The Day Death Died

The Day Death Died - Chapter 25

We stood on the opposite side of a glassy veil, looking out across the forsaken landscape of the Fields of Punishment. The scene stretched out endlessly before us, an infernal nightmare shrouded in perpetual twilight. The air itself seemed to quiver with malevolence, thick with despair. It was as if the entire world held its breath in anticipation of something dark and terrible.

The ground was barren and cracked, a dull, ashen gray that looked more like the surface of a dying planet than any real place. As far as the eye could see, jagged rocks jutted from the earth like broken teeth, creating an alien landscape that was impossible to navigate without injury. The very soil beneath our feet felt hostile—alive with the agony of the condemned. I could feel their suffering in the earth itself, pulsing with each of our steps. Fumes of sulfur and ash rose from the cracks, burning my throat and stinging my eyes with every breath.

"God, this place," I mumbled under my breath, a wave of nausea threatening to pull me under.

"It gets worse the longer you're here," Edwin said flatly, his eyes scanning the horizon with practiced indifference.

"Why is it like this?"

He turned toward me, his face unreadable. "Because it has to be. There are no soft lands for souls who are here. This is the price they pay."

I said nothing in return, too overwhelmed by the scene in front of me. The air was filled with eerie, mournful wails—voices that carried on the sulfurous breeze, echoing off the jagged cliffs. These were not the cries of living beings. They were the voices of the condemned, endlessly suffering for crimes they could never atone for. The weight of it pressed down on me like a lead blanket, the despair almost tangible.

The sky above was an ominous shade of blood-red, its oppressive hue casting an eerie glow over everything. Towering monoliths of black obsidian rose from the ground like twisted sentinels, their surfaces sharp and jagged, casting long, foreboding shadows that seemed to writhe with malevolent intent. It felt as though the land itself was conspiring to break the spirits of those trapped here, ensuring that no hope could survive.

As we walked deeper into the fields, the scene grew worse. Souls were scattered across the land, each one suffering its own personal torment. Some were forced to push boulders up steep, unending inclines—only for the rocks to roll back down just before reaching the top. Their screams mingled with the groans of others bound to wheels of fire, their charred bodies endlessly rotating as flames licked their skin. The sight of it all was horrifying, the sheer futility of their existence clear in every agonized cry.

A river of molten lava snaked through the distance, its banks lined with charred, petrified trees. Their gnarled branches reached out in what looked like silent screams, as if even the landscape itself was in constant torment. Every part of this realm screamed of hopelessness. Those who dared venture too close to the fiery flow were consumed by it, only to re-emerge moments later, screaming in agony once more. There was no respite here—only the endless cycle of suffering.

I felt sick to my stomach. "I feel like shit," I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow as we trudged on.

"Yes," Edwin said, his voice matter-of-fact. "I'm not surprised."

We walked in silence for what felt like hours, though time in this place had a way of stretching and bending, leaving me disoriented. The ground beneath my feet was uneven and treacherous, each step threatening to send me tumbling into the endless torment around me.

I squinted through the sulfurous haze and saw a figure ahead, half-hidden in the thick smoke. It looked like a woman—at least, she had the form of one. She was hunched beneath the crushing weight of an enormous boulder, her frail body struggling to hold it aloft. Her tattered, ghostly gown clung to her skeletal frame, and her eyes—hollow, sunken pools of despair—met mine.

"Help me," she croaked, her voice a weak, rasping plea that sent chills down my spine.

Without thinking, I rushed toward her, the oppressive heat of the Fields burning my skin as I moved. The cries of the other tormented souls grew louder around me, but I couldn't just stand there. This woman—this soul—needed help.

"Maddison, stop!" Edwin's voice cut through the cacophony as he grabbed my hand, pulling me back.

I looked at him, wide-eyed, torn between the need to help her and the dread that hung over this place like a storm cloud. "We have to help her!" I insisted, my voice breaking.

Edwin's grip on my arm tightened. "No, we don't. She's here for a reason."

I pulled my arm free and took another step forward, the weight of the oppressive heat making it feel like I was wading through thick mud. "What reason could there possibly be to deserve this?"

"This is the Fields of Punishment. The only ones sent here are those who committed great evils or seriously pissed off the gods," Edwin said, his voice colder than usual.

I turned back to the woman, her frail form trembling beneath the boulder. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, her eyes wild with desperation.

"What great evil?" I whispered, my heart pounding in my chest as I took another step closer.

The woman looked up at me, her face contorting into a grotesque smile, one that made my blood run cold. "They wouldn't stop screaming," she hissed through her teeth, her voice now laced with malice. "They wouldn't be quiet, so I made them quiet."

I froze, horror creeping up my spine like icy fingers. I stumbled back, the bile rising in my throat. "Oh... right. Never mind."

Edwin grabbed my wrist and pulled me away from her, his face grim. "You see why you don't interfere?"

I nodded, my mind racing. The woman's twisted smile was burned into my brain. This place was filled with the worst of the worst—people who had committed acts so vile that this endless torment was their only reward. And I had nearly fallen for her plea.

We continued walking, leaving the woman and her boulder behind. The farther we went, the heavier the air seemed to become, thick with the weight of despair. My legs felt like lead, my chest tight with the burden of the suffering that surrounded us.

"How do you handle this?" I asked Edwin, my voice shaky. "All this suffering—how do you just turn it off?"

He glanced at me, his face softening slightly. "You don't. Not really. When I first became a reaper, I wanted to save every soul I came across. I thought if I could just talk to them, I could convince them to change. But you learn... some souls aren't meant to be saved. Some of them—well, some of them deserve exactly what they get."

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle over me like a shroud. "What about me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Edwin's eyes softened further as he looked at me. "You're different, Maddison. You're not like them. You're... an exception. One I've never quite figured out."

I smiled weakly, the compliment doing little to lift the weight of the pit's despair from my shoulders. I punched his arm lightly, but even the playful gesture felt hollow.

As we trudged on, something shifted in the landscape ahead. The ground beneath us rumbled, and the sulfurous haze parted to reveal something I hadn't expected—a door. It stood there, towering and foreboding, its surface made of blackened iron. Strange symbols were etched into it, glowing faintly with an eerie light. It seemed out of place in the desolate landscape of the Fields, as though it had been dropped there by mistake.

"Well, what the hell is that?" I asked, eyeing the door warily.

Edwin stepped forward, studying the symbols. "It's a passage."

"A passage to where?"

He hesitated for a moment, then glanced at me. "The next level."

"And what's the next level?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"The Prison of the Damned."

"Awesome," I muttered, staring at the door. I could feel the weight of it, the sense of finality that came with crossing its threshold. Whatever horrors awaited us on the other side couldn't be worse than what we'd already seen... or at least, that's what I told myself.

Without another word, I reached for the door, the cold iron biting into my skin as I pushed it open.