Sweetie Hell

There was no way to know how long the stalemate lasted. Virgil and Sweetie Belle waited for whatever had been summoned by the poet's whistling, and the Minotaur appeared to be waiting for them to make any sort of move to either fight or flee. He may be a beast born to savagery and murder, but he was also a predator. There was no sport in killing something that was waiting to die. It was always more enjoyable when prey struggled by attempting to run or fight back. However the unicorn appeared determined to do neither of these things, either because she was paralyzed by fear or she expected something to come along and save her. The Minotaur looked at her and considered his options. He certainly had no intention of just walking away. A chase or a fight may not last very long, but at least he would be hunting live prey again. Sinners were an absolute bore, and all of the demons and angels were either too smart or too powerful to get involved with. An eager grin pulled at the corners of the beast's muzzle. If there was going to be a hunt, then he would have to be the one to initiate.

The Minotaur took a step forward. Sweetie Belle flinched, and Virgil remained totally still.

There was a soft, brief whistling sound, and then the Minotaur suddenly roared as he lurched forward clumsily. Sweetie Belle yelped in surprise, and then her eyes widened when the horrid beast turned around. Protruding from the back of its right shoulder was the shaft of a single black arrow. The Minotaur brandished its weapon and bellowed at an encroaching threat only he could see. Another arrow punched its way into the beast's left shoulder, and another buried itself in the left side of his chest shortly after. The bovine monster staggered back a step, and before he could recover a veritable hailstorm of arrows descended upon him. He howled and roared in defiance, but he was forced to hide beneath the wide blade of his cleaver for cover. Soon however the assault became too great for the Minotaur to resist any longer, and he quickly retreated to safer hunting grounds. The barrage ceased at last, and the beings responsible rode in from the world beneath.

There were six of them, all with human upper torsos grafted seamlessly onto powerful equine bodies. Four of them were male, and the remaining two female. Their flesh ranged from vibrant crimson to charcoal black, their tails were prehensile whips covered in barbs, six-inch-long spikes protruded from their elbows, and their heads were pale yellow horse skulls. All six of the creatures held a bow crafted from meat and bone, and the arrows they had been firing were buried in their backs.

"Who are they?" Sweetie Belle asked, careful to avoid moving in any way which might provoke a confrontation.

"Centaurs," Virgil stated simply. "They patrol the banks of the river Phlegethon which cuts through the heart of the Circle of Violence."

"They're who you were whistling for," the young filly quickly deduced.

Virgil nodded his head in confirmation. "They will lead us on the safe path to the next district."

Without a word the centaurs turned as one to stride back down the ramp, their pace kept at a low speed so the much smaller creatures did not have to fight to keep up. It was discomforting how eerily silent the creatures were. They spoke not a word to their guests nor to each other, they didn't even breathe. The centaurs marched in total silence except for the sounds of their ragged hooves pounding against the ground. Sweetie Belle felt the impulse to try and broach any topic of conversation with the strange creatures, but there was a subtle air of menace about them which forced her to hold her tongue. Her eyes went to the arrows which were stuck in their backs like the quills on a porcupine. The wounds leaked small streams of blood that together created the illusion of a translucent cloak of steam upon contact with the curiously cooler air.

As the group descended it became clear why it had been so difficult to see the next Circle from atop the cliffs of Heresy. A broad sheet of steam covered this entire area of Violence which, as one could see after breaking through the fog, was almost entirely one massive river of boiling blood. The taste of copper stuck hard to the back of the throat, and the loose crimson vapors stained Sweetie Belle's ivory coat an unhealthy pinkish color. The souls of violent sinners shrieked and splashed in the boiling river, and thrashed one another with extreme malice. The abuse they spent on each other was different from what took place in the Circle of Anger. There it had been unfocused and feral, not unlike wild animals attempting to exert dominance or declare the range of their personal space. Here, the shades of the dead singled out specific enemies and battled with the kind of hatred and bitterness which seems unique to the human species. They behaved as if they all had some personal vendetta to settle, despite the fact that many had lived and died long before or after others. The dead did not cry for an end to their misery, but screamed the most vile curses and insults at their fellows as if every syllable was itself a weapon by which to inflict further pain.

