Cohost writing prompt: @Making-up-Demons — Demon who doesn't care how long it will take, whether hours or eons, they will see you buried
"At the end of the world there's a mountain," Keokkra hisses. "And every hundred years a small bird flies to the mountain and sharpens its beak on it; and when the mountain is worn down to nothing, the very first second of eternity will have passed."
"Okay," Myqualla says dismally, from the bottom of a rocky hole. Hell is large, and much of it is simply, horrifically empty; this far from the lakes of fire, it's perpetually dark, only a sunset gleam of distant magma on the horizon. Chain clinks as she wriggles. "But somebody's gonna miss me when I don't show up for my shift on Monday—"
"And when the mountain is worn to nothing," Keokkra seethes, liquid fire dripping from her mouth, "I will walk to it myself, and I will return with a single shovelful of mountain-sand. And I will tip it into that hole on top of you. Onto your face. And then the bird and I will wait for whatever bullshit tectonics raised the mountain to raise another one, and repeat the entire fucking process. And when, one distant day, I have filled in this entire fucking hole, covered over your wriggling and pleading and begging and tears, then — then — we can talk about whether, one yet more distant day, I might forgive you for hitting on my sister."
In the hole, Myqualla heaves an enormous, weary sigh. "I wasn't hitting on your sister," she says. "But you know what, this shit isn't worth it? If you're going to be like this every time I happen to be in a room with someone else, we should break up."
There's a terrible silence.
"What?" Keokkra says, in a tiny hurt voice.