Chapter 1: - Abandon all hope, you who enter here...

Death came easy when you were shot through the fucking skull.

Nero had learnt that the hard way. Well, he had learnt it the easy way first, in biology class a while ago. But now, now he knew it, knew for certain that when you blew a person’s brains out, whatever simulacrum of a personality, a being, a self and a consciousness it holds was blown away too, splattered across the wall in a beautiful pink mess.

Or did he?

He was thinking, wasn't he?

I hadn't even noticed.

How could he, it was his natural state of mind, never keeping still, never clinging to one moment, always in a race against everyone else to keep himself at least two steps ahead.

But it shouldn’t matter what the state of his mind used to be if it was currently congealing on a wall. Should it?

No, no it should not.

And yet he still was; not moving, not breathing, seeing, hearing or even living. But he was thinking… Somehow.

Whatever this was, he knew it wouldn’t last. Or was that him hoping it wouldn’t? Afterall, as much as he enjoyed his own company, an infinity in this equally infinite void would drive him insane. So he thought of what mattered, the most important thing on his mind, frankly what would be the most important thing on just about anyone else’s mind in his position.

What he could have done to prevent his death?

He toyed with the idea, gnawed at it and tinkered with all its edges, vertices and faces until finally coming to the conclusion he’d already found just seconds before the trigger was pulled.

There was nothing I could have done to prevent this.

Perhaps if he were someone else it would have brought him peace to know this. Nero wasn’t someone else. It made Nero’s blood boil, made his mind thrash, he wanted to scream, kick and fling shit at the wall until the heat death of the universe.

But that wouldn’t happen, not just because he didn’t have a body to do the flinging or the shitting anymore, but because he could feel his consciousness slipping from him. His earliest memories were blurs, obvious facts became hazy and names tangled into one another like loose strings in a storm.

Whatever this was, this state before death, it was coming to an end, and death proper would follow soon.

Frantically he began reaching for his memories, not the ones he loved but the ones he despised, for he knew hate was a stronger motivator than love could ever be. He clung onto everything he loathed about the world, everything he loathed about himself, the stupid way the human spine was designed, the way his moron neighbour always made horrible puns that only he found funny, rabbits. What was up with them anyway, with their stupid eyes and big ears, always listening in for something.

Finally he hated the fact that he was dying and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

It didn’t matter. in time it all spilled past his mind like water through limp fingers and he couldn’t even remember the name of those stupid hopping creatures he hated so much.

Soon he couldn’t recall what anything was, but he knew what hate was, he’d cling to that like a lifebuoy in the middle of a raging ocean. Whatever those were.

Nero was dying, but he’d die hating.

He waited to forget that too, but didn’t. What washed over him instead was a voice, like fire burning through his veins, melting his insides and twisting it into a terrible sensation he could only half remember.

‘Abandon all hope you who enter here…’

It was a soft voice, a woman’s or maybe a young girl’s.

‘Can you hear me?’ It asked, tone tentative. He could, though not through any means he could correctly identify. It sounded like she was speaking to him from within his non-existent skull.

‘I… I can…’ He replied, shocking himself by the sound of his own voice. He could speak- no, think, think so loud that it was hard to tell the difference.

‘Who are you?’

‘You can call me Ember.’ She said, ‘And I will guide you to safety.’ The sound of her voice seemed to drift away from him now.

‘What? Where am I?’

‘Quickly,’ She said, voice tinged with haste. ‘You must follow my voice, or they will have you, the Enemy will have your soul and you will be damned, a plaything for their amusement!’

Well, that was as horrifying a thing to hear as any .

‘How do I do that?!’

‘You just do!’

Nero doubted he’d be getting any more helpful tips from her and he still had the impossible task of following a voice while falling through a void of nothingness.

‘Follow the sound of my v…’

Ember was a distant thing now, and Nero’s panic grew directly proportional to how far away she sounded.

You just do. That was what she’d said, so Nero did.

He banished the panic, somewhere at the back of his mind he knew it was a distraction, banished the anger, the fear, the confusion and just focused on one thing, Ember.

There was a yanking sensation, so sudden and forceful that he could swear he’d have puked were he still capable of such a thing.

‘You’re doing it!’ Ember chimed happily, voice growing closer.

What he was doing felt horrible. He was still falling, and he was sure it was in the same relative direction, but every half second or so he’d be forced to make a zig or a zag at a random angle and without a hint of forewarning.

It was as if Ember was in a speedboat riding a titanic storm and he was in that very same ocean, connected to the boat’s hull by a rope affixed tightly around his balls.

