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In the dimly lit room, a demon emerged from the shadows, its form contorted with otherworldly power. The skin was a sickly shade of grey, littered with the scars of countless battles fought in realms beyond mortal comprehension. Jagged horns protruded from its forehead, gleaming with malice. Wings, tattered, unveiled from its back, casting a shadowy veil over the chamber.

A roar tore through the room as the demon, who had just appeared, held onto the wall with his clawed, inhuman hands. Disgruntled whispers floated around the chamber as the demon's beastly form started crackling, and in place stood a handsome man. His features were rugged and chiselled with sharp lines. His jawline was angular, accentuated by a faint shadow of stubble that traced its contours.

His eyes, a piercing shade of yellow, gleamed with mischievousness. Messily sitting on top of his head, his hair was jet-black. His tanned skin glowed from the light of the candles settled around the chamber as he lazily walked toward the centre of the room.

"Why is the boss screaming?"

Another roar cut through the words that the demon spoke, causing him to wince. 

"His mate died, Azazel." Azazel looked at Asmodeus, who had spoken the words wide-eyed.

"He has one? Did not the fa-"

"Apparently. Michael is explaining what he knows. He cannot say everything, unfortunately."

Azazel frowned. "We are demons and we can't know shit?"

Asmodeus rolled his eyes. "There are beings above us. Stop speaking."

Azazel sneered at Asmodeus and looked at the end of the chamber, where The Prince had spread his immense wings, their black feathers moving deliberately. Azazel could not help but notice that the Prince was ready to fly and reunite with his mate, given the way his wings were moving.

It was oddly similar to how wild cats preyed on their victims.

Michael, dressed in ivory-coloured clothes, whispered something to Prince with a furious expression, eventually calming him down.

Azazel looked at Asmodeus and poked his shoulder with the long nails Azazel kept. Asmodeus hissed and glared at Azazel, the latter smiling gleefully.

"Did you get any rituals to attend?"

Asmodeus sighed as he rubbed his forehead, "It is getting ridiculous, Azazel. I have possessed about a few thousand souls. Yet, people find it enchanting to call me repeatedly. And then either a priest comes and screams for Michael, but has collected more sin than me, and of course, the prayer does not work! Amateurs."

Azazel frowned. "You don't like possessing people?"

"I have a mate who is very against it," Asmodeus spoke dryly.

"Ah, that explains it." Azazel nodded, but before he could continue, a dark presence appeared in front of him.

Azazel looked at The Prince of Evil, Satan, and grimaced inwardly. He looked more like the Prince of Tiredness.

"Has Charon arrived?" His deep voice rang throughout the hall and Azazel squirmed a bit at the raw power emitting from the behemoth of a giant standing in front of him.

"Not yet, lord." He spoke while looking directly into his eyes. He made one thing very clear - when talking to Satan, everyone should have their spine straightened, and their eyes should look directly into his black ones. 

Fear amongst his people was not to be entertained. They were the ones who instilled fear amongst creatures.

"When he does, inform me without a delay."

"Yes, boss."

Nodding, he strode past Azazel, muttering profanities under his breath.

"So, what's the tea?" Azazel asked Micheal who was pinching the bridge of his nose, looking more troubled than he did when the movie The Nun 2 came out.

Apparently, that movie was a shame to all demons and angels, but personally, Azazel loved all the silly action that took place, it was a comedic art.

"You'll know soon, Azazel, but right now, I need to do some work." Micheal nodded at Azazel and then looked at Asmodeus, who was staring sympathetically towards the direction Satan went.

"Things are going to work out. Don't worry. Azazel, do meet Charon at the end of River Styx. You'll find a girl named Eleanor Moore."

"She's our girl?"

"Yes, she is."

"Damn. How did she die?" Azazel asked Michael.

"Someone stabbed her. That's all I am allowed to say, Azazel. Do not make that face. You are a demon. Behave like one." Micheal spoke plainly. "I need to leave now. Behave," with those words Archangel Micheal went away with a bright flash.

Asmodeus held onto his forehead and growled, "Another fucking ritual."

A cloud of black smoke appeared all around Asmodeus as he transformed into his proper form and disappeared, leaving the stench of sulphur all around Azazel.

'Why do we have to smell so horrid?' Azazel thought to himself.

After sighing, He decided it was best to wait at the gates without delay. He wanted to see who this Eleanor person was.

'Hell is certainly getting interesting.', he grumbled to himself and teleported himself to the bank of River Styx.

