Chapter 5: A Hot Welcome

  As the boy looked around the area in terror, the devil's reaction was completely different.

  He inhaled the familiar, stinging air of carbon dioxide, and nostalgia flickered across his eye.

  Twenty years had passed since he had been foolishly imprisoned by the Eternally Beautiful Queen, and the sixty-sixth infernal dimension was his true home.

  Within moments his wounds sealed, and the years fell from him.

  He no longer had a long beard but a short stubble, and he looked like a wonderfully muscular thirty-year-old.

  There was a mystery in his eye, and he would have undoubtedly appealed to the vast majority of women he met.

  'How good it is to be home!' he thought, preparing to return to his old haunts and visit the voivode.

  He was about to leap into the air when the annoying human interrupted him.

  "So... what now?"

  The boy was clearly expecting something from him, which made Ignatius just smile to himself.

  He knew mortals clung to tales of pacts with devils—a rumor Hell itself had sown to spite the Church of Justice.

  He had only taken the kid with him so he wouldn't go around on earth telling everyone how a magnificent devil had begged to be freed.

  What's more, Ignatius himself was just one of billions of devils living in the 66.6 infernal dimensions, and he was definitely not the Lord of Hell that people identified him with. Like all other hellspawn, however, he enjoyed mischief, so he put on a serious face and announced in a raspy voice:

  "You must wait here. I will attend to the necessary matters of your arrival to sect and return shortly."

  After which he leaped into the air and disappeared from the boy's sight.

  He had no intention of returning and considered the whole situation an excellent joke.

  When he appeared 6.6 seconds later on Mountain of Mists—the largest, fog-shrouded mountain of the dimension—the infernal voivode and Eusebius, the ruler of one of the smaller mountains, were already waiting for him.

  Ignatius grinned, and his aura rippled outward like heat over metal.

  The air around him began to warp; even faint electrical discharges were visible.

  Voivode Boruta and his other guest looked at each other, after which the host frowned and... disappeared.

  He reappeared right next to the surprised Ignatius and thumped him in the face with a powerful blow.

  The devil, barely freed from his harsh captivity, could not resist such force and crashed to the ground with a shriek, in terrible pain.

  "You moron!" shouted Boruta, standing over him, and then began to kick him mercilessly.

  The air filled with the screams of Ignatius, who definitely had not expected such a welcome after twenty years of absence.

  "You are a disgrace to our entire sect! Your esteemed father is turning in his grave!"

  To the newcomer's desperation, the voivode beat him long and hard, with not the slightest intention of stopping.

  The old devil was truly angry, especially when he remembered the shame he and the sect had experienced over the past few months. Only after a few minutes did he vent the tip of his indignation and pause for a moment.

  "Such a disgrace..." he repeated quietly, shaking his head.

  Ignatius, in great pain and under immense stress, looked at him with resentment but did not dare to talk back. After all, the voivode was the ruler of the entire infernal dimension and someone who had built this place together with his late father.

  Eusebius, sitting nearby, did not seem interested in their scuffle; he just glanced at the prodigal devil from time to time and jotted something down in his perpetual notebook.

  "What's wrong, demonic Boruta? I didn't do anything!" Ignatius finally said, feigning innocence.

  Of course, this only enraged his superior even more.

  "You still have the audacity to ask? They've been laughing at us for two months because of you!" he snarled back, red with indignation.

  Ignatius had been absent from the sect for a surprisingly long time, so they had decided to send for a devil-soothsayer from the upper hells to divine what had happened to him. The results were, to put it mildly, absolutely compromising.

  "How could you be such an idiot as to let yourself be seduced and imprisoned by a human woman with no powers?!"

  As the ridiculous truth pierced the air, Eusebius pricked up his ears and waited impatiently for an explanation.

  He was known in the sect as an avid researcher of the human dimension, and the story intrigued him immensely.

  The culprit of the whole affair could only blush with shame.

  How was he supposed to explain to them that twenty years ago he had fallen madly in love with a certain beautiful queen and, believing she simply had a sharp taste, had willingly put himself in shackles?

  At the same time as the devilish mountain lords were meeting for the first time in two decades, Justinian was still waiting in front of the gate to the sect.

