Capítulo 51: CHAPTER 51- Purgatory.
PURGATORY.
Darkness.
As far as his eyes, if he can still call them that, could see, there was only darkness. There were no directions, no stars, no creepy fog, nothing but total emptiness.
Maybe this is what, hell feels like.
Maybe this was indeed hell.
"Hell? Why is it hell? Shouldn't I be in Naraka?" Rudra talked aloud. Maybe someone would hear him that way.
Maybe it was fate. Perhaps it was bad luck. Rudra died for the second time, in less than a year.
"I do not remember anything like this place, the last time I died. What is different this time?"
Is this even real? Why was his memory so hazy? He knew that he died, but how?
"Yeah, what happened?" Rudra continued the thought, ignoring whether it came from his mind.
He remembered he was making something. He could recall the heat of the molten metal. He was in his blacksmith's workshop. He was making … he was making something. He even succeeded in making it, after several tries.
He recalled the meetings he had with his council and the advice they gave him. He remembered the annoyance he felt while dealing with his government officials and rich nobles/landlords. They were at an event, doing something when he died.
His memory of the event and the things that preceded it slowly cleared up, but the whole reason for his death was still clouded in mystery. He couldn't recall that a cannon, a weapon of his creation, had put him in such a place.
"A cannon! That is what I am making. That is what killed me!" the answer came from a stray thought, the ones he often brushed aside. The voices and whispers he occasionally hears are nothing but his imagination, said the same voice in his head.
Rudra shook his head and brought the stray thoughts back into order. He had just died, or at least that is what it seemed like, and he needed to find out if he still had a chance.
He checked his body, once again. All his parts were there. His body was intact. He was wearing the outfit he wore during the accident.
He looked around once again. The pitch-black space seemed endless. But was it though? To find out, he walked forward, determined to find an end to this place, if there was any.
He picked a direction and started walking. He walked and walked, without stopping. He walked for minutes, and they turned into hours. He walked for months and they turned into years. He walked ahead as his beard grew, and he walked ahead as his face grew old.
He did not feel hunger, nor thirst. He did not feel longing for his home, nor curiosity about what was happening. He walked like a man possessed, never caring to look back, determined to find the end of this place.
After what felt like a thousand years, He finally stopped. Maybe the exhaustion finally caught up with him, or maybe his determination had ended before the abyss did. He finally stopped and looked back.
And Rudra did not like what he had seen. He was in the same place that he started in. There was no way to differentiate one place from another in the abyss, but he knew. He instinctively knew.
More to support it was the physical appearance. There was neither a wrinkle on his coat nor a wrinkle on his face from the passage of time. Whatever had happened, was an illusion. An illusion that is trapping him in his mind.
*Blink*
As he realized something was wrong, everything changed.
One blink. That's all it took. The abyss vanished like it was never there, replaced by a blinding kaleidoscope of reflections. Rudra found himself smack dab in the middle of a labyrinth, made with polished obsidian crystals that reflected his startled image a thousandfold. Gone was the endless void, replaced by an endless mirror maze of his reflections.
Each reflection was warped and distorted yet they stared back with a different emotion: some mirrored his terror, and others held a soulless emptiness. The whispers, faint before, now echoed from every direction, a chorus of words in a language he couldn't grasp.
He moved forward, hand outstretched, searching for a solid wall, a way out. But his touch met only the cold, unforgiving surface of another mirror. But the reflection it held recoiled, its face twisting into a smile, a manic glint in its eyes. The maze wasn't just reflecting him – it was feeding on his fear, his self-doubt, twisting it into a living nightmare.
Rudra could recognise the reflection in the mirror. Aside from it being his face, that crazed expression on that face was one that he could recognise anywhere. It was the one he had when he was fighting in the battle for Dharanikota. He did not see the reflection of his face that day, but something told him, that it was the same.
