He awakes to the clatter of chains.
Unable to open his eyes, caked with dust and blood, his other senses stretch out hesitantly… he was still here. He was always here. The reek of decay, scent of rusted iron and the cold embrace of isolation all taunted to confirm his whereabouts.
Well, not always here. Yes, he remembered. Sometimes he would wake in the Cell, sometimes he would be crucified out upon the spires. Endless, towering pinnacles adorned with others like him, screaming like him. Their unified suffering reverberated like a chorus, spiraling downwards, far beyond the human eye. It was good he could remember. That was becoming more difficult.
But now, he was in the Cell. And soon it would come for him.
He groans and tries to flex groups of wasted muscle, but the chains defy him. He whimpers in frustration. No, he has to focus. Work with what he is given.
He channels energy to his eyes. They resist for a moment, then pop open. He blinks away the crusted blood, and as it drifts effortlessly to the stones below, uses his tongue to probe the insides of his mouth. He still has most of his teeth. And he can think- function- that is most important… he is still capable. He continues his discipline, faintly channeling energy in a ritual he has long ago internalised.
As always, the chains have him hoisted, weightless above the familiar grey of stone. Darkness stretches all around him. There are no torches, no light. His eyes will adjust just enough to give him a sense of placement, but never enough to breach the desolation, never to lift confinement.
He is missing a leg this time. Lowering his gaze, he strains to bring the limb into view, just enough to glean some of the damage; the protruding bone and mangled flesh. It looks as if it has been gnawed, though he cannot remember when they had taken it. The pain is dull for now, but it would worsen later. They wanted it that way. He closes his eyes once more and continues channeling. He can’t afford the distraction. It will be here soon.
He channels further, and becomes conscious of the aches spreading through what is left of his body. Pockets of sensation surface as parts of him recognise they still cling to life. How many days has he been incarcerated here? How many weeks; years… He has long ago lost the passage of time; stumbling, instead, in a place that could choose to wrap you in shadow or blind you with fire. He needs to find his way. He needs his mind to stay-
“Focused?”
His eyes slowly reopen. Only darkness. So, it was already here.
“Strong? Sharp? Resolute? Your fortress is weakening, human.” The voice rasps. He can detect its glee as it penetrates the gloom; can feel it now, methodically tapping at his thoughts, as it has done so many times before. He has been careless.
His interrogator slithers from the dark.
"No need for regrets. You have outlasted the others. Long outlasted," The thing whispers, "But you know this. Over time you have heard their screams diminish. You are the last, all alone. So very... solitary."
He feels the words worm into his mind, trying to wedge open the slivers of fatigue. He steels himself. It slithers closer.
"Your suffering can stop. Just like the others'. Speak of it... Think of it.... You can be at ease everlasting. Think how that would be. Free of pain. Free of me."
It is in front of him now, its body sleek scales and malice, long pincushion teeth splitting its face in a crescent moon, vapid, black-pooled eyes focused unblinking on his withered self, thrust helplessly in chains. Regardless of the countless visits, his innards still turn at the sight of it. He grits his teeth; tries to stay focused. He knows he should stay the channel; feels that he is close.
"Close to what, human? Your breaking point?" Its tail coils around him and constricts, and pain flares across his body. The tip comes to rest softly on his cheek, almost a gentle caress. For a moment he considers sinking what's left of his teeth into it- then his vision explodes in fire. His chains squeal in protest as he thrashes, the agony cuts deep into his mind. When it stops he is instantly, violently ill. He tries to spit out the excess, feeling as if some has caught in his throat. It occurs to him that he is never fed in the Cell.
The creature examines him, unperturbed. He tries to stare back, to marshal his defiance, but all he sees are spots, flashes of colour. He hasn't seen such colour for a long while.
"We jest of course", the thing remarks absently, "We know that agony does not motivate you; Does not cow you. You have been here for so very long." It leans closer to him now, and he can smell the stink of it. Its heavy breath carries the odour of rancid meat and bone. "All men break eventually", it continues, "But we are done with you. We have found another, a more... accessible... resource."
The pain is becoming manageable now, and his head begins to clear. He will listen to no more lies, no more lures. Now, still, he can feel the creature circling his mind, an inquisitor picking at the pieces of a puzzle. But his will, his thoughts, are his bastion. The creature can no longer find purchase. He knows it can sense it too. He knows it will be angry.
