One Hundred & One Years

[Lilith Anderson]

Chapter 10

What Happened To You? (An Introduction)

If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the "No"'s on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark
--Death Cab for Cutie-I Will Follow You Into the Dark

"I've never seen you around here before. New?" Two days in, the inquiry was not the first, not the last time I supposed I would hear it.

"New? Oh, no. Not exactly. I've been... away. For awhile." Vague, I was good at it.

"Have something that brought you back?" The man who had introduced himself as Valdre asked.

"Business, things left undone, so on and so forth." My wrist rolled idly as I droned on, boredom the main lilt in my tone.

"Any of them grudges? They say pretty women can hold the best of them." Hell hath no fury, they say. Valdre was right on the money.

"Grudges?" I laughed softly, letting the musical sound die quickly. "Oh no, not at all. Juuuuuust, business."

"Business doesn't sound settling." He crossed his arms over his lower chest again causing thick and trained muscle to tighten, gold over dark tan flesh. "Lilith is a strange name to take, business woman."

"It's nothing horribly unsettling either." I shrugged, unconcerned with aforementioned business. Where he was gold and tan, I was alabaster and cool, dark tones, plum hair and black leathers. "Twas the name I was given though it's not my own. After awhile, it stuck so I went with it."

"Very few places you can get that name and feel like accepting it." He narrowed the very corner of his eyes at me and crossed a leg over the other as dark chain under golden plate rattled. "You're a strange little apparition.."

While his comments poked and prodded and pried, my face remained that of innocence, doe eyed and unmarred by lines of consternation. "I'm a go with the flow sort of girl. It pleased them to call me such, the rest is history." Nonplussed until he shifted, a slender brow perked upwards. "We're all strange here, are we not?"

"Indeed." He watched me with a sort of interest that bordered on predatory but reigned it in and sighed. I knew those looks, oh how I knew them. His lips moved and his words were meant only for me as a hand lifted to his brow and wove in strands of hair tugging softly on them. The movement of his mouth had me lifting further up onto my toes than even my boots put me and I tilted my head to offer an intent ear. His words, lost in the atmosphere of the Outback to all but me, had me leaning back. Are you Lilith? Lilu? Who are you, really? Don’t play games with me. This man was not who he claimed to be. Not in the least. My chin dropped toward my sternum and I hummed a noncommittal little sound.

"Yes, no, maybe so. Who really knows, you know?"

"That answer..." He let a finger leave the smooth skin of his scalp to point to me, "Is all I needed." He sighed again and dropping his hand he smirked and looked back down to me. "I'm sorry about asking, it's not a game. Or at least that kind of game." He shrugged and stifled a soft laugh.

"You are not who you say so who am I to sate your curiosity?" I asked sweetly, letting my heels touch back down with a faint click, lips parting for a reflexive snap of teeth at the pointing finger. Not close enough to touch flesh but enough to threaten such. "As such, answers can always be bought."

"Then who do you think I am? I'm a man just as much as you are but a woman. Names and sensory information is just an added bonus." He again crossed his arms not as much standing opposed but more standing strong against an insinuation.

"That," it was my turn to point at him, "is the million silver question." My hand dropped and a pretty frown pulled plush lips downwards. "I'm... not sure." Admitting I didn't know? This was unheard of. "But you are someone. Just as I am someone."

"You said your name was Lilith correct?" He tilted his head and huffed, a little puff of smoke rushing from his throat, "Then you're whoever you make Lilith out to be."

"I said that is what they call me." I clarified. There was a difference.

---

So sayeth the Lilith. It was a fresh start, a clean slate for the hellcat, this return. The streets at night held the same quiet, the Inn carried the same chaos and unpredictability, the venues rang with all the same violence and sweat. And here she was, like nothing had ever changed. She had. Yes, yes she had. Quite a bit in fact. So just what had happened? Well, that was a long story. Very long. One hundred years long. Starting at the beginning would make sense, wouldn’t it. It’s never quite that simple though.

After one hundred years below, emerging into the sharp clarity of Rhy’Din was a shock to the system. Through her eyes and ears the sights and sounds were an overwhelming influx of stimuli unlike anything she had experienced in quite some time. From the gates of hell, she proudly passed the keepers into the winter air, the wintery mix melting and steaming against skin still unnaturally hot. There was no protest, no stopping her. She had bought her freedom after all, she could come and go as she pleased.

West End, with its dark alleys and seedy occupants, barely took notice of her rise. She was just a face in the crowd, abyssal black eyes taking it all in with the wonderment of a child. The hour was late, or early depending on your definition, but the streets weren’t quite dead, still carrying late evening barflies, women of the night plying their trade, and other such things that went bump in the dark. The Lilith was the sort that bumped back though, so she meandered the streets and alleys aimlessly, reveling in the intense senses.

Three blocks away, a man’s life ended at the hands of another. Around the corner, a drunk was taking home a woman that would more than likely rob and/or murder him before the night was through. Straight ahead, a broad shouldered demon wearing the guise of a human was distributing some substance or another that promised thrills and chills and highs like one couldn’t imagine. Lilith knew this area well. It was good to be home.

“Hey baby, how much for a night with you?” Someone called her way. Her head tipped and she slanted a look to catch the caller in the corner of her eye. Nearly half a foot past the six feet mark, the mass of solid muscle that hung on his frame easily gave the man one hell of an intimidation factor. He wasn’t wholly human, that much she could tell, but what sort of mutt he might have been wasn’t quite evident. But she was a curious kitten so her path diverted and took her toward him at his leaning post a few feet down from the entrance to a bar pumping heavy industrial music out an open door bearing a bored looking bouncer.

“Sweetheart, you couldn’t afford me, I hate to say it.” She said sweetly, a hint of teasing in her tone as she neared. The man had a cigarette caught between his lips and it wobbled as he grinned, ash dropping onto his broad chest. Lilith lifted hand to brush it away, her chin tilting upwards to get a better look at him.

“That so? So you’re saying you’ve got a price.” He had her there. It was her turn to grin and the way he turned her words back on her.

“Everyone has a price, but as I said, you’d not be able to afford mine.” She smiled sweetly and drew back from him. A thick hand came up to grab hers and she didn’t fight it as he pulled her up against him. Through the cloud of smoke that poured from the half smoke cigarette in his mouth, she looked him over closer. He might have been considered handsome at one point but his rugged features were worn with time and battle. Days old stubble was peppered with silver and his jawline carried a jagged scar along the length of one side. His eyes were a pale shade of green that reminded her of faded paper money. Lilith smiled, this could be fun.

“Maybe we can negotiate over a drink.” She murmured, prompting a nod and a lopsided spread of a grin across his mouth. His teeth glinted in the dingy light, stained red by the bar’s nearby glow. He closed his hand around her wrist instead and pulled her toward the door. The bored bouncer gave the pair only the most cursory of glances before waving them by. Heavy bass pounded against her eardrums, outpacing her heart beat and making it impossible to hear anything but the rhythm. Lead by the wrist, the man with no named squeezed them through a writhing mass of undulating and dancing creatures, few of which seemed to be wholly human. The flashing lights of the dance floor gave way to the darker edges of the club, their presumed destination.

He pulled her toward a booth and urged her in first, a broad hand clapping against her leather clad backside with a loud smack. Laughing, she slid along the booth’s bench to make room for him. There was a bottle of something or other on the table and a flare of nostrils had her taking in the scent, judging. Always judge a man by his liquor choice. Juniper overwhelmed her olfactory center and she eyed the bottle once more. Gin. Who drinks gin anyways? Not this girl. He pulled a velvet curtain across the booth’s entrance and instantly began undoing his pants. Quick to the chase wasn’t he. Unbeknownst to him, it would be one of his last deeds in this life.

Because who drinks gin anyways?

She emerged from the booth twenty minutes later, running her tongue over her bottom lip where a brief struggle had resulted in a sharp backhand to the face. She caught a taste of blood that wasn’t her own and a thin smirk played across her expression as she wove through the crowd. Metallic tang and a touch of sweet was licked away and as the man slumped in the booth slowly exsanguinated from claw-esque puncture wounds in his chest, gut, and groin, she made her way up to the bar, hands pushing back through her hair. Swinging a leg over a stool, she jerked an upnod to the tender to get his attention.

“Getcha somethin’?” He asked.

“Aye. Anything but gin.”

---

It had taken quite a bit to get away from Hell, you know? Seldom does such freedom come without a price but as far as I saw things, that’s life. And death. And everything between, I suppose. To go back at the end of the night took far less effort and as the sun began to rise on Rhy’Din City, the Gates found me coming home, smelling of copious amounts of Scotch and dried blood. Maybe I overdid it on my first day out, judging by the reproachful scowls worn by the Gatekeepers. I grinned at them. This was a far different experience from my first arrival. As the Gates shut behind me with a foreboding sounding slam, I kept right on my way without so much as a look back, knowing it wouldn’t be long before I was walking right back out again.

Securing my freedom was a little bit more complicated. See, currency comes not in silver or gold or paper, but in things like tasks done, favors, and knowledge. In order to obtain a “permanent” (read, as permanent as the whims of demons) ability to come and go as I please, it took no less than six promised favors, six secrets shared, and six rivals slain on behalf of a demon fond of wearing many faces, but ultimately went by the title of the Lord of Destruction. All six were dispatched in quick order, among them lords and ladies of the circles of Hell, always a treacherous undertaking. One favor was used immediately and the five others could be called upon any time he wished. And the secrets came from warlords and lovers alike, and I spilled fears and exposed weaknesses, much to the demon lord’s excitement and my own chagrin. It was no easy feat, weaseling some of that information out like I had, and should any of the targeted parties figure out I had spilled the beans, I would certainly have trouble of an epic proportion on my hands.

But everyone has a price and that’s how I ended up in Rhy’Din.

[Lilith Anderson]

Chapter Nine

Hole In The Earth (A Return)

But now the days grow short, I'm in the autumn of the year
And now I think of my life as vintage wine from fine old kegs
From the brim to the dregs, and it poured sweet and clear
It was a very good year
--Frank Sinatra-It Was a Very Good Year

If one thing could be said about wars, it’s that they always come to an end. That and there will always be new ones, so I guess that’s two things to be said. The Ten Year Tumult was hardly a war by the Below’s standards, so when it settled down to Hell’s usual dull roar, it was simply business as usual once more. Within five years, I fell easily into my new found role at last but it didn’t compare to the thrill of battle and I found myself itching for something… more. Something more than cat’s paws and strategic takeovers, something greater than seduction and destruction.

Once upon a time I was respected for my skill with a blade, admired for the artistry with which I climbed the ranks. Now I was Lilith the Usurper, a veritable princess kept on a pedestal. Revered, feared, but not likely respected. I had risen further than ever before yet it felt like a freefall, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was familiar and I didn’t like it. Yes, something needed to change and change soon.

That’s when I felt the pull. New arrivals, particularly ones of acclaim or fame or particular power are preceded by a number of events. Like a coming storm. That’s the best way that I can describe it. Or maybe the foreshocks before an earthquake. They vary in intensity and you can always tell what is coming based on how strong they get, how much the ground trembles beneath your feet. Purgatory buzzed like a beehive at the peak of summer, anticipation rumbling through in increasingly stronger waves. It seemed a special guest was on the horizon.

