The feeling of dread—so heavy, so suffocating—vanished the moment he did, dissolving like a storm cloud whisked away by a silent wind. In its place, there was only emptiness. The same impenetrable darkness pressed down from all sides, and beneath me, the same cold, unyielding stone stretched outward into infinity.

  At first, I felt something close to relief. A sense of undeserved fortune. He was gone—the god, or whatever he was. The most terrifying presence I had ever encountered. It wasn’t just his overwhelming power or the casual cruelty behind his words. It was him—his absence of form, his unplaceable voice, and especially that face… or rather, the lack of it. An empty outline where expression should be. A void within a void. My mind still recoiled at the memory.

  But that initial relief? It didn’t last.

  Within a minute—maybe less—the silence began to thicken. Time slowed. The weight of solitude crept in like fog through a broken window. And in that endless, featureless dark, with no sound but my own shallow breathing and the occasional scrape of a foot against stone, boredom hit me like a brick.

  Crushing. Inescapable.

  I found myself regretting, almost violently, not using one of my wishes to ask for immediate reincarnation. “Reincarnate me as soon as possible”— how hard would it have been to say that? One sentence, five seconds, and I wouldn’t be stuck in this hellish limbo, pacing around in a void that looked like it had been abandoned by reality itself.

  But that window was shut. The deal was made. And that thing—my patron god, apparently—could leave me here for years. Decades. Centuries. I was already dead, after all. Time had lost all meaning. There were no rules here, and I doubted anyone would come looking for me. This wasn’t a bureaucratic mistake. I belonged here.

  And if he chose to let me wander this barren purgatory forever, I would lose my mind. Eventually, I would unravel.

  “Beautiful,” I muttered bitterly, kicking a stone beneath my foot with more force than necessary. The small rock skittered off into the void with a satisfying clack-clack-clack, vanishing into the nothing. “Great job, me. Excellent planning. Really nailed it.”

  Anger bubbled up—slow at first, then fast, sharp, and white-hot. I wasn’t just frustrated. I was furious. Furious at the gods, at fate, at whatever cosmic lottery had assigned him to me as my divine overseer. And most of all, I was furious at myself—for being naive, for letting sarcasm and curiosity steer my choices in a moment that clearly required strategy and caution.

  With nothing else to do, and nothing to distract me but the oppressive dark and the feel of coarse stone beneath my fingers, I decided to build something. If my existence was reduced to crawling around in an eternal void, I might as well leave a mark. Even a stupid one.

  “A castle,” I said aloud, already convincing myself this was a brilliant idea. “Or a fortress. Or maybe a little stone village, depending on how cooperative the local geology is.”

  Motivated by sheer desperation and a flicker of delusion, I scoured the invisible floor for stones of the right shape—flat enough to stack, heavy enough to matter. After what felt like an hour of fumbling and grazing my hands on sharp edges, I had managed to find and stack three whole stones into a wobbly little tower. They felt relatively symmetrical, maybe even aesthetically pleasing—though I had no way to confirm. The darkness around me was so complete it might as well have been a blindfold nailed to my face.

  “Behold!” I announced with forced grandeur, arms spread dramatically though no one could see them. “My exquisite masterpiece—the Stone Tower!”

  It was pitiful. A toddler’s construction in a sandbox had more dignity. But it was mine, and after this much time with nothing but my own thoughts and a silent, cosmic sadist for company, I found it oddly satisfying.

  Of course, while searching for a fourth stone to add to my mighty tower, I crawled too far and lost it entirely.

  Gone. My great monument swallowed by the dark like everything else.

  I sighed.

  Still, it wasn’t a total failure. If an evil god happened to stumble through here, maybe he’d trip over it. That alone made it worthwhile. Not a castle, no—hell, not even a shed—but it was a start. A sad, meaningless start. But a start.

  “This is so boring…” I groaned, drawing the syllables out like a complaint to the universe itself. My voice echoed softly in the void, then faded. “Hey! Evil god! You there? Why don’t you spice this place up a bit? Toss in a rollercoaster or something! A food stall, maybe? Even a park bench would be a start. You can’t seriously expect visitors in this dump.”

  There was, of course, no answer.

  Just more silence.

  Out of frustration, I lashed out with another kick—this time at a rock I had felt with my toe moments earlier. I underestimated its weight and mass. Badly.

