The rusted bucket clanged against the stone floor, the water within sloshing over the rim, a grotesque parody of a baptism. "Splash!" The old man's voice, raspy and edged with a cruel amusement, cut through the gloom of the cell. "Wake up, boy, before the slop's all gone. You need your strength, you know, for the main event." He chuckled, a dry, rattling sound that echoed in the oppressive silence. "Promised your mum I'd watch over you till you met your end. So get the fuck up. We have to go. Bell's rung. Time to face the music."
E999, his body a canvas of scars and fresh wounds, lurched to his feet. He threw a jab, a desperate attempt to vent his frustration, but the old man, with a speed that belied his age, easily deflected it.
"You know," the old man rasped, his eyes gleaming with a disturbing intensity, "you weren't this… feral before. What happened? I saw how you fought. You can't even throw a decent jab. If it weren't for my points, you'd still be rotting in that shithole they call F rank. So, what changed? You took a turn when you woke up from that hit. Shame about your mom, though."
E999 felt nothing. No sympathy, no grief. He wasn't E999, not really. He was an echo, a ghost inhabiting a borrowed shell, a stranger in a strange and brutal land. He followed the old man, his mind consumed with a morbid curiosity. What secrets lie within that withered frame? he wondered, his gaze lingering on the old man's surprisingly agile form. What fuels such resilience in this hellscape? He pushed the thoughts aside, joining the throng of gladiators shuffling towards the mess hall.
The hall was a cacophony of clanging metal, guttural growls, and the sickening stench of blood and offal.
E999 took his seat, a bowl of something vaguely resembling stew placed before him. He stared at it, his stomach churning. It wasn't the unidentifiable chunks floating in the murky broth that repulsed him; it was the knowledge, the certainty, that this was not the flesh of beasts, but of something… else. He couldn't eat it. He was starving, but the thought of consuming this… this concoction was unbearable.
The old man, ever watchful, noticed his hesitation. "Come on, boy," he said, a hint of pity in his voice. "Go get some beast flesh. My treat."
"Okay," E999 replied, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. He rose, his movements stiff and awkward, and headed towards the tray room, where gladiators could "order" their meals based on their rank and points. His meager points earned him a paltry scrap of meat, barely enough to cover the palm of his hand. He glared at the impudent demon serving him, a silent snarl twisting his lips. He turned and walked away, his hunger gnawing at his insides, the meager offering doing little to quell it.
E322, a hulking brute with a face like a melted candle, materialized from the shadows. With a speed that belied his size, he snatched the meat from E999's hand, a mocking grin spreading across his face.
E999 snapped. For the first time since his arrival in this infernal realm, he felt a surge of raw, unadulterated rage. He lunged at E322, his movements fueled by a primal fury. E322, anticipating this, sidestepped easily, sending E999 sprawling. But E999, in his frenzy, had inadvertently stumbled into a demon guard. He lashed out, spitting in the guard's face, his clawed hands tearing at its flesh.
The guard, stunned by the audacity of this scrawny human, roared in anger and tackled E999 to the ground. A brief, brutal struggle ensued, ending with E999 pinned and dragged away, his screams echoing through the hall.
The old man watched, his brow furrowed in concern. "What has turned my godson into a raging beast?" he wondered, a knot of unease tightening in his gut.
E999 awoke to a cold splash of water and the searing pain of a whip biting into his flesh.
He was chained to the wall of a dank, reeking cell, his body a tapestry of fresh welts and old scars. A frog-like demon, its eyes gleaming with sadistic glee, stood before him, a whip coiled in its clawed hand.
"So," the demon croaked, its voice dripping with mockery, "you're the famous E999, the one who caused such a ruckus in the mess hall." It raised the whip, the leather whistling through the air. "Let's see if you're as tough as you think you are."
The first lash tore through E999's skin, the pain a white-hot fire that consumed him.
He was confused, the memories a fragmented jumble. He remembered the stolen meat, the surge of rage, then… nothing. Reality crashed down on him, a brutal awakening. He was chained to the wall, the rough stone biting into his skin. The meat… it's gone, he realized, the frustration a bitter taste in his mouth. Then, darkness. Now, this.
A frog-shaped demon, its skin slick and glistening, entered the cell, its eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. It chuckled, a wet, gurgling sound. "So, you're the famous E999," it croaked, its voice thick with mockery. "The one who caused a ruckus in the dining shithole." It brandished a thick, barbed whip, the leather gleaming ominously in the dim light. "Potty's going to teach you some manners."
The whip cracked through the air, the sound like a gunshot in the confined space. "Three hundred and fifty lashes!" the demon shrieked, its voice rising in a frenzy. "For attacking a demon guard! And you lose all points you have accumulated for years! To E322! Do you hear me, you fucking cunt?!"
