An old woman limped through the void, swallowed whole by a darkness so thick it seemed to cling to her skin like oil. Her frail body was draped in nothing but shredded rags—filthy, clinging to her like a second decaying skin—and around her neck hung a grotesque necklace fashioned from yellowing bones, each one etched with symbols long forgotten. With every uneven step, she giggled—a thin, cracked sound like glass breaking underwater. It echoed off the unseen walls of this place, mocking sanity itself.

  Her hair, once blonde, now fell in brittle clumps, strands drifting to the ground like dying spider silk. Her skin was torn and raw, riddled with festering wounds that pulsed faintly as if something still breathed inside them. And then—her eyes. Twin embers of crimson, glowing unnaturally in the gloom, darting back and forth with a twitchy, frenzied rhythm. Madness was etched into every corner of her face, every movement, every breath.

  And then, like being snapped awake from drowning, I tore myself from the vision—no, the daydream—and shook my head violently. The ghost of her – or my - cry still rang in my ears. I had to stop thinking like this. I had to remember: this place—this purgatory—wasn’t permanent. I would find my way out, one way or another, god or no god. But if I walked out of this hell, it would be under my own terms. I knew he wanted to escape just as badly as I did. But unlike him, I had a reason to endure. As long as my friends were safe, as long as they had a future, I could bear this place for as long as necessary. Or so I believed… back then.

  With a dull clack, the final stone dropped into place. My knee-high wall was finished—my little fortress of defiance, cobbled together from fragments of stone I’d scavenged in restless silence. I collapsed behind it, pressing my hands and feet against the crude barricade, as if the cold sting of stone might anchor me. How long had it taken me? Hours? Days? Time bled here, one thought into the next, with no real way to track it. The worst part? I wasn’t even tired. I couldn’t sleep. Hunger, thirst—gone. Death had stolen those needs from me, but it had also stolen my distractions.

  Boredom had never felt so suffocating.

  Then came a flicker of inspiration—foolish, ridiculous, yet somehow radiant in its desperation. I leapt to my feet, clenched my fists, and screamed into the abyss.

  “Hey! God of love! If you can hear me—or even exist—make me your chosen! I’ll spread love across the lands, bring peace through song, whisper sweet promises into the ears of men and woman alike… just get me out of here!”

  Silence.

  I pressed my hand to my ear, listening.

  Nothing.

  Undeterred, I pivoted. “God of lightning! I’ll build monuments of metal, raise towers to the skies and sing your fury to the winds! Do you even own thunder, or is that someone else’s department? Either way—make me your champion!”

  The emptiness drank my voice and spat nothing back. Still, shouting made the isolation bearable—if only slightly. I was about to serenade the god of music with an improvised ballad when something moved.

  A shadow. A shape. Something tall and watching.

  A creature stood just beyond my makeshift wall, and the blackness around it seemed to retreat in reverence. Its presence was heavy, as if the world leaned toward it. Its form was vague, wrong, like something half-seen in a nightmare. Obviously, it was the god of this place.

  “Here to siege my fortress?” I called, voice high and foolish. “Come with your catapults and curses—my walls shall not fall!” I tried to strike a pose, foot on the wall… but missed entirely. I stumbled, searching for the barrier I knew was there—but wherever I stepped, there was only bare, indifferent ground.

  “I knew I should’ve dug a moat…”

  The thing moved closer. Its voice, when it came, was like rot sinking into old wood. “Do you not fear me?”

  “No,” I replied, with a calm that surprised even me. “Why should I?” I’d been watching him, after all. Observing. He terrified me, yes. Twisted my emotions like a knife. But he never laid a hand on me. Never caused me pain. It wasn’t kindness—I wasn’t foolish enough to think that—but something else. I didn’t understand it, and that was what unnerved me most.

  “Fear you?” I tilted my head. “Why should I fear the god of…” I paused. He had never said his name. Rude.

  “Death,” he said finally, as if it explained everything.

  “Ah. The god of edginess,” I spat, letting the words burn. A wave of horror swept through me, ancient and primal—but I refused to flinch. I pressed forward, fanning the flames. “You’re just another prisoner, like me.”

