"Is this Hell?" Damon thought as he stood in the middle of the wasteland. The scene around him was impossible to fully grasp—the endless piles of monstrous corpses, some as large as buildings, and the seemingly infinite battles between grotesque entities in the distance. It felt like he was staring into a nightmare that stretched on forever.
But there was no panic, no fear. Just a strange calm.
He glanced down at his own hands—thin, grey arms with claws for fingers, his nails long and sharp. His body felt stronger, lighter, but alien all the same. He flexed his fingers, watching the muscles beneath his skin move like they were someone else's. He felt different, yet completely in control.
"This… it's all real. I'm really here. But why? What now?" The thoughts bounced around his head, but he stayed focused, his eyes scanning the landscape.
He crouched low, moving quickly and quietly between the massive bodies that littered the ground, using them as cover. There was no telling what might be lurking nearby. Damon knew he had to be smart. This wasn't the time for careless mistakes.
The system's voice, cold and mechanical, suddenly echoed in his mind.
[SYSTEM ALERT: SHAPESHIFTING UNLOCKED]
Damon paused, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the glowing, black window in front of him. His thoughts were steady, calm, as he read the words appearing before him.
[Your form is your weapon.]
[Shapeshift only into what you kill.]
[The stronger the entity, the greater the power.]
[To escape this realm, you must survive for 500 years.]
"Five hundred years?" Damon's mind processed the words. The time didn't bother him much—it was the fact that death was a constant threat. "So, survive for five centuries in this wasteland filled with these things…" His eyes flicked to the distant figures battling, their forms too twisted to fully comprehend. "I can do that. I have to."
The idea of killing something to gain its form—its strength—stirred something in him. He liked the sound of it. Damon had always been a survivor, manipulating, stealing, doing whatever it took to get by. This was no different. "Kill or be killed… nothing new."
But that timeline… it gnawed at the edges of his mind. "500 years is a long time. I can't mess up, not even once." He moved forward, blending into the shadows of the dead creatures, his mind whirring with thoughts.
He had always been clever, always found ways to stay one step ahead. That's how he survived for years after robbing that gangster. They had been looking for him, searching every corner, and yet, he'd managed to slip through their fingers. "If I can outsmart humans, I can outsmart these monsters."
His gaze swept across the wasteland. "There's no turning back now. I'll survive." The idea of escaping after all those years only strengthened his resolve. He would learn everything about this new body, this new world. He would kill, shapeshift, and endure.
But as he moved further, he heard it—something shuffling nearby.
Damon froze, ducking behind the corpse of a massive beast, pressing his back against its rotting side. His breathing was slow, controlled. He wasn't afraid, but he wasn't stupid either.
A massive demon appeared on the horizon, moving through the piles of corpses with a slow, deliberate pace. Damon narrowed his eyes, taking in every detail of the creature. It was a head taller than him, its skin dark and cracked, with thick, muscular arms that dragged across the ground. But the most horrifying part? The mouths.
Several mouths were scattered across its body, each one different in size, all of them moving, twitching, and oozing strange, dark substances. The smell hit Damon hard—something sour, mixed with decay. Some of the mouths seemed to whisper, but the words were unintelligible, just garbled noise.
"What the hell is that thing?" Damon's thoughts raced, but his heart remained steady. He could feel the sharpness in his new vision—he saw everything clearer, sharper. The demon was powerful, and Damon knew that attacking it now would be suicide.
But then again, he didn't need to fight it. Not yet. "Stay low, stay hidden. Don't be reckless." Damon shifted his weight, crouching lower as the demon moved closer, its glowing red eyes scanning the corpses around it. Its mouths continued to drip the strange substance, forming small puddles on the ground. Damon caught a glimpse of the ground sizzling where the liquid touched—acidic.
"Nasty… and deadly." He felt his muscles tense as the demon sniffed the air, searching for prey. Damon held his breath, waiting for the right moment. The creature took another step, its foot landing mere inches from Damon's hiding spot. The sound of its breathing—heavy and wet—filled the air, but Damon didn't move.
"Just keep going… keep moving, you freak," Damon thought, watching as the demon's eyes passed over him, not noticing his presence. He felt a slight thrill—a mix of excitement and relief. He was outsmarting it. For now.
Finally, the demon lumbered off in another direction, its mouths still twitching and dripping as it moved through the wasteland, searching for something else to devour.
Damon let out a slow breath, his body relaxing slightly. He had managed to avoid a fight, but it wouldn't always be that easy. The creatures here were dangerous—more dangerous than anything he had faced before.
But Damon wasn't worried. He was smart. He had survived worse odds. And now, with the ability to shapeshift into what he killed, he had an advantage he'd never had before. "I'll get stronger. I'll survive. And in 500 years, I'll walk out of here alive."
The thought brought a cold smile to his lips as he carefully moved away from his hiding spot, his sharp eyes watching the horizon. The system had given him the rules. Now it was up to him to play the game.