He feels the air displace and braces as a scaled fist slams into his jaw. He knows it's broken before his head even bounces back. So much for his teeth.
"HOPE?" It booms at him, the spines on its back bristling in anger. "You think you know hope in a place such as this? Your hope is consumed here! Your hope died with her!"
He freezes, a chill running through him, powerful enough to register through the constant, pulsing pain.
Her?
He manages to lift his head and meet the creature's gaze. It resembles something close to curiosity.
"You don't remember." It states.
He thinks for a moment; knows he must have had family- friends, but they are all forgotten now. Memories turned to dust and scattered. They were of no use here, in a place that bends good things to break you.
"You gave her to us. You gave her to this place to save yourself."
Another game? A ploy to breach his mind, to disrupt his... No, he remembers something; a voice, a welcome, a glint of hair in the light of another world. It can't be. These memories are not his.
The thing draws itself up, head tilted to one side. "Yes, remember. Remember the one you gave us so that you could take flight. She faced the horrors that you would escape."
He begins to remember. He sees her. He recalls being afraid. Not the persistent dread he has felt since the beginning of his endless time in the Cell, but terror, stark terror experienced long before his time in this place, fresh and writhing. It wells up inside him. He feels himself convulse; struggle uselessly against the chains.
Two massive, taloned hands clamp astride his head and suddenly the creature's face is level with his own. He tries to look away, but all he sees is the grotesque. He peers into its lifeless, empty eyes and they peer back, amoral and void of judgment; as he feels the creature begin to bore into his mind.
He remembers everything now. He remembers her; both beauty and desperation, and he remembers his desire to survive. He remembers the choice he has to make; His cowardice; His shame. The story lives its own retelling like a nightmare on canvas; fresh and vivid and terrible. Sobs begin to wrack his tortured body, and he wails into the darkness.
"Yes, know despair." The creature muses, its grip tightening, threatening to crush his skull. "You sacrificed everything and still we found you. Still we brought you to this place. Remember everything and we will end you. You will be free."
As the creature seeps into his thoughts, so too does he catch glimmers of its own. Even through the pain and anguish, he knows that it lies. It will keep him alive; taunt him; crush him. Over and over until there is nothing left to hold its abyssal interests. He doesn't care. All this time; conserving, resisting… his tentative, wasteful gathering of energy. His channeling. He has been channeling for so long that he has forgotten why. Why...
He weeps for everything lost. The emptiness of the the Cell expands, the whispers and promises of the creature fading into the dark with it. The sounds and sensations become an amalgam of colour, a concept in the foreground of his thoughts, and he feels the final barriers of his mind fall to the creature, shattering like stained glass. It pours through and rushes towards the answer.
One last image of her. He sees her speak.
He remembers what she says.
He remembers why.
In the Cell, the creature falls silent. The agony drains away, and the torrent stagnates. He is surrounded by light- an aura of blue; it reminds him of the sky back home. Home. He remembers home. For a moment his interrogator registers something close to surprise; then grunts and applies all its strength to flattening the small, wasted collection of features between its palms. He closes his eyes.
The creature roars in anger, assails him with claws, fists, a crushing whip of its tail. Some of the chains snap and spin into the dark, but still he hovers undisturbed, the blue light brightening around him. The creature's ceaseless assault begins to slow, and it changes tact; he senses it frantically clawing at his mind, but the attacks bounce away harmlessly, almost as if ushered by a child. Instead, he feels the light compressing him, molding the remains of his limbs, inverting him. He realises that this should hurt, but instead he feels protected, as if shrinking into himself will hide him forever; shield him from harm. The creature is screaming at him now, hurling curses and oaths of vengeance. It spits bile and fury; rages that, for humanity, there is no escape. It vows that it will never stop searching.
He considers saying something back. And then he is gone.
---------------ooOOoo-----------------
He awakes to the sound of wind through the trees.
It is cold, and dark, and for a moment he feels the familiar twinge of fear. But the air is fresh and clean and the earth is soft beneath him, so he knows he cannot be within the confines of the Cell. He must have made it. He must be free.
“Over here!” A voice pierces the silence. It has the innocent ring of a young girl’s. “I saw a flash! A- a light...”
“We really don’t have time for this, dear. It’s getting dark. We best be heading home.” Another voice; also female, older though.
