Hell's Actor

"You know, Miss Meow, I wonder why these directors are so stubborn," Averie said, stroking the cat's fur as she purred. "Did you know that Director Groux didn't even let me do a make-up test before we began shooting for Lady Ethereal?"

"Meow."

"You didn't, right?"

"Meow."

"I know, right?" He sighed. "It must be depressing, huh? To be a cat, I mean."

"Meow…"

"Who am I kidding? You were a human before this, a nasty one at that."

The cat stared at him, eerily silent.

"What? You have something to say?"

She looked away.

"That's right; you can't argue the truth."

He recalled what he had heard about Charlene from the Warden of Hell.

"She is responsible for the death of more than a hundred people."

Averie remembered it clearly. It was right after his first meeting with Charlene. He had come across her while he was making rounds around Hell to familiarize himself with his new home.

"How?" he had asked almost out of admiration.

"She was part of a cult. A high-ranking member, actually." Lucifer had a faraway look in his eyes. "Delta's Reunion, it was called. Real nutjobs."

He pointed towards the blonde woman with blue eyes. She was being whipped by a demon wearing black latex strings, which barely covered anything.

"She was their 'High Priestess,' as they called her."

"What did she do? Rituals and stuff?"

"Sort of. She… offered services."

Gene raised an eyebrow. "What kind?"

"You know what kind." He eyed the arrogant actor. "Sexual."

"Why, though? Wasn't she a high-ranking member?"

The Warden chuckled, his wide chest heaving in amusement. "She was high-ranking because of the services she offered."

"I suppose even a cult couldn't resist, huh?"

"There was more to it."

Lucifer took out a bone whistle from his inner pocket. It had a detailed skull carved into it.

He licked it, moaning at the taste.

"Wonderful calcium."

As he blew it, the demon stopped whipping the girl. It snapped its latex suspenders, wiggled its crotch at Charlene, spat next to her, and left with a haughty walk suited for a dominatrix of Hell.

"They snared in new members using her," Lucifer continued, his long nail pointed at the woman.

"She would sleep with them, show them a very, and I mean very," — He emphasized with large eyes — "good time."

It had Gene curious.

"She certainly couldn't be better than me," he murmured.

"I think you two would've made a good pair, if she weren't such a massive liability."

The woman spared a fearful glance at Lucifer before moving on to Gene.

"Of course, other than being a nymphomaniac, she was also a total scumbag."

Lucifer grinned as he leaned down to observe the broken look in her eyes.

"She lured them in with her rituals. Of course, not every man had the pleasure of her visit. She only targeted the wealthy and influential. You understand now?"

"She sourced funding for the cult?"

The devil's grin widened. "You are smart. That's right, she brought in suckers and sucked them dry."

The demons watching them cackled at the wordplay, filling the fetid air with an eerie symphony of snarls.

"If they could be indoctrinated, it couldn't get better," Lucifer continued, a single gesture of his open palm cutting off the laughter. "But if they refused, if they resisted paying up…"

He lifted Charlene's chin and stared into her eyes.

"…they would be blackmailed."

He looked up at Gene.

"She didn't mind her embarrassing photos with old Senate members and CEOs being publicized. I would have appreciated such a degenerate attitude if she weren't doing it for some dumb cult."

The emphasis on dumb elicited a sharp look from the girl. It seemed to touch a sore spot.

"Still so attached to them?"

Lucifer looked disappointed.

"It's always the talented that stray from brilliance."

He stood up, murmuring, "Oh, what she could have been, an eyesore to the angels, a goddess of sin."

He shook his head, turning away from her.

"She could have been my soldier in the land of God."

Lucifer continued towards the chamber behind her.

"Come on."

Gene spared one last look at the woman.

She was chained to the ground, a collar of thorns cutting into her neck. One of her breasts was spilling out of the rag she called clothes.

"Hmm. Bring her along, will you?"

"I'm sorry?"

Lucifer looked back. "Yank her chain, and drag her along."

Gene wondered how he was supposed to do that when she was bound to the ground. As he looked down, his eyes widened.

The woman was free, leaving the collar and its chain in his hand.

