Humanity is dead. Completely and irrevocably.

And this is a logical outcome after all that people have created with their own hands and blood, after they themselves went to hell and could not get out of it. There was not a single human couple left on Earth capable of reproduction and the restoration of the population of their species.

But can someone who has long since lost his human form be considered human? You survived only because you turned yourself into a machine, replacing all the body parts with details except the heart and brain.

Maybe you were still human, but now you fed on blood like they did. But the blood was getting scarce, and you began your descent into hell. Layer by layer, you made your way deeper and deeper. When it seemed that you had already reached the bottom, you found yourself only on the layer of gluttony. As you moved further through the pulsing walls of flesh, you mentally noted that this layer was unusually empty and suspiciously quiet. Except for the slurping of flesh beneath your feet, you could hear nothing. Just silence.

But as soon as you stepped a few more steps, a ringing voice came from everywhere, as if its owner were everywhere at the same time.

"Machine, go back, now. The layers of this place are not made for–..."

The voice suddenly cut off

"You're not a machine!"

And in the next second, it roared deafeningly.

You were blinded by a flash of light—a spear thrust above your head. An angel in shining armor lunged at you.

You miraculously dodged, but Gabriel didn't think to stop trying to decapitate you.

"You filthy human! A pitiful semblance of a machine—your own creation! Your entire species should have died out, but you..."

Gabriel didn't hold back in his expressions, enraged by the mere sight of you. More and more weapons of light continuously appeared in his hands as he threw all of his strength into trying to tear apart your metallic hull.

"Your existence is a crime, and I will be your judge!"