I always took interest in these cases, much like anyone that was someone down there did. It appeared that as this particular person inched closer and closer to death, their laundry list of what I called “Sins and Wins” became more and more well known. The Sins and Wins list spelled out every act a human being had done in their life, tallied up into the good and the not so great. How they determined where the grey area items went was pretty arbitrary though so ultimately the list wasn’t the best gauge of your damnability. After all, I’d seen saints relegated to eternal damnation while wheelers and dealers who knew how to work the system get the red carpet rolled out for them right on through the pearly gates way on high.

This one wasn’t so cut and dried and the talk around the Pits was that they, a “he” I soon found out, could easily go either way. A coin toss really. Intriguing. Perhaps the Lilith could extract some useful information, eh? Let’s see what sort of magic I could manage.

“Abaddon, darling, you’re looking particularly dashing today.” I crooned as I sidled up to the aficionado of the Abyss. He looked at me sidelong and while he tried to keep his expression flat, I saw a faint twinkle of amusement in his black eyes and with that I took up an easy lean beside him.

“Usurper, you of course are as ravishing as ever.” He rumbled, casting a stare down into the pits, darkness smattered with patches of roiling fire reflecting in the glassy surface of his eyes.

“Oh, please, you needn’t call me that.” I gave him a pretty bat of my lashes which finally got him laughing. There we go, break the ice with humor and excessive flirting.

“Lil, out with it, what do you want?” He asked through a chuckle, folding his thick arms over his armor clad chest. The muted clink-clink was dulled by the roar of the flames below and I shifted my weight from one foot to another before settling, posture relaxed, body language open.

“No time for small talk, eh? Wouldn’t possibly be because of the latest wave?” I asked, chin tilting his way, my head canting like a curious kitten. He was quiet and didn’t look at me as I asked, but eventually nodded.

“Aye. Acquisitions and additions require meticulous attention, you know this. Should things fall into place, it could be quite the score.” He said softly, making sure his voice didn’t carry. Typically such a creature was capable of sounding out throughout the realm but this was a conversation not meant for many ears other than mine. I scooted a bit closer to him, my own voice dropping a few levels as well.

“Rhydinian or other realm?” I inquired, coming to a stop at his side, my arm pressed to his. He towered over me by at least two feet so his elbow was at my shoulder and his forearm aligned with my bicep. The Abaddon, but a title won much like my own, was a solidly built creature that commanded the respect and admiration of many through the realms of Hell, myself included, and that adoration easily bled through my question. He adjusted slightly to lift his arm up and around my shoulders. It wasn’t an romantic gesture, which was an odd contrast to the attention I had received as of late, but I didn’t wither beneath the pressure.

“Resident, not native. Former immortal, no longer protected. We’ve had our eyes on him for quite some time.” He explained after a turn of his head so he could speak closer to my ear. I tilted my head enough to make it easier.

“Delectable. Anything noteworthy or just the usual toss up gamble?” The wild cards were always the best, an interesting study of just how a soul would fare when put to the ultimate tests of eternity.

“Mage of sorts, complete toss up. Talent in spades. Spent over seven decades getting on all the wrong sides of the balance. High, low, everywhere in between. Thought you might ask about this one.” He mused, clawed fingertips catching a plum strand that had fallen to frame my face and looping it up over my ear. There was that sinking feeling again. If I had a heart, it would have just dropped into my gut.

“That so? What’s his Name?” I asked. Capital ‘N’, because you know, Names have power. Abaddon’s free hand stroked across his dark facial hair, scratching at his cheek before grunting.

“Unsure but he goes by…” Abaddon leaned in, his hot breath tickling my ear as he mumbled two words meant only for my consumption. My mouth went drier than Tantalus’s and I swallowed hard to try and overcome the lump that had formed in my throat.

“I see…” I whispered and Abaddon slowly leaned back, casting a look of concern down upon me. As the youngest to hold my mantle in some time, I had found that many of the elder fiends sought to look out for me, to guide me, to care for me. It may have been innocent enough or it was possibly grooming me for my role going forward, but I still found comfort in the almost gentle rub of Abaddon’s callused hand along my upper arm.

“Now Lilith, I’ve told you these things to give you a head start. Pete up top told me it would be a close call either way and I know that you are… hmm… invested.” He said quietly, the entirety of his attention on me, no longer watching the pits down below. How freely he had offered the information had come as a highly suspect occurrence and eventually I lifted my chin and looked at him full on. Freely given secrets are seldom free.

“What do you wish for in return?” I asked, my tone having shifted from casual conversation to something more befitting business negotiations. My tongue ran over my lips to wet them but other than that my expression had flattened to the point of being unreadable. Or at least I hoped. I had found few things of import in my time here so when I finally stumbled across something that made a difference, I prayed to every god in existence (ironic right?) that maybe I wouldn’t screw this up. Abaddon gave me a smile, considering.

“It depends on what you’re willing to offer.” He returned.

“That obviously depends on how much more I get out of this.” I traded. Believe it or not, we were making progress here.

“I need a favor.” He finally got to the point.

“Name it.” I urged him on, rocking up onto my tip toes, pressed by anticipation.

“Negotiate a favor on my behalf with Tor. Only one but one with no stipulations or restrictions. Seal that and I will continue to provide you any information I receive about your friend.” His hand dropped from my arm and he took a step back to gauge my reaction to his terms. I fell silent, considering the offer and just how much it would take to get what Abaddon asked. The Lord of Destruction was no easy negotiation.

“That’s a tall order, Baddy.” I said softly, peering up at him through a thick veil of dark lashes. The affectionate name was an arrow shot straight at an imperceptible chink in his proverbial armor and I witnessed the fortress of a demon lord before me soften right in front of my eyes. The moment was fleeting though and just as quickly, his expression smoothed and he offered me out an affably charming smile full of razor sharp teeth. Mmm, chill inducing. I loved it more than I should.

“It’s Abaddon, my little Lilith and I believe if anyone can accomplish it, you can.” He reached out to brush a hand down my hair, winding the tips through his fingers before letting me go and taking a further step back. I nodded.

“Very well. I will do my best.” I acquiesced at last and shuffled back, glancing over my shoulder. I had lingered too long at the Pit’s edge and the denizens would start to wonder, if they weren’t already.

“Plus… who knows, you may earn yourself a reprieve from here… at least for a little while.” He grinned again. Because nobody left for long. It was sort of like Rhy’Din where it was said that nobody stayed dead. Just like that. Oh the irony.

---

With a vacation from Hell on my mind, I took my time plotting my next steps very, very carefully. Days passed in an unrecognizable blur, weeks and months did too. Three years, three whole years passed as I contemplated and schemed. It sounds like a long time to act, right? Not so much down below. Time is a funny, funny thing and the time that passes in Rhy’Din or on Earth or any of the other places in the multiverse don’t necessarily match. So yes, I spent three years planning just how I was going to proposition one of the big guys himself.

Really, time flew. Tempus fugit. All that. Before long I found myself before the Lord of Destruction himself. In the heart of his rather vast holdings, he stood naked and waist deep in Elysian waters slowly turning reddish brown with the blood of the fallen and the dust of the battle’s atmosphere. I sat on the shore, sprawled on a rather out of place chaise lounge. My attendant had been waved off in favor of privacy and revelling in the comfortable silence that oft filled the air when the Great Lord and I weren’t engaged in more… carnal visitations.

How I had found favor with Tor initially had little to do with feminine wiles and more with our mutual appreciation for the artistry of bloodshed. The whole feminine wiles thing, well that came after. After I had rose to my station, he had even crafted me the body I currently occupied, the vessel more befitting those that had held the mantle before me. Tor, unlike many of the posts here (mine included), had been here since the beginning. He was the original, alongside his brothers, and they would be here long after my title or even the Abaddon’s had passed on to our successors. He was little intimidating to say the least. Not at the moment, of course, as exposed as he was. But still. Water cut jagged paths down his bronzed skin, carving clean trenches through the mess of battle and his hands followed after the droplets in wide strokes, a low thrum of relaxation humming in his throat.

“Lilith, love, summon your handmaiden to take care of my back.” Tor rumbled my way. I looked around. Ne’ri, Tor’s chosen attendant for me when I visited, was long gone so I rose slowly from my languid sprawl and stepped toward the scarlet stained waters, slipping out of my shoes along the way.

“I sent Ne’ri away. Let me attend to you.” Another time, the sibilant purr that dripped like honey from my words would have been so awkward and unnatural on my lips that it would have been laughable. Now, it was simply a part of my repertoire, a pattern of seduce, destroy, rinse, repeat. Tor, the being that he was, was hardly fazed by the undercurrents of the seductive croon and simply nodded, turning his back on me to allow me access. His sculpted torso was lined with ink and scars, intricate and beautifully done runework intermittently interrupted by jagged lines, reminders of this conquest or that. After several millennia, the demon lord had quite the thick hide even in his lesser humanoid form but that didn’t stop the low and pleased growl that worked its way free as my hands moved over his flesh.

“What occasion blesses me with such a masterpeice?” He asked casually. I waded further into the waters, the airy silk of the elegant gown on my frame flowing like a trail of crushed sapphires behind me. The purifying waters soaked into the fabric, forcing the already snug bodice to cling like a second skin, a jealous lover’s embrace of my curves against the refreshing chill of the pool’s liquid.

“Oh, you know. This, that, these, those.” I sing-songed as I worked my fingernails in circular patterns over his shoulder blades. The prickle of underlying wings had his skin stretched taut and the nails were a pleasant distraction from the constant tension carried through his massive form as evidenced by the near constant purr that rumbled from the demon’s chest like a content kitten.

“This, that, these, those?” Tor repeated with a low chuckle, canting his head to look over his shoulder at me before turning around to face me. Much like his back, his broad chest was covered in a latticework of runes, tribal styled tattoos and deep set scars far older than many of the denizens of the underrealm. I looked him over as he continued, “Vagueness does not become you, milady.”

“As humility does not evidently suit you, m’lord. I was only teasing.” I quipped back with a small smile, cupping my hands to scoop water and dump it over his chest. He had already done a fair job of cleanup, as meticulous in his grooming as he was, but the motions kept my hands busy. As nervous as I was, this was a good thing.

“I was only remarking that such a work of art deserves appreciation and that the artist behind it deserves… what is it the topsiders say? Kudos? Props?” He asked with an owlish tilt of his head. I couldn’t help but giggle, a girlish but throaty sound. Ancients were so endearing when they tried to use the more modern slang. My hands came to a stop on his pectorals, chin tilted upward to look him in the eye.

“Props would be more suiting, and as I said, humility is evidently not your strong suit.” I chided him, stalling further. This was a lot harder than I thought it would be. He chuffed a snort at me and lifted a hand to catch one of my wrists. The petite bone structure was easily lost in his grasp and I tried my best not to let my hand tremble as he lifted it away from his chest. Evidently, I didn’t do well enough and he cocked a brow, his gaze, an entrancing shade of copper, dipped from my hand to my face and back.

“Evidently not. Something on your mind, my lilly?” His hand shifted up around mine, enveloping my now balled hand within his. I set my jaw and steeled my expression. This would be a fair test of how far I had come.

“Actually… yes. I need your help…” I lifted a look into his eyes, venturing my best damsel in distress to hopefully ply his inner humanity. Who was I kidding? There wasn’t a shred of humanity to be found in a creature like this.

