Chapter Text
Memento Mori
There is an equality in death so seductive, but also terrifying. There the rich and the poor met, the happy and the miserable, the beautiful and the ugly. It didn’t matter what they had been in life — all were reduced to the same dust.
But also, it was not the end.
Souls marched to the beyond. Among them, one was special. In the sky there was an explosion of colors they hadn’t even known their eyes could catch. The wind mussed the hair of that wandering soul who thought of running in panic, but then realized they were chained to the person in front of them, in that endless line of restless souls moving toward a great gate. Inside it, even from afar, they could see a whirlwind of huge fires, bodies burning fiercely and helpless screams.
You didn’t have to be smart, handsome, rich or famous to understand that they were at the gates of hell.
That particular soul had lived in a world where many chose the uncertainty of death over the certainty of an unworthy life. Once, everyone admired the sound they could make not only with instruments, but with their voice. Today, it was just another in the sea of many who cried for heaven’s mercy and bewailed their empty lives.
Demons guided the souls to the levels of hell like a shepherd did with sheep. They were ugly, anthropomorphic creatures and especially ill-tempered.
“Look, boss. A marked soul,” said a lesser devil. He had half the body of a man and half of a goat; where the two animals joined there was a seam.
“Ah, those have a special place. Pull it out of the line.” replied the ‘Boss,’ a man from the neck down; from there up his head was that of an ox.
The soul looked around. That world was like that. Many deformed creatures, half man, half beast.
“Take that one to Muzzle. He’s got his mark.” the Boss went on.
“What does that one have for Muzzle to go fetch his soul himself?” the lesser devil sounded jealous.
“This one’s a pretty one.”
“Oh, I like it.”
They took that soul out of line, but the chains were still wrapped around them. No one ever bothered to remove it — never. Until it became part of the soul.
Muzzle was another beast, half goat, half human with a pig’s head. Probably where his name came from. People also called him the Hell’s Tailor because he was known for the artworks that wandered that level of hell. The soul only found that out later.
The devils grabbed and dragged them for a few meters, to some ruined houses smelling of sulfur and other carrion. That soul definitely didn’t want to know why the stench was so awful, but eventually they did.
They were thrown at the feet of a throne made of stone, wood, metal — jagged and sharp — with nails sticking out everywhere. It even looked painful to sit there, yet there he was: Muzzle.
“Listen, I’ve got this project that needs a handsome guy. It’ll be my masterpiece.” Muzzle said.
The soul didn’t care; they were too focused on the fact they were in hell to pay attention to the pig’s nonsense. Muzzle snorted.
“For normal souls, this place is only about torture, but for us aberrations… well, you know. The pain’s so intense it becomes pleasure.”
The soul was quiet, looking confused by that speech. Were they supposed to be worried or not?
“Do you know why you’re here?” Muzzle said between a squeal and another; he sometimes sounded more pig than human.
“Because I sold myself,” the soul said.
“That’s right. You know what that means?”
“No…”
“No reincarnation.”
Then there was no paradise.
Life was an infinite cycle of dying and living. The least painful part was living. In hell there wasn’t much to do except wait to reincarnate and be tortured. Unless you were a demon or a demon’s servant. Those folks had strange hobbies to pass the time; they didn’t reincarnate, so their waiting for life was eternal, but never satisfied.
“What’s going to happen to me then?” they asked.
“To you? Nothing too bad.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Well, you’ll never be human again. You’ll become a creature like these you see, which is very cool. But the other half of your soul… I think the folks up there call it a soulmate.”
“I have one?”
“One soul, two lives linked for eternity. A rare connection like no other — that’s what you gave up, silly. Your soul will be destroyed and that… will hurt until it doesn’t hurt anymore. More in the other half than in you.”
The soul fell silent; they didn’t quite know why, but they felt guilt. A shredding guilt, as if they’d condemned someone to death or betrayed them.
“What was your old name again? We’ll call you by it.”
“I don’t know.”
Muzzle squealed again and snapped his fingers. “Let’s see.”
A little devil came immediately and handed him a register book. Muzzle skimmed it and flipped a few pages. He made a sound like a neigh, lifted his eyes and said:
“Welcome to Hell, Song Eunseok.”
And then the soul remembered. Not only his own name, but what he had abandoned.