Our hero’s mind was focused. He concentrated only on the rising heat of anger in his chest. They had been so close, damnit! So fucking close. He hated how much he had let himself hope and dream of pointless freedom. And now his friend, possibly the only one he’d ever had, was dead, and that was his fault. And he was back in fucking Tartarus. He scowled at his bound hands above him, eyes burning ire into the chains, almost as if trying to will himself free. He could feel the Darkness watching him. It didn’t say a word, almost as if weary of his quiet rage.

He worked his fingers and his toes, trying to relieve the tingling numbness. The numbness and the Darkness were threatening to envelope him and pull him back into helpless misery, but he wouldn’t let it. Not this time.

Fuck the Darkness.

And the numbness.

Fuck. This. Entire. Place.

Then a bright light blinded the corners of his eyes, slicing through the Darkness, and he welcomed it. The demons left the door open, as always, to illuminate their way to the hanging corpse.

“You’re back,” said the demon with the voice of smoke and whiskey. “It’s been a while. You were away the last few times we dropped by. It’s good to see you.”

The demon looked up to see that our hero’s eyes were latched onto him. Our hero’s breath was steady and calm.

The demon made a pensive face, taken aback by this audacity, “You want us to stay or- ”

“Stay.” Our hero didn’t hesitate. He was sure. He wanted the pain.

The demon stood in front of him and looked him over, studying the determined wrath simmering deep in the blackness of the prisoner’s eyes.

Our hero looked back. His defiant gaze never wavered.

“Hm,” the demon broke eye contact first, sucking on the insides of his cheeks. He licked his teeth and looked back, “That’s good that you can look at me like that... That’s real good... Hey, dipstick...”

The bent and crooked one peered up with a savage smile.

“Hand me the lid speculum, would you?”

“Hee-hee ho-ha! Didn’t see this coming…”

“Quiet.” The demon’s gruff voice was stern, but not angry.

The little metal speculum looked like a strange, wiry eyelash curler. He held it up for our hero to see. “Now, you make it through this without making a sound… I’ll let you off the hook.” His eyes glanced up the chains, and centered back onto our hero. The demon’s chin was raised, his eyes were narrow, but calm, seeking understanding. “Got it?”

“Do it.”

“Good. Let’s get started then.” He flexed the speculum in front of our hero’s face before placing his other hand over the hero’s brow, his thumb on his lower eyelid. He shifted his thumb down until our hero’s bloodshot eye was exposed and bulging. The demon put the speculum carefully on our hero’s eyelids, and our hero’s heart went from hammering to explosive as he felt the spring tension pulling apart his lids, keeping them from blinking. His eye was watering and drying out from the exposure.

“Hand me the Wescott scissors, the tiny scissors.”

The laughing demon handed him the scissors. He sang, “There was an old man in Thessaly, and he was wonderous wise. He jumped into a thornbush, and scratched out both his eyes. Hee-hee-heh! Ha!”

The gruff demon brought the scissors up to his eye.

The laughing demon continued his song, “And when he saw his eyes were out, he danced with might and main…”

Our hero felt the pressure of the sharp, cold metal in a place only the random stray eyelash had ventured before.

“Then he jumped into another bush…”

Our hero felt and heard the first snip and strangled the scream that nearly belted from his chest. Warm liquid streamed down his face, and his body began to tremble.

“...And scratched them in again,” the bent demon sang.

The gruff demon said, “Good. Four more cuts to make… on this eye.”

Our hero’s vision faded in and out until the last snip. Then there was only static.

Through his good eye, he saw a small metal scoop come towards the minced socket. The demon forced the scoop in, making squishing watery sounds as he went, and the pressure built up until there was a final pop.

With one hand holding the instrument and the other holding the back of our hero’s neck, the demon didn’t bother to catch it as the lumpy, slimy ball of tissue plopped onto the floor.

“There’s one.” The demon scooted it out of his workspace with the toe of his boot, lest he step on it. “One more.”

“He-he-he-he ha! He-he-he! Ho!”

“How you holdin’ up, kid? I’m going to remove the speculum. Don’t scream.” His voice was almost kind. He removed the speculum and the lids had nothing to close around.

Our hero threw his head around, trying to shake off the pain and the emptiness.

“Hey. Hey.” The demon grabbed his face and pulled it center. Our hero’s jaw chattered in agony within the demon’s hand. “One more. Just one more.” He patted our hero’s cheek, grabbed the back of his neck, and brought the speculum to his right eye.

