"When you look long into an abyss, the abyss looks into you."
~ Friedrich Nietzsche
Chapter XVIII
Present Time
2054
The Noctisanguis. You know who that is, don’t you? The one who bestows Tearings with powers. The primordial source, allowing us to draw power from the rift. Without Winston Erik Dark, you would be nothing, Yoki. You’d be entirely ordinary like all the other Tearings. And oh my, how his life had become such a tale indeed.
----------------------------------------
The room was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by flickering candles placed sporadically around. Shadows danced on the walls, cast by the eerie light. The air was thick with a sense of foreboding. Winston Erik Dark, the first Painkiller, stood at the center, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, searching the shadows for the figure he had come to meet. The walls, adorned with archaic symbols whose meanings had long been lost, glowed faintly. The cold, uneven floor was covered in a thin layer of ash, each step raising small clouds that swirled around his feet.
Painkiller's mind raced as he waited. This was the moment he had been preparing for, the culmination of his darkest ambitions. His thoughts flashed back to the countless struggles that had led him to this point. He had sacrificed so much, endured many hardships, all for this chance to grasp the power he needed. The power he craved.
From the darkness emerged Noctisanguis, the god’s aura dominating the room. His black wings and claws were a stark contrast to the dim candlelight, casting ominous shadows on the walls. His wide grin, menacing and stark, sent chills down Winston’s spine. The entity's eyes gleamed with a malevolent light, reflecting the countless souls it had ensnared.
“You’ve come,” Noctisanguis said voice a low in a rumbling growl that seemed to reverberate through the very air. “What is it that you seek?”
Painkiller took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Power,” he replied. “I seek power beyond what I have. Power to reshape my fate, my entirety. I want your help transforming into a Shifter.”
Noctisanguis’s grin widened. “And what are you willing to offer in return?”
“My loyalty. My soul. Whatever it takes.”
The dark entity chuckled, a sound that seemed to contain the very essence of dread as it spread through the room. “Very well. But know this: the path you choose is fraught with peril. There will be no turning back.”
Painkiller nodded. “My life has been fraught with death, agony, and pain. I’ve come to embrace it, love it. I enjoy the peril now.”
Noctisanguis extended a clawed hand, and Painkiller took it, feeling a new surge of energy coursing through him. A pact was sealed, one that would alter the course of his life irrevocably. As the energy from Noctisanguis infused him, Painkiller felt utter exhilaration. The power was intoxicating, but the cost was his very soul.
The air crackled with dark energy, and Painkiller felt a deep connection to the ancient entity. Visions of the past and future flashed before his eyes, revealing the true extent of Noctisanguis’s power. He saw the rise and fall of empires, the creation of worlds, and the endless cycle of life and death. In that moment, Painkiller understood the magnitude of his decision. The visions were vividly lucid, showing him the horrors that lay ahead. He saw himself wielding unimaginable power, but also facing unimaginable enemies that were beyond his current comprehension.
Noctisanguis’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You are now bound to me, Painkiller. Your power will grow, but so too will the burdens you bear. Remember this moment, for it is now just starting. Everything up to this period in time has been a warm-up, Winston, for thus far has been the introduction for what has yet to come. Now begins your journey of pain.”
Painkiller felt the weight of those words settle upon him. He had gained what he sought, enough power which should be able to transform him to a Shifter. That painful, irrevocable process which was said only to work with one in every thousand Tearings. His path ahead was fraught with danger. As Noctisanguis faded into the shadows, Painkiller stood alone in the dimly lit room, the enormity of his choice sinking in. He clenched his fists, feeling the power surging through him, and vowed to use it to achieve his goals, no matter the cost.
The landscape of Hell was as Winston remembered—an endless expanse of suffering. Rivers of lava flowed through jagged valleys, casting a sinister red glow on the freakish formations of twisted rock and bone. The sky above was a tumultuous mass of dark clouds, occasionally pierced by lightning that illuminated the tortured souls below. He had been here many times before, tasked by the devil with duties that would break lesser men. But Winston was no ordinary man. He thrived in this infernal realm, where his pain was both a chain and his most precious weapon.
“Welcome back, Painkiller,” the devil’s voice boomed, a cacophony of malevolence and mirth. The devil sat on a throne of skulls, his eyes glowing with an unholy light. “I have a new task for you.”
Winston’s eyes were ablaze with the new power gained from Noctisanguis. The devil must’ve sensed it, for his smile grew even more deadly. “What do you need me to do?”
“You will retrieve a soul that has eluded me,” the devil said. “This soul is of some value to me. Now go fetch, dog.”
