— What are you doing?
The voice resounded like thunder tearing through the skies. But what remained of the sky was no longer divine. It was a distorted imitation of a forgotten paradise, now turned into an abyss of madness and despair.
— Do you think you can do this to your creator?
The sinners hesitated for a brief moment, their fragmented minds struggling to comprehend the presence that now confronted them. But doubt did not last long. Hatred, fury, and insanity quickly took hold once more.
Paradise had become a slaughterhouse.
The streets, once golden, were covered in viscera and torn bodies. Eternity had not made them holier—only hungrier. Men crushed skulls against the stones, laughing hysterically as they drank the blood of their brothers. Women, who once prayed for salvation, now tore their own skin, ripping off pieces to hurl at others as if they were profane offerings. Children played with intestines as if they were ropes, while old men, blinded by their own fanaticism, stabbed anyone who refused to follow them.
Heaven no longer existed.
What remained was something worse than hell.
And then, they appeared.
Two.
Two men who should have been legends, myths, names buried beneath centuries of war and doctrine.
Jesus and Muhammad.
But they were not gods. Not judges. They were living memories of the faith that once guided the world—and now bore witness to the ruin of their own legacy.
Jesus looked at the crowd. His expression was neither wrathful nor merciful. It was an abyss, as if hope itself had been torn from his soul.
— You will only be welcome when your souls cease to be more rotten than your flesh.
The sentence cut through the chaos like an invisible blade. The air grew heavy. The sinners exchanged glances, confused, unsettled. The blood that covered their bodies no longer felt like a conquered glory but a reminder of what they had become.
And then, some fell to their knees.
Not out of repentance.
But because, for the first time, they felt the weight of eternity crushing their shoulders.
But not all of them.
A man rose among the crowd. A soldier of a forgotten war, his scars proof of how many times he had defied death. His face, a mask of hatred and scorn.
— Kneel before you? Before ghosts who died along with their lies?
His voice was poison. He spat on the ground, where the blood of countless souls had already mingled.
Muhammad stared at him. But his gaze held no fury. Not even pity. Only a cruel, undeniable truth.
— The judgment never came from us. You are not trapped here. You are trapped within yourselves.
The man laughed. A hollow, broken laugh.
— Pretty words. But look around. There is no more heaven. No more hell. We won. We broke your chains. And now we are free.
Jesus took a step forward. And then, everything stopped.
The wind ceased. The screams went silent. Even the stench of death seemed to waver.
— Free?
He raised his hand. And with a single gesture, the truth was revealed.
The sinners saw their reflections in the pools of blood. But what they beheld were not human faces. They were beasts. Monsters. Walking carcasses, kept alive by nothing but hatred and pain.
And then, the silence was shattered.
Screams. But not of rage.
Screams of horror.
Because, for the first time, they understood.
— Hell never needed to exist.
Jesus looked at them, his voice carrying an impossible weight.
— You have always carried it within you.