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The pandemoniac noise about me is drowned out by the silence of my thoughts as I finally manage to grasp the fact that I’m conscious. I take a breath and searing hot air reaches into my lungs like hatred. Strangely, I do not choke on it, or even find it as disturbing as perhaps I should. Indeed, the pain is oddly comforting, flowering out across my chest and imbuing life into muscle and bone that has no right to it
I, Kieran Blake, can feel my body. I stretch my fingers, roll my head and feel my chest move as I take another breath. Despite the heat, I dare to open my eyes, but I’m either blind or in complete darkness. However, I know without seeing that I’m lying on my back, and so I roll over and get to my feet.
The chaos of noise begins to work its way back into my senses, and among the myriad of sounds I can discern the clanging of metal against metal, the rasping of shapeless creatures and the tortured screams of some unfortunate soul. The air stinks of sulphurous smoke, and the overall atmosphere generates a tangible sense of disembodied malice. I turn around, and turn back again, trying to sense if there is some direction from which the sounds might be coming, but the noise is like the air itself, potent, filled with ire, and everywhere. Nonetheless, I straighten my back and stand tall. I’ve not come here unprepared to accept my fate.
But nothing approaches. Nothing steps forward to take me away, or strike me down. To defile or break me. Is this it, then? Is this Hell? What is my fate, if not to suffer at the Devil’s pleasure?
I don’t bother to dwell on the matter. I pick a direction at random and start walking. My pace is slow; flailing my arms ahead of me to avoid walking into whatever may lie ahead, and moving forward in a succession of half-steps, to avoid tripping on anything. The ground beneath me is solid, if uneven rock. I can’t see any walls, much less a ceiling, so I cannot tell if Hell is merely a hot cave, or something more sinister. Regardless, I keep walking, although the cacophony of sound around me gets no louder ahead or quieter behind me.
After a while, I find I can bear to breathe through my nose. The poisonous air licks my nostrils like a most potent acid, but the pain is now insignificant, and soon the sensation is calming, even pleasant, as it ripples through my face, tingling my eyes and ears with burning ecstasy.
Suddenly, I feel rock in front of me. Groping blindly I feel that it is a vertical pillar of sorts, rough and even sharp in places. I try to gauge its significance, is it holding something up, or is it merely symbolic of something only Hell would understand? There is no way to tell in this soul slaughtering darkness, and the constant blare of harrowing background noise makes it difficult to concentrate anyway.
As I walk beyond the mystery pillar, my thoughts wander as I grope helplessly through the hot black depths of Pandæmonium. An unforgettable image flashes before my flaming hot eyes. The last thing I should have known. A police officer, shotgun in hand, releasing his weapon’s deadly fury into my chest. I hadn’t even heard the gun go off, hadn’t felt any pain as I fell to the floor. Hadn’t felt anything until I had woken up here. I had given myself in, held my hands aloft to let him take me away. The officer, clearly, hadn’t harboured any intention of taking me alive. I, of all people, should have known better than to trust the law.
I am pulled from my reverie as I stumble across a second pillar, equal in girth to the first, and just as rough. Is it the same one, I wonder? Have I just walked in a circle? It’s difficult to tell in this blackness, and the thought of me so helplessly and uselessly groping about in the darkness is beyond irritating. Only common sense keeps me from striking a blow against the stone.
And just then, in the corner of my eye, I see a light. A flame. Either small or distant, it flickers defiantly against the oppressive and baneful shroud of night. Turning to face it, I see a second patch of fiery resistance appear from nowhere, close to the first. Quickly, ravenously, the flames grow in size, and it is soon very apparent that they are close by. Soon they begin to lash the surrounding rock with wavy streams of hot, red light, and I can see the floor, the walls, the steps leading upwards to the rapidly growing conflagrations. And also, I can see the figure waiting patiently between the two patches of fire. At first, little more than a silhouette of shadow against the burning lights, as the coruscating flares grow in strength, I quickly begin to make out the shape of a throne, and a powerful looking beast sat regally upon it. Strong, muscular and clawed hands grip the stone rests of the throne, and piercing red eyes stare incompassionately down at me. Although the glitter of wildfire could be lying, the beast appears awash with dark, dirty red skin, which is covered with lethal looking, symmetrical black spikes.
