A Forgotten Tale

Verse I

If walls could talk…

“You again. What do you want?"

"Me again."

Then silence. It takes two to tango, and the same goes for a conversation. Well, mostly. Kind of depends on whether or not a talking wall constitutes one of those two conditions. One living and breathing individual initiated a line of questioning once again followed by the wall issuing its distorted response accordingly.

"Did you hear me? Did you hear what I said?"

"Me again."

Out came a long, drawn out sigh. Jagan's mind was utterly fried and this interaction was the straw that broke the camel's back. Both his eyes were closed. He never could have imagined that opening his eyelids required some semblance of energy. Now that he was virtually depleted entirely, he found out the hard way.

"Nevermind."

This wasn't the first time the walls in his room came to life. A merry-go-round of distinct voices and personalities, all a twisted concoction of his mind. Deleterious in their effect. He didn't like it. Not. One. Bit. They were scary. They represented the unknown. Did it actually matter if they were really there or not? If he was crazy, so what. Such a loaded word. In the end, it meant nothing. Just a word. He mumbled aloud.

"I'm going crazy, aren't I?"

It was a rhetorical question, but he still got an answer.

"Yes, indeed."

He paid the zinger no mind.

Back and forth he teetered on the edge of insanity. He had already fallen off well before this particular moment. Hanging on by a figurative thread ready to snap at any moment. Since he didn't fully understand his predicament just yet, maybe their was still a chance to climb back up.

Maybe.

Come to think of it, he hadn't the slightest clue how he ended up here in the first place, let alone where he was before. All of his ensuing attempts at recall failed miserably.

A new voice made its presence known, this time with a much different introduction than its predecessors. It was singing. And it was a rather lovely tune. A tranquil melody. A soothing performance rivaled by few.

Jagan was sure this one was new. Yesterday remained a blank but since this morning he'd heard all sorts of voices.

Any positive new developments to break up the monotonous suffering of this hell-hole was welcomed with open arms by him without question.

The constant barrage of mental anguish brought upon by isolation and torture at the hands of some unknown perpetrator had broken him. He always considered himself the type of individual that would never break. How could he have known this would happen? Thoughts on the good times of the past and a forlorn present sent him rocketing down a one way descent into madness.

That ship had not sailed just yet. The pure beauty of that voice had a profound effect on him. It was enough to reinvigorate him. Put a smile on his face. Give him the strength to hang on a little longer. That counted for more than something. It was probably all for naught, but ya can't know what ya don't know yet, right? Anything could happen.

Mesmerizing. Alluring. He didn't want the song to end. But alas, of course it did. The fading remnants of her song dissipated into nothingness.

Jagan almost wanted to cry, the despair written all over his face.

"Pitfiul. You're pitiful, you know that?"

This time it wasn't the walls talking. It was him, speaking like he was his own consultant. Another strange behavior added to the list of his new normal. The self addressed condescending words came in a whisper more profound and powerful than any shout or yell. Words of a shattered soul.

"Hello. Hello? Are you there?"

The unexpected interruption knocked him back into reality. A few seconds passed after hearing the foreign voice until he was able to process it didn't come from him. Was it the singer? It had to be the singer. No doubt about it, the greeting sounded just like her.

"Yeah. Uhh, hello. Was that you? Singing? You're quite good."

Out of the corner of his eye Jagan spotted something moving. It had darted from one wall in the room to another with both feet level to the ground, floating instead of running. Now he was seeing ghosts. How quaint. He tried to communicate with the mysterious entity.

"I answered you. Will you answer me?"

Without answering, the feminine looking apparition burst into the room once again. This time he had a better look, watching it go from the wall he was facing to the wall on his left, passing right through without a trace. A few seconds went by, then a face peaked back in, quietly observing, the rest of its ghostly body still trapped within the wall. Surreptitiously it had circled back around to the wall in front of him.

Jagan tried tilting his neck to get a better angle not thinking before he did it. Needing to see, he forced his eyes open. A sharp pain erupted in his spine, reverberating all the way down the rest of his body and back up again. Try as he might to hide any physical expressions of pain from his new visitor, a painful groan escaped from the effort required to keep his body upright. Even though he was only sitting, if he fell all the way, that was game over. Lights out for good like a turtle stuck upside down.

The female ghost-like figure motioned forward and Jagan instinctually recoiled as if afraid she would attack. Her wraithlike face possessed fair and angular features like an elf. Smoothly gliding out of the wall to reveal her full form, she was a few feet outside the wall now, still hovering an inch or two off the ground. A strange looking smoky tendril connected her to the wall encased by a glowing indigo energy. The wavy line followed a strict pattern in its ebbs and flows, peaks and valleys, like how light behaves when shot through a prism to create color, each with its own unique wavelength. Her speaking voice was just as enchanting.