It was the same expression with which he massacred soldiers, irrespective of the fact that they surrendered or not. Rudra did not know what had come over him that day. He laughed like a madman and killed like a man possessed. He regretted what happened that day, but seeing that same look on the twisted reflection brought back memories.
"What are you?" he asked the reflection, whose mouth did not move with him, confirming it was not a reflection. Yet the creature did not speak. The only other voices he heard were the whispers, which he did not know whether they were coming from the inside of his head or not.
As he paid attention to them, the whispers turned into laughter and then into cries of anguish. His reflection morphed to match them, showing a twisted version of himself. It became a grotesque caricature, a monstrous version of himself wielding a twisted parody of the cannon he had created.
Blood and gore were caked on the creature, yet that manic smile, which Rudra now realized was impossibly wide, remained the same. Smoke oozed out of the cannon, while it was held under the arm by the creature, as if the metal construct did not weigh hundreds of kilos.
"'I'm you of course,'" it rasped, the tone eerily similar to his own, yet laced with malice that sent shivers down Rudra's spine. "' Do you fail to recognize me, Rudra? This is what you were to all these people.'"
"What are you talking about?" he stammered, a tiny seed of defiance blooming amidst the terror.
But Rudra did not receive an answer, nor did he need one, The answer was staring him right in the face. The other reflections of himself in the mirror maze were now gone. Instead, they were replaced with the reflections of people.
All of these people had one thing in common. They all looked like they were on the verge of death. Most of them, he did not recognize, but from the few he did, he guessed who they all were.
All those people were dead, because of Rudra. There were soldiers who died because of the war he started, and there were civilians who died when he purged any opposing elements to his rule. There were people who were killed by him, and there were people who died because of him.
Some of them were children, and some of them were old. Some were holding their severed heads in their arms, While some looked charred by burns. One thing they had in common was that they were dead.
"'See, This is what you achieved in the past few months. Nothing but death and destruction. For your gain, they had to pay the price.'" his reflection said, pointing to all the other reflections, "' Do you think you are not guilty of all this?'"
"Guilty!" a single voice boomed, echoing through the labyrinth. Then another, and another, until a deafening chorus of "GUILTY!" filled the air. The faces in the reflections contorted into masks of rage, their unified voices a powerful condemnation of his actions.
"'GUILTY!!'" "'GUILTY!!'" "'GUILTY!!'"
"'GUILTY!!'" "'GUILTY!!'" "'GUILTY!!'"
"'GUILTY!!'" "'GUILTY!!'" "'GUILTY!!'"
"I was the king," Rudra stammered, desperation creeping into his voice. "I had to do what I had to do! Not all the people who died…'"
But the monstrous reflection cut him short, pointing to the children's faces. "' Do these children deserve it?'"
Children of various ages, all died in his campaign to root out opposition, gathered before it. They were bloody, and some had horrific injuries. Rudra couldn't imagine what they had to go through, as they died.
The question asked by the reflection, hung heavy in the air, a crushing weight on Rudra's sanity. He looked away, unable to bear the sight of their innocent faces contorted in pain. The echoes of "' GUILTY!'" intensified, a relentless assault on his mind.
"' What about these fine men?'" The reflection asked, now standing before it was the soldiers he worked with just before his supposed death, the artillery squad. "' They are your loyal soldiers are they not? Do they deserve to die, because of what you made?'"
"You don't understand!" Rudra argued, his voice rising in defiance. He remembered the sleepless nights spent hunched over blueprints, the hours he spent casting the damn thing. "It.. it was not supposed to happen. It malfunctioned. It was an accident."
"' You rushed it,'" the reflection snarled, its voice a distorted echo of his own thoughts. "' Your pride, your need for glory, it cost them their lives.'"
"That was not my intention!"
A flicker of something akin to amusement crossed the reflection's distorted face. "' Ah, intentions,'" it rasped, its voice dripping with sarcasm. "' The road to hell is paved with them, Rudra. The path you took, the lives you claimed, those were the consequences of your actions, not your justifications.'"
