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Flames licked the altar the way Jafar had licked its occupant with his forked tongue. This was how Chernabog knew it was time.
The black-clad figure on the altar writhed in silent agony. His thin frame bucked and twisted, threatening to break the chains on his arms and legs. The red veil of his triangular hat lay shredded between his teeth—the result of his efforts to trap the screams. His shroud of a gown concealed the ever-so-slight evidence of his condition.
Bells tolled in the distance. Chernabog remained at the altar. There was no need to flee; these were not the bells of dawn.
The fire swallowed them both. The soul on the altar brought his fist down like a gavel. “Mercy!” Red slivers of his veil spilled from his mouth. His eyelids sank shut.
Chernabog reached into the folds of the gown and spread the thin legs. The soul was motionless as he groped under the skirts. He removed the new soul with ease.
The older soul was still unmoving after Chernabog bit off the umbilical cord. He set the cord aside for use in the gallows, gathered a ball of flames, and thrust them up the black skirts. The chains burned away.
With his bonds broken, the older soul sprang up. His eyes were blank and his movement was languid. Chernabog placed the tiny demon into his arms.
“We must baptize our son,” Chernabog told him.
The soul bowed his head. “Yes, my Lord,” he droned.
Chernabog led him to a fiery pit. He watched as the former judge bathed the child in the well of flames.
They would do this twelve times more.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
After the baptism, the baby demon was coaxed out of the fiery pit, wiped off and swaddled in a smoky cloth. The minions purged the altar of ectoplasmic afterbirth while Chernabog removed his power-binding spell from Frollo and recast it on the child. Frollo had rocked Hell to its foundations when his labor pains started; that sort of power tended to be hereditary and it wouldn't do to have an infant accidentally destroy everything with his uncontrolled powers. When Chernabog finished the spell, he rolled up the child's umbilical cord and sent Frollo into their lair with their son.
Presently, Frollo sat on the bed in their quarters, nursing the child. He tried to hide his slight horror at their son's crimson eyes and ash-grey skin. He averted his gaze when the child started to suckle what looked like blood. Every so often, the child would pull his mouth away, giving Frollo a glimpse of his tiny fangs.
Frollo shuddered. This creature had been inside of him, feeding off of him. And he'd allowed it. (His sole attempt to prevent it seemed pathetic now that he knew death was impossible in Hell.) Not a vestige of his former virtue could remain after this act.
And yet, he couldn't quite bring himself to harm the small demon. Of course, he couldn't really do any damage to the child in this realm. But he sensed that even if the child were not immortal, he wouldn't try to kill him.
Frollo shook his head, disgusted at himself. How could he feel affection toward this creature? Was this some twisted punishment for his mistreatment of the hunchback—he had detested a deformed human, but would now love an attractive demon? Were these emotions an infernal mind trick or had he really sunk this low?
He glanced down at the infant, who nibbled at his teat. The tiny demon's eyes drifted up to meet Frollo's as he bared his sharp little teeth in a grin.
Frollo could only stare openmouthed. How did he arrive in this situation?