I have died.

Let me correct myself, I should have died. I fell headfirst onto concrete, there is no way I could have survived that fall.

I'm sure that I have not died though. I know this because I am still thinking. A famous philosopher once said "I exist therefore I am". Everything before that was something that I was never sure of. Not that it mattered in any sense. Our perception of the world is our universe, but at least knowing I exist, I know that my perception exists.

I never believed in the afterlife, thus when I jumped headfirst into the concrete, I was prepared for non-existence. My body would die along with my soul, since it needs a body to sustain it.

I am in nothingness, but I still exist, thus I'm still alive. I must have failed to kill myself, and I'm in a coma. Dammit failure. Must I wait in silence? Well, this silence is quite relaxing. I suppose I will enjoy the dark as it lasts. 

As I come to grips with the dark around me, it recedes. I begin to comprehend the figures around me, there was never darkness. This is.... I am in the abyss, a place between existence itself.

All around me are the souls, sustained by the special properties of the abyss. These foolish souls move erratically, and do not enjoy the dark that the abyss can offer.

Spending time in the abyss could perhaps be considered the dreamland of filthy pacifists. But the peace of the abyss is never long lived, those that life off the abyss will corrode.

Soul after soul turns black, and they simply rot away.

I return to my earlier vigilance, and examine everything around myself. Waves after waves of souls turn black. The blackness approaches myself and I brace for the inevitable terror that comes with it. 

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

I feel as though my soul corrodes. Every one of my moments are characterized by the stagnation felt by my soul. Keeping my flames within a lit within the abyss, cracks form along my surface. Constantly repairing, constantly breaking. Every moment wanting to give in, why do I resist? I don't have any reason to think that this will end. Why do I continue?

But, resistance to these thoughts are strong. I am the only remaining pure Cytaari. I am the avatar of combat. I will fight, to try to make purity be existent; even in the abyss.

But these thoughts ring hollow. How does one face the entire abyss without breaking forever? No, not even I am that strong. As I break, as I give in. Just as I give up. The pull of rot and stagnation cedes.

around be are only the black souls that have given up, but I alone shine in the dark. A burning Crimson fire burns within me now. I am the avatar of combat, the one known for their true name: Jaken.

Moving through the sea of dead souls, I find a vortex swallowing them. Instinct tells me, that this is the way into the realm of mortals. I will steal a body on the other side, and spread the Cytaari faith. I will purify.

I move into the vortex. I move down it, towards the glow. towards the my salvation, and their death.

**********

I hear sound, my very own heart. There are sounds muffled all around me.

My newfound body is falling, falling down an endless hole with the entire surrounding forcing me deeper down into he darkness. Everything is pressing down onto my body. 

Until I see the light again, I will not fade.

"Mistress, push"

And thus I am born.