As I approached the towering monstrosity that was the Soul Intake and Processing Center, I couldn’t help but gawk at the sheer absurdity of its design. The building seemed to defy not only the laws of physics but also any semblance of aesthetic sensibility. It was as if a deranged architect had gotten drunk on absinthe, half studied a load of H.R. Giger art, and then vomited up this nightmare in steel and stone.
The structure twisted and writhed like a sentient being in the throes of agony, its spires and buttresses contorting in ways that made my eyes water just trying to follow their lines. Pulsing veins of sickly, bioluminescent light ran along the building’s surface, giving it the appearance of some sort of diseased, alien organ. And the less said about the grotesque, fleshy protrusions that seemed to sprout at random from the walls, the better.
But perhaps the most unsettling thing about the SIPC was its sheer vastness. The building seemed to stretch on forever in every direction, its upper levels disappearing into the roiling, blood-red clouds that passed for a sky in this hellish realm. It was like staring into the maw of some eldritch abomination, knowing that once you stepped inside, there would be no turning back.
I walked along the perimeter of the building, looking for anything that resembled an entrance. But the walls were smooth and unbroken, with no doors or windows to be seen. Just as I was about to give up and start shouting for someone to let me in, a beam of holographic text suddenly projected from the front of the building, hovering in the air like a ghostly marquee.
“Please approach the building for scanning and identification.”
I hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was some sort of trap. But then I remembered that I was already in Hell—or what passed for Hell—so really, how much worse could things get? With a shrug, I stepped forward, feeling like a bug about to be fried under a magnifying glass.
As soon as I entered the range of the holographic text, a brilliant red laser shot out from the building’s front, enveloping me in its crimson glow. I could feel the laser scanning me from head to toe, its light prickling my skin like a thousand tiny needles. After a few seconds, the laser dissipated, and a disembodied robotic voice echoed from the front of the building.
“Identity confirmed. Kade Dalton, ID-5168. Please enter the building through the designated entrance.”
As if on cue, a seam appeared in the previously seamless wall, widening into a yawning, triangular portal. The edges of the entrance pulsed with the same sickly, bioluminescent light that ran along the building’s surface.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever fresh hell awaited me inside. As I stepped through the portal, I couldn’t help but feel like I was being swallowed whole by some malevolent, cosmic entity. The entrance snapped shut behind me with a sickening, fleshy sound, sealing me inside the building.
Well, I thought, I guess there’s no turning back now. Time to see what this Orientation Officer has in store for me. And if they don’t have that top-shelf whiskey waiting, there’s gonna be hell to pay. Well, more hell, anyway.
As I stepped into the bowels of the SIPC, I found myself in a long, winding corridor that seemed to stretch on for miles. The walls were lined with a pulsing, fleshy substance that looked like it had been ripped straight from the innards of some unfortunate creature. Grotesque, semi-organic tubes and wires ran along the ceiling, occasionally dripping a viscous, green fluid that sizzled when it hit the floor.
A notification appeared then.
Soul Intake and Processing Center.
Safe Zone.
A safe zone, huh? I’ll take that with a pinch of salt. A whole damn shaker.
I was ushered down the corridor by a series of floating, holographic arrows that materialized in front of me, guiding me deeper into the nightmare bureaucracy of the afterlife. As I walked, I couldn’t help but notice the doors that lined the walls on either side of me. Each one was a twisted, biomechanical monstrosity, with pulsing veins and twitching, fleshy protrusions that seemed to move of their own accord.
After what felt like an eternity of walking, I finally arrived at my destination. The arrow turned and pointed to a door on my left.
Above the door, a holographic nameplate materialized, and I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at what it said.
Grik’noth the Malevolent, Devourer of Souls, Tormentor of the Damned, and Orientation Officer.
Great, I thought. I’m about to be oriented by a guy who probably eats souls for breakfast and has a side gig as a professional torturer. This should be fun.
As I waited for the door to fully open, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see a woman stumbling down the corridor, her clothes tattered and her face bruised and bloodied. She looked just as confused and terrified as I felt, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for her.
As she approached her own door, I decided to try and break the ice with a little humor.
“Nice day for it, huh?” I said, nodding in her direction.
She glanced over at me, her eyes wide and haunted. For a moment, I thought she might not respond, but then she gave a small, hesitant nod before turning back to face her door.
I guess small talk isn’t really a thing in this place.
New Achievement Unlocked! Gallows Humor.
You cracked a joke and maintained a sense of humor in the face of unspeakable horror. Because sometimes, laughter is the only weapon you have left.
“Fuck off,” I muttered, mentally dismissing the notification from my screen.
Just then, my door finished its agonizingly slow opening sequence, and I stepped inside.
