Chapter Forty-Seven: Doomed to Kill Relentlessly After Death

Clad in armor, with the head of an eagle and the body of a bear, the “demon” sat at the boundary between two bustling cities in Hell, calmly and patiently polishing the round shield in his hands. Above him stretched a dark crimson sky, glowing with a violet hue in the night. A blood-red full moon, emblazoned with a pentagram at its center, hung in the night sky. Gazing further into the distance, one could even glimpse the faint silver-white reflection of Heaven at the horizon.

At that moment, a flash grenade, shimmering with a blush-colored holy light, streaked across above Steve’s head, tracing a long arc before landing in an abandoned, desolate parking lot. The grenade’s burst of light illuminated the entire area, revealing the demon figures hiding within.

Upon realizing they had been exposed, the demons sprang from the shadows, armed with spears and other cold weapons. A few wielded sacred revolvers blessed by angels, cautiously but fiercely firing in the direction from which the flash grenade had come—guns, far more expensive than melee weapons on the black market, were prized for their lethality.

The rapid clang of metal echoed behind Steve Rogers, mingling with the scent of blood and sulfur, a thick shadow that lingered endlessly under the blood-red moonlight. The better-prepared demons soon gained the upper hand, pressing forward to seize the next point in the urban skirmish. Only one demon remained behind, locating where Steve had paused; he whispered in report:

“Commander, everything is proceeding according to plan.”

With those words, the towering figure slowly rose from the ground, offering no reply but commanding the reporting demon to bow in reverence. She saluted Steve once more, then hurried away into the distance, leaving him standing still, staring in a daze toward Heaven’s direction. But within seconds, his gaze sharpened, and without hesitation, he raised his arm and forcefully flung the shield—a simple round shield, ordinary and unblessed by angels, overlooked by most for its lack of killing power.

Yet the moment Steve cast it, the shield seemed to carry the force of a hurricane and thunder, hurtling with tremendous might toward the enemies lurking in the shadows.

With a loud clang, the shield slammed into the wall beside a demon’s head. Steve hadn’t missed; he had aimed deliberately, recognizing the foe—one he had met more than once before:

The visitor was Alastor, Demon Lord of the Circle of Pride.

The first demon Steve encountered upon arriving in Hell, the one who had introduced himself as “John,” the casino manager.

Long ago, “John” had been a small, unremarkable demon. Now, having dispelled his transformation magic, his true form was revealed: standing nearly six feet two, with pale yellow skin and bright red eyes, crowned by red-and-black lynx ears. Beneath his proud gaze were a prominent nose and sharp, serrated yellow teeth.

As lord of the Circle of Pride, Alastor was impeccably dressed, as if freshly emerged from a grand banquet hall. Steve had heard that Alastor had been human in life, less famous than the likes of Hitler but no less cruel and ruthless—rumors even claimed he was a gourmet who feasted on his own kind.

A cunning, ambitious, and morally unbound human, even in Hell he had not been forgotten. Through years of effort, Alastor had risen to rule this region. Yet all sinners sent to Hell after death were confined to the Circle of Pride, unable to leave. So barring the unexpected, Alastor’s status would remain fixed.

He was clearly dissatisfied with this. Hell was dull, and Steve was the only amusement he had found recently.

“Good evening, Steve,” Alastor greeted cheerfully, ignoring the shield by his head. “I heard you’ve been promoted again. Congratulations.”

Steve remained silent, expressionless, his face plainly saying, “What’s there to be happy about?”

Alastor didn’t mind his coldness and continued: “That said, although you’re talented enough to quickly grasp real power within the Yellow Lantern Legion, it’s thanks to their current leaderless state. If Cenesto were dead, things would be very different… So I’m curious why you haven’t tried to seize leadership for yourself.”

“If Cenesto were dead”—was that a compliment or a curse? Cenesto himself would be puzzled to hear it.

Steve considered, then replied, “I’m not interested.”

He was temporarily aiding the Yellow Lanterns to better strike at the Nazis.

But if he truly became the Hell division leader of the Yellow Lantern Legion… forget it. If he ever came back to life, Captain America would still have to return to being a man.

Alastor laughed, a taunting grin deepening his devilish features. “You’re an interesting fellow. Hard to imagine someone like you was unknown in life.”

Steve was unshaken, countering, “Aren’t you the same?”

