Beginning of an undead existence

[Glados]

Nothing.

That was all she felt. All there was. Nothing. She awoke in the darkness of a coffin, but: nothing. She scratched away at wood until it gave way to dirt, which buried her, but: nothing. She just dug through it and rose from her grave, walked the Earth, saw trees and meadows, felt wind and rain, noticed her skin beginning to rot, but still: nothing. Until there was something: a need. Not exactly in her mind, which remained in nothingness, but somewhere else, deep at the bottom of her soul. A burning need that drove her to inflict pain. To kill. Soul after soul she tortured. Life after life she eradicated. Yet nothing filled the emptiness of her mind.

Then, suddenly, a touch. A jolt. Closely followed by fathomless pain. She screamed, her mind in flames, her whole body like a raw wound suddenly ripped open. Yet she welcomed the pain, because at the same time, she felt being lifted. Something yanked her away from that terrible nothingness that engulfed her mind, from the burning need that devoured her soul, from the slavery she was forced to submit to.

For a fleeting moment, she felt free.

Then madness came. She didn’t remember much of her old life, but she still felt what she had felt back then. And what she had become, what she had done as a slave of the Scourge, was so... contrary to all she had believed in, all she had stood for in life. She couldn’t cope with that. And so madness came.

But she didn’t want to submit to the next form of slavery, even if it was impressed upon her by her own mind. She clawed her way through the madness, fought for the freedom she had already felt. In that fight her mind touched magics and worlds no sane mind could ever touch, shadow and fel alike, and hooked into them in the hope of finding a way back through them. And finally she was successful. Left the madness behind, like she had left the nothingness behind, which meant: not completely. She could feel both of them grating on her mind. The Scourge, wanting her back. The madness, lurking behind both memories and fel magic. It was a constant fight to hold them off. But that didn’t matter. She had left both behind enough that she, for the first time since she crawled out from her grave, truly awoke.

With her new awareness came a wish. She wanted a name. Her time enslaved by the Scourge was over, but it had felt endless. And endlessly she had been nothing, had been a mindless toy. What had followed hadn’t really been better. The nothingness had just been replaced by a madness so raging it had felt like being mindless all over again. And all the time she had been just a nameless thing. Never again, she swore. Never again. She wanted, no: she needed a name.

She remembered next to nothing from her old life, her first life, and most of what she did remember she buried deep inside her, lest it lead her again to madness. But there were some memories that seemed harmless enough... such as liking sounds that flowed. The name itself didn’t matter, she conceded. But it did matter, to her, that she liked the sound of it. She would have to hear it from now on every time someone called out to her, after all. Would have to bear it.

What she also remembered was everything that had happened in her second, her undead life. Everything about the Scourge. Everything she had done. And she remembered the very beginning. Crawling out of her grave. Her eyes flitting across the stone that marked it. She remembered exactly how it looked like and what symbols it wore, without perceiving their meaning. There was nothing in her enslaved mind back then that would have been able to. But she remembered the sight, and it was there even now, clear as day, in her mind. And now, free of the Scourge and free of madness, she understood. Perceived the letters for what they were, the faded, in part vanished ones at the top, all the way down to the freshly hewn at the bottom. She couldn’t help realizing the meaning of these last ones – but she chose to ignore them. They represented a name that was given to her by someone else. Maybe not given like somebody would name a toy... but given nonetheless, without a choice on her part.

Even more important was: it was part of her old life. She didn’t mind a name that had a connection to her past, on the contrary, that thought had a certain appeal – but her old name, that meant clinging to something that was gone. Chafed away bit by bit to nothing in the time she had spent as a slave of the Scourge. Her old name would just serve as a reminder: to what she had lost, for even without acknowledging it she still felt that loss, and to what she had had to endure.

She wanted a new name, one she chose, thus showing, if only to herself, that she wasn’t anybody’s toy anymore, and that she was done with having no choice. She contemplated the letters she saw on that gravestone in her mind, forming names that belonged to her ancestors. Little did she care about them, but it seemed somehow appropriate using them to create something that was hers. She let them sink in, and after a while, something crystallized out of them. Something that flowed. Something she liked.

This was her new life. And her new name, she decided, was Selenya.

[Maesus]

I really like your style of writing :) I hope you keep it up, you've got a really nice story set up.

[Glados]

The thing about memories: they tend to creep back.

