The Sinner

Jiro stumbled forward, barely feeling the ground beneath her feet as she pushed through the door. Her body was trembling, her breaths ragged, her mind an endless loop of Denki, Denki, Denki—

The door slammed shut behind her.

Silence.

For a moment, she could only hear her own breathing—shaky, uneven, broken. Then, slowly, she lifted her head.

The last ring.

It was vast and cold, stretching endlessly in all directions. The air was heavy, pressing down on her like a weight. The sky above was an empty void—dark, yet glowing faintly with a strange, golden light.

Before her stood a grand, towering structure. A temple? A fortress? No—a throne room. Enormous pillars reached into the endless sky, their surfaces etched with intricate patterns that twisted and shimmered under the golden glow. The ground was smooth, polished like marble, reflecting her face as she took an unsteady step forward.

She saw her own reflection clearly—eyes wide, body trembling, face streaked with tears. Her shadow gone.

Jiro clenched her fists, shutting her eyes for a moment. Not now. Don’t think about it now. She forced herself to keep moving, stepping further into the heart of the last ring.

Then, a sound.

A steady, rhythmic drip, drip, drip.

She froze. The sound echoed in the empty space, sending chills down her spine. Slowly, she turned her head—

And saw it.

A throne.

At the very center of the ring, towering above everything, sat a massive golden throne. It gleamed in the dim light, its surface adorned with intricate carvings—spirals, wings, countless staring eyes.

And on the throne sat a figure.

Tall. Unmoving. A presence so overwhelming it sent an instinctive chill through Jiro’s body. The figure was clad in ornate, tattered robes, their face obscured by a mask. In one gloved hand, they held a delicate, gleaming jar.

A jar filled with—

Jiro’s breath caught.

The golden liquid swirled inside, shimmering like molten light. And deep within—barely visible—something else was there. Something small.

A person?

No—Denki.

Jiro’s heart stopped.

The ruler shifted slightly on their throne, tilting their head as if acknowledging her presence.

Then, they spoke.

“…You finally arrived.”

Their voice was deep, steady, and emotionless. A voice that carried the weight of something far beyond human comprehension.

Jiro’s entire body tensed, her heart pounding against her ribs.

This was the last ring.

This was Pride.

Jiro’s body jerked as a sudden, searing pain spread across her skin.

The stains—Wrath’s stains—burned.

She sucked in a sharp breath, clutching her arms as the heat seared through her, like molten iron branding her flesh. Her knees buckled, and she gritted her teeth to keep from screaming. Then, just as suddenly as the pain had come—

It vanished.

The stains were gone.

She gasped, staring at her bare skin. The dark smudges had been burned away. As if this place—the last ring—had no tolerance for them.

Jiro took a step back, instinctively bracing herself. But then she forced herself to look forward again, to focus—on him.

The last ruler.

He hadn’t moved. Still seated on the towering golden throne, still holding that gleaming jar.

Jiro swallowed hard, her heart hammering in her chest.

“…Give him back.”

The ruler remained silent for a moment, as if weighing her words. Then, finally, he spoke.

“Why?”

His voice was slow, deliberate, almost amused.

Jiro’s fists clenched. “Because I need him.”

A pause.

“You are at the end,” the ruler murmured. “The exit is within your reach. You could walk through it now.”

Jiro took a step forward, eyes burning. “Not without him.”

The ruler tilted his head slightly. “He gave up his soul.”

Jiro froze.

He gave it up?

Her breath hitched. She shook her head. “He—he wouldn’t—”

“He did,” the ruler interrupted. “Freely. Desperately. And so, he is no longer yours to take.”

Jiro’s hands trembled at her sides. Her entire body trembled. She clenched her jaw, rage bubbling inside her chest.

Then—without thinking—she lunged forward.

She reached for the jar.

The ruler didn’t stop her.

Her fingers grasped the cold, smooth surface, and she held it up, her heart pounding, eyes wide—

And she froze.

