Dante reacted swiftly, like a startled cat, leaping off the ladder with surprising agility. The landing, however, was far less graceful—his foot hit the ground at an awkward angle, and a sharp crack echoed through his body. His left leg was broken. Biting down hard, he stifled a scream, forcing himself upright despite the searing pain. His rusty machete was already in his hands, held defensively against his chest.
A low, eerie chuckle echoed in the darkness, sending chills down his spine. It was Bidenson.
“Haha… haha… hahahaha…” The laughter bounced off unseen walls, omnipresent and disorienting.
Dante’s eyes darted around, desperately searching for any sign of the guards. But the oppressive darkness revealed nothing. He considered yelling for help, hoping to draw their attention, but before he could, Bidenson’s voice slithered through the void.
“They can’t help you. No one can. Accept your fate.”
“Oh yeah?” Dante replied, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. Slowly, he began to move, each step deliberate and measured. “And what exactly is my fate?”
“To be devoured… to become one of the children of the great Mother of the Black Goat,” Bidenson declared, his tone filled with fervent devotion. “Just as I have.”
Dante’s grip on the machete tightened. “You think you can get away from the Enforcer’s watchful eyes? Let me make this clear—they sent me here to observe you. If anything happens to me, you won’t make it out alive.”
Bidenson’s laughter faltered, a faint crack in his confidence. “Is that so?” he asked, his tone shifting slightly. “Those creatures are bound by the prison’s rules. Without evidence, they are powerless.”
Dante smirked, though every step sent pain shooting through his leg. “You sure about that? What makes you think I can’t leave them a little… proof?”
“You’re bluffing,” Bidenson hissed, venom lacing his voice. “My actions are flawless. No trace will be left behind. My mother’s wisdom ensures my safety as I offer her another soul.”
The words sent a chill down Dante’s spine. Whoever—or whatever—this “Black Goat” was, it didn’t matter. One thing was clear: if he didn’t fight back, he was going to die.
“Well, if you’re so sure of yourself, then why haven’t you made your move?” Dante said, his tone growing sharper. He was nearing his destination. He just needed a little more time.
“Enough talk,” Bidenson snapped, his voice dripping with menace. “You think I don’t see what you’re trying to do? I see through your games.”
Dante didn’t hesitate. Ignoring the fiery pain in his leg, he broke into a limping sprint toward a faintly glowing red pillar—the only hope he had left.
“Hahahaha! Run, Dante, run! The more you struggle, the sweeter your soul will taste! The greater my offering to Mother will be!” Bidenson’s voice grew frenzied, the excitement resonating through the shadows.
Dante didn’t respond. Reaching the pillar, he squinted at the faint, pulsating glow, his trembling hands grasping a large yellow lever at its base. Without hesitation, he pulled it down.
Nothing happened.
“Fuck!” Dante cursed, his voice echoing in the empty void. “Why now, of all times?!”
“It’s time,” Bidenson whispered, his voice now unbearably close. “Don’t worry, Dante. You’ll be reborn as one of Mother’s beloved children.”
“Fuck that!” Dante roared, spinning around and gripping the machete tightly. His eyes scanned the darkness, desperately searching for any sign of his enemy.
Before Dante could react further, a searing pain tore through his entire body. It felt as if an unseen force was ripping him apart from the inside, pulling at something deeper than flesh. His muscles seized, his head snapped backward unnaturally, and his eyes rolled into his skull. Every nerve screamed in agony as though thousands of razor-sharp blades were slicing him from within.
From the oppressive shadows, Bidenson finally emerged. His form was grotesque, warped beyond recognition. His mouth had stretched to an impossible width, a cavernous maw capable of devouring a person whole. The faint glow that had once illuminated his eyes was gone, replaced by bottomless pits of black. In the dim light emanating from Dante’s soul, Bidenson’s horrifying transformation became disturbingly clear.
Dante’s very essence—his soul—was being torn from his body, its faint luminescence casting eerie shadows. Bidenson’s gaping mouth widened further, his body trembling with anticipation. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice trembling with ecstatic reverence. “Yes! The offering is mine!”
