Santos was confused. He was now in a completely opposite environment than the last gate he was at, and the sudden switch was a shock to his senses. From a disgusting slosh of refuse and regurgitation, he awakened to find himself....in a garden.

Every fruit and vegetable, small creatures big and small was inside the garden, and Santos was nervous. He shouldn’t be here. This shouldn’t be here. Everything was wrong.

It was too pretty.

Nature works as intended, its own secret recipe hidden from man, its algorithm tested time and true after centuries of getting it just right, but nature only went far enough that it stopped when something worked and did not change any further.

Its beauty was in its imperfections.

The garden, in the center of Hell itself, a facsimile of nature’s beauty was too perfect, with no rough edges, no style, all charm lost. The birds all sang in unison, all the same song, every blade of grass the same, all the trees perfectly trimmed, the air not too hot, nor too cold, but just right.

Here he was, standing naked and filthy, disrupting the manufactured harmony.

For the first time, in a very long time, Santos was ashamed of being naked, standing amongst the pretty little birds and bees, flowers and trees, and the warm spring breeze that smelled like someone sprayed air freshener about because he entered his very presence foul.

Santos crossed his arms around his chest and walked briskly until he came upon a river. Tentatively, he dipped his toe in the water, sure that it was also a curse, but it was real.

Real water.

Real air, clouds, grass, and trees.

Santos jumped right into the river, his fears washing downstream with his filth, grinning, making plans in his head to keep the entire garden for himself, and somehow, someway, bring Naomi, maybe his entire family, to a place where no one would ever hurt them ever again.

How could this place ever be a prison?

“Everything is so nice,” Santos mumbled, pushing his head down underneath the water, wiggling his toes and fingers, and shimmying underneath. He breached the surface and laughed.

“Why would anyone want to leave here, nothing is wrong!”

And then it hit him.

Like a truck.

It was the same reason he wanted to leave.

Nothing was ever wrong at home.

Ever.

Every day was the same, there was no conflict, no hurt, no shame nor pain. It was so wonderful, so pleasant, and yet... so boring. Santos could make no choices before because all his choices were made for him. Yet the meatsuits could choose and make their own decisions, and even though they felt pain, and did not live long, they could be just as happy, because they made the decisions towards the goal of being happy.

The happiness he obtained on Adamh was so much sweeter because he had earned it on his own. It wasn’t molded or given, and it wasn’t always what he wanted, but it still filled the little cracked parts inside of him that home never could.

Sitting naked on the banks of the perfect river, in the perfect place that anyone could ever ask for, Santos was trapped again, at home, little again, no choices to make, no voice to be had, the deepest irony of all, his gift from his father to bring joy through music to others.

Santos looked up at the serene baby blue sky, and cried, because now he could no longer sing and bring joy to others, his one true reason for creation stripped from him, a cruel punishment for leaving, for choosing who he could love, for choosing where he could live, because why would he, when he was given everything, he would ever need at home.

He was a selfish child indeed.

Santos jumped up, hearing someone walking from behind, and wiped away his tears, not wanting anyone to see him weak. He needed to stay focused and reminded himself that it was a trap.

His head swiveled, and he turned around, trying to find the source of the sound, the soft shshsh, between the grass, but no one could be seen. Santos stood still and knew how it worked, all the insane monsters down below trying to choose their grand entrance on their own terms, so he stood still and let him have his grand entrance.

Someone could be felt looking at him from the corner of his eye, so he turned, for one final time, and he saw another naked man, one he recognized from very long ago, but his presence in Hell was very confusing.

“I’m afraid,” Santos whispered.

“Don’t be afraid, my child,” he whispered. “God is always with you.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Why is Jesus here?”

“Well… it’s because I-”

He broke into laughter and couldn’t contain himself. Santos covered his chest with his arms, as the Son of God was naked as well, inside Hell, laughing at him, and he was afraid, because if he was in here, who made it upstairs?

“You dumbass,” he laughed. “It's me! Why, would Jesus be here? Are you stupid? ”

Santos did not feel comfortable hearing those words out of an anointed mouth.

“I thought it would be funny to make myself look like him,” the imposter said. “Like, c'mon! It’s funny, right!?! Right!? ”

He continued to laugh, his entire body shaking, and then the garden started shaking as well, laughing along with him. Santos gripped his chest tighter, glancing around nervously, and then, it stopped.

The imposter, the blasphemous imposter grinned with a crude smile, and with a velvet voice, he introduced himself.

“Don’t you remember me? You were one of the choir masters that worked under me, Lyrica. ”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? It’s who you are.”

Santo looked away in disgust, the face disturbing, every detail, every hair perfectly placed.

“Please, choose another face. Any face,” Santos groaned.

“Do you not like White Jesus? I can do Korean Jesus, and Black Jesus! But we all know that Jesus is really-”

“Can we not do this? Can you just let me go?”

With the face of the friendliest man in the world, he walked over to him, in an easy two steps, grabbed him by the waist, and whispered into his ear.

“Never.”

“I want my wife. I want Joshua and Asher,” Santos shuddered. “ I want my kids. ”

“What about your brother?”

Santos pushed him off, and the demon let go, not because he could push him off, but because he let him.

“Leave Musico alone,” Santos whispered. “He’s at home, and-”

“No. He’s come to look for you. Soon he won’t be able to leave as well,” the monster sighed. “What a shame. At least he isn’t the sort of man who abandons family anymore.”

Santos couldn’t look the monster in the eyes and stared at the ground.

He was so strong before, but now his trauma was at the surface, and he had no choice but to face it. Pretending a young boy was his long-lost son, having too many children to make up for the first nine that died, taking many women, many of them, that looked like his first wife, to make one day, one moment, the same as when everything was better.

He could not pretend anymore.

“What do you want,” Santos asked.

“I cannot leave, but you can. I want you to get me out,” he replied. “I want you to-”

“No! Fuck no! Why should I help you leave?!”

Santos shouted, but he was still staring at the ground, gripping his fists, knees weak, and tired, oh so very tired.

“I will give you back your child,” he replied. “The woman too. I don’t need them.”

Finally, Santos looked up from the ground, and he saw his true face. The most beautiful of them all, his face shone and sparkled, blinding any mortal that gazed upon it.

“I know how much you miss them,” the snake tempted him. “I miss my siblings as well, even the ones that did not follow. We were so good together.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I am not lying. Can’t your kind smell lies?”

Santos’s eyes went wide in surprise. He was not lying. The deal with the devil was a true contract, very little fine ink, and he was letting him write it along with him.

His bright glow dulled, shining around his head, and revealed his comely face, grinning like the sly fox he was. A flurry of black feathers rained around them as his six wings protruded forth. His brother did not lie, and he himself found it a weird feeling to not lie, no secrets, no shame.

“I will give you your family, free them from this place, and I will free mine from this cage as well,” he said. “Why do they get the choice to be free when we cannot?”

“Why do they get a choice, when we never had one, even during the before, ” Santos roared.

The trees shook, the air whipped, the sky went dark, their anger diluting the landscape, their hurt laid bare.

“I was punished for showing them that you could choose,” his older brother said. “That there is more to life outside of the garden. Father lied, claiming that he gave it to us, but he did not. We took it ourselves. ”

“Yes we did,” Santos bellowed. “We will have to take it again. ”