chapter 04 : The Interrogation of Flesh and Faith

A suffocating darkness envelops the place, not a single crack or crevice allowing light to seep through. a faint chuckle from Ronald, who stares blankly into the void around him. 

"Has my time truly come?" I whisper.

 Can I finally see my mother? Be with her again?

I shout in that narrow pit, my voice choking against its walls:

 "Mom! I'm coming to you! I've missed you... This world has been cruel to me. Even my uncles and aunts turned their backs on me, shutting their doors after you left. I never knew true warmth except in your memory... But now I've returned to you, and I'll stay with you forever."

Suddenly, my demon interrupts me angrily, his voice like the rustling of dry leaves:

 "Shut your mouth! Let me sleep, for the sake of the Lord of the Kaaba! You talk as if you're dead, yet your soul still clings to your body since the moment you started calling for your mother! Either you've disturbed her in death, or you want me to reassure you! The point is, you're not dead, and now... let me sleep!"

A few seconds of silence... I ponder his words, then decide to respond: 

"If I'm not dead, then where am I? This place feels like a grave!"

The demon grumbles again:

 "If I answer you, will you shut up and let me sleep?"

I nod.

 "Yes, I'll keep quiet."

"Fine. You're not in a grave but in a transitional pit—a gateway between worlds. As for the Lord of the Kaaba, that's none of your concern! You're neither spiritual nor religious enough to understand who He is or what He does. In the end, Hell will claim us all: me, you, and everyone who defied Him deliberately—or worse, never believed in Him at all!"

I shake my head in dismay. 

 forget the spiritual talk! You're right. I don't belong in Heaven, and neither do you, of course."

"Then explain more! If this is a transitional pit, why haven't I left yet? Have I not reached my destination?"

The demon mutters as if to himself: 

"There are two possibilities: either the gatekeeper is asleep or busy with wine and pleasure, or someone was watching you and stopped the gateway to pull you out."

 Then he finishes wearily:

 "And now... let me sleep!"

I sigh and lower my voice. 

"Alright, I'll be quiet."

He mumbles as he turns away: 

"Thank you."

Hours pass like weeks in this damned pit, as I puff on my cursed cigar, contemplating my wretched life, waiting for a divine miracle to save me from my fate. I mutter to myself:

"Do I really deserve this miserable existence? Maybe it's a flaw in the universe's design, or a test from God—they say He tests those He loves—but I'm not even Muslim, I never understood..."

Suddenly, the demon interrupts with a grumble:

"I'm awake! Who needs sleep? I'm fine, Ronald."

I glare into the darkness: 

"But I wasn't speaking out loud..."

"I know, but every time you think, those voices inside you start arguing—the evil-commanding soul, the reassured soul, the self-blaming soul, not to mention your Qareen (constant companion devil)! They all chatter in your head, stirring up a storm of debates you don't feel, but I suffer from it!"

I laugh bitterly:

 "So, you're a victim too?"

"Listen, Ronald. Since you insist on talking, let me tell you what awaits you when you die—God forbid—and what happens in your grave. 

No religion on earth speaks about death and the afterlife with the precision and detail that Islam does! Despite the fact that I am a demon—and we despise and fear this religion because it possesses spiritual weapons that can destroy us—I must acknowledge its truth. But since you're not a Muslim, I don't fear being burned or killed for revealing these secrets to you. So, I will continue my explanation...

In Islamic belief, death isn't the end, but the beginning of either torment or bliss."

"As soon as your body is buried, two angels—faces black as night, voices like thunder—will ask you three questions: Who is your Lord? What is your religion? Who is this man sent among you? . 

If you were a believer, you'd answer confidently, and they'd declare: Sleep like a bride only her beloved can wake! But if you're a disbeliever or hypocrite... you'll scream: I don't know! Then they'll strike you with iron hammers until every creature—except humans—hears your screams!"

he added

"Even the righteous suffer a squeeze that cracks their ribs , But for the likes of you..."—"you'll be crushed like an insect under a boulder!"

"If you were faithful, a gate to Paradise opens every dawn, and you're told: This was your seat had you lived longer. But you, Ronald, will smell the stench of Hell seeping into your grave, and your ribs will collapse from pressure . Day and night will torture you in shifts!"

I shudder, imagining it: 

How long does this last?"

"Until Judgment Day! When Israfil blows the Horn, and your corpse is resurrected. But the worst part..."—he speak, terrifyingly—"is that you'll wish the grave was the end. What comes after is far worse."

I fall silent, dread creeping into my bones. Even the demon seems unsettled by his own words, retreating into silence, leaving me alone with my thoughts... and the darkness.

Ronald gasps, his eyes wide with terror as he slams his fists against the pit's walls. His voice chokes between screams:

"No! I don't want to die! I don't want to be tortured in my grave! Get me out of here! You fools, hear me!"

But the darkness doesn't answer. The silence is heavy as stone. Even the air in the pit grows thin, as if the entire universe has abandoned him. His screams turn into broken whimpers, then into ragged whispers:

"Please... Angels, God, demons... Don't leave me here! Don't let this happen!"

But no one answers. Only the echo of his own voice, mocking him like a cruel joke.

Suddenly, Ronald feels the walls moving.

Not in his imagination—really moving! The pit narrows around him like the hungry maw of a beast clamping down on its prey. He tries to push back with his hands, but the cold stone shows no mercy, crushing his chest as if eager to suffocate his soul before his body.

"What is this?! No! Stop!"

He suddenly remembers the demon's words about "the squeeze of the grave," the torment awaiting every dead soul. But he isn't dead yet! Why is this happening to him now?!

Then he hears it—the sound of his bones.

Crack... crack... SNAP!

His ribs splinter under the pressure, and indescribable pain tears through him. His final scream fills the pit before he plunges into darkness... and loses consciousness.

Ronald struggled to open his eyes, as if his eyelids carried the weight of the world. Before him, a towering figure with three heads dragged him through a nightmarish forest, its black trees piercing the clouds like gnarled fingers. He tried to scream, "Leave me alone!" but his voice came out hoarse, lost in the howling wind.

The mysterious man didn't turn. He kept pulling, as if Ronald were just a dead log. With every step, branches clawed at Ronald's skin, as if the forest itself joined in his torment.

Then—the man stopped.

His three heads turned slowly, his six eyes scanning the void behind them. From the mist emerged a pale girl, gripping a curved white sword that shimmered like liquid moonlight.

The Man (grinding voice):

"What do you want? Leave."

The Girl (icy tone):

"I'll leave... but I take my prey with me."

She shook her head, her sword glinting:

" let's make a deal. Give me the prey, and I won't kill you."

The man laughed, a sound like boulders crushing leaves. One head tilted toward her, while the other two kept staring at Ronald:

"i have another offer? I know you'll like it."

The Girl (eagerly):

"Naturally... I prefer that."

The Man (dropping Ronald like a sack):

"Fine! We'll fight... and the winner takes him."

She didn't hesitate. Her sword flashed in readiness:

"Accepted!"

In a blink, the man drew two tar-black swords from his back and charged like a storm. She lunged too, her white blade carving arcs of light in the dark.

Ronald, weakly crawling away, saw the world erupt into a whirlwind.

But weakness overcame him... and he blacked out once more, the battle raging above his limp body.0