In the beginning, there was Nothing. Nothing was fine to be alone—for there to be only Darkness—a tremendous and everlasting void where it resided in the quiet stillness of eternity. But, as centuries dribbled on like the gentle flow of a quiet brook, the loneliness began to eat away at Nothing.

So, it produced its first beings. They had no definitive form, melting over the land and constructing new formations as they settled in their own individual places. They had no real thought, nor did they speak. They simply….existed.

These children, as precious as they were to it, did not soothe Nothing’s loneliness. Still, Nothing found itself thrilled at their ability to form mountains and valleys, flatlands and deserts. They became nourishment for the plants and the new life that a newborn sun shone down upon. But as more time passed, Nothing decided to try once more.

Its next creations took better shape, but they could not talk, nor could they feel emotions other than that of misery and failure that Nothing had unknowingly poured into them. They were intelligent to a degree, but Nothing came to an unfortunate realization that these creatures were embodiments of its own inner turmoil.

When Darkness was not present, these beings created their own by destroying all that exhibited light. They brought with them a deathly chill that sucked the warmth from the first children, leaving absolute carnage in their wake.

With a new ache unfamiliar to Nothing, it locked its second creations away, deep beneath their eldest siblings. Angered by their creator’s betrayal, the creatures became engulfed in rage and a desperate need for retribution. There, in the Darkness of their prison, Nothing’s second creations brewed for centuries.

That new, foreign ache weighed on Nothing for many decades. In an attempt to dispose of it, Nothing poured that feeling into the third of its creations along with the knowledge to overcome it. Much to its surprise, these were the creatures Nothing had wished for. They spread quickly like the first, were intelligent as the second, and—most importantly—these creatures could feel beyond that of negativity and chaos. They balanced the world and made Nothing feel more at ease with the warmth of their affection and compassion.

However, all did not remain tranquil. Gods from other worlds came upon Nothing’s surface. Jealous of its accomplishments and angry at the abominations they believed Nothing had produced, they sought to destroy it all.

Fearing for the lives of its precious children, Nothing did something it would live to regret for eternity. Having brewed for countless centuries in their prison, the second children were set upon the new gods and the helpless world above them. Despair saturated Nothing as everything it built was destroyed by its own children, but the foreign gods were not alone.

They brought forth their combatants, beings of Light and divinity. Each of the Gods’ warriors took varying shapes with strange yet powerful abilities. Some were of the likeness of man, sculpted as beings of perfection with wings of pure white. Others were spirits of divinity, taking the shape of creatures from nature. But one god brought forth a handful of only seven warriors of flame. The Phoenix that the god controlled decimated Darkness with both speed and accuracy. Within only a few decades—mere moments to the time Nothing had spent upon the surface—the rival gods had taken over the world Nothing had built. Few specs of Darkness surfaced here and there, and the gods realized that Nothing could not be destroyed entirely. Instead, they formed a contract.

Nothing would retreat to the underworld along with what remained of its precious children. They would be left to their own devices, in peace, though they would not be allowed to venture to the surface for any reason. With only more to lose, Nothing took the deal without hesitance, creating a sanctuary far beneath the crust of this damaged world.

Over time, the human race that the gods created and nourished came to call Nothing by many names. Satan, Hades, Pluto, Hel.…and his kind creations were spat upon, becoming known as Hell Hounds.

***

A young boy with golden blonde hair ran swiftly out of the nearby campsite, undetected by the adults in charge. A cheeky grin stretched across his face as he walked through dense spruce trees, munching on a bag of chips as he made his way towards a river that flowed not far off. His inquisitive amber eyes lit up as monarch butterflies hovered over bright yellow daisies, hungry for the nectar below. He swung an open hand, trying to catch one, unsurprised as his hand arched through empty air.

The sound of fast water drew closer, and the soil beneath the boy’s feet slowly turned to mush, the ground saturated in the river’s moisture. His mother would be angry should he ruin his new shoes, so the boy changed direction slightly, ensuring his feet remained dry.

It was only moments after he changed direction when the sound of something wildly splashing not far off caught his attention in the otherwise silent forest. Curiosity destroyed the child’s rationality as he crashed through the marshy grounds towards the sound.

Mud once avoided now halted his steps, sucking at his feet so that he struggled towards his destination. Still, his determination brought with it the ability to shake the muck and journey forward.