Despite how uniquely miserable it felt, Nero could do nothing but hold on for dear life.

All falls, however, had to hit the ground eventually, and Nero’s was no different. He just didn’t expect it to feel so horrible.

All that momentum coming to a sudden dead stop was a terrible sensation, his guts squirmed, his mind blurred and his head rang. He could have sworn that this time he was actually puking.

Wait… Was he?

There was a retching sound, and a pressure building up in his throat. He opened his eyes to find himself keeled over a white marble floor and emptying his guts onto its surface.

He could see. It was all blurs, round edges and fuzzy details, but he could see.

A tiny ball of light danced in front of his eyes, gold in colour and barely larger than his pinky finger.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“You made it!” he heard something say from within it. He recognised the voice, and it took Nero’s momentum addled mind a slow and trodding march before he arrived at the reason.

“Ember…” He tried to say but ended up coughing out the words instead. God, he wanted to just lay down for a few seconds.

His vision grew more and more focused as his eyes settled on the light yet what he saw seemed more out of place with reality than rounded edges and fuzzy lines.

The light wasn’t shaped like a ball but a person, a child to be exact. She had bright yellow skin and bellowing blonde hair, both of which glowed with a smokey golden aura. It was an odd thing, she seemed perpetually made of flames and somehow simultaneously aflame.

If she was bothered by it, it didn’t show, her smile was as bright as any other child being handed candy.

Nero noticed her levitation last, noting the subtle drifting of her body just inches above the ground with a dull acceptance. It was that sort of day.

“What the fuck?” He managed to say.

Ember’s face scrunched up in confusion, so delicate were her features that it looked like wrinkles on a sheet of paper. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a voice Nero had never heard before.

“Lightweaver, we thank you for answering our summons!” It boomed.

That prompted Nero to finally take in his surroundings. He was in a small windowless room with white brick walls and stone pillars that wore the cracks of ages drifted by openly across their surface. There was a circle around him and candles on its edges. Just beyond the circumference stood a ring of a dozen hooded figures, all with eyes on him.

They wore brown robes save from one who was draped in all black. Judging by that alone, Nero let himself assume that was the leader of this odd little procession and likely the one who had spoken to him.

He got to his feet and only then noticed the intimate chill in the air. “Where the fuck are my clothes?” He asked immediately.

“We apologise Weaver, apparels do not make the trip through Damnation.” The black cloak explained.

Nero found his frustration growing in tandem to his terror. “Where the fuck are my clothes!”

It was probably not the best course of action to get aggressive at a group of people plentiful enough in number to easily beat him to death, but being literally murdered and then seeing a magic ghost tended to do strange things to a person’s judgement.

What surprised him however was how the group shrank back from him, like he was some beast and not an eighteen year old kid who had never been to the gym.

It would have been refreshing, if it didn’t niggle him so much.

What do they know that I don’t?

There were bigger things to worry about now and he found his mind drawn instantly back to them as the black robed man raised a hand. He was the only one who hadn’t shown terror at the sight of Nero’s rage.

“Brothers, sisters, the Lightweaver is wary from his travels through the planes, leave us.”

There was not a hint of hesitation before the rest of them stalked out of the room, confirming Nero’s suspicion that he was in fact their leader. They flowed out through a great wooden door.

The man only spoke again when the door was shut behind him.

“I apologise for the terrible introduction, I should have known that such a welcome would be… Startling.” He said, taking off his hood.

He was an old man with white hairs enough to prove it, even if the wrinkles weren’t enough. A grey beard sat on

his rough face, a face which looked like it had been on the wrong end of a thrown fist far too many times.

Still, there was a calm to him and one that almost made Nero let his guard down. Almost.

“I am Atix Beckley, senior Inquisitor, I know you’re scared, confused and more. Lord knows I was too, but I promise you, I can explain.”

As if to punctuate his words, the man took off his robes, folded the cloth and held it out for Nero.

Nero inspected it for a moment, fearing it might be rigged with some kind of trap and then snatched the thing from him with what he hoped was a lightning quick motion.

If it was, it didn't show on the bigger man’s face. Nero had thought the man looked intimidating, hooded and draped in all black. That was only because he hadn’t seen what was hidden beneath.

His attire was mediaeval in nature, he wore leather and ringmail atop his person, and by his hip was a sheathed sword. The leather covered much of his body, scar tissue covered the rest.

His hands, his neck and any other exposed part of him seemed to have suffered at least one hack, slash or sprain.

The sight of it all made him banish the idea that this was just some sort of elaborate cosplay on this stranger’s part.