Inside the jar, curled up in the glowing liquid—

Wasn’t Denki.

It was a small boy.

A green-haired doll, barely moving, barely breathing, his form flickering between solid and translucent.

Jiro’s stomach twisted.

“…What?”

She stared, her entire body going cold.

Her breath came fast and shallow as she looked back up at the ruler, her grip tightening on the jar.

“Who is this?” she whispered.

Jiro felt her breath catch as the ruler’s voice rang through the silent, suffocating air.

"You lost."

The words crashed over her like a wave, drowning out every other sound in her mind.

The ruler remained still on his throne, his golden eyes locked onto her, unblinking, unmoved.

“You had a choice,” he continued. “You could have walked away. You could have left, carrying nothing but yourself. You could have been free.”

Jiro shook her head, gripping the jar tighter, her pulse pounding in her ears.

"But you didn't," the ruler said. "Despite everything, despite your selfishness—despite his sacrifice—you still reached out for him. You ignored his choice. You ignored your own survival."

Jiro's breath came in sharp, panicked gasps.

“You lost.”

The ruler’s voice was calm, but there was a weight to it, a finality that made her blood turn cold.

Then, he began listing them.

One by one.

Everything she had done.

"You killed the ruler of Lust."

Jiro flinched, her fingers twitching against the glass of the jar.

"You killed Sloth."

The image of the moth-winged man tearing himself apart flickered in her mind, the pain in his eyes before he was swallowed by his own cocoon.

"You gave away your shadow to Greed."

Jiro’s stomach twisted violently, the memory of the mirror, of the way she made a deal to avoid danger in Greed.

"And you were stained by Wrath."

Her breath hitched. She looked down at her skin, at the marks that had burned away—no, sunk deep inside her.

Jiro's throat closed up.

Then, the ruler leaned forward ever so slightly.

“Rulers must be replaced upon death,” he said softly. “And you—you—cannot leave.”

Jiro took a step back.

The room suddenly felt smaller. Tighter. Like the walls were closing in around her.

The ruler's golden gaze pinned her in place.

"Without a shadow, you cannot grow," he said. "There is no future for you. No past. You exist only in the now."

Jiro swallowed, gripping the jar so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"The stains," the ruler continued, "are no longer marks on your skin. They are inside you now. A part of you. You cannot wash them away."

Her entire body felt numb.

"There's no use trying to get out now."

His voice was final.

Then, he spoke the last words she ever wanted to hear.

"Tell me your name."

Jiro's breath stopped.

Her heart nearly did, too.

She shook her head violently, stepping back again.

“No.”

The ruler said nothing.

Her hands trembled as she tightened her grip on the jar, her mind screaming at her to think, to do something, anything—

Her foot slipped.

The jar slipped from her fingers.

Time slowed.

Jiro turned in horror as the golden glass plummeted toward the ground. It hit the floor.

It shattered.

The glowing liquid spilled out like molten gold, pooling at her feet. The small body inside collapsed onto the floor, lifeless, motionless.

Jiro barely had time to react.

She turned back to the ruler, her eyes wide, mouth opening to say something, to scream—

And then—

Pain.

Blinding. Splitting.

Agony ripped through her body.

She barely had time to register the moment before she felt it—

Her body—splitting—in two.

Her vision blurred. She tried to move, tried to scream, but there was nothing. Nothing.

The last thing she heard was the ruler's voice, calm and final.

"Welcome home."

Jiro gasped as her eyes shot open.

She was still here.

Her chest heaved, her fingers twitching against the cold floor beneath her. She felt…whole.

That wasn’t right.

She should be—

Jiro pushed herself up with shaking arms, her breath coming in shallow bursts. Her hands ran over her body, expecting to feel open wounds, severed flesh—something. But she was intact.

She swallowed hard and turned her head slightly—

And then she saw it.

Her reflection, staring back at her in the polished floor.

She barely recognized herself.

Her face was painted in stark white, her lips darkened. She looked like a mime. But the worst part wasn’t the makeup.

