Eighty-seven miles skyward, a certain divine being watched this play out just too late… the rain he sent to extinguish the flame and save the young man came a few hours after the remaining flesh was picked away by scavengers. However, not all was lost, since a nearby cave just happened to harbor the headquarters of a human trafficking ring. Inside were about 8 notorious slave managers, 37 slave drivers, and 122 slaves--all of which were drowned. Well, a few slave drivers and one notorious slave manager escaped, but were hastily struck and killed by some brimstone the Divine One had nearby.

“Sire… couldn’t you have spared at least a few slaves? Six of them remained devoutly religious and prayed to you several times a day...” A beautiful woman, no older than twenty-five, spoke, her hands clutching a portable harp tightly while watching the unpleasant scene unfold. “I’m doing the best I can, godammit!” came the booming reply from God.

Incidentally, a small orphanage was teleported to one of the deepest pits in hell immediately after this exclamation.

“Sire, if you don’t want the other angels using your name in vain, then maybe… take it down a notch or two.” The angel soothed.

“Ah… yeah.” God said while calming himself, “It’s just… did you see his bravery? He would’ve made a perfect hero… or even just a prophet.” He rested his face in his palms, moving them down as if to unsuccessfully wipe away his frustrations. “I mean, he was rebelling against the state… but I could persuade him to comply with the church. Everyone has their price… not that it matters now.” He gripped his knuckles tightly at the thought of losing yet another fine candidate, “I just need to blow off some steam…” God looked over at the angel next to him wearily, prompting her to cock her head slightly in confusion.

Five minutes later, in an infinitely extending cavern full of tortured souls beneath the earth…

A gnarly, twisted creature hobbled through Satan’s main chamber, it’s small, circular body barely held up by it’s one working leg… the other simply drug behind, offering a nominal amount of support between each step. The floor was made of a smooth black marble, and supported four walls as well as eight pillars made of a similar, though less polished material. Deep red banners curtained the spaces between pillars, each marked with an ambiguous circular-flame sigil that shifted as if separate from the cloth itself.

“Oh, Dark Master, “ the creature hailed in a high, guttural voice, “please grant me an audience with you, for I have much to tell--” “Jesus fucking Christ, you ugly little toad, you literally WALKED IN to ask for an audience? Just tell me whatever it is and I’ll figure it out later.” Came the smooth, deep, pissed-off voice of the devil himself, “Can’t you just handle things yourself?”. His back was turned and hunched over a desk where he busily continued to work on one of his many projects.

“Oh, uh… right, I’m supposed to ask Cerberus for an audience, but then I forgot and he bit my leg.” The little creature held up it’s immobilized limb as evidence of the event, but the devil only rolled his eyes. “Ah…” It continued, “We have, um… a fallen angel again, Dark Master.”

The devil paused, then turned towards the creature, his pointed jaw and long face almost comical in design, “What for?” The creature’s mouth--which was disproportionately large--curved into a hesitant frown and it’s eyes looked down at the still limp appendage. “The paperwork listed it under amorous behavior and tempting the almighty...”

The devil’s fist slammed onto the table, creating a sound that echoed throughout the underworld, temporarily deafening the little creature. “The fucking bastard…” The room’s temperature spiked, and the sigils inscribed on the banners danced and warped, affected by the Dark Lord’s mood, “It’s one thing to treat humans this way, but an angel?”

The Devil’s black cloak slowly glided across the floor as he wearily rose from his seat. A staggering twelve feet in height, this pointy-chinned lord of the deep radiated an immense power and confidence. His muscular, but slender frame was enviable even to those at peak physical condition, and the scowl on his face could turn the bravest warrior’s blood to ice. Literally, he can do that.

“Have a demon tend to her--a female demon this time, please. I’ll not have a repeat of last time.” The devil said dismissively, “I’m busy with a… rather special project at the moment.” The towering figure sat back down on the crimson, gold-encrusted swivel-chair, and turned back to the odd materials displayed on the table.

“Yes, master.” the creature replied, then slowly limped back down the hall, struggled with the large doors, and left.

Meanwhile, on the plane of mud and moral conflict (Earth)…

[Saved or Sinner? Finance Your Salvation Now or Spend Eternity With The Dark One!] Shone a brilliant blue-and-green billboard, one of many advertising the church’s newly implemented salvation program.

Through the outer-city streets paraded the Army of God, preaching to the addicts and bums who choose to live in these slums rather than repent for their misdeeds and get a job. As outlined by their evangelistic classes, they bring God’s light and wisdom into otherwise darkened homes. These saints are also careful to avoid giving away money as that would only lead these lost souls to purchase intoxicants and laze about.

In the alleyways and dark corners, the church of satan solicits drugs to the helpless souls of this ruined district, even supplying them with clean needles and knowledge of how to administer the wicked substance without poisoning themselves.

This is Slumton, home of the lost and target of numerous missionary programs. Assuming the weather is pleasant, one might see a group of youths stacking wood and tin plates in order to create small shelters for the faithful few who reside there. They also speak with the lost souls in an attempt to guide them back to God, but this often fails since they become jealous of their many blessings and stop listening.

