The man found himself at the bottom of a cliff which stretched to unseeable heights. This single cliff reached sideward as far as the eye could see and at it's bottom consisted of harsh black rock, burnt and warped as a result of the intense heat of the constantly burning flames that roared in this region. As the cliff grew taller this burnt slate gave way to a glassy rock, which reflected the flames as well as the horrible things lurking within. The skies churned a bloody red color, and black clouds lingered above. The only light was that cast by the flames, which cast manic shadows dancing along the rocks.

The man took no time to consider any option. He had been here far longer than he could remember and the cliff had always been here, more tempting than the most seductive woman. To stay was to bed with the monsters of nightmare. The cliff was the only road to possible freedom.

He reached his hand out slowly, as though he were scared of being caught. He noticed the cliff had many handholds, which added to it's undeniable appeal. His palm pressed against the rock and mad heat seared his palm. Reflex took over and he jerked his hand away.

"To be expected..." He muttered. He reached out once more, expecting the pain this time. He grabbed a handhold a few feet above his head, and hoisted himself up, trying to block out the roasting of his hand and the scent of his burning flesh clogging his nostrils. He grabbed another handhold, making first contact with the left hand. He pulled himself up farther and set his right foot upon the rocks. He felt the pain coursing throughout his body. It took his every effort and will to not scream out with the agony. Small tears gathered in his eyes, and spilled over the lid. They fell off his face and sputtered onto his feet, where they disappeared with a hiss. Drops of sweat escaped from his forehead and rolled into his eyes, adding to the stinging pain he felt all over his body.

So he continued on like this. In time he came to the last of the burnt rocks, and found himself at the beginning of the glossy ones he had glimpsed earlier. He reached one hand up, exhibiting some paranoia, expecting some trick. He lightly tapped the rocks, and found it to be of a much cooler temperature. The man sighed happily and grabbed the next handhold with a relieved smile

Sudden sharp pain rushed through his hand. The man tore his hand away from the rock, and looked at it in shock. The rock was sharp, and had torn his hand with ease. Blood rushed from the cut angrily.

"I have no choice." The man said to himself. Once more he grabbed the handhold, bearing the pain of the cuts. He found the blood acting as a lubricant on the already slick rocks, and he barely kept his grip. His hands had been turned to bloody raw mitts, and his feet had been treated to the same punishment. He kept moving on, screaming in pain with each new movement. The blinding trauma nearly ruining him.

"I keep on like this...I'll lose my sanity before I reach the top." The man gasped to himself. But still he held no wish to turn back. To return to that hell would make this pain infintisemal, especially when the great beasts saw what he had tried. They would laugh with their filed ivory fangs and flay him with their dull blades.

He broke out of his reverie hours later. His hands and feet were slabs of raw meat, and he grimaced at the sight of them. He remembered they were once manicured and cared for. The fingers remained intact, and he still had full control of them, but the deep pain emanating from them seemed unbearable. He scanned the rocks above him in hopes of glimpsing the end, and instead noticed the next segment was within sight. He had perhaps twenty more feet to scale. He pulled himself up with agonizing care. If he slipped now, everything would be lost.

He reached the next segment of the cliff twenty minutes later. He was sure this next area would be more painful than the last. It stretched up for hundreds of yards, and was covered with brambles so thick the rocks underneath were hidden. He would have to climb the brambles. His hand gripped the thorny vine and protested madly. Disregarding their screams, he pulled himself upwards, scratching his chest on the thorns. The cuts caught deep and blood flowed from them in rivulets. They streamed down his body, dripping off his already mutilated feet.

He carried on, braving his way through the cuts which began appearing all over the front of his body. The pain was renewed every time he breathed, every time he moved. The agony all but owned him. His breath came in short, ragged gasps and he wished desperately for a place to rest, or that he was almost there, but when he looked up, all he saw were black clouds looming ominously above him.

"Damn..." The man muttered. He looked down for the first time and saw how far he had come.

The fires blazed over four hundred yards below him. He came to a sudden realization; the light they cast would only go so far. He would eventually be enveloped by the darkness. This realization horrified him. Unspeakable monsters dwelled in the light of the fire...what beasts would lie in the dark? He had no choice though, he must carry on. Every slow pull upwards brought the darkness closer. The pain of the brambles seemed incomparable to the massive terror welling up in him. The light grew dimmer every second. Soon the darkness, and it's inhabitants would have him.

