Having lived for so long, Benjamin had come to understand an under-appreciated truth: when in doubt, it was best not to draw attention to yourself. He had evaded capture and execution due to his adoption of an ordinary human persona. Over the years, he enhanced this mundane alter ego by engaging in typical human activities. This persona escalated to the point where Benjamin created detailed backstories to feed to people whenever he engaged in various jobs and chores.

True, he was occasionally cornered by exorcists and death squads who had been organized and appointed to kill him. However, such instances did not occur on a very regular basis.

Benjamin was thankful that he was mindful of his past life. If he was going to survive in this other 'Hell,' he would have to play things by ear and keep everything close to his chest. Loose lips meant more ears were listening. More ears meant a greater potential that one of those pairs of ears belonged to someone dangerous. There was no telling the kind of people that may want him dead or trapped in the grasp of their influence.

Benjamin had passed by a skyscraper that literally had a massive neon sign that stated "Welcome to Hell." It was clearly not a joke, given that the land around him was saturated with demonic energy in a way not too dissimilar to the soil of the Pine Barrens. This helped him to restore his demonic magic reserves; by passively drawing the evil essence around him, he could refill the reservoir of power within the artifact that was used to reincarnate him into a Devil. The accursed object that stripped him of his humanity was the very thing that granted him the bulk of his terrifying abilities.

But that was an unfortunate story from centuries ago.

Benjamin planned on returning to the mortal world, (assuming that he had been left for dead). He would simply start over again, moving to a different part of the Pine Barrens and making a new human persona. In spite of his confrontation with a powerful enemy in his own turf, Benjamin decided it was best not to follow up on his escape with revenge. He would simply continue to live however long he could, enjoying his freedom with the hope that most people with a vested interest in his demise were stuck thinking he was already dead.

However, such a return would require a long-range teleportation seal. He had not used the technique in over two-hundred years, but his impressive memory ensured he could perform the act with little difficulty. For now, he would rest himself before teleporting via a magic circle when he was certain he could accomplish the feat with virtually no strain. If he could travel from the version of Hell he was familiar with to the human world at age seventeen, why couldn't he do the same as a matured powerhouse in this brand new, unconventional Hell?

The first order of business was simply passing the time. All he could think of to not stay idle was to understand the environment and culture of this new Hell.

Was this Hell's order an aristocratic society like the underworld he came from, where he was a mere slave meant to serve at the whims of a master?

It was much more cosmopolitan than the underworld he was familiar with almost three hundred years ago. However, Benjamin rarely ever had the opportunity to explore the world beyond his master's mansion. Likewise, he promised himself to never return to the underworld ever since he left it as a felon wanted for murder. For all he knew, skyscrapers could have been a thing more than one hundred years before the idea was conceived by mortal minds in the underworld he left behind.

For almost half an hour, Benjamin observed what he could from ground level. He determined that one small decision he could make to minimize drawing attention to himself was simply walking his way into the city. Unless there was an emergency, it was perfectly fine for Benjamin to not take to the skies. It wasn't like he was in a rush to return to the dimension he came from.

So far, little beyond the environment around him had given any indication of what the modus operandi for this Hell was. From what Benjamin could tell, the emphasis on this Hell was the place where sinful souls were supposed to be cast down after death, not simply the home of demons. However, instead of this place being a pit dedicated to sinners being punished, as was believed in popular culture, this was a veritable oasis of sinful indulgence. Whorehouses, businesses that sold hard drugs and alcohol, fight clubs, bars, weapon shops, and countless smaller establishments meant to satisfy one's sinful vices were in plentiful supply. The stark contrast between the 'proper' and 'upstanding' society of his underworld and the city of vice he was walking through was like night and day. Aside from the discoloration of the sky and the habitable atmosphere, there was little in common between the two worlds, visually speaking.

However, Benjamin knew he needed more information. He could start with observing the behavior of the local inhabitants, assuming any were still alive.

As the clock tower in the distance neared 5:20 a.m., he heard the high pitched whine of a rocket to his right. He turned on his heel, ready to face whatever the source of the sound belonged to. Benjamin spotted the bright tail of what he assumed was a firework soaring up into the crimson skies over the city. The flaring object burst into a beautiful barrage of explosions that would look perfectly at home on the 4th of July.

When looking for the source of the rocket, Benjamin could see someone on the balcony of a high rise building. The person he saw looked feminine. Focusing his energy and taping into the power of his enhanced eyesight, he saw the woman above in finer detail.

Wearing a salmon pink tuxedo was a woman with porcelain skin and bright blonde hair. Her eyes, a gentle yellow sclera with black pupils, were looking out over the city with tears streaming down her youthful and beautiful face. Her lips and the borders of her eyes looked as if they had been highlighted with black makeup, but given the lack of smearing despite her tears, Benjamin had to assume the markings on her face were completely natural. Her cheeks, like that of a doll, had red dots the size of quarters, though she was not acting very rosy or cheerful at the moment.

Benjamin could make out her singing something as the sound of the fireworks died down.

"Some fellas look and find the sunshine."

"I always look and find the rain."

