Hoarding In Hell Novels & Stories

Derrick paced back and forth on his desolate throne in hell, tormented by the images and thoughts invading his mind. He kept seeing Lyra, his beloved wife, surrounded by sinister figures and cloaked in shadows. The more he tried to push the visions away, the more they persisted. Even if he knew that he'd only bring chaos into Lyra's life, he found out that he wouldn't be able to give it up that quickly. Especially after he spent an entire month's worth of time in hell reminiscing about the moments they had together.

🥀 OTHELLO’S POV 🥀 Hell was chaotic, surrounded by the echoes of madness and despair. Shadows danced around, strange birds flew and cried in the sky, and the surroundings were filled with darkness and flames from inside the real hell. The air inside was thick and heavy, like a physical presence pressed against my skin. I could feel the weight of history bearing down on me, the accumulated fears and sorrows of the countless people who had entered this place. I was trapped.

Disgusted and ready to turn around, I watch her climb the boxes in front of the dirty dumpster and swing her leg over the side. The entrance to Black Lagoon is a fucking dumspter. With no other choice, we follow. We follow down the tunnel that gets darker in more ways than one. It’s everything I expected it to be. Crammed with desperate bodies, filthy demons and lack of virtue. This is a version of hell right here on Earth.

I knew Aunt Judy was a heavy drinker and made a lot of things sound more serious than they were sometimes, but there was something in her voice that grabbed my attention. “Everything good?” I asked. “Or ya’ll over there fighting already?” “You know how Brielle and Draya are,” she huffed. “But it is weird that Draya decided to pop back up after all this time when she finds out her sister’s about to marry that damn demon.” I laughed every time she called Kannon a demon. He wasn’t no damn demon. He might’ve been to Brielle. But to me, he wasn’t shit but a snake who went behind my back to try to play me out of my royalties. So if that’s what she meant when she said ‘demon’, then yeah. She was ri

Nick pushed the door closed and revealed a terrified maid huddled behind the door. "Voglio vedere Rene Ashton," Nick said without preamble. "Si si." The young girl whispered she pointed down the hallway quite obviously too terrified to take them any further. He was right, the corridor was dark, the electric lighting flickered as if it was about to fail to leave the passage in very dim light. He looked around making out huge paintings on the wall, not that anyone could see them that is. There was a strange smell too, and not a pleasant one either, that permeated along the hallway. A loud crash sounded from the end of the corridor and then a strangled scream. Cowering into the wall, the mai

“Griff called it a halfway house. I can only assume that it’s because the spirits were fresh out of Hell.” “Where are they going?” “I’m working on it,” I said. “Anything else?” Next, I told her about the Hellhounds and how they resided in the most secure enclosure within the wards. There had been about two-dozen of the creatures, not counting Bonnie’s huge litter. I glanced over Larissa’s shoulder, making sure her notes were accurate, and got her to rewrite the things she’d skimmed over. It was more important than ever that Hades was satisfied with our progress.

Marcello stood before the vast, dark windows of his chambers, gazing out over the hellish expanse that stretched out below. The Hell Pit was a place of power, a fortress built on fear and bloodshed, and he had made it his kingdom. The stench of sulfur, blood, and iron hung in the air like an oppressive fog, but to Marcello, it was home. It was his dominion, a realm of suffering and control.

Beyond that, the trees are absolutely ancient, towering dozens of feet above my head. This place–this circle–is new. Something used to rest here–a building. A temple, perhaps. Excitement blurs my senses as I begin to search for ruins, ignoring the prickle of unease making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. A twig snaps nearby, followed by the scurrying of something larger than a rabbit but smaller than a wolf, and I jerk back to reality. I just found a hellhound, dead. It wasn’t injured. Something killed it, but how? They don’t just die of old age. They’re immortal souls trapped in bodies mutated by magic–bodies that never belonged to them in the first place.

Crack! Harvey crushed the second layer of the pagoda. “This is a rock with a psychedelic scent. It’s fine to smell this for a short period of time, but exposure to long periods of time will lead to a mental disorder. Even if death doesn’t come soon after, it would lead to loss of control of one’s entire body.” Crack! Harvey crushed the third layer of the pagoda. “Aside from that, there’s also a cursed doll in this layer.”

I hate it and so does, the lord of hell. Hell is about codependency on each other; empowerment is destructive coping mechanism around here. We don't preach or teach; we probe and lead to a highly classified mission of ruining the lives of those who caused us to descend at the lower level. The pitch dark web is our prison to initiate the activities of explosive thoughts and nightmarish emotions into the earthly humans we detest.