《Welcome to Hell!》 First steps 1 I stand in darkness, struggling to inhale the hot, heavy air. I have no idea where I am or how I got here. My mind is a jumbled mess. I hear the shuffling of feet nearby. I am not alone. I hear the rapid breaths of a passer-by. Someone brushes against me and cries out in alarm. As I fumble in the darkness, my fingers graze skin covered in cold sweat. I flinch in shock. Behind me, men and women call out to each other. They ask questions and call names, their words echoing like tomb whispers. Sweat runs down my spine, and I feel hot stone beneath my feet. I realize I¡¯m naked. The voices continue to increase and grow louder. I try to assemble my thoughts, but I can only remember that it was dawn and I was on my way home. Someone grips my bicep, and a voice screams directly into my face. ¡°Jane?!¡± the voice cries, but no one named Jane responds. Memories begin to flood back. I remember the pain. The sirens and lights in the murky morning. The operating room where they told me to count from one hundred down to zero. I made it to ninety-eight. Something creaks. An orange rectangle expands on the ground. Hot air rushes in with the light, as if we¡¯d opened a furnace door. The squeaky gates lift, and other people appear around me, all facing away from me, toward the exit. A young woman turns back to look into the darkness, her eyes wide with fear. We cough. The gates disappear into the ceiling. We squint, and some people shout in the direction of the light. Their words are lost in the roar of fire. We are in a cave, not a tunnel. The bright, flickering flames dance on the sharp walls, creating long shadows. ¡°Where are we?¡± shouts an old man. Hesitantly, the people nearest the exit onward start passing through it. I stand in the middle and must wait for us all to move. It¡¯s only now that I notice the stench. I¡¯ve never smelled anything worse. People are gagging. Some don¡¯t even have time to bend over. I barely do. The disgusting smell forces us to keep vomiting until we are emptied. I stay bent on my knees, staring at my soiled legs. When I think it¡¯s over, I raise my teary gaze. A young woman is kneeling right in front of me. Her blonde hair is pulled to the side, and strings of saliva hang from her lips. She doesn¡¯t care that she¡¯s revealing her most intimate parts to the world. I look away awkwardly. I try to breathe through my mouth, but the nauseating taste is instantly on my tongue. I gag again, empty. There are about fifty of us. I spot a tattooed muscle man, a brunette in his forties, but most people here are old. One is jumping around like he¡¯s trying out new sneakers, shouting that he has both legs again. My subconscious presses on me its opinion of where I am. I try to ignore it. A massive dome rises above our heads. Long, thin stalactites hang from the walls. The rock is black as night. We¡¯re standing on some kind of rim. I cautiously walk to the edge and try looking down. From the bottomless depths, a fiery tornado rises. It¡¯s miles away, yet with every step I take, I feel my skin burning. I retreat to the wall. ¡°Friends!¡± a voice booms behind us. ¡°Friends, may I have your attention.¡± Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. We all turn around, and my subconscious triumphantly cries out I was right! There stands a devil. One withered old woman kneels and prays. Others quickly follow suit. The devil surveys this with amusement. He is tall and sturdy as an oak tree, with a bull neck, massive hairy forearms, and calves as large as melons. He stands with a relaxed posture, hands on his hips, and a distinctly protruding beer belly. ¡°Welcome to Hell, friends.¡± His voice is surprisingly cultured. An old man steps forward, makes the sign of the cross in the air, and screams over the roar of the fire, ¡°In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to leave, Satan!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t take the Lord¡¯s name in vain, bishop!¡± The devil crosses himself ironically. ¡°And not the boss¡¯s name either, while we¡¯re at it. Besides, we both know if you met baby Jesus, you¡¯d fuck him.