Page 41 of The River of Hatred

“Left.”

“Right.”

Chapter 20 – Ithuriel

The Malebolge:The Trench of Sowers of Discord

I’m being haunted. Images of Sariel’s suffering after his fall are ripping my insides open. The sounds of Jessica’s pleasure echo in my ears, louder than any sinner’s lament. The dual assault is a punishment worse than any the demons who manifested these trenches could conjure up.

I’m possessed by a creature who longs to feel the soft skin of a Nephilim’s throat under their fingers, a creature who dares to close the Fallen’s mouth with their own.

I do not rest, I do not eat, I speak less with every passing day. I’ve been away from Heaven’s light too long, besieged by these temptations.

Father, I tried so hard not to look, not to hear, not to want. Not to feel.

“Itha?” A gentle whisper makes my heart grow wings and take flight. “I asked if you know where we are.”

Jessica plucks the crumbs of hard cheese from her lap and plops them into her mouth; we’re days without fresh food, and every morsel matters to her mortal body. I watch the way her reddish-blonde hair sways, free from her usual tight ponytail for the night. When she leans forward, the shirt she’s wearing, the one that prevents her armor from chaffing as we move around Hell, stretches over her high, round breasts. There’s a crumb stuck in the linen material there too.

“Ithuriel?” she calls my name again. I want to tell her not to bother whispering. Sariel is not truly sleeping, merely in a meditative, restorative state. Even our Celestial bodies are depleted after the trek in the steaming trench of earlier.

“Yes.” I clear my throat of its hoarseness. “I know where we are.” I tug the collar of my own shirt away from my sweaty neck. We’re not far away from the flames yet. Or I’m not far away enough from my personal flames. The latter seems more likely with each passing day. Hope is leaving me and I can’t help but dwell on the words of the future teller. Is my fall inevitable? “We’re in the ninth and penultimate trench. The sinners here are being punished for causing strife and division. In death, they are being torn apart as they delighted in tearing apart lives when alive.”

The sweet-faced girl presses a hand against the chest which my eyes stray to far too often. “You mean… body parts torn off?” She swallows and cringes, likely imagining the carnage ahead.

I nod, distracted by the deterioration of my thoughts. “The path through the trench will likely be littered with remains.”

“But if they get quartered, how is the punishment eternal?”

Sariel speaks up from where he lies on his back, arms supporting his sinfully handsome head. A head I had never qualified as such while we still lived together in Heaven. “They grow back, of course,” he drawls, drawing Jessica’s gaze. His damp chest glistens in the orange haze of the sky and the Nephilim swallows, her eyes locked on it and glassy. “We wouldn’t want the fun to be over too soon, would we?” he continues, seemingly oblivious to both of our stares.

“You consider watching torture day after day to be fun then?” I ask, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.

Sariel opens an eye and smirks. “Your high horse is about to throw you off, Ithuriel.”

“I have no idea what you’re on about,” I mutter and pull my sword into my lap to begin cleaning it.

“I’m sure,” he murmurs, then groans as he stretches and flips over onto his hands and knees. “Jessica,” he breathes. “You look like you’re wearing too much. And I’m bored.”

“Oh?” she gasps with a shaky voice.

“Oh,” Sariel confirms as he starts slinking toward her.

I slam my sword down between them.

“It seems you two are rested enough to continue.”

Jessica blushes as Sariel growls. “I’m getting real tired of your cockblocking, Captain Downy Fuzz.”

“Not as tired as I am of your preposterous behavior. If you had stayed put in yourFather’scastle and engaged in your debauchery there, Jessica and I would have surely closed the rift by now and stopped the rest of the human culprits responsible for Armaros’ death.”

Jessica gasps at my words. “You don’t mean that, Itha!”

Sariel throws his head back and laughs, no joy in the sound, only the hollow ringing of a death knell. “Look at you.” He shakes his head. “Redirecting your feelings of guilt and lashing out is something human children grow out of in their first decades.”

I feel heat spreading from my chest and up my neck. My teeth clench along with my fists and my grip on the sword turns shaky.

“Oh, do you want to hit me, angel?” the Fallen taunts. He brings his head close to mine. “Do you want to take out all those nasty feelings inside you, take it out on me?”

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