Cyril took a short moment to contemplate on the gargoyle's words, but it didn't take long for him to understand their meaning.
The high-pitched tone that he was hearing sounded nothing like any scream he had ever heard before, not even remotely. It was never-ending, unnatural, and it didn't sound anything like a scream.
To him, that could only mean one thing. These screams were of such volume, of such density and pitch, that they had essentially devolved or mixed into one singular pitch or frequency. The way it was unending could only mean one thing, that there was an innumerable amount of those screaming.
This realization chilled Cyril to the bone. The man felt cold and vulnerable, as if he was naked standing there.
In all his time in life – facing torture, seeing gruesome sights, and ruining lives indiscriminately for his own gain – he had never felt as cold as he did now.
He had felt like this only one other time in his life – and that was when he had committed his first indirect murder. It was when he had seen the life drip slowly from his victim as their addiction took hold of them.
"…Exist?" Cyril mustered his willpower before inquiring softly towards the demon.
"Indeed." Perhaps his unsettledness made the demon feel better as it laid its wings down, resting itself on its arms. "After all, you cannot call them living. They exist in torment."
A moment of silence descended over the two as Cyril turned his gaze towards the gate.
After a moment, he swallowed his saliva. He didn't mean for it to be loud, but the sound echoed in the silence of the grand corridor.
"How long? How long do they… exist in torment for? Forever?"
"I cannot tell exactly. My perception of time is not the same as yours, a mortal's. What I can tell you is that some stay for eternity. Many for not quite as long. Few for a… short amount of time."
Cyril listened closely as the gargoyle spoke, his ears peeled for any information. He could understand what it meant when it said it couldn't say exactly. If it had been sitting there for eons, a 'short amount of time' could mean any number of years for Cyril – a human who had a maximum lifespan of 80 years.
But did it matter? The only part that Cyril considered important was the potential to not stay for eternity.
"How long do you think I would stay for? Do you know?"
"Hmm..." The creature paused for a moment, as if contemplating, before slowly raising a boney finger towards the gate. "Let us try and guess. Take a look at the gate, tell me what you see."
Complying with the gargoyle's words, Cyril's eyes wandered the gate. He inspected it meticulously, trying not to miss any single detail.
"It's… an extremely large gate, one that can reach the skies. It seems to be plated in… no, made out of pure gold, though I can't tell what quality. There's velvet inlaid into the door, and giant pure-cut gemstones of different colours periodically set in the frame. There's also two large golden hoops as handles."
The demon's face remained still, but its silence made it seem like it was in thought.
"It seems to be greed, then. Fortunately for you, not the most severe of the sins, but that alone will not give you much information. You had said it reaches the skies? Your desires must be grave indeed. But who can tell? The final judgement depends on the severity of your sins, along with the judgement. Though, pure gold…" The demon paused again for a long time.
"Pure gold? What does that mean?"
"I have seen only a bare few that have had similar descriptions. Perhaps if you plead for yourself you will have a chance."
"You said that people have had others save them? Or that my guardian angel might step in? Can you tell me if there are any other situations like this?"
"I have seen many of such cases in my existence, though they are already few and far between. I have seen souls standing up to the judges themselves. I have seen them redeeming themselves through repentance. I have even seen a demon plead on a soul's behalf." The gargoyle's glowing eyes rested on Cyril. "The most memorable by far, is when a soul, on its own, had managed to dispute its way out of punishment. Though I have ever seen this happening again."
"Repentance? Dispute? How? How does one dispute against a judge of Hell? What?"
"Indeed, I understand your confusion. I was far more shocked than you are now. It was a reminder for all of us, the judges included, that no existence is omnipotent aside from the Lord above. We all make mistakes."
Cyril stood there silently, wracking his brain in thought, but the red creature broke his thought process.
"Do you regret it?"
He appeared dumbfounded at the question for a moment, but a wide grin soon appeared on his face.
"Regret it? Hell no I don't!"
"Then why do you ask for escape stories? Do you really think you are deserving of a guardian angel to intervene for you? Is this what you hope for?"
Although it didn't say anything outright, it seemed clear to him what it was implying.
"No. I'm not deserving." Closing his eyes, he laughed out loud. Although the laugh sounded resigned, it held the pure spirit of freedom.
"Much less intervening, I don't think I deserve a guardian angel at all. With all the horrible things I've done, I don't even deserve to hope. That's a word that's far beyond me. It was just instinct I suppose. Maybe I was just imagining a way out. It's sinful of me to hope but I can't help but do so, I'm only human, after all. I've prepared myself for this long ago."
Though Cyril didn't notice it, a gleam of approval flashed in the gargoyle's eyes upon hearing its words.
Being prepared to suffer for his crimes.
The middle-aged man had long acknowledged that his actions were morally wrong, and even sinful. He had prepared himself for death, which was why he could readily accept it. Following that line of thought, he had prepared himself to pay for his sins as well with his open-minded attitude towards religion.
But saying so was only one thing. Standing here in the grand corridor, what the droning sound implied was enough to sway even his previously iron resolve.
It was the creature's question that had brought back his memories of his previous determination.
Cyril didn't regret what he did in life. He did it so he could live a good life, and if he could choose, he would go back to do it all again. More than that, if he knew that he was really going to Hell, he would've done even more!
But just because he sinned, it didn't mean he was heartless.
The crying of orphaned children. Lovers who had lost their significant others. Innocent people who's names he did not recognize anymore but who's faces he could vividly recall in his dreams.
The consequences of his actions had longed ingrained themselves into his eyes and heart. Even if he could escape, he didn't think that he should.
This was a weight that he bared on his back in his life, and one he was willing to carry in his death.
But after a short while, a loud clack broke Cyril out from his contemplation.
It was incredibly loud, even louder than the demon's shout, and it echoed throughout the corridor.
The noise had come from the grand gate in front of the two, and shortly afterwards, a loud rumbling sound akin to an earthquake sounded in the hallway as the massive door began to open outwards. The rumbling was loud enough to cover up even the droning screams of the damned, and it continued for a solid five minutes as Cyril stood there, trying to catch his balance.
The gate had caused an almost miniature earthquake for him and the line behind him, but it was odd as there didn't seem to be any ground for the gates to drag across. Instead, what lay beyond the door was complete darkness.
It appeared similar to the pitch blackness of space, all-encompassing.
"Your turn has come. Thank you for providing me with a bit of entertainment."
The gargoyle's words sounded out beside Cyril, and he turned to see that it had unfurled its wings at some point in time. Raising a hand, it waved at the man.
Nodding back, Cyril steeled his resolve before stepping forward. He would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid but there was no point in delaying the inevitable.
The final scene he saw behind him of his post-afterlife, amidst the endless darkness and droning, was the elf slowly coming to consciousness as the gargoyle resumed its original position.