All he could remember was pain. An intense, biting sort of agony that tore through the body without mercy. The type of pain someone could only feel from the sharpened edge of a blade that had been brought down upon them with the intent to harm. And hurt it did. It was a trembling, angry pain. It left him limp and unmoving where he lay. Well, perhaps he wasn't lying down. Perhaps he wasn't even unconscious at all?
But the idea that he was conscious did not explain why he could not see anything. He wasn't blind. He was very sure that nothing had happened to his eyesight. It couldn't be him. He could swear he had his eyes open. It must have been some kind of void where he was. It wasn't bright, nor was it dark. There is no colour, or no sound, but it is not dull, nor is it silent. Just an empty abyss of nothing. Surely he has to be dreaming, surely he has to be asleep. But he has no need for such a thing. Sleeping is a pointless activity that wastes precious, valuable time. Time he could be using for much more important things. And he couldn't be asleep, especially with all this pain he was forced to experience. It hadn't let up in the slightest since he had found himself of efficient and coherent mind. It had panicked him, causing the instinctive mental response of 'pathetic weakling' in his head. Then again, who would not be a little bit panicked if they woke up in an unfamiliar place in total agony. He was no weakling.
Oh what troublesome agony he was feeling. Why must it bother him? He is already lost and confused. Is that not enough to sate whatever being is doing this to him? He tried to think back, tried to remember what god awful deeds he had done to award himself such a fate. His records came up blank. But... There was something he remembered. Something with the few sparks of colour, sound, and smell. However, none of these memories brought him answers. They only brought him more questions.
He could remember smelling a thick stench, one that did not necessarily reek, but one that reminded him heavily of life and iron. Singed fabrics, death, and soggy, sweaty flesh were all remembered as well. All of his sight memories came out blurred and darkened. It was as if it had been storming in that particular time. Yes, yes, it had been thundering and eventually raining there, flashes of brilliant white against what he could only guess was the sky. But besides the flashes of white electricity in the sky, there had been clashes of bright blue and a hazy deep red. Sparks could also be recalled in this memory, flying out in every which way and being extinguished as they hit the rain. But everything was still very much a blur for him. Not figuratively, but quite literally, as if he had been propelled through the air at an alarming rate. There had been loud, echoing clashes as well. Sounds that grated the nerves and raised the hairs on the body. The wet sloshing of feet dancing in low water levels, and the soothing drone of rain making contact with water, flesh, and steel. Other sounds could be remembered, sounds of effort and pain, and the sounds of thunder rumbling and crackling in the distance.
But he tried to discard such sounds. There was no need to cling to the sounds of a battle. What he clung to was the droning white noise of rain hitting water. It didn't help the fiery pain that was still rocketing through his entire being, but it helped calm him. The void of external registration and the constant agony had begun to fuel his slight panic. Dare he say it, it had even begun to scare him. But the memory of rain was enough to soothe his fears. Perhaps it only hurt in this place because he was scared of what he couldn't sense. Perhaps it only hurt because he was alone. Whatever the causes, he remained in this nothingness with only the distant memories of his life and the sound of rain to soothe him.
He sat quiet for a long time. At least, he could only imagine that it was a long time filled with silence. He had no idea how to tell time in such a place, nor did he have any idea if time was passing at all. Everything in this void was motionless. Not a sound, not a sight, not a smell. He screamed. He tried to anyways. His entire being remained motionless. He could feel himself trying to scream, trying to shout, to yell, to call out to anyone or anything that could hear him. But it remained as nothing. Nothing came from him, nor did anything go to him. His fear flared up again, this time his pain reacting with it. He became more terrified of his predicament, and with that he began to hurt worse.
This was quick to turn into a vicious cycle, so much so that he could have sworn he had blacked out and returned to this awful state of not being sure if he was conscious or not. He had to be conscious though. He just had to be. He could feel his pain still. It had diminished. From the great, searing agony it had been what had felt to be only moments earlier, turned into quiet, dull aches and throbs. It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense at all. He hadn't calmed down from his earlier panic, nor could he have passed out. But his pain had been reduced somewhat. Why? His dormant fears gave way to confusion. Why didn't it hurt anymore? Why didn't his skin crawl or his flesh itch with the unbearable sensations? Was he recovering from something? Was he healing? Had he even been injured in the first place? Well, of course he had to have been injured. Pain doesn't usually come without a cause. But he couldn't remember a bloody thing about himself.
His confusion backed down for a new emotion to take over: frustration. What was wrong with him? He didn't have any wounds he knew of, nor did he feel as if he was ill. Why couldn't he remember what had happened to him? Was this punishment for something he had done? Was it amnesia? Or has he not even begun to live a life yet? But, he had to have been alive before. Those shattered memories stated quite bluntly that he indeed live before. Does this mean he is dead? Or is he suspended in the state between life and death? He certainly hoped he was not dead yet. He still had much to do... Hope brought him a flash of searing pain. He was incapable of screaming aloud, but his in his thoughts he could scream and swear all he wanted. It hurt so bad, just as bad as it had hurt before. He could see vague shapes now. But each shape was too blurry, hazy, and dull to even fully put together what was happening. Was this a memory too? Was he remembering things?
