Dreamless sleep
He felt as if his body had become weightless, as if he had been caught in a current and was being carried along the shore. He used to go swimming with his friends during the summer, but there was no lake here, only the moist vapor and dreamlike fog. Moloch's eyes snapped open, and they resembled bright, flickering red coals in a dark fireplace. His ancient, yellowing orbs were the eyes of dragons, known far and wide to be the most powerful creation of the gods. Suddenly, the air hung heavy in the space with Quetzalcoatl. The god's dusky, feathered arms wrapped around them as if they were merely another appendage. His presence pressed down on them like a living blanket as his regal authority made itself known. Yet, inexplicably this space, upon which Quetzalcoatl acted on suddenly became empty, as if the god had not been there in the first place.
Moloch willed himself to stand upright, as humans were supposed to. Soon, he did stand. Yet now? Now, moloch knew not where to go, he was lost in this strange and mystical realm. He could hear whispers in the distance, but he could not make out what they were saying. Moloch took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, and began to walk forward. The ground beneath his feet felt oddly weighty and heavy, his feet splashing with every step on this thick and liquified ground. As he walked, he noticed that the whispers grew louder, and he could now make out fragments of speech. "Blood for the blood god" one voice said. "All return to the lake of blood." another voice said. Moloch's heart began to race as the whispers became more sinister. He quickened his pace, but as he did, the ground beneath his feet began to shift and churn. Suddenly, a hand reached up out of the mush and grabbed his ankle, pulling him down into the thick liquid. Moloch tried to scream, but the thick liquid filled his mouth, choking him. The liquid had a distinct metallic taste, he mused; quickly snapping out of those thoughts. He struggled to free himself, fighting against the unseen force pulling him down. Finally, with one final burst of strength, he broke free and emerged from the liquid. He gasped for air, coughing and sputtering as he did. He looked around, but there was no sign of the hand that had pulled him down. All around him, the whispers continued, growing louder and more menacing by the second. Moloch knew that he had to find a way out of this place before it was too late. He took a deep breath and began to run, his feet pounding against the ground as he raced.
His breathing was irregular, sometimes long, and other times in a short spike. As he ran, the whispers turned into screams, and the ground beneath him began to shake. He stumbled and fell, but quickly pushed himself back up and continued running. The screams grew louder, and Moloch could feel the heat of flames licking at his back. He dared not look behind him, knowing that if he did, he would be consumed by the horror that awaited him. He ran harder, his feet pounding against the ground as he pushed himself to his limits. Soon, he came upon discarded pieces of armour and weapons. He wagered a guess that many tribes or even armies had thought to the death in this place.
His blood ran cold.
Moloch's heart banged as if it was trying to escape his rib cage. He realized he had stumbled upon a battlefield. He could see the silhouettes of soldiers fighting in the distance, their weapons clashing against each other with deadly force. Moloch could feel the heat of the battle, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He felt a sudden urge to join in the fight, to test his skills as a swordsman. But he knew he had to be careful, he didn't want to get caught up in the chaos and end up getting killed. Moloch took a few steps backwards, trying to find a safe place to observe the battle. As he turned around, he saw a group of soldiers running towards him, their faces twisted in fear. They were being chased by a horde of bloodthirsty demons, their eyes glowing red with malice. Moloch knew he had to act fast, he couldn't just stand there and watch as innocent people were slaughtered.
He drew his sword, attempting a slash on one of the demons. Yet, to his surprise, his blade passed through the demon, and even more surprising, the soldiers and demons ran through him, as if he didn't exist. He drew his sword and swung it vigorously, sending a flurry of sparks through the air as it clanged against the armor of one of the demons. To his disbelief, he felt no resistance as the blade raced through the air and passed harmlessly through the demon's body. He watched in horror as both soldiers and demons ran right through him, as if he were an apparition rather than a man made of flesh and blood. Moloch stumbled back, his mind racing as he tried to comprehend what was going on. Was he dead? Was this some sort of afterlife? He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers, and was relieved to see that they were still there. He could feel the chill of the metal hilt of his sword against his palms. He raised his sword, bringing it down on a demon that was charging towards him. The blade passed harmlessly through the demon's body, and Moloch stumbled forward as the demon ran through him. He turned to the soldiers who were still running for their lives. "Wait!" he shouted, but they couldn't hear him. He watched as they were overtaken by the demons, their screams echoing through the battlefield. Moloch collapsed to his knees, his heart heavy with grief and confusion.
Suddenly, a hand rested on his shoulder. Moloch jumped in fear, whirling around to see a hooded figure standing behind him. The creature was adorned with black robes. Golden armour peeked out from the robe, and bits of bone hung from the sides of its cloak. Moloch could hear something rattling inside the creatures robes, like light chains hitting off each other every time the creature moved. The tall, dark figure's strides were wide and quick as it walked away. The creature turned its head to look back at him, causing the chains to clank against each other. The ruckus sounded like a gong being struck inside a metal bowl. It had expected him to follow it.
Moloch hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should follow the mysterious figure. But he felt drawn to it, as if it held the key to understanding this strange and terrifying place. He slowly rose to his feet and began to follow the figure, his sword held tightly in his hand. The creature led him through the battlefield, its movements quick and precise. Moloch struggled to keep up, dodging the demons and soldiers that were still fighting around him. He could feel the heat of the flames and the stench of death all around him, but he didn't want to lose sight of the figure. As they walked, Moloch noticed that the whispers and screams had died down, and he could hear the sound of his own footsteps echoing through the barren landscape. Finally, the figure came to a stop in front of a large, ornate door. The creature turned to face Moloch, its face hidden by the darkness of its hood. "What is this place?" Moloch asked, his voice echoing through the stillness. The figure remained silent, but it lifted a bony hand and gestured towards the door.
Moloch turned to look at the gate. It was luxurious yet seemed like an ordinary gate. He turned back, expecting to see the creature, yet it had disappeared, as if it was an apparition and mere hallucination. Moloch hesitated, pondering for a moment before deciding to open the ornate gate.
Moloch took a step and braced his legs against the gate's hard metal, using his body to push it open. He strained against the ancient wood and steel, his muscles rippling under his skin as he forced it against its own resistance. The heavy oaken door groaned, swinging slowly on its ancient hinges until at last it caught on the uneven ground and uprooted itself from the earth like an old tree in a storm.
Before him stood an old, rutted road. It leaned heavily to the right with cracks resembling broken bones leading off into the distance. The small stones embedded in its surface were tilted by erosion as if some great beast had come and dragged its weight across it, like it was a long-forgotten relic of a past epoch. The horizon was split in two with a giant edifice of wrought iron and stone stretching up into the heavens. Its ebony spire seemed to reach towards the stars, its jagged shape jutting out amongst the azure sky like a beacon of dread and despair. At its base stood an odd tree, twisted branches bowing down from a thick central trunk, and white leaves fluttering in the still air. A chill seemed to hang around it, and any birds that dared approach were quickly sucked away by the force emanating from the tower as if their lifeblood had been drained away. Everywhere around it seemed devoid of life, as if being close to this unearthly structure was enough to sap the very soul out of one's body.
His face was contorted in pain, the skin of his forehead and neck drenched with sweat. He clung desperately to the wooden rails, white knuckles squeezing the polished surface as though it were a lifeline. His breaths came out in short, shallow gasps, his chest heaving with effort. He struggled against the weight of his body as though fighting to stay airborne; beads of perspiration trickled down his arms and legs like tiny rivers. Every muscle was taut, each vein standing out in stark relief. And then, without warning, his weakened limbs gave way and he toppled to the floor like a broken bird.