Pillar of Flesh, Tower of Bone, an eternal darkness fanfic

He was warm and pressed from all sides. His first breath was a gasp, then a groan. His head throbbed. He was surrounded by a seething mass— he remembered pitching forward into the pit, darkness rising to meet him, tired sobs. The smell, good God, the smell. His head pulsed in time with his heart. His arm was twisted in an impossible way, down and to the side. Right arm useless. Immobilus. Merda. He could feel his useless arm, swollen and furnace hot, full of needles and knives.

Opening his eyes showed him nothing more than blackness. Darkness, eternal. He couldn't think. His head throbbed. There was pressure on all sides, and it seemed to be always growing, always increasing.

Think.

Think, think think it's all you're good for you useless shit think think think

Think

monsters, gods, murder, slaves, the pit, the words, the gods, the book, the runes, thespells

"Santak, Pargon, Narokath, Pargon, Chattur'gha," he gasped, keeping himself as flat as he was able. Relief like cool water seeped through his veins, righting his unnaturally bent arm, fixing his tilted ribs, bringing a dim, pinkish vision back to his eyes. Merda. Still have to get out of here. Get to the top. You might survive. He started off blindly, crawling into the spaces between people, over people, over bodies, over flesh, over death, over breath through the squirming mass of misery—

—his hand met a something hard, something more solid than flesh, something harder than bone. Solid. Complete. Concrete.

The breath was already seeping from his lungs, his vitality gone, his strength fading. The bones of his arm were shifting gradually into agony once more, his ribs creaking dangerously as ribs should not. He tried to calm and still himself. "Santak, Pargon, Narokath, Pargon, Chat—"

In the middle of his spell, a shifting came from below along with a chorus of moans, and he lost his concentration, the complex shapes sliding out of his grasp. He tried once more, and got not even a quiver of a response.

"Santak, Narokath, Chattur'gha." Nothing.

Now he cried, shame something else he lost at the rim of the abyss. His head throbbed, in time with the moans of others now. He tried once more. "Santak, Narokath, Chattur'gha."

Nothing.

"Santak, Narokath, Chattur'gha."

Not even the dark gods could help him here.

Author's Note: Fully my fault.