A Lightless Corridor

The lights from a thousand worlds pierced flesh. Rolling waves of energy filled the air. Ozzob floated through the azure space, unconscious. The sky was at all angles. Globules of energy, both pure and dark, puddle in midair. Streams of indigo flavored particles streaked across the tipping void.

The sorcerer’s eyes slowly opened. Instantly, he began to gasp for air, unable to fill starved lungs. His death throes lasted for an hour; then a realization, he was no longer breathing; in this place, he did not need to breathe. Ozzob’s body caked over in ethereal glows; silver webs began to form around his hands and feet.

In seconds, the frosted webbing gained thickness, strength. The glistening cords began to cover the sorcerer’s entire body; slogging his movement in the otherwise open air. Ozzob held back for a moment, and then exuded a massive shower of sparks. Forces interacted, exploding into balls of white. For a moment, the sorcerer became his own silhouette as the webbing scratches away.

Far below Ozzob, a mass of barren land began to come into focus, not materializing in substance, just becoming visible in perception. Operating as a proverbial fish out of water, Ozzob dove to the sight of something substantial. Touching down, his feet hooked under a broken branch--half buried in the ground. Gravity was non-existent in this cell of purgatory.

Ozzob stood on the blank disc, looking into the desolate horizon—-emptiness. His vision carried back to the ground. The branch was no longer a branch; the branch was an arm, extending out from the ground. Ozzob knelt down and brushed away the dirt to reveal a face. Rhulgar’s eyes stared back from behind the familiar human landscape.

Ozzob recoiled from the surface; he began to drift away, overhead. His eyes scanned the area; the barren horizon was now a field of bodies intermingled. Driven by the laws of a reality-based world, the sorcerer was unable to distinguish where each corpse begins and ends. Ozzob stretched forward with his hands, swiping outward, reaching across the horizon.

The fleshy terrain melted away in moments, and again Ozzob confronted a wasteland; this one slightly less depraved than the first, yet still completely heartbreaking. Ghastly bodies began to fade into view, and again, the horizon became a visage of death. Ozzob turned away, and in so doing, dismissed the substance of the interaction; without his mind for fuel, the desolate plain of persistent death ceased to exist.

#

A wispy form circles through the void, a balancer. An entity left by the passage of a voice, the same as mortals leave footsteps. The hollow beings roam purgatory, collecting lost spirits for storage in the locker of the condemned. The locker is a doorway to the final place, the deep core where souls rot and wither. Mortals call it, the end of the line.

Whenever a creature crosses over and enters this realm of shadow, its soul creates a reality with a single thread bound to the core. Ripples of activity stretch across one spirit cord and warn the voiceless creatures. A new soul has arrived.

#

Two balancers swooped in at Ozzob; he dove back, spinning listless in the void. One of the shell-like spirits grabbed his arm; he exploded with fury, striking the minion with a closed fist that burrowed deep. Ripping his energy-encased hand from the balancer’s skull dispatched the apparition. More of the endless roamers arrived in time to see the empty shell crumble.

One of the balancers unveiled a ghastly whip; an echo of a weapon layered with razors. Dragging the savage device in its wake, the hollow creature darted across the formless space passing close by Ozzob. The attack sliced deep into his forearm and chest, ripping through clothes and flesh. Ozzob folded over in pain. Screaming to the void of purgatory, he lashed out with his free arm.

Bolts of lightning ruptured from his hand, the streaks of excited electricity leapt out at the balancers circling the area. Pulsating arcs blasted into a dozen different balancers simultaneously. Manifested in anger, Ozzob’s spell had no affect. The bolts of lightning simply passed through the spirit husks; the balancers pressed the attack.

Ozzob cradled his flesh in an effort to keep his innards from spilling out, he did not see the device deploying at his back. One of the balancers grabbed the controls of the wracked metal torture-machine; the hollow entity drove the wicked mechanism into Ozzob’s spine. The insidious device dug into fragile flesh. Locking clamps unfolded; in seconds, a metal belt secured an unbreakable grip around the sorcerer.

Ozzob unloaded another wave of lighting bolts as the device forced his body into an outstretched and wracked position. The streams of electrical energy fell on uncaring hides. The sounds of mechanical pounding reverberated endlessly in the void. Metal arms extended from the pain-inducing tool attached at Ozzob’s back; the telescoping appendages extended, unfolded, and extended again.

