Juan talked in a monotone as he related his time in hell. "When I first got to hell, I would escape sometimes. Running out of their prisons and torture chambers, I thought I could find somebody, someone, if I could just get past the demons. I'd hide amongst the houses of the dead. Peering in the windows , I'd look for someone who could help me. Most of the houses black inside, like no one has ever lived there. Some seem to be filled with screeching bats."

The company maintained a respectful silence as he continued. "There was one house, I found a family, living, cheerfully together. The house was lit brightly, but when I went inside, the family had no eyes. They couldn't see me or hear me. I shouted for their help and protection, but there was no response, just carrying on like there was nothing."

"You were just a kid," said Scorpio.

Juan nodded. "When the demons found me, they would laugh and drag me back. The punishment chamber was called the Razor House. All the walls were filled with knives. The knives are hungry for flesh. They would tear me, and I bled everywhere. I would eventually pass out and wake up whole again. Every day I still feel scars that aren't there."

The group started down a long set of stairs. Orlando cleared his throat. "Was that the worst of it?"

Juan shook his head. "I would lay on the floor, bleeding, unable to move, and the ants would march in and out, taking bits of my flesh with them, swarming in my wounds. At first, I would scream and dig them out. Finally I left them there. Better to get accustomed to the horror than be continually enraged."

Xicarus asked, "Did it ever get any better?"

Juan answered, "After years and years of this, I made friends with the knives. It sounds ridiculous, but they were the only ones I could talk to. They'd still slice me, but only light scratches. When the demons saw this, they started sending me into the arena. Whether I won or lost, the demons found it hilarious. Occasionally there were other prisoners to fight, instead of demons. We tried not fighting, and that was worse. Ultimately, we just killed each other to get it over with."

Scorpio took his hand. Juan smiled at her, and said, "It wasn't all gladiatorial type combat. Sometimes we played games. We'd have to bounce a ball off of these different ramps and get it into the goal. The ball was really a knife, and it could cut through you, made of compressed and sharpened bone. If you got cut or lost the game, you'd be beheaded. The heads became the balls for the next round, and somehow the heads were still alive, detached from their bodies, adding to the horror."

They came to the bottom of the staircase and followed an underground river. Scorpio released his hand, and Juan continued. "The demons liked to trash talk, and I got to be good at it. I picked up their slang. It wasn't just about being fearsome, I had to be funny too."

"You were funny?" Xicarus asked skeptically.

"I can be funny," Juan answered. "The demons like slapstick, humor that's at someone else's expense. You know, yelping when you burn your butt on something hot, they love that."