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In dying, something is broken.
A curse, now fulfilled.
Godless words from ancient tomes that should never be spoken.
Torn apart, suspended between worlds.
Something is lost. Something still lingers.
The fire burns still.
And what is living cannot stay dead.
He is nothing but fragments of a shattered soul, scattered like dust in the wind.
His conscious mind was dragged to the very depths of hell, where he was torn even further apart.
Nothing but ash left behind.
Nothing to bury.
No grave to disturb.
He was nothing.
Nothing but dust and ash–– until he isn’t.
Hollow bones burst forth from the symbol carved into the floor. Hot muscle and sinew wrap around the naked bones–– once hollow, now filling with marrow, pumping fresh blood to every corner of the flesh that now binds him as a solid, singular entity.
He feels all of it.
Air fills his forming lungs, and he shoots up gasping for air that doesn’t burn or fill his mouth with ash. Light filters into his eyes, and he nearly cries out at the sudden and unwelcome brightness.
Fear and confusion curl around his chest, pressing down on his newly formed being as he gasps for breath. Feeling returns to his limbs, and it's too much all at once.
His vision blurs, his eyes still not adjusted to this world–– there’s something solid beneath him–– sounds whispering around him–– words he can’t make out––
There’s too much–– light, sound, feeling, breathing –– His head is reeling and he feels bile building up in the back of his throat.
He staggers to his feet–– gasping–– there are hands on him, it’s too much–– something sharp pierces his toughened skin–– He cries out as searing pain courses through him followed by a familiar burning.
Burning, burning, burning ––
His head is spinning, he screams, releasing the fire coiled in his chest and it roars around him.
The smell of burning wood and flesh hits his nose, and it’s enough to send him toppling as he wretches, stomach empty.
His head pounds, vertigo making him sway on his feet.
Smoke, bile, and the smell of burning flesh are the last things he registers before his vision goes black.
The ground beneath him feels different–– damp and soft, different from the splintered wood from before–– he doesn’t remember moving––
Dirt moves under his fingers as he digs them into the damp earth.
Thoughts run rampant in his head, but he can’t seem to pin any of them down–– pieces of faraway thoughts and splintered memories that leave him reeling as he tries to make sense of his severed mind.
He tries–– he tries to remember–– remember anything ––
Pain— he remembers pain.
A feeling so intense it was like his very being was being rent apart, ripped in two.
A face–– he remembers a face.
It’s not a human face–– but the face of the smiling demon–– the one that dragged his soul down to Hell.
He remembers Hell.
A hot, burning place where his body was beaten and torn apart in an endless repeating loop.
His breath comes fast, and he stumbles to his feet, pushing his way through the brush blindly.
He runs. Bark and thorns and rocks cut into his flesh, from his feet to his face. He ignores the blood spilling from the cuts as the forest continues to mar his body. He’s endured far worse pain than this.
He runs.
Everything around him is foreign and unfamiliar–– and the panic coiling in his chest makes him want to scream.
The world swirls around him––
It’s all too much. It’s all a relief.
He sucks in a breath, the air entering and exiting his lungs leaves without the lingering sting of sulfur and brimstone. He feels cold dirt beneath his feet–– not fire, not ash. The sky here is blue, not a muddled red and black void.
Alive.
He’s alive.
Alive.
Alive ––
Something crashes in the forest behind him and he scrambles to his feet.
He runs.
His head pounds and his vision swims–– His body aches, his skin is caked in dirt and blood and bile, and he still feels dizzy––
He runs.
He runs until the muscles in his legs begin to give way beneath him, sending him crumpling to the ground.
Before he can reacquaint himself with the cold earth, he is stopped by two gentle yet firm arms wrapped in lush green.
He looks up into piercing green eyes. Somehow familiar, yet he cannot place them in his broken memory.
He tries to speak, tries to ask for help, tries to tell them to stay away, but it’s as if his mind is disconnected from his body.
The woman stares down at him, and the last thing he remembers is being pulled into a gentle hug before exhaustion overcomes him and he goes limp in the stranger's arms.
He is listless.
Catatonic.
Trapped in his own mind.
He sees in flashes of light and color like broken images flying passed his eyes.
He hears, but the whispered world around him is a jumble of words he hears but cannot understand.
He feels, but the touch is dull upon his skin, then it zaps him like electricity.
He’s not sure how long he stays trapped in this limbo.
His mind feels like the shattered pieces of glass being pieced together like a puzzle, but with nothing to hold the pieces together, it could shatter again at any moment.
The images in his head are similarly fractured–– Faces he doesn’t recognize and can’t place. Laughter he remembers but doesn’t know. They make little sense, and he can’t shake the feeling that he’s lost something.
That loss leaves him with an inexplicable sense of yearning, tugging at his heart.
Something has been stolen from him–– something precious.
He thinks he feels tears rolling down his cheeks.
He sifts through the broken glass of his mind in search of something–– anything that could possibly help him make sense of this world.
The only images that come clearly are the smiling faces of demons, and the feeling of his skin being flayed from his body, turning him ash over and over again as they laugh at his pain.
The tears didn't stop for a long time.
His body moved as if on its own, following the motions of some external force that guided him.
His limbs followed the motions like second nature, but his mind was still too fragile to make any sense of what it could mean.
Those sharp green eyes were a constant, always accompanied by that burning sense of familiarity.
They bore into him with a strange and sharp intensity, but there was a sense of fondness in those eyes, and he clung to it like a lifeline, the only thing tethering him to reality in this strange limbo.
He couldn’t discern how long he’d been in this strange place— time made little sense in the vast carnage of his mind.
He’d wake, train, eat, sleep, repeat, all under the scrutiny of those eyes.
Green.
Endless, suffocating green.
It burned his eyes and lungs. It bound his limbs, keeping him still, pressed against something cold and stony.
It doesn’t take long for him to recognize the smell of magic–– something ancient and earthen–– and it sends fear and pain coursing through his body.
He feels the broken pieces of his mind struggling as it begins to fuse together, the pieces melding into one another, sending sharp spikes of pain throughout his body.
His eyes shoot open and he gasps for air, thrashing against his bonds–– and he can see the world around him––
He can hear the voices chanting with a clarity he hasn’t known in a long time––
He can feel and see the green as it coils around him, pumping mana into his body, followed by a knowing sense of dread––
He can feel that familiar burning building in him–– smoldering under his skin. He feels it coursing through his veins, ablaze from his chest to his fingertips.
And it years for release.
He doesn’t see those green eyes, only unfamiliar faces, and voices–– pain shooting through him–– it hurts it hurts it hurts ––
He was burning, burning, burning ––
He lets it go with a scream, and in a burst of red flame, the green is gone.
He doesn’t wait for the green to return, tearing himself from his restraints and stumbling off the cold stone altar. Vertigo once again blurring his vision and threatening to send him crumpling to the floor.
He can’t stop here–– he doesn’t know where here is––
He tries to run.
Someone grabs onto his arm.
He lashes out. Someone screams. The grip leaves his arm. There’s red splattered across his hands and torso––
He runs.
He doesn’t stop running.