A single, jagged yellow line ran across her entire body, from the newfound hat of her head, splitting down her face, her neck, her torso—everywhere he had cut her.

She pressed her fingers against her skin.

It didn’t hurt.

But it was there.

A mark of what had happened.

Her heart pounded as she turned her gaze back toward the throne.

He was gone.

The room was empty.

Jiro forced herself to move. She staggered forward, feet barely catching up with her, until she reached the final door.

This was it.

This was the end.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and pushed it open.

She stepped inside.

And froze.

The room wasn’t an exit.

It wasn’t anything.

It was walls.

Walls upon walls upon walls, stretching infinitely in every direction, closing her in, suffocating her.

Jiro's hands trembled as she turned, searching for another way out, but there was nothing.

No windows. No light. No air.

Just walls.

“No—” she whispered. She turned back to the door and pushed against it, trying to force her way through, but it wouldn’t budge.

She shoved harder.

Nothing.

Her breathing quickened.

She turned back toward the room, looking frantically for something—anything—but there was nothing.

No escape.

No way out.

She pushed the door again, then again—then pounded against it, her heart slamming against her ribs as she realized—

She was stuck.

She was trapped.

“No—no, no, no—”

Her vision blurred.

Her breath came in ragged, desperate gasps.

She tried again, slamming her fists against the walls, against the door, clawing at it, trying to tear through it, but it was useless—

She was alone.

“No—please—"

Her voice cracked.

Her knees buckled.

And then, the weight of it all crashed down onto her.

Denki was gone.

She had lost everything.

She had nothing left.

And she was never getting out.

A broken sob tore through her chest.

She fell to the floor, her body shaking violently, and screamed.

She screamed until her throat burned, until the walls swallowed her voice, until all she could do was curl into herself and sob, her entire body wracked with uncontrollable, gasping cries.

She was alone.

She was never getting out.

Jiro's body trembled as she wept. She could barely breathe—her chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of everything crushing her from the inside out. She clutched her arms, curling into herself, hoping—praying—that she’d just disappear.

But then—

A faint glimmer caught her eye.

She hiccupped through her cries, barely aware of her own movements as she lifted her head.

The broken jar.

It was still there, lying on the floor where it had shattered.

And inside—

The green-haired doll.

He sat in the shards, looking up at her with large, glassy eyes. His small frame was too perfect, too still. His face was eerily serene, almost like he wasn’t real.

Then, slowly—

He smiled.

Jiro's breath hitched.

Something about that expression sent a shiver down her spine—not from fear, but from something else.

Something deeper.

She wiped at her tear-streaked face, swallowing hard, her voice hoarse as she whispered:

“...Who are you?”

The boy tilted his head slightly, his round, doll-like eyes unblinking.

His lips parted—

And he spoke.

"You're still here."

Jiro stiffened. His voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was something unsettling about it.

He shifted, his small hands resting against the broken glass beneath him. He didn’t seem to care that it should’ve cut into his skin.

Then, with the same small smile, he asked:

“Do you want to leave?”

Jiro couldn't stop crying.

She wanted out. Desperately.

She wanted to leave this nightmare, to wake up in her bed, to hear Denki’s stupid jokes and feel the weight of her phone in her hands. She wanted to breathe air that wasn’t thick with the scent of sin and death.

But—

Denki was still here.

Somewhere.

And if she left, would she be abandoning him?

Her chest ached, her sobs coming out ragged and broken. She pressed her hands against her face, trying to muffle the sounds, but she couldn’t stop. She was tired. She was terrified. She was alone.

Except—

"You cry a lot."

The voice came again, soft and calm.

Jiro shook her head, trying to steady herself. When she lowered her hands, the green-haired boy was still watching her, his eerie doll-like smile unwavering.

Then—

A presence.

Behind her.

Jiro’s breath caught as she felt something shift, a whisper of movement at her back. Slowly, she turned—

And saw him.