Our hero began to struggle, and the demon held him tighter.

I can’t watch this anymore… said the Darkness.

“Then leave,” the gruff demon said. “Turn a blind eye…”

The bent and crooked demon laughed and laughed at the joke, and the gruff demon gave three sharp, but silent, chuckles of his own.

“Just one more,” the demon said, “and then it’s all over. You understand?” He shook our hero to get his attention. “You understand?”

Our hero nodded feverishly.

“Okay. Don’t make a sound. I want to get you off the hook, you understand? I want to help you. Not a peep.”

He pried apart our hero’s lids with the speculum.

***

Dream was late. He was late, and he felt sick. He should have been there. Not that it would have changed anything, but he should have been there for his best mate.

Our hero was curled up on the floor, body trembling.

Hypnos crouched down next to him.

“Hey, Mate, so, listen. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I’m really bad at telling time. That’s me other-half’s job. The old man did it right, though. You’re no longer bound to the bottle. You’re free! You just have to carry yourself the rest of the way. Too bad I can’t do much to help. Can’t afford to lose me head… but…” Dream pulled the spindle of thread and the needle from his pocket. He set them down on the floor next to the eyeless hero’s hand.

He didn’t move. His sockets weren’t black like that of the Fates. They were white tissue and pink with blood.

Hypnos nearly gagged, but swallowed it. He fell back to sit on the floor, his ankles crossed and his arms around his knees.

“The way of things is a fucking mystery to me.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit up. “Your magick belongs to you now, you know? From here, it will be easier for you to get out. Only a few find the way, some don’t recognize it when they do, some don’t ever want to. Just let your need guide your behavior. You’ll be out of here in no time. You’re about to wake up. I should go.” He stood and ashed his cigarette. “I’ll come find you when you get out, Mate. Promise.”

Hypnos vanished, and our hero began to stir. Upon waking, he had no idea where he was. His arms were free, but he still saw nothing but static. He sat up, and his hands flew to his face, knocking something over in the darkness. He heard the thing roll a short distance before stopping. His fingers began to explore the crust on his face as the memories started coming back, explaining his headache, and the soreness, and the sharp stinging in his… not eyes, but eye sockets. He tried to shake his head, to pull away from the feeling, but it was in his sinuses, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

Losing balance, he fell back on his side. Again, he hit something, which started to roll. Relying on his hearing, he reached out a blind hand, feeling for the object. When he found it, he inspected it with his fingers.

It was cylindrical and smooth on the top and bottom, with something soft wrapped around the middle. He felt a wooden bobbin, and its tail of thread had a needle secured at the end.

Our hero pricked himself upon its inspection. He thought about the threads of current within all things, between all things. He thought of the Sage and the sandstorm. He remembered a time when a charming man tried to destroy his lamp. Hell was not a metaphor. The mind is its own place, and you had to go in to get out, mate.

The vessel must have been destroyed. He must be stuck in the hell dimension on the other side, where his body had always remained, even when his astral self was off granting wishes in other worlds.

He had so much hope that when the damn bottle turned to dust, he’d be able to use his own magick, the magick the Sage and his people had taught him.

With thread in hand, he began crawling on the floor, his hands becoming powdery with ancient dust. His fingers outstretched, his palms out flat, he felt around for two things, smooth and sticky.

He didn’t care if it was unlikely. He had no room for unlikely.

He found rocks and dust, then blood and grime. He kept searching and probing until his unsteady hands found the first of the ravaged eyes. He rolled it around in his fingers to find which end had been the front and the back, the back having nerves, and veins, and muscles tendrilling off.

The outer layer made a pop as he jabbed the needle through the back of the eyeball. Like weaving a needle between the holes of a button, he twisted and pushed the needle back out, so that the deflated organ hung off the thread like a pearl. Then, he brought the needle to the empty socket, his chest racketing and his breath doing nothing to calm his heart. His too-big and clumsy fingers ran the needle through the slimy exposed muscle of the exposed socket.

His heels kicked in the dust as he popped the needle in and out of the back wall, pulling tighter and tighter, until the eye was just outside the socket. One hand held the ball steady, and the other hand pulled the thread and tightened the loop, until the eye was fitted and seated right back into its hole. Then, he let his heart and his breathing free to do whatever they needed to do to prepare for the next one.

