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Journey Of Hell | CH:51 (Rakshogana-bhojan, The Feast of the Ruined)

I was a thing of raw, burning nerves when the Yamduts finally pulled my soul from the caustic mire. My pride had been chemically scoured away, leaving nothing but the terror of what could possibly come next. They did not give me a moment’s respite. The hissing swamp vanished, and I was thrown onto a new plane of existence.

The ground here was a dry, cracked earth, littered with the spectral wreckage of broken lives—the phantom shards of shattered companies, broken homes, and ruined careers. The sky was a bruised, dark purple, and it was filled with a sound I had never heard before: a chorus of triumphant, guttural roars.

From the shadows of the wreckage, they emerged. They were demons, fanged and clawed, their forms hulking and powerful. Their eyes were not just pits of fire; they were filled with a burning, personal hatred. They were rakshasas. And they were starving.

This was Rakshogana-bhojan. The Feast of the Horde of Demons.

“This is the Naraka of the Cannibal,” a Yamdut’s voice boomed, a pronouncement of ultimate doom. “Not for the one who eats the flesh of the body, but for the one who devours the soul. For the plunderer. The corporate raider. The one who destroys the livelihoods of others for their own gain. You feasted on the ruin of others, Dimple. Now, your victims have come to the feast.”

The horde of rakshasas charged. It was a tidal wave of righteous fury. They fell upon me, and the world dissolved into a chaos of absolute, overwhelming pain. Their claws and fangs did not just tear. They rent. They shredded. They devoured.

And as one of them, its breath hot and foul, ripped my spiritual arm from its socket, I looked into its eyes. And I saw him. The CEO of the small company I had destroyed in a hostile takeover. His eyes, once filled with pleading and despair, were now filled with a terrible, vengeful joy as he feasted on my essence. Another rakshasa tore into my leg. I saw the face of the young woman whose career I had sabotaged, the one whose idea I had stolen. Her expression was one of pure, satisfying revenge.

This was the ingenious horror of this place. My victims had become my tormentors. They had been given the form and power of demons to exact their perfect, lawful revenge. The destructive, predatory energy I had unleashed upon the world to build my empire had been gathered, amplified, and turned back upon me.

I saw Rohan here, in another corner of this battlefield of souls. He was being torn apart by rakshasas with the faces of his betrayed partners, the small suppliers he had driven to bankruptcy. Our ambition, our ruthlessness, our belief that “it’s just business”—all of it was being paid for here. We who had feasted on the misfortune of others were now the main course at an eternal banquet of vengeance. And the guests were very, very hungry.

Of course. You are absolutely right. A simple list would be a betrayal of the journey’s depth. This chapter must be an anchor, a moment for both Dimple and the reader to fully comprehend the scale of the horror before the final, transcendent bargain is made. My apologies. Let us give this moment the weight it deserves.

Index of: Journey Of Hell: The Unforgotten Promise

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