He hears footsteps and the rustle of brush as they head in his direction. Then a crash as one of them stumbles. He hears the girl wince and the elder let out a 'tut'.
“Sorry, didn’t see that.” The young one apologises. “Hey, look!”
He tries to examine them as they approach, but he can’t see; can’t move. He feels disconnected, as if his body is not his own. He can sense them standing over him; soft fabrics snagging the brush, the huffs of their exertion.
"THIS is what you saw?" He hears the old one inquire.
"Well, I- I saw something!" The girl stammers, shuffles, then leans down towards him. He can feel her breath on his exposed skin. "I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like it..."
Her fingers run along him in wonderment, testing, gently prodding.
"It's definitely alive- but just look at all these scars, mother! Do you think it fights a lot?"
He senses the elder stiffen a moment, then release an exasperated sigh. "Regardless of what it's been doing, it is most certainly magical."
He feels the girls hand tighten around him in excitement.
"You would have noticed it too", her mother continues, "If you paid attention to anything I taught you-"
"So, we can bring him back with us?" The girl interrupts.
The elder says nothing, but she must have given a sign; a nod, because the girl squeals in delight. Suddenly he is scooped up, cradled and nuzzled against the flat of her chest.
"You understand you'll be taking care of it, of course?" The old woman adds.
"Naturally, mother. That means I can name it too, right?"
"Yes, but for now we journey home. You can think of something on the way." He hears the woman turn and walk back through the brush, then feels the girl follow eagerly after.
"Honestly, Leah. You really do get mixed up with the strangest of things." The elder calls back over her shoulder.
His sight returns just enough to make out the girl's grin from his vantage in her arms, ecstatic with all the world, then he gives in to her warm embrace, his thoughts fading with each rhythmic step as they make their way forward on the path.
Around them, the trees sway silently in the night, their branches reaching like talons towards the light of the moon.
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- PrinceOfTea
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Member for 12 years, 6 months, and 9 days
Last active Wed, Nov, 9 2011 05:22:45
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Unable to open his eyes, caked with dust and blood, his other senses stretch out hesitantly… he was still here. He was always here. The reek of decay, scent of rusted iron and the cold embrace of isolation all taunted to confirm his whereabouts.
Well, not always here. Yes, he remembered. Sometimes he would wake in the Cell, sometimes he would be crucified out upon the spires. Endless, towering pinnacles adorned with others like him, screaming like him. Their unified suffering reverberated like a chorus, spiraling downwards, far beyond the human eye. It was good he could remember. That was becoming more difficult.
But now, he was in the Cell. And soon it would come for him.
He groans and tries to flex groups of wasted muscle, but the chains defy him. He whimpers in frustration. No, he has to focus. Work with what he is given.
He channels energy to his eyes. They resist for a moment, then pop open. He blinks away the crusted blood, and as it drifts effortlessly to the stones below, uses his tongue to probe the insides of his mouth. He still has most of his teeth. And he can think- function- that is most important… he is still capable. He continues his discipline, faintly channeling energy in a ritual he has long ago internalised.
As always, the chains have him hoisted, weightless above the familiar grey of stone. Darkness stretches all around him. There are no torches, no light. His eyes will adjust just enough to give him a sense of placement, but never enough to breach the desolation, never to lift confinement.
He is missing a leg this time. Lowering his gaze, he strains to bring the limb into view, just enough to glean some of the damage; the protruding bone and mangled flesh. It looks as if it has been gnawed, though he cannot remember when they had taken it. The pain is dull for now, but it would worsen later. They wanted it that way. He closes his eyes once more and continues channeling. He can’t afford the distraction. It will be here soon.
He channels further, and becomes conscious of the aches spreading through what is left of his body. Pockets of sensation surface as parts of him recognise they still cling to life. How many days has he been incarcerated here? How many weeks; years… He has long ago lost the passage of time; stumbling, instead, in a place that could choose to wrap you in shadow or blind you with fire. He needs to find his way. He needs his mind to stay-
“Focused?”
His eyes slowly reopen. Only darkness. So, it was already here.
“Strong? Sharp? Resolute? Your fortress is weakening, human.” The voice rasps. He can detect its glee as it penetrates the gloom; can feel it now, methodically tapping at his thoughts, as it has done so many times before. He has been careless.
His interrogator slithers from the dark.
