Chapter Twenty-Six

After the summit was over, most of the delegates boarded their ships and left. It was hard to believe that—just a few hours earlier—this place was packed with representatives from across the Universe. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't worry; I'm heading back now," Zia spoke as she fiddled with her transmitter. The poor signal here was giving her trouble.

"Was that one of your constituents?" Aeron asked her. Sometimes, people in Zia's position were relegated to general peacekeeping work along with their ambassadorship. Her conversation must've been about one such duty.

"A couple of new arrivals are causing trouble. They're confused." Aeron shrugged—that was business as usual. Not every soul came to Heaven knowingly. "I'm only gone for a week, and already everything has gone amiss. Elizabeth," she started, "be a dear and go get my ship ready." She wanted to be out of this accursed land as soon as possible.

"You're leaving already?" Aeron spoke. "That didn't take long." He was under the impression that Zia would stay a bit longer to lobby the other ambassadors for support.

"Pushing for any more help at this point would be like signing my death certificate. Politics is a fickle thing, Mr. Weber—I suggest you learn that." She could only prod her superiors so much before they got violent. "So, for now, this is goodbye. Try to finish up quickly; I'm sure that the Minister is just dying to hear your report."

"Yeah," he conceded as he watched Zia and her bodyguards leave the building. "Now then, where should I take this?" he thought as he stared down at the contract. Besides him and a few stragglers, the reception hall was practically empty. "I thought Satan said that she and the other bigwigs would be here already." If possible, he would like to leave the prize with one of them. Its contents had already been debated and approved, so there was no longer any need for him to hold onto it.

"Oh, Mr. Weber, there you are," Dr. Leeson said as he walked out of the conference hall. "How was your first debate? I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did." The innocent grin which adorned the devil's lips made Aeron sick to his stomach. If he didn't already know that this Demon was a lying sack of garbage, he probably would've believed that atrocious acting.

"It was an experience," he muttered, "and that's all I'll say on the matter." When dealing with people like Dr. Leeson, vague answers were usually the best. "Now then," he stated as he held up the briefcase, "do you know who I should give this to?" After a moment of thought, Dr. Leeson nodded and pointed down one of the nearby hallways.

"For an important document like that, it would be best to drop it off at Lady Satan's desk." For a split second, Aeron heard the Demon's voice quiver. Did Dr. Leeson not trust him? Then again, it wasn't like he was doing his best to be a paragon of good faith. After all, he was an Angel. Any Demon would be wary of him.

"Are you being sarcastic?" Aeron cooed in a playful tone. At this point, he might as well have a little fun. It wasn't like the devil could do anything about it. "I could've sworn that I just heard you growl."

"I'm sorry, that wasn't directed at you," the Demon lied. "I'm just a bit frustrated with this year's summit." Aeron grinned—Dr. Leeson was likely still angry about the contract.

"Well… I guess I'll leave it at that," the Cherub thought as he held back a chuckle. He got Dr. Leeson to show his true colors, and he considered that a success. "You have a good night, Dr. Leeson," he finished, shaking the devil's hand. After going through the other mandatory goodbyes and procedures, Dr. Leeson hurried off towards the opposite end of the hall. "Thank God." With him out of sight, he could walk peacefully. All he had to do now was deliver the package. "He said to leave it on Satan's desk," Aeron thought. "I wonder what the Antichrist's office looks like?" Initially, he believed that such a place would be covered in gore and pointy swords. "However—with Satan being a woman—that might not be the case. Then again, she is still a Demon, so who knows?" Aeron sighed. At this point, he needed to be prepared for anything. "Okay, you thorn in my side," he mumbled as he haphazardly slung the document's briefcase over his shoulder, "let's find you a new home."

The winding, labyrinthian hallways that made up the conference building was a sight to behold. Every single passage looked the same, right down to the tiniest speck of dust. Thousands upon thousands of doors and rooms lined the walls. Some were just simple offices, for whom he couldn't say. But, many of the rooms also appeared to be designed for a much more sinister purpose. "Yikes," he whispered as he walked past one such area. He could hear a slightly muffled scream from inside. "That devil told me Satan's office was somewhere around here." However—unless the Antichrist spent her time doing deskwork in some small, crappy cubicle—he doubted that any of these offices was hers. No… someone in her position would have a much more extravagant workspace. "Dammit," he cursed. He didn't have time for this, "I guess I'll just check the map."