The pain eventually subsided as he took his time remembering, and the memory no longer pained him. However long it had taken him to remember it, it had been excruciatingly straining for him to remember it. He felt exhausted. But with this memory unlocked he could look at it without causing himself too much agony.
This one was of a creature. A certain kind of being. It was bipedal, if the way it's gangly little body stood told him anything. Most of it was still hazy, as if he had been fatigued when the memory had occurred. The little bipedal creature seemed to have been hurting at the time as well, but not nearly as much as he was. The world shifted as his memory showed himself taking a step back from the other, the creature following with not only a step but a snarl. Quite the unsightly little thing. But there is not much else that is clear to him. The sickening colour was the most well defined part of this memory fragment. Green. Ugh. The colour stirred something deep within him. The feeling churned angrily in his gut like a disgruntled, hungry beast. No. He did not like this creature. He did not even remotely respect this creature of green. His pains soon came back to him, threatening something terrible. So he left the memory alone. He left the colour alone and returned to his previous memory. Rain.
The sound of rain hitting water, flesh, and steel. Such satisfying, lulling sounds. The anger rising in his gut sank back slowly as he listened to the sounds of rain echoing in his memories. It soothed his immeasurable rage and fought off the claustrophobia that threatened to make him panic. It was a quiet sound, a muted sound. A sound he wouldn't dare let himself forget.
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Time had been confusing for him. He was unaware and uncertain if it even actually existed in this void he had been subjected to. There had to be some flow of time here. There just had to be. There had to be time because time was always flowing. But the instinctual feeling one gets as time moves forwards was not there. He could not sense the flow of time here. The fact that this place may not have a flow of time was a worrying development for him. There was no threat in this void, nor was there hope. There is absolutely nothing to do here in this void. The lack of threat and hope only left him with his memories. Each time he tried to remember something, it felt like it took hours to do. Yet it had barely even felt like the nanoseconds were ticking by. If time even existed in this abyss of nothingness, it was passing ever so slowly. If any time had passed at all, then he would say it had taken him what felt like years to remember all that he remembered now.
He could piece bits and pieces of it together like a puzzle. There had been some tragedy. Someone he had held dear was almost slaughtered and he had been able to cull the one who had been responsible for it. There had been years, probably centuries passing him by, and all of them had been spent in silence and anger. He had been waiting for something important. He trained every day and every night until it finally happened. There was a cue that made him send a typhoon or something millions of kilometres into the sky to retrieve something. But he had lost that something during the retrieval. It was then that his quest started. A quest of epic proportions, or so he tells himself. He managed to pinpoint his prize once but that bipedal figure had gotten in his way. The creature of green. He hated that creature, even now as he remained motionless in the abyss. The figure almost brought him down, but he had fled. Then he had continued onwards after he had healed himself. Several other encounters with this creature of green occurred all over the lands in his personal quest. Each one had ended in his own defeat. There was an overpowering surge of emotions through this quest of his, and he had fought to keep all negative emotions from taking over him. Not that it would do anyone any good here in this abyss. He couldn't hurt anyone but himself in this god awful place. Then came the triumph, sweet and well deserved after fighting so hard to win. But ultimately, it had led to another defeat, this one more bitter and infuriating than all others before it. After that surge of triumph came the vague memories he had started off with. Rain, thunder and lightning, everything little more than a blur, and the sheer pain of it all.
The memories didn't scare him. They were only memories after all. But out of all his memories, there was only one that frightened him. The memory of a beast like none other, the memory of a living, breathing, walking nightmare. He himself had never been afraid of much, meaning he had never really experienced a nightmare. But this beast was terrifying. Taller than what a normal being should be, with vivid black and crimson scales covering his body. A milky white scar had appeared to have been painted right onto his forehead, and out from his head, neck, and the back of his shoulders was a brilliant blaze of fire. The features beyond this were fuzzy. He could only faintly remember milky white eyes and large, razor sharp teeth. And given the right stance, this beast was pretty bloody terrifying.
His common sense said that the memory of this beast was most likely exaggerated. Fear had a habit of making things look worse than they actually were. But he could not help the shiver that ran through his very soul at the slightest remembrance of this creature. The shadow is often bigger than that who casts it, and it certainly is quite the large shadow being cast. This creature was not one to displease. One would be better off slaughtering themselves after a traitorous act than letting this beast discover it on his own.
How he knew this, he had no idea. But the image of this creature commanded fearful respect and blind loyalty. It felt to be a very threatening and commanding presence, one he did not wish to come into contact with ever again.
