Ashlath the Fiend

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Ashlath the Fiend by Ashlath

Book of Fours

The Final

I am Ashlath the Four Fold Fiend. Long have I spent my mortal days practising the mental arts of philosophy, religion, history and the arcane sciences and yet I remained empty within never having found my salvation, my desires, my wishes my destiny.

Trapped in a logic puzzle for ages I have been unable to solve the riddles of existence. Doomed to repeat myself my life has been cut off at the fourth stage. Birth to adulthood to old age I have been denied the fourth experience of death.

Four is the number of my destiny, four limbs, four segments to my mind, four victims, four attempts at success to four failures.

But alas I have found a way to escape. I have found a way to leave my wretched existence... in four days.

Four jars sit on my work desk surrounded by four chairs. I shift from one to another at times, if feels wrong to just use one of them.

I have used the bottom four ribs from a set of quadruplet born children to create my tools. One knife, one fork, one clamp and one scooper. Four tools to break myself from this life.

Separating my skull I remove the segments of my mind and place each within stone jars made of volcanic obsidian. These tools serve me well, how smooth they feel in my hands. Sealing the jars with wax I turn the lid four times so that the electric blue fluids do not spoil, my minds float in the preservation canisters as I pace around the table four times clockwise.

This is it, this is it, this is it, this is it. Four times four times four times four Two hundred and fifty six years to the day.

There, now I lay on the floor, each hand pointing to a polar co-ordinate, how amusing. There, my Ba is separating from my Ka. Two parts of the soul trying to reach their respected destinations. My fading eyesight lets me see the jars on my table, the symbols carved into the black stone. Have I fallen on my pentagram?