Reduced by the intensity of the contraption, Ozzob was unable to struggle. Within moments, the mechanical arms clamped down on the sorcerer’s limbs. Having completely immobilized their prey, the balancers locked the restraints in position. Just as he passed out, Ozzob saw himself, getting hauled off to the darkness of the core.

#

There was a knock at the door. Ingrlo rose from his seat and went to answer. Dedrick and Tolvis stood in the shadow of the overhang; Ingrlo stepped back and ushered the two master psions inside.

“So, where has he gone?”

As Ingrlo poured three glasses to the rim, “Truly, I do not know.”

“Do you think he will return?”

With a single, slight chortle, “I do not know…”

The three sat in silence and sipped drinks for a few minutes.

“What are your plans now?”

“Considering everything, Rhulgar is gone, and with his departure, the purpose of our temple is dissolved. All of our students are dead, which makes us the last two learned psions.”

“So, with these recent events, the legacy of your clan is over? You are just going to pass away into the world?”

“The legacy is far from over, we will find new grounds, and build a new history, there will be more students. The psions will persevere.”

Tolvis lowered his glass and locked a dead stare on Ingrlo. “Will he come back?”

“I have no idea where he is… but he is ok.”

#

Ozzob hung, impounded by the device, shuffled inside the lost soul’s storage cell--the deep core of purgatory. The faint sounds of chains rattled in soft wind. As the sorcerer’s vision slowly returned, he could see little ambiance. From the farthest depths, a light flowed up. Deep moans mingled with the endless crying of the chamber; the occasional pings of a chain pulled taught highlighted the dread.

Forced to stare at the distant light, Ozzob could see others, many more. The chains created endless lines extending into the deep, and at the end of every chain was another mechanical clamp grasping the spirit of a sentient being. Some remained alive, some only lived, and some simply existed. Echoed from an indiscernible source, Ozzob heard scratched words in a familiar voice.

“There are two worlds; in the early days when I was a young man, the worlds were the same. However, in time I changed our world. My magic destroyed entire species… With each death on one world, a new life emerges on the other. There are a finite number of souls bouncing between the two planets, on the flow.

“This place is the center, the core. Whenever a soul falls out of the flow, it inevitably ends up here. I gather that you already know how that happens--the balancers. There are other beings here, building the chain… dropping us closer to the end.”

Without warning, the pull of the core took over and Ozzob began to fall, but only a few inches. Tethered, the sorcerer could feel vibrations passing through the chain; the builders inserted a new link.

“Who are you?”

“You know me… as I know you.”

Straining, looking for the source of the words, Ozzob finally admitted, “Father.”

“Yes, I am here, and I forgive you.”

“Forgive me?”

“Yes, I know that no man or god could force you here, you came to liberate me. But I am afraid, this will be our end.”

A figure peeked from the blind darkness, a creature of human stature and sub-human appearance. Bulging muscles slid and shifted under a thick hide; defined by lore as a creature of the underworld, this race of demons was simply another species, one long extinct on the planet Ozzob called home. The red-skinned beast approached Ozzob and spoke in a voice that ground into bone.

“I… can help you.”

“What are you, the keeper of this dungeon?”

“No… I can get you out, if you help me…”

“What do you want?”

“I need warriors… fight for me.”

“Do not listen to him son.”

“Win the battle… Win your freedom.”

“Listen to me son; you don’t want to go there.”

“Ohh yes… You could, just stay here like all the others.”

“Son, there world is untouched, still pure.”

The tension behind Ozzob’s chain faltered for a moment; the builders inserted another link.

“Ok… I will do it.”

Burly red fingers, streaked in black, grabbed the controls of the machine contorting Ozzob. Internally, the rotors and wheels began to spin in reverse. Gradually the machine released and he regained his freedom. Detached from the metal clamps, Ozzob and the demon held a bargain hammered deep with words. They faded into the curved darkness together.

With a grim despair, Rhulgar told himself and all those not listening. “That will be the end of there world. History repeats because he dose not remember the mistakes he made last time. God help them.”

#

The voice of realization struck home, “Ozzob Eskeen may be a god, but he is not infallible.”