Hells Escape: A Journey of Redemption

It was dawn in the Scorching Desert.

A dull orange light bled over the horizon, casting long shadows across the sand. The cohort moved slowly, packing tents and securing supplies with mechanical focus. A brittle silence hung in the air—too tired for argument, too uneasy for peace.

Joseph stood near the fire pit, arms crossed and jaw clenched. He'd insisted they remain in the camp for the rest of the system's trial, as he was determined to keep anyone else from abandoning the pack.

But the Grey Monk had shattered that plan with just two words.

"We move. Monsters."

James had pressed him, trying to draw more from the man's stoic lips, but the Monk only repeated himself; his voice was flat and final.

Damien worked quietly beside Blythe, helping her dismantle a worn canvas tent—the one that used to belong to her and Riley. Jenna and Joseph labored nearby, assisting James and the Monk without saying much. The air between them crackled with things left unsaid.

Damien felt their stares, but ignored them.

He turned to Blythe, keeping his tone casual.

"Can you pass me some bread and water?"

Joseph had laid out the rules for food and water early on: rations were to be taken twice a day, in the morning and at night. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't be nearly enough, as the human body demands far more, especially under the punishing sun of the brutal desert.

But they had Blythe.

Her ability, Restoration, allowed her to recover a small portion of anything consumed—water swallowed, food eaten, and make it cycle through your body again. However, her corruption ratio was too high for her to bypass meals entirely. Still, it made rationing a lot easier.

She glanced up from the tent pole she'd been struggling with, her expression pale and vacant.

"Sure," she said, her voice hollow.

She knelt beside an old wooden crate nestled in the sand. Its surface was sun-bleached, the lid loose from wear. As she pried it open, her fingers froze mid-motion.

Her eyes widened.

Frowning, she started shifting the contents inside, her hands moving quicker, counting something invisible to Damien.

Then came the sharp intake of breath.

"What?!"

She stared down into the crate, mouth parted in disbelief.

"More is missing!" she cried.

Her voice pierced the morning stillness, and every head turned.

Damien stepped closer, a chill of satisfaction creeping up his spine despite the desert heat.

Joseph came marching over, his silver armor catching the dawn light, eyes locked on Blythe like he'd been waiting for an excuse to hover near her.

"What do you mean more is missing?" he barked.

One incident could be dismissed. Perhaps one of the leaders had distributed too much, or a peasant had become greedy during the night. But twice? In a situation already teetering on collapse, a pattern like that could spark a fire they couldn't put out.

Blythe's voice was barely above a whisper, raw and uncertain.

"Do you think... Riley took some?"

Joseph shook his head, blonde curls bouncing as sunlight danced along his polished pauldrons.

"No... when I cut off—" He stopped, the words freezing in his throat as he realized too late what he'd said. The look on Blythe's face told him everything, her eyes already shining with tears.

Scratching the back of his neck, Joseph softened his tone. "She didn't have any."

James approached then, dressed in his usual tattered brown shirt and pants, laying a hand on Joseph's shoulder like an old friend stepping into a brewing storm.

"Then who did?" he said evenly. "We can't let this slide."

Damien nearly smirked at the irony of it all, but held his expression steady. His eyes drifted over to Jenna and the Grey Monk, both of whom were conspicuously focused on their tent, heads down, keeping well out of it.

Then James turned, voice sharp.

"What about you, Damien? You know anything?"

The air seemed to tighten. Damien felt their weighted gazes land on him

Ignoring his shackle, he chuckled lightly and offered a shrug.

"No, but if I had to guess... before Riley got snapped out of existence, she probably ate and drank everything she could. Makes sense, doesn't it? If she were getting sent to the safe zone—or the city, whatever the System called it—she wouldn't want the rest of us to make it there."

Joseph folded his arms, thinking. "Yeah... that tracks. She was left alone with the box. It was probably her the first time, too."

He turned away, muttering under his breath as he stalked back toward his tent.

"Fuck you, Riley."

James lingered for a moment longer, eyes narrowed at Damien with the cold distrust of someone who'd seen too many lies dressed as reason. Then, without a word, he followed Joseph.

...

It had been a little over a week since Damien and the others were dropped into the First Circle. Every day since, they had marched east, chasing the shimmering white beacon suspended in the sky. No matter how far they walked, the light never seemed any closer. It hung there, unreachable, like a cruel mirage.

Now, exhausted and slick with sweat under the ruthless desert sun, the Cohort stood in silence, staring downward.

Before them yawned an immense canyon.

Damien couldn't guess the exact depth, but it had to plunge at least two thousand feet. It stretched on for miles, carved from layers of orange rock that twisted and curved, yet still aimed eastward, leading directly toward the beacon. Its width had to be at least a few hundred feet.

Far below, a river snaked along the canyon floor, its water gleaming as it flowed endlessly between patches of welcome shade cast by the jagged cliffs. It was the first sign of cover they had seen in days.

Joseph let out a long whistle, eyes scanning the vast drop.

"What do we think?"

He looked to the Monk and Damien for answers, something that didn't go unnoticed. James's jaw tightened at the gesture.

The Grey Monk responded first, voice like stone scraped against stone.

"This is the way."

All heads turned to Damien.

"I didn't see anything," Damien said, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the glare, "but I agree." His black clothes had absorbed the sun's heat like a curse, and if nothing else, the canyon offered shade.

Blythe stepped closer to the edge. A few loose stones tumbled away beneath her boots. She squinted down, searching.

"How would we even get down?"

There was no visible path, or carved steps or manmade switchbacks—just sheer cliffs and cracks in the rock, as if nature itself had sealed the route shut.

Jenna's voice rang out next, sharp and grating.

"I don't trust it."

However, Joseph had already made up his mind. He dropped his tent beside him, stretching his arms and shoulders with finality.

"We'll camp here until the System's offer expires. Then, we move through the canyon toward the beacon."

No one argued.

Not because they all agreed.

But because the sun was high, the wind was dry, and the promise of shade, even within a death trap, was something none of them could resist.