In the deep depths of the darkest crypt, in the midst of a labyrinth of catacomb halls, where bones layer and lay in great pillars and columns as if they were grown from the dead dirt all around, there was movement. An uncommon burst of movement penetrated the deep wall in a solid clump. From there, a hand reached out. The dirt flaked off one cluster at a time, until not skin nor flesh nor sinew was seen - only bone. And the hand still reached, clawed the air for freedom.

Then, following the hand, was an arm, clustered and clumped with hard dirt packed tight and spread far across the surface of the body. It jittered and shivered with a pulse of new life and aggression - and confusion. Then came the shoulder. And then, nothing. The arm thrashed about awkwardly in the open, swimming through the air in search of solid purchase to grab onto. It found it within the crumbled wall itself as it fell down and scattered about.

There, on the cold floor, lit by the embers of long-glowing fires fueled by the rotten tar of ages ensconced in the broken skulls of the past dead, a new life was created. A life that was all bones. A skeleton of modest proportion and symmetry was splayed out under a mound of fallen dirt. And then, just as it shivered its way to life, it pushed itself up. The dirt all fell away from its midsection. Its soil-choked ribs became hollow. It’s dirt-sodden pelvis was drained clean. It stood, arms upstretched, mouth agape, and uttered a heralding call, its first utterance of life born from destruction.

KKKKKKKKHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!

And then, with the halls of the catacombs filled with the sound of an emergent new being, its voice receded inward, and it thought:

WHAT HAPPENED TO ME!?

HUH???

WH-

I-

It looked at its hands, and emitted the same, startled noise - a wheeze of breath somewhere between a hard K and a long H - like it was sipping air that had just run out.

“KKKKKHHHHHH-”

Why am I a Skeleton!? Where’s my body? What happened to my skin? I - wha -

What happened to me LIFE!?

The skeleton newborn fell back into the dirt pile, hands a quiver and shaking - clattering, naked joints all pressed together. It saw that its hands were simple, assembled not by any connective sinew but instead held together as if by a magnetic force. It reached down with pinching fingers and attempted to divide its finger lengthways, to separate the tip from the phallage below.

Huh?

It did not separate, and it did not hurt. The bony fingers lost grip and slipped. The skeleton tried a few more times, in vain, and began to explore its body in other ways. First it opened its legs and looked down.

“KKKKKHHHHH”

It’s gone! All of it’s gone! My skin, my muscles, my -.

My Bone.

It’s all Bone!

He explored the rest of his body, and placed his hands deep into the empty cavity beneath his ribs but above his pelvis. His hands went all the way through and wrapped around his spine. Seeing his ribs, he took a finger and ran it up and down the side, with a rhythmic clackling as his finger snapped from bone to bone.

Okay, so, if this was like a cartoon, at least that would have some kind of musical sound. But it’s not. And it feels….it almost feels real. Like I’m touching my bones. Not that I’d ever know what that feels like. I’ve only ever felt my bones through my skin - sort of. When I was alive. This….

“This isn’t real,” he uttered.

The wall before him crumbled away. A bony hand reached out from the deep, decay-filled rot of the earth. It swung and clawed through the air. The newborn skeleton crawled away, partway into the hole which bore him, and pressed his back against the wall. He was terrified of the skeletal hand, although it was just like his. The hand continued to reach, finding nothing, not even its own wall.

Is….is he stuck?

The skeleton newborn reached out with a testing, nervous grip at the angling bone of his brethren. He was timid, uncertain, but pressed one and made a grip for the hand at last. Their hands met and the stranger took his with a strong grip.

I can sort of feel this too. It’s like a -.

With a mighty tug, the wall-arm yanked the newborn’s hand right off at the wrist.

“KKKKKHHHHH!”

My hand’s off! He tore it off! OW! Wait, no, it didn’t hurt but - What!? I need that! Give me my hand -.

The wall-arm tossed down the hand onto the ground. The newborn stared at it in shock. He reached down with the naked stump of his wrist and poked the exposed end of his hand. It snapped back together and instantly his hand was returned, with all the presence and feeling to it as well. What he’d felt in its absence was like a coldness, as if wintery air passed over his wetted skin. With it returned, it felt warm again, immersed in a soothing liquid which he came to notice spread across his body.

His body was of bone, and nothing else, but there was still a tactile presence that enveloped him beyond his understanding. An energy wrapped around him and warmed the very air that passed through the hollows of his ribs and face.

The one in the wall was still hindered by the dirt. The newborn took a moment to collect his thoughts and try to understand his confounding presence within the depths. He turned to look at the scenery. The walls were inlaid stones that served as supports between the packed dirt walls, many of which had been burst in the same or similar process that bore him and hindered his still half-dead companion. Above were shattered skulls in various states, many with only the hardened palette just below the eyes remaining, which dripped tears of ichorous darkness from the dim orange light that they held.

This….feels like it’s not where I came from. It’s definitely not the kind of place I would have wanted to be buried. And….was I even dead? I must have been. I mean - this is pretty dead looking to me. But what happened? What caused this? How did I -?

