How much had I missed this?

  The softness of the mattress cradled my aching body, wrapping me in a cocoon of comfort that felt foreign and yet heartbreakingly familiar. The warmth of the blanket, its perfect weight pressing gently against me, reminded me of a time long past—a time before poison, pain, and monsters with far too many legs. I breathed in deeply, the air still and faintly perfumed with something calming, like chamomile or lavender. For a few blissful moments, I simply lay there, drifting between waking and dreaming, caught in that tender space where nothing hurt.

  But that peace was a lie. It always was.

  Every time I woke up in this bed, something was different. Something was missing. Or worse—something had been added. And that thought gnawed at me more effectively than hunger ever could. Soul manipulation was the god's new favourite toy, and I had no idea what he might have adjusted, changed, broken within me. The fear of not knowing—of waking up as someone else—was far more terrifying than anything the crab or the darkness could have done.

  And then there was him.

  He sat beside the bed, unbothered, leisurely flipping through a book filled with symbols and markings I couldn’t begin to understand. His eyes flicked up from time to time, watching me with a casual curiosity that frayed my nerves. It was like being studied by a cat who might either pet you or pounce, depending on its mood.

  “What is it?” I asked flatly, already knowing I wouldn’t like the answer.

  The book disappeared in an instant—vanished—as if it had never been there. And he smiled. Broadly. Like someone who just pulled off the world’s most inconvenient prank and couldn’t wait to do it again. That smile told me everything I didn’t want to know: whatever he’d done, it had worked. He was pleased. Which meant I was not going to be.

  “Nothing,” he said, far too brightly.

  He stood, still smiling, and gestured casually with one hand. “So, shall we begin your training? Or do you prefer to laze around in bed all day?”

  I leapt to my feet so fast it nearly gave me whiplash. If training meant survival, then I had no intention of wasting another second under his watchful eye. I smoothed my dress—a fresh one again, probably conjured while I slept—and followed him in silence. But inside, my thoughts were spinning. This had to be a turning point. One wrong step on his part, one single mistake, and I would be ready to act.

  “Why are you training me?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral, though suspicion dripped from every word.

  He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable now. “It’s a secret.”

  My frustration surged. Of course it was. Everything with him was wrapped in riddles and hidden behind smug grins. I kept pestering him, poking and prodding with questions and sarcastic remarks as we walked. He didn’t flinch. Not a word, not a twitch. Just silence. Until we stepped into the backyard.

  It was nothing like a garden should be—barren and stark, just a wide, empty space cleared of stones, as lifeless as the god’s humour. And yet, even here, I noticed something… off. I squinted, tilting my head slightly. His shape—always human but never quite right—seemed subtly different. His shoulders were straighter, his presence heavier. I couldn’t place it, but something had changed.

  “What now?” I asked, wary.

  He turned toward me, eyes gleaming with that eerie amusement he wore like a crown. “Try to dodge.”

  Before I could respond, he drew a pitch-black sword from nowhere and swung it directly at my neck. No warning. No preparation. Just movement so fast I couldn’t track it. I froze. The blade stopped a breath from my skin, but not before a lock of hair fluttered to the ground, cleanly sliced. I stared at it in stunned silence.

  For a moment, I didn’t even breathe.

  I took one careful step back, the blade still hanging in the air like a promise. “Okay… maybe give me a little warning next time?”

  He tilted his head slightly, as if considering my request, then sighed. “Hmm. Fine. We’ll start at a level even a child could handle.”

  The sword dissolved into mist and reformed into a short spear—sleek, dark, and wickedly sharp. He aimed it at my chest. “Run.”

  That was his idea of child-level training?

  Before I could even blink properly, the spear was already in motion, stabbing forward. I turned and bolted, but not fast enough. It pierced my shoulder, slipping through me like a whisper. Strangely, it didn’t hurt. There was only pressure, like someone tapping me too hard. The wound didn’t bleed. It healed within seconds, the fabric of my dress repairing itself right after. It was as though I’d been stabbed inside a dream—real enough to shake me, but distant enough to forget.