  He didn’t react. Not visibly. But I could feel the shift. He had seen through my attempt—seen the strategy forming in my mind, and extinguished it with a single moment of eerie stillness. The fear vanished, just like that.

  “Look at you… trembling before me—and I haven’t even begun to hurt you.” His voice slithered into my ears like oil through cracked stone. I stared at him, disoriented. Was I trembling? Maybe. My body moved in subtle ways beyond my notice—reflexes honed by instinct, not will. I lifted a hand, inspecting it like a foreign thing, expecting it to tremble. I couldn’t tell.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I can see…” I narrowed my eyes theatrically, “…absolutely nothing.” My voice rang out, mocking, hollow. “O great god of lightning,” I intoned with absurd ceremony, raising my arms to the empty black above, “I beseech thee! Smite this god of dull stupidity before me—strike him down with your glorious voltage!”

  I snapped my fingers. The silence that followed was, of course, expected. Still, the silence felt heavier now—like the breath before a storm, or the pause before a final word at a funeral.

  “You’re entertaining,” the god mused, voice laced with venomous amusement. “I had originally intended to reincarnate you as a desert worm. Blind. Mute. Buried in heat and filth. But now… now I see wasted potential in that choice. Perhaps a frog would suit you better. You could croak all day—that seems fitting.”

  I stared at him. “A worm? Really?” I should have felt shocked. But I didn’t. Not really. The idea had been writhing at the edge of my mind already—squirming, waiting to be spoken aloud.

  I smiled, teeth bared. “I’m honored, your decaying majesty. A frog it is, then. I could drag this tongue of mine across the gates of purgatory and drown you in my divine drool. Perhaps you’d fit perfectly in my mouth—an eternal passenger, a leech to my toad. Imagine it: you and me, hopping across the endless wastes. Croak.”

  Silence. Again. The lack of reaction almost offended me.

  “Speechless?” I continued, eyes wide and deranged. “You don’t see it? Our future? You, the slimy toad-rider. Me, your hideous, glorious mount. Think of the names! Toad Queen and her noble… Toad Rider!”

  I had miscalculated.

  His fist moved faster than thought, and a moment later I was sprawled on the cold, dead ground. My vision danced with sparks. It should’ve hurt—it should’ve—but it didn’t. Not really. I felt the impact, felt the ground lurch beneath me, but pain… pain was still just a memory here. Amused, I got back up, raising my fists like a child mimicking a boxer.

  “God of Death,” I said, with mock seriousness, “how do you plan to punish the dead? I can’t die more than I already have.”

  He didn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, he appeared behind me—his presence freezing the breath in my lungs—and grabbed my neck like I was made of paper. Then he tossed me.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  From left to right, into the air, back to the ground—over and over, like I was nothing more than a marionette in a child’s tantrum. My vision spun, the ground and sky bleeding into one another. When he finally planted me upright, my legs gave out. I collapsed.

  “Like this,” he muttered, grabbed my ankles and flung me over to the other side of him, making my head crash into the ground yet again. “Do you want to continue?”

  I lay sprawled on the dirt—dust and dead dreams clinging to my skin—trying to shake off the dizziness. It only half worked.

  “That was amazing—”

  His foot slammed into my face, burying it in the soil. The ground gave slightly beneath me. He pressed harder.

  “You think you’re clever? You’re just another dog,” he growled. “A mutt that barks when I tell her to. Understood?”

  No. I didn’t understand. I wasn’t a dog—not yet, anyway. But if I was to be reborn as one, I would revel in the role. I’d be the laziest, most spoiled creature ever conjured. I’d never bark. And if I did, I’d make it the most annoying sound imaginable.

  “Wanna test that?” I shouted as he lifted his foot. “Why not send me off right now?”

  And there it was. I’d found it—my hidden talent: annoying gods.

  He hoisted me up by my hair, yanking me nose-to-nose with the stink of divine arrogance.

  “Say it,” he growled. “Promise me. Say you’ll free me.”