Winston took the taunt, restraining to the one of the most powerful beings in the entire multiverse. Eclipse. Shaking it off despite his rage, he embarked on another mission. Despite the devil’s jest, he grew excited as a child on their birthday.
The fires of Hell roared around him as he set off, his mind focused on the task at hand. The journey was perilous, filled with traps and infernal beasts. Each step was a reminder of the torment he endured, but also of the strength he had gained. He was the rank of a Soveirgn now, surpassing his past rank of an Archon. Soon enough, after his transformation to a Shifter, he could become even stronger, perhaps even reaching the rank of an Ascendant. The rank would bring him one step closer to becoming close enough to battle an Eclipse—the pinnacle of all Tearing ranks, having a potentially infinite source of sphaeram. Yes, he was becoming so very close now.
As Winston navigated the treacherous landscape, he encountered the damned, their faces twisted in eternal agony. Some begged for mercy, while others tried to hinder his progress. He saw the damned being tortured in endless cycles of pain, their screams blending into a haunting symphony that filled the air.
His path led him through the Valley of Despair, where the ground was littered with the remnants of broken dreams and shattered hopes. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and the cries of the damned echoed off the walls. He had grown to love the torment that surrounded him. Hell felt like home.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
As he climbed a steep, rocky incline, Winston encountered a group of demons engaged in a brutal fight. Their claws and teeth tore into each other, ichor staining the ground. Winston watched for a moment, only to move on, knowing that his task was far more important than getting involved in their petty squabbles. He would love to see their arrogance turn into fear, but he wouldn’t dare make the devil wait.
Finally, he reached the Pit of Sorrows, a vast chasm filled with writhing souls. Here, he knew he would find his target. The soul he sought was hiding among the others, trying to avoid the devil’s grasp. Winston descended into the pit, his eyes scanning the throng for any sign of the elusive soul. The air was thick with the scent of tribulation.
Winston’s path through the pit was treacherous. He encountered souls twisted by their own sins, their forms abnormal and minds splintered. They reached out to him, their fingers like claws, begging for release. But Winston pressed on. He could not afford to be swayed by their pleas.
At last, he found the soul he sought. The figure huddled in the shadows, trying to remain unseen. Winston approached, his presence looming over the cowering, pitiful soul. The soul looked up, eyes wide with fear.
“You cannot escape your fate,” Winston said, voice cold. “You will come with me.”
The soul trembled but offered no resistance. Winston bound it with chains forged from his own qi, ensuring it could not break free. As he ascended from the pit, the cries of the damned faded behind him,.
In the midst of his return, Winston stumbled upon a hidden sanctuary—a small, secluded area untouched by the surrounding bedlam. A grove of twisted, blackened trees surrounded a tranquil pool of water, its surface reflecting the fiery sky above. Here, he met her, a soul who radiated a rare warmth and kindness that stood in stark contrast to the fiendish surroundings of hell.
She introduced herself as Seraphine, a name that felt like a balm to him. Her presence was a beacon of hope. Their first encounter was serendipitous; Winston had been wandering aimlessly, drawn by an inexplicable force to the serene grove. Seraphine was tending to the pool, her hands glowing with an ambient light as she purified the water.
“What are you doing here?” Winston asked, curiosity mingling with suspicion.
Seraphine wasn’t fightened by his sudden appearence, her eyes meeting his with a calm that unsettled him. “I’m healing the wounds of this place,” she replied softly. “Even Hell has its moments of reprieve.”
Winston had found himself opening up to her, sharing stories of his past and the anguish that had shaped him into the Painkiller. Never before had he been left vunerable, yet in the company of this woman, he felt. . . free.
One evening, as they sat by the pool, Seraphine spoke softly. “You carry so much burden, Winston. It’s a wonder you haven’t been consumed by it.”
Winston looked into her eyes, feeling a connection he had long thought impossible. “The pain is a part of me, but you’ve shown me there’s more to life than suffering.”
Seraphine smiled, her eyes reflecting the light of the netherflies that danced around them. “Even in the darkest places, there is light. You can’t have the dark without knowing of light. Winston, you just have to find it.”
Winston often found himself returning to the sanctuary, seeking out the presence of Seraphine. He learned in time that she was a healer. She used her abilities to mend not only physical wounds but also the deep emotional scars that marked so many of the damned. With her, he found a semblance of hope that he had thought lost forever. His insanity reverted back to sanity, madness becoming matured as he grew closer to her.
Seraphine's backstory was one of tragedy too. She had been a healer in the mortal realm, using her gifts to help those in need. But her compassion had come to naught by the ire of dark forces, leading to her untimely death and subsequent descent into Hell. Despite the horrors she had faced, her spirit remained unbroken.
