Chapter 10 - Azazel, Mammon and Beelzebub.

In the deepest abyss of Hell, where black flames illuminated only to reveal even greater darkness, the Hall of Princes was steeped in an oppressive tension. Lucifer, the Lightbringer, sat upon his obsidian throne, his imposing figure radiating an authority that made Hell itself bow in submission.

Before him, the three princes of sin were gathered. Mammon, lord of Greed, clad in garments shimmering with tarnished gold, glared at the others with an irritated expression. Azazel, the furious avatar of Wrath, paced back and forth, his dark armor sparking as if it sought to consume everything around it. Beelzebub, the gluttonous, rested in the darkest corner, his fly-like eyes spinning incessantly, a grotesque grin plastered on his bloated face.

Mammon was the first to break the silence. His voice, heavy with contempt and anxiety, echoed through the hall.

That man... that insect dares to defy the very essence of what we are. Gluttony, Wrath, Greed... everything we've created, he dismantles. He doesn't just oppose us—he dismembers us!

Azazel slammed a fist onto the stone table, cracking it. His voice was a thunderclap of rage.

That damned fool knows no limits! He withstood my fury and did not fall. He countered my flames with something even more scorching: purpose. A purpose I cannot destroy!

Beelzebub chuckled softly, his gurgling voice dripping with irony.

Purpose... human folly. But I must admit, he is persistent. He turned Gluttony against herself, transforming my feast into poison. This... this cannot continue.

Lucifer, who had been observing in silence until then, raised a hand, silencing the dispute. His voice was low but carried a gravity that made the air in the hall grow even heavier.

He is no ordinary man. That much is clear. He resists because he believes he is redeeming something greater than himself. He doesn't merely destroy our avatars; he seeks to eradicate the ideas we represent.

Mammon folded his arms, his disdain barely concealing his fear.

So, what do we do? Let him march toward us, destroying everything in his path?

Azazel growled, his red eyes glowing with uncontrollable fury.

He may have withstood my wrath, but no one is immune to pain. If he seeks justice, I will ensure it becomes despair.

Beelzebub licked his lips with a grotesque tongue, a glint of malice in his eyes.

He overcame gluttony? Then we'll feed him with the very emptiness he carries. I will make him swallow his pride, his hope, until nothing remains but despair.

Mammon leaned forward, a greedy smile distorting his face.

And I will tempt him with what he fears most: power. Not just power over Hell, but over everything he wishes to protect. We'll give him the world and watch as he destroys himself trying to hold onto it.

Lucifer finally rose, his overwhelming presence silencing any murmurs. He walked slowly to the center of the hall, his words dripping like venom.

You are weak because you underestimated him. But I will not. This man is not just a threat. He is a catalyst. He believes he can surpass Hell itself, but he has yet to face the essence of what we are.

He turned to the three princes.

We will unite our forces against him. Turn every step he takes into a labyrinth of suffering. He thinks he's purging the sins? Then we'll make sure he is consumed by them. Let every victory weigh on his soul like a curse until he becomes the very thing he swore to destroy.

Azazel grinned, a wild and cruel smile.

Let's see how much fury his heart can bear before it implodes.

Beelzebub cackled, his words oozing like bile.

We'll fatten him on his own ego until he can no longer move.

Mammon nodded, his voice dripping with venom.

And then, when he's on the ground, I'll make him wish he'd never entered Hell.

Lucifer raised a hand, the flames around them erupting in a blinding glow.

He believes he can defeat us, but it's time to show him the true Hell. You three will go and reclaim your sins. I will wait for him at the sin of Pride—if he even makes it that far. This human knows no fear; he toys with the deadly sins. Do not underestimate him.

-

The silence between us was suffocating, broken only by the sound of the stones of Hell grinding under our feet and the distant wails of souls that would never find rest. The atmosphere was heavy, saturated with a heat that came not only from the flames but from the weight of the doubts each of us carried. Then, as if he could no longer endure the void, Greed spoke. His voice was hesitant, almost as if he feared the answer.

"Does God really exist?" He clutched his sack against his chest, as if the safety of his treasures could shield him from a truth he might not want to hear.

For a moment, no one replied. Gluttony, who usually couldn't resist a provocation, was unusually quiet, but soon her insatiable hunger found another outlet.

"If He exists, why this?" she said, gesturing around us with one hand. "Why create us only to let us rot? Why create all this, only to turn His back on it? I never understood... Does He despise us? Hate us? Or does He simply not care?"

"He does despise us," Wrath interjected, his voice seething with the same anger he always carried. "Because only someone who despises His creations could do this. Create pain, suffering, abandonment. If He is real, then He is a sadist, a tyrant who delights in our misery."

I listened. The sound of their voices felt as distant as my own humanity. Each word, each question, was just an echo of something countless souls had questioned before us. God. His existence. His absence. As if the answer would change anything.

"You speak of God as if He were a human tyrant," I began, my voice sharp but hollow. "As if He thought, felt, or acted like us. As if He had flaws or intentions. But what if He is none of that? What if God is neither just nor cruel, neither kind nor evil? What if God is none of what we imagine, simply because He... is? Because He is the absolute. Because He doesn't need to justify Himself to His creations."

Greed looked at me, his expression wavering between curiosity and fear.

"If He is the absolute, then what are we? Just a mistake?"

I laughed, but my laughter lacked warmth. It was dry, cold, almost mechanical.

"You consider yourselves mistakes because you believe everything should revolve around you. That is human arrogance, the same arrogance that brought us here. You think suffering shouldn't exist because it offends your sense of justice, as if the world owes you anything. But what if even suffering is part of the plan? Not because God is cruel, but because He is perfect. And perfection has no flaws. He cannot make mistakes, which means He cannot undo anything. God is as much a prisoner of His own perfection as we are prisoners of our weaknesses."