At the bottom of the ramp the road split into two opposing directions. Five of the centaurs went one way, while the sixth split off to lead Virgil and Sweetie Belle down the alternate path. The little unicorn seemed confused and slightly anxious at the separation at first, but Virgil's gentle coaxing calmed her enough to follow him and the loan centaur, which had paused until she caught up again. She looked out across the immense Phlegethon and saw great statues which captured the likeness of various historical personas. All of them, which were sunken to different depths, looked to be in frozen in expressions of agony. Sweetie Belle pointed them out and asked her guide for their identities.

"There stands Attila, who ruled a vast and terrible empire that he built on the bodies of his enemies," Virgil said gesturing to one of the figures. He indicated a few of the other statues and identified them similarly, though he declined to elaborate on the exact sins which earned them a place in Hell. "That is Genghis Khan, and there the Alexanders both Great and Terrible. A proper account of every soul of note condemned to this hideous plain would be impossible to tell in a single lifetime."

"So who exactly is punished here?" Sweetie Belle inquired when the previous topic had been exhausted.

"Those who rose to such abominable hobbies as murder and plunder, and any soul who did smite another in vain," the poet answered. He gestured to the river with his right arm and remarked on its purpose. "In life they reveled in the spilt blood of their enemies and their victims, and so aptly does God arrange these ghosts to bathe for eternity in the boiling Phlegethon."

As the company pushed on, it was not unnoticed by the unicorn that the dead appeared to be submerged at varying depths. Some were sunk to their crowns while others could float with half their torso exposed to the air, and still more stood with only their feet drowned in the crimson flow. "Why are the dead put in the river in different places?" she asked.

Virgil turned his head to personally witness what so troubled his young ward. "It is the degree of guilt which decides how deep into the river each soul must wallow. Lords and tyrants are placed in the deepest points, for it was by their command that the greatest numbers of their fellowmen were slain. All of the others consist of murderers, plunderers, and war-makers," he lectured to his apprentice.

The centaur guiding them suddenly snapped its gaze toward the river, and in a quick series of motions almost too fast for mortal eyes to see she drew her bow, tore out and knocked an arrow, and fired upon one of the gray shades. The projectile sliced through the air with a high-pitch scream before ending its flight halfway through the target's lower abdomen. The dead man shrieked in pain as he retreated back into the boiling blood, and then fell upon one of his neighbors as if the ordeal had never happened. Her duty done, the centaur faced forward and continued the trek along the riverside.

"The horse-folk keep order in this district, and will swiftly punish any soul who rises above their place in the river," Virgil stated in advance of the question Sweetie Belle had been prepared to ask.

"Why do you keep saying that?" Sweetie Belle said.

Virgil imparted a curious look upon the young filly. "Saying what?"

"The word 'district'. You've said it twice now."

"Ah. It is because this Circle is divided into three separate parts," the poet replied. "Mankind has discovered three ways in which he can be violent: unto his neighbor, unto himself, and unto God. So too does Hell make this distinction when punishing violent souls."

Sweetie Belle looked up at her guide in mild surprise. "People can hurt God? Like they can hurt each other?"

"In a manner of speaking. I will teach you exactly how it is done, and you shall see how deeply the Lord reviles those guilty creatures when we come to that place," Virgil said.

Soon a great dead forest appeared on the horizon. At the sight of it Sweetie Belle immediately felt her anxiety fly to a discomforting height, and her heart began racing within her breast. After her last experience with decrepit forests, she was understandably reticent about entering one ever again. Unfortunately--and she knew this was true--Lucifer's lair and all the answers to the great riddle of Sweetie's predicament lay beyond the woods which grew larger with every advancing step. Eventually the river shrank to a shallow-enough depth that the party could safely cross. The centaur knelt so both poet and pony could climb upon her backside and be deposited at the yawning mouth of the woods ahead. As she and her kin had done at the cliffs of Heresy, the centaur turned her back on Virgil and Sweetie Belle, and departed without a word.

The poet started forward but stopped after only a few paces when he sensed the absence of his companion. He turned to face the anxious unicorn and offered his most comforting smile. He remembered what a terrifying experience the woods of Anger had been for Sweetie Belle, and he was not going to rush her into anything until she was ready. Sweetie Belle stared into the foreboding thicket before her as she tried to get her nerves under control. Though she knew it was highly unreasonable to think such a thing, she could not help feeling the animal Satan was in there, waiting for his chance to do to her all of the horrible things that he'd been denied previously. The Circle of Anger was where the beast lived. This was information she knew and accepted as concrete proof, yet it was like her close encounter with Satan had left a lasting mark on her psyche. Just as many children fear the presence of some shapeless, nameless terror that somehow lurks in every shadow, Sweetie Belle could feel herself painting a picture where every deep forest was a prison for the hulking red goat from the Circle of Anger.

