One year had passed since Satan emerged from the ancient underground chamber beneath Lumbini, Nepal. Although the fortified city had survived the initial catastrophe, darkness continued spreading across the country.

Villages disappeared beneath black clouds, rivers turned dark, and ancient temples lay shattered. Demons wandered through abandoned cities, searching for human souls to claim.

The resistance had lost thousands of soldiers. Vishwa Rakshak, now forty-six, commanded the remaining forces alongside Mira and Garuda from their headquarters in Lumbini. Despite their losses, they refused to surrender.

One evening, scouts reported that thousands of possessed people were approaching the eastern gates. Unlike previous attacks, however, the approaching crowd appeared terrified. They kept looking toward the sky, while the demons accompanying them seemed reluctant to advance.

Vishwa studied the reports.

“Something has changed,” he said.

Garuda folded his wings. “The demons are afraid of something. I can sense it.”

Mira looked toward the horizon. “Then we need to discover what it is before they attack again.”

Far beneath the earth, Satan watched the approaching army through a pool of black water.

Beside him stood Acharya Devendra, the leader of the spiritualists who had secretly worshipped Satan and helped spread his influence across Nepal.

“The resistance still survives,” Devendra said. “Vishwa continues to inspire them.”

Satan’s eyes burned red.

“Then destroy their hope. Bring me their leaders, their warriors, and their gods. I will make them watch everything they love collapse.”

Behind Satan stood Narada, the celestial sage who had abandoned his former principles and joined the campaign against humanity.

He had convinced himself that destroying humanity would somehow bring Brahma back to him. Yet, as he watched the suffering unfold, doubts began consuming him.

“Are we truly accomplishing anything?” Narada asked.

Satan turned toward him.

“You wanted your father to return. You wanted creation to understand your pain. Why hesitate now?”

Narada remained silent, but Satan’s answer offered no comfort.

He had once travelled between worlds, carrying messages and encouraging harmony. Now, his actions had helped unleash suffering on the very beings he had once guided.

For the first time, he wondered whether his desire for recognition had blinded him to the consequences of his choices.

Meanwhile, in the ruins of Kathmandu, Raktavira, commander of the Crimson Host, surveyed a street filled with possessed civilians.

He had once believed that humanity deserved punishment for its cruelty and corruption. Under Satan’s influence, he had led countless demons into battle against human settlements.

But something changed when he noticed a young woman struggling against the demon possessing her.

“Please,” she whispered through tears. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The demon seized control again, forcing her to attack the surrounding survivors.

Raktavira raised his weapon, ready to strike. Then he hesitated.

He remembered the man he had once been before hatred consumed him. He remembered the innocent lives destroyed during his campaigns.

Lowering his weapon, he seized the demon and dragged it away from the woman. With a burst of crimson energy, he separated the creature from its host.

The woman collapsed, gasping for breath.

“Why did you save me?” she asked.

Raktavira stared at his hands.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Perhaps I have finally begun to remember what I once was.”

For the first time in years, he questioned whether his war against humanity had ever been justified.

In the celestial realm, Narada wandered through the abandoned halls of Brahma’s palace.

He remembered the day he had believed his father had abandoned him. His grief had gradually become resentment, and resentment had become hatred.

Satan had exploited that pain, promising that the destruction of creation would force Brahma to return.

Yet Narada could no longer ignore the suffering caused by his actions.

He had seen demons torment children, destroy temples, and possess innocent people. He had watched his fellow Devas participate in a war that contradicted everything they claimed to protect.

“I wanted Father to notice me,” Narada whispered. “But how many innocent lives have suffered because of my selfishness?”

A voice answered from behind him.

“Enough that you must now decide what you will do about it.”

Narada turned. Standing before him was Brahma.

For several moments, Narada could not speak. His eyes widened, and his hands trembled.

“Father?”

Brahma approached him slowly.

Narada fell to his knees.

“I am sorry. I was angry, and Satan used that anger against me. I betrayed creation, encouraged destruction, and turned against humanity. I thought destroying everything would make you return.”

His voice broke.

“I wanted you to acknowledge me. Instead, I became someone I can barely recognize.”

Brahma looked at his son with sorrow.

“Your pain was real, Narada. But pain does not excuse the suffering you caused. You chose to turn your grief into hatred, and others paid the price.”

Narada lowered his head.

“Can you forgive me?”

“Forgiveness cannot erase what happened,” Brahma replied. “Nor can it replace justice. Redemption begins when you stop seeking approval and start helping those you harmed.”

Narada looked up at him.

“Then I will return to Earth. I will fight Satan, even if humanity never forgives me.”

Brahma placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Do what is right because life deserves protection, not because you expect a reward.”

Narada rose slowly. For the first time since his fall, he understood that redemption would require more than regret.

He would have to act.

At Lumbini, Vishwa received an unexpected visitor.

Narada stood outside the resistance headquarters, carrying no weapon. Garuda immediately stepped forward, his wings spreading in anger.

“You dare come here after everything you have done?”

Narada lowered his head.

“I do not expect your forgiveness. I have come to offer my help against Satan.”

Garuda’s eyes burned.

“Your help? You helped unleash this nightmare!”

“I know,” Narada replied. “I cannot undo what happened, but I can help stop it.”

Vishwa approached them.

“Why should we trust you?”

