Death After Death

“You’re not going to invite your friend to join us?” the demon asked as soon as Simon turned around. “I don’t generally prefer my meals well done, but I could make an exception.”

He was dressed the same as he was all the times before, but he’d gotten a table from somewhere and was enjoying a nice meal of roasted pheasant on fine china. Simon noted that the silverware was made of gold and wondered if that was the demon being gaudy or if they had some aversion to silver that didn’t exist in his mythology.

“How did you know I lit him on fire?” Simon asked.

“Know? I didn’t,” the demon confessed. “Not until you told me, but in my experiences, there are few reasons for a man, or was it an orc, to scream like that.”

“Troll, actually,” Simon said, noting the misstep and trying to decide if it was an actual mistake or a subtle manipulation.

“Ah, troll,” the demon said, slicing off a small chunk of meat and dipping it in the cream sauce before chewing it thoughtfully as Simon approached the gateway to hell. “That would explain the fire.”

This church level had always been one of the strangest ones he’d seen in The Pit, but it was made stranger by the casual way that this demonic dandy was sitting there enjoying dinner. The vast space and high ceiling were made somehow smaller by the mundanity of the small table in front of the curtain of fire. As Simon walked toward him, he tried not to gawk at the surrounding.

“If you’ve met lots of heroes that are stuck in the pit,” Simon said finally, not entirely sure if he was right, as he put together all the facts, “then you knew perfectly well there was a troll outside. There’s always a troll outside here between the bridge and the church.”

“Is there now? You’re sure that’s how it works?” The demon asked in a tone dripping with sarcasm. “Well - you’re the expert, I’m sure.”