Abstract
Two went forth the day,
Joyously enjoying the free world,
Until they will purge it to their liking,
The rains came, pouring in heavy showers.
How wonderful it will be to control nature.
They set on a rock at the edge of a cliff.
Enjoying the sight of nature bathed in natural shower.
Then one slip, fell through the cliff,
Down the rocky slopes below, and was seen no more.
- Excerpts from Part 1, Death Ballad.
The one, Valerian slipped off the cliff, snatched by death and him was dragged to a place between the skies of heaven and the dark pits of hell.
It was neither heaven, nor hell.
Call it a midverse between Valhalla and Niflheim, a little above or below Midgard.
Misty and bright, the clouds made of volcanic ash and gaseous sulphur.
Odin and Hel do not rule here, but their angels move up and about, in friction of an unwaged war in this neutral ground.
Both sides used to be in constant war with each other for the scant souls that prowl here.
Souls that do not qualify heaven or hell,
Souls that Zeus failed to father and Hades refuse to consume.
They wretched, unaccepted of the lot of humans and humanoids.
No Lord, no spirit to claim this barren spit of wasteland for himself, until Mephistopheles.
Mephistopheles or Mephisto levines his agents from here, for the end of the sands of time has cursed them to eternal servitude ti pain, for death also avoided this accursed place.
Lord of the lost, so did Mephisto claim these as his own.
All souls lost do not see the beautiful gates of Valhalla,
Not all souls suffer the whips of Hel's angels, in Hel's kitchen.
They wander around in this midverse, Mephistopolis.
Valerian taken by the Grimm Reaper was not right with The One Above All, even with his planned genocide on earth's living portion.
The One Below All fumed at the audacity of that man that dared claim the earth and everything therein, while himself battled the Creator.
So then, The Grimm Reaper casted him to the world of Mephistopolis forever, at the never shown mercy of Mephisto, the cursed serf of no Lord in particular.
Valerian himself, woke in Mephistopolis acclaimed the variance with his own unconquered earth.
The soil infertile, noot sounded from all ends, a vain piano played in the distance and tree branches danced in the wind on every hill he saw.
There was fairies, unless they were not fairies.
Little flying men with wings that flapped green smoke flew around his head as they pelted him with sharp twigs which bled his forehead.
He ran to a cave, panting in anguish as a black panther with rather long molars that seemed as tusks, dripping blue bloods chased him and left only after it impaled his left ass cheek.
The cave was hideous but he ran in.
What sounded like a hoarse clarinet sounded from inside the cave.
Faint sounds grew louder, like the amplifying of a million voices pegged by huge blast speakers.
Suddenly, fired whips fitted themselves on his legs, dragging him further inside the cave and he came face to face with a balrog.
His legs burned with the firey whips, scalded already and the balrog roared on his his face.
Bleeding already, Valerian gave up for death to do him part with this suffering, but The Grimm Reaper was nowhere to be seen.
Crawling on his stomach, dragged by his bleeding hands and legs, Valerian dipped into the pool between him and the balrog, hoping to drown himself and his sufferings.
Yet then, Mers swarm to him, unfriendly Mers here.
Valerian offered no resistance as they dragged him from the pool into an open body of seas, his last pints of blood poured out in exchange of the waters that seeped into his wounds and seven holes.
The Mers, satisfied with their taste of him left him afloat the sea, pecked by aves with knife graded beaks.
Valerian stared at the vain skies, his mind jarred like a dying foetus born premature.
His thoughts why The Creator let creatures be cruel to creatures.
No further thoughts.
©️ Shallom
