Chapter 7 - Gluttony and Anger

In the silence that followed, as the shadows of Gluttony and Wrath dissipated around me, an idea arose in my mind—an idea I could no longer ignore. Hell was a place of torment and tragedy, but it was also a place of choices. I had seen it in each of the seven deadly sins, in their pains and guilts. They hadn't been born to be that way. They had been shaped, distorted by their own tragedies. But even so, something in me refused to believe that all was lost. Even here, even at the depths of Hell, there was still a spark of something that could be redeemed.

I was not a man of faith. I didn't see myself as someone who would pray for a divine solution. But, at that moment, as the echo of fury faded and Gluttony's hunger withdrew like a distant specter, a small voice, almost like a sigh, made me think of the one being capable of doing something.

Jesus. That name reverberated in my mind. It wasn't the answer to everything, but it was undoubtedly the last hope I had.

"Jesus," I murmured, more to myself than to anyone else. Those words came out heavy, laden with a mix of skepticism and a vague hope. If anyone could pull these souls from the abyss, it was Him.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to summon something greater than myself, something beyond the pain and rage that surrounded me. Silence took over the space, and for a brief instant, I almost believed that an answer would come. The expectation, for a brief second, was tangible. But, as always, the expectations of Hell are thwarted.

Nothing happened.

Nothing, except a soft sound, almost inaudible. It was the sound of laughter. But not mocking laughter, like the kind Wrath's fury might have had in its voice. It was a calm, quiet laugh, but still filled with deep pain. It was Wrath, who now, somehow, had found a kind of lightness that I didn't imagine was possible.

"You think He would come for us?" Wrath's voice, now softer, closer, resonated in my ears. I turned to her, and I saw her smiling, not with the angry smile I expected, but with something more... human.

"Believe me," she continued, her voice filled with a kind of melancholy that hadn't existed before. "I didn't expect Him to come. Nor for Him to take us out of here. But, maybe... maybe that's what I need to understand. It's not about being saved. It's not about being forgiven. It's about accepting that there's no going back. We are what we are now, no matter how long we've been here."

Gluttony, who until then seemed to be sinking into her own emptiness, lifted her gaze toward me. Her eyes were empty, but there was a kind of understanding in them, a silent acceptance of her condition.

"Salvation isn't for everyone, is it?" Gluttony said in a calm voice, as if she had finally resigned herself to her eternal search. "I sought something I could never find. There was never anything that could fill the hole inside of me, because that hole is part of who I am."

I looked at them now, completely different from how I had seen them before. Wrath, who had once been a storm, was now calmer. More charismatic, as if she had discovered the importance of accepting her own nature. Gluttony, who had once been a hungry shadow, now seemed like a soul that understood the extent of her own pain.

I had invoked Jesus, and what I expected was a divine solution. But Hell, as always, showed me a harsher truth: not all souls are meant to be saved. Some are shaped by pain, hunger, rage, and perhaps that is all that remains for them. Perhaps that's what they were meant to be forever.

The absence of Jesus was a blow I didn't allow myself to feel. Instead, I watched the two figures before me. They had been shaped by their tragedies, and it wouldn't be my intervention or the presence of a divine being that would change them. They, perhaps, were already the truest form of what humanity could become. And, as much as I wanted to believe in redemption for them, the reality of Hell was a difficult and merciless lesson: salvation was not for everyone. Some souls were already beyond any hope.

I didn't know whether I felt relieved or condemned by that truth. What remained for me now was to move forward, to go deeper into the abyss surrounding me, trying to find some meaning among the ruins Hell presented to me. Hell was a place of tragedy, and the souls that dwelled there were trapped in cycles no one else could break.

But I would continue. I would always continue. Because, even in Hell, there is no end to what is lost.

The Second Circle stretched before us, the hot wind that seemed never to stop, as if it were an endless pain. The lustful souls, bound to their own desire, fought among themselves in a rain of intertwined bodies, unable to escape the eternal storm. But, unlike the relentless storm unfolding around us, something else was forming in my company. Wrath and Gluttony, who had been such imposing and fierce figures, were now undergoing a strange change.

