Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Why do you think Angels are the race closest to God?" Satan asked him as she leaned on one of the molten chains. "What about your race makes them so special? Any ideas?" Aeron thought and frowned. This wasn't a question he had pondered in the past.

"I'm guessing," he started as he unfurled his wings and summoned his halo, "that it's because of these." Satan smiled and nodded.

"Correct," she said, "when Cherubs are born, they are blessed with various gifts. Wings are the most obvious—they provide flight, but they're also an important symbol of the race's holiness. So, once an Angel finally sprouts their wings, they take one step closer to the Almighty." Aeron nodded. That made some sense. After all, it wasn't until his wings finally grew in that he was truly accepted as one of God's flock. "Tell me," she continued, "what do you think would've happened if you never sprouted those wings? What if—no matter how much you prayed—they never appeared? What would you do then?" Aeron wasn't an idiot, he knew precisely what the Demoness was trying to say, and he couldn't believe it.

"Are you telling me that Poseidon and the others' wings never blossomed?" he asked. Satan didn't say anything, but her playful gaze told him he was correct. "That's… rare." He had heard of Angels being born without wings, but he always believed the idea to be nothing more than an urban legend—just a fairytale created to instill faith in the youth. "You've got to be pulling my leg! Wingless Angels have always been a myth!"

"You're right—normally such an abnormality is impossible, but Poseidon and his family are special cases," the Demoness explained as she fished a small object out of her pocket and tossed it to him. It was a tiny black ball covered in a slimy, mucus-like substance. "This, Mr. Templar, is a piece of Poseidon's lust and other various sins. In Tartarus, I let the prisoners physically experience their past transgressions. My Demons can then use that information to create a unique punishment for each prisoner. It just comes down to finding the right memory. Luckily, for Angels, these guys have more regrets than most."

"I just can't believe that they exist. How did they end up here?" Aeron asked as he looked at the slimy ball of sin.

"What do you think a family of wingless Angels should do when their creator has abandoned them?" Satan scoffed. "Without the typical Angelic blessings, Poseidon was branded a blasphemer alongside his brothers and sisters. From what little I could gather, they were frequently bullied and discriminated against. Eventually, they snapped and lost what minuscule amount of faith they had left. They rebelled and used their talents in blessings and magic to invade the mortal realm. And there they stayed, ruling for generations as the Greek gods. Until, of course, they were captured by some judges at the end of their reign."

"I'm assuming they put up a fight," Aeron said as he gave the ball back to Satan. "When I was busy flooding the mortals' lands, not one of them showed up to protect their people," he recalled.

"While you were on your assignment, did you happen to pass by Pompeii?" Satan asked the Cherub, who nodded. "That area is where Zeus and his little brother here had their last stand. Thanks to their heretical magic, I hear that the city's volcano has practically wiped it off the map," the Demoness told him as she pinched Poseidon's left cheek. "After that mess, it was a cinch to nab the rest of his little pantheon. Of course, all of this was kept classified, but you get the idea."

"If it's supposed to be a secret, why are you telling me?" Even though she was acting nice now, that didn't change that she was the Antichrist. One wrong move and he could quickly end up like Poseidon. "Well then," he said as he strolled to the exit, "this was all very enlightening, but you still have a contract to accept. I'd appreciate it if we could stop wasting time here so I can finish the job I was given."

"You're no fun. I thought you'd be more interested than this," the fallen Angel pouted as she clapped her palms together. Suddenly, a gigantic wall of chains and bindings shot out of the floor, wrapping themselves around Poseidon as a serpent would do to its prey. "You can never be too careful with these guys," she exclaimed as she walked out of the room. "You can go ahead and say your goodbyes; I'm sure he'd appreciate the gesture. After all, he is your kin."

"I've got no sympathy for sinners like him," Aeron lied as he wrapped his hands around one of the bindings. "If I'm being honest with myself, you and I are quite similar," he thought when Satan's back was turned. "Both of us grew tired of our kindreds' garbage and took measures to remove ourselves from that rabble. Honestly, the only difference between you and me is that I haven't gotten caught." There was no doubt that what he was thinking was radical. These simple thoughts were enough to be stripped of his wings and rank. "In some ways, I can understand why you rebelled," he conceded as he took out his fruit, placing one in the false god's mouth. "You and I were just bored," he lit the cigarette, "and boredom can force people like us to do some horrible things."

"Are you okay over there?" the Demoness called out from the entrance. "You look like you're about to explode. Is the heat that bad?" Aeron sighed as he rubbed some of the sweat off his brow. He was practically drenched from head to toe.

"You are the last person I want to hear teasing me about that," he whined as he stared at Satan's dress—which was also damp. In his haste to cool himself off, Aeron unbuttoned his undershirt, causing his fingers to wrap around a small chain, accidentally pulling it loose. Thanks to the blazing hot temperatures, neither he nor Satan noticed as the necklace—which contained the tunneller Dr. Leeson had given him—fell to the floor. By the time the pair had left, the molten temperatures had shattered the thin glass vial, allowing the beetle to escape. Within seconds, it had latched itself onto one of the chains and started to chew. The constant chewing eventually awoke Poseidon, who grinned when he noticed what was happening.

"There may be hope for me yet," the fallen Angel thought as he stared at the sweat droplets Aeron had left behind. "It's not much to work with, but it'll have to do," he mumbled as he tugged at his bindings. As chain after broken chain fell to the floor, he couldn't help but let out a meek—yet victorious—chuckle. "Now then… I better get going."

Aeron let out a breath and scratched his chest as he thought. "It feels like something is missing." The Cherub had a few guesses, but he couldn't put them in words. "Dammit, it's on the tip of my tongue."

