The scent of blood never left this place. It soaked into the stone floors, clung to the air like a parasite, and wrapped itself around the throats of those who breathed it in. The iron stench had become so thick that it was suffocating, turning each breath into an exercise in endurance. Somewhere in the distance, chains rattled, followed by a low, pitiful whimper. Then silence. Always silence.

Deep inside a dimly lit chamber, a boy sat motionless. His frail frame, barely more than skin and bone, was wrapped in tattered cloth. His black hair hung in unkempt strands over his pale face, his once-bright red eyes dulled by suffering. A jagged scar ran across his torso, a painful reminder of past torment. His bare feet were submerged in a pool of something thick and warm, though he had long since stopped recoiling from the sensation. His ribs jutted out from beneath his skin, and his wrists bore raw, red marks from the shackles that had once bound him.

The cell was nothing short of a nightmare. The walls, made of damp, rough stone, were covered in deep scratches—marks left behind by those who had once struggled here. Rusted chains dangled from the ceiling, some still holding corpses that twitched unnaturally, as if their bodies had yet to realize they were dead. Others had already begun to decay, the stench of rot mixing with the thick scent of blood. The floor was slick with filth, making every movement treacherous.

This was Kayn Grey's world.

The heavy creak of a metal door echoed through the chamber. Someone had entered.

Footsteps—slow, measured, and deliberate—resounded against the cold stone floor. Unlike others who had come before, this man was unbothered by the filth and horror surrounding him. No hesitation, no disgust. He walked with purpose, as if the gruesome scene before him was nothing more than an expected inconvenience.

Then, he stopped.

Kayn remained still, not bothering to lift his head, but he could feel the man's gaze crawling over him.

Stanley Serpent.

A monster in human skin. Or perhaps not even human anymore.

He was tall and unnaturally thin, his long limbs giving him a serpentine appearance. His skin, faintly scaly, caught the dim torchlight at odd angles, reflecting an almost unnatural sheen. His face was sharp and angular, with piercing yellow eyes that held a cold, predatory gleam. His lips curled in disdain, revealing elongated, needle-like fangs. Though he wore the robes of a scholar, they did nothing to hide the unnatural modifications he had done to his body.

Stanley crouched in front of Kayn, studying him like a specimen under glass.

"Still alive, are we?" His voice was smooth, sickeningly amused. "I expected you to break a long time ago."

Kayn said nothing. He barely remembered how to speak.

Stanley sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "You're a failure, you know that?" He reached out, gripping Kayn's chin between his fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze.

Dull, lifeless red eyes stared back at him.

"No Earth's Gate. No Heaven's Gate. Nothing." Stanley's lips curled further in disgust. "Just a breathing corpse."

His gaze flickered toward the body beside Kayn—another failure. The corpse was beyond recognition, still bound in chains as if death alone wasn't enough to grant it freedom. There was no soul left, no resistance, just an empty husk.

Stanley turned his attention back to Kayn, searching for something—fear, despair, hatred—but there was nothing.

Just empty red eyes.

No emotion. No will to survive. No resentment. These were the eyes of someone who had been betrayed by the world itself.

Something inside Stanley twisted in irritation.

Without warning, his fist slammed into Kayn's stomach. The boy collapsed forward, his frail body trembling, coughing up bile. Tears welled at the corner of his eyes from the force of the blow, but his face remained blank.

No scream. No cry. No flinch.

Just a quiet, involuntary reaction.

Stanley wiped his hand against his robe as if he had touched something dirty. "I suppose that's fine. I'm almost done here anyway. You'll serve one last purpose, even if you don't want to."

He rose to his feet, adjusting his robes.

"Tonight, the ritual ends," he said, walking toward the door. "Those who awakened will rise. Those who failed… will be discarded."

The heavy door slammed shut behind him, leaving Kayn alone once more.

Discarded.

He had always known it would end like this, but he never expected to last this long. His eyes drifted toward the corpse beside him. Envy stirred in his chest. At least his former cellmate was free now, wherever his soul had ended up. It had to be better than this hell.

His fingers curled against the cold stone floor.

Hell.

The word lingered in his mind. A fictional place. A realm of punishment, spoken of in trembling whispers by those who feared divine wrath. Heaven's guardians used it to keep the masses in line, warning of eternal suffering for those who strayed from the righteous path.

What a joke.

If hell existed, it wasn't some far-off realm of suffering. It was here. It was now. It was this world.

A bitter, humorless chuckle escaped his cracked lips.

Then a thought took root. A dangerous, intoxicating thought.

If hell truly existed… then he would rule it.

The world had abandoned him. Heaven had forsaken him. Earth had cast him aside.

So he would become something beyond them all.

A low tremor ran through his body, starting from the pit of his stomach and spreading outward. His frail limbs tensed. His breath quickened.

Something deep inside him roared.

It was not his body that changed, nor did his soul gain unfathomable power. But something shifted. The unseen chains that had bound him, suppressing him, holding him down—snapped.

For the first time in his life, he felt… free.

A wicked smile stretched across his lips, the first true expression he had shown in years.

If Heaven and Earth had abandoned him, then he would take solace in Hell.