  Although the devil had cured him of the poison, he was still terrified, and only now was the weight of events hitting him like merciless, destructive tremors.

  'Sister Teresa and Mr. Rafalski are dead... I don't know what happened to my brother...' he thought about the terrible events that had destroyed his life so far.

  Just yesterday, everything had been fine, and now these catastrophes had fallen on him like a bolt from the blue.

  'What's more... I myself... have freed the cursed devil!'

  He felt monstrous thinking about this blasphemous act; after all, the Church of Justice warned against the Lord of Hell and the chaos he brings. Ruminating on his decision, however, he knew it was the only way to honor his deceased caretaker's wish.

  'How could I believe in justice if I don't personally see to it that the perpetrators are punished?!' he seethed internally, despite his fatigue.

  While waiting for the fiend, the young man tried to get to get familiar with the haunting environment he was brought to.

  From one of the nearby mountains, the wind would occasionally carry the ghostly moans of the damned. Biting his teeth he faced it with courage, despite the sweat running down his temples.

  Soon, his attention was drawn to a small devil—undoubtedly one of the minions of the devil he had freed—walking towards a nearby river with a whole pile of toys.

  Aside from two large bumps on his forehead, which would turn into horns over the next few years, he looked quite like a normal twelve-year-old.

  Along the way, he dropped a wooden figurine without noticing.

  For a moment, Justinian wondered if he should point it out. After all, he had just arrived in hell and was a little afraid of his surroundings.

  'In the end, I've already agreed to become a devil...' he thought, before picking up the toy and taking it to the boy, who was already standing by the riverbank.

  "You dropped this."

  The young-looking boy, torn from his focus, raised his eyebrows in surprise but quickly composed himself.

  "Thank you very much," he replied, bowing politely.

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  The sight of a human didn't seem to impress him much.

  The newcomer from the Kingdom of Peace was a little puzzled by this, but after a moment, he blinked in disbelief. The twelve-year-old in front of him, right after receiving the lost toy, with complete seriousness... threw it into the river.

  He did the same with the rest of the figurines he had brought.

  "Why are you throwing them away?" the bewildered human asked.

  Internally, he was a little sad; having grown up in a poor orphanage, he himself had once dreamed of similar toys.

  The small devil, full of seriousness, looked him in the eye.

  "They distract me from my work."

  At the summit of Mountain of Mists, emotions had subsided somewhat, and Ignatius finally asked:

  "And where have Greedius XXIII and Rokita the Elder gone?"

  They were his old acquaintances from the sect, as well as—besides the present Eusebius—the rulers of the four mountains subordinate to the voivode. They had caused mischief against humans together many times, so he expected them to come out and greet him.

  "Greedius is wandering around somewhere, as always. Not worth wasting time on him," the Voivode waved his hand.

  However, when he moved on to the second of the mentioned devils, he clearly became serious.

  "And Rokita kicked the bucket while you were away."

  "To be precise, he was the one who was kicked—fatally," Eusebius interjected, then shook his head.

  Ignatius raised his eyebrows high at these words. After all, Rokita had been the strongest of the lords. Some claimed he was only minimally weaker than the Voivode himself.

  Seeing his surprise, Boruta offered him a few words of advice:

  "You'd better be on your guard, your new neighbor is a serious fiend and doesn't like trouble."

  Then he went on to tell the story of how, in the previous month, a mysterious devil named Maleficius had appeared in the dimension. He didn't seem to care about good, infernal customs and didn't even drink a shot of vodka in welcome. Instead, he almost immediately attacked and took over Rokita the Elder's mountain.

  "Poor Rokita... not only did he end up headless, but all the adepts from his mountain were driven out..." the voivode recalled sadly.

  Even the usually emotionally detached Eusebius seemed a little shaken at the memory of these terrible events, so it goes without saying how shocked Ignatius looked.

  "And he's just living there now?! Why didn't you do anything about him?!" he exclaimed in terror, clutching his head.

  "And what were we supposed to do? We're just glad he stopped at Rokita and doesn't come down from the Mountain of Swamps and Darkness too often," Boruta replied indifferently.

