The golden thread shimmered like woven starlight, encircling Asher and Jeremy as they descended steadily into the chasm of Hell. Suspended between the realms of the living and the damned, the divine filament glowed faintly in the overwhelming darkness that surrounded them. It was the only source of light in a place where even shadows feared to roam freely.
Asher's grip on Jeremy's hand tightened gently as the two floated deeper into the abyss. Jeremy's fiery amber eyes glanced around nervously, his pulse quickening. The air was thick with whispers—low, guttural sounds that crawled like spiders across the walls of the infernal pit. Each one slithered into his heart, gnawing at his courage with talon-tipped dread.
Jeremy shuddered.
Asher, ever attuned to Jeremy's emotional state, pulled him into a warm embrace. His voice was calm, laced with unshakable grace.
"It's okay to be afraid, Jimmy. I am too," he whispered, his tone like the first touch of sunlight after a storm. "Especially when the fate of the entire world rests in your hands."
Jeremy's gaze rose to meet Asher's. Ember met emerald in a wordless exchange. For a moment, nothing else mattered. Between that gaze sparked a connection—silent, intense, and profoundly magical.
"Asher..." Jeremy's voice was barely a breath, "...do you think my parents are disappointed in me? About...about turning homosexual—especially now that I've confessed my feelings to you?"
Asher's fingers interlocked with Jeremy's, not letting go. His silence was measured, careful. He knew too well the damage Lamia had done to Jeremy—conjuring painful hallucinations of his family's judgment in the fog. But still, the truth was, no one could ever fully predict how human hearts would react to truths they didn't understand.
"Truth be told...I don't know, Jeremy. Your mother might hate it. Your father—Vincent, right?—he may even loathe you for it," Asher admitted, his voice low. "But know this: you are special. You didn't choose this, neither did I. We simply are. And that's not something to be ashamed of."
He continued, his tone soft but firm.
"And if what you told me is true—if your mom, Roshelle, truly loves you—then I don't believe she would let your identity destroy that love. Unless...unless she's been pretending all along. But from what I've seen in your heart, I doubt that's the case."
Jeremy offered a small smile, bittersweet. Yes, Roshelle loved him—perhaps because he was once the perfect son. Brilliant. Charming. Top of his class. The star student who earned a full scholarship to Paradise High. But now? He wasn't sure anymore. Would she still love him, knowing this version of him?
"Thanks, Asher," Jeremy murmured. "But seriously...aren't we there yet? My legs are tired of floating!"
Asher frowned, his senses stirring.
"Something's not right."
Jeremy noticed the sudden shift in Asher's expression and reached up to cradle his chin, turning his face gently.
"You look like someone who's about to piss himself. What's wrong?"
The lightness in Jeremy's tone didn't last long. Asher flinched, scanning the darkness.
"There's a presence watching us. It's calculating…planning."
Jeremy stiffened. He turned to look into the shadows, squinting at the endless abyss stretching below and around them. The walls seemed alive—pulsing like a beast's lungs, charred and slick with some infernal ichor.
"I don't see anything," Jeremy muttered.
Then he froze. A claw-like finger trailed down his back, caressing his spine and neck with chilling intimacy. His entire body locked up in terror.
"Asher! ASHERRRR! Something's touching me—there's something here!" Jeremy shouted, his voice breaking in fear.
Asher turned, eyes narrowing. In the swirling shadows behind them, he saw the figures—five twisted monstrosities. Their skeletal bodies were draped in torn sinew and festooned with intestines like grotesque jewelry. Their faces resembled malformed hounds, and their hands ended in long, bony claws. Blood stained their humanlike feet, and their snarling mouths dripped with rot.
"Stay close to me," Asher commanded, pulling Jeremy behind him. A subtle golden shimmer enveloped them—a divine barrier that kept the demons at bay.
The creatures hissed, furious that they could not reach their prey. One spoke in ancient, rasping gibberish that made the air tremble.
Asher paled.
"What are they saying?" Jeremy asked, his voice trembling.
"They're...drawn to our scent," Asher said. "They've never smelled anything so pure. They're going to alert Hell of our arrival. We're...we're being hunted."
Jeremy's heart plummeted.
"So, what now? Do we wait for an army of Hell's chefs to cook us?"
Asher didn't answer. His hands lifted and began tracing intricate symbols in the air. An orange light formed, expanding into a glowing ring that spun violently. He flicked his wrists forward, and the circle shot out like a blade of fire, shredding the demons with a chorus of tortured screams.
Their shrieks echoed through the pit, and suddenly the golden thread snapped. A wild force seized them and dragged them faster, deeper, until the heat prickled at their skin and their amulets began to shimmer.
They had arrived.
They landed with a crash upon a coal-black floor. Asher's head collided with something hard—but not rock. It shifted beneath him, unnervingly alive. He sat up, dizzy but unhurt, confused by the odd physics of Hell.
"We need to move," Asher urged, yanking Jeremy up. "Ava warned me—if we linger too long, we'll be absorbed into Hell's fold. Trapped forever."
Jeremy followed, and then the landscape unfolded before them like a nightmare brought to life.
Colossal pillars of flame erupted into the sky, licking the smog-choked heavens. The clouds were a roiling mass of crimson and ash. From every direction came the wails of the damned—cries that spoke of endless suffering, hopelessness, and despair.
The demons that walked the streets were unspeakable. Twisted, malformed, some crawling, others slithering or stomping. Eyes bulged from sockets. Mouths stretched unnaturally. Horns, spikes, and dismembered limbs seemed like the norm. Their deformity was their beauty here.
But something more sinister slithered beneath them.
A clawed hand emerged from the coals, then withdrew like a serpent sensing its prey. Asher remained unaware. Jeremy, however, felt it.
"Asher...does it feel like we're walking into a trap to you?"
Asher turned just as the ground exploded beneath them.
A chasm opened, engulfing them in darkness once more.
A demon watching from afar sneered.
"They were supposed to be our feast!"
But another creature—a scorpion-like beast with a buffalo's head and seven horns—cackled.
"No. That was Master's doing. They've entered his net. Their souls belong to him now."
Suddenly, Asher and Jeremy reappeared in a room so stunningly sensual it stole their breath. The air was laced with intoxicating fragrances—jasmine, vanilla, sandalwood. Exotic flowers adorned every surface.
But more shocking were the figures within.
Men—stark naked, stunningly beautiful—surrounded them. Each one an exquisite sculpture of desire, skin glistening, their manhoods bulging with erotic pride. Their faces were ethereal—eyes like pools of forbidden nectar, lips curved in eternal seduction.
Jeremy's jaw dropped.
"What... the actual...fuck?"
Asher's eyes widened. These weren't just beings—they were temptations made flesh. One of them extended a finger, beckoning them into a lush garden brimming with lust.
In the back of Asher's mind, Ava's warning pierced through the haze:
"When you meet the keeper of the gate, outsmart him. And above all... do not bargain with the devil."
But it was too late.
The Devil had already claimed their souls.
But was it really true? Has the devil really claim their soul?.