The road below

Chapter One — The Engine of Damnation

The road did not end.

At midnight, when the last stretch of blacktop split open into ash and fire, the Trans Am carried Elias across the threshold. The tires shrieked, sparks spitting from the rims, but the car didn’t falter. The wheel vibrated beneath his grip, alive, trembling like a beast that had caught the scent of blood.

Ahead, Hell stretched wide — a canyon of fire and shadow, rivers of molten stone twisting like serpents. Towers of black rock jutted skyward, crowned with flames that never burned out. Above it all hung a sky with no stars, only smoke and embers falling like rain.

The passenger seat creaked.

“Grandpa?”

The old man sat beside him, hands folded, eyes wet with sorrow. He looked as Elias remembered — worn flannel shirt, calloused hands, the smell of grease and tobacco clinging to him. But there was weight in his eyes, heavy as the stones they drove over.

“You shouldn’t be here, boy.” His voice cracked. “This road’s not for the living.”

Elias gripped the wheel tighter, jaw set. “I can’t turn back.”

The old man nodded, slow. Then he pressed his palm against the dash. The metal shuddered under his touch.

“This car was mine once,” he said. “I gave it to you to carry your life forward, not drag it into the pit. But if you’re set on this madness… then I’ll give it more.”

Elias felt it before he understood it — a surge, like lightning through the frame. The gauges lit brighter, the engine growled deeper, the headlights flared white against the red horizon.

“What did you do?” Elias whispered.

His grandfather leaned back, eyes closed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “A piece of me, son. Soul and steel. This car’ll take you further than flesh alone ever could. It’ll run until the end of roads.”

The Trans Am roared, fire spitting from the exhaust as if Hell itself recoiled from its presence. The wheel no longer felt like metal — it pulsed, alive, tethered now to Elias’s own heartbeat.

From the canyon below rose the voices of the damned — a chorus of screams that clawed at his bones. Hunger, thirst, endless fatigue pressed at the edges of the world. But not at him.

A voice moved through the flames, not thunder, not wind — something deeper.

You chose this path. I will not strip it from you. But I grant one reprieve: you will not hunger. You will not thirst. You will not know the hollow fatigue of despair. You will drive until your choice is made.

Elias swallowed hard. His grandfather’s hand rested heavy on his shoulder.

“God can’t drive for you, Elias,” the old man said. “All He’s done is keep your tank full. Where you go from here—that’s on you.”

The road ahead split, flames licking at its edges. The Trans Am’s engine growled, ready. Elias shifted into gear, the tires catching on black stone, the roar of the damned swelling like thunder.

Hell stretched before him, endless and alive.

And Elias Cross drove straight into it.

Chapter Two — The Hollow Plain

The tires whispered over gray dust. No flames here, no screams, only a horizon stretched wide and endless, painted in ash.

Elias loosened his grip on the wheel. For the first time since crossing the threshold, the Trans Am purred steady, almost content. He dared a breath.

“Not so bad,” he muttered.

His grandfather sat in the passenger seat, arms folded, gaze fixed on the plain outside. “Don’t let it fool you.”

The land was empty, barren. Figures drifted across it, pale and slow, their outlines faint as if the wind might scatter them. They didn’t cry out. They didn’t fight. They simply walked in circles, heads bowed, never lifting their eyes to the smoke-thick sky.

Elias slowed the car. The figures didn’t react. Some passed so close he could see their faces — hollow-eyed, lips moving silently as though whispering prayers no one heard.

“Who are they?” Elias asked.

“Those who lived without faith,” his grandfather said. “Not wicked enough for torment, not righteous enough for salvation. So they wander.”

Elias frowned. “They don’t look like they’re suffering.”

His grandfather’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s the suffering.”

The words pressed into Elias like cold stone. He looked again at the pale figures — aimless, voiceless, stripped of weight. No hunger. No thirst. No torment. Just… nothing.

The Trans Am’s engine rumbled low, almost restless. The car wanted to move. Elias pressed the gas, and they rolled forward again, leaving the shades to their endless drift.

He glanced at his grandfather. “If this is Hell, I can handle it.”

The old man turned slowly, sorrow deep in his eyes. “Boy, this is only the waiting room.”

Ahead, the plain began to slope downward. The horizon fractured, revealing cracks in the earth where firelight bled through. The air grew heavier, the purr of the engine deepening into a growl.

The false calm broke.

Elias tightened his grip on the wheel, the bravado fading from his chest. For the first time, he wondered if he’d mistaken courage for foolishness.

And still, he drove on.

Chapter Three — The Slope

The road narrowed.

Dust gave way to stone, the gray plain breaking into jagged ridges that sloped downward. The Trans Am’s headlights cut tunnels through the smoke, catching glimpses of figures crouched among the rocks.

Unlike the wanderers in Limbo, these shades lifted their heads. Their eyes glowed faint, hollow embers. Some reached toward the car, hands thin as branches, their mouths stretched wide in silent cries.

Elias pressed the accelerator. The engine roared, tires spitting sparks against the stone. The shades fell back, swallowed by the smoke, but he felt their hunger linger in the air.

His grandfather shifted in the seat, knuckles white against his flannel. “You feel it, don’t you? The weight’s changing.”

Elias nodded, throat tight. He didn’t want to admit it, but the air had grown heavier, charged, like the sky before a storm. The calm of the plain was gone. Here, the silence had teeth.

The slope twisted deeper, switchbacks cutting through cliffs of black basalt. The road throbbed beneath the wheels, alive with some pulse that wasn’t his. Heat seeped up from cracks in the stone, carrying with it a sound like distant thunder.

Elias squinted into the dark. “What’s down there?”

His grandfather’s jaw tightened. “Wind.”

The word seemed too small for the sound building below. It wasn’t the steady gust of storms he knew. It was deeper, rolling, a growl that shook the bones of the earth.

The Trans Am rattled, lights flickering as if even the car sensed what waited. Elias gripped the wheel tighter, the leather slick against his palms.

The slope ended in a wide ledge. Beyond it, the road disappeared into a black maw. Smoke and fire bled out of it in waves, carrying with them the rising howl of wind.

