They turned around to see what made that broken impact.

  A small shape. Looked like a—

  "A boy!" Dismas squinted through the fingers of Abasi Orn. "He can't be more than ten years old. Why isn't he burned, like the rest above us?"

  At first, Orn said nothing. Instead he summoned his lithiar hammer.

  "The 'boy' may look ten," Orn said, giving Dismas the quick side-eye. "This one fell straight through the bodied layer. Been hard at work on the surface, then came back."

  "Came back? From what work?" Nothing about it made sense. But then again, Dismas constantly had to remind himself of their whereabouts.

  The 'boy' finally stood straight, picked up its crushed arm, and started walking. The arm fused with the other one, as it held on to it. A knee buckled and bent the wrong way. The leg simply detached. The creature turned sideways and walked with one leg, bent at a wrong angle, and an overextended arm. Made its tilting head bobble like the seed of a nightmare.

  "It's— it's, uuh... coming here, I— I think." Dismas wished Orn would protect his dangling legs, feeling extra exposed.

  Light was sparse.

  The creature hit its own head with the middle part of the long arm, to try to make it still. It seemed to work like a charm at first, head staring into his very soul for a few death's door seconds. Then, its head shook again, but violently. The neck on that thing grew longer and longer as the head went in all directions. The snapping sound it made made Dismas wish for his eye lids back, more than ever.

  It hit the ground. The head opened. Like an egg. Not cracked gently, but as if thrown against the wall. When the headless neck snapped back upp again, the insides revealed a dove. A fucking dove, drenched in demon blood. It climbed out of the gooey throat and attempted a twitter. Only a bubble came out, bursting at its apex size, landing a horde of spidery things on the ground—except they had an ungodly amount of legs.

  Dismas didn't even like the eight legged freaks.

  The bird itself balooned to a size that reached the ceiling, all within a few seconds.

  Orn raised the hammer horizontally.

  An angelic voice, sang from the bottom of a missing heart.

  Dismas blinked. No. He couldn't have. Then something must have willed his vision into a micro-blackout.

  As he came to, there was no longer a dove covered in blood. But a girl. She was the voice. Something that reminded him of the life that had to be left behind. It awoke memories from the mountain—most of all his old friend, Yalmar.

  When that girl sang, tears rivered down Dismas. She looked over to him. She smiled. The song continued despite her then stone expression.

  Blood rained from her mouth.

  The demon's open throat had shot her—that avatar of a girl. A mockery of real life. Of innocence. Now, unmistakeably surreal, shot with a hundred teeth in her back, the dead thing's mouth started to move along with the lyrics again.

  Dismas was stunned, stifling a primal scream.

  What the fuck was Orn doing with its damn divine hammer?!

  "Swing it!"

  "Know your place," Orn said, hammer in the exact same position.

  The little girl dropped from the throat of the demon, onto the smoky ground. She started to crawl. Her eyes never leaving Dismas'.

  She just sang louder, despite it all.

  "Can't you stop the little freak!?"

  "You're lucky to have been picked. Don't make me regret it."

  Those words scared him, because Orn seemed focused, in a different kind of way that time.

  The demon's neck stretched impossibly wide at first. When its body dropped—through the floor—that same opening latched to the surface, forming an organic hole.

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  Rumbling. Deep skittering.

  They exploded out of the newly formed hole. A horde of... dolls. Fucking dolls, of all things. They climbed over one another to reach the front line. Every one of the them flew out of the hole, as if thrown by a demented toddler demon.

  A great arm reached for the surface. Fingers in a trembling spread.

  "Uh, is— isn't it time we move now? Orn?"

  "Think, boy," Orn said, closing its eyes and taking a forward step. "In Hell, there is no running. You will only run into something worse."

  The lithiar hammer arced in a one handed swing, landing in the throat-mouth-hole—whatever the fuck it was intended to be. The dolls swarmed the mighty minotaur, but it was unflinching. Dismas saw no fear in its eyes, as if this was all routine.

  The other arm came up, grabbed the head of the hammer, and out of the hole climbed a creature with a caved in head.

  It wore a proud smile.

  Bowing low, a river of blood—broken dolls—and all around bad vibes, unhinged from the bowl of its head.

  Correcting itself upright, the creature licked its then crimson teeth, and bit into a separated doll head.

  "Yum... Yum... Yum."

  Dismas started to suspect he had a ways to go before looking that bad. Geez, it had to suck, becoming one of those, however that was achieved.

  "Now, there's an open minded fellow," Orn said, tensed muscles at the ready.

  Did the 'mino' just crack a joke?

  Nevermind that. Apparently, it was panic time, as Orn—unannounced—placed Dismas down on the hot ground. Finally, though Dismas had seen the opportunity to stretch his bird legs at far better times than this, he had to try and wiggle life into his burnt body. Though he had never in his life been so numb. If he had shat himself in Orn's hand, he wouldn't have felt anything.

  A hammer swing wooshed above Dismas' head. Barely missed the head of the demon.

  A counter charged inside the half skull, forming a soft orange hue.

  Orn kept low, bracing for impact.

  The orange turned dark red.

  Dismas fell on his arse, whole lower body prickling of numbness.

  The demon spewed a fireball.

  "Orn!" Dismas protected his eyes.

  The fire shattered against a barrier, just beyond the mighty 'mino'.

  Pure anger seemed to scorch from Orn's snout. It faced forward without the aid of its hammer. Its huge hands clapped together. Pulling away, the thick fingers whisped the bad air, brewing something of their own.

