A demon boils from the inside. His veins pulse beneath black, bubbling skin. And he sweats. It looks like he's sweating acid and sulfur. Maybe that's exactly what it is. Around him, others like him form a circle, motionless but vibrating, like statues on the verge of bursting. Eyes without pupils. Mouths twisted into grotesque grins, teeth sharp as blades. Long, claw-like fingers, with curved nails that resemble hooks. They all stare at the man kneeling in the center of the circle. Naked. Skin sticky. Eyes wild. There's no air here. Just the sound of a constant drip, a tick-tock without a clock. A silence so thick it almost has weight. And in that silence, the ground vibrates. Barely. Like a buried heartbeat. A tremor that never stops. And from that ground—a ground of red dirt—rises a haze, a foul vapor. And yes, the ground is hot. But not too hot. Just enough for him to feel the warmth buried beneath him. A warmth that promises disaster. It's like he's inside an oven set on low, a fire that could flare up at any moment and spit out furious tongues of flame. Flames from an endless furnace, one that's been burning since the dawn of time, fueled by the very breath of the universe. But for now, the heat from the ground is just a whisper. A warning of what could come next. The man isn't sure, but he has this feeling: the ground could open up and swallow him whole, flames shooting out like a river of lava, consuming him. And above, the sky is a shell of black rock. No sun. No moon. Just a strip of reddish light leaking through the cracks in the ceiling, like blood seeping from a poorly closed wound.
The man tries to stand. To lift his knees. He can't. The demons watch him like judges in a court without laws. They know they have him. They know how this will end. They know he will confess. And he knows it too. He'll confess to anything. Maybe he'll hold out a little. But he'll confess. What else can he do? What's coming next isn't a trial. It's just a sentence. A formality. Paperwork. Fun and games for them. For him, no. For him, it's one more step toward the inevitable. One more step toward that final place where his soul will never know a moment of peace. And meanwhile, they smile. They smile like bureaucrats in a country taken hostage long ago by a group that refuses to give up power. A group that kills, kidnaps, tortures as easily as if they were moving pieces on a board. Pieces that aren't people. Pieces that aren't anything.
One of the demons says to the man:
"Well, let's get this over with. Confess."
"I didn't do anything."
"If that were true, you wouldn't be here."
"I didn't do anything wrong."
"Oh, yes, you did. I know it. We all know it here. And you know it too."
"Please."
The demon shakes his head. Then says:
"If what you want is for me to enjoy myself. I will."