Fire was no stranger to Puriel. Even in the terraces of heaven, it was their constant companion—to be burned was to be cleansed, to be absolved, to be saved. Now lost to them was a blade of judgment that would extend such holy pain to humanity. They ached with its absence. Fighting with the flesh was so messy. Inconsistent. It was an old friend, then, that greeted them when Agrid produced the vial—it was all they could do not to salivate. Cherry was, for once, silent. Hot light wavered in their blurry vision unmistakably. This was no earthly flame.
“It’s hellfire, straight from the pits themselves,” Agrid confirmed.
Hell and its creations were beneath them, of course. Some weak vestige of angelhood chided them for their obsession. After all, the flames burned black, roiling against their glassy confines in a riot of misery. This demon was poisoning it. Draining the light. Yet… fire couldn’t be tainted, could it? No sin could withstand it. It was all-consuming. Purifying. Fitting, then, that Puriel was named for such a virtue.
“Please,” they breathed.
Agrid’s smug grin grew. “Prepare yourself, fallen.”
It devoured them.
Crackling down the spine, tearing down the arms, burrowing into the chest, growing and growing strong enough to delve through the body and into Puriel’s very being—their soul, if they had one, and Cherry’s, if she kept hers. They cried out, unable to maintain their composure in the face of such an overwhelming feeling. The flames seared away all earthly sensation, all the revolting physicality of a human. No longer were they plagued by the acrid meat of the tongue, the monstrous bend of the knees, the maddening itch of the hair. There was only fire. Dark, agonizing, profound fire.
They could have spent an eternity in those flames. A full-body shudder wracked them as the heat receded, biting sensation back into their flesh. They gasped as if drowning. Bitter cold tore through their lungs. In. Out. In. Out. Grasping for dignity, they opened their eyes.
Ah. Agrid had certainly upheld her end of the deal. There wasn’t a wound to be found, all the damage smoothly cauterized. No pain whatsoever, if one excluded the cold. Curiously, they sat up, and found that the body responded with remarkable speed and alacrity. Agrid hadn’t been lying about the power conferred by the fire. If it persisted… well, it would almost be worth the debt they now owed. Almost.
“How do you feel?” asked Agrid.
Puriel exhaled slowly, avoiding her gaze. Devoid of the fire, it occurred to them that some shame was in order—to be so defenseless in the presence of another demon was mortifying. Not to mention… God, did they say please? It had to be a defect of the body, a deathbed hysteria. It mattered not. They were healed now. Praying their voice betrayed no emotion, they said, “I am well.”
Then, regaining a sliver of arrogance: “It surprises me that you require aid, Agrid. In what manner am I to render my services?”
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