Hell is most commonly envisioned as an eternal blaze, a fire that for those who live within it never witness its spark nor will be permitted the mercy of its dispersion, for the experience forewarned to those who've failed grace through heaven's gates is one of scorching torture, that singular sensation and yet one that can never be numbed. The beauty that may be observed in flames, its gentle hum, its warm gradient from white to orange, its soft intangible texture, whisps that wave smoother than water, there is no room for such beauty in this spoken hell. Hell's flames are not a natural wonder, they are not man's greatest tool, for the warmth they offer is not nurturing, the light they carry is not protective; their sole purpose, their only ability, is to perpetuate an infinite agony to souls who'll crave nothing more but the void they feared all their life.
For the flame isolated brings affliction difficult to match from other stimuli, the burning sensation is among the most excruciating that nerves can register, it is their involvement in a world itself dark and cold is there any desire for ignition. Beneath the dreary clouds that shroud the skies, the natural sunlight that does reach through is dull, but the fire does provide a concentrated luminescence. Against a downward flood of gliding snowflakes, not intense of a blizzard though not faint, the environment is left only colder, unhelped by the barred sunlight, yet the fire brings forth its own warmth to combat that cold. Perhaps then the great proportion of the flames can be perceived as comforting, for this great bonfire matches the scale even of the silver smooth skyscrapers it resides amongst, and furthermore there is not only one but many scattered across the greatest metropolis of the hundred worlds, the argent city of a shade similar to the dense clouds and the snow drifting from it, the animated vibrant orange fires clashing exclusively.
While these great flames dance high between the blocks of silver towers, whose bodies lack sharp edges on their featureless shells for their single tone and lack of windows results in a collective appearance of colossal monoliths, the orange tips of those flames do not surpass that of the several soaring vehicles that roar like lions upon entry of the district. The deeper the creature's roar typically the greater its size, a fact consistent as those pods that drive high up in the air resemble garbage trucks in their bulky scale and smoothly curved back, although there's no distinction between the truck's loader and body for they are of the same emerald tone and melded together in a single enclosed shell for there were no wheels. While many of them enter the district from a single side like a fleet, they diverge upon entry whether it be in turning to other airways separated by towers or simply passing on ahead while some trucks decelerate.
One of those trucks in fact completely halts, specifically choosing to park directly above the bonfire, for the orange tips nearly graze the underbelly if it rose any higher. While the other trucks continue their flight, noticeably towards the other flames scattered across the district where they then decelerate samely, this one that's already arrived at its stop initiates its primary task: a sudden emerald cloud bursts from the underbelly of the truck nearly poofing out of the entire bottom other than where the loader would be, that cloud being what once composed the solid material of the underbelly which now seems to function as a hatch.
In the same procedure as dumping garbage which would be the traditional use of this vehicle, an inventory pours from the truck to excrete the full contents of the container, contents that are difficult to examine in freefall though they are clearly not simply trash bags whether white or black but rather they have longer forms. There is a great number though as it seems the entire truck's storage had been made of use, for the items were densely packed to allow more to fit, all of them now released.
Falling from the truck and into the tips of flames, it takes only about a second for the full supply from the truck to be discharged, clearing out well before the first items to land. In fact it takes several seconds of free fall for them to reach a surface, simply plummeting through the fire, though the sheer quantity disturbs the fire, causing it to thrash out wildly although deeper into the bonfire it becomes clear the flames consume far more area than what pile would be made of this drop.
However this drop would not form its own pile, but rather as the truck returns to motion with a roar to soar off ahead, the discharge plummets into a vastly larger pile already present, not even contributing a relatively significant sum as the pile is already gargantuan, the coal to the fire. Though the whole pile was composed of similarly shaped items, not of coal nor bags, but hauntingly of human bodies, countless all laid over one another. Many of those that was already part of the preexisting pile have since lost much of their color as the fires have made quick work to char and melt what was of them, but there can be discerned a diversity of shapes and sizes, differences in heights, broadness, curves, and for the bodies composing the recent addition there can be examined the clothing ranging from casuals like hoodies and jeans to formalwear being blazers and dresses, all of which are the first to be infected by the fire that begins to consume them next. However while the bodies may carry observable distinctions in many attributes in terms of style and body shape, no judgment can be made on hairstyles or facial structures for not a single body has a head at all, for rather the neck simply sticks out. This may explain the lack of movement for all the corpses lay stale, reactionless to what would be an excruciating sensation, yet none of them experience that agony, none of them feel that pain, for none of them are present in themselves, for their bodies are simply the waste that was left behind, the containers of what is no longer.
