[Grace's pov ]
Grace landed hard on black sand.
The ground was hot beneath her palms, but not hot enough to burn—almost as if this place wanted her awake for every second of it. Above, the sky was a bruised red void. Far ahead stood an iron gate large enough to swallow a city, its bars disappearing into smoke.
This was only the **surface**.
Beyond the gate stretched an endless descent: an infinite number of regions, each one deeper, stranger, and harsher than the last. Screams rose from somewhere below, then cut off all at once.
A figure waited beside the gate.
It wore armour made of dark, fused metal, with a cracked helm where a face should have been. Fire burned behind the empty visor.
"Grace," the **Gatekeeper** said. "You have arrived at the threshold."
Grace staggered to her feet, fear rising in her throat. "I'm dead."
"Yes."
"The ravager beast… killed me."
"They ended your current life," the Gatekeeper replied. "They did not decide where you would go."
Grace looked at the gate. "Why am I here of all places?"
The fire within the Gatekeeper's helm brightened.
"Because in a life before this one, you took many lives."
Her breath caught.
Images struck her without warning: a bloodied blade; people kneeling in the rain; a burning village; her own hands, younger but merciless. The memories vanished before she could grasp them.
"No," Grace whispered. "That wasn't me."
"It was," said the Gatekeeper. "You were reborn without the memories. But death restores the account of what the soul has carried."
Grace backed away from the gate. "Then this is punishment."
"Not exactly."
The Gatekeeper placed one hand against the iron bars.
"Hell is a multiversal plane of existence . It was **not** made by the First God, as mortals often believe. Its origin lies with the **Book of the Dead**." The gatekeeper further elaborates :
"Hell is not a world. It is a plane that exists between countless realities. Every universe has a connection to Hell, but Hell itself does not belong to any single universe."
The gate groaned open a fraction. Heat and the scent of ash poured out.
"When the angels of the First God abandoned him, they did so because they came to believe true peace was only a dream—beautiful, impossible, and unworthy of their faith."
Grace watched the fire twist around the Gatekeeper's arm.
"They made this place from their own lives, flesh, and fire. Their bodies became its foundations. Their suffering became its flame. The Book of the Dead gave that sacrifice shape—and Hell was born."
A low bell sounded beneath the surface.
The Gatekeeper turned toward the open gate.
"You are not yet in the deep places, Grace. You stand only at the surface. But the memories you have buried are already beginning to wake."
Then another voice drifted through the gate.
A familiar voice.
"Grace… don't let them take you deeper."
She froze.
It sounded like someone she had killed in the life she could not remember.
Grace stared through the half-open gates, her breath catching on the ash-filled air.
"Stop," she said. "I don't understand any of this. A multiversal plane of existence? The Book of the Dead? Who are you? Why am I in Hell—and who was that voice?"
The Gatekeeper did not move.
"I am a **Gatekeeper**," it said. "Not a judge. Not a god. I guard the surface threshold and explain the fate of souls sent here."
It pointed beyond the iron gates.
"Hell is not beneath Earth. It is a separate plane within the greater multiverse—an infinite realm created through the **Book of the Dead**, when the angels who abandoned the First God gave their lives, flesh, and fire to form it."
Grace looked into the red darkness. "And I'm here because of my past life?"
"Yes. Your soul carries sins your current mind cannot remember. Death does not erase them."
The Gatekeeper's gauntlet pressed against the gate. Deep below, something enormous shifted. The sound was wet, vast, and hungry.
"Hell has a purpose. It feeds the **Leviathan, King of the Labyrinth**."
Grace went pale. "Feeds it?"
"The souls of sinners are sent into its labyrinth. Their suffering, fear, and eventual destruction strengthen it. The Leviathan builds armies and consumes what reaches its domain."
A distant roar rolled upward through the layers of Hell.
"But the Leviathan is not the final ruler," the Gatekeeper continued. "One day, the **King of Hell** will consume the Leviathan itself. With that power, he intends to become strong enough to challenge the gods."
