A Waste of Time-Chapter 1: Whispered Descent

Awakening to a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, Daemon felt a fierce wind whipping against his entire body.
“Ugh…” Daemon groggily cracked open his heavy eyelids after struggling for a while. The sight confirmed why the blade-like wind was so eager to slash at his exposed skin. Each gust felt like a thousand tiny razors — a chilling welcome to this nightmare.
Clouds to the left, right, behind, and below… practically everywhere.
Meanwhile, his body was plummeting toward its inevitable demise, thanks to bloody gravity.
W-What the fuck!
Daemon’s soul nearly left his body when a truck-sized, flaming piece of airplane wing whizzed past just meters away, trailed by sharp debris of all sorts of deadly shapes and speeds. The air shrieked with the descent of metal and fire — a symphony of destruction.
“Aaahh…” Just as Daemon twisted his neck to look up at the source — clearly somewhere above him — something jagged skewered his torso from behind, flipped him over, and dragged his impaled body downward.
Did I fart too hard in the bathroom? Did it mess up the air pressure and blast me out of the plane? Am I really the reason everyone’s going to die?
His final thoughts drifted absurdly through cause and effect until his eyes glazed over and cold crept through his limbs. He breathed his last. A final, ridiculous question marked his departure — a testament to his twisted humor, even at the edge of oblivion.
The whistling wind in his ears was his final memory before darkness swallowed him — yet the annoying sound kept ringing, as if whoever was supposed to press the
audio off
button never did.
On and on it went. Daemon had no way to measure time and was helpless to do anything.
Oddly, his senses blurred. The shrieking wind shifted into all sorts of bizarre melodies.
Maybe he’d grown used to it, or maybe it cut off while he drifted in a static daze. His chaotic thoughts stilled, and panic faded.
Suddenly, a shattering sense of loss jolted him. Daemon felt a part of himself being yanked away — then awareness returned as the mortifying sensation of falling resumed.
The darkness cracked open in the middle. Despite its tiny size compared to the abyss, that slit of light felt like a heavenly gate.
His ethereal vessel — which Daemon was sure was his soul — was now less than a speck of dust, drifting forward at a painfully slow, turtle-like crawl. Each inch felt like eternity through cosmic dust.
Yet with steady progress, he inched closer to the light. His approach sparked a swirl of emotions.
Excitement, relief, worry — a thousand colors lit up his mind as he squinted, trying to glimpse what lay beyond. Unfortunately, his soul vessel didn’t help much when he strained his imagined eyes. The light pulsed with some unknown promise, pulling him forward despite the uncertainty.
Finally — after who knows how long — he crossed the dark border and entered the domain of light.
Daemon was sure his speed surged the moment he arrived here.
It felt like his soul was being summoned — something, or
someone
, pulling him closer.
Beyond the layers of light — yet another curtain — Daemon saw a scatter of celestial bodies and galaxies across endless space. Nebulae swirled like cosmic paint. Stars shimmered with ancient, silent power.
Sadly, he didn’t have time to appreciate it. A strand of silver-white light caught him. Though delicate, its tug yanked him between galaxies at blinding speed, blurring his vision into streaks inside a tunnel.
Again, space-time lost all meaning. Before he could get his bearings, the silver-white strand loosened and snapped before his soul reached the tunnel’s end.
Gone were the galaxies and endless void. Now, scattered stars twinkled across the black canvas. Below him, at the center of this cosmic sphere, glowed a massive red sun and a smaller white moon.
Freed from the tunnel and the strand’s pull, his soul vessel still drifted toward the two celestial bodies.
Maybe it was his angle — or maybe the sun blocked his view — but when it shifted in its orbit, Daemon saw what they were really circling.
Is that… a bridge?
he thought, stunned. The broken bridge dwarfed the sun — colossal beyond belief. Its scale defied comprehension, a monument to an impossible feat.
One side stood intact, marked by enormous bronze gates engraved with fierce creatures and murals of battle. Even from this distance — and despite being nothing but a drifting soul — the sight stalled his thoughts and froze his essence. An ancient dread seeped into him, chilling him to the core.
Why do I feel like there’s still a war raging there? More importantly… What the fuck! Why am I here? Isn’t there supposed to be some eternal rest after death?
Daemon felt his sanity crack but didn’t dare stare at the gates any longer. Each question pounded at his mind, fracturing it more.
He forced his gaze beyond. The flat bridge stretched all the way to the other side — where a huge portion was missing.
Hmmm… Some kind of black flame is burning that edge! W-What’s that?
Focusing on the far side of the bridge, Daemon saw a scene that made him question reality itself.
Despite disbelief, he watched in awe as two massive pillars in the middle actually moved.
Squatting eternally, the black-and-white titans supported the broken bridge on their knees like a plank of wood. Their world-sized palms braced the underside — but four more arms unfolded from each back and reached for the sun and moon. The titans moved with slow, deliberate power that bent the cosmos to their will.
Their remaining arms stretched upward, plucking stars from the void, leaving darkness behind.
Extreme heat and bone-chilling cold gathered in four pairs of hands. Eight palms compressed their cosmic trophies, then slammed them against the wicked black flame devouring the bridge’s edge.
Daemon could only watch, lost for words, as a devilish snicker echoed the moment the black flame retreated — a low, guttural chuckle vibrating through the void.
A wave of weakness, helplessness, and exhaustion washed over him.
Compared to these god-like beings, he was nothing — a speck of dust. For the first time ever, Daemon questioned his own existence. The overwhelming power before him made him feel utterly insignificant — a mote drifting in an uncaring cosmos.
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