CHAPTER ONE
Clara shivered aggressively. The kind of shiver you get when you wake up in the middle of the night with a nasty fever and, even though you're sweating bullets, you just can't stop your body from trying to shake itself apart. But she actually was cold, unfathomably so in fact, and her head pounded too, almost as badly as the flash migraines she got as a child. Luckily, that was already fading and her body was beginning to relax. With those problems resolving themselves, she began the herculean task of prying her eyes open. She had only just managed the slightest crack between her eyelids when blinding, pulsing light began pouring in. Instinctively, her eyes snapped back shut and she lost all progress. Somewhere nearby, Clara thought she heard someone else groan. She resolved to to open her eyes once again, this time taking the precaution of putting one of her hands on her forehead like the visor of a hat to shield her from the light. Slowly, carefully, her eyes opened, adjusted to the light and, immediately, she wished she hadn't.
Quite literally, as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but flames, flowing out intensely from everywhere. In fact, there seemed to be no ground at all; just more fire that was somehow able to support her weight. Even above her, somewhere far off in the distance, it seemed as though the sky itself might exist entirely as glowing ember. There was a kind of clearing among all the flame where she stood. Clara heard another groan and, this time, was able to focus on it a little more. Attempting to stay calm, Clara turned to her right and found an absolutely massive man shuffling onto his knees and clutching his head. He seemed to be in equal discomfort to Clara.
“Dammit, if Roy thought it'd be funny to slip a roofie in my drink again, I swear to God...” His eyes flickered open then shut instantly, struggling against the light as Clara had, before finally succeeding. She never did find out exactly what he might have done to Roy as the man stood up, mouth agape, taking in his surroundings. He was a monster of a man (in fact, Clara's first thought was that he resembled nothing more than an Asian cousin of the Incredible Hulk). Though he had an impressive gut, it was immediately apparent that nearly all of the man was pure muscle. His face had the roughed-up quality of someone that had been in too many fights. Additionally, he had a mole right in the center of his jaw that seemed vaguely familiar; it was almost like déjà vu, tickling at the back of her brain, and Clara chocked it up to little more than that. He had extremely closely cropped hair and wore a black form-fitting athletic shirt.
“God, eh?” answered a voice that seemed to exist as part of the air. It was the single worst voice that Clara had ever heard (and that included her senior calculus teacher, Mr. Gilroy) and, though she heard it through her ears, it felt more as though it existed in her brain somewhere. The best way she could describe it was...slithery. She found herself crinkling her nose in disgust as it spoke. “Perhaps that isn't the most appropriate name to swear to down here.” Clara and the huge man both looked around for the source of the voice. As they did, they briefly made eye contact and he noticed her for the first time. His mouth parted as though to say something, but they both silently agreed that finding the mystery voice was more important. “That's not say the name isn't called out often 'round these parts.”
This time, the voice clearly came from behind them. “He” emerged from a pillar of flame that roared even higher as he stepped through it. Whatever it was, it was clearly not human; it was walking on two crooked goat legs that were brimming with blood-red fur. Perhaps walking was a bit of a misnomer as, even though it was taking steps, it seemed to be walking several inches above the ground. Immediately, Clara wrote this off as ludicrous since she wasn't standing on any real ground, though the creature still seemed to be floating higher than she was. From the waist up, it was somewhat more humanoid, aside from the red skin, black eyes, and two massive horns protruding from its forehead. Though its arms were clasped behind its back, Clara knew that there just had to be some nasty claws that grew from its fingers.
To her left, there was a shrill scream. For the first time, Clara noticed that there were people here other than the massive man and herself. The source of the scream was a young woman with long, dirty-blonde hair that was particularly knotty, as though it hadn't been brushed in far too long. She was almost unnaturally skinny and, despite her olive skin, she was absurdly pale.
“No no no no!” she screamed, falling back to her knees and clutching her head. “It can't be real! This isn't real! I don't believe! Please, please, please!” she trailed off, tears pouring out of her eyes. To her left, an exceedingly handsome and slim man in a perfectly-tailored suit looked at her passively, with a not-so-subtle hint of disgust. He had the kind of hair that looked both effortlessly messy and immaculately styled at the same time and, because of the way it was swept, it partially covered his right eye. Clara imagined that, for some women, this created some “air of mystery” but it was lost on her. He had just a hint of a beard, the kind that could make a man so much more appealing, if that was what you were into.
There were two others beyond them, but the goat creature spoke again, stealing her attention back. “Ugh, you're one of those.” As it said this, it looked down at itself and really looked around at the scenery, if it could be called that. It frowned. “So unimaginative; I shouldn't have let your minds pick. At least put your own spin on it or something. After a millennia or so, it just gets so dull.” It turned its attention to Clara and stared her directly in the eyes. For just a second, it was as though it was looking all the way to her soul, which it then grabbed and scrutinized for a moment that felt like an eternity. A faint smile cracked on its lips and it pulled one of its arms out from behind its back. Clara took a moment to give herself an unnecessary congratulation at being correct about the claws. It snapped its fingers and, instantaneously, they were now sitting in chairs in a plain room with empty wooden shelves lining every wall. Perhaps more importantly, instead of a goat-creature/Devil-caricature standing in front of them, there was a man in front of them. Despite the very few similarities, Clara instinctively knew that this man was the same creature as before. It, now more accurately described as a he, had dirty, sooty skin that had once likely been a pearly white, but missed a few decades worth of bathing. He wore an off-putting flesh-colored suit with matching shoes and had disgusting, shoulder-length brown hair. His face was identical to before, only it had the same gross skin in place of the red flesh that had been there before. On the floor just behind him, there were some blindingly white feathers scattered on the ground. He looked at Clara again and cocked his head to the side. “Fascinating. You're not scared.” Unfortunately, his voice had not improved with his looks.
