In a world where the air was saturated with the iron stench of dried blood, there was an endless desert. Once barren, it is now littered with mountains of corpses. The red sand, like a shroud, slowly covers them, hiding the outlines of the ferocious figures. Slowly but inexorably, new dunes are forming, hiding the traces of a desperate battle.
More recently, these hordes of brutal soldiers struck unbridled fear into the hearts of all who stood in their way. Now everything is frozen, and only time continues its funeral ceremony.
On the hill of the highest dune, a lone male silhouette was kneeling, imbued with an aura of sorrow. His lean but muscular figure was on display, hidden only by torn black clothes and dried blood. His blue eyes looked like lifeless pools, and his face, covered in blood and dust, showed no emotion. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, where rows of motionless bodies stretched to the very edge, merging into one dark mass — a mute testimony to his victory and his curse.
Only if you look closely can you notice a single tear slowly rolling down his dusty cheek.
This once handsome young man, now a demon, had been kneeling motionlessly for three days. Memories of the past days flashed through his mind.
Everyone called him Master, but no one knew what he had been through. He had spent 1,000,000 years in hell, a place filled with sorrow, despair, and endless struggle. And here is the result.
Not so long ago, endless hordes of his soldiers raised their banners in this gloomy desert, full of hope to satisfy their thirst for battle. Their ferocious aura was ready to devour whatever their enemy provided them with. They knew they were going to die. They knew that it was almost impossible to win and survive this battle.
But that wasn't the goal either. Every soldier wanted only to tear apart the enemy, considering it an honor to give his life for the glory and goals of his Master. And they did. They gave him their bodies, their blood and sweat, their hearts and souls. They gave him everything.
His army fell first, no one escaped out of cowardice. They only ran forward, bravely, with insane ferocity. Everyone knew that this was not a battle for a common victory. This battle is for their lord's chance to triumph. Only the possessed came here. Madmen who are ready to sacrifice everything so that their Master can continue to fight.
He lived up to their expectations. He was the last survivor. No one could compete with him. Like a whirlwind, he swept across the battlefield, taking the lives of countless enemies. Thousands of commanders fell by his hand, dozens of generals lost their heads.
In the end, he killed Lucifer, the lord of Hell, with his own hands. He snatched this Pyrrhic victory from the clutches of the devil! And to prove his triumph, he held a black jagged crown, the sharp teeth of which painfully dug into the skin, leaving bloody wounds.
He avenged the fallen, but he couldn't even hear their last words, which they shouted at the top of their lungs, giving their lives on the endless battlefield. They fought for him and his ideas, but what did they get? Only a burial without a grave. Yes, it's hell. Yes, murder is a common thing here. Yes, existence itself is synonymous with the words "pain," "despair," and "fear."
But even in hell, the Master found his purpose. He was standing on a hill, holding a victory symbol in his hands. A crown that represented power over this lifeless and dreary world.
Three days have passed since the end of the battle. The gentleman desperately remembered why he had started all this. Why was he gathering countless troops? Why did you send them to their deaths? Why did you spend more than 100,000 years to continue a meaningless existence?
Plunging into the farthest corners of his memory, he recalled how he first appeared in Hell, very young by the standards of this ruthless place. He recalled the early years spent in agony, despair, and fear. When he was wandering through the first level of hell, dreaming of escaping the endless pain and finally ending the ruthless torture of fire.
The first years were painful. At that time, death seemed like a wonderful dream to him. Every step on the surface of Hell was like a step on broken glass for him. With each breath, flames burst into his lungs, causing unimaginable pain to his already burned body. Thirst and hunger became his faithful companions.
And the worst of all is loneliness. There wasn't a single soul within 1,000 miles of him. No one purposefully tortured him. But the loneliness and agony were maddening.
Remembering that time, he remembered walking, not knowing how much, why, or where, only to find, not knowing what. He walked along repeating three words: "Grey," "Bella," and "Mom."
It was only these three names, repeated countless times, that prevented him from finally going crazy and becoming a brainless doll. He walked with the last remnants of his mind, going over the happy moments of his life bit by bit before going to HELL. A life that, even with all possible efforts, he now couldn't remember.
The endless days of loneliness in this gloomy world had dulled all his senses. He walked forward, driven only by the instinct of survival, without purpose, without hope, accompanied by three names. And suddenly — this meeting. A strange casual creature, furious and hungry, rushed at him with the obvious intention of tearing him apart.
At that moment, a whole firework of emotions broke out in the Master's soul. Fear — sharp, piercing, made the blood run faster through the veins. But with it came something else—joy. The paradoxical, almost insane joy of not being alone anymore. That there was still something alive in this empty world, even if it was hostile.
This mixture of fear and happiness was so strong that even now, after all this time, the memory of it caused the Gentleman to tremble slightly. For a moment, his lips curved into the semblance of a smile—a bitter one, but a smile nonetheless. It was the first emotion he had allowed himself to show in the last three days.
The memories kept replaying in his head.
The years merged into decades, decades into centuries, and the endless battle continued. The battle is insane and pointless. A battle to satisfy eternal hunger with the flesh of enemies and thirst with their blood. It was an endless confrontation in which there was no room for mercy or compassion. Every blow, every movement was aimed at engulfing, destroying, wiping out all living things from the face of the earth.