  “Woof.” I grinned, eyes glinting with glee as he hurled me again. This time, I laughed on impact. He couldn’t hurt me—not in the way that mattered. That was a flaw he couldn’t fix.

  He appeared above me again, seething.

  “Listen here, you little shi—”

  “No. You listen,” I cut in, voice razor-sharp. “You can’t make me say yes. You know that. You could wait centuries—millennia—even until I go mad from boredom. But if that happens… I will bark. I’ll bark like a rabid beast. You’ll have your dog, all right. But she’ll be broken. Useless. A shell. Checkmate.”

  He stared at me, eyes flickering. Calculating. I knew he reached the same conclusion I had: if I lost myself, I might never be capable of fulfilling his desires. That tiny possibility—that I might be too shattered to matter—was poison to his plan.

  “You don’t want to spend eternity here,” I whispered. “You’d do anything to avoid it. I call that checkmate.”

  He didn’t deny it. Didn’t need to.

  The game had changed to my benefit and I was keen on using the leverage I had just gained.

  “Tell me your demand and I will think about it.” he said, voice like rusted chains dragged across stone. “Happy now?”

  Was I happy?

  No. I was ecstatic.

  It was all working. Every twisted piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. I’d won… maybe.

  “Woof.” I flashed him a grin full of sharp teeth and reckless joy. “But how do I know you’ll keep your word?”

  He exhaled through clenched teeth. “I have never broken a promise. I do not intend to start now.”

  A lie, maybe. But not one I could afford to believe.

  “You’ll have to do better,” I said, tone cool and measured. “Something more binding than empty words.”

  He scowled, but beneath it I saw something worse—consideration. The moment he thought, he’d already lost. Gods shouldn’t have to think about promises.

  “Fine,” he growled. “I’ll give you the means to send me back. Should I break the pact… you’ll be able to return me to this place.”

  A chill ran through me. Not fear. Not dread. Just the awareness that, somehow, I’d really gotten leverage against the god of death.

  Perfect.

  I had thought of every possible loophole. Every potential trick. But I knew nothing of what would come once I left this purgatory. Whatever form he chose for me—it would serve him. He’d find a way to twist me, bend me to his cause. I couldn’t outthink him.

  So I chose a battlefield he couldn’t control. A war of feelings—the chaos he couldn’t plan for. And to end our little game, I made my final demand.

  “I have one last condition,” I said, rising slowly from the ground, dust clinging to my limbs like blood.

  His eyes narrowed. “Speak it.”

  I looked him dead in the eyes. “Be. My. Dad.”

  Silence. Real, oppressive, choking silence.

  Checkmate.

  Honestly, it was the only thing I could think of—the only move left in a game where every piece was already tilted against me. He had to grant my wishes; he'd said as much himself. I had asked for a family—a real one. People I could love, and who could love me in return. So I twisted that wish into a blade and pointed it at him.

  Be my father.

  It was grotesque. Vile. But effective. He wouldn’t dare manipulate me too openly now—not if he truly wanted me to love him, even just enough to fulfill my vow. That was the brilliance of it: I had no intention of loving him. Not ever. But I wouldn’t change who I was. I couldn’t. That was the only thing I had left—the permanence of myself.

  “I promise to see you as my child,” he said at last, bitter as ash. “It’s your turn.”

  His voice was laced with displeasure. Not rage—something worse. Acceptance.

  “I promise to save my father from purgatory to the best of my abilities,” I recited, voice flat and cold, “after I find a way to throw him back in.” Then, with a crooked smile, I added, “I’ll try to break that promise, and I will never see you as my father ... so good luck attempting to be mine.”

  “Try all you like,” he said with an unsettling calm. “Finding a way to hate me into all eternity and not see me as your father is the best option you have. It’s the only winning move you’ve got. And I will do everything in my might to change that.” He paused. “Still. I did say I’d give you a parting gift.”

  He stepped toward me.

  Every instinct in my body screamed that this would be the moment he lashed out again—his true nature unleashed one final time. My breath caught. But instead of throwing me, striking me, or twisting me inside out like a paper doll, he wrapped his arms around me in a gentle embrace.

  I stood frozen. Shaking.

