Hired to Hell

The Infernal and Abyssal Heights

Silth liked the quiet buzz of the red streetlamps at night. Their soft warm glow, often guiding him from one place to the next. The nearby nightclub had a soft, almost inviting glow, with warm shades of blue that contrasted against the city's deep shape of red. Walking inside, the smell of lit cigarettes and cheap whiskey was most prominent. A gentle steady beat filled the air as the next song came on the radio. It blended nicely with the small talk of happy patrons and the occasion clink of glasses. To Silth however, it was oddly ritzy for this side of the Pride Ring.

The poor imp can feel the weight of piercing eyes and the murmur of hushed whispers as he explores the nightclub. Some gazed with disdain, others with curiosity and disgust— Typical sinners, always eager and quick to pass harsh judgment. Silth eventually finds a dark-red oak table and sits, surprised by the fact it was nicer than most furniture he had seen normally. By then, most of the stares had faded, and the imp could finally relax, leaning back in the soft cushioned chair and observing those around him.

The radio crackles as the next song plays through its well-used speakers as sinners sway rhythmically back and forth to the beat of the song. Harsh, husky laughter from the crowd bounces off the nightclub walls, mixing with the already smokey and shady environment. This makes Silth slightly uncomfortable before someone sits at the seat next to him and taps him on the shoulder. It was a male sinner, his greasy black hair clumped in messy strands and his dark red skin glowing with a feverish hue. His pale, almost glazed-over eyes flickered and darted unpredictably. Silth could indicate based on his slouched, unsteady posture, and the sly, predatory grin he was making that he was completely hammered.

"Hey, I haven't seen a pretty face like yours here before," he says, his voice tainted with forced charm, though his few attempts at playing the nice guy fall quite flat. Silth instinctively shifts away, putting some needed distance between them.

"Oh boy," Silth mutters under his breath, a chill running up his spine as he meets the sinner's gaze. "Look, I'm not interested in whatever pitiful offer you're trying at. Whether that be love or not." The imps' words are laced with a firm politeness, yet very clear and demanding for the current conversation to end. The sinner's expression flickers with irritation and arrogance, his eyes narrowing and glowing with frustration. He quickly shifts back to his facade.

"Come on sweetheart, loosen up," he slurs, his voice dripping with false affection and dishonesty as he places a hand on Silth's shoulder. Silth's eyes flash with a quick irritation as he gives the man a cold, dead stare and swiftly swats away his hand.

"I think you sir, have had way too many drinks from that bar over there," Silth remarks, "So back the hell off before you make an ass of yourself." The sinner responds with an exaggerated roll of the eyes, his sly smile never fading.

"Aw come on," he tempts, leaning in closer, his breath stained with alcohol. "Can't you give a man a chance?" He reaches down, his hand creeping dangerously close to Silth's inner thigh, the whole action reeking of arrogance and entitlement. Silth quickly slaps his hand and shoots up.

"Wouh there DUI," Silth loudly snaps, his voice hinting with strong contempt. "Fuck off." The sinner's hand quickly grabs Silith's wrist with a firm, perverted grasp.

"Aw come on," he sneers and laughs. "Why you gotta be such a prude? All I want is—" Before he can finish his snarky sentence, Silth's hand swings fast, slapping him hard, with a force that nearly sends him stumbling backward. The sound it makes causes heads to turn and eyes to start piercing again. The sinner struggles to keep his balance after his ego was shattered by the strong attack. Silth looks around and quickly exits the building, leaving the sinner leaning against the table, groaning and holding his sore cheek.

* * *

Silth walks briskly through the busy streets of the Pride Ring, his eyes always observing the ever-moving crowds. Hellborne creatures of different shapes and sizes drift past, casually going about their own business. Silth's gaze lifts, and his eyes land on a billboard, its once-empty service now plastered with a glaring advertisement. The bold, ironic logo of an assassination company called "I.M.P." shines down at the city with the tagline: " The Immediate Murder Professionals! For your hitman and assassination needs!" Silth scoffs and he shakes his head.

"When would I ever need—or want—something like this?" His disdain for the absurdity of it all is undisguised, as the energy of the Pride Ring presses in around him.

Silth's lips curl into a sly smirk as he resumes his lonely walk through the city. But as his hooves click and echo against the concrete, a sudden, unsettling sensation tingles the back of his neck. His senses are on edge as he feels as if a pair of eyes are watching him from a nearby shadowed alleyway. A cold shiver trickles down his spine and his pace quickens.

With a mix of urgency and relief, he reaches the stairwell to his apartment building. His fingers fumble and dig through his pockets, searching for his keys, but before he can find it, an unmistakable and familiar sound of footsteps sound off behind him. Before Silth can even react, a rough shove sends him crashing against a cold wall, the sharp edge of a knife pressing cruelly against his throat. The familiar scent of alcohol and rage makes him realize the identity of his attacker—the same sinner from the club, his eyes still burning with a drunken fury.

"You little prick," he growls. "You think you can just walk away from me that easily?" His grip around the knife tightens at the hilt, the metal starting to bite at Silth's skin. There was still a faint red hand mark on his face which served as a bitter reminder of their earlier encounter. His voice, raw with rage, drips with bitterness. "I don't take kindly to stuck-up little shits like you..." The threat hangs heavy in the air for a bit. With a swift motion, SIlth's tail lashes out, tripping the sinner. The man stumbles, crashing violently to the ground, his head slamming against the concrete with a thud. The knife slips from his hand, clattering to the floor. Silth takes this chance to kick the knife away and plant their foot directly into the sinner's groin. A loud sound of pain escapes the sinner's lips, but Silth doesn't pause. He wasted no time, darting toward the apartment stairwell door. He fumbled with the lock as he pushed it open and sliped inside, the heavy metal door slamming shut behind him. Outside, the sinner writhes on the ground, clutching his abdomen, his body shaking with pain and pent-up frustration. Silth watches him struggle to slowly get up and limp away.

Silth would make their way up to his apartment. He kicked off his shorts and took off his sweatshirt, leaving only his light purple t-shirt. He looked out his window at the cityscape, his attention soon shifting. His eyes move to the newly renovated I.M.P building next door, towering with fresh signage and sleek, clean windows.

"When the hell did that get there?" Silth wonders aloud. He closed the blinds with a swift motion and collapsed onto his bed, the weight of today's events slowly sinking in.