Gluttony fell to his knees, the weight of his own essence crushing him. It seemed like a common occurrence, his mouths, once hungry, now in absolute silence.
"Humans..." I began, walking in circles around Gluttony, who remained on his knees, eyes lowered, as if he could no longer face me. "They are so pathetically similar to you. Always hungry, always wanting more. More food, more power, more love, more meaning. They call it ambition, as if that word justifies the abyss within them."
Gluttony tried to lift his head, but the weight of his own essence seemed to keep him bound to the ground.
"And do you know what's most ironic?" I continued, my voice colder now. "They believe that this hunger makes them special. That it's a divine trait, a spark of creation. But it's a lie. God—if He exists—created a perfect cycle, but failed miserably with those who were supposed to govern it. Humans are a grotesque failure, a creature incapable of balance. They devour the world around them and then cry for redemption. Can't you see it? Hunger was never just physical. It's spiritual, moral, existential."
Gluttony raised his eyes to me, as if he wanted to respond, but he didn't. I laughed, a dry, bitter sound that reverberated in the silence.
"And you know what's worse? They do this in His name. 'God made me this way,' they say, as if that cheap excuse could justify destruction. As if hunger, greed, insatiable desire were part of a greater plan. But I tell you—if God is the architect of it all, He is just as guilty as the hungry ones crawling around."
I crouched down, bringing my face closer to Gluttony. "And you, Gluttony, what do you think of this? You, who devours, who consumes without ever being satisfied. Do you really believe your hunger is a curse, or is it a reflection of the one who created you? If God exists, maybe He's hungry too. Hungry for worship, for blind obedience. Wouldn't He be the greatest of gluttons?"
Gluttony's mouths trembled, but no sound came out. I stood again, looking at the empty horizon around us. "In the end, all of this— you, humans, even God— it's just hunger. And hunger doesn't deserve worship. It only deserves silence."
I knew the real battle had never been against hunger. The struggle had always been against the arrogance, the belief of Gluttony that his insatiability made him superior. Now, he found himself a hostage of that very hunger, trapped in the web of doubt I had created. He didn't realize the trap until it was too late.
He raised his head, and his eyes, once burning with fury, were now filled with a shine of agony. "I can't..." He murmured, as if the words were coming with difficulty, choking on his own throat.
"Can't what?" I asked, my voice soft. "Can't resist the impossible? Or is it that you can't face what you've always feared? Your own impotence?"
Gluttony's gaze faltered. He wanted to resist, but something inside him had already broken. His greatest fear wasn't hunger. It was the fear that he would never be able to control his nature. He was trapped in a cycle that enslaved him. And now, he was starting to understand that.
"I can't live without it..." Gluttony whispered, his voice broken with frustration. He stood up, his hands trembling, but not with anger. It was fear. Fear of losing the only thing that gave him a false sense of control.
"You don't need to live without it," I said, my voice echoing like a promise. "But you need to understand that you will never have peace while surrendering to it without limits. True freedom comes from choosing not to be ruled by your own nature."
He seemed to absorb my words, his mouths beginning to close, one by one, as if his hunger was being filled by something he didn't understand. He wanted to believe, but he didn't know what he wanted anymore. He was lost, now a prisoner of his own uncertainty.
"You can be more than this, Gluttony," I continued, taking a step toward him. "True satisfaction doesn't come from devouring endlessly, but from choosing what to feed inside you. It's not about denying what you are, but learning not to be a slave to it."
He fell silent, his mouths closed, and his expression revealed an inner conflict. For a long time, he stayed there, trapped in his anguish. Something was changing within him, but the answer wasn't clear yet.
This emptiness, this space in his essence that he desperately tried to fill, was the key. He, who had spent existence consuming without pause, was beginning to realize that true satisfaction wasn't in consuming, but in accepting the lack—the absence that, contrary to what he thought, made him human. The sin wasn't just the reckless pursuit of pleasure, but the inability to find purpose in an endless cycle.
"I... I need to think," Gluttony said, his voice now weaker.
"Of course," I replied, my expression impassive. "Think, Gluttony. But know that true freedom comes from within. Not from what you consume, but from what you choose to set aside."
Sowing doubt is the same as making someone cling to it.
I left him there, immersed in his own torment, while the Hell around us remained unchanged. He was in his own confusion, and I knew that this was the only way to defeat him. Gluttony, the one who had spent eternity seeking satisfaction through consumption, was now beginning to face the truth I had delivered to him: true freedom does not lie in blindly following desire, but in being able to control it.
Gluttony still needed time. In Hell, everything takes time. Every decision, every choice, has a cost, and Gluttony would have to pay his. But the doubt I had created was more dangerous than any temptation. It would eat away at his essence until he was forced to make a choice.
I knew my mission was far from over, but this battle was nearly won. When he finally confronted the truth I had revealed to him, whatever remained of his essence would be much easier to manipulate.
I would continue to walk through the depths of Hell, guiding him like a puppet master until the moment he could no longer escape the choice I had imposed. Gluttony was lost. And now, he only needed to convince himself of that.
Satisfied, I took another step toward my goal. Every movement brought him closer to his fall, and every sin he faced made my victory more certain.
In the end, what would remain of Gluttony would be a shadow of what he once was. And that shadow, now fragile, I could easily manipulate to my advantage.