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As we walked toward the third circle, the suffocating heat of wrath gave way to an unbearable cold. The air was thick and oppressive, as if carrying the weight of all the riches these souls accumulated in life. Beneath our feet, the ground was covered by an irregular, translucent, and treacherous layer of ice, reflecting like distorted mirrors the expressions of greed eternally frozen on the faces of the souls trapped there.
Fire and ice intertwine in a spectacle of relentless agony, the punishment of the greedy unfolding in an unyielding and terrifying manner. The sinners, whose lives were marked by an obsession with gold and power, are now slaves to their own ambitions, condemned to a suffering as absolute as it is endless.
There, in the river of fire that winds through a desert of ashes and pain, the flames relentlessly lick the flesh of the greedy. Their bodies, once arrogant and full of desire, are now mutilated, burned until the flesh crumbles into ashes and raw meat. Their hands, which were always reaching out to accumulate wealth, are now nailed to chains of molten iron, forced to hold burning stones, as heavy and scalding as their own souls. The heat emanating from each stone is like the hellish fire, burning their skin and bones until nothing remains but pain and despair.
These wretches, in their thirst for power, have been cast into an unrelenting storm of flames and ash falling from the sky. The fire is so intense that their eyes burn until they disintegrate, their screams muffled by the force of the fire wind tearing at their throats, echoing through the infinity of the eternal night. Their faces are twisted in expressions of absolute pain, their muscles stiff from the constant torture of being unable to escape their prison of fire and iron.
Every step they take is a struggle. Pushing with all their might the enormous stones of gold and silver they once considered their greatest treasures, now becoming their curses. With every movement, the rock they push grows heavier and heavier, crushing them under the weight of their own greed. The stones cut their skin, leaving traces of blood that mix with the burning earth. They are forced to drag these burdens forever, without relief, without rest. The stones, like ghosts of what they desired in life, never stop moving, never stop crushing, while the fire around them burns them until it's impossible to tell where the flesh ends and where the infinite torment begins.
In their insatiable pursuit, the greedy are now trapped in that eternal torment, where the gold that once guided them is now the weight of their punishment. The fire that burned in their hearts now consumes their souls, devouring all their humanity, until nothing remains but the eternal flame that burns mercilessly.
Figures crawled across the ice, struggling to hold onto gleaming coins that crumbled into dust at their touch. Others desperately dug at the frozen ground with bloodied nails, as if expecting to find a buried treasure. But all they found were their own failures.
I stopped before one of these souls. It was a thin, hunched man, his twisted fingers clutching a pile of objects that appeared to be made of gold. His eyes, hollow and empty, gleamed with an animalistic obsession. He looked at me for a moment, as if I were just another thing to be possessed, before returning to his useless accumulation.
"They're trapped in a cycle, unable to understand," I murmured, more to myself than to the figures accompanying me.
Wrath laughed. It was a sharp sound, almost cruel, but not without irony. "Understand? They never understood anything. Neither in life nor now. Their greed brought them here, and now that's all they are. Do you think they want to be saved? They just want to have."
I looked at Gluttony, who remained silent. Her expression seemed darker, as if absorbing the suffering around us. When she finally spoke, her voice had a weight even Wrath respected.
"It's not just desire. It's a void so deep that it became their essence. They're not accumulating to possess. They're accumulating because it's all they know how to do."
One of the souls struggled to rise, the ice cracking beneath its fragile feet. Its face was twisted, a mix of rage and pleading. It advanced toward me, its hands outstretched as if trying to grasp something invisible.
"Please!" its voice was hoarse, a muffled scream. "I did so much! I accumulated so much! Why am I here? I deserve more!"
I took a step back, not out of fear, but out of repulsion. There was something deeply disturbing about the hunger in its eyes. It didn't want redemption, just the illusion of possessing once more.
"You'll never have enough, will you?" I asked, my tone as cold as the air around us. "You're here because you never understood that everything you accumulated wasn't really yours. Not even your soul."
The soul hesitated, as if my words had pierced the veil of its obsession. But only for a moment. Then it screamed, a sound full of despair, before throwing itself back onto the ice, digging frantically.
Gluttony sighed. "There's no hope here. Only reflections of a hunger that will never be satisfied."
"Leave me here," said Gluttony, her voice now firmer. "They have nothing left. Not even hope."
"Why will you stay?"
Gluttony didn't answer.
Wrath smiled, and her smile was like that of a wolf, cynical and satisfying. "They'll never understand. But that makes Hell more interesting. That's why I love Hell. There's always a new form of human failure to admire."
As we walked through the circle of Greed, the ice beneath our feet seemed to groan in despair, as if carrying the weight of the souls who refused to let go of what they never really owned. The air was freezing, but the cold didn't come only from the environment; it was a frozen emptiness that infiltrated the soul, a reflection of the unrelenting greed that consumed everything around us. Wrath walked beside me, her same cynical smile on her face, observing the scene like a predator observing its prey.
"Do you feel that?" she asked, her voice laden with contempt. "This ice? It's made of broken promises and hopes that never came to be. Every crack, every sound we hear beneath our feet, is a memory of something they tried to grasp and could never hold. It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"Beautiful?" I asked, with a dry tone. "You find beauty in the repetition of failure? In the insatiable desire that never satiates?"