The skeleton reclined in thought with his hands upon his skull. He traced his memories back to the most recent misfortune that he could recall. He was surrounded by great towers of glass and metal, and liquified stone mixed together into solid rock. Flat sheets of stone paved every walkway and carriage way, on which great metal steeds with four wheels rode in great hordes. He was there among them, a commoner of no import, tending to his business in the city of glass, when he spotted danger upon the carriageway.

And that danger led to his doom.

….Oh.

So, I guess I died then. Ran out to stop someone from getting hit. I didn’t even hear a horn. Didn’t see anything, either. Damn.

I died…..

And got sent here? I guess this is Hell, right? But why am I a skeleton? Shouldn’t I just be me but, like….bad looking? Or some kind of weird imp? Why is Hell just a tunnel filled with skeleton parts?

The skeleton was alerted at once to the sound of the wall cracking before him. His struggling companion was still far from bursting out properly. The waving hand grew slower and made great swings and punches at the air to try and force the momentum of its trapped body forward.

He, the nameless newly-risen, stood up and decided to help once more. With less timidity and uncertainty and more gusto, more consideration and concentrated thinking.

Whatever’s going on I probably shouldn’t be suffering alone. Two friends in Hell is better than living in Heaven with nothing but enemies. Right? I mean, I think so. I wish I could search if that’s a quote already. I feel like it is, or something close to it. Anyway -.

He reached forward, past the swing of the skeletal arm, and tapped on the wall.

“C-can you hear me?”

My voice is the same as before. I guess. Is it higher?

Do voices get higher as skeletons?

He heard a muffled, growling reply. He imagined, like himself, it would be hard to talk with a skull full of dirt.

“I’m going to try to pull you out,” he spoke. “We need to go slow or you’ll….just pop apart. So once you feel my arm, hold tight and try to keep yourself together. Got it?”

He saw the arm stopped swinging and heard a placate grumble through the thick wall of dirt. Seeing that as his sign to proceed, he grabbed the arm that grew from the wall and hooked it, joint-to-joint, elbow-to-elbow with his own. The other arm pulled against him and he pulled right back. He could feel the tension growing from deeper within the wall.

The dirt moved. The crack that formed from the prior desperate struggle grew and more fresh, loose dirt spilled from it. The crack reached over and covered the space around the protruding arm. It deepened into a crevice, a chasm, a splitting wound of the earth itself, and out of that raw destruction came a mass of clustered white bones, another skeleton that moaned and moved with strange, inconceivable life.

The skeleton with the mind of a man fell backwards and tripped over his own dirt pile into the divot in the wall and observed his good work. There before him stood a skeleton, tall and imposing, with a broad jaw and nefariously set eyes which lifted up its vicious toothy grin and two cracks in the middle of its crown just over its eyes that bolted away like angry brows. And one arm missing. He looked down and noticed the arm still in his grasp.

“Oops,” he said. He stood and held the stray arm out. “Sorry.”

The rogue skeleton snatched his own arm back and shoved the bare joint into his shoulder. The arm returned to life as he rolled his shoulder back with the sound of the bones grinding against one another.

“Uh,” the nubile skeleton began.

I have no idea what’s going on, but then again, this guy must be in the same boat as me. The same….crypt….He must be confused and scared, probably frustrated, probably weirded out. I should try to be positive.

“I’m -.”

The rogue skeleton shoved him down and kicked him in the ribs.

“KKKKKHHHHH!!!!!”

And he replied with a hideous grunt, “MAH!” as he stomped his bony foot against the hard dirt between the wriggling man’s ribs. The newly emerged skeleton stepped back and stalked down the hall with an ornery, agitated gait, leaving his savior disturbed in the dirt, shocked and afraid that his kind action to aid another ended with injury.

He brought himself up from the confusion and rested against the mound of dirt below. His good deed, discarded like he, abandoned in the dark tunnels of the cold labyrinth that encircled him. In that state of dishevelment and tantamount ignorance, he grit his teeth and felt his unmoving brow furrow in frustration. He stood up with a mighty shout and thrust his fist into the air.

“I WAS JUST TRYING TO HELP, DICK!”

His arms lowered, swung in a tired arc, and the lungless skeleton sighed.

Whatever this is, wherever I am, however I’m feeling; there’s so much that doesn’t make sense I feel like my head’s not on straight. I have to try and find something to attach to, some objective. What do I want to do? What can I do? As a skeleton, what are my options here?

And so he thought, and in short order, reached a conclusion.

The only thing I want to be….it hasn’t changed. Even if it gets me run over, or kicked in the ribs, there’s only one thing I’ve ever wanted out of life. So even if I’m dead, I’m going to pursue it and try to get it.

I’m going to be a Hero!

And thus, the skeleton with no name, but a heart far larger than most men, was born that day within the catacomb dungeon, and set forth on an adventure to be a hero, even though he was nothing but bones….