"And everyone… everyone shows their true form… their sinful form."
She voiced it softly, like a confession she had rehearsed for centuries.
Atlas wasn't unnerved. Not yet. Just what could possibly happen in the so-called night time of hell? He'd been told stories—most of them exaggerated.
The kind of tales people tell to frighten new arrivals or entertain themselves with visions of exaggerated horror.
He leaned back slightly, one hand resting on his knee, letting his breath slow as if preparing for a show he'd already paid for.
Then—
DOOM!
The door slammed open. The sound didn't just hit the room, it cracked through the air like the world itself was kicking down its own hinges.
A cluster of bodies spilled inward, like sacks of wet meat. The smell came with them—fresh iron, copper, rot hidden underneath. They hit the floor in grotesque poses, necks bent too far back, eyes still half-open as if the last thing they'd seen had been too confusing to understand.
Behind them—
