Place: Walking into the first terrace, through the gate of Purgatory
Time: About twenty seconds after the previous chapter

tWBS: So, I can’t look back, huh? So what if I do this? (He looks back.)

Senor: Dude, n—

The two are seemingly teleported the several hundred feet back to where they started, the gate of Purgatory

St. Patrick (already annoyed): Oy, what did I say?

tWBS: Shit, that wasn’t a bluff?

St. Patrick: Well, tell me boy-o, does it look like a bluff?

Senor: I know I should be the magnanimous guide but I please smack him upside the head? I mean, I swear to G—

(He realizes that finishing that sentence might prove hazardous to his health, blaspheming at the gates of fucking Purgatory, of all places.)

Senor: Never mind. Can we go back through?

St. Patrick: All right, but this is the only time. As he was a golfer in his past life, call it a mulligan.

tWBS: Oh, thanks, Paddy.

St. Patrick: Now don’t come back here again.

Senor: Yessir. C’mon.

They start to climb the mountain and get to a zig-zag passage.

Senor: Serpentine, Babu!

tWBS: Ah, come on, this is getting ridiculous! Are we there yet?

Senor: Let’s rest here.

tWBS: You mean this tiny crevice?

Senor: Hey, it’s like, 15 feet of room. As long as we don’t do anything stupid we’ll be fine. Hey, take a look at some of the pictures on this rock!

tWBS: Wow, that’s an intricate carving of the Virgin Mary.

Senor: Very good. This one here next to it is King David before the Ark of the Covenant.

tWBS: They have top men on that one.

Senor: Top. Men.

tWBS: What about this one? It doesn’t look Biblical. Roman maybe?

Senor: Right you are. It’s the Emperor Trajan, who, in the midst of preparing for war way out in Dacia, modern-day Romania, was able to give justice for a grieving mother whose son was murdered. This first terrace is for the prideful to find their humility before they can ascend to Heaven. We might both want to learn something here.

tWBS: Does that mean we’re here?

Senor: Sure.

tWBS: And what about those things? They look… human, I think.

Senor: They are, there’s no dismemberment here. But they all bear a stone, their burden, the size of their pride. And, they pray.

Prideful Soul: Our Father, we pray not for ourselves, but for those still on Earth.

tWBS: Well that’s nice.

Senor: Those on Earth might help to appease their suffering by praying for their sakes. After all, it can help lighten the load, shorten the time spent on the mountain.

He finds a soul to reach.

Good sir! Can you help us find the way through?

And it is… the poet himself.

Dante Alighieri: Aha! I know the pairing before me.
A pair voyaging? You, you are alive! (He points to tWBS)
Your guide, he takes you up Purgatory.

Senor: Maestro, believe it, you misderive.
My friend, you are correct, he is deceased,
But I, the living, acts as Virgil, guide.

My friend managed to get St. Peter pissed,
By not accepting the Lord as he died.
Then, when asked to recant, he did persist.

So Peter sent him down to stew, Hell-side.
But he was lucky to have our friend,
A guy named Balls, to bring him to the light.

I’d say it was a mixed bag in the end,
‘Cause once the two passed Satan, then he ditched,
And called me here to finish the errand.

So that leads here, that’s gen’rally the sitch.
We’ll hopefully find the way up the mount,
And once at the summit, he’ll be enriched.

But tell me one thing (at this, Dante frowned),
To simply put it… how’d you end up here?
I would’ve figured you were Heaven bound.

Dante: A funny thing. A masterpiece, endeared
By scholars, authors, writers, and yourself,
The popular, and critically revered.

Just to one’s friends, and scathing to Black Guelphs,
Among others. A triptych of our lives,
And more, what occurs when we say farewell,

It’s not exactly great for humble pride.

tWBS: Oh, get on with it already. Both of you!

Senor: Essentially, his pride was already the most dangerous of his vices, and writing the most important and greatest piece of Italian literature that we still talk about 700 years later didn’t exactly help things.

tWBS: Well why didn’t you just say so?

Senor: And furthermore, writing about death, Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven might also not help… things…. (under his breath) Fuck.

tWBS: What was that?

Senor: Nothing. I guess to end the rhyming here, which way do we go?

Dante: Oh, yes! To your right takes you beyond here.

Senor: Grazie, Poeta.

(Dante bows to the pair as they make their way forward.)

Senor: Well, I’ve had a pretty good day so far.

tWBS: Because you’re a massive nerd.

Senor: Yes. And? Your point?

tWBS: It’s good that you’re rocking it. Keep being yourself.

Senor: I try. Oh, hey, take a look at these carvings. The opposite of humility, it shows pride.

tWBS: I know that one too well, so I’m guessing that’s Lucifer sent into Hell?

Senor: Looks like it. This one here’s Briareus, or Aegaeon, trying to overthrow the Olympian gods.

tWBS: This one is Nimrod, the Biblical one and not the inept one.

Senor: Though considering trying to reach Heaven by building the Tower of Babel, maybe a bit of both.

tWBS: And King Saul, and Arachne, and the city of Troy, and countless others.

Senor: Each one a victim of their hubris. Do you understand this terrace? And how your own pride might’ve cost you a bit?

tWBS: St. Peter’s still an asshole, though.

Senor: Fine, sure. But don’t tell that to the angel coming though.

tWBS: What?

An Angel descends to meet the two.

Angel: Near at hand here are the steps.

tWBS: Steps? Oh nice.

Angel: Easier from henceforth is the ascent. Come to this rock, so you may have safe passage to the next terrace.

The Angel covers tWBS’s forehead with its wings. When the Angel releases tWBS one of the Ps has been removed, leaving only six remaining.

tWBS: Whoa, it feels like a weight’s been lifted.

Senor: Each P being lifted is that weight, and by the time they’re all gone, your feet and your spirit’ll feel so light that climbing the mountain won’t be a chore at all. But for now, one terrace down. Let’s catch our breaths before we get going.