The Great Explorations of Purgatory

Prologue
The purgatorial realm of Nova Gomorrah has been in existence for at least ten thousand years. When first created by the celestial powers, this immortal dimension was a place of natural beauty – a green, wooded valley set along a pristine blue river, with magnificent snow-peaked mountains on all sides.
In the valley’s centre sat a high tower of cold iron ascending into the clouds above. And at its summit was the Eye of God – a shining light which never faltered…a lasting reminder of the Almighty’s oversight over his lost souls.
Unfortunately, the original plan for his purgatory has long since gone to the wayside. What was once a green valley is now a vast conurbation of ugly grey tower blocks, built to accommodate an ever-growing number of new arrivals from the mortal plane.
Countless millions have passed through Nova Gomorrah since its creation, some remaining for centuries or even millennia. All will ultimately move on, their fates dependent on divine judgement. In the end, every soul will either ascend to heaven or descend to the fiery pits of hell. But what happens to the people of Nova Gomorrah in the interim?
Citizens, subjects, or slaves – whatever these souls are, they’re forced to live in a society built by men – humans with mortal mindsets but immortal bodies. In the dark city, a totalitarian regime rules supreme, with an appointed governor at the helm, and order maintained by the dreaded watchers.
And yes, Nova Gomorrah is a man-made entity, but God’s Eye remains constantly lit, as the Almighty observes all his trapped souls, seeing everything and always judging. But the Lord above isn’t the only deity with an interest in the dark city. Lucifer and his legions are never far away, as hell itself exists far below the city streets, connected by a vast labyrinth of deep tunnels and caves, where the occasional demonic entity attempts to infiltrate to the surface.
Millions have lived in this unintentional hellscape over the centuries, and all have their own unique stories. But some accounts stand out from the rest. Take the tragic saga of Fairley and Langston as an example. Both gentlemen were prominent explorers during the Victorian era – Fairley a knight of the British Empire, and Langston a journalist from the United States.
The pair famously met on the shores of Lake Victoria in 1871. Both were dead within the next few years, finding themselves in purgatory where they reunited on the streets of Nova Gomorrah. Fairley and Langston surely faced the same challenge as all souls who arrive in purgatory, particularly those who die unexpectedly and prematurely.
Few expect to end up in such a place, and the culture shock takes time to get used to. In some cases, new arrivals never adjust, and they lose all sense of identity and even their sanity. These so-called ‘crazies’ are considered beyond the pale. But most souls do adapt to their new environment or at least learn to tolerate their purgatorial existence.
The inevitable question is one of purpose. In the dark city, a man or woman cannot build an empire or start a family. One cannot even indulge in the simple pleasures of the mortal plane. Much effort is made by the government to keep the souls occupied – to provide employment, even when the jobs serve no useful function.
Many believe that they’ll be rewarded if they keep their heads down and work hard, thinking God will take notice and expediate their ascent to paradise. Some go beyond this however. Fairley and Langston believed they had a mission in life, and therefore they naturally assumed this divine purpose would extend to the afterlife.
The diaries of both explorers are shared here. The circumstances of how these journals came to be is not fully known, but no further expeditions have been attempted in the century and a half since the men’s mysterious disappearances.

The Diary of Sir Reginald Fairley, died 1872
As unusual as it may sound, my friendship with the American Henry Langston only truly blossomed after our mutual deaths. Our meeting on the mortal plane was well-publicised – a rendezvous on the shores of Lake Victorian in Eastern Africa during our respective expeditions of 1871.
Our first meeting was brief, and I had precious little opportunity to learn the man’s true character. Regardless, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the American’s industry and youthful energy. We went our separate ways after the rendezvous. But, as fate would have it, both Langston and I would be dead within two years – Langston from malaria, and myself from a native’s arrow to the heart.
