With sweeping gesture, Virgil turned his gaze,
His eyes alight with wisdom's ancient fire,
"Follow me, Durante," he bade, no daze.
He pointed forth, where shadows did conspire,
The path he chose, a dark and winding trail,
Where fear and hope in equal measure tire.
I swallowed hard, my courage set to sail,
One final glance at walls that towered high,
Then stepped beside him, heart and mind in frail.
Ahead of us, with joy that reached the sky,
Fury bounded, tail a flag of light,
Unfazed by darkness, where we tread and sigh.
The trench we walked began to widen slight,
The walls drew back, revealing space ahead,
Yet still the air hung heavy, thick as night.
The ground was rough, with roots like serpents spread,
And jagged stones beneath our wary tread,
The trench a tunnel where no light had bled.
The trees above formed arches, darkly wed,
Their branches knit, a roof of shadowed dread,
Through which no sky, no star, no sun had sped.
Only the phone in Virgil's hand did shed,
A ghostly light that flickered on the walls,
Casting long shadows where our footsteps led.
The air was cool, the scent of deathly thralls,
Of leaves decayed and soil damp with grief,
Each rustling sound a whisper through the halls.
Fury played on, in innocence's brief,
He'd find a stick, then bring it back with glee,
Dropping it at my feet, my heart's relief.
I threw it forth, and watched his joyous spree,
His leaps a bright contrast to growing dread,
A fleeting glimpse of what was, what could be.
Virgil's gaze was kind, his words well-fed,
"Even in darkness, there are sparks of light,
Fury's joy reminds us, hope's not dead."
I nodded, though the trench's growing height,
And length unyielding, pressed upon my soul,
The light we had seemed waning in the fight.
At last, the trench began to reach its goal,
A space that loomed with shadows tall and grim,
And there before us stood the underworld's toll.
The gates of Hell, immense, their visage dim,
Both grand and terrible, in dark wrought steel,
Their twisted forms a testament of Him.
The iron blackened, scorched by fire's wheel,
Carvings etched with pain and endless woe,
Where twisted figures in their torment reel.
Demonic eyes did from the darkness glow,
Their claws reached out from metal's molten frame,
As if to snatch the souls who dared to show.
At center stood a lock in skull's own name,
With chains entwined like serpents on a coil,
Binding the gate in ancient, cursed claim.
Above, in letters burning like hot oil,
The words inscribed: "Abandon Hope, All Ye,"
A phrase that made my very spirit recoil.
I stopped, my breath caught in this dread marquee,
Fury, sensing fear, returned to heel,
Even Virgil paused in somber plea.
"This is the threshold," Virgil's voice did seal,
"The gates of Hell, where shadows lay bare,
A place where souls are tried by truth's ordeal."
He laughed then, sharp, a sound that seemed to flare,
Not just in trench, but through my very core,
A laugh that hinted at a hidden snare.
"Look close," he said, his tone rich with the lore,
"These gates have changed, an update in the night,
The world you know now echoes here in store."
I frowned, confused by what he brought to light,
But as I stared, the details cleared my sight,
The gates of Hell were not as they were might.
Amongst the twisted metal's gruesome blight,
Were logos, brands, disturbingly well-known,
A modern twist on ancient, hellish rite.
A bird mid-flight, its wings like stone,
A play symbol, with edges softened thin,
An icon of connection, now overthrown.
A ghostly face, entrapped by demon's grin,
A camera's lens, now dulled and dimly glared,
These symbols, once of light, now bound in sin.
"What is this?" I whispered, deeply scared,
"These… these are all—" "Brands," Virgil filled the air,
His voice now somber, as though fate declared.
"The gates of Hell have been sponsored, fair,
By those who dominate your modern life,
These entities that snare you unaware."
The thought struck deep, a twist of mental knife,
The gates adorned by symbols of our age,
Where power lies in endless, viral strife.
"Why would they be here?" I asked in rage,
Still struggling to make sense of this dark art,
Virgil sighed, a sage with timeless stage.
"The underworld reflects what's in the heart,
In days of old, it was a place of flame,
But now, it mirrors what your world imparts."
