“This is for the first time you hit her,” I explain nonchalantly as I continue applying pressure. The bone begins to crack. “She told me you started small. You were testing her boundaries, weren't you, Thomas?”
“Stop! Please!” Thomas sobs. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry!”
“No, you're not.” I move to his left thumb, fitting the second thumbscrew. “But you will be.”
Over the next few hours, I work through my collection methodically. The rack, which stretches his joints until they pop. The iron maiden, though I'm careful not to pierce any vital organs—yet. The breaking wheel, which snaps bones with satisfying cracks.
Between each device, I tell him exactly what it's for.
This is for making her afraid to leave the apartment. This is for threatening her unborn child. This is for getting her fired so she'd be dependent on you. This is for the stairs.
By the time I reach the pear of anguish—a delightful little devicedesigned to be inserted into various orifices and then expanded—Thomas has long since stopped screaming. He just whimpers now, broken and barely conscious.
“And you haven't stopped abusing women, have you?” I ask as I prepare the device. “Aim tells me you found another woman who looked like her. Young, vulnerable, beautiful.”
Thomas's eyes widen with dread.
“Marie Dubois. Twenty-three years old. An art student. She died in a car accident two years ago.” I lean closer. “Except it wasn't an accident, was it? She wasn't wearing her seatbelt. You were driving, and when she finally worked up the courage to try to leave you...”
I can see the truth in his eyes before he even tries to deny it.
“You killed her,” I continue. “Just like you tried to kill Simone and her baby on those stairs. The only difference is Marie didn't survive.”
“It was an accident,” Thomas whispers. “She grabbed the wheel, I couldn't?—”
“Liar.” The word comes out with such force that several of the torture devices rattle on their hooks. “I can smell the deception on you, human. I can taste your guilt.”
This is when I show him my true form.
My transformation is swift. I feel the horns growing on my forehead, hear my wings unfurling behind me. Scales replace skin, my body growing larger and more muscular. I let my eyes ignite with green fire, and when I smile, I know he sees rows of razor-sharp teeth.
Thomas screams, a sound of pure terror that echoes through the ziggurat and makes the audience of demons cheer. They’re gathered around the edges of the throne room, drawn by the smell of blood and suffering, eagerly watching their master work.
“This,” I say, my voice now a rumbling growl, “is what I really am. Asmodeus, Archdemon of Lust. And you, pathetic little human, hurt something that belongs to me.”
I spend the following hours showing Thomas exactly what an enraged archdemon is capable of. The devices I use become increasinglycreative—the Judas cradle, the Catherine wheel, the Spanish tickler. Each one is designed to inflict maximum pain.
I save the brazen bull for last.
“This one's special,” I explain as I force Thomas's broken body into the bronze statue shaped like a bull. “It was designed by the ancient Greeks. See, when a fire is lit underneath, the bronze heats up slowly. Very slowly. It can take hours for the temperature inside to become lethal.”
Thomas is too broken to beg anymore. He just stares at me with glassy eyes, his spirit finally completely shattered.
“But you're in Hell now, Thomas,” I continue as I signal for my demons to start the fire. “You don't get to escape. You'll get to experience this pain, over and over, for eternity.”
The fire catches, and Thomas begins to scream again as the bronze slowly heats up around him.
I transform back to my human appearance and take a seat on my throne, watching the show with deep satisfaction. Around me, my demons cheer and laugh, delighting in their master's creativity.
After Thomas finally succumbs to the heat, I send his soul to the Burning Pits, where he'll experience it all again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.
For eternity.
“Feeling better?” Aim asks as I clean the blood from my hands with a silk cloth.
“Immensely. Thank you for your assistance.”
“My pleasure. Literally.” He grins wickedly. He might be playing house with a human woman, but he's still a demon. He still needs to feed.