Come on, Sweetie Belle. You've made it this far, she thought internally. Six Circles down already, meaning there's only three left counting this one. You can't stop now just because some big red sheep scared you a little. Come on; home's just around the corner now! As she built up her courage Sweetie imagined all her friends and family standing on either side of her, lending her their strength to push on. Her parents, Scootaloo and Apple Bloom, Spike, Twilight and the girls, the Princesses Celestia and Luna, even her sister's cat Opalescence. Last to appear was Rarity, who coalesced directly in front of Sweetie Belle to flash her a reassuring smile and crouch down to nuzzle her sweetly. Sweetie Belle closed her eyes for a moment, took a steady breath, and when she opened her eyes again she strode forward to walk with Virgil into the woods.

The atmosphere in the dead jungle was very dim and noticeably cold. The farther in the pair traveled, the more apparent it became that there existed no source of heat in this area of Hell whatsoever. Not even the soil radiated any measure of warmth as it had in the previous Circles. It was a strange feeling, after having grown accustomed with the normally oppressive warmth which had been so prevalent in the previous Circles. Sweetie Belle was about to ask her guide to explain this phenomenon when her hair snagged itself on a branch growing from a nearby shrub. She attempted to untangle herself using magic, but her control was not focused enough for detailed work. Her only option was to pull herself free by force. It took more effort than expected but Sweetie managed to snap the branch from its parent shrub.

"Why do you hurt me?" Sweetie Belle gave a start upon hearing a disembodied voice wail pitifully at her. She looked all around the immediate area but could not find whomever had spoken. That is, until she got her first real look at the shrub that had ensnared her. Going up from the roots it looked nothing out of the ordinary, but near the top one could clearly see the grieving face of a young girl who looked no more than twelve-years-old. Her hands were permanently fixed to her cheeks, and her arms starting from the middle of the forearms blended with and eventually disappeared into the main trunk of the shrub. Reaching out from multiple points like hands grasping for salvation were a number of small branches, one of which was dripping fresh blood upon the ground.

Sweetie Belle eyes widened and her jaw fell slack as horrible understanding gripped her. "Galloping goddesses..."

"Why do you hurt me?" sobbed the little girl again.

"I swear I didn't mean to!" Sweetie exclaimed frantically. "My hair got stuck and I couldn't get it out so I started pulling but I didn't know you were alive and I'm so sorry!" Her words fell from her lips in an almost incomprehensible rush while remorse pushed her voice to increasingly stressed tones.

"You do not sound like one of the bad things," the child said with a note of curiosity in her voice, "and I can feel the life in you as you speak."

"Yes, I am! I mean, I'm not a demon or anything. I'm a..." Sweetie Belle gave pause as she quickly considered whether or not to reveal her identity as a unicorn to this person. This hesitation did not come from a place of distrust, but rather the doubt that the girl could understand or believe the occurrence of a talking pony in Hell. "I'm a kid, too. I got stuck down here somehow and I'm trying to find my way home."

"I don't want to be here any longer," the shrub cried. "Help me, please! It hurts so much, and the bad things never stop coming! I want my mom and dad!"

Tears swelled in Sweetie Belle's eyes and fell down her cheeks. "D-don't worry. Everything's going to be okay, I promise."

"I'm so sorry! Momma save me, please!" The little girl's voice began to fade away into a whisper as the wound on her broken branch healed over.

Sweetie Belle rushed forward and pushed onto her rear hooves so she stood face-to-face with the child. "I don't know how! Just tell me what to do and I'll save you!" The shrub's only reply was silence. Sweetie's pupils shrank as it became clear that the little girl was gone. "No. No no no no, don't go! Please don't go! I want to help you, but you have to tell me how! What do I do?!" Regardless of how much she screamed and pleaded, or how hard she jostled it, the little shrub refused to answer. Tears flowed freely down Sweetie Belle face to wet the parched earth, and her breath hitched in her throat. Panic, sorrow, confusion, and hopelessness fell upon the young unicorn like a heavy cloak. She did not understand what had just happened, and in her ignorance she failed to help someone who had been begging for aid. Unable to do anything else, Sweetie collapsed against the shrub and wept, her tears staining the shrub's dehydrated flesh. She cried to see her parents again, to be back home in her safe and comfy house, to finally be rid of this horrible place. But worst of all, she cried out of fear that she would not get any of those things, and that she would be stuck in Hell forever.

