Dark Sanity

Hell’s Hole

Flint awoke after what seemed to him like numerous hours or even a whole day of sleep. He felt groggy and achy, barely able to move. Again, he heard metallic sounds. And he could feel faint thudding vibrations—the floor on which he lay resonated. Steam billowed, engulfing him. Flint groaned in terrible pain as he attempted to move. He opened his eyes, noticing two armored beings in front of him. One of them was steering a metal wheel while the other examined the Winchester rifle Flint had thrown away back in the Outlands.

He slowly got to his feet and realized that his arms were shackled in thick manacles. The armored beings hadn’t noticed that he’d awakened yet, which made him realize he had to make a move quickly. Checking his surroundings, he saw jagged walls. He wondered if he was back in Kalkajaka because it certainly looked as though he were inside a cavern hidden deep within a mountain. There was, however, far too much steam around him to see the lair in detail. It didn’t look like the same passage he’d stepped into before. But he was definitely inside some kind of cavern. In fact, it looked so unnatural to him that it made him feel even more confident that this preposterous experience was a result of the dreamtime.

Flint became aware of the vibrations again as he stood still, observing the eerie cavern. Steam continuously drifted up from the hovering machine on which he’d been standing. Out of curiosity he gazed below, noticing that the machine was at least a thousand feet high. It wasn’t just a hovering vehicle; it was some sort of airship.

He gasped and backed away, accidently tumbling over what appeared to be a corroded hydraulic motor. Flint nearly fell off by the airship’s gunwale, grabbing one of the resonating pistons to give him balance. He’d made so much noise that he alerted the armored beings. The one examining his weapon clomped toward him. Flint froze for a moment, wondering what to do. Then he remembered how he had beat Bas in an arm wrestle, and also how he’d caught and held the huge metal slab back at Panzo Mine. If he still had that kind of strength, it would surely help him.

Lifting his arms, he pulled with all his might and grunted loudly. The armored being took a step back, startled. Little by little, Flint loosened the bolts holding the chains of his manacles. He roared and broke free of his shackles, the thick manacles’ ruptured chains hanging down his wrists. Without waiting another second, he confidently approached the creature that was incased in the thick, oil-stained armor.

“Who the hell are you?” asked Flint.

The armored being refused to answer. Instead it lifted its arm and attempted to pummel Flint who evaded him, swerving to the left. He stood on the edge, his heart pounding again. The titanium being turned to punch him. Its fist, however, was halted by Flint’s hand. He was insane enough to grab the fist, and he somehow managed to hold it back despite how bulky and heavy it was. The armored being released another deafening metallic sound, causing Flint to stagger. He jabbed his other fist into the breastplate of the creature. And for the first time, Flint heard what seemed to be a human groaning in pain as the armor dented inward. The impact of his punch was so powerful that the armored being flew back and fell off the steamship. While the armored titan fell, it screamed like a terrified man who was as confused and shocked as Flint because of what had just happened.

Flint stared at his hands in awe and then gazed at the other titan who was still steering the ship. Steam swallowed Flint as he walked on the platform of the flying vessel. His coarse face showed every ounce of anger in him when he approached the giant that frequently glimpsed at him while maneuvering the steamship. The robust titanium being eventually turned and aimed its arm at Flint who raised an eyebrow, wondering what it could possibly do to him.

The armor along the forearm abruptly opened, and a contraption rose from it, launching a wide net at Flint. The web-like net enveloped him, causing him to panic. He’d been so arrogant after what he’d done to the other being that it’d caused him to let his guard down; he floundered, trying to remove the net. Before he could do so, however, the steamship jolted and began to fly down since the titan was no longer steering it. This caused Flint to flail and stumble, falling off the mechanical vessel. The armored being hesitated as though determining whether it should grab him, but it withdrew and continued flying the ship to avoid crashing.