As an English gentleman, I pride myself on being able to maintain my social position and dignity under whatever circumstances. Nevertheless, my rebirth in purgatory was both challenging and disturbing. I’ll confess to feeling both confused and angry once I discovered where the Lord had sent me following my demise.
Had I not been a good Christian soldier during my mortal life? Did I not dedicate myself to spreading the word of God to the darkest corners of the Earth? It would be easy to feel betrayed due to my situation. But I have had time to think since my arrival in Nova Gomorrah, and now I realise I’m being tested by the Almighty.
The so-called dark city is a grim and austere place with few charms. A thousand creeds and races inhabit this grey city of the dead, living in cramped poverty and uniform despair. Thankfully, this dire existence does not apply to men of good standing.
A solid social structure exists in Nova Gomorrah, with an aristocratic class centred around the nameless governor who rules from his pyramid-like palace in the shadow of the great tower. The governor, who by all accounts has been in power for several millennia, acts as something close to an absolute monarch. This comparison is not strictly accurate, because the governor is not the king of purgatory. He merely rules it in God’s stead and at his appointment.
Much is said about the Eye of God, set upon the vast tower of ugly iron. Entire cults have been constructed around the worship of the ever-glowing light. Some believe they can reach the summit and walk into the light, allowing their soul to cross over to the holy kingdom. I think not however. The answer to the riddle seems obvious to me. God’s Eye is a clear reminder that the Almighty is always watching.
Be that as it may, God is not concerned with the governance of Nova Gomorrah, and the governor relies on the watchers to keep order. Grim-faced Cossacks on horseback, the watchers wear jet black uniforms and wield sabres and carbines, crushing any hint of dissent with brutal efficiency.
Thankfully, our elevated position largely keeps us free from the watchers’ draconian enforcement. Nevertheless, privileges are few and far between in Nova Gomorrah. One of the few places we can attend for peace and comfort is Akio’s bar – a hidden establishment run by Japanese madam who has dwelt in purgatory since the times of the samurai.
The secret bar is the closest equivalent one can find to a private member’s club and so served as a suitable meeting place for two deceased explorers – the famous Langston and Fairley of Africa. Here we were joined by a third – Lord Jonathan Hastings, and acquittance of mine from merry old England.
Hastings died in Bombay in 1868, although his demise was likely due to his extravagant and self-indulgent lifestyle rather than any tropical adventures. In truth, Hastings was something of a cad in life, known in London society for his drinking, womanising, and for blowing much of his father’s fortune. Nevertheless, Hastings was still a gentleman, and it would have been rude to exclude him from our company.
We three – two Englishmen and an American – spent much of our time at Akio’s discussing the meaning of purgatory and how we could best serve God in the afterlife.
Langston’s thoughts on this subject were of great interest to me.
“We are explorers Fairley, are we not?” he exclaimed passionately, “That is our destiny, as directed by the Almighty. Surely it is our duty to continue our good work in this immortal realm?”
Hastings scoffed in contempt at this question. The late lord looked quite the character whilst sitting in his leather armchair, holding an unlit cigar and sipping from a glass he claimed contained brandy. Alas, such indulgences are of little use in purgatory, since alcohol and tobacco have no effect on our immortal bodies. But for Hastings they were simply props, material reminders of his mortal existence.
“What absolute tosh!” Hastings replied dismissively, “You gentlemen are here due to your galivanting through the darkest corners of Africa. Do you believe God meant for you both to die in those disease-ridden jungles? And besides, what is there to explore in this wretched place?”
Langston wasn’t discouraged by Hasting’s rebuke and responded with confidence.
“There are two theatres for exploration beyond the borders of the city.” he explained, “This valley is surrounded by a range of mountains that has never been successfully crossed in ten thousand years. And, below our feet, we know next to nothing of the tunnels and caverns of the underground, or the creatures which inhabit them.”
Langston paused briefly before continuing, shooting me a sly wink and a cheeky smile.
“Two theatres for two renowned explorers. What could be more perfect?”
