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An Attempt To Escape Hell
4 years ago
Hunger pangs shock you awake. You are laying on a slab inside a dimly-lit oval room. The walls pump, making a ‘glug’ sound. Green light glows, drawing your attention to a growing emerald colored flame. It gives off a sweet smell, like that of ripe citrus. Rising from the bed, you practically leap across this chamber! Ravenous primal urges yank you in, enchanted by such a strange phenomena.
This… this is some kind of enchantment. It has to be. You have vague memories, but nothing specific. Suspiciousness punctures through your appetite and the brain fog you’re trapped in. Fire is life. Life is not food! In this chaos, the fire elemental’s ethics system is the only thing guiding you back to sanity. Even with this foresight, your lesser cravings dominate; you snatch at the appetizing fire.
Flames and pain envelop your hand, feasting on your forearm, shoulder, and eventually your hand. “Is this it? Is this death?” the fearful thought passes by as the burning takes you whole. You fade into a comatose state. Fire should not harm you.
The next time you open your eyes, you are bound in a pentagram in a familiar room, lit by familiar flames. A trio of individuals crowd around your body. Mortals. Looking back, you knew that they were after you. After all, you’re a golem.
“This is a good model, Cassidy!” the short old man pips. His ears jut out from behind a dripping red hat.
“Well, of course it is! The Phoenix Feather always produces the most beautiful specimens!” this one is a towering woman. Her square jaw and protruding make her grin look unsightly.
“When’s the Senior Arcane Division stopping by anyway?” the third one snarls. Unlike the other two, he has a normal built. Really, he’s completely unremarkable in every way except for his obviously poor hygiene. “We could always do this one ourselves. It’d catch a fat dime inna minute,” he continues.
“That’d piss them off, Crag. We need them. You never know when a ritual is opportune,” the gnome scolds. “Besides, I don’t know if I have enough Fae blood to do such complex feather-smithing. I’ve got to quest on behalf of my ancestors for it!” They continue bickering and paying you no attention.
You know these guys. They’re monster hunters. They know. Your soul blares at you to hurry and get back inside your body before they do something horrible! You yank and twist with finesse at this sigil, but it’s hopeless. Your will isn’t strong enough to counteract the Fae. You’re trapped. Every spirit knows that the Fae hold court over ouranic beings. Either you will have to stay bound to these sorcerers, you must strip yourself of traits which allow them to bind you.
Self-loathing already grows within your fading spirit. You know better. The underworld is a pit of degeneracy, but this binding star is powered on Fae blood, and you’ve got no leverage. You speak lies. You blaspheme all that is celestial. Your soul ignites with the power of Hell as you curse these three, every beautiful piece of art, and even the most worthy animals in the world. You speak three unholy letters--each one of them degenerate proclamations in their own right--You can feel yourself sinking...
You are on a pathway. Everyone and everything is burning, freezing, or puking, including you. Several paths are sculpted out of crystal. They shine: red and blue clashing, yellow and green interwoven. This is Hell?
An emerald shatters to your right. Bright red crystals smash through your metal-feathered armor, piercing your arm with arrows. Reaching to dislodge the arrows, your feet compel you to run forward. The sound of rubies smashing into the wall echoes from behind you. Shining lights burn your vision from far down this path. Again, desire strikes you. Something demands you to investigate. You fight this command, but fear beats in your heart constantly.
All of sudden you are in complete darkness. The hodgepodge surroundings are gone. Your legs ached from all the running. This place is mad.
“Hello,” you hear a jubilant voice coming from all around you. “What are you doing in here?
You blurt out, “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m you!” the voice exclaimed. “This is all you!” Its cheery demeanor clashes with this this abyss.
“The fuck you mean, ‘you’re me?’ Are you a demon?” you shout.
“I told you. I’m you. What are you doing in here in The Chasm anyway?”
“I am in Hell. What do you think?” This… thing must’ve been sent to torment you, and you’re letting it.
“Well, I’m it pauses, before continuing. “Have you heard of eldritch abominations’ before?” Of course you have, but you don’t say anything.
“Well… you’ve been selected to serve a big, hungry monster. Instead of being tortured, you’re gonna get a chance to carve out your own region in my name! Isn’t that wonderful?” at this point. Your jaw hangs open.
The lights come on, so to speak. With the speed of flicking a switch, you’re somewhere else. An oceanic environment, where waves push and pull gently. Nothing else exists, unless you count the vast array of black tentacles swishing around. White suckers protrude outward. Before you know it, you’re wrapped in a black coil of unimaginable terrors.
“Welcome to my demesne!” it says. The water’s waves smashes into you whenever it speaks. “I call it ‘The Chasm’, and it’s my own little portion of Hell!” the same sensation of ‘the lights coming on’ brushes against your awareness, and instantly you’re in an office setting. The man behind the desk smiles darkly as his face begins to shift. His thin lips and prominent nose fuse together, with a jagged set of fangs spiking out from his jaw.
“My name’s Belforx, and I’d like to offer you an… internship. You see, you were descending down into Oblivion, I took the opportunity to save you. In fact, I’d be glad to help you in the future, should you agree to serve me. All you have to do is sign this contract and declare that your soul is mine. In exchange, I will give you a percentage of power to do with as you please. Once you give me your soul, you will identify with me and I will be able to use you. If you don’t accept, I’ll make sure you regret it,” as he speaks his last sentence something switches again. You are drowning. Those black tentacles pull you down. Pressure pops your ears, your throat burn, and you start frantically frailing. All the standard “panicked and drowning” actions.
Reluctantly, you say “yes”.