As the flames consume the fresh bodies, leaving them colorless like the rest that constitute what is less of a pile and more of a hill given it's more than a building's story tall with a base spread nearly over an entire intersection, these lifeless derelicts are gated off on the ground by holographic yellow banners forming a border, a perimeter guarded by several men dressed in familiar navy blue uniforms best defined by their clean white shield-shaped epaulets featured on their shoulders, each of them carrying a slender silver board that hovers over their right arm with a black ballpoint tip aimed towards the ground.
Though despite how protected they are with their arms, across those who appear as young adults and others leaning deep in adulthood they all share a similarly restless expression for that squad is entirely drowned in the vast mob surrounding the hill. This mob isn't in uniform but rather dressed however they please in a variety of clothing most of which are casual, however there is a noticeable emphasis on heavier clothing like jackets and hoodies, appropriate for the snowy weather as some of them keep shielded with holographic blue disks that sit over their head like a plate to catch the snowflakes, melting them upon touch. Though many of the crowd simply allows the snow to sit on their shoulders, middle aged adults, seniors, teenagers, and younger children are accompanied by guardians. In fact while the crowd is pretty dense, there can be observed distinct groupings among the mob, certain clumps of people closer together like families and other herds of acquaintances.
The entire intersection is covered, as in fact the mob bleeds out into the roads beyond, not static as members either passively turn around and push through the crowd towards the further roads while others move in the opposite direction, pushing against the crowd towards the center hill. One of those people trying to get closer to the hill is an older man, perhaps in his fifties, dressed in a black wool coat with samely dark pants, his sharp brown eyes noticeably sunken with bags above his scruffy beard. He strides with his shoulder forward to cut through the crowd, intentionally bumping people off to the sides, some of whom scoff and shout although the man moves too quickly for anyone to catch him. He paces quickly close to the front of the mob, bumping into a man slightly younger who's dressed in a gray suit with a crimson tie, though there's little bodily reaction.
That old man doesn't react either, in fact he's openly unapologetic about his physical disturbances, finally passing the crowd where he at last has an open view to the human hill before him, blazing so greatly that even in this weather the center is rather warm. That man tries to get closer to said center, marching for the yellow tape before one of the men in uniform takes notice of the sudden movement, stepping forth to intercept the man, raising his free hand forward to gesture a cease which works.
The officer seems to be in his early twenties as reflected in his lighter voice used to warn, "Sir, I'll need you to take three steps back, you're not allowed any closer."
Just a few steps in front of the officer, the old man scoffs with irritated eyes, glancing up at the hill before explaining, "Well I'm here to get Ooyash, I heard he was sent to this pile so I'm going to need you to get him down for me."
Perplexion warps the officer's face with a raised eyebrow before he shakes his head and calmly clarifies, "I'm sorry sir but if you're asking for bodies in this pile, right now we're not able to retrieve any of them, that's just not something we can do."
Immediately the old man's eyebrows scrunch before he takes step forwards and more aggressively protests, "Bodies?! No, he is family," which he points to or at least generally points to the pile, "And he deserves a proper burial, not whatever crap you're doing to him! This is incredibly disrespectful, so I need you to bring him down here right now!" The raising of his voice alerts one of the other officers who is of older age, perhaps in his thirties or higher, who raises his head with apprehension.
From confused to consciously anxious, the officer plants one foot back but keeps his free hand up to physically block the man's advance, desperately urging in a wavering voice: "Sir please I told you we can't do anything about that, we're sorry, but you're going to need to step back for me. We are not allowed to make exceptions at this time, so please just understand!"
"No, you understand," retorts the old man before he grabs the officer's wrist to throw his arm off, sidestepping him to resume his march towards the pile while he argues, "If you won't get him then I-," before he's stopped by the older officer whose hand is placed on the old man's shoulder in a firm grip.
Immediately the old man is suspended, unable to walk off the hold to which he turns to face the older officer who calmly alerts, "You're not allowed behind the tape, this is your last warning. You are trespassing in a restricted zone, you don't want the charges that'll come with that, I'll tell you now."
While the man is unable to move any further, hate boils in his eyes before he bellows, "The hell are you to put your hands on me?! You are supposed to be good people but you are burning all of our people? Who are you helping exactly? If you are too lazy to get my Ooyash then I will get him myself."