"Some fellas make a winning sometime."

"I never even make a gain, believe me."

Her voice almost cracked with sorrow. Benjamin actually began to pity the poor woman.

"I'm always chasing rainbows..."

"Waiting to find a little bluebird in vain..."

As the woman looked off in the direction of the clock tower, Benjamin followed her gaze to see that the roulette beneath the clock was rapidly shifting to the number 365. Three-hundred and sixty-five days remained until the next ' Cleanse.'

Was the 'Cleanse' the act of indiscriminate carnage being wrought by those demented angels from before?

Now Benjamin could see a wild menagerie of strange persons pouring out into the streets as if a massacre had not finished just minutes before. Many went on their way to whatever business they had to accomplish in the morning. A few deplorable souls began to scavenge some of the corpses lying in the streets, both for valuables, and for the flesh presented to them.

Even for someone who had engaged in brutal violence and lived through the experiences of two World Wars, this was a scene that even Hannibal Lector would at least take pause at. Benjamin was immediately on edge. There was no telling the power of the average creature in this literal hellhole. All he knew was that brutality was the law and order of this world.

Benjamin lifted his head back to the right to look at the crying woman from before, but she was no longer on the balcony above. With a weary sigh, he continued walking in the direction of the heart of the city.

Half an hour later, and Benjamin's experience so far was thankfully without any major incident. Aside from a few maniacs driving too fast than would be tolerated on city streets in the human world, nothing very exciting happened. Some of the misshaped demons that he saw in the streets either ignored him, or briefly gawked at his benign form before continuing on their way. He passed by a literal porn studio as he finished absorbing enough evil energy to refill his demonic magic reserves to the max. Though he was physically tired, he at least had sufficient ammo should he need to rend anyone apart with his magic abilities.

At the moment, he was becoming tempted to blast one of the cretins that he crossed paths with. Benjamin was getting annoyed at the wayward looks that occasionally came his way. Sure, he could dispel the stares with a well practiced glare, but that was beside the point. The last thing he needed was for one glance to precede an attack by some sinful abomination who took him for prey.

As someone who valued privacy, he wanted to limit the attention on his person unless there was no stopping it. Most battles could be won without being fought, after all.

Minutes after his magic reserves were restored, Benjamin found his way into an alleyway littered with some garbage and painted by crude graffiti. The setting did not matter. As long as no one was able to break his concentration, he was not one to be picky about the place from which he was to teleport a long distance.

Standing well out of earshot, he briefly focused his mind. In seconds, he could see his cabin in the woods, thankfully untouched due to the battle taking place five miles north of his abode. All he needed to do was will himself back to the mortal realm.

A vibrant, orange magic circle appeared beneath him, the seal of the now extinct house of Haagenti. It glowed with power for two seconds.

Then it disappeared, without teleporting the man who conjured it.

The magic circle's progenitor was naturally confused.

Benjamin glared at the ground at the unpleasant surprise. He was certain he was concentrating just fine, and he knew the teleportation seal like the back of his hand. For a second time, he focused his willpower to return to his humble home. For a second time, the magic circle failed to do its job.

"Damn it..." When Benjamin doubled down and simply amped the power, the magic circle wavered dangerously. It then shattered like glass, throwing a stunned Benjamin off of his feet.

Quickly righting himself, he tried his best to swallow down a terrible feeling arising within his chest.

The magic circle didn't work. He would never return home.

Clenching his fists, he struggled not to let out a roar in frustration. Benjamin instead conjured a magic circle in the palm of one hand to channel electrical magic into a nearby dumpster. The demonic lightning caused furious torrents of electricity to web over the metal container before he let go out of apathy. Smoke began pouring out of the dumpster as the garbage inside burned, irritating Benjamin's nose.

He looked down at his hands. He could use offensive magic seals just fine, but something was keeping him trapped in this new Hell. Was it a curse, or some energy field that disrupted his attempts to leave this dimension? Benjamin sighed heavily. At least he wasn't helpless if a fight were to break out.

It wasn't necessarily homesickness that inspired his rage, it was the feeling of being trapped. He valued his freedom as a precious commodity. To be trapped in another literal hell away from the life he made for himself with his own merits and hard work was a difficult thing to accept.

"Sirzechs..." He growled. If he ever saw that accursed red haired ass, he would be certain to not hold anything back.

In his rage, he did not sense someone come up from behind and press something cold and hard to the back of his head.

"Gimme your fucking money."

It took a second until Benjamin realized what was happening. Someone was trying to mug him.

As if things couldn't get anymore tedious.

In the brief moment of silence that followed, Benjamin stretched out his demonic senses to ascertain if there was any harmful energy in the firearm that might cause him concern. Nothing of note came up. It was just a normal, ordinary gun.

What an ordinary gun was doing in hell, he was not sure. He would have thought that demons selling guns would have done something to make firearms standout from their mortally crafted counterparts, but Benjamin wasn't going to complain now.

"I don't have any money." He answered in as calm a voice as possible.