I’ll admit to being greatly inspired by Langston’s proposal, but Hastings was there to burst our balloon.
“Madness!” he cried, “Absolute madness! These territories are not meant for men to transverse. To attempt so would be foolhardy and frankly reckless. Mark my words gentlemen, our best course of action is to remain in the city and do our bit to keep Nova Gomorrah running. We must remain patient and await our turn to ascend. This is God’s way.”
Not withstanding the hypocrisy of Hastings given his lack of morals in life, I couldn’t escape the feeling that he made a good point. I was torn between the two perspectives – my adventurous spirit leaning towards Langston, but my head telling me to listen to Hastings.
That night I walked the rain-swept streets of Nova Gomorrah alone, mulling over what seemed like an impossible choice. I looked up to God’s Eye, focussing on the distant white light and experiencing a moment of spiritual clarity.
Quietly, I prayed to the Almighty for a sign, so I might decide which path to take. That sign came the very next day, although the means by which it was delivered…well, frankly this was horrifying.
We were sitting at our usual table in Akio’s, continuing our animated debate on the afterlife. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until Hastings suddenly dropped his brandy glass, letting it smash into pieces on the bar-room floor. We looked to our companion with concern, nothing that his bloated face had turned beetroot red and his eyes were wide with terror.
Hastings seemed to see something we could not – an invisible demon with malicious intent. A moment later, he screamed bloody murder as the flames engulfed him – a spontaneous combustion which consumed his flesh and burnt him to ashes in an instant.
This was the first time I had witnessed a descent firsthand – a soul claimed by Lucifer and pulled down to his fiery domain. Hasting’s immolation was shocking and sickening, but the sign was clear. Our expeditions must proceed, as evidently this is God’s will.
Entry 1 – Departure
The governor agreed to authorise our respective expeditions. Frankly, we had expected more opposition from his office. But his permission comes without enthusiasm. It seems the governor has little interest in exploring the regions beyond his borders. Others have apparently ventured into the unknown in the years past, but none have returned.
Perhaps we’ve become a thorn in the governor’s side, and this is why he’s willing to let us go. In any event, our resources are limited, and clearly there will be no rescue if we don’t make it back.
Nevertheless, our spirits remain high. Both Langston and I have faced tough odds in the past, and we are confident of God’s protection.
Our respective paths were chosen by the toss of a coin. Langston will go up into the mountains, and I shall descend into the tunnels.
The send off was typically austere and drab. We stood on a rain-swept street under the governor’s palace, flanked by a company of armed watchers. No fanfare. No ceremony. Langston and I were left to share a firm handshake on the pavement, wishing each other good fortune before going our separate ways.
I’ll confess to having little experience of navigating subterranean caves and tunnels, but the party accompanying me are well versed. Callaghan is an Irish man who died during the rebellion of 1798. Perhaps he bears some bad will towards my country, but the former rebel has found a new profession in purgatory, having joined the notorious subterranean division of the sweeper guild – a company tasked with patrolling and guarding the upper levels of the tunnel network.
Naturally Callaghan is experienced in navigating the underground, although his orders are to escort us as far as the boundary and no further. My party is completed by a trio of Welsh miners – Morgan, Evans, and Davies. All died during a cave-in decades ago, but they haven’t forgotten their trade and are good men to have in a tight corner.
Our supplies include caving equipment, rope, oil lanterns, and firearms. Fortunately, there is no need to carry food or water, as sustenance is not necessary for the dead. However, Callaghan insists we need weapons – although I have my doubts whether the troglodyte demons he speaks of are in fact real.
One-by-one we climb down the ladder and descend into the darkness, feeling the stifling heat whilst an unpleasant odour hits our nostrils. May God protect us in this infernal territory.
Entry Two – The Upper Levels
Transversing this subterranean labyrinth is proving more challenging than I thought, even within this supposedly secure network of upper tunnels and drains. The intense heat and smell are difficult, although I am used to such conditions following my treks through the African jungle.
