He was falling, the air slapping against his face—each second the force grew stronger. A strange calm settled over him; there was nothing he could change now. Soon his body began to spin, the wind whipping harder, wrapping him in its fury. He could almost taste the cement waiting below.
Then—silence. The rush vanished. The air stilled. He was standing, eyes shut. He felt the floor under his boots. It was wood. He wasn't expecting wood....or was he?.
He couldn't recall. He opened his eye lids, the area was too bright— he needed time for his eyes to get used to it. He walked around a bit, waiting for his eyes to finally adapt.
The place smelled of old pages and damp wood, he could hear pages flipping above him. He grabbed onto a wall to his side—as he grabbed he found out it was a shelf; it was a shelf with quite large books, bigger than his own arms. His eyes finally adjusted to the lights.
He expected a library—what he finally saw was much more than he'd ever imagined.
He finally looked at the shelf he was grabbing for balance. That shelf was huge, it went so high up. The only reason you could even see in the library was because of a light coming from the top. The shelves extended even past them.
"What the actual fuck is this place" He gulped.
He walked for a bit more. Trying to figure out where he was—he memories were just fog, he could recall elementary stuff—anything relating to him was burned away, or under a lock. He kept trudging forward trying to get an idea of this liminal space, He could only remember the feelingn of his hitting against his body and him—in turn— spinning around.
Then he saw them—two orange irises burning in the dark. At least seven feet off the ground. Unblinking. Locked on him.
He fumbled back, almost tripping. He started walking backwards—twists his whole body behind him and started sprinting.
He didn't know why he was afraid but he ran as fast as he could. If he stopped that thing would grab hold of him. He couldn't let it.
Run. Run. Run. Alarms screamed in his skull. A honeyed voice was saying something behind him, he looked, still running, the eyes had now stepped into light it was a large figure a man dressed in such elegant clothing, from how far he was to him he could make out a black shirt tucked in making a triangle of his upper body, sharp trousers tapering into black pointed shoes—jewelry gleaming across his frame. His face looked almost cartoonish, though Oscar couldn't place which one.
But the figure was not human no matter how much his body resembled one, his face matched with white flowing hair, his eyes were of a feline. A tiger is what first comes to mind.
Then as he was looking the figure dissolved into smoke. Chains rattled through the library, the sound stabbing into him like needles. He clutched his ears, knees buckling, every muscle seizing under the noise.
The figure then appeared in front of him and looked at the man in pain, it had a slight grin plastered on its spotless skin.
He held his right hand up.
Snap. The sound died out—replaced by the figure's dry laughter.
"Sorry my friend, I forget how fragile those weak ears actually are." He pulled the man from the wooden floor up." If i did everything right" he mumbled "your name's oscar?"
Oscar standing with the help of the figure, head still numb from the sounds of those chains.
The figure repeated itself, asking Oscar if he had the right name, Oscar puzzled for a second trying to find his own name in his mind.
"Yeah" murmuring "I think so"
"You think so? How does one have to think about their own name?"
"Yeah,no i dont that is my name" Oscar answered in a more serious tone.
Then he looked at the figure once more, and remembered the fact he was running from him.
He started—slowly—walking backwards, trying to make a healthy distance between the two.
"No need to be frightened my friend" He said pointing towards Oscar with his left index finger.
"Says the 7 foot giant with eyes of a tiger" He had no idea where this confidence came from, to a person who could probably smite him from existence just because he felt like it.
The figure gave a sour laugh at the comment.
"I feel as though introductions are in order," the figure asked. "Since I already know your name I shall give you mine, I don't particularly have an actual name." He eyed Oscar."And I'm sure you're abhorrent at giving names, so you can just call me The Archivist."
"You're probably right, The Archivist it is!" Oscar exclaimed.
" Now explain to me where am i?" Oscar asked, he was a but more calmer then before but still vary of this "archivist".
"You my dear friend are in a place called The in-between!"
"The in-between?"
"The place where worlds are written, each huge book you see here is a world on ink"
Oscar was still processing all the Archivist said.
"Now I know what you might ask next, why are you here? Did my arrow strike?"
The archivist asked—making a bow with his arms— and a glee to his eyes, he acted as though someone in theater would. Each one of his movements, each word was exaggerated.
"It struck alright" Oscar responded. Already tired of the theatrics.
"Haha" The archivist laughed from his belly. "I brought you here."
