The dark stone tunnels passed in a blur as we hastily followed the jailers leading Shane to the Pits. Small spheres of dark orange flame were suspended, intermittently, along the curved stone ceiling, casting a warm, oily glow about the tunnel; though they more effectively heated the air than lit the path. The flaming spheres were the only source of illumination through the long, dark tunnels; thankfully though I'd walked the paths many thousands of times and I could tread the route from the Receiving Chamber to the Pits blind.

 I walked beside Malick – the hallways wide enough to just walk two abreast – as we followed the main tunnel; ignoring the many dark archways and forks that led off in all directions. The tunnels all led to different levels of Hell, to more tunnels and chambers that all had their own individual purposes, some were working areas, or record halls, many others were living quarters for all of the different breeds of demon that Hell housed. Though, everyone knew, it was down in the Pits where the real action happened.

 It was an effort to keep up with Malick's swift pace and, despite relishing in the heat from being home again, I could feel a sheen of sweat as it started to form on my skin from the exertion. My boots rang loudly on the polished black obsidian floor and Malick scowled at the noise. I choked back a snicker – annoying Malick was always a good source for amusement – but I couldn't stifle the yelp that escaped my lips when I missed the first step. The flight of steps was the first of many that led down into the deepest levels of Hell and I should have known it was there.

 Maybe I didn't remember the path quite as well as I thought. I slipped down the first two steps and instinctively reached out to steady myself, grabbing a hold of Malick's monk-like robe for stability. He stumbled slightly but quickly composed himself and snatched his robe from my grasp. He glared down at me, black eyes twinkling malevolently in the orange glow.

 “Can you conduct yourself with some decorum Rayne,” he snapped and with a shake of his head he hurried off down the steps without me.

 “Nice work Rayne, give Malick even more reason to dislike you,” I muttered to myself as I got back to my feet and proceeded, at a slightly more sedate pace, down the flight of stairs.

 The corridors and stairs seemed endless but, eventually, the tunnel opened out into a vast, high cavern. The walls and floor were of the same unpolished red granite from which the rest of Hell was carved, but the whole place stretched so long and wide it was impossible to track the walls all the way around the cavern; they appeared to stretch off into infinity and I'd never even think of trying to walk to the other side. Many thousands of tunnels and chambers led off of the main space, I'd explored a very tiny percentage of them in all of my almost three centuries in Hell and in some ways I was almost afraid to know what some of the others might hold. The main area of the Pits, however, I knew very well; and from first glance it was obvious how it had earned its name.

 The rusty red floor was pocked in numerous spots by huge pits dug deep into the ground. They served as holding cells for all of the evil souls and each one held a torment chosen to best 'suit' its inhabitants. New pits would appear all the time in order to accommodate every new incoming soul and I was pretty certain that the massive cavern was enchanted in some way to be ever expanding, if that was the right term, truly infinite in size; there had to be some sort of trick to it.

 My destination was Execution Square, straight ahead from the tunnels exit. The gallows that occupied the square at that moment were hard to miss, and, as I drew closer, I could see Shane perched, pale and naked, on the platform. Execution Square was the largest expanse of solid ground in the Pits and a massive crowd had already gathered, packing it to capacity.

 Shane stood and covered himself with his hands once again. He was quiet, and vaguely trembling, but there was a wide-eyed disbelief on his face as if he were still convinced it was all just a horrible nightmare; in denial right up to the end, it happened rather a lot.

 I pushed my way through the crowd, earning angry looks and insults that were thrown at my back as I passed, but I knew that there would be worse to come if I didn't make it to the platform quickly; Malick was already looking irritated. As Shane's captor, it was my job to play the executioner – we really do sign on for the whole job – he was my responsibility until his soul was separated from his body. In Shane's case, it was a responsibility that I was going to relish until the very last moment.

 A set of, crudely carved, stone steps led up to the wooden platform and I'd managed to make it all the way to the top before Shane finally clocked me. I met him with a catty grin, and he lost it.

 “You!” He spat and tried to lunge at me, but the chains at his wrists and the lead around his neck held him back; and I wasn't fool enough to step within arms reach.