  Still, the sensation left me rattled. I didn’t want to experience it again.

  The world around me was dark, shadows pooling at the edges of reality. Lanterns hung here and there, flickering with yellow flames, casting long, strange shapes on the ground. They barely pushed back the gloom, and the path ahead seemed to stretch on forever.

  At first, I did the most obvious thing: I ran. In a straight line. Away from him.

  Perfect target.

  The first spear hit me cleanly in the back. I didn’t even hear it coming — just the brutal impact as it tore through my chest and embedded itself into the ground in front of me, pinning me there like a ragdoll on a stake. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The shock was worse than the pain — and even the pain was dulled to a strange throb, like my body refused to acknowledge the damage.

  Then I moved. Bad idea.

  I tried to pull myself off the weapon, impaling myself deeper in the process. Every inch of movement tore something inside me. Blood smeared the shaft as I struggled like an insect stuck on a thorn. And through it all, he laughed — full, delighted, cruel laughter, as if this were just a comedy for his amusement. No concern. No restraint. Just him, standing there like a god with too much power and no understanding of mercy.

  “Is that all you got?” he called out with a mocking lilt. “Why don’t you try evading next time?”

  I rolled onto my back, gasping, glaring up at the sky. Evading? I had barely seen the spear. What did he want from me — a miracle? Did he think I was some supernatural gymnast, capable of dodging projectiles that would make Olympic javelin throws look like tossed twigs?

  Infuriated, I touched my still-throbbing chest. The wound was already sealing, skin pulling together like clay molding itself back into shape. No scar, no trace — just the unsettling memory of steel inside me.

  “Again,” I said through clenched teeth.

  If this was how he intended to train me, so be it. I would learn. I would endure. Because somewhere inside me, I still believed that surviving this might give me a chance to escape him — to escape whatever this was.

  This time, I moved more cautiously. I didn’t turn and sprint like a fool. I walked backwards, slowly, eyes locked on him. He now held a new spear — longer than the last, more elegant, but no less lethal. The blade shimmered with something dark, like shadows clinging to it even under the lantern light.

  Was it supposed to be more humiliating now? A bigger weapon to mock my small, clumsy movements? Or was he actually giving me a better shot at dodging?

  Probably both.

  He faked throwing it. Once. Twice. A third time. Each time, I flinched. He smiled wider every time I did, clearly enjoying the game. I could see it in the way his muscles tensed, in the cocky tilt of his head. He was waiting. Playing with me.

  I counted the seconds. Watched his stance. My confidence grew with each heartbeat, with every meter I gained — until suddenly, he moved.

  I didn’t see the throw. Only the result.

  A flash. A shadow.

  And then dull pain.

  The spear slammed through my neck. Not just pierced it — obliterated it. The sheer force knocked me backwards, and I hit the ground hard, blinking up at the sky again. This time, it took longer to move. My hands shook as I reached up and tried to pull the weapon free. The spear felt heavier than before, as if it carried more than just metal.

  He stood over me, completely unfazed. Watching me flail like I was an insect on display. Amused. Distant. Untouchable.

  Eventually, the spear vanished — simply faded from existence — and I gasped as the wound closed. My body healed, but the humiliation remained. I could feel it thick in the air between us, unspoken but overwhelming.

  I stood up again, slower this time, not even bothering to check the state of my hair or the grime on my skin.

  “My, my,” he said with a mocking purr. “Rough day? Maybe you should shower. And do something about… this.” He gestured vaguely toward my tangled, dirt-caked hair.

  I didn’t answer.

  I just looked him in the eyes and said, “Again.”

  He tilted his head, amused — but he complied.

  The next hit came for my heart.

  I stayed upright.

  Barely.

  Blood ran down my dress in thin, sticky streams, but I didn’t fall. I didn’t break. And for a brief second, I thought I saw something flicker in his gaze — not surprise, but something adjacent. Interest, maybe.

  “Again,” I said, still panting.

  This time, I didn’t blink. I didn’t flinch. We stood across from each other in perfect stillness — twenty meters of open space between us. Neither of us moved.

