20. A Night in Hell

20

A Night in Hell

Alistair

A s I leave Morgana's chambers for the night, the weight of our recent intimacy presses heavily on my mind. I stayed with her far longer than I intended, my worry over our encounter keeping me close. Each moment replayed in my mind, the feel of her mortal body beneath mine, the way she gasped and responded—had it been too much for her? She appeared okay, but that didn't stop the gnawing fear that I might have harmed her. I hope it's because I managed to hold back, but the doubt remains, a persistent whisper in the back of my mind.

Walking through the dark corridors of Lucifer's castle, the cold that permeates Hell seeps into my bones. The familiar chill is a stark reminder of where I belong. The landscape outside is a desolate wasteland of ice and soul crystals, a stark contrast to the fiery infernos mortals often imagine. I step out into the biting cold, my breath visible in the frigid air. The soul crystals glimmer in the darkness, casting an eerie, cyan-blue glow across the frozen terrain, their light reflecting the agony of the souls trapped within them.

Instinctively, I decide to check in with my father, Alastor. As Hell's greatest demon and Lucifer's closest confidant, his presence is both a source of pride and intimidation for me. The path to his domain is well-trodden, yet each step feels heavier tonight. My mind is consumed with thoughts of Morgana—her safety, her well-being, and the inexplicable bond we now share.

My father's domain lies just beyond the castle, a formidable fortress carved into the icy ground. The structure is adorned with soul crystals that pulsate with the suffering they contain, their light casting long shadows that dance across the walls. The entrance is guarded by demonic sentinels, their eyes glowing with the same blue light as the crystals. They nod in recognition as I pass, granting me entry without question.

Inside, the temperature drops even further. The grand hall is vast and imposing, with walls lined with weapons and artifacts from countless conquests. The air is thick with the scent of brimstone and the faint echoes of tormented souls. My father's presence is palpable, a force that commands attention and respect.

I hear the familiar sounds of my father disciplining my younger brothers before I see them. Their names are Astaroth and Belial, twin demons who, despite being only a few years younger than me, have always been a thorn in my side. They are relentless in their attempts to undermine me, sometimes even attempting to kill me, but I've always managed to survive their schemes.

I enter the grand hall to find my father standing tall and imposing, his presence filling the room. Alastor is a formidable figure, towering over even the largest demons. His skin is as dark as the deepest abyss, his eyes a piercing red that seem to see through everything. Horns curve elegantly from his forehead, and his armor, adorned with sigils of power, glints in the light of the soul crystals.

Astaroth and Belial kneel before him, their heads bowed in submission. They are mirror images of each other, with sharp features and eyes that burn with a dangerous cunning. Their horns are shorter than my father's, but they are no less dangerous.

"You dare defy me again?" Alastor's voice rumbles through the hall, each word laced with authority and menace.

"Father, we were only—" Astaroth begins, but a sharp glare from Alastor silences him.

"You were only trying to usurp your brother, again," Alastor finishes for him. "How many times must I remind you of your place?" Belial's eyes flicker with resentment, but he remains silent, knowing better than to argue. I step forward, and my presence is immediately noticed.

"Ah, Alistair," Alastor says, his tone shifting slightly. "Come, join us."

I nod and walk towards them, feeling the icy gaze of my brothers upon me. "Father, I came to see how you were faring."

Father's stern expression softens just a fraction. "I am well, my son. I was just reminding your brothers of their place."

Astaroth and Belial glare at me with undisguised hatred, but I ignore them. "They never seem to learn," I comment, my voice steady.

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound. "Indeed. But enough of them. Tell me, how is your time as Morgana's servant?"

I hesitate, the memories of tonight still fresh in my mind. "It's... challenging, but rewarding. She is a demanding master."

Father studies me closely, his eyes narrowing. "Is something different about you, Alistair? You seem... tense."

I force a smile. "No, Father. Everything is as it should be."

He doesn't look convinced but doesn't press the issue further. "Very well. Just remember, you must remain vigilant. Morgana's safety and well-being are your primary concerns."

"Yes, Father," I reply, my gaze shifting to my brothers. "And as for you two, try to stay out of trouble."

Astaroth sneers. "What's the matter, Alistair? Afraid we'll take your precious position?"

Belial smirks. "Or maybe he's just scared we'll finally best him."

I step closer, my eyes locking onto theirs. "You couldn't best me on your best day," I say coldly. "So save your energy for something more productive."

Astaroth's eyes flash with anger, but he knows better than to retaliate. Belial just grumbles under his breath, his defiance clear but subdued.

"I don't have time for your games," I continue. "I have responsibilities that you clearly can't comprehend."

My father watches the exchange with amusement. "You've always had a way with words, Alistair. Perhaps your brothers could learn a thing or two from you."

"I doubt they're capable of learning anything that doesn't involve deceit," I retort, turning to leave. "I can't be away from my master for too long."

As I head toward the exit, father's voice follows me. "Morgana must be quite demanding to keep you so tethered."

I bite back a response, but the thought crosses my mind: I've been just as demanding of her recently.

Leaving the fortress, I step back into the cold wasteland of Hell, my mind filled with the complexities of my situation. Morgana's confession, my father's expectations, and the ever-present itch that gnaws at me—all of it swirls together, a storm of emotions and responsibilities.

As I make my way back to Lucifer's castle, I know that the path ahead will not be easy. But I am determined to face whatever comes, for Morgana's sake and for my own.