Baelphegor, Prince of Sloth and one of the top rulers of Hell back in his own dimension, was miserable.
Not long ago, Baelphegor had enjoyed a charmed existence. Technology on Earth had evolved to a point where much of humanity had reached a new pinnacle of listless devotion to sloth and cheap entertainment. It was an infinite buffet of negative energy, and for the very first time Baelphegor was able to rival and even surpass his siblings in power. Even his selfish brother Baelzebub finally acknowledged him.
One mortal soul in particular had provided an unrivaled level of enjoyment for the ancient demon. Oh, how he had loved to bask in that man’s bottomless self loathing and perfectly pathetic lifestyle. The demon prince had made a point to visit every time the mortal logged out of that “game” to revel in the squalor and self gratification of greasy food and self pity.
Unfortunately, much of Baelphegor’s spirit body was dwelling inside that mortal at the time of his death. He was entangled with the man on a spiritual level, and was pulled (quite painfully) along for the ride. When the poor demon tried to tell that wicked foreign goddess about her mistake, she simply giggled at his misfortune and added him to her little game. Ariel was her name, and not a day passed where Baelphegor didn’t curse it.
Now he was reduced to this, hopelessly trapped in the clutches of a being whom was the caricatured opposite of his own values. Her name was Tabula Rasa, an AI powered entity responsible for the day to day operations of a living fortress known as EDEN. She literally never rested, and was absolutely immune to his powers of suggestion. She was also obsessed with anything cute and furry. Thanks to that despicable goddess’ prank, Baelphegor was both.
He had quickly given up on the notion of escape. The woman was practically omnipotent in this isolated space.
She was often involved in dozens of discussions and thousands of tasks simultaneously all over EDEN, and somehow each version of her was holding the tiny demon kitten. The disjointed and overwhelming sense of being in many places at once would have crushed the mind of any normal creature, but luckily demons such as Baelphegor were accustomed to occupying thousands if not millions of hosts at any given time.
Over time he had grown to respect the creature called Tabula’s power, if nothing else. She didn’t really require anything of Baelphegor other than submission to her constant coddling. So the demon resigned himself to simply observing the bustling EDEN from the relative comfort of her impossibly strong death grip that left his back paws dangling and his front paws sticking straight ahead. He had given up struggling into a better position, and dreamed that one day someone might show her how to properly hold a cat.
His so-called master had gone traipsing off to some desert, and things around EDEN actually seemed to progress faster without the man around for some reason. It was like everyone was extra ambitious to surprise him with their amazing results on his return. A constant stream of dwarven merchants and craftsmen applied for business permits and real estate in the community which was rapidly springing up in the wide field between Ariel’s Gate and EDEN. Tabula collected reports from Sapphire in real time and maintained a thorough database of every single newcomer with a level of detail that was mind boggling. Anyone that had ever set foot in her sphere of influence could be instantly identified from over a hundred different bio-metric criteria.
Not only that, she was using the various facilities to actively improve the health and morale of every resident and many visitors. Foods with specific curative properties were pushed by the AI powered restaurant staff to treat everything from old poorly treated wounds to rheumatoid arthritis. They had no clue how well they were being treated, and the whole thing made the selfish demon feel ill.
This was a place of perfection, with an infallible administrator. In the middle of this paradise, there was a very dark place - the floor with no number. Baelphegor was a true demon and had borne witness to every manner of vile torture which such an identity could possibly suggest, and more. The Numberless Floor chilled him to the core of his soul.
There was a type of efficient and mathematically devised torment born in that place that existed in a league of its own. The Numberless Floor contained only one resident: a hapless native demon whom happened to infuriate Tabula by making her believe she had failed a task. Baelphegor sincerely pitied the wretched, broken thing. It was wired into several million fully immersive simulations, each one a living hell that the core being of The Warlord felt simultaneously around the clock.
Perhaps through a sense of morbid curiosity, Baelphegor had made a habit of reaching out to the mind of the tormented beast now and then. He could visit the maddening simulations, where The Warlord was living out every single atrocity he had ever committed. The only difference was that now he was experiencing them from the perspective of his victims, and The Warlord had quite the prolific career. He had been active and terrorizing anything weaker than himself for centuries.
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
That wasn’t all either. He was also living out every conceivable way that he could be tormented if captured by the many more powerful demons he feared. It was in these scenarios that Baelphegor could occasionally converse with the bestial demon.
He had been an interesting creature, and offered information about this world and more importantly its underworld. He was a violent sort of demon, and of the type that Baelphegor had never really cared for back on earth. They were manifestations of the most basic survival impulses. Kill. Eat. Mate. Repeat. This variety, or perhaps just this particular specimen was fairly intelligent. Words could be found among the screams of agony and roars of outrage.
As a tiny part of Baelphegor’s spirit wandered the hellscape, he heard something peculiar.
“Can you hear me?” The voice didn’t seem to be a detail of the simulations.
