04. SHAKE ON IT
Cain aims and squeezes the trigger.
Cain aims and...a man takes the gun away.
The man's slender form towers, so that Cain must look up into his eyes—one crystal blue, the other a black abyss. He is disconcerting to look at: pale white and bald, his arms far too long for his body.
"I am Balor," the man, the creature, says. He grins, revealing broken, yellowed teeth. "Do you wish to be free, child?"
"Free?" Cain asks. "Free from what?"
Balor, who is dressed in nothing but tattered corduroys, lifts a skinny arm, indicating the world around them. It's nighttime, and they're deep in Griffith Park, at an overlook of Los Angeles. Behind Balor, Cain can make out the archangel Amenadiel, where he sits upon a park bench.
"I need to kill him," Cain growls, grasping for the gun Balor has taken.
Balor laughs, snatching the weapon out of reach and holding it high. "You have killed him before, many times. This world is a lie."
To prove it, Balor rests the gun on his palms and whispers a guttural word. The weapon fades into nothingness, there one second, gone the next.
Cain takes a step back, the hairs on his arms standing to attention. "How did you do that?"
"I am the archdemon who rules over this corner of Hell," says Balor. "I do as I please."
"I'm dead?" Deep in his gut, Cain knows it's true. Panic seizes him. It wasn't supposed to be like this. "I can't be in Hell!"
"Oh, but you are." Balor offers Cain his hand, mismatched eyes gleaming. "Come, child. I will free you from this nightmare."
Cain hesitates, sensing the gravity of the decision. He's so certain he's never been here before, but something gnaws at him, some sneaking suspicion that he no longer knows himself. Perhaps... Perhaps Balor knows best. They stand there for what may be minutes or hours, until finally Cain puts his hand into the thin man's waiting grasp.
"Yesss," Balor hisses, his uneven grin euphoric. He clamps cool, spindly fingers around Cain's wrist. With an unnaturally strong pull, he yanks Cain off his feet and begins to drag him across the dirt, toward some unknown destination.
Cain cries out, his shoulder burning in protest. He scrabbles against the ground, kicking up dust as he tries to regain his footing, but Balor is strong and doesn't slow enough for him to gain traction.
"You are mine now. I do as I please with you."
A giant, wooden door stands beside a dry shrub, walled in by nothing. Balor holds up his free hand, palm facing outward, and the door bursts open with a resounding crack. Searing heat blasts through the doorway, taking Cain's breath away and drying out his eyes. Balor drags him into a world made gray by smoke and falling ash.
"Where are you taking me?" Cain asks, and chokes on the cloying scent of rotten eggs.
"You may call me Master," Balor responds.
"I am not your slave!" Cain yanks his arm back with all his might and manages to pull free from the other man's grasp. He scurries backward, putting distance between them.
Balor leaps through the air like a frog, closing the gap in an instant. He grips Cain's shoulders and draws him close, until the shorter man is at his mouth, smelling his putrid breath. "You have no bargaining chips here, sweet. This is my domain, and you belong to me. You took my hand. We made a deal."
"I didn't know it was a deal! Put me back," Cain pleads. "Please, put me back."
But Balor keeps him.
"Welcome home!" Balor announces.
The tall man has alternately dragged and yanked him along for what feels like days, only to bring him to a cave tucked into a black mountainside. The room within is appointed with a lone cot and table—and four chains, one for each limb, bolted into the surrounding rock.
There's a tussle as Cain fights with the strength of one who fears for his life. But, as clever as Cain is, Balor is older and shrewder.
Giggling, Balor puts his hands around Cain's neck and squeezes. Cain claws at Balor's fingers, but it's useless. The inescapable sulphurous scent dissipates as no air is drawn into his lungs.
The world goes black.
When Cain wakes, he's naked and chained, his wrists and ankles stretched so wide that he looks like a starfish. He leans into the cuffs, swallowing around the pain of a bruised windpipe. He needs a plan, any plan, but eons of clever maneuvering on Earth have not prepared him for Hell.
Balor pulls a knife from his pants pocket. Its sharp edge gleams. Hell-forged.
"Please, let me go," Cain whimpers hoarsely. "We can make another deal."
Instead of replying, Balor touches the blade to Cain's chest and begins to carve. Cain screams, while Balor hums a merry, off-key tune.
When the engraving is done, Balor leans forward and licks the blood away. "Your pain is beautiful," he says, rangy fingers caressing the planes of Cain's body. "Think of all the lovely things we'll do together."
It's hard to read the sloped letters upside down, but Cain eventually makes out what has been carved into his flesh: SINNER.
Demons visit the cave, having their fun. They delight in torture, pricking with needles, paddling with wood boards, drawing blood with dull knives, and still they come for more because there is always more to destroy in him. His body heals from anything injury not done with a Hell-forged blade. His mind, though... Oh, they come for that, too.
It's worst when they pet him like an object and laugh when they turn his body against him. He rides waves of pain and waves of unwanted pleasure, his psyche adrift.
In these moments, long-repressed memories from his earthly life resurface. His mother's face, how she smiled at Abel most. Abel's blood, drying beneath his nails. The beat of Amenadiel's wings as he cornered him by the river and laid God's curse upon his life. And, later, watching his loved ones die, watching their children die, their children's children die. And on and on.
He remembers wars and plagues, the rise and fall of empires. The horror of the atom bomb, and the wonder of Armstrong stepping onto the dusty face of the moon.
Balor kisses his mouth, leaving behind fetid spittle. "I'm so glad I freed you."