outside the devil's chambers

it was about as normal as you could get for a day in hell.

the sky didn’t shine but the glowstone stalactites sure did, the hazy sight of them shimmering and warping with the blistering heat of the lava lakes and moats that surround the devil’s palace. the cathedral still stands tall as ever, dark dry bricks chipped and worn to show their long battle against the test of time. the mindless drone of guard footsteps create a sort of rhythm between the random shrieks and roars, easy to zone out if you’re accustomed to the sound. the smell of rotting flesh never gets any better, though. what else would you expect of a place for eternal punishment?

“nothing exciting,” the wither girl murmurs to herself as she leans away from her window with her back pressed against the cool stone. she huffs and taps the tip of her sword against the floor— so used to it she doesn’t even think to look down at the three-inch deep crater in the floor, the result of unconscious floor stabbing after god-knows-how-long-shes-had-this-job.

“Were you expecting something to happen?” her fellow guard asks, cracking his neck and absentmindedly following the floating trail of his blaze rods in the air. he stands up a little straighter, running a hand through his long black hair and untangling the ruby ends. he shifts his weight to his left, unconsciously placing himself closer to her in interest.

“well, Judge said he had some sort of big plan going down right? so i was thinking that maybe somethin’ would’ve happened by now.” she adjusts the visor of her wither helm- the dull metal clinking against itself as its pushed back to reveal black sockets and perpetually-darkened tired eyes and tight dark grey skin. she doesn't know why she still has to wear this stupid thing, it’s not like she’s seen any action up here in ages.

“Did you listen to him? He said it was happening in the Over, that stupid ‘summer camp’ thing he likes to ruin.” his monotone voice gives way to very few emotions other than smugness or boredom, yet somehow he always finds a way to make his point very clear.

“i thought that was down here?” the wither girl cocks her head to the side, trying to slip off her helm but getting her hair stuck in part of the metal, the tiny clipped buds of wither roses intertwined with the strands of her hair. impatient, she just yanks and hopes for the best— wincing as she hears a stem snap. better than pulling out hair, i guess. she cradles her helm between her arm and her hip.

“No, it— why would you think it was down here? It’s a human summer camp, is there anywhere that actively supports human life ANYWHERE close to—?“

“i don’t know! shut up, you know what i mean—“

“I can’t say that I do, actually, Mara, because I actually listen to The Judge when he—“

“can you shut the fuck up and let me finish, Maze? can you do that for me? will you allow me to finish my goddamn sentence, or do i have to wait for your permission? because apparently His Profane Unholiness DIED AND LEFT YOU IN CHARGE—“

“i- i’m sorry...?”

“WHAT DID I JUST— oh, fuck, who are you?!” mara recoils, sword rising from where it was resting at her hip to point at the random intruder in less than an instant.

the pair of guards, despite their surprise at how well they were snuck up on after so many years of training, aren’t inclined to identify the figure immediately as a threat upon observation— it’s just a girl, a bit… imp-ish in nature, surely, like a fledgling version of a demon adorned in tattered uniform and covered in blood and eyes.

“um… my name is. pandora. the- uh, they said… i’m the devil, now.” the girl— pandora, apparently— stutters over her own words, wincing as her fangs sink into her bottom lip over and over when she speaks. it seems as if the tender flesh has stopped bleeding since the initial puncture, but maybe more so because she’s running out of blood to spare.

maze and mara share a quick aside in the form of a single glance, an expression-based language they’ve been speaking for the past hundred years while stuck next to each other guarding this stupid fucking door. not that they’d have to be experts on each other to understand what was obviously being implied— the pure, unadulterated feeling of “what the fuck?” transcending most languages in emotion alone.

“...I’m sorry, Judge, sir, is this some kind of… joke?” maze slowly turns away from mara and back to the imp-ish girl, suddenly far more concerned about the nubs of horns protruding from her skull, and puts on the best official face he has to offer. he knows that he and mara aren’t exactly the highest rank on the totem pole, but surely the guards of the devil’s chambers would be alerted of a change in management like this—

but pandora just recoils at their scrutinous gaze, curling in on herself and trying to seem small despite her wings still touching both sides of the wall even when pulled in as closely as possible.

“...where’s Judge.” mara cuts in front of maze, sword’s edge pressing against the soft tissue of pandora’s collarbone and making her step back, but mara presses deeper. there’s no inquisition at the end of her tone, letting her words sound more like a threat than anything else. “what did you do to Judge—”

“i- i don’t— i don’t know who that is, okay? i just- i made a… deal with the devil, i guess? my friends died and i was just trying to help and he said he would help, but—” pandora pushes the wither guard away from her, giving her enough time to slip the shoulder of her leather jacket off to expose her glowing shoulder—

glowing with the sigil of the devil.

maze grabs mara by the shoulders and growls low into her ear, “I think she might be serious. Don’t hurt her.” his arms wrap around her upper half to hold her close as the dawning realization hits her that the judge might not be coming back, and it hits her hard. but mara steadies herself, taking a long pause before letting her sword clatter at her side.

“Miss Pandora, would you like to enter your chambers?” maze takes over for mara, guiding the stranger to the sigil-locked entrance with a keen eye. the blue sigil spun slowly in front of the door, casting a faint glow to the hall.

“...can i go in?”

