The pain never stopped in Hell.
Xeos opened his eyes, feeling the burning chains tighten around his wrists. Two weeks had passed since his arrival—or what felt like two weeks, as time flowed differently in this realm. The obsidian platform beneath him absorbed the energy leaking from his body like a sponge soaking up water.
He struggled to his feet as an imp approached. The creature stood barely four feet tall with mottled gray skin and small horns protruding from its forehead. Its eyes glowed with malicious yellow light.
"Up, soul!" the imp barked, prodding Xeos with a barbed whip. "Your daily unlife begins now."
Xeos complied, joining the line of other souls shuffling toward the work pits. He looked at his hands—once capable of channeling enough magical energy to seal away a lesser god. Now they were pale, almost transparent, and utterly powerless. His spiritual form had solidified somewhat since arriving, but he remained a shadow of his former self.
When he first arrived in Hell, he'd attempted to summon his magic. Nothing happened. Every mage who crossed between realms lost their abilities. The energy of Reality—what mortals called magic—couldn't exist in its raw form in other realms. Instead, it converted into the native energy of whatever realm claimed the mage's soul.
In Hell, that meant suffering.
"Move faster!" Another imp cracked its whip across Xeos's back.
He stumbled forward, keeping his face neutral despite the searing pain. Around him, other souls cried out, their wails echoing through the massive chamber. Some had been here for centuries, their forms degraded to little more than wisps. Others were newer, still bearing the shock of recent death on their translucent faces.
The work pit opened before them—a vast depression in the obsidian floor filled with jagged stones and pools of liquid fire. Souls waded through the burning pools, hauling stones from one side to another in a pointless, eternal labor.
"Your station," the imp said, pushing Xeos toward a particularly deep pool of fire.
He stepped into the molten liquid. Pain erupted through his spiritual form, and he bit back a scream. This was the point—to suffer. To generate the energy of suffering that fed the demons above.
Xeos grabbed a stone from the pool's bottom. It was heavier than it appeared, with edges sharp enough to cut into his hands. Blood-like spiritual energy oozed from the wounds. Each drop he shed joined the pool, turning it a slightly darker red.
"Work harder, soul!" An imp overseer perched on a ledge above the pool, observing the suffering below. "Lord Bargamel demands a full harvest today."
Bargamel. Xeos committed the name to memory. A demon lord, most likely. Two ranks above the imps that served as overseers. Two ranks above the bottom of Hell's hierarchy, where Xeos now resided.
He hauled the stone across the pool, each step sending fresh waves of agony through him. The other souls around him moaned, their faces twisted in torment. Some had been at this task for so long they no longer resembled anything human—just vaguely humanoid shapes constantly leaking energy into the pool.
A soul near him stumbled, dropping its stone.
"Failure!" The imp overseer leaped down, landing beside the fallen soul. It raised its whip, the barbs glowing red-hot.
What happened next made even Xeos flinch.
After the punishment, the soul could barely move, dragging itself through the pool leaving a trail of spiritual essence behind it. The imp returned to its perch, satisfied.
"That one won't last another cycle," a voice whispered beside Xeos.
He turned to see another soul—a woman with hollow eyes that had once been beautiful. Like all souls in Hell, her form was semi-transparent, but hers had degraded more than his.
"How long have you been here?" Xeos asked quietly, careful not to attract attention.
"Time loses meaning," she replied. "A thousand years? More? I was a queen once."
"I was a king," Xeos said.
She laughed bitterly. "We're all equal now. Nothing but batteries for them."
Batteries. The word echoed in Xeos's mind. That's exactly what they were—spiritual batteries generating energy through their suffering. The energy flowed upward through Hell's hierarchy, feeding the demons, the demon lords, and ultimately the demon kings.
He looked at the imp overseer. The creature absorbed some of the suffering energy directly, growing slightly more substantial whenever a soul beneath it experienced intense pain. Most of the energy, however, accumulated in the pool itself, to be harvested later.
As they worked, Xeos observed the other imps. Each had slightly different features—some with larger horns, others with scaled skin or extra appendages. But all shared the same malicious yellow eyes and sadistic temperament.
One in particular caught his attention. Unlike the others, this imp carried itself with a hint of restraint. It inflicted pain methodically rather than gleefully, as if following a procedure rather than indulging a passion.
When no other imps were watching, Xeos deliberately dropped his stone.
The methodical imp noticed immediately, approaching with its whip raised.
"Clumsy soul," it said loudly enough for others to hear. Then, in a whisper as it brought down the whip: "You're watching too carefully. That draws attention."
The whip connected, sending pain shooting through Xeos's form. But the imp had pulled its strike, delivering just enough force to appear proper to any observers.
Interesting, Xeos thought through the haze of pain. An imp with hidden motivations.
