Warning! This scene contains descriptions of hell, demons, gore and violence! Do not read if you are sensitive to the above topics. Otherwise, please enjoy!
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There was a familiar crunching of bones as bodies landed on the crags that surrounded his observatory, burned and misshapen and contorted by the weight of their sins that brought them below. Every single soul that was dragged down belonged here, whether they believed it themselves or not.
The wails of the damned were becoming grating as the rate in which they fell ever increased. There were far too many bodies piling up, far too many sinners in the realms with inventive ways of damnation to paint their souls in shades of black. There had been a time when damnation had been more personal, that they could spend time with those wretched souls and properly choose what method of hell they should be given. It was not so much, anymore.
Most of the damned were the same. Drug users, abusers, criminals, and the like; all ending up in the same place with the same story and the same pleas for mercy. He couldn't stand it. Every now and then he would get a jewel of a wretched soul worthy of his personal attention, some being so wicked he even offered them a chance at demonhood, though those only happened every several centuries. Most of the time the souls were just tossed into piles to be distributed amongst the different levels for different purposes.
Some were sent to the Forge, cleansed in demonic fire and used to expand the realm. The dust was used for weaponry, housing, and other religious relics for the houses with status. Other piles were sent to the Butchery, their souls tenderized to draw out the flavors of their sin so that they could be made into delectable meals around the realm. It was a gruesome art form, and not all demons wished to dirty their hands in the intricate practice. It could get a little... messy. Lastly, some piles were just dumped into the paddocks. This usually housed scavengers and other ravenous demons who have long lost their ability to rationalize. They were mad, unable to think and speak outside the basic instinct of hunting and killing. They left a great deal of destruction in their path, and most of the time he did not even find keeping them alive worthwhile. War seemed to think it was a good idea to have some, just in case.
The smell of sizzling flesh was tantalizing, drawing a growl of hunger past his lips as he watched another pile be dragged through a corridor out of view. Turning himself from the window, he made his way out of the observatory, gliding through the halls that rounded their way down towards the Pit. This was where all the bodies landed when they fell.
Tearing and ripping of flesh caught his attention on his left, an archway leading into one of the several rooms of the Butchery coming into view. One of the chef's was cutting off delicate slices of flesh from a soul who was so desperately reaching outward for help, gurgling in it's own blood. He would find no assistance here.
The soul's hand trembled and dropped as the chef dug it's rough hands into the open chest cavity, drawing out organs to be packaged and shipped out to the shops around the realm. The intestines were being unwound, the remains of whatever food had been ingested in this soul's life dripping into the chef's mouth with the least amount of manners. He could have at least used a spoon!
With a grimace he moved onward, passing the stairwell that would lead him to the paddocks several levels below. The scavengers were yowling in hunger, though they were, by no means, starved. They were just insatiable and annoying creatures. They often attacked the walls and doors, not caring for anything that didn't have a significantly larger presence than them. Many a foolish worker lost their limbs or life because they thought they could tame the rabid beasts. The notion only made him roll his eyes.
Finally reaching the Pit, he took in the piles and piles of souls waiting to be 'judged'. Their moans of pain and cries for forgiveness fell on the deaf ears of the imps who shoveled them along. They paid him no mind, not out of disrespect but because there were so much to do. He'd rather they go about their work than piddle around sputtering useless flattery just because he walked through the door. He got enough of that nonsense from the brown nosers who thought flattery were buy them status from the Lords who only listened to stroke their own egos. It got old real quick.
A couple of the imps were chattering off to the side, unable to reach a soul that happened to land on a stalagmite. Blood was dripping from it's lips and pooling on the ground beneath, soft groans and wheezes of unnecessary air the only sound it could manage. The imps parted once he drew closer, head tilting slightly as he took in the sight with mild fascination. The soul might have been male at a time, though gender here was absolutely meaningless. Bruises patterned it's knuckles and there was a familiar bitterness clinging to the body that only made his hunger more prominent.
His head tilted upward, lips parting as he let the blood hit his tongue and roll down his throat. It was tantalizing! The taste of alcohol, cigarettes, and broken dreams permeated his sense and built a fire behind his golden eyes. Domestic Violence always tasted spicy; something reminiscent of black pepper and battery acid. Every now and then there was a sweetness of broken promises of change like honey that made the drink all the more rich. The honey was thick in this one.
He drew himself closer to the soul, fingers biting into the cheeks as it's lips were covered with his own. He continued to draw more and more of that beautiful sin, letting the soul shrivel away in his fingers until it was just dust. His tongue ran the length of his lips, a sultry purr rumbling in his chest as his eyes were now ablaze. His hunger was temporarily sated.
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