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Summary
"Hell.
It is a place where your very existence will be completely shunned by the living. A place that will bind your soul with a repulsive, vile filth that no method can purify."
Rowing his oar across the current of the legendary, dark, bottomless Sanzu River, the composed boatman of the Deathland turned his head. Not even uttering a word, as he took a look at the traveler behind him, whose gaze was fixed on the desolate shore that drifted backward with every stroke of the oar cutting through the river.
"If this forgotten land is where the impure cannot find salvation..." From beneath the wide straw hat, the boatman saw the man's red hair slightly flutter in the cold wind, obscuring the faint expression on his face and the thin lips that were forming words dripping with sarcasm, aimed at himself, "Then what do you think a Fallen God would should still be surprised by?"
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Forgeries. Corruptions. Loves.
Everything encircled in the world of forgotten, and their longtime encounter would flourish like bouquets of flowers...
Or withered like the scattered corpses down there?