The last thing Arion Valerius remembered was standing atop the marble balcony of his sprawling estate, the city lights of Valleria glittering like jewels below. The world was his. Every empire he had built, every fortune he had amassed, every opponent he had crushed—it all reaffirmed one truth: he was untouchable.

Yet, even as the toast of the city, with an audience of sycophants chanting his name, there was an emptiness he couldn't ignore. Pride had demanded perfection, but in chasing it, he had left behind those who truly mattered. His father, whom he had called weak for clinging to simple virtues. His best friend, whose betrayal Arion engineered for daring to outshine him. His younger sister, whom he hadn't spoken to in years because she dared criticize the monster he had become.

He never saw the assassin's blade coming.

Now, the warmth of his blood soaking his silk shirt felt like a distant memory. The pain in his chest, the gasping, desperate plea for air—all of it was gone. Instead, there was fire.

Arion opened his eyes to a sky of molten crimson, its churning clouds illuminated by streaks of eerie black lightning. A sickening heat pressed against his body, wrapping him like a suffocating shroud. The ground beneath him wasn't ground at all—it was a cracked expanse of jagged obsidian, glowing faintly as rivers of molten rock bled through the fractures.

He gasped and tried to stand, the acrid air burning his throat. "What...?" His voice was hoarse, weak, and unfamiliar.

Every inch of his body ached as he sat up. His clothes—tailored to perfection—were charred rags clinging to his blistered skin. His once-pristine hands were raw and bloodied, a mockery of their former elegance.

Then he saw it.

On his left forearm, glowing faintly beneath the soot and grime, was a mark. The symbol was intricate, shifting in and out of focus, as if alive. He touched it instinctively, and the faint warmth it emitted made him recoil.

"What the hell is this?" he muttered, panic creeping into his voice.

A laugh echoed nearby. It was low and mocking, a sound that crawled beneath his skin and made his stomach turn.

"Welcome, sinner."

Arion twisted around, his eyes locking onto the speaker. Perched on a jagged spire of stone was a creature that barely resembled a man. Its gaunt face was stretched taut over sharp bones, its eyes like burning coals. Charred wings hung uselessly at its back, and a grin of too many teeth split its face.

"Who—what are you?" Arion demanded, stumbling to his feet.

The creature tilted its head, its grin widening. "That's a question for later. First, let me tell you where you are. Welcome to Hell, Arion Valerius."

Arion's breath hitched. The word seemed to linger in the air, oppressive and heavy. "Hell?" he echoed, shaking his head. "No. This… this is a mistake. I don't belong here."

The creature cackled, the sound grating like nails on metal. "Oh, they all say that. 'I don't belong here,'" it mocked in a singsong voice. "But your kind always ends up here. Prideful, arrogant fools who thought themselves untouchable. You, Arion, are exactly where you deserve to be."

"No," Arion said firmly, taking a step forward despite the trembling in his legs. "This isn't right. I didn't—"

"Didn't what?" the creature interrupted, leaping down from its perch. "Didn't ruin lives to climb higher? Didn't crush anyone who dared stand in your way? Didn't sell your soul to pride, thinking you were better than everyone else?"

Arion faltered, his words catching in his throat.

The creature's grin faded, its expression hardening. "Face it, mortal. You burned everything you touched. This is where people like you belong."

As the words sank in, the mark on Arion's arm flared brightly, and a cold, mechanical voice spoke directly into his mind:

"System initializing… Level 0. Welcome, Arion Valerius. Sin: Pride. Objective: Survive."

He stumbled, clutching his head as the voice echoed like thunder. An interface flickered into view before him, translucent and alien.

Name: Arion Valerius

Sin: Pride

Level: 0

Health: 100%

Skills Unlocked: None

Status: Damned

"What the hell is this?" Arion whispered, his voice trembling.

The creature chuckled. "The System. It's your only chance to climb out of this pit. But don't get your hopes up. Most fail."

Before Arion could question further, the ground began to quake. A guttural roar rumbled in the distance, and the creature's grin returned, sharper than before.

"Ah, looks like they've noticed you," it said, stepping back into the shadows.

"Who's 'they'?" Arion shouted, panic rising.

The answer came in the form of hulking shadows emerging from the smoky horizon. Their forms were monstrous—twisted amalgamations of flesh and fire, their glowing eyes locking onto Arion with predatory intent.

"First Trial: Defend yourself. Reward: +10 EXP. Penalty: Death."

The System's voice rang out again, calm and detached despite the terror creeping up Arion's spine.

One of the creatures roared and lunged, its molten claws slashing through the air. Arion dove to the side, barely avoiding the attack. The heat from its body singed his skin, and the acrid stench of sulfur filled his nostrils.

He scrambled to his feet, his eyes darting around for anything he could use as a weapon. His hand found a jagged piece of obsidian, its edge sharp enough to cut. Gripping it tightly, he turned to face the creature, his heart pounding.

The beast lunged again, and this time, Arion struck. The shard sank into its side, and the creature let out a deafening screech as molten blood sprayed from the wound, hissing as it hit the ground.

The beast collapsed, dissolving into ash, and the System's voice echoed once more:

"Trial Complete. Reward: +10 EXP. Level Up."

A surge of energy coursed through Arion's body, the mark on his arm glowing brighter. The interface reappeared, updating:

Level: 1

Health: 120%

Skill Unlocked: Infernal Resilience

Before he could catch his breath, another roar sounded, louder this time. More shapes emerged from the haze, their glowing eyes fixed on him.

Arion tightened his grip on the obsidian shard, his jaw clenching. The fire in his chest wasn't just fear—it was anger, determination.

If this was his fate, he wasn't going to lie down and accept it.

"Come on, then," he muttered, stepping forward. "Let's see what Hell's made of."