The accusing faces of the reflections pressed in, a chorus of muted screams. Rudra felt a wave of despair threaten to consume him. He had strived for greatness, for the safety of his kingdom, for the progress of the world, yet all he had achieved was… this.
"You are twisting my words, monster," Rudra replied, his mind trying to shift the blame and responsibility, a common tactic of the human mind.
"' After all that you've done, you still call me a monster?'" the reflection accused, "' Can't you see it even now? I'm not the monster. I'm your reflection. I'm you.'"
A cold dread washed over Rudra. The reflection's words hit him like a physical blow. He looked down upon himself and was startled by what he found. No longer did he have a normal human body. In his hand was that cannon that caused his death, and his body matched what the reflection was a few moments ago.
He looked up, to question the reflection, but received another shock. Before him stood Rudra Deva, the king of Dharanikota, in all his glory. He found that he was the one who was in the mirror now.
"What have you done?!" Rudra screamed, his confusion leading to anger, as he dropped the cannon and banged on the mirror wall with his twisted hands, to no avail. He was the one who was trapped now.
"' I'm not the one who trapped you, Rudra, " the reflection replied, its voice filled with mockery, "' This was all your doing.'"
Yes, his was all Rudra's fault. He should have checked the safety precautions properly. He became overconfident in his abilities and rushed the cannon into production. Now he is paying the price with his life.
No, not only his life. The Artillery soldiers that were participating in the trial run and were firing the cannon, were even closer when the explosion happened. There was very little chance that they survived, if Rudra, who was standing a few feet away had died.
Even if the same soldiers who appeared moments earlier were an illusion, there was only a very slim chance they actually survived.
Maybe it was a good thing that Rudra was struck here. He deserves this after all.
"No."
For all the harm that he had caused, he deserves to be punished like this, forever trapped, where no decision he ever makes matters, no other life gets impacted by his stupidity, his pride- his pride which caused him to fight a war, to sow death, to stain his hands and soul with the blood of the innocents!
"NO!"
What does he hope to achieve anyway? A sedative for surgery? A firearm that is a little better? A new language? All of them will be forgotten, destined to leave no mark in history. The name Rudra, relegated to a byline, was forgotten like all the people he killed.
"I SAID NO!!!" Rudra screamed, at the whispers, and for once, they stopped.
"' What, can't even accept guilt now? '"
Rudra looked at the reflections of all the other dead people, then sighed. "You're right," he rasped, the words scraping against his throat. "This... this is me. The consequences of my actions, laid bare."
"' Go on, This is amusing.'" said the reflection, its voice dripping with sarcasm.
"What I did caused death. What I did caused innocent lives to be lost. Yes, some which could have been avoided," Rudra looked at the dead children, " and some of it was necessary." he looked at the opposing nobles, and the soldiers of his now dead uncle ", and I caused all of this."
"' And how is it going to help them? They are already dead.'"
"It doesn't. I am not speaking to them, nor you. I am telling this to myself, and the one who is looking at all of this." Rudra looked around, speaking about someone who was not there. " What I did all these months, caused death and destruction, yes. But I am not sorry for it. The path I am on is something that needs to be made. If blood is what needs to be spilt for it, then so be it."
Progress requires sacrifice. He cannot stop at every obstruction, riddled with guilt of what had happened and what might happen to the ones opposing it. If staining his hands with blood is the only way, then he will gladly do it. Even at the price of losing who he is.
"' You are not even sorry?'"
"It is a good rule in life never to apologize." Rudra sighed," The right kind of people do not want apologies, and the wrong kind takes advantage of them."
"' Who are you talking to anyway? There is no reason to try and justify what you did, and what you want to do. You are dead now. Your story ends now.'"
"Who am I talking to? The being controlling this whole illusion of course." Rudra made a gesture of keenly listening and said " Can't you hear it speak? Oh wait, you are an illusion too."