“Have you crossed someone?” His gaze narrowed, appraising me as he searched my expression. I let my bottom lip quiver as I dropped my eyes from his, shaking my head. His other hand set to the underside of my chin, drawing my gaze right back up from where it had fallen.

“No. But there is something of importance to me… and in order to secure said treasure, I requested… help. But to get this help, I must secure one more thing…” My voice rose and fell with all of the grace of someone of my station but none of the confidence and I struggled to keep my eyes on his. They bore into me, exposing me for the fraud that I felt I was.

“And that is?” Tor’s voice had dropped too, but it held an edge of precarious danger that set the hair on the back of my neck on end. The hand that had tilted my chin up had uncurled and settled against my throat gently, a breeze light touch promising salvation and damnation all in one swift motion should I pick my words poorly.

“One favor. From you. To the one whose help I need. Unconditional.” The words came on my next whispered breath as I braced myself for the inevitable shut down or worse.

“Who?” The Lord of Destruction continued his interrogation and I felt a twitch of anxiety in his fingers, a thrum against my throat that had me swallowing hard.

“The Abaddon.” Two words and my air was cut off with a single squeeze. The tension had peaked and though my eyes rounded wide, I held perfectly still, chin lifted high. I was feather light in his grasp, my bare feet leaving the blood stained bottoms of the elysian pool until only the tips of my toes brushed haphazard paths through settled iron and ichor. Tor’s blazing eyes locked on mine through a period of extended silence.

“The Keeper of the Pit. To request his assistance implies some acquisition of import to you. Is this true?” He asked. Answer carefully, Lilith, very, very carefully. To splay my cards so easily before the Lord would either sway him to my side or expose weaknesses he would use against me.

What choice did I have? I nodded. His hand relaxed around my throat, slowly lowering me back to flat feet.

“One favor. To secure one favor for the Abaddon, you must thrice owe six; favors to me, deaths in my name, and your secrets. Six of each owed will give you what you seek.” He laid his terms out before me. Favors… deaths, easily done. But secrets, secrets carried more power than any blade in the realm and for a moment I hesitated. You can do this, kid. Finally I nodded once more.

“Thy will be done. My word is my bond, I swear it on my Power.” My voice lifted at last, lofted by some second wind in my lungs.

“It is done then. If you need anything along the way, you need only let me know. Until then, you are mine.”

Well… that went swimmingly.

[Lilith Anderson]

Chapter Eight

Deathblow (Aftermath)

No one’s gonna take my soul away
I’m living like Jim Morrison
Headed towards a fucked up holiday
Motel sprees sprees and I’m singing
‘Fuck yeah, give it to me, this is heaven, what I truly want’
It’s innocence lost
Innocence lost
--Lana del Ray-Gods and Monsters

Eight decades down, an eternity to go. Once you get used to the heat, Hell really isn’t all that bad. Especially when you have a shiny new title that gives you all sorts of even shinier new things. My axe, a secondhand model, totally vintage chic if you know what I mean. My body, brand new off the lot. The feasts and the parties. The fanciful couture, though I was still figuring out just how one combined armor with evening wear. It was like a whole new category for the Miss Universe pageant. And most of all the attention. The good, the bad, the ugly (which was really ugly mind you), well at least life was never boring way down below.

With the death of the former Lilith, Lilith the Vain, there was a void created. The abyssal lords once loyal to the beautiful noble now found themselves conflicted. Dare they bow to the Usurper? Some did. Rather quickly in fact. Seldom had I ever had people kneel before me lest it involved my blade at their throat just shortly before their death. This was strange. Very strange. Others, well, they didn’t take to me so well and my arrival was met with a frosty reception at best.

The second layer was in flux, ripe for takeover by forces nefarious and noble, if such a thing existed in Hell. And it was now my job to keep that from happening, get things back to the status quo, and the souls trapped there back to their regularly scheduled suffering. Far above it all I sat, while I tried to figure just what was my best course of action. You see, I was still rather new to this whole “ruling” thing, at least when it came to de facto ownership. Give me a legion of fiends and some hostile territory and I’ll gladly make that my bitch without a second thought. As I looked out across the windswept circle, my latest suitor slumbered soundly in my chambers. Or he had been when I left him there to step out onto the veiled balcony for some meditative introspection.

“What thoughts plague you, milady?” The melodious sound tickled my ears and delighted my senses, prompting me to turn to face Astaroth’s Major as he too stepped out. I leaned back against the ebonstone railing to look him over. He was a magnificent specimen to say the least. Sargatanas donned a red robe that glinted gold in the twilight, perfectly complimenting the sheet of lush blonde that spilled down over his shoulders, snaking out and around the edges of the black tipped golden wings that were folded against his back.

“Debating whether I wish to contemplate my next move down below or return to your arms at least for a little while longer.” I said with a soft laugh, mirth twinkling at the corners of my eyes as I soaked up his visage. He came closer until he could grasp the railing on either side of me, leaning at a nearly identical angle to my own body. He would have to excuse me while I slowly breathed him in.

“I’m pleased to know I am among your choices in such a difficult decision.” He said ruefully, his musical voice quiet like the whispers exchanged from the surface of pillows. His scent was heady. Clean like springtime air and fresh cotton sheets. The golden overtones in all that he did hinted just how pure he had been at one point. How far he had fallen to come to this point was a story I never quite wanted to ask but I knew that before he came to be Astaroth’s right hand, he was something beautifully perfect, an angel of the highest order.

Even the best Fall down sometimes. And for now, I was content to fall with him until I figured out just what I needed to do to fill the void.

--

Five layers further into the bowels of Hell, I found a far different scenario at hand. This land had once been mine for the taking, a violently tumultuous pit of never ending fighting and bloodshed. It was home and I was leaving it behind for the lofty view given by the Second. Deep within the Blackflat Keep, I bounced from room to room to collect my belongings in preparation for one last departure. It seemed I would be trading one void for another, leaving a gaping power vacuum in my wake as I ascended to fill one left empty by my hand. I barely even noticed the soft footsteps following me but when I did, the rapid escalation of violence was sure to set off the next battle for the Seventh’s power. I stepped around a corner, came to a dead halt and when my stalker rounded the edge as well, he was grabbed and thrown into the volcanic stone wall with the amount of ferocity that had long been known as my trademark. Pressing the advantage afforded by the element of surprise, the dust from the broken rock hadn’t even cleared when I was upon him, a slipped blade nestled firmly against a jugular rapidly pumping with every frantic heartbeat. I was not one to be followed, especially not in my own abode and I was had every intent to gut the man from sternum to stem.

Until I realized who it was.

“Cimaron?! What in the Nine Hells are you doing here?” I asked through gritted teeth, pulling back on the extended blade and stepping back from the daemon prince I called my friend. His blackened fingers touched at his throat, rubbing over a pinprick of ichor that had oozed forth at my hands. Smudging it against his cloak, a crushed velvet in a deep sapphire color lined with behemoth fur, then gave me a sad smile.

“I came to see you off…” He said quietly, stepping away from the crushed wall and brushing dust from the broken rock away from his shoulder and what he could reach of his back. I simply stood there and stared at him, the blade still held loosely in my hand, my jaw slack with disbelief. His words clicked slowly in my mind but once they did, a look of alarm twisted my features and I quickly grabbed for his arm to drag him off into the nearest room. He went peacefully, trying not to trip on his own feet along the way and when I slammed the door shut behind us and turned to face him once more, he looked prepared for my rage.

“Cim, you know it’s not safe for you here! Are you a fucking moron?” I asked, my voice pitching higher and higher. Along the way I had grabbed him by the front of his tunic and pushed him up against the door but he remained calm, almost impassive even. There was that sad smile again.

“I had to see you one last time before you went…” He tried to explain and I quickly cut him off with a shake of my head and another round of high pitched disagreement.

“What do you mean one last time? You’ll see me again… it’s not like I’m dying or something…” In the wake of my words, silence reigned supreme between us for an extended period as I studied his expression, looking for some hint to unlocking the reason behind his sadness. At last my fingers relaxed from their death grip and I took a step back to give him room to breathe.

“I never wanted this for you…” Cimaron said softly, his hand lifting for a brief moment as though he was contemplating brushing his fingers against my cheek or through my hair. He looked so sad and I didn’t want to understand it. But he had his station and I had mine and the more I thought about it, the more I knew just why he was saying goodbye.

“I never wanted it at all,” I spoke in return, finding the first honest words out of my mouth since my ascension. They were heavy and bitter on my tongue, acrid syllables that threatened to choke me if I didn’t rid myself of them. Cimaron’s hand came up again and this time he set it against my cheek, his thumb stroking my cheekbone.

“You’re on your own from here, you know?” He asked, his tone laced with regret. My lips pressed into a thin line. Eighty some years and Cimaron had been my friend nearly from the start. I was losing him just like that. Had I been capable of feeling pain, I think that may have done me in. Instead I stared up at him stoically, my breathing shallow. He was only a few inches away and I could feel his hot breath on my skin each time he exhaled.

“I know… so this is goodbye then?” With his question answered, I asked one of my own. It was one I didn’t want to know the answer to. One I already knew. One I refused to face. For so long Cimaron had pursued me before settling on friendship if I wouldn’t permit more and in turn he had become my closest ally. We had fought side by side for years and I knew of anyone in this godforsaken realm, he was one I could always count on. The tension that came between us was nearly palpable and if I didn’t know better, I thought he was going to lean in and kiss me. My breathing stilled as he neared but at the last moment he faltered and with a soft sigh pulled back to look me in the eye.

“It is. Goodbye Lil...ith,” came his disjointed farewell, tripping over my name like the unfamiliar moniker took up too much room in his mouth. His arms snaked around my shoulders to give me a fleeting hug and then he was slipping to one side of my stance to pull open the door and slide out. I stood there dumbfounded for the better part of an hour, my shoulders slumped and my arms hanging helplessly at my sides. I was incapable of keeping him from leaving and once more I was all alone.

--

When I was weak, Cimaron was there. When I was strong, Cimaron was also there. Everything in between? You guessed it, Cimaron was at my side all the way. That is until the final battle with Lilith the Vain. I should have figured that I had lost him that day but such a realization did little to take the sting away. Once more I sat atop my gilded perch in the circle far, far from home and this time I was alone.

The loneliness hit me like a freight train, painful pangs shooting through my chest with the force of a thousand arrows shot at once. Had I not been sitting down, it very well would have brought me to my knees. Instead, it was my knees that I brought up to my chest, pulled in tight until my arms wrapped around to keep my legs snug.

Such was the price of power, greater than once thought. I had more than I ever had before, a veritable army at my fingertips, any material item I could ever hope for, the favor of even more powerful beings than I. At what cost? All I had known and loved before, gone. There was little of it to begin with so it’s not like I lost a great quantity but the quality of those lost was irreplaceable, invaluable, impossible to compare.

It was a lesson I had learned long ago, in another life it felt like, to never compromise yourself for the sake of getting ahead. Isn’t that exactly what I had done though? Every step I took, every rung of the proverbial ladder that I climbed, I was shedding more and more of what made me, me, in favor of glamour and secrets, facades and lies.

“What have I done?”

