She opens her eyes in the middle of a rocky valley.

The air is thick with hot ash, cutting at her throat whenever she takes a breath. All around her are vast stony mountains, stretching up towards the scarlet sky, their sheer faces too steep for a human to scale unaided. When she tries to stretch her arms, half a dozen legs move under her, dragging her stomach over the rocks beneath her and leaving streaks of sticky black blood on the ground. There's some kind of pressure pushing against the sides of her head, demanding the chance to force its way out.

Monsters gather in the distance: a swarm of locusts in one direction, a giant slug with the head of a human in another, a two-headed goat with a forked tail in the third, with more atop the cliffs, too far for her to make out from here.

This isn't Elysium.

...It's a stupid, pathetic first thought, and a second after having it she feels a pang of disgust at it. This is the Abyss. She's in the Abyss. She's in the Abyss, the plane for Chaotic Evil people, which means — which means she's — they didn't Maledict her—

—her head is spinning and her thoughts keep slipping away from her but this feels important—

—She's in the Abyss. She's in the Abyss, which means she's Evil, which means — she's not sure.

(—it is Evil to want to hurt him, and if you call it Good, you're wrong, and if you act on this you're going to do a lot of Evil yourself, and if you keep doing this forever, you will go to the Abyss when you die, where you will hurt Evil people and be hurt by Evil people until one of them kills you—)

The place where her chest should be flares with raw, hot anger. What does Pharasma know about Evil anyway, if she'll let murderers and rapists and torturers "repent," and condemn anyone who tries to give them what they deserve? How dare she side with them. If Victòria had her way she would tear her off her throne and throw her to the Abyssal locusts.

Only she can't. She's in the Abyss, and she'll be in the Abyss forever, and that means — her insides won't stop twisting up when she tries to think about it, but the azata was very clear about that part, actually — you will hurt Evil people and be hurt by Evil people until one of them kills you—

—probably — her head is pounding, it wasn't doing that a moment ago — probably there are some people here just like her. And probably it would be wrong to hurt those people, when she could be hurting the sort of person who ends up in the Abyss because they did something — actually wrong — why won't her thoughts line up right—

Probably there's lots of people here like Delegate Ibarra, or even worse, people who hurt innocent people for fun, people like Asmodeans but Chaotic, people who deserve everything that's going to happen to them. And she should find those people and make them pay.

That's not hard to think. It settles into her chest with the same sort of satisfaction that she felt as she and Raimon watched the school burn.

—She takes in a sharp breath, and dozens of cuts stab at her throat. Raimon is just as Calistrian as her. Probably Raimon is in the Abyss, and it's her fault for not just running when she heard Valia was arrested — maybe they'd have just dragged her back, but she could've killed herself—

—her head feels like it's full of sharpened rocks, bouncing around inside until she can barely think past the hurt — what was she thinking about before that—

—There's lots of people here who deserve to suffer, and even if she can't do anything else she can bring down vengeance on them.

How do you tell.

On Golarion she could just go after the people that she knew had done awful things, but she doesn't know anyone here. Doesn't have a way to tell, unless they start doing awful things in front of her, which admittedly they might.

Probably almost everyone here has done awful things, you might as well just assume anyone has—

—no, she forces herself to think, even though it feels like dragging her thoughts over broken glass. She can't just assume anyone here deserves whatever she wants to do to them, that's how you end up like Delegate Ibarra, just because she's in the Abyss doesn't mean she can't — try—

The giant slug-creature is standing right over her.

It reaches down and tries to take a bite out of her.

She reaches reflexively for her magic and doesn't find it. That makes sense, Calistria's not in the Abyss, she probably can't give her spells even if she's using them to take revenge on demons, but it would really be nice if she could.

She crawls out of the way, feeling the stones dig into her skin, but the slug is slow enough she can avoid it from the moment. She wants to hit back, but her sense of her own body is all wrong and every weapon she reaches for doesn't exist — maybe she should think about it less, let her body do what's natural—

She bites down on the slug's leg, sinking rows of tiny pointed teeth into its flesh. She wants it to hurt, for what it tried to do to her, hurt and bleed and regret what it did to her. Its flesh is bitter, but she forces her teeth to close around it, digging in as hard as she can.

The slug creature lets out a little yelp and tries to shake her off.

She's not very strong. It can do that.

Great. It's going to leave now. There's plenty of easier prey.

She lands back on the rocks, leaking slimy black ichor into the stone around her.

Her not-exactly-a-chest is burning. She wants to crawl back across the rocks and dig her teeth into it, tearing it apart bit by bit until every part of it is in pain. She wants to — wait —

—it feels very much like she's dragging her mind over the rocks, but she thinks maybe — she told the assassin you shouldn't just hurt people the most you can, it needs to balance out—

It tried to bite her. She tried to bite it. Maybe that's — her chest is burning, her every instinct is screaming at her not to just let it get away — but maybe it balances—

—no, that's stupid. It tried to kill her. It doesn't make sense to go easy on it for failing. It should hurt, it's right for it to hurt, if it wanted balance maybe it shouldn't have tried to eat her.

She tries to run after it, but her little stubby legs are too slow to catch up. She makes it a few paces before they give out under her. 

She feels tears of acid rolling down her face, leaving tiny pockmarks in her carapace. She can't even manage to do that right, she's got a target right in front of her and she's too weak and useless to do anything about it.