The fight was still going on. No one seemed to have an easy time killing the others in such a complicated situation. The couple caught Sunday’s eye. They were dragging an unlucky third corpse onto the bridge, and no one was stopping them. They made sure to be near the mists when they stopped and the woman lifted her foot and brought it down on the skull of their third. She did it again and again, until finally, her bare foot sank into the skull. Both of them seemed to benefit from the death.

They didn’t pay the melee a second look as they continued toward the unknown.

Sunday’s attention turned toward the giant one. He was moving leisurely and no one attacked him, possibly intimidated by his size. Getting to the head and breaking it open would be a difficult task. Sunday didn’t know if there were other ways to kill one of them.

The giant grabbed one of those that had freed themselves from the melee and in a casual movement threw it into the chasm. Sunday watched carefully if that would improve the giant in any way, but nothing happened for the time being. Either the fall was very long, the chasm led to somewhere else, or the thrown corpse was still alive. He didn’t entertain the possibility that the giant was so much stronger than everyone else that even the energy of an improved corpse wouldn’t bring any benefits. If he was, then all would already be dead.

With another few steps the giant broke into one of the larger groups that were fighting. His hand swung in a wide arc and landed on the torso of a corpse, sending it flying toward the city. It fell near Sunday, crashing with a dull sound into one of the bare walls circling the strip. Another strange one – the dry skin was faintly marbled in large patches like the shape of a turtle. Did that mean anything?

It – he – started getting up slowly. Sunday was surprised he could move. There should have been at least a few broken bones. Deciding to close the gap and attack was easy without the hesitance brought by emotions and the human mindset. There was power to be grabbed, and Sunday wouldn’t pass on the opportunity.

The iron rod reached the corpse’s skull as it had done to many before that. It hit, but something felt wrong as Sunday’s arm shook. The head of the corpse suffered only a small indent. That was not good.

Another swing brought about a similar result and Sunday stepped back, narrowly dodging an outstretched hand. The force behind the attacks did more to prevent the corpse from getting up than the iron did to damage him. He moved to a crouching position and lunged toward Sunday’s waist, bringing both of them down to the ground.

Sunday’s grip on the iron rod remained firm. His body was not as fragile anymore, so there was no damage. He swung as best as he could toward the side of the corpse's head. The enemy was trying to rise, its hand wrapping around Sunday’s neck in a futile attempt to choke him out.

The silly action made Sunday hesitate for the first time. He hadn’t seen the corpses as humans. They were zombies, while he was different. The human action that was detached from their reality and lacked any logic made him reconsider things.

Only for a moment.

As the corpse crawled up, Sunday used the iron rod to push back on its neck. As soon as he judged the position of the corpse’s head good, he swung with his free hand landing a dazing slap. It was not the best, but it achieved what he needed, making the corpse falter for a moment. It was enough to push it to the side and roll on top.

Holding the iron with one hand and the jaw of his enemy with the other, Sunday stabbed at an eye. There was a disgusting sound as the rod sank into the socket. The resistance beneath it gave way quickly under the full weight of Sunday’s body.

The rod sunk further and the corpse thrashed, hitting Sunday with its hands. Was it feeling panic? Fear? Why? Sunday hadn’t felt anything like that apart from when he gazed at the encroaching darkness. He had felt only anger, but even that was now just a white noise inside of him. It was not his anger, after all, so it made no sense for it to affect him.

The iron reached whatever it was that was driving the corpse, and after a few more moments of struggle, it became still. Sunday tried to dislodge his weapon from the skull and as he did a dark gray sludge dangled like a snot between the rod and the eye hole.

The telltale sign of victory washed over Sunday at the same time. A warm wave of new strength that made him stronger, faster, and more himself. He looked at his forearm, hoping that his skin would adopt the strange pattern and become more resilient, but nothing like that happened. That was a pity.

He stood up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw darkness move through the stone buildings as if they were filled with microscopic holes. The terror reared its ugly head and Sunday walked toward the bridge, determined to face whatever fate awaited him behind the mists, rather than whatever the darkness brought.

The giant corpse was already walking into the mists as Sunday approached. He had grown stronger yet and Sunday regretted not being there to see if it had come from the one thrown into the chasm or because of a different kill.

Some of the other corpses looked toward the city and left their fights, deciding that getting away from what was coming was more important than another kill. The giant crushed a few skulls on the way but ultimately decided enough was enough. Hopefully, Sunday wouldn’t have to face that one on the other side of the bridge. Or worse, amid the mists.

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Sunday followed behind the others, choosing the left side of the bridge and sticking to it as it was emptiest. There was no railing or guard rails, so he didn’t go very close to the edge, fearing someone would try to push him. He also didn’t know what abilities were hidden among the remaining corpses. A burst of speed like the one the sword bearer had demonstrated would spell his doom. He was much stronger than when he began, but he wouldn’t be able to react in time against such speed.