"No need for regrets. You have outlasted the others. Long outlasted," The thing whispers, "But you know this. Over time you have heard their screams diminish. You are the last, all alone. So very... solitary."
He feels the words worm into his mind, trying to wedge open the slivers of fatigue. He steels himself. It slithers closer.
"Your suffering can stop. Just like the others'. Speak of it... Think of it.... You can be at ease everlasting. Think how that would be. Free of pain. Free of me."
It is in front of him now, its body sleek scales and malice, long pincushion teeth splitting its face in a crescent moon, vapid, black-pooled eyes focused unblinking on his withered self, thrust helplessly in chains. Regardless of the countless visits, his innards still turn at the sight of it. He grits his teeth; tries to stay focused. He knows he should stay the channel; feels that he is close.
"Close to what, human? Your breaking point?" Its tail coils around him and constricts, and pain flares across his body. The tip comes to rest softly on his cheek, almost a gentle caress. For a moment he considers sinking what's left of his teeth into it- then his vision explodes in fire. His chains squeal in protest as he thrashes, the agony cuts deep into his mind. When it stops he is instantly, violently ill. He tries to spit out the excess, feeling as if some has caught in his throat. It occurs to him that he is never fed in the Cell.
The creature examines him, unperturbed. He tries to stare back, to marshal his defiance, but all he sees are spots, flashes of colour. He hasn't seen such colour for a long while.
"We jest of course", the thing remarks absently, "We know that agony does not motivate you; Does not cow you. You have been here for so very long." It leans closer to him now, and he can smell the stink of it. Its heavy breath carries the odour of rancid meat and bone. "All men break eventually", it continues, "But we are done with you. We have found another, a more... accessible... resource."
The pain is becoming manageable now, and his head begins to clear. He will listen to no more lies, no more lures. Now, still, he can feel the creature circling his mind, an inquisitor picking at the pieces of a puzzle. But his will, his thoughts, are his bastion. The creature can no longer find purchase. He knows it can sense it too. He knows it will be angry.
He feels the air displace and braces as a scaled fist slams into his jaw. He knows it's broken before his head even bounces back. So much for his teeth.
"HOPE?" It booms at him, the spines on its back bristling in anger. "You think you know hope in a place such as this? Your hope is consumed here! Your hope died with her!"
He freezes, a chill running through him, powerful enough to register through the constant, pulsing pain.
Her?
He manages to lift his head and meet the creature's gaze. It resembles something close to curiosity.
"You don't remember." It states.
He thinks for a moment; knows he must have had family- friends, but they are all forgotten now. Memories turned to dust and scattered. They were of no use here, in a place that bends good things to break you.
"You gave her to us. You gave her to this place to save yourself."
Another game? A ploy to breach his mind, to disrupt his... No, he remembers something; a voice, a welcome, a glint of hair in the light of another world. It can't be. These memories are not his.
The thing draws itself up, head tilted to one side. "Yes, remember. Remember the one you gave us so that you could take flight. She faced the horrors that you would escape."
He begins to remember. He sees her. He recalls being afraid. Not the persistent dread he has felt since the beginning of his endless time in the Cell, but terror, stark terror experienced long before his time in this place, fresh and writhing. It wells up inside him. He feels himself convulse; struggle uselessly against the chains.
Two massive, taloned hands clamp astride his head and suddenly the creature's face is level with his own. He tries to look away, but all he sees is the grotesque. He peers into its lifeless, empty eyes and they peer back, amoral and void of judgment; as he feels the creature begin to bore into his mind.
He remembers everything now. He remembers her; both beauty and desperation, and he remembers his desire to survive. He remembers the choice he has to make; His cowardice; His shame. The story lives its own retelling like a nightmare on canvas; fresh and vivid and terrible. Sobs begin to wrack his tortured body, and he wails into the darkness.
"Yes, know despair." The creature muses, its grip tightening, threatening to crush his skull. "You sacrificed everything and still we found you. Still we brought you to this place. Remember everything and we will end you. You will be free."
As the creature seeps into his thoughts, so too does he catch glimmers of its own. Even through the pain and anguish, he knows that it lies. It will keep him alive; taunt him; crush him. Over and over until there is nothing left to hold its abyssal interests. He doesn't care. All this time; conserving, resisting… his tentative, wasteful gathering of energy. His channeling. He has been channeling for so long that he has forgotten why. Why...
