Achieving Heaven Through Hell Part 3: Only the Results

Unconscious

Author's Note:

This is the third part in a series called Achieving Heaven Through Hell, the others being A Peaceful Afterlife and Helluva Job, so give those bad boys a read if you have the time!

The awesome titlecard was made by very talented TheLastUnicornInOz

Be sure to let her know she's great and give her a follow right here: https://www.deviantart.com/thelastunicorninoz

Also Moonchild = Vinegar Doppio

Chapter 1: Unconscious

The train clattered down the uneven track, the car jolting and swaying. The occupants, crammed in tight, could barely sway with it for the congestion. The lights flickered, the air hazy for the tobacco and crack smoke that hung in lazy ribbons in the stifling, still air of the cab. Over this was the overpowering stench of B.O. and sickly sweet, cloying perfume.

A subway in Hell.

The occupants were the standard fare of the lower classes in the infernal realm, imps and hellhounds mixed in with new and lesser demons, each so different in form and size as to drastically exacerbate the already cramped conditions of the train car. Any one of the frequent, unpredictable jolts would send one passenger stumbling into another, where fire or spikes or horns so some other hazardous protuberance may await them. Tails and tentacles littered the floor, often tread on, inevitably leading to harsh words and, not infrequently, a gruesome, bloody scuffle. Such a thing was happening at that moment, in fact. Somewhere else in the car, curses and growls broke into screams and roars, followed shortly by the thick, metallic stench of blood mixing with the smokey, acrid air.

A gunshot cracked and echoed in the cramped metal car, causing a smallish fish-demon to flinch. He was alone in this reaction, nary a jolt or blink given by the jaded, miserable crowd. The fish-demon settled, his pale, lightly freckled face flushing somewhat in embarrassment as the single smooth rose-colored tentacle atop his head curled across his forehead like a coiled bang of hair. He cast his fuchsia eyes back out the window, suitcase on his lap. He was below-average height for a demon, barely six feet tall, and was possessed of a youthful, elegant beauty. He wore snug-fitting blue jeans and a purple sweater over a black tank-top, the bands of which were visible through the wide v-neck of the sweater, exposing his toned chest. He preferred turtlenecks, but his boss insisted on a more exposing ensemble. His boss was the reason why he was sitting there at all. A low-level demon like him would otherwise have had to stand, but being in his boss' service entitled him to certain benefits in travel and other areas. It was a small boon, but a boon nonetheless.

Unfortunately for the meek fish-demon, these boons made him stand out, and his nervous flinch had attracted the wrong kind of eyes. Blood in the water.

A low bleating tone sounded in the terminal as the train rolled in, its glowing cyan eyes glaring in the dark tunnel as it approached. A demon tossed a pair of battered, screaming imps onto the track as the train rolled in. Neither the train nor the waiting crowd gave any indication they noticed, the train rolling to a stop underscored by the gristly wet tearing of flesh and the muted crunch of bone.

"South-East Imp City," the intercom growled. "Now in South-East Imp City."

The masses shuffled out of the train and onto the terminal, dispersing as they set about the rest of their dreary pointless afterlives. The slender fish demon slipped through the crowd, careful not to tread on any bodyparts or bump into any shoulders. He hurried up the crowded stairs and out into Imp City, seemingly unaware of the trio following him. Imp City was, by and large, a stye even by Hell's standards. Garbage littered the filthy, cracked sidewalks, overflowing from garbage cans that had not been moved in so long as to have become fused to the ground by compacted filth. Imps stood in circles around blazing dumpsters, burning away the trash to 'empty' the containers. Corpses and drug paraphernalia lay scattered about like cigarette butts, the stripped carcasses of cars stood on jacks long-since rusted to the frames.