But what truly concerns me is the constant darkness and tight spaces, as we are forced to crawl through narrow gaps barely wide enough for a grown man to fit. Honestly, I feel jealous of Langston as I imagine he is enjoying the open air of the mountains in this moment. But it isn’t simply the unpleasant conditions which bother me.
There is something unnatural and unholy about this underground realm – a terrible foreboding, with potential threats around every corner. I didn’t believe Callaghan’s stories when we were safe on the surface, but now I’ve encountered one of his monsters in the flesh.
We heard a hellish screech echoing down the tight passageway ahead, raising our lamps to see a horrid creature darting toward us.
To my shame, I was frozen in that moment, unable to comprehend what my eyes were seeing. Luckily Callaghan was on hand, acting quickly by throwing a weighted net designed to capture the beast.
The creature was trapped but fought ferociously, screeching and tearing at the net. But Callaghan wasted no time before charging forward, using a club to mercilessly beat the trapped beast until it stopped struggling.
I used my lantern to illuminate the wounded creature, trying to control my fear as I observed its hideous features. The demon was the size of a dog but shaped like a spider, completed with eight long legs and a fat body covered in black fur. But worst of all was the face – almost human-like in its features, and with a spark of intelligence in the dark eyes.
Callaghan called the spider-like beast a ‘creeper’, explaining that many had infiltrated the upper levels in recent months. The creepers are not the most dangerous of demons in Callaghan’s estimation, but they can be nasty if not dealt with quickly, as a creeper’s venomous bite will cause paralysis.
The beast was badly hurt and unable to move, but Callaghan explained it could not die and would recover in time. We cast the monster a parting glance before moving on.
The mood of our party has darkened since the attack. Callaghan remains cautious but confident on his familiar turf, but the Welshmen are unsettled. I have pulled rank to maintain discipline and morale. But the truth is, I’m frightened.
Tonight I will silently pray in the darkness, asking God to give me strength to face the trials and tribulations to come.
Entry Three – The Gap
Disaster has struck our party. We have lost a man, and turning back is no longer an option. Callaghan escorted us to the edge of the upper levels, and thankfully we avoided any further creeper attacks, although we could still hear their distant wails echoing down the tunnels.
We reached a narrow cave leading down into the guts of the earth – so tight that we would need to crawl through one-by-one. Callaghan was very clear. He would not be following us into the cave. His orders were to bring us to this point and then return to the surface.
I was by no means confident about transversing the passageway and facing whatever monsters inhabited the far side. But I am the expedition leader and must lead by example. Therefore, I volunteered to cross over first, crawling through on my belly with an oil lamp lighting my path.
By God’s grace I made it through, experiencing an immense relief once I crawled out to the cavern beyond. The miners followed in my tracks, but tragedy hit whilst the trio were transversing the tight space. The passageway was unstable, and the cave collapsed without warning, sealing the passageway and trapping one of the men under the rocks.
Morgan was the miner who was trapped – his body crushed under the rocks. His companions did everything they could to free their friend, but we were unable to shift the boulders with the tools at our disposal. We could still hear Morgan’s pained cries from the other side. It is chilling to think he is trapped in that rocky coffin, where he won’t even have the relief of a quick death.
How long will Morgan’s torment continue for? Sadly, I cannot say. I have promised Evans and Davies that we’ll return to rescue their friend once our expedition is complete. I hope I can keep this promise. For now, we have no choice but to march forward into the darkness.
Entry Four – Uncharted Territory
Our situation has deteriorated, and we are in grave danger. I’m beginning to think I made a grave error by coming down here. We discovered the remains of a previous party soon after crossing over – rusty suits of armour and discarded swords which evoked images of a medieval crusade. But there were no bones or bodies, and we could only imagine what had happened to these doomed adventurers.