  One minute passed.

  Then another.

  He broke the silence first, launching the spear in an instant. I twisted my body — and it missed my torso. But not completely.

  A burst of dull pain followed. I looked down and saw my right leg — or rather, where it had been. Now it was gone, severed mid-thigh, the rest lying on the ground motionless a few metres away.

  I fell, hard.

  "What am I doing wrong?" I shouted, slamming my fist into the dirt. Over and over. My palm stung, and I didn’t care. I needed to be better. I needed to survive. But nothing I did was enough.

  “You just aren’t good enough,” he said flatly, with a shrug.

  I snapped. I grabbed a fistful of dirt and flung it at him. Petty, childish, desperate. It didn’t matter. I needed to do something, anything, to keep my rage from eating me alive.

  “Wow,” I growled. “Helpful.”

  He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. He just looked at me, as detached as ever.

  So I got up again.

  Moved a few meters farther.

  And we resumed the same game — the same silent battle of stares, steel, and survival.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  We trained for what felt like hours—though time seemed almost meaningless in this place. The sun never moved, the light never shifted, and the garden’s lanterns glowed with an eternal, artificial stillness. My body was a cycle of destruction and rebirth, of being torn apart and stitched back together by whatever divine system governed this realm.

  At some point, even he grew bored.

  “Until when are we doing this?” the god asked idly, his voice devoid of emotion as he prodded my healing foot with the blunt end of his spear. I winced, more out of irritation than pain. The wound had already begun sealing shut, the bone re-forming under my skin like a morbid time-lapse in reverse.

  I didn’t know how long we’d been at it. Time didn’t pass here—it simply weighed. Still, I could tell I was improving. Not by much. I hadn’t successfully dodged a single spear… but my body responded quicker. My instincts, dull as they were, had started to sharpen under pressure. Slight improvements. Marginal. But they mattered.

  Once my foot had fully healed, I pushed myself upright and gave the god a look—half-smile, half-daring glare. His only response was a bored sigh. He wasn’t even pretending to be interested anymore.

  Drenched in dirt, hair dishelved beyond believe, I was hardly recognisable as the person who had first woken up in that soft bed. My once-familiar self was buried beneath layers of grit and grime and raw survival. Still, I walked away from him with as much dignity as I could muster and took my place in the open ground once more.

  The staring duel resumed.

  I stared him down like prey learning to snarl. My eyes never left him, drinking in every twitch of his muscles, every shift in weight. I had been burned—skewered, cleaved, obliterated—too many times to relax now.

  Then, something strange happened.

  His left hand moved, slowly, deliberately, not toward his weapon—but toward his face. The spear remained still, unwavering in his right hand, yet it didn’t calm me in the slightest. He could launch it in a heartbeat if he wanted.

  His lips parted.

  His eyes closed.

  He yawned.

  “Are you serious?” I snapped, incredulous.

  The audacity of it caught me off guard more than any of his weapons ever had. A yawn? Right in front of me? I understood I wasn't exactly the apex of threat, but still—had he really become so detached from this that he couldn’t even bother to stay awake?

  I could have taken it as an insult.

  Instead, I took it as a challenge.

  He didn’t open his eyes. Just flicked the spear with a casual motion—an afterthought, really. A dismissive little toss, like he was throwing away a cigarette. But I had been waiting for that exact kind of arrogance.

  I moved before the spear had even fully left his hand.

  I twisted my torso and hurled myself to the side. The black blade cut the air just behind me, fast enough to hum, and tore through the fabric of my clothing near the stomach—but that was it.

  It missed.

  I hit the ground shoulder-first, tumbling in the dirt—but I didn’t care.

  I had dodged it.

  For the first time in what might have been hundreds of failed attempts, I had actually evaded his strike.

  My breath caught in my throat, and even as I hit the ground, a laugh bubbled up inside me—half disbelieving, half triumphant. I’d done it. After countless failures, endless pain, and more deaths than I could mentally process, I’d dodged him.

  And sure, in the very next moment my head was removed from my shoulders by the spear which had magically turned around in mid air.

