Luthor was impatient, and nothing heals a broken heart but time, so he killed himself. In Hell, he fancied himself somewhat of a vagrant, because none of the work seemed to keep his attention and he drifted from circle to circle in order to find something to do. He wasn’t much into being tortured, and while it wasn’t entirely unavoidable, he seemed to get by when he played busy. Breaking rocks, feeding ants to rapists, sharpening weapons for the demons and tending to the hellfire were all acceptable activities to pass under the radar of some of the more vicious tyrants of death and carnage.
    He did, however, find the time to extinguish his obsession with his ex, Grace, and he discovered that witches and succubae were quite affectionate, especially when brought platters of hearts (which could easily be obtained from the scrap piles near the unbaptised babies).
    “Limbo my ass,” he muttered, while scooping up piles of little organs onto a shield he’d taken from a crucified Roman. He briskly jogged towards the Cove of Carnal Sin, dodging over some smoking craters and slipping by a red horned beast sucking the toes off of a prostitute.
    “Girls!” he shouted, holding a particularly swollen, rotting bloodpump. He started making “nummy” sounds and rubbing his belly, until a pale, naked fiend stood up from behind a rock, looking around and sniffing the air. Her body was long and lanky, fingers turning to needles at the tips and toes gnarling into claws; her face was curved, with a small sharp nose in-between her flattened brow and pointy chin.
Upon spotting him, her vicious eyes lit up and she leaped over in two bounds, taking a handful of hearts at once, jamming six or seven in her mouth. She chewed ferociously, letting out pleasured moans as the browning juice bubbled down her chin.
With a gob of gore in her mouth, she batted her lashes at Luthor, and wrapped her arms around him, puckering for a kiss. He pushed her back.
    “Swallow first!” he scolded, shaking a finger at her.
    With an extraordinarily long tongue, she licked away the muck from her jaw and started drawing a finger gently up his back. He giggled under the sensitive force, and stared at her breasts as she began rubbing against him excitedly.
    “Luthor?” came a voice from behind him.
    He twisted around suddenly, recognizing the voice immediately.
    “Grace?”
    “What the fuck is this?” she demanded, walking over to him. The demoness clutching Luthor gave a hiss and scratched at the air in Grace’s direction.
    “It’s okay,” Luthor reassured the fiend, gently separating himself from her. He turned to Grace.
    “When did you die?” he asked, scowling.
    “The day after you killed yourself! I felt so bad that I took a whole thing of sleeping pills, then downed it with a bottle of whisky! You sonnovabitch, I felt so bad about breaking up with you, and look at this! I find you humping monsters in the Cove of Carnal Sin!”
    “Hey,” Luthor said, pointing a finger at Grace. “Let’s get this straight: I broke up with you.”
    Grace laughed indignantly.
    “I didn’t return your calls for a month and I was sleeping with other people. I’m pretty sure I was done with you a long time before you sent that pathetic letter with ‘urgent’ written on it. Nice job with the return address, labeling it with my sick mothers house number just so that I’d open it.”
    “Oh, speaking of your mom, how’s she doing?”
    “Well, she’s not here, so a hell of a lot better than the both of us.”
    “You know, I hear heaven’s not all that great. It’s a lot of sitting around, according to this guy I met in the snakepits.”
    “This is so like you, always changing the damn subject.”
    “’So like me’? Yeah? You know what?
    “What?”
    “You’re a whore. How about that for changing the subject?”
    “You piece of shit. I looked all around Hell for the last six months trying to find your dumb ass and apologize, and here I find you making out with the queen of monster sluts.”
    “Aw, is that it? You don’t like meeting someone who’s an even bigger skank than you?”
    Grace snarled and tried to lunge at Luthor, but instead stepped on the platter of hearts and slipped, planting her face in rotten baby organs. Spitting out dark bits of muscle, she rose, infuriated, and socked Luthor in the eye. He fell backwards and hit his head on a charred, jagged rock.
    “God dammit!” he shouted, rolling over and clutching the ground flesh and hair. The fiend, who’d been watching eagerly from the side, pounced over and began lapping the blood off of his scalp.
    “Ow! Stop it! Stop!” he demanded, and, reluctantly, she did.
    Grace stood, arms crossed, squinting from the slime on her face.
    “So, what’s it going to be, then?” she asked.
    Luthor looked up from the ground, wincing.
    “What do mean?”
    “Well, I’m here. It’s kind of your fault, too.”
    “First of all, no it’s not. I don’t think-”
    “You’re the reason I committed suicide! Doesn’t that make you feel guilty at all?”
    “No! You’re the reason I committed suicide! You can’t throw that back in my face!”
    “Well we’re both here, now. What’re you going to do about it?”
    “What?”
    Grace rolled her eyes.
    “Are you going to take me back?”
    Luthor shrugged, and wiped a little blood from his nose.
    “I dunno,” he answered. “Are you still going to act like a spoiled little whore?”
    “Whoa, I’ll take the offer right back if you think I’m groveling or something.”
    Luthor looked up at Grace, spots fluttering around in his vision.
    “Well…” he said, holding the L. “Okay. I’ll take you back.”
    The fiend let out a snort of contempt, plucked some pulp from Grace’s hair, and bounded away, chewing loudly and smacking her lips.