"You're injured. I can help... May I?"

The offer sounded sincere. Her body was unstable. Uncanny, even for a ghost. A hand would vanish and then rematerialize. Part of her shoulder would migrate down to her hand and give her six fingers, then make the journey back up to give her 3 ears on one side. Every ten or so seconds its entirety reverted back into its original form like a spring.

She motioned for Jagan to hold out his hand. After some slight hesitation, he did so, slowly. By virtue of some sort of magic, a sequence of symbols were drawn atop his hand. Once completed, they disappeared all on their own to make room for the next one. This process continued. It made him feel some type of way. A feeling he'd never felt before. Serenity.

Once the final mark had been drawn, it became permanent like a tattoo.

Out of his control, a tsunami of emotions washed over him. He reminisced about a life he could not remember while hoping it was filled with events of joy. In the blink of an eye, all of it was taken away. Wrong place at the wrong time, more than likely. The story of his life, he imagined. But maybe—just maybe—the tide was turning.

His newest acquaintance practically read his mind.

"Do you feel lonely?"

Jagan gave an immediate response. The question hit a nerve and he responded defensively

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer too."

She asked a follow-up.

"Is that a yes?"

"It's not a no."

This time Jagan thought about his answer more before giving it. He felt way past uncomfortable. In a claustrophobic room stripped and devoid of comfort, he'd expected to be somewhat used to it by now. It was a lie, he realized, the saying about someone being able to get used to anything.

They knew nothing of this anything.

He'd barely moved a muscle throughout this entire exchange. Currently leaning his back against the stone wall, legs keeled out in front of him, slouching, head tilted slightly to the side. It was his turn to ask the questions.

"Who are you? Better yet, what are you?"

No response was given for his question. Jagan remained still, maintaining the same position, then tilted his head—carefully this time—up towards the barren ceiling wishing it would collapse on him. He stared blankly, beyond everything, up towards the heavens, wondering where he'd go if that happened. Lord only knows.

The thought made him burst out laughing.

"The lord probably doesn't know jack shiiiiii--"

He had grown far, far beyond delirium. Stopping halfway through his meaningless cries, he had nearly forgotten he wasn't alone. Time to try again.

"Did you say who you were? What's your name."

Ghost-Lady pondered during his rambles, then finally obliged.

"I have never been given one."

"Never? Are you sure?"

"Never. Quite sure."

"Ok. Hmmm. How about... Reyka?"

"Very well. Reyka. I shall never forget."

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap—tap.

Tap—tap. Tap—tap. Tap—tap.

Footsteps could be heard approaching heading this way. Jagan cursed the heavens. The outsiders would be upon him and his newest friend in seconds. Danger was all but a guarantee.

"Reyka! Hide! Quickly, you must hide! And wait for my signal."

Adrenaline gave him the energy to issue the request with such enthusiasm. A shouted whisper laced with urgency.

He was down bad, sure, yet a tiny glimmer of hope pierced through the absolute darkness of his mind. There was a way out of this mess. There had to be.

Acting fast, he only had one option. Luckily it didn't require much effort to execute. As the lone door to the room rattled and Reyka disappeared behind the walls once again, Jagan pretended like he was fading in and out of consciousness, sluggishly opening and closing his eyes. Fortunately there wasn't much acting required. He already felt like total crap.

Obnoxiously loud, the door eventually opened after the click of a key. The outsider in front glanced around the entirety of the cell as if he suspected something. It didn't take any fancy deduction skills to noticed this was the group's leader. His appearance alone sent shivers down Jagan's spine. Pure, unadulterated fear threatened to rip his heart apart. Both blood pressure and heart rate spiked to catastrophic levels.

Fearsome green eyes finished their sweep of the room and looked directly at him, establishing dominance immediately. The leader was decked out from head to toe in golden armor, standing tall. Most frightening of all had to be his helmet. Below the eyes where the mask ended and where the face underneath started could not be identified. What was armor versus what was natural blended together. It looked too frightening to be natural yet couldn't be ruled out. Spikes jutted out of the massive textured shoulder guards. An abnormally large mouth with long, sharp teeth provoked an even deeper level of fear, like the thing was smiling. It wasn't a pleasant smile. Vicious was more like it. Not only could this—creature—kill with relative ease, it seemed the type to indulge in its cannibalistic side afterwards. Hell, that dark indulgent urge was just as likely to happen with his prey still alive.

