// it's just an experiment ??
In a time long before the mortal world, before time itself had been fully shaped, there existed a vast realm of shadow and flame—a place known only to the lost souls, a place called Hell. It was not the place of monstrous devils and eternal torture as legends later told. It was, in truth, a land of reflection and reckoning. For those who found themselves there, it was a place where their worst fears, deepest regrets, and all the pain they had caused in life would be mirrored back to them in an endless, haunting dance of the mind.
Hell was not a fiery furnace, nor a cavern full of wailing souls being whipped by demonic hands. It was something far worse—an endless abyss of solitude, where the only punishment was the one the soul brought with it. Those who entered this world had no physical form. They were echoes of their former selves, trapped in the realm of their own consciousness, unable to escape. They existed only in the deepest recesses of their own thoughts, and there they would live for eternity, tormented not by external forces but by the never-ending weight of their actions.
One soul among them, named Elias, had lived a life of cruelty, driven by an insatiable hunger for wealth and power. He was a man of influence, one who had risen to great heights, his name whispered in the halls of kings and merchants alike. But in his ascent, he trampled over the weak, exploited the needy, and abandoned those who loved him most. He believed that success could only be measured in gold, in dominion, and in a world where he reigned supreme. Those around him were mere stepping stones, tools for his ambition. His heart grew cold, devoid of compassion.
But Elias' reign did not last forever. He had enemies, those who had felt the sting of his betrayal, who had watched him climb only to see him fall. In the end, it was his own unchecked ambition that became his downfall. The very empire he had built with lies and manipulation crumbled beneath him. The riches he had accumulated turned to dust in his hands, and the people he had once commanded turned their backs on him. His wealth, his power, and his reputation vanished in the blink of an eye.
In his final moments, Elias had only one thought: It didn't matter. He had lived for himself, and nothing could take that away.
But when he died, he found himself in a place he had never imagined. It was dark, vast, and cold. The air felt heavy, like a thousand years of suffering had settled into the atmosphere. He had expected flames, a fiery pit, but there was nothing. The ground beneath him was a wasteland of cracked stone and barren soil, stretching endlessly in every direction. There were no flames, no devils with pitchforks. There was only silence.
Elias wandered, his feet dragging across the desolate land, searching for meaning, for any sign of life, but there was none. It was only after what felt like an eternity that he heard a voice.
"You are here," the voice said, but it was not a voice he could pinpoint. It echoed from everywhere, as if the very land itself spoke.
"Where am I?" Elias demanded. "This cannot be death. I was a man of power. I am not like the others."
"You are not like the others," the voice replied. "You are more than them, and yet, you are less. You are a soul lost in its own arrogance."
Elias stood still. He could not argue with the voice, for it spoke the truth. In life, he had been consumed by his pride, never once pausing to reflect on the lives he ruined, the love he cast aside, and the humanity he neglected. In the end, there had been nothing left but the echo of his own selfishness.
"Why have I been brought here?" Elias asked, his voice trembling. "Am I to be punished?"
The voice did not answer directly. Instead, it said, "You will not find punishment here, Elias. What you find here is reflection. Your soul is weighed down not by the deeds of others, but by the burden of your own choices."
Suddenly, the landscape began to shift. The barren earth cracked open, and Elias found himself standing in a different place—a city. But it was not a city of life. It was a city of memories, a ghostly replica of everything Elias had once known. The buildings were cracked and decaying, their windows shattered, their streets empty. And in the distance, Elias saw figures moving. They were not people, but shapes—blurred, distorted, their faces twisted in pain.
As he walked deeper into the city, the faces began to take shape, becoming clearer. They were the people Elias had wronged in life—the friends he had betrayed, the lovers he had abandoned, the families he had ruined. They stood before him, each one glaring at him, their eyes filled with the weight of their own suffering.
One by one, they began to speak, their voices filled with grief, anger, and despair.
"You left me when I needed you most," one figure said. "You didn't care."
"You destroyed my family for your own gain," another cried. "You took everything from me."
"I loved you, Elias, and you turned your back on me."
Each word felt like a knife, each accusation cutting deep into his heart. He tried to speak, to apologize, but no words came. His mouth was dry, his throat tight. He wanted to explain, to defend himself, but all he could do was listen as the voices of those he had hurt grew louder, more insistent.
"Stop," he pleaded. "I didn't mean to. I was lost. I didn't know."
But the faces did not fade. Instead, they grew more vivid, more real, each one filled with an intensity that shattered the last vestiges of Elias' pride. He was trapped in this moment, reliving the consequences of his actions, unable to escape the pain he had caused.
As the voices faded, Elias found himself standing alone in the city. But now, he was no longer the man he once was. He was broken, hollow, his soul torn apart by the weight of his regrets. The voice returned.
"Do you understand now?" it asked.
Elias nodded, tears streaming down his face. "I understand. I see what I have done. I see what I have become. I am nothing without the love and kindness I rejected. I am a hollow man, a shell of who I could have been."
The voice spoke again, soft yet firm. "It is not too late to understand. But in this place, you will remain, for this is your penance. You will wander this city, facing the consequences of your choices. You will not be punished by others, but by the memory of your own soul. Only when you truly understand the depths of your remorse will you be free."
Elias fell to his knees, overwhelmed by the weight of his actions. Hell, he realized, was not a place of eternal flames. It was the internal torment of facing oneself, of realizing the depths of one's own flaws and the irreparable damage they caused. It was not the cruel hands of a demon that held him captive—it was his own heart, broken and stained with guilt.
And so, Elias remained in that desolate city, endlessly wandering, endlessly reflecting. His soul was not tortured by fire or by force. It was tortured by the unrelenting silence of regret, the quiet echo of the person he had been and the person he could never be again. And as the years turned to centuries, and the centuries to eons, Elias understood the true meaning of Hell. It was not a punishment from the outside—it was the torment of knowing that the choices one made, the love one denied, and the lives one destroyed could never be undone.