That was just one eye. One more to go. It was almost over. Just one more.

He cut the needle free with the sharp edge of a broken tooth, and he repeated the whole harrowing process on his right eye, using the thread to secure the delicate organ back in its home.

With both eyes in place, he lay on the ground and focused on his breath. He remembered how the Sage’s tribe had preached that meditation was the foundation for art, clarity, and magick. He centered himself, and covered his eyes with his hands. He focused on the electrical waves the eyes sent to the brain, and how the brain translated those signals to see light, and color, and beauty, and emotions. He needed his eyes to do that again. He didn’t even have to change the pathways, he just had to reconnect them.

If he could make alternate realities and dynasties for others with only two simple words, I wish, he could do this for himself. He was free…

He focused on the heat rising in his chest. He had never had this feeling before the Sage’s ritual. The heat. There was fire inside of him. It was his soul.

The heat scorched his eyes from the inside, and he let out a scream as he rolled on the floor until the searing went away.

Gingerly, he moved his hands down away from his face, and blinking, discovered he could move his eyes around without pain.

He started to laugh with joy, and release, and power. Power. And then, he began to cry and sob between the fits of laughter as he rolled on the floor. He could feel his own soul, his own being, coursing through him. He was him, and he belonged to himself, and his entire body was embracing his soul like a lost twin brother.

Well somebody’s lost his mind. Can I join the party? the Darkness purred.

Our hero glared into the Darkness. It had seen him… naked, his emotions, his soul spread open and vulnerable. He was filled with shame. He wiped the tears from his face, and slowly stood.

He felt the rumble of the fire stirring in his chest. It was scorching him from the inside out. He clenched his jaw.

“Fuck you,” he said.

Getting feisty, huh? I like it when you fight back… the Darkness teased.

He moved the fire in his chest to the palm of his hand. It ignited like the tip of a match.

Where did you get that trick? the Darkness laughed nervously.

He smiled, all the power he had as a Jinni was now his. He took a sharp inhale and slowly released the rest of the fire building up inside, and the room was set ablaze.

The Darkness screamed as the room ignited, and flames licked its every shadow. In the brightness of the fire he could see the abyss hadn’t been that big. It was actually quite small. His eyes darted up the chains to where they were suspended from nothing.

He blinked. And the chains twisted as they fell and coiled on the dusty ground of what looked like a warehouse. The walls and floors were concrete, and pipes lined the ceiling.

He walked to the door on the far side of the room. He blew it open with a blink of his eyes, and the flames spilled out into the hallway of rolling carts. The sprinkler system clicked on as sirens and red lights overwhelmed his senses.

A voice rang over an intercom system. LOCK DOWN IN BLOCK C. PRISONER ESCAPED. LOCKDOWN IN BLOCK C. PRISONER-

Through the rain, smoke, and fire he saw his demons exiting a room down the hall from his door. His cell was at the corner of two adjacent halls. To his left, he saw the demons. When he peeked his head around the corner to his right, he saw that the hall was empty. That hall seemed to be the only means of escape, but he didn’t know if he could get far with his weakened bones.

Before he could make a move, the gruff demon began to walk towards him, waving to his counterpart to stay put. He was casual as usual, hands tucked into his pockets despite the circumstances. “Hm…” He looked up at the full height and newfound power coursing through this strange, yet familiar creature. He clucked his tongue as our hero’s ragged breath snorted down on him. The demon peered into the monster’s burning eyes. He slipped a metal instrument into our hero’s hand, and patted it gently. Our hero glanced down at the scalpel.

Three demons in suits, carrying metal sticks like cattle prongs, were assembling down at the other end of the hall.

The gruff demon smiled, “Here we go…”

Our hero nodded and took a deep breath. Gratitude and a million years of hatred for this personal demon of his, warred inside him in the space of that breath, and when he released it, his fist was clenched around the scalpel. He jammed it into the demon’s eye socket.

Magick was pulsing up his arm, sucking back the years that our hero had lost in that torture chamber. Despite the heat of the flaming hallway, the demon’s skin grew cold as his corpse turned to dust, like a million years had passed in the span of just a few seconds. Our hero felt the newly gained years giving him strength.

Half shocked, half relieved, coursing with newfound life and adrenaline, our hero dropped the scalpel and ran down the hall to his right, before the hordes of hell could catch up to him.