"Is the King of Hell that powerful now?"
"He is still weak compared with what he seeks to become." The Gatekeeper paused. "Yet even now, he holds enough power to destroy Earth in a single attack, should he choose."
Grace's knees nearly gave way.
The Gatekeeper lifted one burning finger, and shapes appeared in the smoke: creatures climbing from graves, horned warriors, winged shadows, and things too immense to name.
From weakest to strongest these are the types of demons :
1. **Imps** — Hell's patrollers. They sometimes cross into the human world, especially at night, to steal buried bodies from graves and funerals.
2. **Fiends** — Parasites that inhabit the human bodies stolen by imps. They are the Leviathan's second-weakest demons, but dangerous when wearing a human form.
3. **Oni demons** — Brutal, stronger demons that command lesser forces.
4. **Abyssal demons** — Demons shaped by the deeper regions of Hell.
5. **Archdemons** — Powerful rulers and commanders of demonic territories.
6. **Demon Lords** — Masters of vast armies and regions.
7. **Demon Kings** — Sovereigns strong enough to threaten worlds.
8. **Primordial Demon** — The King of Hell himself.
"And the Leviathan?" Grace asked.
"The **King of the Labyrinth**," said the Gatekeeper. "It commands multiple armies, including fiends and the demons beneath its dominion. It is the hunger at Hell's center—but even it is meant to be consumed."
Grace's eyes returned to the gate.
"What about the voice?"
For the first time, the Gatekeeper hesitated.
"It came from within the labyrinth. It may be one of the souls you killed in your former life."
The voice whispered again through the gap in the gate.
"Grace… remember."
The Gatekeeper looked at her with the fire of Hell burning behind its visor.
"Your punishment has not begun yet. But the deeper you go, the more of your past will return."
Grace took a step back from the gate, staring at the endless red-black distance beyond it.
"Is there a way out?" she asked. "Can I leave Hell? Escape it somehow?"
The Gatekeeper stood motionless for a long time. Fire shifted behind its cracked visor.
"There are paths spoken of in old stories," it finally said. "Paths through the Labyrinth. Bargains with beings deeper than your understanding. Doors that should not exist."
Grace's eyes lifted with a flicker of hope.
Then the Gatekeeper extinguished it.
"For you, the odds are impossible."
Her face fell.
"Impossible?"
"Not merely unlikely," it said. "Not difficult. **Impossible.** You are a newly arrived soul on Hell's surface. You have no army, no power, no knowledge of this realm, and sins strong enough to have drawn the Labyrinth's attention."
Beyond the gates, something vast moved in the dark.
"The Leviathan will feed. Its fiends will hunt. The deeper realms will change you or destroy you. And if you somehow survive all of that, the King of Hell rules the plane itself."
Grace clenched her hands. "So there's no hope?"
The Gatekeeper looked down at her.
"Hope exists. Escape does not."
The voice from inside the Labyrinth whispered again—closer now.
"Grace… remember what you were."
Grace looked beyond the iron gate, toward the sound of something enormous moving beneath Hell's surface.
"How do I avoid being eaten?" she asked. "Tell me what I have to do."
The Gatekeeper's burning gaze did not soften.
"**Work.**"
Grace frowned. "Work for who?"
"For the imps."
The Gatekeeper gestured toward the red horizon. Small, crooked silhouettes moved across the ash dunes, dragging rusted hooks and grave-soiled sacks behind them.
"Imps patrol Hell. At times, they cross into the human realm—most often at night or near funerals—to steal the bodies of the newly buried. They retrieve the vessels."
"And I deliver them?" Grace asked.
"You deliver the stolen bodies to the fiends," the Gatekeeper said. "The fiends inhabit them. In return, the imps mark you as useful rather than prey."
Grace's stomach turned. "That keeps the Leviathan away from me?"
"For a time."
The Gatekeeper stepped aside from the gate.
"To remain alive beyond that, you must offer souls to the **Leviathan, King of the Labyrinth**. Souls feed its strength. A useful servant is spared. An empty-handed soul is eventually consumed."