“Ah, I can’t deny it. Maybe that’s what those little demons say about you: ‘Why do evil in life when you’re destined to kill many after death?’”

The demon lord’s smile widened with meaning. “Steve, I think you’re a criminal genius. Your earthly career truly wasted your talents—though I don’t know what you did before.”

Criminal genius Steve: “...”

Solved it. This demon was shameless.

Unperturbed by Steve’s silent judgment, Alastor changed the subject: “I’ve noticed you’re growing tired of this war. I understand completely. Though Hell’s wars seem similar to those on Earth, they are fundamentally different. Our slaughter lacks purpose—neither justice nor evil, often just mutual butchery. It offers trivial amusement, but after hundreds or thousands of years, it grows dull.”

Steve was silent, then said slowly, “I heard you demons fight over territory, and the essence of this is survival during the once-a-year angelic ‘Great Extermination.’”

“You’ve learned much about Hell’s customs,” Alastor said with a smile. “True, some demons live that way. But your Yellow Lanterns aren’t like that. You’re not fighting to help Cenesto’s mistress…”

“Enough!” Steve, having recently heard too much gossip, and now being considered ‘one of their own,’ interrupted sharply. “Isn’t there another way?”

Alastor’s expression darkened slightly. “No. Resources are limited, but sinners do not die naturally—our population only grows. So besides war, the only other solution is still war—one internal, one external. That’s why I came to you. Now is the time to show your resolve, Steve. You’re dead, but do you still long for the living world? Do you want to take these guns spreading God’s gospel and return to Earth for one last look?”

Steve understood the demon lord’s implication.

His mind grew alert, but he calmly asked, “Sinners can’t leave the Circle of Pride?”

“Usually not,” Alastor replied. “But when invited by someone from Earth, that’s different.”

***

Eliya paced in his living room. His son, daughter, and a dog sat on the sofa, their heads and eyes following his movement. Eliya paid them no mind, thinking instead about one question:

How to contact Captain America in Hell?

This was not his burden alone. All superheroes who had faced “this god or that demon” in great events expressed the same view: such things had never happened before, not even in rumor.

The boundary between life and death was not so easily breached. Even the rare few who could visit Heaven or Hell while alive were never the good ones who, after death, accidentally landed in Hell—and then had to be rescued because they neither belonged there nor should have died.

Hell was no mere prison to be treated lightly.

Some might ask: if the living can enter Hell, why not just send someone to find Captain America?

But here lay a key difficulty: Steve Rogers was new to Hell, and Hell’s population was exploding without a registration system. Lucifer, the lord of Hell, was said to neglect his duties, leaving demons to govern themselves. Native demons dwelled in the six lower circles of Hell, while sinners—outsiders who arrived after death—were confined to the highest circle, the Circle of Pride.

Steve had been a good man in life but was an outsider. His arrival point was almost certainly within the Circle of Pride. Even narrowing the search to that circle, finding a newcomer was no easy task.

Moreover, Steve’s appearance changed after becoming a demon, and being new, he likely used an alias and kept a low profile. The superheroes reasoned that contacting Steve secretly and quickly through a living person without alerting other demons was nearly impossible.

A public search was possible but useless for the impending war.

That said, the seasoned heroes were not without options. They sought specialists and gathered suitable magical tools to attempt a complex spell that could evade demon detection and pinpoint Steve’s location.

They consulted Eliya, as the Reaper Lantern seemed a true sorcerer.

Eliya couldn’t say it was only an appearance. He agreed to help, deeply interested in the looming conflict. However, his means might be unorthodox. The first being he thought capable of changing the tide was… the dog, Bob. Bob had three heads and claimed to communicate with past, present, and future.

When Bob One, representing the past, encountered the Red Skull version of Captain America, he ran him down, killing him instantly. Then Bob Two, representing the present, revived him unchanged.

This was because Red Skull was dead in the past but alive in the present.

Bob had altered his state.

Could he do the same for Captain America?

When Eliya asked, Bob shook his head regretfully: “I can’t reverse time, boss. What’s done is done. Even though I ‘killed’ Red Skull before, Steve Rogers didn’t come back to life because of it. I only affected the unstable soul I touched. But if Bob One (the past) could collide with the real Captain America, there’s a chance to bring him back to life.”