Qing knelt on the jagged peak, his eyes wide with horror at the scene before him. An endless sea of ice stretched to the horizon, its surface a shattered mirror reflecting countless distorted figures. The air vibrated with a cacophony of wails and laments, each cry scratching through his ears and into his soul like shards of frozen glass. The stench of despair and regret assaulted his nostrils, making him gag. Beneath his fingers, the rock pulsed with an unsettling rhythm, as if the very mountain were alive and suffering.

He tried to turn away, but his gaze was glued to the countless versions of himself entombed in the ice. There were no doubt. It was his own face. A hundred versions, all frozen in various expressions of anguish, triumph, and despair. Some reached out in silent pleas, others were locked in combat with unseen foes. When he looked closer at one, it started moved, like a scene from a movie, and he felt himself drawn in, seeing not only himself from outside, but what was going on around it…himself. He looked from version to version, stomach churning as he recognised faces and places from Earth and Elrydisan both.

The weight of Hell pressed down on him, mind reeling from the onslaught of sensory input. He felt drained, both physically and emotionally, as if the very air were leeching the life from his body.

Qing's face contorted, mirroring the torment he witnessed. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, his jaw clenched against the scream building in his throat.

Utterly hopeless, Qing whispered to the uncaring void, "What the hell is this place?"

To his shock, a gentle voice answered, "It is a mirror, Champion, reflecting the weight of every choice you have made, every consequence, every life lost. And it is many. This is the price of power, the price of freedom, the price of defiance against the will of Heaven."

Qing's body reacted before his mind could process the voice. In a heartbeat, he activated his Magic Shield, feeling the familiar drain on his mana as an invisible barrier shimmered into existence around him. Without missing a beat, he cast Aegis, reinforcing his defences with a second layer of protection, as he blinked, teleporting a short distance away. The world around him slowed to a crawl as he cast Chrono Shift, buying himself precious seconds to assess the threat. His glaive whirled through the air in defensive arcs, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

As the effects of Chrono Shift settled, Qing's eyes locked onto a figure standing right where he had been sitting moments ago, seeming completely unaffected by his spell as it turned and gave him a wave.

The being before him was unlike anything he had encountered in Hell thus far. Alabaster skin, crisscrossed with golden scars that shifted, pulsing. Qing's eyes kept sliding off its face, unable to settle. In one moment it had a thousand wrinkles, making his grandma look twenty by comparison, but in the next instant it was smoother than an airbrushed influencer. Qing settled for staring into its eyes, and found himself gritting his teeth as his mind struggled. Was it an ancient sage or an ageless youth?

"Who the hell are you?" Qing said.

The figure stepped closer, its movement fluid and graceful. "Relax, friend. I am no demon. I am the angel, Raphael."

Qing's grip tightened on his glaive. "Friend? Angel's haven't exactly seemed friendly so far."

"Oh, that's just Seraphina," Raphael said, waving a hand. "It is so dramatic. So impatient. No, I represent those of us who believe in humankind. Those who see them as holy. Worthy not only of life, but happiness."

Qing's eyes narrowed as he studied the angel before him. His mind raced, weighing the situation.

Another bloody angel. Just what I need.

Qing's grip on his glaive remained firm, and he mentally prepared to cast Magic Missiles.

But if there are angels who would be our allies…

"I understand your skepticism," Raphael said, extending a hand, the light around it gentle and calming. "How ever to overcome such lack of trust? Mhm? Gifts may be a start, no?" It put a hand to its mouth, as if whispering a secret. "You know, there is a way through the barrier."

Qing's ears pricked up at this, but he kept his face impassive. Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his glaive, though he kept his spells active. "How?"

Raphael smiled, like the world's oldest grandparent, who has killed and tortured enemies, but now seems friendly, because that was in a war long ago, and you are its favourite grandchild. "There is always a way, Champion, but not all paths lead to the same end. You know, Seraphina is the strongest among us, the most powerful, and she is not alone. We cannot confront her directly."

"Will you help us or not?" Qing asked.

"Yes," Raphael replied. "And I shall start by answering your question."

"Oh? Good."

"This place is called the Howling Expanse," Raphael said, and shook its head and sighed.

Qing turned to look at the endless expanse of ice.

Those who think hell is hot have never been truly frozen.

The wails and laments seemed to grow louder, more insistent wherever he looked, like a dolby surround system, straight to his ears, begging for his attention. One version of himself reached out, its face contorted in a silent scream. Another seemed to be fighting an unseen enemy, its movements jerky and desperate as it bled from its missing nose.

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"And what is its purpose?" Qing asked, forcing his gaze away.

"Endless suffering, for one. Here, the souls of the damned are forced to confront the consequences of their choices, the weight of their regrets. Have you ever tortured yourself, asking 'what ifs' and 'if only'? This is where doomed souls go to be tormented with the endless pain of choices made, and choices they didn't have the courage, or wisdom, to make."

"But why do I see myself here?"

"You are in hell, are you not?"

Qing felt a chill run down his spine, the weight of his own choices pressing down on him like an oppressive, invisible burden. He thought of Earth, of his sister, of all the people he'd left behind in Elrydisan, each memory a sharp pang in his chest. As he stood there, frozen in contemplation, the icy landscape before him shimmered and shifted, revealing a haunting vision of what could have been.