He had to admit—for as much social friction as there was between his kind and Demons—his kin's sworn enemies were masters of convenience. The map that they had plastered onto every wall was simple yet effective. It consisted of four holographic layers which responded to touch and voice commands. Of course, half of it was written in a profane language he couldn't comprehend, but, thankfully, the route to Satan's office was marked. After a minute or two of studying, he nodded, yawned, and flew over to the lord's suite. As expected, the door looked exactly like the others. However, this time, he could feel an unmistakably evil presence emanating from behind the wall. "Welp," he muttered as he wrapped his hand around the bronze handle, "here goes nothing."

The first thing he noticed when he waltzed into the Antichrist's sanctuary was how roomy it was. Unlike the Minister's office, Satan's was relatively humble. It consisted of just a giant black void—with only a single desk and chair resting at its center. The entrance wasn't connected to any wall. Instead, it was nothing more than a hole that drifted about the room.

"Quite a unique place for the leader of the damned, wouldn't you say?" the lady of the hour announced as she rose from the darkness. Her dress and hairstyle were completely different from when she addressed the delegates. This time, the gown she wore was much more casual. It was a baggy mess of wool and cloth—complete with a small hood and long sleeves. Her hair was damp, and a faint scent of soap and lilac drifted off her body.

"I didn't know you had working plumbing here," Aeron told her as he stepped out of the doorframe and into the void. He had not found a single drop of natural running water from the moment he arrived in this realm. Whenever he or one of the other diplomats needed a drink, their hosts conjured one up via a magical flask.

"As the ruler of this detestable slice of the Universe, I get some special amenities," she said as she opened one of her desk's many drawers. With a quick flick of the wrist, she yanked out a beautiful diamond comb and ran it through her luscious, long hair.

"Dr. Leeson told me I should leave this here," Aeron said as he walked over and placed the suitcase on the top of the desk. He still didn't feel right about being around Satan. If it weren't for this little errand, he'd be gone by now.

"That sounds like something he would say," the fallen Angel muttered as she pressed one of her feet deeper into the black floor. As if she had stepped into a still lake, silver ripples began to form around her. Suddenly, another door shimmered into existence. This one was metal and was bound by numerous locks and chains. "I hope you don't mind if you join me for the acceptance ceremony," she continued as she rummaged through her desk for a large keyring.

"Acceptance ceremony?" Aeron spoke with one of his eyebrows raised. "What in the world is that?" His question was only met with a fit of uncontrolled laughter.

"Oh right," the Antichrist chuckled as she unlocked the gigantic, chained gate, "I forgot, you aren't an ambassador." With every opened padlock, a binding fell and vanished into the nothingness. "Souls aren't something physical like money or jewelry—they're a form of energy. And controlling the flow of said energy isn't easy. Therefore, to avoid unwanted headaches, we utilize an 'acceptance' ceremony to mitigate and control the flow of the damned," she explained as she swung the hatch open, motioning for Aeron to follow.

"Great," he thought as he walked up to the new crack in reality. This opening led to an ominous staircase. Its spiraling steps seemed to go on forever, stretching ever deeper into whatever this dimension was. "Do you mind telling me where we're going?" he asked as he rested a hand on the hilt of his gavel.

"Now, Templar, there's no need for that," Satan told him as she slowly descended the staircase. "You and I both know that Hell would gain nothing from me attacking you. Stop being so paranoid." Even if she wanted to kill him, he wouldn't go down without a fight. He was a judge, after all. Any attempts to cause him harm would come with significant repercussions.

"Well, forgive me for being a bit cautious." He wasn't sure what disturbed him more. The hallway, or the oddly familiar aura that was practically pouring out of the Antichrist's body. "Now that I think about it," Aeron thought, "she is technically an Angel." He frowned—the fact that she was one of his relatives nearly made him vomit.

"You don't trust me. I can see it in your eyes," she stated as they hiked down to the final landing. Every step brought them deeper into Hell's depths, and that fact was reflected in the temperature—which was rapidly increasing.

"Damn…" Aeron thought as he tugged at his shirt collar. "It's hotter than Hell down here," he moaned. That was no joke. He could stand the dumpster's crazy climate, but this was something else. It felt as if his clothes were about to burn off!

