"Forgiveness used to be a sacred bridge; now, it’s just a discount clearance bin at the end of the world."

The Pearly Gates were never meant to be an airport terminal, yet here we are—drowning in a sea of mediocre souls who think their earthly 'status' entitles them to a golden ticket. St. Peter, our frayed and frantic concierge, is one bad day away from a nervous breakdown, his halo flickering like a dying lightbulb under the weight of an infinite, unyielding queue.

But where the divine bureaucracy fails, the 'Communion of Fists' succeeds.

Step into the shoes of Heaven’s most efficient—and feared—independent contractor. You’re not here to judge; you’re here to 'correct.' With the rowdy Exorcists cheering from the rafters like bloodthirsty spectators at a gladiator match, and a terrified, high-strung Sera watching from the balconies, every punch is a masterclass in swift, blunt-force rehabilitation. And the best part? Every tooth knocked loose is just another piece of divine debris raining down into the abyss, much to the growing, sarcastic fury of Lucifer himself.

The line is long, the paperwork is endless, and the souls are insufferable. It’s time to clock in and start the real work. Are you ready to give them the one thing they didn't ask for?