-----
(đđŁď¸đđ)
The eighth layer hadn't begun yet.
But something was different.
Michael stood in the dim corridor between layers.
The one place where Hell was supposed to be quiet.
A place meant for breathing. Preparing.
But this time⌠it wasn't silent.
It whispered.
Not in malice. Not in threat.
In memory.
---
The Air Felt Thick
Michael turned his head slowly.
The ground wasn't shifting. The flame around him wasn't flickering.
But something in the air changed. It pulsed. Glimmered. Dimly. Like fireflies made of memory.
Shapes began to appear in the corridor.
Faint at first â outlines, glowing white-blue, barely more than fog.
Then, step by stepâŚ
Souls.
---
"They followed me?" Michael thought to himself with confusion, his expression flat but his steps halting.
"No... they waited."
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
They did.
---
A Small Voice Broke the Quiet
A child stepped forward â a girl with hair like starlight, tattered dress stitched with hope.
Her eyes didn't weep.
They shone.
"You saved me," she said softly, her voice carrying like wind over warm ashes.
"You tore apart the shadow I never thought I'd leave."
Michael said nothing.
He looked at her.
"She's not afraid of me," Michael thought to himself with something like disbelief.
"She should be."
She smiled â not wide. Just enough.
"You didn't do it for me. But I still wanted to say it."
"Thank you⌠King of Fire."
---
Then Came the Warrior
A tall man stepped from the edge of light.
Armor half-dissolved. Scars burned into his soul.
He stood straight, like a knight facing judgment.
"I was trapped in silence for four hundred years," he said, his voice grim and respectful.
"But I heard your footstep. I heard your fist."
He paused.
"And when the judge's book broke⌠my chains did too."
Michael looked up at him, eyes flat but burning.
"That book," Michael thought to himself with vague disgust,
"It deserved to burn."
The warrior saluted.
"Whether you wanted it or not⌠your war freed us."
---
And Then the Broken One
A man with no face stepped forward.
His shape flickered.
His voice was torn between sobs and whispers.
"I was⌠part of the flesh wall," he said, shaking.
"I was a mouth. I was a throat. I screamed and screamed and screamedâ"
He looked up.
"But when your hand tore through the queen's hive⌠I felt light."
Michael stared at him in silence.
"That queen's voice still lingers," Michael thought to himself with cold hatred.
"Disgusting."
The faceless soul nodded.
"Even if I forget who I was⌠I'll never forget what it felt like⌠to be saved."
---
Dozens more stood behind them now.
Some bowed.
Some saluted.
Some just stood, breathing again.
Each said a line. A word. A tearful sound.
Some smiled. Some cried.
But not one begged.
"They're not asking anything of me," Michael thought to himself with stillness.
"They're just⌠here."
He wasn't used to this.
Not worship.
Not fear.
Gratitude.
It didn't fuel him.
But it stayed in him.
---
A Moment of Speech
Michael took a breath.
He hadn't spoken aloud since killing the last Gatekeeper.
His voice cracked fire as it rose from his throat.
"I didn't do it for you," Michael said flatly, his tone empty â not cruel, just honest.
"I did it because they were in my way."
The child nodded.
"We know."
The warrior chuckled.
"Doesn't mean we can't be grateful."
---
The Gate Groaned
Behind them, the wall of the eighth layer opened â not like stone. Like meat.
It pulsed.
It dripped.
It waited.
Michael turned to face it, his expression neutral.
He took a step forward.
Then paused.
And looked back once.
Just once.
The souls were still there â watching.
He didn't smile.
But his next thought wasn't cold.
"They remember me," Michael thought to himself with unfamiliar quiet.
"Even if I forget them.
---
He walked through the gate.
---
The Mouth of Destruction was waiting.
And Michael's fire had never burned so still.