It’s here that we meet the one we will be following throughout the course of this story. He is, at this moment, on the way home from his job. However, there’s nothing really interesting going on with him right now, so let’s jump over to another character who… well, I think he becomes relevant in the future, but it may have been someone else. The usual narrator is out sick at the moment, so I’m just filling in. Normally, I silently hold the microphone and signal when everyone else needs to… oh… oh, nevermind, we should get back to the story. Forget I said anything.

“Aaron?” a femenine voice called out into a small, finely decorated courtyard inquisitively, “Aaron, where are you?”. She was wrapped in a flattering but modest dress that clung tightly to her torso, loosening as it continued down to drape over her bare feet. The woman’s beautiful golden hair loosely curled and rolled down her slender shoulders, framing a delicate face that was comparable only to an angel’s.

“Coming, love!” came the response from a beautiful golden-haired man. His strong jawline and aloof demeanor made him appear as if he’d leapt straight out of a shitty romance that relies more on makeup than characters. “I’ve only been gone a moment, dearest, so what could you possibly want from me now?”

Aaron’s voice was flirty, but the woman’s eyes glazed and expression drooped in response to his playful criticism. “I-I-I j-just m-made you a n-nice brunch…” she revealed, tearing up as the words barely escaped her lips. The man smiled softly and approached, taking her in his embrace before whispering in her ear, “You know I love you and that I’m only kidding. Don’t be like that.”

The young woman sniffled and leaned into Aaron’s arms, “Oh, right… sorry…”

Aaron stepped back, gently but firmly holding her shoulders so that her attention didn’t stray, “It’s alright, Elena. Now, go get cleaned up and I’ll be in right behind you.” Elena nodded, wiped away a few tears from her slightly red eyes, and went back inside the building.

Aaron watched the door close behind her, silently thinking about his fiance’s few unsavory behaviors and what he might do to eliminate them. Fortunately for both of them, Elena’s lacking intelligence would allow him to essentially remove all suspicion and insecurity from her mind eventually. As long as she does what she’s told, the relationship will flourish and then she will have no reason to be unhappy. It’s ultimately a win-win scenario.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Aaron turned back to the courtyard, where a cute young gardener, no older than 20 or 21, finished pulling up her underwear before fleeing to a different part of the garden to nervously resume her work. The bush she was hidden behind had been damaged, but not in any permanent fashion, so there was no reason to make a big deal out of it. The man chuckled, running his fingers through his hair as he thought about how adorable her hands were, trembling in the dirt. Unfortunately, he decided, just once was enough for today.

Besides, he thought, Elena just made him a nice brunch and he wouldn’t want it to get cold. God has given him so many blessings, it would be a shame to let any of them go to waste.

Hm… Let’s go somewhere else, shall we?

“Rapists! Murderers! And other non-believers! Repent, and you shall be forgiven!” Shouted a fat, well-dressed elderly man, “For the lord loves all of his children, even those who indulge these wicked temptations!” He gestured out into the crowd of apathetic passersby, “Why do you continue this life? You could have so much more if you would only let the Divine One into your hearts and homes! Join the church now and be spared a terrible fate!”

The rotund speaker grew red with frustration, though he was not entirely unaccustomed to this reaction as he had been doing this for quite a long time. “Will none of you--hey, what the hell!?!” He yelped as an old can flew from the quiet streams of people and bounced off his balding scalp before clattering against the cracked stone streets. “Who threw that?!?” His eyes whipped about in a fury, burning futile holes in a concealing audience while searching for the offender, “God knows! God knows you disrespected one of his obedient children!”

The man then raised his hands, pointing his palms upward as he now addressed God, “Oh lord, I ask you to be merciful and spare the anonymous wretch’s family, they should not pay for his--Ack!” Interrupted once again, he stumbles momentarily before regaining his balance, just in time to glimpse a pink shaft… and head...

…

An unexpectedly heafty erotic toy clattered against the cracked stone road.

This time a few heads were turned as the vague religious figure showered the entire city in creative PG-13 profanity, but it didn’t slow the traffic. Naturally, this was good, since there was one particular figure who would rather not get caught up in this crowd--especially not today.

A dark-haired boy in his late teens slid between the turbulent labyrinth of bodies moving in every direction, cautiously feeling through pockets when he could, though nobody was dumb enough to leave anything of value unguarded. No matter, his goal was a bit further down the road. The boy turned abruptly down a narrow alleyway, leapt into the air, and while keeping his momentum, kicked back and forth off of the walls to either side of him until he reached the rooftops.

The last kick brought his right heel out from his shoe, but it was of little consequence. He had already reached his destination.

Pausing for a brief respite, the shadowy figure sifted through a few fistfulls of lint, only to find a single pill--useful if you’d prefer to have stomach cramps over a headache, but not much else--and a pin that could be used to hold back someone’s hair. Chills ran up his spine, the item in his hand reminding him why he came up here in the first place… which was, of course, to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

Sliding his heel back into his worn shoe, the disappointed boy lazily tossed the worthless loot on the ground (well… technically roof, but you know what I mean) before peering over the edge of the building--searching for the one familiar face he hoped never to see again. His skilled eye scanned the roads, analyzing each and every suspicious character with detail before confirming that he was, for the moment, safe. There is no greater treasure in this place than a few moments’ rest.

