Hell is a Place...

[Nico Cinder]

Before me there were no created things
but those that last forever -- as do I.
Abandon all hope ye who enter here.

-Dante Alighieri, Inferno

HANDSHAKES AND HELL.

Everything has become dark.

DEATH, DECAY, DOOM.

What a surprise.

RIP AND TE-

Hey c'mon man, I don't think we can get away with that one, Nico says to uh... whoever was borrowing his head.

The boy's bloodshot eyes snap open, searching for everything and nothing all at once. The voice fell away just as the ground had fallen away beneath him after shaking what he can only assume to be the hand of a devil or THE devil. Falling and floating are the same thing, and you couldn't convince Nico Cinder otherwise. "Semantics," he'd say, whenever someone would bring up the difference in speed between the two. Nico found himself unpleasantly unconscious for an unknown period of time, only to be awoken by the sound of wind rushing past his ears and his clothes flapping with abandon. Struggling to gain control of his free-falling body, the young man twists and turns, rousing his sore muscles. He catches sight of a circle of fire etched into the sky above him, like a burning window -- a portal. His entrance, he assumed.

And it was closing.

It was hard to focus on the ephemeral beauty of the sprawling landscape before him. He lets loose a hefty slew of swear words and curses, but he can't even hear himself over the sound of his now apparently imminent ker-splat. The ground was fast approaching and Nico was straight up out of options for about the millionth time in his short, unfortunate life. While he concedes that it's not exactly the worst place one could be woken up, it's definitely on a list somewhere.

Then, something slides casually into view: a skateboard somehow manages (as if by magic) to glide towards him, just within reach. He claws and flails and stretches for the deck, his fingertips grazing the edge enough to send it spiraling like a football. Neato, I fucking guess, he thinks to himself. With a great deal of effort and luck, he manages to snatch the wood and hug it tightly to his body like a drowning sailor would a life preserver. Glancing down to see how much time is left before touchdown, Nico, to his credit, sees exactly one fucking option. He lets loose a roaring battle cry that comes out far louder and far more intense than he was expecting, and angles his body towards his one hope of surviving the fall.