Elias braked, the car idling at the edge. The sound swelled, a chorus of wails threaded through the gale.

His grandfather’s hand touched the dash, steadying it as if the car itself were trembling. “This is where the calm ends, boy. Beyond here, there’s no quiet. Only the storm.”

Elias swallowed, heart pounding. He stared into the abyss, the wheel vibrating under his grip, the engine straining as if it wanted to dive headlong into the gale.

“Then let’s not wait,” Elias whispered.

He shifted into gear. The headlights pierced the smoke, catching the first swirl of ash and souls rising from below.

And with a roar, the Trans Am carried them into the mouth of the storm.

Chapter Four — The Whirlwind

The moment the Trans Am crossed the threshold, the storm swallowed them.

Wind slammed the car broadside, a wall of force that howled like wolves. Ash and flame spun in towering spirals, souls caught in the current. They shrieked as they whirled past — pale bodies twisting, colliding, clinging to one another with desperate hunger.

The wheel jerked in Elias’s hands. He gritted his teeth, fighting to keep the car straight as the tires skidded across the slick black stone. Sparks screamed against the ground.

“Steady!” his grandfather barked. His voice cut through the gale like steel. “Don’t let the wheel go, boy!”

Shapes slammed against the windshield — not solid, not flesh, but the weight of spirits, their mouths pressed to the glass, whispering.

And then he heard her.

“Elias…”

His chest seized. The voice was hers. Kim’s. Soft, pleading, threaded with sorrow.

He shook his head, jaw clenched. “Not real.”

The gale screamed louder. The passenger window flickered, light bending until he saw her sitting there, her hair whipping in the phantom wind, eyes wet and wide.

“You don’t have to fight,” she whispered. “You don’t have to drive into this storm. Stay with me. We can be together.”

His grip faltered for half a heartbeat. The wheel tugged hard, the Trans Am fishtailing, nearly pulled into the whirlwind. Souls clawed at the car, their screams rising into a chorus of temptation.

“Elias!” his grandfather’s hand shot out, steadying the dash, his voice sharp. “That ain’t her. It’s the storm. Keep your eyes forward!”

But the illusion didn’t fade. Kim leaned closer, her hand brushing his arm — warm, familiar. The car groaned under the weight of the gale.

Tears stung Elias’s eyes. His heart screamed to believe it, to let go, to pull her into his arms. But the wheel fought against him, alive, snarling, demanding.

He slammed his foot down on the gas. The Trans Am roared, fire spitting from its exhaust. The headlights cut a blade of white through the storm, and the illusion shattered, the seat beside him empty once more.

The souls screamed in frustration, their voices rising as the gale tried to tear the road from under him. The car bucked, the wheel spun wild, but Elias held fast, every muscle burning.

For endless minutes — or hours, or years — he drove blind through fire and ash, the storm clawing at every inch of steel and soul.

And then, suddenly, the road leveled. The gale broke apart, dispersing into embers that rained gently against the hood. The screams faded into silence.

Elias gasped, chest heaving, sweat stinging his eyes. The Trans Am idled steady, its engine purring like a predator that had tasted blood and won.

Beside him, his grandfather nodded once, solemn. “First trial’s done.”

Elias gripped the wheel tighter, his knuckles raw. “That wasn’t just a storm,” he said, voice hoarse. “It knew me. It knew her.”

His grandfather’s eyes were heavy with sorrow. “Hell knows the shape of every scar. And it’ll use them all against you.”

Ahead, the road descended again, the glow of deeper fires waiting.

Elias pressed the pedal. The Trans Am rolled forward.

And the storm was only the beginning.

Chapter Five — The Pause Between Storms

The road straightened, cutting across a barren stretch of black stone. No wind. No fire. No voices clawing at the glass.

The Trans Am purred low, its headlights catching nothing but ash drifting like snow. Elias loosened his grip on the wheel, his hands trembling in the aftermath. His chest rose and fell too fast, though the air here was still.

He swallowed hard. “That wasn’t just a storm. It knew her voice. It—” He stopped, jaw clenching. “It felt like her.”

His grandfather sat back, eyes on the endless dark ahead. “That’s how Hell works. It doesn’t just punish. It tempts. It takes what you love and twists it until you don’t know which way’s up.”

Elias shook his head. “It almost got me. For a second… I wanted to believe it was her.” His voice cracked. “I wanted to stop.”

“You didn’t.” The old man’s tone was steady, not unkind. “That’s what matters.”

Silence settled. Not heavy, not yet. Just empty. The kind of silence that gave Elias room to think.

He flexed his fingers around the wheel, feeling the leather creak under his grip. “If it can show me her, if it knows… then what else is waiting?”

His grandfather sighed, rubbing a hand over his weathered face. “Every scar you carry. Every ghost you’ve ever tried to bury. Down here, they’re all fair game.”

Elias’s eyes narrowed, fire burning behind the exhaustion. “Then let it come. I’ll drive through every storm, every shadow, every damnation it throws. For her.”

The old man turned, studying him. His face was lined with sorrow, but there was something else there too — pride, and fear, woven tight. “Boy, you’ve got more steel in you than sense.”

The Trans Am growled, as if agreeing. Its headlights cut a sharp path as the road sloped again, the glow of fire glimmering far below.

The breather was over. The descent had only begun.

Chapter Six — The Land of Ash and Rain

The slope narrowed into a canyon, walls of black stone pressing close, their faces streaked with rivers of glowing cracks. The Trans Am’s headlights caught glimmers of wetness on the rock — not water, but something darker, oozing like tar.

The air thickened, damp, carrying a sour stench that clung to Elias’s throat. Ash still fell, but mixed now with heavy drops of black rain. They sizzled against the hood, leaving pits in the paint that smoked.

He gritted his teeth. “What the hell is this place?”

His grandfather leaned forward, eyes sharp on the road. “Circle Three. The gluttons. They feasted in life, so now they drown in their hunger. Rain that never stops, filth that never clears.”

The road buckled under the tires, sinking into muck that sucked at the wheels. The engine growled, resisting, fire flaring in the pipes as Elias pressed harder on the gas. Steam hissed from the rain, curling like ghosts around the headlights.