Clearly, this didn’t bode well for our expedition. The atmosphere is even more toxic in this uncharted network of tunnels due to the intense heat and foul odours. These elements combined are close to unbearable.
Furthermore, I’ve experienced a terrible foreboding over the last number of hours. I’m certain we’re being followed – stalked by a shadowy entity with malicious intent. I swear I’ve seen the dark shadow of the demon out of the corner of my eye. But when I turn around, the beast is gone.
My men are close to breaking point, and it is all I can do to keep our party together. God is testing me, and I pray I am worthy of his trust.

Entry Five – The Ledge
Davies and Evans have been taken, and now I am alone in this hell. We were walking a narrow ledge when the attack took place. Below us was a river of molten fire. We didn’t dare to look down for long and focussed on crossing the ridge, but the assault came from above.
Glancing up, I saw the trio of demons descending upon us – pale skinned beasts with jet black eyes and sharpened spikes where their hands should be. They used these appendages to clamber down the cave wall before leaping upon me and my companions.
Davies was the first to go, as a stalker impaled him through the chest before dragging his limb body upwards, back into the shadows. The second stalker came after me, charging along the ledge with a murderous glint in its black eyes.
Luckily, I was able to act quickly, pulling the pistol from my belt and shooting the beast in its chest. The stalker didn’t die from the gunshot – but it was wounded, snarling at me in fury before retreating.
I turned in time to see Evans struggling with the third beast. But, before I could intervene, the miner and the beast both tumbled over the edge, their bodies falling into the burning fire below.
I doomed these three men to a hellish fate by bringing them on this foolhardy expedition. For this, I will carry an immense guilt.
The stalkers are gone now, but the harbinger continues to hunt me through the darkness. I know he is close, toying with me before the inevitable confrontation.
Entry Six – The End
My time is short. My light is fading. The harbinger is waiting in the shadows, waiting for my light to diminish so he can strike and seize my soul. My strength is exhausted, my pistol empty… I cannot defeat this demon. And so, my doom is sealed.
I don’t know whether anyone will find this journal and read my words. It seems unlikely. I can only pray that no-one follows in my footsteps. Because God is absent from this place, and there is no way back for me.
The Journal of Henry Langston, died 1873
Entry One – Departure
Fairley’s departing words on that rainy city street were typical of an English aristocrat, polite but lacking in emotion. We shared a hardy handshake, wished each other good fortune, and went down our separate paths. I do hope we will meet again, although there is no point ignoring the obvious – our respective expeditions are both dangerous, and there are no guarantees of our safe return.
Honestly, I am happy with the result of our coin toss. I’ve no doubt Fairley’s expedition will be a fascinating adventure, but I always believed my destiny was to ascend into the mountains. This vast range isolates Nova Gomorrah. It has never been crossed, and no-one is sure what sits on the far side of those mighty peaks.
I have my theories however. If the dreary, depressing city of Nova Gomorrah is purgatory, then surely paradise can be found over the mountains. What better test for a man of God then to face the adversity and map a path to heaven?
The potential of this expedition is tremendous. If I can find and chart a passage, there is the prospect that others will make the crossing in the future. Through this method, I can save souls. But there is a long path to tread before I can claim this prize.
While Fairley and his companions descended beneath the city streets, my party faced a significant journey just to reach the foot of the mountains. I rode in a horse-drawn wagon along with my three man party. My companions are all Nepalese sherpas with experience of mountain trekking on the mortal plane. Their names are Krishna, Hari, and Deepak. There is a language barrier between us, but they understand enough English for us to communicate, and I’m told they are good and reliable men.
We were escorted through the streets by a squad of watcher hussars, led by a grizzled captain called Kruger. The watchers clearly have no enthusiasm for our mission. They’ve been ordered to bring us to the edge of the territory and no further.