Oscar just stared, dead eyes. He didn't know what to feel.
"I was expecting some sort of retort or reaction.." The archivist comments with a fake smile, raising his right brow at the same time.
Oscar shook his head hard. "Why did you bring me here?."
The archivist thought for a second too long before responding "You're a um righteous man you see" stretching the word righteous as he spoke.
"Or better word would be strong willed" murmuring to himself.
"I see, but what do you need a strong willed person for?."
"I needed help.." the Archivist said with a sour expression to his face.
" You should really just explain everything at once you know?" Oscar was getting annoyed by this dragging conversation.
"Sure" Oscar had struck a nerve in the tall man.
" Infact why dont i just show you?" the archivist said in a low voice, like a threat.
His neck twists, his face turns upside down, eyes get brighter, his smile extends beyond what should be possible,smoke consumes both. Oscar's head starts spinning, his body starts to buckle and bend, his bones feel like they're about to crack, his jaw almost comes loose and he loses consciousness just like that.
Oscar jolted awake. The shelves ended 6 feet away from where he was lying—forming a circle at the center. In the heart of it was a table and behind it stood the archivist.
It looked like an editorial, and out of nowhere seven books appeared around the Archivist, chain striking his body.
And he just stands there expressionless—staring into Oscar's soul.
Oscar could finally make out what the archivist looked like from their positions now, he saw the clothing was just as he saw when running—his silhouette ever the clearer the triangular torso and trousers pressed to a knifes edge. His neck was draped in silver chains, each bearing a symbol oscar couldn't quite catch. The darkness of his clothes broke from the golden accented belt across his waist, another chain hung loosely next to his hip. His skin was pale—almost glowig at each light, his hair a spill of moonlit white, untamed but in a tastefull manner.
He looked the epitome of composure, And that composure made oscar tread carefully.
"You see Oscar" The Archivist answers
"What is this?"
"These are my chains, the ones that bind me here. I can't cut them or burn them. This place was turned into my purgatory."
"Why though? what did you do to deserve this entrapment?" The word 'entrapment' came out of nowhere in Oscar's mouth, but suited the situation quite well. The Archivist was entrapped in this place.
"I resisted, that's why. More than that is of no use to you"
Oscar thought the same, This entire situation was beyond him.
"Each of these books is also a world" The archivist explained.
"Each of those worlds is ruled by a cardinal sin. I could crush them easily—if I could reach them. But the books are sealed. A lock with the keyhole inside. From out here, I can't touch them. From there? Someone like you could. You see where I'm going with this, don't you?"
"You want me to go inside these books and open the lock"
"Exactly my friend, Your job is to defeat these sins that torture these pages and break my chains. Once done you can be sent back to your own world. The spell i casted to summon you can't be detected by the sins nor their placers, so it's the perfect plan! You go in each book, kill the sins and free me and I will send you back!"
The archivist's smile was getting more and more demonic as he talked, it wasn't helping with his case to Oscar.
"How do I know you don't deserve this? How do I know you aren't a monster beyond comprehension and whoever 'they' are sealed you here because you're a threat?"
The Archivist started laughing more and more.
" If I were truly a monster do you not feel I would be trapped with angels? Or killed as soon as they found out how to trap me? Your questions are reasonable but trust me Oscar I am no enemy here" the archivist said with a raspy tone.
"What if I don't help you? I have no reason to"
"Then you'll wander these halls till you're just a bunch of bones and i then summon another person to help me"
The Archivist responded without a moment's hesitation, as if he was preparing to say that.
"How am i supposed to defeat THE cardinal sins??"
"You'll have to figure that out yourself"
"And if i die"
"I find someone else"
Oscar thought a bit more, this library didn't have anything edible. The Archivist didn't seem like he needed any sustenance. His only option was to help.
"Okay, I'll help. Not like I can do anything else now."
"Brilliant" he said in a slithery tone.
"One more thing, if you send me in those worlds could you not do what you did before? I felt my bones breaking"
"Of course I'll me more mindful of that, and you just have to grab a book and open it to enter. I can't send you in them"
Oscar went to the nearest book to him. It's cover had a hint of grey to it. The title was in a script he couldn't read. He hesitated for just a moment before ripping the book open—blinding light swallowed him whole. His body dissolved—flesh and bones all.
And from the other side of his table The Archivist saw oscar dissapear into the book, his lips curled into a satisfied smile.