I try to gather my wits, and take in what I can garner of my surroundings now. Stood underneath a stone arch at the bottom of a flight of steps, which lead to the very throne of Hell, the Devil stares down at me, His latest acquisition. Despite the burning, relentless heat of His domain, the mighty beast manages a cold, heartless smile, before speaking.
“Kieran Blake” He says, in a powerful and commanding voice that echoes intimidatingly about the place “we’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Hell.”
With that, the noise rises to a deafening cacophony of excitement, and suddenly there are little grey creatures scuttling about at my feet, giant, winged demons littering the walls, from those stood impassionately on the floor right up as far as I can see, and at last there is a source for the terrible chaos of noise that I have heard from the beginning. I should feel terrified and awe struck. This is a religious moment, a powerful, once-after-a-lifetime rendezvous with fate. Whatever torturous future He had designed would be announced here, now. I should have dropped on my knees among the horde of dancing grey creatures and pleaded through teary sobs for leniency.
But I don’t. I stand here in the fire-lit depths of Hell staring up at the Lord of Darkness thinking, ‘how cliché’. And He knows it.
I, Kieran Blake, can feel my body. I stretch my fingers, roll my head and feel my chest move as I take another breath. Despite the heat, I dare to open my eyes, but I’m either blind or in complete darkness. However, I know without seeing that I’m lying on my back, and so I roll over and get to my feet.
The chaos of noise begins to work its way back into my senses, and among the myriad of sounds I can discern the clanging of metal against metal, the rasping of shapeless creatures and the tortured screams of some unfortunate soul. The air stinks of sulphurous smoke, and the overall atmosphere generates a tangible sense of disembodied malice. I turn around, and turn back again, trying to sense if there is some direction from which the sounds might be coming, but the noise is like the air itself, potent, filled with ire, and everywhere. Nonetheless, I straighten my back and stand tall. I’ve not come here unprepared to accept my fate.
But nothing approaches. Nothing steps forward to take me away, or strike me down. To defile or break me. Is this it, then? Is this Hell? What is my fate, if not to suffer at the Devil’s pleasure?
I don’t bother to dwell on the matter. I pick a direction at random and start walking. My pace is slow; flailing my arms ahead of me to avoid walking into whatever may lie ahead, and moving forward in a succession of half-steps, to avoid tripping on anything. The ground beneath me is solid, if uneven rock. I can’t see any walls, much less a ceiling, so I cannot tell if Hell is merely a hot cave, or something more sinister. Regardless, I keep walking, although the cacophony of sound around me gets no louder ahead or quieter behind me.
After a while, I find I can bear to breathe through my nose. The poisonous air licks my nostrils like a most potent acid, but the pain is now insignificant, and soon the sensation is calming, even pleasant, as it ripples through my face, tingling my eyes and ears with burning ecstasy.
Suddenly, I feel rock in front of me. Groping blindly I feel that it is a vertical pillar of sorts, rough and even sharp in places. I try to gauge its significance, is it holding something up, or is it merely symbolic of something only Hell would understand? There is no way to tell in this soul slaughtering darkness, and the constant blare of harrowing background noise makes it difficult to concentrate anyway.
As I walk beyond the mystery pillar, my thoughts wander as I grope helplessly through the hot black depths of Pandæmonium. An unforgettable image flashes before my flaming hot eyes. The last thing I should have known. A police officer, shotgun in hand, releasing his weapon’s deadly fury into my chest. I hadn’t even heard the gun go off, hadn’t felt any pain as I fell to the floor. Hadn’t felt anything until I had woken up here. I had given myself in, held my hands aloft to let him take me away. The officer, clearly, hadn’t harboured any intention of taking me alive. I, of all people, should have known better than to trust the law.
I am pulled from my reverie as I stumble across a second pillar, equal in girth to the first, and just as rough. Is it the same one, I wonder? Have I just walked in a circle? It’s difficult to tell in this blackness, and the thought of me so helplessly and uselessly groping about in the darkness is beyond irritating. Only common sense keeps me from striking a blow against the stone.