Virgil stepped forward and sat down beside her, unable to do anything except comfort her with his presence. "I am sorry," he said in a solemn tone.

Sweetie Belle sniffed several times and wiped at her face. "I don't under-under-stand," she said between sobbing breaths. "If I j-just knew how, I could...I could..."

"There is nothing you can do, my child. For any of them."

The unicorn foal sat up and sniffed again. " What do you..." As she looked around, Sweetie Belle came to realize that all of the surrounding plant life had disturbingly human figures, all of them bent and twisted into various positions of despondency.

"This is the Wood of Suicides. When one willfully quits the life which merciful God has given them, He judges them to this garden of woe. Here the soul takes root, sprouts, and rises as a sapling," Virgil informed her. He raised a hoof to indicate the branch that had been broken in Sweetie Belle's struggle to free herself. "Because their final form of expression in life was the destruction of their own substance, it is only through destruction wrought by another that these souls may express themselves again."

"You mean all these people..." 'Suicide' was a word Sweetie Belle recognized and understood, but the defining action was so unheard of in Equestria that it was considered highly taboo specifically because of the sheer infrequency of reports. It was something that just wasn't done because almost no one ever considered it as a viable solution to or escape from whatever monumental problems plagued them. Ponies by their very nature are a contented race, and when they're not they work towards achieving that state of peaceful satisfaction once more. The fact that it was necessary to cordon off an entire section of Hell for suicides, and that it was so densely populated, was by all accounts incomprehensible to Sweetie Belle. She honestly could not fathom that humanity could be so troubled that this many of their species had truly believed death was more favorable than whatever obstacles they faced in life.

Sweetie Belle looked into the girl's eyes, which were frozen in a look of permanent remorse. She gently unwound her hair from the branch piece she'd broken off, laid it on the ground, and started to walk away. "Get me out of here, Virgil."

The poet stood and obliged without another word, and took point on the trek out of the woods. Along the way they saw ghastly hounds racing through the trees with maniacal laughter in their throats. The beasts all had dark gray flesh which was missing in numerous places to reveal scarlet bones underneath. They often paused to slash and rip at the petrified souls, cackling with glee once they heard the pathetic agonized cries of the dead. Whenever Sweetie Belle stood in the path of one of these hellhounds, they would bound over her with almost feline grace as if she were merely a stone. None of them so much as paid her a second look as they rushed about their sadistic business. Sweetie ignored them just them same, her mind still preoccupied by thoughts of how she pitied the souls of the Wood.

A figure stalked into view from a deeper part of the forest, forcing Virgil and Sweetie Belle to stop so all three parties could inspect one another. The creature's face was cut from stone and bore numerous cracks and chips in its surface. The eyes were missing entirely, but tears of blood flowed continuously from the empty sockets, and the membranous wings on its back were draped like a cloak which dragged listlessly through the dirt as the figure moved. The stranger was garbed in badly damaged silk robes which bore signs of once regal beginnings.

Sweetie Belle suddenly felt very cold, as if the warmth in her blood and her very soul had been blown out like a candle flame in the wind. A shadow of despair began to settle over the young unicorn to smother her in self-doubt, self-loathing, and an unbearable sadness from which there was no relief. Misery threatened to sink its icy claws into her heart like hooks and drag her down to the deepest depths of sorrow. Sweetie felt panic rising in her once again, a fanatical desperation where the only hope of escaping the suffocating void was to end her own life. Yet even then, her anguish was too great to even let her get on with such a grim task. She was doomed to die in a darkness that did not feed on the light, but smothered it in hysterical grief.

Then, as if one just flipped a switch, the choking depression was gone. The shroud was ripped away as the mysterious stranger turned its gaze to the other side of the thicket. Sweetie Belle gasped abruptly and fell on her backside as she felt the warmth of life in her again. Meanwhile the haunting figure slowly crept across the road to eventually disappear within the woods. The young filly could hear the mad laughter of the hellhounds again, and the despondent wailing of the trees as they were torn apart.

Virgil knelt beside his companion, and even he looked deeply disturbed by the passing of the wanderer. "Are you alright?" he asked in a shaky voice.

