Better the Devil You Know

Humans had such poetic ideas about Hell, and all the sorts of things it entailed. Which was ironic, he thought, considering their crippling fear of it. Although Cerzi had to admit their fear was far from misplaced, even if for entirely different reasons. John Milton had described Hell as being a horrible dungeon that burned like a furnace, and yet from those flames no light was shed. Nor did it illuminate anything but darkness, sights of woe, and legions of sorrow and doleful shadows. It was a place where peace and hope could never dwell. A place where sulfur and brimstone burned, searing flesh off of bone. Shadows writhed and twisted themselves into hideous shapes, birthing nightmares and horror. Nothing in sight but an unending fiery deluge. Wrong on all accounts. But, Cerzi supposed he had to give the man credit for such a wild imagination.  If he recalled, the saying was, ‘the truth is stranger than fiction.’ Hell was bland. Hell was monotony. Hell was the constant taste of ash on his tongue, a red, ever-shifting horizon that he could never reach the end of, no matter how far he walked. It was stagnation that smothered all other sounds and sensations. That was Hell.  Between fiction and reality, Cerzi would have easily chosen to cosign himself to a miserable inferno. At least that would have provided some sort of entertainment, or at least a distraction. It might also have done something about the horrible overcrowdedness. The only kind of heat that Hell was producing was from all the bodies lazing around. In the ensuing years after Lucifer and his motley crew of rebel angels received the boot from Heaven, Hell had become absolutely overrun by lesser demons, ghouls, fiends— humans that had been on the naughty-list for too long, if Cerzi had to guess.  It had been comforting, at first, to have company and know that he wasn’t the only thing damned to this place. Then, it was mildly interesting to see the denizens grow in number, their identities solidifying enough to form ranks, establish a hierarchy. Then, he had been amused to play their games; political machinations similar to the ones he played in heaven. Only demons had nothing to trade but empty titles. But even victory had eventually become boring. Over time, he became less amused. And then not at all. And then, irritated. Now it was unbearable. Truly, this was a place forsaken by God. If he’d known this was where he’d end up, he might have reconsidered his stance on the whole better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven thing. He could never find a moment of peace anywhere. Someone was always whispering poison into his ear— or worse, sticking their forked tongue into his ear in what they likely thought was an enticing manner. Or someone was always turning someone else into snakes. And if it wasn’t that, then someone was eating someone else’s father to absorb their power, or initiating orgies that always produced casualties by the end.  Cerzi heaved a deep, beleaguered sigh from where he was sprawled across a dais, uncanny yellow eyes scanning the area for nosy onlookers. Finding none, he quickly stood and slipped into the shadows. Occasionally he would find moments like this to briefly have a moment to himself. It was always short-lived, as someone would notice his absence and decide to follow after him. As the sound of debauched revelries faded, Cerzi could feel his tail calm and cease its lashing behind him— some days the thing seemed to have a life of its own and he could barely control it. Or at least that was what he told people when someone particularly annoying ended up stabbed by the lethal stinger on the end. He walked, counting the number of desiccated corpses that he passed, and somewhere around forty was when he noticed it. The gold edges of it could barely be seen over a large, jagged stalagmite, but there it was. The sluggish churn of his blood quickened at the sight of a summoning circle and he stilled, tilting his head. Carefully, he made his way past the craggy growths sprouting from the ground until he stood in front of it.  He looked it over with an appraising eye, noting its rather sloppy work: an imperfect, uneven circle, and latin words messy and crooked. An amateur, he decided, and he felt himself smile, running his tongue over the top row of his serrated teeth. He pushed himself into the circle. For a moment, it felt like slipping into cold, deep waters, before his vision cleared and the world beyond swam into view. Color was always the first thing that Cerzi noticed. Red, white, gold, soft light spilling dimly through stained glass windows. He sighed. A church. Of course it was a church. Nobody could accuse humans of having an overabundance of creativity. It was always either a cultist’s moldy basement, or a church. Would it kill someone to summon demons somewhere else occasionally? Like, maybe a bowling alley, or a mini golf course. Those places had seemed interesting from the glimpses he’d seen through the looking-glasses. Though, once he noticed who had been the summoner, his irritation was briefly put aside. All things considered, if it didn’t kill them, he might. What stood there was a girl, and hardly more than that, faintly trembling. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her face could have been read as anticipation, if he were feeling charitable. Constipation, if he wasn’t. “Boo.”