In Hell

"High upon the mountain ridge, flowers bloom so bright; up above the shimmering sky, stars cast out their light..." From the drifting dust far away came the singing of children. Particles danced in the air as the wind brought the scent of fermenting pasture grass and sheep dung. A bird fluttered down from a branch and perched upon a stooped old man's shoulder, singing as if in farewell. It felt like a waking dream. Bleating softly, a lamb licked the old man's palm, waking him from his long slumber. Verdant flora gleamed beneath the sunlight. Like paradise. "Your Majesty, it is time for you to leave." An elderly woman respectfully presented fruit and cheese, offering a gentle reminder. "I..." The old man stared blankly at it all, wanting to speak, yet finding no words. Along the village paths, shepherds and farmers smoked and chatted. Snot-nosed children roughhoused and chased one another, tumbling into the dirt and scrambling back up, their drab clothes smudged with dust. By the distant river, a mother washing clothes couldn't help but look up and scold them. A sun-tanned youth grinned, showing a row of pearly white teeth, waving through the crowd to a girl harvesting dates. The girl shot him a bashful, irritated glare, lowering her head as her companions teased her. Cooking smoke rose from slightly ramshackle houses, the scent of baking wheat drifting through the air. The old man gazed upon these unremarkable sights with rapt devotion and bliss—as though looking upon the most precious treasure in the world. "You..." He turned stiffly toward the old woman. "Are you all doing well?" "It is time to leave, Your Majesty." The old woman smiled faintly. "We are all at peace now, so please, do not worry... That is what you were hoping I would say, isn't it?" The old man froze in place. "Yet all of this is false." The phantom woman's smile faded. There was neither anger nor resentment in her face, only a calm stillness. "Your Majesty, we are already dead. When people die, nothing remains." "No consciousness. No heaven." The lamb lifted its head and spoke to him. "Only resentment with nowhere to go." "There is no hell in the world of the dead." A gaunt, bony old ox turned its head, gazing without pity at the pathetic figure yearning for solace. "Hell is where you living dwell." "Your Majesty..." A snot-nosed child tugged at his sleeve, looking up in bewilderment. "Can't you see our rotting bones?" The old man stood rigid, dumbstruck. He reached out instinctively, wanting to touch them, only for his fingers to pass uselessly through phantoms. The singing bird spread its wings and soared into a sky burned scorching red. Famished farmers shouldered their hoes, walking toward ignited fields. A shepherd coughing up blood herded rotting sheep into a wasteland choked with chemical weapons. "Tormented by plague, weeping in starvation..." "Dry bones planted in the barren dirt, maggots sprouting from innards." "Ah, ah, the agony never ends, the suffering knows no cease." The children went on merrily singing and skipping, their voices echoing through the grotesque hallucination. Echoing through this hell reserved for one man alone. Until they, too, drifted away into the distance. In the darkness, only he remained. No matter how he cried out. Not a single one ever looked back. And at last, he understood. They were all dead. They had died from the bloodthirsty plague and the claws of their own kin; they had died under scorching red skies in a homeland reduced to scorched earth; they had died right before his eyes. They had died by his own hand. At that moment, he finally heard calls from the mortal realm. Again, and again. He opened his eyes. Before him was a blood-red sky no different from hell, a barren earth, the stench of decay and blood carried on the wind... and crashing waves stirred by beams of ruin plummeting from the vault of heaven. "Father! Father!" A pair of fanatical eyes stared at him, brimmed with hot tears. "Thank the heavens, Father, you're finally awake!" Unable to contain the exultation and delight bubbling from his core, the speaker danced in wild joy. "Father, everything is in place, and the resurrection is almost complete! Please, Father, take command of everything once more and redeem the White Nation!" "...Ensuer, is that you?" The White King stared at him blankly, bewildered and exhausted, looking as though he could hardly recognize the child he had once lifted from the ruins. He was old now, no longer young, and no longer lost. Wrinkles covered his face, making him appear even older than the White King himself, powerless to resist the march of time. Yet in those eyes burned a surging fire. So fanatical, so ravenous. And so, the White King finally understood what had transpired after his death. "Even you turned out like this..." The Priest-King muttered in hollow realization. Though he wanted to weep, he could not stop a dry, mocking laugh from spilling from his lips. "Haha, hahahaha... So... even my child seeks to push his own people into hell?!" "Father, I..." Ensuer froze, wanting to speak, but no further sound came from his throat. The White King closed his eyes and raised a hand, pressing a finger lightly against his forehead. Ensuer collapsed backward, his blank face still bearing traces of both excitement and terror... Breath ceased. Only a corpse draped in splendid robes rolled down the audience steps, coming to rest at the feet of another