chapter 2 – seven shadows
the ash beneath his feet crumbled softly like burnt paper. the cracked sky above him flickered, a pale pulse of dying light leaking through the fractures. the air was thick — heavy with silence and something waiting, watching. he swallowed the dryness in his throat. the six figures before him stood like statues carved from nightmare and sorrow.
they didn't move at first.
he could see their shapes clearer now — but only just. shadows in human form, each one carrying the weight of a sin so old it had worn into their very bones. they were not here to comfort him. they were here to judge him. to break him.
his breath came shallow, uneven. his limbs felt like dead branches in a storm. but deep inside, something like a stubborn ember burned—he didn't want to die here, not like this, not so broken and forgotten.
then a figure shifted.
she stepped forward, her cloak swallowing the dim light like a void. her eyes gleamed bright green, sharp and cold as a dagger's edge. her smile was a knife wrapped in silk—beautiful, dangerous, and cruel.
"you're late," she said softly. her voice was calm, but beneath it was a quiet menace. "the embodiment of pride, and yet you arrive so weak."
he met her gaze, his own eyes flickering with confusion and something else—dread? defiance? he wasn't sure anymore.
"i am lust," she said, her smile never fading, "and you will learn to fear us. or to join us."
the other five stirred, their forms becoming clearer.
a tall man stepped forward next, his eyes glowing red like molten fire. his jaw was clenched, his breath like thunder. wrath.
beside him, a gaunt woman with eyes sharp as broken glass, her lips thin and pale. envy.
a slow-moving man, heavy and thick with flesh, eyes half-closed in endless hunger. gluttony.
a woman bent under invisible chains, her movements sluggish, eyes tired and empty. sloth.
and a young boy whose hands twitched nervously, greed written on every twitch and glance.
lust smiled wider, "these are the sins that rule this place. and they will be your judges. your tormentors. your teachers."
he swallowed hard, his mind racing. "why me?"
lust tilted her head, a lock of dark hair slipping across her cheek. "because you are pride. the first sin. the spark. the one who dares to stand tall when everything crumbles."
wrath stepped closer, his presence a storm contained in flesh. "but standing tall isn't enough. pride blinds. pride burns."
envy's voice cut through the silence like ice, "and the others will test how much pride you have left."
the cracked sky pulsed faster now, a heartbeat growing frantic, desperate.
"what test?" he asked. voice barely more than a whisper.
lust's smile grew colder. "a trial."
"a trial?" he repeated, voice shaking.
gluttony's voice rumbled low, "to survive, you must face what you fear most."
sloth sighed, "and endure what breaks most."
greed's fingers twitched faster, eyes flickering with anticipation, "and gain what no one dares to want."
the air thickened, the world folding in on itself like paper crumpled by unseen hands. he felt it—the madness stirring inside, deeper now. whispering promises in a language he almost understood.
power.
destruction.
freedom.
he looked at his hands—thin, shaking.
"you are weak," lust said, "but madness will make you strong. each crack in your mind, each shattered thought, will forge a new strength."
he wanted to scream. wanted to fight. but all he could do was stand, trembling.
"the trial begins now," wrath said, and the ground beneath them cracked open.
black smoke poured out like a living thing, swirling around their feet.
"survive," envy whispered, "or disappear."
he stepped forward. the world tilted, shifted, and he fell—into darkness, into chaos, into himself.
---
inside the void, shapes twisted like smoke. faces appeared and vanished. memories not his own clawed at his mind.
he gripped his head, trying to hold on.
but the madness was patient.
it waited. it pushed. it whispered:
let go.
give in.
become.
he fell deeper, the cold seeping through every crack, and for the first time, he felt something fierce—a sharp clarity born from breaking.
he would survive. not because he was strong, but because he had no other choice.
and with every step into the unknown, pride burned brighter in the dark.