  Such was the unfortunate reality of hell. In this world, only strength mattered, and it was strength that dictated the laws.

  "By the way, you have bigger problems now," the old fiend added, narrowing his eyes.

  "Because of the disgrace you've brought, you have been given the nickname 'Empty-headed'. From now on, you shall be called Ignatius the Empty-headed," he announced angrily, his pupils seeming to burn with an infernal fire.

  Eusebius looked at his colleague expectantly. Besides sniffing out news about the human world, he had come here to witness this very moment.

  The handsome devil's reaction did not disappoint him at all. The Voivode's words fell on him like hated holy water. Already red in the face from such humiliation, he was about to start arguing, but then he received another blow:

  "You also have to find at least one adept for your mountain by the end of the day, otherwise you will lose it," Boruta said furiously, still remembering the recent shame of the entire dimension. "That is the decision of the sect council. The leniency shown to you for your father's services ends here!"

  Stamping his foot sharply, he signaled that the meeting was over. With a wave of his hand, he summoned a powerful wind that threw Ignatius from the mountain in seconds.

  The scream of the terrified, empty-headed devil, carried by a terrible force, could be heard all over the Mountain of Fogs.

  Landing heavily, he tumbled several times, flying into some suspicious-looking ground in the process, then struggled to his feet and brushed the sand off himself.

  Gritting his teeth, he wanted to curse the cruel voivode, but he held back, remembering that the old man had surprisingly good hearing and hit exceptionally hard. So he limited his anger to complaining in his mind:

  'What the hell is this?! Just two decades ago, everyone was kissing my feet for my father's services in creating the sect!'

  Of course, twenty years may seem like a long time from a human perspective, but for devils, especially those of a powerful lineage, it was often merely a blink of an eye. There were rumors about Boruta himself that he had been alive for about a hundred and fifty thousand years.

  Ignatius shook his head in embarrassment, but finally, self-confident, he snorted quietly.

  'What's the problem with finding one adept for a mountain? I used to have thousands of them!' he thought, and then, remembering to put on a suitably sinister expression, he leaped into the air, traveling as fast as lightning to a nearby city.

  There, hovering over the agora, he thundered in a resonant voice:

  "The Mountain of Plague and Misfortune of the End of the World Sect is once again open to adepts! Join today to become part of a prestigious legacy!"

  Saying this, he straightened up, proud as a peacock, fully displaying the glory of his magnificent lineage.

  He floated there, basking in what he was certain was pure perfection.

  All this, only to be completely ignored. Absolutely no one from the crowd even thought about joining him.

  What was worse... thanks to his excellent hearing, Ignatius could hear mockery directed at him!

  "Is that the Empty-headed idiot who disgraced the whole dimension?"

  "I heard his mountain is as empty as his head!"

  "Is that the hopeless son ruining the legacy of his distinguished father?"

  The terrible words were more painful to him than a slap to the face.

  The truth is that the power of nicknames in the infernal dimensions was immense, and being called Emptyhead was de facto associated with terrible social ostracism.

  He gritted his teeth but had no intention of giving up. He visited a few more villages in the dimension. Unfortunately, all this only led to even greater consternation.

  'Why does no one want to join me?!'

  All his life, he'd had everything handed to him on a silver platter, and now a harsh reality had befallen him. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he felt like complaining about the injustice of this world.

  Unfortunately, no one cared about his drama. Moreover, time was running out.

  The matter was all the more serious because the widely present... human immigrant communities in the dimension were also ignoring him.

  'Even the toilet cleaners...' Ignatius couldn't believe what was happening.

  Immigrants were considered inferior by devils, mainly because they engaged in "unworthy of devils," difficult professions, while the fiends themselves aimed for something consistent with the 6.6 infernal virtues. Such professions included occupations involving frequent manipulation or lying, such as politics.

  And now, even the least skilled workers were completely ignoring him.

  'What the hell am I supposed to do now?!' the devil wondered frantically. 'If I lose the mountain, I lose all my privileges!'

  He couldn't let that happen, but the situation was difficult. Who would make a pact with him when the whole dimension treated him this way?

