Nightmare Fuel

The last thing Gallus Ironfist Katogaur remembered were the vile eyes of the enemy warlock: two bloodshot-brown and two purple, unblinking. After that, nothing. After that, this prison.

It looked a bit like on the inside of a faceted glass, but he could not count the sides. Whenever he would turn, he would forget which side he faced before. And he doubted he even had a face anymore: no arms, legs, or torso appeared to the senses.

After some time, the top flicked open, and Gallus Ironfist began floating and flowing upwards, all tingly. Then the top closed: Gall Irnfit fell back. The last thing he remembered were the eyes of different colour.

The top slid open again. Then, again. Then, again. Then, lIrf coalesced at the bottom of the space. “What a funny place.” it thought, and that cognitive effort reduced it to just lrf. After that, it neither floated nor thought.

“Gotta light?” The cloaked man turned around and shook an empty cylinder. “Sorry mate, out of juice.” As the assailant’s fist connected with the man’s upper left eye, the cylinder fell out, rolled, and disappeared into the gutter.