¡± His face, in contrast to his wrestler¡¯s body, is handsome. He exudes intelligence and substantial charisma. He looks like Marlon Brando at the start of his weight gain. His wrists and neck are adorned with braided leather straps and strands of beads, and he¡¯s wearing purple Crocs. He looks human¡­ except for his horns, which grow out of his lush black locks and curl around his temples like a mountain sheep¡¯s. And his rat tail. It¡¯s bare and about six feet long. It ends in a bony point. ¡°So, friends, time is running out.¡± Strangely, though he never raises his voice, I can still hear him clearly. He simply walks past the shouting bishop. ¡°Please follow me.¡± Everything seems unbelievable; my head is empty as a discarded nutshell. I feel like I did back when a bomb exploded under our car in Afghanistan. But still, I try to think. It would be nice if I could think up answers to questions like, ¡°Why I am here?¡± and ¡°How do I get out?¡± All I know is: I was driving home from a night shift. And apparently, I didn¡¯t make it. That¡¯s really all I¡¯m certain of. I take in the wrinkled faces of the aged; there are more men than women here, and only a few people of working age. One of them, a muscle-bound man adorned with gang tattoos, has picked up a rock. He holds it like a claw. He slowly makes his way through the motionless crowd. I watch him, and a crazy idea sprouts in my head: together we could defeat the devil. The man looks at me, wondering if I¡¯ll join him. But then I slowly shake my head, indicating that it¡¯s not a good idea: we have no idea what we¡¯re up against. The heavyweight ignores me and approaches the devil with a raised rock. ¡°How can I help you?¡± asks the devil. The man howls out something about having beaten bigger fighters. He¡¯s a big man, his muscles pumped up with steroids. He¡¯s this devil¡¯s match in size and weight. The spawn of hell assumes a boxer¡¯s stance and teases the man to try it. The tip of his tail whips back and forth like a cat ready to catch a bird. The man charges with a wild shout. The devil waits until he arrives¡­ and suddenly a man¡¯s torn-off face is sailing in the air. The devil¡¯s right hand was so fast, I didn¡¯t even register its movement. The man turns and stumbles in our direction. Bloodshot eyes gaze at us from his jagged skull. ¡°Hey buddy, where you going?¡± the devil taunts him. He takes two quick steps and grabs the man by the ankles, bashing him against rock as if he were dusting off a tablecloth. As if the man¡¯s body weighed five pounds instead of a good two-fifty. The kindly, wry expression is gone. Now his handsome tanned face twists into a maniacal grin. All that¡¯s left of his opponent is a smashed bag of muscles, but the devil still isn¡¯t satisfied. He grabs the man¡¯s shattered skull in his hand. ¡°I¡¯m undemanding,¡± he pants over the pile of bones and tendons. ¡°But I do demand discipline. Remember that.¡± With a swift movement, his right hand grabs the man¡¯s head by the chin and effortlessly tears it off. He stands for a moment over the body¡¯s smoking remains, inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling slowly through his mouth, as if trying to regain his inner peace. After reopening his eyes, he is smiling once more. ¡°Alright friends, shall we finally get going?¡± he says. ¡°Oh my God¡­¡± moans the severed head. ¡°Lord have mercy¡­¡± ¡°Shut up,¡± the devil replies softly as he kicks it off into a cave. The detached intestines come to life and slither like a snake into the cave, followed by the torn body crawling on its elbows after its own head. ¡°Want to see a trick?¡± the devil winks at us. ¡°Come on, it¡¯s one you¡¯ve never seen!¡± I make eye contact with the pretty blonde. ¡°Are we in Hell?¡± she whispers. There¡¯s every indication, but I dare not say it out loud. The devil¡¯s voice booms through the cavern, amplified by echoes: ¡°Abracadabra!¡± And from the depths of the chasm, where an endless inferno swirls, pieces of iron begin to fly. They are red-hot, spinning in the air and illuminating the rocky walls like giant fireflies. The pieces meet and fit with metallic clicks. It takes less than a minute, and from where we stand, a fifty-yard bridge now stretches to the opposite rim. ¡°Alright folks! Let¡¯s go!