A young man lay on the hard stone floor of a cramped cell, barely larger than a storage closet. His body was wrapped in tattered rags, his broad shoulders and muscular frame hinting at past strength, but pain lingered in every inch of him. He wasn't cold. He wasn't hot. Just… normal. Too normal.
His gaze drifted to a pile of carrot-like roots—some dried, some fresh—scattered in the dim light. Their twisted shapes almost seemed to stare back at him, as if silently mocking his existence.
"Seventy-eight… no, eighty-one days. That means almost three months."
The words left his lips without emotion. He used to love stories about characters being transported to another world—anime, web novels—where adventure and power awaited. But this? This was nothing like what he had imagined.
"Twenty. I must've turned twenty yesterday… or maybe the day before."
It didn't matter. Time blurred together in this place, yet strangely, his body never ached from hunger. He didn't feel tired enough to collapse into sleep, nor did fatigue weigh down his limbs. It was unnatural, a constant state of wakefulness, as if his body had abandoned its basic needs.
He shifted slightly, and pain flared through his back. His breath hitched, a bitter curse escaping his lips.
"Damn it… that bitch whipped me back when I first found myself here."
Eighty days ago, his nightmare had begun.
He was hit 80 days ago, but the pain remained as if it had never left. It clung to him, a cruel reminder etched into his flesh. Aarav felt a twisted sense of relief just lying there, unmoving. Any slight shift sent fresh waves of agony rippling through his body.
Then—
"Argh! Damn it!"
Laughter echoed through the cramped cell, sharp and mocking. High-pitched chuckles, the unmistakable sound of children—no, brats—toying with a man already drowning in suffering. Small hands flung dirt and pebbles at him, dust coating his skin, stinging his open wounds. A stray rock bounced off his arm, barely painful, but the real torment came when grime found its way into his eyes.
He squeezed them shut, gritting his teeth as irritation burned his vision. He could hear them giggling, their amusement at his misery fueling their cruel game.
Fortunately, unlike the whip, the pain faded instantly as soon as the dust left his eyes.
Pain.
Pain was the only thing that had kept him sane all these days. It was always there—constant, unwavering, grounding him when everything else felt unreal. He tried to remember what it was like to feel normal, to not be wrapped in agony, but the memory had long since faded. Now, when he moved, it was as if a river of fire coursed through his veins. His face twisted into something monstrous, something not quite human, as he clenched his teeth and forced his body to move.
"FUCK OFF!"
His voice cracked through the air like a whip, raw and unhinged.
The children muttered something in a language he couldn't understand before scattering like frightened rats. The sound of their hurried footsteps faded, leaving him alone once more.
Aarav exhaled shakily and reached for the iron bars of the tiny window—the only source of light in his cell. He knew what would happen. He knew the pain would strike the moment he moved. But still, he dragged himself up, gripping the cold metal. His breath hitched, his body screaming in protest, yet his eyes finally locked onto the world beyond.
A marketplace.
It was bustling, vibrant, alive. The architecture—stone-paved roads, towering columns, the flow of trade and barter—it all looked like something out of ancient Rome. But the people… they were different.
Tall.
Far taller than any human he had ever seen. Aarav was no short man—standing at 5'10, taller than the average back home. Yet, here, even the women reached his height, some standing even taller. And the men? Giants. 6'5 seemed like the norm, their towering forms only adding to his sense of insignificance.
He didn't really know why he was here. No one had told him. No one had explained.
Yet, some things started to make sense.
People would come, stand in front of his cell, and stare. Sometimes, they whispered to each other in a language he didn't understand. Then, just as quickly, they would leave.
At first, he thought it was random. But after seeing the pattern repeat over and over, realization dawned.
He was a slave.
What luck.
A world where he couldn't even understand the language. A world where his body was cursed with eternal pain. And worst of all…
Who the hell would buy a slave like me?
He glanced down at himself. His muscles were still there—lean, defined—but compared to the giants of this realm, he was nothing. Even the average woman here stood at his height, some even taller. And the men? They were monsters. 6'5" seemed like the bare minimum, their frames built like warriors.
