Hello, mortal trash.
I cannot believe the Seraphim and Horde allowed you in here. You are most definitely not worthy.
Maggie is off chasing some new soul who swallowed too many sleep aids with few gulps of vodka. Pathetic.
So you finally have the chance to meet a demon. From your distance, you must have caught my odor. It disgusts you, yet tickles your senses. As you take it in, your bodies will relax to the scent, like prey smelling a predator’s potent pheromones. You won’t know what is happening to you, until it’s too late.
When I look at you, all I see is meat. Your souls are the only thing of importance to me...
And I’ll have most of them. Mark my words.
I am not Maggie. I am not here to placate. I don’t care about staying sensitive to your fragile sensibilities. What I am about to say is meant to frighten the living shit out of you.
I read Maggie’s waxing on the indecent time we spent together. She is right when she tells you she’s no angel. So gloriously flexible, that one.
My chest swells every time I think about how an agent of the Authority, so unbelievably powerful and gifted such as she, could give herself so completely – and I mean completely – to a few soft words from a demon’s forked tongue.
I’m a master of my craft, what can I say?
I come from The Pit. I’m sure you’re thinking of fire and wailing and suffering and little horned goat-men prancing about with pitchforks. You are all so susceptible to what you’re told.
The Pit is the actual paradise. An endless night. An endless party, where there are no rules. Consider that...
THERE ARE NO RULES.
Have anyone you want. Drink, eat, snort, smoke anything you desire. You can kill without retribution, a choice pastime for most of The Pit’s residents. There are symphonies created from the citadels of pain, located in The Pit’s ninth region. Souls tread freely, choosing the lash, shock therapy, or all sorts of kinky, degrading, practices. No one involved sees this as a form of punishment. Those who are tortured request such things.
I was hatched with three others. Demon brothers who looked exactly like me. I couldn’t have that. I devoured them all, still one of the best meals I’ve ever had. It earned my father’s respect. I know Maggie warned you of the power of HIS name. I’m tempted to call it forth, see if I can’t lessen the numbers in this room with a poof of ash.
Relax. I’m having fun.
The Pit is made up of nine regions. The darkest of us inhabit the ninth. For you to step foot in that place, the black winds alone would burn your flesh and sinew down to the bone. A demon doesn’t pine for what it doesn’t have, but I still see the ninth region in my nightmares. One day, I will return and claim my birthright – rid myself of the annoying legalities of sorting mortal souls into the right little box here in this Asylum.
The eighth region, the Lakes of Lava, was wiped clean by an erratic Seraphim who thought it a good idea to steal a piece of his mother’s power to end a war that will never truly come to an end. NEVER. The lava in the eighth was very therapeutic for demon skin. Mortal souls would take the plunge just to feel the pain of singed flesh. It was a great meditation spot. Sad, really, now that it’s gone.
The seventh region is a metropolis bathed in a blackout. Think London or Tokyo, but anarchy reigns. It’s like the movie The Purge on crack. Funny side note, we didn’t even influence you mortals with the idea for that movie. That was all your naughty little invention. You nearly got it right.
The sixth is a chapel. Upon entering, you may take your seat in a knobby wooden slab and listen to preacher after priestess after auditor after Imam and minister condemn their fellow humans. Perpetual hypocrisy. All the while, bottomless collection plates are handed out regularly, with payment being a piece of your spiritual flesh. Most of your religions were not influenced by the Authority, mortals. They are human inventions that peddled the appeasement of basic suffering in exchange for wealth and property. Think on that.
The fifth is a sunken village, completely underwater. Leviathan and all manner of sea beast regularly feast on the souls that visit to experience what it is like to drown eternally. Think of it as an extreme form of auto-asphyxiation. They have a lovely patisserie on the south side, however. Bread is a bit soggy.
I’m getting bored of talking to you already, so I’ll run through the rest:
The fourth is a subway car that never empties of its passengers, with more and more shoving their way in, and the express train is always cancelled.
The third is a massive forest in which the sun constantly changes direction and everyone gets lost. Starvation is always the end result.
The second region is an island of excess that, on the daily, is raided by violent insurgents looking to rape or pillage in the name of mortal genocide.
Listen, we can’t let these souls just have fun all day.
The first region is used to acclimate new souls to The Pit. That place actually scares me. Think of an empty carnival, void of life save for, now and again, a rollercoaster full of screaming guests that derails from its tracks in the distance, or a ferris wheel that breaks from its moorings. That incessant, tinny, piped-in circus music fills the air, just a few notes off tune. And there is always a single lost child, sagging balloon in tow —screaming for the mother and father he/she lost – on unsteady feet, eyes filled with tears, and nose running snot. There is no sky. No real color. Not even a fake semblance of fun or frivolity. Just a reminder, that all of you are born into pain and discomfort...
And that is how you will all end.
I’m sure you wanted to hear me talk about demons and our culture. Blah blah blah. I could be convinced to torture you some more.
‘Til then, don’t miss me too much, and blow a kiss to Maggie for me.
Now get out of my sight.
- JUDE
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