One by one the corpses sank into the thickening wall of vapor and Sunday followed, not sparing the darkness behind him another glance. It became difficult to move fast, so he was careful. He could barely see a few feet ahead of him and wanted to make sure he wouldn’t tumble off the bridge due to a misstep. The disorientation brought along by the mist was nagging at his senses and seemed to break the strange emotional numbness for all the wrong reasons. He felt the inherent human desire to violently express oneself through screaming, curses, tears, and lots of hand waving nagging at his soul.

It was then that for a second time, his foot landed wrong. He facepalmed hard on the solid stone, already intimate with the sensation. It was much preferred to a freefall. The iron rod clattered on the stone ahead, disappearing into the cotton-like vapor; left as an obstacle for some other lucky bastard.

Sunday got up slowly, examining each movement for discrepancies from the norm. He wouldn’t feel the pain if something was broken, so he had to be careful or it would spell his doom in the challenges ahead. The first few steps were fine and he continued, carefully staring at his feet for his weapon.

He saw it soon, thankfully but as he reached for it the mists started churning all around. They wrapped around him like the hand of a god and pulled, violently yanking him in an unknown direction. Something inside of him cheered in sheer madness.

It was but a moment of feeling like a toy in a giant child’s hands before Sunday landed softly on his butt. There was a large gate before him. Humongous. It was open just enough for someone to catch a glimpse through. He was like an ant before the gates of a castle. Behind him, he could see the bridge. Assuming it was the same bridge, of course. Apart from that, everything around was shrouded in shadows and the ever-present mists.

Nothing else seemed to exist or matter, but the bridge and the gate.

His attention returned to the latter. Its wings were of worn-out bronze and engraved with so many depictions that Sunday’s eyes started stinging from the effort to separate them. Something told him that few of them could be useful, but there was no way his brain could process the information right now.

The gap between the wings was a different matter. It seemed to pull him in. His gaze focused until he felt he had passed through, despite not moving an inch. An impossibly starry sky rested above the sharp shapes of towers. Sunday felt glued to them as his soul was filled with sheer awe. Pollution had taken most of that away back on Earth, making the skies bleak and featureless as the few people who held the power to do something about it chose to fill their pockets instead. Here, there was none of that.

He stared for what seemed like a few eternal moments. Unwittingly his body moved toward the gap. Each step unlocked more and more of him, removing the filter that had allowed him to reach this far. To kill like it was the most normal thing. To survive.

Emotions rushed like a tidal wave and made him sway. He desperately wanted to cry and shout, but his face was still frozen and his eyes remained dry. Each of the kills repeated before his eyes and he felt like a sinner passing through the gates of hell. Something in his soul was being shattered and rebuilt with each step. Days, months, or maybe years passed. Or was it seconds?

All of his life passed through his eyes again and again, from his ill-timed birth to his shitty death. There was a part that he hadn’t remembered well after that. It felt like the most cherished memory, the most at peace he had ever been. He saw himself, a blurry outline of a man standing in line among an infinite number of souls. In that brief moment, he had desired nothing and was nothing. Just stardust and emptiness.

A whirlpool of eternity had hung above him then, promising oblivion and rebirth. The memory of a hand reaching out – no, not a normal hand, a hand that wasn’t supposed to be there – and taking him away made his soul cry in anguish. He felt wronged. Robbed.

Then, all began anew as he woke up in his grave.

Sunday didn’t realize the door had closed behind him when the memories stopped. He was standing on a small stone platform among infinite black sands. His body was frozen and the starry sky didn’t matter as he battled the emotions inside. Finally, the turbulence calmed down as if shushed and something shifted around him.

Something that hadn’t been there was everywhere now. All around, up in the air and beneath the sand, floated… things. Ideas. Concepts. Memories of times gone by. Wills. Incorporeal mesh of thoughts that shouldn’t have existed in the way they did.

All of his senses and more were overwhelmed and taken over as he gazed upon the impossible. Impossible upon impossible. It was a deluge of nonsense rapping at the doors of his mind, where a tortured and fragile piece of sanity had barred itself. It was alone, afraid, and on its last breath.

The last defense before total synaptic suicide. Before his brain gave up and turned to mush. It felt like his mind was trying to murder the rest of him.

The narrator came then, a savior. The voice gave Sunday something to focus on and he grabbed onto it as if he was a parched animal and it was a cold bubbling creek, drinking from the cold relief it offered. Something rational, something understandable. He bathed in the sound that was a beautiful song after a thousand years of silence and held on for dear sanity.

All falls into place as the wretched find their way. Nothing is lost forever, and all is but a moment already past. One by one lone corpses stand amidst black sands, overwhelmed by the infinite of past, present, and future before them.

Let us read from the page of Sunday, and see his blessings and faults, his talents and deeds, his enemies and friends. For the first time, but not for the last.

He felt his whole dead body shake like a leaf against a storm but kept listening intently, afraid to miss even the furthest echoing remains of the words. As long as the voice was there to act as his anchor, he would be all right. He would gather the pieces of his soul and mind. He would be whole.