It was not a question, but Clara answered anyway. “I wouldn't say that, but I'm more curious than anything.” Her voice was noticeably more deep than most women and, bizarrely, this was what seemed to break the crying girl out of her fit. She looked up and, noticing that their surroundings were different, settled back into a sitting position, crossing her legs under her body in the chair. It didn't look at all comfortable, but she wasn't sobbing, so that was a plus. Besides, Clara had her own unusual chair-sitting position when she read, so she was hardly one to judge. Farther down the line, a young man watched her with a puzzled look on his face.
“Interesting,” said the devil-man, never taking his eyes off Clara. “You all are in some way.” He said with a smile that could wilt flowers. “Except for her. I already don't care for her,” he said, pointing at the formerly-crying woman. “Anyway, “ he exclaimed suddenly with a shocking clap of his hands, “Introductions! This will all get terribly confusing if no one knows who anyone is. Let's start over here.” He motioned one hand over to the huge man beside Clara. “This is Miller Ramis. Would you like to say hello to the class, Mr. Ramis?”
Miller stomped a foot on the floor and his nose flared wide. “Who the hell are you and what the hell is going on?!” he yelled, his voice booming until it filled the whole room.
The man sighed. “You youngsters are always so impatient!” he said, feigning exasperation. He rather seemed to be enjoying himself. “We will get to all that. Though you were much closer with those last statements than you were with your first.” He continued down the line, ignoring Miller now. “And this young lady, whom you can thank for your current accommodations, is Clara Green. Do you have anything more productive to contribute than our friend Miller?” he asked.
Clara had a million questions but instead said, “I'll wait until we've met everyone.”
The man smiled even wider and Clara thought his skin might have literally cracked this time. “I like you. You're already more fun than most.” And then he moved on. “Here we have top contender for my least favorite, one Miss Anita Marquez. Loathe as I am to give her the opportunity for more shrill noises, it would be dreadfully rude not to give her a chance to speak as well, so get on with it.”
Anita looked up, but could not get herself to look at the man. “Y-you're him aren't you?” Her voice popped and cracked. She sounded almost resigned now. She whispered something barely audible, but Clara thought she said, “I deserve this.”
The man dramatically threw his head back and groaned loudly. “Bleh, you really are the worst. Whatever.” His hand moved on to the handsome man next to Anita. He stood perfectly straight up, but had his hands casually tucked into his pockets as though he was mockingly conforming to some higher power of good etiquette and then telling it to fuck off. “Over here, we have the dashing Mr. Glenn Stave, trying to look as cool as possible for all the pretty ladies around him no doubt. What do you contribute to this lively conversation?” Glenn stared blankly forward, stubbornly refusing to show any emotion or reaction to the events around him.
The man's shoulders sagged and his hand drooped a little, as did his smile. “Well, these last two have been real buzzkills. Perhaps our next guest, Mrs. Marie Kuroki, will be able to liven up the proceedings. What say you, Marie?!” he shouted enthusiastically. Unfortunately for him, Marie's only response was to vainly throw a hand over her mouth, collapse onto all fours, and vomit all over the floor in front of her. Given how their last fifteen minutes had gone, Clara couldn't say she blamed her. She was a meaty, almost chubby woman with fairly long, bright red hair that unfortunately got splashed with her own oral ejection; it stood out noticeably against her hair. Clara checked her pockets for a handkerchief to offer to the woman, but she had nothing on her, not even her phone.
Their mysterious host looked even more disappointed now. He simply said, “Ah. Well then. Carrying on.” He went to gesture to the last of the six of them, but the final person had already darted down to Marie's side.
“Hey, are you okay?!” he asked as he grabbed her hair and pulled it behind her head, preventing further discharge from tainting her fiery locks. He looked around the room frantically, trying to find something that obviously wasn't there. He turned his attention to the man and borderline-shouted, “If you're gonna keep us prisoner, at least get the lady some water!”
The man looked at him with an odd mix of enjoyment and derision, before choosing to ignore the demand entirely. “And our little hero here is Gabriel Halta. Making friends already.” Gabriel sported black hair that was cut short and straight on the sides and back, but was longer on top where it was combed forward and spiked out to the front. This hair sat on a somewhat strange face: it was both a soft baby-face, but had a strong look of determination on it as he helped this Marie woman. He was taking his assistance of her very, very seriously.
Their host clapped his hands again before sitting himself down in a chair that Clara was fairly certain hadn't been there a moment ago. “And despite what at least some of you think, I am not your captor, nor am I keeping you here. At least not intentionally. In fact, it is quite the contrary. I would very much like you out of here as soon as possible.”
For the first time, Glenn spoke. “Then why are we here, wherever this is? And why the theatrics?”
“Now THAT is the question!” the man exclaimed. “The theatrics are just to make things more fun. As for where? I think you should be able to determine that once I make the last, most important introduction.” He threw his hands out wide and, with the widest smile Clara had ever seen, took an exaggerated bow and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Satan and I would like to welcome you to Hell.” To her left, Anita let out another scream.