked. The column passed giant pits filled with emaciated people, left there to suffer. They passed giant mountains made up of souls all bonded together in lustful embrace, but contorted in painful positions and made to repeat the same acts over and over in agonising monotony by their demonic overlords.
As terrifying as the visions of Hell were, the screams of agony, and wails of pain that permeated the air around them, were much worse.. They rose and fell like discordant music, as if the demons were trying to create a sound in mocking parody of the heavenly symphony. The stench was unbearable; sulphur, effluent and rotting meat were the only odours Michael could detect, and he had to fight himself to not retch or cover his mouth.
They shuffled past, demons stopped their ministrations to jeer and taunt them, shouting promises of pain and suffering and the torments they'd to inflict on the newly arrived souls. Several people in front of Michael, including an old man and a rough looking woman, broke down in tears. The demonic overseers goaded them on with whips and clubs. Michael kept looking round, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of Jasmine, so they could rescue her, and escape this horror. She was nowhere to be seen, but they'd find her soon. He was sure of it.
As he tried to take in his surroundings, Michael noticed the sky was a giant whirlpool of angry red clouds. The clouds flowed around in a never ending tempest, dizzying to look upon. As he tore his eyes away from the sky, he made out in the distance a huge bronze throne with a huge demonic figure sat upon it. The creatures wings, cast a large shadow over the landscape and a palpable aura of terror surrounded him. Michael shivered, he unconsciously figured out who that figure was, but dared not speak his name.
Claire squeezed Michael's hand, and he turned to see her eyes had followed his.. He managed a weak smile in return, silently thanking her for the small gesture of support. She had started off as an acquaintance, but with all she had done for him now he couldn’t help but see her as a close friend; after all, who but the most devoted of friends would go into Hell to help for you?
The lesser demons jumped about, shouting abuse, and throwing less than savoury excretions at the lost souls, but, although some stopped to look at Michael, they soon moved on without a word or even a jibe. Every time one was about to say or do something to him or his companions, a blank look would cross its face and it moved on to someone else.
Was this some innate ability of his, or something that Jazen was doin
g? Maybe, but he couldn’t shake the feeling they were being left alone on purpose, although why would that be? He shook his head, he shouldn't be focusing so much on questions he couldn’t answer.
The procession marched onwards. The right-hand column was herded off down a side path leading towards a castle made entirely of flame.
"Time ta be put ta work you lazy shits." the demons jibed. "You're gonna be repairing the Masters castle of flame with yer bare hands. That's what laziness gets ya." Claire let out an involuntary sound in sympathy for those poor souls; surely no one deserved this kind of punishment?
As they moved on, the other group disappeared from sight, consigned to their fate. The left hand group continued shuffling forwards up the hill towards an abandoned building. From a distance, it could have once been a chapel, but its stone walls had long since crumbled and the roof fallen in. Graffiti sprawled all over its sides in various fluids; that Michael didn’t want to know their origin.
The hill was covered in blank gravestones, with no names or inscriptions to indicate to who lay beneath them. Faint wisps of smoke rose from the graves forming into figures, which sang in chorus, laughing mirthlessly as the processions passed by
.
“Welcome, welcome damned ones, welcome to your new abode.
Never to be free, never to know peace
Forever to suffer, no hope of release.”
The group shuffled into the chapel, passing by doors that hung open, broken on their hinges. The fallen leading them ran to the back. One paused before Michael and gave a wide, sharp-toothed grin before continuing. The lesser demons also left, some congregating at the doorway to throw more excrement or rocks at the lost souls, before the doors shut with a resounding boom.
Michael was left standing with the other damned, in line between broken pews and refuse. Broken shards of glass lay all over the floor, making every step Michael took agonising, the glass cutting into his feet. The lost souls wandered, hindered by their chains but with enough liberty to mill around.
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