Chapter 2 - Chapter 2: the skull by (SarwarRaza)

On nights when the dreadful gates of the Black World opened and nameless innocents vanished without a trace, another truth unfolded within that same realm. There lived one of their own — a helpless being of the Black World — who, though born among them, had been kept in chains from childhood and punished in different ways for many years. Sometimes they burned him, sometimes they drowned him; they tried every method to kill him. They tore him to pieces, yet he would not die. Whether he was given food or left to starve, whether he was racked with pain from relentless torment, death would not come for that skull — he always recovered, whole again. Night after night he asked the same question: Who am I? Why am I like this? I should be dead. Kill me — please, kill me; kill me, kill me. His voice shook the whole Black World. The devils watched and saw that he would not die. What could they do? In the end they decided to abandon him: he was far too weak and therefore useless to them. It was true that he could not die, but his greatest weakness was that he could not kill anyone either, for his body was extremely fragile. Perhaps that was why he had been born this way. When they shoved him from his cell into the open, worn down by pain and suffering, he would lower his skull-like head and cry like a broken thing. He spoke to no one; he wandered, weeping. There was such sorrow in his cries that even the hardest-hearted listener, upon hearing that pain, would break down and weep themselves away.