“Very well. We'll start with the ziggurat.”
Her brow furrows. “The what?”
“My fortress in the desert.” I cringe. “It's... a lot less refined than our home here.”
I hold out my hand, and for a moment, I think she'll refuse to take it. But then her warm fingers slip into mine, and relief floods me like a wave.
“This will feel uncomfortable,” I warn before transporting us with the ether.
The world dissolves and reforms around us. Gone are the gentlesounds of the Lethe and the scent of white roses. In their place is the acrid tang of sulfur, the distant howls of hellhounds, and the oppressive heat of the desert.
We materialize at the base of my ziggurat, the massive black structure looming above us. Its obsidian steps gleam dully in the reddish light, leading up to the temple complex at its peak.
Simone gasps, her fingers squeezing mine. “It's enormous.”
“It's designed to intimidate,” I explain. “To remind lesser demons of their place.”
Her eyes widen as hellhounds prowl into view, molten saliva dripping from jagged teeth as they snap at each other.
“They won't harm you,” I assure her. “Nothing here would dare.”
Imps scurry between larger creatures, their nimble forms darting through the shadows. A group of succubi lounge on a nearby terrace, their leathery wings and spade-tipped tails on display.
“They look... different,” Simone whispers, her eyes tracking a particularly beautiful demoness whose skin is covered in multicolored scales.
“Most demons have a human form and a demonic form,” I explain. “What you're seeing is somewhere in between—comfortable enough for Hell but still recognizable to mortal eyes.”
She turns to me suddenly, realization dawning in her eyes. “Do you have a demonic form too?”
Ah. The question I've been dreading. My throat tightens. “I do.”
“Will you show me?”
I hesitate, dread like a stone in my stomach. What if she recoils? What if the sight of my true form destroys whatever fragile connection remains between us?
“Not yet,” I hedge, unable to meet her gaze. “Let's continue.”
Her disappointment is palpable, but she doesn't push. Small mercies.
As we climb the ziggurat steps, demons fall silent at my approach. They bow or prostrate themselves, their curious eyesdarting to Simone—to her rounded belly—before quickly averting their gaze when they catch me watching.
“They fear you,” she observes.
“As they should.”
We reach a vast open courtyard where a crowd of lesser demons parts before us. Ancient black columns line the space, each carved with scenes of such depravity that I find myself hoping Simone doesn't look too closely.
Alas, something makes her pose the hard questions, voice her true fears about my nature.
“Is it true what they say about archdemons? That you cause plagues that wipe out entire peoples? That you bathe in human blood? That you demand babies and virgins be sacrificed to you?” Her voice drops almost to a whisper, her hand moving to her belly where our child is growing. “That you eat them?”
I consider lying—and it would be so fucking easy to do so—but that's what brought us here in the first place. “Some archdemons have done all those things and worse,” I admit. “Great power makes for great egos, and powerful creatures with no boundaries or moral checkpoints will do obscene things simply because they can.”
I pause, choosing my next words carefully. This is why she hates my kind so much. She believes we're all equally heinous. She thinks I’m capable of these things.
“I won't pretend to be innocent. I've committed my share of sins over the millennia. But my domain has always been pleasure. I never demanded child sacrifices or deliberately caused mass suffering. My... indulgences have been limited to debauchery with sexually mature mortals.”
She studies me, weighing my words. I can't tell if she believes me, and that worries me.
