When his soul reached consciousness after a forgotten ill fate befell him in the mortal world, Hector knew without explanation that he was in Hell. The stretching landscapes of scorched sulfur, scattered with despondent souls that writhed and wailed, were the first sight to greet him. He thought, at first, that his fate was that of the wraith-like masses that squirmed and twitched unendingly across the dusty red planes. When he realized that the pain he felt was neither a burning of his flesh nor a sharp, eternal twisting of his bones, Hector knew that his punishment was different. The weight that settled upon the very essence of his soul, biting like acid that would never cool, confirmed it for him.

  Hector’s existence in life had been vile enough to earn him the title of a lesser demon; the act of punishment was to be his penance.

  Impossible knowledge that had no place within his mind had been forced upon him. Hector found that he knew of the other many layers of punishment that lay out of sight, carved high above his head, as well as the burning city of violence and twisting architecture that lay just on the edge of the field of souls before him. He had never seen it before, yet he could picture the looming brimstone towers and scorched castles of Lords and higher demons as if they were right in front of him. He was granted mere whispers of his former mortality, enough to make his hands yearn for the touch of a book’s page as they tore into flesh, or the chill of grass blades kissing his soles as they ground upon bone; a punishment all on its own.

  Fists clenched and teeth bared, Hector lost himself in the brutality that was both his penance and reward. His blackened nails, dragging through beaten and blistered flesh, served as punishment to the damned, all while bringing torment with the knowledge that their mortal lives had not been vile enough to elevate them to his station of corruption. He knew that his position had been earned, just as theirs were. Violence bit and clawed at the soiled leftovers of his soul, encouraging him to lash out and stomp upon brittle bone and sunken skin until the echoing cries of agony and retribution turned to white noise within his skull.

  Lost among the carnage, Hector’s mind and body slowly began to feel numb. He wasn’t sure when it happened. The screams no longer felt like a siren's call, and the feeling of muscle giving way beneath his heel held no satisfaction upon impact. The sensations around him seemed to come to a screeching halt as an unnamable desire manifested. He wanted something that wasn’t this.

  With a mere blink, the world around Hector changed. The sudden disappearance of the surrounding wails and torment made his sharpened ears sting. The metallic dust and ruddy shadows he had grown accustomed to faded into a muted void filled with mist and the silhouette of distant trees. The space was as silent as it was empty, with only an occasional form seeming to appear in the far mist before it vanished just as quickly. Hector’s bones nearly vibrated from the harsh change of environment. The change was confusing and startling, but there appeared to be no threat in this new space. He felt a small pull deep within his chest as familiar whispers of wailing sinners flashed within his consciousness, but it was weak enough for him to ignore momentarily. This was intriguing and new, and he was interested in what this strange space was.

  With hesitant steps, Hector moved deeper within the mist, the light tap of his feet against grey soil being the only sound present. He caught flashes of wandering souls in his peripheral vision but ignored them in favor of exploration. In his aimless stroll, he briefly came across a small pond. Its smooth surface remained abnormally still, undisturbed in the absence of flora and fauna. Hector gazed down at the water, realizing for the first time in what felt like eternity that he could see his own image.

  The stranger who stared back at him looked the picture of a despondent punisher. The icy pallor of his skin contrasted harshly with the darkened ash of his hair, draping across his wiry shoulders in unkempt waves. Thick brows remained furrowed with a permanent weight, resting heavy above dark eyes that swallowed any light that dared try to reach them. Hector wondered briefly if this was how he looked in life — minus the small, jagged horns that breached the front of his skull.

  Hector couldn’t recall the last time he felt startled, but a sudden shift of the water’s reflection made his bones jolt within the confines of his skin, his body locking up with foreign instinct. Beside his own image, a glowing visage of a man came to rest. Long, umber locks framed the warm skin of his face, slender even with the gentle smile upon it. Strong yet slender limbs were draped with a milky tunic that waterfalled his form. Even without the angular ring of lights twinkling across his brow or the snowy plume of the wings framed behind him, Hector would have instinctively recognized him as an angel.

  “It’s a rare sight to see one of you in Sanctuary,” the stranger murmured, though his tone was not unkind. Whether it was the break from deafening silence or the natural chime that accompanied his voice, Hector flinched at the angel’s voice. The weight of the foreign situation kept him from replying. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to reply.

  The angel seemed unperturbed by his silence, moving to sit at the edge of the water with a quiet grace. “I’m not sure what brought you here, but you are welcome to stay so long as you cause no harm to the souls that wander. Sanctuary is a neutral ground. The blessed and damned are allowed amnesty here if we behave.”

  Hector found himself copying the angel’s movement, sitting down for the first time he could recall. The proximity of their forms made his skin burn just beneath the surface, but he couldn’t deny his want for company; something he had not had since spawning in Hell. It felt nice. It felt wrong.