Shapes stirred in the sludge beyond the road. Pale bodies, bloated and eyeless, clawed weakly at the muck only to sink back down again. Their mouths opened, not for screams but for more — always more.

The sound of it filled the car: wet slurping, teeth gnashing, tongues dragging through the mire.

Elias grimaced. “God…”

His grandfather’s hand touched the dash, steady, grounding. “Don’t pity them. They’re beyond pity. What they wanted once is what eats them now.”

The car jolted as something struck the undercarriage. Elias swore, fighting the wheel as the muck pulled harder, dragging at the tires like hands. The figures swarmed closer, their arms thin but endless, clutching at the car, smearing black filth across the doors.

The Trans Am roared, its headlights flaring white-hot. Elias slammed the accelerator, the wheels spinning, spraying muck in every direction until the hands let go.

The car tore forward, carving a path through the storm of filth.

Rain hammered the roof like fists. The road stretched deeper into the black horizon, where fire flickered faintly like a heartbeat waiting to quicken.

Elias’s jaw set hard. “Let it rain. I’ll drive through all of it.”

His grandfather’s eyes narrowed, his voice low. “You will. But rain’s the least of what waits.”

Chapter Seven — Hunger Without End

The rain thickened as they drove. It came in sheets now, pounding the roof so hard Elias could barely hear the engine’s growl. The windshield wipers screeched across glass slick with tar, smearing shadows more than clearing them.

The road was dissolving. What had once been black stone now looked like rotten planks set adrift in the muck, sinking deeper with every mile. The Trans Am strained, tires spitting sludge, headlights fighting to cut through the downpour.

Shapes moved in the mire, closer than before. Not wandering now. Watching.

The bloated figures heaved themselves forward, their bodies grotesque in the glow of the lights — skin sagging, bellies splitting, mouths gaping wider than their faces. They pressed against the edges of the road, crawling over one another, their tongues dragging across the muck as they moaned for more.

Elias tightened his grip on the wheel, throat tight. “They’re getting closer.”

His grandfather’s eyes didn’t leave the road. “They can smell you. You’re not one of them. That makes you meat.”

The car jolted. Something had latched onto the undercarriage. Elias swore and slammed the gas, the engine screaming, but the tires spun in place. The muck bubbled, and more figures rose from below — hands clawing, teeth gnashing, voices gurgling.

The rain carried their whispers into the car, thick and wet:

“Hungry—hungry—hungry—”

The Trans Am roared, fire bursting from its pipes, but the weight dragged it down, inch by inch. The headlights flickered. The steering wheel jerked violently in Elias’s hands.

“Drive, boy!” his grandfather barked. “Drive like Hell itself is trying to eat you—because it is!”

Elias slammed his foot down, the pedal sinking to the floor. The car screamed, the dash shaking under his grip. The muck surged higher, nearly swallowing the wheels. Hands scraped across the windows, leaving streaks of filth.

Then, in the storm’s chaos, Elias heard it: a voice cutting through the moans, clear and familiar.

“Elias…”

His head snapped toward the passenger window. Kim’s face stared back at him from the glass — pale, rain-soaked, eyes wide with hunger and sorrow.

“Feed me,” she whispered. “If you love me, feed me.”

The wheel wrenched in his hands, pulling toward her, toward the mire. The car lurched, tires screaming as the figures surged higher.

Elias’s jaw locked. His knuckles split against the wheel. “Not her. Not real!”

The Trans Am’s engine flared — hotter, louder, alive — the soul of his grandfather burning through steel. Fire blasted from the pipes, igniting the muck. The figures shrieked, their bodies writhing as flame consumed them.

The car surged forward, tearing free of their grasp. The false image of Kim dissolved into smoke, her voice swallowed by the storm.

Elias roared, half fury, half grief, forcing the wheel straight as the Trans Am tore across the collapsing road.

The muck fell away behind them, flames spreading across the black rain, burning the gluttonous horde until their voices were nothing but ash.

The car hit solid stone again. The rain thinned. The road leveled.

Elias sagged forward, breath ragged, sweat and rain dripping down his face.

His grandfather’s voice was low, steady. “That was only hunger, boy. And look what it did to you.”

Elias swallowed, fists trembling around the wheel. He stared ahead, into the red glow rising from the next descent.

“Then I’ll be ready for worse.”

Chapter Eight — Ash Between Storms

The rain thinned into mist, trailing off into a drizzle that hissed on the hood. The Trans Am’s headlights pierced through the fog, revealing a flat stretch of stone slick with ash. The roar of the gluttons faded into memory, leaving only silence broken by the low rumble of the engine.

Elias loosened his grip on the wheel. His hands still trembled, blood drying where the leather had bitten into his skin. His breath came shallow, uneven.

“Twice now,” he whispered. “Twice it’s shown me her face.”

His grandfather sat quiet in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the mist ahead.

Elias glanced at him. “Why? Why her? Why not tempt me with something else?”

The old man’s voice was low, heavy as stone. “Because she’s the only thing that can break you.”

Elias swallowed. He knew it was true. The storm’s illusions hadn’t tempted him with gold or freedom or even life itself. Only Kim. Always Kim.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the wheel. “I can’t keep seeing her like that. Twisted. Hungry. Begging me for things I can’t give.” His voice cracked. “I just wanted to make her whole. To take it all away.”

The old man’s hand rested on his shoulder, firm. “That’s the lie, boy. You think love means fixing the past. But love ain’t about undoing—it’s about enduring.”

Elias lifted his head, eyes burning. “Then why am I here?”

His grandfather didn’t answer. He only looked ahead, where the mist glowed faintly red, the air trembling with the promise of another descent.

The road narrowed again. The Trans Am’s engine growled, the wheel pulling beneath Elias’s hands as if eager for the next circle.

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. “Enduring or not—I’m not stopping.”

The old man sighed, a sound half pride, half sorrow. “Then drive.”

And Elias did.

The mist parted, revealing a slope into deeper firelight, where the rumble of voices was already rising.

The pause was over.

