Zeke descended the steps, and for the first time in what felt like years – it might’ve even been that long, for all he knew – he heard a familiar voice.
“That certainly was unpleasant,” Eveline said. “Wait – are you crying?”
He was. In fact, he’d stopped in his tracks and sunk to his knees, practically hyperventilating as he wept. The simple release of hearing her voice was enough to send him into a tailspin of relief and grief and every other feeling he could conjure. It was so overwhelming that he simply couldn’t keep that wave of emotion from outwardly affecting him.
“Sorry,” he croaked, his voice cracking under disuse. He’d spoken to the arbiter of the last circle of Hell, but in retrospect, he wasn’t certain that he’d actually uttered any words. The experience was so surreal that, looking back, he might have been exchanging thoughts with the powerful creature.
Eveline thrust her awareness into his mind, and he felt her eyes widen. Suddenly, she appeared beside him, then threw her arm around his shoulder. Somehow, she was solid enough that he felt her touch – though only barely. Still, it was comforting enough that the power of his sobs shook his back even more thoroughly.
“It’s okay,” she said soothingly. “It’s behind you now.”
That was true. He’d left the Tempest behind, but he knew that his struggles were only beginning. He’d conquered two circles of Hell – associated with limbo and lust – but, according to Eveline, he still had seven more to go. Greed and gluttony. Wrath and treachery. Violence and fraud. Then, finally, there was heresy.
Nine circles for nine sins.
And the first two had very nearly broken him, even if he refused to acknowledge it at the moment.
“I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but that’s the point, Ezekiel. It’s supposed to break you. To wear you down until there’s nothing left,” Eveline explained. “You are meant to be reforged, to understand your own flaws so you can become something better. That’s why most demons are incapable of descent. It goes against our nature to understand and accept that we have flaws, much less work to mitigate their effect. We are creatures of instinct, driven by our most basic natures. The very notion that anything should limit us – be it morality or simple logic – is anathema to our very existence.”
“Maybe my nature as a half-demon wasn’t an accident, then.”
Because that sounded a lot like him. He cast his own faults as strengths, and he’d never really made any efforts to overcome them. He was a violent person who struggled to truly connect with other people. More – or perhaps because of that – he made excuses, latching onto a thin veneer of morality so he could justify surrendering to his violent nature.
Often, he’d thought of himself as the hero of a story. He saved people, and he had what amounted to super powers. Yet, he was no selfless white knight. Maybe he’d begun as something close to that, but that was before he’d truly tasted power. Once he attained enough strength that he couldn’t be forced to feel consequences, he stopped caring about others.
Sure, he paid lip service to the idea. He rescued slaves. He talked about justice. And he claimed to value the things he thought would make him a good person.
But he wasn’t.
No man with his body count could ever be considered good. Not truly, and regardless of his motivation. Throughout his campaign of conquest in the Eternal Realm, he’d never really embraced the peaceful options. Instead, he always resorted to violence. At the time, he had told himself that his enemies had forced his hand, but was that really true?
Or was it just another excuse?
“It doesn’t matter,” Eveline said.
“It feels like it should,” he responded, tears still streaming down his face as he stared at the steps. He looked up and into her eyes. She’d clearly been weeping as well. “Our reasons need to matter, Eveline. It would be so easy for me to just go through life, killing anyone I wanted, all in service of progression. But that would make me a monster.”
“Even if the people you killed were evil?”
“I…I don’t know. Maybe? It depends on why I did it. If I killed those people because they were bad people, then…maybe it would be justified. But if I did it to serve my own interests? That would make me worse.”
“You’re overcomplicating things.”
“I don’t think I’m complicating them enough.”
“Then, we’re just going to have to agree to disagree, Ezekiel. You’ve been through a lot. You’re emotionally raw right now. I can feel it affecting even me, and I have protections against that kind of thing. You’re like an exposed nerve. Don’t make any major choices or develop any life-altering philosophies in this state,” she advised.
It made sense, but Zeke had never been one to fully embrace logic. As odd as it seemed to him, he was an emotionally-driven person. He rarely thought things through, and he acted based on how he felt at the time. Normally, that meant charging a problem head-on and killing anyone or anything that stood in his way. But perhaps it was time to take a step back from those emotions.
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“You know you have to keep going, right?”
“I know,” he admitted, raising his eyes to stare down the steps. After only a few feet, they were swallowed in darkness, so he had no idea what lay ahead. What’s more, he couldn’t predict which sin he was meant to confront when he reached the bottom. It could have been any of them.
“It’s probably gluttony,” Eveline said. “There’s a certain order to this kind of thing – at least there were in the legends. The first two – limbo and lust – were in order. It’s probable that it’ll continue.”
“What do you think I should expect? To be hungry all the time?” he asked.
“Probably. It is a realm of excess. Consumption. Unchecked indulgence.”
“That doesn’t sound so different from lust,” Zeke reasoned.
“All sins are connected,” she explained. “There’s plenty of overlap, Ezekiel.”
