Coruscant: Jedi Temple Intensive Care Medical Lab, Nick's p.o.v.
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He was floating.

He was floating completely covered in a warm liquid yet without feeling the need to leave it. Shouldn't he be drowning? No... he couldn't drown... he was already dead. Or something. And should it feel warm? Anyway it didn't really matter-- it felt good just to float. Why question it? But shouldn't he be floating horizontally? a part of his mind nitpicked. Images of dead bodies floating in a dark lake discolored by a sunless sky rose up from somewhere in memory into his drowsing consciousness. Yes... drowned bodies floated horizontaly, either face up or face down depending on the sex of the deceased. So he wasn't a drowing victim.

{{ Oh well. Scratch that theory. }}

{{ Irritation. }}

Something was irritating his skin and that was... annoying. Yes... very annoying and getting worse. Much worse. Downright painful in fact. Agonizing even. He reached out with his hands and quickly discovered a smooth barrier. Trapped?! That made him open his eyes.

He shouldn't have opened his eyes. It would have been much better to have just dealt with the pain than to have opened his eyes.

For the glass container that kept him like a pickle in a brine-filled pickle jar was transparent enough for him to see what it separated him from.

Fear like he'd only imagined swept over and into him. Yes-- he had intellectually understood that this would happen to him--- but what was simple pre-knowledge when faced with the actually reality of damnation?

Panic-instilled strength engergized him and he began to beat against his prison until at last it gave way with a mighty crack and he was free to inspect this nightmare come true from his new perspective on the floor without the glassy distortion of his former enclosure.

"My G-d... this... this is really Hell here. I'm in Hell. I'm in Hell..." he heard himself mutter in shock as full memory of who and what and why came back to him. Strange, a part of his mind mused, that he did not sound like himself even though the words he used to speak were in the familiar French he had often used before. However, he shoved the thought aside as he now had the undivided-- and thoroughly unwanted!-- attention of this realm of horrors operatives. Six-armed creatures of Satan's spawning; grotesquely shaped and leering at him. One came forward, reaching with its deformed hand to lay claim to his soul. He shuddered and warned it off while moving as far away as he could growling, "Demons! Don't touch me!" It didn't follow him, for which he was profoundly grateful--- but for how long? He was, after all, to be a captive here for all eternity--- his own fault, of course. Eight hundred years ago he had point-blank refused Heaven. Where else would what was left of his putrid soul have left to go to but to Hell?

There were two other people-- one of whom seemed vaguely familiar. More of Hell's captives like himself? But the familiar one was holding a sword of light as it challenged him. An angel then? Both were dressed not very unlike the kind of clothing he had worn as a mortal. Could this be his disgusted guardian angel come to ensure that his former charge was safely esconsed in Hell and would not be a threat to the purity of Heaven? That must be it. He certaintly did not look upon his fallen charge with favor. And this long-suffering angel had felt compelled to take a brother with him into Hell's depths for the Beast within him would be far more dangerous than just a normal sinner. This larger angel spoke in soothing tones. Not to him, surely? It must be speaking to the other. Yet the divine language sounded vaguely familiar somehow. Indeed, the one double-syllable sound he first made was important though he couldn't figure out why.

Slowly, like trying out a ancient taste almost forgotten, he copied the sounds.. letting his tongue form the syllables. "A-a yar?" {{ Ayar. }} Yes... and there were other sounds he should know too. He strove to remember them and their meaning and got frustrated. He should know this! How, he didn't know--- but he should! He looked first at the one and then the other seeking help.

Now the bigger angel was saying something to his companion. Words of sympathy perhaps? Time to go and leave the damned to his self-chosen fate? His presumed ex-Guardian nodded and... the light of his sword went out.

What? Why did it do that? They were in the Enemy's territory! Unless.... Had his unforgiveable sin somehow tainted this being of the Light? Had he condemned one of God's angels as well as himself?! Dragging him into Hell via the link that bound them together? Oh, God-- No!! His mind shouted at the horror of it, but only a whimer escaped his mouth.

The large one again. Waving a hand in his face and naming him the foreign/familiar name. Asking him to remember. He was to remember. Remember what?

He was about to answer when a section of wall opened to reveal yet another, extremely stunted demon and a powerful-looking Nubian. Only he got the distinct impression that the gnomish demon was far more powerful than any other in the chamber despite its size and mishappen appearance. There was an aura that seemed to surround it. He realized belatedly that that same aura was bathing the others as well, but in this one it was stronger. A demonic prince under Satan himself? Warily, he kept his eyes on it as it hobbled towards the angels, listening to their short conversation. They seemed to be referring to him. Now the other demons were being sent away. Perhaps this was to be an interview of sorts? A sort of intro into the Rules and Curriculum of Hell for their newest inmate. He strove to accept the inevitable, but when the gnome began advancing towards him he felt the fear squeeze his heart again. It stopped just before he thought he was going to scream and asked him a question. For an instant he got the ridiculous notion in his head that this *was* an interview and he was being looked upon as a prospective employee. Did Hell 'hire' those of greater sin to keep the other's in line? He didn't want to be some sort of Hell's Policeman! Licking his lips in attempt to swallow down the hysteria, he answered the question, to terrified to realize right away that he had clearly understood the creature's every word.

"N-nick... " he took a deep breath, "I am Nicholas de Brabant"

The demon asked several more questions that he answered honestly-- if a touch irritably. He always hated having to waste time on procedures--- like those infernal paperwork forms that some mortals adored. He didn't like being asked silly questions that they already knew the answers to. It was a waste of time and he finally lashed out verbally at the little green demon.

{{ Dummy. }}

He was in Hell. He was *supposed* to feel irritated and angry and be put upon. That's why it was called *Hell*. And just what time was he wasting? He should be grateful they *hadn't* gotten to the really torturous stuff yet!

His litttle outburst seemed to humor the demons. Even his condemned ex-Guardian Angel cracking a smile at no one in particular. Great, Nick sighed. First Lacroix; now demons. So happy he was to provide amusement for his tormentors. Hell was indeed going to be forever.

They ordered his ex-Guardian to do some task for them. He watched as a section of wall became what seemed to be a window to the outside although it couldn't possibly be. His jaw dropped anyway.

The view was fantastic.

A night scene image (even in Hell he wasn't going to be permitted to gaze upon a daylight hallucination it seemed), but a profoundly beautiful one. Nick was never a proponent of city dwelling over rural living, but the sight of horizon-stretching skyscrapers was truly impressive. For whatever reason they were doing this they were certaintly going all out. Still, it was only fakery and he told them so.

Of course, they denied it. But he knew they were lying. It didn't matter. It was his fate and he would eventually learn to accept it. What he could not accept was the condemnation of the angel (or angels?-- the other had yet to leave as well). It wasn't right and seemed an unworthy thing for God to do to his own. It wasn't the angel's fault Nick had fallen.

"To what purpose, Debrabant?" asked the dark-skinned demon man.

"How in.... in Hell should I know?" Nick could not help smirking in dark humour at his own choice of phrase. "*Demons* like to torture lost souls. Maybe you want me to gain false hope so you can take pleasure in showing me the reality of my lostness."

He looked sadly at the reddish-brown haired angel. "But there is no reason for this one to be condemned as well. The sins were mine--- not his!"
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End Part 3