Flint screamed when he fell, shrouded by the smog of the exhausts, and slammed hard on a mountainous ridge. He cried out in pain, wondering if he’d broken some bones. A haze of heat swept over him while he attempted to move. He rolled to the side and looked below, spotting molten lava. His eyes widened as he gasped, rolling back against the jagged wall. If this wasn’t the dreamtime, then surely he was insane and hallucinating—at least that was what he thought. Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to test his theory and jump down into the pit of magma to wake himself up. If this was a dream, he’d see it to the end.

After removing the net, he got to his feet—still aching with excruciating pain because of the fall—and limped along the narrow ledge. A few pebbles fell from above. Flint looked up and noticed that the ridge was severely cracked, as if it would crumble apart at any second.

“I don’t believe this,” he grumbled.

Flint tried to move out of the way. He gasped in pain, knowing that he was pushing his body over the limits. At the age of sixty, he was supposed to be retired, spending the remainder of his life at home with his would-be family. Instead he was a haggard gunslinger inside some godforsaken cavern of death—not to mention on the run from those eerie humanoid giants. He gazed up, searching for the hovering steamship; it was nowhere in sight.

This couldn’t be real, he conceded. This had to be the dreamtime. Yet a part of his mind told him that this was in fact real. What made it seem so realistic to him was the horrible pain. He wondered, shouldn’t he have awakened by now? This was a terrifying thought. What if this wasn’t a dream? Holding his chest, he took deep breaths. He expected to have a heart attack any moment. Thinking of Hamarah, he managed to calm down. Then, glancing around, he realized how quiet it became. It seemed that he’d successfully escaped those giants.

Just then, he stepped on something slimy. He paused and braced himself against the wall. Flint sighed, yanking his foot out of whatever he’d walked on. Relieved to be free, he pressed on. When he did so, however, his glove stuck to the wall. Flint cursed under his breath, trying to get a good look at whatever held his hand. Staring hard, he realized that his glove was stuck in slime; it was the same slime he’d stepped on a moment ago. In fact, it was the same exact gunk that he had found down in Panzo Mine. His heart skipped a beat when he acknowledged this. He jerked his hand fretfully while trying to stay balanced so he wouldn’t fall off the narrow ledge. Though struggling a bit, he finally freed himself.

There was no doubt about it, he thought to himself, the slime in this cave was identical to the ooze he’d encountered when he was with Bas Panzo, trying to free the miners back in March. This slime, however, felt much thicker. He stepped away and shook his head. Not a second later, he heard something hissing.

“No,” he muttered, taking another step back. “It can’t be.”

Growls and hisses filled his ears as he withdrew, nearly falling into the lava beneath him. He quickly pulled out his magnum and shot the cracked wall, causing it to collapse. This was the only thing he could do to rid himself of the grotesque beasts lurking in the cave. One of them, however, leapt across the ruptured ledge, plunging onto Flint who tumbled down with a shriek. He sank his magnum’s muzzle into the gooey mouth of the beast and shot it. The creature’s head exploded; then its body burst into a glob of slime that enveloped Flint.

He swiftly rose to his feet, still hearing a multitude of growls and hisses in the darkness, and fired his magnum until it was empty of bullets. Flint holstered his magnum and then broke into a run. He could barely see as he sprinted through the cavern of lava, steam, and gunk. This was the last straw for him—with the coming of these creatures, he was sure he’d lost whatever sanity was left in him. It was either that or him being trapped within the dreamtime. But he had been here for so long that he doubted that this was a nightmare. Still, it was the only comfort he had left; the idea that this insanity was a dream was his only sanctuary. And so he convinced himself that it was in fact a nightmare.

Feeling distressed, he couldn’t think about this any further and kept running for his life while panting. Realizing that he’d passed the lava, he jumped off the ledge. Upon landing, he saw a tunnel ahead and made his way toward it. He could still hear hisses behind him. He’d never felt more terrified in his life.

He wondered to himself, why would he be scared if this wasn’t real? He’d been standing on the precipice of insanity all this time as a result of being in a coma. This idea made him smile since it meant that no one had betrayed him. Marshal Salomon and the other townspeople were decent folk after all. And his wife and son were still alive, waiting for him to recover.