He sighed. He’d never expected to be forced to confront the worst parts of his nature, and he was entirely unprepared for it. Even after spending years in the previous circles, Zeke had not experienced any true revelations. He hadn’t changed – not at the core of who he was.
“No one ever really changes, Ezekiel.”
“You just said –”
“You get worn down. Eroded,” she said. “Unnecessary pieces are discarded. But at the core of who you are, you’ll always be the same battle-crazed lunatic you’ve always been. If you expect Hell to forge you into some introspective and well-adjusted monk, you’re going to be left wanting.”
In truth, the notion didn’t really appeal to Zeke anyway. Sure, there was value in self-actualization and improvement, but at the end of the day, he didn’t normally feel broken. His experiences in the past two circles of Hell had been taxing, and as Eveline had suggested, they’d torn free some of the superfluous parts of his personality. That left him with all jagged edges, but there was a sort of freedom to it, too. He wanted to be a better person, but more than that, he needed to be the sort of man who could step into Hell and emerge from the other side.
More importantly, he needed to think about the future.
After all, there were figurative gods out for his blood. Shar Maelaine certainly hadn’t given up on killing him. Nor had Oda, the demonic tree. Oda’s similarly arboreal sister probably had convinced herself to hate Zeke as well. And finally, Oberon surely had plans of his own. He’d so far acted altruistically, but Zeke had trouble believing that such a powerful figure would help him out of the goodness of his heart. There had to be an angle there. He clearly had expectations. Some, he’d already laid out – at least in a barebones sort of way – but there was assuredly more to it.
“You’re a threat to them,” Eveline stated. “All of them. You have the potential to upset their balance. Or worse, dominate them. These aren’t the sorts of people that take that lying down. They will not welcome the challenge.”
“I know.”
“But you can’t beat them as you are.”
“I am very aware of that,” Zeke said. He didn’t currently possess enough power to do so.
“Then use this descent as an opportunity,” Eveline suggested. “Don’t just survive. Don’t wander aimlessly from one circle to the next. Be purposeful.”
“Are you telling me to use the descent that most people can’t even fathom the difficulty of as a training arc?” he asked.
“I’m telling you to do just that. You can’t gain any more levels, right? But you have a trickle of divine energy within you. That cage of Oberon’s is leaking, and I’m fairly certain that’s by design. When you reach a certain tolerance, you’ll get a little more. Over and over until the cage is gone,” Eveline explained.
“You know this for certain?” Zeke asked. He could handle the tiny trickle leaking from the cage Oberon had erected around his core, but even that miniscule amount was nearly enough to burn him from the inside out. His natural regeneration could handle it for now, but the flow increased even a little, he’d be overwhelmed.
“That’s how I know I’m right,” Eveline pointed out. “What are the odds that the leak is exactly as much as you can handle without dying? It’s intentional. Trust me. And if you don’t, at least trust my own sense of self-preservation. If you can’t handle any increased flow, then I’ll be burned out long before you die.”
“So, how do I do this?” he asked.
“I know as much about divine energy as you do,” she answered unhelpfully. “But I think that if you treat it much like your Will, you might make some progress. Try latching onto that thread of divine energy and cycling it through your body.”
Before she could continue, Zeke did just that, which elicited a loud scream of pain. He let the tendril of power loose a second later, and it returned to its mostly inert state. The agony dissipated as well, but the echoes remained, pulsing through his body with enough power to once again bring tears to his eyes.
“I probably should have warned you that it will be pretty painful.”
“Kind of figured that part out on my own,” he grunted through gritted teeth.
In truth, it should have been expected. After all, the much lesser power of his path had initially left him in agony as well, and its potency couldn’t hold a candle to the amount of energy contained in that tiny thread. Zeke suspected that the energy in his core was enough to destroy planets.
“Universes, Ezekiel. That’s what you have at your fingertips.”
It was difficult to imagine such power, especially in his hands. He wanted to believe he would use it for good, but his past suggested that morality wouldn’t even come into the equation. It was a weapon, but more importantly, it was a training tool. If he could endure the pain of his own power, then what could Hell throw at him that he couldn’t overcome?
Suddenly, Zeke felt much better about himself.
As always, the key was a goal. Not knowing what was in store – as well as the torture of his recent past – felt a lot less overwhelming when self-improvement was on the horizon.
However, he didn’t immediately set out. Instead, he asked, “How much time has passed, do you think? It’s felt like years.”
“I think…I think your perception is mostly accurate, and I suspect that when we emerge from Hell, we will find a very different Crimson Tower waiting for us. At times, I wish I’d detached from your mind and set up shop permanently within.”
“Why didn’t you?” he asked.
“You need me.”
It was a simple enough statement, but a profound one nonetheless. Zeke couldn’t dispute its veracity, either. He did need Eveline, and more than he ever could have imagined.
The knowledge that she was with him – even if at times, she would be forced into quarantine – was comforting. And in Hell, even the barest comfort was thin on the ground. With her presence bolstering his mood, Zeke finally stood and continued his descent.