When you are in charge of running Hell you end up becoming a Jackal of all Trades. Never would I have imagined in those years before the fall of myself and then man that I would one day have to become the universes foremost expert on maggots, spiders, locusts and snakes. But to torment so many lost souls in such extreme conditions really pushes the need for hybrid creepy crawlies to the extreme.
The maggot, for instance, seems like such a simple creature. Yet when you have to breed them to be heat and flame resistant, to endure sulfur, sewage, slush and the acidic weather patterns created by the Styx – and to have enough to torture billions of souls day in and day out – the little swarm of hungry mouths become a bioengineering challenge you dirtside worms cannot even imagine.
Sure, Hell is a spiritual realm, and not a physical one – but so is yours. Just like you soultrash have to create narratives and get consensus to bind a structured reality, so do all the other cosmic realms. Someones always gotta make this stuff up, and Todd is a lazy God who prefers to relegate as much of creation as He can to his creations.
So anyhow, today I was studying the most recent strain, and noticed a particularly odd mutation. Where past experiments led to instabilities over time, these are doing the opposite. These maggots seem to be adapting to Hell’s environment and have learned to draw energy directly from a combination of chemicals and heat.
That means that when this mutation spreads throughout this maggot species, which it almost definitely will, they will no longer desire the flesh of the sinners. Which means I will have trillions of maggots that are of no use to me. Even worse, I will have to create some kind of predator to deal with them before they breed us out of the underworld. I simply cannot destroy that many souls at once, even if they are just little tiny maggot souls.
I am thinking bats. I know you cosmic parasites think that Hell must be full of bats, but its just not so. Never been a single one in Hades. But I think it is about time.
Plus, it’d give my new kitten something fun to hunt.
[By the way, I named this one Sir Phil Collins.]