Chapter 38: The Infernal Hierarchy
(Part 2 – One Month in Hell)
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The First Few Days – Learning to Crawl
Time in Hell doesn't work like it did on Earth. There's no day or night, just an endless red sky that never changes. I can't tell how long I've been here, but I know one thing—if I hadn't adapted, I'd already be dead.
The first few days were nothing but running. Hiding. Watching from the shadows as monsters tore into each other, waiting for a chance to steal their leftovers.
Yeah, you heard me. I've been eating scraps.
Rotting flesh. Bones picked clean except for a few bits of dried meat. Whatever's left after the bigger demons are done feasting.
Disgusting? Absolutely.
Necessary? Also absolutely.
I don't have the luxury to care about taste or hygiene. If I want to live, I eat whatever I can find. Vomiting it back up isn't an option—wasted food means wasted energy, and I need every ounce of strength to survive.
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The Hunt for Shelter
The first cave I found? A death trap. Nearly got eaten alive by some snake-limbed abomination. Had to stab it in the face with a jagged rock just to get away. Never went back.
The second? Collapsed in on itself. I got lucky—I wasn't inside when it happened.
The third? That one worked. A small hole wedged between two massive obsidian cliffs. Tight enough that most things here can't squeeze through, but big enough for me to crawl inside.
That's where I live now.
It's cold, damp, and smells like sulfur and decay. But compared to everything else? It's paradise.
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The Demons of Hell – Predators and Prey
I've learned something about this place.
Not all demons are the same.
Some are mindless beasts—all hunger and instinct, killing anything weaker than them. They don't think. They don't plan. Just eat, kill, repeat.
Then there are the intelligent ones. The ones that watch. That wait. That don't just kill for survival—they kill for fun.
Those are the ones I fear the most.
I've seen them from a distance—tall, humanoid figures wrapped in living shadows, their eyes glowing with cruel amusement as they toy with weaker creatures.
I stay away.
For now.
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The Moment Everything Changed
About two weeks in, I reached a breaking point.
I was starving. Weak. The scraps weren't enough anymore.
I knew if I didn't do something, I'd end up just another pile of bones.
That's when I made my first kill.
It wasn't much—just a small, goblin-like thing with leathery skin and hollow eyes. It was already half-dead, dragging itself across the ground.
I could've let it go. Could've kept running.
But I didn't.
I grabbed a sharp piece of rock and crushed its skull.
The sound—wet, sickening, like stepping on rotten fruit—made my stomach churn.
The moment it stopped moving, something changed inside me.
A rush of heat. A tingle under my skin.
And then—I felt stronger.
Not by much. But enough to notice.
And that's when it hit me.
What I'd just done.
I stumbled back, my breathing ragged.
There was blood—black, viscous, clinging to my hands. The demon's body twitched, even in death, its mouth still slightly open, as if trying to scream.
I turned away and threw up.
Everything I had managed to eat in the past day came spilling out, burning my throat as it hit the scorched ground.
I wiped my mouth, hands trembling.
The realization crashed over me like a tidal wave.
I had just killed something.
Not in self-defense.
Not because it attacked me first.
I did it because I had to.
And that thought—
It terrified me.
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A Harsh Truth
I sat there for a long time, staring at the body.
Waiting for the guilt to fade.
It didn't.
Not entirely.
But another feeling settled in its place.
Acceptance.
This is Hell.
The weak die.
And if I don't want to be next, I have to become something else.
Something stronger.
This place has rules.
Rules I don't understand yet.
But one thing is clear.
Kill, or be killed.
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One Month Later – I Am Not the Same
It's been a month.
A month of hunting. Hiding. Surviving.
I'm not the same broken kid who woke up here, panicking and praying for some kind of miracle.
I've adapted.
I know how to move through Hell without being seen.
I know how to scavenge without becoming prey.
I know that strength comes from taking it—whether from food, from kills, or something else I don't fully understand yet.
But I'm still weak.
I can feel it.
Compared to the things that truly rule this place—I am nothing.
Yet.
Because I refuse to stay weak forever.
And if this place wants to break me?
Then it better be ready—
Because I'm not going down without a fight.
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Unfair Comparisons
I exhale, leaning against the jagged cave wall, letting the weight of exhaustion settle into my bones.
And then, because my brain apparently hates me, I remember something.
All those fantasy manhwas I used to read.
The ones where some unlucky loser gets sent to another world and immediately gets some overpowered system, or a legendary weapon, or a goddamn dragon pet.
Where's my system?
Where's my secret bloodline?
Where's the old grandpa living in my head, handing out free power-ups?
I let out a bitter chuckle, shaking my head.
Of course, I get the worst possible outcome.
Those main characters wake up in a new world and get a magic stat window.
I wake up in Hell and get a month of eating demon scraps and running for my life.
No cheats. No mentors. No prophecy saying I'm destined for greatness.
Just suffering.
I scoff. "Man… this is some bullsh*t."
But I don't stop.
I don't give up.
Because if those guys can rise up from nothing…
Then so can I.