He motioned forth, the path ahead the same,
With heavy heart, I followed him once more,
As gates did creak, their ancient chains aflame.
The air grew cold, the dark did us implore,
As gates of Hell swung wide to let us pass,
And Fury pressed to me, his fear now sore.
The massive doors shut fast with thunderous mass,
And echoing through the trench, the sound of fate,
Left no doubt, this was our journey's glass.
Inside, the cavern stretched both wide and great,
Its ceiling lost in mist and shadow's reign,
The ground beneath us cracked, as if by weight.
In distance loomed a river, slow and plain,
Yet it was not the water drew my eye,
But figures trapped in endless, twisted chain.
They stood in light, but not of sun or sky,
Each lit by harsh, unnatural, cold glare,
In endless pose, their faces fixed on high.
"What… what are they doing?" I did declare,
My voice a tremble at the sight so grim,
Virgil sighed, his tone a heavy air.
"They are the influencers, trapped in dim,
Souls consumed by need for endless view,
Their lives reduced to moments, lost and slim."
We walked amongst them, lost souls by the few,
Each trapped in acts, their motions all the same,
Performing still for eyes that never knew.
Virgil watched, his gaze both sad and lame,
"These are those who lacked the following call,
Now lost in search of validation's name."
I saw their faces, desperation's pall,
The panic in their eyes as numbers fell,
Their screens their only hope, their only thrall.
Virgil noticed where my gaze did dwell,
"A long time she has spent," he said, so low,
"Her fame once bright, now only time to tell."
I turned away, unable to know more,
The weight of this lost world upon my soul,
A place not just of myth, but modern lore.
"We must keep moving," Virgil's gentle role,
"The river waits, there's much more yet to see,"
And so I walked, with heart now heavy whole.
The voices faded, shadows set us free,
The murmur of the lost a distant hum,
The sound of water drew us forth to be.
The river near, and journey's end yet come.
--
After what seemed like ages through the gloom,
We reached the river Acheron's dread shore,
Where air grew thick with dread, like death's dark plume.
The river flowed, a black and sluggish bore,
Its current dragged the light to depths below,
Reflecting void, a mirror of the core.
Across the darkened waters, shadows grow,
Where Hell's true gate did loom with final might,
A sight that made my very spirit low.
Before we crossed, a ferry came in sight,
An ancient craft, its wood with age decayed,
Its creaking timbers whispered tales of night.
At helm there stood a figure, veiled in shade,
'The Algorithm,' shifting like a mist,
A form that blurred, its features never stayed.
His eyes were sharp, his presence cold and crisp,
A calculating gaze that pierced my soul,
As if to weigh my worth, then to dismiss.
"You," he intoned, his voice a fractured whole,
"Are unfit to cross, you lack the grace,
The likes, the follows, leave your ledger dull."
His words like stones, they struck me with disgrace,
And I could feel the weight of nothingness,
As others boarded with a haughty face.
They walked with pride, adorned in fame's excess,
Their confidence a shield against the dread,
Their polished lives a mask of false success.
Yet Virgil, steadfast, raised his hand instead,
And from his robe, two coins of gleaming gold,
He offered them, his voice a law to spread.
"He will cross," he said, both calm and bold,
"I pay the price," and placed the coins with care,
The Algorithm, paused, as tales of old.
The ferry shook, acknowledging the fare,
And Algorithm stepped aside with nod,
As I, with fear, yet crossed the threshold bare.
The ferry rocked upon the river's sod,
The stares of others weighed like heavy stone,
Their silent judgment felt as sharp as prod.
Their polished faces masked with pride alone,
I took my seat, the creaking wood my seat,
The darkened water's slosh a mournful tone.
Beside me stood wise Virgil, calm and neat,
A presence firm amidst the prideful air,
While others focused on their own conceit.
The ferry glided slow, the shore was near,
Where jagged rocks and twisted trees did rise,
The weight of fate upon my heart was clear.
No turning back, beneath the darkened skies,
The landscape loomed with shadows' cruel disguise.