Saul was close, he could feel it. Nirvana seemed to be just a few more seconds away; a twist of the wrist or a moment's concentration away. Just one more needle, perhaps, was all it took.

Saul was a contortionist. For years he'd been one of the attractions in a travelling circus. But eventually he got tired of being a curiosity. One day he became curious to learn more about the folding of the body, the art of self-control: Yoga. He wanted to follow the way his master, Unos Eng had taken in the last years of his life. One day however, something had gone terribly wrong. Eng turned up dead, folded so tightly the police could not set him straight again without breaking his rigid limbs. Saul had been the first to find him; the look on Eng's face would never leave his mind. It was so ambiguous it could mean pleasure as well as pain. Enlightenment as well as blind panic.

Saul developed his technique alone, in search of Nirvana, the state in which such a feeling of harmony would envelop both body and soul, as to make one achieve elevation and a perfect sense of your inner self, at peace with the world. In this search, he began to try other ways, more unorthodox ways. He mixed Yoga with the medical science of Acupuncture, with extremely effective results.

He meditated daily, hours at a time, in anticipation. There were times when he could feel as if the Power was just outside the walls of his bare room, sealed by a thin layer, as thin as his eyelids.

He eventually discovered what it took to break it, by accident. During a session, inserting a needle, it went wrong. And as he meditated, he felt a droplet of blood surge from the split skin and slide down his skin. With that pin-prick pain, came a sudden awareness: even though his eyes were closed, he could almost see the blood, glowing with power. Then he realised what he had to do. Disregarding the pain, he deliberately mis-inserted all the needles, and as he assumed the inhuman positions his elasticity allowed him, entered the trance again.

Pretty soon he was bleeding from a dozen places, but there was a smile on his face. He could feel it once again, the whispers, the Power just outside him this time, as close as his skin, his eyelids. It permeated the room, as did the sickly-sweet smell of sweat and blood and incense.

Then it happened, just like that. The Cenobites arrived.

When Saul opened his eyes, he saw the blinding flash of light and the Angels that pierced through it. He was ecstatic. Could this have been the same vision Eng had seen, before his heart burst with contentment? But as soon as his eyes became accustomed to the clarity he found those creatures to be far uglier than Angels, and far more ruthless. They also had needles inserted in their flesh, noticed Saul; but they wore them such as one might wear jewellery. And their corrupted flesh told thousands of painful tales, and just as many epiphanies.

Saul began to unfold, feeling the needles bite him deeper as he did so.

"You have the knowledge now. Are you content?" said the one with the nails piercing his face and head. There were two more, as deformed as the speaker.

"I wanted Nirvana" said Saul, terrified and apologetical. The second creature had a halo of flies, and his skin rippled, as if maggots were exploring beneath; his lips had been sliced with surgical precision. The speaker replied:

"You shall have it. Your flesh, and the way you trained it, has summoned us. Not an easy thing to do. Now you must come with us , and taste our pleasures..."

The third approached Saul: this one was obviously mute. His tongue had been stretched out and nailed to his chin with rusty nails. Also, his face was a pale corpse blue; his ears had also been cut off. But the most fascinating about him was his collection of knifes and daggers hanging from him and from his belt from hooks; some were actually stuck through his flesh. The speaker proceeded:

"Beyond this door, lies the path to Order, and Transcendence. We have met... a friend of yours, once."

"Unos? Is he there?"

"In a way. His flesh failed him, in the process. But not his soul. You are a true explorer. I can see it in your eyes. What is your name?"

"I am Saul."

"Ah, Saul...how ironic. The name of the non-believer turned apostle. The one behind me is Mosca and his mute brother is Asdente. We are the Cenobites, members of the Gash. Maybe you will join us one day. But now it is time to go."

"Go? Where?"

"To Hell, of course. Only there will you be able to understand your flesh, and reach Nirvana through the simple bliss of pain."

"What!? No, wait!"

"No time. Mosca! Asdente!"

In a blink of an eye they had him by their hooks and chains, and began to drag him towards the gateway. In a final desperate effort to gain more time, Saul yelled:

"You still haven't told me your name!"

"You can call me Master." Was the final reply.

And this was not the end for Saul, only the new beginning of an eternal existence, infinitely devoted to agony and the enlightenment of the nerve endings.