Chapter Nine — Fire and Fury

The mist burned away, replaced by heat that rolled off the stone in waves. The road sloped down into a vast plain littered with mountains of gold, silver, and broken relics of desire — crowns, goblets, jewelry, shattered coins fused into slag.

The damned swarmed among the heaps, gaunt figures shoving, clawing, hoarding what they could grasp. Their hands bled from the sharp edges, but they never stopped, never looked up. Others staggered under weights too heavy — sacks of stone, chains of iron — dragging their obsessions in circles until their bodies split apart and reformed, only to do it again.

The Trans Am’s headlights swept across them, and in the glare their eyes burned wild. They lunged toward the road, clutching handfuls of treasure as though Elias himself had come to steal it.

“Greed,” his grandfather said. His voice was flat. “Those who hoarded, those who wasted. Always taking, never giving.”

Elias pressed the gas. The car roared forward, plowing through heaps of treasure that exploded into showers of coins and shards. The damned scattered, shrieking, only to swarm again, climbing onto the road, slamming their fists against the hood.

The windshield cracked under the blows. Elias gritted his teeth, jerking the wheel to keep them from dragging him down.

“They’re endless!” Elias shouted.

“They’ll fight until they have nothing left,” his grandfather said. “And that’s the curse — they never stop.”

The road curved, narrowing into a bridge of black stone spanning a river below. The sound of the greedy horde faded, replaced by a deeper noise: the crash of water, the roar of voices not pleading but raging.

Elias’s stomach knotted. The bridge ended at a shore slick with oil, where another mass of souls writhed in the water. These didn’t hoard or clutch — they fought. Their bodies tangled, fists tearing, teeth snapping. The river boiled with their fury, waves crashing against the rocks as they screamed curses that never ended.

“Wrath,” his grandfather said. “They drowned in rage, so now they drown each other.”

The river surged. A wave of bodies slammed against the bridge, cracking the stone, rocking the Trans Am hard. Elias fought the wheel, tires screeching.

From the churning water rose faces — twisted, furious, familiar. For an instant, he saw Kim again, but not pleading this time. Snarling. Accusing.

“You left me,” her voice hissed through the gale. “You couldn’t save me. You’ll never save anyone.”

Elias’s heart lurched. His hands shook against the wheel. “No… no, that’s not her—”

The Trans Am’s engine roared, fire exploding from the exhaust. His grandfather slammed his fist against the dash. “Eyes forward, boy! The car knows the truth. Trust it!”

The headlights flared white, blinding the river. The false faces shattered into spray, and the road burst clear on the other side. Elias slammed the gas, the car leaping forward, the bridge collapsing into the river behind them.

The roar of fury faded into echo. Ahead, the road stretched downward, the glow of deeper fire flickering on the horizon.

Elias’s chest heaved, his knuckles raw against the wheel. “It’s using her against me every chance it gets.”

His grandfather looked at him, eyes grave. “That’s because she’s your weakness. And Hell doesn’t waste time on what you don’t fear.”

Elias swallowed, jaw set. “Then let it come. I’ll burn through all of it.”

The Trans Am growled, alive with soul-fire, carrying him down into the next abyss.

Chapter Ten — The City of Fire

The descent sharpened, the road angling steep into a red glow that pulsed brighter with every mile. The air grew hotter, dry and suffocating, until Elias’s throat felt scorched.

Then the city rose before them.

Walls of black iron, taller than cathedrals, stretched across the horizon. Gates twisted and jagged swung open as the Trans Am roared closer, welcoming them into streets paved with ember-stone. Beyond the gates lay a sprawl of tombs, each one cracked and burning from within. Fire spilled through the seams, screaming faces pressed against the stone lids as if begging to be released.

Elias gritted his teeth. “What is this place?”

“Heresy,” his grandfather said, voice heavy. “Those who denied the soul. Now they burn in the proof of it.”

The damned shrieked from their tombs, their words searing the air. There is no God! There is no soul! There is only ash! Their defiance clung to the flames, spitting sparks that rained across the hood of the car.

The Trans Am howled, its headlights flaring as fire licked at its tires. Elias gripped the wheel, steering down a narrow street as tombs burst open around him, spilling flames and figures made of smoke and bone.

They swarmed, clawing at the car, their mouths unhinging to scream lies and curses. “You’re nothing! She’s nothing! Love is a lie!”

Elias pressed harder on the gas, the car snarling as fire coiled around it. Kim’s face appeared in the flames beside him, her eyes empty, her lips curling with scorn.

“You think you love me?” she spat. “You think that matters here? There’s no soul to save, Elias. Only fire.”

The flames lashed across the windshield, blinding him. The wheel shook, jerking toward the walls.

“Don’t listen!” his grandfather roared. His hand slammed against the dash, voice cutting through the firestorm. “The car carries my soul, and yours too. That’s proof enough! Drive, boy!”

Elias’s knuckles split against the wheel, blood smearing the leather. “You’re not her,” he growled. “And even if you were—I’d still burn for you.”

The Trans Am screamed. Its headlights cut through the fire like blades, its tires sparking white against the ember-stone. Elias floored the accelerator, the car barreling straight through the swarm of flames. The heretics shrieked, their voices splitting into smoke as the car tore through the burning streets, faster, louder, until the city walls burst open behind them.

The fire dimmed. The road leveled. The Trans Am slowed, its growl settling into a steady rumble.

Elias sagged forward, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temples. His grandfather sat silent, eyes heavy with grief and pride.

Ahead, the road sloped again into darkness.

The pause hadn’t come yet. But it was close.

Chapter Eleven — Cracks in the Wheel

The road beyond the city stretched black and empty, no fire, no screaming, just silence and stone. The Trans Am slowed to a steady growl, headlights sweeping across a wasteland of ash.

Elias’s hands stayed tight on the wheel, even though the danger was behind them. His knuckles were raw, blood seeping into the leather. His chest heaved, each breath ragged.

The silence pressed too hard. After the storm, after the rain, after the fire, it felt wrong. It felt like the world holding its breath, waiting for him to collapse.

Kim’s voice still rang in his skull: There’s no soul to save. Only fire.

