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Perdition.


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**AUTHOR'S NOTE** - As if I'm calling myself an "author", I'm a hack at best. Anyway, I'm borrowing heavily from Richard Kadrey's Sandman Slim series, it's about 10 novels long and it's outstanding. If you like urban fantasy and really like gritty fiction it's right up your alley. I really hope people are enjoying reading this dumb stuff I've posted to this forum as much as I've enjoyed writing. I love Liv, he's largely been my entire persona in CoH since I played Beta. Thank you all for your patience and indulgence with my border-line narcissism about this, my alter-ego.

 

((Continued from The Fall))

     Fergus McRae stands hunched before The Lord of Hell, gripping his still dislocated shoulder, the realization of where he is and who stands before him slamming into his consciousness. His bladder releases. His uncle laughs and clucks his tongue.

 

     "There's no need for that, my boy! You are MOST welcome in my halls!" Lucifer spreads his arms wide and descends from the dais. "It's not often we receive guests of your stature." He continues as he saunters closer to naked, huddled wretch, standing in a puddle of his own urine. "And to have not one, but TWO Nephilim Fall to what we Locals like to call 'Downstairs' within a few years of each other is remarkable to say the least!" He smacks Fergus' shoulder, snapping it into place once again sending him to his knees in agony followed quickly by relief.

 

     The Prince of Darkness rolls his eyes and hauls Fergus to his feet once more. "I'm afraid that sort of pain is  just the beginning, my boy." He slowly circles the naked man, musing his thoughts out loud. "Y'see... " He stops a moment, his face a question mark "It's Fergus, right? That's what the mortals call you? Y'see, Fergus, you were sent here because Father has a certain rule about his first-born congregating with his second-born." He stops to face his nephew, with a grin "Apparently that's a no-no, but it does happen very occasionally, perhaps a half dozen or so times in the last few millennia, but this is very much unexpected, to have two Nephilim Downstairs at the same time? Very unusual. Very unusual, indeed."

 

     Lucifer turns and marches slowly back up the steps of the dais to the throne, where he lounges casually. "You were sent here by those fuckers Upstairs as a punishment for the crime of existing. I, however, take a different approach to this scenario." A half-naked, collared slave prostrates himself offering a platter with a new goblet filled with fresh wine. The Lord of Flies takes it without a glance and sips slowly, placing the goblet on the arm of the throne. "You will be tested and trained and maybe, at some point, I MIGHT be convinced to let you go, but only if you perform to my liking. We'll see if you're able to meet the example set by your cousin Jimmy." His smile is oddly beneficent. He grows serious "I'm not your enemy, Angziel but neither am I your friend or ally. If you endure what you're about to experience, if you do not break, if you are successful in the trials I will lay before you I may set you free. You are not mortal, you are Celestial and your blood will sustain you, but you will experience agonies beyond description."

 

     "Why?"

     "Because fuck them" replies Lucifer, pointing upwards. "Fuck them and their rules and their puritanical bullshit, that's why. I'm not doing this FOR you, I'm doing it AT them." He gestures sharply and a six-armed demon, bristling with sheathed scimitars, breasts laid bare with a head full of snakes for hair and a serpent's tail from the waist down slithers out from the shadows, grasping Fergus by the arm and hauling him from the chamber, back to his cell.

 

*********

 

     The thing about Hell is that you're either a discorporated soul or you're a Local. For Fergus McRae neither of those things were true, he was flesh and blood, capable of dying and so he did. Over and over. He died chained to the Infernite rocks before The Lake of Perdition, roasted slowly over the course of days by Hellfire. He died slowly, in agony, impaled in The House of Knives. He died being fucked to death by Succubi in The Withering Brothel. He died laughing at the antics of The Circus of Infinite Mirth. He even died from starvation, dehydration and dysentery in his cell, left unattended and alone for weeks with nothing to keep him company but the howls of his fellow prisoners. Every time he awoke, once again whole and once again breathing the same acrid, sulfur saturated air, his heart beating, his blood full and rich in his veins. There was no release, no peace, no comfort.

 

     But the worst of these was The Pits where he was forced to perform unimaginable acts of savagery and violence. Compelled to fight and kill his fellow captives, he grew stronger, much to his horror. Again and again he was pitted against other souls and even Locals. Fergus learned quickly that pity was a liability in the arena. Before long he was faced with the realization that the roar of the crowd at his victory was intoxicating, it both invigorated and disgusted him at the same time. Before long he began to take pleasure in the act of slaughtering his opponents as he learned the art of killing, regularly ending his matches with the entire arena being engulfed in Hellfire he absorbed from The Lake of Perdition. Resisting blows received by his opponents thanks to his exposure from Infernite. His power of flight returned allowing him to soar above the floor of The Pits, encircling his foes at break-neck speed sending an almost unceasing barrage of Hellfire and destruction down upon them. To his shame, he grew to love his power and likewise, he grew to be feared. More and more his foes would have to be forced into the ring to face him.

 

     Time works differently Downstairs as it does Upstairs. Was it years? Months? Decades? There was no way to tell, there are very few clocks in Hell, but what he did know is that his second visit to his uncle's throne room was very different than the first. He wasn't dragged naked and bleeding, he was escorted, armoured and well-fed. He wasn't thrown to the ground like a piece of garbage but treated like a dignitary. He stood before The King of Hell, unshackled and unperturbed.

 

     "My nephew.... how you have grown. I have a gift for you. Three, in fact... Would you like to hear my offer?"

 

     The man who would become The Legendary Living Hellfire nods. "Let's hear it then, ye feckin' wanker." Lucifer Morningstar bares his teeth in a toothy, predatory grin.

Edited by Living_Hellfire

-The Legendary Living Hellfire

"The newest person in the room is always the most important person in the room"

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