  My fists clenched. My shoulders locked. I closed my eyes and waited—waited for the pain, for the betrayal that had to come. It didn’t. Only silence. And stillness.

  Then, slowly, he let go.

  When I opened my eyes, I was no longer surrounded by emptiness. Blue lights shimmered in the distance, vague and ghostlike, shaped roughly like people. They glided past, all moving in the same direction—but none of them came near us. It was as though they couldn’t bear to. And I couldn’t blame them.

  Next to this god—this creature cloaked in something deeper than shadow—they looked like insects steering clear of fire. Even with the illumination around us, he seemed darker. As if light only made his presence more unnatural.

  “What are they?” I asked, watching one of the lights flicker briefly, then drift away again.

  “Souls,” he said. “On their way to their next life.”

  That made no sense. This was supposed to be a prison. But before I could voice that confusion, he answered—reading my mind again like an open book.

  “It is a prison. But not for them. Most pass through here, toward the gate of rebirth. They remember nothing while you… you are different. You must follow them to your new world.”

  Of course he knew. But how?

  He couldn’t have gotten that information from me—I didn’t even know where I was supposed to go. That meant he had another source, something unseen, something buried beneath layers of deception. I chose not to press as it was probably one of his abilities to know where the dead had to go. The less I knew, the fewer tools he had to manipulate me.

  “Why not just bring me there?” I asked.

  “I cannot follow you.” His voice, for once, lacked any venom.

  In that case—

  “Okay. Bye!” I turned on my heel and ran. It wasn’t fast, as the ground was still treacherous and the light of the souls weren’t nearly enough to illuminate every nook and cranny, but it was desperate. Every second spent near him felt like playing chicken with a black hole. The further I got, the better.

  Of course, he floated beside me, effortlessly keeping pace.

  “Is that how you say farewell to your father?” His tone was vaguely irritated, and I couldn’t help but scoff. Had he expected something warm? We both knew this relationship was built on manipulation, not affection.

  “You still haven’t heard how to free me,” he added.

  That was the point. I slapped both hands over my ears. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to ever know.

  So, naturally, he whispered it directly into my thoughts. And it burned. His voice inside me felt like a parasite crawling across the walls of my mind.

  “Search for the underground labyrinth of Corsk. You will know what to do at the lowest floor. My most beloved daughter… I wish you luck.”

  Daughter. Singular. And that word landed like a dagger in my gut. He had only one child now. My wish—for a loving family—was technically fulfilled. Which meant he no longer owed me anything.

  I’d sealed my own fate.

  “Oh, my most beloved father,” I spat, “may you rot in this place for all eternity.”

  He didn’t flinch. Didn’t reply. But the silence said more than words ever could.

  “You’re not going to trick me into playing the obedient daughter,” I hissed, still running. “I win.”

  He hovered silently beside me. Watching. We passed the twisted terrain in long, uneven strides—stone and bone and dust stretching forever. Souls flickered around us like drifting embers.

  “I won’t retaliate,” he said at last. “Instead, I’ll do the only thing you don’t expect.”

  He paused as I hurdled over a cracked, jagged stone.

  “I’ll leave.”

  And just like that, he vanished.

  There was no fanfare. No dramatic goodbye. Just absence.

  And I laughed. Not because it was funny, but because I could. I ran harder, faster. Away from him. Away from this cursed place. Away from the god who had forced himself into the most sacred corner of my life.

  Time passed strangely. The lights of the souls multiplied, growing denser as they all shambled forward like sleepwalkers. Then, at the horizon—I saw it.

  A pillar of light.

  It rose like a divine spear stabbing into the sky, pure and pulsating. The souls began to lift as they approached it, their feet leaving the ground, their bodies carried upward like wisps in a breeze. I sprinted.

  Faster. Always faster.

  The light hit me—and lifted me. My feet no longer touched the earth. And for the last time, I looked back.

  This place… this barren wasteland of bone and dust… it had been my crucible.

  And now I was being forged into something else.

  I floated higher, higher. The dark faded. And I was gone.

  Off to my new life.

  As the daughter of a god no one should love.