And just then, in the corner of my eye, I see a light. A flame. Either small or distant, it flickers defiantly against the oppressive and baneful shroud of night. Turning to face it, I see a second patch of fiery resistance appear from nowhere, close to the first. Quickly, ravenously, the flames grow in size, and it is soon very apparent that they are close by. Soon they begin to lash the surrounding rock with wavy streams of hot, red light, and I can see the floor, the walls, the steps leading upwards to the rapidly growing conflagrations. And also, I can see the figure waiting patiently between the two patches of fire. At first, little more than a silhouette of shadow against the burning lights, as the coruscating flares grow in strength, I quickly begin to make out the shape of a throne, and a powerful looking beast sat regally upon it. Strong, muscular and clawed hands grip the stone rests of the throne, and piercing red eyes stare incompassionately down at me. Although the glitter of wildfire could be lying, the beast appears awash with dark, dirty red skin, which is covered with lethal looking, symmetrical black spikes.
I try to gather my wits, and take in what I can garner of my surroundings now. Stood underneath a stone arch at the bottom of a flight of steps, which lead to the very throne of Hell, the Devil stares down at me, His latest acquisition. Despite the burning, relentless heat of His domain, the mighty beast manages a cold, heartless smile, before speaking.
“Kieran Blake” He says, in a powerful and commanding voice that echoes intimidatingly about the place “we’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Hell.”
With that, the noise rises to a deafening cacophony of excitement, and suddenly there are little grey creatures scuttling about at my feet, giant, winged demons littering the walls, from those stood impassionately on the floor right up as far as I can see, and at last there is a source for the terrible chaos of noise that I have heard from the beginning. I should feel terrified and awe struck. This is a religious moment, a powerful, once-after-a-lifetime rendezvous with fate. Whatever torturous future He had designed would be announced here, now. I should have dropped on my knees among the horde of dancing grey creatures and pleaded through teary sobs for leniency.
But I don’t. I stand here in the fire-lit depths of Hell staring up at the Lord of Darkness thinking, ‘how cliché’. And He knows it.
Page:
Black Glove is too kind, he reads everything and always comments to let you know he read it.
Me? Unless memory has deserted you, you should remember that I read everything you post. I was just returned the 'no comment to post' method you employ.
Me? Unless memory has deserted you, you should remember that I read everything you post. I was just returned the 'no comment to post' method you employ.
Cheers Black Glove. At least one person took the time to comment.
*Sneers at everyone else*
*Sneers at everyone else*
"once-after-a-lifetime rendezvous with fate" - heh.
Dark with a wink of humour. I think: excellent.
Dark with a wink of humour. I think: excellent.
The pandemoniac noise about me is drowned out by the silence of my thoughts as I finally manage to grasp the fact that I’m conscious. I take a breath and searing hot air reaches into my lungs like hatred. Strangely, I do not choke on it, or even find it as disturbing as perhaps I should. Indeed, the pain is oddly comforting, flowering out across my chest and imbuing life into muscle and bone that has no right to it
I, Kieran Blake, can feel my body. I stretch my fingers, roll my head and feel my chest move as I take another breath. Despite the heat, I dare to open my eyes, but I’m either blind or in complete darkness. However, I know without seeing that I’m lying on my back, and so I roll over and get to my feet.
The chaos of noise begins to work its way back into my senses, and among the myriad of sounds I can discern the clanging of metal against metal, the rasping of shapeless creatures and the tortured screams of some unfortunate soul. The air stinks of sulphurous smoke, and the overall atmosphere generates a tangible sense of disembodied malice. I turn around, and turn back again, trying to sense if there is some direction from which the sounds might be coming, but the noise is like the air itself, potent, filled with ire, and everywhere. Nonetheless, I straighten my back and stand tall. I’ve not come here unprepared to accept my fate.
But nothing approaches. Nothing steps forward to take me away, or strike me down. To defile or break me. Is this it, then? Is this Hell? What is my fate, if not to suffer at the Devil’s pleasure?
I don’t bother to dwell on the matter. I pick a direction at random and start walking. My pace is slow; flailing my arms ahead of me to avoid walking into whatever may lie ahead, and moving forward in a succession of half-steps, to avoid tripping on anything. The ground beneath me is solid, if uneven rock. I can’t see any walls, much less a ceiling, so I cannot tell if Hell is merely a hot cave, or something more sinister. Regardless, I keep walking, although the cacophony of sound around me gets no louder ahead or quieter behind me.
