Hellbreak
"Tricia," Blaylock groaned.
A faint cry gurgled through her blood-filled throat. Blaylock watched in dismay as the body of his only friend in this region folded. The snap of her spine echoed like crisp celery. Blood erupted from the division, and her entrails oozed quietly to the ground. "Come on," a voice said to him. A cold and clammy hand grabbed at his skin. Snapping his neck around, he could feel the subtle grind of vertebrae in his neck. "Tricia," he repeated. It was all he could say. "The Keeper's coming," the frightened man pointed. His half-gnawed finger stuck out almost inconspicuously from his fist. "Keeper's coming," he repeated. Looking past the sniveling man, Blaylock watched the others stumbling over themselves some distance away. He looked over his shoulder again, at Keeper. It was drawing closer. The veins in its globe bloodshot eyes were just noticeable. The rotting stench that poured from its mouth preceded its arrival. Blaylock crinkled his nose and nodded, rushing along side the man. They navigated shifting terrain. Keeper was not fleet of foot, nor was his escapees. It was nearly impossible to run. The terrain shifted so frequently, from smooth soil to rocky terrain to elements unlike those ever experienced in life. Soil burst into flames, froze in an instant, and then opened up like the mouth of the world set on swallowing anything that dared to cross it. The soil was hot tar—sticky, slow tar with a choking odor and blinding, poisonous haze. Blaylock struggled across it; the soles of his feet burned but did not ache. The time for pain had long since escaped his battered body. He moved on adrenaline, fervor, and a longing for freedom. He looked behind him. Keeper continued his approach, lumbering and relentless. Blaylock choked and rubbed his dry, burning eyes. The man beside Blalock fell into the soil, heat burning away at his flesh. Blaylock stopped for a moment. The man reached for him, crying silently in his private hell. What could Blaylock do? Keeper was closing in. He hadn't the time to get the man and bring him to his feet before Keeper would reach them both. No, not before it would reach them. Blaylock took a step forward. He looked ahead. The others were gone. He had to keep up with them. "Help me," the man on the ground called out. Keeper hovered over the man like dawning death, unfolding its hand, revealing long metallic utensils that shimmered in the crimson-stained world. It stood for a moment, hoof lock on the man's chest. It appeared to be choosing its weapon, and taking great delight in doing so. Keeper flicked its fingers up one at a time, left hand then right, until it chose a slim angler’s hook. Blaylock stepped back, then he turned and began to run as fast as his legs would allow through the grabbing terrain. "Blaylock." The voice spoke his name with disgust. Blaylock was compelled to turn and look once more. The man on the ground convulsed wildly beneath Keeper's hoof, silent now except for the sizzling of his flesh against the blistering ground. Blaylock watched in terror as Keeper stuck the hook through the man's left eye and brought it through the right. The man's body rose. His mouth widened and detached at the jaw. Blaylock tried to look away. He tried to run again. He couldn't do either. Instead, he watched Keeper push its hoof through the man's chest, sending blood and flesh out as if he had stepped into a puddle of something. Bone exploded from the man's side as shattered ribs split through his flesh. Keeper's eyes livened as it looked over at Blaylock and said, "You’re next." The words traveled on hot breath, crinkling Blaylock's nose and grabbing painfully at his skin. Blaylock looked down at the blood dripping between his fingers. Slowly he peeled his hand away from his chest. The words Keeper had spoken were branded into his flesh. Blaylock turned and moved along the shifting terrain, running as fast as he could, not daring to look back. He extended a hand to maintain his balance as melting tar gave way to jagged rocks. He heard dim click of bone as the soles of his feet came down on jagged rock. Blaylock came to a bridge that extended over a sea of spiting flames. The heat was searing. The bridge was had been constructed of charred bones. The planks were small leg or arm bones knotted together at each nub. On either side, rib cages extended up, capped by small polished skulls. He followed the length of the bridge. It occurred to him that the bridge was made of bones from children—hundred of children. He could hear the sobbing of their damned souls rising from the sea of scarlet waves. Blaylock stepped gingerly on the first few bones. He shuddered as his ears filled with the wailing of infants. He clutched hard at his ears, trying to block out the cries as he made his way slowly over the bridge. The bridge swayed unsteady. The brittle bones felt as if they could snap at any moment beneath his weight. Blaylock held out his arms, dragging his open palms over the polished skulls to help maintain his balance. The wailing of children still courted him. Each step was calculated, slow, trying as he might to distribute his weight evenly. The bones absorbed the sanguine that glowed all around it, giving the bones the look of flesh draped over them. Blaylock turned the other way, looking straight ahead to the other side of the bridge. A wave of bones pushed his feet from beneath him. He landed hard on the brittle planks. The force of his fall caused