Defying Death

The ritual was executed perfectly. I was loath to test it, but my brethren felt otherwise. Cold steel entered my heart and I fell, despairing that our magicks had gone awry.

Death came. His stygian robes trailing smoke, his scythe glinting in the candlelight as he leant down.

“Sorcery,” he hissed. His blade parted my robes, relief calming me as the fatal wound healed.

With an unholy screech, he swept the weapon downwards, cleaving me from neck to groin as I screamed. The curved blade tugged within my stomach, exposing my organs to the bitter air as hot blood filled my mouth.

As even this wound closed, Death growled. His attack was frenzied, cleaving through bone. He sundered every cell to carve out the sparks of everlasting life.

To no avail.

He drew me up by my robes, tears catching in the blood caking my cheeks.

“Abomination,” he whispered, his breath cold and metallic. “You will pay for your hubris.”

Death comes. I no longer attempt to track the passage of time in this dungeon. He eviscerates me, then watches as my bones click painfully into place, my innards crawling up ruined limbs as I beg.

“End it.”

But he denies me.