After a while, I find I can bear to breathe through my nose. The poisonous air licks my nostrils like a most potent acid, but the pain is now insignificant, and soon the sensation is calming, even pleasant, as it ripples through my face, tingling my eyes and ears with burning ecstasy.
Suddenly, I feel rock in front of me. Groping blindly I feel that it is a vertical pillar of sorts, rough and even sharp in places. I try to gauge its significance, is it holding something up, or is it merely symbolic of something only Hell would understand? There is no way to tell in this soul slaughtering darkness, and the constant blare of harrowing background noise makes it difficult to concentrate anyway.
As I walk beyond the mystery pillar, my thoughts wander as I grope helplessly through the hot black depths of Pandæmonium. An unforgettable image flashes before my flaming hot eyes. The last thing I should have known. A police officer, shotgun in hand, releasing his weapon’s deadly fury into my chest. I hadn’t even heard the gun go off, hadn’t felt any pain as I fell to the floor. Hadn’t felt anything until I had woken up here. I had given myself in, held my hands aloft to let him take me away. The officer, clearly, hadn’t harboured any intention of taking me alive. I, of all people, should have known better than to trust the law.
I am pulled from my reverie as I stumble across a second pillar, equal in girth to the first, and just as rough. Is it the same one, I wonder? Have I just walked in a circle? It’s difficult to tell in this blackness, and the thought of me so helplessly and uselessly groping about in the darkness is beyond irritating. Only common sense keeps me from striking a blow against the stone.
And just then, in the corner of my eye, I see a light. A flame. Either small or distant, it flickers defiantly against the oppressive and baneful shroud of night. Turning to face it, I see a second patch of fiery resistance appear from nowhere, close to the first. Quickly, ravenously, the flames grow in size, and it is soon very apparent that they are close by. Soon they begin to lash the surrounding rock with wavy streams of hot, red light, and I can see the floor, the walls, the steps leading upwards to the rapidly growing conflagrations. And also, I can see the figure waiting patiently between the two patches of fire. At first, little more than a silhouette of shadow against the burning lights, as the coruscating flares grow in strength, I quickly begin to make out the shape of a throne, and a powerful looking beast sat regally upon it. Strong, muscular and clawed hands grip the stone rests of the throne, and piercing red eyes stare incompassionately down at me. Although the glitter of wildfire could be lying, the beast appears awash with dark, dirty red skin, which is covered with lethal looking, symmetrical black spikes.
I try to gather my wits, and take in what I can garner of my surroundings now. Stood underneath a stone arch at the bottom of a flight of steps, which lead to the very throne of Hell, the Devil stares down at me, His latest acquisition. Despite the burning, relentless heat of His domain, the mighty beast manages a cold, heartless smile, before speaking.
“Kieran Blake” He says, in a powerful and commanding voice that echoes intimidatingly about the place “we’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Hell.”
With that, the noise rises to a deafening cacophony of excitement, and suddenly there are little grey creatures scuttling about at my feet, giant, winged demons littering the walls, from those stood impassionately on the floor right up as far as I can see, and at last there is a source for the terrible chaos of noise that I have heard from the beginning. I should feel terrified and awe struck. This is a religious moment, a powerful, once-after-a-lifetime rendezvous with fate. Whatever torturous future He had designed would be announced here, now. I should have dropped on my knees among the horde of dancing grey creatures and pleaded through teary sobs for leniency.
But I don’t. I stand here in the fire-lit depths of Hell staring up at the Lord of Darkness thinking, ‘how cliché’. And He knows it.
I, Kieran Blake, can feel my body. I stretch my fingers, roll my head and feel my chest move as I take another breath. Despite the heat, I dare to open my eyes, but I’m either blind or in complete darkness. However, I know without seeing that I’m lying on my back, and so I roll over and get to my feet.
The chaos of noise begins to work its way back into my senses, and among the myriad of sounds I can discern the clanging of metal against metal, the rasping of shapeless creatures and the tortured screams of some unfortunate soul. The air stinks of sulphurous smoke, and the overall atmosphere generates a tangible sense of disembodied malice. I turn around, and turn back again, trying to sense if there is some direction from which the sounds might be coming, but the noise is like the air itself, potent, filled with ire, and everywhere. Nonetheless, I straighten my back and stand tall. I’ve not come here unprepared to accept my fate.
