In The Heart Of The Abyss

“John.”

The voice drifted through the blackness like a ripple through still water—soft, disembodied, impossible to place. It wasn’t male or female, young or old. It simply was, echoing inside the hollow space where his consciousness floated.

“Your family is waiting.”

The words hit him like a gut punch. Anger… sorrow… guilt… longing… hope.
A storm of emotions surged at once, twisting together until he couldn’t tell one from another. His family. The only thing he ever wanted back.

Before he could reach for the voice, it struck again—this time thunderous, shaking whatever remained of him.

“RISE.”

---

His vision snapped back.

A ceiling—velvet red wood, polished until it nearly glowed—hovered above him in a room he didn’t recognize. His senses returned piece by piece. His arms. His legs. Fingers that twitched when he told them to.

He pushed himself upright slowly. A faint grunt escaped him as tight bandages stretched across his torso, pulled taut like a second skin. They constricted with every breath.

Annoyed, he hooked a nail under the nearest wrap and sliced it open effortlessly.

The bandages fell away in loose strips.

His chest was pale. Half his ribcage was visible, bone and sinew exposed yet somehow clean, almost sterile. He touched the jutting ribs. No pain. Only a deep, unpleasant pressure—like his body was remembering something he couldn’t feel anymore.

The door swung open.

A woman stepped inside wearing a bellhop uniform fit for some long-forgotten luxury hotel. Her skin was porcelain-pale, cheeks bright as painted dolls, lashes impossibly long. The smile she wore never stopped moving with her gestures.

A second woman followed behind. Grey skin, ash-like in tone. An eyepatch over her left eye. Arms crossed. The way she looked at him felt like a blade pressed to the throat.

“Oh! You’re awake!” the doll-faced woman chirped, her smile widening. “I was afraid we were losing you for a moment!”

John flexed his fingers again, relieved the motor control was still there. He rotated his arm experimentally, then began to slide off the bed.

The doll-woman’s eyes widened. She darted toward him.
“Hey—no, no, no! You are not healed yet! You need to stay down until your wounds finish regenerating!”

John shot her a glare but pushed himself upright anyway. His legs hit the floor—

—and immediately collapsed under him.

His muscles gave out like wet clay. He grabbed the bed frame in time to keep from hitting the ground, and the tiny woman ducked under his arm, bracing him with surprising strength.

“Like I said…” she grunted, pushing him back toward the mattress, “get in bed.”

He let his weight settle on the edge, breathing heavier than expected. When he looked down, he finally noticed the state of his legs: patches blown apart, shredded muscle, exposed bone along the thighs and calves. Some areas twitched as strands of tissue slowly knit themselves together.

He exhaled sharply.
“Where am I?”

The doll-woman’s face lit up. She spun back with arms stretched wide.

“You’re at the Happy Hotel! A rehabilitation hotel for demons seeking a second chance!”

John’s head snapped up.
“…Redemption?”