The whispers had become her constant companions, following Lena through the unrelenting days—or was it nights?—of Hell, with no end in sight. They didn't just linger at the edges of her thoughts anymore. They were louder, more insistent, threading themselves into her mind like an ever-present hum, blending into her waking moments, her dreams, and even the silence she craved.
_We're here. Guide us. Let us help._
Lena sat on the edge of her stone bed, staring into the rusted basin of water before her. The dim, flickering light from the torches on the walls cast her reflection in distorted ripples. She barely recognized the face staring back at her—dark circles carved under her eyes, her skin pale, her features hollow. It was as though Hell had physically begun to drain her, sucking the life out of her even in death.
Her hands trembled slightly as she touched the surface of the water. She didn't know how much more of this she could handle. Every day since she'd arrived had been a relentless barrage of pain, confusion, and unshakable dread. And now, the ghosts. They haunted her, not just in her dreams but in her every waking moment, murmuring things she could barely understand, but always the same refrain: _We're here. We're with you._
A sharp knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. She didn't need to look up to know who it was.
"Get up," Azrael's voice cut through the stillness of the room, cold and commanding.
Lena glanced up, her heart sinking at the sight of him standing in the doorway. He always looked the same—tall, imposing, his golden eyes glinting with that predatory sharpness that never seemed to fade. There was always something unreadable about him, something in the way he watched her, as if he were waiting for her to reveal something she didn't even know she had.
"We're going somewhere new today," he said, his voice low and steady, but there was something in his tone that sent a cold shiver down Lena's spine.
Lena hesitated for a moment before rising to her feet, her body sluggish from exhaustion. The ghosts had been particularly active in her mind last night, tugging at her thoughts, pulling her deeper into her dreams than she wanted to go. She followed Azrael out into the corridor, her legs heavy with dread.
The fortress felt colder than usual. Each torch they passed flickered weakly, their blue-tinged flames barely casting enough light to illuminate the narrow passageways. The shadows that crept along the walls seemed to reach out for Lena, as if the darkness itself wanted to consume her. The deeper they went, the more claustrophobic the air became, pressing down on her with a suffocating weight that made it hard to breathe.
Lena could feel the whispers growing louder, their presence swelling in her mind like a rising tide. They seemed to pulse with the cold air, their voices intertwining with the shadows, whispering warnings she couldn't quite make out.
_This way... be careful..._
She glanced at Azrael, trying to gauge his mood, but his expression was as unreadable as ever. His smirk, however, was unmistakable. He enjoyed this—watching her navigate the horrors of Hell, testing her limits. There was always something calculated in the way he spoke to her, as if he was waiting for her to break or reveal something she didn't even understand about herself yet.
They reached the end of the corridor, and Lena's heart began to pound as they stopped in front of a massive iron door. It looked ancient, covered in deep etchings of strange symbols that pulsed faintly with a blue glow. She could feel the weight of something powerful behind that door—something old, something dangerous. Her skin prickled with an unseen energy, and the whispers inside her head surged, louder and more urgent.
_Lena... wait..._
Azrael rested his hand on the door's handle but paused, turning to look at her with an amused glint in his golden eyes. "There are some souls in Hell that can't be sorted or easily broken," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "They're too strong, too stubborn to let go of what they were in life. Today, you'll be working with one of them."
Lena's breath hitched. "What... what do you mean?"
Azrael's smirk deepened as he pushed the door open with a creaking groan. "You'll see."
The room beyond the door was unlike any place Lena had seen in the fortress so far. The air was freezing, a biting cold that sank deep into her bones, making her shiver despite the suffocating heat of Hell that usually clung to her skin. The light inside was dim, a faint blue glow emanating from strange crystals embedded in the walls, their eerie light casting long, flickering shadows across the room.
At the center of the chamber was a large, raised stone platform, and chained to it was a figure—a soul, but unlike any Lena had seen before. The soul's translucent form was unnervingly human. Its body was intact, its face almost serene, but there was an emptiness in its wide, staring eyes that made Lena's heart clench.
She stepped forward hesitantly, the cold air biting at her skin. The soul didn't move. It lay motionless, its chest barely rising and falling, as if it were in some kind of trance. There was no rage, no anger, no resistance—just a hollow stillness that sent a shiver of fear through her.