The whip descended again, and again, each lash a searing brand on E999's flesh.
The demon's words echoed in his ears, a litany of pain and humiliation. But beneath the agony, a cold, calculating mind began to work. Three hundred and fifty lashes… and all my points gone. He would remember this. He would remember every lash, every word, every mocking grin. And he would repay them, tenfold.
Dragging E999 along was Berhalt, one of the hulking demonic guards, and a gladiator named E121. E121 was a fair, slim boy, or rather, frail. He was as thin as a starved cat, his dirty blonde hair clinging to his gaunt face. His deep blue eyes, however, held a flicker of something more than fear – a spark of pity. He was tagging along, an escort to show the new guard around the cells, but his gaze lingered on E999, a silent vow forming in his heart. He would add him. He would add him into the order E999 was about to be thrown into the cell.
Suddenly, a mechanical sound,echoed inside E999's head.
°~[DING...]~°
°~[ALL CRITERIA HAS BEEN MET]~°
°~[PISS OFF A MERE-DEMON: MET.]~°
°~[DEFEAT A BEING STRONGER THAN YOU BY FAR: MET.]~°
°~[HARBOR HATRED FOR ALL CREATIONS OF HADES: MET.]~°
°~[OBTAIN THE PITY OF YOUR PREY: MET.]~°
°~[NOW INITIALIZING UNCOMPLETED
MEMORIES...]~°
°~[SYNCING 10%...]~°
A jolt of pure agony ripped through E999's skull. Berhalt quickly rushed towards the writhing boy.
"What do we do?" he asked E121, his voice laced with panic. "What happens when something like this occurs?"
E121 knew the protocol – they were to do nothing but enjoy the spectacle. However, he was with a novice, so he quickly fabricated a lie. "Hurry! Carry him and follow me before the magistrate kills you for letting his entertainment suffer in pain, and you did nothing!"
Berhalt, hearing this, quickly hoisted E999 onto his shoulder and bolted towards the E-rank dormitories. He arrived at E999's cell and left him there, dragging E121 back to his own cell.
E999 felt as if his body had gone cold, the damp chill of the cell seeping into his bones. His cell, located in the last block of the section, was perpetually shrouded in darkness. No one could see the changes happening within him. His soul, or perhaps just a fragment of his consciousness, drifted from his body, into a dark, empty space. He was lost in this void until he saw a figure. The head was too bright to look at directly, a blinding radiance that pulsed with power.
"Hello, Lucien," the figure boomed, its voice echoing through the emptiness. "Hope you're enjoying your special place for now. This is the beginning of your journey. You will traverse to different parts of the multiverse, where you shall be on a quest to gather my fragments, to strengthen yourself and avenge me. After that, you are free. This is your present for being able to unlock your first gift from me."
Lucifer waved his hand, and the golden cup Lucien had seen in the cave materialized in his palm. "Awaken and continue to serve my will. You, Lucien, are my Emissary."
Immediately, as Lucifer stopped speaking, Lucien's soul and the cup were drawn out from the abyss. E999 awoke, still in pain. He glanced at the liquid inside the golden cup and gulped hard. His instincts screamed at him to drink it, and he gave in to the urge. He gulped down the golden liquid, and the cup began to deteriorate, the liquid flowing into his mouth. When he was done, he felt his body wrapped in a searing heat, his bones contorting and withering. His vision blurred, and he collapsed unconscious against the wall.
Soon, light began to seep back into the darkness as his eyes snapped open. Lucien, drenched in a cold sweat, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, looked around the room with a suspicion bordering on paranoia. The remnants of the nightmare clung to him, the visceral horror lingering like a phantom limb. He rose cautiously, his body trembling, and stumbled towards the bathroom.
He looked in the mirror, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid of what he might see. The sun, a blazing orb of golden light, streamed through the window, washing away the vestiges of the nightmare. For a fleeting moment, he felt a sense of relief, a belief that he was truly back, that the horrors he had endured were nothing more than a fever dream.
But then, the world fractured. The very fabric of reality seemed to shatter, the reflection in the mirror distorting, his vision fragmenting into a kaleidoscope of broken images. He cried out, his voice a strangled gasp lost in the echoing silence of the room. His consciousness, tethered to this reality by the thinnest of threads, began to unravel, falling into the abyss of his own fractured mind.
Gasp!
E999 awoke with a jolt, his body bathed in sweat, his clothes clinging to his clammy skin. He panted, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes darting around the cell, searching for the source of the terror that still clung to him like a shroud. Then, he saw it. The screen. It flickered to life, the harsh, artificial light illuminating the grim reality of his existence.
°~[OOWELKOME OT EHT EDEBLIS MISSETEM]~°