“Seriously. Let’s talk about you! Did you finally steal that glitter gel pen from Talia?”
Ezra gasps dramatically. “That freaking pen was mine first! She borrowed it two years ago, and I’ve been manifesting its return ever since.”
A snort escapes me. He was just as manic about his gel pens as I was. He links his arm through mine and rests his head on my shoulder. My giant human-weighted blanket.
Psychology 210 is brutal.It’s not the material—it’s me. Professor Doyle is lecturing us about trauma responses. Fight, flight, freeze. The human brain under duress. Maybe we should add a new one: ‘freak the hell out but pretend you’re fine and spiral internally.’ My pen is in my hand, but for once, I’m not scribbling down every word with intensity. He says something about dissociation, and my stomach twists. When the mind can’t handle what’s happening to the body. It splits. Creates distance.
Dissociation. Yep. That’s what I’m feeling right now. Like I’m floating six inches outside of myself, watching from behind glass that I can’t seem to break through. I don’t realise I’m digging my nails into my thigh until I feel the sting of skin breaking. Someone behind me laughs, the sound sharp and jarring. I flinch, my breath coming in too fast, as I try to calm myself down. You’re safe, Daze. It’s okay.
The girl next to me leans over, whispering, “Hey, you okay?”
I nod, offering her a warm smile, despite the fact I feel like I’m dying inside.
After class,I aimlessly walk. Past the library, past the quad, and through one of the little gardens some of the students had planted a few years back. I keep walking until the noise in my head gets quieter, and I end up under my favourite tree. It’s half-dead and split from a storm three years ago, but it keeps growing anyway. I like that about it, that despite the odds stacked against it, it continued to grow and flourish. My kind of girl. Maybe I could do that, maybe I could still have a long, happy life, and ignore the impending doom that’s awaiting me on the other side.
I press my back against the bark, the sharp wood digging into my flesh as I pull my knees to my chest. I reach into my bag and pull out the card again, idly flipping it between my fingers.Your soul now belongs to me.I could burn it. Tear it. Deny it. Instead, I opt for texting Talia.
Me: If I die, delete my browser history.
Talia: Oh, gods, what did you Google?
Me: “What to do when a demon claims your soul.”
Talia: … so no coffee today?
I snort. She knows me too well. I look back at my phone and stare at the contact I need to speak to next. Dad. My finger hovers over it for a second too long, then I tap call. It rings. Once. Twice. Four times. Then his voice picks up.
“I had a visitor last night,” I say. “Tall. Horns. Looked like he models for Hell’s annual calendar.” Silence. “Do you know anything about that?” More silence. “Dad?”
“Shit,” he mutters.
“That’s your response?! You sell my soul, and all you can say is shit?”
He tries to explain, but I hang up before he can finish. Because I’m not interested in whatever excuses he’s got. I’m interested in surviving this, and doing it in the most aggressively cheery way possible.
I close my eyes, resting my head against the tree, letting the wind brush against my face. My dad had been a perpetual ass since my mom had died when I was seven. Breast cancer, the kind that moves fast. The kind that steals everything before you even understand what’s happening. They said breast cancer was one of the better cancers to get, that it was the most easily manageable. But they were wrong, because it had spread long before they found it. She was bright and kind, she smelled like vanilla and flowers, wore sunflower earrings, and used to sing off-key in the car like she didn’t give a damn who was listening. Mom told me I could survive anything, and that I was the sun. But then she was gone, and I soon learned that, in fact, she was the sun. Because the world became so much duller without her shining in it. But for her, I tried so very hard to be the sun, and would continue to do so, no matter what. My dad started drinking not long after she died, and I learned what it meant to become strong just to keep someone else from falling apart. But no matter how strong I was for both of us, he still crumbled away, into a shell I no longer recognised as the loving, doting father he once was.
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand to clear the tears and sit up straight. I am so angry. Angry at my dad, angry at this demon who walked into my life like I’m just another line in some infernal ledger. But I’m also scared. So, so scared. Still, I won’t break. I’ll hold my head high and continue to be the sun in everybody else’s lives. I will continue to sing in the shower, offer my help to strangers, and brighten up everybody else, whilst ignoring the fact that life has thrown another curveball at me.
“Be the sun,” I whisper, taking a long, deep breath.
Chapter 6
Korithax
Hell doesn’t burn. Not in the way mortals expect.
It isn’t just a landscape of fire pits and shrieking souls. That’s Gehenna, a southern wasteland full of lava rivers, boiling stone, and damned screams. But Hell itself? It’s a continent fractured by purpose—each with its own horrors, laws, and rulers. A monarchy of monsters held together by threats and blood oaths. And I sit at the centre of it, awaiting to wear a crown I never even wanted.
I sit alone, lounging on the obsidian throne of Zeriavoss, the northern capital. My leg hangs over one carved armrest, and I’m nursing a headache that refuses to die. The throne is too tall, too obnoxious. My castle sits beneath a never-ending sky, with winged sentries on constant guard. Below, it’s ringed by molten rivers on its outer edges, daring trespassers to try to enter my kingdom. Gothic spires cast long shadows through the stained-glass windows, and still, somehow, it bores me to tears.
The distant glow of Gehenna’s smoke stains the horizon. That’s where the newest batch of sinners are likely already burning—priests, liars, and a child-killer. I used to attend every judgement at the Welcome Circle, where the soulstone cliffs whisper the truth of every mortal to enter our realm. Now, I leave that to the lesser demons because the screams and excuses are always the fucking same.
Nobody ever believes they’ll end up here, facing the wrath of their wrongdoings. But it’s always the same beg for mercy, the same desperate, pathetic pleas. They’re escorted in, placed on the podium, and the circle of judges, normally six of us, sit around them and listen to their sins. They have a chance to explain themselves, often coming up with bullshit excuses as to why they behaved the way they did, and then their judgement is made. Some only have to reside in Hell for a period of time, for petty sins that don’t require a lifetime of suffering.
However, some are children, their tortured souls sent to us to help them heal before they are moved on to their final resting places. They go to the realm of children. A softer western dominion, ruled by Vailith, the Goddess of Mercy. Children’s souls go there, those broken far too young. They tend to gardens that have soft winds, where glowing spirit willows dance between the plants and trees. They’re given power, a choice. Forgive, or punish those who wronged them. Neither choice is wrong; neither choice makes a difference in their stay here. And sometimes, the children even choose to stay instead of moving on. Not out of fear, but because love has anchored them to her little sanctuary. The only corner of Hell where pure laughter is continuous, and not full of pure madness.
I shifton the throne again, glaring at the carved edges as if I can will them with my mind to be less uncomfortable. This throne used to belong to my father, Korran. The High King of Hell and former manipulator. A man carved from pride and deception, who wielded control with a smile as sharp as his blade. He handed me this throne not out of trust, but strategy. A transition masked as inheritance, but built on secrets and blood deals. Conveniently, his whore of a second wife disappeared after he handed away his throne. Not a shocker that’s for sure.
