A ruinous place for the damned souls of the earth to come to in death. Torture worse than the human mind could comprehend, hellfire more scorching than magma, and sinners of all kinds to suffer along side of.
However, just as society advanced above, society advanced below. While many things did remain the same, such as the constant looming threat of the ‘Final Death’, hell became more and more tolerable. Whatever new trends humans had set before they died would carry over to the after life, shifting the new world they lived in ever so slightly.
Now? Here we are. Hell is a cultural salad of many different sins, ages, and even demons, leading to varied work and social structures. Through the millennia of overpopulation, annual purges have been conducted regularly to ease the strain on hell’s resources and space. However, it was clear that this wouldn’t be enough to fix the issue entirely.
The answer to this problem became known as S.I.N, better known at Satan’s Investigative Network. A unique force of demons who’d become hell’s closest thing to a PDA.
Simply put, Hell was like a garden! A garden of weeds but a garden none the less. Even when one cleans up such a garden every few weeks, it doesn’t fix all the issues with it. S.I.N acted as the gardener’s hands, tearing out bad weeds and ensuring the beautiful ones grew. S.I.N encouraged more death, more turf wars, more drug addictions, and made sure that hell followed a sinful quota. Those lucky enough to escape the purge needed to contribute to society and this program was to ensure they did, as well as routinely help thin out the population now and again.
Several demons would have taken mantle of Archfiend, the ‘sheriff’ of S.I.N, since the creation of organization. Some were unlucky victims in the purge, some were demons who failed the great prince of sin himself, and others simply quit once they realized the job was far too much for them. The current Archfiend and longest lived member of the position is Typhon.
Typhon was an odd demon in hell. A Native American from so long ago that had died and gone to hell for the acts of cannibalism and murder. While these actions alone wouldn’t make him unique, they became the stepping stones of a reputation he’d soon have in hell. A 15ft tall monster with blue, frostbitten skin that clung to bone and eyeless sockets. His white, skull muzzle was stained a soft shade of red and his chest, shoulders, and upper back covered in a dense patch of white, silky fur. Usually, the frost colored demon was hidden away by a lovely black and white, two piece suit combo. A small patch of the soft fur always exposed and sticking around his neck.
This demon in particular had a penchant for chaos and only chaos. He wasn’t strictly evil nor was he very helpful to those that needed him. Although not the cruelest demon in hell or the smartest, his natural instinct to burn everything hell had to offer ensured his spot as archfiend. From that day forward, he’s done his best to stir as much mayhem and carnage in hell as possible to ensure that everyone was drowning in misery and death.
Recently, the annual purge had happened. Typhon was absolutely thrilled around this time of the year, knowing numerous amounts of secondary causalities would occur in the following gangwars. The smell of blood and gunpower in the air was absolutely...Intoxicating~
The wendigo was busy in H.Q, buried away in his office by numerous papers he had to fill out, stamp, and sign his signature into. Although this was his favorite time of year, it also meant that he had a lot of paperwork to do. Despite being an incarnation of chaos itself, his room was unnaturally neat and orderly. Papers were properly stacked up and various folders opened with paperclips and paper weights.
Typhon looked up from his work, staring at the ticking clock with a huff. A large cloud of mist blowing from his muzzle as two glowing orbs he had for eyes went back to scanning through the papers. He was supposed to have a visitor sometime soon about the paperwork. Satan was usually busy all around the year so it was normally a lacky of his that had to talk to Typhon. Whoever he sent, they’d better hurry. He’d pick up an larger than normal sized mug of hell-brew coffee, sipping down the revitalizing beverage.