Next to them, he was a dwarf.
Then—
A flower?
Aarav blinked, his breath catching in his throat.
Small hands reached through the bars, offering him a delicate bloom. His gaze traveled up, locking onto a little girl with fiery red hair, her face bright with innocence. She smiled at him—pure, untouched by the cruelty of the world.
A slow, twisted grin crept onto his face.
He reached for the flower.
The girl's eyes widened in horror.
She yanked her hand back and bolted, her tiny feet kicking up dust as she vanished into the crowd.
For a moment, silence.
Then—
Laughter.
Aarav burst into a fit of laughter, his body convulsing as he collapsed onto the stone floor. His shoulders shook, his voice echoing off the damp walls. But the laughter soon cracked, morphing into something else.
A choked sob.
His laughter and cries blended into one—a symphony of madness and pain.
"What…? What did I do?"
Aarav's chuckle was dry, almost hollow. His fingers traced the cold stone floor as he stared at the bars where the girl had just been.
"She was being nice to me… poor child."
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.
"But… she keeps coming back." His lips curled into a smirk. "It's like she likes getting scared every day. Her expressions are kinda hilarious, though."
Thud!
The familiar sound echoed through the cramped cell. Aarav barely reacted, his dull eyes shifting toward the direction of the noise. Without a word, he reached for the strange root that had been tossed in. It was twisted and rough, like something plucked straight from the wild. Food. Or at least, that's what they expected him to see it as.
His grip was weak, but he held it anyway, staring at it as if it held some sort of answer.
Then, without much thought, he tossed it onto the growing pile in the corner.
"That makes it… 82 days, I guess?"
Memories of him shouting "STATUS" flashed through his mind, only to be followed by agonizing pain.
I'm not isekaied. I'm cursed.
I'm in the depths of Tartarus, like Sisyphus—facing this agony for all eternity.
Supposedly I remember every detail of my life but two days they are clear as he clenched his fist.
MEMORIES OH MEMORIES...
The same young man slept in a soft bed, drifting between reality and dream, but he noticed something weird—something was on his chest.
Instinctively, he rose in an instant, followed by an annoyed mew.
"You?! It was you!"
As he checked his mobile screen, he saw—
4:36 AM.
Still early. As he laid again, trying to absorb warmth for a last time, then his eyes burned in determination.
It's time to run!
He wore his tracksuit and shoes and went on running. He ran slowly, trying to warm up. As he made it 3 km from where he started, his mind raced with thoughts.
"I... I have been following this self-improvement crap since I was 17, and in a few months, I won't even be a teenager anymore! Why? Why do I feel stuck in one place?"
Lost in his self-doubt, he raised his speed—faster and faster—as if trying to convince himself that what he was doing was completely right.
Out of nowhere, a sudden light flashed in front of him, illuminating everything. He was blinded for a second, and just as his ankle was about to make contact with the road—something happened. The angle was wrong. His ankle twisted—no, worse—his entire body collapsed upon it. He fell forward, face-first, kissing the hard charcoal road.
"Noo!!"
"Agahhh!"
Pain. Pain. Pain.
He screamed in agony, yet no one answered. Looking around, he saw nothing but darkness and the cold grasp of winter. He tried to move, but his very insides protested, his guts twisting as if they were about to give out. A nauseous feeling overtook him. He lay there for a second or two—alone. No one around.
Summoning what little strength he had, he pushed himself up—only to fall again. Yet he didn't stop. Limping, dragging himself forward,
As he lay there, a small feline face with golden eyes peered down at him, filled with curiosity. He remained numb for a few minutes before finally pushing himself up. His legs wobbled, his body ached, but he forced himself to stand. Turning to the mirror, a dry chuckle escaped his lips.
"Good! Good! Anything else? Such a nice day, a nice beginning!" he muttered sarcastically, his voice laced with bitterness.
The reflection staring back at him was a mess—his face battered, the left side scraped raw, blood trickling down his cheek. He wiped it absentmindedly and exhaled.