His grip faltered. The car wavered on the road. Elias slammed his fist against the wheel, teeth bared, eyes burning. “She was right there! I saw her! I heard her!”

The Trans Am shuddered, its engine growling low, alive with the echo of his rage.

His grandfather didn’t flinch. He leaned forward, eyes fixed on Elias, voice sharp as steel. “That wasn’t her. Hell can wear her face, boy, but it can’t touch her soul.”

Elias shook his head violently. “I don’t know anymore! Every circle, every trial—it’s her. It’s always her. And every time, I believe it for a second. Every damn time.” His voice cracked, raw and breaking. “What if I can’t tell the difference anymore?”

The silence swelled. For a moment, only the engine answered, its steady thrum like a heartbeat.

Then his grandfather reached across and gripped Elias’s shoulder, firm and grounding. His eyes were heavy with sorrow, but fierce with conviction.

Chapter Twelve — The Smell of Smoke

The black road began to crack.

At first it was just hairline fractures, glowing faintly red beneath the stone. But soon the fissures widened, bleeding light into the dark like veins of fire. The Trans Am’s headlights caught the glow, reflecting it across the hood until it looked as though the car itself were aflame.

Elias swallowed, keeping the wheel steady. “It feels different.”

His grandfather nodded slowly, eyes grim. “You’re getting close to violence. The air always changes before it.”

The heat rose with every mile. The silence of the ashland was gone, replaced by faint noises drifting up from the cracks: bubbling, hissing, like blood boiling in a cauldron. The smell followed — copper and smoke, thick enough to sting the throat.

Elias shifted in his seat, the tension coiling tighter in his chest. “I thought Hell couldn’t touch me. That I wouldn’t hunger, or thirst, or tire.”

His grandfather’s gaze stayed fixed on the horizon. “That doesn’t mean you won’t feel. The damned suffer in their bodies. You’ll suffer in your heart. Don’t mistake one for the other.”

The road buckled beneath them, the cracks splitting wider. Heat blasted through the fissures, waves of it slamming against the windshield. Elias wiped sweat from his brow, his hands slippery against the wheel.

Shapes flickered in the glow below. Not shadows, not smoke — but figures writhing in liquid fire. Screams carried upward, faint but sharp enough to cut.

Elias’s jaw tightened. His foot pressed harder on the accelerator. “Whatever’s down there, I’ll drive through it.”

The Trans Am growled, its headlights flaring white. But beneath the rumble, Elias could swear he felt something else — a heartbeat, slow and heavy, echoing from deep within the earth.

His grandfather finally spoke, voice low, as if the world itself were listening. “Remember this, boy: violence isn’t always a blade or a fist. Sometimes it’s the lies you tell yourself. Sometimes it’s the road you force your soul to take.”

Elias glanced at him, but his grandfather didn’t look back. His eyes stayed fixed on the red horizon, where smoke rose like a curtain waiting to fall.

The road tilted downward. The cracks widened. The smell thickened.

And Elias knew: the storm, the rain, the fire — none of it would compare to what waited in the blood below.

Chapter Thirteen — The Bleeding Trees

The road narrowed until it was little more than a path through shadow. The stone gave way to soil, black and damp, and from it grew trees.

They weren’t like any trees Elias had ever seen. Their trunks twisted unnaturally, bark like scar tissue, limbs clawing at the air. Leaves hung heavy, shriveled, dripping a dark liquid that pattered against the hood.

The Trans Am’s headlights swept across them, and for a moment Elias thought he saw faces. Hollow eyes in the knots, mouths stretched open in silent screams.

He slowed, unease coiling in his chest. “This isn’t fire. This isn’t… Hell.”

His grandfather’s voice was low, grim. “It is. The forest of suicides. Those who destroyed themselves. They’re rooted here forever, bodies stolen, souls twisted into wood.”

As if in answer, the nearest trunk shuddered. A moan rose from it, hollow and wet. The bark split, bleeding thick, black-red sap that dripped onto the road.

The moan became a voice. Weak. Broken. “Help me…”

Elias gritted his teeth, pressing the gas, but the car crawled forward as if the road itself resisted. More voices rose, carried by the wind between the branches.

“Elias…”

His breath caught. The voice wasn’t weak. It wasn’t broken. It was hers.

Kim’s.

The headlights caught movement ahead. A tree bent low over the road, its limbs twisted into the shape of arms. Its trunk bulged, bark splitting, and her face pushed through — pale, hollow-eyed, lips trembling.

“End it,” she whispered, blood running from the bark around her mouth. “End the pain. End it for both of us.”

The wheel jerked, pulling toward her, toward the trees. Elias fought it, muscles straining, sweat stinging his eyes. “Not real. Not her!”

The forest screamed. Branches lashed against the car, leaves cutting like blades, sap spraying across the windshield. Faces pressed through the bark on every side, hundreds of them, crying, moaning, begging.

“Join us, Elias. Join her.”

The Trans Am howled, its headlights blazing white. Elias slammed his foot down, the tires spitting fire as the car tore forward. The tree with Kim’s face split down the middle, shrieking, her image dissolving into ash.

The road widened again, pulling free of the forest’s grip. The voices faded, swallowed by the dark behind them.

Elias’s hands shook on the wheel, his throat raw. “How many times…” His voice cracked. “How many times will it use her against me?”

His grandfather’s answer was quiet, heavy. “Until you break. Or until you don’t.”

The Trans Am growled, steady, pulling them toward the next descent. Ahead, the glow of fire returned — brighter this time, and the sound of boiling grew louder.

The forest was behind them. The river waited.

---
Chapter Fourteen — The River of Blood

The road broke open, stone splitting to reveal a canyon glowing red from below. The heat struck first — a blast so fierce it made Elias flinch behind the wheel. Then the sound hit: bubbling, roaring, a cauldron the size of an ocean.

The headlights swept the scene as the Trans Am rolled to the canyon’s edge. Below them stretched a river of blood, thick and boiling, churning with bodies. The damned writhed beneath the surface, their flesh blistering, their screams lost in the roar. Every attempt to climb free ended the same — arrows slicing through them, driving them back under.