No… Standing before him was a warrior.

And a killer too…

He slid the too large cloak on and found himself thankful for what little dignity he’d been able to restore in doing so. “Thank you.” He said softly, finally grasping at some measure of calm. “Now, please tell me, where the fuck am I?”

The man opened his mouth to speak, hesitated then sighed. “It is better if you follow me.”

“I-”

Without another word Atix turned and stepped out the large wooden door.

Nero hesitated only a moment and then followed. Nothing was making sense, this was his chance to change that and he wouldn’t let that slip away.

He hugged the cloak tightly as he walked, careful not to trip himself on the stupidly oversized thing. Nero emerged into a hallway filled with familiar brown cloaked figures. They all gazed at him with awe, wonderment and was that… a hint of fear?

Unlit torches hung on the wall and try as he might Nero couldn’t spot a single lightbulb in the entire hallway.

That… that’s not right. That’s not right at all.

Atix turned, made his way up a winding flight of stairs and Nero stayed close behind.

Something bright zipped past his eyes. A firefly? No, Ember.

“You haven’t told me what your name is yet you know.” She said, with a girlish giggle.

“Because I have more important things to do.” Nero snapped. He turned, glared at her and she smiled back brightly. She was floating a metre or so to his side, bobbing up and down like a ship upon invisible waves.

“Like what?” She asked.

“Like finding out where the fuck I am and why I’m hallucinating a fucking fairy bugging the shit out of me.” He hissed.

Ember’s face scrunched up once again and Nero for a moment entertained the idea that she’d understood the gravity of the situation. That hope was quickly snuffed away when next she spoke. “What's a fairy?” She asked.

“It’s Nero.” He replied wearily.

Ember cocked her head to the side. “A fairy is Nero? That doesn’t make sense. You can’t use a made up word to explain another made up word?”

Nero sighed. “Fuck me man…” He said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Atix turned to him with an inquisitive look and Nero did his best impression of a not crazy person by smiling back at him and ceasing his conversation with his imaginary friend.

“You’re convening with Ember I see.” He noted, looking amused.

“Y-you can see her?” He asked, eyes wide.

He shook his head. “No, I could, but not anymore, now that she’s soul forged to you I think you’re the only one that can see her.”

Nero blinked. “I… Soul forged? What?”

Atix looked like a man with a million things to say and not a clue where to start. “Lightweaver…”

“Nero.” He corrected. “My name is Nero.”

The warrior nodded. “Nero. You have joined a war, a war that humanity is on the losing side of and has been on the losing side of since the day it began.” His tone was grave, voice grim.

“A war against who?” He asked.

“Demons.”

“Demons…” He repeated, looking for a homonym to that word that didn’t mean what he thought it meant.

Atix smiled sadly. “I suppose it is a testament to just how much time I’ve spent here that such a thing barely sounds insane anymore.”

“Demons.” Nero repeated uselessly.

“You are our one hope Nero, you are our saviour. The Lightweaver.” He said. When his eyes settled on Nero it seemed like the man was looking at someone else completely.

They came to a stop in front of a heavy iron door. Atix undid the heavy bolts and swung it open with a whirring metallic creaking noise. He stepped aside and gestured for Nero to step through. “I… would recommend you brace yourself for what you’re about to see my friend.” There was an unmistakable pity in his eyes.

It made Nero hesitate a moment. But only a moment.

Nero made his way through the door and was hit with a gust of wind that sent his robes flapping. The air tasted of sulphur, and despite the speed of its currents it licked his skin with a prickling heat not unlike smoke from a fire.

Nero was stood atop a tower and around him was an alien landscape.

For a moment he thought it was covered in ash, and then he realised he couldn't have been more wrong. Those were trees he was looking at, a dense forest of trees all growing and functioning, and all the colour of charred or charring things.

A terrible screech bit into his ears from above, like nails on chalkboard. Nero turned his gaze to the sky where a massive, winged serpentine creature soared through the air. It was the length of a whale and had a wingspan so great as to more closely resemble jungle canopy.

There was a thick canvas of clouds above the monster. Sickly purple clouds. He saw lightning running through the underside of its belly like the veins of some long forgotten god.

Yet there was no thunder.

Why was there no thunder?

His head was pounding, his mouth dry, his mind a mess.

“This is Limbo. The first of the nine circles.” Atix’s voice crashed into him from behind.

“So that means…” He began, but didn’t have the will to finish his sentence.

Atix clasped him on the shoulder and replied with words as heavy as an anvil. “Yes Nero. You’re in Hell.”