Michael contemplated the entire scene and said to himself:
"Here, before birth… every soul writes its own path, then is cast into the world to be forgotten. And I stand witness to what is written, with the guardians of destiny all around me."
Michael focused on three souls. The first sat on his knees, his book before him like a window open to an unforgiving fate. His eyes glistened with tears, and his hands trembled as he read the lines. Every sentence he read felt like a stab to his heart; he saw his failures, his betrayals, the moments of weakness yet to come. Every tear that fell onto the pages transformed into a ray of light, quickly absorbed by the book, as if the book itself fed on his sorrow.
The second soul burst into laughter. His voice echoed like metallic reverberations in the quantum desert. His laughter wasn't pure joy, but a mixture of ecstasy and strangeness; he was reading about future glories, victories, and words of praise that would be said to him in this world. His eyes glowed like sparks, and with each page he turned, his laughter grew louder and louder, until he seemed to be mocking fate itself.
Meanwhile, the third soul froze, his eyes fixed on a single page he dared not turn. His face was ashen, silent, his mouth agape as if he had witnessed a cosmic catastrophe. His fingers gripped the edges of the book so tightly that his hands turned to stone with fear. He didn't move, he didn't cry, he didn't laugh… only that silent stunned silence, as if the words he had read had forever robbed him of the ability to speak. "Yes, this is the world in which you read your book before you are born. You either change your lines for the better, or you live lost… unaware of your destiny."
Suddenly, Michael's body began to tremble as if he had lost his balance under an unbearable force. A strange weight pressed against his being, and a chill seeped from his bones into the depths of his soul. The spirits around him were still, lost in contemplating their destinies, but from within this stillness emerged a thick, black shadow, enveloping a single spirit.
Michael approached hesitantly, and with each step closer, his inner turmoil grew more intense. The malevolent spirit was neither weeping nor laughing, nor even contemplating… it was seething with turmoil.
Suddenly, a mental vision opened before him, as if his mind had become a window into the depths of that spirit.
He saw what lay within:
Teared fragments flying through the darkness… a body mercilessly cut into tiny pieces, blood evaporating before it touched the ground, and a metallic screeching sound tearing through the air.
The pain was not a scream, but a distorted laugh escaping the spirit's mouth as it watched itself being torn apart and rebuilt, then torn apart again.
Michael trembled even more, feeling the very bones cracking, as if the vision were trying to pull him down with them. He could now clearly discern that this soul fed on its own suffering, as if it found its immortality in reliving its death again and again.