am in hell.

I am trapped in dark.

It crushes. Smothers me.

I claw through the black. Need air.

My skin is on fire. Every touch makes it scream.

Every shifting rock, every moving grain. Every bubble that pops is a mortar. Mortals above me. Demons beneath. I hear it all.

I climb.

Taste the path like blood in my mouth.

It takes minutes. It takes years. I live. I will find them. My fingers will sink in. Pull them apart. I will eat their screams. This skin of pain, a splinter in every nerve, is nothing to what I will do to them. Nothing.

The ground bleeds, soft as rotten meat.

I breathe smoke. It sears inside.

Pull myself from rubble. Break through. Free.

The sun hates me. Fears me. Burns me more.

The Citadel in ruins. A tower sags and falls. Why? Is this some torment? Have the demons followed me up? Am I still in hell?

I walk. My feet sink in metal mud. My bones bend with every step.

What is wrong with me? I am stripped down. Raw. Opened.

Men approach. I feel them minutes before they appear. Shouting.

I cover my ears. It doesn’t help. They are too close. Footsteps like bombs. They wear paper suits, masks. It makes no sense.

helloisanyonethere?

heyyouareyouokay?

I hide. I try to answer. Find Plumm. Find the others.

They do not understand me. My words don’t work.

They fall back and cry. Screams like a chisel in my skull.

OHMYGOD?

WHATISTHATTHING?

I reach to them, to seize, break them for their disrespect. How dare they not know me? Everyone must pay tribute. I am the Dyad.

But these…are not hands. These are not my hands.

The men have fled. Far away, yet I can easily hear their words.

whathappenedtohim?

thecharhasdonesomething.

At my feet, a shiny piece of glass. I see my face. I understand.

The demons have not followed me.

I have not escaped hell.

I

am

hell.