"What is this?" Lena whispered, her voice trembling.
Azrael stepped up beside her, his gaze fixed on the soul with something that almost resembled reverence. "This is a Bound Soul," he said, his voice soft but laced with danger. "A soul that refuses to accept its fate, yet has not completely succumbed to Hell's corruption. These souls are rare. They were people of power—leaders, rulers, tyrants. In life, they commanded others. In death, they refuse to release that power, clinging to it with every last fragment of their existence."
Lena's stomach twisted. She could feel the weight of the soul's presence pressing against her, though it remained silent. There was something terrifying about how still it was, how calm. It didn't fight, didn't struggle, but the emptiness in its eyes spoke volumes. It had already been broken in some way, yet it remained intact, tethered to Hell in a way Lena didn't fully understand.
Azrael's voice cut through her thoughts. "You'll be working with these souls from now on."
Lena's heart skipped a beat. "Working with them? What do you mean?"
Azrael turned to face her fully, his golden eyes glinting in the dim light. "The Bound Souls are dangerous. Their connection to the power they had in life makes them resistant to Hell's influence. But they need to be... dealt with. You'll unravel them. Guide them to release the power they're clinging to so that they can become useful."
Lena's stomach clenched. Unravel them? She didn't even know how to begin doing that. She could barely handle the regular souls—how was she supposed to deal with something like this?
She looked down at the soul on the platform, its blank, unseeing eyes staring up at the ceiling. The whispers in her mind surged again, louder this time, almost frantic.
_Let go... unravel..._
The pull was stronger here, like the voices were trying to push her toward something she didn't fully understand. They were guiding her again, but this time it felt different. More forceful. More urgent.
"I... I don't know how," Lena stammered, her voice shaky.
Azrael watched her closely, his smirk never fading. "You'll learn," he said, his tone dismissive. "Start with this one."
Lena swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. She stepped closer to the platform, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The soul's presence was overwhelming, its hollow stare unnerving. The whispers inside her head grew louder, pushing against her thoughts, urging her forward.
She reached out, her hand trembling as it hovered just above the soul's chest. The moment her fingers brushed the surface of its translucent form, a wave of cold washed over her, freezing her to the bone. The whispers surged, louder and more insistent.
_Release... unravel..._
Lena closed her eyes, focusing on the whispers, letting them guide her. She could feel the soul's emptiness, its hollow existence. It had once been powerful, commanding, but now it was nothing more than a shell, clinging to the remnants of what it had been in life.
She reached deeper, her mind brushing against the core of the soul's being. It resisted at first, clinging to the power it had known, but Lena didn't force it. She guided it, gently pulling at the threads that bound the soul to its former life. Slowly, carefully, she unraveled the ties that held it together, showing it the truth of what it had become.
You're not what you were anymore. Let go.
The soul trembled beneath her touch, its form flickering faintly. Lena could feel its resistance weakening, its hold on its former power slipping away
like sand through fingers. The emptiness inside it deepened, but there was a strange calmness that came with it—a quiet acceptance.
The soul exhaled, a long, drawn-out sigh, and then dissolved into mist, disappearing into the air.
Lena stumbled back, her chest heaving, her breath ragged. Her body felt weak, her mind throbbing with the intensity of what she had just done. The whispers had quieted, their presence still lingering but less urgent now. The room was still, the cold air no longer biting at her skin.
Azrael watched her with a gleam of something unreadable in his eyes. "You handled that well," he said, though there was a note of curiosity in his voice that made Lena uneasy. "Better than I expected."
Lena didn't respond. She couldn't. She felt hollow, drained, as if part of her had dissolved along with the soul. Her hands were trembling, and the cold emptiness in the room seemed to seep into her bones. But more than that, she could feel the bond with the whispers growing stronger. They had helped her, guided her, but she wasn't sure what they wanted in return.
Azrael turned toward the door, his smirk widening. "There will be more," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Lena's heart sank. She had known that, but hearing him say it out loud made it feel more real. More suffocating. She glanced back at the platform where the Bound Soul had been, her mind swirling with questions she didn't have the strength to ask.
_We're with you..._ the whispers murmured softly in her mind.
Lena swallowed hard, her pulse racing. She didn't know where this bond with the ghosts would take her, but one thing was clear: she wasn't alone.
And that terrified her.