A Favor for a Favor

"Do you want to leave this place?"

The voice came again, cutting through the silence like a blade. It wasn't loud, not demanding, but something about it felt sharp, intrusive, as if it was drilling straight into my being.

I didn't answer. At first, I thought I had imagined it. Maybe it was one of the screaming souls playing tricks on my mind. It wouldn't be the first time.

But then it spoke again.

"Do you want to leave this place?"

My form rippled in agitation. I wasn't afraid—low-ranking demons like me weren't worth fearing—but something about the way the voice spoke unsettled me. It wasn't a command. It wasn't even a taunt. It was a simple, neutral question. And yet, it refused to go away.

"Who are you?" I finally asked, my voice like wind through hollow bones. "Where are you speaking from?"

No answer.

Just the same question again.

"Do you want to leave this place?"

"Damn it!" I snarled. "Answer me! Who are you? Why are you asking me this?"

Silence.

And then, the same question again, like a broken record. "Do you want to leave this place?"

I drifted in the darkness, agitated. The voice ignored my questions, as if my words didn't matter. I could have threatened it, demanded answers, but what would be the point? I doubted it cared.

Instead, I did something I hadn't done in a long time. I thought.

Did I want to leave?

Any soul in Hell would say yes without hesitation. Escape was the only dream left for the damned. But I wasn't just a soul anymore. I was a demon.

What was out there for me? I could torture and destroy as much as I pleased here. I had no rules to follow, no need to run or hide. Out there, I'd be a fugitive. If I left, what then? What could I do that I couldn't already do here?

But then another thought crept in, one that made my form still.

Demons could only grow stronger outside of Hell.

Here, I was nothing more than a lowly torturer, a speck of dust in Hell's vast abyss. If I ever wanted to be more, I had to leave. But leaving Hell was impossible, especially for a low-level demon like me. No one escaped. Not unless they had help.

And if this voice was real, if it wasn't some trick, this might be my only chance.

I let the silence stretch before answering. "Let's say I do. What's in it for you?"

The voice finally changed. "A favor for a favor."

I scoffed. "I should have known. Nothing in Hell is free."

"Nothing anywhere is free," the voice countered.

I shifted, considering. "I'm not doing anything unless we make a proper demon pact. I won't be cheated. If you want my help, we bind it with a contract."

A pause.

"Hah. Cautious. I expected as much." The voice sounded amused. "Very well. A proper demon pact it is."

A cold force wrapped around me, not painful, but heavy, suffocating. A demonic pact formed between us, an unbreakable agreement. The weight settled in my being, binding us.

"Now tell me, what do you want?" I asked.

"There is an item in a certain room of Hell," the voice said. "In your next shift, I want you to retrieve it. Only then will I show you the way to escape."

I frowned. "What item?"

"A scythe. A black one. Hanging in the center of the room."

A scythe? That wasn't an ordinary weapon. This wasn't just some errand—it was a dangerous task. And if the voice needed someone as insignificant as me to do it, it meant one thing.

It couldn't get it itself.

"What's stopping you from taking it?" I asked, suspicious.

"If I could, I wouldn't be speaking to you," the voice replied.

I exhaled, or at least the equivalent of an exhale in my formless state. "What's the catch?"

"The moment you retrieve it, we must escape immediately. If we hesitate, you will die."

I tensed. "What?!"

"You already agreed," the voice reminded me, almost teasingly. "No turning back now."

I cursed under my breath. If I had known I'd be risking my life, I wouldn't have signed the pact so easily. But it was too late. A deal was a deal.

The next shift came quickly.

"Move carefully," the voice instructed. "Avoid the gaze of higher-ranked demons."

I did as told, slipping through Hell's corridors unseen. The air grew heavier as we neared our destination. Soon, I saw them.

Two demons stood at the door, but they were no ordinary sentinels. Their forms were wreathed in a deep, blood-red mist, shifting and writhing like living shadows. The air around them crackled with an oppressive energy, a force so overwhelming it made the very space feel heavier. Their presence alone was suffocating, exuding an aura of absolute dominance.

"Who are they?" I whispered.

"Knights of Hell," the voice answered. "These were no mere demons—they were Knights of Hell, creatures of pure destruction, beings whose power surpassed even the highe-ranked demons. Their very existence is a testament to their rank."

I cursed. "How the hell am I supposed to get past them?"

"Trust me. When I give the signal, run to the room, retrieve the scythe, and leave. Do not hesitate."

I hesitated. "And how exactly do you expect me to—"

"Now."

Damn it.

I didn't have time to think. I bolted forward.

And then—it happened.

The Knights of Hell disintegrated. Just like that.

One moment they were there, the next they were dust. No scream. No resistance. Just gone.

I had no idea how. But I didn't stop to question it.

I rushed through the door and into the room.

It was empty except for one thing—a black scythe hanging in the center, suspended in the air. It pulsed with power, radiating something ancient, something terrifying.

"Take it," the voice commanded.

I didn't hesitate. I reached out, wrapped my fingers around the handle, and the moment I did—

The entire room trembled.

The walls cracked. The floor split. A deep, guttural roar echoed through Hell itself.

I had no idea what I had just unleashed.

"Run!" the voice barked.

I turned and sprinted out of the room, the scythe gripped tightly in my hands. Behind me, the foundations of Hell quaked.

Escape was no longer a choice.

It was my only option.