Under miles of stone and earth, where the sun had never shone, lay Tartaros, the city of the damned.
A sea of darkness pierced only by the light of the flames. The eternal torches hanging from the walls, the fires of the forges and the demonic lanterns hanging from the arches illuminated the streets with wobbly light, red and gold.
And despite this oppressive darkness, life was swarming.
Demons with human shapes with ash skin and some with strange shapes came and went in a constant tumult.
Cornish children were running around laughing, pushing passers-by.Some street vendors were screaming at their prices tearing their throats.Gargotes allowed scents of grilled meat and spices to float in the air. And around the corner from an alley, you could always run into Karube, the old charlatan, trying to sell off his questionable potions.
— Come here, come here, he was screaming, waving a green vial. One drop, and you'll find the strength of a 20-year-old demon!
— Vigority !? Bullshit, said a big-bellied matron. You already sold me your "miracle potion" last week, Karube, and my husband still sleeps like a rock!
— Because it needed two drops, you idiot! replied Karube, raising his skinny arms to heaven.
The dispute broke out immediately, attracting a small crowd of fun. Everyone in Tartaros knew Karube. Some swore that his blends could kill a dragon, others that his vials were nothing more than crumpled water. But no one could deny he was putting on animation.
The underground city stretched out of sight, dug into the vast cavity of a forbidden world. Stone bridges connected the neighbourhoods like cobwebs, hanging over droves of lava. The further away from the large squares, the narrower, winding lanes became, sometimes so tight that you had to walk in profile to cross them.
There was a constant roar in Tartaros: the hammers striking the anvils, the guttural laughter of demons, the arguments, the drunken chants of taverns. The walls themselves were vibrating from this agitation, as if the rock were holding the echo of a thousand lives.
Near the central market, a crowd was huddled around a stale peddler waving a blackened box.
— Look at this, an authentic dragon tooth pulled out with my own hands!
A demon with a face covered in scales threw him:
— Your "dragon teeth" are polished pebbles, you crook!
A general burst of laughter followed by the beginning of a fight where fists flew as fast as insults.
Later, a horny baker would come out of the oven of the still-smoking breads. The smell was spreading down the street, attracting children who held out their little claws to steal a piece. The demon chased them away screaming, brandishing his burning shovel like a weapon.
And then, on the turn of the square, a public screamer announced the news of the deep mines.
— Gallery 13 collapsed, three wounded, no fatalities, production will resume tomorrow.
Some passers-by sighed, others shrugged their shoulders: in Tartaros death was a background noise, but life never stopped.
In this colorful commotion, everyone had their place, their role, their history.
Each but one.
A small hut stood just a few miles from the central market, where the lights of lava were now dimly lit up the walls. No stone, no forged metal: only dark wood, gnawed by moisture and time, assembled crookedly as if it had been hastily constructed. Around, silence. No laughter, no screaming, only the distant breath of caves.
This was where Sōgiya lived, an eight-year-old child whom the people of Tartaros called in a low voice the undertaker. His flaming orange eyes sometimes watched the city from the heights, but he never came down there. He knew it: his shadow was bad luck, his touch called death. When he was born, he had cost his mother, then his father, and even the midwives who had tried to help him. Seven minutes. It was all that was left for everyone he touched before he died in the fire.
Only one being had never gone away from him: Fullfire, a red-headed will-o'-the-wisp, with a grumpy character and a sharper tongue than a blade. He's always been floating near him, escorting him into his loneliness like a brother of misfortune.
— You know, mumbled Fullfire spinning over the hot roof, if you spend another day staring at the rock, we're gonna end up turning into rocks, you and I.
Sōgiya sketched a faint smile.
— Why don't I go down to the village?
— Bad idea, answered the spirit, his flames creeping with annoyance. Last time, we had to run because some old lady accused you of killing her sick husband. You want them to hang you from the city gate?
Sōgiya didn't answer. His thin hands clasped in his lap. He never asked to be born this way. Yet every breath, every step, every look he looked at another living thing reminded the inhabitants that death was never far away.
His only wish, buried deep in his heart, was simple: to be once loved by his own.
Sōgiya stared at the ceiling of his cabin, his eyes lost in the cracks of the wood.
Fullfire, orbiting him, threw little red sparks to get his attention.
— You know what you look like, asked for the mind of a sneaky tone.
— …To what?
— To a tombstone. Seriously, you sit around all day, mute like a dead man. Even cave ghosts must find it depressing.
Sōgiya looked away, a barely noticeable smile drawing on her lips.
— I just wish I could go downstairs. Sit at a table. Taste the hot bread. Hearing someone call me by my first name… fearless.
A silence weighed, only disturbed by the creeping of Fullfire. Then the spirit spit out:
— You dream too much, kid. Your people will never see anything in you other than a walking coffin.
Before Sōgiya had time to answer, a rambunctious rambunctious rambunctious rambunctious rambunctious rambunctious rambunctious rambunctia. Screams, insults, rushing racing sounds. A few seconds later, a figure dropped into the shadow of the cabin: a stale demon, a scattered beard, wearing a swollen waist of various objects that held on every step.
— By old Belz's horns, he panted and looked behind him. If those idiots catch me, they're gonna make me swallow my vials one by one!
It was Karube, well known in Tartaros for his "miracle potions" and shameless scams. He knew no one would dare follow him here: the place was too close to the damn cabin.
