«My father, in the cold fury of his darkest moods, would always say that it was better to suffer injustice than to inflict it; his words were always followed by a swing of his belt, and whilst I felt the sizzling pain of the cold leather against my skin, every time, I strongly disagreed, but this is irrelevant in the face of my current situation.»

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"I am wet."

An inexorable thought, wrought by the cold and trickling feeling of a droplet roused Mr. Edward from his tormented slumber.

His mind, or consciousness, which felt as though it had slept for eons, gained increasing amounts of clarity with the gradual passage of time. Like a miasmic dye eroding water in the most insidious of ways.

Reeling from the oddity of his situation, Mr. Edward tried to appraise his surroundings, hoping forlornly to make some sense of his situation.

The scent of metal was strong, its intensity causing Mr. Edward to feel a small slap at the back of his throat.

"A void?"

Mr. Edward thought to himself as he opened his eyes to the Stygian darkness before him, but was quick to dismiss that notion as he felt the cold beneath his skin.

It was a biting cold, originating from a feeling of contact, one which could only be brought about by the presence of matter, immutable in its form.

And yet that cold was in contrast with a similarly worm feeling flowing down his thighs, the weight of something soft pressing against him.

With the absence of light, Mr. Edward could only imagine where he was sitting and what lay on him.

He was afraid.

It was a fear of the unknown, potent, so that even the slight sway of the wind made unease claw at him, a primal dread bubbling under the surface.

His situation was maddening to him, in the sense that Mr. Edward, to his dismay, had no idea where he was or the gravity of his situation.

He was utterly confused, his thoughts felt fragmented and his inability to move his body further provoked this unease.

"Were am I? Is this hell? Or a product of my illness?"

Mr. Edward, in his confused state, whispered out loud, finally uttering his first question since he had wound up in this restrictive prison, thereby confirming that he had at least retained the ability to speak.

His words were met with a strange and concerning reaction from his body; his saliva tasted bitter, and a light ache graced his jaws; he also had an uncertain feeling at the back of his throat similar to a gag reflex.

It was as though his body was so grossly unfamiliar with the words he had spoken that it felt repulsed by it. Additionally, his voice carried with it the innocence of youth devoid of the depth and weight that had defined him as a man.

"What is this feeling?," Mr. Edward muttered in a flushed manner, his wording quick as though letting out a short gasp.

He seemed to be bound by some kind of ever growing restrictions hindering his ability to move and yet he could not feel what bound him.

Furthermore, he felt something cold, not physically but internally, a nagging feeling that he was being followed by the cold state of a predator.

Panic stirred within him, his breaths quickened, his heartbeat thundering in his ears, and the realization that he was alive—or at least, in some semblance of life—offered little comfort.

"Am I to face those things men fear?" He pondered grimly, imagining hideously vivid images of the imps, bests and succubi that waited for him in the shadows of hell.

Where was he? Why was he here? The answers remained elusive, and the silence was a maddening companion.

It could have been that Mr. Edward was wrong, that his thoughts be only a construct of his mind with no purpose save to torture him, but even if that be the case, he could not confirm it.

His fears remained wholly unseen, and the gift of life, which in turn granted him the ability to feel sensation, only served as a catalyst for his fears to inflict upon him, bodily injury.

Although Mr. Edward's abrupt conclusion pertaining to his location could be called drastic and even unreasonable. In a sense, he did have his reasons.

Most of his confusion stemmed from the gripping fact that he could vividly remember ending his own life, a defiant act, which was and would always be, considered a great sin by the Christian religion he so disdained.

He had purposely bitten hard on two bare wires flowing with electrical currents thereby electrocuting himself to death.

The experience was so vivid that Mr. Edward could still feel the profound neural shock derived from the electrical discharge of the two wires dancing at his innards.

But now, he was here, sitting, thinking, breathing—It was unprecedented.

As sensation slowly returned to his form, Mr. Edward was left with only his thoughts which even then was disturbed by diminutive things.

The smell of mold, and damp wood, the sound of rushing water, and the feint, pandemoniac sound of echoing laughter, which Mr. Edward was convinced steamed from demonic imps.

The return of sensation acceded a feeling of clarity in Mr. Edward, his disjointed and incoherent thoughts calming down ever so slightly.

"How am I still alive?"

Mr. Edward finally asked himself a logical question, discarding the absurd improbability of his previous conclusion.

He was a man of science, and whilst his field did not involve religion, a classified experiment of his had led him to question and research what was known about the end of human life.

