My Angel Girl

Kikidori hated this job. He hated it with every fiber of his being, but when Lucifer assigned him "Demon Check Duty," there was no getting out of it. Of course, he could've just said "no"—it wasn't like Lucifer could actually force him to do anything, but... Kikidori didn't want to deal with the consequences of that. Lucifer might be an asshole, but he was the *biggest* asshole in Hell. And that's saying something when you're dealing with demons who literally cut off their own limbs for fun.

"Alright, Kikidori," Lucifer had said with his usual smug grin, "Go make sure the worst of the worst are still suffering. You know, all the assholes from Earth that did *awful* things."

Kikidori rolled his eyes as he walked through Hell's barren streets, his steps echoing through the charred landscape. He was surrounded by the never-ending fires, the smell of sulfur and decay filling the air. The cries of damned souls echoed in the distance, a constant reminder that there were always people paying the price for their actions. Most of the souls were random people, not that Kikidori cared much. But when it came to the *really* bad ones—the people who had changed the world for the worse—that was where it got... interesting.

One by one, Kikidori walked to their individual damnation stations.

First stop: **Hitler**.

Kikidori had never met the man in life, but Hell had a way of making you familiar with all the worst figures in history. He could feel the aura of hatred and violence surrounding the small, cold cell Hitler was kept in.

Inside, the man was curled up in a corner, his eyes wide and trembling. But not out of fear—no, this was the fear of the *unforgivable*. The fear of never getting peace, the fear of knowing you would be tormented for eternity for your actions.

Kikidori glanced at him and shook his head. "Still being a little bitch, huh?"

Hitler glared at him but didn't speak. He had learned a long time ago that *no one* in Hell gave a damn about his suffering.

"Well," Kikidori muttered, "I'm just here to check in, not to rescue you, so enjoy your eternal misery, you evil bastard."

And just like that, Kikidori moved on, not caring whether or not Hitler ever got a moment of respite. He had caused pain to millions, and Hell's punishment was a justified one.

Next stop: **Stalin**.

The cold Russian dictator sat in a cage, surrounded by chains made of pure anguish. The chains themselves were alive, constantly squeezing him tighter, suffocating him, only to release him when it seemed like he couldn't take it anymore.

"Oh, look, it's Mr. Communism himself," Kikidori said, kicking the side of the cage. "Still hanging on to that twisted little ideology, huh?"

Stalin didn't respond. His expression was stoic, but the tears running down his face betrayed his inner torment.

Kikidori leaned down, staring at him. "You know, you could have done better, but you chose power over humanity. Bet that's a nice, lonely feeling, huh?"

He didn't wait for an answer. Stalin wasn't worth the time. Kikidori wasn't interested in indulging in lengthy conversations about why these guys were the way they were. They were the worst for a reason.

Next on the list: **Osama Bin Laden**.

Osama was locked in a cage, but unlike the others, his punishment was a bit more... interactive. Hell had a way of amplifying the very fears that each person had in life, twisting it into their eternal punishment. For Osama, it was the never-ending sound of people screaming his name, accusing him of the horrors he brought to the world. His ears bled with the volume, but it never stopped. The names, the sounds, they were constant.

Osama's body trembled, the guilt overwhelming him, yet the irony was thick. He thought he was acting for a higher cause, but he was trapped in Hell for eternity, tormented by those he had killed.

"Hey, Osama," Kikidori called out as he approached the cage. "How's the deafening guilt working out for you?"

Osama didn't even acknowledge him. He just curled up tighter, his eyes wide in terror.

"Good," Kikidori muttered. "Stay there. You earned it."

After checking on a few other infamous figures who had shaped history with bloodshed, Kikidori felt no remorse for what they were going through. Hell wasn't just about torture; it was about paying the price. And some people were far past redemption.

He continued his rounds, not bothering to look back at any of them. As far as Kikidori was concerned, they were just a bunch of assholes who'd gotten what they deserved. It was a job—nothing more, nothing less.

By the time he had finished his rounds, the sun was beginning to set over Hell. The sky was tinged with blood-red clouds, streaked with the glow of eternal flames from the distant pits. Kikidori had seen it a thousand times, but it was still mesmerizing, in a twisted way.

Kael had stayed home, bored out of his mind. Kikidori wasn't sure how he felt about bringing his son into Hell for this kind of duty. Sure, Kael was technically a demon, but he was still so young, and Hell wasn't a place for kids to hang out in.

When he got home, Kikidori immediately went to check on Kael. He found him sitting on the couch, playing with one of those ridiculous toys that were far too advanced for his age. The little demon looked up as Kikidori entered the room.

"How was the meeting, Dad?" Kael asked, his eyes full of curiosity.

Kikidori plopped down on the couch beside him and ruffled his hair. "Just another day in Hell, kid. Just another day."

Kael tilted his head. "What do you do all day? Just check on bad people?"

"Yeah," Kikidori answered, "but it's not like they care. They're already suffering. I'm just the messenger."

Kael nodded thoughtfully. "You're kind of a hero then, huh?"

Kikidori chuckled and leaned back, the weight of the day lifting a little. "I wouldn't go that far, kid. But I'm definitely not a saint."

Kael's innocent smile grew wider. "Maybe you're the *coolest* demon around."

Kikidori grinned, ruffling his hair once more. "Maybe I am, kid. Maybe I am."

End of Chapter 7