As we descended deeper into the underworld, the air grew colder, more oppressive. The suffocating weight of deceit and betrayal seemed to seep into my very bones. This was the Eighth Circle, a place where fraud and deception reigned supreme. But unlike the raw violence of the previous circle, this was a different kind of evil—one that thrived on manipulation, trickery, and the exploitation of trust.
We entered a vast, cavernous space that seemed to stretch on forever, its walls lined with jagged rock formations that resembled the spires of a corrupted city. The ground beneath our feet was uneven, a series of deep, narrow trenches—bolge—that spiraled downward like the twisted coils of a snake. Each trench was filled with the damned, writhing and struggling in their own private hells, condemned for the fraud they had perpetrated in life.
"Welcome to Malebolge," Virgil said, his voice echoing in the vast chamber. "This is where the masters of deception are punished, those who used lies and deceit to exploit others. Here, the very fabric of society is torn apart, as trust is shattered and truth is twisted into something unrecognizable."
As we walked along the edge of the first trench, I could see the souls within it, their faces contorted with agony as they struggled to escape the confines of their pit. They were surrounded by illusions—beautiful, tantalizing images that promised them wealth, power, and happiness. But each time they reached out to grasp these illusions, they crumbled to dust, leaving the souls empty-handed and even more desperate than before.
"These are the fraudsters of social media," Virgil explained, his tone somber. "They are the ones who preyed on the hopes and dreams of others, promising them things that were never real, luring them in with false promises and empty words. They sold illusions, and now they are trapped in their own web of lies, forever chasing after what they can never have."
I watched as one soul, a man with a gaunt face and hollow eyes, reached out toward a shimmering vision of a mansion, its windows gleaming with gold. His fingers brushed the surface, and for a moment, it seemed solid, real. But then it dissolved, vanishing into the air like smoke, leaving him clutching at nothing. He screamed in frustration, his voice hoarse from years of crying out in vain.
"This is what they do," I said, my voice thick with disgust. "They create these perfect images, these lifestyles that no one can actually achieve. They make people believe they can have it all, but it's just a trick—a way to keep them chasing something that doesn't exist."
Virgil nodded. "And it's not just the material things they promise. They offer connections, love, validation—things that people crave on a deeper level. They manipulate emotions, play on insecurities, and in the end, they take everything, leaving their victims with nothing."
As we moved to the next trench, the scene shifted. Here, the fraud was more insidious, more complex. Souls were trapped in a maze of contracts, legal documents, and fine print, each one trying to navigate the endless labyrinth of lies and half-truths. They were the victims of scams, people who had been tricked into giving away their life savings, their identities, their very futures, all in the name of some false promise.
I could see the pain in their eyes, the regret that weighed heavily on them as they tried to unravel the tangled web of deceit that had ensnared them. But every path they took led them deeper into the maze, every decision only made things worse.
"These are the ones who fell for the scams," I said, my heart aching for them. "They believed in the promises of quick money, easy success, but it was all a lie. They lost everything because they trusted the wrong people."
"And those who deceived them," Virgil added, "are no better off. They, too, are trapped in this circle, forced to relive their own lies, to watch as their victims suffer because of their greed."
As we continued our journey, we came across a trench filled with influencers, their faces twisted into grotesque masks of vanity and desperation. They were constantly broadcasting their lives, selling products they didn't believe in, promoting ideas they didn't understand. But there was no one listening, no one watching. Their voices echoed into the void, lost in the endless sea of content they had created.
"They were the kings and queens of social media," Virgil said, his voice tinged with sadness. "They built their empires on deception, convincing others that their lives were perfect, that they had all the answers. But it was all a lie, a carefully constructed façade. And now, they are condemned to live in the very emptiness they created."
I watched as one of them, a woman with a carefully curated image of perfection, tried to sell a beauty product to an audience that didn't exist. Her smile was forced, her eyes dead as she repeated the same lines over and over, each word ringing hollow in the empty air. She glanced around, desperate for validation, for likes, for comments, but there was nothing—no connection, no interaction, just an endless void.
"These people," I said, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and pity, "they're not just lying to others. They're lying to themselves, convincing themselves that what they're doing has value, that it means something. But in the end, it's all just a hollow shell."
Virgil's expression was grave. "That's the true tragedy of this circle, Durante. The fraud they committed was not just against others—it was against themselves. They sold their own souls for the sake of appearances, for the illusion of success. And now, they are left with nothing but the emptiness they created."
As we moved deeper into the Eighth Circle, I began to see the full extent of the fraud that permeated this place. There were ditches filled with false predictors, their words twisted and corrupted, leading their followers astray. There were those who had betrayed their closest friends and allies, using lies and deceit to gain power, only to lose everything in the end.
