I posted this story a while ago, but now it's edited. Thanks for readin'!
A lone man lies on the ground, straining to keep alive. It is so cold that his blood has nearly stopped flowing. Each pump of his heart, every valve in his veins, every contraction of his lungs to take in air is forced out of the deepest realm of his soul. For years he has been here, struggling to survive, lying on the ground, hoping that he might be able to survive for just a few more seconds. Time is running out for him; the storm has come.
Snow falls from the highest point of the sky all the way down to the cold, hard ground where the snow sticks hard. It has already nearly covered the man as a cold sheet of white. Such harsh conditions bring him to the brink of sanity.
The man can feel life leaving him. Every last drop of moisture is precious to his body, and his mouth is so cold that the snow doesn't melt once it enters. The weather nearly suffocates him, the snow seeping into his body through whatever dehydrated cracks it can find. His thoughts are the only thing that keep him what may be considered alive in a twisted man's mind.
I must move. Every muscle in his body is frozen, as hard to move as a locked door. He can't feel anything, and his only way of judging his movement is by seeing it. Most of his body is covered by snow, save a few fingers on each hand, half of one leg, and his face. The first finger on his right hand is normally the easiest to move, so he starts there. He forces the signal from his brain past the nerve synapses down to the tip of his finger, only to see nothing happen. Hours pass before he is able to try again. Once more, he forces himself to think, to focus on one thing, to move just the tip of the first finger on his right hand. Once more, nothing happens. The snow stops.
Days pass. Every so often, he makes an attempt at just the smallest movement. Life would have left him long ago if he didn't have the will of an Immortal.
Weeks pass. A few small amounts of snow melt off of him. The warmth gives him the strength to stay alive for just one more hour, one more day at a time.
Months pass. Still, he lies in the snow, gathering the strength for just one movement. Still, he fails at every attempt.
A year passes. A single year, after all these others, yet this year is different. This year he becomes stronger and more alive. This year he moves.
He moves the tip of his finger. His only confirmation of this is not because he feels it, but because he sees it with his own eyes. His eyes, however, are not the only ones watching.
"You moved," a voice says from behind. "You have finally moved." The voice is like a thousand rocks tumbling down a volcano through molten lava. It's the voice of pure evil that kills any normal man who hears it. It's the voice of Death escaped from Hell.
The man in the snow tries to speak, but can't move his jaw.
"Don't try. I can hear your thoughts. You can still think, can't you?"
You've been waiting.
The voice comes from behind the man, and steps in front of him. All the man sees is a cloak several feet tall, a hood covering the top. Where the voice walks, snow melts into a thick black mud. "I have better things to do. One of my Guardians has been watching you." The man sees a fire-shrouded demon behind the voice. The sight sears pain into his mind. The Guardian leaves. "Oddly enough, I want to keep you alive."
"Don't tempt me."
Why are you here? Why have you been watching me? Every thought is an enormous effort for the man. The voice enjoys watching him.
"You aren't able to writhe in pain anymore. Even the weakest worm is more powerful than you now."
Now. I will gain strength as time goes on.
"And how much time before how many more worlds die? How many more universes will fall before you rise? You can do nothing now. The only reason I let you live is to watch you suffer."
Why? You will never finish. Why kill?
"Simply to watch you suffer. With each soul I gain, you lose one. That's what matters to me, knowing that I can make you feel pain."
The voice will go on to steal an infinite amount of souls. There will always be more, but each one matters to the man. He realizes what he must do. If I die, you will have no reason to go on. You will stop.
"No!" Fire burns sight from the man's eyes as suddenly he feels pain such as he could never have imagined over the past years. He hears the screams of all the souls who have ever stepped foot here. Maggots weave in out of his skin all over his body as he still thinks how to stay alive. Fire covers his body as a blanket of burns and blisters. All he can feel is pain until he finally enters his body once more after centuries of waiting.
"You cannot die now. You must live in order to feel the suffering that I will cause...forever."
All the man sees is white. He can feel every part of his body. He moves his toes and fingers, his arms and legs, and finally his head. He stands up, and feels the warmth of a hot sun.
The voice is gone, and infinity goes on.