Benjamin was not afraid in the slightest. He had been shot at before, and not once had he suffered an injury from a gun that didn't fire bullets of light or blessed silver. However, he wanted to hide his exceptional resiliency in reserve for someone who was actually a threat. If violence could be talked out of, Benjamin would try his hardest to negotiate.

"If you wanna mug someone, you'll have to try your luck next time." He continued evenly.

A sharp, humorless laugh was barked out. "You think I'm gonna buy that bullshit? I said, gimme yo-"

Benjamin twisted in an about-face that his mugger did not perceive. It was only when the sinner felt a violent jerk in his right hand that he realized the handgun he was holding was out of his grasp. In his moment of shock, the thief looked up to see his would-be victim, a tall, pale man with burning, orange eyes peering down at him with contempt, the handgun in his left hand.

"Gimme your fucking what?" Benjamin's voice had gone as deep and chilling as the Mariana Trench. On his face was a look that could melt stone. He grabbed the thief by the collar of his red hoodie and took a closer look at the punk who threatened him.

The perpetrator looked like an unfortunate cross between a fox and a human. His unhealthy looking grey fur was matted in places, with a ring of hairless skin around his left eye. Trembling before Benjamin, his crooked, but sharp teeth were exposed. Aside from his hoodie, he had dark gym pants and old red sneakers with beat up laces. The fox man's tail curled between his legs as his vicious demeanor shifted to that of a trembling pup desperate for clemency. His yellow eyes were wide in horror.

"Woah man, I-I was just-"

"What?" Benjamin asked harshly as he lightly tossed the gun up in the air. Catching the grip in his hand, he pressed the cold barrel up to the underside of the mugger's trembling jaw.

"You thought I was another helpless jerk off who you could push around and then take whatever you wanted? You thought you could hustle me for cash that I don't have and then put a lead aspirin in the back of my fucking skull for my trouble? What the hell do you take me for you miserable, two-faced mongrel?!"

Benjamin was not normally so caustic when talking with others, even if they angered or threatened him. However, he figured that this criminal would only understand one language: harsh treatment and the threat of force. Benjamin was a consummate expert in using terror as a weapon, and he was giving this fool a personal lesson in breaking the spirit of your enemies.

"P-please man, for fuck's sake! I j-just needed the money, man!" The sound of liquid rushing broke the tension in the air. The stench of fresh urine brought Benjamin's attention down to a large spot on the sinner's now ruined gym pants.

Looking back up at the man who thought of him as another potential victim with scorn, Benjamin sought to say one more thing. "You need to knock this shit off. One of these days, you're gonna knock on the wrong door, and the guy you piss off will rip off your fucking legs and beat you to death with them." He pressed the gun's barrel into the fox-man's jaw so forcefully, he groaned in pain. "You understand me, asshole?"

"Y-yes! Please! Let me go!" The mugger blubbered pathetically.

Benjamin thought for a second. He supposed there was no point in shooting a guy for being a stupid asshole. Slowly, he lowered the gun from the punk's face and relaxed his arm, though he still gripped the fox person's collar.

"Jesus fucking Christ." The sinner breathed out. "You almost-" His comment was interrupted when Benjamin head-butted him, knocking him out cold. The mugger's slumped body was propped up behind the nearby dumpster as the contents of his pockets were examined by his would-be victim.

A cellphone was in his left pocket, but without any knowledge of the passcode, Benjamin had no hope of using it, and he was unwilling to wait long enough for the chance to pawn it off for cash. The sinner's wallet held a paltry eight dollars and three cents. It wasn't much, but it could buy him something to hold him over while he attempted to find a job in this world.

Benjamin pocketed the cash and decided to leave while the getting was good. The wallet was placed back into its owner's pocket. Benjamin made sure to tuck the mugger up against the wall next to the dumpster he previously electrocuted.

"Nighty night." He quipped dryly before moving on his way.

Once again, Benjamin took the opportunity to enjoy a brief lull in the chaos that was this unusual Hell. Having taken another look around, he saw there was more than just a plethora of seedy businesses. A postal office and a number of small convenience stores occasionally dotted the street sides. At one point, he even saw a barbershop.

He kept the general location in mind if he ever needed his hair trimmed.

At the moment, Benjamin saw that the strip had finally split into two large freeways. Stopping at the sidewalk and looking both ways for anything of interest, Benjamin decided now was as good a time as any to look for more essential businesses. He specifically needed a place to stay, like a hotel or apartment complex.

"You'd think I would've come across a hotel by now..." He thought long and hard about the sights he had observed so far, but he could not recall even a single vacancy sign, let alone a place of residence. At the very least he had most of the day to look for a place to rest his weary head in relative safety.

However, time was still of the essence. Benjamin doubted he would be able to get any sleep out on the hard streets of this malevolent metropolis.

"Well, well, well..." Spoke a female voice from behind him. "I've never seen you around here, before."

Turning his head, Benjamin saw the source of the voice. From the right direction of the split freeway, a humanoid woman stepped forth. Tall and hourglass shaped, she was dressed in a shabby manner.

