"You're torturing them."
"They're resources." He said it so simply. Like discussing harvesting wheat. "And I use every part. Nothing wasted. Watch."
He gestured, and smoke cleared. Through the gap, she could see glass chambers large enough to hold a person, metal arms ending in needle-like probes descending like spider legs, gears and pistons working in perfect unison.
The scale of it was obscene.
A translucent form was strapped into the nearest chamber. An elderly man, features filled with fear. She could see his mouth moving. Pleas, probably. Maybe prayers.
The machine came to life.
The probes descended, piercing his chest. Light began flowing through the tubes immediately, streaming out of him in ribbons.
His mouth opened in a cry that cut through all the others.
His soul was being pulled out piece by piece while he was conscious.
"The extraction takes time," Caelum said conversationally. "Hours to days, depending on the soul's strength. I've refined the process considerably. It used to be messier."
The old man's form dimmed as more essence was pulled from him. His features began to smooth, becoming less distinct—less individual. The fear in his eyes faded slowly because the capacity to feel was being extracted along with everything else.
First fear went. Then pain. Then confusion. Then awareness. Then nothing.
"When complete, they emerge perfected," Caelum continued. "No pain, no fear, no wants or needs beyond serving their purpose. They're happy, Brynn. Free from the burden of choice."
"They're nothing." Her voice was barely a whisper. "You've erased everything that made them who they are.”
"I've freed them from the prison of self. The illusion of individual consciousness causes all suffering. Remove it, and what remains can serve something greater."
He actually believed this. Actually thought he was saving people.
The machine completed its work with a pneumatic hiss. The old man drifted free, expression serene now. Completely blank.
The same look she'd seen on souls in Caelum's paradise. Those souls had already been processed. Already nothing.
Guards were bringing forward another form. A woman, fighting and wailing. She saw what was waiting. Understood what was about to happen.
"I've processed millions," Caelum said softly. "Every peaceful death for ages. With your abilities, I could accelerate everything. Decades compressed into years."
He turned back to her, genuine conviction in his eyes.
"You could help me reshape the entire death system. Make every death peaceful, every soul content in service. Don't you see how beautiful that would be?"
"No." She forced the word out. "I won't help you erase souls. I won't help you turn people into nothing and call it peace."
Dante's realm was cruel. But his souls were still themselves. Still able to be reborn.
Disappointment crossed Caelum's features.
"You will," he said quietly. "Eventually. They all do."
He gestured to one of his shell servants, a young man with blank eyes and a serene smile. The hollow soul drifted forward with automatic obedience, moving to adjust controls on nearby machinery.
Caelum turned back to her and smiled.
"Take her to holding," he ordered.
Cold hands locked around her arms. They released her restraints, and her legs gave out.
