The inscription towered above us. It had three sides and stood nearly twice as tall as the average person. Without wasting time, I started reading.
"You did not appreciate the opportunity presented to you, and now you will be punished in the land of Hell!"
That was it. One single, harsh sentence staring back at me from the first side. It was as clear as day—we had reached our eternal punishment zone. For a moment, I froze. I could almost feel a replay of all my past actions flash before me, like a corrupted film reel, but everything was too fuzzy to make sense. I wanted to scream, "I'm not a bad person!" but my throat felt dry.
Still, I had a motto: Don't let yourself go. This wasn't the time to collapse. I had to adapt—fast. Breathe, move, survive.
I turned slowly to see the second side. The crowd was dense; most people who could stand were already here, groaning, cursing, or staring blankly into space. It took me five slow, clumsy minutes to move ten steps.
Finally, I stood in front of the next side of the inscription.
"The Creator forgives servants and rewards those who do well!"
Wait—what? This line was the complete opposite of the first! A sudden surge of hope flickered in me. Could this be random luck? Did I just happen to choose two sides that gave opposite messages?
To find out, I tapped the shoulder of the bulky, bald man standing next to me. The name Wrestler was etched above his head like a gamer tag.
"Hey, Wrestler. What does it say here?" I asked.
He barely whispered back. "You did not appreciate the opportunity presented to you... and now you will be punished…"
That was the line from the first side. But we were both looking at the second side. Weird.
That's when I realized something. Maybe this inscription wasn't just a static object. Maybe the order of the messages changed depending on where you stood. Maybe… we were meant to see the messages in a set sequence.
So, I calmly walked toward the third and final side. No need to rush—I had a feeling there would be plenty of chaos soon. I passed through the silent crowd like a zombie, wondering what else this place had in store.
When I reached the last side, it hit me like a slap.
"First Floor of Hell!"
The words were huge, glowing blood red, and they looked like they might burn themselves into my eyes if I stared too long. Below that title, four terrifying laws were written:
"In the First Floor of Hell, time flows exactly as it did on Earth!""You must kill a Fallen equal to your level every day!""Failing to do so will result in eight hours of Hell Torment!""All answers lie within the Fallen outside the sanctuary—face your mistakes!"
So this was it—Hell, Level One. These weren't just spooky messages. They were rules. Our new reality.
From the changing expressions around me, it was clear that others were reading the same thing. And judging by the last line, the only way to truly understand anything here was to leave this safe zone and fight.
Even though I wasn't a hardcore MMORPG player, I knew the basics. If this was a tutorial zone, the first enemies—the Fallen—should be weak. I could just step outside the barrier, find a low-level mob, and kill it.
But just as I was about to make a move, something clicked in my brain.
If this were a traditional game, the starting area wouldn't need a magical barrier. There wouldn't be threats nearby. But this wasn't a game created by a company. This was Hell. Designed for punishment. That meant things might be different—deadly different.
I slowed down. Instead of jumping straight out, I sat near the edge of the shield, pretending my body hadn't fully recovered. Better to watch first and see what happened.
No one had crossed the barrier yet. Outside was still and quiet. If I didn't know better, I might have mistaken it for a peaceful countryside.
Then everything changed.
A thick cloud of dust exploded as the crowd behind me began to panic. People sprinted toward the barrier and flung themselves through it like madmen. I almost laughed. These same people had been completely calm moments ago. Now, the threat of eight hours of torture had turned them into stampeding animals.
As the crowd poured out, strange shadows appeared in the distance. One by one, they became clearer—figures forming in the dust. Dozens of them. Then hundreds.
They didn't arrive with drama. No lightning or flames. They just appeared. Silently. Their numbers quickly outmatched the people who had run out of the sanctuary.
I stood up, walking to the very edge of the ice-blue barrier. A strange smell hit my nose—strong alcohol. It reminded me of late nights and worse decisions. The wind slapped me awake, as if the world itself wanted to say "Pay attention!"
My eyes scanned the horizon.
I was expecting demons—horns, fangs, glowing weapons, maybe some blood for style. This was Hell, after all.
What I saw was… ridiculous.
"Tipsy LVL 1"
"Drunk LVL 1"
"Alcoholic LVL 1"
Wait, what? That couldn't be right. But it was. A whole mob of red-faced, unshaven, wobbly figures had appeared, each clutching a bottle or jug. Some of them swayed as if dancing to music only they could hear.
I almost burst out laughing.
I thought the smell of alcohol was just some symbolic thing—a reminder of my final sin, maybe. But no. These mobs were alcoholics. They filled the landscape beyond the shield, stumbling around like background extras from a pirate movie.
Then, a voice came from my right. Friendly. Slurred.
"Young friend, don't you want to join us? We have bread and wine to share!"
I turned to see three mobs sitting cross-legged on the ground. They were calling out to a boy—barely sixteen, by the look of it—who had just run through the barrier.
Poor kid looked completely lost. His eyes darted around in confusion. He hesitated. Then he charged forward, sword raised high.
The mob he aimed for had the label "Hangover LVL 1" above its head.
Finally, someone had made the first move.
I couldn't help but smirk. That kid had probably played tons of online games. Just like me, he thought these mobs were tutorial-level pushovers.
But the drunken monsters didn't panic. They barely reacted. They just watched through half-closed eyes as the boy ran at them, as if this was all a boring routine.