Although Damien had been shot dead—and was now suspended in a pitch-black void—he could feel himself… existing.
He couldn't move, speak, or even think clearly, yet he was alive—somewhere, moving.
Then, without warning, a piercing light stabbed into his vision, like a floodlight tearing through thick fog. His full awareness snapped back; he could think, breathe again, even sense the crushing weight of his body.
"Goddamn, can this light chill out?" He groaned internally, raising his arm to shield his eyes. The brilliance wasn't merely physical—it felt invasive, as if probing the depths of his very soul.
Slowly, the glow began to dwindle.
Damien lowered his arm, and what he saw left him utterly stunned.
He wasn't accustomed to being caught off guard. But this… this was something else entirely. His mind was shrouded in haze, memories flickering—he could barely recall his name.
"Where… am I?" He whispered, more to himself than to anyone else.
He was seated upon a soft, impossibly fluffy cloud. Its surface yielded like memory foam beneath him, yet held him firmly as though it were solid stone. Thick, rusted chains bound his arms to the cloud—enough slack for slight movement, but never enough for freedom.
Overhead, the sky was blindingly bright—unnaturally stark and harsh.
Suspended in that luminous expanse were massive circular platforms, resembling divine tribunal tables.
Atop these platforms sat figures draped in ivory robes accented with veins of gold. Their eyes burned with an otherworldly intensity that defied comprehension.
Directly before Damien loomed a towering judge's bench.
Behind it, dressed in dark robes and white curly hair cascading down like powdered silk, sat a solitary man. In one hand, he held a polished gavel shimmering with quiet authority; in the other, a scroll that stretched beyond mortal reason.
As Damien surveyed the surreal tribunal, flashes of memory danced in his mind—the sound of a gunshot, the searing panic of his final moments, and the haunting betrayal by Summer.
"She betrayed me." Yet curiously, no hatred flared within him.
"She did what anyone would," he mused bitterly. "I've done worse more times than I care to count. Hating her would only make me a hypocrite."Still... Life was fun. It's a shame to miss the party."
Then a voice boomed—deep, divine, and thunderous—emanating from the Judge. Its majesty had a brittle edge, like a man straining to sound ethereal while dreading the soul before him.
"Damien Veyne. You now find yourself at Judgment Day. Let us examine your record and determine whether you meet the requirements to enter Heaven."
Damien scoffed aloud—a derisive sound that drew gasps from the assembled audience. Their collective horror rippled like wind through tall, trembling grass.
Without hesitation, the Judge unfurled the lengthy scroll—its script sprawling beyond mortal sense—and began to recite:
"Murder. Robbery. Assault. Cruelty. Theft. Lust. Greed. Envy. Pride. Wrath. Deception. Indifference. Lying. Selfishness. Unrighteousness…"
Each word hammered into Damien's skull, igniting bursts of memory—a montage of deeds, betrayals, and twisted pleasures. 'Ah, good times,' he thought wryly. 'And now… all these sins laid bare—what a waste.'
It wasn't entirely Damiens' fault that he turned out so twisted. Like everyone else, he was a product of his makers, molded by a cruel world.
Celestial observers around the tribunal shifted uneasily. Some covered their mouths in shock as low whispers swirled. Damien couldn't help but chuckle darkly.
'What? Never seen the devil before?' he mused privately.
The Judge faltered for a moment before setting the scroll down. "Let me just save us all some time," he muttered. "This man has committed every known sin in the book—multiple times."
Damien's chains rattled as he shifted. He raised a mocking eyebrow and replied,
"Well, thank you for the glowing review," he said dryly.
"But that's not entirely accurate, I never committed adultery—I've never been married."
Inside, his thoughts lashed out: 'No one's about to tarnish my name with such inaccuracies.'
The Judge coughed, and murmurs among the onlookers swelled.
"I… I see," he stuttered. "Every sin except adultery. Still, I believe I have enough to render judgment." He hesitated, his expression a mix of reverence and unsettled judgment. Never before had he encountered a soul so damnably dark.
With a heavy shake of his head, the Judge raised the gavel.
"I sentence you to Hell." The gavel struck down like a hammer, and a thunderclap reverberated through the space, its force echoing in Damien's teeth.
A near-oppressive silence followed—a hush thick enough to choke hope itself.
Then, Damien exploded into a loud, wild, unhinged laugh—a primal scream that echoed through the clouds. His laughter was no ordinary sound; it was an outburst of defiant madness that unsettled even the divine.
"Hell?" he cackled. "You sentence me to Hell?" He grinned widely, his snarl edged with irreverence. "So be it. No objections. They call me the devil, after all."
The Judge's composed veneer cracked, his face growing pale. He cleared his throat and softly said, "Yes. Hell… though perhaps not as you imagine it."
"You humans," he continued, "have twisted Hell into a myth of fire and torment. It was never meant to be that."
Damien cocked an amused eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."
"Even for souls like yours," the Judge replied quietly, "the Almighty still holds love. Hell is not merely damnation—it is a trial—a test to see if a soul so lost can earn redemption." He added, "And if they do, there is a chance to return. Life offers a second chance to those who climb out of the pit."
For a moment, Damien's uproarious laughter faltered. Then, his mirth returned even louder as he raised his chained hand mockingly to cover his face.
"A trial? You're serious? You expect me to claw my way out of Hell? Are you mad, good sir?" He jeered.
"You dare question our Lord?" The Judge said in a fit of rage.
But Damien only laughed harder—a monstrous sound that sent shudders through the divine assembly, dimming halos and casting chills through the ether.
"I was meant to explain the trials in detail," the Judge muttered finally, "but due to your ceaseless disrespect, I see no reason to waste further words." He raised the gavel once more in a final pronouncement.
"Good day." Bang.
In that instant, Damien felt his body unravel—pulled out of existence, dragged toward something unseen and vast, a molten abyss of transformation. He grinned one last time.
'You better pray I don't climb my way out.'