Why did thousands of small pebbles roll in Divine’s mouth? Felt like he fell face first in sand.
He opened his eyes, spitting again and again. He still managed to swallow dirt. What in the name of Darkness was going on? He sat back on his heels. Sand stuck to his palm.
How in the name of Darkness had he gotten in the middle of the Aldric Abyss? The yellow ocean engulfed him on all sides. The Orlon Mountain Ranges held him prisoner. The last time he visited West Jael was to see that toilet people called Denont University. That experience tasted worse than this sand.
The Aldric Abyss was an insult. A massive stretch of land he couldn’t build houses on. The Abyss didn’t even have the nerve to be historic like Middle Jael. Since Jaelians liked blowing things up, they should’ve used their missiles to wipe this sandy waste of space off the world instead of aiming for the Walls. Despite the three unsuccessful attempts, they still tried. Because of their foolishness, nine cities were uninhabitable. Not including the five destroyed by the Great War. What a waste of good land.
Standing, Divine dusted off his legs. Felt like an invisible steel rod was beating the side of his head. Alcohol and drugs had no effect on him. He tried both. Why did he feel light-headed? He fell asleep in his own bed last night. Why was he in the middle of nowhere?
Felt like his memories were taken apart and put back together by some mindless ass. This sand must be alive, that was the only way it ended up in his underwear. He didn’t want to dwell too much on that.
Divine imagined the garden scene. He opened his senses.
This was revolting.
Divine saw terrible every time he looked in a mirror. His own aura made him sick. This was worse. Everything was black. The aura ran like oil. The smell was nauseating. Things moved underground, circling him, never coming too close. Divine couldn’t tell what they were. Their aura moved like sewage soup.
Normal people felt fear in these situations. Wasn’t the world he lived in strange enough? He needed to destroy someone, break something. He was stuck in the middle of this hellish desert with only sun and sand to take his annoyance out on. If only he could get his hands around those insects swimming around his feet. He’d squeeze the answers out of them.
He hated mornings.
His head weighed like paper. His vision blurred. Sand cushioned his knees when he hit the ground.
Divine pushed himself back. Breathe. The foul air invaded his body. He took more in. He didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t waste his energy on anger.
He needed to move. Which direction? Everything was the same. He didn’t sense signs of life in any direction. Standing here beating his foot into the ground seemed like a better option.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish