Max's scream echoed through the infernal landscape as jagged teeth sank into his flesh. The monstrous beast tore into his left arm, wrenching it from his body with horrifying force. Pain erupted like a wildfire, searing through his veins, burning deeper than any wound he had ever endured.
Blood spurted violently, splattering across the scorched ground.
Max staggered backward, his mind consumed by agony. His vision blurred. His legs moved instinctively—survival overriding shock—as he turned and ran.
The monster roared behind him, a deafening sound that threatened to shatter his sanity. Its claws tore through the air, narrowly missing his back as Max lunged toward the first safe place he could find—a narrow, jagged cave. He tumbled inside, collapsing against the stone wall, his breath ragged, his body trembling violently.
He clutched the raw, bleeding stump where his arm had been. His mind screamed at him, demanding he wake up from this nightmare.
But there was no waking up.
This was real.
And the pain—oh, the pain—was endless.
A broken sob escaped his lips.
"Mom…"
He curled in on himself, shutting his eyes, willing himself to disappear.
---
Hours passed.
The hellscape outside remained as unforgiving as ever. Max's body shook with hunger, exhaustion, and the lingering torment of his missing limb. The wound had long since stopped bleeding, though his skin bore fresh burns from the unbearable heat.
He couldn't stay here.
If he stayed, he'd die. If he moved… he'd likely die, too.
But standing still wasn't an option.
With aching limbs, Max pushed himself up and stepped out of the cave.
The sight before him was just as horrifying as before—a vast, endless land of fire, molten rivers carving their way through jagged mountains of black rock. The air smelled of sulfur, the sky a swirling abyss of flames.
Then, the sound of metal clanging against rock pierced through the silence.
Max barely had time to react before something sharp slammed into his ribs.
"*AGHHHH!*"
A sword—its metal glowing red-hot from the overwhelming heat—had sliced into his flesh.
His skin blistered upon contact.
His nerves screamed.
He staggered, gripping the wound as fresh blood spilled onto the burning ground.
The culprits stood before him.
Demons.
Small, grotesque figures with elongated limbs and grinning, jagged mouths. Their skin crackled like burning coal, and their beady eyes gleamed with amusement.
They laughed as they struck him again.
Another burning blade cut into his leg.
Pain tore through his body anew. His knees buckled. He gasped, struggling to remain standing.
"Why…" he choked out, his voice weak. "Why are you—"
The demons ignored him.
To them, he was nothing more than entertainment.
Their weapons continued to slash—small cuts, deep burns—every single one meant to prolong his suffering.
They wanted to watch him break.
And for a moment, Max thought they might succeed.
Then his fingers brushed against something solid on the ground.
A sword.
One of the demons had dropped it.
Desperation took hold.
Without thinking, Max swung wildly.
The blade slashed through flesh.
A demon shrieked—its voice piercing through the heated air as its body collapsed, dead.
The other demons froze.
Then, they turned and ran.
Max stood there, panting, trembling, covered in wounds that refused to stop burning.
He stared at the bloodied sword in his grip, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Then he saw them.
The demons had returned.
Only this time, they had brought more.
---