Hell. Is this the place I've come to? I deserve no less, but your words ring in my ears. You'll follow me anywhere, won't you. I can't escape you. I never wanted to escape you. But you can't come here, Sam. You can't come to this darkness that's enveloped me. A thousand hands tugging me down, down far below. There's screaming in my ears, screaming in my mind. And so many hands clawing at my skin. Cutting me until I bleed.
I hear my name. They're calling my name. Chanting for me. Like they've been waiting, been waiting all along. I suddenly feel every trigger I pulled, every strum of a bowstring, every shocking impact of axe or club.
I'm bleeding out, slowly, the world growing dim. I'm writhing in agony as fire consumes me alive. There's the feeling of a shark's teeth ripping chunks of flesh from my body. And the bullets. So many bullets, burning tearing exploding inside of me.
Every gruesome death I visited upon another. And I deserve this, I know I do. I watch my face as I kill. Fear, then disgust and then anger. I never knew I was so angry. I never realized how much I relished the danger, until I could see the satisfaction my own face as I let loose an arrow. It strikes me in the chest and I fall back again, sinking down into blackness.
You can't follow me here. I know you can't. I made sure that the blood that stained my hands couldn't stain yours. And in that I find peace. I find solace. The pain fades. Everything fades. It's darkness, nothingness. This too, I deserve most of all.
I float, endlessly. I wonder if there's a god, or gods. Who was right about the afterlife? I regret that I don't get to see my parents, or Roth. There's no Alex. No Grimm. Just myself and the passage of time.
Days pass. Centuries. Seconds. Months. I start to long for the pain and the torment. At least then I'd feel something. I want to say this is like water. But it's just pure emptiness. There’s no sensation. I can’t hear or see, I can’t feel. I can’t even taste my own tongue in my mouth. Maybe my body is gone, rotted away in some wilderness somewhere, with only you to mourn me.
I dream about you. Your face fades from memory. Your name. But I still remember the touch of your fingers. The smell of your breath. The sound of your laugh. Your smile. You’re far away, but you’re safe and you’ll never know this hell. I can fade away into oblivion.
Hands grasp at me and pull. The sudden contact is like the shock of ice water. Air fills my lungs. My fingers and toes tingle as sensation returns. My throat is too dry to form words, but as my vision returns, I find myself laying on some kind of tone slab.
You're kneeling next to me. Your complexion is waxy and your face is drawn with dark bags under your eyes. Blood stains your hands and the sleeves of your jacket. For the first time in millennia (centuries or days or seconds or weeks) my heart pounds in my chest. Your eyes are so dark, like there’s a terrible storm raging within.
“I told you,” you say. your voice is raspy and your breathing is shallow and your eyes are pained. “I told you I’d bring you back.”
I reach for you. Trembling, my fingers touch your clammy cheeks. What have you done?