"What..." Sweetie Belle swallowed in a bid to bring some moisture back into her throat. "What was that?" she said finally.

"Samael," the poet stated with a fearful finality. Only once he and Sweetie both had fully recovered from the encounter did they continue the journey through Violence.

The young filly took a couple breaths to steady her still anxious nerves. "Okay. But what was that?" she repeated.

"Another fallen angel. The story of his exile from Heaven is one of tragedy quite unlike those of the rest of his kin," Virgil said in reply before regaling his ward with the tale of Samael's fall. "Before the war he had been the angel of death, a duty which would require him to deliver those ready to expire to everlasting peace. When the fighting began, Samael was horrified by the sight of his brothers and sisters butchering each other. His grief became so substantial that he took his own life rather than watch one more angel die. The unfortunate downside was that without a guide to see them through the end of life, every soldier stricken with a life-ending wound was forced to remain on the field and suffer the agony of a slow death which never came. Angels languished on the battlefield with slit throats, punctured hearts, crushed skulls and ruptured organs, lying in unimaginable pain and not knowing why."

"That's awful!" Sweetie Belle remarked in shock.

Virgil nodded his head. "Indeed, it was. Samael's suicide forced God to quickly appoint a new angel of death, named Azrael. When the war finally ended and the Lord had passed His judgment upon the renegades, Azrael brought Him to the site of Samael's demise. In direct violation of the natural order of Creation, God restored Samael to life only to banish him to the seventh Circle of Hell. Since then he has wandered the Circle of Violence alone even as the Wood of Suicides grew around him and eventually became his prison."

Sweetie Belle looked off into the tangled depths of the forest as if she could sense where the fallen angel was at this moment, and shuddered visibly. Her attention was ripped from the sorry creature when a hellhound sprinted by her cackling madly. "Where did they come from?" she inquired.

Virgil followed her gaze after the rabid dog as it set to slashing at one of the trees. "The hellhounds? They are born from Samael's tears as each drop falls from his cheek to stain the ground," he replied.

The young unicorn watched the beast do its despicable work with a mixed expression of confusion and disdain. "Is this all they do?"

Virgil nodded his head. "Just as the succubi are illustrations of man's basest desires, and the furies his burning rage, so too do the hellhounds represent man's innermost pains and turmoils. They inflict this agony upon the dead just as suicide rends the hearts of friend, family, and God."

The pair progressed further on until there was a break in the treeline, and at last they broke free of the Woods to enter upon a vast wasteland of sand and rock, and molten fire which fell from on high to scorch the earth. The sky overhead was a vibrant orange with gruesome bruises of violet and blackish blue like an infected sunset. What was curious about this place was that in spite of the desert scene and the rain of fire, the temperature here was quite cool bordering on cold. Sweetie Belle felt it even as bolts of flame raced by her, the passing heat lasting only a moment before the air returned to its natural chilled state.

"Behold the Abominable Sands," Virgil stated, the energy with which he normally spoke finally returning after the ordeal with Samael. "This is the third district of Violence, where be condemned those who harmed the Deity by denying Him in the heart." The road they walked bore them through a series of dunes, and then at last they saw the sinners condemned to this part of Hell. Across the fields of shifting sand they lay flat on their backs, their bodies from forehead to the tips of their toes exposed to the scorching rain above.

"Who are all these people?" Sweetie Belle asked as they passed through the field of dead folk.

Virgil swept his arm across the view as he introduced this sorry lot. "Turn your attention now to the blasphemers. In the world above they outright refused to accord God any measure of respect or praise He is rightfully owed by cursing His glorious name or knowingly equating themselves to the Lord. See how their hubris is rewarded here in the bowels of Hell." Virgil spoke of these sinners with unabashed loathing as if he were speaking to God's true feelings for the creatures.

Sweetie Belle did indeed look upon the blasphemers, but her ignorance to matters of religion prevented her from fully appreciating the sights she saw here. Ponies in Equestria sometimes spoke ill of Celestia and Luna for various reasons born from some manner of frustration, but such disrespect did not warrant severe penalties as it did here. Mostly these foul-mouthed ponies received reproachful glares or were verbally reprimanded by their peers when they spoke their minds.

"So does God punish everyone who says bad things about him?" Sweetie asked, her voice bearing a slight but noticeable note of incredulity.