Another version of the boy, older this time. A teenager, standing behind her with the same too-calm eyes.

Her stomach twisted.

There was movement above.

She snapped her gaze upward.

Another one.

Perched on the ceiling, looking down at her like a spider watching its prey.

Jiro’s breathing turned shallow, her fingers digging into the fabric of her pants.

Her gaze darted back to the jar—

But the doll was gone.

And in his place, the teenage version now knelt in the shattered glass, gazing up at her with a knowing expression.

"You really don't understand, do you?" His voice was patient, almost amused. "You still think you're the first one to fall."

Jiro's throat felt dry.

He tilted his head. "Do you know how the rulers came to be?"

She couldn't answer.

"Every single one of them," he continued, "was once like you."

Jiro’s fingers twitched.

"They fell. They wandered. They lost."

The teenager stepped forward, the glass crunching beneath his shoes.

"Some gave too much. Some took too much."

His eyes gleamed.

"And when the time came, Hell made its choice."

Jiro shook her head. "No—"

"Sloth," he continued, ignoring her. "The one you spoke to. He once burned so brightly. He was a warrior, a fighter, once he had come. But rings passed, and he grew tired. So very tired."

The boy on the ceiling shifted, resting his cheek against his arm, looking completely at ease. "So he closed his eyes."

The standing one smiled. "And Hell gave him a cocoon."

Jiro trembled.

"Greed—" He took another step. "She always wanted more. Even when she had love, even when she had everything. She wasn't satisfied. So Hell gave her all the mouths in the world, and still, it wasn't enough."

His voice was quiet, like he was telling a bedtime story.

Jiro clenched her fists.

"And Wrath—oh, Wrath," the teenager sighed. "Did you know he couldn't let go of his hatred even on the verge of death?"

Her heart pounded.

"He was kind, once. But kindness doesn't last here. Not when you have nothing left. So Hell made him its executioner."

Jiro took a step back.

"Every ruler, every single one of them, was just like you."

He stopped, watching her, letting the words sink in.

Then, softly—

"Do you still think you can leave?"

Jiro stumbled back, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

More of them.

More versions of him.

One leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, watching with lazy amusement. Another sitting on the floor, legs folded, head resting on his palm like he was bored. One standing near the nonexistent door, waiting.

"You don’t get it, do you?"

The one closest to her grinned, tilting his head.

Jiro turned, trying to find an escape—

But there was nowhere to go.

"This is how it always ends," another voice whispered from behind her.

She whirled around. Another version, standing barely an inch away.

"You think you’re different?" One chuckled, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "You think you’ll escape?"

Jiro’s hands curled into fists.

"Look at yourself."

She refused.

"Come on," another coaxed, stepping closer. "Take a good look."

She didn’t want to.

She knew what she’d see.

The pale white of her skin, painted like a mime. The single yellow line streaking across her body, marking where she had been torn apart. The proof.

The proof that she had already lost.

But she didn’t want to lose.

"Why are you showing me this?" she spat, voice shaking. "What do you want?"

The one sitting on the floor sighed dramatically. "Why does everyone ask that?"

"Like there’s some kind of answer," another said, rolling his eyes.

The one closest to her leaned in. "You’re still thinking like a human."

Jiro swallowed.

"Still clinging to things like hope."

A laugh echoed around her.

"Denki."

Her chest clenched.

"You think if you just keep going, you’ll find him again?"

Jiro gritted her teeth.

"You think he’s waiting for you?"

"Shut up."

"He’s gone."

"I said shut up!"

She swung.

Her fist connected—

But the boy in front of her shattered like glass.

The pieces of him fell, vanishing before they even hit the floor.

Jiro’s breath hitched.

A slow clap.

She turned.

Another version of him, leaning against the farthest wall, smiling. "You’re catching on."

Her stomach twisted.

"What’s the matter?"

The versions around her started stepping closer.

"You wanted the truth, didn’t you?"

"You wanted to know what happened to them all?"

The walls felt like they were closing in.

