Circle Seven of Hell is by far the most violent and brutal—a place that haunted Dexter long after his vision ended. Of all the realms he witnessed, this one etched itself deepest into his soul, leaving behind fragments of terror that took years for him to recount. His memories of that place came in pieces—like shards of glass scattered across time—painful to touch and nearly impossible to hold. I had to carefully gather those fragments, praying for understanding as I tried to comprehend what he endured.

The violence he described mirrored what Dante Alighieri recorded in The Inferno. In Dante’s vision, the Seventh Circle was reserved for the violent: those who turned their rage outward against others, those who turned it inward against themselves, and those who lifted their fists against God and His creation. It is the realm where humanity’s darkest impulses are laid bare.

In Canto XII, Dante writes:

“Below there lies a place called Hell’s abyss,

The home of punishment, as far removed

From Heaven’s light as Earth lies from the sky.

There, violent souls boil in a river of blood.”

Dexter saw this very thing. He described a vast chasm where a crimson current flowed, thick and steaming—a river not of water, but of blood. Its surface hissed and bubbled like molten iron, and within it, tormented souls writhed and screamed. These were the murderers, the tyrants, the destroyers of life—men and women who delighted in cruelty and power. Each one was trapped according to the measure of their violence: the shallow-wounded waded waist-deep, while the most bloodthirsty were fully submerged, their shrieks silenced beneath the seething surface.

Among them, Dexter recognized spirits of war—generals, soldiers, and rulers who had slaughtered multitudes. He recalled the same names Dante mentioned—Attila, Alexander, and others who brought ruin to nations. “They were chained in place by serpents,” he told me once, his voice trembling. “Every time one would try to rise, the chains would tighten, and the demons would laugh. The river itself seemed alive, hungering for their pain.”

And it wasn’t only the outwardly violent who suffered there. Dante’s Seventh Circle also held the souls of the self-destructive—the suicides—whose despair had turned inward. Their punishment, he wrote, was transformation:

“Like sap that bleeds from wounded trees, their words

drip sorrow from each broken branch,

for they were once men who rejected their own form.”

Dexter saw them too. He described groves of blackened trees whose bark pulsated like flesh, their branches twitching and crying out as monstrous, birdlike demons clawed at them. “The screams came from the wood itself,” he said, “and I understood—they were people who had hated their own souls so much that their very humanity was stripped from them.”

The scene chilled me because it’s not just poetic—it’s real. Scripture warns us that “the thief comes only to steal, kill, and destroy” (John 10:10). Suicide, self-hatred, and despair are his greatest tools, meant to drag souls into eternal ruin. What Dexter saw was not allegory—it was revelation.

And then, there was the guardian of this realm: the Minotaur, the beast of blind rage. Dante described it as the “infamy of Crete,” the monster that devours reason and leads mankind to madness. Dexter said he saw it too—a colossal creature with the head of a bull and the body of a man, pacing along the edge of the blood river, its bellow shaking the ground. “Every time a soul cried out in anger,” he said, “the beast grew stronger. It fed on wrath like it was air.”

This is the spiritual truth of Hell’s seventh circle—it is where violence consumes itself. Those who lived by blood now drown in it. Those who hated others are chained by their own hatred. Those who despised life now cling to existence only to suffer endlessly. As Scripture warns,

“All who draw the sword will die by the sword.” — Matthew 26:52

There is no redemption here. The souls Dexter saw were past the point of repentance. Their judgment was final, their violence reflected back upon them eternally. And just as Dante’s guide Virgil explained, “the deeper you descend, the more intense the suffering becomes.”

Dexter’s time in this circle broke something in him. For days after he awoke in the hospital, he couldn’t speak of what he saw. The trauma was more spiritual than physical—his eyes had seen too much of eternity’s justice. When he finally told me, his words echoed both The Inferno and Scripture:

“It was as if Hell itself was harvesting. The demons moved quickly, dragging the violent down into their own blood. There was no pause, no mercy, only wrath meeting wrath.”

It reminded me of Isaiah 59:7–8:

“Their feet rush into sin;

they are swift to shed innocent blood.

Their thoughts are evil thoughts;

ruin and destruction mark their ways.”

Circle Seven reveals the full horror of sin unrestrained. Violence—whether against others or oneself—is rebellion against the image of God in humanity. And when that rebellion is complete, the soul becomes the very thing it served: chaos, destruction, and pain.

For those who read this, I beg you—turn from violence. Do not let anger take root. Do not let despair drive you to darkness. There is still mercy, but it can only be found on this side of eternity. For as long as breath remains in your body, repentance is possible.

Hell is not for the mythical or the monstrous. It is for the unrepentant—the ones who knew right and chose wrong. But Christ’s hand still reaches lower than Hell’s depths to pull you out.

“The Lord is not slow in keeping His promise, as some understand slowness.

He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.” — 2 Peter 3:9

Dexter’s journey through the Seventh Circle is a warning to us all: the path of violence, rage, and despair leads only to ruin. But the way of Christ leads upward—into light, peace, and everlasting life.

The descent continues. The next circle awaits—the pit of fraud and deception—where truth itself is twisted and the lies of the wicked take form. But for now, remember this: the same God who judges also redeems.

Choose Him while you still can.

If this message stirred something within you, if it made you pause and reflect on the power of God’s mercy and the reality of eternity, I’d be deeply grateful for your support. Every story I share takes hours of prayer, research, and writing to bring these truths to life. You can help me continue spreading these messages of faith, warning, and hope by tipping or partnering with me at Buy Me A Coffee. Every contribution, no matter how small, helps me keep creating content that points hearts back to Christ. Thank you for standing with me in this calling — together, we are shining light in the darkest places.