As the last vestiges of light died away the man tried to let out a scream. The only thing which escaped was a hoarse whisper. He heard a hiss close to his right and jumped, almost losing his grip. His eyes grew wide and his breath came in short, shallow hiccups. Something moist slithered across his left calf. He bit his tongue to hold back the scream that had bolted up his windpipe. He climbed further, trying to be unaware of the terrible things around him. However, the demons never left him alone. A heavy hairy thing, about the size of his head crawled across his back, swarms of insects buzzed on his hands and arms, Some beasts slithered and coiled around his legs. The only luck he received was the handholds were more comfortable then before. Many of them existed, and they had been crafted of a softer material, that grew smaller when clutched tightly. There was the occasional sharp edge which smote him with pain, but they remained few.

The fear was worse than burns he received, the cuts he obtained, and the brambles he'd scaled.

He heard a deep growling below him. The noise sounded low and ominous and filled the man with dread. It was like a cloth bag being torn apart at the seem and the man sensed his sanity begin to slip away. He hurried his climb, seeming to be possessed by fear. He gripped every hand-hold with white-knuckled ferocity, and continued upward at an astounding pace. The thing chased after him, sharp fangs open, waiting to sink into his flesh. He remembered a story he had been told in his youth, about a three headed dog which had guarded the Greek underworld. He clawed his way through the dark, running away from Cerberus.

He sensed the light before he saw it. He had to think safety must lie ahead somewhere or his mind would break. After five minutes of scrambling up the cliff side the man glimpsed the first harbinger of light. Just the faintest touch of reds and oranges, so dark it was hard to distinguish it from the darkness. As time carried on the man viewed them grow brighter and brighter. The brightness blasted his eyes with sharp daggers of pain at first, but he was glad for them. He believed nothing could be worse than this horrible darkness that had contained him so long.

He came into the light with a grin that touched both ends of his face. Soon afterwords the smile died away, and he noticed himself. Tiny bumps covered his arms, and long gashes ran along them. His fingers had been flayed open. He remembered the things that had coiled around his legs and looked down reluctantly. Where he'd felt them he saw spiraling burn marks up his legs. But what unsettled him most was the writhing feeling he felt inside his left calf. The feeling was maddening, like an itch that can't be scratched. He forced himself to look at the center of this feeling. What greeted him sent a wave of revulsion crashing through his body. Fat, pale worms had burrowed into his flesh; his skin was crawling with the amount of them. He could feel the creatures wriggling inside his flesh, their small scored bodies obstructing the movement of his muscle. With a faint moan he batted the foot, and several of the grubs fell from his calf, still wriggling as they entered the shadows.

He'd made his way out of the dark. The problem here was the wind; it whipped around at high speeds, slicing his back. He could see the air whizzing about, the color of ominous stormclouds.

He stared at his hand, and realized what his hand hold was. His eyes grew wide with shock as he saw his hand clutching a woman's breast. He snapped his head away, shocked at this. He realized these things surrounded him, and more. The sexual organs of both sexes appeared to be the only way to scale the mountain. He couldn't believe it. He didn't know how the physics of staying up when those were all he had to climb with, but he must move on. He carried on upward, keeping his attention on the violent wind that been whipping him. It was incredibly fast, faster then any wind he'd ever felt. As it hit him he felt as though fingernails were clawing his back, though he prayed that was impossible.

He climbed like this for a long while, and lost track of the hours. There was no sun to judge the time, nor how many days had passed. He climbed this pathway of lust until he reached a curious cave in the cliff. He looked in, and hoisted himself in. The inlet was about ten feet wide, and went into the mountain about fifteen feet, and it was empty, aside from one thing. What he saw amazed him. The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen was in front of him. She possessed no clothing, as no one did in this realm. Her hair was the color of sunshine and fell to her waist, her eyes the color of the seas. Cherry red lips smiled at him, promising to be the sweetest he had ever tasted. He was calmed by her presence and felt an ungodly lust for her. He noticed, with a start, a peculiar warmth spreading across his groin. He was experiencing something he'd not sensed in decades. His desire for her overcame all things.

Yet something was not right. She was smiling at him with a twinkle of humor in her eyes. She raised one slim, elegant arm, and gestured for him to come to her. But the man stood in place. She looked at him, her expression half amused, half pouting. She walked over to him, her beautifully long legs seeming to glide across the harsh floor. One of her delicate arms came up and stroked his grizzled cheek.

"Come to me, my dear Drake." She whispered seductively. Her voice was more beautiful than any music. It shut out his fear.

Drake's mind screamed at him that something was wrong. The woman knew his name! That was impossible! Even he had nearly forgotten it. But his mind's efforts seemed to be for not. The rational thoughts were crushed under the thick layer of lust.

But still the man stood in place. She engaged him in a kiss, preying on him hungrily. He did not return this kiss. Something seemed too off about her. She stopped kissing him, and looked at him, pouting. She turned, and walked away from him. He gazed after her longingly, and couldn't avoid his stare lowering. She was finely muscled, but not overly so. Drake raised his gawking look and saw she was looking back at him over her shoulder.

