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decipher any of the words, but didn’t need to. I was starting down the passage when I heard the frantic clawing and higher pitched whines from at least a few hounds. I guessed they’d found where I’d started climbing, and were trying to tell their handlers where I was, since they lacked the easy ability to follow.
    There was more shouting, and the sounds shifted away. That implied they were checking all of the ground-level passages before investigating the wall too closely. My best guess was that they thought I’d gone gliding again, or hoped I had, and were checking the easier routes before trying to do anything involving the jagged wall. They’d also doubtless seen the bodies and probably weren’t too eager to actually catch up with me if they had to leave the pack of hounds behind.
    Whether I was right or wrong, I got as much distance as I could, scaling walls twice more. I had to keep moving towards the surface where I could anyway, and, this being Hell, there was a lot more ways down than up. Eventually, the baying grew distant enough, even in the echoing caverns, that I settled in to bind my injuries and take stock.
    Once the physical wounds were bound in the last remnants of my shirt, I set to tending the less obvious. The worst part about Hell had nothing to do with Demons, or hunting packs, or fires. It was the absolute knowledge of being out of God’s sight and out of His Grace. I’d felt it before. Even in the midst of torture, the emptiness was the worst part of my previous stay, and I’d hoped to never experience it again. Most people aren’t even aware of that presence, but the damned souls certainly recognize its lack. I slipped into meditation, risking that I might miss some sound or sign that someone was getting close again. While there might be no way to silence the packs, not all of Hell’s hunters were so lacking in stealth, but I needed the centering if I was going to go on. It would be all too easy to fall into despair and end up unintentionally giving myself away, or missing some crucial detail.
    I was alone in Hell, it was true. I believed Lucifer, to a degree, when he said that I’d been allowed to escape before, even if it was an allowance disguised as a rescue. There would be no Michael storming the gates and finding them passable this time around, not as long as I had the keys. Compared to them, I was meaningless, now that I’d delivered them here. The keys felt impossibly heavy, with a spiritual weight far in excess of their size. Lucifer didn’t want to storm the gates of Heaven with the keys, as was generally believed for so long. He wanted to dangle them before Michael and the host’s eyes in order to force them to fight on Lucifer’s turf, on Lucifer’s terms. He’d lost once, when facing Michael in a nominally fair fight, and he had no intention of the next one being fair at all. They were bait, but if I failed here, and let the keys fall into the wrong hands, there would be no choice. Just as bad as the weight of that responsibility was the weight of guilt. Lucifer had allowed my rescue, and in return, I’d led him right to the keys.
    I forced those thoughts aside and focused, instead, on what I had accomplished. I’d kept Adelaide from this realm. I’d kept Iaoel, in her capacity as the Angel of Visions and everything else she’d once been to me, out of Lucifer’s hands. He knew what he was after, and he’d set me up, but he didn’t get to see how it ended before it all played out. In turn, Iaoel would remain stuck inside of Adelaide, subject to a mortal’s will. The realm might encourage despair, but it had no problem propping me up through thoughts of what I’d denied others, no matter how limited the revenge. A more pious member of the host might insist on finding higher purpose, strength of faith, or some untainted love to sustain them. Right now, I’d take what I could get. Besides, I wasn’t certain how many of those purer members of the host would have