  But it still felt like a victory.

  The world spun wildly as my head sailed through the air, detached from its rightful place. I saw my body slump to the ground from a distance, blood gushing upward in a strangely beautiful arc. The disorienting sight of your own corpse is something no one should get used to—but I had. Almost.

  I blinked, or tried to. Then the god’s hand wrapped around my hair, lifting my head like it was nothing more than a misplaced object. With clinical precision, he walked to my body and dropped me back onto my shoulders. I felt the warm pull of reattachment, the dull hum of regeneration as nerves, skin, and bone sealed themselves once again.

  And then I was standing.

  Whole.

  Grinning.

  Probably mad.

  Because who in their right mind smiles after being beheaded?

  I blamed this place. The rules of pain and death didn’t work here like they should. Consequences were temporary, and humiliation was routine. And yet, that moment—that dodge—meant more than anything he had said or done.

  The god, meanwhile, was quiet.

  Uncharacteristically so.

  He wasn’t smiling. Not that amused, lazy grin he usually wore. Instead, his eyes lingered on me with something bordering on discontent. Not anger exactly, but something quieter. Like annoyance he didn’t want to admit.

  Maybe it irked him that I had dodged at all. That someone like me—clumsy, untrained, mortal—had managed to slip past his attack, even once.

  I didn’t care. Let him sulk.

  He hadn’t taught me how to dodge.

  But I’d learned anyway.

  And if I could dodge once…

  I could do it again.

  And someday, I wouldn’t just dodge.

  I’d fight back.

  “Alright, now we’re done.” The god’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. I stood there, body aching from repeated mutilation, but a small flame of pride burned within me. I had dodged one. Just one spear. It felt like a miracle. But even miracles felt fragile in this place.

  I allowed myself a breath of relief, the faint ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The momentary victory felt hard-won—proof that I could improve, however slowly. That I could survive.

  “Quit grinning,” the god said flatly, poking at my shoulder with the butt of his spear. “It doesn’t suit you… or go ahead and smile. You won’t have many opportunities to be happy soon anyway.”

  My smile faltered.

  What was that supposed to mean?

  Was he deliberately trying to sour my mood? Or did he know something I didn’t? I glanced at him sharply, searching his expression for some hidden cruelty or cryptic message. He looked casual, almost dismissive, like he had already moved on from the encounter. Like it hadn’t meant anything to him.

  I clenched my fists. Even if I wasn’t great at escaping yet, I was getting there. I was improving. He couldn’t change that—not quickly, not without warning. My victory was almost within reach.

  Almost.

  Still, some part of me knew I had missed something. Something important. A warning left unspoken, or a trap cleverly laid.

  “In any case,” the god continued with a careless shrug, “off you go.”

  He snapped his fingers.

  The ground vanished beneath me. I didn’t fall—didn’t fly—but floated upward, helpless and light as air. The world below shrank, its brutal training ground looking deceptively peaceful from above. The sensation wasn’t new, but this time, it unsettled me more than usual. I had assumed I returned by some natural cycle—but now I realized he had control over it. Complete, terrifying control.

  Still, part of me was glad to leave. I had survived long enough to learn something. Even a sliver of skill was more than I had before. I could build on that. With time. With effort. Maybe next time, I would last an hour. A day. Longer.

  The world shifted.

  I thought of the bats again and smiled faintly.

  And then I opened my eyes.

  Or tried to.

  My body was different. Alien. Heavy. Stone pressed against my skin, cold and unyielding. I could see—barely. A hallway, faint light, distant walls—but I couldn’t move. It was like waking in a dream where everything was wrong. My limbs refused to obey. My eyes fluttered weakly, like they belonged to someone else.

  I wanted to move. To run.

  Instead, I felt… exhausted. Like I hadn’t rested in centuries. Every thought was thick with fog, every breath shallow. I couldn’t even scream. My voice wouldn’t work. I could only lie there, trembling, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

  Last time, I thought it was the poison. That’s what I had blamed—my weakness, the paralysis. But now I saw the truth.

