Max stood amidst the carnage, his body slick with the blood of slain monsters. His wounds had healed, his strength had surged, but one undeniable truth remained—his left arm had not returned.
The realization gnawed at him.
Even with his newfound power, he was incomplete.
But in this cursed land, weakness meant death.
And Max refused to die.
---
The battlefield stretched before him—a wasteland of molten rivers, jagged obsidian rocks, and the corpses of lesser creatures. The stench of burned flesh lingered in the suffocating air.
The small monsters had fallen easily.
But their leader remained.
A towering beast, its skin forged from blackened steel, its crimson eyes burning like infernal stars. Its presence alone made the ground tremble, its massive claws carving scars into the earth with every step.
Max charged.
His blade met unrelenting force.
The creature struck back.
A single swing sent him crashing into the rock, his ribs screaming in protest.
Pain flooded his senses, but he forced himself to stand.
The monster was too strong—its raw power far beyond anything Max had faced.
If he fought head-on, he would die.
And Max wasn't ready to die.
Not yet.
---
He needed a plan.
His sharp instincts kicked in, scanning the battlefield.
Then—he saw it.
The lava pools, bubbling in the distance.
The only thing hot enough, deadly enough, to destroy a creature of this magnitude.
He had one shot.
And he wouldn't miss.
---
Max dropped his stance, feigning weakness.
The monster lunged, eager for the kill.
But Max moved first.
He sidestepped, his blade slicing into its thigh—not to kill, but to lead.
He ran, guiding the beast toward the molten abyss.
The monster roared, chasing him.
Then—the final move.
Max turned, grabbing one of the nearby slime creatures—unstable beings capable of violent explosions when thrown.
With all his strength, he hurled the slime forward.
It detonated.
The blast rocked the battlefield, sending the towering beast stumbling.
Its footing wavered.
It slipped, its claws scraping desperately against the rock—
But it was too late.
The creature plunged into the lava, its deafening roar echoing through the infernal sky.
Then—silence.
Level up.
---
Max stood at the edge of the pit, staring into the molten depths where his enemy had vanished.
Victory.
But it felt hollow.
His chest tightened as his gaze drifted to the cave in the distance—the place where Vaelis had fallen.
For the first time since his arrival in Hell, Max let himself grieve.
---
He gathered what little remained of Vaelis—fragments of obsidian fur, broken feathers from the wings that had once carried wisdom and strength.
Piece by piece, he built a grave.
A simple monument—a promise, etched into the scorched ground.
He knelt before it, resting his palm against the stone.
"I promise..."
His voice trembled, barely a whisper beneath the infernal wind.
"I will never lose again."
The flames of Hell roared around him, but in that moment, Max felt something else.
A flicker.
A purpose.
The true battle had only just begun.