Jhossa felt the flame eating at him, that beautiful, hungry flame that swallowed his body whole .He could feel its tongues lapping at his skin, could feel its embers burning hot in his lungs. It was a beautiful thing—fire. He had always wondered how such a thing filled with life, with birth and growth and death, could only ever destroy and never create.

The flame destroyed him as he stepped into it willingly. It ate him whole and broke him into pieces. It shattered his limbs and charred him into ash. And yet this flame was more, more than anything he had ever known. This flame held the power of magic, the power of the gods.

This flame made him whole again.

He felt the tingling in the faintest regions of limbs he no longer possessed. His thoughts churned in a mind that had no substance, in a skull with no bone, in a head with no flesh. Piece by piece, he felt the ash slowly pile on top of itself, felt the heat grow hotter and hotter until that dust began to smolder and melt. He felt the pain then, that sharp stinging pain like a thousand degrees of hot iron being stabbed into him. If he had a mouth, he would have screamed loud enough to shake the world. If he had a mind, he would have felt pain impress itself so indelibly onto it that all his other thoughts would be molded to match. But he had nothing. He was nothing.

He did not know how long passed in that limbo, in that hell of agony and torture. He only knew that at last, his body was reshaped before him and whole again. He fled into that vessel desperately, felt the shattered remnants of his mind hastily scooping themselves together again. And the fire, once so bright but now at the end of its life, spat him forth into reality with utter revulsion.

The world churned around Jhossa as he stumbled onto air and ground. He fell almost instantly, his mind still disoriented and his body fatigued. His arms went out to catch his fall, his eyes opening like a newborn entering the world, and he was greeting with the crack of stone across his face.

He lay there for some time, dazed and still feeling the tingling of his recent demise. Is this hell? His mind was barely lucid, his thoughts frenzied and scattered that those of a madman. He could not focus, not in the face of what he had just been through. He had been torn apart, shredded like parchment, and then pieced together with glue.

It was sometime before he finally realized that he was not blind, for there was no change in his sight when he blinked. No he was not blind—there was merely no light. He knew this, for all of a sudden, there was a glowing light that burst aflame beneath him, a fire that crackled to life. He glanced down to see a curious fang of steel and leather—a sword—its hilt bound nicely and its blade covered in fire. It hurt to look at, so beautiful, so bright, and it blinded him as he reached for it.

Yet the flame guttered out suddenly as he held it in his grasp, the air that was crackling with mahji all of a sudden falling silent with a hiss. His light-scarred eyes had barely a moment to see the carpet of black mist that curled over the flame before it was smothered, snuffed out. And then he was blind once more, surrounded by darkness.

But he could feel them.

He felt their absent heartbeat, their bitter cold that stole all heat. He felt them around him, curling and slithering like shapeless serpents. He felt a vague curiosity take hold of him then, a small voice in the back of his mind speaking up. Do not forget what you must do.

What he must do? Madness. Madness and mania. It gripped him like a viper, his thoughts scattering like flies before a broom, and he suddenly broke out in a sprint. His laughter filled whatever stonebound corridor he was in, echoing off the walls until he thought he numbered hundreds. I am more than I seem. I am more than I know.

He ran, feeling the walls around him grow smaller. He ran feeling the shadows slowly fall away from him. Yet he was not outpacing them; they were merely letting him approach… whatever waited for him at the end. And so faster he ran, his fingers biting hard on the blade that was in his grasp. Finally, he found himself out of breath and sanity, with the corridor that he could not see opening up into a massive room that he could not know was there.

Yet he felt it. He felt that vast emptiness that was surrounded by earth, felt the heavy miasma and rot that clung to the air. He felt the unnatural weight that seemed to bear down on his shoulders, and he felt the perverse mockery of new life that clung to the walls.

And in the center of that room, he felt an abomination. Her very presence seemed to stifle him, seemed to choke him. She was monstrous, massive, and utterly abhorrent. Khossa wanted nothing more than to run, to bash his skull open on these stones rather than live in this hellish place.

Do not forget what you must do?

What he must do? But he hated it. Hated, hated, hated it to the point that he had shoved it away to the corner of his mind. He had locked it, buried the key, burned away his memories of it. Why must I do this? Why?

He felt the runeblade in his hand, rubbed his fingers lovingly against the intricate carvings in its hilt and steel. Such a beautiful thing, and it will kill the owner as well. So many unwitting fools, about to die. So many beautiful moths feeding the fire. He could see them now, the battlefield a swathe of glorious flame eating both sides. That lovely flame, so mysterious, so wonderful…

Jhossa laughed madly, his cackle catching Her attention. She seemed to lumber towards him, her presence bearing down heavier and heavier on him. Choose, it told him. Act, it bade him.

“No, no! I will not! I don’t want to!” he shrieked madly, clutching at his temples with skeletal fingers. He felt the crackling of mahji, felt the compulsion eat away at his will. “NO!” he cried out, even as She was already in front of him.

The very air seemed to tremble as She leaned down, as she grasped him in an unseen hand. He felt her rotting flesh touch his, felt her tainted presence spread to his own, and the last vestiges of control in his mind finally snapped.

“I WILL NOT!” Jhossa cried out as he grasped the runeblade. His will surged into the hilt, its steel crackling to life with a brilliant flame, unbidden and unheeded. The shadows around him hissed in concern and panic, suddenly darting forward to protect Her.

“I REFUSE!” he demanded as he plunged that blade into her arm, sank it deep into the flesh. It spread immediately, catching on her oily body with implacable glee. Her hideous shriek of pain and agony threatened to shatter his psyche, an utterly inhumane sound. The light revealed her true form, an image of insanity. He cried out in terror and determination, tears streaming down his face.

“I will not do this… I WILL NOT!” The words echoed dully in his ears as he pulled the blade out of her, only to plunge it in again. Fire swallowed them both now, although he could not feel it. “I AM NOT YOUR SLAVE!” Jhossa proclaimed to the demons, his voice nearly consumed by the crackling fire.

I am not your slave, he thought madly as his body acted of compulsion, his will no longer his own. I am my own man. My own…

And then all he thought of was the glorious flame. That beautiful, hungry flame that took them both to Hell.