The room I found myself in was like something out of a Kafkaesque nightmare. It was a vast, cavernous space, with towering stacks of papers and files that seemed to stretch up into infinity. The air was thick with the smell of sulfur and bureaucracy, and the only light came from a sickly, green glow that emanated from the countless computer screens that lined the walls. Well, they seemed like computer screens anyway. Their disturbingly fleshly appearance sort of threw me off a bit, the vertical text on the screens a deep blood red.
And there, sitting behind a massive, obsidian desk, was the most fucked up creature I had ever laid eyes on.
At first glance, Grik’noth the Malevolent looked like a cross between a giant, bipedal cockroach and a diseased, anthropomorphic goat. Its body was covered in a chitinous, black exoskeleton, with jagged spikes and pulsing, bioluminescent veins running along its limbs. Its head was a twisted, elongated skull, with a pair of curved, obsidian horns sprouting from its forehead and a maw filled with razor-sharp, needlelike teeth.
But perhaps the most unsettling thing about Grik’noth were its eyes. Or rather, its lack of them. Where its eyes should have been, there were instead two gaping, fathomless voids that seemed to suck in all light and hope, leaving only despair and madness in their wake.
Above the creature’s head, an info box appeared in my vision.
Grik’noth the Malevolent—Demon. Level 67.
Orientation Officer for the SIPC.
As a high-level demon, Grik’noth has all the standard attributes you’d expect: super strength, a generous helping of infernal magic, and a face that could curdle milk and make small children cry.
As I approached the desk, Grik’noth looked up from the stack of papers it was reading (how it could read without eyes, I had no idea), and a twisted, nightmarish grin spread across its face.
“Ah, Kade Dalton, Contestant #5168,” it said, its voice a guttural, rasping screech that made my skin crawl. “I am Grik’noth the Malevolent, your Orientation Officer and guide to the wonders of the afterlife.”
It gestured to a chair in front of its desk, some biomechanical contraption that looked like it had been designed by a mad scientist with a fetish for torture devices.
“Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss.” It spoke in a male sounding voice, so I guess that made it a “he.”
I hesitated for a moment, eyeing the chair with trepidation. But I was here now, and sitting in a slightly uncomfortable chair was probably the least of my worries.
With a resigned sigh, I plopped myself down in the chair, wincing as the jagged, metal spikes dug into my back and legs.
“Kade,” Grik’noth began, clasping his spiky fingers together on the desk, “let me start by welcoming you to the afterlife—or more specifically, to Infernum, and the Trials of the Damned. You are probably somewhat confused at this point, perhaps even terrified. But don’t worry, that’s why I’m here. To put you at ease.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
I just stared at the monstrosity masquerading as a bureaucrat, wondering who the hell thought it was a good idea to have a creature such as this be the first to greet new souls. I really had to stop questioning this place, though, before I drove myself mad. “Oh, I’m at ease alright. Nothing puts me more at ease than being greeted by a giant, eyeless cockroach-goat hybrid in the depths of pseudo-Hell.”
Grik’noth chuckled, a sound that was somewhere between a dying cat and a rusty chainsaw. “I can see you have a sense of humor. That’s good. You’ll need it here. Perhaps some refreshments would help break the ice?” He gestured with a spiked limb toward a small table by an obscenely high pile of paperwork. On the table were various bottles filled with differently colored liquids.
“Allow me to introduce you to some of our finest beverages. First, we have the Elixir of Eternal Despair.” He pointed to a bottle filled with a thick black liquid that seemed to absorb all light around it. “It’s a personal favorite among our higher-ranking demons. One sip, and you’ll feel like the weight of the entire infernal realm is pressing down on your soul.”
Next, his spiked limb moved to a bottle of shimmering, iridescent fluid. “This is the Draught of Forgotten Dreams. It’s distilled from the tears of lost souls. Drink it, and you’ll experience the most hauntingly beautiful dreams, only to wake up and realize none of it was real. Quite the existential rollercoaster, if you ask me.”
He then gestured to a bottle containing sickly green liquid that bubbled ominously. “This one is called the Tincture of Torment. A single drop will make you relive your most painful memories in excruciating detail. Not for the faint of heart, but some find it... cathartic.”
I did my best to smile politely. “Wow, those all sound... absolutely dreadful. I think I’ll stick with good old-fashioned water, if I actually had any. Or better yet, the bottle of whiskey I was promised for that New Achievement thingy I earned.”
Grik’noth shook his head, his razor-sharp teeth glinting in the sickly green light. “I’m afraid that particular beverage would be in one of your chests, and unfortunately, you cannot open any chests until we are done with your orientation. Rules are rules, you know. Even in Hell.”