  “Damn it!” I hissed through clenched teeth, hopping in place like some idiot ghost with a stubbed toe, even though the pain felt incredibly dull.

  And then I just stood there, alone, with nothing but shadows and pain and a perfectly useless, invisible stone tower somewhere behind me.

  “You think anyone would choose to visit this prison, even if I did turn it into an amusement park?” The voice returned, as sudden and disembodied as before—rich with contempt, almost amused. “A rollercoaster wouldn’t change a damn thing... although a waterslide is a rather inspired idea.”

  The air around me didn’t stir. The darkness didn’t ripple. But the presence was unmistakable. He was watching—always had been. Whether he had ever truly left or simply receded into the deeper shadows, I couldn’t tell. My skin crawled, and my heart raced, but I forced myself to breathe and keep still. I’d be damned if I let him see me flinch again.

  “Then why am I here?” I asked, trying to inject steel into my voice. “What is this place to me? A prison, too?”

  A moment of silence followed, long enough that I almost thought he’d vanished again. But then:

  “You are a lost soul,” he said, voice dipping into something close to reverence—or mockery; it was hard to tell. “One who wandered too far along the river Styx, unguided, unclaimed. Washed ashore on the blackened banks of oblivion. Your true patron never arrived. So I did.”

  His words were drenched in theatre, like he was rehearsing lines from a cosmic stage play. A particularly pretentious one. I imagined him in a dark cloak, standing under a blood moon, reciting verses to a congregation of the damned. The image was so vivid and absurd that I snorted.

  “Are you trying to be a poet?” I muttered. “Because if so, I give that line a solid six out of ten. Needs work.”

  But his tone didn’t shift. “And so I extend my hand,” he continued, unbothered, “hoping that, in time, you might take it.”

  “Oh, how noble,” I deadpanned. “My oh-so-helpful god. That doesn’t explain why I’ve been stumbling around in pitch-black nothingness for the past three hours. You couldn’t have left me a flashlight? A glow stick? Literally anything?”

  There was real irritation bubbling beneath the sarcasm now. The list of activities available in this void was… dismal. Stone-kicking. Stone-throwing. Falling on said stones. Arguing with a sadistic god. It was worse than being trapped in the ship’s observation deck with a broken screen and no data feed.

  “I still don’t know what form suits you best,” he replied, almost thoughtfully. “Tell me, would you like to be a boy?”

  I blinked, startled by the abruptness. “What?”

  He waited.

  The image that popped into my head was one I hadn’t invited: lifting heavy crates, working maintenance in the bowels of a star freighter, oil and sweat and pain and expectations. No thanks.

  “Hell no,” I snapped. “What kind of taste do you even have?”

  No reply. Just a silence that felt far too judgmental.

  Then he asked: “Knife or gun?”

  That caught me off guard. Was this some reincarnation quiz? Some twisted cosmic sorting hat?

  “I thought you were dumping me into a medieval world,” I said, puzzled. “Why would I need a gun?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Gun,” I said without thinking, imagining all the problems I could solve if I was the only person in a magic-sword kingdom packing a pistol.

  His laughter rang out—deep, cold, and sharp as a blade through flesh.

  “How evil,” he purred. “A gun serves only one purpose—murder. A knife, however, can slice bread, carve wood, tend to wounds. You chose death over versatility. Curious.”

  He wasn’t offering me anything. That much was clear now. He just wanted to see—to poke at my soul, like a child dissecting an insect.

  I bristled. “A gun can be used to scare people off. Deterrence, you ever heard of it?”

  He grumbled, not expecting an answer. I could feel it, that moment of petulance, like I’d ruined his little trap.

  “Alright,” he said at last, “you may have convinced me. But now, the most important test of all.”

  I waited.

  “What do you think... of pineapple on pizza?”

  It took me a second to realize he was serious.

  “Uh… what?” I blinked into the dark. “That’s your question?”

  It wasn’t like I’d ever had pineapple. Or real pizza, for that matter. Synthetic food cubes, rehydrated nutrient slop—sure. Pineapple was something I’d seen once on a cracked screen. Shiny. Exotic.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Hmm… they’re great together?” I offered uncertainly.

  His laughter this time was worse. Louder. Colder. My hair stood on end.

  “Truly evil.” He sounded delighted. “A soul so dark deserves careful crafting. Let me ponder. I’ll return in a few days.”