In this ethereal scene, Qing saw himself as a dedicated medical student, pouring over textbooks and spending countless hours in laboratories, his passion for cancer research driving him forward. Years passed in a blur, and suddenly he was standing in a hospital corridor, clad in a white coat, his face etched with determination and hope. The door opened, and out stepped his sister, her face radiant with health and joy. She skipped along beside him, her hand in his, as they made their way towards the hospital exit. There, waiting with proud, tear-filled eyes, stood his parents, their faces a mixture of relief and admiration.

But right as she was about to cross the threshold and leave, restarting her healthy life, the world froze. Only Qing could move. He grabbed his little sister by the hand and desperately pulled her towards the hospital doors.

But she wouldn't move.

She couldn't.

Because this wasn't real.

He hadn’t made those choices. He’d spent his college days gaming instead. Bingeing tv shows and movies. Eating pizza and…

His chest tightened as sorrow squashed any happiness, followed by despair.

"No! It's right there!" He tried lifting her, but he might as well be lifting the world. "Meimei! Come on!"

Finally, he sank to his knees, and cried. And as he did, a piece of him broke. He could have done this. If only he'd been a better student. If only he had listened to his parents and become a doctor. If only…

Reality ripped, like a corrupted video file, and he found himself back on the Howling Expanse, kneeling, bleeding fingers scratching at his metal chestplate, trying to get to his skin. To scratch. To feel. Anything but regret. Shame.

Hot tears streamed down his face. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but the tears continued to fall.

The angel continued as if nothing had happened, its voice taking on a more urgent tone, "It is also one of hell's power sources. There is a path, beyond the expanse. There you may weaken the energy drain, perhaps even sever it entirely."

With several deep breaths, Qing schooled his feelings. This was all Rufus' fault. If that bastard hadn't kidnapped Cleo…

Anger replaced guilt, and he stood.

"What's there," he asked.

"Don't know."

"You're an angel. How can you not know?"

"Never been."

"Can't you just fly over and have a look? Or, you know, just stop the energy drain yourself?"

Raphael chuckled. "How many regrets and 'what ifs' await you on the journey across? Imagine having lived for aeons. The things I have done. The thing's I didn't do." The angel shivered. "Oh no, nothing will ever get me to set even a toe into that freezing hell."

"Hasn't anyone ever tried?"

"I'm sure they have, but if so, they never made it back."

"Then why are you telling me to go!"

Raphael turned and fixed Qing with an icy stare. "You are the one invading this abyss, hellbent on defeating its denizens and trapping its ruler. If you are not willing to face yourself, how could you ever face them?"

"Oh."

Qing shifted uncomfortably, staring across.

"Any advice for me? About how to succeed in my quest?"

"Speed and power."

Now he sounds like GG.

"I meant more specific. Demons have any weaknesses here? An armoury of divine weapons and armour I could raid? A contingent of souls to be freed, eager to join my fight against the dark powers?"

"I will make you a deal."

"Go on."

"You make it back from here, having reduced hell's infernal drain, and I will tell you where you might find the Hellforge."

"What's that?"

"It's a big and ugly forge."

"Really?"

"Yes." The angel smiled. "Just a bit of levity to boost your spirit before you throw yourself into insanity."

"Oh. Thanks."

"The Hellforge is no armoury, but you may create or upgrade your gear. The cost, however, is steep."

"In which currency?"

"Clever. Maybe there is hope for you."

"Will you tell me?"

"No point yet. Focus on the task at hand. Additional currency is unobtainable. You will either afford its price or you will not."

"Could you be any more cryptic?"

"Would you like me to?"

"No." Qing sighed. "Sorry. I thank you for your help, angel Raphael. It's just…"

"I understand. And take heart in this. You will be remembered. At least for a while." Then it spun, like an out of control washing machine's inside, colours blurring, until, with a pop, it disappeared.

It never did tell me how to take down the barrier.

Then Qing steeled himself and turned to once again look across the icy fields. Had the angel spoken true, and there was a way to weaken hell's influence?

"It sure would be good with a quest update right about now," Qing said, careful not to let his gaze settle on any of the figures trapped in ice. It was a bit like walking through downtown Chicago while avoiding making connecting eye contact with anyone who wanted something from you.

The trick seemed to be uncaring. Or at least pretending to be. Let his gaze just glide over them. He tried to look up, but the ice was mirrored above. All he accomplished was a sense of vertigo, and freaking himself out even further.

So he looked out at the endless sea of ice, each trapped figure beneath a reminder of choices made and unmade.

Should I go back? Tell them about this?

But as quickly as the thought came, he dismissed it.

What would be the point. I'm still right. They can't move nearly as fast as me. All they'll do is slow me down, and then we'll be more people facing this…hell.

Taking a deep breath, Qing steeled himself.

"I should be across this ice in no time," he muttered.

With a final glance back down at the black flatland stretched out behind him and its relative safety, Qing stepped onto the ice.

A cold more intense than anything he had ever experienced seared through his boots, biting into his flesh. It was as if he waded into liquid nitrogen, but somehow avoided being frozen. The cold was there, searing his nerves, and he cried out in pain. His breath forming crystals in the air before him. Every instinct screamed at him to retreat, to flee. But he gritted his teeth, and grappled the pain down. He had faced demons, survived battles, and defied angels.

He could handle a bit of cold.

Qing blinked forward, covering ground in rapid bursts, refusing to let his gaze linger on the trapped figures around him.

Until a figure he'd never thought to see again caught his eye.