The room hummed with a low electricity as the corners lost their harsh right angles to plush, undulating curves, not unlike a woman’s body.  I swept my wings toward the edges of the evolving reality, raking away the pink painted walls and children’s furniture in exchange for the landscape of the forsaken.  I wasn’t sure it would work; before, I’d only witnessed Samyaza make the transition to the underworld – Hell’s layer beneath the earthen world to which humans had grown accustomed.  Dante had it wrong, the old Grigori master explained, there were no planes of suffering.  There was one Hell with two types of inhabitants: citizens and transients.  Most of the latter became citizens if inspired by the proper promise – temptation was a universal force.  Temptation built Hell in the first place.

With Samyaza’s power my own, I stripped away the remaining surroundings in favor of the intoxicating perfume and warmth of my second home.  How could I bring Sissy and the children back to the first?  Were three lives truly worth leaving this orgy? 

The emptiness in my loins said yes.  I’ve perverted countless souls, but the rush, the thrill, the ecstasy doesn’t provide the feeling Sissy gave me.  Glory.  Though I was the first of the new race, inescapable twinges of humanity smoldered.  I conceded that Lucifer assigned those as my personal Hell, forever excluding me from complete citizenship.

Zavebe slithered across the room and clasped my thighs in his fleshy palms, still erect from watching and waiting for his turn with the young girl.  “Now, master?”

“Patience.” 

He growled, disgusted by my command.  I may as well have told him to love or forgive.

The circle of demons cackled and lunged at Zavebe’s penis – nakedness proved convenient for their earthly duties.  He slapped away hungry claws until he finally clutched himself with both hands and masturbated to raucous applause.

Suffering cries echoed sweet music through the caverns.  Mostly human.  Somewhere within them, my betrothed. 

My tongue longed for the taste of whiskey, though my mind feared the effects.  Had I really lost that much time?  In this eternal torment, what did six months matter?

The ceiling morphed into a vagina – a joke perpetrated by Barqel and Kokabiel.  Its lips peeled back to reveal a waxing gibbous moon.  October twenty-ninth.  Barqel poked a finger at the stars, tracing the outline of a woman while explaining how Andromeda was getting pegged by Pegasus’ horse cock.  He wanted to bugger someone and soon.  I absentmindedly summoned a pair of succubi to handle my minions (so efficient!), then dismissed myself to my quarters, conscious that I was being followed: Penemue.

“Do you know why we hadn’t castrated Samyaza before?”

I grunted unenthusiastically.  “Get out.”

“No one wanted his responsibilities.  A pride of lions hunts for a buffalo.  Only one kills it.  But if the buffalo has spunk, only that one lion assumes the risk.  Kicking.  Fighting.  Mauling.  An errant horn up the ****.  Then, once the lion kills it, she doesn’t get to keep it all to herself.  Work hard, and what do you have to show for it?”

I closed my eyes and rolled the testicles in my hand like Chinese meditation balls.  Penemue nodded towards the other demons.  “Your pride.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Pride comes before a fall.  And in the winter, spring and summer if they get the chance.”

“You haven’t a clue what you’re doing.”

“You’re right, Penemue.  As always.  Looks like you’ll have to turn to Samyaza for guidance.”

I bared my fangs.  Penemue remained.  When I looked down at his crotch and licked my lips, he found it prudent to depart.

Was that my best plan?  Devour my brethren and wash down their testes with Jack Daniels?  Was it even possible?  Let them mount their helpless prey, then reach between their legs from behind and repossess their balls?  Why not sodomize them with a searing iron rod for good measure?  No.  There were hundreds of Grigori, if not thousands.  Azazel could handle me alone, distracted or not.  Besides, even with the power of the entire Grigori race, I posed no threat to Lucifer. 

What did I possess that he wanted?  He already owned my soul and my family; what else was there?  Then it struck me:

It couldn’t get any worse.

If Penemue rallied a rebellion, shredded my testicles and disposed of me, I’d join the souls in the holding pen.  With Sissy.  The only prerequisite for attacking Lucifer was I needed to do it in such a manner that survival was impossible.  I couldn’t kill him, but he could kill me.  Reuniting me with my love.  It was so simple, I cursed myself for not thinking of it earlier.  Except for one detail:

Sissy wouldn’t want me back.  Not here in Hell.  That thought was worse than any punishment I could endure.

Araqiel surfaced, eyes wide with glee.  “Master!  I found a virgin in the midst of her first period!  May I?”

I was overwhelmed with excitement at the prospect of untouched flesh.  The devil had a penchant for virgins too.  The utter joy that overtook him as he claimed Jake and Krystal repulsed me.  I understood later – Hell has very few young residents.  They were too immature to reap their sowing; new blood required someone morally depraved enough to sacrifice his children to save his own flesh.  Someone like me.