"DROWNING IS EASY WHEN YOU STOP FIGHTING THE WAVES"
VELMORA
"Get me out of here!" I screamed for the umpteenth time, my voice reduced to a bare whisper beneath the eternal wails of the other souls. "Get me out of here!" I yelled again, but the soul I had climbed on squirmed beneath me, forcing me back into the burning liquid.
I let out an agonizing scream as the searing substance swallowed me whole. Darkness engulfed me, and all I felt was pain—excruciating, unrelenting pain.
When will this end?
Never.
I struggled my way back to the surface, clambering onto another soul, my screams unchanged. "I don't belong here! Get me out of here!"
The same cycle, over and over, for the countless years I had been trapped in this pit. There was no record of time here, but I knew—without a doubt—it had been years, maybe even decades, since I died and was sentenced to this place.
A million times, I had attempted to escape. A million times, I had been reminded that in the pit of Hell, there was no escape.
Every single day, I watched as new souls were hurled into the abyss, their desperate hands clawing at anything to keep from sinking.
I watched as the old ones shoved the newcomers under, using them as stepping stones to stay afloat. I watched—while trapped in my own torment—as their skin peeled, blackened, and became like the rest of us—slimy, shriveled, and agonized.
Each passing moment, I thought of the people who put me here. Those bastards who murdered me. How I wanted to crawl out of this pit and drag them down with me. How I wanted to use them as stepping stones—just as the others had done—to escape the acid below.
The fact that I was here, suffering, while they were alive and thriving was just another layer of my torment.
I would do absolutely anything for revenge.
"Get me out of here, please!" I screamed again, escaping the liquid once more. I knew no one could hear me. And even if they could, no one was coming to save me.
Within the gates of Hell, hope was the cruelest illusion.
"Oh, Velmora," a teasing, sing-song voice rang in my ears, freezing me in place. My breath caught in my throat, and I immediately stopped screaming.
Who called my name?
I couldn't even remember the last time I had heard my name spoken aloud. But I had just heard it now. I was sure of it.
I strained to listen as I wrestled against the writhing bodies around me. There were no hallucinations in Hell. Someone had called my name. And whoever they were, they weren't suffering like I was.
The fact that I could hear the voice clearly—despite the endless screams—meant that whoever was speaking was not normal.
I had to stay afloat. I had to hear it again.
"Velmora, come here," the voice sang again, laced with amusement.
A woman's voice. Familiar.
It was calling to me.
I had to answer.
I fought my way through the swarm of struggling souls, forcing my body toward the cliff.
Over the years, I had tried to climb this cliff countless times, only to be met with the unbearable heat radiating from the jagged rock. Sometimes, I would push past the pain in my desperation to leave the swamp, but the higher I climbed, the hotter and stickier the rocks became, slowing me down. Every time, I failed—falling back into the pit, crushed beneath the weight of others just as desperate as me.
A cycle of futile, agonizing repetition.
But not this time.
I was getting out of here.
With renewed determination, I clawed my way forward, shoving aside the souls that tried to drag me back down.
Not today.
I reached the cliff and immediately began climbing, the heat scorching my already charred skin.
"It can only get worse from here," I muttered under my breath.
As I climbed, shoving down those ahead of me, the heat intensified. The rocks grew sharper, stickier, clinging to my body like molten tar. No matter how many times I had done this, the pain never dulled.
If I let go now, I would fall—sinking deep into the burning liquid, forced to start all over again. But if I kept going, no matter how much it hurt, I might actually have a chance.
Would I truly escape Hell if I reached the top? I didn't know. But even a few moments of relief before I was dragged back in would be worth it.
And I needed to see her. The owner of the voice.
I had to.
The heat became unbearable as I reached what I assumed was the halfway point. I had never made it this far before.
I was almost tempted to stop.
No. Not yet.
Up or down—both were painful. I might as well keep going.
Just as I reached for another hold, I felt something clamp onto my leg.
I glanced down. A pair of charred, blackened hands gripped my ankle.
Oh, no, you don't.
I kicked at them, trying to shake them off.
"Take me with you!" a voice screamed. "Please! Let's leave here together!"
I had never been the type to work with others. But in that moment, an idea struck me.
If we took turns climbing on each other, we could share the weight, avoid the worst of the pain, and maybe—just maybe—both escape.
I yelled my plan to her. She agreed instantly.
We moved together—one climbing while the other braced against the rock. When the heat became too much, we switched. Step by step, we made it to the top.
The moment we reached the surface, I climbed over her, using her as a boost. Then, I turned, reaching down to pull her up.
But before I could, a voice spoke behind me.
"There's no kindness in Hell."
I froze.
"You help her up, and I'll push you back down," the voice continued, smooth and lilting. "Let her go, and I'll help you leave. What's it gonna be?"
I hesitated.
I looked down at the girl—her charred face mirroring my own. She had suffered as I had. Fought as I had. But if there was one thing I had learned in this pit, it was that every soul was willing to drag another beneath them to escape.
It had always been that way. Since the beginning of time.
And I wasn't about to change it now.
Without another thought, I let go.
Her screams blended seamlessly with the others as she plummeted back into the pit.