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Darkness. An endless void. Eternal torment. Perhaps even drowning in a lake of fire for all eternity for his sins.
Those were the list of things Yoshida expected to be his afterlife. If there ever was one to begin with. He wasn't religious. Nor was he a philosephere. He didn't particularly believe in anything. One could say that he should. Devils existed after all.
If they existed, things like an afterlife and god surely did as well. Though Yoshida had his misgivings. If god did exist, would he not have done something to stop the destruction of the world he created?
It seems he was eating his words. As he looked around this wasteland, he wondered what God's plan was. There was no pain. No torture. There was no divine power here. There was just him.
In an endless desert. With an empty sky with no sun or moon. Nothing but sand to count his eternity. Alone. With nothing but his thoughts.
How long had he been here? How long had he been alone? How many years had passed? What happened to the world? Did their gambit pay off? Had the prophecy been stopped?
What had happened to Denji?
As he walked aimlessly, his feet almost dragging in the sand, he felt lost. He had no destination. He had no goal anymore. He had no orders or instructions to follow.
It was just him.
With nothing to do but think about all he had done in service to the world.
But had it been for the world? Had it been for the greater good? Had all the people they killed, all the destruction, and lives they ruined been worth it?
His sense of time felt like it was in constant flux, sped up and and retarted to gnaw at his sanity. Some hundreds of years have passed. Or maybe it had only been a day? Did time even exist in this space?
His knees buckled after a misstep in the sand, the uneven terrain rolling his ankle and sending him to the ground. The minerals and grains crept into his clothes and irritated his skin. He hissed.
There was no water to wash this off. The lack of its source should have harmed his health. Or perhaps not, since he was dead. But this perpetual desire for water, despite not needing it, gnawed at his psyche. He never thought he would miss such a basic desire.
He felt as though someone was dangling it in front of him, despite no one being present.
Was this what he felt?
Yoshida fell onto his back. The sand's irregular temperature provides neither comfort nor discomfort. It was at an irritating middle, where he could find no rest but could feel the beginning of sleep.
He never thought he would be so annoyed with the existence of sand. He had never realized how coarse, rough, and irritating it was.
Was this his punishment? To be forced to think? To lament? To wonder and to wander?
Was he wrong?
Had his actions been wrong? Is that why he was here? Did he regret it? Could he have done some things differently?
Was god angry with him?
He didn't want to think anymore. He didn't want to keep walking. Had he not done that enough?
Was he sad?
Yoshida stared up into the empty sky. Or was it a void? He asked himself, how was this fair? He had only done his duty. He had followed orders. He did as he was told. So why was he still here?
Did he not do the right thing? Were his actions wrong? It was hardly his fault, was it? Denji just couldn't stay obedient. Sure, his fate had been sealed long ago, but that was hardly his decision.
It wasn't his fault.
He grabbed a fistful of sand and made a choking sound, halfway between sadness and agony.
"Why?" He asked the empty void, as if expecting an answer.
"Why must I be tormented like this?!" He screamed, sitting up and glaring at the sky. "I did what I was told! It was all to save the world! Denji was the selfish one! He should have known the world didn't revolve around him!"
He threw the sand in his hand with all his strength and pounded his fist, digging into the dense, soft ground. Pounding the same spot again and again, he tried to punch away these feelings. But the sand offered no relief. No answers.
"Why?!" He bellowed, scrunching his eyes shut.
"I just…" He paused, his hand falling numbly to his side, palm facing upward. "I thought we could be friends…"
Yoshida lowered his head. He had been true when speaking to Denji. Going to school with him. Seeing his antics, his crude way of speaking, how a boy growing up with so little acted. His chaotic way of thinking.
He had fun. So why?
Yoshida looked to the empty sky. Why had he been so quick to agree? Should he have taken a harder stance against it? Was the suffering of one boy and his sister worth all they had done?
Did Denji truly hate him? He must have. He had tried to shoot him. But then why did he look at him like he was seeing an old friend in their last encounter? Had he reminded Denji of someone?
Did he see him as a friend in the end?
Yoshida's vision blurred. Was this hell after all? Being forced to think about all he had done? The wrongs he wrought on all those innocents? Was hell just this? Being forced to face all your ugliness? With the knowledge, it was too late to change?
Was he forced to stay here until the end of time? Wondering if the world had gone to shit? Wondering if it was all for nothing. If Denji had made it out okay?
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand to avoid the sand grains getting in his eyes. You would think being dead would get rid of the feeling of agitation or discomfort. But annoyingly so, that was part of this hell.
Forced to endure.
Yoshida slowly stood up, slowly looking around for anything that had changed. There was still only the endless dune. How long would this go on? How long must he be forced to wallow in self-pity and regret?
He once again started the slow shuffling of his feet, anything to put the thought of his life out of his mind. Walking and thinking were all he could do. Wondering if, given the chance, he could have done things differently? And if he could, would he?
He sometimes would have preferred eternal torment over this. At least then, he wouldn't be forced to think about all his sins. At least then, it would feel like a proper hell.