Content Warning: This is a work of fiction. Depicts violence. All characters are 18+.
Intro:
Most people think hell is a place you go after you die. But what if you woke up there before your time — in a castle where every door holds a different fate and every sin you have ever committed is waiting to be judged? Harrison went to sleep after a normal day and woke up on the porch of the Black Castle. The grass was dark and bleeding red mist. A bird with no blinking eyes was watching him. And something in the shadows already knew his name.
🔥 The Black Castle
He woke up on the porch of a castle. It wasn’t an ordinary castle—it was built like an office, with rooms on either side of a long passage as he peered inside.
He heard a chirping sound behind him and turned to see a bird. He had no idea what species it was. It was black, with big eyes.
He looked beyond the porch at the front yard and frowned.
"What sort of place is this?" he asked himself.
He took a step forward to get a better look.
The grass on the lane was well mown—but that wasn’t what caught his attention. It was the color.
The grass was dark… and it sprinkled red mist.
"This is not normal," he said, taking a step back.
The bird chirped again—this time, it sounded like a call.
"Shoo!" he tried, but the bird didn’t move.
It just stared at him, unblinking.
He felt like it was looking straight into his soul.
Goosebumps rose on his skin. His heart rate increased.
"Wait… I can breathe," he thought.
"This must be strange… where am I?"
🚪 The Doors
He moved toward the door of the castle and peered inside again.
Each room had a tag above the door.
He squinted at the nearest one.
"The Room of Hell."
He turned to the next.
"Reaper’s Calling."
"I must be dreaming," he muttered.
Another door read:
"The Room of Sinful List."
And another:
"The Between."
He had no idea how he got there.
One moment he was in his room after a hard day’s work… he lay down to rest…
And now—this.
A strange castle. Evil names on doors.
🐦 The Waiting
He sat on the porch, unsure what to do.
He figured if anyone was inside, they would come out.
He wasn’t about to enter a place he knew nothing about.
And stepping onto that black grass with red mist?
No way.
He yawned.
Why was he so tired?
He glanced at the bird—it was still watching him.
He shook his head.
"If this is a dream… I’ll wake up soon."
Minutes passed.
No sound. No movement.
Then—
A black cloud formed a short distance from him.
Too close.
Close enough to touch.
But he didn’t.
He watched.
The cloud began to take shape.
He shifted backward, putting distance between himself and whatever was forming.
He had nowhere to go—but he wasn’t taking chances.
☠️ The Reaper Appears
The cloud formed into a man.
A hooded figure.
Two black cleavers in his hands—each one emitting black mist.
His face was covered.
No eyes. No skin. Nothing.
Just darkness.
"Who are you… and which room did you come from?" the hooded figure asked.
"I’m known as Harrison… and I didn’t come from any room. I just woke up here."
"That is impossible," the man said.
"No one comes to the Black Castle without passing through a door."
"Black Castle?"
Harrison looked again.
This time, he saw it.
Everything was dark.
The castle itself was releasing black mist—just like the man.
Even the porch beneath him…
Black.
Moving.
Like something alive.
Like skin… peeling.
"How didn’t I see this before?" he thought.
"You can’t see it unless you know the name," the hooded man said.
Harrison froze.
"You can read my mind?"
"No. I guessed."
⚖️ The Truth
"So tell me… how did you get here?"
"I told you—I just woke up here! One moment I was in my room, the next—boom—I’m here!"
He clapped his hands.
The bird let out a sharp chirp.
Everything froze for a moment.
"Don’t do that again," the hooded man said.
"The Castle Eye doesn’t like it."
"The castle has eyes?"
"Yes," he said, pointing at the bird.
Harrison swallowed.
"Where is this place?"
"This… is the place that leads to hell.
Where your sins are weighed… and your sentence is decided."
Harrison froze.
Now he understood.
This was no coincidence.
🩸 His Sins
His past came rushing back.
He hadn’t lived an honest life.
He was a scammer.
A thief.
A murderer.
He had taken from people who begged him not to.
He remembered the widower—how she pleaded.
He laughed.
Called her a “free ticket.”
