The Charlatan descended the subway stairs, stroking his hirsute mantle. His eyes fixated on each step, each one lighter than the last. His morose expression betrayed his broad, confident frame. Yet, the deeper he went, the less his brow furrowed, the less his knuckles gripped his beard, the less his nostrils flared. It was as if he found peace the further he moved from the top step—shedding sins and sorrows as he descended. But then, he realized: these weren't subway stairs. They were the steps to Hell itself. He was too late. Sins fell but were caught, fueling the fire; sorrows dropped, only to become chains on the devil’s crown. The last deception—his welcome to eternal damnation.