Winston marveled at her resilience and ability to to fall into the trap of despair.
“How do you remain so hopeful in this place?” he asked one night.
Seraphine’s gaze softened. “Hope is all we have. Without it, we are truly lost.”
However, the tranquility of their sanctuary was fleeting. Winston knew soon enough that his duties would soon call him away, but he vowed to protect Seraphine and this sancutary he had found. It was a goal that meant something more than just the power he had sought for himself. He had come to truly cherish the moments they spent together. In her, he found part of himself that had long been lost.
Their short intervals of time together was filled with moments of solace amidst the chaos of Hell. They would sit by the pool, sharing stories and dreams, finding comfort in each other’s presence. Seraphine’s touch was gentle, her words soothing, and for a time, Winston felt almost human again.
But the call of his duty was relentless. The devil’s tasks were never-ending, and Winston knew he could not continue visting in the sanctuary, or else he may ruin the one good thing he’d found in life, if the devil ever found out that is. As the days passed, the weight of his responsibilities pressed down on him, a constant reminder of the pact he had made with Noctisanguis. The devil and the other god were brothers of a sort, and part of the pact was to serve whenever called upon.
One night, as he visited the sanctuary again, they both lay beneath the twisted trees. Seraphine turned to him, eyes filled with concern. “You must go, Winston. Your path is not here, with me. You have a destiny to fulfill.”
Winston’s heart ached at the thought of leaving her. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.
Seraphine placed a hand on his cheek, an act that awoken so many feelings in Winston that words couldn’t desribe. “You will never lose me, Winston. I will always be with you, in your heart. Now go, and do what you must. I am to forever stay here, but you musn’t become distracted by me. We will find each other again, I promise.”
With a heavy heart, Winston kissed her one last time, feeling the warmth of her love. As he left the sanctuary, he carried her words with him, vowing to return one day and save her from this perilous world she didn’t deserve to be in.
----------------------------------------
The devil’s latest task for Winston had led him to a bustling marketplace buried deep within the central part of Hell, where souls bartered for favors and debts in a chaotic dance of deceit and desperation. He was to meet a man whose name he wasn’t allowed to know, a figure shrouded in mystery, known for his cunning.
As Winston approached the designated meeting spot, he saw the man dressed entirely in green, his grin wide, unsettling. This was the man the devil had warned him about. The devil had never warned him before, and to pose a threat to such a monstrosity to the one who goverened over one of the deum avernus. . . it gave him a sense of excitement little else gave him nowadays, besides his love for pain and his secret escape he had found in Seraphine.
He strode through Hell’s marketplace, where around him merchants peddled with their wares and the damned haggled over prices. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur. Stalls lined the narrow streets, each one displaying a variety of macabre goods: enchanted weapons, cursed artifacts, and potions brewed from the essence of tormented souls. Demons and damned souls alike moved through the throng.
Winston navigated through the crowd, his eyes locked on his target. The man stood out apart from the bustling market. His emerald suit was immaculate, a stark contrast to the grime of Hell. His eyes gleamed with a manic light, and his smile never wavered as Winston approached.
Winston’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve been told you have information I need.”
The man’s grin widened. “Indeed, I do. But nothing comes for free, especially not in Hell.”
They spoke in hushed tones, their conversation laced with tension. Winston knew this was a master manipulator, and he must tread carefully. The information he sought was crucial to the devil, but the price the man demanded was steep.
The man leaned in closer, his grin never faltering. “You see, Painkiller, we’re not so different, you and I. We both have our internal demons, and we both know how to use them. The question is, how far are you willing to go?”
Winston stared into his eyes, madness and cunning swirling within them. He knew that this was a turning point, a moment that would define his path forward. With a steady voice, he replied, “As far as it takes.”
The man’s grin seemed to widen even more, if that were even possible. “Good. Then we have an understanding.”
Their negotiation continued, each word a careful weave of deceit and manipulation. The man revealed fragments of the information Winston sought, each piece more tantalizing than the last. Winston could feel the danger in every word, the sense that he was being drawn into a web from which there might be no escape.
“You’ll find what you’re looking for in the depths of the Abyss,” the man informed last. “But beware, Painkiller. The Abyss has a way of consuming those who venture too deep.”
Winston nodded, the weight of the man’s words settling on him like a shroud.The pact with Noctisanguis had given him power, but it also bound him to a destiny he could not escape. As he turned to leave, the voice followed him.
“Remember, Painkiller. We’re not so different. And in the end, we may find that our fates are more intertwined than you realize.”
He turned, asking something he ought to have not. “I never caught your name.”
The grin was ever-present. “You can call me Greenfield.”