An excerpt from a longer WIP
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Alastor Centric. Not Beta-Read.
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New Orleans and Hell weren’t so different, actually. Hell was hot, humid, unbearable, perhaps, to a lesser demon.
Alastor had, ah, special training in such situations. Of course, it wasn’t completely the same. The nip of a Louisiana winter, snapping to a freeze overnight and then back to seventy the next day, was a trial upon itself.
The closer you got to the center of hell, or, in this case, where the ring of pride dared to almost cross the ring of wrath, the hotter, the more humid it became.
The more memories of home began to surface.
The more you started to regret the trek.
An understandable deterrent for most sinners.
Alastor stood in front of the unassuming metal gate. Unlike the majority of fences in pentagram city, where they had large spikes on the ends for deter nets, this one was smooth, polished, black steel.
The gate was open, welcoming, but the wafts of hazy, disillusioned air sifting through the divide was anything but.
Oh well, Alastor was never one to allow discomfort to keep him from his errands, and a troublesome chore this one was, indeed.
The overlord stepped through the gate, smiling brightly through the sudden burst in humidity. It was like stepping inside to the greenhouse Rosie built, which, to be completely candid, was an apt description.
This was, after all, the only complete garden in hell.
“Hello?” He stepped further on the property. “Anyone there?”
As Alastor stepped further into the garden, the more the harsh red gravel beneath his feet turned into crinkled brown grass. The sky of pride washed everything, from the already maroon roses to the white lillies in red.
In the distance, he could hear a stream, or, at the very least, moving water. Not so dissimilar to that of a slow river, but there was also a faint noise that was just barely noticeable. The water was moving erratically, oddly, as if some-
Ah. As if someone were swimming inside it.
“I don’t like to be kept waiting, you know,” he called out, walking slowly towards the sound of the stream. “I have a radio show to begin in about an hour! Time ticks ever more.”
Alastor felt his eye twitch, his smile stretching even more.
“-you come into my garden,” a voice hissed, a whisper that did nothing to hide the rage. “And have the audacity-“
A vine launched itself forward, out of a nearby rose bush, and pierced itself against the other wall of greenery. Thorned leaves, dripping with a viscous yellow liquid, hung just a bit above the tip of Alastor’s nose.
“The audacity,” the demon seethed, an extended hand appearing from the edge of the hedge, towards the direction of where Alastor had assumed the stream was. “The nerve-“
“Well, dear, I can assure you that I would not be this far from Pentagram City if it was not warranted. Now, could you please remove your vine and step out, we can have a chat.”
The demon didn’t speak, the hand shaking minutely as the vines retracted, slithering along the grasses and towards the other demon. More vines joined the first, wrapping together and cooking like snakes in the bayou.
Finally, after nearly a minute, the demon strapped out. Alastor stared upon the grey skin of the humanoid. Most of the skin was covered by a floor length beige dress, the bottom stained by red mug, with sleeves down to the wrists.
The demon had long, dark brown hair that fell in ringlets around her face, and it was at that moment that Alastor realized the rumors were true, and the guardian of the Garden of Eden, protected by the overlord Zestial, was not even an demon at all.
Light radiated off of the woman’s flared wings, pointed and stretched, giving wind of her obvious stress.
“Ah, hello, Eve. My name is-“
“I know who you are. What do you want, Radio Demon?” She hissed.
Alastor began to take a step forward, but the coiled vines at the angel’s feet tensed again, waiting to strike.
“No need for all of that, dear, I am here to simply talk.”
“I don’t talk with demons-“
“-isn’t the definition of a demon a soul who is tormented by hell? And if you’re here,” he drawled. “Then you, miss Eve, are one of us.”
The vines lunged forward, thorns poised to strike. Alastor side stepped the attack, but they curved as they passed, causing his eyes to narrow.
Well that is a slight annoyance.
Alastor snapped, and his shadow lunged forward, cutting through the vines and stopping the flimsy attack.
Eve looked on, dismayed, her fists balled at her sides, and her wings flapped once, twice, just enough to throw herself up in the air- out of reach.
“- I am an Angel! I am Eve, first woman, the wife of Adam-“
“-Adam traded you for her- Isn’t that why you’re down here anyway? Damned to remember your sins by being cursed to this garden?” Alastor held up his hand, a tad peeved over being interrupted so much by the Angel. Her grief and obvious terror was not enough of a reason to be rude.
“And even then, it’s only been for the past, what, seven years? So, Miss Eve, it begs the question what in Lucifer’s name happened to curse you down here, and why she is up there.”
“I say all of this, dear, because it has become apparent we have a common enemy!”
“I have no use to talk of a dead man, Miss Eve. No, I am referring to Lillith.”
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Welp. Should I continue it? I’d love to hear your thoughts.
