Pain—incomprehensible, all-consuming pain—was Luca's first sensation as consciousness returned to him. Not the familiar pain of his broken mortal body, but something deeper, as if his very essence had been torn apart and crudely reassembled.

  He attempted to scream, but what emerged was a guttural, inhuman sound that startled him into silence. Memories flooded back in disjointed fragments: his children being torn away through shimmering portals, Lilith's anguished face as his soul was ripped from his dying body, and Aurelian's cruel smile as the god showed him his new form before casting him into darkness.

  "The Queen's pet awakens," a harsh voice rasped nearby. "The masters said you'd be special. You don't look special to me, just another broken human."

  Luca tried to move, to orient himself in the darkness that surrounded him. In life, blindness had been familiar, a condition he had adapted to with extraordinary perception. But this darkness felt different—oppressive and alive, as if it had substance and weight.

  His limbs responded sluggishly, and wrong. Where his hands should have found purchase, twisted appendages scraped against rough stone. His spine bent at unnatural angles, forcing his body into a permanent, painful crouch. His legs, already crippled in life, now seemed fused and twisted, forcing him to drag himself forward with excruciating effort.

  "What... what is this pce?" Luca managed, his voice a broken whisper.

  Harsh ughter echoed around him. "The lowest circle of the demon pne, human. Where the gods send souls they wish to torment for eternity. Though your torment seems... special. Custom-made by Aurelian himself, I hear."

  The darkness suddenly lifted as torches fred to life, but Luca remained in perpetual bckness. The brief, cruel gift of sight Aurelian had granted him—just long enough to witness his own deformity—had been withdrawn before he was cast into this realm. He was blind once more, though the sounds and smells that assaulted his senses painted a horrific picture of his surroundings.

  The chamber echoed with moans and shuffling movements, suggesting countless misshapen creatures confined in a vast space. The stench of blood, sulfur, and decay hung thick in the air. From the way sounds bounced off the walls, Luca sensed he was in a massive circur chamber, with what seemed to be an arena at its center—the source of the strongest blood scent.

  "The gods have a sense of humor," said the demon who had addressed him earlier—his voice suggesting a hunched creature that moved with a slight flutter of what sounded like leathery wings. "They could have made you powerful, could have given you sight. Instead, they showed you your new form just long enough for you to know its horror, then cast you into darkness once more. A blind cripple in life becomes a blind monstrosity in death."

  Pain—incomprehensible, all-consuming pain—was Luca's first sensation as consciousness returned to him. Not the familiar pain of his broken mortal body, but something deeper, as if his very essence had been torn apart and crudely reassembled.

  He attempted to scream, but what emerged was a guttural, inhuman sound that startled him into silence. Memories flooded back in disjointed fragments: his children being torn away through shimmering portals, Lilith's anguished face as his soul was ripped from his dying body, and Aurelian's cruel smile as the god showed him his new form before casting him into darkness.

  "The Queen's pet awakens," a harsh voice rasped nearby. "The masters said you'd be special. You don't look special to me, just another broken human."

  Luca tried to move, to orient himself in the darkness that surrounded him. In life, blindness had been familiar, a condition he had adapted to with extraordinary perception. But this darkness felt different—oppressive and alive, as if it had substance and weight.

  His limbs responded sluggishly, and wrong. Where his hands should have found purchase, twisted appendages scraped against rough stone. His spine bent at unnatural angles, forcing his body into a permanent, painful crouch. His legs, already crippled in life, now seemed fused and twisted, forcing him to drag himself forward with excruciating effort.

  "What... what is this pce?" Luca managed, his voice a broken whisper.

  Harsh ughter echoed around him. "The lowest circle of the demon pne, human. Where the gods send souls they wish to torment for eternity. Though your torment seems... special. Custom-made by Aurelian himself, I hear."

  The darkness suddenly lifted as torches fred to life, but Luca remained in perpetual bckness. The brief, cruel gift of sight Aurelian had granted him—just long enough to witness his own deformity—had been withdrawn before he was cast into this realm. He was blind once more, though the sounds and smells that assaulted his senses painted a horrific picture of his surroundings.

