A Beat in the Storm

When I awoke, I could feel raindrops falling on me. I opened my eyes and found myself in a clearing within a pine forest. Just a few meters away, a stream flowed down a rocky slope. I looked up at the sky and saw how the clouds blocked out the daylight, tinting the world in shades of gray. It seemed I was already inside the Purgatory—a realm that never has a fixed form, but rather shifts according to each soul. Whatever lay ahead, everything I would encounter would be a reflection of the life of the imprisoned young man.

I began walking, following the stream’s current. It wasn’t long before I emerged from the forest’s edge and reached an open area, from where I could see the sea in the distance, the land sloping downward toward the coast. The waves surged with intensity, crashing violently against the rocky shoreline under the force of the wind.

Just a few steps ahead, I discovered a dirt path winding uphill along the forest's edge. After walking for several minutes, I came upon the first obstacle of my journey: a massive stone wall, at least five meters tall. The path ended at a grand gate with a wooden door blocking the way. I tried pushing it, but it was firmly sealed. I stepped back to study the wall more carefully. It stretched endlessly to both sides—one disappearing into the woods, the other descending toward the sea.

Other angels might have flown over it. But when I tried to raise my wings, they didn’t move at all. They felt like stone. I had no choice but to climb the wall brick by brick. I placed my hands and feet on the protruding stones and began the ascent. But halfway up, I met another weakness: exhaustion. In the real world, I didn’t even need to breathe. But here, even the slightest exertion left me gasping for air. Combined with the rain beating against the wall, I slipped and crashed to the ground.

I must admit, the pain from the fall made me want to scream, but I managed to hold it in. Lying there, I couldn’t help but think—if I was the angels’ last hope to save this boy, then we were doomed. Even so, I didn’t plan to give up. I would make Raphaelius tell me everything he knew about my past.

With that resolve stirring inside me, I stood up and climbed again. I fell three more times, but none of that stopped me from reaching the top of the wall. I pulled myself over the edge and collapsed on the space between its two sides.

It took me several minutes to catch my breath, but I finally managed to stand. A few meters away stood a watchtower connected to the wall. I walked toward its door, but when I tried to turn the knob, I found it was locked. I started to panic, wondering how I would get down without breaking every bone in my body—until I noticed that the wood was badly rotted. One kick, even from someone as weakened as me, was enough to knock it down.

Inside, I found a spiral staircase leading up to the lookout and down to the base of the wall. I took the stairs downward, only to find another locked wooden door. I kicked it again, this time needing several strikes to break the latch and push it open.

Back outside, I rejoined the dirt path and continued along it for several more meters. As the terrain rose, the surrounding fog grew denser. Soon, I could barely see a meter ahead. That was how I almost stumbled upon a stone bridge spanning a small stream—I only saw it once it was directly in front of me. I crossed it, and on the other side, the path turned into smooth rock. I kept walking, and in time, small stone structures began to appear along the way. They looked like houses—or at least they once had been, long ago. Now they were nothing but ruins. Their walls had crumbled, and what little remained standing was overtaken by moss and decay.

I kept moving, and larger houses began to emerge—some as tall as three stories. Still, every one of them was in the same miserable state. As I walked, the street widened and branched into narrow alleys. This must have once been the main road of a thriving city with thousands of inhabitants. But something had devastated this place, reducing it to a ghost of what it once was. Why had the Purgatory taken this shape? That was a question only the young man could answer—if I ever found him.

The path continued to rise, and the higher I climbed, the thicker the fog became. I could barely see a meter around me. That’s when I decided to enter a building whose side wall had partially collapsed. I needed something to light my way.

Inside, I found the remnants of what had once been a living room. Wooden tables and chairs still stood, though time and moisture had warped their forms. Against one of the walls, I spotted a shelf. Resting on its top was an old oil lamp. I stretched as far as I could, but had to jump to reach it.

Once it was in my hands, I examined it. To my surprise, there was still oil in the chamber. I headed toward what looked like an old kitchen in search of something to light the wick. I opened the drawers of a counter and rummaged through the utensils until I found a box of matches. It still held at least ten sticks, but the damp packaging made me doubt they’d work.

I struck one against the side—nothing. I tried several more. Most sparked faintly, some briefly flared, then died. Finally, one of the last matches burned just long enough to catch the lamp’s wick. With this new source of light, I stepped back into the street, now able to see much farther.

I continued up the path until a foul stench began to fill the air—one that grew stronger with every step, like the burning of rot in massive quantities. Up ahead, the road was interrupted by a crater in the ground. Steam rose from melted stone, as if acid had recently scorched it. The crater stretched forward, marking a trail—as if something large and heavy had dragged itself across the earth, leaving only devastation behind.

I kept walking. The pavement now bore holes shaped like reptilian footprints, though they were massive—closer to the size of an elephant’s. Each print released faint wisps of steam, proof they were recent.

The path ended at a colossal gate, its door torn from its hinges and lying flat on the ground. Beyond it lay a vast plaza. A row of dead streetlamps lined a barely visible trail. A few stone benches remained intact, though most were broken. But what truly stood out was the overgrown vegetation: bushes that had burst beyond their boundaries and trees whose roots had cracked through the ground, twisting the stone beneath them. The entire place looked like a cursed garden.

The stench was now unbearable. The mysterious footprints continued, leading toward a large fountain at the plaza’s center. I advanced with caution, until something caught my eye—and froze me in place.

On the far side of the fountain loomed a towering, amorphous silhouette—at least four meters tall.

I sharpened my ears and heard a deep breathing that echoed throughout the square.

I couldn’t move. All I could do was watch.

And then I saw it clearly: a massive, scaly beast. It walked on four legs, and from its neck sprouted dozens of tentacles, waving like a grotesque mane. Its body oozed a greenish liquid that, when it dripped onto the ground, released that same deathly stench that filled the air. But the most terrifying part was where its face should have been—instead, there was a giant black void that dilated and contracted with its breathing, as if inhaling the very darkness around it.

There was no doubt. I was staring at the Beast.

Fortunately, it didn’t seem to notice me. Its face-like cavity remained submerged in the fountain, drinking the inky liquid that swirled within. I crept slowly around to the far edge of the fountain and crouched behind one of its stone walls.

I peeked out carefully. The creature seemed distracted, focused on drinking the tainted water. I had to make use of that advantage.

I replayed Raphaelius’ words in my mind: he’d explained that deep within the Beast, the young man’s soul still slumbered. If I wanted to free him and restore his human form, I would have to awaken his spirit. To do that, I needed to approach the creature’s head and recite a sacred prayer meant to stir a dormant soul.

But how could I get close without being torn apart?

That was the question I needed to answer right then and there. If I died here, I wouldn’t be able to return to the Purgatory. And everything would be lost.

So I stayed hidden, watching. Waiting for the right moment.

Praying for a plan to come to me.