When he saw Sōgiya, he showed a wide smile, catching his breath.
— Ah, my favorite little demon! You're just in time, I was just coming to visit you... well, a little bit despite myself.
He searched his face and took out a bag of provisions: a still-hot bread, two carmine fruits and a small, roughly carved wooden figure.
— Here's a present. I thought you might be bored here. Besides, if I keep this on me, these idiots are gonna rip it out of me.
Sōgiya hesitated, her eyes shining on the food.
— You know you don't have to, Uncle Karube...
— Oh, yes, I am, retorted the old demon with a wink. A merchant like me always pays his debts. Besides, you have an aura… how can I put it? Let's just say no one will bother me here. So I'm gonna do two birds with one stone.
Fullfire stepped in, his flames creeping.
— You never give anything without ulterior motive, Karube. What do you want this time?
The demon raised his hands to heaven, falsely indignant. Still out of breath, eventually drops on an old half-wanking stool in the cabin. He gave Sōgiya a mischievous look.
— Come on, come on... nothing wrong, just a little chat. Tell me, Sōgiya…how are you?
Karube, Sōgiya, who held the bread hot against him like a treasure, shrugged his shoulders.
— As always. I don't have much to do… Fullfire is with me, but it doesn't change my loneliness.
— You ungrateful son of a bitch...
— Sorry, my little flame, but the other kids are playing in the city. I'm staying here. Nobody wants me.
A short silence ensued. Even Fullfire, yet quick to fight back, stood back, creaking gently like a slow-motion fire.
Karube scratched his beard, looking more tender than usual.
— You know, kid, Tartaros is full of curses. There are damned people who burn everything they touch, others who turn to stone with the slightest ray of light, and some who hear voices until they go crazy. You're not the only one carrying a burden.
— But me, my curse kills... and no one will forgive me.
The old merchant sighed and then leaned forward.
— Look, Sōgiya. If you want the truth, there are many rumors… In old forbidden writings, those written by the first demons before we are locked in here, it is said that a curse can only disappear by destroying the one who threw it away.
Sōgiya suddenly raised his head with his eyes wide open.
— You mean... the god who cursed me?
— Exactly, did Karube nod his head. But don't think it's that simple. Coming to the surface is forbidden by King Belzebub, and even if you could…fight a deity, kid, is asking to die before you even raise your weapon.
He rose slowly, adjusting his waist. Before he went through the door, he put a dusty old book on the table.
— Here you go. It's not worth much, but it tells the story of Tartaros. Maybe it'll keep you busy. Keep it. I don't need it anymore.
And without waiting, he came out, disappearing into the darkness.
Sōgiya stood still for a moment, staring at the book. His fingers were reluctant to caress the cover. Fullfire, on the other hand, was immediately agitated, veering nervously.
— Don't start putting ideas in your head, you dark idiot. You really think you're gonna go up there with your twig legs and your head full of dreams?
He burst into sparks, as if to divert his attention.
— Come on, I found an underground passage that leads to the lava basins. We'll sneak in, you'll see, it's dangerous and completely forbidden. Exactly what you need to get over this curse thing!
The underground pipes were serpent like veins of fiery rock. Sōgiya followed Fullfire, who turned in front of him laughing.
— Come on, kid, you're gonna lose me!
— I'm running as fast as I can!
They suddenly came into a huge lava basin. The incandescent waves bubbled, lighting the walls with a bright red light. The heat was suffocating, sticking the sweat to Sōgiya's skin.
— It's… it's beautiful, he whispered, fascinated by the orange glow of the flames.
But his wonder was short-lived. A shadow leaped out of the flames: a gigantic feline, with incandescent fur, yellow eyes like two miniature suns. The Cat of the Laves.
Before Sōgiya could even react, the creature opened its gaping mouth and… glooop! He ate Fullfire.
— Hey, howl Sōgiya. Give it back!
The cat spat out a sparkle and uncluttered at full speed into a side tunnel. Without thinking, Sōgiya set out to pursue him. His footsteps resonated on the burning stone, his breath was cutting, his legs were shaking, but he wouldn't give up.
He tripped, fell, rose again and again. Dust came over his throat, coughing to tear his lungs out. But at every turn, he saw the cat's flaming tail disappearing further away.
— Wait for me, Fullfire… Hold on…
The chase lasted forever, until finally, at the turn of a narrow passage, Sōgiya felt close, so close to his goal. He reached out his hand, his fingers almost gleaming at the feline…
Then the ground gave in.
A deafening crash engulfs the world. Sōgiya howled, fell into the void, hitting the rock, tearing his skin against the edges, before crashing heavily. The pain exploded all over his body, as if his bones had turned into split glass.
He lay there for a moment with his breath taken away. Then slowly he opened his eyes.
In front of him lay a vast sunken hall, vaulted with black stones and decorated with ancient frescoes. The dust covered the reliefs, but he could still distinguish between silhouettes: angels with spread wings, seraphines with stern faces, and tarnished gold fragments.
Everything seemed unreal, sacred.
In the center of the room lay a marble tomb, cracked by the ages but still majestic. Around it, statues of archangels stood silent, looking at this forgotten coffin.
Sōgiya took a step back, with her heart beating to break everything.
— Where... where did I fall?