His room wasn't big, but it wasn't small either. An old wooden almirah stood in the corner, a dusty mirror attached to it. A single bed, a chair, and a study table cluttered with books, scattered haphazardly. His room had two doors—one led outside, a separate entry so he never had to come through the main house. The other… the one he despised, the one that led into the very house he wished to avoid.
Dammit, I'm grateful no one is awake yet! So I need to hurry. He checked his clock.
7:32 AM.
Shit!
Soon, he looked at his reflection—blood refusing to fade, dried on his face.
No time for a shower, huh?
He covered his face with a mask, wore a black P-cap and an oversized hood. He looked like someone up to no good. Limping, he sneaked into the kitchen, hiding in the shadows as if he didn't want anyone to see him. He took some hot milk, warmed it, and mixed in some readymade coffee powder—sugarless. He prepared his coffee and took it. Fortunately, no one saw him.
He limped back to his room, breathed a relieved sigh, and drank in peace as a sense of comfort and understanding rose in his mind.
Alone, I am... am I not?
A sad expression came to his face. A few moments later, his kitten sat in his lap. He mumbled,
"But you are here... here with me. So I'm not! Indeed."
He smiled and petted the little kitten.
As a sound broke his silence—
"Aaarraaav!"
Instinctively, he drank the whole cup in an instant, burning his throat in the process!
Coughing slightly, he took his bag and limped towards the bus station.
But he left the door slightly open, just enough for the little kitten to peek through the gap. The wind rustled, pushing it open further as a tiny paw moved toward it.
---
Usually, Aarav used to pray to God seven times for being born in this hilly countryside of India—no pollution, no honking, not much crowding. Even the sky was always clear, and all!
But today was different. Indeed.
"Damn it! Fuck these mountain slopes!" he cursed, limping as he stepped on a loose stone. Not too far, not too near from his house, a realization struck him—
Shit!
The revelation hit hard.
Gym bag! My gym bag?!
In panic, he sat on a rock, mumbling—
"No, not today! What was I thinking?! How could I?!"
He limped back, and after a while, made it to his room. But something else was missing.
"Gurro? You little—where are you?!"
He looked around desperately, scanning the room. Then, taking a deep breath, he muttered—
"Alright! I'm not responsible. It's wild anyway. Go, leave me! I gave you food and shelter, and this is how you repay me?"
He sighed again and chuckled a bit.
"It'll be back when I come back," he assured himself.
He moved—or rather, limped—again, his bag slung over his back like a school bag, while his left hand gripped a gym bag. A peculiar man indeed. As he approached the station, a voice called out—
"Aarav! Go fetch grass for the cows!"
A loud "moooo" backed her up.
A familiar sound indeed—his mother. A woman in her early 40s, tall, with black hair and the same beige skin as her son. She glanced at his peculiar style, her sharp gaze inspecting him from head to toe.
"Where are you going like that? Covering your face? First, you dyed your hair without even asking me! If it were up to me, I would've shaved you bald in your sleep! But no—I never even see you these days. For God's sake, at least clean your own room! It won't suit you!"
Aarav responded nonchalantly—
"To the college." His eyes held nothing but disdain, his tone carrying a desire to end the conversation as fast as possible. "About the grass—tell your daughter to do it."
Aarav's mom opened her mouth to argue, but her words died in her throat as both of them heard it—
A little kitten's cry. A stray dog's growl.
It was outside their house, yet perfectly audible. Aarav didn't hesitate for even a second. He limped as fast as he could, his heart pounding. His eyes locked onto the sight ahead—his little kitten, running for its life, chased by a dog far too big in comparison. The kitten tried to escape, but Aarav's injured body failed him—his foot twisted, and he fell hard onto the ground.
The kitten was barely twenty steps away from him. A glimpse of hope—
A tree!
"Climb it! Climb it!" he repeated desperately in his mind.
The kitten made an attempt—its tiny claws dug into the rough bark. It struggled, making progress—but its underdeveloped body betrayed it.
It slipped.
And fell—
Back into the gaping maw of the dog.