Solomon hung from the ceiling of the cavern, swinging along rapidly with his two agile tails. 

Since he now had two tails, it was much easier for him to travel along the rooftop and he could travel much quicker. If the Past Solomon that was forced to leapfrog along the top of the ceiling with his life on the line saw this, he would surely weep from envy.

Beside him, Hyde was crawling along the ceiling top. digging into the rock with his razor-sharp claws. Sol flew around Hyde, nipping at him and generally just being a menace.

They were heading along the cavern's ceiling. Making their way towards a suitable painting that they could use to enter their third 'Penance'.

Eventually, Hyde came to a stop in front of a blank piece of ceiling rock. Or it looked blank to Solomon anyway.

From Hyde's perspective, however, he had come to a stop in front of a massive mural of a wolf... or a man. It was hard to tell from the drawing that was ancient and faded. A man, or at least it looked like a man was standing atop a mountain of monster corpses, in his giant bear sized hands, he clutched the skull of a dragon. And on his back, he wore the pelt of a monstrously large wolf. Judging from how big it needed to be to cover this giant man, this wolf must have been truly ferocious when it was alive.

Surrounding the drawing were various obscure phrases that seemed to mean very little, and yet also be immensely profound. Each one was brimming with ancient mystery.

Hyde's eye was drawn to one particular phrase:

'The man who was more beast than human. When monsters have nightmares, they dream of him. Beowulf.'

When Hyde read this, he began to get excited. Would he have a chance to eat these monsters? If so, how might they taste? He was looking forward to expanding his palate that had been stuck tasing only fruit for the last month.

Without much hesitation, Hyde pierced his fingertip with a claw and smeared blood on the painting. 

The second his finger touched the painting, it seemed to move. The giant man, who was standing on top of the pile of monsters, eyes came to life and he turned his head to look directly at Hyde. The man's gaze was terrifying and reeked of blood and iron.

Hyde flinched and tried to move back, but a giant bear-sized hand jolted out of the painting and grabbed him, dragging him inside.

...

Solomon left Hyde and continued towards the painting that had caught his attention earlier. He deftly traversed the cavern's ceiling and in a matter of minutes, he came to a stop in front of a painting.

This painting was of a crying woman. She was terrifyingly beautiful and wore a white dress that was stained with blood. In her hands, she clutched an ornate black chest, inlaid with golden symbols that appeared both holy and demonic. Just from its appearance, Solomon could tell that this box was anything but good news. Alas, what other options did he have? 

From what he had seen on his way here. Although there were some paintings on the ceiling, most of them were too old and ruined to be of any use to him.

He squinted as he read one of the phrases that was carved around the painting.

"The Human created to doom humanity... The herald of all that is evil. She opened the door that let the darkness in. Pandora."

When Solomon read this, he shivered. This sounded like it wasn't going to be a happy myth.

For a moment, Solomon paused, hand outstretched. 'Is there any rush?' He wondered. Couldn't he just rest here for a while and relax? He was feeling especially exhausted after fighting a war for the past month.

'No, Hyde has already gone ahead and if I take too long, he may leave me behind. I would hate to spend the rest of my journey through Hell in complete isolation.'

With his priorities in order, Solomon bit his fingertip and smeared his blood onto the painting. The red splotch was placed right at the centre of the strange chest and after a second of waiting, the chest slowly opened and countless black tendrils snaked out.

They entwined around Solomon, rapping him in a cocoon of otherworldly darkness and whisked him away into the world of painting.

...

All across the cavern, demons were standing in front of paintings thoughtfully. Their brows were furrowed as they tried to make up their minds on which trial to take.

The information given was often vague and cryptic. And, unlike Hyde and Solomon, they had many choices to choose from.

Fike, Wisp and Drunken Sword were just some of the many demons that were struggling to make such a life-changing decision.

Well... Fike and Drunken Sword were struggling anyway.

Wisp wasn't. She had already made up her mind. This was in no small part because she had seen Hyde and Solomon as they traversed across the ceiling. At first, she had thought it was hilarious, but it became much less funny when she saw them both disappear.

Seeing as demons didn't have a habit of disappearing at random intervals, she could deduce that they had both entered their third 'Penance' Already.

Not wanting to be left behind, she had quickly made up her mind and was standing in front of a mural of a strange cloaked figure. He was garbed in all black and the only thing she could make out within the murky darkness was a pair of blood-red eyes that glistened within sunken sockets. They gleamed like car headlights and seemed to contain an endless hunger. 

Silhouetted in front of a brilliant full moon, the man's figure was bone thin and he wore a black cloak that seemed to be created from liquid shadows. In the light of the full moon, it was easy to make out wickedly sharp claws where fingernails should have been.

