The day Almadel fell

Dean stumbled through the thick mist. The classroom behind him faded into whiteness. Looking down he couldn't see past his thighs. Curiosity pulled him forward, too exhausted to worry about finding his way back or tripping. The noise of his feet changed as he left the stone floor of the classroom. Muffled by the mist it sounded like the squeaking, crunching noise of walking on fresh snow. The pervasive white glow became stronger as he walked. He burst out, the mist stopping like a wall, spitting him out into dry air and blinding light. He looked back blinking, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Behind him, the mist was still spiraling upwards, a huge plume caused by the warmth of their new location hitting the cold September air of England that had suddenly been introduced into its midst.

His eyes followed the plume up into the sky, craning his head. There were no clouds, no blue or grey sky, no sun. The sky above was the black of a starless night. He could see no source for the daylight that was lighting him. Ahead, the land came into focus as his eyes adjusted, the terrain was perfectly flat: grey regolith spread out in every direction. The ground was covered with a thin grey dust that danced back and forth in the breeze. Whip-like, green, leafless plants grew thinly, like thick desiccated grasses the height of a man. In the distance huge bulbous growths shimmered in the heat haze, enormous spikeless cacti. Everything looked wrong, unfamiliar, and he felt an uneasiness rise in his chest. Always, wherever he turned, that oppressive black sky was in the corner of his eye, looming above.

He heard a sigh and looked down, the black demon cat had appeared next to him, curling her tail around her self and settling down on her haunches, looking out over the alien landscape. She settled down slowly and painfully. Her fur was ruffled. In the pale light she looked small and defenceless. The cat began talking.

It sucked me down, that black volcanic maw

for endless time, on wings of pain thus borne

curs'ed land, ...something something more?

That sunless sky, that white unending light,

The hooting hordes, of demon'aic might,

The hellish trees, the slimy seas,

The city hewn from silver stone,

The something something blight.."

She trailed off, "I can't quite remember the rest."

Dean sat down also, collapsing uncomfortably onto the sharp rocky ground next to her. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Hell." said Salomé.

"Metaphorically?"

"No."

Dean closed his eyes and digested this for a minute.

"It's not what I expected, then. Less red and firey." said Dean

"The rejected fragments of a thousand worlds. Hell is no one-thing".

"Oh. Did you write that poem, just now?"

"Me? Of course not. I have never been here, before. A welsh monk wrote that fifty years ago. He went mad and claimed he had gone to hell and returned. He wrote a rather long poem about his travels down there. It seems perhaps that he was telling the truth."

"Wait, aren't you from hell?"

"I was born in your world, human, just like you. One doesn't simply travel to hell and back, it is not a holiday destination. If you are sent here, you stay here."

"What about the monk--"

Salomé shot him a glance "Yes, well. That is a mystery indeed. One that I do not know the answer to. I know of no other examples. The demon princes came through millennia ago, when the two worlds strayed close, close enough they could push their way through by force. It is possible to send someone to hell, as we have rudely discovered. As far as I know, the opposite journey is all but impossible. Anyway, I know of this only from stories, from my father, and from books, rumours. I know little more than you about this place."

Dean gazed out over the greyness, squinting against the dust that was still dancing on the wind. "I am so tired." he said. "What if I just lie down here and wait to die? Where would I go?"

"Why don't you give it a try" said Salomé, dryly. "I'm sure you go somewhere lovely."

"Hah." said Dean, closing his eyes again for a second, wanting nothing more than to curl up and sleep. "So what are you going to do, demon?"

"Do?"

"Well, you're free now, right?"

"Do you assume this is my true form? Have you not noticed that I am still in the shape of a cat? I am not free, my prison is this puny body. My powers are still greatly constrained. I think that I will first stay here, and watch you all die at the hands of some bloodthirsty hell-beast, then I will wander these lands aimlessly for all eternity. That is my current plan. What is yours?"

"take care of the others" said Dean. He pulled himself to his feet with great effort and turned back into the mist, walking through with his hands outstretched until he hit a wall, feeling his way along to the door, returning to the classroom. The others were still lying there unconscious. He walked over to the bisected desk, put one foot on it and levered a leg off, holding it like a bat. He practiced a few swings with it, imagining the hell beast rushing in, imagining himself hitting it in the head and throwing it back out into the mist. He leaned against the wall, desk-leg in hand, and watched over the sleepers.