#[ The Depths of Tartarus Beckon - Planned Thread ]

[timelostobserver]

@brokendreamscreation - Every step the young seraphim took was one step closer to finding his long lost brother! Thats what Lucid reminded himself as he hopped a few more times through the frozen wasteland, the cold having long since numbed his bare feet.

With each hop he fluttered his six wings for lift, each breath huffing and puffing wisps of clouded air. Lucid was determined to find Azrael and he would not return to Heaven until he did! Not like they knew Lucid was in Hell to begin with or looking for the fallen angel.

No one was stupid enough to travel here.

The frozen wastes at the very edge of Hell itself were not hospitable by any means. The neigh eternal cold and storms fueled by the fractured, buried remains of the fallen Angel of Death's own halo. And only prepetuated by said Fallen's own feelings toward the world around him.

Buried, eternally in work that never saw an end. Work only he was capable of doing. Souls didn't just 'appear' in Heaven and Hell, after all. Someone had to sort them, someone had to put them against a criteria and judge them accordingly.

And it was a thankless job.

On a rare moment, he found himself with free time. It was rare due to the sheer influx of souls that often graced the towering, black stone citadel that made up the Halls of the Dead. Built upon the very crater he created upon his Fall.

His free-time was spent outside. His coat hung around his shoulders, his deep red hair listing in the wind as one hand cradled a covered cup. Coffee, one of the few things he consumed, not out of necessity but of habit. Habit born of what he tirelessly worked to do.

It helped ground him, along with the shattering cold of where he lived and worked.

He'd simply stare out at the frozen wasteland, his mind wandering to various stray thoughts here or there. Looking back on the souls he'd judged today. So few sent to Heaven, so few sent to the Gates before Saint Peter.

The rest were doomed from the start, Sinners.

Movement eventually would catch him off guard. A pause as he'd been about mid-sip of his scalding beverage. Frozen.. like the ground itself.

Nothing should be moving out there.

He'd lower his cup from his lips as he looked out, waited even for what ever it was to come into full view. And what did, confused him.

Six wings, angelic hues... That didn't seem right. For Lucid, the terrifying, jagged spires of a looming citadel would come into view, a massive courtyard woven with cold wrought-iron gates that saw little use. Frozen over and piled over with snow.

And at the steps from the courtyard, under a small covering to a massive set of reinforced doors, sat a hulking figure, with deep red hair..

Looking right at him.