The Hellhound

Ch. Thirty-Seven

"Hell is yourself and the only redemption is when a person puts himself aside to feel deeply for another person."

- Tennessee Williams

                                                                               ***

The portal wrapped around Sirius like the eye of a hurricane, calm for the briefest of moments before he slammed into the storm wall and was torn to shreds. 

When he'd said this portal was easier to traverse than the one between Hell and Earth, he'd only really meant for Rhys and possibly Caydryn. For him, portals into Hell were a much nicer trip.

This portal ripped him apart, leaving him little more than a collection of loosely associated cells that were hurled through space and dimension. It splintered his bones and shredded his muscles.

But at least this one didn't play any mind games that he would have to bear the fallout of. 

Sirius wanted to scream, but wasn't really sure of where his throat was until the portal spit him out. He had a momentary sensation of weightlessness, of being flung through a dull grey sky, and then a crunching sound filled his ears.

Branches snapped, their broken edges stabbing at him as he tumbled through the dead trees before he smashed into the ground. He rolled three or four times across the ground before he fetched up against a ridge of stone.

A low groan fought its way from his chest and he lay there for a moment, letting the world right itself. When the dull sky stayed in its place above him and the trees stopped wobbling, he sat up, resting his elbows on his knees as he took stock of several things.

The most important was that he was alive, and in Purgatory.

Blood trickled down his arms, back and even the side of his face, courtesy of the branches he had smashed through. A crop of new bruises filed in over the old ones, just in case there was possibly some part of him that wasn't already sore or injured. His shoulder ached from how he had landed on it and the base of his skull throbbed.

But at least he wasn't in Hell.

Sirius snorted at himself, cursing as he pushed up to his feet, dusting leaves and dirt off of his already filthy clothes. A quick glance around and a few cursory sniffs told him he was alone for now.

Dead, brown leaves covered the ground in a thick layer of decay. The trees around him were alive, but seemed somehow drained of vibrancy. Poplar and yew towered over him, their branches full of rustling brown and drab green leaves. He could hear a creek somewhere nearby.

Not a thing had changed since he'd ventured here last, nearly three hundred years ago. The wind still whispered its restlessness, rattling the branches and sending the leaves at his feet skittering across the ground. Even the air smelled the same, a combination of decayed vegetation and rain-slicked rock.

Sirius inhaled deeply, just to be safe.

He caught the over-sweet almond scent of a vetala and the tar-like scent of a leviathan. Thankfully, the second one was very faint. Sirius didn't really feel like tangling with something that had more teeth than it knew what to do with, so he turned his back on the scent and headed in the opposite direction.

There wasn't even so much as a whiff of Rhys' bitter, soapy smell or Caydryn's ice and moss scent. Not that he really expected them to be anywhere nearby.

It didn't particularly matter which direction he was moving in, just so long as it was away from things that would want to get in a fight with him. Purgatory would draw him to its center, shifting around him until he was moving toward the portal leading back to Earth.