Through the dead tree a few miles into the woods, he could see a world burning. People ran shrieking, aflame and very much alive while he just stood there and watched, unsure if he could believe is eyes and unwilling to try and rationalise what he was witnessing.
He never told anybody about it, how could he? Who would believe that portals could exist, let alone be found in such an otherwise utterly unassuming place as a tree? For months he visited, trying to gleam some kind of answer from the people inside but none of them seemed to be able to hear him over their own screams.
It was as if there was a never-ending supply of victims for this world to burn and for a time he called it Hell. It became an object of fascination for him to such an extent that he set up camp there, falling asleep to the sounds of countless people burning alive, helpless to save themselves.
He never told anybody about it, how could he? Who would believe that portals could exist, let alone be found in such an otherwise utterly unassuming place as a tree? For months he visited, trying to gleam some kind of answer from the people inside but none of them seemed to be able to hear him over their own screams.
It was as if there was a never-ending supply of victims for this world to burn and for a time he called it Hell. It became an object of fascination for him to such an extent that he set up camp there, falling asleep to the sounds of countless people burning alive, helpless to save themselves.
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