Happily Ever Awkward (The H.E.A. Files, #1)(10)

Because of the unending demand, property values in Hell escalated until the average Demon found it impossible to afford living there anymore. Millions of lesser Demons, desirous of their own private hells, were forced to relocate, eventually settling in a realm known as the Netherhells, a space out where dimensional real estate was less expensive. It was also less desirable, but when it came to buying a hell, lack of desirability was actually a selling point.

According to inter-dimensional zoning codes, though, agony levels in the Netherhells had to remain below certain thresholds to avoid disturbing neighboring astral planes. As a result, the Netherhells were not all that hellish. To be honest, they were more annoying than anything else.

At this particular moment, something very annoying was afoot in Netherhell 3412.

But it was about to be afeet.





A desolate plain stretched beneath a sunless sky-that-wasn’t-a-sky. Glistening in the bleak unlight, massive blocks of ice sprouted from the ground. Frozen within each stood or sat or squatted a person. Each person had a surprised look on their face, as if they’d just been caught doing something they shouldn’t have been doing and, before they could stammer out an explanation, had been instantly frozen inside a block of ice.

They did not seem to notice that a curious creature was hopping from one block of ice to the next. Over ten feet tall, it was a massive jigsaw of scales, plates, spikes, claws, fur, and fangs, with a giant, pelican-like mouth very much like… well, like a giant mouth crossed with a pelican. Its right leg was missing below the knee, which was why it hopped.

Its name was Worrt.

It was a he.

And he was a Demon.

He scrutinized every block, scowling at the people frozen inside, raking his fearsome claws across the ice in frustration.

“No… no… no…” he said.

This continued for hours, days, or millennia — it was often hard to keep track of time within the Netherhells — but eventually he came upon a much smaller chunk of ice. This chunk of ice was far too small to contain a person. Worrt felt a slight thrill in his chest, but he forced himself to be calm. He had known far too much disappointment over the hours, days, or millennia of his ordeal. He refused to get his hopes up.

He hopped closer to the small chunk of ice, and with each hop, his hope ascended.

Hop.

Hope.

Hop.

Hope!

Hop.

HOPE!!!

A leg was frozen within the chunk of ice.

A monstrous, hairy leg with ugly toes and huge claws.

Worrt’s missing leg.

“At last!” he bellowed, and his cry echoed across the frigid plain. None of the frozen people seemed to notice, but even if they had, they were frozen solid and thus incapable of giving any sign, so the point was moot.

Worrt eagerly hopped beside the block of ice and shattered it with a single blow. Gingerly picking his limb from the pile of fresh ice cubes, he pressed it against the stump of his leg.

“Ooh!” he shivered, sucking air between his massive teeth.

The flesh of his leg magically fused and he stood triumphantly, stamping his new foot upon the ground.

“Good as new!” he roared. “Took me eons, but I’m finally complete!”

When it was apparent no response from the frozen audience was forthcoming, Worrt paused and took a long, slow look around his environment as if seeing it for the first time.

“And I’m completely lost,” he realized. “Where the Netherhells am I?”

With one final glance at his alien surroundings, Worrt the Demon vanished in a puff of twisted space-time continuum.





This will all make sense later.





8



THE CHAMPION LOTTERY


The clatter of hooves, the rattle of wagons, and the shouts of shopkeepers greeted King Hofnar, Prince Paul, and Laura the Handmaiden as they descended a well-maintained bridge into the heart of Theandrea. The bridge deposited them in a vast plaza known as The Great Intersection. Less formally, the area was also known as The Crossroads of the World, The Roadian Knot, and A Good Place to Get Robbed If You’re Not Careful.

Here it was that hundreds of bridges began and ended their journeys, looping over and under and around each other on their various ways to the farthest reaches of the Empire. No matter where one looked, the hustle and bustle of impatient travelers hustled and bustled in every direction.

Overlooking the chaos from a summit beyond The Great Intersection, the Imperial Castle of Theandrea towered gloriously into the sky like the combined dreams of every little girl in the entire world.

Paul had never experienced anything quite so overwhelming.

After they reached the far side of the Intersection where more traditional streets led into the city, Laura reined Paul’s horse to a stop. King Hofnar, however, did not wait for her to dismount. Having no patience for Paul’s weakness, he trotted down the main thoroughfare toward an exclusive-looking tavern situated prominently at the far end of the street. A wooden sign swung from a post above the door. It read:



Ye Olde Lotterie





“Catch,” Laura said, tossing the reins to Paul.

The prince bobbled them and they dropped at his feet. As he bent to pick them up, he tried to think of something charming to say, but despite all his training, he had never been able to charm under pressure. “My… my pleasure. I…”