"Is something bothering you, Templar?" Satan asked as she entered a small, unlit office. He shook his head. It probably wasn't anything important. "Anyway, we're here. Sorry for the detour. I just thought it'd be entertaining to have you meet one of the mythical Olympians."

"That it was. If it's possible, I'd love to see the rest. Where do you keep the other eleven?" In response to his query, the Demoness simply shrugged and laughed.

"They're all in here somewhere. But, even if I wanted to take you there, I wouldn't be able to. To get that deep into Tartarus, you'll need the help of the big man upstairs. He's the one who locked them up in the first place." Aeron raised an eyebrow.

"I thought God granted you complete dominion over Hell, or am I missing something?" The Antichrist shrugged and nodded.

"The other eleven are… difficult. Unlike Poseidon—whose powers I can easily contain via heat—the rest of the Olympians are sealed away in a cell that even I can't access. So, I wouldn't recommend trying to find those sinners—wherever they are. Instead, stay there for a moment and pay attention," the Demoness announced as she rummaged through the dark office. Eventually, she found an interesting-looking device—a small black safe embroidered in scratched copper. "Here it is!" she cried out as she gleefully popped the container open. "The safe to end all safes! I call it Pandora's Box!"

"What's so special about this?" Aeron thought as he peeked inside the small vessel. Once he did, he realized that the decrepit case was anything but ordinary. Inside was an uncountable number of cogs, wheels, levers, and pulleys. With each subtle movement Satan made, the entire device seemed to warp, opening to reveal a small, locked drawer.

"This is something I snatched from Zeus when he first got captured. Its lock is incredibly complex and requires over nine hundred individual inputs to open," she told him while placing the suitcase inside. Instantly—like a starving hound—the lid snapped shut. "This device is key to processing new souls, as it serves as a mediator between the Almighty's magic and this dimension. The second the contract touched Pandora's Box, it was officially accepted into the fold. This is the ceremony I mentioned earlier. You could throw this safe into a star, and the contract would be fine. Although, I can't say the same about you," she laughed as he wiped away another bucket of sweat. "Even though you're an Angel, this dimension's extreme climate can still burn you. After I finish all the necessary checks and whatnot, you should leave."

"Since when did the Antichrist start caring about my health? Did you forget we're natural enemies?" he retorted as he stepped out the door. Satan shrugged and shook her head.

"You and I are more similar than you might think, Templar," the Demoness scoffed. "If you were lucky enough to be born a devil, you might've been my right-hand man." Aeron honestly couldn't tell if she was serious or joking. "Tell me, Mr. Weber, are you interested in changing bosses?"

"Nope, sorry," he declined, "I'm not keen on becoming a lord of the Universe's garbage pile. I'm sure you can keep this realm running just fine without my help." He was going to stop this conversation before it began. He was interested in the Demons' culture, architecture, insects, and other things, but such a blasphemous suggestion wasn't worth considering.

"Heh, we'll see what happens," Satan thought as she summoned another gate. "This will take you to the docks. When you get there, tell Charon I said hello."

"Yeah, whatever you say," Aeron mumbled as he hurried through the doorway. He was running low on time, and this little tour through Tartarus took way longer than he expected.

"Try not to bump your head on the way out. Also, I had Dr. Leeson prepare a ride for you. It's to the right of the exit." With every step, the Antichrist's voice grew quieter and quieter. Eventually, he appeared on the city's outskirts, right in front of the ferry and a row of ships. As he expected, the rest of the diplomats were long gone. Zia had unsurprisingly absconded with their rental vessel—leaving him stranded. Thankfully, the transport that Satan mentioned was more than adequate.

"It's small," he thought as he plopped down in the vehicle's passenger seat.

"Sir, wouldn't you like to sit in the back?" the driver asked as he sighed and rolled down the window.

"Don't worry about it. I like the view from this position," he said. "Now get going." The orange sky had mellowed to a darker, violet color. Usually, this sight would be a beautiful one, but for Hell, it only made everything look more ominous. Almost as if there was a storm brewing on the horizon.

Nine years ago...

Sometimes, I just sit down and think about what got me to my current lot in life. The path I took to get my ambassadorship was a strange, successful venture. However, the road was rough, challenging, and lined with thorns. The memories of my first few days in Hell are still seared into my retinas, and I fear they always will be. I can still recall when I first hopped off Charon's ferry. There weren't many people who were damned that day, so I was practically grasping at straws for the first few hours. The bones that made up the ship's foundation skewered the soles of my feet and bruised my legs. So much so that the simple act of moving became a chore. However—unlike the masses that surrounded me—I didn't use the pain as an excuse to give up. I pushed myself off that boat and into my damnation with my head held high. Although, in the coming days, I would learn to regret that. Demons hated hopeful idiots like me.

Torment, that theme is the fuel that runs the Nine Circles. The fiends might act like they're out of the loop since they live in this horrible place, but you'll often find one who's also under the torturer's ax. Hell is the final destination for all sinners regardless of race. And that's what makes escaping it so hard. After I died, I was sent to a strange new world populated with monsters and creatures the likes of which I'd never seen before. Some looked like me—a few towered over my head like giants—while others seemed more beast than man. It was a terrifying period of my existence, that much is certain. One of my earliest memories of my damnation was right after my arrival when I came face to face with a gigantic red Demon holding an equally massive stone slab. He glanced at my shivering body before telling me to go, "further down the road." Said "road" was a path that led me straight to the first circle of Hell. That was when the torture began. Every day I would be strung up, burned, and maimed in some horrific manner. It didn't take long before I started looking for a way to escape. I'd have to deal with my punishment for three years before I finally got my chance. Three years in the afterlife seems like nothing, but they felt like an eternity to me.