There were statues carved into the walls. Not of gods, not of kings—of sinners. Their faces twisted in stone, frozen mid-scream, mid-regret. Some knelt, clutching hollow chests. Some reached skyward, eyes gouged out by unseen blades. All of them were weeping. And yet, the air held no sound.
"This is Spiral Three," Nolan said quietly. "The Penance. Those who breathe must suffer what the dead never could: remembrance."
Hiragi stepped carefully between fractured tiles. Each footfall brought images. Visions. Screams.
A child, betrayed by her village. A father, forced to kill his own son. A woman, carving a prayer into her own throat.
He blinked, and they vanished. But the pain lingered, clinging like soot.
"They're not illusions," Hiragi muttered.
"No," Nolan agreed. "They're memories carved into the spiral. The sins people refused to let go. They rot here. Echo here."
A voice slithered in from the darkness.
"You wear the Void well, little God Eater. But have you eaten your own guilt yet?"
From the shadows came a shape. Tall, cloaked in crimson ropes that bled endlessly onto the ground. It dragged a sword made from the spine of a martyr. Its face was stitched shut, but its voice echoed in the marrow.
"Welcome, Voidspawn," it hissed. "I am the Confessor. And I will weigh your sins."
Nolan stepped forward, but Hiragi lifted his hand. "No," he said. "I need to do this one."
The Confessor raised its sword. "Then bleed for every soul you couldn't save."
And the spiral trembled, opening its jaws for judgment.