  The chamber echoed with moans and shuffling movements, suggesting countless misshapen creatures confined in a vast space. The stench of blood, sulfur, and decay hung thick in the air. From the way sounds bounced off the walls, Luca sensed he was in a massive circur chamber, with what seemed to be an arena at its center—the source of the strongest blood scent.

  "The gods have a sense of humor," said the demon who had addressed him earlier—his voice suggesting a hunched creature that moved with a slight flutter of what sounded like leathery wings. "They could have made you powerful, could have given you sight. Instead, they showed you your new form just long enough for you to know its horror, then cast you into darkness once more. A blind cripple in life becomes a blind monstrosity in death."

  _*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5">Luca turned away, bile rising in his throat. "My name is Luca," he said, surprised at the strength in his voice despite everything. "Consort to Queen Lilith of Highcrest."

  The winged demon cackled. "Titles mean nothing here, Your Highness. In the demon pne, you are judged solely by your rank, and you have none. You are a sve, the lowest of the low. My name is Vex, and I am also a sve, though not for much longer." He gestured toward the arena. "We fight. The winners advance in rank. The losers..." His grin revealed rows of needle-like teeth. "The losers die, and their essence is absorbed by the victor."

  "And if I refuse to fight?" Luca asked.

  Vex's ughter echoed through the chamber. "Then you die anyway, but slowly, and with much more pain. The choice is simple: fight or suffer. Though for one such as you, perhaps there is little difference."

  A horn bred, the sound reverberating through the stone chamber with physical force. Around them, the misshapen creatures began to stir, dragging themselves toward the arena with varying degrees of eagerness and dread.

  "The day's matches begin," Vex said. "And look—you're on the roster. First fight of your new existence."

  Luca followed Vex's gaze to a wall of glowing symbols. Though he had never seen such script before, he could somehow read it, another cruel gift from the gods. His name—or rather, a twisted version of it, "Lucathral"—appeared paired with another: "Grask."

  "Grask is undefeated among new sves," Vex offered helpfully. "Twenty-seven kills. You won't st a minute."

  Luca dragged himself toward what he assumed was the arena, guided by the increasing volume of jeers and the scent of fresh blood. Each movement was an exercise in agony as his new body fought against his commands. The sound of thousands of demons cheering and jeering filled the air as he entered the fighting pit. From the heavy footfalls and the low, rumbling breath across from him, Luca sensed his opponent—a massive presence that radiated malice.

  "Grask is undefeated among new sves," Vex had told him before guards dragged Luca away. "Twenty-seven kills. You won't st a minute."

  "Choose your weapon, sve," commanded a booming voice from above. "I am Duke Razakel, master of the sve pits. Entertain me, and perhaps your death will be quick."

  Luca heard the ctter of weapons being dropped between him and his opponent. He reached out, his twisted hands exploring the unfamiliar shapes—feeling the weight and bance of crude swords, spears, maces, and things he couldn't identify. He had never been a fighter in life; his strengths had been his mind and his perception. Now, with his body so deformed and without sight, he had no idea how to defend himself.

  Luca could hear his opponent—Grask—moving with surprising speed, the swish of air suggesting the creature had grabbed a weapon. After a moment's hesitation, Luca selected what felt like a simple sword, its weight almost too much for his twisted arms to bear.

  "Begin!" Duke Razakel roared.

  Luca tensed, straining his other senses to detect his opponent's approach. He heard the rush of air, sensed the vibration in the ground as Grask charged. He tried to raise his sword in defense, but his body betrayed him—too slow, too weak, too foreign. Something massive crashed into his midsection, tearing through his new flesh with ease. Pain exploded through his consciousness as he colpsed to the arena floor.

  "Pathetic," Grask growled, standing over him. "I expected more from a soul personally cursed by Aurelian."