The journey through the city was tense, but it did allow me to see Nova Gomorrah to its full extent. The purgatorial city is home to countless millions, with thousands more souls arriving every week. Under these circumstances, the government apparatus struggles to cope, and so the governor excuses the watchers’ draconian tactics.
The city’s buildings and houses are a mixture of styles from throughout history, with everything from Roman villas to Edwardian townhouses. But everywhere the streets are drab and grey, and the people downtrodden and seemingly without hope.
There were no crowds to see us off. No interest in our great expedition. I can only hope that our mission will ultimately bring light to their otherwise bleak and depressing existence.
Eventually we left the urban landscape behind, and I observed what little is left of the countryside that sits between the city and the mountains. Our convoy drove down dirt roads, passing farms where men carry out pointless tasks – ploughing fields and raising livestock. There is no requirement for food in purgatory, since we are all already dead and do not eat. These farmers are simply going through the motions, filling their days with the work they did in life.
After the cultivated land, we travelled through a forested area where deer and other wildlife still roam. Traditionally, the aristocratic class of Nova Gomorrah hunted in these woods – but such past times are becoming rare, as nature is rapidly destroyed and replaced with the grim urban hellscape.
We reached the mountains just before dusk, standing in awe underneath the vast towering peaks. I’ll admit to feeling apprehension in that moment – in awe at the immense scale of the task before us. But I fought back against my self-doubt, knowing that this expedition is my destiny.
The watchers left us with our climbing equipment, tents, kit, and ropes. We will camp in the foothills tonight and begin our climb at dawn. May God be with us.
Entry Two – The Ascent
The early days of our climb have met with mixed fortunes. Going has been tough – there’s no doubt about that. I’ve struggled to keep up the pace when compared to my three sherpa companions. As we left the foothills and ascended the mountain, the temperature dropped significantly and the weather deteriorated. The snow and sleet are constant, and the blizzard bombards us as we march.
And yet, for the first days of our climb, morale remained high. The views we enjoyed when the weather cleared were remarkable. I could see the whole city from my vantage point, even looking down upon the mighty Tower of Babel. God’s Eye was still visible however – and its white light inspired me to march on.
Spirits remained high amongst the men – that was until our horrendous discovery. Dusk was falling after a long and arduous day when we stumbled upon the remains of one of the rumoured previous expeditions.
Six men inside a lonely cave, their bodies frozen stiff and encased behind a wall of ice. Needless to say, this grim discovery did nothing for our morale and didn’t bode well for our mission. But the true horror came with closer inspection.
Because the frozen explorers were not dead. Their eyes were still moving underneath the ice – filled with pain and madness, but still able to follow our progress through their frozen tomb. None of our tools were sufficient to break through the heavy ice, and so we had no option but to leave them there.
My sherpas are unsettled, and it is up to me to keep up morale. Tomorrow we will climb Mount Ararat, the tallest peak in the range. We must find a path through. God commands it, and I will not fail him.
Entry Three – The Mountain
Hari left during the night. We woke up to find his tent abandoned. I am angered by his betrayal, but I need to keep my temper in check. Krishna and Deepak held whispered conversations in their own tongue throughout the day. I understood just a few words – talk of a curse and demons lurking in the snow.
We continue to climb in the miserable cold – the snow so severe that we can barely see six foot in front of us. I glance back over my shoulder occasionally, hoping that I can still spot the far distant Eye of God. But the holy light is no longer visible.
I did see something through the snow however. A dark shadow in the whiteness. A solitary figure who seems to be following us up the mountainside. I see the figure briefly in the corner of my eye, and then he disappears. Is this interloper a figment of my imagination? Am I losing my sanity?
I will pray tonight. Pray for the strength to go on.
Entry Four – Ambush
We thought our fortunes had changed for the better. The blizzard cleared during the morning, and for a time we were able to enjoy the magnificent views as we climbed.
After midday we negotiated a narrow ledge leading up the mountainside, securing ourselves with a safety rope as we went. Progress was slow and steady, and we would have made it…if not for the attack.