It took only what felt like years of searching for his memories to tell him he no longer had to fear this great and powerful beast, for it had been eradicated. Destroyed by this creature of green and sealed away into a blade whose very existence was to eradicate such nightmarish creatures. He still hated this creature in green, of course. The hate he felt for him was a bubbling rage that could not be soothed. But a dim respect had been formed for this creature of green. He had taken down the most terrifying beast he had ever come into contact with. If he ever had the chance to escape this void he was stuck in, he would be certain to clap the creature of green on the back in praise and thanks. But with the way things have been turning out for him, he may not even be in the same era as the creature of green anymore. A shame he never got to express his thanks, yes, but also a relief. He may never again have to encounter the being that had whipped up such violent and angry feelings inside of him. Then again, there was no way for him to properly measure time in this abyss.
If only this torment would end. If only he could be free of this. If he were to be released from whatever god's clutch he was stuck in he would send his thanks to the creature in green. Even if the creature in green was dead there are still ways to show him gratitude and thanks. Perhaps he should pray that he be released from this prison? Another surge of anger stirred inside of him. No. No, he will not be praying to some god. It was their fault he was in this mess, he knew it was. And yet he knew that he too is to blame for such a fate. Surely a god would not punish him without reason? Surely a god would not pick on an innocent for fun? It defied everything that a god was. That is enough. He is tired of thinking of gods and why he was forced into this punishment. He pushed away his thoughts, returning yet again to the sound of a rainstorm.
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It had taken forever. No. It had taken him much, much longer than forever. He had taken what felt like eons to remember his life to a decent extent. He could place the young face of the creature in green, as could he with the ancient, nightmarish beast. He could remember what he had been fetching from the sky and why. He could also remember exactly who the nightmarish brute was. Just thinking his name brought a chill to his soul. This brute did not deserve a name. He had twisted and soiled him, destroying his importance in the world with the false praise and admiration. The brute had been a manipulative bastard. Not that he had been much better himself.
He had no idea what he himself looked like. Out of all of his memories, his own reflection had been nothing but a hazy, white blur. Looking at his past affiliations, he could only assume he looked like the nightmarish brute. Big, stocky, disgusting and vile. Yet a part of him knew he had not always been in such a state. If there had been anything in this void that could show him what he looked like, he would leap on the chance to discover himself all over again, no matter how much he dreaded looking like the nightmarish brute.
With little to do in this void, thoughts and memories were all he had to keep himself distracted from his pain. The pain had never left him. It was always there with him, pulsing and irritated. But it was no longer a physical pain. It was a dull, aching throb in his mind. If he became distracted enough he could very well forget that he had ever been hurting. The only things that made his pain increase now were the shattered memories he couldn't piece back together. They were stubborn and sharp. All of these fragments had one over exaggerated sense. One fragment even smelt of some foreign delicacy. Sticky and sweet with the very distinct stench of powdered sugar. With all of his mindless reminiscing he had become oblivious to his surroundings. Even as light began to seep into the void he continued being oblivious. For all he knew he was stuck here forever. He had come to terms with this fact, and he had no intentions of trying to change it. He had finally, one hundred percent given into the idea that he would never escape this solitary prison.
He was more than a little bit surprised when he could feel the sensation of cold, damp earth around him. What? What happened? Just when he had begun to believe that he was stuck in that hell for the rest of his existence, it kicks him out into the world. He could feel the warm sunlight filtering through the leaves to gently heat his crumpled form. A graceful wind blew past him, and he swore he had never shuddered so hard in his life. He was not cold. No, he had shuddered from the intense realization of his new reality. Hazy shades of colour surrounded his vision. Most colours went unregistered by the groggy, weakened being. Is he finally dead? Had he escaped the limbo he had been forever trapped in? Was he finally free?
He tried moving his body, his clogged mind partially excited that he might be able to shift and wriggle. Shift and wriggle was all he could manage before he had to fall still, a strangled groan of agony making its way past his lips. Everything hurt. He had not been healed from his past life, and now that he was paying more attention, he could tell he was still bleeding in several spots. Oh great. He's a sitting duck in unknown territory. Not that he has to fear most living beasts. It's more of just the fact someone could kill him as he was now. He was disheveled and weak, chilled and shivering on the ground. His limbs felt heavy and his eyelids kept sagging shut. No no. He cannot pass out now. It is not safe for him to faint.
He wasn't given much of a choice. It wasn't long until he let his eyes droop closed and let his pained body relax and recover on the floor there. Whatever was coming for him would have a hard time removing him from his thin place of safety. His body seemed to ripple before it faded away. The only thing remaining where the injured being had lain was a thin cutlass, made of black steel and a red pommel gem. No ordinary beast or mortal had the capabilities of drawing him out of this sword, nor did they possess the strength to shatter his blade at all. Surely he could be safe here for the time being. Considering he was out in the middle of nowhere with nothing but thickly grouped tree mass, he would be completely hidden from those who weren't looking for him.
At least that's what he thought as he let sleep wash over him. A creature in all blues and beige had been watching him from where they stood. He had witnessed all of what happened. From the figure melting into existence to the flicker and fading of the body into the sword. This magic sword was not hidden from anyone at all.