¡± A red-hot bridge 2 This demonstration of power was certainly impressive¡ªthe groans of a torn man still echo from the cave¡ªbut still no one is in a rush to cross the scorching bridge. Its cooling iron snaps and slowly blackens, but the edges of its beams and nails still glow red. We stand frozen, as if we can¡¯t grasp what is being asked of us. ¡°Come on, what¡¯s with the line?¡± the devil sneers. ¡°It¡¯s like the showers in Treblinka, isn¡¯t it Hans?¡± he sneers at a perhaps century-old man. ¡°My name is Ian,¡± the man protests weakly. ¡°So move it, please,¡± the devil urges us, impatience creeping into his voice. He¡¯s also not smiling as casually anymore. Now it¡¯s more forced, as if he¡¯s straining to keep a good mood. A new scream echoes from the cave. We see a muscle-bound figure crouched at the entrance. His intestines are crawling into his stomach, and his face is twitching like a fish out of water. An old man tries to slip past the devil, whose tail, however, lashes through the air like a whip and strikes him across the face, splitting it open and knocking out one of his eyes. ¡°Ladies first?¡± the devil asks, not even looking at the man, whose blood is now pouring through his fingers. Chaos ensues as women are mercilessly pushed toward the bridge. The crowd surges around me, but I am young and strong and refuse to be overtaken. An old lady with permed blue hair is pushed to the edge. ¡°Virgo Maria,¡± she whispers, her eyes fixed on the fiery Victorian bridge. ¡°No vulgarities, please,¡± the devil says, swatting her on the rump. She scurries forward, reaching the middle of the bridge before turning and running back in terror. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. The devil roars like a lion. Or perhaps more like a Spielbergian T-Rex. The sound shakes my chest. The woman panics and spins for a moment¡ªeliciting a merry chuckle from the devil¡ªbut eventually she runs back away. ¡°Lift those legs high, ma¡¯am!¡± he shouts behind her, cupping his hands like a megaphone. When the she collapses on the other side, he cackles until tears stream down his face. ¡°My friends,¡± he intones in mocked sincerity, ¡°you must tread as lightly as you can.¡± He sends each of us off with a slap to the backside. I¡¯m still trying to make sense of it all, to come up with something¡ªanything¡ªthat will wake me from this nightmare. It occurs to me that I may indeed be asleep. But it¡¯s all too vivid. And happening too fast. The old men run clumsily after each other. They¡¯re followed by a forty-year-old brunette. She screams and outruns everyone on the bridge, colliding with a crone who then disappears into the fiery depths with a screech. It¡¯s my turn. I sweat with heat and horror. The devil slaps me across my buttocks. I repel the senseless idea of resistance and sprint as fast as I can, barely landing on my toes. I try to ignore the endless depths and the scorching gusts of air that shake me. I pass two old-timers, and suddenly I¡¯m on the other side. I jump past a heap of writhing people. They cry in pain and hold their burned and peeling feet. I don¡¯t feel anything at all. I glance back at the devil. He strides toward us on the bridge, his tail swishing to and fro. I instinctively flop to the ground and try to moan convincingly. I clutch at my feet, trying to hide the fact that I¡¯m unharmed. I rock back and forth and whimper. It¡¯s embarrassing, and I fear he¡¯ll see right through me and rip out some of my innards just for kicks. Our guide, however, pays me no attention and briskly leads the way. ¡°Come on, group!¡± he says, and claps. ¡°We¡¯ve got a nice hike ahead of us!¡± When the oldsters don¡¯t rise, he hauls them up by their hair. He lashes out with his tail, leaving deep gashes on their bent backs. I rapidly check my feet¡ªno blisters, no burns¡ªand quickly rise. I don¡¯t want to give him an excuse to touch me. But he comes to me anyway. I feel his gaze and, for safety, I eye the ground, trying to sound distressed. He¡¯ll surely soon realize I¡¯m cheating. But the devil is looking somewhere behind me. The tattooed man has just crossed the bridge. Besides a crazed look in his eyes and a few drying bloodstains, he¡¯s perfectly fine. ¡°Move it, dumbass, we¡¯re not waiting for you,¡± the devil growls. Thankfully, he doesn¡¯t spare me a glance. ¡°Alright friends, follow me!