[b]DAY 1: HOOKS – WHAT A WONDERFUL COLLECTION YOU HAVE[/b]

Hesceol, the king of the region of darkness and despair, basically glided through the forest of ominous wind and cries of the lost souls. He pressed on with majestic movements, even though there was not a single person to witness his greatness. But it was his nature, had always been. In fact, he was such a royalty that even the vegetation stepped aside from his way, making a clear path for him. This is what made it easy for him to move with a swift pace through the woods, and being quick was the key to him in that late hour. There was somebody he was going to meet, so being late wouldn't be appropriate, especially for a regal person like him.

The king could hear the soft yet agonized moans all over the forest, it wasn't clear were they caused by the wind or were they lamentations of the dead. And frankly, he didn't care. But they did give him some odd kind of company as he kept moving forward. It was like the forest itself was in pain in this land of perpetual darkness and it didn't want to anger the king. So the environment continued to change and make new paths for Hesceol, taking him to the deepest part of the forest. It was a confusing place where even the most experienced travelers would get lost, not seeing the light of day ever again. But the king had wandered in the forest many times, also it helped that environment made its best to please him.

But there was someone else who was able to walk on the forest with ease. And this exact person was the one Hesceol was looking for.

Eventually the king made his way to a lonely, ramshackle cabin that just stood there in the middle of nothing. It was such a sad sight, being so poorly maintained. Thin smoke was coming out of the chimney and a lantern of cold fire was giving light on the porch, its ghostly glow repelling visitors more than welcoming them. Hesceol had found his way to the right place. The boards of the porch creaked as he stepped on them, and he gave a loud, confident knock on the door.

Soon the denizen of this place came to open the door for the king. Hesceol was faced by a very, very large man. He was over two meters tall and had an obese body. Since he was wearing basically nothing else but a blood-stained apron, all his scars – and even more blood – were visible. He was bald and had rotten teeth in his mouth. All in all, he was quite disgusting individual – and frightening.

“Hello, my friend”, Hesceol greeted the large man, smiling slightly. “Have you managed to fulfill that favor for me?”

“Yes, my king”, the man spoke with surprisingly soft voice.

“May I see the results of your work?” Hesceol asked, peeking inside the cabin.

“Of course”, the large man replied, shifting his huge body to make room for the king so he could enter the building.

Hesceol walked inside, the other man then closing the door behind him. He wasn't sightseeing in here, so the large man started to escort him deeper into the house, soon taking him to a door that was leading to downstairs, right at the dark belly of the cabin. Darkness and mysterious mist dominated this vast area beneath the cabin, but that wasn't a problem; the king was able to see well even in the darkest of places. And what he did see in this cellar-like room, gave him such a surge of delight.

Countless hooks were dangling from the ceiling. Some were empty, but some had various body parts hanging in them, still raw and bleeding. The scent of blood and fear lingered in the air, for the most terrifying part was that in some hooks, living people were hanging from them, all of them mutilated in some way. Lots of them didn't have any strength to cry anymore, but some could still let out whimpers. Hesceol walked to one of the living women who had all of her limbs chopped off, dangling on the hook from her shoulder, the king taking a hold of her petite chin.

“You should have accepted my proposal, sweetheart”, Hesceol muttered at her, then spitting at her face. But she had no strength left and was staring somewhere in the distance with her glazed eyes.

The king started to wander among the pieces of meat and bodies that were at a brink of death. He enjoyed every part of his little tour, taunting the living and tasting the blood of many. All that time, the large man, the one who had butchered all these poor people, was staring from the doorway, being very pleased by how the king admired his work.

Eventually, Hesceol turned around and looked at the large man.

“What a wonderful collection you have here”, he complimented, starting to make his way to the doorway.

“Thank you, my king”, the butcher answered, giving a little bow.

“Keep up the good work”, Hesceol stated as he passed by the body of the large man, beginning to ascend the stairs.

“I will”, the butcher said. “I will.”

There were always people to torture and slaughter. The king just had to decide who the unfortunate ones were. Then the large man would do the dirty job. For it was the truth: everything will happen according to Hesceol's will.



[b]DAY 2: AMPUTATION – NO DEAL, DEMON[/b]

If you asked Leoran, he was innocent and he didn't deserve to be thrown into a place like this, a personal hell tailored just for him. But he was a madman, completely taken over by his delusions. In his life, he had been reckless, unpredictable and had hurt a lot of people, for various reasons. What made him worse, was the fact that he was also able to use magic, although unstable kind. He was easy to tick off, which resulted in many casualties. But in the end, the beast shall fall, and so he was killed at last – what a good riddance, most people would say. Many hoped for him to suffer in hell and pay for the misery he had caused. Those wishes came true, sort of.