  As darkness closed in around Luca once more, he thought of Lilith, of Elena and Alden. Had they escaped? Were they safe? Would he ever see them again? His st thought was of Lilith's face on their wedding day, describing the ceremony to him in exquisite detail so he could "see" it through her words.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I failed you all."

  The final blow fell, and Luca died.

  But death was not the end.

  Luca jolted awake with a gasp, the pain of his death still fresh in his mind. The darkness around him felt familiar—not the darkness of oblivion, but the same oppressive bckness from before.

  "The new sve awakens," a harsh voice rasped nearby—the same voice, the same words.

  Confusion gripped Luca. This had happened already. Exactly like this. The voice, the pain in his twisted limbs, the weight of the darkness—all identical to his first awakening in this realm.

  "Another broken human for the pits," the voice continued, following the same pattern Luca had already experienced.

  A horrifying realization dawned on him. Time had reset. He was reliving his arrival in the demon pne, but with the memory of his previous experience intact. The gods' punishment wasn't simply to condemn him to the demon realm—it was to trap him in an endless loop, dying and restarting, with only his memories carried forward.

  Luca tried to make sense of his situation. If he was reliving the same events, then soon he would meet Vex, be taken to the arena, and face Grask again. But this time, he would know what to expect. He would remember the sounds of Grask's movements, the pattern of his attack.

  With his thoughts racing, Luca waited as events unfolded exactly as before. The demon who would introduce himself as Vex approached, spoke the same words, expined the demon pne's hierarchy. When the horn bred to announce the day's matches, Luca already knew his name would be paired with Grask's.

  "You'll be fighting Grask," Vex informed him, unaware this was information Luca already possessed. "He's undefeated among new sves. Twenty-seven kills. You won't st a minute."

  "We'll see," Luca replied softly.

  As guards dragged him toward the arena for the second time—though to them it was the first—Luca began to understand the strange advantage hidden within his curse. While everyone else would act exactly the same, following the same patterns, he alone could change his responses, learn from his mistakes. In a realm built on endless repetition, only he possessed the freedom of choice.

  For the first time since arriving in this nightmare, Luca felt something other than despair. It was a tiny spark, barely perceptible in the darkness of his soul, but it was there.

  Hope.

  "I'm not most," Luca thought to himself, his resolve hardening. "I was Queen Lilith's consort, the one they called 'the Wisdom of Highcrest.' I raised two children despite my blindness. I advised kings. I won't break."

  He forced his twisted hands to open and close, to obey his will. "If time is my only advantage, then I'll use it. I'll die a thousand times if necessary. A million. But someday, I'll find my way back to my family."

  In the shadowy throne room high above the sve pits, Duke Razakel conversed with his lieutenant about the new arrival. "Interesting," he mused. "Aurelian said he would break quickly, yet I sense an unusual strength in this one."

  His lieutenant, a serpentine demoness, hissed softly. "He is nothing—a crippled human soul in a broken demon form. Blind and malformed. He died in seconds."

  "And yet," Razakel replied, "something about this one feels different. After millennia in the pits, I've learned to recognize the rare soul that might surprise us." He gestured dismissively. "Pit him against Grask again tomorrow. Let's see what happens."

  "As you wish, my lord," the lieutenant replied. "Though I doubt he'll st much longer the second time."

  Razakel smiled, revealing rows of gleaming fangs. "Perhaps not. But in the demon pne, it's the long game that matters. And something tells me this new sve might be more interesting than he appears."

  In the cell below, Luca closed his useless eyes, concentrating intensely on his other senses. He began to count his heartbeats, establishing a rhythm. In life, he had learned to navigate a world of darkness through sound, touch, smell, and memory. Now, he would apply those same principles to this new existence.

  He focused on recalling every sound Grask had made—the specific pattern of footsteps, the whoosh of air as the weapon swung, the timbre of his growl. Next time, these sounds would be his map, his warning system. His blindness had once been his greatest limitation; now, perhaps it could become his strength. After all, in a realm where everyone else fought with sight, he alone was accustomed to battling the darkness.

  One death. One lesson. The first of many on the long path home.