"The place I'm about to show you is one of the most important sectors in my realm. Only the most horrid souls are kept here. I'm sure you've heard of it," she said as the pair finally arrived at their destination. It was a gigantic landscape of burning fire, grey ash, and sulfur-laden air. However, that wasn't all. Every so often, a blizzard would come roaring over the hellscape. Freezing even the flames themselves solid. "Mr. Weber, welcome to Tartarus." For a second, Aeron couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Wait… what?" he thought as the temperature started to rise again. "This is Tartarus?" He expected the fire, but the freezing winds were a surprise. When Satan noticed his confusion, she laughed and stuck her tongue out to catch a few large snowflakes.

"You know, the Ninth Circle is also a frozen wasteland. My realm is not all fire and brimstone, Mr. Templar," the Demoness exclaimed as another speck of snow landed on her tongue. Instantly, she spat the melted crystal out. "Ugh… the ice down here tastes like garbage." The precipitation in this decrepit place was disgustingly grey.

"I'm assuming you have a reason for bringing me here," Aeron sighed as he scratched the back of his head. Satan smiled and nodded.

"Patience is a virtue, Mr. Weber. Don't worry, you'll understand soon." Before he had a chance to ask any questions, Satan reached over and grabbed the suitcase he was carrying. "You need to tell that council of yours to change the passwords on these things," the devil scoffed as she effortlessly opened the container. "These documents are important to maintaining the balance between Heaven and Hell. There's no end to the idiots who would kill to get their hands on them. To ensure their safety, we're forced to keep them down here in Tartarus."

"That makes sense," Aeron thought as he rubbed his frigid forearms. "Where better to hide a treasure like that than Hell's cellar?" With the extreme weather, demonic guards, and maze-like architecture, the place was practically impenetrable. And—unless you had someone like Satan as your guide—there was no way out. "So, tell me, where do you keep the sinners down here?" he asked. The screams of the damned, which he had grown accustomed to since arriving in this realm, had vanished.

"What were you expecting? We don't keep the Universe's worst fiends out in the open. No, they all get the special treatment," Satan explained as she crouched down and flicked her fingers against the dirt. Suddenly, the rock and mud became as clear as glass, allowing the two of them to see through to the chambers below. Just beneath their feet were thousands of miles worth of chasms, pitfalls, sharp rocks, and lava. Several gigantic worm-like Demons crawled in and out of the stones—carrying damned souls in their gaping maws. Aeron even recognized a few of them from his previous assignments. "Those Demons serve as the guards here. They're assigned to Tartarus's upper level," she explained as she stood back up, breaking the spell and returning the ground to its normal appearance.

"There are levels to Tartarus?"

"Of course," Satan responded, "just like Heaven is built in layers, so is this place. The deeper you go, the more heinous the soul." With her guest's question answered, the Demoness led Aeron to yet another flight of stairs. These were made of black marble and spiraled down into an endless, dark chasm. "This stairwell will take us to the vault and the holding cells of the Universe's most sinful wretches."

"Oh, that's great. I'm looking forward to it," Aeron groaned. "I'm sure I'll come by a few more recognizable faces," he thought.

"Are you excited to see the fruits of your labor?" Satan joked as she tapped her fingers against the railing. "A few of these men and women might remember you. Why don't you go and break bread with a couple?"

"Yeah… no… I think I'll pass on that." Digging up old memories was the last thing he wanted. "Let's just get this contract sorted so I can get out of your hair. I'm a very busy man." Satan smiled and rolled her eyes as they arrived at the bottom of the spiraling steps. The area they were in looked more like a mortal prison than the stereotypical lava-filled cave. Rows upon rows of cells lined the walls—a few were even hanging from the ceiling! Each cage contained a damned soul, each one fearfully awaiting their daily torture. Quite a few had been driven insane. The orchestra of their mad giggles and screams filled the prison's every corner. There was, however, a handful that managed to retain their sense of self. Most of these were newer arrivals—who had yet to receive their first dosage of punishment.

"I know that those four were the result of your most recent rehabilitation," Satan said as she pointed to a few of the healthier ones. They all seemed to be unharmed, but Aeron knew that wouldn't be the case for long. "Unlike the rest of Hell, Tartarus is the only place where the Demons have to wait before torturing the damned. New arrivals usually wait days, sometimes weeks, before we begin their holy sacrament. After a few cycles of this, they'll eventually lose their minds and join their sinful brethren in eternal torment."

