Which sounds basic, I know, but trust me—when you’ve actively tried to stop breathing, waking up mid-breath is… disappointing. It’s like someone else had taken over the controls for a while and just handed them back with a cheerful, “Good luck!” My entire body feels like it’s been used as a punching bag for the Grim Reaper and then politely returned.
There’s a fire crackling, and the silk sheets whisper as I wiggle my toes. There’s a warmth surrounding me that absolutely does not belong to my tiny, crappy apartment. Oh no.
My eyes snap open. Dark walls, that faint scent of sulphur with a hint of floral undertones. Zeriavoss. Hell. Again.
I sit up far too quickly and immediately regret it. My vision whites out like I’ve been flashbanged, stars sparking across my eyes. Gods, everything aches. My muscles feel like they’ve been filed down with sandpaper. When my vision returns, I glance down, noticing I’m wearing a soft green linen dress, and myhair’s braided in one, long simple braid that hangs over my shoulder.
The door slams open, causing my aching body to jolt. Enter: The Worst Welcome Committee Ever. Korithax steps in, shirtless, towering, blood coating his knuckles. Looking every bit like the villain in a dark fantasy. I flinch on instinct. He doesn’t say a word, just glares at me like I’ve inconvenienced him by surviving.
“Why am I here?” I ask, voice cracked and raw. He doesn’t move, nor speak. “I didn’t die… did I?”
The disappointment in my tone doesn’t go unnoticed by either of us, his nostrils flaring at the question. Still, he says nothing. Just that judging silence that burns its way straight into my soul.
“Did… did you help me again?” I whisper, and honestly, I hate that I sound so small. He turns, stalking back to the door. “Korithax?—”
“I do not care for your questions,” He snaps, cutting me off. He swings the wooden door open, "Tell the help she’s awake.”
Then he’s gone, the door slamming behind him. Okay then, eff me for asking.
Before I can even process the whiplash of all that, the door creaks open again, this time much more politely. Several figures enter, and to my surprise, none of them look like they’re here to disembowel me. One of them is young and quiet; her deep purple eyes glowing beneath her long, thick lashes. She has small horns protruding from her temples, the colour of them matching her eyes. Another one, much older—muttering what I presume is insults under her breath—approaches with a tray of food and several vials that all glow softly. She has a deep skin tone, lined with wrinkles, and deep-set emerald eyes that look friendly, despite the scowl on her face. I offer her a small smile that she does not return.
They help me sit up slowly, adjusting the pillows behind my back like they’ve done it a thousand times before. The older one puts a warm hand on my shoulder and presses one of the vials into my fingers.
“For strength,” she murmurs.
I drink it without question, the citrus flavour burning the back of my throat, causing me to cough. Once they seem satisfied with how I look, they leave, and the room is eerily silent again until the door creaks once more. I hesitantly raise my eyes to the door, expecting to find the demonic prince of angst standing there. Instead, it’s the man who escorted me out of Hell last time. He’s wearing another tailored suit, with silver buttons that gleam like tiny stars. He has such an unreadable face, it makes an uneasy feeling creep up my spine, despite him being one of the kinder beings I’ve come across in this place.
“Miss Sandoval,” he says, stepping closer. “My name is Aran. I’m Korithax’s right-hand demon.”
“Right,” I clear my burning throat. “The assistant.”
“Yes.” He stops a few feet away, eyes flickering over my face with a concerned look that makes my throat tighten. Realisation sets in quickly, his expression leading me to a conclusion I’m brave enough to voice aloud.
“You’ve been keeping an eye on me, haven’t you?” I say slowly. “Not Korithax.”
He nods. “I saw something… off. So, I watched. When I went to check in the scrying mirror and saw you in that… state. I told him.”
I frown, my annoyance getting the better of me. “Why?”
“I couldn’t say. Just a feeling, miss.” He hesitates. “But, when I told him, I have never seen him react that way. He destroyed a wall, and he nearly killed three people on his way to retrieve you.”
I stare, my mind whirring with so many thoughts. I lay my head back on the pillow to look up at the intricate ceiling above me. So many swirls and patterns carved into the stone roof, some looking like the tattoos that cover Korithax’s body.
“He came for me?” I barely choke out.
“Without a second of hesitation,” Aran says softly, coming to the side of the bed to sit in the chair next to me. “He brought you here. Called the best healers, and stayed by your side every moment, right here in this chair. The only time he left before last night was when he was summoned by the Divine Six or your friends.”
I blink, lifting my head off the pillow so fast the stars return in my eyes. “Wait—my friends?” I gasp.
He sighs, rubbing at his temple. “Yes. They summoned him. Desperation, I think. One of them even threw holy water on him.”
I choke back a laugh, despite the horror of the situation. “Are they alive?” I ask, my heart stuttering.
“Yes. Though you may wish to tell them to never do that again.” He gives a thin smile. “The sparkly one nearly had his neck snapped. But Korithax didn’t harm him because you care about them.”
That shouldn’t make my stomach twist, but it does. He was summoned, doused in holy water, and he didn’t kill them? That doesn’t sound very demonic of him. I exhale shakily, my fingers fiddling with the sheets.
“And, the Divine Six?” I ask, confusion etched across my face as I nervously chew my lip.
