30. Dante #2
"The souls who arrive there," Satan continues, "they impress their own expectations onto the space.
Bringing their beliefs of what hell should be, transforming it into some ghastly, theatrical thing.
Those I've recruited who lack the intellect and vision we require within our circle pass their time foolishly in that realm.
But we have turned our minds toward greater ambitions.
" He leans forward, eyes bright with something like fervor.
"And that's what we need, you see. Persons capable of thinking strategically.
Who understand logistics, resource management, long-term planning.
Who can see beyond immediate gratification to sustainable growth.
" He spreads his hands. "And that's why I wished to speak with you. "
I pause, lift my wine glass, let the bold, velvety flavor settle on my tongue before responding. "I appreciate your interest."
He smiles and gestures with his own glass, a toast to nothing in particular. "You've seen how certain realms here can be shaped by the mind. How one can craft entire worlds to one's own specifications."
"I have."
Virgil doesn't interject at all, and I don't like that he's seated to my left, on the far side of Satan. I can't see him easily, can't read his reactions without making my attention obvious. And Virgil is not a man who holds his tongue without reason.
"We're forming new territories. Orderly. Organized. Places built on principles of moderation and reason. Not the chaos of the lower realm, but something... civilized."
I don't know how, but I feel Virgil tense. I can't actually feel him, of course, there's nothing to feel. Perhaps it's simply that our minds have grown so attuned to each other. But I recognize there's some detail here being carefully omitted.
Servants glide forward to remove the soup course, replacing it with plates of roasted lamb—the meat pink and glistening, crusted with herbs—alongside vegetables caramelized to blistered perfection, their edges darkened and sweet.
Others begin eating. Virgil remains utterly still, his plate untouched, his presence like a held breath.
That’s when I realize what I'm missing.
"Does everyone here require feeding to function fully?”
Satan stops mid-slice, his knife hovering above the lamb. He looks up at me. The table goes silent.
"Keen of you to consider." He chuckles, and a few others join in, the tension dissolving as the meal resumes around us.
"There are costs to any enterprise, as you well know.
How many people complain about the price of electricity while enjoying the buildings it illuminates?
The factories it powers?" He shrugs elegantly.
"We're selective about who sustains us. Our group is principled; we do not overindulge.
We take only what's necessary, and only from those who would suffer regardless. "
“I understand the logic.”
He smiles, pleased. "Of course, there are costs to any venture. But I firmly believe what we're creating is worth the impact. A small price for a greater good."
I nod slowly. "It sounds intriguing."
And perhaps it might have been, once. To the man I was before.
But that was before I'd sat at another dinner table with a smooth-talking, successful man who bemoaned his past mistakes and spoke of all the dreams he had for me, all the things he wanted to give me.
Before I'd heard almost these exact words, offered in almost this exact tone, by someone who turned out to want nothing but my compliance and my soul.
I've been in this position before. I recognize the shape of the trap even as it's being laid.
The difference is that last time I walked into it willingly.
This time, I know better.
Satan pauses, his carefully sliced bite hovering before his lips, and fixes me with his gaze as though seeing straight through to my musings. His eyes find Virgil briefly, then return to me. That easy smile reappears, but there's something sharper beneath it now.
"Another consideration, if you chose to join us, you could, of course, retain Virgil as your attaché.
Ascension is, after all, obliteration. Complete and irreversible, even for the keenest of minds.
" He sets down his fork with deliberate care.
"It would be a shame to lose such a connection, I believe.” He chuckles softly.
"I've always enjoyed Virgil's company myself.
Few can shape words as he does, with such care and such economy. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I would."
And if Virgil joined me in ascension, that mind would be... lost? Forever?
I hadn't considered that. Hadn't weighed what was truly at stake, not just for Virgil, but for everyone who comes after. He helps people here. Guides them through their darkest passages. How many countless souls has he shepherded toward the light? How many would wander lost without him?
And for his thoughtful patience, his gentle persistence, his infuriating habit of answering questions with better questions—for all of that to simply disappear?
Suddenly, it feels criminal to steal him from this realm. Selfish. All so I can dissolve into the light without guilt weighing me down.
"What would that arrangement look like?" I ask. My voice is careful, measured, but not quite as detached as before.
Satan lifts his glass, takes a slow swallow, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Let us speak plainly, then. You would serve as one of my advisors.
I need those skilled in negotiation, in strategic thinking, in reading the currents of power and positioning accordingly.
" He gestures with his glass, almost casually.
"I would not require you to feed; that choice remains open to each individual.
Though I suspect you'd find it takes remarkably little to sustain oneself, and this life is far more pleasant if you occasionally partake.” He shrugs.
"But that is a decision I leave to personal conscience. "
He gestures around the table, and the men nearest us nod in practiced agreement. I turn to look, and that's when I notice that Virgil has abandoned his indifferent staring. He's watching the conversation now, brow furrowed, something urgent building behind his eyes.
Satan continues, "When I severed ties with my own kind, I failed to anticipate how tedious eternity would become.
I aim to create a new elite. Gods in their own right, each sovereign over their own realm.
Principled. Disciplined. Visionary." He pauses, letting the words settle. "And as for Virgil, he could be yours."
"Mine?" I force myself to ask slowly. To betray no eagerness.
"Of course. He's bound to me currently, but I could easily transfer that bond to your service. His stubbornness has rendered him useless to me for centuries now."