Drake could contain himself no longer and followed after her. He noticed there was a bed at the back of the cave. He had thought the room empty a moment ago. She sat down on the bed, and crossed her legs towards him. Drake sat down next to her, enrapt by her beauty and his lust. He felt one of those legs, and found they would have made silk jealous. His free hand raised and he pulled her head towards him, meeting her lips with his own. His body pleaded for more. He could feel his pulse throbbing and the desire for her constantly rising. He suddenly didn't care about anything. He was glad of his nicely manicured hand sliding over her pale, smooth skin.

His mind started up the fight again. Why was his hand manicured? He'd just climbed on burning rocks, razor rock, brambles, and human flesh. Up until this point his hands were bloody pulps.

He knew and acknowledged something was wrong. He wanted to shove the maiden away from him, but couldn't bring himself to it. He'd not been with anyone for decades. He had thought the desire had been crushed, beaten, and whipped out of him, yet here he was. Her lips were the colors of cherries, and he thought he smelled fruit around her. His head thought she was a devil, his heart thought her an angle, and his core thought her the most exquisite being in existence. She stood up, turned towards him, and sat on his lap, her knees resting on either side of his thighs.

She leaned towards him, lips puckered. The urge to return this kiss was maddening, and he gave into the desire. His hands moved slowly down her back. The feeling was incredible, and he didn't believe anything could compare to it. He hadn't felt this since an earlier life. His mind flashed through his life and the horror it had brought him too.

That shocked him from his lust. Drake stood up quickly, causing the woman to topple to the floor. She glared up at him, and he saw anger and hate fill the beautiful face. The beautiful pouty expression he'd seen fell away to one of ugly rage. She leaped at him, trying to claw at his eyes. Drake grabbed her arm, and attempted to deliver a punch into her face. He could not, however, bring pain to such a beauty. Instead, he turned, and thrust her onto the bed.

Drake turned to walk away, hoping to get out of the cave and continue his climb again. He had reached the entrance of the cave when he heard her chasing after him. She lunged at him, and he stepped to the side. Her expression went blank and stupid as she flew out of the cave, cartwheeling through the air.

"No!" Drake shouted, as he fell to a knee. He knew what lurked below, and wouldn't want that for anyone.

He finally exited the cave, and began climbing once more.

When he left the cave the wind had died down. He began to climb once more, his shoulders screaming in protest. He disregarded this pain. He climbed, suddenly almost sure he was close to the top. He heard a small flapping noise behind him. He turned towards it, twisting his lower back, causing dull throbs of pain to spread through the region. There was a crow behind him. He swatted at it and it backed away a few feet. Drake then returned to climbing the mountain. Minutes later he heard the flapping once more. He turned around again to see seven crows. He tried to swat at them again, but they were just outside of his range. He was wary of them, but returned to his climbing.

The crows came closer, taking advantage of his focus on the climb. One pecked at his ankle, and Drake started. He almost lost his footing, and shouted in surprise. He tried to kick at it, but it flew around his foot, and pecked again. Then the other crows joined in. His flesh was alive with a chorus of pecks. Pieces of his skin were torn off. He screamed in pain and terror. They stole his flesh, eating it greedily. All he could do was to hold onto the mountain, and not fall off. He forced himself to move higher. One crow pulled at his ear and he shouted in pain again. Everything was a soaring symphony of agony. He dragged himself up the cliff, rock by rock. The crows were stealing his skin with bestial tenacity. Blood coursed over his remaining patches of skin in streams and ran off. He looked upwards longingly, blood trailing down his face, mixing with his sweat and running into his eyes.

Drake saw the end.

Hope entered his body, flooding him with adrenaline. He climbed with renewed energy, and tears of relief and joy spilled from his eyes. The crows still pecked at him, robbing him of skin and muscle, but still he climbed. He was twenty feet away. The crows stabbed at his ankles and calves, leaving deep gashes in them. The adrenaline made the pain feel like being pricked by a shot; painful, but still manageable. The rocks he gripped were uncomfortable on his torn and shredded hands, but he felt them not. He was caught up in his triumph. His sense of victory blocked nearly all of his senses. He was not even five feet away from the end of his long and terrible journey. He hoisted himself up to the last rock. He grabbed the top of the cliff and pulled himself to the top of the monstrous mountain.

He lay there for a moment, eyes closed, taking in deep, heaving breaths. He had finally made it, he had escaped hell. He had done what no human had done. He'd scaled the bluffs. He was saved. Drake rested there for hours, enjoying the pleasant breeze, the feeling of sunlight on his face.