"The Lord understands when humans become frustrated with events in their lives and take it out on Him to ease their stress. Though He does not exactly condone such behavior, God delivers mercy in these moments all the same," Virgil said to help put her mind at ease. "It is when people challenge God's supremacy with malicious intent that they are exhibiting violence, and are made to suffer the wrath of the Lord."

Sweetie Belle felt she could understand this sentiment, even relate to it to an extent. She and her friends often had to put up with certain bullies in school who regularly said very insulting things to and about either them or their families, and it was always exceedingly difficult to not punish the bullies with physical violence. Sweetie arguably had more restraint than her friends, who had each either threatened to get physical or had gotten physical with the antagonists. She also understood hearing negative things said to or about her which had come purely from a place of frustration, namely from her sister, but also from many of the townsfolk who found themselves the unwitting collateral victims of some childish escapade. Though she never liked hearing such things, Sweetie Belle knew the difference between frustrated negative language and malicious language, and as such was more ready to forgive the former than the latter. If she thought it was aggravating to hear a handful to at least half of an entire town of ponies speak ill of her, then it must be well-beyond irritating to hear close to an entire planet say hurtful things about you on a near-constant basis.

The pair moved onward beyond the field of blasphemers into a vast and empty stretch of wasteland where their only company was each other. Bolts of fire continued to fall from the sky despite there being no sinners about to burn. Here now the abnormally cool air was much more apparent, spurring Sweetie Belle to question her guide about the odd phenomenon. "Though Hell be the domain of Lucifer, it is not wholly beyond the reach of God. When we began this quest in Limbo we were nearest to the radiance of Heaven, and thus the temperature was at its highest. As we have descended the air has grown colder with the increasing distance we placed between ourselves and God. Soon we shall cross the threshold where frigid darkness reigns supreme."

The poet's words sparked a thought in Sweetie Belle's mind which compelled her to put it to voice. "I remember you telling me back in Limbo that it's impossible for souls to escape from Hell, but have any ever been taken from Hell to somewhere else?"

Virgil nodded his head. "Shortly after my own death, I watched an angel descend into the deeper Circles and liberate a number of shades. Adam, the first man, and his son Abel; Noah, Abraham, and many others. Lucifer did not appreciate this theft of his property, and the walls of all Hell shook with his fury."

"What about since then?" the unicorn filly pressed.

"Never again has any soul been freed from the woeful realm by God's will," Virgil answered.

Still forward the party advanced until at last they could hear the thunder of water pitching itself over a cliff. Upon cresting a small hill they came upon an enormous yawning pit into which the red river Phlegethon plunged. Standing guard at the edge of the pit was a lone soldier garbed in a tarnished metal scale chest cover and a red leather kilt, a cord of gold twine wrapped around his waist, and in his left hand he held a wooden pole measuring about five feet. The pole's top was broken, indicating that some sort of integral adornment was missing. He had short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and a hardened face that currently wore a somber look, like he was living in perpetual regret for something he did long ago.

Virgil approached the soldier first while Sweetie Belle stayed a few safe feet away. The spirit shifted form into his true human identity and raised his right hand in salute. "Hail, brother Longinus."

The soldier said nothing in reply, but he did dip his head in greeting.

Virgil let his hand drop once the introduction was completed. "My companion and I require passage to the next Circle. Summon the giant for us, brother."

Longinus stripped the golden cord from his waist in one motion and dropped it into the great black chasm. For nearly a minute nothing happened, but then a great and terrible beast rose out of the darkness on massive membranous wings. It had a scaled reptilian body thick with muscle, powerful leonine legs, a segmented tail armed with a poisonous stinger, and a very unexpectedly human face with long crimson hair on his head and face. It offered a genteel smile to the much smaller beings arranged before it, which greatly disturbed the comparatively minuscule Sweetie Belle. The giant animal drifted forward until it clutched the cliff edge with its fore paws and planted its rear feet against the wall below, lowered its head, and waited patiently with that endearing yet off-putting smile.

Virgil thanked the soldier and then turned to face his ward. "Geryon is the only way into Fraud," he said, and Sweetie Belle knew that he was right. Somehow she could sense that riding this horrendous creature was her only ticket back home. With a resigned sigh she approached the grinning beast's left paw, and after a moment of hesitation she climbed up, traced Geryon's arm up to his back, and took her seat. Virgil followed her, and once both parties were aboard and secure the beast flapped its wings, pushed off from the cliff, and dove down into the cold dark of the next Circle of Hell.