Hells Escape: A Journey of Redemption

"System's Offer Expired. Contestants Failed."

The system's voice had echoed through the camp the night before, cold and final, slicing through the group's silence like a blade. It marked the end of waiting and the beginning of something worse.

Now, under a new pale morning sun, the Cohort began its descent into the canyon.

The tents were packed, storage crates secured, and nerves frayed to a thin thread. The cliffs were steep, unforgiving, and every step downward felt like a gamble.

Before the descent, James, whose resentment toward the plan had only grown with each passing minute, had just finished confronting the Monk.

"You said we'd all pass together," he snapped. "But three of us are dead. How can we trust you now, when you say the canyon is safe?"

The Monk's expression didn't flicker. His voice, as always, was low and slow, carved from stone.

"Safe? …Not safe. The way."

Then, in an unexpected pause—rare for the silent giant—he added something else:

"No one else should die."

The words weren't a promise, but they settled the group more than silence ever could. Everyone eased, just a little—everyone except Damien.

He didn't believe a word of it.

Just like Damien, the Monk had his own rules, his own agenda, and whatever it was, Damien hadn't figured it out yet. Also, in his heart of hearts, Damien wished James would die by his hand.

Sweat clung to his back as he maneuvered downward, jamming fingers and dress shoes into the fractured, hot, orange stone. Every movement took care. One slip, and you'd tumble into open air with nothing but jagged rock to catch you.

He looked down.

Still a thousand feet to go.

Below, the canyon floor shimmered with heat. The river flowed quietly beside three scattered tents, collapsed near the banks. They'd dropped the tents down a couple of thousand feet that morning and prayed the metal poles would not snap, judging it too dangerous to carry them while climbing.

Damien was not a fan of heights. Besides death, it could be said that heights were his only fear, but all fears were inevitably linked to death.

He glanced upward, forcing himself to stay calm.

Jenna was above him, visibly struggling. The Grey Monk offered her help where he could, his movements quiet and efficient. Blythe, further along the wall, had summoned her sword and plunged it into the orange rock, using it as a makeshift anchor to steady her descent. Joseph wasn't having any trouble himself, but he stayed close to Blythe regardless, never straying too far from her side.

Only James moved faster than Damien.

Despite carrying all three wooden supply boxes, he descended with relentless speed, powered by the command Joseph had given him earlier:

"Climb down the canyon with all of your strength."

As Damien slid his hand into another narrow crack in the orange stone, he felt a faint movement beneath his fingers.

A small black spider crept out from the shaded crevice and into the blazing desert sun.

Spiders didn't bother him. He barely glanced at it as it scuttled upward along the canyon wall. His focus remained on the ledge just below, wide enough to rest, and his arms were screaming for that break.

Then another spider emerged.

And another.

They began pouring from the cracks, one by one at first, then in a growing stream.

Above him, Blythe let out a strangled cry, and Jenna screamed, swatting at her hand as a spider raced across her knuckles. The calm of the descent was shattered in an instant.

Damien let out a low chuckle, lips curling as he watched the others panic.

It's just spiders. What's the fuss?

Joseph barked a laugh from above.

"Stop being such babies!"

But then, the air shifted.

The dry heat vanished, replaced by a sudden, unnatural chill that swept along the canyon wall like a passing ghost. Every instinct in Damien's body snapped awake.

Then came the change.

The spiders, hundreds of them clinging to the jagged stone, began to swell. No sound was made, just silent, steady growth as their tiny bodies expanded, doubling, tripling, until each one stood nearly one foot tall.

By the time the first leg twitched in their direction, weapons were already being summoned.

With his one-star dagger, Damien hacked and tore through the black, hairy monsters before their fangs could sink into his flesh. They were fragile, far weaker than even the half-star hounds he'd faced during the garden raid.

Clinging to the canyon wall with one arm, he slashed with the other, carving through the swarm in desperate, rhythmic bursts. There was no time to glance around, but the steady rain of falling bodies told him the others were holding their own.

Still, there were too many.

For every spider he cut down, three more scuttled from the cracks. Inch by inch, they crept closer, until it became clear.

They were being overrun.

Suddenly, he felt them coming from the right—skittering fast.

With his dagger gripped in his left hand and his right arm locked onto the wall, he couldn't pivot, not in time or without losing his grip.

So he made a choice.

Before the spiders could crawl close enough to bite his face off, Damien let go.

He dropped like Icarus, laughing as he fell, slashing at the lunging creatures mid-air. Purple blood splattered across his face in sticky streaks as his blade carved through them.

Then he hit the cliff. Hard.

His back slammed against the stone ledge with bone-jarring force. Blood burst from his mouth, warm and metallic, but he was already moving, springing to his feet.

More were coming—dozens of them.

Shit.

Even as weak as they were, that many could still tear him apart.

Luckily, Damien was skilled.

He lunged forward, the ledge wide enough to let him fight without constraint. His movements were fluid and precise, and he danced between the spiders, carving them down before they could land a strike. One by one, their bodies hit the stone, twitching and bleeding purple.

But he missed one.

It came from his blind spot, fast and silent. He turned too late. His dagger rose, but the spider's fangs were already inches from his neck.

For a split second, he felt the raw, electric sting of death creeping in.

But death would have to wait.

James hauled himself up from below the ledge in one swift motion and drove his fist into the spider's side. The creature exploded midair, a hole torn clean through its body as it was sent flying into the canyon wall with a sickening crunch.

Then came a scream, not from one of the girls, but Joseph.

"Catch her!"

Damien's eyes shot upward.

Blythe was falling—limp, unconscious—plummeting from just above the ledge, her body tumbling in the open air.