Anthony's descent into Hell was violent. The ground had split apart, swallowing him whole. His body slammed into jagged rock as he fell deeper and deeper, the searing winds of the abyss ripping at his flesh. When he finally hit solid ground, he groaned, his muscles screaming in protest. He looked up to find himself surrounded by an impossibility—Hell itself.
The realm was a shifting nightmare. The sky, if it could even be called that, churned with a sickly red hue, streaked by rivers of molten gold and blackened ash. The ground cracked and groaned beneath him, the landscape a chaotic labyrinth of bleeding stone, twisting spires, and cascading waterfalls of liquid fire. Every sound reverberated with a sickening distortion, as if the place refused to let silence exist.
Despite the heat that swirled around him like a smothering embrace, his breath crystallized in the air. Anthony flexed his fingers, sparks of electricity dancing faintly between them. The environment twisted his senses, yet he kept moving. His heartbeat pounded like war drums, each step sinking into terrain that seemed eager to pull him deeper. The distant roar of something massive echoed through the realm, accompanied by faint, rhythmic chanting that pierced the stillness.
A river of blood carved its way through the scorched stone ahead. As Anthony approached it, figures began to emerge from the crimson depths—humanoid forms, their bodies stripped of all skin, muscles glistening wetly in the faint light. Their eyes—or the spaces where eyes should have been—locked onto him as they clawed their way onto the banks.
They moved with grotesque speed, their hands outstretched, razor-sharp bone jutting from the tips of their fingers. Anthony's face twisted into an expression that wasn't quite a smile. His fingers sparked, and with a sharp motion, he slammed his palm onto the ground. A burst of electrical energy shot outward, splintering the rocky surface and sending the first wave of creatures flying backward.
But they didn't stop.
Anthony surged forward. His body moved like a current of its own, every strike flowing into the next. His fists radiated lightning as he threw precise punches, each one exploding on impact and reducing the attackers to twitching, dismembered piles. Crimson streaks painted his face and arms as he carved through the wave of horrors, their blood sizzling and vaporizing on his burning skin.
One of them leapt at him from above, its clawed hand aimed for his throat. Anthony twisted mid-step, his body a blur of motion, and drove his knee into the creature's chest, shattering its ribcage in a spray of molten bone. The impact launched the body into the river it had crawled from, the blood swallowing it whole with a sickening hiss. The heat around him grew, his skin blistering under the invisible weight of the realm, yet he welcomed it.
The fighting stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The creatures were gone, reduced to heaps of smoldering ruin. Anthony wiped the blood from his face, his expression as cold as the energy coursing through him. His body ached, his wounds screaming for reprieve, but he ignored the sensation. There was no rest here. No peace.
Something moved in the distance, cutting through the red haze. It was vast, its shape indistinct. Anthony's breath slowed as the chanting grew louder. The figure approached, and the air vibrated with its presence. He didn't flinch. He took a step forward.
Then he stopped.
The landscape ahead shifted violently. The earth tore open, molten rock gushing upward, and from it emerged a monolithic structure—a towering spire of jagged, blackened stone. It bled continuously, the rivulets of crimson cascading into the endless void below. The structure pulsed faintly, as though alive, its surface etched with symbols that Anthony didn't recognize but instinctively knew.
The air around the spire felt like a storm contained within itself, crackling with unspent energy. Anthony's fingertips twitched. For the first time in a long while, the hairs on his neck stood on end.
The shadow of a figure loomed near the spire's base, faint and distant, its shape flickering unnaturally. It stood motionless, radiating malice. Anthony narrowed his eyes, his heart quickening—not in fear, but in anticipation. Without hesitation, he sprinted forward, his steps leaving cracks in the blood-slick ground.
The figure didn't move as Anthony closed the distance. When he was close enough, he leapt, a spear of lightning forming in his hand. The crackling energy filled the air as he hurled it forward, the weapon cutting through the choking heat with blinding speed.
The spear struck the ground where the figure had been—but it was gone. It reappeared behind him, its movement soundless and unnatural. Anthony whirled around, but the figure remained still. It tilted its head, as if studying him.
"You don't belong here," it said, the voice distant and warped, reverberating through the very walls of the spire. It was impossible to discern if it came from the figure or the realm itself.
Anthony didn't respond. He dashed forward, his body a blur, his fist surging with explosive energy as he struck the figure square in the chest. For a moment, everything slowed. The sound of the impact roared like thunder, the ground splitting beneath them. The figure stumbled slightly, but no damage marked its form.
Anthony jumped back, his fists tightening. The ground quaked beneath him as the spire's pulse intensified. The figure raised a single hand, its motion slow and deliberate, and Anthony felt the air compress around him. He gritted his teeth as invisible force bound him, dragging him to his knees.
"Your blood betrays you," the figure said, its voice quieter now but no less chilling. "The weight of it will crush you."
Anthony forced himself to his feet, the energy around him building to a crackling crescendo. His arms trembled as he raised them, flames and electricity intertwining across his skin. "Try it," he growled, his voice like a strike of lightning.
The figure remained silent, its form flickering like a dying ember. Then, without warning, it vanished, leaving only the pulsing spire behind.
Anthony's body sagged, his knees hitting the ground. He breathed heavily, the energy dissipating from his arms. He stared at the spire, its pulsing rhythm matching the pounding of his heart. Whatever waited for him beyond its jagged walls, he would face it.
He stood. Bloodied.
broken.
boiled.
beaten.
will this torment know no end?.