one of his hands to break through, leaving his cheek pressed hard against a femur. Blaylock looked behind him. Keeper was approaching. He lay there a moment, almost ready to concede. He thought about letting Keeper take him and finish him. He would be out of the Regions at worst. Perhaps wherever he ended up would be better than this, maybe a fate no worse then this. He decided to continue. Blaylock rose to his feet, trying to keep his balance in time with each passing wave. Each step Keeper made on the bridge sent a wave of bones toward Blaylock, making it difficult for him to continue. Blaylock gripped the polished skulls with resolve. It didn't matter, the origins of the skulls. His survival mattered now. His safe passage over the bridge was all he thought of at that moment. He moved on. His thoughts were frenzied. He scurried, the bones of his feet against the bones of slaughtered children. Then he fell. Fell from the bridge that crumbled beneath his feet. Tumbling through the air, the blood from his worn feet showered him. Blaylock reached out and grabbed one of the bony planks. He held it tightly, using it to pull himself up, grabbing another with his free hand. He kicked his feet wildly, able to plant them firmly. Beneath him lay an abyss of solid nothingness. The hollow sucked air, causing a breeze to flutter through his hair. Blaylock looked behind him at the Keeper. It stood erect, on the other side of the canyon, sneering. Enamel glistened as saliva dripped slowly to the ground below. Climbing, Blaylock kept his eyes on Keeper. The sound of wailing children serenaded him as he moved up the fallen bridge. He climbed it as he would a ladder; each step brought wails of pain as if the weight of his body brought the tormented souls of the children great discomfort. He hung outstretched; reaching as far as his arms would take him. Vulnerable he dangled by brittle bones over a sucking abyss. He reached the ridge and took a moment to exhale a long relieved puff of air. Pulling himself up, he peered over his shoulder at the Keeper. It stood in the same position as before, watching his every move. Blaylock stood upright and brushed himself clean, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the beast opposite him. Keeper showed its jagged, crooked teeth, crossed its arms over its chest, and sprouted wings. Large amber wings covered in repulsive skin. Keeper flapped his wings hard, raising itself from the ground. Blaylock looked on in disbelief. "I haven't a prayer," he whispered to himself. "Not a prayer at all." He turned and ran over the rolling terrain. He sank himself into the hell that awaited him. He found large boulders scattered throughout the terrain. He found the closest one and huddled behind it as the sky turned black above him and put him into a great void of emptiness. Blaylock wrapped his tired arms around his sore, bruised body and waited. The air about him swirled and the sound of Keeper's enormous wings echoed through the emptiness. He knew his capture was eminent. There was no hope. Then as soon as he had lost all resolve, Keeper passed overhead and the sound of his enormous wings dissipated into the distance. "No way." Blaylock crept out from behind the boulder. A large smile creased his face. "I'm going to make it; I'm getting the hell out of here." His eyes surveyed the terrain on either side nothing was visible. Behind him, a bright light glowed in a black hole of hollowness. The light drew him in, drew him closer. He moved slowly over the terrain, a terrain he could not see nor could he feel. It was like gliding through air, flying peacefully, a feather in a gentle breeze. The light grew stronger as he drew closer. Blaylock smiled at the warmth that was over taking him, the soothing warmth that calmed his nerves and soothed his soul. "Heaven? Could it be, finally?" The light consumed him, bathed him in its solace. He felt at ease, at home. "God? Thank you, thank, God." The light blinded him, yet he kept his eyes wide, trying to absorb all of it. "I'm home," he whispered. "Welcome," a deep voice bellowed in the light. Blaylock stopped and reached out, trying to feel his way around the blinding light. "God?" A sinister laughed resonated, shaking the foundation as the light melted away to nothingness. Keeper hovered over a cauldron of boiling blood as the cries of the damned rained down on him. "God indeed," Keeper said as he watched Blaylock drop to his knees. "Welcome back," Keeper continued, raising his arms to draw a wooded cross from the molten terrain. "No!" Blaylock cried as he was pulled back into the cross, crucified against the burning wood. His hand melded into the wood as his legs wrapped around it like a vine through lattice. "How can this be?" Blaylock asked. He struggled to free himself from the cross as it inverted. Blaylock hung with his head mere inches from the molten terrain, the heat burning his frosted hair. "I saw you pass over me. You couldn't have seen me." He screamed in a chorus of agony. "You called for God and I answered. I am your God. I am your eternity. Here you are to live out your eternal years, reliving what you most desire." The voice bellowed, raising flames from the molten terrain that scourged Blaylock's tender flesh. Keeper laughed a thunderous laugh. . . . "Tricia," Blaylock groaned. A faint cry gurgled through her blood-filled throat. Blaylock watched in dismay . . . (c) 2008 |
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