Burning Road

Boiling Point- Part I

The Cauldron was a soul processing facility, one of two dozen owned by The Heir and overseen by her Demon Princes. Soul chips were brought in tallied and weighed. Those weighed down by their sins were packaged and transported to The Soul Bank to be fed to the darkness. Those that didn't make the cut were allowed to fester. Some would be driven mad by the years of torture and corruption, becoming tormented spirits. These would become slaves to The Princes. Others would grow strong from the torture and become lesser imps, reborn to dwell within The Dark and spread its influence wherever they tread.

The hawk-faced imp explained it all with a type of bitter reverence. While lower on the totem pole than greater imps, it was still considered quite a feat to take the descent from evil soul to full fledged darkling.

The Cauldron was a week's journey by the paved roads of The Heir's highway. The trip was two days if one braved the hazards of The Burning Road, a danger ridden pass through one of the coldest regions of The Dark. It was said the road fed off the memories of the unwary traveler, bringing them both madness and melancholy. For a price the imp was willing to act as guide for half of the voyage. Golan offered to break his ribs. The imp decided he would draw them a map. Mimi had a bit of parchment in her bag, and a hunk of charcoal from the hearth made a viable writing tool. While Pan, Golan, and the imp discussed details at an adjacent table the others had a little talk.

"Are you okay, Mimi?" Prince asked. The last thing he remembered was pulling her out of a stream of glowing slime. His head hadn't hurt then, and he didn't feel so utterly cold.

"I'm fine. How about you? You look terrible."

He chuckled. She was right. His shirt was torn and stained in blood, a good half of it his. Never one to go out without clean clothes, he didn't feel quite himself. It was one of Aunt Maurine's rules. She'd have frowned, a dirty shirt and a ruined jacket. Khouri Prince had definitely looked better.

"I'm confused, and cold despite the open flames." He flexed his fingers and noticed the pain in his knuckles was fading. "Otherwise, I think I'll live."

The barkeep made a considerable amount of noise righting the tables and chairs scattered during the fight. He grumbled and went back to shining his uneven counter. Prince noticed the old creeper beside him watched the one-armed demon's every move. It made him uneasy.

"So this is hell? I expected fire, brimstone, and misery. Instead we have a stinking bar and a surly bartender. This could be New Jersey."

"New Jersey, I don't know that name but I know that there is plenty of misery, and brimstone here." Cyril swept his eyes around the bar before bringing his attention back to the barkeep. "I've heard the term hell before, it sounds like more than just The Dark. It sounds like a place of horrors and deprivation."

"Sounds like home," Mimi mused.

Khouri digested that information. Those dwelling within saw The Under and The Dark as two separate places, but combined they seemed to create a cohesive picture of his perception of Hell. Monsters, demons, and mythical creatures crammed together in a place full of darkness and suffering struggling for resources. Even warmth was a luxury that couldn't be overlooked.

They hadn't fallen into hell when they chased Mimi over Redfalls. They were already there. Prince felt around his neck for the cross he always carried when hunting vampires. The cool silver was a strange, but not unwelcome comfort. It wasn't always an effective deterrent to the blood drinkers, but it was always a good talisman for the faith he battled with at times. God was hard to deny when surrounded by devils.

"How can we be sure this guy's information is accurate, and how can we trust him not to betray us as soon as he's able?" Prince asked, changing the focus of his thoughts to more pressing issues.