"I may or may not have regained my dignity, and I demand to be taken back and provided with a detailed explanation of certain events which happened to occur today."

"Really?" I sighed, "Of all first words to utter in hell, you chose that?" 

"I'm feeling brave in here." 

He looked anything but. On the contrary, he resembled a shackled up piece of gorilla skin. His cool composure had faded into nonexistence and his eyes widened, pursuing his goal to suck in every single explicit attribute about his new surroundings. 

I supposed that wasn't unusual, given that he was one of the first humans to set foot in hell for quite a few centuries. I had too supplied with a similar reaction after a glimpse of the underworld. 

The scanned my familiar surroundings– insalubrious structures along with dozens of voracious vendors lined up just about everywhere. The air smelt of burnt ash and marinated perfume, with a hint of lingering miasma of putrid flesh. Boiling hot lava coursed though the canals, assuring a constant source of electricity for the occupants. The entrance to the underworld, a prominent arch embellished with arrays of gemstone; onyx, jade, ruby, emerald, spammed over my heads, appearing rather imposing. Irrefutable as it was, NETHERWORLD was encrusted in bold, black letters on a plaque hammered into the arch. This was the most misbegotten city, the capital of hell, Atlantis. 

Now, now, I know what's whirling around in that brain of yours– ATLANTIS IS AN AQUA CITY. Think about it again. It's a forsaken, sunken city nobody gave a damn about. It recessed do deep into the ocean...well, you can guess how far it went in. Since water is conveniently absent in hell, I guess the "water" city goes to... hell.

MWAHAHA.

"Atlantis?" Chase asked, flummoxed. That, kiddos, is what happens if you skip your history class.

I ignored the clueless boy and pointed towards the tallest building– circuitous and the most inured to palatial praise. Atlantis Royal Turret Sequidar.  That was our destination for now. 

Just fifty miles away. 

"Wanna try out the traditional way?" I asked Chase. 

He contemplated to snark-reply or just snark. "What's the other way?" Evidently he chose snark. So much for sentiment. I grabbed his hands and snapped my fingers swiping us on the terrace of the turret. 

The base of the thing was emblazoned in marble tiles with eddying hues of cobalt and white. Except for the fact that there wasn't an accessible way to this part of the turret, it would be a perfect picnic spot. Only specific dark dwellers were permitted entry to our designed port of call.  I only hoped Terrier was currently monitoring the security feeds and radiator to observe that a human accompanied me. 

The endless charred russet sky winked at me, making me internally cringe. Atomic was such a flirt. Being the son of the lieutenant of the devil did not mean you owned a license of abashing flintiness. Well, maybe he did, but making eyes at his reflection at every freaking reflecting surface was way beyond my patience.

"Why does the sky look like a-" Better to leave the sentence unfinished. I fluttered my finger apathetically, and Chase and I were dissolved into a void of blackness, disintegrating into millions of tiny pieces. 

This time, we resurfaced somewhere mid-air. Instead of bulldozing Chase over the terrace, I had simply teleported us to the middle of the same journey. Judging by the queasy look on Chase's face, I had to speed up the whole falling-down-to-death thing. I was 67% sure a mid-way hurl wasn't the best option available. 

"WHA-" Chase managed to spit out. Well, it wasn't my fault mademoiselle Amora was interested in over intricate entrance systems. Oh, and dear reader, stop that contemplating look. Yes, the head of the dark dweller organisations was an over tetchy, paranoid French woman capable of blowing of fifteen cities with that diabolical head of hers. Don't ask. 

The second before we hit ground, a gaping hole appeared on the ground, making way (Quoth: Amora) for imbeciles to blow shit up. 

The tunnel ended after a few long minutes. The two- I mean one of us was smacked into a reeling net. The other (take a guess- initials begin with C A L and end in I S T A) had conjured up a few inches above the net and landed gracefully on the net. I could have gotten beneath the net to save myself the trouble, but Amora had some equipment which literally ceased my powers operating below the net. That woman took no chances. 

"Amora, I know you know we're here."  I crooned in a singsong voice. 

No response. Oh right, the password had changed. I tried again. "Mademoiselle Van Daal Seripo Suzzelle Amora, I, a humble slave ha-"

"I thought I told you to cut that part out?" A raspy voice questioned, echoing dangerously loud in the place. The net gave way, catching me off guard and inadvertently permitting the floor to square me in the jaw. Poor Chase, that guy dropped twice. He wouldn't remember that after today, anyway. 

A single beam of light shone a few feet ahead and Amora stepped forward into it. I recognised familiar half shaven brown hair (now dyed purple)– the shorter side had grown a bit since we last met– and the hooked piercing on her lower lip. The same violet eyes that glared at me for no reason. That disastrous outfit consisting of every single colour. Only thing that changed was a new scar which emerged from her right side of her lip upto her ear. 

Where'd she gotten that from? Something had managed to catch her off guard. HER!

She noticed my stare, smirked and said, "Welcome to the death-club loser, I see you've brought another with you."