The forest was quiet.
Not peaceful quiet—unnerving quiet. Asvard had grown up near these woods his whole life. He knew how they were supposed to sound. Birds chirping. Twigs snapping under deer hooves. Wind rustling the leaves. Tonight, none of that.
Something felt wrong.
"We shouldn't be out here," Cedric muttered, his small boots crunching the dry brush behind Asvard.
"Relax," Asvard said without looking back. "We're just going to check it out. We'll be back before they notice."
Cedric was twelve, curious and reckless in his own way, but tonight he looked nervous. Asvard was seventeen, lean but strong, and even though he didn't admit it aloud, he felt uneasy too. His father's old journal mentioned something strange about this forest—how one area didn't match the rest. It was why they were here.
They reached the edge of a clearing, and Asvard stopped.
Something shimmered in the air ahead. Like heatwaves over asphalt. A distortion, right above a sunken pit surrounded by twisted roots. His heart thudded in his chest.
"See that?" he whispered.
Before Cedric could answer, the ground buckled.
The world dropped.
Asvard had just enough time to push Cedric back, scream his name—then he was falling. Spiraling. Not like tumbling down a hill. More like being pulled through something thick and endless. Like gravity had forgotten its rules.
He lost sight. Lost air. Lost thought.
Then came the unexpected.
--
Asvard woke up choking.
But he was breathing. The air around him felt like smoke and iron, yet somehow it filled him. Not just his lungs—his whole body. Something in it flowed through his veins. It wasn't normal. It wasn't natural. It was power, and it scared the hell out of him.
He pushed himself up slowly, groaning. Everything around him was... wrong.
Massive black stones jutted out of the earth like broken teeth. The ground was cracked and glowing with a dull red light underneath. Skies bled crimson clouds and distant lightning flashed without thunder. Everything was hot , the air , ground , rocks.
This place wasn't just hot. It hated you.
"What the hell…"
He paused.
No. Not hell. Hell.
He didn't know how he knew. He just did. Something inside him recognized it. The place felt like the physical embodiment of pain and punishment, survival and dominance. It breathed down your neck. Watched you from everywhere.
A low growl echoed in the distance. Then another. Then dozens.
His head turned towards the sound.
Shapes moved in the heat-haze. Not human. Not beast. Shadows with claws and teeth and eyes like black glass. He ran.
His feet moved fast—faster than they should've. He jumped higher than usual , his reflexes sharper than ever , with each breath, everything was even unusual and scary. He hid in arches of rocks , ran, his heart rhythmed with his breath.
He felt lighter. Sharper. His heartbeat sounded wrong. Too strong.
They caught up.
One of them leapt, snarling. Its claws raked his back. He cried out—but then something inside him just wouldn't allow him to run away, he stopped.
He turned. And without thinking, he punched.
His fist dug the thing's face.
Asvard froze. His hand trembled, but it wasn't fear. It was adrenaline. Rage. Ego.
He backed away—until a voice echoed above him.
"Not bad. Most don't make it ten seconds."
Asvard spun around. Two figures stood on a rocky ledge.
The first was a tall woman, dressed in what looked like armor made of molten metal and feathers. Her skin dark but glowy, like heatwaves. Her eyes glowed softly, not like fire—but like something warmer in a wrong way.
"Still breathing. Must've landed in the Outer Ring," she said. "Or the Pit would've chewed you alive."
Next to her stood a man. His arms looked like they'd been reforged through countless acts of madness—all twisted muscle, iron grafts, and thick scars. One eye burned red, the other just... gone.
"He smells mortal," the man growled. "I don't like mortals."
"Too bad," Asvard said. "I'm not going anywhere."
The woman chuckled. "Big ego huh. You'll either survive or die fast."
"Name's Zephyra," she said finally. "This is Varnak. We are not here to rescue, so don't flatter yourself. But you sure are interesting."
Asvard wiped the blood from his cheek, standing straight. He didn't care who they were. He didn't care what this place was. All he knew was that everything in this world wanted to kill him—and he refused to die.
"I don't need rescue," he said. "neither your pity".
Zephyra's eyes gleamed. "You talk big for someone weak."
Asvard stood there with a sense of inferiority but his will burned , mightier than the "infernal flames"
And somewhere, deep beneath the earth, something stirred.
It felt the pride in him. The hunger.
And it smiled.
-
(To be continued...)