  'I'd have to catch someone completely green...' As he was thinking about the matter, an idea dawned on him.

  Justinian was waiting in front of the entrance to the sect, worrying a little internally that the devil had been gone for so long. However, he was tired from the harsh experiences, so his nerves didn't push him to any rash actions. As he looked at the slowly setting sun, he noticed that Ignatius had imperceptibly returned.

  He was levitating in the air, a few meters above the ground, with his hands clasped behind his back. His haughty expression testified to the dramatic difference in status between him and the young man.

  "Are you ready to step onto the path of vengeance?" he asked in a powerful voice, thundering like lightning. His words seemed to have a strange power, as Justinian felt a rising wind around him.

  Ultimately, however, this was what the boy desired. He was determined to make the guilty pay for their sins.

  'Justice demands it!' he thought, gritting his teeth. "I am," he replied, bowing to the devil, who for a split second seemed... strangely joyful? Justinian was too tired, however, to be sure if it wasn't an illusion.

  "Then you shall become an adept of my Mountain of Plague and Misfortune!" Ignatius thundered even louder, and then... with a strange power, he lifted the terrified boy into the air and they flew together towards one of the mountains.

  When they arrived at the location, the boy's eyes widened. Somewhere halfway up the summit of the gloomy-looking mountain was a village to which the devil had transported him. It looked very desolate, as evidenced by the white paint peeling off the buildings and the huge cobwebs being slowly spun under the roofs by fist-sized spiders.

  'It looks completely different from villages of the Kingdom of Peace...' the tired Justinian noticed, though he couldn't quite say what style of architecture it was.

  His attention was drawn to an old, dry fountain, at which the devil was gazing.

  "Being an adept, this village... what does it all mean?" he asked the infernal fiend.

  The fiend, torn from his thoughts and as if outraged that a human worm dared to question him, boomed loudly:

  "Revenge is a dish best served cold. You will achieve it on the path of immortality, when you find yourself." As he spoke, he emitted some of his aura, making him seem more mystical and sinister than usual.

  All of this, of course, made a huge impression on the tired and magic-less Justinian. So he immediately set about searching for the hidden meaning in these lofty words.

  The devil, quite pleased with the boy's reaction to the empty words and the act he had put on, slowly began to levitate towards the top of the mountain. The state of his domain turned out to be worse than he had anticipated, and he worried that without cleaning up this ruin, he would no longer be able to pick up any she-devils.

  'The fountain is in particularly bad shape, and that's where the spring of youth once flowed...' he contemplated.

  However, he saw some positives in the whole situation, which allowed him to breathe a little easier:

  'At least I have an adept, and the Voivode won't nag me anymore...'

  Of course, he cared little about what would happen to this adept next.

  As Justinian settled into the abandoned village, he frowned in thought. Despite his intense efforts, the devil's words were too mysterious and cryptic for him, so he didn't know what he should do next.

  'The legends I heard said that the devil grants wishes immediately...' he thought, his expression clouded.

  But was there any point in complaining? He was in hell, far from the Kingdom of Peace, and he had to deal with the situation.

  So he set about looking for a place to sleep. After cleaning up the interior of one of the abandoned buildings a bit—it clearly looked like a dormitory—he decided to rest after the worst day of his life.

  In the unlit room, which looked as if it were about to collapse, he lay down, once again contemplating the situation he found himself in.

  'Sister Guardian and Mr. Rafalski are dead... my brother is probably dead too...' he thought, clenching his fists. The mere memory of the grim reality caused him immense pain in his heart, and fear. But what dominated within him was something else.

  'Don't lose faith in justice...' the last words of his guardian sister echoed in his mind. The person who had always supported him, primarily at her own expense. The person who had dedicated her life to others, expecting nothing in return. The person who did not deserve such a fate.

  What dominated in Justinian was rage. Rage at the terrible world and the fate that had led to this. Rage at the unknown bandits who had burned the city and caused his sister's death.

  He also felt hatred. Pure hatred and anger that could not disappear until the perpetrators of this tragedy paid for what they had done. This is what his inner justice told him, and revenge was the only way to fulfill his dying sister's request.

  Tired from the awful day, he soon fell asleep.