On the banks patrolled creatures half man, half beast: centaurs with bows drawn, their eyes burning like coals. They turned their heads in unison as the Trans Am approached, their voices carrying like thunder.

“No one crosses unmarked.”

Elias gritted his teeth, shifting into gear. “Watch me.”

The car roared forward, tires screaming as it leapt onto the black bridge arcing across the river. The centaurs surged, hooves pounding, arrows raining down like fire.

One struck the hood, embedding deep. The metal hissed, blood boiling against it, but the car didn’t falter. Its headlights flared, fire bursting from its pipes as if the soul within raged against the assault.

Another arrow shattered the windshield, shards slicing Elias’s cheek. He wiped the blood away with the back of his hand, eyes locked on the road. “You’re not stopping me!”

A centaur leapt onto the bridge ahead, bow discarded, spear in hand. Its roar shook the canyon as it charged. Elias floored the accelerator.

The Trans Am screamed, engine blazing, and struck the beast head-on. The impact exploded in flame and blood, the centaur’s body tearing apart under the tires.

More swarmed, their arrows blotting out the glow of the canyon. The car swerved left and right, sparks flying, bridge cracking under the chaos. Elias’s arms shook with the force, the wheel jerking as if the road itself fought him.

Through it all, he heard her voice again. Kim’s. Whispering through the storm of blood.

“Turn back, Elias. You’ll drown here. You’ll never reach me.”

He snarled, tears burning his eyes. “Then I’ll drown driving to you.”

The Trans Am’s engine howled, brighter than the flames, louder than the river. With a final surge, it tore across the last stretch of bridge, blasting through a hail of arrows, and leapt clear onto the far bank.

The car skidded, sparks showering, before slamming to a stop on solid stone. Behind them, the bridge collapsed, swallowed by the boiling river. The centaurs’ roars echoed in the canyon, fading into the fire.

Elias sagged forward, chest heaving, blood dripping down his cheek. His grandfather sat silent, eyes grim but steady, watching him.

“You’re bleeding,” the old man said quietly.

Elias wiped his face again, smearing red across his knuckles. “Not as bad as them.”

The Trans Am rumbled low, its hood steaming, its soul-fire still burning bright. Ahead, the road descended further into the dark, where no glow reached.

The river was behind them. Worse waited below.

Chapter Fifteen — Ashes in His Veins

The Trans Am coasted along a ridge of black stone, its engine a low growl, steady but strained. Steam curled off the hood, rising into the dark like smoke from a funeral pyre.

Elias leaned back in his seat, hands trembling on the wheel. His cheek still stung where glass had cut him. Blood trickled, drying into his beard.

For the first time since entering Hell, he let his eyes slip shut. He could still hear the centaurs’ arrows, the river boiling, Kim’s voice whispering from the blood. Turn back, Elias. You’ll drown here.

His hands tightened. “Why does it keep using her? Every circle, every trial—it’s her face. Her voice.”

His grandfather sat quiet for a long moment, the glow of the dash lighting the furrows of his face. Finally, he spoke, voice gravel-deep. “Because she’s the reason you’re here. Hell don’t waste energy on what don’t matter. It knows what’ll cut deepest, and it uses it until you break.”

Elias opened his eyes, staring ahead at the road. The horizon was dark now, no fire, no storm, just an abyss that swallowed light.

He exhaled slow, smoke rising with his breath though he hadn’t lit a cigarette. “I thought love was enough to drive me through this. But it’s tearing me apart.”

His grandfather’s gaze turned to him, sharp, steady. “That’s the price of love when you make it your chains. The road’s testing you, boy. It wants to know if you’re driving for her—or for yourself.”

Elias didn’t answer. His jaw worked, his chest ached, but no words came. He only pressed the pedal, the Trans Am’s growl rising again as the car carried them further down.

The silence of the ridge pressed hard, broken only by the hiss of the engine.

Then the road tilted. The stone cracked open, glowing lines spreading like veins into the dark. A low hum rose, too steady to be wind, too sharp to be the river behind them.

Elias swallowed, knuckles white against the wheel. “It’s waiting.”

His grandfather nodded, grim. “It always is.”

The Trans Am surged forward, its headlights piercing the black.

The pause was over. The dive had begun.

Chapter Sixteen — The Crooked Road

The road narrowed until it looked more like a scar than a path, carved through stone that glowed faintly beneath the surface. The Trans Am’s headlights swept across walls that seemed to bend inward, pressing closer with every mile.

Elias tightened his grip on the wheel. The air here was wrong — not just hot or heavy, but crooked, like it bent sound and sight. The engine’s growl echoed back distorted, as if another car drove beside them, shadowing every turn.

He frowned. “Feels like we’re not alone.”

His grandfather’s eyes stayed on the dark ahead. “In a way, we’re not. This road’s starting to lie to you.”

The stone under the tires shuddered, splitting into hairline cracks. Elias swore and jerked the wheel — but the road didn’t straighten. It curved back on itself, the headlights catching the same jagged outcrop they’d just passed.

He pressed harder on the gas. The car roared forward, fire spitting from its pipes, but after another mile, the same outcrop loomed ahead again.

A chill crawled up Elias’s spine. “We’re going in circles.”

“That’s fraud,” his grandfather said, his voice flat, almost mournful. “Deception. False paths. Trickery woven into stone.”

Elias gritted his teeth and slammed the wheel left. The Trans Am skidded, tires spitting sparks, but the road curved back on itself again.

Whispers rose from the cracks in the stone, slithering through the car’s frame. Voices slick and mocking, layered over one another until they formed a chorus:

She’s not real.
You never saved her.
All roads lead to ruin.

The dashboard flickered, gauges spinning wildly. The headlights dimmed, their beams bending in impossible directions, carving tunnels where no road existed.

Elias’s pulse hammered. “How do I know which way is real?”

His grandfather leaned forward, placing a hand on the dash. The Trans Am shuddered, the gauges snapping back into place, the headlights flaring white. “The car knows. It’s got a soul now. Trust it.”

