Hells Escape: A Journey of Redemption

The Cohort marched east for the rest of the day, trailing behind the shimmering white beacon that pulsed in the sky like a distant flame. The aftermath of the battle lingered in their bones, but aside from the two forgettable girls who'd fallen, there were no severe losses. Even Blythe, her magic hindered by corruption, had managed to seal their wounds and patch up their clothing. Her healing was far from perfect, but it had kept everyone moving.

Now, the cold, dark night had settled over the endless dunes.

Damien usually volunteered for watch, but tonight he let himself rest. Uneasy rest.

Lying among a camp full of people he didn't trust made sleep feel like a gamble. His body twitched at every stray rustle, every shift of sand outside the tent. The air was dry and stuck to his skin like sweat.

Then it came again, a faint crinkle, subtle but sharp.

His eyes snapped open.

In a blink, his new dagger, which the grey monk had given him, flashed into his hand with a golden shimmer. Apparently, when a hellbound dies, their weapons are displayed and ripe for taking for the one who absorbs them.

He crouched silently, breath held, listening.

Only the sound of shallow gasps and movement met his ears.

Sighing, he let the blade fade from his pale hand. No longer sunburnt thanks to Blythe's ability restoration.

Another night of the Monk sweating in his sleep…What is he seeing?

Suddenly, a flat, mechanical voice echoed in Damien's mind.

"Participants registered: Damien Veyne, Jenna, Grey Monk, Joseph, Blythe, James, and... bland girl."

Damien blinked.

Uh, hi?... Why only my last name, and... bland girl? Is it reading them based on my perspective?

The voice continued, its tone dry and unchanging, like some emotionless automaton running a script.

"You have been granted an opportunity. For the next twenty-four hours, three of you may choose to exit the First Circle."

Damien's eyes widened.

What?!

"A button labeled 'Accept' has been added to the top of your runes. Pressing it will result in immediate teleportation to the city hub."

The voice paused.

Outside, the cold wind stirred the dunes. Inside the tent, the Grey Monk still writhed in his sleep, whispering to phantoms only he could see.

What's the city? Damien frowned...

No way it's that easy. This whole Circle is about Greed versus Selflessness... So now we're just being told to leave? Why would Greed ever be the correct answer?

As if reading his doubts, the voice returned.

"Only three may accept. The remainder will stay for twenty-four hours, and if no one claims the opportunity... a reward will be granted to your group. Good day."

Silence fell.

Damien stared into the dim tent, heart beginning to drum faster now.

More rustling. Then the sharp zzzzip of a tent flap tearing open echoed from outside—followed by a voice that cut through the cold like a blade.

"Everyone out here, right now! Hands up high, palms forward!"

Joseph barked orders like he was still in charge of something.

Beside Damien, the Grey Monk jolted awake, soaked in sweat, eyes wild. They exchanged a wordless nod—then moved. The Monk unzipped the flap and stepped into the freezing dunes, his movements stiff but sharp, and Damien followed, raising his hands high as ordered, fingers numb in the cold.

Outside, the others were already gathered, lined up across from them in a loose arc around the dying campfire, every set of hands held above their heads.

Faces lit by firelight.

Jenna stood near the edge of the group, glancing Damien's way, her brows furrowed, searching for direction.

He only smiled at her, faint and unreadable.

The fire crackled in front of them, its glow dancing across the sand and casting long shadows behind every figure. The cold bit through their clothes, but no one moved.

Blythe and the bland girl looked pale and terrified. James and Joseph, meanwhile, scanned the group with narrowed eyes, expressions tight with suspicion.

Breaking the silence like a whip crack, Joseph locked eyes with Damien and barked,"Is this the betrayal you saw!?"

Damien didn't flinch. His face was a mask—sharp features fixed, glassy eyes narrowing just slightly, but inside his thoughts raced.

Damn it.

I was so caught off guard by the system that I didn't think about how it might unravel everything. I can't let them believe this is the betrayal... but I can't overplay my hand either. Fuck.

He took a slow breath. Suppressing the simmer of wrath from his Veil of Lies shackle, he met Joseph's glare with calm composure and spoke with practiced confidence.

"I'm unsure," Damien said, voice steady. "My visions are vague. Whether that's the nature of my ability or the result of my corruption ratio... I don't know."

Joseph's jaw tensed. With a flick of his hand, his broad-bladed sword appeared above his head, catching firelight along its edge. Damien's fingers twitched, instinct urging him to summon his dagger, but he resisted.

Then Joseph's voice boomed again.

"No one better fucking accept. If I see even one hand move, I'll cut you down where you stand."

A gust of cold wind rolled over the dunes, tugging at clothes and flaring the fire. Luckily, the wind was at Damiens' back, letting his black hair crowd over his forehead, covering the crown of thorns.

To Joseph's right, Blythe stepped forward, her voice rising over the quiet crackle.

"Joseph!" she shouted, arms still raised, her violet hair whipping in the wind, blue eyes rimmed with fatigue. "This is insane."