And so hers did as well. No matter how deep she buried them, no matter how hard she fought them, she couldn’t help them creeping back to the surface of her mind. It was a constant struggle to not give in to madness again every time they reared their ugly face in those first months of her new awareness. There were days she would spend just sitting somewhere, staring off into the distance, her mind drowning in memories and locked in an internal fight with madness.

“Why do you have to leave, mummy?” A small voice, very young and close to tears. “Aw honey.” Hers. And suddenly, a golden-haired girl in her arms. “I’ll have to help my prince save our people. But I’ll be back soon.” A kiss. Tears, so many tears. A desperate hug that feels as if it will never end. Another voice, male, in a whisper so low the girl wouldn’t hear. “You could choose to stay. So why DO you have to leave?” Looking up, in warm, loving eyes, filled with longing and fear and hurt. So much like their daughter’s. In her own: longing too. And guilt. But also: utter conviction. “Because I believe in him.”

And oh, did she believe. She remembered how proud she had been to have been chosen from the ranks of the Knights of the Silver Hand to be a part of her prince’s personal vanguard. She would have followed him anywhere. She did follow him anywhere, in his quest to save their home, their kingdom, their people. She followed him until she stood at the gates of a city well-known to her. She had been stationed there, with the local chapter of the Knights of the Silver Hand, back when she was a paladin in training. She had friends there, still. Friends that were doomed, along with the whole city, her prince told them. And she believed him, as did the others. They were devoted to him. Neither of them was listening to what her former Supreme Commander had to say.

She believed in her prince. And so she followed him through the gates and onto the streets of Stratholme.

Screams. Blood. Fire. Chaos in the streets. Scourge slaughtered by her blade. And humans, too. The right thing, all of them infected, too late for them. Words hammering in her mind, over and over and over again. Moving forward, engaging in battle after battle, clearing house after house. The right thing. Undead and living, sick and healthy, old and young alike. The right thing. Even children. The right thing... And then: a girl. Golden-haired. So fair. So young... as young as her own. Only the eyes not full of love, but terror. A moment of hesitation. Another blade striking. Blood spraying onto her.

And there it was, just like that: doubt. Already growing inside her it exploded in that very moment. She moved forward even then, numbly continuing to do what her prince would have her do. She didn’t even realize immediately what had happened. That she had doubts, serious doubts, if this was indeed the right thing to do, the right course of action – and what these doubts meant. She was too caught up in what was happening. There was a war raging on the streets, and she was still a trained knight. She had a duty. A mission. And there was enough Scourge. So she went looking for them, found a bunch of them in a back alley, and called upon the Light while charging into the midst of them.

Only the Light didn’t answer.

That was when realization hit. She had lost her faith. In her prince. In what they were doing. In the righteousness of her actions. And the Light had left her.

No Light. Just sword and shield, right in the middle. Cornered. No way out. Panic setting in, only reined in by training and experience. And then, a clear view. Only one path left. Fight. Fight with all you have. Fight until your last breath.

Scourge started to press in on her. She fought with all her strength, all her cunning, although she knew it wouldn’t be enough to get out alive. Not without the Light. What kept her going was the will to go down fighting, and taking as many of them with her as she possibly could. That’s what she swore herself to do in that moment, that’s what she yelled in their faces while killing one after another.

Suddenly, an energy. Strange. Powerful. The air crackling with it. A conjurer of some sort, with magic thick around him, almost visible. Their eyes, connecting. A fearful shudder in her body. A soft smile on his face. Scourge attacking again, fending them off, cutting them down, and still: knowing those eyes are locked onto her.

She knew that this meant nothing good for her, knew it in her heart and in her mind. She knew, too, that she stood no chance against that one. Not without the Light. Not weakened as she already was. Still she tried. Tried to reach him, to cut him down as well. She struggled and fought and knew it was futile, until she did break through – but only because he let her. She saw it, not so much because of the undead making way for her, but in his eyes. In the next moment, she felt herself being gripped by some invisible force. “Such resilience”, she heard him say. “Such willpower. I am looking forward to seeing you again on the other side.”

It took her the fraction of a moment to realize what he meant. Then she screamed. Screamed for the Light to return, to protect her, if not from dying, then at least from becoming one of those abominations, and resumed struggling against his grip. Only it was even more futile than before. His magic streamed into her body, infecting her even as she was begging for the Light to save her from that fate, and when he set her free again, undead by the dozens buried her beneath them, tearing and ripping and slashing. Even then, there was still some fight left in her. But that was overcome in mere moments by the sheer mass of them.

Soon her screams for the Light turned into wordless screams of pain and terror.

Until there were not even those anymore.