Turning, the pickpocket sat down, wearily leaning against a chimney and thanking whatever architect designed such a secluded street. He looked up to see the infamous Transcontinental Road casting an ominous shadow--an architectural feat that had very few equals. One would have to be blind or stupid to dismiss the sheer amount of resources it would require just to build the road itself, much less the structural ingenuity to elevate it off the ground--on top of the technological and organizational brilliance required to maintain a clear and constant flow of traffic (on foot and in various vehicles) up, down, and across this mighty colossus.

“And yet,” he mumbled to himself, “I sit on a tin roof in a street that is lit only with religious propaganda and everything else there is a market for at any time of day.” He chuckled slightly at the obvious parallel that was drawn so many times by oh so many failed revolutionary movements. He remembered one of his mentors saying that this represents everything that is wrong with this world, and that if they ever want to see the light of day again, they will have to climb and fight their way up.

If they were smart, they would realize that this towering overpass is made up of more than just the shadow it casts. It represents the world itself. Even if someone led a successful revolution and brought this monstrosity down, it may topple the world above, but it would also crush the slums and everyone in it as well. As for the sun, many of these people may be forced to sleep here, but if you travel a few hours North-East, the sun shines in the afternoon--and a day or two to the South-West, it shines in the morning.

The boy smiled, having just recently taken a well-deserved vacation in the sun. Of course, such vices are few and far between. In the end, survival comes first, and that is only possible while he’s here. The sunlit areas have far too many guards, and no job pays well enough to live off of.

Besides, he thought to himself, there’s no room in my heart for a boring and ultimately pointless life. You can play it smart without giving in to the system completely, as long as you’re quick enough to get away with it.

This… is the boy we’ll be following. Wait--too soon? Oh, um… sorry…

“Quick little bastard, ain’tcha?” a cute, oddly accented feminine voice brought the dark-haired boy out of his daze and up to his feet in an instant. Glaring at the imposing figure who… well, only stood about shoulder-height on a good day and whose attitude seemed almost playful. “But it’s okay, I caught up. Oh, and sorry for calling you a ‘bastard’, I just wanted to try a northern accent and it sort of seemed befitting.”

Her accent gone, the outgoing young girl giggled, stepping into the eerie blue-green glow of the dim street as she did, “I once knew a northern guy who talked like that, but… he said mean things to a friend of mine who was having a rough day. It kind of left a bad impression, you know?” she inquired, but the boy left the conversation hanging in order to keep his guard up. He knew what she was capable of.

She wore denim shorts and a scarf draped over a “God is my boyfriend” t-shirt, her deep pink hair lazily pinned back in what looks like a rushed attempt to keep it out of her face… not exactly what you would expect from a ghoul. Of course, what hid behind the scarf is much more typical of this creature from countless nightmares.

“I really freaked you out, didn’t I? I’m sorry for what you saw, I promise that is not what I’m normally like.” she continued, brushing back a loose strand of hair, “I like cats.”

The boy didn’t respond, but this time it’s because he was slightly puzzled at her last comment. “Cats?”

“Yeah! I mean, not a lot, but cats are alright.” came the response, which answered absolutely none of his questions. “Why are you mentioning cats?” He inquired, more direct this time. “Obviously it’s because bad people don’t like cats. I do, so I’m not a bad person. I don’t like cats a LOT because I’m not exactly a GREAT person, but I’m a good enough person.”

Oh, okay, so she’s just insane.

“You can’t determine whether or not someone is good or bad based on their opinion of cats…” The dark-haired figure said, half-mumbling before realizing that explaining this is most likely futile. He started backing towards the edge of the roof, listening to steps of the people passing by to map their position and wait for a suitable opening to escape.

His attention was momentarily returned to the figure ahead of him when she took another step in his direction, “Okay, then let’s make a statistic. Do you like cats?” The boy felt his heel strike the lip where the wall extends slightly past the roof, and smiled at the question, “Not particularly, no.” He heard his opening approach, he just needs a couple more seconds.

“You see?” The girl’s fingers curled in anticipation and her mouth opened wide enough to reveal the uniform row of shark-like teeth just over the top of her scarf, “You don’t like cats, AND you took something precious from me.”

Just another second…

“I killed your friends, but their deaths are really on your head for laying them in my path to protect yourself.” Her nails grew slightly, their surfaces reflecting the light of a salvation advertisement.

Now!

The dark-haired boy lunged backwards, reducing his figure to nothing but a dark blur that could evade even the most cunning enemies--until he felt something grip his throat. He looked up just in time to glimpse a maw that could devour him in an instant, her lips pushing the looming structure overhead out of his sight before wrapping over the upper half of his body. He struggled in futility for a moment, letting out only a short, desperate squeal before eternal silence.

In the street below, an old, round man in fine clothes cursed as a worn shoe fell from one of the buildings, adding to the pile of discarded projectiles at his feet.