Columns of fire flared up in the distance among dark mountains, above them bat-winged beasts circled through the sky.
The wind carried sulfur and smoke with it, a bitter air that was often painful to breathe in.
Red lightning streaked across the gloomy, gray sky, thunder rolled and echoed.
The great city, spread between dark, claw-like mountains, was split in two by a river of lava.
Among the towering complexes of the city's massive buildings, a well-built, terrifying figure was wandering about.
He wore a worn gray coat and a hat on his head. Red horns grew from his forehead.
With his yellow eyes, he scanned the dark, piss-smelling streets, searching for excitement, thirsting for a challenge.
Unfortunately, he had no luck. No one wished to break the law today, as usual. They feared his power—feared it enough to never openly do anything foolish.
The demons pacing up and down the street didn't dare look at him; instead, they turned their gaze away or went back the way they came.
The figure sighed, then rummaged through his coat pocket with a thick, clawed hand and pulled out a black cigarette, lighting it with the tip of his finger.
After exhaling the dark smoke, someone appeared beside him—a woman who flew down to him with the help of her slightly tattered bat wings.
The demonic woman's entire body was red, her eyes glowing with blue light.
She wore a black uniform and boots. She carried no weapon—she had her long claws and sharp teeth for that.
With her hands on her hips, she looked over the smoking figure in the gray coat, then smiled at him.
— You're still wearing that rag? Where's your uniform?
— That costume isn't my style. Besides, what does it matter what I wear? Back in the day everyone wandered around Hell naked.
— That was in uncivilized times, Wrath. A few millennia have passed since then—keep up with the age.
Wrath exhaled some smoke, then dropped the butt and crushed it underfoot.
— Talk instead. Do you know anything yet?
— Nothing. — She shook her head. — I just came to keep an eye on your work.
They entered the building beside them, which had been sealed off with red-and-black tape.
They walked down the corridor, Wrath's hoofed feet clopping loudly.
— No wonder you didn't join the Observers. With hooves that loud, they could hear you from miles away.
— I never wanted to belong to them anyway. I like this job—it was made for me.
— On that, we agree.
They continued forward as more and more residents appeared in the hallway, curiously opening their doors.
As soon as they saw Wrath, many of them rushed back into their apartments and locked their doors behind them.
— You're very popular around here.
— I protect the law, not them. I'm sure they're all hiding some filthy little secret at home.
— Demons—what else would they do? That's their nature. Just because Lucifer decided to create an ugly imitation of Heaven here, not much is going to change.
— Watch your mouth, Tilith. If I wanted to, I could drag you in for that alone.
— Oh please. Don't tell me you actually agree with your boss. You of all people are the one who must miss the old Hell the most.
They reached the end of the corridor and, with it, the apartment whose door had been smashed in.
A scrawny demonic creature appeared behind the tape stretched across the doorway. Its skin was pale gray, and a single broken horn stuck out of its head.
The demon flinched slightly when he saw Wrath standing there, then quickly straightened himself.
— Ah, boss. And Tilith—good to see you again.
— What's the situation, Skortch? — Wrath asked. — Wait, let me guess. Another low-ranking demon's corpse lying frozen in blood on the living room floor. Am I right?
— Very good, boss, but this one's in the bathtub.
— That would've been my second guess.
They stepped behind the tape and walked through the apartment.
The stench wasn't anything new; among the sharp smells it was hard to orient oneself. Pleasant scents did not exist in Hell.
However, as soon as Wrath reached the bathroom, he sensed something else in the air—something familiar.
The demon's corpse in the bathtub was in brutal condition. It lay bathing in a tub full of blood, its eyes removed along with its horns, and its chest cut open.
Wrath stepped next to the tub and studied the body.
Tilith moved beside him.
— So, what have you figured out?
— That it's dead.
— Impressive. Now I understand why you're Lucifer's hound.
— You know as well as I do that even low-ranking demons aren't easy to kill. But this one was butchered. That took tools—illegal ones.
— There's no shortage of those. Not long ago we seized a shipment—there were even angelic weapons among them.
— Angelic? How the hell did they get those?
— They couldn't say themselves.
Wrath finally realized why the smell had felt so familiar. He ignited the tip of his finger, then swept his hand over the tub, and the corpse began to change.
— What is this? — Tilith asked.
— An illusion. I haven't smelled it in a very long time.
Once the illusion faded, the body took on its original form. It looked completely different—a long-armed, green-bodied demon with red tattoos.
It was becoming familiar to Tilith as well, but she didn't want to believe her eyes.
Wrath leaned closer and examined the demon's neck. There was a special tattoo there—one that he himself bore on his own neck.
— That can't be…
— Envy. — Wrath replied grimly.
***
Wrath and Tilith sat facing each other in the kitchen.
Wrath poured cigarette smoke into the air. He had been lost in his own thoughts for quite some time.
Skortch wanted to leave, but Wrath made him stay. He couldn't allow him to leave the scene, since he had also seen Envy's body in the tub.
Tilith was becoming truly irritated by the idleness and the silence.
— Aren't you going to say something already?
Wrath didn't answer. He simply exhaled another cloud of smoke, then stubbed the cigarette out on the table.
— Boss… — Skortch began. — My condolences about your brother.
— Envy and I were never exactly on good terms. Back then we fought each other a lot—he was always eyeing my territories.
Wrath stood up and walked to the coffee machine on the kitchen counter, starting to brew coffee.
— He was a treacherous, lying, despicable, manipulative demon—but also one of Hell's strongest. And now he's lying in a bathtub with his eyes gouged out, wallowing in his own filth.
— But how is this even possible? — Tilith asked.
— It isn't. It shouldn't be. This takes power—immense power.
The coffee finished brewing, and Wrath handed everyone a mug.
Tilith thanked him and took a sip.
— This… is actually quite pleasant.
— It's not cheap garbage. A low-ranking demon couldn't afford something like this—so Envy really did live here.
— Who could kill a Deadly Sin?
— Very few. None of the Lords survived the Purge.
— You did play a pretty big part in that.
Wrath ignored Tilith's remark.
— One way or another, you two keep your mouths shut. No one can know about this—not even Lucifer. I hope I made myself clear.
— Y-Yes, boss. — Skortch replied.
Wrath shot a sharp glance at Tilith.
— Tilith? Was I clear?
— Of course, of course. I'll shut my big mouth. What are you going to do?
— I'll sniff around. I've got a few names to start with.