The 10th Level

It was a happy day for the world when Lelouch vi Brittainia was lowered in the ground, his reign of terror finally brought to a halt. Nunnally wept, the crowd cheered and a coffin was made. The sound of dirt hitting it's gilded surface was music to everyone's ears, but it was their quest to destroy every memory of him that brought about the absolute End. When disposing of WMDs, it is advisable to not launch them into a super-heated inferno of flames; otherwise known as the Sun. After all, their purpose is destruction, and after getting a wee bit too close to this tricky little star the bombs had no choice but to do their duty and explode, an atmosphere-altering disruption that ended life on Earth mercifully quick. There was one survivor, nestled in a grave and struggling for breath as he opened his eyes to darkness.


This man had seen nothing but darkness for as long as he could remember. After a thousand years or so he was beginning to think he was the dark, simply a metaphysical phantom inhabiting some cavity of Earth, as any traces of a name had vanished along with time itself.

Though there was a flaw in that fantasy.

Occasionally something crumbled into his eyes and every few minutes he would be overcome with violent convulsions, erasing all thought with an even bleaker colour until he woke to the lighter shade. The cycle of suffocation had repeated itself every minute since being buried alive, waiting for someone who shared his curse to free him. The blessed relief of death was beyond him; condemned to skim the thin border between it and life for eternity. To be honest he wasn't missing much, just a few pockmarked rocks and the bones that would soon become them.

Something changed, when is not known. In those seconds of lucidity between each death he would tear dirt off of the roof of his prison, dewy hands raw an bleeding as they met with stones. By moving the dirt to the space around his feet and making steady progress he reached the surface of an unrecognizable place, a blistered plain of nothing. A few lumps of stone littered the surrounding area, inscriptions rubbed away by the dry wind and erosive sand. Earth and whatever comes after had switched places; the once prosperous land more like the textbook idea of unending punishment, 'Hell' than the actual one. An existence without companionship, food or water, being forced to continue without anyone to force this damnation on. Every second of it somehow even more of a torture then the ones he had been prepared to face while lying in that meadow; planning his own demise. Not having one was worse than being stabbed any day.


A/N: Just something random.