Lyra Wave was a very influential teenage female OneTuber. She was famous for her music videos. She loved making pop music—it was her passion.
When she was 15 and just an orphan, she got her first job and spent 60 percent of her money to buy a guitar and another 20 percent to learn how to use it. Life was tough when you had no one to rely on, so early on she decided to do what mattered most to her. No matter what anyone else said, she would ignore it. Some called her self-indulgent.
At 12 years old, she was beaten brutally by the orphanage director simply for not handing over the money a kind man had given her. It was while being slapped that she learned the evils of humanity. It was while getting stomped on, while she whimpered, that she learned she was alone. It was while being brutally beaten that she learned she was truly alone in this world and could only rely on herself. She felt disgust and heartbreak.
But the director was quickly calmed down by another—his own child—who wanted to show his father how well he played the flute. Watching that boy play, and seeing the director earnestly show some sort of affection, sparked the fuel in her heart that would become an obsession.
She learned how to dance, how to sing, and how to perform on the street to get people to hand over their money. She truly believed music was her life—that music was her everything. If she played well enough, anyone would like her, even the director.
It wasn't that she cared for the director's attention, but more or less that the director was the provider of the orphanage. Get on his bad side, and your days would be miserable. Get on his good side, and your time there might be so good you'd call it home.
Lyra always swore in her heart that this place was hell. If only she had known what her time in hell would truly be like, she would have cherished her time here.
Lyra was on her way to sign her first record deal. Of course, along the way, she happened to pass by a man wearing all black and a black ski mask, fleeing with a short silver gun—similar to the ones in those noir films the director's grandmother enjoyed.
BOOM. BOOM.
Before she had time to react, there were two bullets in her—one in her left thigh, the other in her abdomen. She fell down on the cold, hard sidewalk. She was all alone, bleeding out—no, dying—right before her big break.
Maybe all her work truly was for nothing.
Her vision began to go blurry, and she recounted all her time learning to play six instruments, sing, and even dance—truly all the good moments in her pathetic, miserable life.
When Lyra woke up, she was tied down in a black room with faint light. There was a man there—except he wasn't. He had big, black, bird-like wings.
She tried to stammer out the word "demon," but her body wouldn't move with her will.
Slowly, she was tortured over and over again—sometimes in straightforward ways, sometimes in more twisted ones, such as pouring acid down her throat or putting her in a box with 10,000 hungry mice. Each time, she would regenerate.
At first, her mind collapsed. She wished for nothing more than death—release from this endless suffering. But after a while, she went numb. The only times she truly felt pain were when there was an instrument in front of her that she couldn't play. To make it worse, the demon had full control over her body.
Sometimes the demon would stab her. Other times, it would play music to mock her. Truly humiliating. Truly a fate worse than death.
This was eternity.
This went on longer than she would ever like—longer than anyone would ever like.
The demon even promised freedom a couple of times, though it never truly gave it. Soon enough, Lyra realized this demon was nothing but pure evil. It took pleasure in seeing her suffer and causing her pain. Sometimes it would even tell her what it was planning right in front of her, scaring her—making her anticipate it, making the experience even worse overall.
On some occasions, she would see illusions of her incomplete dreams—memories of all her hard work. If she had just taken a ride from a friend, maybe she would be a pop star by now.
However far apart "now" was from "then," in this place, telling time was impossible. You couldn't see the sunrise or the moon. She wondered constantly: Why must I always suffer? Why could I never have a family? Why didn't anyone love her?
Eventually, Lyra realized the truth.
This place she was in was undoubtedly hell.
Soon, a light came for her, pulling her in. The demon sighed when he saw it and commented in a rough voice, "You got lucky, kid. Seems as if you're about to be free."
In a blinding flash, she was taken to a place where she appeared only as a shadowy silhouette. There were nine other silhouettes—and a woman.
The woman had a large chest, much bigger than Lyra's nearly flat one. Her life truly had been sad when she was alive. The woman also had golden eyes, blonde hair, and, most importantly, she was floating.
The woman began to speak:
"Hello, sinners. Each of you may be wondering what I'm talking about, so I'll explain. Every 500 years, the 10 primordial sins reincarnate, and this increases people's urge to commit sins, naturally sending more of them to hell. Hell has 10 rings: pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, sloth, obsession, apathy, and deceit.
I'm sure you all hated it there.
Hell may be where sinners go, but it was originally designed to cause eternal agony to you sins. However, you're in luck—my favorite novel ended, and I want to see an alternate ending, so I'm sending you there now.
Survive, my 10 sins—no, my champions."
Lyra was terrified. What did "survive" even mean? Clearly, this insane goddess wanted her to suffer more under the guise of reincarnation.
Then the silhouette next to Lyra spoke. This one had a strong, commanding feminine voice.
"Miss goddess, what is your name?"
The goddess paused for a few moments before saying, "Oh, sweet little Greed, you may call me Lillian, Goddess of Reincarnation."
The goddess's tone was what scared Lyra even further—like that of a child playing with her dolls.
Then another silhouette spoke. This one sounded empty, as if he just wanted to find a bridge to jump off.
"Are we going to be sent there without anything special?"
The goddess seemed to display particular disdain toward this silhouette.
"Apathy, along with a system, I will send you all there with one unique skill. Oops, time's up. The God of Death and the Goddess of Life—my bosses—gave me little time to do this, so bye."