But nothing approaches. Nothing steps forward to take me away, or strike me down. To defile or break me. Is this it, then? Is this Hell? What is my fate, if not to suffer at the Devil’s pleasure?
I don’t bother to dwell on the matter. I pick a direction at random and start walking. My pace is slow; flailing my arms ahead of me to avoid walking into whatever may lie ahead, and moving forward in a succession of half-steps, to avoid tripping on anything. The ground beneath me is solid, if uneven rock. I can’t see any walls, much less a ceiling, so I cannot tell if Hell is merely a hot cave, or something more sinister. Regardless, I keep walking, although the cacophony of sound around me gets no louder ahead or quieter behind me.
After a while, I find I can bear to breathe through my nose. The poisonous air licks my nostrils like a most potent acid, but the pain is now insignificant, and soon the sensation is calming, even pleasant, as it ripples through my face, tingling my eyes and ears with burning ecstasy.
Suddenly, I feel rock in front of me. Groping blindly I feel that it is a vertical pillar of sorts, rough and even sharp in places. I try to gauge its significance, is it holding something up, or is it merely symbolic of something only Hell would understand? There is no way to tell in this soul slaughtering darkness, and the constant blare of harrowing background noise makes it difficult to concentrate anyway.
As I walk beyond the mystery pillar, my thoughts wander as I grope helplessly through the hot black depths of Pandæmonium. An unforgettable image flashes before my flaming hot eyes. The last thing I should have known. A police officer, shotgun in hand, releasing his weapon’s deadly fury into my chest. I hadn’t even heard the gun go off, hadn’t felt any pain as I fell to the floor. Hadn’t felt anything until I had woken up here. I had given myself in, held my hands aloft to let him take me away. The officer, clearly, hadn’t harboured any intention of taking me alive. I, of all people, should have known better than to trust the law.
I am pulled from my reverie as I stumble across a second pillar, equal in girth to the first, and just as rough. Is it the same one, I wonder? Have I just walked in a circle? It’s difficult to tell in this blackness, and the thought of me so helplessly and uselessly groping about in the darkness is beyond irritating. Only common sense keeps me from striking a blow against the stone.
And just then, in the corner of my eye, I see a light. A flame. Either small or distant, it flickers defiantly against the oppressive and baneful shroud of night. Turning to face it, I see a second patch of fiery resistance appear from nowhere, close to the first. Quickly, ravenously, the flames grow in size, and it is soon very apparent that they are close by. Soon they begin to lash the surrounding rock with wavy streams of hot, red light, and I can see the floor, the walls, the steps leading upwards to the rapidly growing conflagrations. And also, I can see the figure waiting patiently between the two patches of fire. At first, little more than a silhouette of shadow against the burning lights, as the coruscating flares grow in strength, I quickly begin to make out the shape of a throne, and a powerful looking beast sat regally upon it. Strong, muscular and clawed hands grip the stone rests of the throne, and piercing red eyes stare incompassionately down at me. Although the glitter of wildfire could be lying, the beast appears awash with dark, dirty red skin, which is covered with lethal looking, symmetrical black spikes.
I try to gather my wits, and take in what I can garner of my surroundings now. Stood underneath a stone arch at the bottom of a flight of steps, which lead to the very throne of Hell, the Devil stares down at me, His latest acquisition. Despite the burning, relentless heat of His domain, the mighty beast manages a cold, heartless smile, before speaking.
“Kieran Blake” He says, in a powerful and commanding voice that echoes intimidatingly about the place “we’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Hell.”
With that, the noise rises to a deafening cacophony of excitement, and suddenly there are little grey creatures scuttling about at my feet, giant, winged demons littering the walls, from those stood impassionately on the floor right up as far as I can see, and at last there is a source for the terrible chaos of noise that I have heard from the beginning. I should feel terrified and awe struck. This is a religious moment, a powerful, once-after-a-lifetime rendezvous with fate. Whatever torturous future He had designed would be announced here, now. I should have dropped on my knees among the horde of dancing grey creatures and pleaded through teary sobs for leniency.
But I don’t. I stand here in the fire-lit depths of Hell staring up at the Lord of Darkness thinking, ‘how cliché’. And He knows it.
Page: