They stepped into the tent, and the entrance sealed itself behind them like the jaws of a beast. Inside, the space stretched impossibly outward, folding into a labyrinth that should not have existed. Corridors bent and twisted, blooming like rotten flowers in the shadows.
The first thing struck them: sound. Screams ricocheted, raw agony blurring into sobs, sobs warping into laughter that cracked the mind. Sylphia clutched Sammail's sleeve, trembling with each echo.
Trainers whipped those who resisted. Guards hovered over the weak. At every turn, the horror deepened.
A mother cradled her child, both drenched in blood and bile. Men missing eyes or limbs were dragged toward pits where unseen beasts waited. Devils lay shattered on the floor, regeneration failing under torture meant to erase the concept of healing.
And this was only the threshold.
"These are the failures," the merchant said gently. "Those who lost wagers. Lost battles. Lost themselves."
Sammail's face remained unreadable, though a flicker of disgust passed through his eyes.
Sylphia leaned closer, her voice small and cracking."Can't we… help them?"
"Why should we?" Sammail replied.
Shame pressed her gaze to the floor.
At the end of the corridor, a vast door loomed—its surface stained with dried white blood, luminous even in shadow. Angel blood.
The merchant bowed."Have you enjoyed yourself, my lord?"
Sammail smiled, but the smile had teeth."Most certainly."
Sylphia took a step back. Something in her shifted—sharp, cautious.
"Has any slave caught your interest?" the merchant asked.
"No." Sammail brushed past him. "I want what's behind the door."
The merchant's smile widened."Then allow me to present the lowest chamber in Hell, designed by your mother: the Dark Room."
The name struck Sammail like a blade. He muttered, "What…"
His breath hitched. Muscles tensed. His eyes glowed with a fire beyond anger. He clenched his fists until his nails tore into his palms, blood sliding across skin.
The door opened.
Inside, angels hung from hooks hammered through bone. Wings shredded. Bodies twisted into grotesque parodies of divinity. Children strained against chains heavier than their frames. Crucified men stared into the suffering of their families, forced to witness every moment.
Beneath a throne carved from broken halos, a man laughed while violating a woman too broken to scream.
Sylphia fell to her knees and vomited.
Sammail stood still, rage coiling in his chest like a storm trapped in glass. His voice cracked into a whisper."The Dark Room…"
The Judge rose from his throne—tall, pale, sculpted like carved stone. One eye glowed red, the other blue, opposing verdicts burning in the same skull. He cast the woman aside as though she were paper.
"Welcome, Lord Corruption," he said softly. "But why so angry?"
Sammail swallowed the rage clawing upward."Angry? I'm merely disgusted."
The Judge stepped closer, unhurried, confident, unashamed."Then come inside."
Sylphia's voice cracked."Sammail… don't."
He didn't look at her. Instead, he stared at the ground—the blood, the chains, the dust of wings. Nails pressed deeper into torn flesh.
"Who named this place?"
The Judge tilted his head."Speak clearly, child. I cannot hear whispers."
Sammail lifted his head, meeting the Judge's gaze. Eyes blazing."Who named it?"
The Judge laughed."Queen Lilith. Your mother."
The words snapped something inside him. Thoughts twisted, tangled, broke. Horns split through his skull, blood sliding over white hair.
"And you?" Sammail rasped. "Who are you?"
The Judge bowed."I am the Judge of the Underworld. Principle of Corruption."
Sammail's gaze flicked to a child suspended from chains, wrists shredded, eyes hollow. A mirror of himself, carved from memory and agony."Quite the judge," he murmured.
The Judge extended a hand."Come."
A heartbeat passed. Then his hand fell, severed at the wrist, swallowed by darkness before hitting the floor.
Sammail stepped forward. Voice low, sharp."Do not touch me, filth."
The Judge stared, stunned. Flesh reknit itself in an instant.
"You knew these horrors existed. You knew the nature of the Underworld. So why come here, my lord?"
Sammail turned to the merchant, a quiet cruelty on his lips."I came to take a human heart for the girl crying in the corner. Nothing more."
The merchant trembled, voice breaking."M-my lord, I can bring a fresh slave—"
"There's one here already."
A hole opened in the merchant's chest, darkness spreading like rot."Why?" he gasped.
Sammail caught the heart gently."Because she needs it."
He turned to leave, but a voice whispered from above.
The chained child stared at him, eyes hollow, burning."Kill… the Judge…"
Sammail lowered himself to meet the boy's gaze—not pity, not cruelty, but recognition."Why don't you do it instead?" he murmured.
He pressed his darkened nails into the child's abdomen. Power surged, corruption blooming within the small frame. The scream that followed was no longer human, no longer angelic.
Sylphia covered her mouth, trembling. The horror of the Dark Room was unbearable—but what terrified her most was Sammail: his indifference, his precision, his quiet malice. Killing the merchant was logical. This… this gift of corruption was something else entirely.
Before she could speak, the chamber darkened further. Souls screamed louder.
The Judge stepped forward, blocking the exit. Eyes burned with verdicts already delivered."You cannot leave. A crime has been committed. And it must be judged."
From the shadows, a clown laughed quietly, amusement glittering in his eyes."The trial is near." the jester ...