Like most scientists, Mr. Edward only believed in data, tests, and research and, although intrigued, was not swayed by the multiple acts of so-called miracles and wonders he witnessed on his journey.

In his experience, it was all the same: there was always a logical trick, a strategy these believers knowingly or unknowingly employed to achieve said results; it was either that or using fear, the carrot stick of a blissful afterlife, and years of social pressure to achieve what was intended, it became repetitive as he had predicted.

After years of research, he came to the same conclusion as others who had walked a similar path and had not fallen victim to a prophetic dream, escaped death, or witnessed a miracle of sorts.

His findings were that there was no life after death.

Because of his standing in the scientific community, this declaration put him at odds with the religious fools around him, wallowing in their dependency on some preternatural being of cosmic importance.

But Mr. Edward paid no mind, his confidence partially fuelled by the fact that he had never been wrong before, not on a subject he had so meticulously researched.

And yet here he was, living proof of a subject he had so Averred to be wrong.

"Even though I'm not in hell, my very existence seems to contradict the result of my previous research."

Mr. Edward muttered in a shaky and unfamiliar tone, "I was wrong," he concluded.

By now, Mr. Edward had been sitting for a while, and although he still could not move, he started to feel things more vividly; for instance, he knew that something warm lay on him, though he could not discern what it was.

In the engulfing darkness, Edward could only think, with the slow return of sensation periodically allowing pangs of clarity in his mind.

This clarity bore fruit to yet another theory from Mr. Edward, "could it be that I never died?" he asked himself.

It was the only conclusion that made total sense as opposed to him being the inaccurate party; in fact, it should have been the first thing he thought about, and yet he had to make two irrational conclusions before arriving at this one.

It was this singular conclusion that seemed to rouse Mr. Edward the most, his distaste expressed by the vehement grinding of his teeth, an expression which, unfortunately, remained unseen, shrouded in the ever-present darkness that blinded him.

"Yes it makes more sense now," he thought before muttering in an uneven tone of voice.

"This is just another plot for my formula, some kind of mental torture yes? But YOU WILL not break me.... I will never IN MY existence become subservient to you rats."

Mr. Edward declared resolutely, but then discovered that his voice had been unnaturally loud and though he thought he had discovered what was happening to him it did not wane the fear that was already there.

Silence, Silence, the world around him became so quiet that Mr. Edward felt the anger drain from him, whilst a low hiss of regret left his mouth.

The unknown beings, the ones laughing in the distance had heard him, how did he know?

Well, the sound of rushing water was still present, but the laughter had stopped abruptly.

Next Mr. Edward heard footsteps, little, hurried footsteps, and his body, urged by some maternal instinct of self-preservation, opted to make as little noise as possible.

Such was all he could do in this escalating situation.

Nearer, came the sound of footsteps, hinting so clearly at the presence of another entity, one which, in his frightened and agitated state, Mr. Edward pictured to be a quadrupedal beast of demonic descent.

At this time, the footsteps came to an uncertain halt, and only then did he hear it.

"⩤Ȟ⩃ጥ ⩤⩃Ϟ ጥȞ⩃ጥ Ϟጥ𐑮⩃ռᏵԐ Ϟ⍥ņռꓓ Ᏽņߠ/"

It was a sound, one so alienative that it brought Mr. Edward another pang of fright.

Although he could not see the being, he could at least discern by the dilation of the sound that it had been uttered at the other end of a blockade, a wall perhaps.

Mr. Edward was not sure, but something of the aspects of a barrier seemed to be blocking the beast from reaching him. Was it luck? Or the beginning of his punishment?

Just then, the beast spoke again, encouraging Mr. Edward to listen attentively, hoping to find clues tangible enough to explain his situation.

"ꓓ⍥ռጥ Ᏽ⍥ /ռϞ/ꓓԐ 𐑮Ԑ⩯Ԑ⩯ѦԐ𐑮 ⩯⍥⩯⩯ߠ ጥ⍥ᒻꓓ ņϞ ጥȞ⩃ጥ ጥȞԐ &/ꓓ /Ϟ ጰņ𐑮ϞԐꓓ"

This time, it spoke with a deeper intonation, a bit longer than before, allowing Mr. Edward to pick up more than a few astonishing details.

The first thing he noticed was the salient fact that he was, in fact, wrong about the number of beasts that had been attracted to him.