"The rulers—"

"The lost ones—"

"The ones who fell—"

"And now you."

Jiro shook her head, stumbling back, her heart pounding, her vision spinning—

And then—

A single voice.

Clear. Sharp. Cutting through the noise.

"Jiro."

She froze.

The moment that single voice cut through the others, everything changed.

All the others—every version of him, every whisper, every taunt—fell silent.

And then, in perfect unison, they copied him.

They stood the same way. Tilted their heads at the same angle. Smiled the same knowing smile.

Jiro felt her stomach churn.

The boy—no, the one—took a step forward.

She flinched.

"Do you realize who I am?"

Jiro's throat tightened.

She didn't.

She didn’t.

And that terrified her.

She shook her head, stepping back, her whole body trembling.

"Stay away from me."

He took another step.

"Stay—"

Another step.

"Stay the hell away from me!"

She screamed, but he didn’t stop.

His expression twisted. His grin widened, teeth too sharp, eyes too deep.

"I AM GOD!"

His voice ripped through the empty space, deafening.

Jiro’s breath caught in her throat.

Before she could move, his hands were on her.

Gripping her arms, tight.

His face just inches from hers.

"I AM GOD!" he screamed, his voice shaking the ground, the walls, her bones.

Jiro let out a choked cry, trying to wrench herself away, but his grip only tightened.

His nails dug into her skin.

"You don’t understand, do you?!" His breath was hot, ragged. "YOU NEVER UNDERSTAND!"

Jiro's head spun, panic clawing up her throat.

"Let me go!"

"You came here and thought you could just leave?! That you could just walk out?!"

His fingers dug deeper, burning into her.

"You belong here now!"

She struggled harder, thrashing, but it was useless.

He wouldn’t let go.

His grip tightened around her arms, like iron shackles that didn’t bend, that didn’t break. His face contorted into a twisted snarl, and his eyes—the yellowing, burning, all-consuming eyes—stared into her very soul.

"You think you're different?!" His voice, now shrill and violent, echoed like a thousand tortured screams. "You think you’re special?!"

Jiro's heart raced in her chest. She gasped for breath, but the air felt suffocating. It felt like her lungs were closing in on themselves, her very existence being crushed under the weight of his words, his presence.

"No one gets out!" He screamed so loudly that the walls seemed to shudder in pain. "NO ONE EVER GETS OUT!"

Her eyes started to blur, her vision growing darker as she struggled against him, her body trembling uncontrollably.

"You think you can just walk away from all this?" He yanked her forward, pressing his face so close she could feel his spit on her skin. "From the rulers you killed? From the sins you’ve created?!"

His hands burned where they gripped her arms, every inch of her skin screaming, begging for release. He shook her violently, each motion tearing at her will to fight back, each second of exposure to him unraveling what little sanity she had left.

"You’ve taken so much, haven’t you?!"

He screamed in her face again, his voice now guttural, raw, like he was tearing his own throat apart to get these words out.

"You killed Lust, you gave your shadow to Greed, you let Wrath stain you, you... you let them all mark you, break you, take pieces of you away! And YOU STILL THINK YOU CAN LEAVE?!"

His hands twisted her arms, pulling her close, making her feel the crushing weight of every accusation, every sin.

"YOU DON’T GET TO ESCAPE!" His voice shattered the air like glass, cracking, breaking. "YOU’RE MINE NOW. MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE."

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Only scream, only panic, only feel the cold steel of his voice cutting through her. It was too much.

"NO ONE ESCAPES ME!" His scream fractured into a laugh—a high-pitched, broken, manic laugh that echoed like it had no end. "NOT YOU. NOT DENKI. NOT ANYONE."

His face contorted into something monstrous, his skin warping, as if the very thing that made him a god was collapsing into something else, something even more horrifying.

"You came here, and you wanted out. You wanted freedom!" His laugh twisted with malice, becoming something sick, something twisted. "But you’ll never escape me. You're just a piece of my grand design. You’re just a tool—a game—and you always have been."

