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Slice

"There's a certain… artistry to dissecting a human, wouldn't you agree?" Lucien mused, a disturbing tranquility in his voice.

"It's fascinating, seeing all the intricate workings laid bare. And the warmth… the vibrant crimson spilling forth… it's inspiring, almost beautiful. Especially when it splashes over you, a macabre baptism of sorts."

Alright

"Whose turn is it to dance with death?"

Lucien drawled, his gaze sweeping across the terrified faces before him.

They called him the Hollow, and the name was apt. He was a killer devoid of empathy, a shell of a man driven only by a chilling compulsion to extinguish life. By day, he blended seamlessly into the London crowds, an unremarkable citizen. But when darkness fell, the Hollow emerged, a predator stalking the concrete jungle.

His transformation had begun at the tender age of ten, a traumatic event that had extinguished his emotions, his conscience, his very humanity. He had begun with his own family, a brutal massacre of his parents and siblings, an attempt to understand if blood truly ran differently in various veins. The disappointing sameness of their insides, the realization that the much-vaunted "blood difference" amounted to mere variations in size and shape, only fueled his emptiness. It was a void he desperately sought to fill, one gruesome death at a time.

...The authorities, recognizing the chilling emptiness that resided within the Hollow, deemed him beyond redemption.

His macabre artistry, so disturbingly devoid of remorse, marked him as a danger to society. Yet, instead of incarceration, they chose a different path, one that would weaponize his unique talents. He was sent to a clandestine government facility, a place where killers were forged, where his lack of empathy was honed into a deadly skill.

Today, on his twenty-first birthday, the Hollow was indulging in his favorite pastime: dissecting. His subject, Paulo Jantas, the governor of Alagoas, Brazil, lay lifeless on the cold steel table, a canvas upon which the Hollow explored the intricacies of human anatomy. He worked with methodical precision, his movements disturbingly graceful, his face a mask of detached curiosity.

A stray bullet, fired seemingly from nowhere, pierced the air, striking the Hollow in the skull. So engrossed was he in his gruesome work, so utterly devoid of sensation, that he didn't even flinch. He merely paused, tilting his head slightly, as if considering a minor distraction. Only when he was finished with his dissection did he turn, a scalpel still clutched in his gloved hand.

"Your turn, huh?"

he murmured, addressing the unseen assailant. He dabbed at a stray droplet of blood on his cheek, examining it with a clinical eye. "Is this… different?"

Before he could finish the thought, his body slumped to the floor. The light faded from his eyes, the emptiness within him finally giving way to… nothingness.

He was gone.

Above the bloody tableau, something shimmered. It was his soul, or perhaps a mere echo of his consciousness, hovering above his lifeless body. He gazed down at the scene of carnage, at the ruined vessel that had once housed his emptiness. A sigh escaped him, a whisper lost in the silence of the room.

"Hmph," he mused, a hint of… disappointment? Curiosity? It was impossible to tell. "So… what now as a dead?"

...The Hollow found himself in a realm of swirling, dark mist. Before him, Anubis, the jackal-headed god of the dead, materialized, his presence radiating an aura of ancient power.

"Common, boy," Anubis growled, his voice a deep rumble that echoed through the mist. "It's time to begin your journey through the Nine Gates of Hell."

The Hollow just sighed. "I thought being dead would at least have some interesting perks," he muttered, his voice laced with the familiar apathy. Then, a flicker of something akin to curiosity crossed his features. "Hey, what do you say? Could I perhaps see your insides for, like, thirty minutes?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Anubis turned, his eyes flashing with divine anger. He raised a hand, and before the Hollow could react, he felt a sharp, stinging pain, a sensation he hadn't experienced since… well, since he was ten. His soul, or whatever remained of his consciousness, was slapped down, the force of the blow staggering him.

"How dare you, pest, speak to a god that way!" Anubis snarled.

Lucien, for that was the Hollow's given name, looked confused, then perplexed by the realization that even in death, he could feel pain. He joined the god, and together they traversed the desolate landscape. Anubis led him to a long line of souls stretching towards a shadowy portal. With a dismissive shove, Anubis pushed him into the queue.

Deep within the deadlands, a vast expanse devoid of any living presence, a solitary figure lay curled around a golden cup. The cup radiated an immense power, a beacon of light in the oppressive darkness. The figure remained motionless, seemingly oblivious to the endless procession of souls passing nearby.

...A voice, startling in its clarity, pierced the stillness of the deadlands. It echoed not from the heavens nor the abyss, but from somewhere… beyond.

"He is here," the voice declared, its tone urgent, yet laced with an ancient weariness. "Go now, before Hades gets to him. The being… it has awakened. Its features… a mix of beauty and grotesque."