He doubted them earlier, but against the backdrop of the endless chaos, it became clear. There was someone… narrating him? And now narrating the fact that he realized someone was narrating him?
"Who are you?" he questioned the unknown being, hoping that with mere words, he could make the being, which was incomprehensible to him, answer his questions.
"'Who are you speaking to?'" The reflection asked its question perfectly reasonable, as there is no being that Rudra was talking about. Yet, the reflection, that took up so much of his attention just moments ago was ignored.
*crack*
"What is your reason for doing all of this? Are you the reason I am trapped here ??!" Rudra asked, hurling accusations at the innocent being.
Besides being a curious spectator, the being had not harmed the young King. But, when tempers run hot, reason is often forgotten.
"REASON!??! You want REASON?!?! Show yourself, and I will show you reason!"
*Crack*
"'Hey! Don't Ignore me!'" The reflection screamed, only to be ignored again.
*Crack!*
"Why all the narration? Why can't you speak directly? How long were you watching me?! Answer ME!!'"
As Rudra screamed, looking for the answers, the being felt pity. The months he had spent in the new life, were nothing to the being. Time runs differently from the plane it is in, and Rudra is finally experiencing some of it.
*Crack!*
"PITY?!!!" Rudra started angrily, but cooled down once he realized how futile that was." Pity. Is my life so worthless that I don't even deserve all the answers? The least you could do is show yourself."
"'HEY! I AM RIGHT HERE!'" The reflection screamed, irritated by the fact that it was being ignored.
*Crack!*
"WILL YOU SHUT THE HELL UP!!" Rudra screamed at the reflection and punched at the mirror separating the two of them. " Why are you even there anyway, you are just an illusion!"
*CRACK!*
*CRACK!!*
*CRACK!!!*
Rudra finally noticed the cracking sound. All this time, the mirror labyrinth he was in, was slowly cracking, and breaking apart. His punch completely shattered the mirror between Rudra and the reflection, and the reflection was barely visible.
Structures started collapsing, and the obsidian crystals broke apart and fell from the ceiling.
"Why are you doing this?" Rudra asked the narrator, " Your ruse is already up. Why not show yourself, and spare me the theatrics."
Once again, the young king made an accusation. All this was his own doing. The narrator merely facilitated it, but all of this was the personification of Rudra's own will and his guilt.
"My own guilt? Is that what this is?" Rudra looked around at the collapsing structures. It looked strangely captivating, like the end of the world. "I doubt that it is. But let me ask you something. I am still alive, aren't I?"
Rudra answered his own question, by asking the narrator. He was still alive, albeit barely. His healing seemed to have kicked in, protecting him from certain death.
"Thank you for answering that. But why do all of this? Why have all this power, yet do whatever you are doing, with the narration?"
The narrator did not know what to answer. It too was a puppet, its existence tied to someone else. It was incomprehensible to Rudra, yet the being did not know what it was either.
As it communicated its intent to Rudra, he felt it too. Struck in the abyss, doomed to observe someone for all of eternity. An existence which he would wish for no one.
*BOOM*
Finally, the whole labyrinth broke down and exploded, crystal fragments dissolved into the shadows, as the abyss reappeared. But it did leave something behind though, the abyss, seemed cracked. Damaged, somehow.
It was still like when he originally stepped foot in it, but different. The cracks seem less like cracks on a glass and more like cracks on the dimension itself. The labyrinth left a mark on it. Rudra left a mark on it. Like how guilt and trauma leave a mark on a broken mind.
Somehow, Rudra knew the place would be alright. Just like he knew, how he would be all right. He knew his time in the place was coming to an end, but he knew he was not done with the place. He would come back here one day.
As Rudra felt his consciousness slipping away, he looked into the abyss one last time, hoping to see the being and not just feel its intent, he felt something watching him.
If you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.
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