¡± he commands like a tour guide and sets off into the dark depths of Hell. Fifty damned souls obediently follow him. Why am I here? 3 The path is wide¡ªabout ten yards¡ªand it slopes and smoothly turns to the right. To our left is a perpendicular rock wall, and to our right, a fiery abyss. We curve widely around the distant fiery tornado, which never loses its strength. It may be eternal. We walk barefoot on the sharp rocky surface. People around me (or souls, or whatever we are) cry in pain and hiss through clenched teeth. They mourn quietly, and no one even speaks; we don¡¯t want to draw attention to ourselves. The sight of the suffering elders is heartbreaking. Yet two of them are apparently deserving of their fate. One is a pedophile, the other a Nazi¡­ at least according to our leader. But what about the others? What about the young blonde? What about the barely fifteen-year-old boy? And what about me? I finally have a moment to sort out my thoughts. And so I now know who I am. And what I was doing just before my death (if this is death). It was six in the morning, and I was driving on the highway. I was falling asleep. I knew it would be wise to stop. I remember telling myself I¡¯d stretch a bit at the next rest stop. Then I only remember the fiery ball. And the terrible crash. Did I fall asleep at the wheel? Did I kill someone? That would explain why I¡¯m here¡­ The devil walks in the lead, his tail twitching from side to side like he¡¯s a happy cat. Every time our procession of elders begins to slow, he turns to us, and people hustle on again. The first to break is our old Ian, who, I assume, had something to do with the Holocaust. He charges with a scream to the edge of the abyss. He¡¯s leaping clumsily, instead of running, but he¡¯ll leap before the devil can stop him. A dull thud echoes, as if he¡¯s hit his head on a glass plate. The old man falls on his ass, and blood gushes from his broken nose. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. The devil laughs so hard he has to grab his knees. ¡°Not¡­ yet¡­ your¡­ time,¡± he wheezes, wiping away tears of mirth with the back of his hand. A strange sense of humor indeed¡­ Finally calming down, he indicates we¡¯ll be continuing. But the throng of old men doesn¡¯t budge. ¡°Really?¡± He puts his hands on his hips and looks sullen. ¡°Rebellion?¡± A rustling and clicking echoes behind us. As if the black rock had come alive. Spiders, centipedes, scorpions, and all manner of creatures, some of which I¡¯m not even sure are earthly fauna, emerge from the holes. Thousands of overgrown insect monsters approach us in a black, bustling wave. The women are first to respond, this time pushing forward, and our big old pile of muscles, who had been hanging back a bit, catches up with us quickly. Ian is on his feet too. The devil walks on without looking back, his tail swaying lazily over his muscular hips. His Crocs resonate regularly. How I envy him! We follow him, accompanied by the rustling of thousands of feet and the clicking of hundreds of mandibles. And I once again have time for reflection. Was I a good person in life? I don¡¯t know. But I know I wasn¡¯t evil. Our children grew up to be decent young people. I never yelled at them, or at my dear Lucy, much less raised a hand against them. My affairs? There weren¡¯t¡­ that many, and Lucy never found out about them. And you can¡¯t say I hurt my mistresses. They all knew what they were getting into¡ªand that I would never leave my wife. Still, was this the sin that brought me here? Or was it my occasional brawls? Or joining in a war where I never fired a shot? When Lucy lay dying of leukemia, I stood by her to the end. I never fully recovered from that. With every ounce of my being, I¡¯d sought to be a source of strength for our teenagers. I feel like I succeeded, yet I still often considered suicide¡­ but more academically than seriously. However, so many times when everybody was visiting Grandma for the weekend, I¡¯d awaken with a hangover, finding an unlocked gun among the empty bottles. Perhaps that¡¯s why I took that mission in Afghanistan. Not to forget or earn money, but because I hoped I¡¯d take a bullet there. The last ten years have felt like an endless nightmare. Did it finally overcome me? I¡¯m surprised as I pause. I can¡¯t seem to recall