The last of his sanity slipped away, and he screamed again, the sound ripping through her mind like a jagged knife.

"YOU’RE NOTHING WITHOUT ME!"

The walls cracked under the pressure of his voice. The air thickened, choking her, suffocating her until her vision blurred again, and the world around her warped into a swirling abyss.

Jiro felt herself falling. Falling into the abyss of his madness. Falling into the endless spiral that she couldn't escape.

His grip never loosened.

In the blink of an eye, the world shifted. The walls, the twisting shadows, the suffocating air—all of it vanished.

Instead, a long, lavish dining table appeared before her. The rich scent of food filled the room, but it was nauseating, thick with something unnameable. The table stretched impossibly long, draped in black velvet, and covered with decadent platters, silverware gleaming under dim, flickering candlelight.

Jiro blinked, her heart racing in her chest as she found herself sitting in one of the ornate chairs. It was as though the world had molded around her, shaping reality into this distorted mockery of normalcy. And she wasn’t alone.

The other rulers were there. All the ones who were alive, their faces as twisted as ever. Greed sat at the far end, her expresion frowning under the low light. Gluttony, still decapitated, rested her hands on the table, a grotesque presence in her silence. Wrath’s clockwork body glinted ominously, his mechanical hands clicking as they fidgeted with a wine glass, the noise unsettling in its rhythm. The Envy rulers, talking to eachother and glancing at her every noe and then.

But what made Jiro’s blood run cold—what sent a sharp shock through her system—was the figure across from her.

It was Denki.

He sat there, just like her, a prisoner at this cursed table. His hair, once bright and full of life, was dull and lifeless now. His face, painted in a similar way that she had seen on herself, seemed to be trapped in a permanent, unnerving grin. Black tears streaked down his cheeks, dripping onto the table in dark, unholy stains.

They locked eyes. For a moment, neither of them could move. The shock of seeing him, of knowing he was here, of realizing he had fallen just like her—it paralyzed her. Denki’s eyes were wide, full of confusion and fear, just as hers must have been. They both seemed to search for the answers in each other’s gaze, but none came.

Then, at the head of the table, he appeared.

God.

He sat in the center, his presence dominating everything in the room. His face was an unreadable mask, cold, indifferent, as if he were the final judge of their fates. The air around him seemed to crackle with something ancient and terrible. The silence that stretched between them all felt suffocating, as though the very air held its breath in fear.

"Welcome, new rulers," he said, his voice carrying an unsettling calmness. His words sent a shiver down Jiro’s spine, each syllable an echo of finality. "The sinners have fallen. Let them return to their places."

The words hit her like a thunderclap, and everything inside her shattered at once. She glanced around, the other rulers nodding in eerie unison. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. They had heard the command. They knew their role.

But Jiro? She didn’t understand. She couldn't.

Her heart pounded in her chest, a cold sweat beading along her forehead. She looked at Denki again, and this time, the confusion in his eyes mirrored hers. But there was something else—something deeper. A sense of resignation, as though he had already accepted what they were now. Something twisted and broken.

God’s words hung in the air as he motioned for the others to rise, to take their places, to leave the table. The rulers, the beings of sin, stood up in synchrony, walking to their respective corners. They all had their roles. They all knew where they belonged.

Denki... he was here now. Among them. A ruler, just like them.

"You both will learn," God’s voice cut through her thoughts. "Your place. Your purpose. The game has changed. And you? You are part of it now."

Jiro’s mind reeled. Her body felt frozen. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table, and yet she couldn't pull herself out of the horrifying reality that had been forced upon her.

The world shifted again, but this time, it was far worse than it had ever been before. This wasn’t just Hell. This wasn’t a simple torment. No, this was their reality now.

The rulers returned to their places, and she and Denki—they—were no longer mere players. They were part of the system now. The game had changed, and they had become its newest pieces.

Jiro wanted to scream. To fight. To run.

But there was nowhere left to run.

She was home.