Damned Souls

Damned Souls

Azzagrat, 45th layer of the Abyss

Everything around him was grey and wet. Hazy wafts of mist were swirling through the air, rain was pouring down like the tears of a desperate deity. He didn’t know where he was, or why he was stumbling through the wet. Was he lingering at this desolate place as of late or already for a long time? If only he could remember ... A burning pain made him flinch. A whip had hit him when he had stayed too far behind the others. The others, who looked just like him. Of small stature, barely the knee-height of an average human, hairless, deformed. There were many others surrounding him, but he could not guess the number. He struggled to move forward through the rust-colored grass matted by the rain. From time to time, he was brushing thorns. They were slashing his warty skin but he could hardly sense it. Several tall shapes were marching behind and beside him and his kind, using their whips to edge on those too slow. What kind of beings were they? He didn’t know their names nor could he remember having seen them before. He didn’t understand why he had to stumble through this desolate steppe with the other strange creatures. But he dragged himself along – not that he had any choice.

The weather changed little during the next hours. Sometimes it was raining less, just so that the water was pouring down all the heavier shortly afterwards. They passed a current, white and viscous, spanned by a ramshackle bridge. The whip carrying creatures called it a salt river, but he soon forgot it. It was incredibly difficult to keep things in mind. For a brief moment, a memory touched his thoughts. ... He was a warrior, wielding a short, broad sword. There had been a fight, maybe it was still going on. In front of him, a young woman was crouching, more likely a girl, perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old. She stretched out her hands pleadingly. Tears were running down her cheeks, pure fear in her eyes. … Soon the tags of memories sank into oblivion again. What did this mean?

Eventually they reached a massive fortress built of steel and black stone - hours, but also days could have passed. They drove them in, him and the others. Inside they caught sight of a creature looking different than those with the whips. The word "vulture" came to mind, but he no longer knew the word’s actual meaning. The creature eyed them up, then they were separated and brought into different rooms. He was one of the last in his group and just wanted to pass the door. Suddenly a stiff hand grabbed him, pulled him back and lifted him up. He fidgeted; again, a memory reappeared from the confused whirl of his thoughts. ... The young girl. With a tear-stained face, she stretched out her hands. She asked him for something. He laughed, lunged out with the sword and pierced her chest. ... The memory sank back as suddenly as it had emerged. The vulture creature forced him into filthy, striped pants and pulled a ridiculous hat on his head. Then it shoved him into another room. There were several whip fiends, some vulture creatures and a huge serpent with six arms ... at least the word "snake" came to mind. He staggered awkwardly through the room as a small dart hit his left leg. He squalled in pain and the creatures laughed. He stumbled on, drawing a trail of blood behind him. A small fireball hit his arm, it smelled of burnt flesh. The fiends laughed even more. He didn’t understand what was going on, why all of this happened. For a brief moment, however, another memory emerged. ... The young woman laid on the ground in her blood. Her dying eyes looked at him. Before her life faded, six last words passed her lips: "May the Abyss devour your soul ..."