Page 15 of Fallen: Darkness Ascending, Vol.1

O N E

I wake with a start. It’s dingy, and there’s a humid sort of musk in the air.

Cold stone is beneath my hands as I sit up, blinking through the dim gray and finding myself in a cellar encaged by black rock and gilded metal bars.

The only light comes from outside the cell, and I can see more on the other side of the wide hall.

Something shifts—I spin back and press away from the sound.

A middle-aged man, scrunched in the corner, holds up a trembling hand to me. His voice sounds unused, and sore. “I won’t hurt you…” After a moment, he slowly curls his arms into his lap again, knees raised, huddled in the corner.

Swallowing, I rise to my feet and hesitantly approach the gold bars at the front of the cell, peering through. All I see is darkness, and a line of cells all down the left and right. There are distant sounds of coughing, or crying.

“…Where am I?”

The man doesn’t answer, until I turn back at him. His eyes lift to mine slowly. “…The sewers, he calls them.”

I frown, slowly crossing back through the cell and crouching a few feet away from him. “What…did he do to you?”

His blinking is slow, lethargic. Weak. He takes a good, long while to pull his thoughts together and drag in a breath before speaking.

“He takes us, one by one. He…I can’t explain it…

It’s, it’s like he sucks your soul out. Brings you to the brink of death, and…

leaves you. Goes to the next. You…You barely have time to recover, before it’s your turn again. ”

I shake my head, reaching out to put a hand on his arm—he flinches from me. Then fully recoils at the sound of a large something in the distance, followed by footsteps.

“D-Don’t resist him…!” He whispers, compressing into himself and trying to cram deeper into the corner. “He gets angry, they both do! You have to obey…”

I turn, standing and stepping away as the footsteps draw closer.

The crisp, black suit has been changed—now Cornelius sports a royal purple, with a crimson tie and pocket square, black undershirt beneath.

He stands in front of our cell, adjusting his cuff links as a guard at his side enters a key and opens the door, the man behind me whimpering and whispering weak pleas.

His black dress shoes make a soft, formal sound as he strides long into the cell, gloved hands tucking into his slack pockets. Just a few paces inside, then he stands comfortably, and stares.

Then, “Comfortable?”

I narrow my eyes at him.

Cornelius slowly looks around, as though taking in the sights of the dungeon cell for the first time. “Now that we’re here, together, I can explain things more fully. I think you’ll find my logic and offer quite appealing once you understand the full extent of the situation you’re subjected to.”

Scoffing, I cross my arms and glare at him. “I can’t believe a single word you say.”

A small chuckle, and he takes a hand to wave it back and forth a bit before pocketing it again.

“No no, lamb, I’m not here to weave some story or excuse.

I’m here to explain your affliction, in more accurate detail.

It’ll all make sense. Everything I told you in our sessions was accurate, or at least a half-truth.

I am a fallen angel, Phantasmus is an elder demon, and you have some rare feature to your soul that somehow means you can’t die even when you’ve crossed over into hell. All, true. As you’ve seen firsthand.”

My glower doesn’t go away. “Fine. Sure. I’ll believe all that. Why can’t I die in hell, then?”

A grin, one of his proud ones. I used to love to see it on his face, and now I want to spit on it.

“I don’t know what made your soul so much more vigorous than the rest of humankind, but it seems, somehow, the fires of hell are just too hot for your little engine to run cold.

That means you get to be our perfect, eternal plaything…

Phantasmus wants you for your body, and I want you for your soul.

That’s your energy source, as I’ve said, yes?

Like a little fire inside. Except yours is a furnace of a fuel source.

Your soul somehow reforges itself, your pilot light never flickers or goes out.

Other mortals, if devoured whole, simply die.

Lesser demons can’t control their hunger, they eat and eat and eat—and kill, and kill and kill.

Others though, greater and elder demons, have enough intellect to eat just enough , and save the leftovers for later.

Give it time to heal before dining on the same meal again.

But, ahh…that last bite is always the best. That final drop of life.

To be sustainable, we have to leave that last drop behind so the rest can return to full strength, but…

with you, little lamb …ohh, with you, we can be absolutely feral gluttons with no consequences wh atsoever. ”

I swallow, glancing back at the cowering man in the corner. Then, looking at Cornelius again, I say softly, “So I’m…a buffet, to you.”

He winces slightly. “It’s more like a renewable energy source. But, only in hell of course. You recall all those nightmares about being stabbed, or being pleasured…?”

My breath runs heavy, memories of the many torturous nights flitting through my mind. Phantasmus’s visits were always clearly some touch of real hell, but the others, those were just dreams . Just bad dreams. Phantasmus, or even Cornelius, they weren’t in them!

He tilts his head, and smiles. “Those weren’t nightmares, little love.”

I drive my palms into my eyes, breathing out a hissing breath to think back on all the times I’d been chased, stabbed, killed in my dreams, muscles torn from my bones by hordes of demons. “You…you tortured me too? I-I can’t…”

“Oh no, love—those ‘nightmares’ of yours weren’t from me, they were enacted upon you by other denizens of hell who found your sleeping soul and did what they do best—feast. But, don’t be too surprised at the lengths I’d go to for a tasty soul.

I fell from grace for taking the last sip from an innocent human; feeding was my guilty pleasure, and ohhh his was far too good to stop before it was too late.

Even I can’t tell if it was an accident.

See, fear brings the soul closer to the surface and adrenaline makes the taste more potent, like a well-seasoned stew.

A combination of both is divinity . A single point of physical contact and I can siphon you all away…

tongues? Genitals? Oh, God bless us all, that’s more than worth falling for. ”

“…But, if you fell from grace, why do you still look so…”

A sly, pleased angle crosses his lips. A hand lifts to gesture vaguely up at his visage.

“Beautiful? Ethereal? Because I am an angel either way—if I hadn’t fallen, I wouldn’t be here.

I wouldn’t be able to enter hell, either.

That’s the difference. My appearance doesn’t change simply because I’ve been locked out of the pearly gates.

But enough about me—let’s talk about you , lamb.

You have two options. Either I send you back home to your old life, and we let the demons of the free world have their way with you just like before.

Random descents, cruel tortures, being eaten alive, and no one to come rescue you. ”

His shoes shuffle on the floor as he adjusts his stance a little, pausing to let the tension hang in the air as I remember how awful it’s always been, to not have him fly in and save me.

“Or. You submit . You live with me, and Phantasmus—or Cillian, if you prefer to think of him that way—in luxury and safety. You let us feed from you, take every drop of your soul whenever it regenerates. Every few days, or so. You willingly allow us both to devour you as our primary meal, and all my other little prisoners are free to go. I’ll have no need of them.

Of which, there are roughly a hundred, by the way.

I’m sure their families do miss them so dearly . ”

The frightened breaths of the man behind me go silent. I can hear the hope in him, though I don’t trust Cornelius’s word.

He shrugs. “The choice is yours. Go back to being tortured by every single demon that crosses your path—no angelic savior, no Stray, no self-driving car. Falling into hell while crossing the road and praying you don’t get hit.

Struggling to keep a job. Orrr…you come over here, and kiss me to show you submit to my protection.

And, save a few lives while you’re at it. Choose. ”

A hand drifts up into my hair as I stressfully try to think through the situation.

Neither option sounds particularly pleasant, and I don’t know if he’ll actually release any of the prisoners.

True, if he’s able to continually get his meals from my soul then he wouldn’t need the others, but he might just kill them all instead.

A part of my mind almost considers that a mercy in itself too.

The man behind me has started to whisper a tentative plea to me.

But going along with his plan, his idea, fully subjecting myself to him—and to Phantasmus, the figure that’s tormented and killed me for almost a year—feels… wrong. Weak. Li ke I’m giving up.

I groan in frustration, chasing my logic around circles, closing my eyes and taking a stumbling step.

Can it be considered ‘giving up’ if what I’m doing is choosing the option that provides torture I can at least anticipate?

Hell, I might even be able to reason with them if I’m feeling too weak for a feeding.

And…

Those lesser demons, or even the greater ones who’ve found me, they eat at me with disregard.

…Phantasmus, at least…grants me pleasure while he tortures me.

I wince my eyes open, and look at Cornelius. He’d been looking at the wall in boredom, but his gaze flicks to me now. A brow lifts, and he whispers, “Tock tick, Hope. What’s it gonna be?”