Chapter 11 - The Fall

The muffled screams of tormented souls echoed through the dense air as I stared at the boat that would take me to the next circle. The river before me boiled, emanating a nauseating stench of feces and rotting flesh. Gluttony, Wrath, and Greed floated around me—spectral shadows, ethereal yet burdened with immense weight.

Wrath spoke first.

— We are shadows. We cross effortlessly. But you... you will have to use the boat.

Gluttony and Greed nodded, their shadowy forms hovering over the river, disappearing to the other side without so much as rippling the surface.

I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the fear and nausea. I stepped into the boat. Every stroke of the oar was a battle against the heat and stench, but I pressed on, keeping my eyes fixed on the distant shore. When I was almost there, something coiled around the boat. Before I could react, I was pulled under.

The boiling water enveloped me like a second skin. I felt the pain, the weight, the suffocating sense of despair. My body reacted instinctively, struggling to surface.

I can't breathe. In fact, I never could. The idea of breathing has always been an illusion, an automatic gesture everyone repeats without thinking, without realizing the burden it carries. But I always knew. From the beginning, since I have existed, the air never belonged to me. It was a loan from the world, a forced concession. Now, submerged in this heat, I realize that even that has been taken from me, as if the universe wanted to reaffirm something I had already understood: I was never part of it.

The water surrounds me like a naked truth, without embellishments. It does not lie, does not ask permission to invade every part of me, does not apologize for the pain it brings. It is honest, brutally honest, like the world never was. For a moment, I think I should thank it—for reminding me that everything we consider life—the air, movement, the pulse of a heart—is nothing more than a poorly rehearsed play. Everything is a reflection of God. There is no separation between the idea of God and oxygen; both are indispensable yet devoid of reciprocity. I need oxygen, but it never needs me. And God? I never needed Him. People exalt Him without ever seeing Him, without even understanding what they worship. Maybe I should exalt myself because if I am a reflection of God, then I am as worthy as He is. In truth, everything is a reflection of Him—even the oxygen I breathe and never thank.

I can't resurface, but I don't feel the need to try. What is there on the surface that deserves my effort? More lies, more masks, another endless cycle of unanswered questions. Here, at the bottom, in the suffocating heat, I am reduced to what I truly am: nothing. And for the first time, that feels like enough.

Bubbles escape my mouth as if they are fleeing, and I wonder—what is so special about air that even it does not want to stay with me? Each bubble takes a piece of me, but I don't feel like I'm losing anything. On the contrary, it's as if I'm shedding a weight that was never mine to bear.

Maybe I should be afraid. Anyone would be. But fear is a luxury for those who still believe there is something to lose. I do not believe. Not here, not now. Pain is merely a reminder that I am still trapped in what remains of a body. And that, in itself, is unbearable.

I sink, and the heat devours me. And amidst the boiling, I can only think—have I finally become what I was always destined to be? A fragment of silence lost in the vastness of nothingness.

I emerged, the heat of the boiling river still burning my raw flesh as I dragged myself to the shore. My breathing was heavy, but I gathered all the strength I had to stand—only to be met by a sight that chilled my blood: Azazel, Beelzebub, and Mammon, with cruel smiles on their faces.

Behind them stood Gluttony, Wrath, and Greed. They looked at me with indifference. As if I were nothing more than a stone in their path, disposable.

Mammon was the first to speak, his voice dripping with scorn.

— Look at him. A pathetic human, pretending he has power. What can you offer them that we cannot?

I trembled, my bloodied hands gripping the muddy ground. I lifted my gaze, summoning every ounce of courage left in me.

— Not power. It was never about power. It was about freedom.

My words echoed, but the demons did not react. I turned to Gluttony, ignoring the others, letting my voice tremble deliberately, mixing pain and desperation.

— Do you think Beelzebub will free you? Look at me! I am raw flesh, suffering, fighting... not for myself, but for you! Because I believe you deserve something better than this endless hunger.

Gluttony averted her gaze, hesitating for a moment. But Beelzebub stepped forward, trying to reaffirm his dominance.

— Don't fall for this, Gluttony. He is using your weakness. He only wants to use you!

I quickly turned to Beelzebub, pointing at my mutilated body.

— Use you? Look at me! I am on the brink of death because I believed I could save them! And what have you done for her besides keeping her hungry?

I turned to Wrath. My tone changed, becoming deeper, like a friend speaking directly to another.

— Wrath, you are strength. You are fire. But what has Azazel done with that? He has chained you, used your rage as fuel for his own power. And now? Now he wants you to believe that is all you are.

Azazel laughed, trying to undermine my influence.

— You speak as if you know something about her. Wrath does not need your pity. She was born to burn!

I ignored Azazel, locking eyes with Wrath.

— Burn for him, not for yourself. Think about it. You do not deserve to be just an instrument. You deserve to be free, to decide for yourself what to do with your strength.

Finally, I faced Greed, letting my voice weaken, as if I were on the verge of collapse.

— Greed... You know that Mammon only gave you gold to enslave you. He wants you to think you are in control, but everything you have is only what he allowed you to have. Don't you see? He is afraid of what you could be without him.

Mammon could not contain his rage, stepping forward.

— Enough of this! You are an insignificant human!

Before I could react, he kicked me, throwing me back into the boiling river. The pain was indescribable, but I did not scream. I submerged completely, letting the heat consume my flesh once more.

I emerged from the water, crawling to the shore again. My body was a horror—raw flesh, pieces of skin hanging, blood mixed with dirt. But my mind was clear, and my voice, stronger.

— You think this will stop me? You think what I feel now is worse than the pain of seeing you enslaved?

The shadows hesitated. Even the demons seemed unsettled by my resilience. I seized the moment, my tone oscillating between desperation and determination.

— Gluttony, Wrath, Greed... I don't want you to follow me because I am strong. I want you to follow me because I will never give up on you. Even if it kills me. Even if I have to be destroyed so you can be free.

I turned to the demons, my gaze defiant.

— Beelzebub, Azazel, Mammon. You know what is happening here. They are beginning to see the truth. It doesn't matter how many times you throw me into the fire. It doesn't matter how many lies you tell. In the end, the truth is inevitable—you have no power without them.

The demons tried to respond, but it was too late. The shadows had turned against them, fed by the lies I had turned into truths.

As the demons vanished, Lucifer appeared, a disconcerting smile on his face.

— Congratulations, human. You deceived them. But the real question is: do you believe in the lies you told?

I didn't answer. Because, deep down, I knew he was right.

The next circle awaited me, and I was ready for anything.