They woke choking.
Dust burned their throats. Air scraped their lungs like it didn't belong in any living place. Stone pressed cold and unforgiving against bare skin, stretching endlessly in every direction—a black obsidian plain cracked with faint red veins that pulsed slowly, like something massive breathing beneath it.
Three thousand people lay scattered across it.
Screams came first. Then crying. Then vomiting. Some prayed out loud. Others laughed—high, brittle sounds already breaking at the edges. A few tried to stand and fell back down, legs shaking, minds lagging behind terror.
Caelum rose slowly.
His palms scraped stone as he pushed himself upright. The ground was warm. Not heat—body warmth. Like a pulse beneath skin. His heart hammered, not from panic, but from recognition. This pressure in the air. This weight behind the eyes.
Like being watched by something that had already decided.
Then the sound came.
Not a voice.
A force.
The air itself screamed.
It punched through skulls and rattled bone. People dropped instantly, hands clamped over their ears. Blood leaked from noses, mouths, eyes. Teeth cracked. Someone nearby collapsed, convulsing, foam bubbling from their lips.
Caelum hit one knee, vision blurring, every nerve vibrating.
And above them—
The darkness moved.
Not all of it. Never all of it.
A face emerged from the black sky. Enormous. Close. Too close. Only the front visible—cheeks stretched tight, lips peeled back, teeth packed far too close together. Human in shape. Wrong in number.
The rest of the head vanished into shadow.
The mouth opened wider than anatomy allowed.
"WAKE UP."
The word shattered across the floor.
Several people screamed themselves hoarse. One man laughed until he began choking on his own blood.
"WAKE UP, YOU WORTHLESS FUCKS," the voice roared, laughing through the words. "YOU REALLY THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD? YOU THOUGHT IT WAS OVER?"
The teeth glistened wetly.
"I LOVE THAT PART," it continued. "THE LOOK ON YOUR FACES WHEN YOU REALIZE YOU'RE STILL ACCOUNTABLE."
The mouth stretched into something that might've been a grin.
"ALL OF YOU SINNED," the voice boomed. "SOME OF YOU FUCKED UP SO BADLY HELL WAS INSULTED IT DIDN'T GET YOU SOONER."
Someone sobbed loudly. Someone else screamed for their mother.
"YOU SHOULD BE DEAD," the voice said cheerfully. "TORN APART. FED BACK INTO THE DARK A PIECE AT A TIME."
A pause.
Then—
"BUT."
The single word crushed hope and lifted it in the same breath.
"WE'RE GENEROUS."
Confusion rippled through the crowd.
"IF YOU MAKE IT OUT OF HELL," the voice said, slower now, savoring it, "YOU GET A WISH."
The mouth clicked softly.
"ANYTHING. GODHOOD. IMMORTALITY. A NEW WORLD. TIME REWRITTEN. A LIFE WITHOUT CONSEQUENCES."
Laughter rolled through the sky.
"RIGHT NOW, YOU'RE AT THE VERY TOP OF HELL," it continued. "MOST OF YOU BELONG AT THE BOTTOM."
Murmurs spread. Panic. Rage.
"YOU WILL DESCEND," the voice said. "SIX HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIX FLOORS. EACH ONE BIGGER THAN THE LAST. EACH ONE MEANER."
The teeth shifted.
"PUZZLES. TRIALS. HUNTS. BOSSES. OTHER PEOPLE WHO WANT YOU DEAD."
A chuckle.
"EACH FLOOR HAS RULES. BREAK THEM, AND THE FLOOR WILL BREAK YOU."
The mouth leaned closer.
"THERE IS ONLY ONE WAY DOWN. A HELL DOOR. SKULLS ABOVE IT TELL YOU HOW BAD IT'S GOING TO FUCK YOU."
Laughter again—wet, delighted.
"COLORS MEAN SOMETHING TOO. YOU'LL FIGURE THAT OUT WHEN IT'S TOO LATE."
The crowd trembled.
"YOU DON'T GET WEAPONS YET," the voice said brightly. "YOU DON'T GET ARMOR. YOU DON'T GET MERCY."
A ripple of horror spread.
"YOU KILL," the voice whispered. "WITH YOUR HANDS. WITH DESPERATION. WITH INTENT."
The darkness pulsed.
"WHEN YOU DO, HELL WILL NOTICE."
The mouth smiled wider.
"THAT'S WHEN YOUR WEAPON FALLS."
The teeth ground together.
"AND WHEN YOU TAKE IT—WHEN IT CHOOSES YOU—YOUR MARK WILL APPEAR."
A pause. A grin.
"IT'S GOING TO HURT."
Someone in the crowd snapped.
"This is bullshit!" a man shouted, stepping forward. "You think you can just—this isn't real! You're not real!"
The sky went quiet.
THE WARDEN tilted its head.
"Oh," it said softly. "YOU INTERRUPTED ME."
The darkness reached down.
No arm at first. Just shadow condensing into fingers longer than buildings, joints bending wrong, skin like stretched night.
The man didn't have time to run.
The hand closed around him.
He screamed once before the grip tightened.
THE WARDEN lifted him into the air.
"LET'S MAKE THIS CLEAR," it said pleasantly.
The fingers pulled.
Slowly.
Skin tore with a wet, ripping sound. The scream became something animal, bubbling, breaking. His ribcage split open as shadow pried him apart, organs stretching before spilling free.
Lungs collapsed when they hit the stone. Intestines slapped wetly across the floor. Blood rained down, splashing shoes, soaking hair.
People vomited. Screamed. Fainted.
THE WARDEN held the two halves apart.
"THIS," it said calmly, "IS AN INTERRUPTION."
The pieces dropped.
Silence crushed the floor.
THE WARDEN leaned closer, teeth filling the sky.
"YOU WILL EARN THE RIGHT TO DESCEND," it said. "YOU WILL EARN THE RIGHT TO STEEL."
The mouth curled.
"NOW," it finished, "GET TO WORK."
The face vanished.
The sky sealed.
And three thousand people stood in Hell—
Unarmed.
Surrounded by blood.
Knowing exactly what came next.
Caelum swallowed.
Somewhere nearby, someone began to cry.
And somewhere else—
Someone smiled.