[Lilith Anderson]

Chapter Seven

Wicked (Of Love, Lust & Lilith)

”You're always hiding behind your so called goddess
So what you don't think that we can see your face
Resurrected back before the final fallen
I'll never rest until I can make my own way
I'm not afraid of fading
I stand alone
Feeling your sting down inside of me
I'm not dying for it
I stand alone”
--Godsmack-I Stand Alone

Clandestine was the nature of our carnal acts, the way in which we tumbled and turned, plying tender flesh with eager fingers and reveling in the strange sort of pleasure that is found in forbidden liaisons. There was no romance in our sins, no love to be found in the fray, but with every entangled meeting of our frames, I found myself further and further enamored in the feel of the thoughtlessness, the pure emptiness that came from not needing to think or plot or plan or most of all fight. I wasn’t one for commitment, but man, when the boot knocking is this good, it’s alright to nail it down on the regular, you know what I mean? So when the chamber doors, locked as they were, came flying open, you can imagine my ire toward the interruption.

“Milady! Milord! Dress with haste, the Lilith of the Second has made an express request for your presence!” Skittering through the cloud of dust produced by a pair of splintered doors wobbling precariously on their hinges, Solomanus came skidding to a stop ten feet into my chambers. Hasiel and I reluctantly disentangled ourselves and I pulled a robe on as I got to my feet. Tying the belt tightly around my waist, I scowled my way over to the jittery demonling that was quickly cowering back from my approach.

“Just what the Hell does that whore want? And why can’t it wait, we were sort of busy here.” I said insistently, coming to loom over Solomanus as he shrank away. Ugly, even by Hell’s standards, his toothy maw quivered nervously and his hands lifted up in front of him as if expecting my wrath to rain down upon him from my blackened fist. To be honest, I considered it. That is, until Hasiel spoke up behind me.

“She wants me.” He said simply, his voice lifted just above whisper level but still almost soft enough to lose in the chaos. I worked to unclench my fists and slowly turned to face Hasiel as he pulled on his clothing. He was haphazardly tugging on layer after layer, putting askew chainmail on over top of it. There was a wild look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite pin down but if I didn’t know better, it looked like fear. A single brow rose as I stepped back from Solomanus.

“Solly, let her know we are en route. Have L’sirah ready my armor. She has six minutes.” I said curtly, the finality of my tone sending Solomanus scrambling out of the room to execute my will. Kneading my fingertips against my temples, I sighed quietly then turned on my heel to face Hasiel once more.

“I should go ahead. I’ll meet you there.” He went to pass me, pausing only to brush his lips against my temple before also leaving the room. I stood there for four of the six minutes I had given L’sirah to ready my armor before making my way down the hall, through Blackflat Keep’s entertaining quarters and into the armory. The shieldmaiden was there, all articles ready in five minutes rather than six. For that I bestowed upon her a dazzling smile that was probably more unsettling than not. She helped me into each piece until I was cloaked from throat to toe in obsidian mail. Next came the weaponry, the plethora of blades tucked and strapped, buckled and secured until I was a veritable walking armory.

“Don’t forget your helmet, m’lady,” L’Sirah held out the jet black iron helm until I took it and tucked it under my arm. “And best of luck. I have the feeling you’ll need it should you have incurred the wrath of the Lilith.”

“Shallow people believe in luck. Strong people believe in cause and effect.” I grinned wildly to a worried looking L’Sirah and marched off to meet the threat head on.

--

Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. Like taking an elevator numbered in reverse, she rose to the higher layer with ease. The winds of the second plane were whipped into a violent frenzy making her grateful for the solid helmet that kept her ashen hair exactly where she intended. She was met at the gate by Solomanus once more only this time, the entire right side of his green scaled face was dented and busted up, purpling beneath broken reptilian scales. With his head bowed, he lead the way, taking her across the windswept desolation until they reached a climbing staircase, wide and grand and seemingly neverending. She wasn’t one to tire easily but by the time they reached the top, even she was winded. Solomanus had fallen behind at some point and quickly scrambled to catch up and pass her to take the warlord into the Lilith’s hall.

A vaulted dome played canopy to the grand manse full of gilded columns and priceless art. Ancient frames were intermittently separated by mirrors of all sizes, each dancing with a shimmering glimmer of glamour that definitely seemed out of place. At the far end of the hall, a trio of steps led up to a gaudy throne flanked by a pair of stone faced Guardian Demons taken from the shores of Acheron. Atop the throne was a creature of beauty unlike any other. Her hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back in loose ringlets of spun moonlight, the silver strands glinting like they were home to a thousand galaxies filled with a million stars. Her frame was clad in barely there silks that draped over her in ways that left little to the imagination while still making the average viewer want more. And more and more. Her lips were full and stained a blood red and they were pulled downwards into a pretty scowl. The warlord’s gaze finally met the Lilith’s, a brilliant green, the shade of freshly cut and polished peridot stones. At the Lilith’s side, Hasiel knelt, head bowed and shoulders trembling. Her hand gently toyed with his hair, petting him as if he were her pet. It made the warlord want to vomit. Violently. Instead she spewed words, vitriolic and contemptuous.

“So, care to explain why you sent a messenger all the way down into the Seventh to retrieve your little boy toy there? Not enough man meat up here for your penis flytrap?” A wave of silence fell in the wake of the crude insult and a cruel smirk tugged on the warlord’s lips as she folded her arms in front of her chest. Her own chest didn’t quite compare to that of the Lilith’s buxom bosom but she still struck an intimidating figure. Rage radiated from the Temptress on the throne and her hand clenched a hunk of Hasiel’s hair, making his back go stiff as he tried not to make a sound.

“You dare speak to me that way? Of course, you’re as disgustingly vulgar as the stories foretold. It shouldn’t surprise me that you’d be so bold as to think he is but a toy and that you are even permitted to play with what is mine,” the Lilith hissed, a feline purr hanging on her words. She rose from her throne, dragging Hasiel by the hair with her toward the stairs.

“Who are you to lecture me again? Sorry, downstairs we’ve got bigger things to worry about than who’s fucking whom,” the brazen warlord snorted, dropping her arms until they settled at her narrow armor clad hips.

“Five hundred years I have ruled this circle, I shall not be back-talked by an upstart brat with a handful of victories under her ugly chainmail belt. Still your tongue before I rip it out,” the Lilith snarled, pulling Hasiel up until he was torn between kneeling and climbing up onto his feet. Hasiel looked out at his clandestine lover as she set her defiant stance, undaunted by the threat as a peel of laughter tumbled forth from her lips.

“Too spooky, man, too spooky. To that I say, come at me bro. But first, let Hasiel go, it’d be a shame to hurt such a pretty face,” before the young warlord’s eyes, the Lilith yanked Hasiel up even further, using a strength that seemed impossible from her frame. Her hands settled against the sides of his face, forcing him to uncomfortably look out at the warlord before them.

“Let him go? Oh, very well,” and with a violent twist, the Lilith snapped his neck. A cruel smile met the stoic warlady whose only sign of consternation was a twitch of her fingers near the pommel of the blade at her hip. Releasing Hasiel, she slumped to the floor with a sickening thud, his head turned awkward and his dead eyes still open toward the lover he’d never love again.

“Because that was totally necessary. Here I thought they called you the Vain One, but really, you’re as insecure as a twelve year old,” the warlord snarled the words, triggering just the response she wanted in the Lilith. Plush silks snaked around her body as if of their own accord, shaping and forming to her curves as they shifted until the self proclaimed Queen of Lust was robed in her own armor. Before the process was even complete, she was starting down the stairs toward the audacious upstart that set her blood boiling. With a flash of blinding white flame, the Lilith wielded a behemoth of a battle axe and brought it up to point it at the younger abyssal.

“You have violated my hall with your disgusting tongue. You have cost me my lover. You have insulted my honor and you will pay with your life for it!”

--

“So, that’s how I pissed off the biggest bitch in Hell. I almost nearly fell to that damn axe at least a dozen times over the next nine years. Our fight spanned six circles, cost over fourteen thousand spawn their short little lives and well, let me tell you, I almost didn’t make it out alive,” I told my tale as the Lord of Destruction gently lowered me into his private elysian pool, his ancient magics healing and shaping me in ways I couldn’t even comprehend.

“Finally it came down to just the two of us, far up on the Cliffs of Sorrow. The Lilith had disarmed me of all but my last blade… this wicked little dagger Cimaron had made for me. Now… up against that axe, I was certain that was the end. But it seems that even after ten years, Hasiel’s death still haunted her. I didn’t know this, of course, but as we danced that lethal little waltz high up on the cliff’s edge, I figured I may as well get one last word. So, get this, I look at her and go,-- and I’m not even kidding here,-- ‘You know that amazing thing Hasiel did with his tongue? Did you know I taught him that?’ And oh man, the look on her face.” I hushed my story for just a moment as Tor submerged me momentarily then brought me back up. The incessant ache in my bones was fading but I knew it would take time before I recovered from such a battle. Once I came up, I continued.

“It was like hurt and rage and beautiful, beautiful fury all in one. She rushed me, which was her mistake. I managed to move but my shoulder caught hers and we went tumbling right off the edge. Luckily there was a ledge about thirty feet down… way better than falling into the abyss. It took us each a moment to shake off the daze, myself probably longer than she, but when we did, I quickly realized she had dropped her axe. I don’t… really remember what happened next, it was all such a blur of kicking and punching and clawing… but the next thing I know, the Lilith’s head is at my feet and I’m holding her axe, dripping with her blood…” I shook my head a little and felt Tor press a thick a finger over my lips.

“Shh, my love. You need your rest, we can speak more once this is complete,” the ancient abyssal lord said softly and slowly lowered me down into the cool relief of the pool. He held me there for I don’t know how long. Eventually everything went black and I drifted off into a peaceful sleep. From what Ne’ri told me when I awoke, I had been out for the better part of a year. I felt strange, different when I sat up for the first time since waking and when I looked down I realized why.

“Ne’ri… what happened?” I asked, looking up into the handmaiden’s violet eyes. Ne’ri chewed at her lip and wrung her hands, unsure of how to answer.

“Well… we all watched as you and the Vain One fell from the edge. We were certain that was the end of you both but when we peeked over, we saw you level the final blow upon the Lilith with her own axe. You kicked her body off the ledge and brought her head up with you when you climbed out of the abyss. W-with her death, a new Lilith is born and so our Lord, great as He is, thought it only suiting that your broken body should be replaced by something more befitting someone of your station.” Ne’ri explained and again I looked down at myself.

“I… look different. I feel different. Ne’ri, take me to the mirror, I wish to see.” I asked softly and with her assistance, slowly rose up. Her arm looped with mine, she guided me through the marble halls of the great Lord’s Keep until we reached a grand bathing room. A floor to ceiling mirror covered the entirety of one wall and I only made it a few steps in before my reflection had me faltering to a stop. Decades in Hell had left my body blackened, my skin charred and my previously light hair the deepest shade of ink black.

I didn’t recognize the woman who stood arm in arm with my handmaiden. She was tall, as I had been, somewhere a few inches shy of the six foot mark. Where I had been all straight lines and bony angles, she was voluptuous curves, proportionate but generous in nature. Her flesh was a pale shade of lovely porcelain. The only interruption to the creamy white was an intricate serpent tattoo of stark black that wound around her left bicep and ended in the center of her forearm. Where I had once seen hazel, pools of black as dark as the abyss stared back at me. To top it all off, her hair was a deep shade of plum, like lavender mixed with ink until it reached a rich dark color.

