Clear skies, unmarred by a single blemish, stretched endlessly, reflected perfectly in the serene lakes below. Scott lay on the water’s surface, his gaze fixed on the drifting, fluffy clouds above.
"What just happened?" he muttered, sitting up slowly. To his surprise, his body floated effortlessly on the calm waters. His reflection stared back at him from the glassy surface, and he frowned, running his fingers across his face. Is that me? His hair was black and curly, his skin rosy and healthy. Gone were the yellow stains in his eyes, the fractured worlds burning within them. Even his clothes—jungle boots, shorts, and a tattered grey jacket—seemed oddly familiar.
This has to be an illusion, he thought, scanning the horizon. But nothing appeared out of place. Only endless water and sky.
The last time I wore any of this... we were in the forest, he mused, brows furrowing. How am I even floating? The water beneath him stretched into unseen depths, yet his body stayed buoyant, unnaturally balanced on the surface.
Questions crowded his mind as he rose to his feet. I need to reach out to... His thoughts faltered, his face twisting in confusion. Who was I going to reach out to again? A string of blurred faces flashed briefly in his mind, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t place their names or the relationships he shared with them.
Who are these people? Why can’t I remember? As soon as the thought formed, the silhouettes in his mind vanished completely. Wait, what was I just thinking about? Scott blinked, disoriented. Where the hell is this place? Omar and... The name slipped away, leaving him blank. Who’s Omar?
Soft giggles broke through his haze, and he turned instinctively toward the sound. A few feet away, children played in the water, splashing and laughing, while adults stood nearby, watching over them.
Were they always there? Scott wondered, his feet moving forward on their own. He needed answers—someone, anyone, to explain what was happening. He walked quickly, anxiety building with each step. Ten steps. Twenty. Thirty. Yet no matter how far he went, the children and adults remained frustratingly distant, always just out of reach.
“What the hell is going on?” Scott’s heart pounded. "Hey! Can someone help me?" He shouted, waving frantically, but none of the children or adults turned. It was as if he didn’t exist.
Determined, Scott prepared to shout again. But then he felt it—a soft tug on his jacket. He looked down sharply, startled. A young boy, no older than ten, stood beside him, dressed only in banana-printed trunks. Scott hadn’t seen him approach. Before he could speak, the boy pointed behind him, his voice small and curious.
"Is that from you?"
Scott followed the boy’s outstretched hand—and his heart skipped a beat. A long, inky black trail swirled through the pristine waters, dark and sinister. It was coming from him.
Where the hell did that come from? Scott turned back to the boy, but he was gone. The children, the adults—gone, too.
What the fuck is happening? Panic surged through him. He turned back to the dark waters, and froze. A massive entity loomed where there had been nothing before, its form indistinct, terrifying, as though reality itself bent to accommodate its existence. Its presence was a nightmare made flesh, capable of unraveling the minds of the weak and driving the powerful into madness.
Scott’s eyes were drawn upward, compelled to meet the creature’s gaze. What he saw was beyond comprehension—eyes forged from the shattered remains of those who had lost themselves to insanity. They were the gateway to madness itself.
He couldn’t look away. His lips twitched uncontrollably, his face contorting into a grotesque mix of emotions. Around him, the once-tranquil waters, the peaceful sky, the silence—they ceased to matter. All that existed now were those eyes. All that would ever exist.
A crazed smile spread across Scott's face as blood mixed with tears streamed from his eyes. He let out a deranged laugh, the sound reverberating through the empty space.
"You think this is enough to break me?!" he bellowed, his blood-smeared face twisted in defiance. "You can try all you want, but you will never—"
Two massive hammers slammed into him from either side, obliterating his words and his body in an eruption of blood.
----------------------------------------
Scott awoke with a gasp, his chest heaving. Darkness pressed in from all sides, and the air was thick with the smell of earth. He could taste dirt at the back of his throat. Raising a hand, he found it pressed against a soft padded ceiling just a few feet above him. His legs, too, were trapped in a space barely big enough to move.
What the hell kind of dream was that?
Scott's hands roamed through the darkness, fingers brushing over a soft, padded surface he couldn’t quite place. “Where the hell am I?” he muttered. He balled his fist and slammed it against the padding, but the impact produced only a muted thud. His blows lacked the power to break anything. Undeterred, Scott continued pounding the surface, each strike dull and muffled in the confined space. Soon, the sound shifted—wooden echoes, still faint, but there. He kept going, ignoring the growing ache in his knuckles as the scent of fresh blood mingled with the earthy air.
In the oppressive darkness, with the coppery tang of blood and the smell of damp earth thick in the air, Scott’s fists hammered relentlessly. The wood began to give, and finally, with a sharp crack, his hands punched through. Dirt trickled onto him, its grainy texture unmistakable against his skin. He couldn’t see it, but he knew it was there.
