A young boy saw tragedy, then, he was dragged through a realm that should not exist, an inescapable crucible of torment where every law of reality had been warped into cruelty. It was a place beyond nightmares, where suffering wasn't a punishment but the air one breathed.
And the boy was confused.
The sky above was a shifting mass of exposed flesh and fire, glowing with pulsing heat and constant noise. Rivers of molten glass cut through jagged black plains, the air rippling with unbearable heat. Ash and poison burst from hills, darkening the sky with a dense, choking haze. Mountains were cracked and bleeding rust colored liquid that carved deep channels into the rock. The land was alive, violent, and furious, shaking and screaming beneath him.
He did not know why. He did not know where.
Time didn't move here, it pressed down, crushing him. Each moment dragged on, filled with relentless pain. There was no past or future, only an endless present that stripped away his sense of self.
His body was torn apart and reformed repeatedly, bones twisted into unnatural shapes, skin constantly ripping and healing. His nerves were exposed and endlessly triggered, his pain never stopping.
Besides the unending torment, he didn't know anything.
Cold, unnatural voices echoed in his mind, speaking in sounds that didn't belong. They twisted his thoughts, blending truth and lies until he couldn't think clearly. His memories broke apart, his name, his face, his past, all slipping away before he could hold onto them.
He was hurt, and scared. So deeply, terribly scared.
He burned from inside, a slow, spreading heat beneath his skin. His spine cracked, his ribs bent and tore as if something inside was forcing its way out. He bled a dark, molten substance that hissed when it hit the ground.
He clung to a thread of hope, hope that it would all end. And he wanted it to end so much.
Invisible claws tore through his insides, shredding nerves and breaking bones. Silent mouths hung in the void, consuming without moving, taking away the meaning of his pain and the voice of his screams.
'Help.' The word clawed at his mind. 'Please... help me…'
Light pierced through him, sharp and unrelenting. His skin burned and blistered, each part screaming in pain.
And still, still, he endured.
Not out of strength, but because he was not allowed to die. The realm would not let him. Death was denied to him.
Agony gave way to numbness, and numbness curled back into agony. He became a loop of suffering.
There was no escape.
There was no logic.
There was only pain.
Suddenly, the indescribable heat was replaced with a biting cold.
Surrounded by ice.
Dirty, gray, half melted into slush.
He did not know how he had survived. He did not know what it was he survived. He did not remember.
Even that place, which had been his only salvation, had slipped from his memory.
He only knew this. He was alive.
People shouted. Carriages clattered. The stench of coal smoke, piss, and wet stone hit his face.
People stepped over him. A man muttered, "Who the hell leaves a naked kid in the street?"
The boy blinked.
No memories.
Just unfamiliar sensations.
And a single, pressing question,
What was this place?