Chapter 1 – Welcome to Hell
The screen flickered.
Ethan Vale's fingers froze over the keyboard, his tired eyes narrowing at the sudden distortion. The glow of the monitor bathed his cramped room in pale, artificial light, casting long shadows across the mess of his life. Empty energy drink cans clattered when he shifted, their contents long gone, their purpose served. Crumpled chip bags, ramen-stained bowls, and a half-spilled ashtray sat among the wreckage of his desk.
The air was thick—stale, rank, suffocating. He couldn't remember the last time he opened a window.
"Whatever." He exhaled, rubbing his bleary eyes. "Probably just the GPU frying itself. Again."
He reached for the power button, but before his finger could press it—
The screen exploded.
A blast of searing white light engulfed him, burning into his skull, tearing through his nerves like molten steel. Ethan screamed, but the sound never left his throat—his body was ripped apart.
There was no transition. No fade-out. No cinematic cutscene.
Just pain.
Then—
Darkness.
He awoke choking on the stench of death.
Ethan gasped, his breath hitching as bile rose in his throat. His vision swam, blurred by the pounding headache splitting his skull. He pressed his palms against the ground to steady himself—
Something brittle snapped beneath his fingers.
He looked down.
His hands were buried in a pile of bones.
Yellowed, shattered, human bones. Some still had flesh clinging to them, blackened and rotten. The jagged remains of a skull stared up at him, its jaw frozen in a silent scream.
Ethan scrambled backward, heart hammering, breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel something squirming beneath his palms—wet, wriggling things. Maggots. Maggots eating what was left.
He choked back vomit.
His body trembled as he finally took in his surroundings.
A ruined citadel stretched around him, its walls made of jagged black stone, pulsing veins slithering across the surface like something alive. The air was thick, damp, choked with the putrid scent of rotting flesh. The sky above was wrong—a swirling, chaotic abyss of black and crimson, like a wound torn into the fabric of reality.
Something was watching him.
He could feel it.
"No. No, no, no, this isn't real." Ethan whispered, shaking his head violently. "This is a dream. I passed out at my desk. That's it. I just need to wake up."
He pinched his arm.
Hard.
Pain flared through his skin, sharp and real.
Nothing changed.
The citadel remained. The sky pulsed, hungry and alive. The bones beneath him crunched softly with every panicked movement.
His breath came faster. Too fast.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
A low, inhuman growl rumbled behind him.
Ethan's blood turned to ice.
He turned.
And it was there.
A monster from the depths of hell.
A towering, grotesque thing—its body an unholy amalgamation of exposed muscle and jagged bone, its arms too long, its fingers tipped with knife-like claws. Its ribcage gaped open, revealing a writhing mass of eyes and teeth, each one twitching, staring, grinning.
And its face—God, its face.
A stretched, skinless parody of a human skull, its mouth distended far too wide, filled with serrated fangs slick with viscera. Black ichor dripped from its gums, hissing as it hit the stone.
The thing inhaled—deep, wet, eager.
It had found him.
Ethan took a step back, legs trembling. "No, no, no—"
The monster lunged.
First Death
Claws ripped through Ethan's stomach before he could even scream.
The pain was instant, overwhelming—like hot iron dragged through his gut. His legs buckled as he looked down, gasping, disbelieving.
His intestines were spilling out.
A wet, glistening heap of red and purple.
He let out a broken sob, grasping at the wound with shaking hands, trying to push himself back together.
But the monster wasn't finished.
Its claws hooked under his ribs.
Ethan's body jerked violently as the creature lifted him off the ground.
His head lolled, body spasming as he felt every nerve ignite. His ribs cracked, splintering under the pressure. Blood bubbled in his throat, spilling from his lips in choking gasps.
The monster tilted its head. Watching. Enjoying.
Then—
It ripped him in half.
Ethan's world shattered into raw, blinding agony as his spine snapped, his organs spilling onto the floor with a sickening wet slap. His vision darkened, his mouth open in a silent scream.
Then—
Nothing.
He awoke screaming.
Cold stone beneath his back. A damp, rotting breeze on his skin.
His hands flew to his stomach. No wound. No blood.
But he had felt it.
The pain still burned in his mind, a phantom wound carved into his soul.
He choked on a breath, pressing his forehead to the stone, shaking violently.
"What the fuck," he whispered. "What the fuck is happening to me?"
The growl came again.
Louder. Closer.
Ethan's breath hitched. He scrambled to his feet, his mind screaming at him to move.
"I can't run. I can't fight. What do I—?"
His body acted before his brain did. He turned, bolting toward the ruins. His feet pounded against the damp stone, panic surging through every vein.
He needed to hide.
The growl deepened.
Ethan ducked behind a broken pillar, pressing himself against the cold rock, biting his lip to keep from breathing too loud. His entire body shook with terror.
Silence.
Then—a wet, slithering sound.
Ethan's stomach clenched.
The creature was right next to him.
He dared to peek around the pillar.
It was looking for him.
The eyeless sockets pulsed, sensing, sniffing. The clicking of its teeth sped up.
Ethan's heart pounded so hard it hurt.
He pressed his lips together, willing himself to be silent.
Then—
A single drop of sweat fell from his chin.
It hit the stone.
The monster's head snapped toward him.
A scream ripped from Ethan's throat as claws punctured his skull.
A burst of white-hot agony.
Then—
Darkness.
Second Death
Ethan awoke screaming.
His hands flew to his face, expecting it to be shattered.
But he was whole.
Whole. But not safe.
Because the monster was coming again.
And this time, Ethan knew—
It wouldn't stop.
This wasn't a game.
This wasn't a dream.
This was his new reality.
A world of endless death.
And if he wanted to survive—
He had to learn how to win.