"No you won't," boldly orders the older officer with a face sharpening as well as his tone that follows, "As per procedure if you take another step closer I will need to detain you right now. Depending on how you resist you might make your charges worse. Now step back behind the line."
The old man's eyes widen in shock, his jaw hanging open, but his teeth then clench as he fires a bitter glare before berating, "So that's how it is? You take away my wife when he was very young, now you get to decide what to do with his body? So to you he is yours more than he is mine, wow very heroic of you to feel that way."
At last he takes a step backwards, surrendering as per the officer's demands, allowing said officer to release his grip. However the old man still glares up at him to warn, "Your shiny badges will mean nothing after this life. The fire you burn my son with will be ten times hotter in hell." He then turns around and stomps back into the crowd, some of whom step to the side to offer a tunnel for him to pass through including the man in the gray suit.
Despite strafing to allow space, the man whose black hair is tied in a man bun is still bumped into by that enraged adult who storms off, and after he passes onwards one of the other men who had also strafed now steps back in his previous place beside him. That man sighs after the drama which the man in the bun takes notice of before returning his focus back on the hill ahead of him which he silently stares at, the breeze brushing small hairs poking out of the bun, rustling the minimal wrinkles on his blazer. He then suddenly breaks his attention to glance around himself briefly, turning his head both ways as if to confirm that he had no acquaintances with him as the crowd beside him were their own groups who murmured only amongst themselves.
After confirming such, he returns his gaze forward once again, and after silently watching for another few moments, he begins to murmur in a volume only audible to himself: "Almost all of Rica's family were Exhuman so it makes sense they aren't here right now, or maybe they are and it's just ones I don't know. But I feel like I did know a pretty decent amount about her family, which is a bit surprising since she didn't know anything about mine except for my brother and…, I guess she didn't know anything. Not even my name."
Beside the man in the gray suit are two young women dressed in bloated coats to combat the chills, one of whom has her arms crossed to slip them in the other sleeve for additional warmth, that woman being the one to glance at her friend before mentioning quietly, "You know, I heard that they might actually be trying to switch from just loading the bodies onto trucks to actually first putting them through a laser grinder. For space reasons or something."
Immediately her acquaintance who's noticeably shivering turns to her with wide, horrified eyes, before exclaiming in a voice less restricted in volume: "Wait what?! They're going to grind up the bodies now?! There's no way, what the hell kind of sick joke is that??"
Anxious from the abrupt rise in volume from a note that was being passed incognito, the first woman's eyes widen before she attempts to gently assure, "Wait wait I-," however already there was another man beside them who has turned his head in intrigue before blurting, "They're grinding up the bodies now?!! What the fuck is wrong with them??"
All the sudden more and more people are caught in the escalation, turning to face them with shock and horror, all while the woman to initially break the news out desperately waves her hands to both her friend and the man alerted while pleading, "Wait wait no it's just something I heard, it might not be true, we can talk about this later!"
"Oh yeah let's just do nothing and wait to see what happens," sarcastically echoes another woman not among the two but one within the crowd, wearing a denim-style jacket with wool coating. She throws her arms in the air as she follows up: "Let's just wait until they start pouring soup on the fire, it's their choice isn't it? They know what's best don't they?? I mean they're just bodies, who cares how they're cut up or whatever," before she turns to face the officers standing in front of the holographic tape to finish off with a shout, "It's not like they're anyone you care about so it's fine butchering them however's easiest am I right?!?!"
Realizing the uproar is now being redirected, the young officer turns his head to face the woman in the crowd with a frown, his mouth opening as though trying to find a retort only for the older officer to place his hand on the young man's shoulder. The young officer lowers his head in defeat as the older man sighs, casting a glare at the shouter before quickly turning away.
Not far from that enraged girl, the man in the gray suit just glances at her with a stoic face, calm crimson eyes with dim stars above a gentle frown. The breeze plays with a few loose hairs sitting on his forehead, though his face is unbothered as different from the previous shouter who now shivers with her arms embracing herself.