Gluttony let out a bitter laugh.

"So He's perfect, but He made us imperfect? What kind of logic is that? If He's perfect, why didn't He create a perfect world? Why not create something worthwhile?"

"Because you confuse perfection with comfort," I retorted, my voice gaining weight but not emotion. "Some wish God had created another world. Other perfections. Something easier, gentler, just to satisfy your fragile and extravagant minds. But you fail to see that true perfection lies not in pleasing you but in existing beyond judgment. God does not err because everything He does is complete. Even pain, even suffering, even this place. You want God to be human because you cannot conceive of something greater."

Silence fell over us again, but this time it was oppressive. It wasn't the kind of silence that came from peace but from resignation. They didn't reply, perhaps because there was nothing left to say. Perhaps because, deep down, they knew I was right.

The truth is that God is neither good nor evil. He is neither just nor unjust. God is the absolute weight of all that exists, all that has ever existed, and all that will ever exist. He bears the burden of all He has created and can never undo any of it. He is, and that is enough.

I kept walking, indifferent to their gazes. What they thought, believed, or feared didn't matter to me. Perhaps, deep down, it didn't matter to anyone. God doesn't need us to believe in Him or understand Him. And in understanding that, I realized that maybe that was what made Him God.

To my right, a gnarled tree bled from its roots, while branches held bodies that screamed with dissonant voices. Their mouths tore, stretching to their ears, while a black, sticky sap oozed from the fissures. One of them, or what was left of him, turned his head toward me, his eyes empty of soul but filled with cruel understanding:

"Do you think you're different from us?" his voice was frail but sharp as a blade. "We are not the sinners. We are the truth you fear to see in the mirror."

I kept walking, ignoring the challenge. But something inside me stirred. It wasn't guilt. It was fascination. Perhaps he was right.

Ahead, a river of flesh boiled like a diseased sea. People—or what was left of them—struggled to escape, but each attempt only sank their deformed bodies deeper into the ocean of agony. Arms rose, melted fingers grasping at the air in a futile gesture of despair. One of them screamed as his head emerged from the scarlet liquid:

"I just wanted to be loved! Just wanted someone to look at me! Is that why I'm here? Is it?"

His voice echoed, desperate, but the river gave him no respite. He was dragged back, his body swallowed by the living substance, as his scream turned into muffled bubbles.

I watched the spectacle, without compassion, without horror, only an indifference I was beginning to recognize as part of me.

That's how Hell works, I thought. It isn't a punishment. It's a revelation. It isn't the acts that brought them here, but the emptiness within them, now amplified into an eternal scream.

In the distance, a thin, crooked figure crawled across the ground, its legs twisted at impossible angles. Its eyes were covered by skin, yet it still saw somehow. As we approached, the creature whispered, each word torn from a throat that seemed to be shredding apart:

— They told me there was mercy... — its voice trembled, carrying an impossible sadness. — That I only had to ask for forgiveness. But here, even hope is a sin.

I stopped for a moment, staring at it as it writhed in its own pain. There was no pity in me. I knew that. But there was curiosity.

— Who told you there was mercy? — I asked, my voice emerging like a cold breath.

It laughed, or tried to laugh, but the sound was a grotesque groan.

— Them. The ones who never came to save me.

I kept walking, leaving it behind, its whispers fading into the scream-laden wind.

The ground began to shift again, now made of cracked mirrors reflecting not my face, but fragments of the souls walking with and around me. Each crack seemed to tell a story—not of their sins, but of their reasons. A woman appeared reflected in one of the mirrors, her face half-consumed by flames, half pale as death. She stared at me and spoke:

— God saw everything. And He allowed it. He made us for this, you know? To be a reminder that even He is not perfect.

— No, — I replied, my voice sharp as the glass beneath my feet. — He is not imperfect. He is the perfection you will never understand. He creates and destroys because only He can bear the weight of what He has made. You fell because you weren't strong enough to exist.

The reflection laughed, but the laughter was a sob of pain. And I? I didn't care. Because I knew there was truth in my words.

We arrived at a valley where bodies hung from chains that pierced their flesh. Every movement tore their skin further, yet they kept swaying, fighting gravity, as if escape were possible. One of the hanging figures whispered, its voice muffled by the sound of the wind:

— Does God really exist?

The words echoed in the air, like a challenge. I didn't hesitate to respond.

Then, I repeated it again. Everyone sought answers but never found them, and perhaps it was this endless search that defined what it meant to be human. To be human is to doubt, to question the very sense of existence. Those who have no doubts, who carry all the answers, are God—and perhaps, in that burden, there is something terribly lonely. I did not wish to be God, nor perfect, nor absolute. I wished only to be myself, the truest version I could achieve, a vision of myself guided by the heart, even if that meant failing and falling. And after reflecting on this, I looked at the figure and repeated the same words I had spoken to the sins before.

— God exists. He is the only constant here. But you will never understand what that means. God is not good or just, not in the way you understand justice. He is indifferent. He is the weight of all that exists, of all that has been created. He bears what we never could. You are here because He created a world that reflects yourselves. And this world demands balance.

Silence fell for a moment, until a distant voice whispered:

— Then why didn't He create something better?

I turned toward the shadows, my eyes fixed on the emptiness ahead.

— Because we are not Him. Some would like God to have created another world, other perfections, just to satisfy their small and extravagant minds. But that would make you nothing more than puppets. This is the world you wanted, the reflection of the choices you made, even before you arrived here.

I kept walking, each step taking me deeper, closer to whatever lay at the end. And in every soul I passed, I saw not only their pain but the truth that perhaps, just perhaps, Hell was the only true justice.