Using a large, protruding gray rock at the edge of the river’s bank, the boy climbed out of the mud, his eyes searching the swift current for the source of the noise. The splashing continued, but he realized it was further up the river, and it was accompanied by loud but gurgled coughing.

He knew not who, but someone was drowning.

The boy found himself overwhelmed with concern and a sense of foreboding as his heart rate sped ahead of him. His conscience drove him on, but there was more than that. Something told him that this person was important in one way or another. To him, to the world, he did not know. The sound and the feeling that came with it practically grabbed him, dragging him forward through the mud and rocks.

“I’m coming!” the boy cried out, in between pants, desperate for the other to await his seemingly slow arrival.

Chest aching and feet sore from being slammed onto rocks and ripped out of mud, the boy stopped, amber eyes screening the vicious river. His eyes widened, and his heart all but stopped as he saw a pale hand gripping onto the branch of a fallen pine. The black hair of the person beneath the water bobbed up and down, barely able to catch breaths.

The blonde boy rushed to the shredded trunk of the tree, clawing his way up the slippery bark and fighting to stay on top as he made his way down the length of it. Without hesitation, he plunged his hand into the icy water and gripped the wrist of the exposed hand. He gritted as the cold water numbed his fingers, and the current fought against him in taking the kid beneath farther down the river.

“C’mon! You gotta help me out, too,” he grunted as the black hair disappeared beneath the murky water once more.

Finally, a second hand—frigid as ice—broke the surface and grasped the blonde child’s forearm. He hissed as his foot slipped, barely catching himself and rooting himself once more onto the trunk between two broken branches. He pulled, using his footholds as leverage as the other kid’s much smaller body slowly crawled over the tree trunk. The kid—a boy now that the blonde could see clearly—coughed as his body shuddered violently from the cold.

The blonde child let go of the younger one’s hand and quickly grabbed the waistband of his soaking jeans, pulling him the rest of the way up the trunk. He wasted no time helping the younger one back to the bank. His eyes were sealed shut, black hair sticking to his face, and his lips were a dangerous shade of purplish-blue. His body shivered with a force that seemed to nearly knock the young child over. An odd sight of two strange stripes wrapped around the back of his neck ending at four points in the front beside his jugular. Wounds, perhaps?

The blonde shook as his heart ached. He needed to get this kid back to camp. His dad would be able to help.

The going was painfully hindered as the blonde called out for his father. The campsite was quite a ways off, but sound traveled far in the forest. Before long, the crashing sound of heavy feet barging through the trees was followed by a man with a slender but built body and light blonde hair. His golden-brown eyes behind circular glasses were trained on the more petite boy his son dragged on the ground, wide in surprise.

“Quick! Mary, go back and get the fire stoked! I’ll be right behind you, hurry!” the man barked, grabbing the boy from his son’s arms. “God, please help him,” he murmured a quick prayer as he grabbed his own child’s hand, swiftly leading him through the dense pines.

Smoke rose through the trees as the fire—the campsite with it—came into view. The man stripped the soaking boy of his drenched clothing, wrapping him in dry blankets. The teenage girl, another of his children, stood by, watching with anxious eyes.

“Mark, get some warm water and mix it with the hot cocoa powder from last night. Emma, grab that chair and let it get some warmth from the fire. Don’t put it too close! Mary, if you can help me rub his chest. He’s breathing still, so I don’t think he needs CPR at the moment,” he issued orders quickly, and his children and wife obeyed without delay. Emergencies were their forte, after all.

Inexperienced and far too young to be of any help, the blonde child could only watch on as his heart hammered with worry. Minutes seemed to turn to hours before the black-haired boy finally vomited the water residing within his lungs and his stomach. The amount was terrifying, and the knowledge that it could have been too late would forever be ingrained in the blonde child’s memory.

Finally, the younger kid began settling down in the warmed camping chair that the older man had set him in. His breathing was ragged but regular as the blonde boy made his way towards him, looking at him with worry. Long lashes twitched and opened to reveal dull, coal-black eyes. To the blonde-haired boy, they were entrancing, their calm pools dragging him beneath their surface.

“Give him some space, son,” the man said, gently pulling the boy away. “He’s going to be okay. I’m going to take him to the hospital in a few minutes to get a full evaluation. But he’s safe for the time being. You did well today.”

Usually, the child beamed at his father’s praise. But he barely acknowledged it as his amber eyes remained locked with those coal-black ones, pulling him into their depths.