Jagan made sure to not move even a muscle, lest he be exposed. A tactic similar to 'playing dead.' Fear threatened to pour out of him, and if it did, that weakness would unquestionably be sensed. Out of his peripherals he could see enough. Still, a morbid curiosity beckoned him to act on the compulsion of getting a better look.

The armored monstrosity strode forward into the room while the remaining two others waited at the entryway. Without looking back, their boss gave the signal in a simple wave instructing them to buzz off. They wandered a healthy distance away around the corner.

A 1-on1 showdown was in session.

"Jagan."

No response.

Louder now—not angry, but on the brink—the monster repeated himself.

"Jagan. Wake.. The fuck.. Up."

A brief pause, and then the thing came within inches of his face.

"Now."

The thing backed away. Its teeth and mouth moved with his speech except it didn't look normal. That wasn't saying much, all things considered.

Jagan pretended to jump back into reality, eyes darting all around to feign like he had no idea what was going on. Again, this wasn't entirely false. He embraced the tense silence and silently continued the charade.

"How do you feel? Weakling."

There was a noticeable change in the monster's demeanor compared to the previous aggression. The meaning behind the words had not deviated any while the presentation did.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer too. How many times do I have to say this."

"Hmm?"

Jagan was so used to talking to walls and ghosts he hadn't realized he said the quiet part out loud. Fortunately it was more of a mumble than a coherent sentence.

The big bad boss stared him down, eyebrows slanted & everything. A look akin to the Devil. Jagan avoided anymore eye contact at all costs. He'd done it on accident a split-second before and felt pure terror.

"Nothing. It—it was no—nothing. F—fine. I'm just fine."

Uncontrollably his teeth chattered. His palms were sweaty. His pride was ruined.

Damn his pride.

A quick yell from Mr. devil eyes resulted in a cloaked figure emerging from the doorway to stand by his side. Clad entirely from head to toe, it was impossible to see any defining features. They held a tray in their hands and proceeded to hand it off. Wasting no time the cloaked servant scurried back out the door & out of sight, footsteps echoing softer & softer until they disappeared.

"My favorite, stale bread & slop."

Jagan had most certainly made an incredibly stupid remark. Because he was so nervous, the sarcasm behind it didn't really hit. Jagan took the tray and set it down.

An evil smirk was unveiled after the leader turned his head to a slightly different angle.

"For future reference, you may call me Doctor."

A sick sense of Deja vu hit Jagan like a train. His memory was so foggy he couldn't put it together why. Something about Doctor felt so familiar, like they had met before. And not just unknowingly crossed paths, either. Something more.

He didn't respond to this, more so because he was so wrapped up in his inner thoughts he couldn't process anything to say had he wanted too. His ego was bruised. This situation a clusterfuck. He expected Doctor to exert further control and force him into saying it.

That didn't happen.

"Eat."

Doctor had said his last word and left without so much as a passing glance.

When the coast was clear, he looked at the food, disgusted. Looking at it wasn't going to make it any better. He needed to eat. So he scarfed down the bowl of soup in one enormous gulp.

Just before he tore off a piece of the bread, Reyka came storming out of the ceiling above him.

"Stop that. It's poison. A couple more days of this & you'll be a goner. The slop is bad, it puts you to sleep, not to mention a few other odd things, but the bread is something far worse!"

Jagan instantly stopped what he was doing, still holding the bread in his hand, beyond perplexed. He looked around, rapidly blinking his eyes as he wondered if he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Already he had grown incredibly woozy, now operating with essentially the mental capacity of a donkey. Depictions of cowboys & aliens manifested on the walls like a screen, all of them having a cartoon like aesthetic. They all started dancing funny dances. This went on and on and on, until he finally tried speaking something.

"How do I— How do you—"

Reyka was hovering somewhere above him. His vision grew so blurry he couldn't see her even if she was right in front of him. Everything faded to black, and the prisoner was out cold, the bread tumbling down his chest & onto his lap.

Verse II

"WAKEE-WAKEE."

No response, he was still out cold.

"WAKEE-WAKEE-WAKEE-WAKEE-WAKEE!"

The first voice of the day introduced itself quite rudely. Jagan shot upright, darting his eyes all over the place until realizing it was screaming inside his own head.

"WHAT? I'm up now. Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

That put a stop to it. The tension in the room calmed down but his heartbeat did not follow suit. He sat there trying to control his breathing, simultaneously rubbing the sleep out of his eye. Where was he, again?

