Limbo by Thiago d'Evecque

Author:Thiago d'Evecque [d'Evecque, Thiago]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mythology, devecque, epic fantasy, dark fantasy, fantasy
Published: 2019-11-27T22:00:00+00:00

Will a god want to come back as a human? Chuck asked, setting aside some of his previous—and uncharacteristic—gravity.

“We won’t give him much choice, will we?”

True. But if this Hel didn’t let him out before, why would she now?

“Maybe she will negotiate. Maybe I won’t accept her terms.”

Hel was a proud goddess who still retained much of her power. She was banished from Asgard by Odin and made the underworld her new kingdom, also known as Niflheim. Loki’s daughter, the Machiavellian goddess, took a lot after her father.

The darkness gained a new color. Small pieces rose and fell in an embrace, forming the surroundings. All I could see beyond the dense fog around me was a faded, ancient ice, freezing my spirit. It wasn’t just the ice—the morbidity of the place sent chills up my neck.

Moisture made the floor slippery. I treaded with small, unsure steps. Apathetic souls floated crying, lamenting their deaths, unaware that their torment was a literal self-fulfilling prophecy.

This wasn’t just the realm of the dead. It was the realm of melancholy, depression. The edge of the deepest human misery, expressed by moans, screams, and pain. The suffering of those who couldn’t return, the despair of the doomed, the ruin of oblivion.

I like it here. It has that sweet taste of home.

I meandered through the sea of wandering souls until the mist thinned and a large structure made of human bones loomed ahead. Painted black, they fit so well that, when viewed from afar, resembled walls. Skulls decorated the building and the front door lintel. Yellow and decayed lined up the door posts.

Everything reeked of death and rotten flesh. A sickening stench that tested sanity and stomach.

I must enlist this decorator as one of my minions.

Reluctant and, honestly, a little annoyed by Chuck’s humor, I entered that damned place.

A few torches lit a large hall. There wasn’t much to see except for two large gray thrones next to each other.

The right one was empty.

On the left one, sat Baldur. Well, half sat, half lied down. His right elbow leaned on the throne and his head rested on that hand. His other hand lazily drummed the left armrest.

My feet stuck to the floor and squished. Thin layers glued to the foot, peeling away. I leaned in to inspect it.

The floor was made of human skin pasted with blood. My hands shook. I grasped Chuck until it hurt. What went into someone’s head, dead or alive, human or not, to wish for this execration? Then I remembered that it was from this kind of feeling that Chuck fed. And so did Hel. That wasn’t just her home, her dwelling, it was also her battlefield, meant to intimidate both visitors and captives.

I removed a chunk of that repugnant slime from my luminous foot. I brought the blend of skin and blood to my mouth, chewed and swallowed angrily. It was, without a doubt, the most disgusting thing I’ve ever had to do in my entire existence. The fight with the Beggar was a bath of roses compared to this.

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