I sighed, my dreams of a stiff drink evaporating like a drop of water in the desert. “Okay, fine. Let’s get this orientation over with then. The sooner we’re done, the sooner I can drown my sorrows in that whiskey bottle.”
Grik’noth leaned back in his chair, his spindly legs creaking under his weight. “Excellent. Let’s begin with the basics. As you already know, you are in Infernum, a world based upon your human concept of Hell. Though, I should point out that this place isn’t actually Hell, because Hell doesn’t exist. That’s just a story you humans were fed in the beginning because the Great Overseers, praise their terribleness, thought the concept of Heaven and Hell would help keep your species in line.”
I frowned, trying to wrap my head around this new information. “Overseers? Who or what are they?”
“The Overseers—the Zyrathi, to use their real name—are the rulers of this galaxy, and also the creators of the human race,” Grik’noth explained, his voice taking on a reverent tone. “They created humans a couple hundred thousand years ago. They have engineered many species in this vast galaxy of ours. Even my own illustrious demon race, if you can believe it. And I have to say, they did a damn fine job, wouldn’t you agree?”
I looked him up and down. “Oh, absolutely. A real work of art, you are. The stuff of sweet dreams and rainbow kisses.”
Grik’noth chuckled again, apparently amused by my sarcasm. “I like you, Kade. You’ve got spirit. That’ll serve you well in the Trials. But I digress. The point is, most of the species in the galaxy were created to serve the Overseers in some capacity. In the case of humans, you’re essentially walking batteries, feeding the Overseers with your turbulent emotions and unending despair. There were other reasons for your creation as well, but we won’t get into those now. The important thing is, as a human battery, that’s why you’re here in Infernum. So the Overseers can continue to feast on your misery and anguish. They do so love the taste of suffering.”
I felt a chill run down my spine at his words. “So, let me get this straight. The only reason I’m here is to suffer, so that these Overseer creatures can feed off my pain like emotional vampires?”
“Precisely!” Grik’noth exclaimed, clapping his hands together in delight. “But you’re not here to suffer in just any old way, oh no. You’re here to participate in the Trials of the Damned—the galaxy’s greatest and most entertaining game show. Because even immortal, all-powerful beings need a little entertainment now and then, right? That’s why the Trials are filmed and broadcast across the galaxy. It’s must-see TV, let me tell you.”
My jaw dropped open in disbelief. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me that the Trials of the Damned, this nightmarish gauntlet of suffering and despair that I’ve been dumped into... is a fucking reality show?”
Grik’noth nodded, his grin widening. “Not just any reality show, my dear Kade. The biggest, most popular reality show in the entire galaxy! It never fails to draw in the ratings, even with stiff competition from the other programs.”
I shook my head, trying to process this absurd revelation. “What other shows could possibly compete with watching damned souls get tortured for eternity?”
The demon leaned forward, clearly relishing the opportunity to discuss his favorite subject. “Oh, there are quite a few! For example, there’s Galactic Bloodsport, where various creatures from across the galaxy compete in brutal, no-holds-barred combat. It’s a real hit among those who enjoy a good, bloody fight, which is almost everyone.”
“Sounds delightful,” I muttered.
“Then there’s Infernal Makeover,” Grik’noth continued, undeterred. “That’s a personal favorite of mine. It’s a show where we take the souls of the damned and transform them into various demonic and/or monstrous forms. The transformations are both horrifying and fascinating. Great for those who appreciate the art of extreme body modification.”
I grimaced, trying not to picture what kind of ‘extreme body modifications’ he was talking about. “I think I’ll stick with my boring, human form, thanks.”
Grik’noth chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, you say that now, but just wait until you see some of the options available. But I digress. Another popular show is Nyxarion’s Got Talent. It’s a talent competition where damned souls showcase their unique skills and abilities for a chance at a slightly less miserable afterlife. It’s a bit lighter in tone, a nice break from all the constant suffering and despair.”
I frowned, something about the show titles niggling at the back of my mind. “Is it just me, or do those names sound suspiciously... human?”
Grik’noth clapped his hands together, looking impressed. “Well spotted, Kade! You’re absolutely right. Nyxarion, by the way, is the actual name of our lovely galaxy. But as for the show titles, well, they’re translated into terms that your human mind can comprehend. Trust me, if you heard the real names, your brain would probably melt out of your ears. The same goes for everything else in this realm—it’s all filtered through a sort of Universal Translator to make it palatable for your delicate human sensibilities.”
I nodded slowly, trying to wrap my head around the concept. “So, when you speak, I’m not actually hearing your real voice? It’s just some sort of translation?”
“Exactly!” Grik’noth confirmed. “If you heard my real voice, it would probably sound like a thousand screaming souls being fed through a wood chipper. Not exactly easy on the ears.”