He filed this observation away, adding it to the growing mental map he was creating of Hell's power structures. Every advantage, no matter how small, could be useful.
The work continued for what felt like days. Souls around him gradually degraded, their forms becoming less distinct as they leaked energy into the pool. Others arrived to replace those who faded completely. The cycle never stopped.
Xeos maintained his form better than most, despite the constant drain. Three millennia as one of the most powerful mages in Reality had left him with reserves far beyond the average soul. While others faded quickly, he endured.
This didn't go unnoticed.
"You," an imp said, pointing at Xeos toward the end of what passed for a work cycle. "Come."
The imp led him away from the work pit toward a different chamber. Inside, other souls were strapped to strange devices—metal frames that glowed with infernal energy. As a soul was secured to a frame, spikes drove into its form, extracting suffering more efficiently than the work pits.
"High-yield extraction," the imp explained with cruel satisfaction. "You've been selected for special attention."
Xeos didn't resist as they strapped him to a frame. Fighting would only reveal his intentions too soon. Instead, he watched, learning the mechanism of the device, studying the imps who operated it.
The spikes plunged into his spiritual form.
Pain unlike anything he'd experienced—even in three thousand years of life—exploded through him. His vision went white, then red, then black. He might have screamed; he couldn't tell.
When awareness returned, he felt hollow. The device had extracted a significant portion of his suffering energy in one session. Around him, other souls attached to similar frames had been reduced to barely-visible wisps.
"Still intact?" An imp inspected him with surprise. "Most burn out after one session."
"Mark this one," another imp said. "Good for multiple extractions."
They unstrapped him and dragged him back to the general holding area where souls rested between work cycles. "Rest" was a meaningless concept in Hell—souls didn't sleep or recover—but they were allowed brief periods of lesser torment between more intensive extractions.
Xeos lay on the obsidian floor, conserving what remained of his energy. A plan was forming in his mind, but he needed more information. More understanding of Hell's hierarchies and operations.
He'd gathered some already:
Souls were the livestock, harvested for the energy of suffering.
Imps were the lowest rank of demons, serving as overseers and torturers.
Somewhere above them were true demons of various types and specialties.
Above those were the demon lords who controlled territories within Hell.
And at the top, the demon kings who ruled entire regions.
What he needed now was leverage—some way to ascend from his current position. The methodical imp might prove useful, but Xeos needed more.
As if summoned by his thoughts, that very imp appeared at the edge of the holding area. It moved among the souls, inspecting them with feigned cruelty whenever other imps glanced its way. When it reached Xeos, it knelt as if examining him for weaknesses.
"You're different," the imp whispered. "You maintain form despite extraction."
Xeos said nothing.
"I've been watching," the imp continued. "You observe. You plan. Most souls only suffer."
"What do you want?" Xeos finally asked.
The imp glanced around to ensure no others were near. "Advancement. I've been an overseer for five thousand years. Too long."
"How does an imp advance?"
A thin smile spread across the creature's face. "By consuming other demons. It's the only way an imp can evolve to a true demon. Service and loyalty mean nothing without the power gained from devouring those equal or greater than yourself."
Now they were getting somewhere. Xeos considered his next words carefully. "And what value might a soul provide that would benefit an imp seeking advancement?"
The imp leaned closer. "Information. Some souls remember knowledge from Reality that could be useful to certain demons. Magical knowledge, especially."
There it was—an opening. Xeos had been one of the most knowledgeable mages in Reality. If information was currency in Hell's hierarchy, he possessed wealth beyond measure.
"I was a mage," Xeos said quietly.
The imp's yellow eyes widened slightly. "How powerful?"
"Powerful enough to bind a lesser god for millennia."
The imp pulled back, stunned. "You lie."
"Test me," Xeos challenged. "Ask about any magical system from Reality."
The imp stared at him for a long moment. "Blood magic. The rites of conversion."
Xeos recited the complex formula from memory, explaining the intricate connections between blood sacrifice and energy transference. It was advanced knowledge, something only the highest echelons of mages would have mastered.
The imp trembled slightly. "By the void," it whispered. "Do you know what demons would give for such knowledge? The ones who seek to influence Reality need precisely this information."
"Then perhaps we can help each other," Xeos suggested.
Before the imp could respond, a horn sounded through the chamber. All imps immediately straightened, turning toward the main entrance.
A larger demon entered—not an imp but a true demon with crimson skin, towering horns, and eyes like smoldering coals. The imps bowed as it passed.
"Collection time," the methodical imp whispered. "Watch closely."
The imps hurried to the work pits and extraction chambers, gathering glowing orbs that contained the concentrated suffering energy harvested from the souls. They brought these orbs to the crimson demon, who placed them in an ornate container.