But the worst were the ones who had used their influence to manipulate entire communities, entire nations. They were the architects of fake news, the masters of misinformation, the ones who had sown division and chaos for their own gain. They had taken the trust of millions and shattered it, using it as a tool to further their own agendas.
"These are the most dangerous of all," Virgil said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "They didn't just deceive individuals—they deceived entire societies, turning people against each other, spreading lies that led to conflict, to war, to suffering on a massive scale. And now, they are condemned to live in the very chaos they created."
I watched as these souls, the most wretched of all, were torn apart by the very lies they had spun. Their words, once so powerful, now turned against them, becoming chains that bound them, flames that consumed them. They had built their lives on fraud, and now, that fraud was their eternal torment.
As we ventured deeper into the Eighth Circle, I felt a coldness in the air that went beyond the physical. It was the kind of chill that seeps into your soul, that gnaws at the edges of your mind, reminding you that the darkest truths are still waiting to be uncovered. The narrow trenches and ditches of Malebolge twisted and turned, each filled with the damned who had twisted reality to their will, but nothing prepared me for what lay at the very center.
The landscape around us began to change as we approached the heart of the circle. The jagged rocks and crumbling cliffs gave way to a vast, open space, dominated by a towering structure made entirely of glass and steel. It was a grotesque parody of the sleek, modern buildings that house the world's most powerful media companies. The walls were covered in screens, each one flickering with images of people—smiling, happy, connected—images that promised a world of unity and togetherness, a world without the horrors I had witnessed on my journey.
"This," Virgil said, his voice heavy with the weight of truth, "is the true fraud of social media. It's the lie that was sold to the world—the lie that this technology would bring people together, that it would create a global community where everyone is connected, where the barriers of distance and culture would be broken down. But as you've seen, Durante, that's not what happened."
I stared up at the massive screens, watching as the images shifted, each one more perfect than the last. Families gathered around dinner tables, friends laughing together, people from all walks of life sharing in each other's joy. It was a utopia, a vision of a world that didn't exist.
"It was all a lie," I muttered, my voice thick with disbelief. "They made us believe that we could be closer than ever, that we could share our lives, our thoughts, our dreams with anyone, anywhere. But all it did was create more distance, more division."
Virgil nodded, his gaze fixed on the screens. "And the worst part is, those in power—the governments, the corporations, the people who control the media—they knew exactly what they were doing. They fed us this vision of a connected world, but behind the scenes, they were pulling the strings, manipulating the narratives, using social media to serve their own interests."
As we walked closer to the structure, I could see the shadows of figures moving behind the screens—faceless, nameless entities that seemed to control the flow of information, deciding what stories would be told, what truths would be hidden. They were the architects of the fraud, the ones who had built this illusion and then used it to control the masses.
"Think about it, Durante," Virgil continued, his voice growing more intense. "How many elections have been swayed by the stories that these platforms choose to amplify? How many wars have been fueled by the lies that are spread, unchecked, across the internet? They tell us what to think, what to believe, and most people never even question it. They just accept it as the truth because it's easier than facing the reality that they're being manipulated."
I could feel the anger rising within me, a deep, burning rage at the realization of how deeply we had all been deceived. "And the people—they don't even realize it, do they? They're too caught up in the illusion, too busy posting their own perfect lives, chasing after likes and shares, to see that they're being used."
Virgil's expression was grave. "That's the tragedy of it all. Social media was supposed to be a tool for connection, for bringing people together. But it's become a tool for control, for division. The more we connect online, the more isolated we become in the real world. The more we share, the less we truly communicate. And those in power use that isolation, that division, to further their own agendas."
We reached the base of the structure, and I could see the truth more clearly than ever. The screens that covered the walls were not just showing images—they were broadcasting messages, subtle, insidious messages that influenced the way people thought, the way they voted, the way they lived their lives. They were designed to provoke emotions, to stir up fear, anger, envy, all the while making people believe that they were in control, that they were making their own choices.
"But they're not," I said, my voice trembling with the weight of the realization. "None of us are. We're all just puppets, dancing to the tune of those who control the information."
Virgil placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "That's why we're here, Durante. To see the truth, to understand the lies that have been told, and to find a way to break free. It's not an easy path, and it's not one that many are willing to take. But it's the only way to reclaim our lives, our voices, our humanity."
I looked up at the towering structure, the screens flickering with images of a world that didn't exist, and I knew that Virgil was right. The fraud of social media was not just about the lies that were told—it was about the control that those lies gave to the people in power. It was about the way that technology had been twisted, perverted, to serve the interests of the few at the expense of the many.