“Right. How... considerate of you.” I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, the metal spikes digging into my flesh. “So, back to the matter at hand. Why exactly was I chosen for this particular slice of hellish entertainment? I mean, I wasn’t exactly a saint in my previous life, but I don’t think I did anything bad enough to warrant eternal damnation.”
Grik’noth leaned back in his chair, steepling his many fingers together. “Ah, you see, that’s the thing, Kade. There are no real ‘sinners’ on Earth. That whole concept was just a bit of clever marketing cooked up by the Overseers. In reality, all humans are potential contestants for the Trials. But some of you are more suited to the game than others. And you, my friend, with your background as a fighter and your impressive physical prowess, well... you’re prime entertainment material.”
I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “So, what you’re saying is, I was chosen to be here not because of anything I did, but because I’ll make for good TV?”
“Bingo!” Grik’noth exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “Of course, we do also bring in less gifted individuals, purely for the comedic value. The viewers just love watching some poor, hapless soul bumble their way through the Trials, getting eviscerated in increasingly creative ways. It’s hilarious!”
I didn’t find the prospect particularly hilarious, but I decided to let that slide. “Okay, so what about the souls who don’t get chosen for the Trials? Where do they end up?”
“Ah, those lucky bastards get sent to Celestia,” Grik’noth explained. “It’s essentially the polar opposite of Infernum—a realm of eternal bliss and happiness, where the Overseers harvest a different kind of psychic energy. The energy of contentment and joy, rather than suffering and despair. It’s all very... wholesome.” He said the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth.
I sat there for a moment, letting the weight of everything I’d just learned sink in. The finality of my situation, the utter helplessness of being nothing more than a pawn in some cosmic game of entertainment... it was almost too much to bear.
“So, that’s it then?” I asked, my voice hollow. “I’m stuck here, in this nightmarish hellscape, for the rest of eternity? Doomed to suffer and struggle, all for the amusement of some sick, twisted alien overlords?”
“Well, not exactly eternity,” Grik’noth said, as if this was some consolation. “You can still die here, you know.”
“Of course I can.”
“Although when I say die, I just mean that your soul will be repurposed for some other task. You may even end up becoming an NPC here in this world! Or, if you’re lucky, some bigwig might sponsor you, which effectively means they own you and can arrange for your Respawning within the game… if they can afford it, which few can.”
Neither option appealed to me much. The only thing I got from that information was that I was fucked. Well and truly fucked.
“I don’t get it,” I sighed. “Why the hell don’t the Overseers just straight torture us damned souls instead of going to all this trouble? Surely they would still get their precious psychic energy with a lot less hassle?”
Grik’noth leaned back in his chair, his expression turning thoughtful. “Ah, that’s a very astute question, Kade. And the answer is actually quite simple—free will.”
I frowned, not quite following. “Free will? What does that have to do with anything?”
“You see,” Grik’noth explained, “the Overseers could certainly just torture souls directly. And in fact, they used to do just that, eons ago. But they quickly discovered that the psychic energy harvested from a soul that’s being tortured against its will is... well, it’s like the difference between a fine, aged whiskey and a cheap, bottom-shelf vodka. It gets the job done, but it’s hardly satisfying.”
He leaned forward, his eyeless sockets somehow boring into me. “But when a soul chooses to engage in the Trials, when they make the decision to fight and struggle and suffer of their own volition... well, that’s when the real magic happens. The psychic energy produced by a soul that’s actively participating in its own damnation is far more potent, far more flavorful, than anything that could be harvested through simple torture.”
I nodded slowly, beginning to understand. “So, it’s like the difference between a free-range chicken and a battery hen, then? The Overseers prefer their suffering to be organic, grass-fed, and ethically sourced?”
Grik’noth let out a barking laugh, slapping his hand on the desk. “Exactly, Kade! You’ve hit the nail on the head. The Overseers are all about that artisanal, craft-brewed misery. None of that mass-produced, factory-farmed despair for them, oh no.”
He settled back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Plus, there’s the added benefit of the Trials acting as a sort of... quality control, if you will. The souls that make it through the Trials, that survive and thrive in the face of unimaginable adversity... those are the cream of the crop. The Overseers keep a close eye on the top performers, always on the lookout for potential recruits to join their ranks.”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Wait, so you’re telling me that the Overseers actually recruit damned souls to work for them?”
Grik’noth nodded, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Oh, absolutely. It’s a very exclusive club, of course. Only the best of the best are even considered. But for those lucky few who do catch the Overseers’ eye... well, let’s just say that the benefits package is out of this world. Literally.”
I sat back in my chair, my mind reeling with this new information. So, not only was I stuck in this eternal game show from hell, but I was also essentially auditioning for a job with the very beings responsible for my damnation? It was almost too absurd to comprehend.