Life Beyond End

Flynn walked alongside Elene, the echo of their footsteps filling the long, dimly lit hallway. His steps were hesitant, his mind racing with questions he wasn't sure he could ask.

Elene glanced over, her sharp gaze cutting through him. "Flynn, just remember—this isn't 'normal' training." Her voice was firm, the kind that brooked no argument.

"Yeah, I know." Flynn nodded, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He was trying to act nonchalant, but doubt gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. Training was just that, right? A few lessons, maybe a spar or two. How bad could it really be?

"Anyway," he added, looking around, "we already passed the training yard, like, ten minutes ago. Where the hell are we going?"

Elene's lips curled into a faint smirk, as if she knew something he didn't. "We're going to Hell's Pit."

Flynn stopped dead in his tracks. "Excuse me, what?"

The name alone sent a chill crawling up his spine. Hell's Pit? That wasn't a place for practice swings with wooden swords or breath control exercises. It sounded like a death trap.

"Wait, aren't we supposed to be learning magic or something?" Flynn asked, confusion bleeding into his voice. He wasn't sure whether to be excited or terrified at this point.

Elene didn't break stride. If anything, her pace quickened, and she tossed him a glance over her shoulder. "We are," she replied casually, as though she were talking about a casual stroll through a park. "But you're getting special treatment."

She leaned in closer, and Flynn felt his stomach flip. Her smirk widened, and for a moment, he wondered if he had just signed up for a torture session. "I got permission to train you in Hell's Pit."

Flynn blinked, taking an instinctive step back. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he muttered under his breath.

"Special treatment, huh?" Flynn muttered, a bitter edge to his words. "More like special torture."

But, for reasons he couldn't fully explain, he kept walking. The mix of curiosity and apprehension had him locked in place, and before he knew it, they were outside. A carriage waited for them—old, wooden, rickety. It looked like it had seen more battles than any knight he'd ever met.

"Get in," Elene ordered, motioning toward the creaky wooden door.

Flynn hesitated, eyeing the carriage. It looked like it would fall apart at the slightest touch. Still, he climbed in. The interior wasn't much better. It smelled of damp wood and something... metallic.

_______________________________________

The ride felt endless. The road—or what passed for a road—was more like a collection of deep ruts and rocky patches. Every bump made Flynn grip the seat harder, his body being tossed around like a ragdoll. "Is this part of the training too?" he grumbled, wincing as another jolt sent pain shooting through his back.

Elene didn't answer, her gaze fixed out the window, her expression unreadable.

Hours later, the carriage finally creaked to a halt. Flynn practically tumbled out, his legs shaky, his patience shot. "Finally," he muttered, brushing dust off his suit.

But when he looked up, his words died in his throat.

What lay before him wasn't just unsettling. It was straight-up terrifying. Hell's Pit wasn't a glorified training ground. It was exactly what it sounded like: a massive, jagged hole in the earth. The edges were rough and uneven, like someone had torn the world apart and left the gaping wound to fester. The pit was so wide it made the surrounding forest seem like a speck of dust. The drop itself made Flynn's stomach lurch.

What the hell is this? Flynn thought, his throat dry.

He took an unsteady step forward, eyes locked on the darkness below. The faintest glimmer of light flickered from the bottom, but all it did was make the drop seem even worse.

"I could die just by falling in there," Flynn muttered, voice barely above a whisper. His hands were clammy, his breathing shallow as panic settled in.

"This is where you'll be training," Elene said, as if she were telling him to go grab lunch from the kitchen.

Flynn's head whipped around to face her. "W-wait. You're gonna come with me... right?"

Elene tilted her head, a smile stretching across her face. "No."

Flynn froze. His pulse spiked, his mind racing. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

Her smile grew wider, darker. "Well, good luck," she said, cheerful as ever.

Before Flynn could even process her words, the ground beneath his feet shifted. His vision blurred, and the next thing he knew, he was falling—no, being hurled—into the pit.

"ELENE!!!" Flynn screamed, his voice cracking as he plummeted. "DON'T LEAVE MEEE!"

Above, Elene's voice floated down, way too calm for what was happening. "You'll be fine! You can do it!"

Her words did nothing to calm him down.

This girl is insane! Flynn thought, his heart hammering in his chest as the earth rushed up to meet him. His body slammed into the ground with a sickening thud.

Groaning, Flynn pushed himself up, his body sore and shaky. The pit's bottom stretched out before him—a dark, sprawling forest that seemed to go on forever. The trees loomed like silent watchers, casting long, eerie shadows across the rough terrain.

"Guess I'll have to do this myself..." Flynn muttered, trying to steady his ragged breathing.

He took in the surroundings. The air was thick and heavy, the smell of damp earth mixing with something metallic, like blood. In the distance, faint rustling sounds reached his ears, and something growled softly, low and dangerous.

Every instinct in his body screamed to run, but there was nowhere to go. The only way out was up—and climbing that was out of the question. He was stuck.

What the hell kind of training is this?

His eyes flicked to the shadows between the trees. A flicker of movement caught his attention. He took a cautious step forward, every nerve on high alert.

The forest was alive with danger, and Flynn was the prey.

_______________________________________

Twelve hours had passed. Twelve long hours spent scraping by on rats and squirrels. Twelve hours of wandering, aimless and lost, through the fog and thick trees.

Flynn let out a long, exhausted sigh, his feet dragging through the dirt. What if I can't get out of here?

No, Flynn. Stop. This is training. It's supposed to be hard. His own voice cut through his thoughts, a harsh reminder to stay focused. He was struggling to keep his head above water, fighting the frustration that threatened to take him under.

The pit wasn't exactly a luxury. Trees surrounded him, but food was scarce. His only companions were the occasional rat or squirrel, and the silence—the suffocating silence.

A low growl rumbled from behind him, and his muscles locked up. His heart shot into his throat as sweat began to drip down his face. No way. It's behind me, isn't it?

The growl grew louder, closer.

Don't panic, don't panic. He forced himself to breathe, trying to steady his pulse. Move, damn it!

But it was too late.

SMASH!

The punch hit him square in the face, sending Flynn flying through the air. His body slammed into the trunks of several trees, and pain exploded in his skull. Agh... Blood dribbled from his nose, the taste of iron mixing with the sharp sting of his injuries.

"Seems like the pit's name wasn't lying," he groaned, pushing himself to his knees.

Another growl followed. Closer now.

Shit!

Before Flynn could react, the massive form of the monster charged toward him. His vision blurred, his panic racing with the creature's speed. How the hell is it moving that fast?!

His body froze, a paralysis creeping up from his feet to his waist. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. No. No, this is not how it ends!

Desperately, he dropped low, ducking just in time as the creature's fist came crashing down.

SLAM!

The tree behind him exploded into splinters. The shockwave rattled the air. Flynn's eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the destruction. One hit from that thing, and I'm done.

But there was no time to think. The monster was already recovering, its massive form looming over him.

Focus. Move. MOVE, you idiot! Flynn's mind screamed, but his limbs felt like stone. He was too slow.

The monster's growls echoed, deafening. His body refused to respond. The fight—or flight—was fading fast.