The air was heavy with despair, a suffocating shroud that wrapped itself around the newly arrived soul. It drifted, weightless and formless, caught in a current that pulled it ever downward through a void of blackened crimson. This was the beginning, the first step into the infernal realms—an introduction to the eternity that awaited.
As the soul crossed the threshold into hell, the void gave way to a landscape both alien and horrifyingly familiar. Limbo stretched out in every direction, a desolate plain under a sky of ashen gray. No sun hung above to offer warmth or clarity, only an oppressive canopy of swirling mist, lit faintly by a pale, sourceless glow. The ground below was cracked and barren, its surface resembling the remnants of a once-thriving world scorched to ruin. Rivers of stagnant water wove sluggish paths through the desolation, their surfaces marred with reflections that whispered and writhed, showing glimpses of the life the soul had left behind.
Limbo was quiet but not silent. The air was alive with an ever-present murmur, a chorus of sighs and whispers that rose and fell like a mournful tide. It was the sound of countless souls, each caught in an eternal suspension, their voices mingling in a symphony of regret and longing. Here, there were no screams, no wails of torment; this was a place of muted sorrow, a waiting room for those denied both salvation and damnation.
Figures emerged from the mist, shadowy forms wandering aimlessly through the endless gray. They moved with no purpose, their expressions vacant, their eyes reflecting the hollowness of their existence. These were the souls consigned to Limbo, not for deeds of evil but for lives of insignificance or uncertainty. Philosophers, poets, and innocents who had lived before salvation—all shared this space, forever separated from both paradise and the torments deeper below.
Amid this gray monotony stood the remnants of grandeur: colossal ruins of marble and stone, monuments to civilizations long forgotten. Towering pillars reached skyward, their surfaces etched with inscriptions in languages no mortal could now remember. These relics were the only semblance of structure in Limbo, a testament to the faded brilliance of those who now lingered here.
As the soul floated forward, drawn by an unseen force, a figure stepped from the shadows, clad in flowing robes that seemed woven from the mist itself. The guide—a spectral entity neither alive nor dead—regarded the newcomer with an unreadable expression. Its voice, when it spoke, was soft yet commanding, carrying the weight of ages.
“Welcome to Limbo, the First Circle of Hell,” the guide said, its words echoing in the vast emptiness. “Here dwell those who, though blameless, are forsaken. Beyond this realm lie the circles of fire and fury, but here, there is only the eternal ache of what might have been.”
The soul quivered, its formless essence trembling as the weight of eternity pressed down upon it. The guide extended a hand, and though it touched nothing, the gesture conveyed both comfort and inevitability.
“Come,” the guide continued, leading the soul deeper into the gray expanse. “You are but the first step in a journey few can fathom. Yet even here, in the stillness of Limbo, lies the beginning of an understanding.”
The soul quivered, its formless essence trembling as the weight of eternity pressed down upon it. The guide extended a hand, and though it touched nothing, the gesture conveyed both comfort and inevitability.
“Come,” the guide continued, leading the soul deeper into the gray expanse. “You are but the first step in a journey few can fathom. Yet even here, in the stillness of Limbo, lies the beginning of an understanding.”
As they walked, the guide began to speak again, this time with an ominous tone. “Hell is divided into nine circles, each a reflection of human sin and suffering. You stand now in Limbo, where the unbaptized and the virtuous pagans dwell. Beyond this place lies Lust, a realm of tempestuous winds that buffet souls who surrendered to carnal desires. Then comes Gluttony, a pit of vile slush where the greedy and self-indulgent wallow for eternity. Greed follows, where the avaricious clash in endless conflict over treasures they can no longer possess.”
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
The guide’s voice deepened, as if burdened by the weight of its words. “Anger is next, a boiling river where the wrathful fight and the sullen sink beneath its surface. Then Heresy, where flames engulf those who dared defy divine doctrine. Violence comes after, divided into three cruel rings—for those who harmed others, themselves, or God’s creation. Fraud follows, a maze of deceit where liars, cheats, and betrayers are tormented. And last is Treachery, the frozen abyss where traitors to kin, country, and benefactor are imprisoned in ice, unable to move as the icy winds of betrayal scour their souls.”
The soul faltered, as if the weight of these revelations was too much to bear. But the guide’s voice did not waver. “You were not chosen for Limbo,” it said, its gaze piercing. “You are destined for a place deeper in the circles. Already, your deeds cry out for judgment.”
A sudden image flared before the soul’s consciousness, sharp and vivid as if torn from the past. A single mother, her face streaked with tears, stared at a screen displaying an empty bank account. Her hands trembled as she clutched her child close, despair etched into every line of her face. The memory was undeniable. The soul’s past self—a scammer—had drained her life savings with a false promise of hope, leaving her and her child destitute.
The guide’s eyes darkened, reflecting the same scene. “This is but one moment of your life, but it speaks volumes. Prepare yourself, for the circle awaiting you will demand penance beyond imagining.”
As the soul quivered in silent horror, the mists shifted once more, revealing the path ahead. And so the journey continued, deeper into the inferno where judgment and torment awaited.
The journey through the circles of Hell unfolded with a dreadful inevitability. Time became meaningless as the guide led the soul past the realms of Lust, Gluttony, Greed, and Anger, each more harrowing than the last. Now, the guide brought the soul to the Eighth Circle: Fraud.
Here, the air was thick with acrid smoke and the pungent stench of corruption. The ground beneath was jagged and uneven, a vast, labyrinthine expanse of stone and darkness. Chasms split the earth into trenches filled with writhing souls, each punished according to their deceit. The screams here were shrill and unrelenting, carried on winds that seemed to mock the suffering they bore.
The guide stopped at the edge of a yawning chasm, gesturing to the horrors below. “This is the Eighth Circle,” the guide intoned, its voice filled with grim authority. “Here lie the souls of deceivers: flatterers, false prophets, and betrayers of trust. They writhe in their own duplicity, trapped in an eternal cycle of torment that reflects the lies they spun in life.”
The soul hesitated, drawn to the sight of one trench where sinners clawed at each other, their bodies contorting into grotesque forms as they were consumed by their own falsehoods. The guide’s voice interrupted the soul’s thoughts. “Your deeds cry out to this place. You robbed a woman of her hope, her future, and her child’s safety. It is here that your penance begins.”
But before the guide could continue, the ground shuddered violently. A deafening roar echoed through the circle, followed by the sound of splintering stone. The dark sky above cracked, and a blinding crimson light poured through the fissures. Demons, monsters, and countless other twisted forms erupted into chaos, their screams filling the air. What seemed like a rebellion had begun, shaking the very foundations of Hell itself.
The guide’s expression darkened as it turned to the soul. “This was not foretold,” it murmured. “Stay close, for even I cannot guarantee your safety in this chaos.”
The trenches of the Eighth Circle erupted into pandemonium as demons and condemned souls alike scrambled to escape the upheaval. Fires erupted from the ground, and the acrid smoke thickened, obscuring the battlefield of chaos and revolt. In the distance, monstrous figures clashed, their roars reverberating like thunder.
The soul clung to the guide, its essence trembling with fear and uncertainty. For the first time since its descent, it felt something beyond despair: a flicker of hope, however fragile, born from the chaos. If Hell itself could rebel, perhaps fate was not so immutable after all.
“Move,” the guide commanded, its tone sharp and urgent. “We must find sanctuary before this madness consumes us both.”
And so, amidst the rebellion of Hell, the journey through the infernal realms took an unexpected turn, with both guide and soul forced into a perilous race against the unthinkable.