The gentleman, once young and inexperienced, has turned into a ruthless killer. His body, covered with scars and wounds, bore witness to countless battles. His eyes, once blue and full of life, now burned with red fire, betraying his inner essence—the essence of a predator.
In this world of darkness, death, and pain, there was no place for the weak or the merciful. Only the strongest survived, and the Master became the embodiment of this principle. He was willing to do anything to satisfy his insatiable desires, without feeling tired or sorry for himself or others.
He turned into a predator consumed by thirst for blood and flesh, who knows no mercy. He was part of this world, part of an endless battle that had been going on for millennia. This predator was desperately repeating:
"GREY, BELLA, MOM"
"Mommy, Grey, Bella"
"Bella, mother, Grey"
"Grey Mom"
"Grey Bella"
"GREY, GREY, GREY, GREY, GREY, GREY"
And so, in this endless hunt, he met another being — as lost as himself. This creature endlessly repeated "PALLOCK," just as he himself repeated "GREY, BELLA, MOM." Something about this creature caught his attention, sparked a spark of interest in his tortured mind.
Instead of attacking immediately, the Gentleman slowed down, watching the strange creature. His eyes, burning with red fire, narrowed, assessing a potential opponent. The predator's instinct was still clamoring for blood, but something deeper, almost forgotten, kept him from attacking immediately.
Finally, unable to hold back any longer, he leapt at the creature, aiming his teeth at its neck. But it wasn't an ordinary fatal bite—there was curiosity in his movements, almost a playfulness he hadn't shown in millennia.
"Grey?" He snarled, clutching at his opponent's flesh.
"Pallok," the creature replied, thrusting its arm out and trying to punch him in the stomach.
Their fight continued, but it was no longer just a fight for survival. There was something new in her-a glimmer of recognition, an echo of a long—forgotten sense of connection with another being.
"Mom?" — The Gentleman croaked, loosening his grip for a moment.
"PALLOCK!" the creature replied furiously.
"Bella!" The Gentleman shouted, jumping back.
"PALLOCK, PALLOCK, PALLOCK!!!" — The creature screamed furiously.
After a long struggle, they lay side by side, panting and endlessly repeating four words now. At that moment, something changed. Amidst the endless chaos and pain, a spark of understanding appeared.
Thus began the joint journey of two "highly developed" predators, who found in each other a reflection of their own loss and pain. It was the beginning of a new stage in the endless world of Hell, the beginning of the path that eventually led the Lord to this bloody desert, where he stood now, holding in his hands the crown of power over this cursed world.
The gentleman finally moved. He slowly approached the huge body of Pallock, his first general and loyal friend. Every step was difficult, as if my legs were filled with lead. Kneeling down next to the lifeless giant, he placed a trembling hand on the remains of his head.
"Goodbye, my first general," the Gentleman whispered, his voice trembling. "Goodbye, my friend... Goodbye, Pallock..."
As the Master looked at the lifeless body of Pallok, his most loyal soldier and friend, a storm of emotions raged inside him. The memories of their first meeting, of the endless battles shoulder to shoulder, of the moments when they were the only support for each other in this ruthless world, came flooding back to him.
He remembered how they had gone from crazed predators driven only by instinct to creatures capable of thinking and planning. How Pallock became his first general, how they created an army together, ready to fight for their goals.
The master could feel his resolve wavering. Part of him wanted to stay here, to mourn the fallen, to sink into sorrow and regret. But the other part, the one that had led him through 100,000 years of hell, whispered urgently.:
'Don't stammer.'
'Don't look back.'
'Keep going.'
'You've chosen your path. You shouldn't regret it. Death is not an option for you. The opportunity presented itself. You should have taken this opportunity. Grab it with both hands and keep going. We don't have time to regret or grieve, as the path to our goal is paved with mountains of corpses and victims.'
He bent down and pressed his forehead against Pallock's cold skin. "Thank you for everything, my faithful friend. I hope there's no pain where you've gone. Rest in peace."
With these words, the Gentleman got to his feet. His gaze became firm, determined. He knew he had to move on, that he couldn't afford to get stuck in the past. But a part of his heart will always remain here, with Pallok and all those who fell in this last battle.
Turning around, he headed towards a lonely tree, preparing to take the last step in his long journey through Hell. As he passed by, he stepped on the face of the defeated Lucifer one last time.
Picking up the broken katana and dagger, the Gentleman looked at a single reincarnation fruit, the size of an eye. The surface of the fruit radiated a soft glow, and a delicate fragrance filled the air around it. These signs unmistakably indicated that the fruit had reached full maturity and was ready for its intended use. This little fruit contained the power to change fate. This was his ultimate goal, or rather, the means to achieve it.
Cutting off the fruit with one sharp movement, the Gentleman said: "Bella, Mom, I do not know what will happen next, but I did everything I could! I hope I will be able to meet you again..."
"By the power given to me by the biblical HELL, I, GRAY, nicknamed Master, the current rightful owner of dimension 169,458, declare my immediate resignation and go to reincarnation!"
The black crown flashed with a bright light. The gentleman greedily swallowed the fruit. In one decisive move, he stabbed the broken katana into his heart and the dagger between his eyes. And in the blink of an eye, he disappeared from the bloody desert, leaving only the echo of his last word.