Page 1 of Hell-Bound

PROLOGUE

The god’s elegant boots clicked against the marble.

The other male tried his best to prevent shivers from running down his spine as he watched the deity approach. It had been several millennia, and this creature, this despicable evil thing, could still cause his fear to emerge.

“You did not tell me you would arrive,” he said, standing.

The god picked an imaginary piece of dust off of his immaculate robe. “I can come here whenever I want. Iownyou.”

The male did not tremble. He was done trembling. He went to that dark place in his mind—that glorious numbness that kept him safe.

“I come to make sure you understand.” The god’s presence engulfed the room in power despite being shorter and smaller than his companion. “You haven’t been doing your job. You are dangerously close to violating your contract.”

The taller male held a stony face.

“I have not violated anything. The contract does not stipulate how much work I have to do at a time—”

The god shot towards him, grabbing his face in a violent grasp.

“You will do what I fuckingtellyou to do. Contract or no contract.Yoursoul might be safe, but all these little creatures you care about, all these little minions you have, will suffer a level of pain that only a god can give. And what will you do then? What will feed your power when all others have left you alone and abandoned? You arenothing.The fact that you live is by my glorious mercy.”

He spat these words, eyes flaring with rage, clenching tighter until the black ichor, in place of blood, flowed from where claws pierced skin.

Bleeding, the injured male felt the warmth rushing down his face, reminding him that he was, cruelly, still alive. He kept his eyes locked on his aggressor. He would not back down—he would murder this being. He would get the power he needed and maim him. Torture and cut, until he begged for forgiveness, which the male would never grant. He would lock him away for hundreds of years, returning only when he craved seeing the misery and desperation shine through the monsters’ eyes—unless he gouged them out first. For the people the god had killed, for those that this evil beast had sucked the souls from, he would cut—small cuts for every. Single. One. The male would say their names in his ear until this unholy god could hear nothing else. He would make him repeat the millions of names, and when one was inevitably forgotten, he would lash him with a whip of just as many tails. The male imagined the sound of those barbs raking on his aggressor’s skin.

He would have his revenge. He would be sated. Just not today.

The god finally released his face, pushing him away for good measure.

The blood was running freely now, making small patting sounds as it dripped onto the hard floor.

The male did not move to wipe it away.

The god sighed and picked up a small relic from the victim’s desk.

The other hissed his disapproval, unable to hold back his outrage.

“Oh, don’t bechildish,”the god said, placing the trinket in the pocket of his robes. “It’s only a bauble.”

The male’s eyes glared at the thief. Pure venom.

“I don’t know why you resist,” the god said, tapping his pocket contentedly. “You have nothing to save. Not yourself—not those people you pretend to care about. All you want is power. To be worshiped. That’s what we all want, after all.”

The blood began to soak the injured male’s hair, whichhad fallen down over his forehead. He clenched his fist as his jaw worked soundlessly.

“You cannot be saved,” the god continued, “you cannot be redeemed. Maybe you could have.” He exhaled a sigh. “But you’re too far gone now. You can’t change. You’ve known nothing else for so long.” He laughed darkly. “I could destroy your contract now, and you will still cower at my feet, begging me to let you have power again. Pathetic.”

The unholy deity turned his back on the male and walked leisurely to the door.

“Do your job before I destroy everything you have created here. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. I am everywhere.”

He looked back only once more.

“Get that, would you?” he said, indicating towards the door.

The male growled despite himself, flicking his hand for the door to open before the ruler of The Hells strolled out.

Renata sat on the docks, gazing at her arm. An ugly scar, about five inches long, marred the skin there. It was discolored, a pink harshness against her pale skin, but to her, it was beautiful. The scar meant that she had lived a life. That she’d had experiences that had changed her—not that she could remember any of them.