Hungry…So Hungry 2

Hell wasn't quite what I'd imagined. There were no lakes of fire or endless torture chambers—just a never-ending sea of misery. The slums of Naberius Territory were a far cry from the brimstone-filled pits you'd expect, but they were still Hell in every sense. 

The stink of despair hung in the air, mixed with the smells of rot and decay, a cocktail that would make any sane person gag. But there was something else now, a new scent that I was responsible for: the smell of food. Actual food. Even here, it had a strange power.

The kitchen, as makeshift as it was, felt like my new kingdom. The tools were ancient, the pots and pans dingy, but they served their purpose. 

The ingredients were hardly fresh, wilted vegetables, questionable meats, and seasonings that had seen better days, but with a bit of skill, they were enough to make something half-decent. And judging by the way the devils outside were practically drooling, half-decent was a hell of an upgrade.

I didn't know where this sudden confidence in the kitchen came from. Before this, I could barely cook for myself, but here? Here, it was like I'd been doing this my whole life. Every movement was precise, every cut clean. 

It was as if some force had handed me all this knowledge when I took up that knife, and it scared me a little. Maybe this was part of Hell's twisted game—giving me a skill I never had in life, only to use it here, where it barely mattered.

But maybe, just maybe, it did matter. The devils in the makeshift dining area had nothing but the clothes on their backs, if that. Their eyes were hollow, their faces gaunt, but as they ate, I could see something change. A glimmer of life. Not much, but it was there. 

"Hey, new guy!" Charlie's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. "We're running low on stew. Can you whip up another batch?"

"Already on it," I replied, my hands moving almost on their own. The broth was already bubbling, and I started tossing in the last of the vegetables. 

"Good," she said, peeking her head through the small opening between the counter and the kitchen. Her silver hair shimmered under the dim light, a stark contrast to the grimy surroundings. "You've got some talent, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, it's either that or go back to wandering the streets, and I've had enough of that to last an eternity," I said, chopping carrots with a speed that surprised even me.

"Guess you're right," she said with a shrug. "But don't think this makes you special. Hell's full of talented souls who didn't make it topside. Just keep doing what you're doing, and you might just survive down here."

"Survive?" I echoed, pausing to look at her. "Is that what you call this?"

She sighed, leaning against the wall. "It's all anyone can do in this place. You learn the rules, find your niche, and keep your head down. Step out of line, and you're likely to end up back in that warehouse where you woke up."

I didn't have an answer to that, so I just nodded and went back to cooking. Survive. That was the goal, right? Surviving Hell. But as I stirred the pot, something gnawed at me. Was surviving really enough? Before I died, I had nothing: no family, no friends, no future. But here, in this twisted afterlife, I had a strange opportunity. If Hell was forever, did I really want to spend eternity just scraping by?

"Soup's up!" I called out as I ladled another batch into bowls and set them on the counter.

Charlie gave me a nod and started serving them to the devils waiting in line. As I watched them dig in, I wondered: What if I could do more? What if I could build something here? A place where even in Hell, people—or devils, I guess—could find a bit of comfort, maybe even happiness. Was that possible?

The door to the kitchen creaked open, and a tall figure entered. I turned to greet them, but the words caught in my throat. This devil was different. He towered over me with jet-black wings that seemed to absorb the light around him. His eyes were a deep crimson, glowing faintly in the dim room. His presence radiated authority, a stark contrast to the ragged devils outside.

"You're the new cook," he said, his voice low and rumbling like distant thunder. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm the new guy."

He nodded, his gaze sweeping over the kitchen. "Word's spreading. There's good food here, something we don't see often in these parts."

"Thanks," I said cautiously, unsure where this was going.

"I'm Darius," he said, extending a hand. His grip was firm, almost crushing. "I run things around here. Consider this your formal introduction."

"Nice to meet you, Darius," I managed, though my hand felt like it had been caught in a vice. "Is there something I can do for you?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Not yet, but soon. Keep cooking, and keep the people happy. In Hell, loyalty is a rare commodity. Those who can inspire it tend to survive longer."

With that, he turned and left, leaving the door creaking on its hinges. I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Loyalty. That was the key. Darius wasn't just warning me—he was offering me a lifeline. If I could keep these devils fed, maybe even content, I might carve out a place for myself here.

But I knew better than to think it would be that simple. Hell had its own rules, and I'd have to learn them fast if I wanted to stay ahead. I had my work cut out for me, but for the first time in a long while, I felt like I had a purpose. Maybe I'd start with this kitchen, but who knew where it could lead? If I played my cards right, this could be the start of something bigger.

"Hell's forever," I muttered to myself, stirring the pot one last time. "Might as well make the most of it."

With renewed determination, I threw myself back into the work. This was just the beginning. But first, I needed a name. All famous chefs had names.

And as I returned to the kitchen, one name seemed to resonate with me.

Salvion: A play on salvation, it felt fitting, but I needed to find my own. For now, I had customer feed.

Vaggie then yelled out, "Yo, new guy, we're gonna be closing up soon. We've got a couple of customers left. Keep doing what you're doing, or I'll stick you with my weapon's pointy end."

While somewhat offsetting, there was no heat in the threat. I just assume she would throw me out if I didn't actually do anything, which makes sense, as she apparently even understands the importance of give-and-take.

But I couldn't escape the feeling that I was still hungry. I wanted more. No, I needed more.

(Our hungry devil now has a name and a restaurant to start off with but now here's the question. What is he going to do with it?)