These were all such lovely thoughts. But deep down inside—buried deep within his soul, a voice was calling out to him. It was the voice of insanity. No, it was only insanity because he hated what the voice had been whispering to him. The voice whispered: do not fall into another delusion. Then the voice repeatedly whispered: this is reality; this is reality; this is reality; this is reality; this is reality.

Flint stopped running and screamed. He pulled out his revolver and shot at the darkness behind him, where the creatures had been scuttling after him. When his gun’s chamber became empty, he hastily reloaded, taking bullets from the bandolier wrapped around his tattered vest. The hisses were much louder. He looked up for just a second and dropped all the bullets in his hand. Eight creatures were hunched, crawling toward him. Three of them clung to the ceiling while the others stuck to the slimy walls.

“You fucking sons of bitches,” he said, staring at them with hatred. “What’re you waiting for?” he shouted. “You’ve followed me this far. Get it over with!”

He knelt to the ground, surrendering himself to the nightmarish fiends before him. It was impossible for him to outrun them. He lay still, acknowledging his fate. Yes, this was reality. He accepted this at the very end, realizing that everything he’d experienced since November had in fact happened; it was all one hundred percent real. He closed his eyes and attempted to think of Hamarah; though he couldn’t get a clear image of her smooth, beautiful body. He couldn’t even hear her voice. All he could hear were the creatures approaching him, ready to feast on his old, wrinkled body.

Within seconds, an elongated stream of flame spewed out toward the slimy creatures. The beasts screeched, withdrawing. Only one of them was foolish enough to leap into the fire, which instantly devoured it. Flint opened his eyes, sweat pouring down his forehead. He dropped to the rough ground—his mouth wide open—and gawked at the ferocious fire. Then he feebly retreated against the jagged wall, scraping his arms through his torn shirt. As he lay on the granite, several pairs of orange-glowing eyes flickered.

Strident metallic reverberations mixed with high-pitched electronic frequencies rang into Flint’s ears. He nearly became deaf as a group of armored beings stomped through the darkened tunnel, continuing to blow flame from their forearms at the fiends. Flint noticed that the titanium beings had tubes attached to their armored hands, connecting to their backpacks—they seemed to have some kind of superior form of flamethrowers. At this point, Flint gave up on figuring things out. He gave up on escaping too because he didn’t fight back when two of the ten men in armor grabbed him. One held his left arm while the other held his right. They dragged him to the end of the tunnel where their ship hovered, its engines and pistons rumbling, steam and exhausts of an unknown gas filling the air.

The vessel he’d been taken to was slightly bigger than the one he’d escaped from earlier. Finding himself surrounded by these titans made him feel he was definitely better off being with them rather than staying in this chasm that was apparently filled with the other dreadful fiends. One of the armored men shattered his manacles. For a moment, Flint felt relieved. He thought, maybe they weren’t so bad after all. Then another shackled him to the steamship that flew over the sweltering lava. Flint gave out a dreary sigh and slumped down, leaning against the vessel’s railing. He desperately wanted to awaken from this nightmare. Instead he closed his eyes and fell into one.

After what seemed to be a few seconds, Flint heard an explosion. He could hear gunfire and countless people screaming. Flint opened his eyes and found himself in a trench filled with dead bodies. The sight made him want to vomit. He backed away and looked up. The sky was charred. To Flint, it appeared as if the atmosphere had consumed every ounce of smoke and flame until it turned blood red. A sizzling haze surrounded him. He finally stood on his feet but kept himself hidden in the trench.

“Commandant!” called out Browder. “We have to retreat! It’s over!”

“No, it’s not over until I’m dead,” said Flint. “You get the others to safety. I’m going to find Hamarah.” He pointed at a rundown building to the east. “Before the attack, she was helping me devise a strategy against the tribunal there. Without her, I’m nothing. I need to find her.”

Browder stared at Flint with an expression of madness. “If you’re going over there, then so am I,” he said sternly.

Flint saluted him. “All right, let’s go!”

