At one o'clock midnight, under a sky drowned in silence, while the citizens were asleep, the roar of police car engines shattered the stillness—pursuing a criminal on a motorcycle. The calm night turned into chaos, pierced by the thunder of gunfire.
My name is Olaf. I am a criminal who has killed one hundred children, violated as many women as I could, and stolen uncountable amounts of money. Will my end be nothing but capture? Impossible. I will die before that ever happens.
I fixed my gaze upon the road and saw a truck approaching from the opposite side. I steered toward it, raising my hand. The driver tried to stop, but it was already too late. The motorcycle was destroyed—and so was I. Yet I felt no regret for dying.
Time passed, and suddenly I found myself in a world of darkness. I could hear only the dripping of blood.
"Do you feel no regret for anything?" a voice echoed.
"What about every person who died because of you, or those who ended their lives because of your cruelty? Do you not regret?"
Suddenly, the drops of blood began to bubble, and my old memories unfolded—every single moment of my life flashing before me. And what if? No. I am not regretful. If I were to return to the world again, I would do even more.
"So, that is your answer…"
Suddenly, sight returned to me, though I felt weightless. I saw my own corpse lying before me, and realized I was nothing but a soul. Surrounding me were the families of every person I had wronged. I smirked.
Do they miss me? Hah… no. They do not miss me. They want me awake, for death is too simple a punishment. They want to torture me for as long as possible. Hahaha, fools—I am dead now. How can they punish me? Tell me, will they die with me?
"How much do you know of the Court of Heaven?"
"I know that the righteous enter Paradise, and the wicked descend to Hell."
"Then you know enough. Let us begin. Name?"
"Olaf Michael Alexander. Thirty-eight years old. Abandoned by my parents as a child. My mother worked in taverns, my father was a trafficker and a killer. At fifteen, I joined a gang, smuggling drugs and known for its violence."
"Enough."
Later, I entered prison, where I met my father's companions. They told me he had remarried and fathered a son after abandoning me.
"I said enough! Do you not hear me? If I am bound for Hell, then so be it. But if you continue your words, I will destroy you."
Suddenly, a man appeared before me, holding a great book.
"Good. Then your first punishment: seven lashes with the Chains of Hell, for your very first crime."
"I accept. Do your worst. You underestimate me? Then begin."
A gate opened—black flames within, burning me though I stood light-years away. Three chains bound me, pain beyond description. A man stood behind me, wielding the chain. He struck. At the first lash, my body evaporated before I could scream. Only my soul remained, descending into the seventh layer of earth, screaming so loud that, had mankind heard it, their eardrums would have burst.
When I returned, I was chained again. This time, I saw the man advancing. Every step he took made me die of pain, for I remembered the first lash. I died and returned, died and returned. He struck a second time. Again, I evaporated, descended, returned—this time crying endlessly. Even if all those I had slain forgave me, this man showed no mercy. His lashes grew only stronger. I died and revived, over and over, until I whispered, "It is over. Seven lashes finished."
The keeper of the book replied coldly, "No. Three remain."
Upon hearing this, I tore at my wrists with my teeth to escape the chains. I bit into my legs as well. I succeeded—but my wounds healed instantly. I ran with all my strength. The chain-bearer lifted his chain and struck. Looking up, I saw I had moved not even a centimeter. The same repeated three times.
At last, the first punishment ended. I was like one whose bones were broken, whose senses had all vanished, waiting for death. But then, the keeper spoke:
"The second punishment. Open the Eighth Gate."
That gate was monstrous. Even closed, its aura melted my flesh. As it opened, its sound alone expelled my soul from my body. I tried to flee—futile.
In that Hell I lived: when hunger came, I devoured molten rock; when thirst came, I drank bitter Zaqqum. Fire consumed me without end. Centuries upon centuries passed, like walking through infinite space. Finally, the keeper said: "Release him."
When I emerged, I was like one who had lost speech. I cried soundlessly, trembling until near death. Standing before him, he declared:
"The third punishment."
I could not answer—I died before he finished his words. He continued:
"If you were resurrected, you would commit sins again. Correct? Then we shall send you to another world, where you will suffer—and after that, you will be judged here again. Let us begin."
He closed the book. I fainted.
I awoke to a breeze, standing in a meadow, a nine-year-old child. A vast plain stretched before me. I stood still, crying, breathing the air, touching the grass, confirming my body was whole. I found a lake, drank deeply, and sat for hours.
"Hey, Andrei!" A voice behind me. I turned and saw children my age.
"Where were you? Answer us, Andrei."
"Who are you? And who am I?"
"You forgot your name again? Did you eat the temporary Forgetting Mushroom?"
"Andrei the fool, always getting us in trouble! If Grandma finds out, what will we do?"
"She won't. Come, Andrei, listen. I'll tell you some things about yourself. Pay attention."
"Tell me."
"Your name is Andrei Leon Mark, son of the hero Leon. You are ten years old. Your nanny is Olit. Today's food is potatoes and meat."
"Potatoes and meat… together?"
"Just remember. The master of this place is Albert, an aristocrat. Our names are Dave, Nash, Olo, and Charles. Soon your memory will return."
"Alright. My name is Andrei."
"Good. You remembered. Now let's hurry, before the nanny grows angry. Mark, use Wind Magic—the wind is good today."
"Wait—did you say Wind Magic? Are we playing?"
"Andrei, we're not playing. We all possess magic."
"Do you think me foolish to believe—woah! It worked, friends! Let's ride!"
I watched Mark's windcraft in awe. I tried to copy, but failed.
"Perhaps I did it wrong…"
"Ah, Dave, Olaf is trying again."
"Oh, I forgot to tell him. Olaf, you haven't shown your power yet."
"Then I'll wait until it appears."
"No. If power does not appear in childhood, it never will."
Everyone stared at me. I lowered my head in sorrow. Yet inside, I thought: Even without power, I will not return to that Hell. I will try to be a good boy in this life.
"Wait—I sense wind energy. Did you find him at last?"
"Yes, nanny Olit, we found him."
"Thank God! I thought he was kidnapped. Here he is. Olaf, welcome back—you frightened me so much, little one."
I gazed at her and thought: Who is this beauty? She is like an angel.
"Olaf, won't you answer me?"
"How could I not answer the most beautiful nanny I have ever seen?"
"Stop, you embarrass me! Now, ready? I cooked your favorite—potatoes and meat."
"Who eats such food, for God's sake?"
"What? You begged for it for a whole month, and now you complain?"
"Who would ask for such a thing…"
"Oh, Olaf! Stop pressing my head!"
"You call this a gift? You brat, my gift is a slap across your face!"