Beyond the crowd at the blood-pit, the terrain stops behaving. Hills rise and fade. Through gaps in the fog Odysseus sees them, the famous punished. Tityus pinned to his rock with birds at his liver, and the liver always growing back. Sisyphus pushing the stone, never reaching the top, the stone always rolling away. Tantalus reaching for fruit that withdraws and water that recedes. Others he cannot name. The crime is not what catches the eye here. It is the design. These are not deaths. These are loops. Punishments built to never end. You see them and you understand the rules of this place: down here, time is the weapon.
The Tortured Shades
Eternal punishments, glimpsed through the fog deeper in. A liver re-eaten. A stone never reaching the peak. Fruit and water always just out of reach.