“You shouldn’t trust me simply because I ask you to,” Narada answered. “Judge me by what I do from this moment onward.”

Mira watched him carefully.

“If you’re lying, people will die.”

“I understand.”

Vishwa remained silent for several seconds before making his decision.

“You may join us, but you will answer our questions, share everything you know about Satan’s plans, and follow our command during the battle.”

Narada bowed his head.

“Agreed.”

Garuda reluctantly stepped aside, although his anger remained.

“This is not forgiveness,” he warned.

“I know,” Narada replied. “I have no right to demand it.”

Vishwa turned toward the resistance officers.

“Prepare the intelligence room. We have a war to win.”

Narada followed them inside, knowing that his actions would determine whether his return meant anything.

Later that evening, Arjun arrived with Kiran and two former members of the wizarding group that had worshipped Narada and the other Devas.

They had once supported Narada’s campaign and helped Devendra’s spiritualists spread Satan’s influence. Now, with the alliance forming, they wanted to confess their involvement.

Arjun stood before Vishwa and Mira, visibly shaken.

“We need to tell you the truth,” he said. “We helped betray the resistance.”

Vishwa’s expression hardened.

“Explain.”

Arjun swallowed.

“I was jealous of you and Mira. Everyone looked up to you, while I felt invisible. When Narada and the others offered us power, I convinced myself we were doing something important.”

He looked down.

“I helped expose resistance positions and supplied information that allowed Satan’s forces to attack several settlements. People died because of us.”

Mira looked at him in disbelief.

“You knew what could happen?”

“I knew there were risks,” Arjun admitted. “I refused to think about the consequences because I wanted to prove that I mattered.”

Kiran stepped forward.

“We were wrong, too. We worshipped the Devas without questioning what they were doing. We believed their power made them righteous.”

One of the former wizards placed a collection of maps and documents on the table.

“These identify several ritual sites maintained by Devendra. His followers are using them to open gateways between the underworld and Earth.”

Vishwa examined the documents.

“If these sites remain active, Satan can continue bringing demons into our world.”

Arjun nodded.

“We can guide your soldiers to them.”

Garuda looked at the group with open distrust.

“And why should we believe you won’t betray us again?”

“You shouldn’t,” Arjun answered. “Not yet. Give us a chance to prove ourselves.”

Vishwa considered their offer.

“You will work under supervision. You’ll share every piece of information you possess, and you will help dismantle the ritual sites. Your past actions will still have consequences.”

“We understand,” Kiran replied.

After the others departed, Narada approached Arjun.

“You allowed your jealousy to control you,” he said.

Arjun looked away.

“I thought being powerful would make me feel important.”

“Power cannot repair a wounded sense of self-worth,” Narada replied. “I made the same mistake. I allowed my pain to convince me that everyone else deserved to suffer.”

Arjun looked at him.

“Do you think we can ever make things right?”

“You cannot change the past,” Narada answered. “But you can decide what kind of people you become now.”

The following morning, Ishani appeared at the resistance headquarters.

Vishwa immediately recognized her.

She was responsible for his mother’s death and had once attempted to sacrifice him during Satan’s earlier campaign. Her actions had left wounds that time had not healed.

Mira stepped between them, prepared for an attack.

“What are you doing here?” Vishwa demanded.

Ishani lowered her eyes.

“I want to help fight Satan.”

Vishwa’s expression became cold.

“You killed my mother. You tried to sacrifice me. Why should I believe anything you say?”

“You shouldn’t,” Ishani replied. “I have committed terrible acts, and I cannot undo them by asking for another chance.”

“Then why come here?”

“Because I finally understand that regret means nothing if I continue allowing innocent people to suffer.”

Vishwa stared at her.

“You expect me to forgive you?”

“No. I don’t deserve to demand that from you. I only ask for the opportunity to help save the people I once helped endanger.”

Mira remained suspicious.

“She could be working for Satan.”

Ishani shook her head.

“I know the locations of several ritual sites. I can help you destroy them, and I know how the spiritualists have been manipulating the possessed.”

Vishwa looked toward the maps Arjun had provided.

“Your knowledge could be useful. But you will be monitored, and you will answer for your crimes when this war is over.”

“I accept that.”

Vishwa stepped closer.

“I will not forgive you simply because you decide to do something good. My mother is still dead, and nothing can change that.”

“I know,” Ishani whispered.

“But if you’re genuinely willing to protect others, then prove it.”

Ishani nodded.

“I will.”

Vishwa turned away, still struggling with the anger and grief she had brought back to the surface.

He had allowed her to help, but he was not ready to forgive her. 

That evening, the alarm bells rang across Lumbini. Thousands of demons advanced toward the fortified city, accompanied by possessed civilians and Satan’s elite warriors.

Vishwa climbed onto the defensive wall.

“Evacuate the children and elderly to the inner shelters! Archers, prepare yourselves! Nobody opens the gates without my order!”

Mira organized the evacuation while Garuda flew above the city, searching for weaknesses in the enemy formation.

The first wave struck the eastern wall.

Demons climbed over one another, clawing at the stone while the resistance fired arrows and launched explosive charges. The defenders fought desperately, but the sheer number of enemies threatened to overwhelm them.

Then the possessed civilians reached the gates.

Some begged to be saved. Others attacked the soldiers, their bodies controlled by demons.

“Hold your fire!” Vishwa shouted. “They’re victims, too!”