"There have to be a few exceptions," Aeron wondered as he looked over the other prisoners. "If you remove their sense of self, then what's the point?" They were all here as punishment for their sins. If they were all insane and couldn't recognize the wrongs they were being tortured for—why even send them here in the first place? Instead of answering him, Satan just smiled and shrugged. "Of course, when it comes to this woman, why should I expect a logical answer?" the Cherub thought with a sigh. He nearly forgot who he was dealing with. What went through her mind was an enigma that he just couldn't understand.

"Don't worry, when the time comes, I'll answer all of your questions," she said. Aeron frowned; how long was this devil going to lead him on? Eventually, the Demoness guided him to a gigantic iron door. The rusted monolith must've been at least ten feet thick and was covered in strange locks.

"None of them have any combination inputs or keyholes," Aeron pondered. "Who do you keep here?" he asked.

"Oh… nobody that important," Satan cooed with sarcasm so thick he could walk into it. Instead of giving him a serious answer, the Antichrist raised her arms in the air and touched one of the many large locks. Unlike the bindings which covered her office's door, these took nearly six minutes to open. "The souls we keep in these cells are quite nasty, so I'm forced to take these extra precautions," she told him as the final lock came crashing down. The force of the fall cracked the stone tiles and caused the entire prison to shake. Once the tremors finally subsided, the massive metal door slowly began to open. A gust of rancid wind blew out of the entranceway like a typhoon, draping everything in a thick layer of dust. For a moment, Aeron found himself thinking back to his apartment.

"They need to work on cleaning," he mumbled. "The stench of this place almost makes me feel sorry for these poor bastards." Of course, the hallway on the other side of the gate was filthy. Cobwebs and flies filled every nook, while swarms of rats made nests in the rafters above. No matter where he looked, pestilence and disease ran rampant.

"This isn't a hotel. We keep this place filthy for a reason," Satan snapped as she stepped over a pile of decaying rodent corpses. "These inmates have committed some of the gravest sins imaginable. It is only fitting that they get to spend eternity in this squalor."

"Good point," the Cherub conceded as he passed some empty holdings. The iron bars and locks had nearly rusted away, and their occupants were nowhere to be seen.

"Less than fifty souls are kept here," Satan continued, "and less than half are housed in regular cells. The majority require… special accommodations." Right on schedule, the two of them arrived at a large dark room. It was filled with small pillars covered in grime and debris. "Here, allow me to turn on the lights," she said as she waved her arms through the air. Suddenly, all the unlit torches roared to life—illuminating the area in an ominous red glow.

"These are… weapons?" Aeron wondered. Thanks to the fire, he could finally see what was stashed away in the pillars. Hidden beneath layers upon layers of glass were various artifacts of war. There were swords, axes, nets, and multiple sets of armor. However, that wasn't what mystified him. What drew his curiosity was that he recognized some of these items from one of his short excursions to Greece. "This looks like Poseidon's trident," he pondered aloud as he inspected one such weapon.

"You know his name. For your kind, that's quite rare," Satan said in an unusually impressed tone. Was he deranged? Poseidon was not an actual deity. He was just a figment of mortal imagination. However—as if the Demoness could read his mind—Satan shook her head. "I know what you're thinking," she started, her voice heavy and sad. "After your trip to Earth, you've felt that the Greek gods were little more than a fever dream—but that is far from accurate. Those 'gods' did exist—and after losing Heaven's favor—the Almighty put them here." While she talked, the Antichrist reached over and pulled a cobweb-covered lever. Suddenly, the entire room started to descend like a rundown elevator. "If you want, I'll let you meet one of them. Although, he isn't the talkative type."

"She's going to let me speak with one of the false gods?" Aeron thought as Satan led him into one last cell. Hundreds of red-hot chains lined the walls, converging on a small chair in the center. Bound to this unwanted throne was a frail older man with a beard of blue hair that seemed to shimmer like the ocean. Aeron could see numerous scars across his body—courtesy of the molten metal—and a few fresh wounds. "And this is?" he asked Satan, who pointed to the middle of the prisoner's torso. A small emblem was branded onto his ribcage, depicting a trident covered in waves.