But as Dante’s soul began to slip free, something unexpected occurred. Alongside his essence came another presence, something cold and unknowable. It was an entity of pure wrongness, defying description—a swirling void of madness and despair. Even as Dante hovered on the brink of unconsciousness, his body convulsed in reaction to the alien force clinging to him.
Bidenson froze.
The giddy excitement that had consumed him was replaced by raw, unbridled terror. Every instinct screamed at him to flee, yet his body refused to move. He stood rooted in place, his limbs locked as he stared at the incomprehensible form emerging from Dante’s soul. The primal, gut-wrenching fear paralyzed him completely.
“No…” Bidenson whispered, his voice barely audible over the thundering of Dante’s heartbeat. “No, it can’t be…”
He tried to scream, but no sound escaped his lips. His jaw began to stretch further—not willingly, but by some unseen force. It opened wider and wider, the sound of bones cracking and snapping echoing through the darkness. His upper jaw peeled back grotesquely, exposing his throat in a horrifying display.
The entity drew closer. Its oppressive presence filled the space, suffocating and inescapable. As it reached Bidenson, it uttered words in a language incomprehensible to mortal minds—syllables that clawed at the fabric of sanity itself.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Mine… Your soul is.”
The prison’s loudspeakers crackled to life, their distorted, monotone announcement piercing the tension.
“C-98 prisoners, do not leave your workstations. The energy transfer chain will resume shortly. Remain in position and await further instructions from the guards.”
The message repeated three times before fading into silence. Slowly, the crimson lights illuminating the grotesque space flickered back on, casting the pulsating machinery and oozing flesh in a sinister glow. The unnatural silence was broken by the rhythmic thudding and squelching of the engine’s components.
Dante groaned, his head pounding with a dull, throbbing ache. His vision blurred as he struggled to focus. For a fleeting moment, he wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead.
“I… I’m alive?” he croaked, his voice hoarse and trembling. His body ached with every movement, and his broken leg screamed in protest. Drawing on every ounce of strength, he pushed himself into a sitting position.
The sight that greeted him made his stomach churn.
Bidenson’s body—what was left of it—was sprawled across the ground in a grotesque heap. His form was a ruin, twisted and broken beyond recognition. The once-gaping maw that had been his face now stretched hideously across what remained of his neck. His chest was torn open, exposing dark, pulsing organs. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burnt flesh.
“Holy shit!” Dante exclaimed, scrambling backward as nausea threatened to overtake him. His breath came in shallow, panicked gasps. “What the hell happened to him?!”
The heavy, deliberate footsteps of the puppet guards interrupted his shock. Emerging from the shadows, their lifeless wooden faces scanned the area with mechanical precision.
One of the guards, marked as a higher-ranking officer by its more ornate armor, approached Bidenson’s mangled corpse. Without a word, it produced a small, intricately designed box from its side. The device emitted a soft hiss as it opened, and within moments, Bidenson’s remains were sucked inside, vanishing completely.
The officer turned its blank gaze to Dante. Its cold, emotionless voice cut through the air: “Prisoner Dante, you are to be detained and brought before the Judge for interrogation.”
“Wait, what?!” Dante protested, his voice cracking. “I didn’t do anything! He tried to kill me! He—he admitted it—he’s working for some Black Goat thing—”
Before he could finish, another guard raised its baton and struck him hard across the head. The blow was swift and merciless, plunging Dante into darkness once more.
When Dante regained consciousness, he found himself in a room unlike any other he’d seen in the prison. The walls were smooth and pitch-black, gleaming faintly like polished obsidian mirrors. The floor reflected the ceiling’s eerie luminescence, creating the unsettling illusion of infinite space. Though no visible light source was present, the room glowed with a cold, sterile radiance.
He was bound to a chair with heavy iron chains, their rusted edges biting into his wrists and ankles. In front of him sat a battered wooden table, its surface stained with dark, unidentifiable marks—blood, or perhaps something worse.
“Yeah,” Dante muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I knew today was going to suck.”
His lament was cut short as the room’s heavy iron door groaned open, its sound echoing ominously. Dante’s breath caught in his throat as a tall, imposing figure stepped into view.
