Romans & histoires Dante's Circles Of Hell

After any creature died, they would enter the Hell Path. This was the karma that had been inflicted on them before their deaths. If someone were to do evil deeds when they were alive, they would be directly sent to hell after death. Especially those who were extremely vicious and evil, they would be sent to the eighteenth level of hell to be tortured. The Hell Path was extremely magnificent, but it could also be divided into four categories, including the Eight Hells, the Hell of Wanderers, the Coldest Hell, and the Lonely Hell.

he said without looking up from his newspaper. “I was with Charon on river Styx, and then when I got off his boat I was in the seventh circle. The one with the burning sand and raining fire. The sand turned into quicksand and it is swallowing me and I’m burning. There are demons around me and they are chanting that I should die.” I took a bite out of my cookie. Pops closed his newspaper and stood up. At the same time, Gran arrived. We settled in the living room, me, my parents, Lucifer and Lilith.

The air was saturated with the scent of burning resin and the static electricity emanating from dozens of wolves in human form, arranged in a circle of absolute silence and reverence. Dante Blackwood waited in the center of the circle. He was bare from the waist up, his tattoos gleaming under the firelight, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. His eyes were pure gold, the beast present and conscious, awaiting the other half that would finally complete his soul.

Darius The Ninth Circle was worse than it was in my dream. The obsidian pillars here were larger, etched with runes that pulsed with a slow, rhythmic violet light: the heartbeat of the digestive system Elena had described. The ground was no longer glass; it was a grey, ash-like substance that felt like bone-dust beneath my boots. This felt too real, like it was physical.

Dante said, stepping up, “why not let us go? If we’re not what you want, just leave us.” The Architects glanced at each other. “We don’t throw out bitter food,” the Circle said. “We…season it. We add flavor.” The Triangle lifted a hand. Purple energy shot from its fingers and slammed into Dante. He didn’t fly backward—he started to change. His skin turned bone-white, like the trees. Silver wires replaced his eyes. They were turning him into a garden ornament. “Dante!” June screamed. She ran toward him, smacked into a wall she couldn’t see.

and behind them, a dozen figures in grey habits—the Architects. "The Mother's Wrath isn't a person, Dante," the woman-Isabella called out, her voice echoing across the water. "It's the system's reaction to your deviancy. You keep trying to save her. We keep trying to harvest her. And the Third Layer is where we prune the Architect." Suddenly, the cobbles beneath Dante’s feet began to turn to liquid. Not mercury, but a thick, black tar-like substance that smelled of burnt hair and ancient dust.

Past it loomed the Fourth Ring: The Shattered Barrens. Broken stone ridges, jagged canyon systems, graveyards of fallen titans from forgotten wars. Old bones were visible even in the projection—enormous skeletal remains embedded in rock strata. This was where prior invasions had died. The Fifth Ring: The Sinner’s Descent. A vertical chasm spiralling downward in narrowing tiers. This was not territory but punishment architecture. Soul pits, judgment terraces, and covenant chambers embedded in descending layers. The map showed it as a deepening vortex of darker flame in the southern quadrant.

Every second I was in the air, I was screaming internally—not a scream of grief, but a scream of Refusal. I hit the refinery floor with enough force to crack the concrete, sending a spray of oily mud and rusted metal into the air. The Mother’s Shadows were standing in a wide circle, their weapons lowered, their heads bowed. In the center of the circle, lying on a tattered "Lead-Shield" blanket, was Dante.

He stops, thinks a bit, then twirls his wrist. "All taken care of, love," he smirks. We walked towards a large circle cut in the ground where humans were screaming and clawing at each other as they were struck with a whip of flames. I looked at them and shuddered. "It is the beginning of purgatory; they have sinned in life and are being punished," Lucifer says, nodding to a large black colored demon holding a whip of flames.

>>>Dante Dante paced back and forth in his dimly lit study, his mind a tempest of fury and frustration. The events of the night replayed in his head, a cycle of rage he couldn't break. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light of the desk lamp, and took a long, burning sip. It did little to quell the fire inside him.