<strong>Entrance to Purgatory</strong><br/><br/>A flock of seagulls darted forth from the hollowed entrance, surrounding Nathanael in a hazy whirl of feathers and beaks. Their loud bird cries and flapping of the wings covered the lamentations and the loud wailings of the sinners dwelling within the first layer of hell, until finally the ruckus dimmed down and he was able to see what laid ahead once more. A refreshing sea scented breeze invaded his nostrils, masking the foul stench of demonhood. From the darkness a figure appeared, walking towards the warrior angel with the palms of its hands raised, facing upwards.<br/>It was a man dressed in a simple red garb, solemn and gentle in movement, having a pensive and melancholic expression on his features. The aquiline nose and the laurel wreath adorning his florentine hat made his identity easily recognizable, though if he really was the brilliant Italian poet Nathanael still had to see.<br/><br/>“Necessità 'l ci 'nduce, e non diletto.”<em>(Necessity brings him here, not pleasure.)</em>he said acknowledging the presence of a Celestial before him.<br/><br/>With one large gesture of the hand, he showed him that the way was open for him to take, if only he wished it so. Before Nathanael could take another step, the man spoke again:<br/><br/>"Battistrada con cura, la giustizia sempiterna la vista che riceve il vostro mondo, com' occhio per lo mare, entro s'interna;"<em>(Tread with care for the sight that is granted to your world penetrates within the Eternal Justice as the eye into the sea)</em><br/><br/>The shadows blocking the entrance to Purgatory dispersed at the wave of his hand and revealed the glory of what laid beyond. The warrior angel could clearly see the huge mountain atop an island in the middle of the ocean, from where all souls might just get another chance at Heaven.<br/><br/>"Che, ben che da la proda veggia il fondo, in pelago nol vede; e nondimeno èli, ma cela lui l'esser profondo.”<em>(though from the shore it sees the bottom, in the open sea it does not, and yet the bottom is there but the depth conceals it.)</em>Dante concluded and waited for him to decide whether he'd choose that path or not.<br/><br/><br/><strong>The Throne Room</strong><br/><br/>“Erato. Explain.”<br/><br/>It was perhaps the third or fourth time that her Majesty called the Ambassador’s name that day.<br/><br/>“My Liege ….” the tall succubus spoke once again as she stepped to the side, facing the west wall for a position to give her the freedom to adress both her queen and the others without having to show her back to anyone.<br/><br/>“….and sisters. For how long have we called this foul place “home?” Ages…”  her electric blue eyes began to fire up again<br/><br/>“…centuries…” she faced the crowd<br/><br/>“…..millennia.”  only to turn her gaze back to the Queen. Erato had her undivided attention without knowing for sure whether her mistress was interested, angered or delighted by what she had to say. The Queen’s expression showed a bit of everything.<br/><br/>“We have no purpose here. No purpose except the one which was<strong>given</strong>to us, an endless toil forced on us and for what?”<br/><br/>As she stood between the mistress and her followers, having Tahariel kneeled before her, it looked as if this was indeed her long awaited moment of glory.<br/><br/>“For a chance to<em>clean</em>and<em>purify</em>the world of men,<strong>their</strong>Earth, by keeping their dejects here. Do we enjoy their endless screams? Of course. Do we bask in their sinful state, feeding on it, increasing it until those pathetic souls can’t tell the difference between pain and agony? Why wouldn’t we? “<br/><br/>The way Erato held her whip, like an object of power combined with the impassioned words reminded the Queen of other times when something like this took place on Earth. Charismatic rulers shaping the future of the world, controlling the masses in any direction their brilliant, yet troubled minds wondered. Erato wasn’t a genius, nor was she born to be a ruler, but she believed in what she said and usually, at the right moment,  in front of the right crowd, it was more than enough to stir something which eventually will end out of control.<br/><br/>“Yet by the end of each toil, what do we gain?” The question itself was rhetorical. Demons had absolutely nothing to earn from hell…at best, a chance to prove their “survival of the fittest”  dogma. They had seen too many tormented souls in too many ways to say that it brought them any satisfaction. They had rebbelled  against God only to end up doing His will. Again.<br/><br/>“My Queen, you were once brave enough to follow Lucifer against the Celestials… I stood beside you, fought with you, failed before you. And now it pains me to see a shadow of what I used to know, hiding in the skin of her enemies.”