YOUR GOD ABANDONED YOU HERE

Sound is a strange thing—vibrational energy that could be manipulated in many esoteric ways, achieving rather perilous results, some of which could affect the mental equilibrium of the human mind.

Music perhaps, a cacophony of mortal customs, which could inspire and at the same time corrupt the very state of our manipulable moods, was one of such sounds that Mr. Edward, whilst stranded in the enclosed space being the squalid mud hovel had to suffer.

One could argue that the insipid chatter of the crowd outside could not be associated with the art of music, but Mr. Edward, previously deprived of such auditory pleasures, could find rhythm in the strangest and most grotesque of sounds.

The recurrent sounds of footsteps, the dissonant collision of clanging alloys, and the unintelligible chatter outside were all testaments to the fact that there was indeed rhythm in everything, an arguable hypothesis that was still beside the point.

Reminiscent of music's unspoken ability to change one's mood, Mr. Edward found his state of mind dwindling with the increasing intensity of the hostile chatter, each unintelligible utterance deepening his anxiety, feeding his fears.

As he stood, frozen in shock or some vestigial instincts unknown to him, it happened, shocking him once more.

The plant-based door, which had seemed so impenetrable till this point, was suddenly assaulted by an onslaught of emerald flames, leaving behind it a stifling yet corrosive puff that hindered Mr. Edward's vision slightly.

Quickly, he stepped back using his arms to shield himself from the heat, his eyes squinted.

The gate had been breached and from it came an overwhelming gloom in the form of blinding smoke.

"Ba-dump!"

Before glimpsing the abhorrent entities beyond the smokescreen, he felt the unmistakable presence of an otherworldly gaze, how?

Mr. Edward felt a cold and malevolent energy wash through his very being, an energy too vivid to be a fragment of his imagination; no, he could tell it was significant, and for some reason, he knew they felt it too; it was impossible to overlook, a wave, a signal, a resonance.

But unlike him, who appeared shocked and confused by such new sensations, the other party seemed used to it, their nonchalance portrayed by their unhindered and insouciant approach to his overly humble abode. 

Through the oppressive gloom, there emerged four figures, men, or so they seemed.

There was a dreadful otherness to their appearance that twisted the mind. Their skin, unnaturally pale, bore a hue not of flesh but of something long removed from sunlight, as though they had never known the warmth of a living world. 

Their eyes were harrowing in their radiance, three bore the vivid glow of red irises, like ancient embers smoldering with an unholy fire, whilst the fourth had eyes of luminous green, a color so stark and eldritch that it seemed to pulse with an intelligence beyond the mortal. 

The red-eyed ones moved with terrifying robustness, their forms encased in dark, medieval armor leather treated and sealed against moisture, the metals burnished in such a way that the cold and dampness of this forsaken world could never touch them. 

The upper portions of their armor were lined with thick pelts, insulating them against the maddening chill, their attire designed to shield against both the elements and the unnamed horrors that no doubt lurked just beyond mortal perception.

But the green-eyed one...

He was different. His armor was of the same strange, practical construction, yet his frame was slender, less resilient than his companions but no less haunting. 

His form hinted at something ancient and lithe, more refined yet somehow alien like a member of some forgotten tribe that had forsaken humanity for something far more terrifying in its wisdom. 

There was a dissonance in his appearance, as though he did not fully belong, not just to his companions but to the very world itself. 

The difference, though subtle, whispered of divergence in origin, of a strange and inscrutable heritage highly different from that of the emerald-eyed beings.

Instinctively, Mr. Edward stood up straight, his temporal imbalance long vanquished by the miracle that was the human instinct of self-preservation.

But even in his upright position he could only elevate his gaze to meet that of his friends or foes, their stance as uncertain as his fate. 

It would seem that Mr. Edward had become so diminutive that the culmination of his height could only reach a small half of their abdomen, a revelation that once again shocked Mr. Edward.

Unlike Mr. Edward, his visitors did not share his apprehension; on the contrary, they seemed to disregard him altogether, as they did not speak to him. Instead, the four oppressive men, if it was appropriate to call them such, spread out to search his room.

The insipid chatter of the crowd outside was drowned out by their firm and thudding footsteps, which seemed to increase the ferociousness of their ominous aura so that even Mr. Edward, previously accustomed to meeting different people from all varied walks of life, was forced to step back in fear of uninvited defiance.

Mr. Edward was not exactly displeased by the brusque approach these men had chosen to take; it pleased him even, after all, one could not act upon what one was unaware of.

"I must seem like one of them."

Mr. Edward reckoned whilst glancing out the door, relieved that he had not been required to speak.

The people outside did not seem like anything Mr. Edward had ever seen, clad in ragged, unkempt, and frayed attire that barely insulated them from the cold or preserved their dignity as it exposed large amounts of skin, particularly among the women.

