Chapter 1
~London, Present Day
His footprints trudged through the English snow that night as the cemetery loomed in the deep concealing dark. His assignment was complete, but the construct of his human form was nearing its end, growing weary with every minute further that he remained on Earth. His demon skin underneath this worldly veil was crawling beneath the “coat” tailored to resemble an ordinary man.
A newly reaped soul swung at his hip inside the cursed flasket intended for its containment while being transported back to Hell. Lucien Faust was skilled in his work, though in terms of experience, he was still considered to be a novice amongst the other ranking correspondents “down below”.
But tonight, he felt confident in his completion of his given task and was ready to return to headquarters with a chin held high.
Finally, along the narrow footpath white with fresh snow, he found the stone tomb he'd been searching for. Time had well forgotten its mossed walls and broken angel that stood atop its high gable now. He moved through the grave's metal fence with the help of his fading form that allowed him to pass through barriers like a cloud. But he then felt the Hellish warmth beneath his feet, even in the crisp snow.
This tomb was a “trap door” to Hell.
Those buried with unresolved evil deeds from their life on Earth, left otherworldly “stains” upon the ground where their soul had been reaped. And those stains tore against the earthly veil that would become portals to the underworld that beings could use to travel in between like secret entrances that many demons referred to as “trap doors.” These entrances were often easy to find by a hell dweller due to the emanating heat which could be felt easily from atop the earthly soil.
Lucien's form slipped even further when the white sclera in his eyes darkened into heavy black as his inhuman features surfaced, and he held up his hand to begin reciting the routined Latin rites to open the trap door.
“Oh, come the fuck on. This eternity would be preferable.” He cursed impatiently with a roll of his black eyes after he finished the cursed phrase to gain entry.
The only thing Lucien hated more than Earth was how long it took to get back to Hell from Earth.
The stone crypt began to reverberate softly. Then, the trap door opened to reveal the black void from within, and he stepped inside with haste on his tongue.
“Finally.”
With only a few steps into the darkness, he saw the first images of the underbelly of his home.
Steam rolled from above him in whistles and puffs. Cogs and gears spun against the walls making Lucien cock his head up in confusion. Trap doors from Earth were convenient, but you never truly knew which side of Hell you were going to turn up in once you arrived.
He moved further whilst returning his appearance to the more complete human form he often wore when working. It was most comfortable to him besides his true demonic image given to him centuries before.
All demons were at liberty to craft an appearance that suited them more than the veneer of what they truly were. Lucien chose human skin adorned with black hair and fair skin, dark eyes that glowed in the hue of the burning fire below. His build was strong and lean to provide him proper agility when working on Earth.
As he began to piece together where exactly he'd fallen through, he then saw the grated metal below his feet well suspended above the pits of fire and scorched brimstone. This was the older side of Hell not often maintenanced by the higher ups that sought to modernize it for efficiency.
He heard footsteps behind him and saw as another demon dwelled closely with a pen and pad that worked to record the readings of the many valves that pressurized the fire within the inner workings of their home.
“Reaper Lucien.” The dutiful spirit said with a small bow to his head in addressing someone above his own rank but his voice lowered after a hearty inhale,
“I smell a soul upon you.”
The Demon's eyes fluttered from the scent of a soul so new to the damned underbelly, and he said with his black gaze returning back upright.
“You must be looking for headquarters.”
Lucien tightened a grip around the warm flasket at his hip, trying not to seem untrusting of a creature that could be himself with one more qualifying slip-up, but every demon wanted a soul to eat. It was Hell's way. But he couldn't let this ash dweller get his hands on a completed job.
“If you could point me in the proper direction, I will be on my way.” Lucien said with a nod to his head.
The lesser demon pointed up towards the small path leading the beaten way towards Headquarters. Lucien tried to thank him but saw that he'd disappeared before he could turn again.
The Reaper then travailed the rocky path between the many small pools and bodies of eternal flames. Subordinate spirits minded the waves and splashes of fire upon the scorched ground with their long rods of inflammable stone. These creatures were often the lowest of low within Hell's caste. They've never lived human life, the same as any demon, but the Dark Lord crafted their soul for one purpose: continuous labor.
Their eyes were black, sunken in around the orbs of their pointed skull atop the gangly limbs of their body that stood craned in a slant. As Lucien passed them by, he saw their many heads turn at the smell of the newly reaped soul. Their mouths were eternally sewn shut to keep their lips from ever moving, but he knew they all salivated at the aroma just like any animal when smelling fresh meat.
He knew the humanness of his exterior didn't help in this moment. They were probably thinking that somehow a live human had slipped down here. Lucien often pitied them for not having a mind that knew of anything besides toiling labor, but Hell wasn't a place of kindness.
He darkened his eyes with a demonic tint to brandish the rank he held above them, prompting them all to turn their attention back down at once as he continued his ascent to Headquarters.
Once inside the front door so masterfully hidden within the stone exterior of desolate cliff, Lucien was greeted by the glaring brightness of the intake ward planted on the first floor.
