Time lost its meaning.
The first ten years passed like a blur, but at the same time, they felt like an eternity.
Every day, minute, second, and moment, Amon was forced to fight and swing his spear, his body madly screaming in pain as he knew no rest.
Endlessly, he found himself broken, beaten, and bloodied, on the verge of death, but with the mighty hands of his growth gift lifting him up, death seemed much too far away, and his suffering felt like it would never end.
Each enemy was more powerful than the last, wielding abilities Amon couldn't comprehend, but nonetheless, he pushed through, his will to live more radiant than theirs.
After the initial ten years, the battles continued, but this time, the structure of it all changed.
For the first third of the day, he was forced to fight against other humans, just as he did during his first ten years, but during the second third, beasts of all kinds were sent toward him, plunging him into an even deeper pit of hell. During the third part of the day, Prince Kuwan returned, torturing him with all kinds of devices in a near endless array of ways.
This lasted for thirty years—three times as long as the first period.
After a while, a new phase ensued, and this time, Amon was forced to… learn?
He found himself in a room, bound by even heavier chains, as all around him, scholars of all sorts could be seen, holding whips of fire and lightning.
Every day now, a fourth segment was added to the three previous ones, and in this segment, he had to learn and master a topic. If he failed to answer a question?
He'd be beaten to the verge of death, then plunged into a vat of acid just long enough for him to nearly collapse, only to be then brought back and healed.
Again and again and again and again and again and again and again. Endlessly. Never-ending.
Time lost its meaning.
***
Prince Kuwan happily strolled around his palace, the joy on his face evident.
It'd been a hundred and fifty years since Amon had become his toy, and to say he was happy with him was an understatement.
In fact, he was so happy with him that he added ninety years to the original 'sentencing' he'd received.
He was one of his only three toys that had borne fruit and brought him more than he could've asked for.
In all those years, though the prince hadn't aged at all, his aura had become much more imposing and his gaze more cunning.
Suddenly, he stopped moving, standing in front of a wide garden full of flowers. Behind him, a veiled woman appeared.
Immediately, she kneeled.
"Your highness."
"Mm?"
The veiled woman raised her head.
"We've found it," she said, barely containing her excitement. "We've found the ruins of death."
For a moment, Prince Kuwan froze, his heart skipping a beat as for the first time in perhaps centuries, he lost his composure.
WHOOSH!
This slight lapse of control caused his aura to wildly fluctuate, sending waves of turbulent air crashing into the world around him as the veiled woman was sent flying back.
"Hahahahaha!"
He began to laugh, his head whipping backwards as he let out a pure and primal belly laugh, one that came from the very core and essence of his being, his soul.
"Hahaha!"
Everything just seemed to align in place for this prince.
"Get me my three toys! We'll be setting off immediately!"
***
On a grand platform that floated atop a desert, a figure could be seen.
This figure sat cross-legged, their long black hair shimmering with an auspicious light under the harsh waves of heat that cascaded down from the sun.
With an overgrown beard stuck to a baby face as well as a toned body covered in endless scars, Amon seemed to have become an entirely different man.
'A hundred and fifty years.'
During those years, for some reason, he hadn't aged a single second, still looking like the seventeen-year-old baby he once was.
The only difference was his body, covered in vicious scars, a testament to the hell he'd been through.
'How strange…'
Over those years, one would have expected him to have become an entirely new person as his mind slowly crumbled to the incessant crashing waves of time, but strangely enough, his mind seemed to have received the same treatment as his body.
Though now he was more than a hundred years old, he still felt seventeen but at the same time, he didn't. It was like he'd begun to work on an entirely different frame of existence.
He remembered every moment of the last hundred and fifty years with uncanny clarity, but at the same time, he remembered everything about his life on earth, as if it'd all happened at once.
He didn't know what was happening, but after a while, he and Mordred simply assumed this was an effect of the dungeon's current state.
As long as the quest didn't begin, he wouldn't age—at least, that was their current theory.
While he didn't age physically and mentally, he seemed to be in a strange limbo. To say he was the same boy he once was would be foolish—no, it'd be a death sentence.
Slowly, he stood up, unbothered by the terrifying heat of the world around him. In the next moment, a woman appeared in front of him, out of thin air.
Seeing Amon had once again managed to sense her arrival, the woman sighed.
"Your aether sensitivity is truly otherworldly," she praised, but Amon remained quiet, looking into the distance with a narrowed gaze.
She looked him up and down, realizing he still only wore his torn pants while the rest of his being was naked. She sighed once more.
"Why don't you wear the robes his highness has offered you?"
Amon, slowly, turned his head to face hers, his gaze piercing yet calm as she lost herself in the endless sea of blue that made it up.
She'd seen this gaze countless times over the years, but even then, she still found herself mesmerized every time she saw him.
"I am a slave. Though that is the case, my mind remains mine to control. I will not let myself, let alone my honor, be tarnished by such ridicule." He took a deep breath in. "I do not want to be a slave adorned in chains of gold. Let the world see the dried blood that lay upon my binds."
Before she could answer, he exhaled then spoke again.
"So, I suppose I have a task?"