The Sphinx, a creature of myth and desert whispers, embodied duality. She possessed the powerful body of a lioness, tawny fur rippling over potent muscles, each line hinting at savage strength. Yet, she exuded an elegant stillness, perched serenely on sandstone cliffs overlooking a landscape of carnage and blood.

From this feline foundation rose a woman's torso, strong and broad-shouldered, hinting at inner power. Her warm honey-colored skin bore intricate, swirling patterns, like desert winds whispering tales of ages past. Great feathered wings, reminiscent of a raptor, were folded against her back. Each feather transitioned from fiery orange to iridescent teal, capturing the colors of a desert sunset. These wings were instruments of power, capable of carrying her across vast distances.

Her head, a masterpiece of ageless beauty, crowned this majestic form. Sharp, angular features, high cheekbones, and a regal nose spoke of intelligence and quiet strength. Midnight hair cascaded down her back, partially hidden by a golden headdress, intricately crafted and adorned with symbols of forgotten gods.

It took off.

Its magnificent wings, a blur of motion, propelled it skyward, heading unerringly towards the path of the Nine Gates of Hell.

Lucien, blissfully unaware of his change in transportation, sauntered towards the gate, a carefree whistle on his lips. Suddenly, time seemed to fracture, either slowing to a crawl or accelerating beyond comprehension.

One moment he was on the ground, the next he was airborne, soaring through the strange, twilight sky. Looking up, he saw the majestic creature carrying him, its form both awe-inspiring and unsettling. He mused, a flicker of amusement in his vacant eyes, and noticed the frustrated expression twisting Anubis's features.

"Hmm," he murmured, "how… intriguing."

Anubis, in a swirl of shadowy smoke, gave chase, but the Sphinx's speed was supernatural, leaving the god of the dead far behind. He dissipated, reforming moments later atop a colossal castle that loomed over a lake of fire.

"Hades!"

his voice echoing across the infernal landscape.

"Well, well, Anubis," Hades drawled, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Come to remind me of your… lesser status? Still smarting from our last… disagreement?"

Anubis bristled, his jackal head tilting back slightly. "This is hardly the time for petty squabbles, Hades. Something is gravely amiss." He lowered his voice, the rumble barely audible. "What do you know of the last missing servant of Lucifer?"

The air crackled with a sudden shift in power. Before Anubis could blink, Hades stood before him, his face a mask of fury, his eyes blazing with hellfire. "What did you see?" he demanded, his voice a guttural growl that shook the very foundations of the underworld.

Anubis, despite his divine status, felt a prickle of fear. He described the creature he had witnessed – the impossible fusion of man and beast, of celestial and infernal, the clockwork arm, the ragged wings, the dual nature of its face. As he spoke, the color drained from Hades' face, replaced by a look of sheer horror.

"Impossible," he whispered, the word laced with dread.

"Impossible that feline moves without direct command," Anubis countered. "He was… disassembled. We consumed his essence."

Hades shook his head, his eyes darting around as if the creature might materialize at any moment. "Not all of him," he corrected, his voice tight. "Some fragments… some fragments are still unaccounted for.

We have been searching for them, yes. Is that all, Anubis?" He turned, his cloak swirling around him.

..."Well, it took a soul with it."

"What?!" Hades roared, his voice shaking the very air around them. "And you're just telling me now?!" He gestured wildly, his anger barely contained. "Quickly! Send every arch-demon to scour the lands! There's a storm coming, Anubis, a storm that might spell our doom if it's not captured!"

"What do you mean?" Anubis asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"You fool! You're a god, for Christ's sake! You should know that the soul it took is about to become his emissary! And I know Lucifer. He will surely take his revenge."

Anubis paled, beads of sweat forming on his brow. Realization dawned on him, and he understood the gravity of the situation. He stammered, "Immediately, Lord Hades." He bowed his head and vanished in a swirl of shadows, initiating a frantic search for the Sphinx and the soul it carried.

Meanwhile, far from the infernal palace, Lucien was unceremoniously dumped at the entrance of a large cave. The landing was rough, jarring him slightly. He sat up, rubbing his head, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

"Well, that was a trip," he muttered to himself, brushing off his clothes. He glanced around at his surroundings. The cave mouth yawned before him, a gaping maw of darkness that seemed to swallow the already dim light. "Now, where am I?"

He stood, stretching languidly, seemingly unconcerned by the desolate landscape or the oppressive atmosphere. He took a step towards the cave entrance, then paused, tilting his head as if listening to something inaudible.

"Hmm," he murmured, a flicker of something akin to interest in his eyes. "Sounds… interesting."

And with that, Lucien, the soul destined to be Lucifer's emissary, stepped into the darkness. What awaited him in the depths of the cave was unknown, but one thing was certain: his journey had just begun, and the consequences would be far-reaching, not only for him but for the realms of the living and the dead. The storm that Hades had sensed was brewing, and Lucien was walking right into its heart.