Hello, my lovelies! It's that wonderful time of week again: it's time for some Monday angst! As always, a big thank you goes to my beta for even looking this over in the first place. Bless my cos-cos. Second, I do not own Welcome to Hell. That is the property of Erica Wester. The only parts of this story I own are my original ideas. Also, there is a part of the story that may or may not be highlighted. I have a new laptop and still figuring things out, so please bear with me. Without further ado, please enjoy the chappie!

Mephistopheles flung the Sybil across his office, watching with vicious satisfaction as the glass orb shattered against a wall. Breathing heavily, he stormed across the small room and punched a wall, hard. Since he was the Devil, he felt no pain; however, there was a huge dent in the wall, and cracks snaked out from this mark. Nostrils flared, he left his office, roughly pushing anyone aside who had the misfortune of getting in his way.

How could Jonathan be so stupid? He had angered the Cataclysm by admitting to his investigation. Had no one taught the fool to guard his mind from demons and their spawn? Now the Cataclysm, a creature Sock now had no control over, was roaming the mortal realm. Who knows how much havoc it had already caused!

Mephistopheles froze in the middle of the hallway, taking a moment to consider the implications of his frenzied thoughts. He was being stupid. He knew no one had taught Jonathan Combs to guard his mind. Most mortals did not focus on such supernatural affairs anymore. Therefore, it had been an error in Mephistopheles's judgement that had set the Cataclysm free. He had assumed that Jonathan's strange affection for the eccentric little ghost would confuse and perhaps even disable the Cataclysm. This had been an error in judgement as well. Since Jonathan and Sock's last conversation had been a bitter argument, feelings were already strained between the two. Sending an afflicted spirit to such a hostile environment might very well have been the worst thing Mephistopheles could have done. Sock's illness gained life from despair; it must have had a feast! That coupled with the recent events had been nothing but a Molotov cocktail, something that would be ready to blow at any moment.

He had to speak with Jonathan.

Jonathan frantically clicked through article after article, looking for something that would help explain what had happened to Sock. At the very least, he hoped to find a way to get Sock back to the Comb house. He didn't know what else to do. It wasn't like he could walk up and down the streets, calling the little ghost's name. It wouldn't be productive, and his neighbors would call the police, thinking the weird emo boy next door had finally gone crazy. So, it seemed his best bet would be research.

As he scanned an article about emotions and spirits, someone appeared behind him and cleared his throat. Jonathan whirled around, startled.

"What the he-?" He began, but once he realized who was standing in his room, he sighed. "Oh. It's you."

Though he had never met Mephistopheles, he had heard enough from Sock to know that the being standing before him was, in fact, the Devil. He matched Sock's descriptions perfectly, right down to the orange facial hair. However, Jon would've suspected that this was the Devil, even if he hadn't been given a description. Mephistopheles radiated an aura of power and malice as well as cleverness.

"Yes, it's me." Mephistopheles replied, surprised by the lack of fear and awe in Jon's voice. He was used to mortals having such reactions. After all, his presence usually signified an ill future for those mortals he chose to visit. However, he was also aware that Sock must've told Jon about his time with the Devil. Perhaps his reaction really wasn't that surprising.

"Should I assume you're here to talk about Sock and what's happening to him?" Jonathan asked, interrupting the fallen angel's reveries. Mephistopheles cleared his throated again and nodded.

"Yes. I need you to understand several things about this." When Jon didn't say anything in response, Mephistopheles continued. "I know you believe Sock is sick. You are correct in that line of thinking. Though he is not afflicted with a typical illness, he is still in danger."

"From himself or from something you caused?" Jonathan questioned coldly. For a moment, Mephistopheles considered slapping Jon upside the head. He was annoyed, as mortals did not usually see it fit to speak to the Devil in such a manner. Somehow, he held himself in check. He took a deep breath before speaking again. "He is in danger from what lives within him. It is not something I have much power over. Sock has been infected with what is known as a Cataclysm."

"And are you going to explain what that is, or are you going to leave me in the dark? I want to help Sock, but I can't if I don't know what the fuck is wrong with him."

Once again, Mephistopheles had to refrain himself from punishing Jonathan. Considering the circumstances, he could not believe Jonathan Combs refused to hold his tongue and allow Mephistopheles to do his job.