After adjusting his crimson tie in concern to the wind's chaotic impact, the man returns his gaze forward once again and resumes his lonesome monologue in that same melancholic tone: "I thought I heard something similar but I didn't bother fact checking, but maybe there is some weight to it. I could understand the logic, they've been slow with the disposal process, these fires were their most efficient choice but needing to carry bodies around requires frequent trips and I'm sure keeping them intact reduces their capacity. Technically they'd probably be able to fit far more bodies into these trucks by implementing the grinder, their greatest concern would probably be the resource cost of all that cutting, I'm sure if budget wasn't a concern they'd just have been vaporizing this whole time. But I doubt they're focusing on factors like respect towards how they dispose of the bodies, at a scale like this there's no clean method."
Down the man's stare past the officers and tape is that burning pile of corpses, most visible from the ground already lost of any color and their shapes have deformed quite significantly, the ashes certainly not planned to be retrieved. The lack of heads on any of the bodies in one way made it somewhat harder to identify them as human, perhaps slightly alleviating the disturbance of watching all these bodies burn, yet simultaneously when consciously accepting them as what they are it only makes the sight more haunting.
His head now fixed down that path, the man contemplates discreetly: "Then again even if they did use grinders, it would be for a cause that'd ultimately benefit everyone, and depending on how they use it, the end result might not be too disturbing. At the very least I've left bodies far uglier, and for far less noble causes. I didn't care about who I butchered either, I didn't consider who might care about their death, I just got rid of them, I'm sure I've scarred many who've seen the bodies I've left behind. But I never cared, I didn't care for who I was slaughtering nor did I care for who would be affected. I think at some point I even found a way to enjoy it, just knowing I was rebelling against his mushy morals, knowing I was directly opposing the value he saw in them by deforming them whichever way I saw fit."
Raising his head higher to pan his gaze over the whole hill for it well towered above him, the man's reflection follows: "If I could justify it, I probably would've gladly slaughtered many of these people myself. If they were in my way or I knew their deaths would hurt him, maybe I'd leave their bodies far worse than this. In the end, humans and Exhumans, they're both the same, equally fragile, equally worthless. I don't remember how many times I almost washed out this whole city, and really I didn't have a good reason, did I, I just did it because I wanted to, I wanted to see his pain. I probably wouldn't have been able to easily wipe out this many people but…what's the difference really?"
Intensely focused on the melting bodies, their arms and legs sandwiched over each other some of which stuck out of the pile although with few features left intact as the ones that do slowly burn off into smaller chunks more easy to devour by the flames, the man introspects: "What even makes Rica different, really? She's just another Exhuman, her abilities were relatively mediocre, she's just like the people I'd thoughtlessly disfigure as corpses. Other than just having been acquainted with her for a longer period, nothing particularly about her was ever special, I mean if I saw a reason to I might've even….," however his voice trails off into silence, enough that all that can be heard is the cracking of the blaze embedded within the howling whisper of snowfall.
Sparks are flung out of the flames from the waste that keeps the fire burning, fuel to be consumed by the fire to allow it to grow to then consume other waste that'd fuel it greater. The bodies closer to the base hardly resembled bodies at all as they've mostly melted simply into matter, but higher up the hill the items better resembled the figures that once roamed and communicated. Yet even the bodies towards the top that had degraded the least would likely not be personally identifiable, for not only are they clumped with many others, but people are typically best identified by their face as that is simply one of the most individually unique components of the body and one that is nearly always exposed. Though no faces could be registered for there was none, and thus the heap was composed of nameless bodies, perhaps dressed in various attire and with shapes that provided estimates for their age and gender but nothing to allow one to be defined from the masses. About half of the bodies were women, a great percentage of whom were dressed in formal business attire perhaps due to locality, and there wasn't only a single one to have the same general shape. Many of them were short, color was difficult to extract especially due to the charring but even then a good quantity of those in suits wore navy blue, therefore standing from the ground it could not be discerned where she was.
That fire reflects in the attentively wide crimson irises of the man, his skin hardened from age as he was in a bracket that'd not be considered senile but far from young. Strands of his black hair dance with white sprinkles dotted on his head and shoulders from the gentle snow that finds land, his lips only slightly parted.
His head tilted up slightly to gaze towards the top of the hill, the man slowly pans back down again with a gradual straightening of his neck, little light emitting from his eyes. Upon fixing his neck, he just stares silently for a few more moments, the mound still captured in his eyes like a screen. Again though his head lowers, this time down to the floor by his feet, where he then takes in one deep breath before releasing it gently like the whistle of the wind.
In a grim voice, the man wondered to whom he spoke to.
"Why did you leave us alone in a world surrounded only with them, Father?"