“What are you?”
“Ohhh, Grace,” it purred, savoring my name. “I’ve waited so long for this moment.”
Fear seeped into my bones as I realized it had found me. “Bael,” I whisper.”
He let out a sharp, cringing laugh, and I knew he could taste my fear. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time, witch.” It seethed.
“Well, the feeling’snotmutual.”
“Feisssty,” Bael hissed at me as it crawled a little closer. “Call for him,” the thing croons. “Call for your holy boy. I want him to witness when I make you scream.”
I don’t let him finish. I speak a Latin phrase that was taught to me by my father. He taught me not to say it out loud, unless it was to repel an evil entity. The room recoiled, and energy rippledthrough the air, cracking the wood along the floorboards. The demon’s grin flickered, then returned, wider and more evil.
“Spicy,” he says in mocking delight. “Do it again.”
I backed up, my heel knocking the bed frame. I wanted to wake up, but I couldn't. The walls crawled with shadows, some of them looked like smoke, some seemed alive. Bael took a step forward and the floor steamed under its feet.
“You glow when you’re scared,” he says, tilting his head like I’m some new toy he has decided to play with. “Pretty, pretty panic.”
He moved fast. Its hand, like hot iron, wrapped around my wrist, and the heat was so sudden and painful that I couldn’t help but cry out. He inhaled the sound, eyes heavy-lidded as if he were savoring the taste. Hauling me closer, his breath smelled of sulfur and rot, and it felt like a hot furnace against my cheek.
“I’ll have your screams,” he murmured, his voice having gone soft and even more vile. “I’ll take them apart, one by one. I’ll…”
“NO!” I spit, and I twisted, bringing my knee up, catching only smoke. The demon laughed in my face, the stink of scorched things pouring over me.
The room tilted and then the floor suddenly split in half. The bed began to slide toward a seam that wasn’t there a moment ago. Heat licked at my calf, then began to climb, consuming me. My skin began to sizzle and I coughed, as the air became stifled with smoke.
Bael yanked me hard, and the world dropped beneath me. All I remember was screaming and then there was darkness.
Hell isn’t red.
It’s the color of iron before it glows. There’s an intense pressure in your head. It feels as if you’re too deep underwater. I was whirled around, as a wind swept over me nearly toppling me over. It carried screams but the wind itself never cooled the skin. I tumbled, scraped, clawed, and my nails ripped on stonethat crumbled from the incessant heat. The demon’s laughter threaded through the shrieking air like a needle piercing my skull.
“You’re mine.”
“No.” the word tore out of me, sounding ragged. “You can’t have me or my soul. You won’t have me.”
“Little witch,” he crooned, “I already have you where I want you.”
A sound cut across him. It was faint but familiar. It was a deep male voice that was coming from a place that didn’t exist here.
How is that possible?
“Grace,” it says my name. “Grace, come back.”
Hellsing.
I turn toward it, toward the single thread that connects me to reality. The heat punches harder, as if Hell itself doesn’t want to let me go. The demon lunges, fingers tangling in my hair, jerking my head so hard that I’m forced to look at it.
“You think he’ll save you?” he snarled. “You think that broken, pretty sinner can pull you out?”
My answer is a simple phrase. “Vade retro satana. Vade retro Satana!”
I spit it in his face, repeating the phrase over and over. Bael screeched and recoiled, surprise cracking his mask as it released me. I took the chance and I ran. I don’t know where I was going, or who would save me, so I just ran toward the sound of Hellsing’s voice hoping he had a magical door he could pull me through. The ground dropped again as what seems like magma seeps out of the cracks. It was purgatory, or at least what I saw it as. My hands blistered against the jagged rocks, but I didn't stop. I couldn’t. Somehow, I knew that if I did, I’d die here. Trapped. And there was no God who would tear me out.
“Grace,” the voice says, closer now, urgent. “Take my hand!”
There’s nothing there to hold. I reach out anyway and suddenly; something slams into my chest. The world snaps bright and small as I hit hard wood. I scrambled back, noticing the bed. The room. The air tasted like smoke and the candle I’d left burning on the dresser. I’m shaking so hard, my teeth knock together.