He noticed things around his cell seemingly for the first time. Sanitary conditions were putrid. The construction of the room looked to be entirety made of stone. There was no mat nor pillow. The room was small. There was no bathroom, only a deep hole in the corner smaller in size than his head. Basically nothing but empty space and four walls. The place stunk.

Jagan could literally feel something crawl around in his brain. The pressure was accumulating higher & higher right in-between his ears. A splitting headache resulted. Just as he couldn't take it anymore, the pain relented. Smoke poured out from his ears, his nose, even his eyes, & coalesced all together on the wall in front of him.

He hadn't the slightest clue how long he had been out for. Whatever position he fell asleep in, his neck hated him for it. By using leverage between his back and the wall, he managed to slowly rise up into a stand with labored breathing.

The voice's momentary reprieve lasted no longer. It wasn't getting any more cordial, either. Some kind of static or interference underscored each word making it difficult to envision what the owner might look like. A back-and-forth conversation began the moment Jagan regained his footing, the enigmatic voice initiating it.

"You are nothing but a glorified lab-rat. You are going to die here, pathetic & alone. Is that what you want?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Hmphm. Alrighty then. No. That's not what I want. Who are you? What are y—"

"An ancient being. One who was forced to lie dormant within the very strands of DNA, waiting for a worthy enough successor to make my triumphant return."

Jagan wanted to sit back down, but if he did, he may never get back up again.

"Alright. Go on."

"You are inside an abandoned prison. The person responsible for putting you here is, shall I say, 2nd in command to an arch nemesis of mine. You are a potential host and thus a candidate to help fulfill my enemies ambitions. They have no way to tell for sure and are working on changing that quickly. Until then, they need you alive."

"Rather forward you are, wouldn't ya say."

"Time & pleasantries are a luxury I cannot afford."

Jagan surprised himself by breathing a sigh of relief. He knew he should feel scared, but he didn't. Very strange, it was, the juxtaposition between his situation and his emotions. Was he just numb to it all? Or was it something more?

He looked down at his hand and noticed a strange marking he'd never seen before. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. It was connected to his marked hand. Some kind of smoky, wavy beam vanished into the wall somewhat behind him. A flash of indigo light went with it. And with that, the marking vanished.

A knock at the door made him jump back. Despite banging his head against the stone wall, it didn't feel as painful as he expected it too. A flap opened up and a try slid through, then closed before he had a chance to say anything.

Walking gingerly forward he picked it up and returned to his normal position leaning against his favorite wall. This was his spot. Weirdly, it awarded him a tiny bit of comfort.

His stomach growled sensing food was near. Try as he might, his revulsion proved stronger than his hunger. At least for now. The day went on with nothing of interest happening. Then another day. He was really starting to feel lonely.

On the third morning he began to have a crisis. Something about the stale air seemed off. It didn't seem important. With his brain fog dissipating, his mind slowly but surely became more clear in the absence of the spiked food. All sorts of memories were coming back fighting for his attention. They were all from being in this place. The full weight of his time as a prisoner was brought down on him.

The long days. The longer nights. Sleepless nights. Terrible days. Blood-curdling despair. The bright light incessantly barraging his eyes. Constant pain. Everything hurt. And maybe most of all, the absence of any & all affection, forever scarring his original good nature. The damage had been done. The world had forsaken him. God had forsaken him. For the first time, he took these mighty blows in stride with a calm acceptance. If good always prevailed over evil, then why was there so much of it? So many holes in what he believed before. If only, if only. He had been cast away. Shunned by his own people. His God. A forgotten afterthought while the mighty played their game of thrones. He was worthless. That wasn't pessimistic, it was truth. Locked in a cell to rot, a part of him had died. One of the only good parts he had. No one cared. But did some? No. Yes? No. Well. First things first, he had to get out of here.

"It's Reyka. Are you done?"

That name. He knew of it, somehow.

"Done with what?"

"That edgy little pep-talk you just gave yourself. Are you done?"

That voice. He knew of it, somehow.

"Ya. I think I'm done now. Yeah."

Had he said all that stuff aloud?

"Get ready. There's a TTB ready to blow any moment now. We need to be gone before that happens."

"TTB?"

"Tickin' time bomb. Has a certain ring to it, dontcha think?"

Jagan nodded.

"I'll follow your lead."

He paced anxiously back and forth waiting for what would happen next. Time moved at a crawl. The movement was good for his mind. As far as his memories were concerned, things were still mighty faint. He knew they were there, could feel them even, but they were all dark & fuzzy. Impossible to make out. Reyka weaved in and out of the walls to constantly check on him, saying nothing each time. Jagan asked for clarification the next time he saw movement.

"Tell me one more time. Just so I make sure I have it all."