Her clothing looked as if she had been in close proximity to an exploding nail bomb. Her black pants, red short skirt, mismatched arm-length gloves, red crop top, and a single, red high heeled boot with white stripes at the top were all blemished with holes, tears, or major scuff marks. Her footwear was, strangely enough, uneven, with the damaged boot on her left foot, and a red slipper on her right foot. The woman's skin was (if it was even possible) paler than Benjamin's. Her cherry blonde mane of hair was tied up in an unusual ponytail, looking like a giant flame on a candle wick that refused to burn.

However, most unsettling was her one eye. The massive orbit, crimson in color, sat above a smiling row of yellowed, shark-like teeth. Aside from the freckles scattered on her shoulders and cheeks, nothing was particularly cuddly about this person. Her one eye lacked a normal pupil, instead replaced by a white X. It had a smaller, black counterpart that was located just left of the center of her chest, where her heart was located.

"I don't recall you asking permission to be on my turf." She tutted as if disciplining a little boy. "Seems a bit rude, eh stranger?"

Benjamin would have sighed in exasperation, but such a gesture might have come across as dismissive. The last thing he needed was to get into a confrontation with another resident.

"Sorry. I'm quite new around here. You'll have to forgive me if I'm unfamiliar with what property belongs to whom."

He doubted an entire section of the city really belonged to this vicious-looking woman, but it was best to go the diplomatic route before resorting to violence.

The female sinner narrowed her eye ever so slightly. The man before her didn't talk or look like any ordinary sinner. She was almost disappointed that he wasn't trying to confront her. She was always up for a scrap. Then again, the stranger did say he was new.

"So... Fresh meat, huh?" Her hands, previously on her hips, reached behind her back. "Think fast, new guy!" In a blur, she tossed something small and red at Benjamin's direction.

Instinctively, he caught the projectile in his right hand, only to hear the sound of a fuse burning. Examining the object in his hand, he saw it was a bomb, no bigger than a larger than average cherry. Marked with a black skull symbol, its fuse was quickly burning down to the crimson shell, which was likely filled with gunpowder and shrapnel.

Benjamin, raising his head up at the bomb lobbing stranger, could only look on in anger, cursing himself for letting his guard down. As the one-eyed sinner dove for cover behind the corner of a building, Benjamin let his displeasure be known.

"Damn it." He cursed.

Then the bomb exploded.

A burst of red smoke utterly enveloped him. The cyclops from earlier stepped out to look at her handy work. Then she began laughing raucously.

"Aww man that was funny as shit!" Messing with fresh meat was always a nice hobby to engage with once in a blue moon. She supposed she felt a little sorry for him, but it was the kind of empathy one had for an amateur thrill seeker who broke their balls after a failed skateboard stunt.

It was pity for someone's stupidity.

Suddenly, two limbs shot out of the smoke, waving away the noxious fumes and soot away. The cyclops stopped her laughing, her jaw becoming agape at her 'victim.'

Benjamin was no worse for wear, though a black smear was on the palm of his right hand. He wiped it off with his other hand, and looked at his assailant with a sour expression. His clothes looked ever so slightly worse for wear, but aside from that, the lanky stranger was unharmed.

"Rude." He chided her, his tone deadpanned and unamused.

"Wha... How did you?"

"Look," Benjamin cut her off, his tone increasingly strained. "I'm just going to assume that what you did was a prank. I'm trying to look for a place of residence since it's possible, if not entirely likely that I'm stuck here. Help me find a nice place to stay, and I'll get out of your hair."

Shaking off her surprise, a rebellious fury was aroused within her when the 'fresh meat' dared to order her around with some limp-wrist ultimatum. "Do I look like a fucking tour guide to you? Now turn your pasty ass around and piss off from my goddamn turf!"

"Or else what?"

Briefly stunned by the new sinner's attitude, (and begrudgingly respecting it), the pink-haired cyclops gave a weary look, feigning an act that she had been duped by his defiance.

"Well, just what could I possibly do to you?" She turned on her heel and reached into a pocket from... somewhere to grab another bomb. She vaguely heard the snapping of fingers, and was greeted by a glaring Benjamin standing in front of her.

Her yell of surprise was cut off when she was grabbed by her face and the arm that was reaching for another explosive. She was taken behind the corner she had previously ducked behind. Forced against the wall, the hand over her mouth was removed, only for Benjamin's right forearm to compress against her neck.

She was obviously enraged that she would be manhandled by a new arrival. "You motherf-" She coughed as pressure was placed against her throat.

"Listen," Benjamin's voice became softer, deeper, and more terrible. His sickly green eyes flashed orange for the cyclops to see. "I have had a very stressful morning. I have been cornered and attacked, some asshole tried to mug me less than half an hour ago, and I just want to get myself settled without any further, goddamn complications."

He took a deep breath, his arm slacked enough to allow the rebellious sinner to breathe. She went into another coughing fit, a sense of indignation simmering within her. Any other time, she would be trying her best to turn the man holding her hostage into a red smear. However, no one had so casually overpowered her like that. She decided to follow survival instincts and listen to the strong arming sinner's demands.

