Sweetie Hell

As Virgil and Sweetie Belle pursued the finale of their laborious mission, they came upon a break in the road where it had completely collapsed into a slope of rubble, thus making it impassible from a direct route. The pair was forced to climb down into the sixth of Fraud's bolgias and navigate the pit until they could find somewhere to climb back out and resume their journey. In this hole could be found a crowd of sinners slowly ambling along yet another jogging track, only this one was much narrower than those which came before. Here the souls of the dead wore visually stunning gilded robes with white filigree along the seams, but rather than walk proudly as their flashy finery would suggest, they were bent at the waist and their footfalls were heavy like the stamping of horses struggling to haul a burdensome load through the mud. They moaned and sighed with the effort just to remain standing, the act of lifting their feet to take each step seeming to be a task better suited to one with herculean fortitude.

"These here are the hypocrites," Virgil stated without needing to be asked. "They wore cloaks of moral and spiritual virtue which belied their truer, shabby selves. Here in the depths of Hell they are made to wear golden robes of lead as an analogy to their two-faced careers in the waking world."

This was a sin which Sweetie Belle could understand, as hypocrisy was a common affliction of character in her native Equestria. Ponies young and old often said and did things which directly contradicts their honest feelings on a particular matter, sometimes out of ignorance, other times out of fear, and occasionally for the sheer fun of it (Discord namely, as the living embodiment of hypocrisy). She observed the guilty dead for a time, and could not find it in her to pity them as she had with most of Hell's prisoners. Despite knowing--or, at least believing--that not one condemned soul was here without good reason, Sweetie had at numerous times felt sorry for the poor creatures, but mostly because they were being tortured or humiliated in ways that she felt were rather harsh given the nature of their sins. The hypocrites, on the other hand, were not in pain, nor were they being publicly embarrassed in any way. To literally bear the weight of their sin on their backs for the rest of eternity seemed an apt punishment, in her mind.

Then she noticed a disturbance in the crowd's progress. At one singular point the dead rose into the air briefly before settling back down, giving the impression of some small hurdle in their path. After working her way around to this awkward point in the track, Sweetie Belle spied a man lying in the middle of the road with iron nails driven through his palms and feet to prevent escape. In this way he was forced to endure being trampled by every passing sinner and crushed beneath their substantial weight.

"Who are you?" Sweetie had to raise her voice so she could be heard over the lowing of the mobile dead.

The man inclined his head towards her, and despite being tread upon by his peers he responded in a most clear and concise manner. "I am Caiaphas, and I was once High Priest of the Jews of Roma."

"How come you're not walking with the others?"

"Because his blasphemy against God is far worse than theirs," Virgil remarked as he approached. There was no hiding the abject scorn with which the poet spoke, bordering on outright hostility.

Caiaphas glared at the poet for a brief moment, and then returned his attention to Sweetie Belle. "I was High Priest of the Jews, as I said before, at the time of Rome's visitation by the one called Christ. When he was arrested, I and the other leaders of my faith arranged and held his trial. We condemned him for asserting his relationship to God and for claiming to be King of the Jews. We requested that Pontius Pilate judge Christ and have him executed."

"To omit points of truth is still to tell a lie," Virgil said angrily. "You left out the multiple beatings which your court administered to Jesus, and the numerous insults you lot slung like scat at the Lord's only begotten son. You say Jesus made assertions and claims, but in truth the Nazarene spoke very little. When he did speak, he simply confirmed that which you were already questioning. And when you could find no witness who could justify putting Jesus to death, you invented them."

"It was done in the service of the public good!" Caiaphas shouted in defense.

"Many unholy atrocities have been committed in service of the public good. Your crime is no exception." Virgil countered, causing the former High Priest to gape and sputter wordlessly. He turned his back on Caiaphas and said to his companion, "Come; we can exit this hole by the collective of rocks over here."

Sweetie Belle followed her guide to the base of the makeshift stairway that would bear them out of the ditch. She paused momentarily to spare one final glance back at Caiaphas, who still appeared stunned and conflicted by Virgil's last words to him, and then she made the climb to join Virgil on the road once again. Though he was only a spirit, Sweetie could sense he was still agitated just by being in close proximity to him, and his expression confirmed her thoughts when she looked up at his face. "That man really upset you," she observed cautiously.