He remembered mocking a man who had only a hundred bucks.
The seven heads he sent to a witch doctor…
All so he could become untouchable.
So his words could control people.
So no bullet could harm him.
His crimes…
Too many.
Endless.
⚰️ Judgment
"I see," the hooded man said.
"Your silence tells me everything."
"You’ve earned a room here."
Harrison collapsed to the ground.
"I never thought it would come to this…"
"And the price?"
"I don’t know," the man replied.
"I am the Reaper. I only lead people to the room they deserve."
"But you… you weren’t supposed to wake up on the porch."
"Life isn’t easy," Harrison said weakly.
"It’s like a jungle… only the strong survive."
"Is that your excuse?"
"No… I just didn’t want to be weak."
"So you preyed on the weak? Killed? Destroyed lives?"
Harrison said nothing.
"Please…"
"Don’t beg me," the Reaper said.
"This is the Black Castle."
He stepped closer.
"Tell me… have you ever forgiven your enemies?"
"No."
"Then there’s your answer."
🕯️ The Warning
"You’re not dead yet," the Reaper continued.
"So be thankful."
"But your cup of sins is full… and it has spilled into a drum."
"A drum?"
"A warning."
"You are half-dead. This is your chance."
Harrison’s breathing slowed.
"What happens now?"
"You must see the Keeper of the Castle."
Harrison’s eyes widened.
"And if I refuse?"
The Reaper’s voice dropped.
Cold.
Final.
"Then you’ll be sent to a room… worse than hell."
🚶 The Endless Walk
The Reaper led, and Harrison grudgingly followed.
At first, he thought the passageway was short—but he soon realized he was wrong.
He had no watch, but it felt like they had been walking for hours.
Two hours… maybe more.
And still—no end in sight.
🚪 The Room of Appeal
He used the moment to read the tags on the doors they passed.
"The Room of Appeal."
He paused.
"Now that… is a place I can bear to enter," he thought.
"Don’t think about it," came the Reaper’s rasping voice.
"You don’t deserve that. Besides… that is not your tag."
"Can I appeal?" Harrison asked.
🩸 The Truth Hits
Laughter echoed.
From everywhere.
It wrapped around him.
Cold.
Final.
Harrison shuddered.
Now he knew.
He had met his end.
Not in a gang fight.
Not in violence.
But here… in what he still hoped was a dream.
"Who told you you’re dreaming?" the Reaper asked.
"Get out of my head!"
Harrison slapped his cheek.
Pain shot through him.
"So… I’m real here," he thought.
☠️ The Soul Destroyer
He looked at another door.
"The Soul Destroyer."
This one…
This one was different.
The door itself was made of a screaming man in agony—peeling his own skin as new flesh grew… only to be torn away again.
Endlessly.
"This is eternal damnation," Harrison thought.
As they passed it, he let out a shaky breath.
Relief.
His hands trembled.
"Is this how my victims felt… before I gutted them?"
"Sure," the Reaper said casually.
"I can even arrange a visit for you—if you’re willing to meet Silencer."
"I said stay out of my head!"
Harrison went quiet.
Then, after a moment—
"Is he really here?"
"Of course. We just passed his room."
"You mean… The Soul Destroyer?"
"Yes. Do you want to visit?"
"No. I’ll pass."
"Good choice," the Reaper said.
"Now hurry—before the Hall Demands payment for your body passing here instead of your soul."
⚔️ The Silencer
Harrison didn’t wait to be told again.
He picked up his pace.
Yes—he had committed crimes.
Yes—he had done terrible things.
But this place…
This place felt like the foundation of evil itself.
"You’re right on that one," the Reaper said.
Harrison ignored him.
His mind drifted.
To The Silencer.
Richard.
The only man who ever truly challenged him.
The one who almost won.
They fought for dominance—
for control of the underworld.
And Harrison was losing.
He scratched the scar on his chest.
Deep.
Dangerous.
Richard gave him that.
He almost died that night.
But luck saved him.
The police showed up.
Richard ran.
And Harrison—
He did what he had to do.
He couldn’t match Richard’s strength.
Or his cruelty.
So he used his family.