He charged out of the burning trench with Browder. Together they shot at the uniformed enemies with their machine guns. Explosions ignited around them as they pressed onward. The thunderous blasts made their ears ring. They were surrounded by a desolate terrain that no longer bore any life.

Flint didn’t stop firing his gun despite the fact that his army had been decimated. Then a bright beam came upon him and Browder from the charred sky, rupturing the ground. Browder helplessly staggered toward an abyss that split open due to the unfathomable blast. Just before he fell, however, Flint grabbed him, pulling him back up.

“Thanks,” said Browder, looking pale. “It seems I owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing.”

Flint carried on, a grim expression on his face as he observed his surroundings. Whatever war they were fighting no longer mattered; it was a lost cause. Detonations ignited around them. The terrain kept splitting while a barrage of explosions came from above. Flint had no time to look. His only concern was to run for his life.

“Do you see that?” yelled Browder, pointing ahead at another trench. “We can take cover down there until we make it across.”

Flint agreed, following his comrade.

Corpses were piled on the ground as they ran, still firing at their foes. Another explosion occurred, and this time it was in front of them. Flint fell into a crater, dirt blowing over his body. Just before he was about to faint, he squinted skyward to see what had hit him and Browder. He saw something that was impossible. Deep within the crimson sky that fumed with red death was the outline of a massive spacecraft.

Flint awoke by the gunwale of the steamship that was still hovering through the darkened chasm. He panted heavily and gasped for clean air, as if he’d been transported out of the blazing war-torn land that had become the epitome of char, smoke, and death. He rubbed his face and sat up, realizing he had dreamed again. However, he acknowledged it was a very different dream; it wasn’t actually from the dreamtime.

“That was a real memory,” he muttered weakly, his fingers twitching. He was in shock after regaining a part of his memory. “I had no control over anything. And that spacecraft...it destroyed everything in sight. Does such a thing truly exist?”

He groaned, noticing his surroundings—the depths of a dark hell, giant men encased in titanium armor, and a steam-powered vessel hovering over magma. Suddenly the idea of a lethal starship seemed possible to him.

“That was an actual memory from the war against the tribunal—the war I lost. How could I have forgotten?”

His head throbbed, sweat dripped down his brow, and blood trickled from his nose. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as he pondered about everything that had happened to him since last year. Even though it seemed impossible to him, he finally accepted that this wasn’t fictitious. His experiences were real. And since Andrew Browder was in his dream—his long lost memory—he realized that Browder had told the truth after all. Furthermore, he now understood why Browder had said, ‘Yes, you even saved my life once. I told you that I’d find a way to repay you. It’s the only reason why I’m still here.’

Flint lowered his head. “After all these years, you actually came back to repay me for saving your life,” he said pensively. “But you were killed for it. I’m so sorry...”

Lifting his head, he realized that the steamship was no longer hovering above lava. He spotted glimmers of starry lights ahead. As if this wasn’t strange enough, the cavernous walls gradually changed to a bluish tinge. These walls, however, weren’t jagged; they were straight, solid walls of metal. Slack-jawed, Flint stared at what seemed to be a majestic city.

One of the ten captors in armor clomped over to Flint who listened to its loud inhales and exhales. The titanium being was apparently acting as a guard, making sure he didn’t do anything rash. Flint wondered whether the colossal being beside him was the same one from the previous steamship he’d fallen from. If so, that would explain why there were ten of them now. He tried to stand and stretch, but the guard aimed his flamethrower at him. Flint raised his hands, sitting back down. For some reason, he started feeling a bit safe despite being chained and surrounded by titans. The situation became increasingly surreal to him, especially when he gazed at the city of stone and metal that was nestled deep in the dim chasm.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Flint. The guard did not respond; he simply stared at Flint with his orange-glowing eyes, breathing deeply through his oxygen mask. “Are you taking me to the tribunal?”