"Is this all?" the crimson demon demanded, its voice like grinding stones.
"Yes, honored one," an imp replied. "Today's full harvest."
"It's less than yesterday," the demon noted with displeasure.
"The souls degrade quickly," the imp explained nervously. "We need new stock."
The crimson demon growled. "Lord Bargamel will be displeased. His quota for the lower demon king increases each cycle."
Xeos watched this exchange carefully, noting the fear in the imps' postures. This Bargamel clearly held significant power.
"It is for the lord Bargamel," the crimson demon said, taking the container. "He delivers it directly to the demon king Usarus himself."
The name sent a ripple through the gathered imps. Usarus—one of the three demon kings of Hell. King of the green forests and disgust, if the legends Xeos had studied were accurate.
After the crimson demon departed, the imps returned to their duties. The methodical one made its way back to Xeos.
"You saw?" it asked.
Xeos nodded. "Bargamel serves Usarus."
"Lord Bargamel controls this entire sector," the imp explained. "He oversees the collection of suffering from thousands of work pits like this one. His favor means advancement."
"And how might one gain his notice?" Xeos asked.
The imp's yellow eyes gleamed. "By offering something valuable enough to get close to a real demon. Close enough to... consume them."
"Like magical knowledge from Reality."
"Precisely." The imp glanced around again, its eyes gleaming with hunger. "I could arrange an audience, for a price. No imp has advanced in centuries because we're kept too weak to overcome true demons."
"What price can a soul pay?"
"Your knowledge. Teach me enough to elevate my position, and I'll help you reach Lord Bargamel."
Xeos considered this offer. The imp was clearly using him, but that worked both ways. Each could serve as a stepping stone for the other. Kerzet needed knowledge to get close enough to consume a higher demon, while Xeos had his own plans. A soul cannot become a demon—at least that's what everyone in Hell believed. And once he reached Bargamel, he would need no more stepping stones—only teeth and an appetite for demon flesh.
"I agree," Xeos said.
The imp nodded. "I am Kerzet. When the next rest period comes, I will return."
With that, it moved away, resuming its role as a cruel overseer to avoid suspicion.
Xeos lay back on the obsidian floor, conserving his strength. The pieces were falling into place. He now had a potential ally in Kerzet. He had identified a demon lord—Bargamel—who might provide a path upward. And he knew which demon king ruled over this region of Hell.
Another work cycle began. Xeos was returned to the extraction frame, suffering through another session that would have obliterated lesser souls. He endured, focusing on his plan rather than the pain. His thoughts drifted to Bargamel, imagining not just meeting the demon lord, but tasting his essence—consuming his power directly from the source.
When the next rest period arrived, Kerzet found him as promised. The imp brought a small vial containing a swirling black substance.
"Drink this," Kerzet instructed. "It will temporarily restore some of your strength."
Xeos took the vial cautiously. "What is it?"
"Condensed spiritual energy. Normally reserved for imps who have been injured. It will make you appear less degraded when I present you."
"Present me?"
Kerzet smiled thinly. "I've arranged for you to be transferred to a special extraction unit—one that Lord Bargamel inspects personally. But first, you must teach me as promised."
Xeos drank the vial's contents. A cold rush spread through his spiritual form, partially restoring what had been drained. The sensation reminded him of consuming energy directly—a taste of what was to come when he finally sank his essence into Bargamel's form. Then he began teaching Kerzet about the foundations of elemental manipulation—complex enough to impress, but not his most valuable secrets.
The imp absorbed the knowledge eagerly, asking pointed questions that revealed a surprising intellect. When they finished, Kerzet seemed satisfied.
"Tomorrow," the imp said. "During the collection, you'll be transferred. Be ready."
The next cycle passed slowly. Xeos endured another extraction session, careful to conceal how much of his strength remained. When the collection horn sounded, Kerzet appeared with another imp.
"This one," Kerzet said officially. "Marked for special extraction unit seven."
The other imp examined Xeos suspiciously. "By whose authority?"
"Supervisor Malrex."
The name seemed to carry weight, as the other imp nodded and helped transfer Xeos to a different chamber. This one contained more advanced extraction frames, with fewer souls—all of whom appeared stronger than the average.
"High-yield specimens only," an imp explained to Kerzet. "This one qualifies?"
"Tested and verified," Kerzet replied. "Multiple extractions without significant degradation."
Xeos was strapped to a new frame. This one had more spikes, positioned with greater precision. When they activated it, the pain reached new heights of intensity. He barely maintained consciousness.
Through his agony, he noticed the quality of energy being extracted was different—purer, more concentrated. The orbs collected here glowed brighter than those from the regular chambers.
After the extraction, he was moved to a separate holding area with the other high-yield souls. Here, they were given more of the restorative substance, keeping them viable for repeated extractions.