Virgil breathed a heavy sigh as if that lone exhalation bore the weight of all his personal turmoil. "I dislike with great intensity any man who justifies his damnable behaviors as a moral good. Caiaphas was a man of faith who was supposed to look beyond his own prejudices to objectively and fairly judge an innocent man, but he failed in his obligations as a spiritual leader and as a man of God's precious children. He allowed his office and the powers it bought him to poison his soul and those of his subordinates. Caiaphas lobbied for Christ's execution simply because the truth contradicted his faith." Virgil's hands curled into fists and shook with the effort to contain his anger. "What hurts most is that he is completely unrepentant. The man truly believes his actions were just. Even Longinus--who pierced Christ with a spear while he hung from the cross--stands at his post in the Circle of Violence forever contemplating how he will greet his Maker at the End of Days. Caiaphas only laments his predicament and calls it unfair. He..." The poet stopped himself with a slow calming breath before he focused his attention on the road ahead, his face entirely devoid of expression. "We have much ground to cover yet. Let us tarry here no longer."

The conversation was closed and discarded with the poet's first step forward, and Sweetie Belle followed quietly beside him. He was still tense with anger, but both parties hoped that their advance towards the remaining bolgias would provide enough of a distraction to eventually relax. As they crossed a bridge which spanned the breadth of the seventh ditch, the two companions halted so that they could study the latest of Fraud's prisons. The pit is filled with such a volume of writhing serpents that the very ground is composed of the hissing creatures. They coil themselves around the hands and through the loins of every sinner imprisoned here, holding them immobile until another serpent comes by to savagely attack the victim's throat with fangs like daggers. The condemned then shriek as their entire body erupts with scorching flames that quickly reduce the body to ashes, and then seconds later they are completely restored in a slow and agonizing process. Once the sinner is back to full form he is immediately ensnared by serpents, and the cycle repeats itself without pause or problems.

"What is all this?" Sweetie Belle asked in utter astonishment.

"It is the torment of the thieves," Virgil said in answer.

The young filly watched the abuse for a short time longer before pressing her guide for further information. "Why all the snakes?"

"The crime of thievery is, by its nature, a secretive assault on one's property. Snakes and the great majority of other carnivorous reptiles tend towards stealth when hunting. Thus, the sin of thievery is punished not by demons, but by reptiles," the poet explained.

"Alright," Sweetie said slowly, not fully understanding this concept but willing to accept it and move on. "What about the other stuff? How come their hands are tied, and what is going on with the explodey...fire...thing?"

Virgil chuckled at his companion's unique phrasing of her query. "The most important tools of a thief's trade are his hands, and so Hell binds them in perpetuity. In regards to the prisoner's repeated bouts of forced combustion, the practice of thievery is to destroy the victim by making their possessions, their substance, disappear. Hell turns this into a punishment by literally destroying the sinners and making them disappear, then reappear in an endlessly repeating cycle of horrible agony."

"That's gruesome."

"It is also not their only torment." Virgil guided his young pupil to another section of the excavated prison. From above it could be observed that the writhing mass of snakes were functioning not just as objects of torture, but as a conveyor which slowly ferried the dead to the next chapter of their misery. Once they were free of the snakes and the fire, the thieves were subjected to another form of transformation. Monstrous reptilian beasts would leap upon the new arrivals and sink their teeth into the sinners' flesh, but it was not an act of malice or wild animal impulse. Sweetie Belle was stunned beyond words as she watched the beasts slowly become human through a series of painful physical changes, while at the same time their victim had the forms of monsters thrust upon them. The humans would flee in terror as the giant reptiles pursued them with manic desperation, looking for the first opportunity to take back their old identities again. Sometimes the humans, in their panic, would run into the pool of snakes from earlier, become ensnared, and were forced to undergo the first of the thieves' hardships all over again.

Sweetie Belle forced herself to look away from the spectacle to address her guardian. "What in the name of Equestria is going on here?"

"A thief's ultimate goal is to take the substance of his prey and make it his own. In Hell the sinners steal the essence of humanity from one another so they may become human, even if only for a short while and regardless of what persona they assume," Virgil said in answer. He gestured to the monsters, who never held the same shape twice between changes. "In the meantime, the thief who has had his essence stolen takes on the true face of his trade until he can steal a disguise from one of his neighbors."

