It was Hell, in the purest and oldest sense of the word. It was Damnation, and all the damned had once roamed within. Now only seven remained bound...and one plummeted through. He fell like a meteor, crashing through the circles of the Inferno. His sin was too great to be contained in those thin outer layers; his soul was too black, too inexorably drawn to the churning heart of darkness at the center of Perdition.
The first Circle was Limbo, an imperfect Heaven, created for those who had fallen unknowingly and had been tricked into surrendering their souls and wills to dark forces; and for the children promised in exchange for a demon's favor. It had once been a place of lush rolling fields and clear skies: meant to be a reprieve for those individuals, but as with all things of Hell, its purpose was corrupted. Like roads, so many things in the Inferno were paved with good intentions. Now it flashed back-and-forth between barren wastes and arid, gray fields; sometimes deafeningly silent, and other times raucous with empty noise. Its inhabitants were confronted with twisted images of their loved ones and brief flashes of paradise as the Inferno slowly twisted them into madness...into things of its liking.
But even such a horrid place was too good for Samael. His body struck the grounds of Limbo and they swallowed him, cracking beneath him and climbing up over him, and dragging him--sometimes howling, sometimes in silent scream--deeper into Hell.
Michael descended into the ever-shifting waste-fields of Limbo. He had to force himself to breath in the hard air, let it scrape his lungs and twist the chords of thought in his mind. Sometimes silent, sometimes deafening. He took his first step; treading where angels dare not.
An angel walks in the Pit. A saint in Damnation. The Hand of God in Hell.
Michael could hear the whispers rise up and echo down the nine circles; the cackling, desiccated data and ghostly remains of Digimon ripped apart by the Inferno. Their arrival would not be a surprise.
Limbo flashed around them, and each of the Peacemakers witnessed their deepest desires brought before them and twisted maliciously. Michael stared into the abyss. Before him was nothing. Just the wastes. He looked back; behind him the Peacemakers shuddered, wide-eyed as their darkest dreams wracked them.
"We move on," Michael said, feeling the air, searching for the pulse of the exorcism's path. "We can't stay here long."