Manufactured for Sin 2 (Clean version)

Chapter 6: Hell

"He seemed nice." Izleena nodded as the elevator reached the bottom. Greg shrugged as he couldn't fully disagree.

"Well he's looking out for himself, always does, but he's never one to just enjoy death and destruction like some of the older ones. He's alright. Can't blame him for self preservation." Greg shrugged,

"So you and Anubis? What was that like?" she pried.

"Well you know how boys are. Few wars fought together, watching each other's backs, him watching mine metaphorically, me watching his more literally. He was an older mentor, but he didn't look a day over 600. He may be covered in fur now, but he goes fully sleek later on in Egypt. They love that hairless look, all bald and painted. When you kill together, you bond together. Common enemies fall, there's spoils and celebration, he threw the craziest parties...I mean tame as shit compared to Dionysus but...more cows as food and orgies of consent rather than cows for other reasons and not consent. Anyway you fight together, you party together, you end up trying things, and sometimes you try things on 3 or 4 different occasions before you realize it's not working out. Let's just say he knows more about eye-liner than both of us.

"Shame we missed the resort by this much." She muttered.

Izleena shrugged, following the sounds of toiling as they traversed the red-hughed caves and the volcanic glow of it all. The smell of sulfur and salts lingered in a dry and windless cavern, nothing but the heartiest of bugs to populate it.

The caves expanded into a larger chamber, bright with torches and the lethargic bustle of subterranean life. Wooden doors and Iron bars decorated the dug-out little coves where all manner of deformed creatures surely toiled and lived, the hesitant looks of peasants, human, dwarf, and troll alike, avoiding eye contact with Izleena. She could almost smell the emotions of an approaching goddess on their souls as they subtly bowed and backed away from her path.

Normally the bowing of admirers would fuel her ego and make her blush with enjoyment, but these creatures of the depths seemed to favor loathing fear over genuine admiration, and the idea of being a tyrant disgusted her. Greg seemed used to it, immune to the stale stench. She hated the way they looked her as they cowered and lowered their heads, squinting their brows in their suffering, and assuming she was part of the class that put them down there in this torment. The burden felt heavy. She almost got relief as they returned to their daily lives in her passing. They reached the far end of the underground community. The sounds of life rose higher, as did the roar of a forge in the distance, it echoed behind iron plate doors and stone runes in the shape of an anvil.

The rapid-fire ping of hammer blows preceded the reveal of a strange dark grey creature. Skin shiny and almost metallic in color, with the slightest hue of purple. The creature did not look up as they approached, laser-focused on his work. A muscular right arm barehandly braced a bar of hot steel, the left arm steadying a fullering tool, as a second pair of arms above them alternated hammer swings. The dim orange glow from the hammer-arms pulsed as the gears and fibers flexed, showing it's mechanical form with each complicated swing. The surge of orange brightened down the metallic muscles, flickering and pulsing the orange jewel on his back. The power of the gem hummed with every swing and breath, the silver mounting bracket smoldering and sizzling from the sweat under it.

"Excuse me, goddess if I do not bow, the steel temperature must be maintained if I am to make a living." He sarcastically muttered.

"What are you? God or Eridani?" Izleena asked.

"I'm a little of both. My name is Vulcan, lord of the forge. In my youth I was favored to the gods of the forge, until I tired of toiling for their evil ways. I built for them the blades that took their heads, and wings... and their arms." He smirked, flexing his added limbs as the Osirian power pack crackled and surged.