Chapter Text
Pain. That pathetic wound that slices down a heart, that poetic rip and tear in the stomach. You thought you were familiar with it; you thought you understood it. Human life had been cruel after all.
Though, as you now regained consciousness, in this void hole, swallowed up and digested by darkness, only now did you really understand pain.
You felt ripping, you felt taring, a fire so hot that screamed and wailed in your place, scarring.
You wanted to scream. To thrash and compulsively vomit, but you were without a mouth, without a stomach, without a heart. You plummeted in this endless state without a body.
Nothing existed outside of the present; there was no concept of past or future. You had no scope of thought, no room for reflection.
This is pain.
⛧
Within the fiery pits of hell, sinners and demons fought bloody genocide among themselves after the recent extermination. It was a cesspool of turf wars, soul-claiming, and climbing ranks amidst the Pride Ring.
High time to be arriving in Hell…
If the residents of the south side of Pentagram City hadn’t been preoccupied with bloodshed, they would’ve witnessed your falling. A great, brilliant ball of fire crashing into the pavement. Just as every Sinner who came before you.
Your skin burned, and you were covered in ash and sticky blood. You groaned as your hefty lids opened; your arms were too weak to pull your body up; your ears rang violently; and your vision was blurry.
Now, dirty and weak, you collapsed in the middle of the pavement. Rookie mistake.
Fresh meat doesn’t go unnoticed.
⛧
A maniacal laugh scraped your ears like nails on a chalkboard. You opened your eyes, but were met with black. Panicked, you thrash your body with all your might and shriek aloud to the gods unholy.
You couldn’t move.
But the voice, disembodied and grating, eroded at your ears again.
“Tsk, no use flailin’ ‘round like some headless chicken.”
You try to scream again, but the attempt is smothered by something being shoved in your mouth.
“Now shut it, will ya’? ‘ain't no one gonna hear you down 'ere."
You bite down hard on the cloth-like fabric that invades your mouth, and your heart beats wildly.
You hear footsteps approach you, you feel hands on you, then you feel a sharp slit forming on your thigh.
Your sounds were muffled by the gag.
“Heh, y’know, you chose a right awful time to die—” you felt fingers curl around your chin and jaw, tipping your face upwards, “—I survived this extermination by a thread, and I’m making damn sure I reward myself.”
You struggle against the rope that bound your hands behind the back of the chair you were sitting on.
A tight grip manifested over your throat, pressure built while you choked on the gag, and tears formed in your bound eyes. You spent the next few hours passing in and out of consciousness.
A faint sound.
Your hair was torn.
Jazz music.
Sharp blades were pulled across your skin.
The smell of cigarettes.
You heard your own screams.
Fire, burning on your forearms.
Wet on your face, unable to breathe.
Whipping and lashing your face.
Mock comfort.
After what seemed like eternity, you slowly found yourself crawling back to consciousness, that jazz track that had been playing the entire time was ripping at your ears. You groan aloud as you wonder how long you've been in this chair. Your blindfold was off, your gag was tossed on the floor beside you but you were too weak to do anything about it. You swallow a sob, wondering if there was any point in self preservation, or if you should just give up and fall into Death's warm arms.
You pulled your head up to glance around the room; it looked like a basement. The person who had abducted you was in the corner, sharpening a knife. He was looking at you.
This wasn’t a person.
This wasn’t a human.
You hadn’t any energy left in your frail body, you wondered if your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you. Surely this man wasn’t eight feet tall, blue in colour, with an animalistic appearance.
“It was fun, sweet cheeks." His eyes were black and devoid of light,
"The most fun I’d had in a while” he chuckled,
“now, I could let ya’ go, it would be all the same to me really,” he approaches,
“But I really wonder what you taste like.” His blade meets your neck.
You close your eyes.
Nothing happens.
You hear a phone ringing.
The thing groans and pulls a cell from his pocket. You glare up at your kidnapper while he nonchalantly answers.
“yeah boss?”
You hear yelling over the phone.
“Boss, the extermination was the otha’ day! Gimme a break...” He groans,
“Right, right, I’ll be right there, Big Boss," and he hangs up.
“Your lucky day, I guess.” He shrugs down at you, then walks out of the door, whistling that jazz tune. He left the door open. As if nothing ever happened...
A rush of adrenaline spikes your blood, and your survival instincts kick in. This was your chance!
You wiggle your hands; the ropes had come loose through the hours. You groan and free your hands. You rush to untie your legs, and once you do, you find the strength to stand and flee from the God-forsaken basement.
The building you were kept in was a labyrinth of corridors and empty rooms; you presumed it to be abandoned. Eventually, assess your surroundings. The outside wasn’t much more hopeful than that dank basement. You rubbed your eyes and stared at the red sky in bewilderment. There was no sun or moon. The streetway that you’ve found yourself in looked nothing like anything you’ve ever seen before—nothing to anchor you to reality.
Then it finally hits you: What happened? How did I get here? Where am I? Who am I?
That voice rings in your head. What did he say?
“—you chose a right awful time to die.”
You release a sound somewhere between a gasp and a cry, your hands climb their way to your head, raking themselves through your hair and pulling hard. Your legs cave in while you fall to your knees.
It can’t be; it couldn’t be! Were you really dead? Being met with red skies and torture scenes instead of love and pearly gates?
Your breathing hikes up, and as you grit your teeth, your eyes pour themselves onto your stained cheeks. You scream in agony and vomit on the pavement. The people around you didn’t pay you much mind despite this display of hysteria.
You were dead, and you’re in Hell.