"Now," Benjamin's voice relaxed, "I have no quarrel with you, and I don't see a reason as to why we have to be enemies. So if you would be so kind... I would like some directions to the nearest apartment or hotel."

He added one final condition. "Now I'm going to take my hands off you, and I don't want any funny business, no explosives, no unnecessary sass, no smart mouth responses. If you do anything of the sort, I will get pissed off, and I will have little choice but to kick your ass and move onto someone who will be more cooperative. Okay?"

She thought it over in her head. This guy was tough enough to take her most basic cherry bomb without so much as flinching. Even her most bread-and-butter weapon of choice could devastate a city block or reduce a rooftop to rubble. She would hate to see what this fresh meat could do if he was pushed to the edge.

"Okay..." She replied with uncharacteristic quietness.

Slowly, Benjamin took his hands off of her. Folding his arms, he awaited the woman's response. The cyclops gave a brief thought about what to say.

"Look, I'm not a tour guide, so I'm probably not the best person to ask for directions. I'm mostly concerned with my own turf, and even still, there aren't that many hotels in the heart of Pentagram City anyway."

Benjamin growled, not at her specifically, but in frustration that he couldn't get the answer he wanted.

"But!" Fearing she was pissing him off, she tried to explain further. "Even if you find a place, you're gonna have to hope there's vacancies. Even on the day of the fucking Cleanse, demons are going after open rooms like flies on shit. Most of the vacancies that might have opened up after the killings are probably being filled right now."

Benjamin sighed. "First I'm almost killed by some demented angels, now I might have to spend the night on the streets?"

"Wait a fucking second." The demolition practitioner exclaimed. "You arrived during the Cleanse?!"

Benjamin nodded in affirmation, thinking the revelation to not be a big accomplishment. "Yeah, five scary looking angels with spears tried to turn me into a holy pincushion. Those bastards are vicious..."

"Whoa! You actually survived facing five of those fucking monsters?!"

"Kind of?" Benjamin was still trying to wrap his head around the unwelcome arrival of the angelic hit squad to the crater where he landed. He soon stopped himself from making too much out of his earlier encounter. "I managed to not die. They broke off and flew away at around the stroke of five o'clock this morning."

"Damn!" The cyclops exclaimed, her voice sounding impressed. "He he-" Her chuckling was cut off by a new string of coughs. One of her hands raced to her sore neck, its bruising aggravated by her amusement.

"You okay?" Benjamin asked.

"Well," she replied in a strained voice, forgetting Benjamin's warning about sassing him, "I couldn't exactly choke myself just a few seconds ago."

Benjamin sighed for what was probably the half-dozenth time that morning. "Hold still." Gently prying the woman's hand off her neck, he saw where he bruised her. Having a slight pang of guilt, he brought a hand up, a glitter of power emanating from his palm within seconds.

The cyclops' hesitation at the newcomer's actions subsided when she felt the pained feeling in her neck vanish within two seconds. She could talk normally again.

"What the fuck?" She questioned. She had seen sinners with unusual abilities before, but never had anyone performed healing powers. Such a generous skill seemed too alien for Hell. This had to have been the weirdest and most powerful fresh meat she had ever met in person.

"Healing magic. It's one of the few non-demonic magics I possess." Benjamin replied simply. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," she looked up at him, unsure of what to say, "thanks..."

Benjamin nodded. "Are you certain you can't think of a single place where they perform housing?"

The one-eyed bombardier thought for a second. "Actually, there might be one place... it hasn't been used in years, so it's probably a shithole today, but it's called the Happy Hotel." She snickered at the childish name.

Benjamin arched an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Pfft, I know, right, but I didn't name the place. It just got up and running again a couple of weeks before the Cleanse happened. That's all I know. Like I said pal, I'm no tour guide." She finished with her arms crossed.

Benjamin nodded. At least he had a name, and he had little reason to believe the woman's candid tone to be a sign of deceit.

"Okay." He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "Sorry about manhandling you earlier. Like I said, my first welcoming party tried to kill me, and the first local I met tried to take money from me that I didn't have."

"Eh, I guess it's cool..." The woman then realized something. "What's your name? Unless you go by 'Fresh Meat.'" She requested with a smirk.

Benjamin frowned, not in displeasure, but in thought. He didn't feel comfortable exposing his real name to this world. It would be especially problematic if someone could place a name on the one who killed the angel earlier that day.

"Jersey..." He answered. "My name's Jersey."

The female cyclops appeared to scrutinize him for a second before shrugging. "Eh, I've heard of worse. My name's Cherri Bomb, the baddest, bomb-throwing bitch in all of Pentagram City!" She brandished another cherry bomb, spinning it on her middle finger before she settled on tossing it casually in her hand. It was an act which put Jersey on edge.

Cherri smiled in a teasing manner. "Chill out, Jers. I ain't gonna blow you sky-high."

"Good to know..." Jersey looked back towards the street. "Well, I guess I'll try hunting down this 'Happy Hotel' you talked about."

"I'll just be on the West Side, gettin' more territory now that the competition's been cut down to size."

Jersey had no doubt she meant that in a literal sense.