It was certainly a strange punishment, Sweetie thought, but she could not deny that it did make sense in a bizarre way of thinking. Upon reflection she was forced to admit that all the horrors of Hell, though often terrifyingly cruel, did have an underlying structure of purpose beyond simply causing pain and misery. Analogies and metaphors were in rich abundance here in the Houses of Pain, usually going so far as to dictate the entire design of a sinner's environment and punishment so that they could understand in death the dreadful truth of their actions which they were blind to while living. Hell was a prison, but if one could look beyond the monsters and the torture they would see that Hell is also a place of spiritual and moral learning.

The pair moved onward to the eighth of Fraud's bolgias. The great pit here was illuminated like a star from the light of countless roving fires which roamed about a walking track. It was almost impossible to see for the light and the intolerable heat radiating from the hole, but hidden within each raging inferno was a lost and lonely sinner. Their screams of pain were lost amid the furious roar of the flames that consumed their bodies from head to toe.

"These people are the evil counselors; men and women who used their positions of influence--political or otherwise--to trick their neighbors into committing acts of fraud," Virgil said introducing the sorry lot below.

"Why are they all on fire?" Sweetie Belle inquired as she shielded her eyes against the blazing light.

"God granted them powers which were meant to be used to advise their peers and guide them along the righteous path to salvation, but they instead used His gifts to corrupt their fellowmen from a position of secrecy. Hell makes them suffer by stealing these loathsome souls from sight and concealing them in flames born from their own guilty consciences," the poet replied.

"If they're here, then what happens to the other people? The ones who listened to the counselors?"

Virgil quietly pondered this for a moment. "The Lord considers each soul individually and weighs their misguided actions against their intent. If they truly did not know they were being misled, and they are repentant of their sins, then God shows them mercy. Those who took some measure of pride or pleasure out of their being counseled towards fraud are condemned to Hell."

Sweetie Belle exhaled a small sigh of relief. "That's good. I was worried that everyone who took the counselors' advice got thrown down here, even if they don't actually deserve it." Her concern for these unwitting souls caused Virgil to smile fondly at her. Time and again she had surprised him with her perceptive and caring nature, traits which he observed were missing more and more in humans through the years.

The two companions progressed, eventually coming to pause at the edge of the ninth bolgia. A mad cacophony of terrified, agonized screaming erupted from this hole like fire from a volcano as the souls of the condemned were ruthlessly butchered by a massive demon wielding an enormous black-steel cleaver. He was a formidable beast with mottled brown flesh, a long spear-tipped tail, large wings with too many holes in the skin to be used for flight, and two thick horns grown out from the temples. The dead ran every way they could in a mad dash for escape, but were somehow always just within their tormentor's reach. Whether by his tail, his hands, or the sharp fingers of his wings, the great devil would snatch up his prey and hack them to pieces with his cleaver. The corpses were then left to drag their separate pieces back together to reform the body anew, at which point the demon would round on them once again to repeat the brutal cycle.

"Here we see the retribution of the sowers discord," Virgil said through the screaming of the dead, and the occasional blood-crazed roar of the demon.

"What did they do to deserve this?" Sweetie Belle was aghast at such horrid mistreatment. She almost couldn't believe this was even a real punishment. To her, this was just unfettered abuse.

"Their sin was to tear asunder the things which God desires to stay whole, from religion and politics to familial bonds, for the sole purpose of satisfying some selfish desire," Virgil answered. "For the crime of ripping apart the fabric of society to gratify the ego, Hell repays these degenerates by tearing their bodies limb from limb, and then repairing them to undergo the slaughter again."

Again, Sweetie Belle was forced to look beyond the parade itself to see the deeper meaning underneath, and she found herself conceding that this horror show did indeed make sense. However she could not bring herself to look upon it any longer, and so turned her gaze from the hole and implored her guide to continue down the road. At last, they reached the tenth and final ditch in the Circle of Fraud. The great pit was home to innumerable sinners who were all afflicted with some form of ailment that sent some sprinting around the pit and attack each other, and made others to either sit or lie prostrate for eternity. Some had their bodies mutated or deformed by terrible diseases; some exuded an aura of wretched stench too foul for words alone to describe; some run or lie screaming until their lungs bleed, and others are stricken by such thirst that dust flies from their mouths with every breath.

"What is happening here?" Sweetie Belle asks breathlessly, almost too shocked by the scene to even speak of it.

