"You're crazy. Do you think you can just waltz into the Underworld and expect a fine reception? They won't help you just because you ask. Don't trust Demons didn't you learn that. And why the hell would you return, Lucifer purposefully sent you away because he knew the dangers. Did you not think the repercussions of your escape would be light?" Lance roared, pacing around before her.
"I don't have a choice. You know—you don't need to be here, so stop complaining," Isla retorted, returning her gaze to the double doors.
The black tar surface rippled as screaming faces emerged. They contorted and twisted from wailing to growling, warning trespassers of the door's barrier field. How befitting for the Demon King's throne room.
Still, the door represented her trial. She had one chance to persuade their King. For death stood sharp, widening their stance and ready to swing.
Courage had melted, destroyed by the Underworld's hottest hell. She heaved as her airways constricted. A dark and heavy air compressed around her, nipping and clawing her skin. Sweat dripped from her nape and a chill swamped her insides. Isla swiped at the droplets dotting her forehead, but her eyes never flinched from forward.
"Here," Asterick mentioned, a gray cloth hazing her peripheral.
Isla glanced at the linen he extended. "No need."
Asterick retracted the encouraging item. "You're responding to his killing intent. A normal reaction for one unaccustomed. But don't worry, he does this to all. Especially foreigners seeking an audience."
"I'm sure the said foreigner being a God doesn't help either." Lance snorted, cleaving a hand through his hair.
"As always, your words are incredibly helpful," she muttered.
"Look." Lance stopped his march, pointing a finger in her direction. "I tried stopping you from coming here. I told you. Nothing good will come from this. You're the stubborn fool hell-bent on dying."
Isla glared at him and the irony his words slew. "This is my choice. And for my own sake."
"Calm down, children." Asterick's voice cooed. He faced Isla before continuing, "but, I'm afraid he's right. Our King does not trifle with the likes of Gods. Success will be unlikely, so expect the worst outcome."
Isla doused her snap and clenched her hands. "Death—so be it."
"Do not give your life away so easily," interrupted Lucifer, striding from the nearby stairwell. His cane tapping across the black tiled floor.
She approached him, a spontaneous smile tugging her lips up. "I thought you would come."
His deep velvet eyes softened. "Of course, my dear. I'll help where I can. It's the least I can do." Lucifer outstretched his arms, opening them wide.
She entered his arm-length and his close embrace. One whiff, and his earthly smell pacified the scythe-wielding lunatic, granting a reprieve.
Stepping back, she gazed upon him whole. His loving fatherly expression faded and he sighed.
"Be careful," he voiced.
She hesitated, parsing her response together. "I'll try," she murmured.
His hard-worn demeanor shifted into a frown. "Know this, your father wouldn't be the first our King has killed. I fear he may not be inclined to assist."
The revelation swathed her feet in flames, the smoke billowing towards heaven. Burned alive—a small price to accept for her decision's resolve.
She pinched her thigh, refocusing. "How many others have there been?"
He pocketed his hand, the other grasping the red studded cane topper. "Enough." He quieted, his gaze distant. "Far too many to recall."
"But, why? Why does he trouble himself over the King of Gods, or even Gods in general? What worth do we hold?"
"They subside his anger. Anger consumes our race whether we want it to or not. Perhaps inherent, brought about from existing, but none know the truth. As a dominating race, the Gods act as the perfect outlet. You see, without a focus point, our race would turn inwardly and destroy their own," Lucifer explained.
"Even that is not enough. The Lesser Demons prey on themselves for survival. Eat or be eaten," Asterick added.
Lucifer's brow creased and his gaze softened. He showcased the same hurt, the same pain and turmoil from their past. He tried countless times to connect Sumeria and herself. But instead, their family bond became torturous. Lucifer had picked his side. One not with her.
With familial bonds now dissolved, she could relish his support. Well, a small bit of it.
Isla nodded and cleared her throat. "I see, but I would have to think there's more to it. Other races exist, many out in the open."
"That's true, quite the mystery wouldn't you say?" Lucifer mused.
"Just another one to add to the list," she sighed and her gaze returned to the ominous door. "When will he meet me?"
"Well." Asterick chuckled before continuing, "I requested an audience when we arrived. Now it depends on his desire to meet us."
She clenched her jaw then relaxed. "So it depends on his mood?"
"Stupid," Lance mumbled. He resumed his pacing with arms locked behind his head.
Asterick grinned. "It could be worse."
A second more expired and the double doors creaked open. Smoke streams gushed forth, lessening as the chasm widened. The air morphed from acidic to musty, like freedom had been stolen.
"Earlier than I planned," Asterick declared and clapped before moving ahead. "Off we go. Let us face death together."
Isla followed his lead, entering the chamber. Balefires lined the red-carpeted path, their essence cornering the creeping shadows. But even the imposing flames weakened with height, the obsidian pillars fading to darkness. Strutted between each broad column hung vivid reds, their breath diverging, yet similar. Though the corners were frayed and the emblem faded, her sense deciphered the Demon King's court— the illustrious phantom sprouting a pair of horns.
Beyond the chamber's antiquities, posed High Nobles stood. Their garb of elegant wear, fitted their forms and defined their lines. The stoic expressions they wore warped to venomous scowls as they spotted her, a God.
She ignored their troublesome stares, instead, her gaze shifted to the room's importance. Isla spied the seated figure atop an elevated platform, his legs spread wide and arms upon the throne's limbs. He filled the metal crafted throne, his broad shoulders and arms twice her own. Crimson hair draped his shoulders and draconian eyes like a blazing inferno centered his tanned face. With ebony armor gleaming underneath the firelight and a black fur topped cloak, he magnetized his audience.
Unlike her father, the Demon King produced a contrasting effect. Instead, he annihilated all thoughts with force, destructive and dominating.
Isla straightened her posture and planted her feet. She refrained from swiping her forehead, the heat plucking moisture from her skin. Any sign of weakness could damage her success. With abysmal defeat hanging forefront, how could she abandon a potential hope?
"My King," Lucifer and Asterick greeted with composed bows beside her.
She remained stiff, her back rigid, but her eyes watched and waited for an introduction.
The King's slanted eyebrows deepened as he narrowed his gaze. "Lucifer, was it you who brought the God?" His stentorian and harsh voice resounded.
Lucifer advanced a step and addressed his question without pause. "Yes, Sire."
Isla advanced a stride, her feet acting without control, but Asterick grabbed her arm, halting her unacknowledged pursuit. His contact sprung her mind to action. Why should Lucifer take the blame? He bore no responsibility, all the blame laid with her.
"You will face a suitable punishment. Leave," he growled.
"My King, please bestow your punishment upon me as well. For I agreed to bring her here," Asterick suggested, "But Sire, at least hear her out. I'm sure you'll enjoy the tale."
"I have no desire. If you wish to stay, then watch it die."
He rose from his throne, his full height and frame before her.
Isla pursed her lips and clenched her hands. Was this it?