A soldier stared at the advancing crowd.

“Commander, they’ll kill us!”

“Then we find another way!”

Ishani and the former wizards hurried to the defensive platform, carrying scrolls and ritual instruments.

“The demons are bound to their hosts through spiritual corruption,” Ishani explained. “If we use the separation prayer, we may be able to free some of them.”

Vishwa nodded.

“Do it.”

The former wizards began chanting an ancient prayer, their voices carrying across the battlefield. Golden symbols appeared above the possessed civilians.

One by one, dark figures emerged from their bodies.

Garuda swooped down, striking the exposed demons with radiant energy while the freed civilians were carried to safety but the fighting continued. A section of the eastern gate collapsed, allowing hundreds of demons into the city.

Vishwa rushed toward the breach, swinging his weapon as Mira and the soldiers fought beside him.

An elderly man lay wounded near the entrance to a shelter. Vishwa knelt beside him while arrows and fire filled the air.

“Please,” the man whispered. “Don’t let them take my granddaughter.”

Vishwa looked toward a young girl being carried away by a soldier.

“She is safe,” he promised.

The man managed a faint smile before closing his eyes.

Vishwa bowed his head for a moment, then rose and returned to battle. He could not save everyone but he would not stop trying.

As the defenders began to lose ground, the sky suddenly filled with brilliant light.

Hundreds of Devas descended from the heavens, their weapons glowing with celestial energy. At their head stood Narada, who had returned to confront the destruction he had helped create.

Beside them marched Raktavira and the Crimson Host.

Garuda landed on the wall, stunned by the sight.

“Narada?”

Narada looked at him.

“I have come to fight for the lives I once endangered.”

Garuda’s expression remained stern.

“Your arrival does not erase your betrayal.”

“I know. Let my actions speak.”

Raktavira raised his weapon.

“Crimson Host, protect the civilians! Today, we fight to defend life rather than destroy it!”

The Devas and the resistance launched a coordinated counterattack.

Celestial warriors struck the demons from above while human soldiers secured the streets. Garuda and Narada fought side by side, their powers combining to drive the enemy back.

For a moment, the resistance began to regain control.

But Satan had anticipated their alliance.

Deep beneath the battlefield, Devendra completed another stage of his ritual. A massive black gateway opened above a ruined temple, releasing a torrent of dark energy.

Satan’s laughter echoed across the city.

“Do you truly believe your little alliance can stop me?”

Vishwa looked toward the gateway.

“If that ritual remains active, the demons will never stop coming.”

He turned toward Arjun and Kiran.

“You know where the gateway is being maintained. Take a team and destroy it.”

Arjun nodded.

“We won’t fail you.”

Arjun, Kiran, Ishani’s former allies, and a small team of resistance fighters raced through the ruined streets toward the temple.

Demons guarded the entrance, but the group managed to force their way inside.

At the center of the chamber stood a black crystal surrounded by glowing symbols. Devendra stood before it, chanting in an ancient language.

“You fools!” he shouted when he saw them. “Satan will reward those who remain faithful!”

Arjun raised his weapon.

“He has already shown us what your faith costs.”

Devendra unleashed a blast of dark energy, throwing several soldiers against the walls.

Kiran rushed toward the crystal while Arjun distracted Devendra. The former wizards began chanting the counter-ritual, their voices trembling as the gateway shook.

Devendra attacked them, but Arjun intercepted him.

“You helped destroy countless lives,” Arjun said. “You don’t get to hide behind your devotion.”

He struck Devendra, knocking him away from the crystal.

Kiran raised his weapon and shattered it.

A deafening explosion shook the temple. The gateway began collapsing, pulling the surrounding shadows inward.

Devendra screamed as dark chains wrapped around his body.

“No! Satan promised me power!”

A voice thundered from the collapsing gateway.

“Your service has ended.”

The chains dragged Devendra into the darkness. His screams faded as the gateway closed.

Arjun and Kiran rushed outside just as the temple began to crumble.

They had destroyed one of Satan’s most important sources of power but the battle was not over.

A sudden silence spread across the battlefield.

The demons stopped fighting and bowed their heads.

Satan descended from the sky, surrounded by black flames. His presence darkened the clouds, and the ground cracked beneath his feet.

“So,” he said, surveying the assembled humans and Devas. “You have gathered every remaining defender of creation.”

Vishwa stepped forward.

“Your reign ends today.”

Satan laughed.

“You still believe courage can overcome power?”

He raised his hand, unleashing a wave of darkness that swept across the battlefield. Soldiers were thrown aside, and several Devas fell from the sky.

Garuda attacked first, striking Satan with a burst of golden energy.

Satan barely moved. He seized Garuda by the throat and hurled him into the ruins.

Narada rushed forward, unleashing a barrage of celestial weapons. Satan absorbed their energy and retaliated with a blast that sent Narada crashing to the ground.

Vishwa charged, but Satan summoned black chains that wrapped around his arms and legs.

The chains tightened, forcing him to his knees.

“You have spent your life trying to protect humanity,” Satan whispered. “Look around you. Your people are dying. Your allies are falling. What has your resistance accomplished?”

Vishwa struggled against the chains.

“It has given people a reason to keep fighting.”

Satan leaned closer.

“Your mother died because of this world. Ishani tried to sacrifice you. Your own allies betrayed you. Why continue protecting a species that brings suffering upon itself?”