I was staring at myself. It wasn’t me. But it was. But it wasn’t. And in that moment, the true deathblow had been levelled. Lila was dead, this time for good. And in her wake, the Lilith was born.

[Lilith Anderson]

Chapter Six

Tempest (To Defend)

Tell me a piece of your history
that you're proud to call your own
Speak in words you picked up
as you walked through life alone
We used to swim in your stories
and be pulled down by their tide
Choking on the water, drowning, with no air in sight
Now you've hit a wall and it's not your fault
My dear, my dear, my dear
Now you've hit a wall and you hit it hard,
My dear, my dear, oh dear
--Bastille-The Silence

It was mine. All of this was mine. In a place as violently tumultuous as the Seventh, that was quite the accomplishment. In sixty three years none the less. It took some warlords twice that just to get the gumption to pull their asses out of the pits long enough to do something about their predicaments. I was one of the youngest and this was all mine. The stifling breeze that brushed over the fortress’s towering walls was refreshing, a reminder of how far I had come.

“So what’re you gonna do with all of it?” Cimaron asked as he took a lean alongside me against the Keep’s rampart, relaxed as he looked out across the fiery lands. Down below, demonlings and fiends alike milled about, armed to the teeth and ready for the next inevitable fight. The wall just beyond that served as the first defense, a barrier that kept my boys in as much as it kept others out. They were a menace, you know? As relentless and unforgiving as I could have ever hoped. Had I been the sort, it almost would have brought a tear to my eye.

“Keep it of course. Build upon it maybe. See what’s worth taking next.” I shrugged, a sideways glance catching Cimaron watching me sidelong. He always did that. I never called him out on it though and instead slid my gaze back to the goings on below.

“Never satisfied with what you’ve got, are you Lil?” He asked with a chuckle, leaning close enough to bump his shoulder against mine. Talk about a loaded question. I snorted, tipping my eyes toward the crimson skies. Always red, less a sky and more a ceiling high above.

“I miss the stars.” As if that explained it. Cimaron gave me a funny look like he didn’t quite understand. I didn’t expect him to but I also didn’t really feel like explaining. The demon prince had only ever known the dark of the below, born and raised among the fire and the flames. He had never seen the night sky, at least not the one I had known.

“The… stars? I don’t… get it?” He finally prompted, urging me to go on. It took me a few moments of silence but finally I did.

“Had a friend, she compared my bruises to galaxies she had known. Got me to read a quote once… ‘Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise over the pallid sea, and the silvery mist of the meadows. Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels’.” Reciting the words from memory, I was momentarily at risk of being overwhelmed by sadness. This was not the place for that, trust me on that much. So I let my teeth catch the inside of my cheek with a rough pin while I passed a hand back through my hair, blackened by decades down below. Cimaron’s shoulder set gently against mine, a quiet sort of comfort I had come to rely on over the years.

“That… sounds strangely suiting for you, m’lady. Who said it? The quote, that is.” He asked softly. My hands dropped to the rampart wall, drumming out an erratic little pattern, my fingertips twitching with muscle memory. What I wouldn’t have given for a cigarette right now.

“It’s from a poem called Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie by some Longfellow fellow.” I had drained the emotion from my voice, the level drone bringing about a weird sort of peace for me. As it had been above, so it was below, it was simply easier not to feel. Not to deal.

“Longfellow eh? Like Henry?” Cimaron sounded rather amused by this. I squinted at him, bobbing a soft nod while I tried to figure out what he was getting at.

“Yeah, him. Why do you look so smug?” I leaned to bump a hip to his. He was about to answer when a roar of violence erupted in the courtyard below. We were both drawn in an instant to the sight of the spat that had quickly become a full blown knock down, drag out brawl.

“Hold that thought, Lil,” he said grimly, waiting for my lead. I took it quickly, planting a hand to the top of the wall as I vaulted over. Parkour! My boots came down with a harsh thud as I crouched into the landing. As I straightened, I drew my blade from my hip and marched straight into the fray. The first fiend to make the mistake of touching me met his end quickly, left in a heap on the scorched earth under foot. The second wasn’t so lucky as to go as quick as his friend. I made sure his punishment would serve as a lesson to those remaining and at last I made it to the center of the regiment’s infighting. A set of axes rebounded off of my armor, jolting me forward as all went silent. Slowly I turned to face the unlucky fool who confused me for someone to be fucked with. His bad. I wasn’t. The demonling towered over me by a foot even as he shrank back and cowered.

“You,” I began, a cruel snarl twisting my lips into something ugly and unpleasant. The lesser fiend bowed his head, dropping to a knee before me. Behind me, Cimaron demanded an explanation from the other others involved. Despite their half assed talk of honor and pride, it was all trivial to me at this point. Lessons needed to be taught for everyone’s benefit.

“In what deformed part of your minuscule brain did you think it was anywhere close to a good idea to do that?” I demanded, pinning the tip of my bloodstained blade to the underside of his chin. He stuttered, grumbled, and growled but ultimately produced no explanation. Fine then. I twisted my wrist in preparation, only to be distracted by a gentle hand to my shoulder.

“M’lady, shall I?” Cimaron asked, prompting the briefest of pauses on my part before I shook my head.

“No. This on is mine. He will serve as a reminder to each and everyone of them that just as quick as I freed them from the Pits, I can send them right back.” My voice lofted loud enough to be heard throughout the courtyard. Dead silence met my words, unbroken even as I drove the blade clean through the kneeling demonling. Black frothy ichor bubbled past his lips as he slumped forward. I planted a foot to his shoulder and kicked to pull my blade free. Shaking off excess vitae from the broadsword, I hefted it up and turned a slow circle to take in every set of eyes that was upon me.

“Any questions?” The rhetorical question was once more met with silence and uneasy glances exchanged amongst warriors.

“Good. That’s what I thought,” I sheathed my weapon and turned to stomp through the parting crowd and back inside the Keep. Cimaron was quick to follow, waiting to speak until the massive doors shut behind us with a definitive slam.

“Ah. Now what were we talking about?”

--

The young warlord was a veritable maelstrom of force, taking what she wanted, when she wanted, no questions asked. It’s hard to not take notice of that. From the lesser fiends of the far reaches of Purgatory and the First, all the way down to the High Lords of the Ninth, the party lines seemed to be divided between being impressed and being concerned. A force like that, if left unchecked, was quite the threat.

“Mmh, she’s certainly making wakes, isn’t she?” Mused the Lord of Destruction himself, looking over reports of the latest carnage inflicted by the young upstart from the Seventh. He always had had a bit of a soft spot for those ones. They destroyed so wonderfully, it was like some sort of cataclysmic poetry in motion.

“We’d be smart to deal with her sooner rather than later.” Tor’s brother grunted, disdain dripping from the Lord of Hatred’s every terse word.

“Not so hasty brother, she may prove useful yet.” The third of the Prime Evils crooned, tapping his fingers together with a little click-click of his claws.

“Useful? She’s an overambitious child who is about to bite off far more than that pretty little mouth can chew.” Spoke the second, obviously set on how he wished to handle it.

“I think you worry not about her faltering but rather the threat that she poses to your holdings should she be successful.” Tor chuckled, eliciting a dark look from his brother. This only amused Tor further so he reexamined the work of the Seventh’s latest star.

“Solomanus, what is her story?” Tor asked, tilting an inquisitive look to the scaled demon spawn in the corner. Solomanus skittered back and stammered before controlling himself and moving to the Lord’s side to report.

“Native Rhydinian of another timeline brought by way of Nexus flux. From the middle ring of the Seventh circle, she has been with us for sixty seven years by Hell’s time. Less so for the Above’s time. Has thus far conquered forty eight percent of the Seventh with campaigns waging in both the Sixth and the Eighth.” Solomanus rambled, his voice lifting and lilting in nervous breaks. The three brothers listened carefully.

“Middle? A profligate?” He of the Hatred asked.

“N-no, m’lord. Suicide.” Solomanus clarified. This struck quite the chord of confusion and dismay among the trio. It was nearly unheard of!

“Interesting… verily so. She may prove useful to us yet.”

--

Few things scared me these days. Maybe when you’ve lived, died, gone to Hell and still managed some semblance of survival, well it was sort of hard to faze me at this point. So when I was summoned to the depths of the Ninth realm, I didn’t think twice until the fidgety demonling known as Solomanus explained just who was calling for me.

“Like… The Lord of Destruction?” I asked in obviously disbelief. Solomanus nodded slowly, anxiously shifting from foot to foot. This was either really good or really bad. I wasn’t quite sure. So once I suited up, Solomanus took me down into the frozen wastes of Hell Nine, a place so desolate that even the heat of the circles above couldn’t ward off the frost. Each breath I exhaled rose in a thick cloud around my head before fading away and I had become so accustomed to the constant sweltering heat that I couldn’t help but shiver the further we went. I was given a reprieve once we passed through an unseen passage set into a frozen cliff face, the blustery wind no longer biting at my flesh.

“Ah, Lady of the Seventh Blackflat, you’ve arrived. Come in, come in.” Tor rumbled amiably, kicking his armor clad legs up on top of the great stone table before him.. His hands clasped behind his head and looked almost relaxed, a polar opposite compared to myself and the skittish demon spawn who had led me here. Maybe this wasn’t as scary as I thought.

“I thank you for your invitation, m’lord.” Though I spoke clearly, I kept my voice low, bending a knee to the great Lord of the Deep. I tried to keep the worry out of my tone. Had I pushed my luck? Had I stepped on the wrong beings during my rise to the top?

“No need to bow to me, young one. Please, come sit. We’ve much to talk about. I must say, I’m quite the fan of your work…”

[Lilith Anderson]

Chapter Five

Battle Axe (Divide & Conquer)

See the greater minions make a move on their feet
Kill them anywhere from here even from the head
Girls that seem so hot and I’m just sitting here laughing
I’m gonna keep going up, I can’t get distracted
And I know, I’m indestructible
And I know, I’m indestructible
Tonight!
--Rancid-Indestructible

In life I was no warrior, no military tactician. At best I was a mediocre fists brawler with a chip on my shoulder and an insane proclivity for fighting battles I had no place in taking on. That last bit, maybe that’s what spurred me on. When the fires had given way to the wastelands and the circles shook with untapped power, I at last found my calling. The circles, the seventh in particular, were in a constant state of flux and fighting, ever changing commanders and controllers. It wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t pretty, but by the Gods did it look like fun. I had already spent more than twice as many years in Hell as I had on Rhy’Din and as the fortieth year came to a close, I found myself wanting more than simple survival.

I wanted it all. The wars, the spoils, the glory. All of it.

Now, there was the matter of just how to jump into the shark tank that was the current circuit of warlords and warriors battling it out in a constant tug of war for the lands of the seventh. I was a wee little fish amongst the whales. If whales were the sort to snap your spine for looking at them funny. What a mean whale. But maybe, just maybe I could use that to my advantage. Cimaron, with his insider knowledge of how it all worked was my first stop.

“Cimmy-Cim-Cim, how’s the day?” I was clearly interrupting him judging by the annoyed look etched on his face. This only had me grinning even more. Annoying him was so easy. He brought his hammer down one more time upon the latest addition to his armory then set it aside, stepping back from the anvil to level a look upon me.

