It was worse than the howling fury of the rack, this place. Worse than the shrieking pain, the endless cries of damned souls pleading for mercy they would not receive.
It was worse than the blood smeared on his hands, seeping through his skin to stain his bones.
Worse than the fire that peeled singed hide from flesh, the blades that cut down to the soul and stripped all that was human away.
This was so much worse.
A cold, choking void that closed in on every side.
He could feel it clinging to his being like wet fabric, sliding across the surface of his eyes, slithering into his ears and pressing up his nostrils to smother him.
He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, pinned in the frigid emptiness of eternity like an insect in a box.
Utterly alone, his limbs useless, he could only wait for the crushing pressure of the darkness to obliterate him. His tongue was a lead weight in his mouth. He couldn’t even scream.
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