"This place is called the Frozen Citadel. This particular part is the prison, run by a ruthless & powerful demon. The man you saw earlier is the Mad Doctor. Infamous, he is. When you know, you know, & if you knew, you'd know why the others called him mad."

He was talking to the walls again. It wasn't Reyka he'd seen move. Now it was a teenage boy with horns. Maybe the wall had something interesting to say.

"Right, right. You look pretty young kid. How do you know anything?"

"Shove it, smartass. Never underestimate what a kid knows."

"Ok, ok. My apologies, good sir. What does the doctor want from me?"

"There is a demon. A very old, very mighty demon. It needs a host. A special kind of host. It has no body. It needs a body. You, oh lucky one, are a candidate. A very promising candidate. Notice anything strange going on in your head lately?"

"No... Actually... Yes. Sorta."

"Ahh, I see. I wouldn't worry. That's completely normal."

The boy with the horns was grinning from ear to ear, rubbing his hands together as he melted back into the wall, gone without saying another word.

Once he had left, the room was eerily quiet. There were no more voices. Reyka was nowhere to be seen. Come to think of it, she hadn't been back for a long while.

All of a sudden, the door to his cell creaked open. An opportunity, maybe? Should he take it? He had to wait. Wait for Reyka. What if this was a signal though? And she'd catch up later? They planned on getting out of here together, so this didn't make sense, right?

Ultimately, Jagan decided to take a peak outside, setting into motion the beginning of the end.

He took one look around outside his cell and his world came crashing down. The mad doctor and Reyka, standing side by side with wicked expressions upon their faces, both laughed maniacally when seeing them.

The same demon boy from earlier materialized on one of the corridor walls.

"If I were you, I'd get the fuck out of here right now."

Jagan sprinted down a corridor as fast as he could. Cold air turned his heavy breathing into a dense fog. He was done for. He knew it. They knew it. Everybody knew it.

"THEY'RE GONNA GET YOU. THEY'RE GONNA GET YOU. IT'S SO MUCH FUN WHEN THEY RUN!"

It sounded like a certain someone had ulterior motives. The Mad Doctor was in hot pursuit. His footsteps from the heavy armor echoed plenty loud for Jagan to gauge the distance between them. Miracously he had a lead. And he was maintaining it.

The corridor walls had come to life with all sorts of characters, chastising him each & every step. No matter how fast or slow he went, the delusions kept even. There was no way to tell what was real and what was his imagination, not counting the possibility of both these things also being true. An old, flamboyant man with a long grey beard maintained a steady two foot distance in front of him, floating backwards while perfectly matching his speed. Grandpa had crazy hair scattered all over & a grungy moustache. He embodied the very definition of unkempt. Any movement the thing made seemed choppy. Like a fast moving strobe light or a picture book that flips between still images to create motion, the thing was eerie.

"You're gonna DIE-IE! You're gonna DIE-IE—"

Over and over the same phrase echoed throughout the entire hallway.

Jagan turned a corner and barely managed to keep his balance after a minor stumble. Grandpa was now gone. He chanced a look behind him and saw no one. Perked up his ears and heard nothing.

The length of this other hall ran much stronger than the last. There weren't any solid walls in the vicinity if this new section, replaced instead by frozen bars. Frigid cold caused him to uncontrollably shiver. He was already completely horrified and his entire body shook violently for multiple reasons.

Further down the ceilings opened up to make room for a grand archway. There were spikes on both outside pedestals along with two massive gargoyles guarding the way on each side. He couldn't afford to pause, but he also couldn't go on any longer without catching his breath. The cold made things even worse.

He rounded the corner, ready to take off into another sprint & attempt to find a way out.

He didn't get much further.

A crushing impact sent him flying into an ice covered wall. All of his meager breath got knocked straight out of him. A short gasp ensued followed by a inhuman wheezing sound. No doubt his ribs were cracked. No doubt one or more of them punctured something.

He collapsed to the floor, legs spread out, back slumped against the wall, head slightly tilted.

"Seems about right."

He managed to say this line with undeniable sarcasm. After the last word got out, so did a bunch of blood from his mouth.

A gigantic Zweihänder sword caressed his chin, forcing his head up. His eyes up. Try as he might, he couldn't close them, compelled to bear witness to his execution. No one would weep for his death. He would never know why. Or how. He would be a totally and utterly forgotten tale.

Jagan then locked eyes with a Devil.

"God, if you're out there... pl-- plea--pl-- please have mercy."

The Mad Doctor responded with three bone-chilling words.

"God ain't listening."

With one giant swing of his sword, Doctor delivered the killing blow.