“Tis a day, like any other, milady. To what do I owe your presence?” Though his tone was clipped and curt, I knew he would always make time for me. The forge was empty except for the two of us but still Cimaron insisted on gesturing toward a side corridor that I knew would take us to his private quarters. While his father was a lord of well repute, Cimaron had forgone taking up the family business of commanding and conquering in favor of outfitting those that came and went through the hallowed halls of Purgatory. “Charity cases”, his father called them. I thought it was sort of sweet. Cimaron waited to speak until we were safely behind the safety of the heavy mahogany doors that shut his quarters away from the forge and any prying eyes.

“Not oft do you come up here just for the sake of a midday chat. Are you well?” He asked gently once he turned away from locking the doors, his gaze sweeping my form intently. I chuckled softly, appreciative of his concern as unnecessary as it was. He took the opportunity to step closer, his brows knitting inward.

“I’m fine, Cimaron, really. I was thinking and well, I thought you’d be a good one to talk to,” I began cautiously, “and, well, you know how it’s pretty dog eat dog out there, right? I don’t want to be a puppy anymore. I want to be a big dog.”

“You wish to be… a dog? More Hellhound or bigger like Cerberus?” It seemed my analogy had been lost in translation, Cimaron looked absolutely clueless.

“Did you know ‘Cerberus’ is a Latinised version of the Greek ‘kerberos’... which they think means ‘spotted’... so Hades named his dog Spot… original, yeah? Wait… I’m off subject. Where were we? Uh… oh! No, I don’t want to be a dog. It’s a figure of speech. It means I want to learn how to fight and then I want to fight for something of my own.” I hoped that would clear it up but instead Cimaron only looked even more troubled than he had before.

“You… wish to become a warrior?” He asked hesitantly. I nodded.

“Not just a warrior… I want to be a Warlord…” I clarified excitedly. My friend didn’t seem to share my enthusiasm so I continued. “See, where I came from, a Warlord is just a swords duelist with too much time on their hands, risking and earning trivial accolades for their accomplishments. Here… I can be something. Someone that matters!”

“You already are someone that matters, Lila, you matter to me.” Cimaron objected, stepping into my personal space to cup my cheek gently with a broad work-worn hand.

“I know that, silly. And I’m grateful for your friendship but I want to do more. I want to prove to you that when you bailed me out that it wasn’t for nothing.” I insisted, frowning when he lowered his hand partway through my plea.

“You needn’t prove anything like that to me, milady, I know your worth and it is not dictated by the petty tides of the realm’s wars. I… I could give you everything if only you’d give me the chance to do so. You wouldn’t have to risk your soul… nor your morals or values. Just… please? Consider it?” It was the demon’s turn to beg. It wasn’t the first time he had made such a request of me and I doubted it would be the last. Cimaron had relentlessly persued me for the better part of twenty years by now and every time, I had relegated him to the dreaded Friend Zone. Should I have re-evaluated that? No, I couldn’t compromise for the sake of settling for safety.

“Cim… don’t do this to me. I came to you for help, not so you could try and dissuade me with talk of Happily Ever After. We both know it’s a load of bullshit. If you won’t help, I’ll just do it myself.” Masking my hurt under a thin facade of righteous anger, I turned away from him in favor of the exit. I made it so far as unlocking the first of the series of locks that prevented my departure before a sigh prompted me to pause.

“Lila… wait. You’re… right. I’ll do what I can, okay? Just stay a bit longer…”

--

The pair had started small, Cimaron supplying her with weaponry and intel so she could put it to use little by little. The hectic state of flux that firmly held Purgatory was perfect for such an operation and together, they found it easy to whisk away new arrivals under the guise of judgment and distribution to the lower circles. Instead they swept them through thorough indoctrination, using tactics taken from Cimaron’s father’s conquests so they could build a steadily growing and fanatically loyal legion of the damned down within the Seventh. Many found their way into the armed ranks while others filled support roles. How else does one feed and outfit a band of restless fiends?

Once that was established and running with a scary sort of efficiency, the budding commander began to move her proverbial chess pieces around the board that was the Seventh Circle. At first it was all about positioning and other such strategy, putting herself into the ideal place to strike. Strike she did, the scorched lands soon running ebon with the spilled ichor sacrifices of foes and pawns alike. Her legion was not without folly though and early in the campaign, they suffered heavy casualties. Luckily, Cimaron’s brilliantly established system had vacancies filled before their predecessors’ corpses were even cold.

Scary.

Efficient.

Brilliant.

It was with this well oiled machine that the Prince and the Warrior carved their little niche in the Seventh. Minor at first, practically unnoticed by anyone of consequence. This wasn’t for lack of ambition, of course. Lila was all too eager to jump into the deep end, consequences be damned. If it weren’t for Cimaron’s urging to err on the side of subtlety, she may very well have done so. That’s not to say that she would have failed or succeeded, one way or the other. Really it could have gone either way but next to the depths of Hell Nine, the Seventh was known as the most unforgiving for upstarts. The slightest misstep could have damned her to a fate worse than death. And down here, not only was such a thing a grim reality, but it was far worse than comprehension.

The pivotal catalyst came with the Battle for the Blackflats. Her Legion found themselves outflanked and outnumbered, like some sort of Hellish modern Thermopylae. She was no Leonidas and her warriors were neither Spartans nor plain old Greeks. But what they lacked in numbers and experience, they made up for in suicidal fanaticism and barbaric, unadulterated bloodlust. The eponymous black valley soon ran red with the sickly ichor and blood of the fallen. Thousands fell as each side surged and receded like alternating tides, drawn by the battle’s magnetic pull.

Defeat.

It was neither swift nor merciful and most of all, it came not for Lila or Cimaron. What was left of the opposing horde was but a retreating speck on the horizon and the autopilot of adrenaline soon gave way to giddy, if exhausted, excitement. They had won.

--

“We… did it, Cim…” I exhaled my disbelief. It couldn’t be possible, could it? Cimaron neared to look me over, frowning at the less than pleasant state he found me in. To my credit, most of the blood I was covered in wasn’t my own. Besides, I had won...er, we had won. Isn’t that what mattered?

“So it seems. The Seventh Blackflat is ours. This should prove a most advantageous foothold,” Cimaron agreed as he pulled a section of what looked like twisted rebar out of my shoulder. Oh hey, I hadn’t even felt that. Seems some things never change.

“We set up here going forward. I imagine it won’t be long before we have to defend it and I want it known that this is mine and any who seek to take it will face their undoing,” I announced, lofting my voice enough to be heard by the battered remnants of my legion. They were exhausted by the looks of it but as always, they were plenty accepting of my declaration.

“But, first…” Cimaron interjected, grinning a display of sharp but perfectly straight teeth, “we pledge our fealty to Warlady Lila of the Seventh Blackflat.” One by one, each minion, wraith, and demonling dropped to a knee. It was a chill inducing sight, each of them bowing before me. Me. I had done this and it was all mine. I took a minute to take it all in, turning a slow circle. at last my gaze came to rest upon Cimaron, the demon prince upon one knee before me.

Once upon a time, what seemed like a century ago, I had been a little girl that dreamed of the day that handsome man got down on one knee with a promise of forever. This, though, was SO much better. There was no such thing as happily ever after, there was only the incessant battle of life and death. Lovers come and go, fickle, petty dalliances in the grand scheme of things. Loyalty, true unwavering loyalty, that was much harder to come by.

The gods only knew just how much I would need it, what with all those I had stepped upon on my way to the top gunning for my head on a silver platter.

Oops.

Occupational hazard, I suppose.

[Lilith Anderson]

Chapter Four

Change (Rising)

The tightrope that I'm walking just sways and ties.
The devil, as he's talking, with those angel's eyes.
And I just wanna be there when the lightning strikes.
And the saints go marching in
And sing slow it down,
Through chaos as it swirls,
It's us against the world.
--Coldplay-Us Against the World

Once upon a long time ago, I read something about how certain parts of Hell are meant for certain sorts of sinners. Sure, Charity had once equated Hell to an eternity at the DMV but seeing as Rhy’Din sorta played fast and loose with anything resembling regulatory agencies, well, I had no idea just what that meant. That was her Hell, and this was mine. Classically styled, the more I saw of it, the more I realized that I had watched too many movies when I had been alive.

“I wasn’t even supposed to be here today,” I mumbled under my breath, hopping the narrow but perilous chasm. Cimaron looked over his shoulder at me, a brow arching. He offered a hand out as though he thought I was struggling with the climb. Waving off the help, I tucked myself closer to the broad cliff face. On my other side, the sheer drop off was only a little vertigo inducing.

“It’s a movie quote,” I explained. He looked even more confused so I sighed. “Nevermind that. Where are we going, anyway?”

“Purgatory, for the time being. It shall be most assuredly a needed reprieve,” Cimaron continued on his way, carefully traversing the path before us. The roar of distant violence caught my attention even as Cimaron kept climbing.

“What’s going on over there?” I pointed toward the plains below where two waves of demonic beings crashed into one another like bloodthirsty wrecking balls. A cursory glance by my demon guide produced a bored shrug.

“Tis the Blackflats of the Seventh, they’re always under siege. See how it bottlenecks there in the valley? Tis the only easy passage from the out ring to the middle and inner,” as Cimaron took us across a narrow land bridge and around a bend, the din of the clash below died away. The middle… that’s where he had found me.

“So… if that’s the only easy way out of the middle, then how did we get out?” I snuck closer to his flank, sweeping my ash coated fingers back through my hair. We reached a massive gate and Cimaron pushed it open with ease. A displeased snort sounded from the other side and I paused. There was a quiet exchange of words before Cimaron waved me through.

“The hard way, of course,” he finally answered my question, ushering me past a surly minotaur. I couldn’t help but cringe under the weight of its suspicious gaze. Climbing once more, Cimaron and I emerged after only a few short minutes. Before me lay a vast and fiery graveyard. At least it looked like a graveyard… had you doused the tombs in gasoline and dropped a match on them. Strangely enough, it sort of bothered me more than the land below had. Little did I know, it would only get worse.

--

The duo progressed through the layers of Hell little by little in their trek for the safety of Purgatory. First the land of the heretics, each damned to an eternity within their burning mausoleums. The stench of the Seventh’s bloody plains didn’t quite reach the Sixth but even if it had, Lila figured it couldn’t come close to overpowering the sulfur and brimstone, the ever present scent of eternal damnation.

Working up through the layers, Cimaron ushered her in a direction not often taken. Up. While many had sank to further depths than they had once been damned to, seldom did any traverse upwards. SO when they sought to leave the great Dis-like walls that encompassed the lower realms, they were rather obviously met with equal amounts confusion and derision.

“Ye doth not comprehend. The Damned are not to leave,” the statuesque being at the wall said with a shake of his head. Beyond, the vast marsh looked none too inviting. Cimaron wouldn’t give in to the Fallen’s edict so easily though.

“She is in my employ. We seek passage to Purgatory so that I may continue my work,” Cimaron spoke evenly, standing between the Fallen angels and the Damned woman he had helped pull from the Seventh. The pair upon the wall exchanged looks that spoke untold volumes. A beat, then two, then three. Nearly sixty passed before they finally nodded in unison.