“It’s bound to the Devil’s touch, so... let’s find out.”

pandora extends a trembling hand to the door, fingers curling inward the closer her hand gets to dipping through the semi-translucent sigil. her hand phases through the blue to the shock of both herself and the guard standing over her shoulder— and the magic symbol begins to ripple, the blue shimmer fading to red as it wavers over the door. pandora turns to the guards for affirmation, unsure if the red means she’s failed to enter or doesn’t have permission—

but the door creaks open, the thick crimson plank wood carrying a troublesome weight on its hinges but revealing the lounge of the office and all of its comfortable chairs neither maze nor mara are allowed to sit on while standing at their post all day. the sigil on the door disappears after having been unlocked, and pandora steps inside. the door closes behind her without having to be touched, and the red sigil begins to glow again.

“...what the fuck was that?”

“I’m… not entirely sure. But I think you may have gotten your wish.”

“what?”

“Things are going to get a lot more exciting around here.”

x x x

“There’s way more to the entire situation than just being born. You can’t say all of that was the fault of just one man.”

“no, no, i’m just saying! look, i know there are a lot of circumstances that contributed to the scene at the time and they were all very important contributing factors, but i’m just saying, if his parents hadn’t met at that politician’s rally, the emo music scene would have NEVER been the same. Pete Wentz and his record label were formative to the emo scene.” mara is splayed out on the old couch beneath her watch window, ankles kicked up onto the sill as she lounges and tries to explain her theory to maze. one of the few things they have in common from when they were alive is a great enjoyment of historical emo music from the long-past 2000s, a topic they are both very opinionated about.

“For the mainstream emo scene, maybe! All of the pioneering midwest bands got totally shafted by the time Panic! had gotten popular on MySpace, and by the time their music made it to the radio, the precedent their album created was so theatrical and fruity that it was doomed to become a novelty! That sort of entertainment and style has a shelf life, y’know.” maze has his back turned to the hall, facing mara and sitting rather bisexually on his chair, legs crossed and comfortable.

“but i’m not talking about panic, i’m talking about one man who i think changed the game entirely. i mean, what about Cobra Starship and Gym Class Heroes? we wouldn't have had either without—”

“Excuse me, I have an audience with Her Profane Unholiness.” a voice pipes up, and both guards quickly turn their heads and get into more presentable positions. there’s a tall, tired looking man with dull long brown hair and unimpressive clothes, his pale skin and glossy eyes identify him quickly as a passed one, which is a little unusual, but the guy looks like he’s in a hurry, which is doubly unusual cuz it’s not like he’s got any time left to lose.

“Mistress Amaranth has not notified either of us that she was expecting visitors,” maze stands, not quite able to reach eye level with the stranger but certainly not letting himself seem intimidated by them. the blaze rods that float around maze and the heat they produce are more than enough to make the stranger take a step back.

“Uh, you see, her Unholiness has… requested my, uh… services…?” the dead man doesn’t seem very confident which makes maze very suspicious, but he looks over at the wither guard and behind him and he leans a little closer to the blaze guard, lowering his voice and whispering “I’m sure you’re familiar with the frequency of her Highness’s… cravings. If you could just… make this less demeaning for me and let me through to… sate her, I’d- well, I’d appreciate it.”

maze covers the lower half of his face as the stranger continues speaking, eyes flickering over to mara and then to the floor as he tries not to imagine any particular visuals the stranger is conjuring. with flushed cheeks and an embarrassed sigh, maze steps aside and gestures to the unlocked door.

“...Sorry. You’re just not dressed like any of the other… consorts... she’s called upon before. It’s unlocked, just— yeah.”

“good luck!”

“Mara—!”

“what? he’ll need it.”

the door closes behind the long-haired stranger and maze collapses right back into his chair, letting his head thunk back against the wall. the glowing crimson sigil lock flickers into existence over the door, further solidifying maze’s embarrassment.

“Y’know, if you had even just a sliver of dignity, maybe people would take you seriously, Mars.”

“i’m just being honest! that poor motherfucker will be lucky if he doesn’t leave that room on a stretcher.”

“You are crass.”

“20 bucks and a blissful hour of silence says he doesn’t leave that room alive.”

“He’s already dead.”

“you know what i mean.”

“And you never make it the full hour. You always say something stupid about 45 minutes in.”

“can you just shut the fuck up?”

“No.”

x x x

“Mara, wake up,” maze nudges the wither guard with a gentle push. she jolts up like she wasn’t asleep the entire time and blinks herself back into consciousness, looking for the source of action maze must have woken her up for.

“wh- what is it?”

“Look at the door.” maze steps back, allowing his fellow guard to look at the same perplexing sight he’s been trying to decipher for the past five minutes.

“it says… “gone fishing”? the fuck does that mean?” mara pushes herself off the couch, standing beside maze as they both stare at the scrawled glowing text where the sigil-lock usually is.

“I don’t know. Is it… do you think its literal?”

“no way. she’s probably just fucking off to the Over for a couple days.”

“...But what about that guy?”

“did he not leave when i was asleep?”

“No, no one left the room.”

mara starts laughing uncontrollably, much to maze’s chagrin. she extends a hand to the windowsill to support her weight as she hunches over herself, apparently not receiving the memo that it’s not that funny.

“he’s dead! he’s fucking dead again, i told you, she’s getting rid of his fucking body right now and she’s gonna toss it through a portal and never— wait, check out all those guards down there! you think it’s a parade or something?” mara struggles to take full breaths between fits of laughter, but remains as easily distracted as ever.

“I don’t get paid enough for any of this shit.”