Chapter Seventeen
The seven kings of Hell are fascinating creatures, each bound to their ring, never permitted to cross its threshold. They torment the souls cast into their domain, inflicting eternal suffering without pause or mercy.
Yet the truth is this; Hell is a prison for them as well. A sentence of their own. Each ring, a flawless cage, tailored not only to contain but to punish.
They can never leave.
I cannot begin to fathom what transgressions they must have committed to provoke their god’s wrath so utterly.
Tabitha Wysteria
Mal couldn’t help but glance around the vast chamber she now stood within.
The ceiling soared so high it vanished into shadow, leaving her uncertain whether it existed at all.
The walls were ink-black, as was the colossal table that dominated the heart of the room, so vast in length its onyx surface could easily seat a hundred souls, if not more.
It groaned under the weight of an opulent feast: platters overflowing with dishes so exquisite they seemed to glimmer in the candlelight, the scents rich and decadent, curling into the air like a lover’s whisper.
A sharp ache twisted in Mal’s belly, her eyes locking longingly on a plate of glistening red apples.
‘Don’t,’ came Thanatos’ low warning, his fingers wrapping firmly around her arm and drawing her back into the shield of his chest.
‘But I’m—’
‘I know,’ he said, his voice dark with knowing. His stare had already drifted to the far end of the hall, wary. ‘You’re hungry. You all are, Melinoe. That is the peril of this ring.’
Mal didn’t fully understand, but instinct stirred within her. Without hesitation, she reached for Makaria and yanked her back as well.
‘My stomach aches,’ Makaria whispered, her voice small with discomfort.
‘This realm,’ Thanatos said grimly, ‘belongs to Beelzebub, the Lord of Gluttony. Within his ring, any soul that treads these floors will be consumed by an insatiable hunger, lured by his cursed banquet. To eat even a morsel is to bind yourself to him for eternity.’
Mal’s brows furrowed. ‘But we’re gods,’ she argued, though her stomach churned in protest, rebelling against her reason. ‘Why should it affect us?’
A slow, shadowed smile touched Thanatos’ lips. ‘Oh, Melinoe. Being a god does not spare you from temptation. Quite the opposite. Gods are the greatest sinners ever conceived. And there is no prize more coveted in Hell than a god made captive.’
Mal’s eyes swept over the long, blackened table and the figures slumped in every seat, each one a soul devouring the cursed feast before them with glazed eyes and trembling hands.
All but three seats were taken, the final trio positioned at the head of the table, conspicuously empty.
As though the king of gluttony had known they were coming.
She did her best not to grimace as her attention landed upon Beelzebub himself, grotesquely enthroned at the centre.
His bloated form overflowed from his seat, rolls of flesh heaving with each breath.
His face was almost lost beneath layers of fat, eyes small and beady, glinting with anticipation as they drew near.
Grease slicked his lips and fingers, the latter fat and adorned with rings so tight it seemed impossible they had ever been removed.
His black robe hung loosely over his swollen frame, its buttons long since surrendered.
With a wheezing laugh, he rubbed his glistening bald head. ‘Come, come. Sit.’
Thanatos gave a discreet nod and leaned in, his voice a low murmur against their ears. ‘Do as he says but do not eat. If we endure the meal without touching a single bite, he’ll grant us safe passage.’
Beelzebub’s thick finger extended towards Mal, beckoning her to the seat at his right. His grin widened with sickening delight as she approached. She ignored the scraps of food caught in his yellowed teeth and seated herself, catching sight of Thanatos and Makaria settling opposite her.
‘I’ve heard whispers about you,’ Beelzebub said through a mouthful, tearing a roasted chicken leg apart with his teeth. ‘Hades has been meddling again. Tell your dear father to visit me, will you? It’s been an age.’
Mal said nothing. Instead, she pressed her hands against her abdomen, as if to still the hunger gnawing from within, a silent war against the pull of temptation. The scent of roasted meat and honeyed bread curled around her, cruel and cloying.
‘If you eat something, you’ll feel better,’ the king drawled, placing a glistening chicken leg upon Mal’s plate.
‘Rotten, just as wyverians prefer it. Though each soul sees something different laid upon my table.’ He swept a bloated hand towards the ravenous diners, their only sounds the wet gulps of chewing and the low groans of insatiable hunger.
‘Why are they here?’ Mal asked, her voice steady despite the tightening in her gut.
‘When they died, gluttony was the sin that defined them,’ Beelzebub replied with a crooked smile.
‘Here, it takes the shape of food. But up above, gluttony can take many forms. Excess, and the bottomless craving for more. They never knew when to stop. Now they are condemned to eat for eternity, chewing endlessly, never sated, their bellies ever aching.’
‘That’s... horrifying.’
