Chapter: The Seventh Circle of the Underworld, Violence

As we approached the end of that dire ring,

Where flames of silenced voices licked the night,

I knew the horrors yet ahead would sting.

The gates of Dis behind us, out of sight,

Yet darker realms awaited us below,

Where deeper sins would test our souls and might.

Though flames still flickered with their muted glow,

A part of me held hope within its breast,

That silenced voices might once more bestow.

But hope was fleeting as we onward pressed,

The path grew rough, with rocks and jagged stones,

As if the earth itself could find no rest.

With each step further, I could feel the moans

Of those condemned to violence, raw and fierce,

Their anger seeping deep into their bones.

At last, the Seventh Circle did appear,

A landscape carved by rage, with tension thick,

Where violence ruled and all was gripped with fear.

The air was charged, electric, sharp, and quick,

A place where savage instincts were laid bare,

Where primal urges danced a deadly flick.

No shadows here where one could hide despair,

The violence played out openly and bold,

A vicious spectacle none could forbear.

I saw the streets with brutal scenes unfold,

Where bloodied fists and weapons struck with force,

And all the world was watching as it rolled.

The cameras captured every fierce discourse,

As violence became a show to sell,

Each brutal act a point on some dark course.

"They fight for fame," I said, "as if in spell,

Not out of need, but just to be observed,

As if to gain a momentary swell."

Virgil, with grim resolve, his voice preserved,

"This is the world where violence is prized,

Where every act is watched, then re-deserved."

We moved on through, and ever I despised

The way the blood and battle fed the screen,

Each cruel blow was cheered and then revised.

The masses glued to screens that gleamed serene,

As bodies fell and chaos ruled the night,

The audience complicit, yet unseen.

"They glorify it all," I said in fright,

"Turn violence to a thing admired and sought,

The more it shocks, the more it's held in light."

Virgil's voice with sorrow deeply fraught,

"Violence, in this age, has found a stage,

And now the media distorts the thought."

I watched with growing anger, saw the rage,

Not just in those who fought with fist and knife,

But in the crowds who cheered from every page.

We ventured deeper into that dark strife,

Where violence spread, infecting every soul,

A bitter force that drained the world of life.

And then I saw the media's dark goal,

Not just to show, but stoke the flames of hate,

To twist the truth, to take complete control.

Each act of bloodshed served to seal the fate,

Of those who fought for some dark, viral fame,

And all the while, the world would watch and wait.

The screens, alive with images of shame,

Showed riot, clash, and bodies torn asunder,

As if the world had fallen into flame.

"They're feeding on it all," I said with thunder,

"They want the fight, they want the fire to burn,

The chaos grows as they all stand and blunder."

Virgil sighed, his face a mask of stern,

"The media has power, and they use,

To fan the flames, and let the weak souls churn."

We passed by scenes where violence was the muse,

Where lives were broken, torn apart by war,

And all the while, the views and clicks accrue.

Each shattered life became a viral score,

As social media took in the sight,

And turned each drop of blood to something more.

"The consequences lost," I said in fright,

"They care for none but what the crowd will see,

And feed the beast that grows with each new fight."

Virgil's eyes were heavy, sad, but free,

"To them, the outcome doesn't mean a thing,

The cycle turns and grows by their decree."

The violence spread, infecting everything,

And we moved on, the world a darker place,

As we ventured deeper in this cursed ring.

--

The more we walked, the more I understood,

This wasn't just about the streets of pain;

A darker force was spreading through the blood.

Social media, once a bridge to gain

New understanding, now had turned to flame,

A weapon poised to drive the world insane.

The violence wasn't just a bloody game;

It rippled out, both national and wide,

A global storm with hatred as its claim.

Each screen we passed was filled with war and pride,

Not distant scenes, but horror up so close,

Where tanks rolled in and missiles split the sky.

The footage turned to something far morose,

A spectacle of fire, blood, and death,

Where every blast was cheered, and violence chose.

I paused before a screen that stole my breath,

Where jets roared low and bombs lit up the night,

And captions turned to madness, nothing less.

"Watch this missile strike with all its might!"

Another boasted, "See the power's force!"

As if destruction held some strange delight.

"This is pure madness," said I, feeling coarse,

"They're selling war as if it were a game,

Excited by the death they so endorse."

Virgil, with a look that held such shame,

Replied, "It's how the world now spins, my friend,

The media's a beast that feeds the flame."

As we moved on, the horror wouldn't end,

The voices of the pundits rang so clear,

No talk of peace, no chance for wounds to mend.

The experts spurred on violence, stoked the fear,

With maps that glowed in ominous red lines,

No compromise, just war that loomed so near.

"This battle's one we must not let decline,"

One voice proclaimed, with strength and fervor cold,

"Our foes advance, we cannot fall behind."

Another joined, with tones so harsh and bold,

"No room for talk, no peace to be found here,

We must strike first, or lose the ground we hold."

A chill of dread sank deep, so dark and clear,

"This is how wars are born," I whispered low,

"They push and push until the path is sheer."

Virgil nodded, with his face aglow,

"The people scream for war, the leaders hear,

And soon, all reason falls, and hatred grows."

The scenes of violence grew in depth and fear,

Where cities fell and nations tore apart,

With voices calling war, the end drew near.

And then, the ultimate strike at the heart,

The images of missiles poised to fly,

With countdowns ticking, tearing peace apart.

The screens lit up with maps, each target nigh,

With routes of death in red, a path so grim,

This was no game, but truth we can't deny.

I stood in shock, my voice a hollow hymn,

"They're really going to launch," I said in dread,

"To push us into darkness on a whim."

Virgil's hand upon my shoulder spread

A small comfort in the face of such despair,

"This is where hatred leads," he softly said.

"When peace is lost, and reason's lost in air,

When all the world is driven by such force,

This is the final end, a path laid bare."

The clocks kept ticking, voices held their course,

The crowd cheered on, the final blow they sought,

A world on fire, with no sign of remorse.

Yet as I stood, a thought so desperate caught

Within my mind, a spark amidst the dark,

This path of death need not be what was brought.

I turned to Virgil, spoke with trembling heart,

"We must find a way to halt this deadly flight,

We can't allow this madness to depart."

Virgil met my gaze with eyes alight,

"There's still a chance, if we can find the way,

The journey's long, but hope may yet ignite."

I nodded firm, despite the scenes of fray,

The screens around us showed a world at brink,

But still, I held to hope that we could sway.

Together, onward, though the road did sink

Into the darkness where no light was found,

We pressed ahead, refusing just to think

That this dark fate would be our final ground.