"Ah. Well good luck with that." Jersey remarked simply. "Oh, and thanks for the tidbit about the hotel."

"Ha! I kinda like you, new guy." She gave a friendly punch into his chest, still tossing the cherry bomb in her other hand like she was practicing a baseball pitch. "Maybe we'll be seeing each other again."

Jersey gave a slight grin. "Just don't get yourself killed out there, Cherri."

"What do you take me for, an amateur?" She then walked past him, heading in the direction of what he assumed was her 'turf.' "Welcome to Hell, Jersey!" Cherri called out as she walked down the sidewalk with a happy swing of her hips.

Jersey looked on with a little smirk on his face. He couldn't help but take a long look at Cherri's respectable figure and wide hips. He wasn't normally one to gawk, but he could catch a tease if he saw one.

"Welcome to Hell indeed..." Once more, Benjamin made his leave, his mind more at ease now that he had a name for a place to stay.

There was now a greater amount of activity in the heart of Pentagram City. Cars now rushed in great numbers through the asphalt veins that were the lifeblood of city life. Unfortunately, this development came with a multitude of derelict drivers who thought nothing of running over a hapless soul who tried crossing the street. Jersey melted into the rhythm of the city, doing his best to look neither unusual nor vulnerable. Whenever possible, discretion was his preference unless no other option was available.

A weird and unsettling cast of new abominations met his sight. Most of the beings in question were anthropomorphic beast people with human bodies but bestial heads and hides. There were however, impish creatures that looked inspired from the traditional, pop culture depiction of what the Devil was supposed to look like. These shorter, red skinned cretins sported prominent horns and forked tails. For Jersey, this observation was quite ironic considering that he, too, was a devil, albeit of a different variety.

In his pursuit of the 'Happy Hotel,' he took note of other establishments as he steadily trundled along the streets, keeping an eye out for anything with the word 'Happy' in its name. An emporium with a partially crossed out name stood over what looked like a relatively fresh blood stain. A major porn studio with a scantily clad devil woman logo was yet another major establishment he observed on the way through Pentagram City. There was even an advertisement for a mall. Jersey hadn't the faintest idea of what the mall would have for sale, but it was something to remember.

After hours of simple walking, he became aware of an uncomfortable tickle in his throat.

"I need a drink..." he murmured.

Jersey glanced around for a place where he could quench his thirst. No public fountains were present, but he did see a seedy little tavern called The Satan Antonio Saloon.

Carefully making his way across the street to reach the business in question, he entered through the traditional, swing out doors of a classic American saloon. It was a dim looking area, with cheap incandescent bulbs and extremely dark wooden furniture. The sound of bluegrass music could be heard on a dinky little radio. Aside from a handful of patrons, most of whom were sitting at small tables with beer or liquor, it was hardly a populated business.

The bar owner, a badger man with a fu Manchu, black dress shirt, and beaten up cowboy hat, was busy cleaning a glass, his beady eyes looking at Jersey with mild suspicion. Steadily making his way to the bar, he sat in an empty seat, across from the furry owner.

The badger's eyes widened ever so slightly, his head turning to a clock hanging high up and to his right side. It was almost 3:00. He looked at Jersey with a wince, almost looking like he wanted to say something, but decided against it. Putting the newly cleaned glass away, the badger leaned towards Jersey.

"What'll ya have, stranger?" He asked in a deep Texan accent.

"Got any whiskey?" Jersey asked. "Just a small glass will do."

"That'll be two dollars."

Jersey easily handed two crumpled bills, the same he took off of his would be mugger. The bar tending badger brought up a 1.5 ounce shot glass and poured a bottle of something named Wild Crow, like a devilish take on Wild Turkey. The glass was placed in front of Jersey, who took it with a grateful nod.

Downing the drink in one go, Jersey took the time to savor the burn of the alcohol. Whiskey was a rare option that he chose on especially stressful days, but a drink was a drink in a pinch.

"Hmm... not bad. Thanks." He never tried Wild Turkey, but the taste was at least like typical whiskey.

"So, I figure yer fresh meat, eh?" The bartender asked.

"Was it that obvious?"

"No experienced sinner in these parts gives thanks for a puny shot of whiskey. I've been here for almost one hundred years, pardner, so I know a stranger to Hell when I see or hear one."

"Well, I guess I'm just trying to settle in despite the circumstances."

The bartender made a grunt of acknowledgement, before going back to cleaning glasses and listening to the radio.

Jersey thought of a more pertinent question. "You wouldn't happen to know the location of a place called the 'Happy Hotel,' would you?"

"Pardner, I rarely stray outside of the street where my bar stands. Haven't had much need to go beyond Thorny Way since I can get groceries on down the street. This place ain't no information center or whatever the hell you young folks might call it." He answered, not looking up from his handy work.

Jersey made a disappointed look. He settled on thinking of where he could travel to next in search of the hotel.

The country song on the radio ended as a chime rang out from the little device.

