Chapter 12
Korithax
She didn’t take the fucking tonic.
Of course, she didn’t. Why would she do the rational thing when self-punishment is so much more appealing? Mortal logic. It’s insufferable. I clench my jaw and teleport to Gehenna before I can throw something through the palace wall.
Gehenna sits at the southernmost point of Hell, and reeks of agony.
Not metaphorically—literally. The scent of burning flesh, molten stone, and soul ash clings to the air like rot.
The screams are endless, echoing from the pit so deep it may as well kiss the centre of the universe.
Even the rocks seem to bleed. Rivers of lava coil like serpents through canyons lined with spikes that are carved from bone.
No blue sky. No mercy. Only blood-coloured clouds and red lighting splitting the air without warning.
The walls rise in uneven ridges, jagged mountains that have been gnawed raw by time.
There’s no horizon here—only down. Down into the pits where the most wretched are torn apart, re-stitched, and torn again.
Redemption does not exist in Gehenna; this is where the universe forgets you.
I hate it. It’s too hot, too loud, too fucking much. I’m glad this part of my realm belongs to someone else. I find said someone else by the obsidian pillars near the deepest gorge.
He’s lounging like a man on vacation, wearing a black tailored suit that is utterly pristine, not a wrinkle in sight.
He looks like any well-dressed mortal. Handsome and smiling, but it’s all a costume.
His true form peeks through in subtle wrongness.
His eyes, glowing red, molten like the rivers below.
Horns, a deep blood red, curling from his temples like a crown of sin.
His wings are sharp and the colour of arterial gore, stretching lazily at his back like velvet made from nightmares.
Lucifer.
He’s beautiful, I’ll give him that. A perfect nightmare crafted from the very core of Hell.
He grins when he sees me. “Ah, Kori, finally. I was starting to think you’d ghosted me.”
I ignore the nickname; it’s not worth the energy.
Lucifer jerks his chin towards the gorge.
“You sent me quite the gift, by the way. That boy’s screams?
Chef’s kiss. Top ten material. Might even bump Sir Thomas the Thief off the list—remember him?
Anyway, his legs are fucked for the next century, and we haven’t even started act two of torture.
” He chuckles. It’s a dark, velvet sound that slithers under the skin.
I say nothing, just stare, tensing my jaw.
He watches me carefully, then cocks a brow. “This one’s personal, huh?”
I don’t answer; instead, I walk to the edge.
The pit yawns below, vast and alive. I find Ethan immediately, well, what’s left of him, twisting and screaming.
Each breath he takes is met with fire crawling into his lungs.
One of the tormentors—a faceless demon with hands of long, brutal talons—drags him across jagged stone, while another pours molten lava into the cracks of his shattered legs.
His voice is a threadbare rasp, basically gone.
His suffering, however, will never be gone.
It will never end. For as long as Hell exists, so will his torment.
Lucifer steps up beside me, tsking. “Still not gonna tell me why you personally delivered prey? That’s a new one.”
Silence.
He leans in slightly, grinning. “Let me guess. Has something to do with that sweet little blonde bitch he stuck his dick into?”
I don’t think before I move. My hand wraps around his throat, and I slam him into the stone wall behind him. The force shatters the rock, cracks splintering through the cliff face. Lucifer’s feet leave the ground, dust falling all around us, yet his grin doesn’t falter.
“Don’t ever call her that again,” I snarl, voice low, guttural. “Do you understand me, Lucifer?”
He raises both hands lazily. “Relax, Kori. Touchy subject. Message received. No slander against your golden girl.”
I drop him. He lands lightly, brushing imaginary dust from his lapels like I hadn’t just tried to snap his neck.
“You know,” he muses, “I really should start keeping a tally for how often I do piss you off. What are we at now? Eighty-seven?”
“Ninety-three,” I mutter.
He beams. “We’ve passed ninety already? Gods, time flies when you’re being violently throttled.”
I narrow my eyes. “How many times have you been summoned lately?”
He lets out a sharp laugh. “Lately? Shit, I’ve barely had time to shave. The priests are on speed dial.”
I scowl. “Did you leak more of my summoning details?”
“I might’ve let a few scrolls fall into the wrong hands.” He shrugs. “They were fun hands.” He winks.
“You’re a fucking menace.”
