Ackster wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the fact that he regained consciousness, even if he could only sense that he existed in a colorless void, meant that he was going to recover. It might take half an eternity. But he was alive.
Or he was dead and in the afterlife.
However, the pain tearing through whatever was left of his existence spoke of him being alive. It carried a certain pettiness in it that the pain Ackster felt usually did when it was his fault. So, it most likely wasn't Hell.
Ackster tried to get a grasp on his surroundings or his state, but he could barely think, and it didn't take long before his mind returned to slumber to try and let his soul and core recover.
The next time Ackster woke up, if he could even call it that, his sense of self felt slightly more stable. But that wasn't a relief. Since he could sense his condition more than before, he knew how close he was to dying still.
