The ceiling narrowed steeply. Hanging icicles hovered just above the ferry, precarious like the sword of Damocles. The Pit came into view. Frozen bodies, littered in a sea of ice. Some were frozen only up to their ankles; others were encased completely in the depths. All of them looked miserable.

“Speak of the devil,” said Smoker. “It’s the devil.”

Chest-deep in the center of the icy lake was, in Sam’s opinion, the worst part of Hell, Satan. His red skin faintly glowed in the dark of the cave, illuminating the ivory horns crowned on his head and his toothy grin. Even submerged, he towered above the ferry, his six black wings wrinkled against the ceiling. His deep laughter echoed throughout the cavern. An icicle fell and skewered a poor soul in the shallows.

- Ragnarust Round 0