Vishwa’s face tightened at the mention of his mother.

“Humanity is imperfect,” he replied. “But people can choose to change. They can protect one another, show compassion, and fight for a better future.”

Satan’s expression twisted with fury.

“Then die with your precious ideals!”

He tightened the chains, and Vishwa cried out in pain.

Suddenly, Ishani rushed forward and struck Satan with a burst of energy. The chains shattered, releasing Vishwa.

Satan turned and hurled her across the battlefield.

She crashed against a ruined wall and fell to the ground, badly injured.

Vishwa scrambled toward her.

“Why did you do that?”

Ishani struggled to breathe.

“Because I could not allow him to kill you.”

“You didn’t have to save me.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I did.”

She looked at him, tears gathering in her eyes.

“I cannot erase what I did to your mother. I cannot undo the pain I caused you. But I can choose what I do now.”

Vishwa stared at her, overwhelmed by conflicting emotions.

“I still cannot forgive you.”

“I understand.”

“But you saved my life. And I will not let your sacrifice be meaningless.”

He helped her toward the resistance medics before turning back to Satan.

As Satan prepared to unleash another attack, the clouds parted. A brilliant celestial light illuminated the battlefield.

Brahma appeared above the ruins, his presence filling the sky with golden radiance.

The remaining Devas fell silent.

Narada slowly rose from the ground.

“Father?”

Brahma looked down at him.

“My son, you have made terrible choices. But you have finally begun to understand that righteousness is not measured by obedience or power.”

Narada lowered his head.

“I will spend the rest of my existence trying to repair what I have done.”

“Then continue protecting life,” Brahma replied. “Do not fight for my approval. Fight because every life has value.”

Brahma turned toward Garuda, who was struggling to stand.

“Protection does not mean controlling every choice. It means helping others live without taking away their freedom.”

Garuda looked toward the battlefield.

“I understand.”

Brahma’s gaze then moved to Vishwa.

“Humanity is not saved because it is perfect. It is saved because, even amid suffering, people can choose compassion over cruelty.”

Vishwa rose to his feet.

The surviving soldiers gathered behind him. The Devas prepared their weapons, and the Crimson Host formed a defensive line around the wounded.

Vishwa raised his weapon.

“This is our home! Our families are here, our memories are here, and our future is here! We will not surrender it to Satan!”

The resistance answered with a roar.

Narada raised his celestial instrument, sending a wave of golden energy across the battlefield. Garuda spread his wings.

The final battle began. Garuda attacked Satan from above while Narada struck from the front. Their combined power forced Satan backward for the first time.

Vishwa charged through the opening, striking Satan with every remaining ounce of strength.

Satan retaliated, sending waves of darkness across the battlefield. The ground split, and black flames engulfed the ruins.

The Devas struggled to contain the destruction while human soldiers protected the wounded.

“His power is connected to the gateway!” Narada shouted. “Even after Devendra’s ritual was destroyed, Satan has anchored himself to the remaining altar!”

Vishwa looked toward a massive structure at the center of the battlefield. Black energy streamed from it into Satan’s body.

“If we destroy that altar, we can weaken him!”

Garuda nodded.

“Then we must reach it.”

The three warriors attacked together, drawing Satan away from the altar while the resistance cleared a path.

Satan roared and unleashed a storm of dark energy. Garuda was thrown aside, and Narada fell to one knee.

Vishwa continued forward.

“You cannot defeat me!” Satan thundered.

Vishwa looked at the people fighting behind him.

“I’m not fighting alone.”

The voices of the surviving soldiers rose across the battlefield. The Devas joined them, followed by the Crimson Host.

Their combined energy illuminated the ruins.

Vishwa reached the altar and raised his weapon. Golden light gathered around him, growing brighter with every passing second.

Satan realized what he intended to do.

“No!”

He lunged toward Vishwa, but Garuda intercepted him. Narada summoned a final burst of celestial energy, holding Satan back long enough for Vishwa to strike.

The weapon crashed into the altar.

Golden light erupted across the battlefield.

The altar shattered, and the black gateway collapsed. Satan screamed as the darkness sustaining him dissolved.

“You cannot destroy me!” he roared.

Vishwa stood before him.

“This world does not belong to you.”

Satan’s body cracked, releasing streams of black smoke. His form disintegrated into ash, and the remaining demons vanished with him. The clouds began to part. 

For the first time in a year, sunlight illuminated the ruined city. The battle was over.

Mira rushed toward Vishwa and embraced him.

“You’re alive.”

Vishwa held her tightly.

“So are you.”

Garuda landed beside them, exhausted but relieved. Narada approached cautiously.

Garuda looked at him for a long moment.

“I still remember what you did.”

Narada lowered his head.

“You should.”

“But today, you fought to protect the people you once endangered.”

Garuda extended his hand.

“That is a beginning. Nothing more.”

Narada accepted the gesture.

Across the city, survivors emerged from shelters and ruins. Some cried with relief, while others searched desperately for missing relatives.

The victory had come at an enormous cost.

Arjun and Kiran returned to the resistance headquarters, where Arjun found his father waiting among the survivors.

His father stared at him.

“I know what you did,” he said quietly. “I know you helped betray the resistance.”

Arjun lowered his head.

“I am sorry.”

His father remained silent before stepping forward and embracing him.

