The other side of the portal was not fire and brimstone in the childish way mortals imagined. It was worse. A vast, endless cavern of black obsidian walls that drank light and gave nothing back. The air was thick, hot, humid—smelling of sulfur, sweat, cum, blood, and the sharp metallic tang of endless despair. Dim red veins pulsed through the stone like living arteries, casting a sickly glow that made every bruise, every cut, every drip of fluid on her body look wetter, rawer, more obscene.

She landed on her knees on a floor of polished black stone—warm, almost feverish against her skin. Chains rattled somewhere in the distance. Low moans and wet slaps echoed from unseen corners. Demons—shadowy shapes with glowing eyes and cocks like blackened iron—watched from alcoves carved into the walls. Their laughter was low, wet, hungry.