string of red pearls
by Bethany Ten
bated breath

He never considered breathing in Hell. Too sure of a puff of smoke or brimstone to assail his throat, but there was nothing: there was only gravel. The span of time between each heartbeat was painfully infinitesimal.

The weight on his eyelids subsided, only a little, and he saw—

—blood.

"Hell," Kami-sama croaked, his smile crackling, "is exactly as I imagined."

The mass of blood receded, a blackness gathering in the center of it, and an angular face leered down at him.

"What, proletarian?"

He did not know angels dwelt in Hell until he saw the burning: green, green, green.