 “This...this is all your doing. What the fuck is happening to me?” He raged and pulled against his bindings, too blind with anger and fear to pay heed to the choking and bruising he was inflicting upon himself. The jailers didn't so much as stumble as they held firm to the chains - a little preternatural strength can go a long way – and Shane growled with frustration at the lack of power he had over them. He leaned as close to me as his bindings would allow, close enough that I could feel his hot, stale breath against my face while the shorter chains at his wrists pulled his arms back at an uncomfortable looking angle behind him.

 “Get me the fuck out of here! What the hell is all of this freaky shit? Why'd you drag me into your fucked up world you twisted little bitch!”

 I arched an eyebrow. Knowing that I was safe from his hands gave me a cocky confidence; a confidence level that I'd never felt when I faced him up on his own turf.

 “Throw all the cursing and insults you like at me Shane, they won't help you now. Nothing is going to help you now, and all you're managing to do is piss off a whole lot of demons.” I gestured around me to the heaving crowd, but he didn't care to look around. “And, just so you're aware, you dragged yourself into this 'freaky shit', I just helped you to get here.”

 Shane's ragged, angry breathing sprayed my face with flecks of spittle but I didn't dare move to wipe it away, not while he still faced me; I couldn't show him the disgust that he evoked inside me. I threw him one last look, something somewhere between a smirk and a sneer, then turned away. I made for the edge of the platform, where the lever stood that would release the trapdoor and plunge Shane to his death, and as I walked I wiped the sheen of saliva from my face – my back turned to my captive.

 Malick then took up control of the platform, his rubbery demon face twisted in annoyance.

 “Right, now that the verbal jousting is finally out of the way, shall we get down to business.” He cleared his throat and an instant hush fell over the crowd.

 He gestured to the jailers and they busied themselves dragging Shane onto the platform and securing the noose around his neck. Shane put on a renewed effort of struggling but one of the jailers struck him hard in the ribs and snarled, “keep yourself still dog, or I'll break your neck before the noose does it for ya!” He jabbed Shane again, the crack of breaking ribs clear above the quiet in Execution Square and Shane's groan of pain mimicked the many others that echoed out from the Pits.

 Once Shane was prepared, noose around his neck and a jailer holding tight to each arm to keep him still, Malick nodded and unrolled yet another scroll – there seemed to be so much paperwork involved in his job, it was no surprise he got so pissy when someone created more.

 “Mr Bromhurst, you have been read your sentence I trust that you understand it?”

 Another of Malicks rhetorical questions he was duty bound to ask, he didn't expect an actual answer though a simple nod would often be seen from the prisoner. Shane, however, did not catch onto the fleeting dismissal in the old demons tone and cut across him, as Malick paused to take a breath before continuing his speech.

 “What the fuck are you talking about, what sentence? What am I doing here?”

 Malick frowned, “did Rayne not read your sentence to you?”

 I scowled. While it didn't surprise me that Malick would doubt my ability to do my job properly, it pissed me off that he would actually insinuate it in public.

 “Who the hell is Rayne? Fuck, you're all a bunch of crazy freaks. Dahlia get me the fuck out of here or you're going to regret it!” Shane's voice verged on hysterical as he begged his one last hope for freedom; the fool.

 “Ah, I see. He still knows you by your chosen alias Rayne.” Malick said with another nod and a sarcastic smile cast toward me. His patronising tone suggested that I hadn't already figured this fact out, and it was a struggle to keep the smile on my face; appearing amused until he turned his back to me again.

 “Her name is Rayne, not...ah...whatever it was that you called her. It was her job to infiltrate the world of men and bring you here to face punishment for your crimes, for threatening to tip the world out of balance. Clear?”

 I had a feeling the whole 'grand plan' concept would be lost on Shane. He didn't seem the sort to believe in a bigger meaning, I doubted there was anything much more important in Shane's world than himself.

 “What are you talking about? No, y'know what, I don't even fucking care. Just let me get out of here. I want to go home,” Shane said.

 His response didn't surprise me in the slightest. I took a few steps forwards, away from my post and closer to Shane. I knew Malick was going to hate me for interrupting his moment of control but Shane was never going grasp the old demons legalise and metaphoric imagery. He needed to hear it blunt, simple and to the point.

