Level 666

Perhaps, some day, we’ll dance around not fenced by reality’s roundness, but in jagged rocks of intertwined stars—memoirs of us undefined in superposition—enacted not in stone but eternal air. I was never into the fad of the abstract except when I needed an excuse to sadly swish paint and add random dots everywhere around a canvas and call it a painting so the art professor could give me a pad in the back. 
And the temple at the edge of Heaven and Hell seemed to be alike in a way. It seemed I was at the edge of the canvas, but let's move that out of the way first. Its twists and turns made it look like it took some undergraduate students to design its interior, not to mention the nightmare toxically dating its engineer: The floating structure amidst a foggy wave of gray dust, and lifeless, green shells of dead trees to pour concrete on. Her base salary has to be the maximum wage or the utmost gallantry wouldn't even be deserving of grazing upon her face. All red, spilling over concrete, rotting on the gates's bases, and turning smooth black.
I gave up trying to squeeze my head in between the gates to see more of the exterior, so I just walked through again. It was windy and all even though there wasn't really any big gaps for the air outside to get in, probably because it was so long it had made itself the wind it needed to cool itself, but ironically, it became a steam pipe instead. I took off my jacket that was tightly grabbing me like a shark and headed off toward the blackness at the end of the hallway. The pale white sky shining lines of yellow, dusty sunrays on the stony pavement was getting dimmer and dimmer, so I took my kerosene antivenom and lit the colossal soundstage on fire as the lantern light danced around the wick. It was those faulty lanterns that people usually take whenever they needed something to cool off in the hallway other than the putrid, hellish tea that sometimes appear here. 
Wobbling and clacking, its wooden sticks supporting the undeserving craft hanging desperately as to not fall and ruin its magic. And I just ran forward into the blackness. Oh, yeah. The blackness. Pure in emptiness--holy, almost. I almost forgot to tell you that. I guess I was distracted enough to ignore a message of God. Remember about being on the edge of a canvas? It is that. The hallway just ended abruptly as if it was a lazily cropped painting and it was cut right in front of me. I tried looking at the sides but it was light-tight. When I retreated from it, it had this oddly, white, and ghostly shadow that was emitting off like clouded steam. I'd heard of this thing where some levels just cut themselves off, and if you happen to cross upon these empty sections, you just get erased basically into negatives. But nobody said anything about fog coming off of them. Because of that, I searched my bag for anything I could throw--any nook or cranny. Ouch. It was an empty can that'd been folded, with its aluminum skin spiking on its edges that were smaller than a single grain of sugar. It was of course a Coca-Cola.
I tiptoed my way and approached the empty space to make sure I wouldn't fall and decapitate my head, leaving my body to get eaten by the stars of the sky. It was about ten meters away from me. I slinged my hand like a propeller and let go of the can; thankfully, I landed the throw. I heard a Clang! right after it disappeared into its shadow; and that can only mean one thing. When the dust had settled, I kicked some pebbles right into the blackness, and yes, it sounded like it had fallen down a pit. Even though there was still a chance I was just hallucinating, I put my head in a way that if it would eat my entire body, it would only get my hair's tips. I don't know what made me that confident to be honest. Maybe it was pulling me into it for all I know, but it just soared more than the saturated red paint that covered the gates. It was an anomaly so to speak. If you've crossed a road for days on end, you would stop buy anything that stood out.