A soul like his was truly a great trophy in the eyes of demons. Especially Sancrow was really interested in him. But even though Leoran's mind was broken, and seemed like an easy prey, it would actually be difficult to try to make a contract with him due to his unpredictable nature. This was something Sancrow noticed very early on, as he had tried to contact the man in his purgatory several times. But he was persistent, and would try again soon.

Leoran was running through the forest where the trees would reach out and try to claw you with their sharp branches, eerily resembling hands of the corpses. They aimed to tear the skin and scratch the eyes, inflicting as much pain as they could. In addition to this, Leoran was being chased by screaming shadows, perhaps they were the manifestations of the poor souls he had hurt during his life. They wouldn't leave him be, they were relentless in their pursuit. The mad mage shrieked, adding his own voice to the haunting choir. He was extremely exhausted, wanting nothing more but to stay still for a moment, just a short moment, was that too much to ask?

As if some higher power had heard his wish, the forest suddenly vanished, getting replaced by a completely different environment. Leoran stopped, panting heavily, just looking around. It was like he was in some oriental garden of some sort. It was so peaceful it terrified his very soul. There was a building standing, perhaps it was an inn or something like that. But Leoran didn't care about it and just continued to investigate where he had ended up to. Beautiful flowers and bushes bloomed, but probably their looks were just deceiving. Deep crimson fireflies danced in the air, but in Leoran's eyes, they were a sign of danger. He walked to a decorative bridge that offered access across a narrow river, which had pristine waters. For some reason, this was the only thing Leoran liked and he stayed on the bridge, staring at the flow of water.

His serene moment was ruined by a sound of footsteps. The mad mage looked at the direction where the noise was coming from, just to see a tall handsome man dressed in white approaching him. Although there was no sense of time and the only memories Leoran had were from his past life, this man seemed oddly familiar to him.

And he didn't like it.

“Go away or I smite you!” Leoran shouted at the other man.

The man in white chuckled a little bit.

“Now, now, don't be like that”, he said. “We're friends, don't you remember? My name is Sancrow.”

Sancrow had a gentle smile on his face as he offered his hand, hoping to shake it with Leoran.

But the madman saw through this.

“Oh, no, no, no!” Leoran was almost screaming at him. “I'm not falling for your little tricks! You can't have my soul!”

Then he did something Sancrow hadn't expected him to do.

Leoran casted a golden, thin ring that circled around his left arm. As he clenched his hand to a fist, the circle started to tighten, getting smaller and smaller. And when it made contact with the arm, it started to cut it through, sinking into his flesh. He was manically laughing as the ring did its job, eventually cutting his whole arm off, the limb falling to the boards of the bridge. It was still twisting and squirming, like the head of a beheaded snake. The golden ring disappeared, leaving a cleanly cut stump behind. Sancrow had to say, he hadn't ever seen anything like this.

“See!” Leoran announced proudly. “Left arm is closer to the heart, so now you can't make a deal with me, demon!”

Laughing, the mad mage started to walk away, blood dripping from his stump, and Sancrow just watched as his figure departed. This man indeed was interesting one, he thought. Let him enjoy some peacefulness for a while. Then the nightmare would resume, and Sancrow would keep an eye on Leoran, and trying again later to make a contract with him.

There was no way he would let him go.



[b]DAY 3: CHELSEA SMILE – LOOK AT OUR PRETTY SMILES, MOMMY![/b]

It is common to believe that fire cleanses impurities, and quite often, this is true. But not always. There are cases when even the purifying flames can't cure the wickedness and rot of the soul. Such were the circumstances with this one peculiar lady. A mother of three children, seeming to be rather normal to outsiders, however, there was a seed of cruelty sprouting in her heart. It was well concealed, only the children knew what the truth was. But alas, they were so terrified of their own mother that they would never cry for help. In silence they suffered, until one night, their house caught fire and killed all the residents. Such a tragedy, but finally, the children were free.

The mother, on the other hand, wasn't.

Her body was completely scorched, the fire had burnt her so badly that damage carried over to the limbo where her soul got swept to. Her burned corpse would wander in the halls of a forsaken mansion, seeking for a way out, but never finding one. The halls, the rooms, they all kept changing form, not making any sense, all according to her twisted mind, uncontrollably imprisoning herself. She was alone and lost. But she deserved every part of this punishment. If a mother doesn't offer any love to her own children, then that's a felony. Even worse if she doesn't even regret it.