And now…
Richard was here.
Suffering.
Forever.
🕯️ The Door of Passage
"I was waiting for you that night," the Reaper said quietly.
"I could have claimed you."
Harrison snapped out of his thoughts.
"What?"
"The night you got that scar."
The Reaper stopped.
"We’re here."
He nodded toward a door.
Harrison looked up.
The tag read:
"The Room of Passage."
The Room of Passage
With trepidation and a trembling hand, Harrison read the tag on the door again: “The Room of Passage.”
His breathing became a little steadier. The tag didn’t mention anything that sounded like a nasty surprise. He looked at the hooded figure, who just stood there watching and waiting.
“Shouldn’t we be going in?” Harrison asked.
“Eager, aren’t we?” the reaper said with a chuckle.
It wasn’t funny hearing a chuckle from a faceless person.
“Eh… is that not why we are here?” Harrison asked.
“Well, since you’re in such a hurry, why not open the door and we can go in,” the reaper said, now leaning on the doorframe.
The Price of Entry
Seeing no other way, Harrison slowly reached for the doorknob with a trembling hand.
The moment his skin touched it, his hand froze.
A searing pain shot through him.
He could feel his blood boiling, a jolt of electricity racing through his veins. He roared in pain and fell to the floor, panting and clutching his hand.
Through clenched teeth, he glared at the reaper.
“You could have warned me,” he said bitterly, wiping tears from his eyes.
“And miss the fun of your pain? No way. You need to know—no one is your friend here, and everything hates you. Now cut your hand on my cleaver and sprinkle your blood on the doorknob.”
Harrison stared at the black cleaver, mist curling off it like smoke.
With no choice, he obeyed.
As soon as his blood touched the doorknob, the door swung open silently.
Inside the Room
They stepped into a plain room.
There was only a desk and a chair.
Behind the desk sat a young woman.
The walls were pitch black, making the room dim except for a faint red glow coming through the window.
“Take your seat,” the woman said calmly. “And welcome to the Room of Passage… murderer.”
She adjusted a file as black as night, with red letters glowing from its surface.
Harrison sat down and glanced behind him.
The reaper was gone.
A soft cough drew his attention back to the woman.
She looked young—about twenty-three—with dark hair and bright eyes. Her lips were black, as though painted with darkness itself.
“Why am I here?” he asked, feeling oddly safer now that the reaper was gone.
The Interrogation
“You’re here to be assigned a room,” she replied. “This is where everyone passes before reaching their destination.”
“But I’m not dead,” Harrison said quickly. “I was brought here against my will.”
The woman dropped the file and clasped her hands together.
“Free will?” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“Did you commit those crimes or not?”
Harrison hesitated.
Something about her was far more dangerous than the reaper.
Her bright eyes in that dark room made him feel like she was staring directly into his soul.
“I did… but it was self-defense,” he said.
“You chose crime over a legal life?”
“There was no job,” he replied.
“And the people you robbed—if there was no job, why take from them?”
He had no answer.
So he stayed silent.
The File of Sins
“Your file says a lot about what you’ve done,” she continued. “Do you remember Allen?”
Harrison searched his memory but couldn’t place the name.
He shook his head. “I don’t know him.”
“Let me refresh your memory,” she said.
“He was eighteen. Tall. Messy hair. Blue eyes. Wore glasses.”
Harrison frowned.
Still nothing.
She opened the file.
“You were out one night, looking for a man called Fast Finger—the best pickpocket. He had stolen from you before. When you found him, you didn’t hesitate. You ended his life.”
She paused.
“The only witness was a boy. You thought it would be a mistake to let him go… so you took his life too.”
Harrison’s eyes widened.
The memory hit him.
The boy begging.
Promising not to speak.
But Harrison had been consumed by bloodlust.
The witch doctor had demanded blood as payment.
“I remember…” he whispered.
No Second Chance
“Good,” she said calmly. “Then you are ready to go to your assigned room.”
“I’m not ready!” Harrison cried. “I will change. I’ll be better. Please—give me a second chance.”
“That is not within my power,” she replied.
Then, in a louder voice, she called:
“REAPER.”
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