"Hello, I'm Katie Killjoy, and this is a breaking news story brought to you by 666 News! A shocking discovery was made earlier today as an Exterminator was found decapitated in an alley on the South Side of the Pentagram. No one is certain what caused the angel to meet its demise, but many are asking what demon could possibly have the power to kill one of God's own agents!"

Jersey clenched his jaw. It took every ounce of discipline within him not to look the slightest bit nervous. He curled a fist under the bar so as not to drum against the wood. The last thing he needed was to give away his sense of anonymity in the hellish city he found himself in.

"We reached out to a number of overlords and even King Lucifer himself. No one returned our request for comment. Fucking assholes..." The female newscaster grumbled crudely.

Jersey was slightly put off by the vulgarity, but it as natural that even a 'professional' talking head in Hell would curse.

"If anyone has first hand information, please contact the station at 666-384-2265. This is Katie Killjoy, and that will be all for now!" Just like that, the radio station moved on to commercial.

"Huh? Killin' an Angel, eh? What do ya think did that?"

"Probably some crazy bastard with a death wish." Jersey answered smoothly.

"Probably." The bartender parroted before continuing his maintenance of the glassware.

A bit of noise was made as six new arrivals entered the bar. All of them looked as if they had been dropped from a collection of Greek myths and dressed in a cosplay for Hell's Angels. Dressed in classic biker gear, they were discussing their latest acts of rebellion and hooliganism.

These were the 'Hellenistic Hellraisers." This group of punks were lead by their leader Scythos, a cruel former Spartan whose face was hidden by a Bronze helmet that was covered in bloodstains. A cigar was hanging out of the left side of his mouth as he looked over the bar. His gaze fell on Jersey's sitting form as he lead his gang towards the bar.

The bar owner became nervous as he recognized the Greek biker gang. "Ah shit..." he whispered as he ducked behind the bar to await the beating that he was suspecting would happen. His hushed curse was not missed by Jersey, who immediately steeled himself for the fourth confrontation of the day. He made the assumption that it would not be nearly as friendly as his meeting with Cherri Bomb.

"Well, well, well... Look who's decided to sit at our spot at this fine establishment." Scythos remarked with a tone of sadism as he eyed Jersey like a terrier would with a helpless rat. "I don't think this man knows how things work around here, eh ladies and gents." Some condescending laughter bubbled up around him as his lackeys shared the same thought.

Jersey pushed the shot glass away. He could have kept it as a makeshift weapon if he needed to, but he doubted he needed it to kick the asses of the people behind him. Even then, if he could leave the bar without having to fight at all, that itself would be a victory.

"Sorry, I had no idea that this seat was reserved." He answered neutrally. Jersey had not yet turned to face the bikers behind him. "I already had my drink, so I'll just leave you to your business."

Scythos guffawed at Jersey's reply. "Well, isn't that just swell. Aftós o ilíthios pistévei óti eínai kalós tha ton soséi!" His remark in Greek illicited further laughs from his fellow bikers.

Scythos had no idea that Jersey possessed 'Alltongue,' a passive magic ability that allows Devils to understand any language created by mortal men. Jersey, for his part had a terrible feeling that the Greek speaker behind him was going to wish that he appreciated Jersey's kindness. There was still a chance to get out of the bar without violence.

The devil in question turned around on his barstool, observing the group behind him. He could see only one human-like demon, that being Scythos. The rest of his murderous band was composed of Greek monsters: a harpy, a Minotaur, a satyr, a cyclops, and a gorgon with sunglasses. They all sported dirty pairs of jeans and leather jackets which looked like they had seen better days. They joined their Spartan leader's actions in laughing at his passivity.

"Look," Jersey raised his hands placatingly for a moment. "I'm just trying to leave this place. You can have your seats, and I'll just be on my way. I'll make sure to... learn the rules for next time."

The Spartan finally dispelled the fake sense of pleasantness and scowled under the shadow of his helmet, his red eyes glaring at Jersey. "I don't think you understand, ilíthios bástardos, there won't be a next time. See, my friends and I are looking to have a bit of fun so we can get nice and thirsty before we sit down to drink. Do you catch what I'm saying, anóitos?"

Jersey's eyes narrowed dangerously. Slowly, he stood up from his barstool, feeling tired of the Greek demon's threats. "You do not want to do this. I'm giving you one more chance to leave me be so you can have your drinks and I can be on my way."

Scythos just smirked, he let out a puff of his cigar smoke before nodding towards the Minotaur and the harpy in his company. The two of them quickly grabbed Jersey, holding him by his arms to stop him from escaping.

They failed to take heed of the fact that Jersey did not resist them.

"Shall we get started, fílos?" Scythos quipped before taking his cigar out of his mouth and slowly aiming the burning end towards Jersey's forehead. In the two seconds before the cigar touched Benjamin Leeds, two thoughts ran through his head.

One, he was certain there was something in this situation that he had vaguely seen before on a television show or movie.

Second, his capacity for restraint was completely gone.

The cigar was pressed against Jersey's forehead with a sizzle, but it did not illicit a scream of pain. Instead, a scowl began to grow on Jersey's face, his eyes slowly shifting from a swamp-water green to a hateful orange. Scythos and his companions were disturbed by the lack of a response. The helmeted leader, who looked especially perturbed, pressed the cigar to the point where it nearly bent in half.

