Year One. Month Six.
Seventy-four demons dead.
Elias sat alone on a cliff overlooking an abyss that had no bottom. Wind that didn't exist howled in his ears, or maybe it was just the echo of his own thoughts.
He'd grown. Not just taller—though he had, now standing at 1.75 meters, his frame filling out with lean muscle forged through constant combat—but changed in ways that went deeper than flesh.
His hair, once greasy and tangled from Ashwell's streets, was longer now. Shoulder-length. Tied back with a strip of cloth torn from his ruined shirt. Cleaner, somehow. As if this place—despite its horror—had burned away the grime of his old life.
But his eyes...
His eyes were different.
Still gray. Still sharp.
But older. Harder. Haunted.
He flexed his hands. The golden fire responded instantly—dancing across his fingers like living light, obedient to his will. He'd mastered it now. Could summon it at will. Shape it. Control it. Even extend it beyond his hands, creating weapons of pure flame.
But something was wrong.
He felt... empty.
The demons had stopped whispering lies.
Now they just whispered truth.
"You're alone."
"No one is coming for you."
"You will die here. Eventually. They all do."
And the worst part?
He was starting to believe them.
The last demon he'd killed—number seventy-four, a grotesque thing with too many joints and a mouth full of human teeth—had fought differently. It had spoken to him. Actually spoken. Not whispers. Words.
"You think you're special?" it had hissed, dodging his strikes with unnatural grace. "You think He cares about you? You're just a tool. Disposable. Replaceable."
Elias had burned it for that. But the words lingered.
Because maybe they were true.
"Sanctus," he whispered into the void. "I don't know how much longer I can do this."
Silence.
"Are You even there? Or am I just... talking to myself?"
More silence.
Elias clenched his jaw. Anger flared in his chest—hot and bitter. Not at the demons. At Sanctus. At the God who'd saved him from death only to drop him into this endless nightmare.
"I'm fighting Your fight!" His voice echoed across the abyss. "Killing Your enemies! And You won't even talk to me?!"
His voice echoed back. Mocking. Empty.
And then, finally:
"Didn't I tell you ? I am always here."
Elias froze.
The voice was soft. Gentle. But it hit him like a hammer to the chest.
"You are not alone, Elias. You have never been alone."
"Then why won't You help me?!" The words tore from his throat, raw and desperate.
"I am helping you. Every breath you take. Every step. Every victory. That is Me. The fire in your hands—that is Me. The strength that sustains you—that is Me."
Elias's throat tightened. His vision blurred.
"I'm so tired," he whispered. The words barely made it past his lips."So damn tired."
"I know."
"I don't think I can finish," Elias said, his voice cracking now despite his effort to keep it steady. "Twenty-six more." He gave a hollow, breathless laugh. "It feels like… like it never ends. Like forever."
"You can. Because I am with you. Be strong and very courageous."
That was all it took.
Elias bowed forward, pressing his fists into his eyes as if he could physically hold himself together. His shoulders shook, once, then again, until the sound he made was no longer restrained. Tears spilled freely, hot and relentless, soaking into his palms.
He hadn't cried when the pain had come—when his body had screamed and bled.He hadn't cried when fear had stalked him.
But now he cried, and he couldn't even name the reason.
Was it the weight of those simple words—so steady, so certain—that finally cracked him open?Was it the longing to return to a time before this realm, before the screams and the shadows and the endless test of survival?Or was it sheer exhaustion—bone-deep, soul-deep—from fighting demons that never seemed to stay dead, from carrying a burden that felt far too heavy for one person to bear?
Perhaps it was all of it at once.
When the tears finally slowed, when his breathing evened into something manageable, the world came back into focus. The ground beneath him was still there. The nightmare hadn't vanished.
But neither had he.
Elias straightened.
He dragged the back of his hand across his face, wiping away the remnants of weakness—or perhaps, for the first time, accepting that it wasn't weakness at all.
And then he smiled.
It wasn't the sharp, practiced smirk he'd worn back in Ashwell.Not the cynical armor he'd used to keep people at a distance.
This smile was quieter. Softer. Real.
It belonged to someone who had been broken—and stood up anyway.To someone who had finally found a reason that outweighed his fear.
"Alright," he said, his voice low but steady now. "Twenty-six more."
He drew a breath, deep and grounding.
"Let's finish this."
* * *
The demons came in waves after that.
Not individually. Not in pairs. But in coordinated groups, as if something had noticed he was getting stronger and decided to test him properly.
Three anger demons attacked him simultaneously. They came from different angles—left, right, above—claws flashing in perfect synchronization.
Elias didn't panic. He'd learned to see patterns. To read intent.
"Duck. Roll left. Strike high."
He moved before the thought was complete.
Ducked under the first set of claws.
Rolled left as the second demon's strike carved through empty air.
Came up swinging, fist wreathed in golden fire, connected with the third demon's jaw.
The demon's head exploded in golden flame. Its body followed. Ash scattered.
The other two demons circled, hesitant now. Afraid.
Elias smiled. Not kind. Not gentle.
The smile of a predator who'd learned to hunt.
"Your turn," he said.
He lunged.
The fight was brutal. Claws raked across his ribs, leaving deep furrows that bled freely. One demon bit into his shoulder, teeth like razors tearing through muscle. Pain exploded white-hot.
But Elias didn't stop.
He grabbed the demon by its throat with his left hand. Golden fire erupted from his palm, consuming the creature from the inside out. It shrieked, burned, died.
The last demon tried to flee. Elias chased it down. Caught it. Slammed it into the obsidian ground with enough force to crack the stone.
"You whispered lies to me," he said quietly. "Now burn."
Golden fire consumed it.
Seventy-seven demons dead.
* * *
The spiritual bread came again on the fortieth day.
Elias ate slowly, savoring each bite. His wounds healed. His strength returned.
But more than that—
He felt... peace.
Not happiness. Not joy. But a deep, abiding peace that settled in his bones.
He wasn't alone.
He'd never been alone.
And that changed everything.
"Thank You," he whispered.
Two simple words.
But they meant the world.
* * *
Eighty demons. Eighty-five. Ninety.
The demons grew stronger as he progressed. More cunning. More vicious.
One demon—a failure demon that appeared as a twisted version of himself—fought him for hours. Every time Elias struck, it copied his movements perfectly. Every technique. Every strategy.
"You can't win," it hissed in his voice. "You're just fighting yourself."
"No," Elias said. "I'm fighting what I used to be."
He closed his eyes. Stopped trying to out-fight the demon.
And listened.
"Behind you. Three steps. Strike without looking."
Elias spun. Struck blindly.
His fist connected. Golden fire exploded.
The demon shrieked. Burned. Died.
Elias opened his eyes. Stared at his hand.
"I trust You," he whispered. "I actually trust You."
"Good. You will need that trust. The last ten are coming."
Elias looked toward the distant mountains. Felt something massive stirring in the shadows.
Ninety demons down.
Ten to go.
And then—
Freedom. Or death.
He flexed his hands. Golden fire blazed.
"Let them come," he said quietly. "I'm ready."