“I am still angry,” he admitted. “I don’t know how long it will take to trust you again. But you helped save lives today, and I am grateful you’re alive.”

Arjun broke down in tears.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“Then spend your life becoming someone who deserves trust.”

Nearby, Ishani received medical treatment.

Vishwa visited her later that evening.

“The authorities will investigate your crimes,” he told her. “You will have to answer for what you did.”

“I understand.”

“You cannot erase the past by saving me.”

“I know.”

Vishwa looked at her for a moment.

“But you did save my life. Thank you.”

Ishani began to cry.

“I wish I could bring your mother back.”

“So do I,” Vishwa replied.

He left without forgiving her, but he no longer saw her only as the person who had destroyed his family. He saw someone who had begun accepting responsibility for her actions.

That evening, Vishwa, Garuda, and Narada stood among the ruins and honored the dead.

They remembered the soldiers who had defended the city, the civilians who had lost their lives, and the possessed victims who had suffered without understanding what was happening to them.

No victory could bring them back but their sacrifices would not be forgotten.

Three days after Satan’s defeat, Nepal’s prime minister addressed the surviving population.

He acknowledged the devastation and promised that the government would help rebuild communities, restore essential services, and support those who had lost their homes and families.

The people listened in silence.

There was relief in the streets, but grief remained everywhere.

Meanwhile, the surviving Devas prepared to return to their celestial realm.

Narada stood before them.

“We must confront our own failures,” he said. “We allowed pride, resentment, and blind obedience to guide us. Never again should we mistake authority for righteousness.”

Some Devas lowered their heads in shame.

Garuda stood beside him.

“Protecting someone does not mean deciding their fate for them. We must respect their freedom, even when their choices are difficult to understand.”

Narada nodded. Raktavira and Ishani prepared to accompany the Devas, though both understood that redemption would require years of difficult work.

Before departing, Narada approached Vishwa.

“I cannot ask you to forgive me.”

“You don’t need to ask,” Vishwa replied. “You need to continue doing what is right.”

Narada bowed his head.

“I will.”

With that, the Devas returned to their realm, leaving humanity to begin rebuilding its world.

Six months had passed since Satan’s defeat.

Across Nepal, reconstruction had begun. Roads were cleared, hospitals reopened, and families returned to villages that had once been abandoned.

The walls surrounding Lumbini were gradually dismantled. The city no longer needed to live behind fortifications, although its people would never forget the battle fought there.

Memorials were erected for the fallen soldiers, civilians, Devas, and possessed victims.

Arjun and the former wizards dedicated themselves to helping survivors. They worked to dismantle the remaining cults and expose the methods Satan’s followers had used to manipulate vulnerable people.

Arjun knew that his past could never be erased, but he had stopped expecting forgiveness to arrive simply because he regretted what he had done.

Ishani also began working with survivors, accepting that she would have to face the consequences of her crimes for the rest of her life.

Vishwa continued leading reconstruction efforts with Mira and Garuda. Though the war had ended, he often struggled with the memories of those he had lost.

One afternoon, he travelled to the ruins of an ancient monastery near Lumbini.

He stood among the broken stones, remembering the suffering that had engulfed Nepal.

“Did humanity truly deserve to survive?” he wondered aloud. “After everything we have done to one another, why were we given another chance?”

A gentle breeze moved through the trees.

Vishwa turned and noticed a peaceful figure standing nearby, dressed in simple robes. The stranger watched him with a calm expression.

For a moment, Vishwa felt the weight of the past begin to lift.

He took a step forward, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Buddha?”

The figure smiled gently.

The End

Gamemode: survival

By Silver Spoon

Chapter 1

“Generating World”

A young man with slightly bronze skin lay asleep on the forest ground, letting the air move his light brown hair and clothes, which consisted of a light blue T-shirt and a pair of darker blue jeans, as it pleased. The scattered rays of sunlight soon reached his chest before moving up his neck, just before reaching his lips and stopping at his eyes. That's when he finally came to life, rapidly opening his eyelids and revealing the shining dark blue of his pupils.

That's when he sat up and took a moment to see the world around him.

“Where am I?” he thought before shaking his head. A deep migraine had just made its way into the deepest parts of his skull.

“I can't remember a thing, but this doesn't seem to be a dream, at least not the type I would normally have. Wait, how do I know what types of dreams I have and yet nothing else? Not even my own name. Have I been drugged and then dropped into a random forest? No, what would be the point of that? Well, I can get answers later; what matters now is that I get some information.”

That's when the young man got to his feet and started walking among the light brown trees, inspecting the bark of the closest one before putting his hand on it.

“There's nothing special about this tree. All I can tell is that it's a normal oak tree, perhaps a little wider than usual, but not enough to be weird.”

That's when he jumped at a sudden sound coming from his left. He took a closer look, and what he saw left him perplexed.

“Am I seeing things, or is that a sheep? What's a sheep doing in the middle of the forest, especially such a white and fluffy sheep? You only see those when they are cared for by people. Does that mean I'm close to a farm? I have to look around. Hopefully, I can find the owner and ask them for help.”

He spent the next few minutes looking around for any sign of the owner or any human presence at all, but he was disappointed to find no indication of any humans. As far as he could see, the forest seemed to have no end, so he approached a nearby elevation, trying to see over the sea of trees. However, he soon became disappointed when he saw nothing but an endless expanse of green leaves.