"This, my friend, is one of the twelve Olympians. In his prime, mortals called him the ruler of the deep. The Romans dubbed him Neptune, but his common name is Poseidon."

"You've got to be kidding me," Aeron spoke—shocked—as he stared at the captured deity. "I thought that—"

"They didn't exist?" Satan cut him off. "Hmph… I can't really blame you. After all, Earth's flow of time is different than that of the other realms—these poor bastards have been trapped down here for thousands of mortal years. So, it makes sense that you'd think they were nothing but legends. That said, they aren't gods. Poseidon and his family are nothing more than a gang of fallen Angels."

"What?!" he yelped. There were other disgraced Cherubs besides Satan?! He had never heard anything about this! "Is there anyone else who's privy to this information?!" he asked her.

"Besides Yahweh, nobody. You're the only person I've let in here," Satan told the Cherub as she lightly ruffled Poseidon's hair; the false deity just sat there motionless, as if he were frozen in time. "So, you should consider yourself pretty lucky—you're getting the special treatment today."

"What did you do to him?" Aeron asked. Without thinking, he raised his hand and rubbed it against one of the man's scarred biceps. "His skin… it's as dry as a bone!" The chains that were tied to Poseidon's body seemed to be responsible for this unusual trait. They radiated some strange energy that seemed to evaporate any nearby moisture. Even his sweat was starting to be affected, and by the time he pulled his hand away, his skin was already cracked.

"Right now, this man's body is completely devoid of all fluids. He was the one who held dominion over the Earth's seas—so this type of security was installed," the Demoness explained while she playfully tapped Poseidon's forehead.

"There's just no way." Angels didn't have the abilities depicted in the mortals' myths. Even the highest-ranking ones, like himself, were granted their powers by the Almighty directly. The idea of just one Angel somehow obtaining such godlike strength was simply ludicrous. "That must mean—" Aeron thought as he looked up, "they must've found a loophole," he whispered. The thought was as terrifying as it was intriguing.

"I'm amazed that you figured it out so quickly," Satan chimed in as she stepped back from Poseidon's burned body. "As a reward, let me tell you a story. A story of how this group of devils fell from God's grace." Aeron didn't respond—how could he? All this new information was landing in his lap at a mile a minute.

"I know I'll regret this, but fine, let's hear it," he whispered as he rubbed his sore eyes—his mind struggling to keep up. He had a feeling that this story was going to last a while.

Three hundred years ago...

Once upon a time—before I ended up down here—Angels held dominion over most of creation. We controlled everything. From what little soul trafficking there was to the governing of the other races' realms. It was indeed a sight to behold; however, it was also one that I found unbelievably dull. How does a lady find entertainment when all she has to do is worship and sing hymns? It's a curse, the Angels' boredom. Back then, I was the only one who seemed to recognize this complete lack of stimulation. All we did day in and day out was worship, as that was our only real job. What few mortals there were just loitered around in the lower levels. So, it gave us no satisfaction to talk to them. Everything was at a standstill, and it was about then—during that extremely unsatisfying page of history—that I decided that I had had enough. I rebelled against Yahweh and everything he stood for, got damned, and ended up a prisoner of the realm that I rule.

I'd say it was an exciting ride, but that would be a lie. I want to educate my fellow Cherubs about how unfair this system is. We live under a god who is supposed to be perfect, and yet, despite that, continues to make imperfect beings. He gave us sinful thoughts only to punish his creations when they act on them. Looking back on it now, with these rebellious ideas, I should've realized the direction my fate was heading in. Now I'm running the Almighty's trash heap, with thousands of Demons at my disposal, but with no way to use them. We're all trapped under his all-encompassing thumb. However, that is about to change. After some digging, I've heard wind of a few mysterious artifacts that may aid my cause. Much like an artist requires a brush to paint, Yahweh needs tools to create new worlds. If I can just get my hands on one, I might be able to accomplish something. Sadly, at present, that is nothing more than a fever dream. If these items do exist, I am in no position to make a move for them. My Demons are all confined to this realm—they cannot step foot in God's garden. For my plan to succeed, I'll need to find an informant. Sadly, there aren't many after my fall who would be willing to betray their creator.

So, for now, I have no option but to wait and bide my time. Fate is a cruel mistress, but I'm sure she'll eventually provide me with the perfect opportunity. When that time comes, I'll bring all of creation to its knees.