  It was the price of rebirth, a curse robbing me of every strength I had. And I wouldn’t get it back unless I replenished it.

  I struggled, thrashed internally, screamed silently inside my own mind—but my body remained still. Time passed in agonizing stillness. No help came. The woman from before wouldn’t come back. She had seen me, recoiled in fear, and abandoned me.

  Everything else in this world either ignored me or actively wanted me dead.

  Then the howling began.

  Wolves.

  Another howling. They were closer this time. Hungry. Snarling. Hunting. Their cries echoed down the cold hallway like a funeral dirge, and I knew. I knew I wouldn’t make it.

  And something in me snapped.

  I let go.

  There was no point in fighting anymore. Not here. Not like this. I didn’t want to be eaten alive—but I also didn’t want to keep failing. Dying was easier. Dying was… merciful.

  So I let the darkness take me again.

  A sharp whistle pierced the void.

  My eyes fluttered open—and I was back in the room again.

  The soft bed cradled me like a coffin. I was hugging something warm and human-sized, a pillow meant to mock comfort, and the familiarity of the god’s presence made my stomach twist. His silhouette leaned casually against a wall, as if he hadn’t just sent me off to die.

  “Twenty minutes,” he announced with a faint smirk. “You held on longer than expected.”

  I choked on my breath.

  Twenty minutes?

  That number shattered what little pride I had left. It meant that not only had I failed again—I had barely survived. There had been no chance of escape. No hope of finding help. Only twenty minutes of dragging myself helplessly along the ground, waiting to be devoured.

  I clutched the pillow tighter. Tears streamed down my cheeks before I could stop them. I sobbed—quiet, pathetic, desperate sobs. I didn’t care how it looked.

  “Why… why… why?”

  His answer didn’t matter.

  None of it mattered. I didn’t care what games he was playing or what lesson he thought he was teaching. I had been stupid to think I could outsmart him. Stupid to think I could win. He could read my thoughts, see my memories, anticipate every move I made. He would always win.

  And all I had was my rotten luck.

  He said something else, something unbothered and half-dismissive. I didn’t listen. I buried my face deeper into the pillow, trying to vanish. He shook my shoulders—once, twice—but I didn’t move. I refused. Eventually, he walked away and sat down, waiting. Watching.

  When I finally stopped crying, I still didn’t acknowledge him. I didn’t want him to see me like this. Broken. Defeated.

  Eventually, he left the room.

  Only then did I fall into an uneasy sleep.

  “It is time.”

  The voice pulled me from the shadows.

  No comfort greeted me this time. Only the sensation of the bed fading beneath me, the house dissolving into nothing. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t need to. I already knew what was coming.

  Another rebirth.

  Another failure.

  Another death.

  I wept quietly as I floated. I didn’t struggle. What was the point? Even the idea of hope seemed poisonous now.

  And then I was there again.

  Stone beneath me.

  Howls, closer.

  The wolves didn’t wait this time.

  They descended on me with a violence that felt almost gleeful. They didn’t kill me instantly. That would have been mercy. Instead, they tore into me slowly, starting with my legs. My screams echoed uselessly into the void, my blood pooling beneath me as my limbs were shredded apart.

  They gnawed through my belly, yanked out organs like trophies, and still—I didn’t die.

  Pain engulfed everything. I begged for unconsciousness. For death. For anything.

  Finally, mercifully, one of them bit through my throat—and the darkness came once more.

  Once again, I found myself hugging a pillow after the god had finished whatever cosmic violation he called “adjusting my soul.” The room was quiet, almost peaceful, betraying none of the turmoil that churned inside me. But this time was different. My mind wasn’t screaming. It wasn’t racing or resisting. It was still—clear, yet hollow. Like the moment after a storm when all the trees are broken, but the sky is finally blue.

  “I lost.”

  The words came out softly. But beneath their simplicity lay a weight that dragged at my very essence. A final admission. Not of defeat in the physical sense—I had done that hundreds of times—but of something deeper. If I couldn’t change anything, then I wasn’t me anymore. Just a shell, reshaped by his hands. I knew that whatever he’d done, whatever subtle manipulations he’d inflicted upon my soul, they’d taken root. The damage was done. And when he was finished… I might not be myself ever again.