 “But Shane, you are home,” I said, smiling sweetly as I made a sweeping gesture to our surroundings. “You can never go back up there, you're too much of a risk. All of those bad things you liked to do? You should have known you'd pay for them eventually Shane. Unfortunately for you, you got away with it for far too long. You threatened to throw the natural order off balance, and now you must answer to a higher power.”

 He still looked confused, perhaps I had gone in a little too grand with my words too; and to think my intention had been to put him straight where Malick couldn't.

 “Think of it this way Shane. You're going to be sacrificed for the greater good, who knows, your execution might just save the world; now how many people can say that?” I said before I made my way back to the lever, pretty sure that he would at least grasp that last part.

 “Execution? You're going to execute me? No...no, you can't do that, we don't have the death penalty in England!”

 “We go above and beyond your national laws Mr Bromhurst,” Malick shouted. He was peeved I had interrupted him and, with a glare in my direction, made it clear that he was taking back the reins on proceedings.

 Shane paled and looked as if he was going to be sick. It was pitiful really, the big, strong man with stomach enough to strangle women to death while he fucked them, sickened by the reality of his own demise.

 “But...but I didn't even have a trial,” he muttered, all his firm resolve and fight having dissipated.

 “Your life was your trial!” Malick shouted again.

 Yeah, and like any jury alive would ever find you innocent of all your crimes. I thought, scathingly, to myself; but I managed to keep myself shut.

 “Now, can we please get on.” Malick snapped his fingers, apparently satisfied that Shane was effectively chastised.

 The jailers backed away and three hooded clerics took their places, surrounding Shane on three sides. They stood with their heads bowed, faintly green skinned hands clasped as if in prayer, and a constant murmur of chanting, in a language so ancient no demon but those of their own order could understand, emanated from beneath the black, woollen hoods that hid their faces.

 Shane stood silent and statue still, looking at his feet. His lips were moving in soundless words and I wondered if he were praying, but I wasn't a good enough lip reader to make out the actual words. A rush of excitement thrilled through me as I knew the moment for the kill approached – the blood-lust ingrained in me from both opposing breeds of blood that ran through my veins made the desire stronger and more difficult to contain than most humans would find it. My palms began to sweat in anticipation and I had to wipe them on my jeans to be sure that I wouldn't lose my grip on the lever; didn't want to mess up that moment.

 The clerics chanting reached a peak and the tension in Execution Square rose until it was thick and tangible. It felt as if there should have been a drum-roll, but, instead, a deathly silence fell as the whole crowd held its collective breath and Malick gave me the nod of approval.

 I grinned and pulled the lever with relish. The trapdoor swung open and Shane dropped through the platform and out of sight. A part of me desperately hoped that his neck hadn't been broken from the fall; having the life choked from his body would be poetic justice for all of the girls he'd killed. My job done, I made my way back down the stone steps to watch the show.

 He swung inches above the surface of the square, inches from salvation but, even with his great height, his toes would never reach the ground. From the cheer than had risen from the crowd I knew, before seeing him, that his neck hadn't broken and so we all stood and watched, as one being, as his life drained away.

 A new chant was being recited by the clerics, the real 'magic' behind the sacrifices, that would strip Shane's soul from his body and ensure that the good-evil balance of the world was kept in line.

 When, finally, Shane's body stopped struggling and hung quiet and limp he was declared dead. One of the jailers cut the rope and the body fell in a heap onto the dusty ground. But, as it fell, another figure of Shane stood solid and whole at its feet; a disoriented expression clear on his face.

 The body would be sent back to the surface so he could receive a human burial and so that he would not end up one of the many missing persons. It would look like he'd committed suicide, probably – guilt over Evie's death perhaps – the human's enquiry would draw their own conclusions as to how and why Shane died. But, in that moment, there he still stood; his soul made solid by the cleric's magic and bound eternally to Hell so that he might suffer the damnation owed to him.

 Shane's eyes met my own and a true look of relief fell over his face.

 “What happened? I thought you were going to kill me,”he asked. He seemed hopeful that it had all been one big hoax to try and scare him. They all had to try and hold onto some hope, and it gave me great pleasure to crush it.

 I tipped my head to one side and peered around his hulking form. I pointed to the body on the floor, so that he would follow my gaze, and shrugged.

 “Looks pretty dead to me.”