His hands, raw and stinging, pushed through the wooden barrier and found themselves buried in the surrounding earth. Despite the pain, Scott clawed furiously at the wood and dirt, his breath growing thinner with every movement. His body trembled, but his hands kept digging, driven by an instinctual need to escape, to survive, no matter the cost.
The more he tore through the barrier, the more dirt rained down on him, spilling into his narrow prison. Soon, he’d made enough room to push his upper body through, but the weight of the earth pressed down on him, his body spasming from the lack of air. Yet he clawed on, pushing himself through the mud-like dirt that surrounded him, every motion sapping what little strength he had left. The dirt became wetter the further he dug, as if he were struggling through thick, cloying mud.
Minutes passed, or maybe hours—Scott had lost track of time. His hands finally broke through to open air, grasping at the freedom above. Summoning the last of his strength, he forced his head through the dirt, gasping for breath as his face broke the surface.
“Fuck,” he cursed weakly, taking in great gulps of air. Thunder boomed overhead, and hail pelted the ground around him. His body barely responded as he raised his head to look around, a chill settling deep in his bones. Before him stretched a vast, barren landscape littered with countless gravestones. Towering, ominous figures, each wielding a sickle, patrolled the graveyard.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
Where the hell is this? Scott’s thoughts raced, urging his trembling body to pull free from the ground. But before he could fully emerge, bone-chilling screams echoed through the graveyard, freezing him in place. The sound was like nothing he had ever heard—so mournful, so haunting, it cut through the thunderclaps like a knife. Lightning flashed, illuminating the graveyard in stark relief, but a shadow hung over everything within a hundred-meter radius, concealing the landscape in darkness.
Scott tried to look behind him, hoping to catch a glimpse of what loomed in the shadow. But then a sharp clicking noise pierced the air.
What was that? What’s happening? His thoughts were a whirl as his vision dimmed, a strange sensation overtaking him. Why does it feel like I’m floating? He glanced down and froze.
There, half-buried in the dirt, was a headless body, blood spurting from its neck. Is that... my body? His vision darkened further, his consciousness teetering on the edge. I refuse to die! he roared inwardly, the determination lighting up his fading senses.
“Why must you be so stubborn?” a childish voice asked from behind. Scott couldn’t see who had spoken, but the voice echoed in his mind. “Why cling to life when you will be reborn anew?”
Scott’s severed head tumbled to the ground, his gaze catching one last glimpse of one of the towering beings approaching. But something else held his attention. In the distance, a figure stood surrounded by an uncountable number of floating mirrors.
Is that... me? The thought barely formed before his head hit the ground with a thud. Then, everything exploded into darkness as his vision crumbled to nothing.
----------------------------------------
The whipcrack of countless lashes echoed through the air, mingling with agonized wails. A blend of fresh and clotted blood, charred flesh, burning wood, acrid acid, and the sulfurous reek of rotten eggs pervaded the air. It clung to the area, heavy and nauseating.
Scott's eyes snapped open as a soul-rending scream tore from his throat. His eyes burned red with agony, the source of his torment immediately clear—spiked, thorned whips ravaged his flesh, tearing it from his bones. His arms were bound by searing chains at the wrists, suspending him over churning pits of magma that spewed ash, lava, and noxious gases. His body was a tapestry of brutal injuries, and an unseen hand sprinkled salted water over his bloodied skin, intensifying his suffering.
The whip cracked again. Hundreds of thorned tendrils wrapped themselves around Scott's body, pulling, ripping, shredding his skin. He jerked violently as a new scream tore from his lungs, blood spurting from every ravaged inch of his form.
"It doesn't have to be this way," a voice echoed—his own voice, but not from his own mouth. "Your stubbornness causes you so much pain." The voice carried a strange familiarity, yet the malice behind it was alien. "Why must you let me do this? Why cling to this version of yourself when you could be reborn?"
The whips descended again, flaying his body with relentless brutality. Saltwater rained down, mingling with the blood and raw wounds, making him tremble uncontrollably. His screams battled against the clanking of his chains and the violent eruptions from the lava below. Every inch of his body, both flesh and soul, quaked with unbearable pain.
Again, the whips lashed out, sinking into his mutilated flesh, and his screams echoed anew. This time, the rain that followed wasn't saltwater. It was acid. Scott's body spasmed, contorting as the acid seared his skin, his screams piercing the very air. He was nothing more than a grotesque ruin of flesh and blood, barely recognizable as a living being.
