The Keepers of Chaos: A Vault of Hell

Markos Amanodel: CXXVII

Whips cracked against his skin as he stabbed into his sister for the hundredth time, applause and compliments before it was repeated over and over again. He relived his own memories even then, at any second he closed his eyes. They returned. "I.. You may be dead Lif.. but trust me.." He cracked, "There are far worse things than death." He leaned over the table, fear and paranoia replaced with anger.

'Draw your blade! The ghost is weak.. He poses no threat!' Was that truly the voice of another? Or was it his own thoughts?

"Things you could not imagine." His voice trembled with power recalling all that was done to him.. And all he had been forced to do. Was that an excuse? He didn't know. It was done with love..

'Burn, kill, wreak havoc on it all! You don't want.. Her to be mad right?' He twitched trying to push the influences out, but it was too late, they had crawled their way in. and his anger intensified. H-he didn't want her to be mad... Oh she would be so happy! When she saw him.

"Things you couldnt even comprehend!" He growled some animalistic nature tore at him. 'Are we going to do this? Eh Markos?' He thought, he wondered if he looked as unnerved as he felt. Was he truly all that terrible? The ghost seemed to hesitate the quill floating in the air, but in a moment of uncharactiristic rage, the quill came down with intense force. Stabbing into his own hand and the blood drawn to write across the page. He barely flinched, she'd loved him in harder ways.

"I've been denied my afterlife." The blood-soaked words read. "If I'm turned I don't exist anymore." Markos toyed with that idea in his mind, would a lack of existence truly be worse than what he knew? "Tell me.. Do you really think I don't know?"

"Wow.. that actually kind of hurt." Markos lied through his teeth in a grin. "But.. not as much.. As disobeying her does.." He flinched, he cupped the ring around his neck.

"Ha. You will see her again soon." His heart dropped. Her.. see her again? Panic filled his ears.

'Strike it down, strike it down!' he clutched his hair seeing small passages on the paper appear, like laughter, again? Would.. Would he be taken this time? Was he still taken even now? His eyes flashed around the room in a desperate plea to separate reality from fiction.

"Which.. Which.. Her..?" he sobbed. Why was he scared? S-she.. Loved him..

"Yes." He stared at the ground moving his hand back, he knew it wasn't right. But he was afraid. "You will pay for your sins." The next line read, his mind blazed in anger, snapping him back to this reality. The one he had then.

"My sins.. My.." He began to laugh, chuckle really, right under his breath.

'Well then.. This went in an unexpected light- Murder the house!'

"My sins... You think I wanted to do any of it?!" He had intended to follow the voice's instructions. To finally strike down this irritant, but something stopped him and in his moment of rage his voice broke, he quivered in anger. "Ever? Do you know what it's like..?" He expected to stumble over his words but instead, he spoke clearly, quivering with his pitch yet still there. "To be burned.. Skinned alive. Forced to kill your own family? Over, and over." The pain built up in his voice. "Do you know what it's like to jump from one reality to another? To leap into an endless abyss?" He lowered his head whispering now. His mind did not allow him to simply speak, no instead he had to remember all of these events, the pain, the suffering and its anguish as he killed others desperate for a moment of relief. "Do you know anything.. Of what I've been forced to see?" He spoke in barely a whisper but it felt stronger than any words he'd ever said. "You think I wanted to do any of those things?" Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, he shook so badly he thought he might cause an earthquake. Every piece of him had been defiled and damaged, scars that would never heal yet the deepest one ran along his mind. "I know.. I'll pay for my sins.. But are they mine?" He quivered desperately for an answer he wanted. "Truly? I didn't want to kill all those people.. I didn't want to kill her.." His voice rose. "But you don't know what I've been through." He crept. A low whisper sounding that of the wind on rocks, or the trees last sounds before death, a quiet cry of desperation. He got no response for a brief moment, he studied the ghost and he almost felt as if he could see the poltergeist. The quill had been previously shaking in the air like it was ready to write. It simply stopped in this hour of his own weakness, he felt as if a presence did not loom over him rather embrace around him. He questioned his sanity once more.