Hell was cold
The howling wind ripped
Tore life
Mangled Sound
The chipped ice bit deep
Bloody boils
Festering wounds
Cries of wracking pain hung
The burning frost air was ripe with them
A groan
The worms feasted
Rotting flesh full of maggots
Spiders laid their eggs
The skin blistered
Insects swarmed
A scream
It carried like a dove of light
Roaring as a great wyrm
Tingling senses
As the sound of iron torn in half
Pain
Unbearable
Undeniable
The flesh-eating pests were too much
But a moment
O for tranquility
Barely a whisper
Sweet peace
Then a bursting forth full of rage
Tearing a path down
To the Abyss

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