"I will give you as much information as I am able, but only if you stop interrupting me." When Jon remained silent, Mephistopheles continued. "Good. Now, a Cataclysm is similar to a being you know as a poltergeist. Though most believe that a poltergeist is either an angry spirit or demon, the reality is quite different. Poltergeists are the result of severe negative emotions held by mortals in an area that is abundant with supernatural energy. A Cataclysm is not much different. Do you understand so far?"

Jon nodded, now more interested than angry. "So, Sock is being affected by intense emotions?"

"In a way, yes. Caius told you about the two types of Beings, yes?"

"Yeah. He said there were Beings born of Light and Beings born of Darkness."

"And do you know which is which?" Mephistopheles asked gently, wondering how heavily this sort of information would weigh on a mortal mind.

"There's only one major difference, right? Being of the Light means you haven't hurt anyone, including yourself. Being of the Dark means you have. Caius also told me about that curse, the one with the demon lady." Jon added this last bit seemingly as an afterthought.

Mephistopheles nodded, pleased that Jonathan had remembered this bit of information. "Well done, Mr. Combs. All of this is connected in multiple and complex ways. The most basic way I can explain the situation is this: Auriol once chose one of Sock's ancestors as a lover. Because of this, Sock and his family members are not mortals but half-breeds. The presence of demon blood in the family led to not a few serial killers and other deviants; Sock was not the first to kill. However, having demon blood in the family also created a curse. Each time, a Sowchowski turned from Light to Dark, the monstrous urges felt by later members of the family grew. By the time Sock was born, he could think of almost nothing except these urges. Therefore, it really is no surprise that he killed his parents in his sleep. He didn't stand a chance." Mephistopheles sounded remorseful, though Jonathan found it hard to believe that the Devil could feel anything akin to remorse.

"Sock was doomed to murder no matter what he did?" Jonathan asked softly, and Mephistopheles nodded.

"I'm afraid so, and these urges continue to poison him. It was one of the reasons I sent him to you and then placed him in the Ninth Circle. I had hoped that some sort of malicious intent would keep the urges at bay. However, for reasons I am not yet able to disclose to you, that did not work as I had hoped."

Jonathan sat on the edge of his bed, slowly digesting the information. He knew he wouldn't be able to convince Mephistopheles to give him any more information, but he couldn't help but wonder what other factors had affected Sock's illness. He sighed and crossed his arms. Though he was grateful for the information he had been given, information he had not been expecting to receive unless he conducted hours and hours of research, he did not like being left in the dark after being given a glimpse of light. After thinking over what had been said a second time, he allowed a small smile to grace his features. If nothing else, now he had a lead.

Mephistopheles gave Jon a few minutes more to consider what he had learned before continuing. "Sock will have no choice but to return to Hell and to the Ninth Circle once his twenty-four hours are up. He has made a deal with me, and he must abide by it, Cataclysm or no Cataclysm. Until this happens, I need you to avoid Sock to the best of your ability." He held up a hand, seeing that Jon was about to protest. "I know you want to help, and I may very well need that help before long. But for now, I need you to keep yourself safe. I know that sounds odd coming from me, but I cannot allow the Cataclysm to kill you, which is undoubtedly what it intends to do should it return to this house. This is for two reasons. The first is that the Cataclysm will grow stronger for each mortal it kills, thus worsening an already terrible problem. The second applies to laws I must abide by. Unless Sock or Caius were to convince you to kill yourself, I would not be allowed to take you before your time was up. So, please, keep yourself as safe as possible."

Jonathan, looking livid but resigned, nodded. "Fine." He couldn't even apply conditions to the situation. If he did, it would constitute as a deal with the Devil, and he wasn't quite prepared to go to such lengths.

Mephistopheles nodded and bowed. "Thank you for your cooperation." And with that, he disappeared.

Jon clenched his fists, then stood and punched the wall behind his bed, causing a series of cracks that were similar to those in Mephistopheles's office. He couldn't believe he had been given critical information and then left to wait for more news as if he were a small child. He crossed his arms and sat back down, simmering. He knew Mephistopheles was right; he couldn't risk his life and make matters worse. But the only thing he could do now was continue in his research. Though that would certainly help Jon understand what was happening to the man he loved, he didn't see how that was going to be of further use. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Sock floated through the streets, not noticing when he passed through a man and caused a shiver to go up his spine. He was too focused on keeping the voices at bay.

'Go back! You have to kill the betrayer!'

'No! I need to find Mephistopheles! He can help.'

'You really think the King of Hell wants you now? You're marred, imperfect…'

'Well, he's technically not the King…He's more like a businessman…'

'Silence! It doesn't matter if he is the King of Hell or a citizen. He's just like everyone else, so you can't trust him. After all, nobody wants you…Your parents certainly didn't. Why do you think you murdered them?'

Sock froze, ignoring the startled glances of the living as they noticed the sudden cold spot in the middle of the sidewalk. He remembered killing his parents; that had been one of the first memories to return. However, what the "Voice" was saying didn't make sense. Though he still couldn't remember everything, he didn't remember feeling any hatred prior to his parents' murder. After realizing this inconsistency, Sock doubled over, clutching his head. It felt like he was being split into two. Vision doubling, he floated clumsily over to the edge of the sidewalk and lowered himself until he was just above the ground. This didn't help, though, and the pain increased rather than lessened. He cried out and beat his fists against the side of his head, not knowing how else to make the screaming voice in his head stop.

'HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF LYING? I AM YOUR ONLY FRIEND, THE ONLY ONE YOU CAN TRUST.'

The little ghost shook his head, whimpering. The "Voice" had never been this loud before…

****************************** FLASHBACK **********************************

Sock had first started to hear the "Voice" about a week before he started to remember things. At first, it hadn't seemed like a big deal. The "Voice" only observed, occasionally commenting on something that either Sock or Jon had done. Thinking it had something to do with the return of his memories, Sock simply ignored it.

The progression of this torture was imperceptible. Some days, the "Voice" would seem to be a little louder, but Sock often wrote it off as his imagination. It was only when the "Voice" began to attempt controlling Sock's actions that the little spirit started to worry. This, too, started small. He would start to go left when the "Voice" wanted to go right, or the "Voice" would suggest being a little more malicious toward Jonathan. At first, Sock was easily able to ignore these suggestions. Soon, however, the "Voice" became more insistent, and Sock, frightened, had run away from Jonathan's home. No longer able to blame his imagination or the return of his memories, Sock had fled to Hell. Something was seriously wrong, and he needed Mephistopheles's help.

*********************** END OF FLASHBACK *********************************

After what felt like ages, the sensation of being ripped in two faded, and Sock could open his eyes. The headache was fading along with the tunnel vision. He returned to a standing position shakily, noticing, for the first time, that his surroundings had changed. He was back in the Ninth Circle. For once, Sock was pleased about this. In all the chaos, he had forgotten his promise to Mephistopheles. Ironically, it seemed that his deal with the Devil had been Sock's saving grace.

Looking around, Sock noticed that his workspace was more crowded than usual. There was a group of souls standing before Sock, a group that practically radiated scorn for the little ghost. Floating a few inches higher, Sock noticed that the group was actually a line that stretched all the way to the main doorway. He groaned; it looked like he had his work cut out for him. Snapping his fingers and bringing a whip covered in white-hot fire into existence, Sock grabbed one of the spirits who had been standing in the front and dragged her to one of the torture stations, ignoring her demands that he release her immediately. After realizing that she wouldn't be released, the spirit began to cry, thinking there had been some sort of mistake. There was no way she deserved this level of punishment. There had been no such mistake, and Sock strapped her to a table, using newly developed powers to keep her from moving. Continuing to ignore her screams, he raised his whip and glanced over his shoulder at the group of spirits that were beginning to shuffle closer to him. He sighed, not liking the hopeful looks in their tear-filled eyes.

It was going to be a long eternity.

Mephistopheles watched from the doorway as Sock began to torture a spirit, frowning. Normally, he would be pleased that Sock was taking his duties seriously, but now he could only worry about the strength torture was giving the Cataclysm. There were so many things preventing him from fixing this that he found it to be ridiculous and frustrating. He couldn't very well find someone else to take over the duties of head torturer. None of the other demons or spirits would even go near the door, meaning Sock was the heart and soul of the Ninth Circle. The Devil groaned; this meant that, along with his exposure to pure malice, Sock had been isolated.

A few of the spirits looked over at the Devil curiously before putting their heads together, gossiping. Too distracted to be annoyed by the disrespect the "newbies" were showing him, Mephistopheles ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in orange tufts. He had dug himself into a hole, and he had no way to get back out.

God was going to kill him.

Death gazed into the looking glass, glowering. Leave it to his younger brother to set a Cataclysm loose. Father was going to be furious.

As always, I hope you enjoyed the chappie! Constructive criticism and the like are always appreciated, but flat-out negativity is not. See you soon!

XOXOXOXO