Due to the abrupt and recurrent nature of the footsteps, he had imagined a quadrupedal beast of Gothic monstrosity and savagery, unseen by the people of Earth when, in fact, it was two unknown entities as discerned from the vast change in intonation.

Mr. Edward had refrained from thinking of these entities as beasts due to the rather refined hint of intelligence hidden behind the way they spoke.

The sound, though alienating and disharmonious at first, hinted at a larger civilization, with Mr. Edward picking up bits of a familiar tongue mixed in an oddly spoken scramble.

To fill in the gaps were impactful and bizarre sounds that Mr. Edward was sure the vocal folds of the human body could not and would never be able to replicate.

"ᒻԐጥ ņϞ /ռį⍥𐑮⩯ ጥȞԐ ⩃ꓓņᒻጥϞ"

The deeper voice spoke again and was met with an instant response from its gentler counterpart.

"⍥&"

Just like that, Mr. Edward could perceive the two beings scurrying away in laughter as quickly as they came, taking away the burdensome weight off his worn-out shoulders.

Just when Mr. Edward was about to let out a weary sigh of relief, he discovered, to his shock or disputatious amazement, that he could see, not completely but in a partial sense.

Glaring particles of light cleft his vision so sharply that Mr. Edward felt a biting sting, tears rolling down his cheeks as a result.

His vision improved quickly, even surpassing the limits of what Mr. Edward, in his normal liable and unbounded state, was used to.

Although he was still unable to move, he noted that he was in some kind of primitive mud hovel made with blackish mud and stone.

It looked unstable, its cracked-rimmed walls telling tales of age, squalor, and dilapidation reflecting a certain architectural indifference that could only stem from the minds of the illiterate.

The light that Mr. Edward had perceived in his partially sighted and disordered state steamed from rampant living organisms, fungi, or something bearing heavy similarities.

These fungi seemed to be the source of the green, purple, and red illumination that brightened the enclosed space.

Though the fungi glowed, it should not have been bright enough to illuminate the entire room, Mr. Edward mused to himself, and the more he looked, the more he could not help but mutter in wonder.

"Astonishing."

If one was not with Mr. Edward, it would be difficult to understand what he was experiencing. It was as though he could see the world in high definition, the clarity of the images his brain perceived even better and more gaily intricate than in daytime.

And this was whilst he was stuck in a dark room with the only source of light being glowing fungi; Mr. Edward dared not imagine.

"I wonder what it will be like when I step outside?" he muttered, frowning immediately afterward; it would appear that his taste buds were still repulsed by the taste of his saliva.

Just when Mr. Edward was adjusting to the return of his sight, he felt an itch and moved to scratch it, letting out a languorous sigh at the pleasant sensation that came along with it.

It was at that moment that he raised a brow and looked at his own palm in shock.

This body… was not his.

His skin was of an alabastrine pale, almost like a fresh chuck of clean wool; the contracts, as one might discern from Mr. Edward's amazement, possessed so much of a difference from what he was used to that it gave him the false illusion that his skin glowed.

But it was not the color of his skin that shook him, no it was something more sinister.

Due to the paleness of his skin, the color red was an excellent contrast easily noticeable with single a glance.

That color stained his palms, trickling down his arm like a slithering snake.

On his other arm, his fingers twitched, brushing against damp fabric, the feeling of what lay on him.

The answer to the question of what lay on him had thus been partially revealed, but without confirmation it was worthless.

Slowly, he moved his head—and to his horror was met with the glassy, lifeless stare of a young girl who smiled grimly at him exposing her blood stained teeth.

As if waiting for this moment, her green eyes followed his slightest movements never letting him out of her sights.

Her neck was slit from ear to ear, and yet she smiled so strongly that one could argue that she enjoyed the process of her death.

Mr. Edward had finally discovered the source of the unsettling feeling that plagued him, as he had found the one who was watching him.

It was at this moment when he had reached the peak of his repulsion did he see it.

He did not know if it was a hallucination, but could swear that he saw the little girl open her mouth, uttering a string of words in faint but clear English.

"You will die in ten years!"

She said, blood spilling out of her mouth as she spoke, her smile slowly fading from view, leaving nothing but absolute lifelessness.

Mr. Edward felt his breath hitch, blood pooling beneath him, sticky against his palms.

Caught in this harrowing moment, his stomach churned and his mind screamed for answers, but there were none.

Just then, before he could react, the sound of footsteps echoed in the distance—quick, deliberate, and drawing closer.

He was out of time.