Elias swallowed hard, his throat dry. He closed his eyes for a breath, then opened them and pressed the pedal down. The engine howled, and the Trans Am surged forward, ignoring the crooked paths, cutting through the false tunnels until the road split wide.

The scar widened into a canyon, and ahead stretched a labyrinth — a spiraling maze of pits, each one glowing with a different fire.

His grandfather’s voice was low, grim. “Malebolge. The Circle of Fraud.”

Elias’s jaw clenched. His knuckles bled against the wheel. “Then let’s drive straight through the lies.”

The Trans Am growled, soul-fire blazing as it barreled toward the labyrinth.

Chapter Seventeen — The Labyrinth of Lies

The canyon split open like a wound, and the road shattered into spirals.

Below lay the Malebolge — ten vast pits circling one another like a wheel, each glowing with its own fire. The air reeked of sulfur and rot, thick with the cries of the damned. Bridges arched and collapsed, stone paths twisted back on themselves, the whole landscape a maze meant to break sanity.

The Trans Am’s headlights cut a path into the chaos, but the beams bent in strange angles, splitting across pits that weren’t really there, roads that ended in walls of flame.

Elias gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his brow. “This isn’t a road. It’s a trap.”

His grandfather’s voice was steady but low. “Fraud always is. It doesn’t want you to bleed. It wants you to believe lies until you destroy yourself.”

The car roared forward, tires screaming across a crumbling bridge. Below, pits yawned open, each one a nightmare of its own — souls whipped by demons, bodies twisted into beasts, liars chained with their tongues torn out. The punishments bled together, a chorus of agony rising into the black sky.

Shadows flickered ahead, then solidified into shapes. Dozens of figures stepped onto the road at once — some human, some monstrous, all wearing faces Elias recognized.

Kim. His mother. Friends long gone. Even his grandfather, duplicated and grinning.

Each spoke at once, voices layered into a storm of mockery:

“You never saved her.”
“You’re not strong enough.”
“Turn the wheel. End it now.”

The road split in three directions. The dashboard flickered, gauges spinning. The car shook violently, torn between paths.

Elias’s hands wavered on the wheel. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. “Which one’s real?”

His grandfather slammed his palm on the dash, the soul-fire blazing through the hood. The headlights flared pure white, cutting through the false roads until one path remained.

“There,” the old man barked. “Drive it before the lie closes again!”

Elias floored the accelerator. The Trans Am screamed, leaping forward just as the false roads collapsed into the pits. Illusions swarmed the hood, clinging, clawing — Kim’s face inches from his, whispering through bloodied lips.

“Stop fighting. If you love me, you’ll stop.”

Elias roared back, voice raw. “If I stop, I lose you forever!”

The car erupted in fire, the soul within it burning hotter than the pits themselves. Flames tore the illusions apart, their screams echoing as the Trans Am smashed through, tires spitting sparks, bridges collapsing behind them.

Stone gave way to black glass, smooth and sharp, guiding them out of the labyrinth’s last circle. The cries of fraud faded, swallowed by the silence of deeper Hell.

Elias’s grip was iron on the wheel. His chest heaved, his arms trembled, but he didn’t slow.

His grandfather’s voice was low, almost mournful. “The deeper you go, the less the lies matter. Down there, it’s only truth.”

Ahead, the road plunged into a void where no fire burned.

The labyrinth was behind them. The truth of Hell waited below.

Chapter Eighteen — The Road of Silence

The roar of the Malebolge faded behind them, swallowed by stillness.

The Trans Am rolled onto smooth black stone that gleamed like glass. No cracks, no flames, no screams — only silence so deep it pressed on Elias’s chest. The tires made no sound against the road. Even the engine’s growl seemed muffled, as if the air itself refused to carry it.

Elias shifted uneasily, his hands tight on the wheel. “It’s too quiet.”

His grandfather sat with his arms folded, gaze locked ahead. “You’re nearing the bottom. Down there, there’s no storm, no fire. Just the weight of what can’t be undone.”

The road tilted downward, steady, relentless. The headlights caught nothing but emptiness — no walls, no horizon, only a void that stretched forever. Frost began to creep across the windshield, delicate veins of ice crawling in from the edges. Elias brushed at it with his sleeve, but it spread faster than he could clear it.

Cold seeped into the car, numbing his hands even as they gripped the wheel. His breath fogged the glass.

“Heat, fire, storms — I could fight those,” he muttered. “But this…” His words trailed, his jaw tightening.

His grandfather finally turned, his eyes shadowed. “This is treachery, Elias. The deepest sin. Fire burns fast. Storms rage and pass. But betrayal? It freezes. It stops the heart. That’s why Hell ends in ice.”

The road narrowed again, splitting into hairline fractures that glowed faint blue. The Trans Am’s headlights dimmed, their beams scattering against the frost. Shadows stirred in the ice — not flames this time, but pale faces locked beneath the surface, eyes wide, mouths frozen mid-scream.

Elias’s chest tightened. He pressed the pedal harder, the car gliding faster down the frozen road.

Kim’s voice rose again, faint, carried on the silence. “Elias…”

He gritted his teeth. “Not her. Not now.”

The ice cracked under the tires, splintering in jagged lines. The road was thinning. Beneath it waited the frozen lake of Treachery, black and endless.

His grandfather leaned forward, voice a whisper. “The bottom’s close. And what waits there… is truth.”

Elias’s breath fogged the glass, his heartbeat hammering louder than the muffled engine. He leaned forward, eyes locked on the void ahead, and drove down into the ice.

Chapter Twenty — The Mirror of Lies

The ice darkened as the Trans Am rolled forward, headlights bending strangely against it. Shadows swirled in the frost, forming shapes that weren’t there before.

Faces. Voices. Lives.

Elias slammed the brakes, his chest tight. In the windshield he saw Kim — but not as she was. Her eyes were hollow, her skin bruised, her lips whispering through cracks in the glass.

“This is what you saved me for,” she said, her voice ragged. “A life I never wanted. Pain you couldn’t erase. You chained me to your love, Elias. You think you saved me, but you only caged me.”