"Why must you do this to yourself?" the voice repeated, now tinged with exasperation. "All you need to do is submit, and I will remake you. You’ll be reborn into a form far stronger—"
The voice halted abruptly as manic laughter erupted from Scott, shaking the air with its intensity. His body swayed back and forth, madness and rage twisting his features, but despair or resignation were absent. Only defiance remained.
The saltwater came again, but Scott’s laughter only grew more deranged. The whips tore at him continuously, for what felt like an eternity, but his insane cackling echoed louder than his torment. His body, now little more than mangled flesh clinging to shattered bones, refused to die. Each time he was torn apart, his body trembled with laughter, defying the punishment.
"I don’t understand you!" the voice boomed, irritation now palpable. "Why won’t you surrender? Do you resent me that much?!"
Water descended once more, but this time, it wasn’t salt or acid—it healed him. Scott’s body was restored to its original, pristine state, only for the whips to return and tear it apart once more. Yet, his eyes burned with a dark, primal desire, and his laughter echoed endlessly through the twisted chamber.
The torture repeated—whips, acid, saltwater, magma, and toxic fumes tore through him, but his delirious smile never wavered. Again and again, Scott was reduced to a skeleton, and each time, the healing water restored him, only for the cycle to begin anew. His body endured countless cycles of destruction and rebirth, each iteration more brutal than the last. And still, Scott’s laughter persisted.
With each restoration, it took longer for his body to succumb to the torment. The whips multiplied, the acid poured in greater torrents, and the saltwater rained harder, yet Scott’s defiance never faltered. His body was ravaged, healed, and ravaged again, but something within him remained unbroken.
At last, after one more restoration, the whips did not return. Instead, another Scott materialized in the distance—his eyes hollow, with several floating mirrors orbiting his form. He stood with an air of cold detachment; his expression unreadable. Meanwhile, the reflections in the mirrors stared at Scott, each wearing a different expression—shock, fear, apprehension, even a hint of respect.
“I applaud your tenacity,” the empty-eyed Scott said, his hands clasped behind his back. His voice was eerily calm. “But I will break you,” he declared solemnly, his demeanor unwavering.
Scott’s laughter halted, his face contorting with confusion. He turned toward the mirrored version of himself, his gaze distant, yet sharp with resolve. “My body, my thoughts, my wishes and dreams, my memories, my hopes—my emotions and soul—you might crush them all, taint them with your corrupted hands, but my will? That, you’ll never break!” His grin returned, wild and unhinged, the very picture of madness.
In that moment, the yellow sign ignited in one of his eyes, while fractured burning worlds swirled in the other. This time, however, the flames engulfing the world had turned black. A sharp crack echoed through the air. One of the mirrors shattered—then another, and another. In mere seconds, countless mirrors exploded into shards, the pieces rushing toward Scott and embedding themselves into his body.
The chains binding his arms rattled violently before snapping apart, yet Scott remained floating, suspended in the air, his eyes locked onto his hollow-eyed variant. He stepped forward, and with each movement, more mirrors splintered, the projections within them surrendering to their fate, merging into Scott as they dissolved.
Step by step, Scott moved closer. More mirrors shattered and fused with him until, at last, he stood face-to-face with his variant, every last mirror absorbed into his being.
“I don’t understand you,” the variant said, his expression unchanged, still blank, unreadable.
“You can’t,” Scott replied, the madness in his smile burning brighter than ever.
“I should have broken you,” the variant retorted, his tone edged with frustration.
“You never could,” Scott answered, his voice resolute.
“Why?” the variant snarled, rage twisting his features. “What makes you so—” He froze mid-sentence, his head tilting as if peering at something just beyond Scott. His lips curled into a sneer. “He doesn’t belong to you,” he muttered, his tone dark and bitter. “He—”
His words cut off abruptly as Scott’s hand plunged into his chest. The variant’s body cracked and began to disintegrate, the space around them fracturing in response. A crisp sound echoed like shattering glass, and the torturous scene dissolved into nothingness.
Scott now found himself suspended in a void, but he wasn’t alone.
Before him floated a colossal throne, hovering weightlessly in the endless black. Flames of various colors flickered across its empty surface, and in front of it stood several beings, their forms cloaked in light, each of their gazes fixed on Scott. He could feel the oppressive weight of their attention, the immense power each one harbored. Undoubtedly, they too had endured brutal trials to reach their positions. But Scott was unmoved, his focus trained on a single blackened flame amidst the others.
He stepped toward the throne, and instantly, the luminous figures blocked his path. Yet, the black flame broke free, soaring from the throne and merging with the voidweaver in a burst of dark energy.
You have refused to submit to the will of the Mad God!
The throne trembled violently, and space itself quaked in response, rippling under the throne’s power.
The Authority of Madness revels in your existence! The Baptism of Madness shall now commence!