Mavobella: The Angel Of Death

Chapter 7

“Excuse me, do you know where I can find Caketopia?”

The words felt ridiculous the moment they left my mouth, like I was asking for directions to some whimsical theme park in a children's book, not an actual place in this hellscape. But I hadn’t given up. Not yet. This was just a small part of my as-yet-undecided, highly convoluted plan—a plan I hadn’t devised but was convinced I’d figure out eventually. If the Imperium had a way of bringing prisoners into this hellhole, then they must have a way to get them out. All I needed was a starting point. And Nicole was it.

The “man” I’d asked—a demon disguised as a hunched old geezer, gnawing on a yellowed newspaper in the middle of the street—peered over his spectacles. He scrutinized me, his glasses sliding down his crooked nose, as though he was deciding whether I was worth more than a shrug or a snort.

Unnerved, I fought the sudden, inexplicable urge to decapitate him. His peaceful disguise didn’t fool me; I could practically taste the demonic energy simmering beneath his wrinkled skin, pulsing like an exposed nerve. Granted, going full “Angel of Death” right here on the cobblestone street probably wouldn’t win me any fans, but I couldn’t deny the urge. My fingers itched to snap his neck, to wipe that dry smirk off his face. Still, I stayed vigilant. Just one wrong move, old man. One, and I’d gladly turn his head into a paperweight.

“Three lefts from Twenty-One Noodletopia Street,” he rasped, each syllable scratching its way out of his throat like a smoker’s last cough.

Right. Noodletopia. Of course.

I was probably standing on Shittopia Street, because it reeked. The street names in this nightmare were as ridiculous as everything else. Was this some kind of twisted joke, a cosmic prank to test my patience? I couldn’t shake the feeling that this entire place was designed to throw me off my game, distracting me from my true purpose.

As I squelched my way down the street in my waterlogged sneakers, muttering curses under my breath, I had to admit, Anubistopia was… surprisingly developed. It wasn’t the wasteland of lost souls I’d imagined. It was more like a less-colorful Amalfi Coast, only a little bit far from the try-hard diabolical sea. There were shops, bars, even hotels, all swarming with angels and demons mingling like awkward coworkers forced into small talk at a party. It was downright bizarre.

Oh, and not a single phone in sight. Not even a payphone. Some prison. I wondered what an Instagram post from here would look like. Dear Instagram, stuck in actual Hell. Be back never.

Just then, I felt it—that prickling sensation, that unnatural chill wrapping around my spine. It wasn’t just the lousy weather. Footsteps echoed perfectly in time with mine, and I sensed a gaze boring into the back of my head, as though daring me to turn around.

So, I did. Naturally.

Nothing. Just the usual parade of people going about their day like this was some quaint, 19th-century London market square, complete with horse-drawn carriages and cobblestones that looked like they’d give me tetanus just for standing on them.

Shaking off the paranoia, I turned my attention forward and continued down the street. Finally, I spotted it—a bakery with a neon sign blinking faintly above the door: “Caketopia—Cake Your Day!” Below, an animated neon cake with a fork winked at me. Ugh. Puns. Just what I needed.

The moment I stepped inside, every head turned my way, as if I were an alien. Granted, I did look like I’d washed ashore in rags after a shipwreck. Soggy, grimy, smelling like low tide, I was pretty much the opposite of "casual visitor." I walked up to the counter, noting the way it gleamed with a faint sheen despite its chipped edges. The wood was dark mahogany, polished smooth from years of use. An old-fashioned brass bell perched in the center, its dull surface begging to be rung. To the right, a row of vintage hooks held tarnished keys dangling by worn leather straps. The whole setup gave off a sense of age and history, like this place had seen everything from sweet reunions to sinister farewells.