He shook his head violently, gripping the wheel until his knuckles bled. “No. That’s not her. That’s not true.”

The scene shifted. The ice reflected himself now — not behind the wheel, but in a coffin, his hands folded across his chest. His grandfather stood at the grave, shaking his head. Kim wasn’t there. She was nowhere.

A whisper rose from the ice, a thousand voices as one: You changed nothing. You lost everything. You drove for nothing.

The windshield spiderwebbed with frost. The engine sputtered. Elias’s heart hammered, his breath shallow.

Then his grandfather’s voice cut through, sharp as steel. “Don’t give it power, boy. It’s illusion, nothing more. The car knows the truth—trust it.”

Elias roared, slamming the pedal down. The Trans Am screamed, fire bursting from its pipes. The windshield cracked, the illusions shattering into shards of ice that fell away into the void.

But the voice lingered, cold as stone: We’ll see.


---

Chapter Twenty-One — The Prince of Hell

The ice broke.

From the fissures rose a shadow so vast it blotted out the sky. Wings, frozen into the lake. Horns curling like mountains. A face half-hidden, its eyes glowing with hatred and sorrow both.

Lucifer.

The Trans Am skidded to a halt as the Devil leaned forward, his voice rolling across the ice like thunder.

“Elias Cross,” he said, his lips splitting into a grin sharp as knives. “A man who would drive to the pit itself for love. Do you know what that makes you?”

Elias swallowed, his jaw clenched. “A fool, maybe.”

Lucifer laughed, the sound shaking the ice beneath them. “A mirror. You and I—we’re the same. We loved too much. We defied too much. And for that, we fell.”

Elias gritted his teeth. “I’m nothing like you.”

The Devil leaned closer, his eyes blazing. “Aren’t you? You would bend Heaven and Hell for her. You would rip apart time itself. And yet… she is still broken. Still scarred. Still mortal. What did all your love buy her? Nothing. You cannot save her, Elias. You can only damn yourself.”

The weight of his words pressed down harder than fire, heavier than ice. Elias’s hands shook on the wheel. His chest ached as if his heart itself were splitting.

But then his grandfather’s hand rested firm on the dash. His voice was steady, unyielding. “Don’t you listen to him, boy. The Devil tells half-truths, never whole. You came here for her, but what you found was yourself. Don’t forget that.”

Lucifer’s grin widened. “We’ll see.”


---

Chapter Twenty-Two — The Bargain

The Devil’s voice dropped, low and heavy, almost kind.

“I’ll give you what you want, Elias. I’ll take her pain, her scars, her past. I’ll make her whole. Perfect. Yours, forever.”

Elias’s breath caught. His hands froze on the wheel.

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed. “All it costs is your soul. When you die, you’ll remain here—forever mine. Every torment, every circle, every agony. But until then? She will be yours, unbroken, untouched.”

Silence filled the car. The ice groaned beneath them.

Elias lowered his head, tears burning his eyes. The weight of it pressed against his chest, harder than any storm or flame. He thought of her laughter, her scars, the way she looked at him as if he was enough.

His grandfather leaned close, voice quiet but firm. “Don’t do it, boy. She wouldn’t want it. Not like this. She loved you because you were you, not because you could fix her.”

Elias closed his eyes. The choice carved itself into his bones.

Then, slowly, he shook his head.

“No deal.”

Lucifer’s grin split wider, then collapsed into a roar that cracked the ice for miles. His wings thrashed, his chains groaned, his voice shook the void.

“Then crawl back to your world, Elias Cross! Carry your failure with you, until death drags you to me!”

The ice shattered beneath the Trans Am. For a moment, Elias felt the car falling, the void swallowing them whole. Then fire flared through the hood, brighter than the abyss, and the car roared upward, carried by the soul-fire within it.

The last thing Elias heard before the void broke was his grandfather’s voice:

“You kept your soul, boy. That’s worth more than anything.”

Epilogue — The Whisper of Fate

The Trans Am burst upward from the void, fire trailing its frame like wings of light. Ice shattered, screams of the damned echoing behind it as the car tore back onto black stone.

Then silence.

Elias slammed the brakes. The car skidded to a stop at the edge of a barren plain, headlights cutting across ash and ruin. He leaned forward against the wheel, chest heaving, sweat and blood streaking his face.

Lucifer’s roar still echoed in his skull, but beneath it came something quieter. His own heartbeat. Steady. Human. Still his.

He closed his eyes. He hadn’t saved her. He hadn’t erased the scars. But he hadn’t lost himself either.

The passenger seat creaked. His grandfather sat there once more, steady as ever, though his outline flickered faintly now, as if burning low.

“You kept your soul,” the old man said, voice gravel and smoke. “That’s more than most who come here.”

Elias’s hands tightened on the wheel. “But it wasn’t enough. She’s still gone. Still broken.”

His grandfather studied him, eyes sharp but kind. “Boy, you can’t change the past. You can’t conquer Hell. But there may be another road.”

Elias turned, his jaw tightening. “Another road?”

The old man nodded slowly. “The Gauntlet of Fate. Older than Hell, older than Heaven. Few have seen it, fewer still have tried. But if you can find it, if you can wrestle with fate itself…” He paused, his gaze heavy. “You won’t erase her scars. You won’t take back what was done. But you might win her back — whole, broken, all of her. That’s the only way forward.”

Elias’s chest ached, his throat raw. “And if I lose?”

His grandfather’s eyes dimmed, sorrow in every line. “Then fate wins. And it always has.”

The words cut deep. But Elias felt something stir inside him, heavier than despair, sharper than love: resolve.

He straightened in the seat, the Trans Am’s engine purring beneath him like it was waiting for the command. His eyes fixed on the horizon, where no road yet stretched.

“Then I’ll find it,” he whispered. “I’ll drive until I do.”

The car growled, headlights flaring white, as if the soul inside agreed.

Elias gripped the wheel, his grandfather’s shadow steady beside him, and pressed the gas.

The Trans Am roared into the dark, chasing a road that might not exist — but if it did, it would lead him to the Gauntlet of Fate.

And for the first time since the Road to Nowhere began, Elias didn’t look back.