And so, there she was, wandering in the ever-changing mansion, having only darkness as her company. She would explore all the rooms in utter despair, wanting to find someone, anyone to interact with, or some nourishment for her starved body. But all she could find was memories of others, fleeting moments of events happened in other dimensions. This place seemed to be consisting from them. She could experience again even her own memories, including some she had forgotten. And sometimes, as she walked around the mansion, she could hear cries of the children – her own children. These haunting voices would quake her soul, leaving unpleasant feeling, but still, she never felt any regrets.

But on that fragment of time, something was different. She could hear giggling noises echoing in the halls – it was the sound she had forgotten long time ago. As if there was some mother's instinct left in her rotten soul, she began to seek out those voices. Hastening her pace, she weaved her way, checking every room she came across. Why she was having this sudden urge, she didn't know, but she persistently kept looking for her kids. And eventually, she did find them.

How fitting it was, that she found them from a child's room, which was filled with toys and books and had a few small beds in there. In this limbo where nothing stood still for long, the appearance of the room was constantly changing. One moment it would all bright and joyful, only to then turn to withered mess with broken toys. The three children of the mother were standing against a wall, opposite direction from the door, and as she looked at them, something moved in her soul, a feeling she couldn't describe, but it felt warm. However, as she approached her kids, a horrifying scene unfolded.

Previously the three children had bright, innocent, wide smiles on their faces. But as soon as their mother came closer, they changed. Their faces were torn, the corners of their mouths were cut all the way to their ears, the wounds still bleeding. Now, they had a permanent grim smile to wear. It was hard to tell were they actually smiling as well because of how shredded their faces were.

“Look at our pretty smiles, mommy!” the kids exclaimed in unison. “It's just like how you taught us! To have pretty smiles in front of strangers!”

At this point, any decent person would have felt remorse. But not this mother. She stared at her torn-faced kids blankly. She simply didn't care. Whoever was responsible for the events in this limbo had probably expected that this would wake something inside of her wicked heart, but that wasn't the case. The mother turned her back on her offspring, starting to walk away. Whatever she had just felt was now gone. She would continue her restless wanderings, looking for a way to escape.

But without repentance, that will be impossible.



[b]DAY 4: BLOODY TEARS – IMMORTAL'S SORROW[/b]

Standing on a high hill just at the border of the town, Irinn'sul was watching intently at the lights of this rather small modern settlement. It was nighttime, but the place never truly slept, mainly the sounds of cars drifted to his ears. The night seemed to be quiet and peaceful, but inside Irinn'sul's heart, there was a storm raging on. Mainly the strong emotions of hatred and sorrow were screaming in unison, accompanied by a small drop of madness. Together these feelings formed into a will to unleash his vengeance against the whole world.

He had lived in this realm for thousands of years, witnessing how the world had shaped into what it is now. It was broken, polluted and dark, nothing like it was used to be. That was to be expected, however, because there were no more gods to guide the people. They had died thousands of years ago, during the calamity of Plague of Gods, leaving only chaos behind. As an immortal, Irinn'sul had survived, but was never quite the same after the disaster. Because, since even the gods can die, just how insignificant that makes you, despite your immortality? In the end, his eternal life became a curse.

Irinn'sul had lost everything in his life. His kingdom, his lover, his purpose… Everything. At long last, all of this plunged him into a void of sorrow. There was nothing left for him to do expect mourn. Once he had thought that he would become the salvation to this world. But later when the Plague of Gods occurred and the events that escalated after it, he realized that this silly dream he had forged in his childish mind was not going to happen. Now he was lonely and lost, probably no one could understand his sorrow.

However, just a little while ago, things started to change.

Irinn'sul lost the only thing he had left: his sanity. Mysvalrn, a little piece of a star that had accompanied him thousands of years, got destroyed. It was a sentient being, its consciousness linked to Irinn'sul's mind, always following him and mimicking his emotions. Due to the fact that their consciousnesses had been merged together for so long, the destruction of Mysvalrn broke Irinn'sul's mind. Something changed in his soul that day. He swore to change the world back to what it had been in the golden ages. No more suffering. No more crying in the dark. All he needed was a powerful ally.