"How?"

Lucifer didn't answer.

Gene looked down at the woman and her pleading eyes.

He liked that look.

There was something… alluring about it, something addictive.

He tightened his grip around the chain and yanked it. With a jerk, the woman's face slammed into the ground.

She coughed.

"Come on," Lucifer said, standing in the doorway to the chamber. "Bring her in."

Gene did exactly that as the woman struggled to get to her feet, her face scraping along the rough terrain.

Her lips bled and her eyes teared. But it was all an illusion. How could those without a body bleed, tear, and feel pain?

But if they couldn't, would it be Hell?

Gene hardened his expression, and his heart followed suit.

Lucifer liked that look—not the look Gene wanted to make, but the one hidden in his eyes.

"Sit her down here."

He pointed at the middle of the chamber, a little island surrounded by bubbling lava.

Gene dragged Charlene there.

"Take this." Lucifer threw a metal stake at him. "Attach her to that."

Gene caught it, cutting himself a little in the process.

The stake was bigger and heavier than he had thought.

But there was no hammer.

And the smug look on the face of the Warden of Hell suggested that he would not grant Gene any more tools.

The actor's chin went up, his bold eyes looking down on the devil.

He kneeled down, held the stake down with one hand, and curled the other in a fist.

He took a ghastly breath, looking into the wide eyes of Charlene, and brought down his fist with the power of a dozen horses.

The fist connected with the stake's head, moving only a millimeter in.

Yet the pain that travelled up Gene's arm was immeasurable.

It felt like someone was hammering a hundred needles in his hand at the same time. It felt like someone was pumping icy water in his veins.

Lucifer laughed. "Alright, here."

His hand, picking up the nearby hammer, halted.

Gene's hand had curled up into a fist again.

And just like before, I fell heavily on the stake.

"It's fine—"

Again, Lucifer was cut off by rupturing veins and silent groans.

The devil couldn't help but watch in awe as the actor—who'd soon come to be known as the Hell's Actor—continued hammering the stake with his bare fist.

After about fifteen minutes of blood flying around, the stake was successfully hammered into the ground, leaving Lucifer in admiration and Charlene aghast.

"Happy?" asked Gene in a worn voice.

The ends of Lucifer's lips—unamused by the decades of boredom—naturally curled up in a bloodthirsty grin.

The air shook.

"Ah," he exclaimed. "You. Are. Beautiful."

Blood dripped from his eyes.

"My friend."

Charlene couldn't lift her head—she wouldn't lift her head—as the air trembled.

But Gene was different; he didn't shy away, and he didn't lower his head.

Lucifer threw a whip at him.

"There's your reward," he whispered, wiping blood off his glasses. "There are few like you. You deserve it."

Gene looked down at the thorned, leather instrument in his hand.

It was thick and rough.

He knew it would certainly hurt. If they were in the material world, it would rip flesh cleanly off the bone.

He held it to the woman's face, familiarizing her with the terror oozing from the texture.

Perhaps it was his way of communicating how much pain was coming her way.

He cracked the whip once on the ground.

Without sparing a glance at Lucifer, he mercilessly began her punishment.

In the sound of snapping whip and pained screams, Lucifer observed a man smiling grotesquely.

***

Locking the door to the toilet stall behind her, Kara slumped down to the floor.

She was restless.

'What now?'

That single question kept tormenting her.

'Can I escape?'

Running away seemed impossible.

They had a car while she had a pair of legs, which were wrapped around her boyfriend only hours ago.

A dead boyfriend.

'Am I going to follow him?'

She liked him, but not enough to follow him to the afterlife.

With a hasty hand, she took out her smartphone and dialed in her father's number.

'Please, pick up. Please!'

The ringing echoed in the empty stall as Kara counted the seconds with dread.

And suddenly, the ringing stopped.

Unreachable.

Her deadbeat of a father, once again, couldn't be bothered with her life or its crises.

Her hands shook, and she wasn't even sure if she was hitting the right numbers. Her attention was solely dedicated to her surroundings, listening for the tiniest of sounds.

This time, she called the emergency services.