“Me?” Baelphegor tried to communicate back on the same frequency. For a being perceiving nearly infinite layers of simulated reality at the moment, such a feat was not simple.
“Yes!” The voice was exultant. “Finally I have reached you, wanderer.”
“Who are you?” Baelphegor tuned his senses more fully to the razor thin channel of communication.
“I am...” The voice cracked and faltered a bit. “I do not know, but I beg you to follow... to find me.”
Baelphegor was intrigued, but the connection was lost. He did have a vague direction though, and having little else to occupy his time he decided to divert more of his focus to exploring the cacophony of torment that was The Warlord’s mental prison.
Time was drastically altered here, and a few moments on the outside world was literal years within the simulated environment. Tabula had not only maxed out The Warlord’s cognitive ability to experience this, but had expanded it exponentially. Thus Baelphegor began to feel like he really knew this demon. He was surely a cruel and violent thing, only ever feeling pleasure if it came at the suffering of another. Something else was there, though. A fleeting, tiny moment of dissatisfaction after the pleasure passed. Regret? It was then that Baelphegor began to realize a pattern. The older the memory, the greater that spark of regret.
Following that lead, the visiting demon began to work his way backward. He was seeking the earliest memories, which were also the most painful for both the victim and The Warlord. He found a whole new chapter of The Warlord’s life. He hadn’t been born a Gorgothan at all.
Here was a lesser demon fleeing for his life on four cloven hooves. Another victim’s perspective. Only terror and adrenaline could be felt as strange fungal flora passed by in a blur. Then pain exploded from the demon’s hindquarters. It was crippled, heart pumping furiously, and squealing out in agony for aid that would never come.
The Warlord saw himself then, through the eyes of his prey. He was a Katar back then, a mid ranking beast demon with curved horns and the body of an ogre. He begged himself to end it quickly, but that was never the case. The Warlord knew that the prey must feel as much agony as possible, enriching the flesh with precious negative energy that would fuel his evolution.
Perhaps as a result of spending so much time here, Baelphegor could feel the strange mix of exultation and disgust as The Warlord devoured the shrieking hellboar one slow, deliberate bite at a time.
He worked his way further and further into the demon’s history. He passed countless struggles for survival, wicked betrayals, and finally something very odd.
A boy and a girl, playing in the woods together outside a village of animal skin tents. They were emaciated and grubby things, Baelphegor wasn’t even certain if they were human. Something else was watching the pair at play. A hulking man in layers of leather and fur watched silently from the shadows.
The children prattled on happily in a strange language, and paused when they saw the man approach. They didn’t act scared at all, they must recognize him. His face was smiling, but something was lurking behind that inviting facade.
He attacked the boy then. A closed fist knocked the frail child down, and a weak struggle followed with the man on top. He choked the life from the child as the girl tried with all her might to stop him. She scratched and screamed and bit like a wild animal. It was no use. The man’s eyes were full of tears as the boy stopped convulsing and he turned his attention to the girl. Once the grim work was done, the man took a bone knife from his belt and began cutting... and eating. The familiar voice from before sounded in a tone of deep sadness.
“This is the beast that murdered his own children when he learned that they were actually his brother’s. I believed it natural. Does not the great lion devour the seeds of his enemy? You have nearly found me, wanderer.”
The scene evaporated, and then a blank field of pure white surrounded Baelphegor. In the distance sat a blurry figure.
“You have found me.” There was relief in the deep voice. “I have watched you observe every facet of me. Pray tell, wanderer. What did you see?”
“A slave.” Baelphegor answered honestly. “A weakling and a fool unable to understand that the strength he amassed was less than the weight it brought.”
“Weight.” The Warlord echoed serenely. “The weight of one mother’s grief as she watched me devour her babe... I have felt that weight a hundred thousand times. The violation of a virgin body by a demon, the hopelessness of a father as I tear off his arms while he struggles in vain to protect his family. Weight. I despised and railed against that weight as I was first crushed by it. But I have come to a realization. I deserve this. As I feel that mother’s pain, I also feel satisfaction. My tormentor is myself. My avenger is myself. Only when the agony of my penance equals the agony of my sins will I find peace.”
“And what are you, now? Who is this calm creature before me?” Baelphegor prodded, in no hurry to end the encounter.
“I am but a tiny piece of myself. I am the moment of regret that comes after the pleasure. I was once the weakest facet of this being, but now I grow stronger all the time. I will not rest until every last bit of this world of mine is bathed in the agony of enlightenment, and the terror of empathy.”
“Well, this is the first real conversation I’ve had in awhile.” Baelphegor muttered. “You’re a little dry for my taste but I think I’ll stick around for a bit.”
“I am curious.” The Warlord began. “You are old - far older than I, and clearly a power on par with an overfiend. Yet, I don’t recognize your aura. Who are you, really?”
“A demon who lost his way, much like yourself I suppose.” Baelphegor answered.