He knew where he was, just as he knew that the thing on the other end of darkness was a demon. His demon. And he was going to Hell.  

The demon calls his name, it uses neither words nor a voice, it speaks the tongue of Fear, the sounds of which are all too familiar to Man.  He starts to walk, following the Fear and the invitation of punishments. He walks for an eternity, carrying a lifetime on his back. The weight of his everything cracks his bones and rips his muscles.

The demon stands in front of him after an eternity of screams and pain. It has no face, no sex; there are pools of darkness where eyes may have been. His body is a forgotten patchwork of scars and elongated limbs. He was made from Man's sins and God's wrath. 

He falls to the ground. There is a ground now and it is covered with dust, etched with blood.  

He is in a circus tent, more precisely- the remnant of what was once a circus tent. The tent must have been swallowed by darkness, but black and white stripes are visible here and there. He stands in the centre of the ring facing his demon that has a whip of burning embers curled around its almost-hands. 

Hell is the circus where you dance to the sound of fear – he was told in another lifetime.

This was his Hell. 
"You begin here," his demon said.  
"When will this end?" 
"When there is nothing left."
The demon whips him, the pain begins. All his lies, sins and words crush his insides, guilt makes his heart bleed. He screams.  Life is stripped from his skin, age by age, word by word, sin by sin for thousands of years.

And then a thousand more.