“Bound to thee, so long as she remains. Go forth,” two voices but the same words. It was sort of creepy. Possessively, Cimaron took hold of her wrist as if to demonstrate his power over her for the Fallen and led her past. As the pair awaited passage through the marsh, those they had passed began to talk. Rarely do such words make waves through the realm but then again, seldom did such an unprecedented journey occur. They were nearly to the farthest reaches of the third circle when word got back to the demon lord who had sired Cimaron and his ilk.

“Has he taken a bride, I wonder?” Oray mused aloud, peering through the scrying crystal’s smoky glass. The Marquis watched the pair with rapt curiosity as Cimaron led the woman further and further from the desolate depths of the Seventh. He had just returned from another “hunt” as the archer liked to call them and the quickly spreading word of his son’s endeavors was certainly enough for pause. Unaware of their voyeur, they passed the wind swept plains of the Second, Cimaron keeping a protective arm around the waif like husk of a woman.

She had been beautiful once, if the blackened framework that had imprinted her upon the realm was any indication. Tall and thin, narrow of hip and shoulder but even more so of waist, all she was had been blackened by the fires of Hell. It wasn’t her potential beauty that Oray figured his son was after but rather the woman’s tenacity. He always did like a challenge. From the perils of the Seventh, all the way through the Asphodel Meadows of Limbo, she had stayed at his side, never straying. Though fear had shown brief flashes in her eyes, she never it infiltrate her expression.

“Interesting… bring my son to me. Once they reach his domicile of course. Bring the girl as well,” he firmly commanded. There was much to discover about the young pair.

--

“No. That is final,” Cimaron declared, pushing the messenger out of the forge. I hadn’t heard the quiet conversation save for the demon’s increasingly louder proclamations that he wouldn’t be doing whatever it was that was being requested of him. I fidgeted awkwardly until he returned with a definitive slam of the door.

“Jehovahs huh? Just won’t take no for an answer,” I joked, mostly out of nervousness. See, when things are awkward, I tend to only make them even more awkward. It’s a talent or something of the sort. Something that got me in quite a few less than pleasant spots when I was alive. Cimaron blinked at me then without missing a beat…

“Nah, they’ve got their own special brand of Hell. None of ‘em get into heaven because God and St. Peter are behind the gates saying ‘Shhhh, pretend we’re not in’.”

[Lilith Anderson]

Chapter Three

This Place Is Death (Break Free)

Cause she's just like the weather, can't hold her together
Born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snow
Cause it's burning through the bloodline
It's cutting down the family tree
Growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me
--Florence + The Machine-Landscape

Twenty years. Twenty mother effing years, I had been down here. Or so they said, the voices around me being my only guide to this desolate prison. I had never been much a religious person so this was all… weird. I was spiritual, maybe, in that I liked spirits. Whiskey in particular, if you know what I mean. Beyond that, I’d never really had a reason to think about God or Heaven or Hell. I had grown up in a land of monsters and gods and all sorts of creatures though, so I guess Hell really wasn’t too much of a reach.

I digress.

Ah yes, twenty years, in leaps and lulls that seldom made sense. I had turned eighteen only a few months before I had died and now here I had blown that time right out of the water. Had Elle been here, I would have inevitably gotten “NEW RECORD!” declared in the same voice that proclaimed such when you won on Mario Kart.

I missed her. Elle, one of the few who had been a genuine friend to me while expecting nothing in return. I thought often of her and the others. Rick, my partner in brawling on rooftops and chain smoking entire packs of cigarettes. Max, who had done his best to help me get my foot into the door of what felt like a nigh uncrackable industry in Rhy’Din. Jade, who had tried so hard to be a sister to me when I hardly afforded her the same courtesy. And then Tanya, one of the few I thought could understand my pain.

I had failed them, each and every one of them. And man did I miss them. Gaming with Elle, sparring with Rick, drinking with Tanya. She and I had done our best to raise as much Hell as we could in the relatively short time we had been friends. I couldn’t help but wonder how she was doing. Had she ever gone home? Much like my own life, where she had come from wasn’t much worth going back to. Maybe she was the success story that I would never be. She was stronger than I was, she had to be okay. Right?

Tanya had been there the night everything went to Hell. Between her and Rick, they had got me back to the King of Clubs Magic Shop slash the Spade and Heartt Detective Agency and cleaned me up and all of that. I passed out somewhere between her resetting my broken nose and seeing to my knee, the joint having been reduced to a swollen lump of shattered cartilage and shredded ligaments. By the time I woke up, she was gone and Rick was out so I had been able to sneak out unhindered.

If only I could see how they were doing, make sure they were okay. After all, I wasn’t doing anything with my time. Any sort of struggle on my part had been met with resistance and the repeated bite of what might have been barbs of some sort. The former was the real issue, because what was pain anyways?

“So uh… anyone know how to get outta here? Maybe catch a cab to the closest hostel?” Though I couldn’t see, even after all of this time, I could hear and speak just fine. My question was met with the incessant moans of the eternally tormented. I listened for what felt like years but no answer came.

“Well. Informative. Thank you for that. You all may be content doing your best zombie impressions for the rest of time, but me, myself and I? We’re pretty tired of this shit. So, uh, yeah. Deuces!” Now let’s see if I was all talk and no walk or not.

I twisted left and turned right, testing the bonds that had kept me held for close to three decades at this point. The more I struggled, the harder they seemed to work to keep me tied down. My back was up against a rigid, rough, and slightly convex surface. It felt sort of like a tree but who knew in this place. The harsh bite of my bindings had me on the verge of tears but still I pressed on. Sticky liquid seeped from the wounds rendered by the sharp edges, dripping down my arms, legs, and chest like hot molasses.

Sure this had gone on for longer than I wanted to admit but finally something snapped. And it wasn’t me! Small victories, right? My ankles gave way first and though I wanted to rest in celebration of my progress, I knew I couldn’t. I pulled my knees up to press my feet flat against the rough surface behind me and flung myself forward as hard as I could while pushing with my feet. A burning ripped through my chest and I was certain that I was going to die all over again. I was nothing, if not stupidly persistent, and at last that too gave. Unfortunately since it happened to be the only thing standing in the way between me and release, it let me go at just the right time to make me wish I had put my feet down first.

Certainly that wasn’t the first ungraceful faceplant ever experienced by a denizen of Hell, right?

Let’s hope not.

“Lax security. What a buncha chumps.” I mumbled against the ground, my body aching from the strain I had put it under. It took me a few minutes… or hours… but finally I pushed myself to my feet and pawed at my eyes to try and uncover them. A thick muslin wrap had been wound around my head, securely covering my eyes but leaving my ears, nose, and mouth free. Clawing at the fabric, I ripped it free and was treated to quite the sight before me.

It looked like a burnt out orchard, wide tree trunks burnt to a charcoal shade, gnarled limbs drooping with the weight of… oh gods. Had I been capable of puking, I would have done so when I saw the endless number of my fellow damned. Hanging from trees, their feet and ankles reduced to bone and bits of disfigured flesh. Or wrapped tightly to the tree trunks with thick vines full of thorns. My gaze slid down toward my own chest and I felt my head spin. The thorns were still stuck in my chest, oozing black ichor over my bare blackened flesh. It was then that the gravity of the situation hit me and tunnel vision set in. Certain that if I dropped here, I’d wake up to find myself restrained again or worse, I took off at a blind sprint. Crashing through the forest full of tormented souls, I pinballed off of trees and swinging bodies alike, inciting a chorus of pained moans in my wake.

“Sorry, sorry, excuse me, sorry. Shhh, be quiet!” I hissed just before I ran full on into a steep wall. Slightly curved, I looked upwards then along its length. Hand to the wall, I let my run guide me along the rounded wall only to find after some time that I had ended up right where I had started.

“Son of a bitch!” I swore and looked up once more. If I couldn’t go through then it looked like I had to go up. Far, far above me, I thought I could see some dim amount of light and with a resigned heave of air, I settled on attempting the climb. First try: failure. Second try: worse than the first. By the third time, my frustration with myself finally prevailed and I managed to get my bone thin fingers into the jagged little crevices that littered the wall’s face. In light of the thirty or so years I had spent down here, I was rather out of shape and this used false body was hardly ideal for the strenuous climbing.

I was nothing, if not persistent though.

Grunting and groaning with each upward movement, I knew I had to finish this climb before my muscles gave out. Falling from this height… though familiar… wouldn’t have been pleasant. I had maybe four feet to go when I felt my grip give. This was it for me, my last shot at getting out of here and I was about to blow it. My raw fingers were oozing that nasty black shit again, making my grip sticky and slippery at the same time. I felt my fingers miss the next crevice, slipping free and for half a second, I felt the first lurch of freefall in my stomach. My eyes squeezed shut only to pop back open as I felt something warm, almost comforting even, close around my higher wrist.

--

“I’ve got you.” The young demon rumbled as he pulled the weak being from the pit of despair. Meant as a home of eternal suffering for those who had already suffered so much in life, Cimaron uth Oray was drawn to the poetic pain and ironic tragedy of those within. What he hadn’t expected, though, was to find one so close to freedom. Duty said he should have let her fall, let her be the master of her own punishment, retribution for her attempt at defying her sentence. He couldn’t, though. Tenacity was a rare trait, especially in those who had ended their own lives, too burdened by their tribulations to carry on. It should be rewarded or at the very least explored.

“Ngh. Thanks.” She was frail and her voice was like gravel on sandpaper but Cimaron could at least identify her as female. Her frame was slight, even more so than most that wasted away in the depths below, narrow of shoulder and hip with a barely there waist. Her time below had left her blackened and her flesh torn by the torment of the thorns. He couldn’t tell if she had been pretty once, the pain etched across her features common in those of the Seventh circle. Once on solid ground again, she rolled onto her back with a relieved heave of her chest.

“Had you fallen down there?” The red eyed demon inquired, looking her over. He knew the answer already but he had to hear it from her lips to believe it. Rarely had anyone ever managed to not only free themselves but to climb all the way to the top of the steep walled circle. The woman shook her head, hands gingerly poking and prodding at her various wounds.

“No… I uh… I’m from down there… decided I wanted a change in scenery,” she paused to hiss as her fingertips pulled free a rather gnarly looking thorn from her rib cage, “and climbed up. So uh, thanks for not letting me fall. Would have been a bitch to try again. Got a name?”

“You may call me Cimaron. And have you a name?” He asked in return, moving a hand to press over the seeping wound left in the thorn’s wake. Though a destructive being by nature, he still had it in him to repair should the need arise. She shuddered as her flesh mended itself, feeling the tunnel vision set in again.

“Y-yeah… Lila.” She mumbled, trying to keep her head from spinning. The pain subsided and Cimaron sat back then rose up to his feet. A hand extended should she choose to take it and the woman looked up at him like she didn’t quite understand it.

“Well met Lila. We should probably get you dressed and out of here before the wardens make their next pass. It’d be none too good for either of us should they find you out and about.”

[Lilith Anderson]

Chapter Two

Can’t Even Breathe (Burn)

So come out, come out, come out
Won't you turn my soul into a raging fire?
Come out, come out, come out
'Til we lose control into a raging fire
Into a raging fire
Come out, come out, come out
Won't you turn my soul into a raging fire?
--Phillip Phillips-Raging Fire

So this was eternity. I had royally fucked up and this was my payback for it. And here I thought that death would bring some sort of relief, how wrong was I. Life had been one continuous stream of suckage so while it had been the coward’s way out, dying was supposed to make it all better. To keep it from hurting. I wasn’t afraid to die, not really at least. I wasn’t scared to take that leap from the ledge into the great beyond. It didn’t terrify me that I would never again watch another sunrise or fight another fight. I was so done fighting, I couldn’t do it anymore. And this is what I got.