‘Perhaps,’ the king mused, still smiling. ‘But this is Hell, God-killer. It was never meant to be pleasant.’
Mal’s eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know what I am?’
Across the table, Thanatos stiffened, his stare sharp and cold as obsidian. A silent warning. But she did not flinch.
The king let out a laugh, loud and grotesque, spittle flying from his lips to land on the feast like rain. ‘There’s little we do not know in these depths. Especially when it concerns Hades.’
Mal said nothing, but her breath caught as a pang twisted her stomach. The hunger was becoming harder to ignore.
‘You look ravenous,’ Beelzebub said, voice oily with amusement. ‘One bite. That’s all it takes.’
Mal glanced down. A slice of apple pie now rested on her plate, golden and glistening, its scent curling into her nose like a lover’s breath. She leaned in, inhaling deeply, then recoiled, forcing herself upright, her spine rigid against the chair.
‘I’m looking for someone,’ she said, steadying her breath.
‘A soul?’
‘Yes. Her name is Allegra. I need to know whether she’s trapped here, in your ring.’
Something dark and twisted danced in the king’s beady, ink-black eyes.
‘I would be most delighted to indulge your request,’ he said silkily.
‘But…’ He flicked his swollen fingers and, with a whisper of smoke, a black apple appeared upon the plate before her.
‘I shall tell you what you seek if you take a bite from this.’
‘I can’t,’ Mal replied, her voice low. ‘You’ll bind me to this place.’
Beelzebub’s grotesque laughter rattled from his chest, ending in a wet cough.
‘No, no, little god-killer. If you can manage just one bite, no more, and resist the rest, then I shall give you the name you crave and permit your departure. It is not the apple that damns you, Melinoe. It is your weakness.’
Across the obscene expanse of the table, Mal’s gaze met Thanatos’. His hands held tightly to Makaria’s, both enclosed in his grasp as though warding off the very temptation itself. His fingers tensed visibly, his dark eyes locked on hers, blazing a silent warning.
‘And if I refuse?’
The king gave a wheezing snort. ‘Then you may walk free. But I will speak no further of the soul you seek.’
Mal extended a hand. Her fingertip hovered a whisper away from the apple’s skin, so black it gleamed like obsidian under candlelight.
‘Don’t,’ Thanatos murmured, his voice wrapping around her like a phantom caress. Protective. Familiar. But Mal had never needed protecting.
She had been forged in fear, shaped by shadows. A creature of night, of fury and fire. No gluttonous king of Hell would unmake her now.
Her fingers closed around the apple. The moment her skin met its surface, the hunger struck. Like claws from within, it twisted through her gut, and she folded forward, clutching her stomach. Pain bloomed, white-hot and unbearable.
With a snarl, she sank her fangs into the fruit, just to silence the agony.
Juice, rich and spiced, exploded on her tongue and the hunger intensified, a maelstrom that devoured reason. Her limbs trembled. Her vision blurred. The craving was all-consuming.
Just one bite. Just a taste.
‘Melinoe,’ came a voice, distant yet unwavering, like a memory made flesh. ‘You can do this. Don’t give in. Don’t eat.’
Mal screamed as her fingers tightened around the apple, her hand trembling as though possessed.
The hunger gnawed at her insides like a beast denied, and the pain was so sharp, so unrelenting, that tears spilt freely down her cheeks.
Her scream fractured the air, a raw, wounded sound.
Her teeth brushed the fruit’s skin. She bit down, barely, breaking the flesh.
She swallowed this time.
‘One more bite,’ the king crooned, his voice thick with indulgence, his eyes gleaming with glee. ‘Just one more, and you shall be free... forever.’
She knew Thanatos and Makaria were frozen in place by the spell of this wretched ring, held hostage in their chairs by forces neither muscle nor magic could undo.
And still, she longed for the comfort of arms around her.
For someone to cradle her, to brush the sweat-drenched hair from her brow the way Haven used to.
Gentle, tender, humming lullabies with that ever-serene expression.
Haven, always graceful. Always poised. A sister like a crown: heavy, radiant, and good.
And taken. Torn from them by hands soaked in cruelty.
Mal would not rest. She would not falter. She would learn, and she would rise. She would unmake the wall, rally the forsaken, and march with fury against Hagan.
For Haven. For all of them.
Her jaw tensed. She bit into the apple again, then spat it with force, the chewed flesh flying across the table to land with a wet splatter upon the king’s bloated face. He blinked, stunned, as she lifted the ruined fruit in her hand for him to see.
Then, with slow and deliberate menace, Mal crushed it, juice and pulp dripping between her fingers like blood before flinging it onto his plate.
‘Now,’ she said, her voice low and seething like a storm just beneath the surface. ‘Tell me where Allegra is.’