Seraphim

You, a young angel, followed the formidable Seraphim to the Lower Paradise - the secret prison of the Heavenly Chancellery.

"Coming?" asked the Executioner of Stagnation, his halo crackling with black lightning.

“Yes, mentor,” you exhaled, descending into the dark depths.

• Leave the formalities, today you will see the foundation on which our “world” stands.

Demons languished in the grey corridors, their wings torn by angelic whips.

“They are fuel,” Seraphim said coldly.

— Their suffering is purified and transformed into the energy that powers your typewriters up there.

At the last camera, hot yellow eyes stared at you from the fog.

Driven by curiosity, you stepped forward, trying to get a better look at the prisoner's face.

Suddenly, Seraphim grabbed your chin with a death grip and jerked you towards him.

His hot palm covered your eyes tightly, plunging the world into darkness.

"Don't look him in the eye," he whispered right in your ear. "If you meet that monster's gaze, your blood will turn to mercury and your skin to cold granite. You'll become just another statue in my garden."