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  Hector listened as the angel continued to speak in gentle tones for a short time, learning that the space he found himself in was a realm outside of Mortality, Heaven, and Hell. It served as a space for lost souls to wander, unsure of where their eternity lay. Demons and angels were both welcome in this space, though an altercation would result in being ripped back to their determined realm. Hector couldn’t make much sense of it, but it was different. He wanted to enjoy the change.

  “My name is Elias,” the other said after a few moments of silence. He stared at his companion in the water with a searching gaze but made no other hint that he was waiting for a response.

  Hector considered keeping quiet. That tug on his soul festered with the divine presence beside him, urging him to return to his duty of tormenting souls.

  “Hector,” he rasped instead, voice raw from heavy disuse. “I think.”

  He could only assume it was his, as it was the sole name he could recall upon his new existence.

  Elias’ slim brow rose, seemingly both delighted and surprised at his reply. When Hector gave no other indication that he intended to speak, the angel swiftly picked up the one-sided conversation again. He spoke of the occasional souls that he would meet when wandering through Sanctuary. It was Elias’ job as an Archangel to try and help the lost follow the pull of their souls to Heaven or Hell. Every word made Hector’s ears sting and his chest burn, but they made the hollowness of his own soul feel less burdensome. So he listened. He listened until the ache in his chest felt like scalding knives that tore away bits of him with every syllable and vowel. It left him trembling with a physical pain that he imagined matched his own practiced torture. He could tell by the way Elias’ lips eventually pursed that the angel took notice.

  “You should return for now,” Elias offered gently. It wasn’t a demand. “If you find yourself back here again, search for me. Perhaps we can speak once more.”

  The thought should not have made Hector feel eager, but he found himself already craving the sight of honeyed eyes instead of mangled souls. When a slender hand was offered to him, Hector felt no hesitation as he reached out and clasped it with calloused fingers. The air was immediately filled with the stench of burning sulfur as Hector’s form was flayed apart by divine light. If Elias felt a similar pain from their connection before Hector’s soul was wrenched back to his ring, his smile did a very good job of hiding it.

  Each time Hector later managed to let his consciousness drift back into the void of Sanctuary, events unfolded in a very similar fashion. Elias would eventually find him and greet him with a beautifully soft smile. They would sit in the space around them, and Elias would start an idle conversation about his heavenly duties of guidance or rare interactions with comrades. The way he described his duties seemed surprisingly mundane; repetitive and lonely in a way that reminded Hector of his own expected task of eternal torture. The similarity made him sit just a little closer, and Hector would always listen with rapt attention despite the sting it caused. Sometimes, he would even respond. The pain that chewed at Hector’s soul because of their proximity was easy to ignore when a particularly dry comment on his part would send Elias into a fit of laughter. The way his heart-shaped lips pulled at his dimples made Hector’s ribs flutter and burn.

  “I could get in trouble,” he pointed out during one of their rendezvous, interrupting Elias as he read from a book he claimed to ‘borrow without permission’ from one of the holy libraries. “For being here with you.”

  “Yet here you are.” Elias’ playful tone kept him from meeting those golden eyes. The heat that settled in his breast was far different from the usual burn that came from Hell’s air.

  “You could be damned,” Hector hissed. He almost surprised himself with the force behind his voice; the concern that was found there. He shouldn’t care. He should want an angel to fall. Elias’ brief silence made his fingers twitch anxiously.

  “I suppose I could.”

  The lack of fear in his melodic tone, replaced instead with a hint of consideration, made Hector desperate to stay away from Sanctuary. Those words rang like warning bells within his mind, brandishing images of honey eyes turned sallow and a brilliant crown of light mangled by horns that match his own. I don’t want that, he thought to himself. The idea of Elias losing eternal salvation over someone like himself, who had clearly earned damnation, suffocated him with dread. Elias doesn’t deserve that.

  Hector tried to distract himself with the mindless violence of his duties, digging his nails through sodden flesh with a vengeance to make the screams that followed last just a few seconds longer. Even with determination, his limbs eventually began to shake with the fatigue of withdrawal, reminding him of a long-forgotten desire for nicotine and lit cigarettes. The vacuum left behind by Elias’ laughter and warm presence ate away at him. He could only stay away for so long before a different pain wrung his soul dry, and he found himself being drawn back into the silence of Sanctuary.

  Desperate hands grasped his face seconds after Hector manifested into the grey mist, scalding his ashen flesh with a touch both divine and devastating. The pain rattled him, only seconded by the pinched look of sorrow on Elias’ face.

  “I thought you had left me.”

  Hector trembled under the weight of his angel’s accusation, because it was as shameful as it was truthful. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to want Elias; if he had the right to want Elias to want him. But the loneliness he saw in the other’s eyes matched his own, destroying any conviction that he had.

  “I wish that I could,” he whispered in admittance, blistering his shaking palms as he laid them across the divine hands cradling his face. Hector cursed himself as he leaned forward to place his love of damnation against his angel’s lips. “I wish that I could.”