Joseph's gaze was fixed ahead, burning with anger.

"Blythe," he muttered darkly, "anyone who'd betray us deserves to die."

Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered her eyes.

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with fear, suspicion, and the quiet pop of the fire. No one dared move.

Then James stepped forward slightly, his patched brown shirt flapping against his skinny, yet fat, frame. His eyes, fixed on Damien, held something between accusation and calculation.

"Why are we so confident someone's going to betray us?" James growled, his voice thick with frustration. He thrust a finger toward Damien, arms still raised. "Just because this asshole shows up and says so?"

Damien didn't respond. His expression was carved from stone.

If there was ever a moment I considered sparing you… It's long gone.

Then, with practiced cool, he finally spoke.

"Do I need to remind you of my sin?" His voice carried calmly across the tense camp. "If I were lying about my vision, I'd be writhing on the sand."

He gave a sharp smile.

"Do you see me writhing?"

This whole time, his body flared with raw, searing pain. He tasted blood but held his grin steady.

James scoffed with a hiss between his teeth, turning his head away.

"Tschkkk."

But before any of the others could speak, a quiet voice cut through the freezing air.

"His visions have never been wrong."

Everyone turned.

Jenna.

Her arms were trembling from the cold, the black tank top clinging to her thin frame, while the white pants offered no warmth. Damien couldn't tell if she spoke from fear, calculation, or something else entirely.

Joseph's head whipped toward her, eyes wide with frustration.

"I'm not doubting his ability!" he snapped, voice cracking with stress. "That's why we can't ignore this!"

Then his gaze darted between Damien and the Monk, searching, desperate.

"Have either of you seen anything new?"

The question hung for a breath, and then, perfectly synchronized, the two of them shook their heads.

"No."

Joseph's fists clenched around his blade.

"Fuck!"

Damien glanced at the middle-aged Monk, eyes unreadable.

Liar.

Then, just beside Blythe, something shifted in Damien's peripheral vision.

A subtle movement, barely more than a twitch.

The bland girl, her short brown hair clinging to her freckled cheeks in the wind, had begun inching her left hand across her chest toward the rune marked on her right wrist.

A jolt of panic surged through Damien's veins.

She was going to accept the offer.

He could already see the chaos unraveling if she disappeared now, Joseph snapping, someone retaliating, blood in the sand.

Without hesitation, Damien coughed, sharp and deliberate, loud enough to pull every head toward him. Even the bland girl froze, her fingers hovering a breath above her rune, startled by the sudden noise.

All eyes were on him now.

He let the silence stretch a moment longer, then spoke with practiced calm.

"Although… before we all met, I did learn something about the trial."

The words dropped like stones into still water.

Joseph and James snapped toward him at once, their voices overlapping in the same hoarse, panicked scream.

"What!?"

Damien raised his hands slightly in mock surrender, then began to lower them slowly and deliberately. Joseph's eyes narrowed, his sword still floating ominously above, but he gave no command to stop.

Damien continued, voice level.

"We weren't exactly blessed with provisions at the start. Between the three of us, and the other Hellbound who didn't survive, we were given two bottles of water and one loaf of bread."

James scoffed, his tone filled with heat.

"And what does that have to do with anything?"

"It means," Damien said, pausing for effect, "that this trial is designed to test our greed. The limited food, the ambushes, the cruel traps, and proposals- none of it is a coincidence. It's a test. One built to push us toward Sin, and see if we respond with selflessness."

He looked around the circle slowly, allowing the weight of his words to land.

"So if you believe the system would actually reward you for abandoning the group, for choosing greed over unity, you're being played."

Across from him, the bland girl lowered her hand from her mark. Her eyes dropped, refusing to meet his, but she made no further move.

Damien allowed himself a silent sigh of relief.

Joseph, now a little steadier, dispelled the blade above his head with a faint shimmer of golden light. His voice was quieter this time, but held no less authority.

"Everyone, lower your hands."

The group obeyed, cautious and unsure, but compliant. Limbs sagged. Tension eased, though no one turned their back or let their guard drop fully.

Joseph continued, eyes glinting as he looked up at the sky, as if addressing some hidden overseer.

"We'll stay out here until the proposal disappears. All of us, and if anyone needs bread or water, take what you need. No one's hoarding."

His voice rang with forced morality, like a man trying to be overheard by something greater than the rest of them.

For a moment, there was stillness.

Then Blythe lifted her head, her arms crossed over her chest, violet hair dancing in the cold breeze. Her voice was soft, but her words cut clean.

"About that. I counted the bread and water from my box this morning." Her eyes scanned the group. "I'm missing some."

The fire popped in the silence that followed, casting long, restless shadows across the sand.

Damien felt a twitch at the corners of his lips as something giddy stirred in his chest. He tried to suppress it, to maintain his mask of calm, but the truth bloomed too brightly inside him to be ignored.

A smile spread across his face, uncontrolled, uninvited, and far too pleased.

So it begins.