Meaningless?, Tsuihō spat the word. "My defiance is all I have left! You call me a failure? You say I achieved nothing? Well, I survived! I endured! And even now, standing before the king of hell himself, I refuse to bow! You want me to suffer? Then make me. I won't make it easy for you."
He glared at Enma-Daiō, his spectral form trembling with barely contained rage. "My life was a joke. An insult. But I will not let it end with me groveling at your feet. I deserve more than this, and the people who made him suffer deserve more as well.
Enma-Daiō leaned forward, a glint of something akin to curiosity in his eyes. "You are… persistent. You have spirit, despite your… shortcomings. But defiance alone will not change your fate. The scales are balanced, the judgment is final."
"Then tip the scales!" Tsuihō shouted, his voice echoing through the hall. "I may not have lived a perfect life, but I didn't deserve this! I never asked to be born! I was thrown into a world that hated me, that crushed me at every turn! And now you want to punish me for not thriving in that hellhole?"
He paused, taking a ragged breath. "Fine. If you insist on judging me, then judge the world that created me! Judge the people who wronged me! Judge the system that allowed me to suffer! If I'm going to hell, then I'm taking everyone down with me!"
Enma-Daiō was silent for a long moment, considering Tsuihō's words. The ghostly officials shifted nervously, unsure of how to proceed.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the scratching of quills and the distant murmur of the river of whispers.
Finally, Enma-Daiō spoke, his voice resonating with a newfound weight. "You… challenge me, mortal. You dare to question the very foundations of karmic justice. Your defiance is… unusual."
He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, studying Tsuihō as if he were some strange and exotic specimen. "You believe you were wronged. You believe you deserve a second chance. You believe the world itself is to blame for your suffering."
"Damn right I do," Tsuihō snarled, his spectral hands clenching. "It's the truth and you know it."
Enma-Daiō chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down Tsuihō's incorporeal spine. "The truth is a slippery thing, mortal. It is shaped by perspective, by experience, by the very nature of existence."
He paused, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "I will not overturn my judgment. Your fate, as it stands, is sealed. You will face the consequences of your actions and endure the cleansing fires of Naraka."
Tsuihō's heart, if he still possessed one, sank. He had failed. He had dared to challenge the king of hell himself, and he had been crushed beneath the weight of his authority.
But even in defeat, defiance still burned within him. "Then do your worst," he spat, his voice laced with bitterness. "I won't beg. I won't plead. I'll face your torments with my head held high. I won't give you the satisfaction of seeing me break."
Enma-Daiō smiled, a chillingly unsettling sight. "You mistake my intentions, Tsuihō. I have no desire to break you. I am simply… intrigued. Your anger, your resentment, your unwavering belief that you were wronged… these are powerful forces. Forces that could be… useful."
Tsuihō frowned, suspicious. "Useful to whom? You?"
Enma-Daiō chuckled again. "Perhaps. Or perhaps to yourself. I will not alter your ultimate fate. You will experience hell. However I'm interested in your madness."
"What are you saying?" Tsuihō asked, his voice wary.
"This is what will happen to you, you will suffer greatly I'll let you keep your memories of this place. Once you have found what you seek you will be forever trapped and you will be in endless suffering."
Tsuihō looked at Enma-Daiō and said "So you will let me be reborn again? As Who?"
"As you, Tsuihō the exile you can be yourself again."
Tsuihō said nothing but deep inside he was screaming with rage. He knew he could now be reborn but there would be great suffering but he decided to go through it.
Enma-Daiō spread his hands and said "So it will be!"
The hall began to shake and tremble once more, the ghostly officials scattering like leaves in a hurricane. A blinding white light engulfed Tsuihō, searing through his very being, a disorienting sensory overload that threatened to obliterate his consciousness.
In that blinding flash, a flood of memories washed over him, fragments of his past life swirling together in a chaotic vortex. He saw himself, a desperate child huddled in the corner of his room, his hands clasped together in fervent prayer. He remembered pleading with every deity he could name, every god he had ever read about, every celestial being whispered about in ancient texts. He had devoured dusty tomes, poring over forgotten rituals, searching for the key to unlock divine favor.