The cold winds grabbed Irinn'sul's clothes as he was standing on the hill. And as he was observing the town, tears started to pour from his eyes. However, they weren't clear, innocent tears, no. They were all bloody, perhaps a manifestation of his hatred and sorrow. So there he cried, blood staining his face, shedding the tears no one could relate to, winds howling around him like a lamentation.

And he wasn't alone.

Irinn'sul could feel somebody moving behind him. Soon this arriver had walked next to him. He was a dragon, one of this rare kind of majestic creatures that still existed in this mutilated world. Knaergiri was his name. He looked at Irinn'sul's direction.

“Good, let the tears flow”, Knaergiri said, sticking his thin tongue out. “We will let them feel the pain you have endured. Are you ready?”

Irinn'sul simply nodded.

Both of them got to their wings, riding on the winds towards the town.

Together, they would change the world.



[b]DAY 5: SPLIT HEAD – TRAGIC TALE OF ANNA[/b]

[i]Play here, little girl, play with your crimson ball. Let it roll over the hill, let it invite a friend to play with you. Play with them until the dawn, become friends forever.[/i]

This verse was something kids would tell each other to spook each other out. There was an urban legend that on the small patch of forest at the park, a ghost of a little girl could be found. Sometimes people, especially young ones, would try to seek out this poor ghost. She wasn't a pretty sight, but usually she would appear harmless, though, there was a rumor that she would snatch souls of those who stayed with her until the sunrise. Maybe there was a small seed of truth behind this rumor, since comatose people could sometimes be found from the forest. But was that really this ghost girl's doing? Nobody could say for sure.

Poor, poor little Anna… Jealousy is often behind many tragedies, and so it was also in this case. According to the story, she was just an ordinary girl, having an ordinary family. She had one sibling, big brother Jared, but they weren't quite close to each other. It was quite the contrary. Jared hated his little sister. It was because their parents were favoring Anna. Enormous amount of envy accumulated inside Jared's heart over the years, until he finally snapped. He lured his sister to the forest to play with the ball and the unsuspecting Anna went with him. Jared had brought an axe with him and in a place with no witnesses, he struck the axe at Anna's head, splitting it in two. Jared's story has faded with time and there aren't really accounts about what happened to him after he had executed the murder. Anna's body was found the next day, and was soon buried. However, her spirit still lingers in that forest, that's at least what people say.

And that is where Rebecca comes to the picture. She is a paranormal investigator, finally taking a look at the case of Anna. Tonight, she would check the forest and see if she could find the ghost girl.

Rebecca was at the border of the forest, shivering a little, both from excitement and fear. She had encountered ghosts during her investigations, but she still got chills from these cases. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves and bravely took a step into the world of shadows, the light of her flashlight guiding her among the trees. It was eerily quiet. The air felt somewhat pressuring and she had a strange feeling that there were no other presences near her, not even animals. It was almost like she had entered into a realm of spirits, a space so close to the familiar world of humans, but still being its separate region. Rebecca treaded carefully, the beam of light she held in her hands jumping from bushes to bushes. Still nothing out of ordinary in sight.

For a while she wandered around the forest, and kept repeating the spooky verse like a mantra. In the end, her efforts were rewarded.

Rebecca was walking along the path when something rolled in front of her. It was a toy ball, gleaming in a crimson color. Getting all tensed up, she instinctively pointed her light at the direction where the ball had come from. She got goosebumps as soon as she saw a white figure approaching. It appeared to be a little girl, perhaps eight years old, wearing a white dress that once had been a beautiful attire. But now it was tarnished with blood. And of course, the most noticeable and disturbing part of her was the head. It had got split right in the middle, all the way to the neck and was blood-stained, exposing various parts inside her head, like brains. The little girl moved very unnervingly, as if the split head didn't bother her at all. Rebecca had known the fact about Anna's gruesome appearance, but it was still totally different thing to see it by yourself. For a brief moment, Rebecca could only stare at her.

The ghost girl picked up the ball from the ground, then turning her messed up head right at the investigator's direction.

“Want to play with me?” Anna offered the ball to Rebecca.

Her voice was so… normal. It surprised the woman. She sounded like a perfectly normal little girl, not some poor soul whose head had been split open. 

“No, not right now, sweety”, Rebecca managed to answer.

Not saying a thing anymore, the little ghost girl walked away, the woman staring at her receding figure. Soon she had disappeared. Judging by this encounter with Anna, Rebecca could tell that she wasn't malicious spirit. She was just a poor soul, the injustice of her death keeping her bound to this place. Now that Rebecca had proved that the ghost was real, she could now try to come up with a solution to help the little girl get her final rest.