man. The newcomer glanced down at him, stepped coldly over the body, and ascended the blood-stained steps one by one. At last, his gaze settled upon the shattered White King, pinned to the great tree. Without hesitation, he bowed low, performing a full kowtow. With a smile, he offered his greeting: "—Shehri offers congratulations to my Lord!" His smiling face shone with heartfelt joy, devoid of shadow, yet unashamedly laid bare a greed and malice that ran to the very marrow of his bones. And so, every question had its answer. "Is that how it is?" The White King looked down upon that mocking smile, baffled. "You actually dare show your face before me?" "Why wouldn't I?" Shehri rose casually, brushed the dust from his knees, and stepped into arm's reach of the White King. He countered, "Aside from Your Majesty, am I not the only one left who can save the White Nation? "Well, true, this whole ordeal ruined quite a bit, but from here on out, the name of the White Nation can at least endure because of Your Majesty... Looked at that way, I deserve immense credit!" He held his head high, utterly shameless, staring at the White King barely an arm's length away. Yet the moment the White King raised his hand once more, Shehri flashed back down the steps, vigilant to the extreme, leaving him not the slightest opening. The White King spoke no more. He merely tilted his head back, wearily watching the sky. His raised hand clamped tightly onto the blade in his chest, driving himself firmly into Shangri-La, refusing to let the sword dislodge, and refusing to let himself truly degenerate into a wolf... At this, Shehri's expression steadily darkened. Enough of this pathetic, futile stalling! "I understand, Your Majesty, I understand." He sighed softly, speaking in a measured voice. "After all these years, you are still the same, always clinging to hope, aren't you? You have always been like this... harboring unrealistic expectations of others, craving release, craving pity, always pinning what you call 'hope' onto someone else. "Well, actually, that's fine too..." Shehri's smile vanished in an instant. "It's time to wake from unrealistic dreams, Your Majesty. Today, allow me to serve as your herald. "Let me announce your decree!" The Wolf of Rotten Scales raised his head, turned back toward the ruins and dense woods behind him, and proclaimed solemnly: "—There is one more to be granted audience!" Silence fell. The White King went rigid. Looking down, he saw only Shehri's sneering smile. "The person you wished to see most—" *Boom!* A roar shattered the ruins of the ancient capital. Blood flew high into the sky, raining back down. Snarls and shrieks arose, drawing closer and closer. Amid rising howls, someone roared with fury, slashing through the final barrier before him and bursting through! A storm of blood and gore surged forth! It was impossible to tell whether the figure was human or beast, wolf or something even more deranged and hideous... Black fur was dyed crimson with blood. Flesh was mangled, gash after gash flayed open like ravenous mouths gorging greedily on gore. When he roared at the heavens, his warped face cracked, exposing white bone and gums. He staggered forward, barely able to keep his balance, yet moved with unbelievable speed. He paid no heed to broken blades impaling his body. He swung and swept his sword, tearing through the last obstacles ahead with claws and teeth, forcing his way through the layered seal of audience. He cared nothing for his life, and even less for death. He squandered this power suppressed for so long just to fulfill the pact once forged between the Priest-King and his most trusted guard! *Inayat, if one day...* Now, those battered bloodshot eyes finally looked up toward the liege he had been parted from for so long. As if smiling, as if weeping, not a shred of hesitation remained. "Your Majesty, according to our pact," Ni Lin spoke. "I have come to kill you!" "Seize him—" Shehri sneered and waved his hand. Along both sides of the steps, figure after figure sprouted beastly fur, their fangs and claws bared as they pounced. Instantly, bodies hit the ground, torn to pieces! Ni Lin roared, charging ahead. Without a thought for his own life. A jagged, nicked broadsword slashed down, carving another path of blood through the wolf pack. Staggering, sprinting, falling, getting up, falling again. When the blade groaned and snapped, he cast it aside and bared his own claws and teeth. He bit into wolf flesh, tore out the hearts of his own kind. When he could no longer stand, he crawled on all fours. Suppressed again and again, he thrashed furiously amidst his roars and lunged once more. Only to fall again. *Boom!* The beasts pinning his mangled body were torn apart by the last of his remaining claws, only for him to be pinned back down upon the steps of audience a moment later. In a pool of blood, Ni Lin forced his hand up, still striving to tear apart the final obstacle before him. Shehri! "Ha, you actually managed to slaughter your way all the way here?" Shehri's eyes widened in astonishment. He shook his head, full of genuine admiration. "I truly have to hand it to you... to be able to be stupid to such an extent!" *Thud!* Shehri casually drew a spear and rammed it through his throat, pinning him to the steps. Then a second, and a third, wedging him firmly into the stone! Then, he planted his foot on his face. Grinding it in contempt.