In Hell
On the horizon, smoke rises from the remains of a ruined kingdom. He is here to confront aspects of himself which he has kept buried deep within his newly recovered past.
A virile Iason returns home, fresh from the arms of his former mistress and an epic act of treason (with a touch of blasphemy thrown in for good measure). He spots his beloved wife near their humble home. His darling, young girls are nearby. They have obviously seen the distant commotion and are relieved by their loyal patriarch's unlikely homecoming. He approaches them exuberantly, regarding the world with a clarity only reserved for those recently relieved of the burden of sanity. He draws closer.
Our deranged hero is abruptly tackled by a more contemporary version of himself. Sporting a full beard and having lost approximately 10 kilos, a more familiar (and shabby) Jason Blood begins to throttle his ancient counterpart.
"You could've stopped at any point", he rasps and pulls back to strike a blow. "You had over a dozen of opportunities."
"I was possessed. It wasn't my fault." His opponent meekly protests. "You can't blame me for Merlin's handiwork."
"And the numerous sins leading up to that point?! If you hadn't slaughtered them, the Witch would have!" He grips Iason's jaw firmly and through gritted teeth seethes, "Even afterwards, you weren't completely lost. There was a sliver of you- us- in there when you..."
Iason manages a cruel smirk, "I give up. You are to blame. For every bit of it." Iason, his former home, and the smoldering landscape disappear quickly.
In the vast abyss of the Pit, stands Jason Blood, the blood of innocents staining his hands.
A virile Iason returns home, fresh from the arms of his former mistress and an epic act of treason (with a touch of blasphemy thrown in for good measure). He spots his beloved wife near their humble home. His darling, young girls are nearby. They have obviously seen the distant commotion and are relieved by their loyal patriarch's unlikely homecoming. He approaches them exuberantly, regarding the world with a clarity only reserved for those recently relieved of the burden of sanity. He draws closer.
Our deranged hero is abruptly tackled by a more contemporary version of himself. Sporting a full beard and having lost approximately 10 kilos, a more familiar (and shabby) Jason Blood begins to throttle his ancient counterpart.
"You could've stopped at any point", he rasps and pulls back to strike a blow. "You had over a dozen of opportunities."
"I was possessed. It wasn't my fault." His opponent meekly protests. "You can't blame me for Merlin's handiwork."
"And the numerous sins leading up to that point?! If you hadn't slaughtered them, the Witch would have!" He grips Iason's jaw firmly and through gritted teeth seethes, "Even afterwards, you weren't completely lost. There was a sliver of you- us- in there when you..."
Iason manages a cruel smirk, "I give up. You are to blame. For every bit of it." Iason, his former home, and the smoldering landscape disappear quickly.
In the vast abyss of the Pit, stands Jason Blood, the blood of innocents staining his hands.