The chain-links never stopped clinking.
They stretched far across the horizon, binding tens of thousands of pale, glowing bodies in a line that never seemed to end. These were not humans. Not anymore. Stripped of flesh and name, they gave off a faint light, like the dying glow of a candle. These were the souls of the damned.
Their eyes. They were blank if the empty hollows in their faces could be called eyes. They had given up, ambling along a road of black stone that went on forever into the darkness.
Giants stood on both sides of the road.
They were statues of deep purple obsidian, each one different. Some had smooth, blank faces, others had twisted jaws or eyes made of dark gemstones. They never moved, yet their presence felt heavy, crushing. Some held massive glaives planted into the stone like guards of honor with nothing to honor. Others carried whips lined with hooks, their silent strikes burning into those who stepped out of line.
No one could run. There was nowhere to go. The black plain stretched forever. There was only the road, the statues, and the chain.
Three tasks awaited the souls on their march.
Weight of Regret — a great yoke of spectral iron dragging behind each soul, its burden heavier with every lie they had told in life.
Breath of Memory — forced inhalations of a choking ash that conjured flashes of their worst moments, relived again and again with no relief.
Trial of Silence — no voice was permitted except for the scream at the gate, and the single sound was allowed before they passed beyond.
That scream came now.
Far ahead, a long, terrible cry broke the air. A soul had reached the gate. His chain went tight, his body shaking in pain as though his very light was being pulled out. The scream rose, then cracked into a gasp. His glow folded inward, fading to a faint shimmer before vanishing. What was left was peace. And then he was gone.
High in the snow-covered peaks of a jagged mountain, five figures watched the endless line.
They sat under a lacquered pavilion clinging to the cliff. One wore flowing robes covered in dragons; another wore a long coat with steel runes stitched into the hem; the third was clad in jade armor; the fourth wore silken scholar's clothes from a dynasty that never was; and the fifth had a mantle woven from threads that shone like starlight. They looked noble — but they were not from the same world or time. None were from Earth.
"Damn them," the man in the long coat muttered. "And damn the Adjudicator." His hand tightened on the carved armrest.
"Harsh words," the jade-armored man said with a low chuckle. "You speak as though you envy them."
"I do," the man in the long coat replied without hesitation.
"Look at them shaking. Fools, they don't even know the truth; they don't know they will be forgiven," said the scholar in silks, her voice almost longing. "If they survive the gates, they will walk the Pathway to Mortality again."
"They are lucky," the dragon-robed man said with a cold smile. "They get a lesson and a second chance. We have no such mercy."
The one in the starlit mantle gave a soft, almost amused hum. "Perhaps the gates would simply shatter if we stepped inside. We'd poison the place."
The armored man smirked. "You overestimate your vileness, old friend. My sins would do it far quicker."
"Your sins?" The scholar's lips curved slightly.
"Enough," the dragon-robed man said, though his mouth had a faint curve. "We all know what we are."
The armored figure rested his chin on his gauntleted hand.
"What do you think is inside those gates? What makes them scream like that and then… serenity after?"
"Probably cleansing," the scholar whispered. "Pain that burns away all that is rotten."
They fell quiet, looking down at the black road. The wind hissed across the cliff, carrying the sound of chains.
And in that silence, the truth was clear — none of them could be cleansed. These were the ones judged as eternally damned. Their natures had not been shaped by bad luck or hardship.
People say man is shaped by his surroundings. But these five? Even if they had been given gentler lives, kinder worlds, softer paths — they would still have chosen to destroy them. They were pure evil. It is not the kind that can be fixed; it is only contained. And so, they remained in the Valley of Retribution.
The dragon-robed man gave a faint smile with no joy. "Tell me," he asked, "what sins would you confess if the gates could forgive you?"
The man in the long coat tilted his head. "All of them. And then I'd lie about the rest."
The scholar in silks said nothing, only folding her hands in her lap.
The jade-armored man let out a soft laugh. "This place has an end, but my confessions don't."
The starlit figure leaned back, eyes half-lidded. "I wouldn't confess at all. I'd keep them, as trophies."
The dragon-robed man nodded slowly. "As I thought. None of us would pass."
No one argued. They didn't need to.
"Enough," one said. "We've had this talk a billion times. What do we gain from —"
The words were cut short by a sound like the sky tearing apart.
A deafening boom shook the air, followed by a thunderclap that rolled through the mountains.
Every head turned — the souls, the statues, and the five watchers.
Above the red sky, black lightning split the clouds. From the rift, something blazed — a figure burning and falling faster and faster.
The scholar's lips parted.
"No…"
The man in the long coat's eyes widened.
"It can't be —"
The dragon-robed man stood, his breath sharp.
"Eternal damnation…"
The armored man swore under his breath. "Another?"
The starlit figure's tone was almost a whisper. "It's been eight million years since I arrived."
They all knew. Another had been thrown here — not to be cleansed, but to rot. A being so cruel and corrupt that no trial, no purgatory, could scrape the stain away.
Soon, there would be six individuals who would suffer eternally, fated to rot.