Jersey lifted his left arm, easily out muscling the Minotaur who tried in vain to keep it from reaching for his leader's outstretched arm. Scythos was snapped out of his frustration when he felt a thin hand wrap around his own. This skinny, pale nobody had dared to touch him.

Then, a great pressure fell upon his appendage. Scythos heard a dull crack and felt a terrible stab of pain. Dropping the cigar, he desperately tried to pry Jersey's hand off.

"Voítheia! Párte yon!" He screamed as the two bikers holding onto Jersey's arms members tried to pull him away. Jersey's pale hand, still crushing Scythos' now broken hand, punched forward, Scythos let out a whimpering cry as he was knocked down.

Jersey threw his left arm back, grabbing the right horn of the Minotaur on his left side. With inhuman strength, he threw the beast man forward, forcing two of his fellow bikers to dodge his body as he smashed scalp first into a wooden beam that supported one of the saloon doors. It cracked under the force of the half-bull creature's collision.

A feathery hand grabbed Jersey by the throat. In an instant, he stepped towards his female assailant. He brought his left hand down, slapping the harpy demon's hand off of his neck. Facing his captor, Jersey disentangled his right arm from her grip and grabbed her by the shoulder. For the second time that day, he performed a head butt. The contact with the harpy's face produced a terrible cracking sound.

The harpy woman screeched agonizingly as blood poured down from her beaked face. She was then grabbed by the neck, and was helpless as Jersey violently smashed the back of her head against the bar. So vicious was the hit, that her head made an unsettling bounce as she collapsed onto her bloody face on the floor.

The cyclops of the group, roaring a curse, grabbed Jersey into a bear hug. With all of his strength, he tried to compress and break the smaller man's limber form. Instead, out of nowhere, an electric current rippled through the one-eyed monster's body, eliciting a scream as he was forced off of his smaller opponent. With a growl, Jersey leaped with a clenched fist at the cyclops' chin. Jersey's uppercut knocked him more than a foot in the air before he crashed onto the wooden floor.

The gorgon woman, hissing at Jersey, brandished a knife. The slash at his throat was neutralized as the gorgon's right arm was caught expertly with Jersey's right hand. A moment of him twisting her limb led to a crunching sound as the gorgon's hand was dislocated. The serpent haired woman screamed as her knife was stolen and used against her. Her broken hand was placed flat on the bar. Then, the Bowie Knife she was wielding was stabbed in the center of the splayed extremity. The gorgon could only let out a second yowl of agony before she, like the harpy before her, had her head slammed against the bar, knocking her out.

Finally, the satyr, now brandishing a revolver, cocked back the hammer of his gun, ready to fire. He was surprised when Jersey closed the distance in a blur of motion. Before the satyr could retreat, Jersey placed his right hand around the barrel, closing off the bullet's only way out. The satyr fired the gun with a growl, only for the shot to be muffled. Despite having fired into Jersey's palm, his orange-eyed foe did not even flinch.

Reaching with his left hand, Jersey swung the satyr's arm over to his left side. After dislocating the man beast's arm like the gorgon from before, the handgun was stripped from the biker's grip. The goat-man's growl of pain was stunted when the handle of his own pistol was smacked into his face. In a few milliseconds, the satyr was pistol whipped several times. One last, mighty smack in the head made him spin like a top as he slumped to the floor, his face horribly bruised and his mind unconscious.

In the span of less than half a minute, the formidable Hellinistic Hellraisers were just a group of KO'ed bodies on the floor of the Satan Antonio Saloon.

Jersey, looking down at his defeated foes dispassionately, glanced at his right hand. Inside of his palm, a malformed .44 caliber bullet was sitting. He let it drop to the floor, before turning his attention to what few patrons were in the bar. He likewise stared at the bar owner, who had stood up to observe the aftermath.

Jersey stared long and hard at the bar owner, his amber eyes burning into the badger sinner's own terrified gaze. "None of this ever happened, right?" He raised his voice at the end so that everyone could hear.

Those who were there as patrons nodded and affirmed Jersey's request with timid voices and raised brows.

The badger man behind the counter could only nod nervously at the fresh meat who had single handedly beaten down six of the roughest and toughest patrons to his saloon. "Sure thing, mister."

Jersey stared at the bar owner for a few seconds before he turned to leave. The revolver he had used to bludgeon the satyr was returned to its owner, having been dropped callously onto the goat-man's prone back. He stepped over the leather jacket wearing bodies of Scythos and the rest of his gang. Pushing through the doors, Jersey was out of the bar. He slowly breathed in the afternoon air, his elevated heart rate returning to normal. As he departed to continue his search for the 'Happy Hotel,' his eyes returned to their sickly green color.

I wish to thank anyone and everyone who has bothered to readthis budding story. As a new writer of fan fictions, I am likely to make some mistakes and struggle with a variety of elements that compose a good story. As such, I am thankful for constructive criticism if you believe it to be necessary.

Stay tuned for more chapters.