“And you’re a dreamboat when you’re furious.” He winks. “Honestly, Kori, you should get pissed more often. It really brings out the murder in your eyes.” I turn my back on him, already heading for the ridge. “You should visit me more often; you light up the place.” He sing-songs.
“I don’t care how long you’ve ruled Gehenna, I am still to be your king. If you ever speak of her like that again, I will throw you into these pits and let the tormentors use your bones as cutlery.”
His laughter follows me, and I roll my eyes. I turn to look back over my shoulder before leaving, “Make him suffer more than required.”
“Overachieving is kind of my thing,” he drawls.
“I mean it. Understood?”
Lucifer gives me a grand, mocking bow. “Understood, Your Highness.”
I bare my teeth at the title, but he only smirks and flashes me a wink. The bastard’s enjoying himself far too much.
I don’t teleport out, instead choosing to walk.
The winding trail out of Gehenna stretches for miles, carved into the walls of fire and stone.
I take each step slowly, letting the heat claw at me, letting the distancing screams settle into my bones.
I climb, higher and higher, until the scorched path gives way to the cracked earth that leads back toward Zeriavoss.
Red and black roses bloom across the ashened earth, their petals edged in shadow.
I pass through the field, ignoring how they lean toward me like they can smell my blood.
The sky above never ceases to amaze me. A brilliant blue—but streaked with bolts of red lightning, constantly alive with tension.
Yet it’s nothing compared to the storm raging in my mind.
She didn’t take the fucking tonic. She said he was her boyfriend. Even after everything.
I rake a hand through my hair and growl, pushing back the strands that have fallen loose from the wrap holding it back from my face.
Why do I care, and why did it make me angry?
She’s a mortal. Yes, her soul is mine, but that is it, nothing more.
I owe her nothing, and she means nothing.
So why did it feel like something broke when I saw her curled up in that bed?
Why did I want to tear the world in half the moment I realised what he did to her?
And why does it feel like my soul is fucking drawn to hers by a tightline?
The path to Zeriavoss winds out of shadow and fire, rising steadily towards the highest parts of my domain.
It’s not a short walk, but I welcome the time.
My boots crunch over obsidian and root, passing under arches carved from blackened bone and crystal that separate my kingdom and its surrounding area from the uncharted areas and Gehenna.
The smoke clears, and the valley spreads wide ahead of me, and there it is—Cinderspine.
It lies nestled between the clawed peaks of the Ashen Mountains, where snowcaps kiss the sky year-round, the main village of Hell hums with life, and the air always carries the scent of warm bread and blooming ash-blossoms. This is where the majority of the kingdom works and lives.
There are smaller villages throughout the other domains, with outposts in the wastes, communes along the cliffs, but this is the beating heart.
The rooftops shimmer with obsidian tiles, curved in elegant sweeps, making the village constantly warm.
The homes—crafted from dark stone and wood—are dotted about the land inside the borders, each with their own small gardens with iron fences, blooming a range of flowers and shrubs.
Ash-blossom trees sit on the outskirts, their red and white petals drifting lazily in the air like confetti in slow motion.
Children’s laughter echoes in the distance—gleeful and alive.
Demonspawn. Little ones, chasing each other with ribbons of flames, horns barely budding, some with wings twitching with glee.
There’s a schoolhouse to the north, ringed with glowing runes and playgrounds made of shimmering crystals and obsidian.
Farms stretch towards the cliffs, where massive flamebeasts graze in peace, keeping a watchful eye on the crops grown there, protecting them from thieves and other vile creatures.
At the edge of the village, a forge. Its clangs can be heard for miles.
It’s run by a one-eyed brute named Garan, who once cracked my nose for calling his daughter pretty.
She’s now one of my lieutenants, one of the most lethal I know.
And toward the centre of it all: the bakery.
Stone walls, ivy-covered, with a red awning.
The scent hits me, and my mouth instantly waters.
Pyreloaf, emberfruit jams, and smoke-warmed spice.
The castle looms behind it all, perched atop a cliff, its towers scraping the skies.
Waterfalls pour from beneath the entrance, crashing down into a crystal-clear river that cuts through the valley.
The sound of it is like distant thunder.
It’s too beautiful for hell, which is exactly why I slowly made it this way, back to something whispers once claimed it was.