“Just how big is this damn forest?”

He approached a nearby tree and sat by its trunk. He naturally moved his hands over his face to calm his frustration.

“What will I do if I can't find a way out? No, it's too soon to have such negative thoughts. I have to work with what I have.”

That was when he finally took a moment to look himself over. Due to his lack of previous memories, he had no reference point to know if his body or clothing had anything out of the ordinary. That's when he noticed that his jeans had pockets.

“If I'm lucky, I might have a phone in them,” he said to himself in a self-mocking tone as his hand reached into his right pocket.

Something peculiar happened.

“It almost feels like my hand is in a void, even though I can see it from the outside, bending the fabric of my jeans. My hand almost feels like it's touching nothing. Even when I move my fingers, I can't feel the fabric from the inside.”

That's when he made a fist and pulled his hand out, a chill running down his spine. However, when he inspected his hand, he noticed a perfectly square piece of impossible white paper that said, “Welcome to Minecraft, Steve.”

Captain Grymm watched men walk up the gangway to his ship. Christians, Muslims, Catholics, and one Jewish man. All men of faith. All men seeking to verify that their religion was the one true way.

Why were these men of disparate faith gathered, you might be asking?

The adventurer, Loui Barbo, had published a guide to the world. Barbo’s Guide To Everything. In it he detailed such fantastical places as the golden city of El Dorado, Atlantis, and— of particular interest to Captain Grymm and his patrons —The Island Of Dead Men.

Barbo that the Island of Dead Men was a portion of the hereafter. It could be found, he wrote, by following the coast of Australia down to its southeastern edge, setting off from there to New Zealand, and from New Zealand, to the Auckland Islands. After the Auckland islands, one had to head westward, into an ever present storm. Barbo spent an entire page describing the storm. The ferocity of which, made Grymm wonder why he was committing himself to this expedition.

Perhaps it was a way to live. His patrons, which included the king and his court, were paying him a fine penny to do it. Possibly he was doing it for the fame. Others who had chased Barbo’s tales were memorialized for their discovery. Eduardo Morales, who verified the existence, and then committed the sacking of El Dorado, had become canonized in Spain. There was a part of Grymm that wanted to be remembered just as well, memorialized like Morales, but maybe not for any grand sacking of the afterlife. Or any sacking really. The notion made him feel empty somehow. Many things had made him feel empty as of late.

Maybe leading this expedition was just way to fill the void and the time. Maybe it was a little of everything at once.

The gangway was pulled up when the last member boarded. Grymm then gave the signal for the port’s dredgers to drag them out to sea. An hour later he told the men to unfurl the sails, and they began the long journey to Australia.

Of the journey itself, there is little to say. It was unremarkable, with the exception that upon reaching the Auckland Islands they found them deserted. The Maori people that had inhabited it during Barbo’s time having long since left, leaving an eerie empty place. More empty than the ocean itself, or so it felt.

They rested on the shores of Auckland Island, docking at the abandoned port.

The sky’s there, though clouded, and gray, did not portend any terrible storm. Certainly not the kind that Barbo had written about.

A day later, the crew set sail south west, searching for Barbo’s storm.

And oh did they find it.

Seeing the storm, captain Grymm thought that the universe had given them an unexciting journey as a means of cosmic balance. All the misfortune, all the horror that a trek to the other end of the world could bring was squeezed into that one storm.

It had appeared suddenly, a darkness in the sky, a hard line where the gray meek clouds of the Auckland Islands turned black and angry, portending death.

In the middle of the maelstrom a great vortex ripped the sky open. Lightning flashed, backlighting giant faces; angry faces, faces that sneered as they looked down at the men.

The sea below had a matching vortex. It pulled the ship down, spiraling toward the abyssal center where great dark things could be seen. Giants in the shape of men, spiders, and long serpent like fish.

One man, frozen in terror, gazed into the abyss, and was tossed overboard with the violent rocking of the waves. Then two more. The rest found their nerve, and did their best to turn the sails to the ever changing wind; winds that seemed to scream and wail.

The men began to cry out the name of their gods, praying. They prayed to Allah, YAWHEH, God, and Jesus Christ. All seemed in vain as the vortex dragged them further down into its belly. At last one man cried over the many, screaming: “The god of Abraham is with us!” his roar was defiant.

“The god of Abraham is with us! I feel it too!” cried one of the Muslims.

“The god of Abraham gives breath to our sails!” cried one of the Christians.

“He is with us,” said the Jewish man.

“He is with us!” echoed one of the Catholics, and it became a chant.

As if a prayer had indeed been answered, the ship began to resist the vortex. It rose higher, and higher, nearly escaping the vortex when the storm stopped. The dark clouds returned to gray. The wind was calm again.

A dense fog then settled around the ship, overtaking so that nothing beyond a man’s arm length away could be seen.

“Have we died?” cried one man.

“We would not still be together if we had,” said another, snidely, implying that he would not be in hell with the rest of them. This comment sparked a riot. The fervent men, who were still full of fighting spirit, began to argue. A brawl might have broken out, if not for the sudden appearance of light.

A man at the head of the ship called the rest, and each turned to see the orange light appearing in the distance.

It was torch light. They were certain. And it was the only color in the gray world they found themselves in. Moreover, they noticed that the orange light grew as the ship drifted toward it.