<br/><br/>“I have brought this angel not as a gift.” Saying this, she approached Tahariel once again and out of her leather sash the succubus pulled an elegant knife. The Queen refrained a gasp, leaning forward suddenly, but did not raised herself. Her hands were clenching M’Gul’s fur as she used to hold onto the arms of her throne each time something of importance took place in front of her.  No other situation had been this crucial before.<br/><br/>She knew there was no way Erato could kill an angel for good. It was impossible for any demon to cause the real death of a Celestial. Yet doing so in the presence of her followers, having the throne room of Hell’s Mistress tarnished with angel blood while she assisted, was a statement of war.<br/><br/>“Nor do I intend on making him a sacrifice!”<br/><br/>In the glimpse of an eye, the leather straps holding Tahariel’s wings were cut. At the same time, three sturdy imps took Tristan by his arms and dragged the young man all the way to where the angel was standing, pulling him like a rag doll on the red carpet. The Queen said nothing, showing a lot of patience, fairly uncharacteristic to her.<br/><br/>“I only needed an angel to witness the eternal damnation of this human’s soul.“ Erato’s final words had a strange impact on the Queen’s body, which began to tremble. Slightly at first, as if she had the shivers.<br/><br/>Now everything was clear. There was one single thing and one alone which was forbidden to any member of the demonhood regardless of power or title. They were allowed to tempt, seduce, even induce sinful actions to the most righteous of humans. What they were not supposed to do however, was to decide whether a human’s soul is meant for Heaven or Hell, going against one’s free will and judge in God’s place. By ending a human’s life anywhere beyond the gates of hell meant to fundamentally “claim” that soul for demonhood, without a trial. The Queen had taken a risk when she sent her followers to bring the living where only the dead should be. It was not as if she wasn’t aware of what she asked, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that any demon would even think about breaking the unbreakable rule. It meant suicide and war. A war she did not wish to participate in, let alone start herself.<br/><br/>For the first time in nine thousand years fear overwhelmed her. What Erato had in mind was beyond redemption. The fragile balance between Heaven and Hell, as it was now, threatened to shatter with the death of one, insignificant human. Trembling from every nook and corner of her body, the Queen began to change shape, turning into her real self. The pale white of her unblemished skin began to show hues of pearly grey, while her once silvery locks of hair were now growing into inkblack strands, stretching all the way to the floor. From the sides of her torso and outer thighs dark spikes began to grow, clawing their way up and down her naked body,covering her legs and shoulders in armor-like scales. Something ripped her back from within as two black claws made their way through her skin, followed by huge bat-like wings, shredding the red velved cloak she wore, pushing on M’Gul’s wide chest at the same time.<br/><br/>Erato gazed ecstatically at her Queen, an epitome of darkness. If her prior look excited desire and wanton into the hearts of men, the true nature of Lilith’s beauty inspired both fear and veneration, two traits which once belonged only to the gods of the old world. Her voice was the thunder of hell.<br/><br/>“I SHALL NOT HAVE GOD’S WRATH UPON MY REALM!”<br/><br/>The throne room began to shake as if taken by an earthquake and the stone walls of the second layer started to crumble under the Queen’s wrath. Imps and lesser demons alike began to wail and shrieks as if they were burning alive, filling the corridors, chambers and hallways with their screams of agony all the way down to the dungeons. Suzafan and a few others fell on their knees, pressing their hands on their ears as if this would block out the unbearable cries.<br/><br/>Every part of the Second Layer was connected its ruler in more ways than one could count.<br/><br/>Erato did not falter, but grabbed the nearest candle holder instead and took Tristan’s head in her hand, wrapping her arm around him. A single flame from any of the fires in hell was enough to burn any living being to a crisp. And so she let the candle touch Tristan’s black curls only to witness his entire frame being engulfed in flames the next moment. It was done.<br/>The Queen’s next words stopped in her throat before they could reach her lips.<br/><br/>Instead of seeing his body fall to the ground, Erato felt Tristan rising and standing on his own legs, wrapped in the fires of hell like a burning jack o’lantern. Nothing seemed to give the impression that he was going through unspeakable pain in that moment, on the contrary.<br/><br/>The Queen laughed. An intense, inhuman laughter, fearsome enough to make one’s heart stop.<br/><br/>“Welcome to the Second Layer of hell, son of Hephaestus!”<br/><br/>