  But despite that crushing certainty, I hadn’t surrendered. Not completely. Not yet. Hope for the other world—the one beyond this purgatory—was already dead and buried. But even so, something else stirred within me. A stubborn flicker of will. The refusal to break.

  “It seems I underestimated you,” the god mused from across the room, his voice smooth and unaffected. “I thought you’d crumble into despair immediately. But apparently, I was wrong.”

  I turned my head slowly toward him, and for the first time in a long while, I grinned. Not in joy, but in bitter satisfaction. There it was: a crack in his composure. Proof, however small, that he wasn’t infallible.

  “You thought I’d give in that easily?” I muttered, pushing the pillow aside and throwing off the blanket. I stood, legs trembling slightly, but with my chin high and a smugness I hadn’t felt in what felt like lifetimes.

  I had lost my dreams, my hopes, my future—but I’d be damned before I let him win. Whatever he wanted from me, I wouldn’t give it willingly. If this place had one last shred of meaning, it was that I could deny him satisfaction. Maybe I couldn’t see my friends again. Maybe I was already beyond saving. But I’d go down on my terms.

  He saw the resolve in my eyes and tilted his head curiously, as if admiring a rare, stubborn insect refusing to die.

  “You cannot kill yourself,” he said casually, as though announcing the weather.

  I froze, halfway to the door, and spun on my heel to glare at him.

  “What?” I snarled, my mind already chanting curses at him, looping them like a mantra. Die. Die. Die. I wanted him to feel the hatred pulse through the air. “And why should I believe you?” I snapped, voice sharper than the knife I’d been about to find.

  “It’s not in my interest to lie—unless it’s for a joke.” He smirked, but I saw the flicker of honesty behind his eyes.

  He hadn’t lied before, as far as I could tell. Not about the important things. Still, that didn’t mean I could trust him.

  “So tell me this,” I said, stalking slowly toward the door. “Is there any chance—any chance—for me to escape this place?”

  “There is,” he replied calmly. “But only after you promise me one thing.”

  I stopped in the doorway. That voice—it wasn’t mocking now. It had shifted into something more deliberate. Measured. Serious. Which only made me more suspicious. What was he playing at?

  “What is it?” I asked cautiously, expecting a deal wrapped in poison. Another trap. Another cruel choice I wouldn’t be able to make.

  “I’ll show you my reasoning soon,” he said. “When the time comes, I want you to watch. And listen. That’s all.”

  I blinked.

  That was it?

  I frowned, looking him over as if he’d spoken in an alien tongue. “That’s all?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. Surely there was more. A trick. A cost I hadn’t seen.

  “That’s all,” he confirmed, arms crossed, unbothered by my disbelief.

  I didn’t trust him. Not even a little. But compared to the endless cycle of pain, rebirth, and failure, this was… something. A way forward, however faint.

  Stabbing myself repeatedly hadn’t worked. Trying to die on my terms had been a fantasy. And as much as I hated him—loathed him—I knew this was my only real chance.

  “I’m in,” I said, voice flat but firm. “How do I get out of here?”

  I expected a spell. A ritual. Maybe some impossible riddle to solve.

  But his answer made me stop in my tracks.

  “We wait,” he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Things are moving in the other world quite favourably for you.”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded.

  We wait?

  That was it?

  No portal. No test. No punishment or divine trickery. Just waiting?

  “I lost,” I muttered to myself, shaking my head in disbelief. I’d made a deal again. One that benefited him, asked almost nothing of him, and still left me in purgatory. He gave me crumbs and called them salvation. And I took them.

  But the worst part wasn’t that I’d been outplayed. It was that I still didn’t understand why. Why he had touched my soul. Why he hadn’t demanded more. Why he let me cling to this pathetic spark of autonomy.

  No matter how convincing his explanations, I couldn’t forget what he had done. Not to me. Not to the person I used to be.

  And no matter how still my heart felt now, I knew one thing for certain.

  I would never forgive him.