Chapter 10: The Gatekeeper of Ash and the Sea of Screams
The Field of Forgotten Faces trembled as the Gatekeeper of Ash fully materialized. The titan was a colossal amalgamation of history's failures; its body was composed of grey, compressed dust and the calcified remains of those who had died in despair. It stood fifty feet tall, wielding a scythe of jagged obsidian that hummed with a soul-chilling vibration.
Andrew felt the spiritual pressure of the Underworld crushing his lungs. His wings, once glorious flames of gold, were now flickering like candles in a gale. The Angel's Ring pulsed a warning—this was not a place of physical combat, but a realm where one's own internal weight decided the outcome.
"You bring a heartbeat into the silence?" the Titan's voice was a landslide of grinding stone. "I shall still it and add your dust to my skin!"
The Titan swung the massive scythe. Andrew leaped, but the air itself felt thick as syrup. The blade missed his head by an inch, and where it struck the ground, a wave of grey rot erupted, turning the already dead land into a void.
Andrew didn't strike back immediately. He realized that the Titan was fed by the "Forgotten Faces"—the soul fragments trapped within it. If he cut the Titan, he would be cutting the very souls he aimed to save.
"I am not your enemy!" Andrew shouted, his voice echoing in the grey expanse. "I am the one who remembers you!"
He sheathed the Aurelian Brand and did the unthinkable. He flew directly toward the Titan's chest and pressed his glowing palms against the grey, bone-riddled surface. He channeled the Angel's Ring, not as a weapon, but as a lantern. He poured his memories of Jammu—the laughter in the markets, the smell of rain on the mountains, the taste of fresh bread—into the Titan.
The effect was instantaneous. The grey ash began to glow. The souls trapped within the Titan felt a spark of their own humanity returning. The Titan let out a roar of confusion, then slowly began to crumble—not into dust, but into thousands of white, soaring moths.
The Gatekeeper was gone. The path to the Second Circle was open.
The Second Circle: The Sea of Screams
Beyond the field lay a vast, subterranean ocean. This was the Sea of Screams. The water was not blue or black; it was a deep, nauseating violet, and it was made of liquid sorrow. Every wave that hit the shore carried the sound of a thousand people weeping. There was no wind, yet the sea was violent, tossed by the inner torment of the souls submerged within it.
Andrew stood on the shore, his white boots stained by the violet foam. He knew that to touch this water was to be overwhelmed by every grief in human history. He needed to reach the Tower of the Damned on the far horizon, but he could no longer fly; the atmosphere here was too heavy with the weight of tears.
"You need a vessel, Seraph," a voice croaked from the shadows of a nearby cliff.
An old, withered ferryman emerged. He sat in a boat made of weathered cedar that looked as old as the world itself. His eyes were covered by a grey cloth.
"I have no gold to pay you, ferryman," Andrew said.
"I do not take gold," the ferryman replied, his hand trembling as he held a long oar. "I take 'Memories of Joy.' To cross this sea, you must give me one memory that makes your life worth living. But be warned: once you give it to me, you will forget it forever."
Andrew's heart tightened. Every memory of his brother, his mother, and his home was precious. He looked at the Sea of Screams and then at the distant tower where Arthur was being held.
"I give you the memory of my first harvest," Andrew whispered. He felt a sharp pull in his mind. The warmth of the sun on that day, the smell of the tall grain, and the pride on his father's face—it all vanished into a grey haze.
The ferryman nodded. "Step in."
The Crossing and the Leviathan of Regret
As the boat moved across the violet waves, the screams grew louder. Faces appeared in the water, reaching out with watery hands.
"Why do you get to leave?" they shrieked. "Stay and drown with us!"
Halfway across, the water began to boil. A massive creature, the Leviathan of Regret, rose from the depths. It was a serpent of impossible size, its scales made of broken mirrors. Each mirror showed Andrew a different version of his own failure.
"You should have stopped Arthur sooner," one mirror showed.
"You are only here because you feel guilty," another whispered.
The Leviathan didn't attack with teeth; it attacked with the "Reflection of the Self." Andrew looked into the creature's eyes and saw his own doubt magnified a thousand times. He felt the boat beginning to sink. The Ferryman remained silent, his eyeless face turned toward the horizon.
"The memory I gave was not just a harvest," Andrew shouted, his voice cracking. "It was the proof that life can be beautiful! And I will make it beautiful again for everyone!"
The Angel's Ring flared with a blinding, diamond-like brilliance. The mirrors on the Leviathan's scales shattered, unable to reflect a light that had no shadow of doubt. The creature let out a mournful cry and sank back into the violet depths.
The boat hit the far shore. Andrew stepped out, his body feeling lighter but his mind feeling a strange, hollow ache where his favorite memory used to be.
He stood before the Gates of the Vault of Whispers. This was the Third Circle, the place where the Devil's secrets were kept.
"One more circle, Arthur," Andrew whispered, clutching the ring. "Hold on."
From within the gates, a rhythmic thumping could be heard—the heartbeat of the Underworld itself. And beneath that, the sound of a blacksmith's hammer hitting an anvil.