The silhouettes of men appeared in the glow. Hushed murmurs and whispers broke in response to this.

Then, silence.

The silhouettes belonged to corpses.

The crew gawked at the corpses, and the corpses gawked back. Though with the many of the corpses, it was because they lacked a lower jaw, or their jaws were hanging on one side. Nothing was said by either party, not even when the ship beached itself on the shore, shaking the crew.

Captain Grymm blinked at the corpses.

“Why… have… you… come here?” asked the torch bearing corpse, who seemed to be the leader amongst the corpses.

Captain Grymm didn’t know how to answer.

One of his crew spoke up.

“We came to see who was right,” said the man.

A murmur of affirmations arose.

“About… ?” asked the Corpse.

“The after life,” shouted one, and emboldening the rest.

“So where are we?” shouted another member of the crew.

“Is this Barzakh?”

“Is this purgatory? Where is the mountain?”

“Are we perhaps in hell?”

“Do you know where you are?” asked the one Jewish crew mate.

The eye of the torch bearing corpse lolled over to him.

“We… do… not… know…” rasped the voice.

The murmurs of the crew turned into an uncomfortable silence.

Then, one of them lit up, having had an epiphany.

“Corpse man, to what faith did you subscribe when you were dead?”

The torch bearing corpse ground its jaw for a second before answering.

“I… was… a catholic, if… I recall correctly…”

“There,” said the crew mate. “He is a catholic, therefore we are in purgatory. The mountain where we must purge ourselves to reach heaven must simply be hidden in the great fog.”

“There… is… a mountain here,” said the torch bearing corpse. “But I do not believe this is purgatory…” the corpse eyed one of its fellows, a fleshy corpse wearing a wrap around its head.

It came forward.

“I was a Sikh,” it said, then stepped back into the crowd.

Another came forward.

“I was a steward of the land,” said a skeleton with dots painted across its yellowed skull. Same as the first, it retreated, and another went out.

“My people believed in one god, and also many,” said a corpse wearing half rotted linens.

The men on the boat began to murmur again, until it became a chorus of debate, confusion, frustration, and in some cases, anger.

“Enough!” cried Grymm. The crew’s mad chorus died immediately. “The ship is beached. We are tired. Let us rest, and on the ‘morrow, let us learn what can about this place.”

“Ay, sir!” cried the crew, and disappeared below the deck of the ship.

The torch bearing corpse dismissed the other corpses with a look. Grymm set his eyes on him.

“Is there anything edible on this island?”

The corpse rasped, sighing, in thought.

“There is… fruit… I think. I remember it tasted… good…”

“You mean when you were alive?”

“I never tasted it before I died,” said the corpse, inspiring questions. There were already so many. Grymm did not mean to wear out the corpse with them so quickly, so he did not ask them.

“Show me.”

The torch bearing corpse nodded, and waited for the captain to climb down from the ship. Once together, they entered the jungle, following a well worn footpath.

The weather was overcast, with a slight chill. It was light out, but with the cloud cover, there was no telling if it was early morning, or late afternoon. Definitely it was bright enough to see. Which got Grymm thinking about the torch.

“Why do you have that torch? It’s light out.”

“So… it… is…” the corpse man dropped the torch, and let it fizzle out on the ground.

“Why did you have it out in the first place if you were so ready to toss it away?”

The corpse’s eye lolled over to look at Grymm.

“It was for you and… your crew,” it rasped. “To guide you.”

“How did you know we would be out there?”

“We… felt you… .”

The corpse did not elaborate, and so Grymm did not ask it of him.

The well trod foot path disappeared. The jungle surrounded them. It was vibrant, with bright flowers, but otherworldly as one might expect; Grymm thought he even recognized some of the plants.

Deeper in the jungle, near the base of the mountain— which just as suddenly appeared —they found the fruit. It resembled a pomegranate. There were only two fruits in total, so Grymm and the corpse took one each.

“The flesh… is good… ,” said the corpse, “…the seeds are… as well, but take some work to chew. You will want a place to sit… before we settle down to eat… .”

“After you then,” said Grymm.

He followed the corpse back to the well trod foot path, and followed the path up a hill, and to a cliff. There they found a small hut, and an edge to hang their feet off of.

The corpse man showed Grymm how to split the fruit so that it could be eaten in segments without spilling the seeds on the ground. The flesh was crunchy, and sweet, like an apple. The seeds required unwrapping, which took some time as they were quite small. The satisfying nutty flavor, was only just barely worth the effort.

“How did you come to be here?” asked Grymm.

“It has been… so long… I do not… recall… ,” rasped the corpse. “Though… I recall a sense of familiarity upon arrival.”

“Are you happy here? It seems hard to believe you are. It feels… empty. Lonely. As if time were standing still.

“To me it does not seem so bad… I enjoy… the silence… . I remember little of my life… but I recall… that I was always in a rush. I always had somewhere to be, something to do. And I guess… there was always someone I had to be too… a… face I had to wear… so… being here… being no one in particular… doing nothing in particular… it quite nice.”

“Mmm,” hummed Grymm, nodding.

The two then shared the silence, eating their fruits, and unwrapping the time consuming seeds. Grymm stared out into great gray sky, the deep blue sea. His filled with the usual noise at first, but soon he found it emptied, and he was nothing and no one.

