Small black ears twitch nervously at every flickering shadow, but Wendy slinks further into the dark. It's strange being in Hell; nothing seems to quite make sense. Every few padded steps she would swear she something is jumping out at her, but nothing is ever there when she turns. An eerie, unnatural wind from an unnameable source whispers monotonously through the endless ashen tunnels, and Wendy starts to fear it will never end. She passes through the first eight layers of Hell full of dread for what is coming next. In limbo she was sad for the souls who had magic like her and were suffering for it, but by the eighth level she is terrified. A shadowy man cloaked in a moist slime slides out from the ashes and tries to block her path. He scoops her up in his slick arms and to her mortification she turns back into a woman. He leans down and rasps sweet, seductive nothings in her ear, but she will have none of it. She gauges at his eyes with her perfectly sharpened nails. He wails something awful and lets her drop – by the time she lands it is on all fours and she quickly slips away.
The ninth level belongs to the treacherous. Broken crowns and burning oaths litter the sizzling ground that burns a soft kitty's rough paws. Padding along as lightly as she can Wendy sticks to the flickering shadows in the hopes of avoiding anymore unwanted attention. The souls on this level are nothing more than faded, gauzy bodies with withered hearts beating unsteadily in bodies that don't seem real enough to hold them. No one tries to stop the soundless black cat and soon the court of the devil looms over her – a threat. No. Wendy shakes her head. Not a threat, but a challenge. With her silky head held high she marches into the court, and tries to no avail to ignore the bones crunching under her every step. The closer she gets to the devil the harder it is to ignore because soon it isn't just bones, but organs and faces too. Every surface oozes and bubbles with sins of the flesh. The devil's throne faces away from the entrance and it is the most disturbing sight of all. Full bodies are melded together – contorted in to the shape of a morbid throne. Unable to tear her eyes away Wendy transforms and makes no attempt to shy away.
"God," she swoons loudly, "what has a girl got to do to get some blood around here?"
A soft, terrible chuckle rasps from behind the tall back of the throne, and the devil slowly stands and comes around to tower over her.
"What kind of blood did you have in mind?" He is every sin embodied and his seductive rasping rings in Wendy's ears.
"Yours of course – I didn't crawl down nine levels of this inferno for nothing. There's no point in trying to steal it so what does a girl have to do around here to get three drops of the devil's blood – your blood."
"For three drops of my precious blood a girl has to play a game – pass a test."
Wendy raises an eyebrow letting intrigue veil her terror. "What kind of test?"
"Climb the hill." The looming shadow of the devil steps aside to reveal a towering mountain that wasn't there before. "What do you say? Get to the top, and the blood is yours."
She knows that it won't be that easy, but she also knows there is no other way to get back to her girls. "When do I start?"
"Now – right now. You have twelve hours."
Turning to the hill she passes under the devil's beckoning, billowing black sleeve and walks to its base. As soon as she steps onto it the world behind her turns to dense forest and the grass under her feet hardens into blades. Make it to the top, Wendy. She repeats her goal over and over as the blades cut into her soft souls. Instinctively, she hunches over to transform, but Kitty isn't permitted on this test and she is left to her own vulnerability. She struggles onwards and upwards switching between her feet and knees before conceding to taking some of the weight off with her knees and elbows.
She is almost at the top when a low, rough growl makes her look up, and two horribly familiar eyes look back at her from the face of beast.
"Fredrick?" Wendy gasps.