Hell is a myth purveyed by the faithful. That is to say, their concept of Hell is a myth. Regretful I am to inform that Hell does exist, but it is much closer to the purgatorial walk we all know as existence. Move aside something too far, scratch just a bit deeper to satiate that itch, and there you’ll find it, a leaking raw seam; a gateway. Hell is very much alive to those in search of it.

And in that final circle, where all was frozen, our breath left our lungs in broken sheets. Hues of blue hung foreboding about the cavern. A fog of charcoal masked an endless space. Our lights did little work in cutting into its vast depth. On the descent to this level, we realized the bounced glare of the blaze above would penetrate only so far. An uneasy reliance on lamps would have to suffice our vision the rest of the way.

Too quickly the temperatures shifted with each passing step down. Awash with flesh, the staircase was caked with human detritus like melting snow. Our feet had grown sticky in nameless remains. How many souls this unfortunate were to be littered like this… In the stairs’ joint collected a random assemblage of teeth, like so much dirt or common litter on a street. We walked to a depth where the cold seemed to be a preventing force. At once the stairs broke and a flat expanse yawned forth. The lot of us stood there with no real way to comprehend the next move. Surely yes a staircase down would present a new level, but this one lacked something the others had: visibility.

Without proper light it was impossible to guess how far down the tunnel went. A hollow gale ricocheted in the distance, though what produced it was anyone’s guess. At this point however, nobody wanted to… Having seen what we had on the decks above, we knew that anything could have produced the sound and that it was likely better not to see it, if we didn’t have to.

In the way God may have created the wonders of the universe in creative passion, Lucifer had as much desire to cultivate the unspeakable for his own Nod, and we three stood in his roiling gut of creation.


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