He came back to himself hours or minutes later. He was not sure. The corpse man had not moved an inch. The only thing to suggest any time had passed at all was that he had run out of seeds to unwrap, and was left with one bite of fruit. The corpse had finished its own.

Not wanting to disturb his new friend, Grymm ate his last bite of fruit, and left without saying a word.

He lost his way in the jungle, though he found that he did not mind this. He was in no rush. His stomach was full with fruit, and its juice had gone a long way to satiating any thirst he might have had. If his body had demands, the jungle would provide. He was sure of this.

His intent was to head back to shore, but when he came upon a clearing, he found himself drawn toward it. There, he found a member of his crew.

Grymm did not know his name, but recognized his white bandanna, and loose linen clothes. He recognized too, the horrifying necklace he wore. The necklace was of a man, mouth open in anguish, side pierced and bleeding, his hands and feet nailed to a cross.

The fellow was staring into a puddle of water that reflected the sky.

“Something the matter?” asked Grymm.

The man blinked, and looking up, surprised to see his captain standing over him.

“No, nothing,” said the man, “except… well… .”

“Out with it.”

“I tried to climb the mountain.”

Captain Grymm looked up at the mountain. It was a great gray thing. On the shore it had been indistinguishable from the sky.

“I do not imagine you made it very far,” said Grymm.

The man shook his head.

“No, I made it to the top. It is, quite nice up there. Only… .”

“Hold on,” said Grymm, taking another look at the great gray mountain, its peak disappearing into the gray clouds. “We have only been here a few hours, how did you make it up the mountain and back down in such a short time?”

The man blinked at his captain.

“Captain Grymm, we’ve been here for months, at least. When we could not find you, we searched. After a while, we decided to take the island on in our own ways.”

“That can not be right, I only stepped away to find some fruit with one of the walking corpses how—.”

“Maybe that is true for you. I ran into the Jewish fellow a week back. From his perspective, it had only been days.”

Captain Grymm scratched his head at that.

“This place is strange, is it not?” said the man. The question was rhetorical. “I do not know what it is. If this was purgatory, then reaching the top of the mountain should have cleansed me of my many faults. I should be in heaven now. But I am not. What does that mean?”

Grymm was never much for religion.

“It means this is not purgatory. The corpse at the shore said as much.”

“Indeed, he had. What is this place then?”

Grymm thought about his conversation with the corpse man.

“A place to stop and think.”

“Mmm,” hummed the man. “I suppose it is. That is all I have done since coming back down the mountain. Think. Contemplating the sky, or really,” he looked into a puddle on the ground, “reflecting on myself. Being alone with myself, no thoughts at all. It is… .”

“Quite nice,” said Grymm.

The man nodded.

“Yes. It is quite nice captain.”

“When you have finished your contemplations, come back to the shore. If you see any of the men, tell them to do the same. There is little and less for us here. The king and his court will be disappointed with our findings, but that will be my responsibility to bear.”

The man nodded one more time, and seeing this, the captain walked back to shore.

The trek was quite, and gray. The sky seemed to wash everything out, so that even the green and vibrantly colored flowers of the jungle felt gray. Thought the captain did not mind it. The gray of this island was not the bland gray of a dull day, it was the timeless gray of morning. It was the gray of a day spent inside an inn, with a warm meal, warm drink, and warmer company.

Grymm reached the shore, and found a wooden crate full of the island fruits he had eaten with the corpse man. Beside the crate, the corpse man himself.

“Leaving then?”

“Ay,” said Grymm.

“Why did you come here?” asked the corpse man.

Grymm began to answer, but the corpse man stopped him.

“I meant, you… specifically… .”

Grymm contemplated his answer as he gave it.

“Work. Curiosity. Soul searching, maybe.” When he laid it out in the open, Grymm felt stupid. Those were terrible reasons to set sail into the unknown. What man risks his life for money? Curiosity? Or something so frivolous as “soul searching”?

Grymm found the corpse’s eye watching him, reading him.

“Any reason is reason enough. My body does not require food anymore… and yet I will still seek out the fruit I showed you… it does not… require rest, and yet when the mood strikes me I will sleep. My only reasoning is… because I had wanted to do it.”

“Ay, that is… more than fair.”

The corpse seemed to bow, excusing himself.

“Enjoy the journey home, Captain Grymm. And the journey of life thereafter.”

Grymm watched the corpse walk back into the jungle, and, suddenly realizing something, called back to it.

“I am sorry, but I do not think I ever got your name!”

“Loui Barbo,” he said, and breached the brush back into the jungle. Grymm imagined him walking back up the hill that led to his home. Back to his cliff, where he would eat strange jungle fruit, and sit with himself. Perhaps he would do that for all of time. Until whatever force had made the world unmade it.

A few hours later, Captain Grymm’s crew returned, appearing from the edge of the jungle. Their clothes were in varying states of distress. Some looked like they had been away in the jungle for years, their clothes in tatters, but their faces seemingly unaged. The Christian man that Grymm had run into, for instance, was wearing the rags of what had been his off white linens. The cross he had been wearing, was entirely missing.

“Grab a shovel from the ship, and start digging men.”

“Ay sir,” said the crew, and went to their work.

They dug the ship out, and set sail.

Away from the island, their ship appeared in the same sea as before. The storm was gone now. The world was as calm outside as they felt inside.

They went on to live unremarkable, but happy, lives.