The darkness didn’t bother Arthur all that much; he’d grown accustomed to it over the years. The being buried alive irked him a little, though.
He could still hear their laughs as the concrete poured over him. It crushed down on him now, remorselessly breaking bone after bone after tiny, pointed bone.
He passed considerable time imagining the ways in which he would one day carry out his revenge. Perhaps not on the people who did this to him, of course, but their ancestors would do just fine.
If being buried alive was bothersome, being immortal was going to be murder.