  “Days?” I nearly choked. “How am I supposed to survive here for days?! There’s no food! No water! Not even a bloody sleeping mat!”

  “You’re dead, remember?”

  He said it so casually. But the weight of the words hit like a meteor.

  I remembered the ship. The way it trembled. The static in the controls. My hands flying over the panel, the frantic warnings flashing red, the cries from the crew. Then the silence.

  I had steered them into the abyss. My mistake. My hands. My burden.

  And now, apparently, my punishment.

  I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My mouth was dry. My throat locked.

  But it didn’t matter. He was already gone.

  Again.

  Leaving me with the silence, the stone, and the echo of sins I couldn’t take back.

  Once again, I was abandoned to my demise—like a lost soul condemned to purgatory. But this purgatory was nothing like the stories, no fire licking at the edges of my vision, no the desperate screams of sinners writhing in torment. There was only a silence so absolute it pressed against my ears and settled heavy in my chest. And the darkness—thick, unyielding, and complete—spread out like a suffocating blanket that swallowed every hope of light.

  I wasn’t sure whether the place would be better if it burned, if flames could somehow carve a path through this endless void. But there was no flame. No warmth. Only the creeping madness of not seeing, not knowing. I fumbled blindly, my hands and knees scraping cold, unyielding stone, or else I forced one cautious step after another, feeling the invisible obstacles in the murky blackness. Hours passed—or was it days? Time blurred into nothing as I made pitifully slow progress, dragging myself deeper into this nothingness.

  The cold truth settled in like ice: I was dead.

  At first, the reality stunned me with its cruelty. No thirst. No hunger. No aching lungs begging for air. I could hold my breath as long as I pleased, not because I was strong, but because I was nothing more than a corpse. My body, unbound from the needs of life, no longer cared for such trivial demands. A ghost trapped in a forgotten place.

  Slowly, the adrenaline that had kept me upright began to drain away. The fierce mask of bravery I’d worn in front of the god—how quickly it cracked and fell apart. I was an actor, skilled in moments of crisis, but my mind was fragile beneath the surface. Exhaustion weighed down my limbs, and I finally sank onto a large, jagged stone, the only solid thing in the void.

  Tears came unbidden. Blurred at first, then pooling hot and sharp in my eyes. I wiped them away quickly with the frayed sleeve of my tattered shirt, hoping to hide any sign of weakness. But he saw anyway.

  “Are you okay?” His voice was soft, unsettling, like a spider’s whisper in the dark. He had watched me all this time—silent, patient, like a predator stalking its prey.

  There was nothing I could do. What was a teenager supposed to do against a god? Against this god?

  So I transformed my tears into something fiercer—rage at the cruelty of it all.

  “If I’m okay?” I spat, voice rising into a shout that echoed in the emptiness. “I’m trapped in some purgatory or whatever hell-hole this is, and the Roman church isn’t even here to sell indulgence letters! You won’t let me go, so how the hell am I supposed to leave? If I’d just reacted faster—if I’d disabled the warp drive sooner—we wouldn’t be stuck here. We might have been dead, sure, but done with it. Or maybe… maybe we’d have escaped. I know it was a long shot, but at least it was a chance.” My voice cracked, bitterness bleeding in. “Where’s the fucking Spanish Inquisition when you need them?”

  He didn’t laugh, but his tone softened, unnervingly kind. “You want to know what you’re good at? You’re exceptional at working under pressure, even when it’s crushing you. That’s rare. Not one of your crewmates had the courage to move when it mattered, but you—you acted.”

  He was right, and I hated myself for admitting it. The others had been frozen in fear while my mind had sharpened like a blade. So there was something I was good at—though it felt like a cruel consolation prize. And yet, it disgusted me that an evil god was offering me comfort. The very idea felt wrong, twisted.

  “Stop that,” I muttered, the tears subsiding but still threatening. “You’re not supposed to help me.”

  I fought to clear my mind, suspicious of his motives. He had admitted to being an evil god—why the pretense of kindness? Did he want my trust? Or something darker?

  I turned away and faced the darkness, that endless black that somehow made the shadows within it feel like a faint, mocking glow. A shiver of dread crept through me, but I didn’t look away.

  “I’m trying to improve your mood. Nothing else.” His voice was calm, almost friendly. And yet every fiber of my being screamed to reject that idea. There was nothing friendly here. There couldn’t be.