The figure was both captivating and terrifying. A tall woman dressed in a sleek black leather bodysuit stepped through the doorway, her presence commanding the room. Draped over her shoulders was a black-and-gold cape, and atop her head sat a square-brimmed hat—an unsettling twist on a cowboy’s hat, marked by a crimson insignia. The emblem displayed a scale, with a scythe on one side and a shield on the other.
Her face was partially hidden behind a smooth black mask that covered half of her features, leaving the other half visible. The exposed portion revealed a flawless yet emotionless visage—a chilling blend of beauty and cold authority. Her every movement was fluid and deliberate, exuding a sense of control that made Dante’s skin crawl.
This was Corinne Farrel, one of the infamous Judges of the Endless Prison. Her reputation preceded her, whispered about in the hushed conversations of inmates. Rumors claimed her punishments were as unyielding as the void itself.
In this male-dominated prison, the sight of a woman was an anomaly, but Dante found no solace in her presence. A Judge was a Judge, regardless of gender. If anything, the tales suggested female Judges were even harsher than their male counterparts.
The iron door slammed shut behind her with a metallic clang, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink under the weight of her gaze. Her piercing eyes seemed to dissect Dante, laying bare every secret he’d ever harbored.
The silence stretched until Dante, unable to bear it, broke first. His voice was forced into a casual tone, masking his unease. “I’m guessing you’ve heard this one a thousand times, but I’m innocent. You check my file, and you’ll see I’m a model prisoner—good behavior, no fights, never even jaywalked in here.”
Corinne’s cold gaze didn’t waver, but the oppressive silence lifted slightly as her lips curved into a faint, mocking smile. She didn’t respond immediately, instead sliding a chair aside with a swift motion of her boot. With practiced grace, she swept her cape back and sat down, crossing one long leg over the other. Her presence filled the room, and Dante felt smaller than ever.
Corinne finally spoke, her tone clinical, as if reciting from a record. “Dante Cthulu. Origin: Earth-69. Age at imprisonment: 18. Time served: 299 years—five days shy of 300. Performance: exemplary, aside from a minor infraction on your first day. Notable interests: sarcastic remarks, testing limits, and observations of Earth’s primitive music. Violence record: none.”
Her voice dropped, taking on a subtle mockery. “Sexual orientation: likely homosexual.”
“What?!” Dante’s incredulous shout echoed through the room, his expression a mix of disbelief and indignation. “Where the hell did that come from? I’m not gay!”
Corinne tilted her head slightly, her faint smile widening ever so slightly. “Really? Then why is your libido so abysmally low? Humans, as a species, are driven by their primal urges. Even your cellmate, the god of war, displays more demonstrable needs.”
Dante threw up his hands, rattling his chains. “My libido is low, so that makes me gay?!” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Look, I’ve been like this since I was a kid. I can’t help it. But for the record, I had a girlfriend once. Sure, it didn’t last long, but I liked her. That clears me, right? And where’s your evidence I’m into men?”
Corinne’s smirk deepened, a glimmer of amusement flashing in her otherwise detached demeanor. “There isn’t any.”
Realization dawned, and Dante’s face darkened. “Oh, I get it now. You’re messing with me.”
Her laugh was soft, almost melodic, but it carried a sharp edge. “You’re more perceptive than you appear.”
“Well, congrats,” Dante shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You got me. But can we skip the games and get to the point?”
The humor drained from Corinne’s face as she straightened in her chair, her tone shifting to one of pure authority. “Dante Cthulu, you are accused of the murder of inmate Bidenson Lancaster. How do you plead?”
“Not guilty. Definitely not guilty,” Dante said without hesitation, his voice firm and unwavering.
“Good,” Corinne replied, leaning forward slightly. Her hands rested lightly on the table as her piercing gaze bore into him. “Then defend yourself.”
Dante took a steadying breath, choosing his words carefully. “First off, I had no reason to kill him. We had no conflict. Second, I was assigned by an Enforcer to observe him. Killing him would defeat the purpose. And third, I’m human—just a regular mortal. I don’t have the strength to do the kind of damage you saw on him.”
Corinne tilted her head, considering his argument. She gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.
“Reasonable points. But they do not prove your innocence. They merely suggest a lack of motive. Do you have any evidence to support your claim?”
“Shit,” Dante muttered under his breath, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Evidence? What evidence could he possibly provide in a place like this?