There was no concept of time where I was, leaps and lulls passing in disjointed hops, skips, and jumps. Seconds could be an eternity and years could fly by in an instant. As it had been ever since I closed my eyes for the last time, I saw nothing. That’s not to say I didn’t try but it seems that the gift of sight was not mine for the taking in this afterlife, if that’s what this was. Afterlife, what a stupid word. When you die, you’re supposed to die, not go on to deal with more shit. How lame.

Once upon a time, when I was just a little girl and my mother hadn’t yet lost her mind to the depths of the bottles, she told me stories of the world she had come from. A land where Gods and men mingled and fought readily and of the Goddess that balanced it all out. She was somehow all knowing yet perfectly powerless, lost to the realm of the dead for all of time. My mother claimed to have been this deity’s champion, some sort of protector set on keeping this benevolent being safe and sound from those that sought to end the flow of time and space and life and death.

She failed. She did that a lot actually, so that doesn’t surprise me looking back. But that’s neither here nor there. Anyways. The underlying point of that story is how fluid time is. Seldom is it a straight line that progresses at a steady pace. Instead it’s more like ripples in a puddle, wholly impacted by the influence of outside forces. In short it’s a mess. Without my eyes to give me any sort of a reference, it was impossible to tell if it was day or night or if anything was even changing. All I knew is the one constant was the heat, never ending and so stifling that I couldn’t breathe.

Wait. I was dead wasn’t I, why did I need to breathe? Or maybe this was only a dream. This was a dream and I was lying comatose in one of Rhy’Din’s many hospitals or clinics. Some day I would wake up and this all would have been a bad nightmare. Maybe that was it. That made me a failure too. Seems it ran in the family.

That was comforting.

Heh.

Not really.

Thine judgment has been rendered. For thine transgressions toward both thineself and others, thou shalt rest until the end of days within the Seventh Circle. What exactly did that mean? The words echoed constantly in my head and I spent my days or nights or however time went here, mulling what it meant. Was I looking at some sort of Dante-esque damnation within the nine circles of Hell?

“Hell’s what you make of it, Lil. S’different fer everyone. Some’a ya go the classic fire and brimstone and sufferin’ shit, others end up in line at the DMV forever.” Charity had told me once upon a time, what seemed like an eternity ago. I didn’t really know what a DMV was, but from what I heard, it wasn’t a pleasant place to spend forever. So I guess Hell for me was somewhere I could neither see nor speak, left to blindly listen to the cries of… well they sounded human I think? Humans in agony, yeah that’s it.

Shouldn’t it have been the desolate landscape of Valhalla that I languished in, left to live out the rest of eternity in the depths of the dark sea that surrounded the great ruins of the city? I guess not. No matter the stories I had been told of what heaven and hell were, it doesn’t really matter since all the tales ended in the destruction of the balance. Even in death, my mother’s mistakes were punishing me.

It figured.

[Lilith Anderson]

((18+ Mature Warning, Trigger Warning, etc))

Chapter One

God’s Hands (Fall)

Well, I looked my demons in the eyes
laid bare my chest, said "Do your best, destroy me.
You see, I've been to hell and back so many times,
I must admit you kind of bore me."
--Ray Lamontagne-Empty

I could fly! I could fly amongst the stars and the wind rushed through my hair until it whipped my hair into a violet tempest about my face. It was beautiful. It was perfection until I found myself shrinking. The giddiness in my gut gave way to panic and I grasped at the fading starlight. My hands came up empty as I fell further from my perch and as seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity, I was overwhelmed by sadness. Why couldn’t I reach them? I could fly after all. Please, please, please, lift me up and let me brush my fingers over serenity, let the ethereal light consume me. Why… why, why, why?

And then it hit me.

The ground, that is, not some profound revelation. From there on out, all I knew was excruciating pain, every nerve ending alight with misfiring neurons and the intermittent shockwaves of nervous system activity that came from the impact of my head against the ground. If there is one sound I wish to never hear again, it is that of flesh meeting cement at high speed. It results in a sickening wet crunch that can’t quite be articulated unless you’ve heard it yourself. The pain gave way to cold despite the imminent warmth of Rhy’Din on the cusp of summer and I let the chill lull me into stillness.

”Oh my god! Oh my god, I think she fell! Call an ambulance!” A woman shrieked, breaking early morning’s quiet with her shrill declaration. The pounding of footsteps on pavement quickly neared, one set, two sets, and then three. Hands that met my shoulders with a careful shake produced no response, not like I wanted to answer anyways. I heard frantic chatter, felt the veritable thrum of panic and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to just sleep. Let go, relax. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. How welcome sleep would be.

”I can’t find a pulse…”

No shit, Sherlock. I’m practically dead at this point.

“Move out of the way, we need to help her!”

Ah yes, where should you start. The compound fractures in both legs?

“I… don’t think there is any help for her…”

Maybe the shattered pelvis?

“Where is that goddamn ambulance?!”

All of those broken ribs?

“They’re on their way!”

The internal hemorrhaging that was turning my abdomen a dark shade of plum?

”I think we’re losing her…”

Not to mention the massive head trauma. Let’s not forget that.

”Excuse me… let me through please… I’m a chaplain.”

Not that I had much grey matter to hurt. Even in death, I couldn’t help but be self-deprecating.

”Oh Holy hosts above, I call upon thee as a servant of Jesus Christ, to sanctify our actions this day in preparation of the fulfillment of the will of God...”

I didn’t think the dark could get any darker, but surely enough it did. And even as the chaplain’s thumb swiped a quick cross upon my forehead, I had long left the growing crowd behind. They had given it the old college try, I couldn’t fault them for that. Maybe I was even thankful that the handful of people whose Friday mornings had been unceremoniously interrupted by my dramatics still took the time to try and make a difference. It was a sweet parting thought.

”And thus I do commend thee into the arms of our Lord of Rhydin, our Lord Jesus Christ, preserver of all mercy and reality, and the father creator. We give him glory as we give you into his arms in everlasting peace, to be prepared to return into the denser reality of God the Father, Creator of all. Amen, amen, amen…”

--

“Begin recording, case R4827583-12. May Second, two thousand fourteen by the Terra Prime Gregorian calendar at 4:00 PM. The decedent was presented to Coroner’s office wearing a black sleeveless shirt and blue jeans. No shoes. Jewelry includes titanium barbells or rings in both ears, right nostril, tongue, lower lip, both nipples, and navel. Two subdermal implants under left collarbone bear recent trauma evident by inflamed tissue. No jewelry remains in that location. Identification located indicates victim is an eighteen year old, caucasian female human. Physical examination of body aligns with identification. The body is that of a normally developed white humanoid female measuring 173 centimeters and weighing 48 kilograms. Hair is best described as violet and decedent’s eyes are hazel. Tattoos on left arm, lower back, and right leg obscure bruising in varying states of healing. Post mortem hypostasis is fixed in the distal sectors of the limbs.

“Skeletal system. Cranium sustained innumerable fractures to occipital and parietal bones. Swelling of brain indicates traumatic injury, hemorrhaging evident within occipital and frontal lobes and brain stem. 3C, 4C, and 5C discs have ruptured. 4L, 5L fractured. Additional fractures found in,” the recording picked up an exasperated sigh, “right mandible, right scapula, right ulna. Right hand second, third and fourth metacarpals have partially healed fractures, perhaps unrelated to injury sustained on second of May. Ninth through twelfth rib pairs encompass six distinct and separate fractures, each linear. Right side fifth through eighth ribs sustained further fractures, oblique and displaced in nature. Pelvis underwent high impact crush injury with multiple breaks in sacrum, coccyx, ilium and ischium. Open fractures in left tibia, right tibia and right fibula. Soft tissue damage evident in right knee.

“Respiratory system. The oral cavity bears no injury but does contain residual blood due to probable internal torso damage. Lungs weigh within normal limits, bearing damage in line with cases of heavy tobacco and-or marijuana use. Right lung punctured by broken ribs, indicated earlier in report. Moving on… cardiovascular system. Heart is of normal size and weight with no signs of atherosclerosis. Aorta torn fully from muscle resulting in extensive internal bleeding, but no sign of interfering broken bones. High probability tearing is a result of blunt force trauma to torso. Gastrointestinal and urinary systems. No evidence of solids within stomach. Spleen is ruptured. Liver is lacerated. Right kidney ruptured as well. Further internal bleeding attributed to aforementioned injuries. Routine toxicology and serology tests have been ordered and are expected to be back within five to seven days.

“Evidence collected includes one black tank top, size small, one pair denim blue jeans, size two, fourteen captive ball titanium body jewelry hoops, seven titanium barbells, two titanium subdermal jewlery posts. Additionally, samples of blood, bile, and tissue, sixteen autopsy photographs, one postmortem CT scan, six postmortem X-rays, and one postmortem MRI. Opinion, pending toxicology results. Body temperature, rigor mortis, and eyewitness and first responder reports indicate time of death was between 5:00 and 6:00 AM on May Second, 2015. Immediate cause of death, multiple blunt force traumas. Manner of death, suicide. No further remarks. End recording.”

--

Where am I? I tried to ask, but no words came out. Everything had faded and any hint of the foreboding chill had long since left me. My head was cloudy and the air was thick with sulfur and brimstone and heat. A fiery wind from my right caressed my cheek with thin fingers like searing flames and offered me no reprieve from the overwhelming warmth that had overtaken me. But I saw no fire, no flames, only black. Nothingness. Is this what death was like? Uncomfortable and dark? I hadn’t found my voice and I couldn’t see so I tried to lift my hands to grasp at anything I could but found my limbs heavy and sluggish like the morning after as a weekend long bender.

I once more attempted calling out, straining my vocal cords as if to scream but again, no sound came forth. Or was it and I couldn’t hear it? Deaf and blind in a place like this… oh gods, please say it wasn’t so. A contrasting breeze fluttered in from my left, soothing and warm in ways the fire was not. Does that make sense? It did in my mind. Within moments, the two tangled and kicked up into such a gale that I found myself spinning, around and around and around, with no end in sight. Ha, sight. Like anything was in sight. With all of the whirling, I thought I might puke and just when I thought it was coming, I was halted by a force beyond my comprehension.

“Lila Kathryn, thine judgment has been rendered. For thine transgressions toward both thineself and others, thou shalt rest until the end of days within the Seventh Circle. Shalt ye have any compelling argument contrary, thou best speaketh now or forever hold thine peace.” The voice assaulted me from all angles, a great booming ring of authority that held me speechless. Of all the times to not have a witty comeback, or at least something that kept me from this so called seventh circle, why was I coming up short now? The deafening silence was fleeting, over within a matter of less than a minute and so my judgment was complete.

“Rest in peace, child.” The words echoed after me as I freefell once more. And while the stifling heat returned to all of its wicked glory, no sound followed, nor any light. I was alone.

Or so I thought.

[Lilith Anderson]

Prologue

The rooftop was busy and the stars were bright...