  “If you want me to feel better, send me away. That’s all you can do.” I demanded.

  He vanished—slipped away like smoke—but I still sensed him nearby. I followed the unease, turning toward whatever corner of the void felt most alive with menace.

  “I cannot do that. But we can escape this place—together.”

  I laughed, bitter and sharp. “Escape? With you? I just lost my life to gods like you—beings who tear apart universes without a second thought. And you think I’d work with you? For what? My friends have a chance now, with their patron gods. I won’t ruin that. They’re my family.”

  My hands clenched into fists, the only way to make myself feel even a little strong.

  “Is that what you want? My help to escape this prison? I’d rather die than let you destroy the lives my friends might still have.”

  In an instant, he was there—right in front of me. Stopping mere centimeters away, his presence almost knocked the breath from my lungs. I stumbled, but held my ground, locking eyes with him as best I could.

  His grin was grotesquely bright, teeth glowing stark white against the abyssal black of his form. In this place without light—where I couldn’t see my own hands—I could see him clearly, as if he himself was the source of some eerie illumination.

  “You’re wrong,” he hissed. “You cannot help me escape, not like you are now. I tried to be kind. I tried. But it didn’t work. Humans these days… they don’t fear their creators anymore.”

  A wave of cold terror radiated from him, cutting through my skin and rattling my bones. He knew exactly how to command fear. I had to admit it begrudgingly.

  “But I don’t mind,” he said, voice dropping to a patient whisper. “I’m patient. I’ve waited thousands of years for you.”

  And just like that, the terror drained away. What else could he do with this power over me? I didn’t want to know.

  His tone softened again, casual now, almost indifferent.

  “I will let you leave. I will even give you a parting gift. But only if you promise me this—if you ever get the chance, you’ll free me. To the best of your abilities.”

  He faded once more, vanishing into thin air, leaving me alone again with stones—some jagged, some smooth, scattered beneath my feet—and the crushing boredom that crept in like a second skin.

  I knew I couldn’t survive here for long. The only sounds were the faint echoes of my footsteps as I stumbled through the darkness. Crawling would make me faster, but I refused to tear my clothes any further—if only to keep a shred of dignity in this endless void.

  Why was I even still wearing clothes? It was a question that nagged at me, stubborn as the silence around me. I mean, I was dead. Dead. So what did that mean for my clothes? Did they share my fate? Were my jeans and t-shirt also condemned to this endless limbo? Poor, poor jeans—faded, ripped, and utterly useless now. I almost felt sorry for them. Sometimes, it was better not to think too deeply about such absurdities; questions like that could spiral into madness in this place.

  So, I kept moving forward, each step a tiny rebellion against the crushing despair. Occasionally, my shoe caught on something—sometimes a giant, rough stone—and I cursed softly under my breath, the frustration at my situation bubbling just beneath the surface. As I walked, an uneasy thought crept into my mind, like a shadow lurking just outside my sight: I couldn’t just break a promise I’d made to this god so easily. Somehow, it felt like the chains of that promise were already binding me tighter than I wanted to admit. I didn′t want to free him – but my hunch was that I inevitably would.

  I took another careful step, steadying myself on the uneven ground. But then I froze—there was a strange, crunching sound beneath my foot. It wasn’t the dull thud of stone. I closed my eyes, trying to erase the sound from my memory, but it only echoed louder in the silence.

  Had I stepped on wood? That would be bizarre—there shouldn’t be anything like that here, not in this place where light didn’t exist, where nothing should live or grow. Or maybe… I’d broken something else entirely, something that belonged in this dreadful realm.

  “Sorry.” My voice trembled as I moved forward, the sound breaking the silence. Another step, another sharp crack. “Sorry.” My apologies were as futile as whispers in a storm, but I spoke them anyway, even as I never once considered turning back.

  The bones stretched out before me, a vast, grisly carpet that seemed to go on forever. Were they real? Or some cruel imitation meant to torment the living? I chose to believe the latter, convincing myself that no living thing would wander here—would dare to wander here—and that these remains were simply echoes of long-dead creatures, discarded by some merciless fate. Still, I whispered my apologies for each step, even if the bones were fake; the habit felt necessary, a thin thread of humanity in this desolate place.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the bone field thinned, replaced once more by cold, lifeless stones scattered across the ground. My heart slowed, my breath returning to something close to normal. Seizing the moment, I summoned the presence I both loathed and depended on.