___________________________________________________________

Eleanor held the silver coin tightly. It was cold, like the coldness that encased her.

Breathing heavily, she looked around, and all she could see was an endless water terrain. The surface of the water looked opaque. The water was flowing silently. There was no sound of any wave, yet Eleanor felt an ominous aura around her. She shuddered as she looked at the man silently rowing the boat.

She did not know who that man was, but his figure looked frail and weathered. A black robe covered his entire body, while a hood covered his entire face except his lips. His hands which rowed the boat, were bony, the skin pallid, almost ghostly. Some edges of the man's robes were worn out, and Eleanor could not help but move away from this strange man.

As she looked around once again, she noticed that mist shrouded the surface of the water, as well as the boat she was sitting in. The mist nearly veiled everything around Eleanor, causing her skin to erupt into goosebumps. She had no recollection of how she got here, or what was happening to her. All she knew was the present moment.

Suddenly, the boat stopped, and the man slowly turned his head to the right. Eleanor followed his line of vision and gasped.

A man with a height of 6'5 or more, stood tall and nodded his head towards the man in the boat. His figure held a striking allure and an imposing presence. She slowly looked at his face and noted his chiselled features and his eyes held Eleanor captive. She had never seen anyone with violet-hued eyes, but there the man stood. His violet eyes pierced through her warm brown ones. Eleanor could only watch in awe as the man walked forward and towards the boat, bending down and extending his hand to her.

She looked at him, confused and lost, the mist around them growing thicker, making the man who was now bending in front of her grin.

"Come on, goldilocks, Charon here is getting late."

Eleanor whipped her head around to watch the man who was rowing the boat, her mouth agape.

"Ch-Charon?"

"Yes, now come on!." As soon as Eleanor spoke the words, she felt herself being lifted from the boat and dropped the coin in her hand back inside.

A sinking feeling grew in the pit of Eleanor's stomach as she started feeling thoughts rise in her.

"Ah, there it is." Eleanor looked at the man and spoke slowly, her mind jumbled. "What is?"

"Memories. You're supposed to come with me now, otherwise you would have been taking a journey through Lethe and then to us."

Eleanor did not know what to say. She did not know what was happening, only that she was being dragged by this nameless man to where she did not know.

"What is that?" She spoke softly as she walked beside the man, her mind sluggish. She could only think one thing at a time, and she did not know why she was so restricted.

"Well, the one you were on was River Styx, Charon's favourite route to deliver us souls of those who have passed away. As you have noticed, The River Styx is a dark and foreboding waterway that winds its way through this place, shrouded in mist and shadow. You will also see that the surface is calm yet unnaturally still, reflecting the pale light that filters down from the realm above.

"Before he can deliver the souls to us, the souls need to travel through the river Lethe, where they would drink from the water body to forget their past lives and move over to the afterlife."

Eleanor stumbled as she heard the words. Something stirred within her, yet she felt as blank as a canvas. She had no paint or pattern on it. She felt empty.

"Goldilocks, I am taking you to a place where you will get answers, alright? Just come with me."

'Fucking wish I could teleport, damn this is slow'

Eleanor heard the guy muttering the last words under his breath, but she was stuck. Metaphorical chains bound her, but her disability left her unable to distinguish reality from metaphor.

"What is your name?" She asked as they walked side by side.

"Azazel."

"Oh."

She heard a faint chuckle but remained silent.

It was quiet for a while until the mist slowly started clearing as the pair walked forward. When specs of light slowly made their way from somewhere, Eleanor walked faster towards the source.

Eleanor was unsure of her emotions, yet she felt a pull towards the light.

Azazel, who was beside her, grinned to himself. He knew why she was walking faster.

A scream suddenly tore through Eleanor, causing Azazel to halt and gaze at her in a frenzy.

Eleanor stood trembling near the edge of the gaping chasm as her eyes surveyed everything in front of her. A massive crack split the ground open, revealing a seething pool of molten lava that bubbled and churned furiously. The surrounding air was dancing with waves of heat, making her skin sweat.

Was this the light source?

She did not realise that she had spoken the words aloud until Azazel spoke beside her. "No goldilocks. Look further."

And she did.

Eleanor did not know what the light source could have been, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined a colossal, imposing obsidian-black structure with eerie-looking arches looming ominously against the fiery inferno surrounding it.

It was a gate.

Azazel leaned a little closer to Eleanor and whispered,

"Welcome to Hell."

Word Count: 1753