Torture is so much more fun when you can sit down for it.
Felix is torturing Belial again, carving runes into him -- he can hear the screams over all the rest. He is sitting on a ridge, lashing a flaming whip at any souls who try and scramble away from the flames, flicking his wrist and leaving harsh marks down them. Fucking wimps. Shouldn't have sold themselves if they couldn't handle the heat.
He is so fucking glad that he started working here, because flaming whips are fucking metal.
Flicking one back into the cluster of demons it ran from, he smirks, looks down, surveys everything else. New souls turn up here more and more -- humans have everything to sell their souls for, these days -- but it's always nice to see the next victim before they get too damaged. Pausing, he narrows his eyes, seeks them out --
(there were swords and blood and so much dark hair and andras with his snake eyes and lucifer, sanguine gaze filled with hatred, demons and reapers and death and he doesn't know how he forgot -- )
-- he cannot stop staring.
