In the heart of snowy mountains filled with silence and cold air stood a goliath structure. This monument was pitch black and immense in height. The structure possessed a huge, towering form whose tip pierced the clouds with its might. The tower had one massive gate in the south serving as its main entrance. The monument was enveloped in a deep, devastating silence, as if it did not wish to be acknowledged. And indeed, a prison's main priority should be to remain difficult to locate. Yet, in contrast, a huge black structure set against white snow was easily noticeable.
The black color was not used as camouflage, but rather as a symbol of fear, for this was no ordinary prison. It was a prison that held the most dangerous criminals from across the continent—criminals who could no longer be considered human because of the crimes they had committed. Such criminals served their remaining unworthy lives trapped behind these moss-covered black walls.
For criminals, it was their grave, but to the outside world, this place was known as Monolith.
On the northeastern side at the top of the structure's wall stood two soldiers, clad in black armor that covered their entire bodies. Additional overcoats helped them survive the harsh, merciless freezing winds of the mountains as they guarded the northeastern side of Monolith. Soon, they were joined by two more soldiers who had gone to fetch some cigarettes.
They took hold of their rifles and offered the pack. One accepted it, while the other rejected the offer. The soldier who took the pack pulled out a single cigarette and slipped the rest into his pocket. Using a lighter he carried, he lit the cigarette, shielding the flame from the wind with a gloved hand. He exhaled a grey cloud that was instantly whipped away by the gale.
Seeing him smoke, the other soldier said, "Seriously, you know it's bad for your health. Didn't your doctor already tell you to quit before your lungs get completely fried from the inside?"
The smoking soldier listened to his words and let out a small giggle. Taking another puff, he replied, "Ha, my doctor has advised me to quit many things. If I truly followed all his advice, I'd be left with nothing but air to breathe, food to eat, and water to drink. And besides… *_puff_* why should we care so much about resisting things we enjoy? Life is short anyway."
"Life is short," the other soldier said mockingly, "and it will become even shorter with your habits."
"Oh, you religious saint, don't curse me," the smoker replied.
"Oh, don't worry. You won't die before seeing your wife and newborn's face."
At that, the three soldiers burst into laughter.
"Oh, look how flustered he gets when we mention his wife! Our little lover boy," one of them teased.
The first soldier grew annoyed by their mockery.
"Fine, fine, I'm the lover boy. But it's not my fault. Seriously, they really had to call us back and cancel our holidays. This miserable job can't get any worse."
"Don't worry, brother. I've heard the shipment is arriving tonight at midnight. Instead of staying here the whole month, our service will be shortened to just this week."
"Seriously? Ah, finally. Soon I can hold my baby."
"Hmmm… which one are you actually talking about?" one of them said mockingly.
Once again, the three soldiers erupted into laughter.
Later that night, the cold, silent winds turned into a devastating storm, and the silence transformed into gut-wrenching howls of violently blowing wind. The sound alone was enough to break the will of any normal person, yet even under such conditions, the soldiers stood tall, waiting for the shipment despite their severely limited visibility.
Soon, a small red light appeared in the distance. It was the shipment arriving aboard a courier air vehicle. The vehicle was shaped like a helicopter-sized drop pod, with shiny red lights at its front and back. Two military-grade helicopters escorted it as security.
At last, they reached the tower. Signals were used to guide their safe landing on the helipads. From one of the military-grade helicopters emerged four soldiers, who walked toward the prison's warden.
"Sir. Charles Welsh," one of the soldiers said.
Sir Charles Welsh was a retired military general who had taken the position of warden simply for the thrill of the game. He was a tall man with an impressive physique for a retired individual. His clothing was less concerned with protection from the cold and more focused on asserting his authority over the place. Beneath his thick white mustache, he wore a generous smile as he replied,
"It seems the weather is rather unpleasant today. If you like, we could continue our discussion inside the cabin."
The soldiers agreed and followed him inside. As they walked through the corridors toward the warden's cabin, they noticed the narrow passageways were dimly lit and densely packed. The walls were thick and dark, with moss creeping across their surfaces. Portions of the ceiling showed small cracks through which the harsh cold winds seeped in, and the floor lacked smooth granite, consisting instead of the same rough stone used for the walls.
"This place treats everyone equally," Charles Welsh remarked. "Criminal or guard, the living standards are the same—with the exception that we can leave whenever we want. Ha ha ha."
After some casual conversation, they reached the warden's cabin. The soldiers took their seats, and Charles offered them something warm to drink.
"No, sir, we wouldn't want to trouble you further," one soldier replied, declining the offer as he pulled out a stack of documents for the warden to sign.
"Hmmm… so much paperwork for a retired criminal. Isn't this a bit of an overkill?" Charles remarked.
"No, sir. As you may already know who this person is."
"Who he was," Charles corrected. "He's nothing more than a wrinkled piece of flesh clinging to bones and ligaments now. That demon is long retired and has only a few years left to live at most."
"Still, sir," the soldier said with a sense of conviction, "a demon is a demon. He will serve his full punishment, even if it means imprisoning his body after death."
Charles chuckled, easing the tension in the room.
"Son, he's been sentenced to six hundred years of life imprisonment. Obviously, we'll have to keep even his skeleton locked up for that long."
The warden then turned his gaze to the documents. He began reading carefully, ensuring that all terms and conditions were correct, at least from a legal standpoint. Soon, his eyes settled on the name of the criminal.
"NAMELESS."
"You people still haven't given him a name?" Charles asked, confusion evident in his voice.
"We have no authority to question him about that," the soldier replied. "That is the name he wrote down himself. Hence, it will be his official designation."
"That cocky bastard," Charles muttered with a frustrated expression. "Even on his deathbed, he finds ways to cause trouble."
With that, Charles continued reviewing the papers, eventually confirming that everything was in order. He signed the documents and summoned the guards, ordering them to transfer the criminal from the shipment container to the inspection room and then to his cell.
The guards moved through the corridors alongside the soldiers who had escorted the criminal. As they walked, one of the guards finally voiced the rumor he had been meaning to confirm.
"I've heard from fellow guards that the criminal surrendered himself willingly to the authorities. Is that really true?"
The soldier he addressed shot him a sideways glance, his expression heavy. After a brief pause, he replied, "Yes, it's true."
"And that's exactly why the authorities don't want any slack in his capture and imprisonment," the soldier continued. "I advise you all to remain equally vigilant in your duties around him."
The group eventually reached the exterior checkpoint and opened the compartment to retrieve the prisoner.
With an unsteady, trembling walk, the criminal emerged. He was an old man with a pale, snow-white face deeply etched with wrinkles. A thick black robe draped over his frail frame, his body so thin that his bones seemed to press against his skin. His mouth was sealed behind a caged mask; his hands were cuffed, and heavy shackles restrained his feet and neck.
At first glance, he appeared entirely ordinary—more fragile than most men, weaker even than a common civilian. That was precisely what the guards thought.
'This?'
'This is the person they've been hyping for so long?'
'He looks more like a victim than a criminal. Seriously?'
The man's body was shivering in the bitter cold, but one of the soldiers shoved him forward with cruel force, driving him toward the guards.
"Get moving, you monster," the soldier mocked coldly. "Do you really think anyone cares about you here?"