what I was doing just before the impact. Did I kill myself on purpose? And did I take someone with me? A jolt. Someone¡¯s tripped over me. It¡¯s the young blonde. She almost falls, and I catch her. She looks at me with a vulnerable gaze. She breaks away and shoots a look at our leader. I return to my thoughts. There¡¯s one more reason why I might deserve biblical damnation. I was baptized and attended church as a boy but never truly believed in God. Feast 4 What does eternity mean? Walking a spiral into the depths of Hell certainly feels eternal to me. There¡¯s nothing to measure time by. There¡¯s no horizon, the path is unchanging, and the only source of light is the fiery tornado we¡¯re circling. Will we keep on like this until the end of time? Or are we headed toward some goal? Are there other groups of the damned ahead of us? Behind us? I¡¯m 45 and in decent shape, but even I¡¯m exhausted. How must the old folks feel, dragging on apathetically beside me? One man at the tail end has given up and collapsed. When a wave of gleaming exoskeletons and hairy legs approaches, he rises onto all fours. Then the wave engulfs him. He eventually manages to rise again, but now is covered in beetles and spiders. I notice a centipede crawling up his nose. He screams until the bugs fill his throat. Then he falls, and after a few convulsive movements, he lies still. He never rejoins us. Just like the woman who fell off the bridge. Does that mean we each have our allotted time? A few minutes (or hours?) later, an old lady stumbles in front of me. I reach her at the same time as a young blonde. We lift her together and let go only once we¡¯re sure she won¡¯t fall again. The old lady has gratitude in her tear-filled eyes. She reminds me a bit of my grandmother. Falling from exhaustion leads nowhere. We continue silently. How long has it been? Five hours? A day? A week? My stomach initially loudly demanded food, then gave up. Now it¡¯s clenched in a hungry cramp. Water is now an abstract concept for me. I¡¯d drink my urine if I could squeeze any out. But I don¡¯t hold much hope for death by starvation or thirst. ¡°Please, water,¡± someone says behind me. The youngest of our pack moves to the fore. He has a rich mane of red hair, and big green eyes. Up close, he looks even younger. How did a teenager end up in Hell? Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Water,¡± he repeats, making drinking motions. ¡°Are you thirsty?¡± the devil asks. The boy nods. We stop, and I nervously scan for the army of beetles. In the shadows, I see a black, glossy heap rolling in place. The devil speaks quietly to the boy, finally boldly pinching his face. He then looks at the rest of us: ¡°Friends, shall we take a snack break?¡± No one even twitches. ¡°Now for another spell.¡± He wiggles his fingers like a magician at some children¡¯s show. ¡°Simsalabim! It¡¯s time to eat¡­ him!¡± A body flies out of the center of our cramped group. The man cries out, more in surprise than pain. He slams back against the upright wall to our left, as if pulled by a magnet. It¡¯s one of the younger ones. Babbling something in Arabic. The devil approaches him and expertly feels his belly. ¡°Who wants the spleen?¡± he asks cheerfully. His tail whips, and its bony tip slices the man from his sternum to his hips. The man¡¯s entrails slap on the rock. He screams like a banshee. The devil rummages through the slick innards for a bit, then grasps a red pouch. He cuts it off with the tip of his tail. The man continues to scream. He looks down at his entrails scattered across the rocks and screams. ¡°Who wants some spleen?¡± the devil barks over the man¡¯s cries, holding a bloody bundle in his hand. He finally throws it to the boy. ¡°It¡¯s full of moisture and vitamins,¡± he advises. The scene is completely surreal. The boy gazes wide-eyed at the squirming mass in his palm. The devil expertly cuts out the man¡¯s liver and portions it. He speaks soothingly to the man as he does. The Arab surprisingly stops shrieking. He just nods shakily. The devil tosses us more pieces, and few let them hit the ground. Oh God, I¡¯m hungry! I know I¡¯d rather die than touch human flesh. But¡ªis that still true? Has Hell changed my values? ¡°No need to hesitate, friends.