"Premium stock," an overseer imp explained to another. "These feed Lord Bargamel's personal collection."
Xeos absorbed this information through his pain. He was closer to his target now.
Days passed in this new routine. Extraction, restoration, extraction again. His spiritual form would have degraded to nothing without the restorative substance, but even with it, he felt himself growing weaker. There were limits to how long even he could endure this cycle.
Then came the moment he'd been waiting for.
The collection horn sounded, but this time it was followed by a second, deeper horn. The imps in the chamber immediately became more alert, checking that everything was in perfect order.
"He comes," one whispered nervously. "Lord Bargamel himself."
The door to the chamber opened. First entered several crimson demons like the one Xeos had seen before. After them came a larger figure—at least nine feet tall with dark purple skin and six horns arranged in a crown-like formation. Its eyes burned with golden fire, and its movements carried an authority that made even the higher demons bow deeply.
Bargamel. A true demon lord.
He moved through the chamber, inspecting the collected orbs with critical attention. When he reached the area where Xeos was held, he paused. Xeos felt a primal hunger stir within him as he studied the demon lord's substantial form—calculating where to strike first when the time came.
"This unit's production has increased," Bargamel noted, his voice reverberating with power.
"Yes, my lord," the head overseer replied. "We've added several exceptional specimens."
Bargamel surveyed the assembled souls. His fiery gaze lingered on Xeos for a moment longer than the others.
"That one," he said, pointing directly at Xeos. "It maintains form better than the rest."
"A recent acquisition, my lord," the overseer explained. "Unusually resilient."
Bargamel approached, looming over Xeos. "What were you, soul, to resist dissolution so effectively?"
Xeos met the demon lord's gaze. "A king. A mage."
Bargamel seemed amused by this direct answer. "Many kings and mages pass through these chambers. Few endure as you have."
"Few bound lesser gods in their mortal lives," Xeos replied.
The chamber went silent. The overseers froze, clearly expecting Bargamel to punish such boldness. Instead, the demon lord's eyes narrowed with interest.
"A god-binder," he said thoughtfully. "Rare indeed. Your energy would be particularly valuable to those above."
Xeos said nothing more, knowing he had planted the seed. Bargamel turned away, continuing his inspection. When he reached the collected orbs, he spoke to the crimson demons.
"Take these to my chambers. I will personally deliver today's tribute to King Usarus."
The demons carefully loaded the orbs into an elaborate container. Bargamel surveyed the chamber one final time, his gaze again pausing on Xeos. Then he departed with his entourage.
After they left, the imps seemed to collectively exhale.
"He noticed you," Kerzet whispered, appearing beside Xeos's frame. "This is unprecedented."
"What happens now?" Xeos asked.
"I don't know," Kerzet admitted. "But to have caught Lord Bargamel's interest directly... something will change."
The work cycle resumed, but Xeos sensed a difference in how the overseers treated him. They watched him more carefully, applied the restorative substance more generously after extractions. He had become valuable inventory.
That night—or what passed for night in the eternal red glow of Hell—Xeos watched from his frame as the imps prepared for the next collection. They gathered around the orbs, checking their quality with nervous attention.
One imp approached another who appeared to be a supervisor. "The tribute grows smaller each cycle. King Usarus demands more, but the souls degrade too quickly."
"Lord Bargamel knows this," the supervisor replied. "He seeks new sources. More powerful souls."
"The god-binder might be worth specializing," the first imp suggested.
Xeos pretended not to hear, but his mind raced with new possibilities. If Bargamel was under pressure to deliver more energy to Usarus, that created an opportunity. Desperation always opened doors.
The collection horn sounded. The crimson demon entered to collect the orbs, placing them in the container as before.
"It is for Lord Bargamel," the demon announced formally. "He delivers it to the king Usarus himself."
As the demon departed with the precious cargo, Xeos made his decision. Bargamel would be his target—his entry point into Hell's hierarchy. The demon lord's connection to King Usarus created a path upward, a chance to climb from the lowest rank to something greater.
He would need to offer Bargamel something valuable enough to get close—close enough to strike. His knowledge of magic was merely bait to lure the demon lord within reach. While Bargamel would expect to consume knowledge, Xeos intended to be the one doing the consuming.
Xeos watched the crimson demon disappear through the chamber doors, the container of suffering energy clutched in its clawed hands. That energy would flow upward, from Bargamel to Usarus, fueling the power of a demon king.
Someday, Xeos vowed, he would follow that same path. Not as energy, but as a predator climbing the food chain. He would rise through Hell's ranks, devouring those above him and absorbing their strength directly, until he achieved what he came for.
The first step was Bargamel. The demon lord who delivered suffering to its apostle.