Time moved strangely in Hell.
No sun. No moon. Just endless shifts in the smoke-choked sky and the deep pulse of lava rivers carving through stone. Days blended into each other like ash in the wind. But he knew months had passed.
He could feel it in his bones.
In the beginning, he'd clung to the novelty of it all. The strange bodies, the bizarre rules, the cruel simplicity. It was terrifying, but it was also new. Now, that feeling was long gone.
Hell was exhausting.
The same fights. The same filth. The same blood—yours or someone else's. And when things got quiet, it wasn't peace. It was just a warning before something worse.
He'd learned to keep his head down, to stay useful but never noticeable. It worked. Most days passed without incident.
They called him Kael now.
The name didn't come from anywhere specific. It just felt right—close enough to his old name to keep him grounded, but sharp enough to belong here.
Kael fit in. Quiet, clever, fast on his feet.
But even in Hell, luck runs out eventually.One day, the wind screamed as he ran, claws skidding over jagged black stone.
Behind him, something howled. Not with rage—no, it was joy. A hunter's glee.
There were seven of them, thrown together on a supply run deep beyond the known ridges. Demons of different tribes, barely speaking, barely trusting each other. But food was running short, and no one else had volunteered.
They'd found a cave—half-buried, strange scent, maybe holding prey.
It held something else.
He didn't see it clearly—only the blur of shifting muscle, the gleam of red eyes, and a mouth that didn't open so much as divide. No one even screamed. The thing was just on them.
He ran.
So did the others.
One was dragged down within seconds. Another turned and tried to fight—he was brave, but it didn't matter.
Blood hit the air like smoke.
He kept running.
The rocky path narrowed into a dead end—a cliff overlooking molten pits far below. The other three skidded to a stop, eyes wild.
"We have to jump!"
"No! It'll burn straight through us!"
"There has to be another way!"
Then the sound came again—closer.
Closer.
Something cracked inside him. Panic. Desperation.
Then change.
It wasn't a decision. It was instinct.
One moment he was crouching, heart pounding. The next, his body bent inward, bones shifting, vision tilting. Limbs shrank. His skin feathered. His hands—gone. Wings unfurled.
He became a crow.
Small. Fast. Unnoticed.
The others turned to him, eyes wide—but too late.
The beast fell on them with glee.
He flew.
Up. Away. Over scorched stone and smoke.
They were gone before they hit the ground.
He didn't stop flying for hours.
When he finally landed—far from the cliffs, near the edge of the familiar territory—he collapsed behind a crumbling wall, feathers peeling away as his body returned to its default form. The transformation faded like a shiver.
He sat there in silence, panting.
Not from fear.
From confusion.
'What was that?'
He'd never tried to shapeshift. Hadn't even known it was possible.
And yet it had happened—natural, smooth, like sneezing or breathing.
And it had saved his life.
The others didn't get that chance. He could still hear the way they screamed when it caught them. There was no heroism. No last stand. Just flesh being torn apart because they were unlucky.
And he wasn't.
That thought sat heavy in his chest.
When he finally returned to the village, he didn't say anything.
A few demons glanced at him, counting heads, realizing he was the only one who made it back.
"What happened?" one asked.
"Ambush," he replied, flatly. "I ran. It didn't follow me."
There were no follow-up questions. No sympathy. Just nods of understanding—if they'd been in his place, they'd have done the same.
That night, he sat by the dim fire pit and stared into the flames.
His heart didn't race. He didn't feel triumphant.
Just... strange.
He had a power. He didn't know what it meant. He didn't know how it worked. But he wasn't about to tell anyone.
In Hell, knowledge was currency. Secrets were survival.
So he kept it quiet.
Let them think he was just lucky.
Let them all forget the six who didn't come back.
Let them sleep.
He didn't.
He stared into the fire until the ashes died.