He weeps for everything lost. The emptiness of the the Cell expands, the whispers and promises of the creature fading into the dark with it. The sounds and sensations become an amalgam of colour, a concept in the foreground of his thoughts, and he feels the final barriers of his mind fall to the creature, shattering like stained glass. It pours through and rushes towards the answer.
One last image of her. He sees her speak.
He remembers what she says.
He remembers why.
In the Cell, the creature falls silent. The agony drains away, and the torrent stagnates. He is surrounded by light- an aura of blue; it reminds him of the sky back home. Home. He remembers home. For a moment his interrogator registers something close to surprise; then grunts and applies all its strength to flattening the small, wasted collection of features between its palms. He closes his eyes.
The creature roars in anger, assails him with claws, fists, a crushing whip of its tail. Some of the chains snap and spin into the dark, but still he hovers undisturbed, the blue light brightening around him. The creature's ceaseless assault begins to slow, and it changes tact; he senses it frantically clawing at his mind, but the attacks bounce away harmlessly, almost as if ushered by a child. Instead, he feels the light compressing him, molding the remains of his limbs, inverting him. He realises that this should hurt, but instead he feels protected, as if shrinking into himself will hide him forever; shield him from harm. The creature is screaming at him now, hurling curses and oaths of vengeance. It spits bile and fury; rages that, for humanity, there is no escape. It vows that it will never stop searching.
He considers saying something back. And then he is gone.
---------------ooOOoo-----------------
He awakes to the sound of wind through the trees.
It is cold, and dark, and for a moment he feels the familiar twinge of fear. But the air is fresh and clean and the earth is soft beneath him, so he knows he cannot be within the confines of the Cell. He must have made it. He must be free.
“Over here!” A voice pierces the silence. It has the innocent ring of a young girl’s. “I saw a flash! A- a light...”
“We really don’t have time for this, dear. It’s getting dark. We best be heading home.” Another voice; also female, older though.
He hears footsteps and the rustle of brush as they head in his direction. Then a crash as one of them stumbles. He hears the girl wince and the elder let out a 'tut'.
“Sorry, didn’t see that.” The young one apologises. “Hey, look!”
He tries to examine them as they approach, but he can’t see; can’t move. He feels disconnected, as if his body is not his own. He can sense them standing over him; soft fabrics snagging the brush, the huffs of their exertion.
"THIS is what you saw?" He hears the old one inquire.
"Well, I- I saw something!" The girl stammers, shuffles, then leans down towards him. He can feel her breath on his exposed skin. "I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like it..."
Her fingers run along him in wonderment, testing, gently prodding.
"It's definitely alive- but just look at all these scars, mother! Do you think it fights a lot?"
He senses the elder stiffen a moment, then release an exasperated sigh. "Regardless of what it's been doing, it is most certainly magical."
He feels the girls hand tighten around him in excitement.
"You would have noticed it too", her mother continues, "If you paid attention to anything I taught you-"
"So, we can bring him back with us?" The girl interrupts.
The elder says nothing, but she must have given a sign; a nod, because the girl squeals in delight. Suddenly he is scooped up, cradled and nuzzled against the flat of her chest.
"You understand you'll be taking care of it, of course?" The old woman adds.
"Naturally, mother. That means I can name it too, right?"
"Yes, but for now we journey home. You can think of something on the way." He hears the woman turn and walk back through the brush, then feels the girl follow eagerly after.
"Honestly, Leah. You really do get mixed up with the strangest of things." The elder calls back over her shoulder.
His sight returns just enough to make out the girl's grin from his vantage in her arms, ecstatic with all the world, then he gives in to her warm embrace, his thoughts fading with each rhythmic step as they make their way forward on the path.
Around them, the trees sway silently in the night, their branches reaching like talons towards the light of the moon.
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What would happen if an angel slammed a soulstone into his forehead? Could be pretty cool.
Can anyone tell me why Diablo has the fortitude to keep coming back after he's killed, but the other prime evils are considered deadsies for good? Is there some sort of lore reason, or is just convenience/writing?
0
2
Cue Leah's self-sacrifice etc.
0
Being the hero/heroes that have chosen to master demons & angels far more powerful than themselves, maybe they'll have to fight dastardly mirror images- something akin to the Ancient fight in the Diablo 2 expansion.
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