The guard continued to ignore him. Though the tall beings in heavy armor seemed more human to him than beasts, they apparently didn’t speak his language, and they were hostile too. When the steamship entered the city, however, Flint’s anger gradually dissipated. He stared at the shimmering, cavernous city in awe. He’d never seen anything quite like this in his life. And he certainly never thought such a remarkable thing could exist. It was like a twilight city made for machines, or a utopian kingdom made for underworld gods.

Suddenly, the chasm he’d awakened to was no longer hell. The walls glittered with a dark blue metal, which Flint guessed was titanium. The star-like lights he once saw in the far distance were now clearer to him; they resembled futuristic lava lamps—some embedded within the walls and others within the ceiling and ground. A great deal of steam filled the air as Flint passed by on the hovering ship. In the distance, he could hear the rumblings of what may have been machines. The reverberations weren’t deafening or disturbing to Flint; they surprisingly sounded muffled, as though the great city lived on a steam engine. Even the air smelled refresh to him.

He wondered to himself, had he been underground all this time? Gazing up, he attempted to glimpse at the stars; yet there wasn’t even a sky. The dim, cavernous ceiling was blanketed by a clockwork design jointed with spools of gears and wires, as well as thick metal cylinders. Yes, he conceded, this was definitely an underground kingdom.

After observing his surroundings, he looked at the guard who’d been staring at him. Flint wondered if he should be friendly. Maybe what had happened was a simple misunderstanding? Perhaps these men in armor, like him, were survivors of Earth’s destruction. Out of curiosity, he bowed to the guard. The sentinel, however, did not react to his friendly gesture.

The steamship gradually slowed down as it approached an abyss that divided the city. On the left side of the titanium kingdom stood several docking bridges where other steamships were suspended in midair, hovering. Sinusoidal-shaped tubes decorated the balustrades of the bridges, which were connected to the steamships’ hydraulic systems. It seemed to Flint that those vessels were undergoing some form of maintenance. The ship he sat on finally came to a halt, suspended beside a titanium overpass.

As soon as the steamship docked, the guard who’d been watching Flint unshackled him. He then grabbed Flint, pulling him close. Flint grumbled under his breath what with the sudden heave and walked beside the stomping sentinel without fighting back. The other nine encased in armor clomped in front of him, guiding the way. A few more guards stood on the metal bridges, keeping watch as though they were expecting an invasion.

Flint entered a tunnel that glowed with recessed lighting. Bulky wires and tubes hung along the ceiling. Parts of the walls clanked with oversized cogs. The ground lit up with steam billowing through slit vents. Flint felt a vibration and heard the hum of a powerful machine between the life-support breathing and stomping of his captors. He was still finding it difficult to accept this as reality.

At the end of the passage, the armored beings turned left and activated a door that opened with a loud thump. The guard holding Flint shoved him past the door and entered with his fellow cadre. Inside lay a decorative, clockwork platform. When the door closed, one of the men clicked a switch on a panel, and a sound of pistons filled Flint’s ears. The platform elevated, resonating like an ancient slab of stone opening in a secret tomb.

Although eerie to Flint, the city had an artful appearance. It looked futuristic, sanitary, and aesthetically pleasing to his eyes. Even the wires, tubes, gears, and cogs were placed in an artistic manner.

The platform eventually came to a halt, and the door opened. The armored men led Flint through another glittery passage. The dim tunnel was slightly wider than the one far below. As a matter of fact, Flint didn’t realize he was so much higher until he exited the tunnel, stepping onto another bridge. He gazed down, spotting all the steamships a few hundred feet beneath him. This startled him, but the guard holding him broke him out of his daze by pushing him forward, barely giving him time to adjust. The abyss was utterly black—no sign of any ground. This made Flint get a chill up his spine. He tried to ignore what lay beneath him and continued following the nine thick-armored beings in front of him.

Crossing over to the other half of the city, he entered yet another tunnel. This passageway looked quite different from the other two he’d walked through. It had elegant burgundy-colored carpeting and bright blue lights. Flint had to admit, this hall was a majestic sight to behold. And at last, he reached a door leading him into a throne room where twelve guards stood—six on each side. The armored men who brought Flint here stepped aside, allowing him to walk ahead on his own.

