Chapter 1: 1!!!

Tartarus was a hole. 

Taking root in the barren wastelands of the Farthest Land, there was no-one and nothing that knew about its sudden appearance, apart from the fact that it was humungous.

A vertical, polished cliff-face of over a kilometre; sunken into the environment like a sinkhole. The only means of transport was the pulley and the small base established on the northern front. Nothing else. An isolated and desolated patch of arid land, riddled with dust and dirt; a circle that lined the South Pole with a shade of orange amidst never-ending white. 25 years after the formation of Tartarus, the empire launched an expedition into the hole. 12 kilometres deep, they surveyed. 1985 was when they started to view the place as nature’s landfill. 

50 years after its creation, in 1995, the empire decided to dispose of its criminals. The most bloodthirsty, most heinous criminals that they couldn’t kill; the ones that they couldn’t make disappear. One by one, devoured by the darkness of Tartarus.

But what harassed the criminals most weren’t the guards patrolling the rim of the hole, nor was it the domineering pressure of the global united empire; it was the gatekeeper. 75 years ago, alongside tartarus, something else was brought along. Something very dangerous.

Although many have tried venturing into the depths of Tartarus, none have ever made it past the 400 meter mark. And it was because of that thing. 

Covered in a fog roughly a hundreds of meters in length, a lightless abyss dwells where gatekeeper resides.

He sits on a boat floating atop a sea of mist, his humanoid presence only lit by his eerie lantern hung from his bony wrists. Wearing a straw hat and a fisherman’s garb, he sits crosslegged, always waiting; a wretched existence called from all that meet him.

Soulless eyes that stare into your soul.

And a mouth reeked of rotten flesh.

The only problem was that with every criminal and object thrown, the fog level rises.

As of the year 2003. 1300 criminals thrown. 5091 tons of garbage. The fog level is 30 meters below the surface.

The northern camp is submerged. The gatekeeper no longer resides in his lightless abyss. He is visible from the edge of the cliff.

And every time he is seen, he stretches his elongated face and smiles.

—

12 kilometers.

That was how far one had to fall when they were ejected into the abyssal depths of Tartarus.

It roughly took 50 seconds to fall from one end of Tartarus to the other, although in the panic-induced hysteria that many endured while falling from such heights, one could mistake the length to be much longer.

2003 was the year he fell. March 31st was the day he fell. Whistling passed his ears before the gatekeeper swiftly approved of his disposal. 

He passed the fog submerged plains of air at around 5000 kilometres in. It was the drop in temperature that alerted the man in the yellow strait-jacket. Cold. Very cold. And the coin he grasped in the palm of his right hand was gone. An offering for the gatekeeper. The fog rises.

Being blind is a curious thing. Not many realise how the deprivation of senses affects an individual. How long until he reaches the ground? He did not know. All that he could rely on was his ears, and although the whistling in his ears was undoubtedly a tangible presence, it was also undoubtedly muffled. Gagged and bound, his tongue only tasted the pungent aroma of rope, and his nose the poignant taste of rubber.

Falling. Falling.

In a narcotic induced daze, those were the only two words that he could make muster. He was falling. He knew that but nothing else.

You are reading story I want to resurrect my cat! at novel35.com

Falling. Falling. - Then splat.

An unceremonious death. 

Blood splatters; the strait-jacket goes limp. A rock punctures its right foot. Blood seeps from the opening.

The man was dead.

But then he wakes, only seconds after his death. In a morbid display of showmanship, the blood retracts from the wound. The rugged patches of meat that lay strewn within the mess slowly but surely reorganises into a comprehensible lump of flesh; then it lived.

The torso came first, then the head. Two eyeballs, lips, then the nose. Hair. Brain. 

The man was alive again.

—

Cigarettes line the road like dotted flowers in a placid meadow. 

“Wake up.”

Buildings sunken into the ground like weathered trees.

“Ughhh…”

It would’ve be a sprawling metropolis, if not for the fact that the ground was strewn with decapitated heads, and that there was virtually no light; 12 kilometres underground made the place relatively hard to reach.

“Wake up.”

Memories returned quietly. Silently, like whispers on a desolate winter night.

A woman.

The first thing that registered was the smell; the smell of death that emanated from the concretes roads awash with red.

Forty odd bodies arranged in a spherical fashion, each decapitated in a spectacular manner. Heads on their laps, all illuminated by a flashlight held by the black-dressed woman in front of him.

"Wake up."

The man does not oblige. He does not meet the eyes of the woman who stares at him. He lowers his face, lying on the floor awash with blood as he closes his eyes and prays for the visions to pass.

And then with time, the woman leaves; leaving behind a trail of nothingness - as she was never there at all. 

You can find story with these keywords: I want to resurrect my cat!, Read I want to resurrect my cat!, I want to resurrect my cat! novel, I want to resurrect my cat! book, I want to resurrect my cat! story, I want to resurrect my cat! full, I want to resurrect my cat! Latest Chapter