  “Hey, Mr. Evil God,” I called out, my voice echoing strangely in the void. “Why are there bones here?”

  Almost immediately, his response came, calm and unsettling.

  “Bones? Which bones?” he asked, as if genuinely confused.

  I stopped walking, my pulse quickening. Was he lying? Or did I imagine the crunching sounds, blinded by tears and fear? Part of me hoped fervently that I’d stepped on something else entirely.

  “What exactly have I been stepping on?” I demanded.

  He appeared again, materializing in front of me with a speed that made my heart leap in terror, but at least this time, he didn’t manipulate my emotions. That small mercy gave me a shred of control.

  “Bones. Ah, these bones,” he said, tilting his head thoughtfully. I cursed him silently—of course, I’d stepped on bones. “But honestly? I don’t remember how they got here.”

  I swallowed hard. “Are there more bones? Because if so, I don’t want to walk through this again.”

  “Oh, certainly,” he replied casually. “The gods toss all sorts of living beings down here—anyone they want dead.”

  Did that include the god of Hope? The god of Love? Or was this domain only a dumping ground for only the cruelest, most malevolent gods? I didn’t care to know. I asked something else, something that pressed deeper into the mystery.

  “Why can I leave—with your help—when these beings cannot?”

  I took a step back, trying to create some space between us. He mirrored the movement but closed the gap again immediately, unnervingly close.

  “Because your arrival here was never meant to happen. Even I was baffled when I saw you.”

  I stepped back again, wary of tripping in the dark. The closeness made my skin crawl.

  “You didn’t bring me here?” The pieces of my shattered understanding refused to fit together.

  “No. Someone else did. Someone else screwed you over.”

  I stopped moving, biting my fingernail in nervous thought. Someone else? Who? Who had that kind of power? And why?

  “Have you decided?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  “I have questions,” I said firmly. “First—what makes you think a promise from me will actually lead to you being freed? What if I just… forget? Or break it?”

  He smirked. “Are you not already a bit obsessed with keeping your word? You threw a tantrum last week because someone promised you pudding.”

  Pudding? The memory stabbed at me—pudding was a treasure aboard the ship. His accusation stung, but didn’t compel me to obedience. Still, how could he know such a thing? Reading minds was impossible—or so I thought.

  “How… what’s my favorite color? How long do I sleep? What’s my favorite task on the ship? What’s my dad’s name?” I challenged.

  “Red. As long as you can. Repairing the hull from outside. Marc—though he was called Sergeant more often.”

  He named facts I barely dared think consciously and facts I couldn′t know. My dad had died before I was born; my mother never spoke of him. Therefore, I didn′t even know my fathers job. Was he lying? Or did he know things I didn’t?

  “How…?” I was stunned. This wasn’t just wisdom about me. It was invasion into my mind.

  “You are mine,” he said softly. “From the moment you woke, I knew everything about you. And I know I need your promise. You will free me one day.”

  Could he see the future too? Impossible. Yet he spoke with certainty that left no room for doubt. I laughed—a hollow, defiant sound. Better to pretend strength than succumb to helplessness.

  “If I’m yours, why don’t you just manipulate me? Make me your loyal servant?”

  He stepped closer, closer still, until my forehead nearly touched his jaw. I trembled as his hands settled on my shoulders.

  “Unlike other gods, I believe in free will. And remember—I’m not forcing you. You could stay here forever with me if you wished.”

  I shuddered at the thought. I’d rather die than remain in this cursed place.

  “If you believe in free will, how will you make sure I keep my promise?”

  His voice dropped to a near whisper. “I believe you will keep it yourself—even if you intend not to now. I fulfilled your wishes as best I could. When you fight your nature, you’ll have only two choices: die, or free me.”

  His words confused me, but I understood one thing: if I agreed to his deal, I might save him someday.

  “How many will die when I free you? Will you kill my friends?”

  He chuckled darkly. “Boring questions. I’ve answered enough.”

  We both knew those questions were far from boring. They were the hardest for him to confront.

  “So? Do you agree?”

  He had waited a thousand years—was he truly impatient now?

  I crouched down, shunning the invisible hands still pressing on my shoulders, and began gathering stones in the darkness. It was his turn to wait.

  I liked that.