"The man who fled death to the ends of his humanity. Alucard," After reading this Wisp gritted her teeth and entered the painting.

She didn't want to lose out to an idiot like Hyde or a weirdo like Solomon.

...

Eventually, Drunken Sword made up his mind. He was hanging from a rock wall beside an enormous painting. Pictured here were two warriors. They both wore glistening armour, one was golden, the other silver. On each of their heads, were crowns of pristine leaves fashioned from silver. 

The man in golden armour carried a massive spear that was twice as tall as he was. At its end was the curved fang of some sort of beast. In his other hand, was a small round shield, fashioned from bronze and inlaid with silver carvings of the cycles of the moon. This man had sandy blonde hair and stood straight, his nose was long and hooked and his eyes were sharp.

While the man in silver armour wielded two swords and looked far wilder. His armour itself was lighter and in places was chainmail instead of plated. His hair was a deep black and a scruffy beard covered his lower jaw. He looked wild and threatening

Drunken Sword read out the most prominent Phrase.

"The brothers raised by a wolf. One sly and calculating, the other wild and reckless. From their lineage, spawned the greatest empire of all. Romulus and Remus"

Drunken Sword licked his lips before slicing his finger with his blade. He had chosen this myth for a reason. To study the sword of the man with black hair. If just an image was so intimidating, imagine how strong the real thing must be.

...

Fike had trouble making up his mind. He was torn between many choices, and yet none of them seemed quite right.

He was looking for something to do with fishing, and eventually, he struck gold.

Now, he was standing in front of a more modest painting. It depicted a man with long flowing blonde hair. He wore a simple leather tunic that was a deep brown. On his head, was a laurel of bright green leaves.

He carried no weapon, the thing that stood out instead was a golden ring that adorned his right thumb. The thick golden band seemed to contain all of the colours of the rainbow within and glowed with a soft light. 

Aside from this ring, the man looked boyish and completely normal. Yet... if you squinted, you would see a faint shadow towering behind him. This was the shadow of a giant.

The phrase below this man was this.

'The hunter who ate the Salmon of wisdom. Slayer of giants, crusher of mountains. Fionn Mac Cumhaill.'

As Fike was pulled into the painting by a giants hand, he wondered if he might be able to catch the Salmon of wisdom himself.

...

When Solomon had entered the painting he lost consciousness and his mind faded into hazy darkness. His dreams were plagued with unfathomable scenes of gods and heroes. Each one was both terrifying and beautiful.

After he came to, he found himself standing on a cloud. Beneath his feet, the cloud felt solid and yet incorporeal. Like he was standing on the ghost of cotton candy.

Beside him, was a man that held an ancient weatherbeaten scroll. This man was bone thin and stood at a jarring height of 7 feet. When he moved, it looked like a skeleton that had been reanimated.

A pristine pair of silver spectacles were perched on the bridge of his nose and he was wearing a tweed jacket that did little to hide his painfully thin figure. If you saw him from a distance, you might mistake him for a coat hanger currently in use.

When he noticed that Solomon had woken up, he coughed to get his attention and unfurled the scroll. Its thin paper was cracked and yellow, stained with both ink and time.

He pushed the spectacles up his nose and cleared his throat before reading what was written on the scroll with practised efficiency.

Hyde, Fike, Wisp and Drunken Sword were currently looking at the exact same man, and when he spoke, he said the exact same things. This man was ever-present throughout the Third Circle and was known by only one name.

"I am Chronicle. I like stories and am the administrator of the Third Circle of Hell." His voice was soft and velvety, it seemed to gently caress the ears of whoever listened to him speak.

"Inside the worlds of stories, I am king. I have brought you here to attempt your third 'Penance'"

"Your Trial is this. Create a story that I am satisfied with. Enter the world of legends and myths and, with your own strength, reshape the Legends of Old."

"It matters not how you do it. Only that it is done."

Chronicle carefully rolled up the ancient scroll and stowed it inside his waistcoat pocket. The scroll completely vanished within the pocket, almost like it was bottomless

He looked down from the clouds and his eyes flashed with the reflection of countless images. Each one flooded with blood and violence. These were the depictions of the myths.

Chronicles sighed and tore his gaze from the infinite worlds that stretched out below him. He was ever so tired of the constant violence. Just once... Just once, he would like to see a truly happy ending. It had been so long since such a rare thing occurred.

He raised his bespectacled face to Solomon and, with a simple wave of his hand, a small scroll appeared above Solomon's hand.

Solomon caught the scroll and opened it. Within was a story.

The Story of Pandora...