Grace stared at it, horrified.
"So I have to give it other people."
"A life for a life," the Gatekeeper replied. "That is the surface law of Hell."
The iron gates groaned wider. Somewhere inside the darkness, the Leviathan shifted—and the sound of it made the black sand tremble beneath Grace's feet.
For the first time, she understood what survival here meant.
Not redemption.
Not forgiveness.
A bargain.
Grace stared at the Gatekeeper, the words **a life for a life** echoing louder than the distant movement beneath Hell.
"And redemption?" she asked. "If I do this—if I work for the imps and offer souls to the Leviathan—can I earn redemption?"
For the first time, the Gatekeeper's burning gaze seemed almost pitying.
"Offering souls does not redeem you, Grace. It only postpones your consumption."
Her hope faltered.
"Then how does anyone get redeemed?"
"The Book of the Dead measures more than suffering. It measures choice." The Gatekeeper pointed toward the open gate. "Hell will give you endless reasons to become cruel. Fear will tell you to sacrifice the weak. Hunger will tell you to feed another soul to the Leviathan. Power will tell you that survival is worth any cost."
Grace looked at the ash-covered ground. "So I have to be good?"
"No." The Gatekeeper's voice deepened. "Goodness is too small a word for this place. You must face the harm your soul caused, remember it without turning away, and choose differently when it costs you something."
A long, distant roar shook the surface of Hell.
"But understand this: the Leviathan does not reward redemption. It feeds on sin, despair, and souls that abandon themselves. If you refuse its demands, it may devour you. If you obey too completely, you may become the kind of monster that belongs here."
Grace swallowed. "Then redemption could get me killed."
"In Hell," said the Gatekeeper, "it usually does."
The familiar voice drifted from the Labyrinth once more.
"Grace… you promised you would save us."
This time, a fragment of memory cut through her: flames, terrified faces, and her own voice ordering someone to run.
Then it was gone.
The Gatekeeper stepped aside.
"Your first choice begins now."
Grace stood at the threshold while the gates of Hell breathed heat around her.
"I don't understand time here," she said. "How long do I have before the Leviathan comes for me?"
The Gatekeeper lifted one hand. A faint symbol—two black marks shaped like broken hourglasses—appeared on Grace's wrist.
"By the measure of Earth, you have **two days**," it said. "Two days to make yourself useful, find the imps, and bring them bodies for delivery."
Grace stared at the mark. "And after that?"
"After that, the imps will decide whether you are worth keeping near them. The Leviathan will decide whether you are worth eating."
The answer left no room for comfort.
"But Hell has no normal time?" Grace asked.
"Not as you understand it."
The Gatekeeper looked past her, into horizons that should not have fit behind a single gate.
"Hell is a multiversal plane. Its surface touches countless dead worlds, ruined worlds, and worlds that still live beneath unfamiliar stars. Each realm within it has its own laws. In some, an Earth day passes as an hour. In others, a single step can contain centuries. The deeper you descend, the less time remains a rule at all."
Grace's fingers closed around her marked wrist.
"So if I go deeper…"
"You may lose days," the Gatekeeper said. "Or memories. Or the very meaning of *before* and *after*."
A crack opened in the air beyond the gate.
For a moment, Grace saw a rain-soaked city beneath a violet sky. Then it vanished, replaced by an ocean of black glass beneath three dying suns. Then a vast graveyard where the tombstones whispered in languages she did not know.
"Which universe am I going to?" she asked.
The Gatekeeper's flame dimmed.
"That is not for me to decide. The Book of the Dead, the Labyrinth, and the weight of your own soul will determine where you are sent."
Far away, something answered from the depths.
A roar.
Not loud—worse than loud. It seemed to come from inside Grace's bones.
The Gatekeeper turned toward the ash dunes. A line of imps was approaching, dragging hooks behind them. Their red eyes gleamed as they noticed the new soul standing at the gate.
"Your first two Earth-days begin now," it said.