Flint raised an eyebrow, noticing carpeted steps. Upon the summit of those steps lay a plinth on which stood a throne of sparkling-blue stone. Sitting in the throne was someone—or something—that defied the utopian kingdom he’d been taken to. With the exception of a helmet, it wore full-plated armor. Though it appeared to be a humanoid being, it had extremely pale skin, charcoal-colored hair, and ivory irises. Whatever ethnicity it belonged to, Flint thought it was a freak of nature. He stared at the apparent ruler of this kingdom in disbelief, wondering whether it would eat or greet him.

“Welcome to the city of Soalace,” said the man on the throne. The tone of his voice was as empowering as the titanium armor he wore, and yet it had a faint croak. “But you won’t feel welcome. Unless, of course, you prove yourself worthy of my hospitality.”

“You speak English,” said Flint, astonished.

“Yes,” said the pale man. “I speak many languages. Et? Tu comprehendere verba mea?” He briefly waited for a response. “Nein?” He gave out a faint laugh. “I suppose you only speak English, Neanderthal?”

“That’s right,” said Flint. “Why have your men captured me?”

“Ah, my men,” said the pale man on the throne. “I am glad you recognize who the leader of this city is. You’ll soon learn I don’t need to answer to you. However, my guard, Gunthrel, has told me of your escapade by the molten chasm, and it has impressed me. I shall answer your question: my army travels to the desolate surface frequently in search of survivors.”

“Survivors?”

“Careful not to ask too many questions,” replied the pale man. “You are dressed like a primitive American, and yet you were found walking mindlessly in Australia. I am fascinated by this. How you were able to travel over the scorching surface is beyond me. As for us: we travel through the undertunnels to reach other regions of the world’s dead surface.”

“What does that have to do with survivors?” asked Flint.

The pale man laughed and said, “You’re a persistent one, aren’t you? The others we find are mostly terrified, especially when they see my face. But you—no, you are very different. You have an appetite to survive. Otherwise, it would’ve been impossible for you to have traveled on the surface for so long.” He sat quietly for a moment and then continued, “Survivors. Yes, we do occasionally find them scattered around the world. It may be hard to believe but they exist. And when we find survivors—oh, how happy and excited do we become. We call you champions of the surface and send you into the abyss, where our arena is. If you survive, we let you leave. If you do not survive, we eat your remains.”

Flint waited for the pale man on the throne to laugh, but he didn’t. He was actually quite serious. This made Flint feel uneasy, making him wonder if he was better off not being saved by the armored beings when he was attacked by the slimy fiends in the molten chasm.

“What are you?” he dared to ask.

“I am the evolution of mankind since the death of Earth,” said the pale man. “When the sun flares ignited, sundering the world thousands of years ago, my ancestors survived and built the undertunnels. Since then, they worked endlessly to establish a new life where the sun could no longer harm them. They sacrificed everything on the surface. But it made them stronger, and it was passed down to their descendents; it was passed down to me. I am—no, we are the greatest creation of nature.”

“You eat survivors from the surface and dare call yourself a man?” replied Flint with an expression of absolute abhorrence. “What kind of insane logic is that? You’re no different than those mindless beasts hiding in the dark. You’re not human. No, you are the fall of man.”

“Silence!”

“I am done with these games!” exclaimed Flint, rage in his eyes. “Where is the tribunal? If they want me to suffer for the rest of my life, then just lock me away in some prison and be done with these illusions!”

“Take this senile fool into the abyss!”

The guards immediately approached Flint who swiftly turned, lifting his arms as though ready to fight for his freedom. When he did so, however, the armored guards raised their bulky plated forearms, ready to blow fire on him from their built-in flamethrowers. Flint surrendered, allowing them to seize him. They then took him out of the chamber. As they did so, the pale man stood up from his glittery throne and gazed at Flint with a deranged look.

“There is no tribunal here,” said the pale man. “There is only one ruler here in Soalace. I am that ruler. I am Pardashan, and you will remember my name until you scream and croak as a spit of meat on my dinner table!”