"These are the falsifiers; counterfeiters, impersonators, perjurers, and alchemists. By any name they are all of them liars. A virulent and despicable disease corrupting all of society, Hell demeans them by striking them with all manner of debilitating afflictions." Virgil's words were quiet, but no less harsh in his judgment of this lot. "Here in this pit, they are treated to a true vision of a world ruled by their kind. A world of madness and chaos, where even one's own senses are not to be trusted."

The young filly looked away from the awful scene below to level her gaze upon her guide. "Why is fraud so terrible? Why are the punishments here so much worse than in Violence or any of the other Circles?"

Virgil's first response was to let out a slow breath through the nose. Then, after collecting himself and his thoughts, Virgil spoke. "Because fraud is a willful act of political, social, and familial discord. It is the conscious choice to not just spit in the face of harmony, but to destroy it. Frauds live to tear down the fabric of society and burn it to ash. They profit from the misfortune of others, and they do it with a smile. Their species is entirely unrepentant of their actions; they know what sort of monsters they are, and they glory in it." The poet looked down at his small companion. "You ask what makes fraud a more despicable sin than violence? It sows the seeds of mistrust, breeds doubt, causes society to rot and fall to madness. Fraud can set friends, neighbors, families, whole nations at each other's throats. It is perhaps the single most destructive force to have been inflicted upon mankind."

Sweetie Belle started to reflect on Virgil's words, but her thoughts--as well as every other bodily process--was brought to an immediate halt when the shallow breath of a frigid wind passed through her. The gust's chill cut straight through flesh and bone and gripped the filly's very soul in a vice-like grip. The sensation compelled Sweetie Belle to gasp, but her breath hitched painfully in her chest when the very air seemed to freeze as it entered her lungs. She felt--and would have sworn by Celestia and Luna that it was real--as though icicles had formed within every vein and artery she possessed. It was a cold unlike anything she had ever felt before, or would feel ever again. This was the icy chill which dominated the space between stars, that exists at the bottom of every grave. It was the Reaper's breath gliding over one's shoulder as he snuffs their life out like a candle flame under a douter. The wind only lasted a second, but it was enough to draw Sweetie's gaze to the path which yet lay beyond the prison of the falsifiers. The young filly started forward in pursuit of the source, the road gradually turning from paved earth to ice that cracked beneath her weight. The path then leaned into a slight downward slope that grew steeper as Sweetie Belle advanced, until at last the angle became so severe that Sweetie's hooves lost their grip, and she fell into a rapid slide. Yet, strangely, she did not scream.

The ramp ended abruptly at the edge of a cliff, with no way for the unicorn foal to stop her speedy descent. She reached the edge in seconds, but in defiance of the laws of inertia she was not sent hurtling to her death. Something held her safely at her precarious perch atop the frozen cliff. Then whatever spell which had clouded Sweetie Belle's mind fell away, and she was granted her first real glimpse of the yawning chasm laid out before her. She looked here to there in confusion, not understanding where she was or how she'd come to this place, and when she finally looked down there was no controlling the series of terrified shrieks and yelps that erupted out of her like a ruptured dam. Instinct demanded that she get away from the ledge at once and make for safer ground, but Sweetie forced herself to stay put out of fear of taking a wrong step and tumbling towards certain doom.

Virgil appeared at her side a moment later, his face a mask of abject fear and worry which relaxed visibly into relief upon finding his companion alive and well. "Thank the Lord, you are safe. I called to you when I noticed you'd left my side, but you acted as though you did not hear. I even stood in your way, but you charged through me without a second's pause."

"What...What just happened? How'd I get here? Where am I? What was that wind all about?" Sweetie Belle's panicked queries came out almost too quickly for Virgil to follow, never mind answer.

The poet struggled to get a word in edgewise. "My child, I..."

Before a reply could be made, the conversation was interrupted by the intrusion of a new party. It appeared seemingly from the pit below flying on black wings like those on a bat. It was mostly man-shaped with burgundy flesh, and thick equine hooves accented by dark feathery hair on the fetlocks. The being wore no clothing, but in its left hand it gripped a double-edge sword that is almost entirely unremarkable save for the vibrant, almost raw splash of crimson blood which stains the blade. The creature proceeds to stare unblinking at Virgil and Sweetie Belle through haunting white eyes that redden noticeably around the edges. It floats silently on the still air despite the wings holding almost completely still, an unreadable expression on its face.

Then, without warning or provocation, the entity spoke. "You go no further."