"Do not believe that creature! That woman is the Devil herself!"
The shout came not from above, not from any unseen deity, but from the middle of the waiting line—a deep, furious bellow slicing through the quiet like a blade.
"She wears the form of a woman, but don't be fooled! Satan walks among us!"
It was a man—mid-forties, broad as a freight truck and twice as loud—his face flushed red with faith or madness, you couldn't tell which.
And like dry leaves to fire, his cry sparked murmurs through the crowd, a thousand whispers weaving into a chorus.
"Yes! Yes! The Lord will save us!"
"God has not abandoned us! Heaven exists!"
Their voices, once small and scattered, rose like a tide.
Desperate believers clinging to the last illusion that this—this mechanized march into darkness—was not the end.
"Keep your peace, sir! Follow the line or you'll regret it for eternity!"
The woman in the black suit snapped, her voice razor-sharp, but not quite in control.
But the man—he saw that crack. That hesitation.
And he pushed.
"You hear that? She fears the Word!
She's no guide—she's a witch, a servant of the Pit! Look at her—pale as a corpse, face like ice, not a flicker of humanity in those eyes.
It's just like the Scriptures warned us!"
He turned to the crowd now, a preacher atop his pulpit of despair.
"We must burn her! Burn the witch! Escape this place! Find Heaven!"
She stepped forward then, that same black-suited guide, her eyes narrowing.
"Final warning. Return to your place and silence the crowd."
But her voice trembled—only slightly—and that was all it took.
The man surged forward, dragging half a dozen trembling followers with him, their eyes wild, half-convinced this was the moment Revelation had spoken of.
"Kill the witch! Burn her! Burn her!!"
That was all it took.
The woman reached to her belt, pulled free what looked—at first—like a gun.
But the moment she pulled the trigger, it was clear this was no earthly weapon.
BANG!
The sound was deafening, hollow, like a bell from beneath the sea.
From the barrel shot something bright, fast—green, almost glowing like a child's toy BB pellet.
But when it hit the man—
God.
His chest erupted in flame.
Not red.
Not orange.
But a brilliant, hellish fluorescent green.
The fire roared up his torso, engulfing him like he'd been soaked in gasoline and kissed by lightning.
He screamed.
Not once.
Not briefly.
He screamed like a man whose soul was being peeled from his bones,
his voice rising, breaking, continuing—long after the fire should've taken the breath from him.
"AAAAAAGHHH! GOD—PLEASE!! HELP ME!!! PLEASE!!"
He beat his chest.
Rolled on the floor.
Tore at his skin.
But the flames only clung tighter.
Hungrier.
I had never seen a body burn up close.
Had never imagined fire could be... beautiful in such a grotesque, inhuman way.
It shimmered like acid spilled across heaven's paint.
No one helped him.
No one moved.
We were frozen.
Petrified by a terror that didn't make sense—not yet—but was too real to ignore.
"GUARDS! Take him to the Power Plant!"
The woman barked the words like a conductor calling for instruments.
And from the shadows stepped two giants.
Each at least six-foot-six, thick with muscle and silence.
They threw black, writhing snares that coiled around the burning man's limbs like living rope.
He shrieked as they dragged him away, his voice trailing behind like smoke.
"Help me—please! Anyone! Please! AAAAGHHHHHHHH!!!"
I stood there, heart hammering like a drum in a closed coffin,
and all I could think was—
That was… excessive.
He shouted a little. Stirred the crowd.
Any security goon could've pinned him, shut him up.
But that?
That was a message.
A crucifixion.
A warning carved in fire.
Still... the man didn't stop screaming.
Even as he vanished behind the crowd.
Even as the flames refused to let him go.
And that... that was what made it truly terrifying.
Shouldn't he be dead by now?
Shouldn't the pain have taken him under?
"Silence!"
The woman barked again, but this time with a strange serenity on her face—
a calm that wasn't human.
She even smiled. Just barely.
"Back in line. Now."
And they obeyed.
Those who shouted of Heaven, who raised fists and prayers—they fell silent.
As if a switch had flipped inside them.
They returned to their places, heads down.
Defeated.
Docile.
Domesticated.
"What you just witnessed," she said, loud and clear,
"is Hellfire. It burns one thousand times hotter than the flames of Earth.
It cannot be extinguished, and once it touches you, it never leaves."
She paused.
Let the horror settle.
"Also, something I neglected to mention before…
You are already dead. Your bodies cannot die again.
Which means if you're touched by Hellfire—
you will feel that pain for the rest of eternity."
What...?
My knees went loose beneath me.
My mouth was dry.
All the noise in the room had died with that man's final scream.
All I could do was stare—
at the woman.
At the place where the flames had been.
Even the religious zealots were trembling now.
Not in devotion.
But in pure, animal fear.
The woman watched us.
Drank in our terror like wine.
"I do not enjoy using the Hellfire," she said, her voice laced with mock-sympathy.
"So I suggest you obey my instructions—and those of the other Guides—from this point forward. Understood?"
"Yes!"
The crowd answered in unison.
Not out of respect.
Not even out of belief.
Out of survival.
And just like that, the line reformed.
Order was restored.
Like a military unit under a tyrant with a flamethrower for a god.
In that moment, I understood:
Hell isn't fire and brimstone.
Hell is control.
And here, the first law was carved in flame.
The second?
Obey.
Because in this place, rebellion doesn't get you killed.
It gets you eternity of pain.