The ground floor was dedicated to the receiving of souls not sent to be retrieved by reapers. In simpler terms, these souls were flimsy and more unflattering in taste. Reaped souls were most delicious to demons. They were sinful and evil in their human life. These disembodied innards were the most desirable for indulgence and were to be consumed by Hell’s most elite.
However, Lucien was headed for the second floor, the Reaping Department.
He waved to those working mid-task during intake, filing and preparing the many souls for depository before moving to the millions of others in wait for processing. The subordinate demons that worked on the intake floor looked over their arranged desks to see him as he routinely made his way to the elevator.
“Lucien-” one of them called with their black eyes moved over in a giggling taunt, “You forgot to change out of your uniform again.”
The demons that worked in intake were mostly female in nature. However, no demon held true biological sex. There was no need for reproduction or mating, seeing that demons were a construct created by the Dark Lord and would spawn from Hell’s fires. Some found themselves giving telltale signs of gender identity with softer, more fitting features if they chose to do so.
“Maybe I like the way it fits.” Lucien said with his hands in the pocket of his dark slacks before the doors the elevator closed.
On the second floor, the atmosphere drastically changed in terms of ambiance. The Reaper Hall was overtly spacious instead of arranged with desks and filing cabinets that filled the room endlessly. The hall was made to be a large, open lounge overseen by the lower subordinates to cater to the leisuring reapers with idle time between assignments.
It was dimly lit per the norm, and Lucien squinted his eyes until he was spotted by a group of his peers that sat perched atop one of the many long, chaise chairs.
“I see you didn't get lost up there.” One of the voices said and Lucien recognized that snarking tone as none other than Dorian, a Reaper appointed in the same skill set as his own, “Old bossman was ready to send the hounds to drag you back.”
Dorian stood in his half-skeletal form away from the chaise to meet Lucien. His nearly bare skull resembled that of a canine with long, sharp incisors on each side that snapped as he talked. Dorian always found this half-boned fashion to suit him the best, just as Lucien found not being night-skinned with scales and horns to suit him best.
“Thought you went all noble on us or something. Relax a little. Take off these rags.” Dorian remarked, referring to human skin as “rags” the same as any demon. His red dotted eyes pointed down from within his wolf-skull, and Lucien removed the arm that lay across him now, trying not to laugh as Dorian’s jaw moved like a puppet as he talked.
“I've got a fresh one to deposit upstairs, Dor. We can talk after.”
“Sure-” Dorian replied with a small chuckle emanating from his bones, “But some of the others will be here soon and after your little slip-up last week, I don't think they'll be too kind.”
Lucien rolled his eyes and knew this was coming whether he wanted to face it or not.
Last week, he'd been out on an assignment to retrieve the soul of a woman in France on her deathbed. Simple enough except for the small detail of this woman having a twin sister who was lying alongside her after her passing, making the retrieval damn near impossible for Lucien when both of them so endearingly passed together on that same bed.
Only one soul was bound for the fire, and much to everyone's enjoyment, Lucien chose wrong. Ultimately, making him bring down a soul bound for Heaven into Hell, one of the worst mistakes a Reaper could make.
Heavenly souls, in flavor - to a demon, were abhorrent. It crawled through your mouth like a disease that killed you slowly. The taste left your mouth gritty and numb, unable to be reminded of anything you'd tasted before. Everyone had mentioned it was divinely made that way to remind the dwellers of Hell the price that came with touching a heavenly soul.
The doors to the lounge swung open again, and the room quieted now from Dorian’s teasing.
Lucien knew that presence from anywhere, and he stopped himself from turning to face the entity behind him now.
It was their overseer. The only spawn in all of Hell that stood just below the top.
Lucifer.
When God cast Lucifer from Heaven after his rebellion against the Archangels, no one knew that when he fell into the fire of Hell, his soul split into two undead entities.
Lucifer held the appearance of that very divine image. An archangel. His long, platinum hair fell down his slender back in light wisps that moved in his walk. He was also the only Reaper that held functioning wings. Large, white appendages with soft, angelic feathers that blinded anyone who dared to stare. His eyes, deep and blue, pierced through you when he found your gaze. He was crafted from the skies that held Heaven, but now you could only see his divinity in the fires that burned here in the underbelly.
Lucifer oversaw the Reapers especially, but he was everyone's boss, though he answered to only one other person damned to this existence. The other half of himself was thrown from paradise.
The Dark Lord.
Satan.
Lucien tightened his jaw but finally turned to see his superior looking him up and down with crossed arms as his hip popped out in a show of disapproval. Lucifer smacked his human lips and asked what took so long for his descent, and Lucien answered as plainly as he could without being his usual crass self,
“I wanted to be careful. I took my time. Didn't want to fuck up again.”
Lucifer rose his brow, putting the thought of his otherworldly mistake to the side to address the task at hand,
“Speaking of fucking up-”
He returned his hands to his sides, before telling him in a low, commanding tone of voice as his gaze darkened,
“-He wants to see you.”
“Now?” Lucien asked in fear.
What could the Dark Lord possibly want with him?
