Xas lands on his back in forgiving dirt, with his hand pressed to his scarred side - not because he was pierced there, it takes him a moment to realize. He wasn't. The sensation wasn't localized at all. The beast is gone. And he's home. He sits up to make sure, and to check for swords or for metal monsters; he exhales his last lungful of ashy air, and inhales humidity and perfume and decaying plant matter.

No amount of effort could make the garden grow like one on Earth. The blues bleach to white, the reds turn nearly black, and where stems should be pale green they're darker than pine nettles. But the black glass dome arching overhead keeps out the oppressive light and arid heat, lets things survive, obscures the jagged landscape and the citadel in the distance. Xas managed.

This is Hell. Before was a nightmare. And this is - not a good dream, given that he's grounded and wingless. But it's still a better one, even though Xas still feels watched and accompanied, like he always did before he learned to ignore God. "Go away," he says, sullen but lethargic. A bee lands on his knee, and he lies back down.