So, this is hell: a cage of gleaming metal, built high upon a sea of ash. Countless demons spectate from the shadows, their growls, and roars proclaiming their hunger for fresh blood.
It all creates an intoxicating atmosphere in this playpen for the damned. The Kennel, according to a row of black paint depicting the letters against a concrete wall. I’m on a perch high above the pit down below, seated on a long bench beside a woman who smells like the pies Mamãe used to make. A metal bar sits in front of me, meant to pin the spectators this high up in place, lest they plunge down the long row of seats that lead like steps to the bottom level.
Splat!
The world drifts in and out of focus while faceless men dart to and fro, preparing the ring for battle. I’m not sure how much time passes before Lucifer himself appears at the mouth of the ring, stripped naked save for a gray pair of boxer shorts that hug his domineering frame. Scars and ink mar his body—the shackles of the humanity he’s left behind. His eyes remain the only divine part of him now, possessing a single sliver of his soul. They, more than anything, strike the most fear, those eyes. They prove that at some point, this beast was once human.
He’s joined by another devil who appears at the opposite end of the cage, only he’s entirely naked. The muscles rippling beneath his skin catch the light from nearly every angle; the hard strips forming the bulk of his shoulders and the curves of his ass. He’s stone, through and through, except for his cock. It hangs between his legs, semi-hard like a snake, but I don’t snicker at the comparison. Even Vinny’s knife had never seemed like a more terrifying weapon.
“Jesus Christ, Mack,” I hear the woman beside me scoff, her voice a cadence of a million different sounds and syllables. “Show off.”
Shooowwww Offfff. I mouth the words. There’s a show taking place, all right. Two fallen angels fighting over scraps it seems. Some poor, demented soul is the prize of this battle—but glory is the true cost. Neither demon wants to lose this fight. They eye each other, prodding their opponent’s invisible armor for weaknesses—even before a man marches to the center of the pit, a pistol in hand. He mouths words that barely nibble above the din of bloodthirsty howls. Get ready! Grinning wildly, he raises the gun, pulls the trigger, and fires off one shot into the ceiling.
Bang! Just like that, the angels become monsters. Shadows feed on their corpses, corrupting their broken wings while the ashen ground they stand on streaks their skin, betraying the evidence of sweat.
My Lucifer is no match for the devil with dark eyes who paces like a true caged animal as the man who sounded the gun quickly exits the pit. If Lucifer still clings to a shred of his humanity, then this other man has already gleefully ripped his out.
The moment the doors of the cage slam shut, they’re threaded with metal chains and then padlocked. For show, of course. Neither monster will leave without proving his point. The dark-eyed one wants power. Glory. His cock stiffens beneath the shouts and chants bellowing from the stands. He feeds off it, his body rippling as he flexes his fingers and considers when to strike.
My Lucifer...
Well, I don’t know what he wants. His motives are a mystery. His eyes reveal nothing—not even pain when the dark-eyed devil lunges and catches him unguarded with one punch to the chest. The crowd explodes in howls, but my devil lands his own blows in the blink of an eye. Two quick jabs to either shoulder.
They part. Then lunge toward each other again, but they’re too fast. My eyes struggle to catch up with the motion, and I only see colors. Black, when the darker devil lands his carefully placed strikes. A dash of red for Lucifer, a punch to the gut and another blow to the hip.
Black. Red. Black. Red.
Black, black, black.
The walls bleed in celebration of the violence. It drips down, washing over the hungry demons avidly watching the events in the cage and lapping at the ashen island encased in twisted veins of metal. Lucifer spits out droplets of it after taking a punch to the face. He starts to feint to the left, but the darker devil is already upon him.
Black. Ebony. Gray. Grunting, Lucifer lands on his knees amid a cloud of ash. It rises up to claim him while the darker devil plants his foot against the center of his chest.
No! I think I shout it out loud, my voice echoing brokenly amid the cheerful jeers. All of a sudden, I’m weightless, falling forward against a hard bar of metal that my fingers struggle to grasp. My body melts, dribbling over the top of the railing, my arms dangling over it. I’d fly down to him if I could. Slap him. Say things to him that I could never say to Vinny. Get up. Fight. I need you to...
As if he can sense my thoughts, his head cocks and his eyes seek mine out. I don’t know what I expect to find in them when I pick them apart and probe the blue irises. Defeat? Pain? Certainly, not anger. It sparkles between us, a hot, molten amber. He’s furious, in fact, insulted by my lack of faith. After all, he’s using my very own strategy...
The cage takes on a new shape as blood paints the corners of the cage like a makeshift grid. When the opposing devil attempts to deliver his finishing blow, my Lucifer bucks out of reach and counters the blow with one of his own: a fist to the ankle and then a deliberate hook with his right knee to bring the other man to his knees. It’s a dirty, vicious, brutal tactic, and the crowd roars their approval. With yet another punch, Lucifer has him flattened, and before the man can even muster up a counterattack, Lucifer’s foot is on his throat.
Just like that, the final ‘X’ is placed. Three in a row. Tic-tac-toe.
The other devil is cold in defeat, his eyes like coals. However, Lucifer is almost bored in his triumph. He holds his dominant position just long enough to make his victory clear. Then he steps back, swiping the blood from his chin with the back of his hand.
He doesn’t bask in the shocked murmurs and grudging glares of respect from the unsatisfied demons. His gaze finds me again, and he hammers home just what his victory means, driving every implication into my skull. I’ve done this for you. Vinny would utter those same words gleefully, expecting my gratitude. This man hates the lengths he’s been forced to go through on my behalf.
Because of me. In spite of me.
Vinny would expect me to be grateful for his supposed gift. For this man, I will bear the burden of his sacrifice. It’s a mark that I wear deeper than any tattoo. It’s engraved onto my soul, somewhere Vinny’s taint doesn’t reach.
The devil went into hell for me. Like lingering smoke, I taste his presence over my skin. His possession. I’ll wear it only temporarily—he won’t own me for long...
But for the moment his heat fuels my blood, gathering between my legs until I have to writhe just to smother the ache. That blue-fire gaze lays me bare, his for the taking. Piece by piece. He strips me of everything even before he stalks toward the gate and waits until it’s opened. Sweat drips down his body as he surges into the crowd, his eyes on me, hunting me.
I’m ready and willing as he mounts the steps of the bleachers—one, two, three, four, ten—and stands before me. He seizes my wrist and easily hauls me over his shoulder so that no one can attempt to claim his prize. Then he turns to descend the steps, returning toward that little sliver of hell...claiming my soul in the process.