Wrath, with her fiery eyes, had lost that intensity of blind rage. She seemed more... peaceful, in a strange paradox, and her steps, once heavy, were now light, as if she had given up carrying the burden of the explosion. There was a curiosity in her, something beginning to shine through her mask of fury.

Gluttony, on the other hand, was... quiet. The emptiness in her gaze didn't seem as hungry as before. She walked like a shadow, with a distant look, as if lost in thoughts that couldn't be reached. But there was something human in her, something that reminded me that not all emptiness was insatiable.

"I've told you, you're not going to convince us," Wrath said, breaking the silence as we walked. Her voice, though soft, still had a tone of challenge. "You think you can take us out of here, don't you? That Heaven would take us back. You're pathetic."

I looked at her, an ironic smile on my face. "Don't be fooled. I'm not trying to save anyone. I'm no hero, like you think. I'm no savior. I'm just trying to understand what happened to you."

Gluttony, walking by my side, let out a low laugh, but full of bitterness. "Understand? How do you think you'll understand a hole so big? An emptiness so deep that even Hell can't fill it?"

I shook my head. "I think I'll try anyway."

"Oh, the paladin of empathy," Wrath mocked. "You know, you should give yourself an award for trying to understand the damned. You'll win the title of 'Philosopher of Hell' somewhere."

"Who needs an award when you can just laugh at everything?" I retorted, with little patience for another word game. "What's more fun: trying to fill the void or admitting it will never be filled?"

Wrath smiled, but it wasn't an expression of anger. It was amusement, as if the perspective of others' suffering had become almost... fun for her. "Ah, I'd say the fun is realizing we're here for a reason, even if we don't always understand it. And that reason has nothing to do with justice, or forgiveness. It's about... what we do when we can no longer live with ourselves."

"Yeah, it's funny," Gluttony interrupted, with an ironic smile. "When you think Hell will give you an answer, you find out Hell is just a part of your own broken mirror."

I looked at the two of them, somewhat skeptical. What remained of Wrath was a curious piece. She was no longer that blind fury that exploded at every provocation. She now laughed at everything. She accepted that rage had lost its power, and with that, found something stranger—maybe even more dangerous—than before.

"You think this 'peace' of rage is a victory?" I asked.

Wrath laughed again, but in a way that seemed more reflective than mocking. "No. It's a lesson. A lesson that we can control what we feel, but we can never escape what we are. I... I am rage, yes. But look, it's not fun to always scream. Sometimes, just laughing at the misfortune of others is what keeps me alive."

"So, is that it?" I said, trying to understand the change. "You just accept everything? Is it that easy?"

"No, it's not easy." Gluttony spoke with a strange intensity, her hunger quiet but still pulsing in her words. "The emptiness never satisfies. And no matter how much you eat, you'll always be incomplete. That's something you'll never understand."

I looked at her, now more human, more sad, and I realized that, perhaps, Gluttony's acceptance was the most desperate of all. The emptiness wasn't just a search for pleasure, but a search for something that could never be reached. An eternal hunger.

"Let's move on," I said, my tone more serious now. "The path ahead won't be easy. And I don't know if any of us will make it out of here... not in a way that's worth it."

"Yeah, what else could come from this walk but more pain?" Wrath replied with a cynical smile, but there was something different about her. Perhaps it was the taste of freedom in the way she spoke. She had already accepted she was no longer what she used to be, and that made her almost... alluring, in an unsettling way. "But that doesn't mean we'll stop playing with it, right?"

Gluttony lifted her gaze, as if she were starting to wake from some kind of stupor. "Playing with suffering, playing with pain... that's what Hell teaches us, isn't it? What Heaven... or anything else that exists... will never give us."

The journey continued, and even with the echoes of other sinners in the background, there was something in the air that united us. We weren't friends, nor enemies. We were just three lost souls, wandering the abyss, trying to find something we didn't even know what it was.

But maybe, just maybe, that was exactly what Hell really meant: the journey of trying to understand one's own shadows.