We spotted two figures marching up the adjacent slope – two men of huge stature. It is difficult to accurately confirm the size of these giants due to problems of scale, but I would estimate the duo were each twelve foot in height and well-built to boot, their muscular bodies covered in animal furs.
The giants were about fifty yards from us but thankfully there was a deep canyon separating us from them. They watched our progress with hostility in their dark eyes, like we were unwelcome intruders in their domain.
These weren’t men – I could see that now. I remembered my bible in that moment, recalling the Nephilim – the offspring of angels and mortals. These Nephilims were said to grew to huge stature and also enjoyed extended lifespans, living to well over one hundred. But the Nephilim still die, and perhaps these desolate mountains are where they go after death.
I didn’t have much time to consider my theory however, as the tense situation soon descended into violence.
We could only watch on in horror as one of the giants picked up a boulder from the side of the mountain, using his immense strength to lift the rock over his head and throw it across the void. Perhaps the throw was only meant as a warning shot, but the boulder struck hard, and the ledge behind us collapsed, taking Krishna with it.
We tried to save our companion and pull him to safety, but the rope snapped under the weight, and he fell screaming into the depths.
The giants surely could have finished us off with further missiles, but I guess they felt their point was made, as they turned their backs and marched up the mountain, leaving Deepak and I to continue along the ledge to relative safety.
The snows came again at dusk, heavier than ever. The giants have let us go, but the shadow man is still out there. I can feel his presence, and I am afraid.
Entry Five – The End
Deepak was gone by morning. I don’t believe he abandoned me. The sherpa’s tent was ripped open and there was a trail of blood in the snow. Something took him during the night.
I tried to continue on alone…by God I did! I persevered through the cold and snow up the mountainside in the slim hope I could make it to the other side. But the harbinger was stalking me the entire time – a black shadow in the whiteness, no longer even attempting to disguise his wicked intentions.
Something snapped in me today. I’d had enough of being hunted and so turned to face my assailant. Shouting in angry defiance, I stood and waited for the shadowy demon to emerge from the blizzard.
I didn’t know what to expect once I finally cast my eyes on the beast, but what emerged before me was beyond my wildest imagination. Because the demon had my face – a twisted and evil version, but still with my own recognisable features.
The vile doppelganger took me off guard, smiling sadistically as he cackled and mocked my presence. I screamed and stumbled backwards, falling over the edge and tumbling down the mountainside.
Now I lie helpless at the bottom of a deep ravine. Both my legs are broken and I can’t move. I’m in immense pain, and it’s so cold that I can barely write these words with my shaking hand.
This is the end for me – I know it. My expedition was doomed to failure from the beginning, and I never should have come to this frozen hellscape. May God forgive me and have mercy on my sinful soul.
Epilogue
The Tower of Babel has acted as the nexus of Nova Gomorrah since the city’s foundation. The Eye of God shines at its summit – a constant reminder of the deity’s oversight of this purgatorial realm. But the tower also acts as a logistical hub, as the Good Lord supplies all that’s required to keep the vast city running – right down to the concrete, cement, and bricks used to build the ever-expanding urban landscape.
It was in one such supply convoy that the respective journals of Langston and Fairley were discovered. How they’d got there is anyone’s guess, but the builders quickly determined the importance of the diaries and ensured that both books were sent directly to the governor’s palace.
And the message was clear as far as the governor was concerned. By returning the journals of the ill-fated explorers, the powers of heaven and hell were sending a clear communique.
The mountains surrounding Nova Gomorrah and the labyrinth beneath its streets are off limits. There is no escape from purgatory, at least not through these routes. Never again would the governor authorise expeditions into the forbidden realms, and the disastrous missions of Langston and Fairley will remain as a grim warning for all eternity.

_________

Credit: Mark Lynch

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Note from Author: This short story is a prequel to my novella The Cursed Border, now available for Kindle download.