¡± And they don¡¯t. The first one licks the bloody piece in their hand. But the blood only excites their appetite. Some take small, discreet bites; others dive right in. ¡°Come on, dig in.¡± He¡¯s having a good time. ¡°Kemal invites you.¡± The muscled man is the first to advance. I notice the tattooed inscription across his abdomen is a little frayed where the devil tore it apart. Kemal, stuck to the rock, starts whimpering again, and the devil quietly comforts him. The tattooed muscleman kneels and starts feasting. Others arrive. They shred the unfortunate one and feed like zombies in a B movie. The devil has his hand on Kemal¡¯s face. ¡°Shhh. Everything¡¯s fine¡ªit¡¯ll grow back.¡± Only a few of us refuse the feast. Beside me is a blonde woman. She covers her face and sharply exhales into her palms. What I do next is spontaneous and foolish. I approach and embrace her. She lets me. I meet the devil¡¯s eyes, blue like a summer sky. Andrea 5 Our desperate, dehumanized procession continues into the depths of Hell. Kemal catches up a few miles (or a few dozen?) later. His lower half is covered in dried blood, but his torso is intact once again. He keeps his distance and watches us warily. All it would take is for someone to trip or make a sudden movement, and he¡¯d be ready to flee. I don¡¯t think he¡¯d get far. An eternity (a word I¡¯m slowly starting to understand) has passed when the devil again stops by and asks blithely if we¡¯d like a bite to eat. I¡¯m starving¡ªas much I can say that when I cannot starve¡ªbut human flesh does not entice me. The damned around me remain silent. Perhaps out of shame or fear. A few of them turn their gazes to Kemal. Although he¡¯s too far away, he still senses what they¡¯re talking about. He slowly backs away. Perhaps he¡¯d rather face a swarm of insects than another dismemberment. ¡°Aren¡¯t you hungry?¡± the devil asks in amazement. ¡°By your time, a week has passed since your last feeding.¡± I¡¯ve long suspected I haven¡¯t been perceiving time here realistically, yet this news still feels like a blow to the head. He points a finger straight at me: ¡°What about you, dude?¡± I¡¯m paralyzed. Like a mouse stared down by a snake. My feet feel rooted to the rock. No! I convince myself. He¡¯s definitely pointing at somebody else! I just think he¡¯s pointing at me! He moves closer, the tip of his tail playfully wagging. My sphincter loosens¡ªbut with nothing left inside me, all I release is a long, piercing hiss. He stops a few inches from me. The beads on his neck turn out to be fingers and human teeth. I¡¯m six feet tall, so we look each other in the eye. His eyes are unnaturally bright; I feel like they are pulsing. He reviews me like a gourmet eyeing an Argentine sirloin. ¡°So, how about something juicy?¡± he taunts me with his ironic smile. His breath smells terrible. Then his index finger prods me in the belly. ¡°I can hear your stomach from across a football field.¡± He leans in until our noses are almost touching. ¡°I¡¯ll show you a trick, okay?¡± I expect him to disgorge me. However, he reaches behind my ear, and a cigarette appears in his hand. He hangs it in the corner of his mouth and snaps his fingers. It lights. ¡°Good, isn¡¯t it?¡± He blows smoke in my face. At that moment, an old man bursts from our group. He crashes into the wall and screams. The devil reaches behind my ear again, this time pulling out a large switchblade. He tosses it to the bruiser. ¡°Butcher him,¡± he says with his gaze still fixed on me. This time my companions react a bit faster. They crowd around the old man like wolves who¡¯ve felled an elk. In the firelight, I see only their sagging buttocks and bent backs. But the devil still gazes into my eyes. ¡°Something about you doesn¡¯t fit, kid,¡± he finally says, patting me on the face. ¡°But don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll figure it out.¡± This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Finally, he leaves, and my legs weaken with relief. I collapse to my knees on the sharp gravel, my limbs feeling heavy as concrete. I¡¯m terribly tired. This time fewer of us don¡¯t partake in the feast. The blonde is standing a short way from me. She seems to be considering helping me back to my feet. I slowly shake my head. She sits on a boulder, curled up in a fetal position. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I ask. ¡°Andrea.¡± ¡°I¡¯m Mike.¡± I see Kemal, watching from a safe distance. As soon as he realizes he¡¯s not on the menu tonight, he hesitantly approaches. The devil urges him to join in. Kemal finally squeezes in among the damned. After the feast, the old man peels himself away from the rock, huddles into a ball, and waits for the remains of his innards and his body to be mended. The others awkwardly look away. I guess they feel embarrassed, what with their bellies being full of his flesh. ¡°So friends, let¡¯s go,¡± the devil bellows at us. ¡°We have all the time in the world, but why waste it, huh?¡± I wonder where that switchblade is. But the tattooed man has empty hands. As I try to rise, I fall on my side. I feel like a rusted machine left out in the yard all winter. I only manage to rise on the second try. Andrea¡¯s not much better off; we¡¯re like infants learning to walk. On the other hand, the old folks, who should be faring much worse, are lively as they jump up. Maybe human meat gives them energy. Maybe it gives them much more than they¡¯d get in the world of the living. We broadly skirt the roaring furnace and slowly descend into Hell. An hour (or a year, I wouldn¡¯t know) past our last feeding, we come upon a crevice. A rock overhang rises above us. It¡¯s cracked, and lava is flowing from the split, creating a curtain of scorching ropes. It can¡¯t be circumvented. ¡°So, who will lead the way?¡± asks the devil with amused twinkling eyes. ¡°Perhaps the lawyer?¡± An old man wildly shakes his head and tries to squeeze in among the others. ¡°You¡¯d still have to face it,¡± the Devil explains. ¡°The quicker you get it over with, the less damage there will be. Better put your hands above your head. You¡¯ll lose them, but if you¡¯re quick enough, it won¡¯t burn through your skull. I won¡¯t lie, it hurts like hell.¡± And now we stand in a new huddle. This time not even the thousands of beetles approaching inexorably in a black glossy wave will budge us. I expect that at any moment, someone will ignore the beetles and run back, pulling the others with them. Suddenly, a growl echoes from the shadows behind us. The devil stands before us with his arms akimbo, smugly smiling. We turn in terror. Another growl. Three pairs of gleaming eyes appear in the fiery glow. Three jagged maws. One head after another pulls back its lips, baring long fangs. All belong to one body. Cerberus? Are you kidding? I have to wake up from this! The mythical monster is pressin us toward the fiery waterfall. And our devil¡¯s veered off the path with giddy excitement. Cerberus is now within reach, as big as a calf. His central head stretches forward and licks the nearest buttocks. Then it bites into them, yanking a naked man out from the crowd. The three-headed dog shoves the man under himself, with each head vying for the biggest piece. The man screams until he¡¯s hoarse; then there¡¯s only the soft tearing and cracking of bones. Our heavyweight is the first to regain his senses. He grabs the startled bishop by the legs and throws the man over his shoulder. Shielded by this body, he passes through the lava shower. ¡°Bravo!¡± the devil claps. The heat of the molten rock sears my eyes as I watch two men collapse on the other side of the ropes. The bishop writhes and screams. Others try to imitate the muscle-man; a brawl breaks out. Two thrashing bodies splash into the fiery waterfall. A man tries crawling, but his legs remain on our side, quickly ignited by the subcutaneous fat. The devil roars with laughter and slaps his thighs. The dog joins in the fight. Its heads snap at the thrashing bodies. Andrea shoves me from behind and struggles against an old man. I hold onto her, trying to push the eighty-year-old away. But old bones can work wonders. The man not only stands like a rock, but even smacks me with a punch. The sanity I¡¯ve clung to so fiercely now slips away. Three blows rain down on the man¡¯s face in quick succession. I¡¯ve finally lost my mind! I scream inside with a sense of vindication. What other explanation could there be for the atrocity I¡¯m about to commit? I cover Andrea with my body and charge toward the wall of fire.