Session 12: Assassins Report

General Summary

Darkness!   Darkness so deep and vast that the existence of light seemed like a fable. Sarva remembered the darkness in the catacombs beneath the ziggurats of Amon where slaves who had served their purpose were put to await their final use. That darkness had seemed threatening at the time. Now, he would have welcomed a return to those cells.   The thought of the catacombs triggered more memories. Memories of the stifling heat, the foul stench of hundreds of unwashed bodies left to wait for their eventual death in small rooms without ventilation. The unending sea of moans and screams. Sarva remembered how glad he had been to leave that place. For the remainder of his life, whenever he had though of hell or the abyss, those memories had surfaced.   How wrong he had been. Sarva would have given everything to feel that heat, to smell that stench and hear those screams. The hell he found himself in was much worse. The darkness contained nothing. No light, no smell, no sound. He was hot not cold. His mind constantly reached out for any sensation, only to recoil in horror from the void it found waiting.   Sarva knew he was dead. He also knew he was doomed. His soul had been marked by the great demon Amamastor, and now he belonged to him. There would be no afterlife, no hell, unless Amamastor wanted it. He would be the fiend’s plaything for as long as it wanted.   Suddenly the darkness retreated, taking the emptiness of the void with it. Light and heat flooded into whatever space Sarva found himself in. Although he had no eyes, he could perceive the entity that approached him. A giant of flame and shadow, wielding a whip of fire. This was Amamastor, his captor.   “Welcome, little soul. You are the first to be brought to me. Hakano did that, at least, before he was killed.”   The giant demon began circling Sarva, not unlike a shark corralling his prey in the ocean.   “How foolish you were to ignore my summons. You could have risen to the top of society in Amon. Wealth, power, knowledge, all these things could have been yours. The general would have given you control of your little house if you had asked. All you had to do was to come here and accept his offer. Instead, you chose to do what? Run? From me? As if this could have ended any other way.”   The whip lashed out and struck Sarva. He had been enjoying the return of some of his senses up to that point. The whip curled around his soul and burned. There was pain, but not like anything Sarva had felt before. He no longer had a body. This pain came from his soul. He felt the flames of hell burning away his very essence and knew that this could end him. Not kill him, for he was already dead, but end him completely. Erase him from existence. As the fiery whip’s flame grew, his own soul’s ember withered. Just before it would simmer out completely the whip was pulled back.   “I am not done with you. Not yet. Your friends must suffer the same fate. No-one defies me!”   Amamastor began moving away from what remained of Sarva. The light and heat moved with him and Sarva noticed the void creeping closer once more.   “There will be no more torture. I should not have come here now, but I could not help myself. I will let the void take you. First to go will be your sanity. No soul keeps that for very long. Then, your memories and dreams will begin to fade. Once they are gone, you will be nothing but an empty husk. Putty for me to sculpt into something new.”   The light had become a little pinprick in the distance and the demon’s voice was but a whisper on the wind. Sarva desperately clung to both, for he knew Amamastor was right. The void would end him, just as much as the whip would have. Sarva would be no more.   “I leave you with this final thought. A torment to hold on to while you fade. Your family needs a new messenger, and the general is so very generous with his demon slaves.”