She laughed, a rough, almost animalistic sound. "Of course I do. Isn't that what defines humans? They always want more. More than they need, more than they can carry. And when they finally have everything, they realize that the emptiness inside them stays the same. So they accumulate more, as if stacking things could fill the hole they call their soul."
"You seem to admire this," I retorted, observing the souls trapped in the ice around us. Some were huddled, holding pieces of gold that were crumbling in their hands. Others struggled, trying to tear imaginary jewels from the frozen depths, while the ice slowly consumed them.
"Admire? No," Wrath answered, her eyes glowing with a cruel fervor. "I despise it. But contempt has its own form of fascination, don't you think? It's like watching an endless tragedy, knowing that the ending never changes, but still unable to look away. Humans are predictable. Pathetic. But they're so delightfully creative in their destruction."
I stopped, staring at her directly. "And you? What are you, if not an extension of this same cycle? You feed on the hatred they create, but don't provoke it. You're just a reflection, just like this ice. You don't create anything. You just consume."
She narrowed her eyes, her smile widening like the cut of a blade. "And you? What are you, if not a man who speaks of emptiness as if it were a god? You like to think you're above this, but here you are, with me, in this hell. You walk among the sins because, deep down, you're as empty as they are. Maybe even more."
"You're right," I answered, without hesitation. "I am empty. But emptiness doesn't despair. It doesn't cling. It doesn't need gold, power, or destruction to justify its existence. Emptiness accepts what it is, while you — and everyone else here — struggle against what you are. That's why I'm here and still free, while you're trapped by your own natures."
Her smile disappeared for a moment, only to return even sharper. "Free? What a sweet illusion. You walk through this circle, but you're not free. You're trapped in your emptiness just like they're trapped in the ice. You just found a smarter way to deceive yourself."
"Maybe," I admitted, looking at a nearby soul holding a piece of ice as if it were the most precious object in the world. "But emptiness doesn't need chains. It's light, Wrath. Light as the air that escapes a final sigh. You can keep admiring human failure, but I'll walk through this circle and leave it behind without taking anything, because nothing is what I am. And nothing is what I need to be."
She laughed again, but this time there was a darker tone in her voice. "You're fascinating. A creature of nothing trying to challenge everything. I hope you find what you're looking for, but I doubt it. In the end, emptiness isn't a god. It's just another form of prison."
"Maybe," I murmured, as I continued walking, leaving her behind. "But if emptiness is a prison, at least it's one I don't need a key for."
Wrath kept watching me with that cruel smile, but her attention was interrupted when, without warning, I stopped in the middle of the path. The silence between us grew heavy, broken only by the sound of the ice cracking beneath my feet.
"You stopped walking. Any deep philosophical reflection this time?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"No," I answered, my voice calm as I opened the cloak I was wearing. "I just... need to pee a bit."
She blinked, confused. "You... what?"
Before she could react, I was already turned away from her, releasing a stream that immediately started melting the ice beneath me. The unmistakable sound echoed through the circle of Greed, a bizarre contrast to the cries of agony and the murmurs of the desperate around us. As I relieved myself, I hummed a little.
"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me, I once was lost, but now am found, Was blind, but now I seeeeeee....
Wrath stood there, dumbfounded, clearly speechless for the first time since I met her. "You're peeing... in the circle of Greed?"
"Yes," I answered, without turning, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I thought it was appropriate. After all, everything here is a cycle of waste, isn't it? Why not contribute to the aesthetics?"
She started laughing, a genuine laugh, almost uncontrollable. "You... are unbelievable! We're literally in the heart of Hell, and your response is... this?"
"Hell can wait," I murmured, my tone completely serious as I finished and adjusted my cloak. "But the bladder, Wrath, doesn't wait for anyone. Not even Lucifer."
She laughed even harder, clutching her stomach as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. "You are emptiness incarnate and yet you manage to turn absolute horror into... this. You know, mortal, maybe you're even more absurd than any condemned soul here."
I shrugged, not caring about the judgment. "If emptiness has no limits, Wrath, why shouldn't it have a sense of humor? Even Hell deserves a bit of humanity every now and then."
She accompanied me as we resumed walking, still laughing and shaking her head. "You're a walking paradox, you know that?"
"I prefer the term 'walking revolution,'" I corrected, with a slight smile. "But you can call me whatever you want, as long as you let me mark my territory."
The absurdity of the situation seemed to hang in the air, like a small victory against the oppressive weight of the circle. Perhaps even Hell needed moments like that – moments that made no sense, but broke the cycle of misery, even if just for an instant.
As Ira and I continued forward, I felt the weight of the circle intensify. Greed was not just the desire to possess. It was the fear of losing, the need to control the uncontrollable. Each step on the ice cracked beneath my feet, as if the ground could break apart at any moment, swallowing everything around it.
Then, in the distance, I glimpsed a distinct figure. She stood still, motionless, in contrast to the chaos of the other souls. Her body was thin, almost skeletal, but her eyes shone with an intensity that froze my blood more than the cold around us.
Greed. The personification of the third circle.
As we approached, one thing became clear: she didn't need to speak to impose her presence. The emptiness around her spoke for itself. And the truth I had been seeking seemed closer now. But at the same time, more terrifying..