I was surrounded by hellfire. Rivulets of lava ran through the cracks in the hot stone floor. The only thing that wasn't on fire - and that I desperately needed for it to be - was the massive pile of rocks in front of me.

"All you need to do is incinerate it, Rosier," Azazel said, languidly checking his claws. He was leaning against a pyre, pointed tail swishing behind him.

My arms ached with the strain of creating one fireball after the other. The smoke made the air thick and choking - even more so than was usual for hell. With the last of my strength, I blew a flame through my nose and mouth. It burned all the way through my throat.

"Rocks don't catch on fire," I said between gritted teeth.

My mentor left his station and stalked towards me, burning red eyes narrowing into slits. "Every other demon so far has managed to get through this final test. Do you mean to say you're weaker than them?"

"No." The defence got stuck in my throat.

"I can't hear you!" Azazel's shout was inches away from my face. His breath reeked of smoke and sickly sweet honey.

I tensed my shoulders and tried again. My arms felt like spaghetti at this point, flames licking my wrists and scarring what little skin clung to my bones.

"Hurry up, love demon!" A heard a shout from behind me. The other apprentices had long since gotten bored of waiting for me to finish, and had taken to hollering something every now and then.

I did not appreciate the nickname. Yes, my given name is aligned with the vibrations of love - which hasn't much helped me get through literal hell. But in my defence, it really has more to do with tainted love and seduction.
Still, it still doesn't undo the fact that demons are meant to embody rage and hatred, and my very name opposes that. I feel I must work twice as hard to be taken seriously.
The last fireball left my fists and fizzled away harmlessly against the pile of rocks. The imposing structure stood unscathed before me. I tried to summon up another fireball but I was all burnt out.

Excuse me, I did not mean to make a pun. How unprofessional.

"Malphas, come and show Rosier how it's done." Azazel's voice was impassive, his face not giving away his disapproval in me.

Malphas sauntered up and produced a stack of dynamite from within their fanny pack. And yes, before you ask, fanny packs belong in hell. With a flick of their fingers, Malphas lit the fuse and tossed the stack onto the rock pile. The explosion was instant, shattering the stone and flinging debris everywhere.

"Pass," Azazel intoned, scratching a checkmark onto his stone tablet.

Well, I didn't realise we could do that.