  Demigod eh? Dismas thought, helplessly. From where I sit, that is a god. The God. He felt an odd calm approach, as the demomic thing charged another attack.

  Orn's magical sphere vibrated between those fingers. Green. Almost... forest-like.

  "Watch out!" Dismas shouted, as another fireball hurled through the tight space between them all.

  Right then, Orn's fingers pulled loose from their creation, expanding it.

  There was no impact.

  Dismas lowered his skin flaked hands. He had no idea what just happened.

  The demon made a surprised noise.

  "Get the fucker, now!" Dismas shouted.

  Orn retreated.

  "What the fuck!" Then realization set in. "Oh."

  Orn spun back, only to reach for the hammer.

  Dismas started a pathetic crawl, in a more true retreat of his own, as he saw the demon advancing with a great shriek.

  Orn bellowed words from an unknown age.

  The lithiar hammer resounded a deep cry from within, a living branch instantly latching on with an iron grip—sunlit from within the green sphere—tugging, pulling, willing the demon closer.

  It did not smile then.

  "Yum... Yum." This time, it came from Abasi Orn.

  It did not take very long at all for the branch to seclude back through the sphear. With it, its prey.

  "Holy—"

  All the dolls, and any remains—blood and all—that was left by the half skull demon, it lit up with unnatural fire.

  Not twenty seconds later, not a trace was left, as far as they could see.

  "...shit," Dismas finished. He'd just about started to get some feeling back in his but.

  That's when Orn's almighty hand caged him once more.

  "Oh, you are joking with me! You must be joking!"

  The edge of Orn's mouth actually moved.

  "That funny, huh? Fuck you!"

  "You're unfit—still—for this realm."

  At least the 'mino' walked faster this time. Was that a good thing though? In Hell, probably not. Definitely not.

  "Maybe you should slow down."

  That seemed to further increase their pace.

  "Pathetic human." It whispered something else, but Dismas caught the words; "Not like Victor at all."

  "Hey 'big one', you're more flawed than I realized, back at the taetting birds." Dismas cocked an eyebrow. Well, he would have, if he had any left to cock. "I'll get to the question of this 'Victor' guy later. But I've been meaning to ask you about another. Do you know who Ranvil Braxius is? Or is this all just... happen chance?"

  "Ah," said Orn. "So the right questions are finally arriving. Not a moment too soon."

  Only the pained screams from the souls trapped in the ceiling cut the quiet moment.

  "Well?"

  "'Well' what?"

  "Do you know the king of the dwarves? The psycho of Icevein fucking Kingdom? You're a god, right?"

  Orn must have known the question wouldn't just allow itself to be ignored.

  "Demigod. I can not emphasize the difference enough." The 'mino' breathed deep. "To your main question; yes, Ranvil is... known."

  "What's that supposed to mean? And why do you need to carry me all the god damn time?!"

  Orn puffed an exhausted breath.

  "I do not respond well to tantrums. Just trust me, your body has far from adjusted. Those new talons are fine, but the rest of you... Pfff."

  Feeling quick-tongued, Dismas shot another question.

  "And by the way, why the fuck—"

  "But... Make it through my trial, and you will be ready as a godsent angel to dominate and conquer mountains," Orn interrupted.

  "Tell me about this 'trial' then."

  Orn just looked at him for a good moment, before responding.

  "By now, as you can no doubt feel quite clearly—after all this time in this... 'underworld'—you have gained a special kind of resistance... Wouldn't you say so?"

  "Now that you mention it, I recall the so called 'tunnel'."

  "I prefer Hellgate. Tunnels do not in the slightest resemble a Hellgate."

  "Quite so," Dismas replied, after a quick brainfart. "No, it was just what Kornial called it. Almost seemed like he was tricked... if I may be so bold? Did he think—"

  "I showed him Oscabark."

  "Oscabark, where is this place?"

  "I'll give you the old 'everywhere and nowhere'. A place I keep at my disposal, exactly as I will it to be." Orn put Dismas on the steaming ground and nudged his skinless shoulder with a finger—that had just spent an ungodly journey's worth working overtime as a prison bar. Until this moment anyway, it had seemed just so. "There. Time for you to test your taetting legs. Dig in with those talons." The 'mino' looked deadeyed at Dismas, as if it waited for a magic trick.

  "Shit, it still hurts all over. It's not like I know how to fully move in these things." Dismas was taken aback by the soulstare of Orn. "I'll give it my fucking all—my best, ok? Just give me a moment. I'm asleep, from kneecaps to asshole here." That dead look still. "Look, you try being dragged around the levels of Hell by something... something that dwarfs you and makes you feel like a little dirty potato in its equally hellish hand. Why am I even here?!"

  "Click."

  "And— What did you say?"

  "Another one of your true questions. It's all clicking into place." Orn sounded almost... not stern.

  "So? Well, aren't you gonna answer?"

  "I am a Hell Guardian, not a roadside oracle." The 'mino' pointed forth. "Take your useless body to that pit. And, just to be clear, you're disposable if you don't make it."

  "I just feel like you're not meeting me halfway—"

  "Do not ask questions if all possible answers are terrifying," Orn barked.

  Dismas figured Orn needed him still.

  "Oscabark... is that where you sent the demon, to the green realm beyond the sphere?"

  Orn just spread both hands in what felt like a gesture of honesty, as if to say; "Put two and two together".

  Dismas was still in the crawling phase of his body waking up, and as the silence hung in the toxic air between them, Dismas could not help but to shiver at the mere thought of the place.

  Oscabark.

  He then blinked back to Hell. He was determined to get his strength back.