They wore rags, yes, but that was only superficial compared to the bruises and scars that adorned their bodies, each wound, handprint, and bite mark telling tales of violence, lust, and depraved acts of unnameable perversity. 

But the condition he found these people in was not of his concern; he was instead entranced by their beauty but did not dwell on it for fear of straying from his goal.

He strived to peer into the gaps of the swarming crowd outside, hoping to make some sense of the turbulent terrain but his efforts were poorly rewarded as he could perceive nothing but the rocky and wet ground before his hut, apart from that there was nothing more as he could not make out the form of anything more than five feet away from his home.

A bit frustrated yet unable to act upon his frustration, Mr. Edward could only bring his curious attention to the people around him, his goal being to find out as much as he could from sheer observational skill alone. 

The murmurous chatter from the crowd only grew louder, and Mr. Edward, despite his best efforts, was unable to make sense of anything, but that did not prevent him from listening.

"ꓓ⍥ ߠ⍥ŋ ጥȞ/I& Ϟ ȞԐ𐑮Ԑ?"

"⩤Ȟ⩃ጥ ⩃𐑮Ԑ ߠ⍥ņ ጥ⩃ᒻ& ⩃Ѧ⍥ņ ጥ ⍥į ጰ⍥ņ𐑮ϞԐ /ጥ ϞȞԐ𐑮Ԑ"

"ጥȞ/Ϟ /Ϟ ጥȞԐ ᒻ⩃Ϟጥ Ѧņ/ᒻꓓ/ռᏵ ጥȞԐߠ ⩃𐑮Ԑ ϞԐ⩃𐑮ጰȞ/ռᏵ"

"⩤Ȟ⩃ጥ ꓓ⍥ ߠ⍥ņ ጥȞ/rɳ& ጥȞԐߠ ⩃𐑮Ԑ ϞԐ⩃𐑮ጰȞ/ռᏵ į⍥𐑮 ጥȞԐߠ ⩃ᒻ𐑮Ԑ⩃ꓓߠ į⍥ņռꓓ ጥȞԐ Ѧ⍥ꓓߠ"

"ጥȞԐ Ѧ⍥ꓓߠ ⩤⩃Ϟ ⩯/ϞϞ/ռᏵ ⩃ ȞԐ⩃ꓓ ⍥į ጰ⍥ņ𐑮ϞԐ ጥȞԐߠꓓ ᒻ⍥⍥& į⍥𐑮 /ጥ"

"Ѧŋጥ ጥȞԐ Ѧ⍥ꓓߠ ⩤⩃Ϟ į⍥ņռꓓ /ռ ⩃ 𐑮/٧Ԑ𐑮 Ϟ⍥ /ጥ'Ϟ ņռᒻ/&Ԑߠ ጥȞ⩃ጥ ጥȞԐߠ į/ռꓓ ጥȞԐ ȞԐ𐑮Ԑ ጰ⩃ռ'ጥ ߠ⍥ŋ ߠ⍥ŋռᏵϞጥԐ𐑮Ϟ ጥȞԐ ᒻ/ጥጥᒻԐ Ᏽ/𐑮ᒻ⩤⩃Ϟ ⍥Ѧ٧/⍥ŋϞᒻߠ /ռ թ⍥ϞϞԐϞ/⍥ռ ⍥į Ϟ⍥⩯ԐጥȞ/rռᏵ ⩤⍥ŋᒻꓓ ꓓԐ⩯⍥ռϞ ⩤⍥ŋᒻꓓ ϞթԐռꓓ Ϟ⍥ ⩯ŋጰȞ ԐռԐ𐑮Ᏽߠ ϞԐ⩃𐑮ጰȞ/rռᏵ Ѧ⍥𐑮 &/ᒻᒻԐ𐑮 ⩤⍥ŋᒻꓓ ⩤⍥ Ԑ٧Ԑռ Ȟ⩃٧Ԑ /ռ Ȟ/Ϟ ⩯ŋ𐑮ꓓԐ𐑮 ٧/ጰጥ/⩯."

The more he listened, the less he understood, and it excited him; there was so much to discover as long as he could miraculously retain his life.

Suddenly, a thunderous gasp was heard, the ominous nature of the sound forcing Mr. Edward to turn his head.

Quickly, he saw it and as he did, his eyes widened whilst his body stilled.

The crowd behind him had on their pallid faces reactions that did not differ much from the spectrum: shock, disgust, anger, as they gazed at what was revealed to them.

"How did I not notice this?"

Mr. Edward could not help but question himself, simultaneously feeling his hopes of keeping his life being flushed down the drain, if drains existed in this forsaken place.

His mud hovel was not spacious, meaning that a search would hardly take an extended amount of time.

The four men had quickly overrun his makeshift furniture before arriving at his hammock, which they had opened whilst Mr. Edward studied people who were in a situation much better than his own.

From this hammock they recovered something, grabbing it firmly and raising it for all to see like a sacrifice to the gods governing his impending doom.