A Special Place in Hell

Cylax stomped over to Grobar and cuffed him around the side of the head.

“Oi!” Grobar rolled on the floor and jumped to face the enormous demon. “What was that about?” Red eyes flashed.

“Why do you think?” Cylax looked down on Grobar, fists on hips, eyes slit. “I heard something. Is it true?”

“Maybe,” Grobar turned away and stalked, tail thrashing, towards the stairs that led up to the living world.

“Wait,” Cylax grabbed his arm. “You can’t go up there. It’s forbidden.”

“Let go. You can’t stop me,” Grobar tried to break free, wings flapping, claws scratching.

“I’ll tell the boss.”

“No, you won’t.”

A group of twenty recently dead humans staggered down the stairs and shambled past. Their faces twisted into masks of horror and pain. Their feet blistered on the oven-hot floor. Their hair and clothes burst into flame. Their screams barely added to the cacophony of a billion tortured souls.

The demons paused their squabble to laugh at the new arrivals and poke them with long-handled forks. The damned humans shrieked and shied away in terror.

“Okay, I won’t tell the boss, but—“

“I’m going, Cylax. You can’t stop me!”

“You can’t go up top and live in the mortal realm, Grobar. You’re a demon—for fuck sake. Bright red. Horns, hooves, wings, tail. You can’t pass for human, you idiot.”

“I’ll wear a disguise,” Grobar folded his arms and lifted his chin.

Cylax displayed two rows of pointed teeth. “Your surface temperature is 600 degrees, dick-head. If you walk into a room, it’ll burst into flames, so what will you disguise yourself as exactly?”

“You’re so defeatist.”

“Realist, more like. Sane.”

“You just don’t want me to get on. You always hold me back.”

“What does that even mean, you plonker?”

“I want more. That’s all. Better.”

“Listen, mate—I have an idea,” Cylax looked around and squatted beside his friend. “I know a special place. I think you’ll like it. Trust me.”

Two hours later.

“This is great,” Grobar leaned against the damp rock. It hissed and steamed. “So much better than reception, and I didn’t even know it existed.”

“Not many do,” Cylax pulled the chain that raised the cage out of the pool of boiling oil. The occupants of the cage screamed from blistered mouths. Crisped arms and legs stuck out through the bars, waving and twitching. The smell of cooked meat filled the air. Cylax breathed deep and smacked his lips. “How long ’til lunch?”

“It’s good to try new things,” Grobar grinned, and swung the boom that held the cage until it hung over the second pool, the one filled with liquid nitrogen. The occupants wailed and pleaded for mercy.

Cylax let go of the chain. The cage hit the liquid with a splash and disappeared in a hissing cloud of freezing vapour.

Grobar laughed, “They say a change is as good as a rest, and I’m sure these self-serving politicians agree.”

“I bet they do,” Cylax winked. “Let’s give ‘em a year this time.”

“Right,” Grobar grinned. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”