Max had always been searching for his place in society—whether it was through jobs, school, or assignments. But now, amidst the chaos and suffering, the fresh air reminded him of a simpler, untainted existence. It was a bitter irony that the harshest environment offered him a sense of belonging he had never experienced before. Max found a fleeting moment of solace as he inhaled the crisp mountain air. It was a rarity compared to the polluted, stifling air of his former life. Despite the biting cold and the constant agony, he felt an odd sense of peace. Here, in the midst of Hell where gods called it utopia and where the weak called it hell, the air felt like a strange kind of home—a comfort he never had before. It was like finding a hidden gem in a pile of garbage, if the garbage were on fire and the gem was made of solid rock.
The slave caravan inched its way up the jagged mountain path, struggling against the harsh wind and steep terrain. Many slaves stumbled and fell, and those who couldn't keep up were unceremoniously thrown off the edge into the abyss below. Max observed the grim scene with a mix of sympathy and detachment. Each fall was a stark reminder of their grim reality, though he couldn't help but imagine it as a twisted game show. "Welcome to 'Survivor: The Abyss Edition!' Lose the challenge, and you're out—literally."
Max had come to terms with his fate, finding a grim comfort in the fact that his worst fears had already been realized. He accepted his circumstances with resignation, focusing on survival rather than succumbing to despair. In this hellish landscape, he adapted to his new reality, finding strength in the harshness—and a peculiar appreciation for the occasional gust of wind that didn't feel like an icy slap. "At least it's not blowing snow in my face for a change."
Max took a moment to review his Attributes, a game-like panel bestowed by the gods. This panel was sort of like a smartphone but with significantly fewer apps for cat videos and more survival features. It had a sleek, ominous design that seemed to mock his misfortune with each flickering detail.
Here's how his current status looked:
[Loser]: Grants a luck strike when fighting opponents stronger than him, multiplying the damage dealt.
Max snorted at this one. "Ah, the classic 'loser' perk. Nothing says 'special' like being labeled a loser by divine beings. But hey, at least if I ever get into a brawl with a minotaur, my luck might just give me a fighting chance—or at least make my opponent trip over their own hooves."
[Slave]: Brands him as a slave of an unknown god, marking him with a specific fate.
He glanced at this attribute with a mix of resignation and dark humor. "So, I'm officially branded as a slave. Great. I always wanted a tattoo I couldn't remove. If I had a choice, I'd go for something a bit more stylish. Maybe a nice dragon or something. Instead, it's 'Slave.' Not exactly the branding I had in mind for my new career."
[Shadows Demon]: Allows him to see in the dark and enter a berserk state when near death, increasing his power dramatically.
Max's eyes lit up at this one. "Finally, an upgrade that doesn't suck. Night vision? Awesome. If I can't get out of this place, at least I can find my way around in the dark. And a berserk state? Perfect for when I'm about to die and need that extra bit of rage to make my last moments extra memorable. Just what I needed to throw a tantrum in Hell."
[Unlucky]: Indicates that misfortune follows him, with destructive events more likely to occur around him.
He chuckled darkly at this one. "Unlucky, huh? As if things weren't already bad enough. This is like having a permanent 'Kick Me' sign on his back, but instead of being kicked, he gets meteors and misfortune. I guess it's the universe's way of making sure I don't get bored. Maybe I should start betting on how long it'll take before I accidentally blow up the campfire—or myself."
Max tapped his chin thoughtfully. "While some Attributes might seem less useful in my current circumstances, I suppose they come with their own unique set of advantages. Like night vision. It's great if you're trying to sneak around or simply avoid stepping on the numerous sharp and uncomfortable rocks that seem to litter Hell's landscape. And, of course, the ability to dramatically overreact to any and all bad luck is a nice touch. Like when I try to find a comfortable rock to sit on, only to realize that even the rocks in Hell are designed to be as unpleasant as possible."
He sighed, glancing at the rocky ground beneath him. "Who knew that 'uncomfortable rock' would become the new benchmark for my comfort level? At least in Hell, I can now add 'survival of the fittest' to my resume, along with 'expert rock-sitter' and 'professional misfortune magnet.'"
As night fell, the caravan halted to set up camp. The soldiers herded the slaves into a tight circle and lit a large bonfire while blocking the wind with a wagon. Max couldn't help but notice a young soldier staring intently at the mountain, looking as if he was mentally calculating how many mountain-climbing lessons he'd need to avoid this mess in the future. The soldier's expression was somewhere between a bad first date and a failed math test.
The stronger slaves huddled around the fire, desperately trying to warm themselves, while the weaker ones, including Max, shivered at the edge of the circle. They were given meager rations: a few sips of icy water and a small piece of bread that looked like it had been in a horror movie. Max eyed the bread and couldn't help but think, "Ah, the world's worst version of a crouton. It's like they baked it with the hope that it would last through the apocalypse." He tried to chew it, only to find that his teeth felt like they were staging a revolt. "Perfect for that 'Will it break your teeth?' challenge."
Among the group, a shifty slave began his performance art of complaining about the rations. "By all the gods, they used to feed me better even in the dungeons!" His eyes darted around as if he expected a waiter to appear with a menu. The desperation in his voice suggested he might have been dreaming of a five-star meal, complete with a complimentary upgrade to the deluxe suffering package.
Nearby, a broad-shouldered slave growled, "Damn Imperials!" as if blaming an entire nation for the fact that his bread was as appetizing as a block of cement. He looked like he was ready to launch a full-scale protest, complete with angry chants and signs that read "Will Work for Edible Food."
A girl, with a look of resignation, leaned over to the shifty slave and said, "You should save your strength and not waste it on complaints." She spoke with the kind of weariness that suggested she'd been dealing with whiny slaves long before it was fashionable.
The shifty slave scowled back, clearly unimpressed. "And what would you know? You're just another slave here." He sounded like he was ready to start a debate club for people with too much time on their hands and not enough food.
Max watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and pity. "Well, if I had a gold coin for every time someone complained about their rations, I'd still be starving—but at least I'd have a reason to start a food critic blog. 'Surviving Hell: A Review of the Undercooked and Overcooked.'"
He glanced around the campfire, where the others seemed to be having their own mini-crisis over their portion sizes. "Who knew that Hell would come with its own version of 'Survivor: The Hunger Games Edition'? If only we could get some sort of celebrity chef down here to whip up a decent meal—at least then, the food would be the only thing to complain about."
Max's [Unlucky] ability kicked in with an ominous twinge as he realized the camp was sitting right on top of the bone pile from his vision. The sight of scattered bones now half-buried in snow made his stomach twist with dread. "Great, just what we needed: a gourmet bone stew. Maybe the universe is just trying to spice things up."
As he brooded over this, the heavens decided to add a dramatic flair to their cruelty. A thunderous noise erupted from above, and Max's gaze was drawn skyward. He squinted at the massive, asteroid-like object plummeting toward them. "Perfect timing. Because nothing says 'welcome' like a celestial wrecking ball. I guess the universe is really into dramatic entrances."
The asteroid loomed closer, casting an ominous shadow over the camp. Max's heart raced, and he couldn't help but think that this was Hell's version of a "Welcome to the Neighborhood" gift. "If this is Hell's idea of a party favor, I'd hate to see the actual celebration. Maybe the next event will be a surprise lava bath."
As the asteroid continued its descent, Max braced himself for the worst but couldn't resist a bit of sardonic humor. "Well, if we're all going to be squished like bugs, maybe they'll finally serve us a decent meal. A cosmic catastrophe deserves at least a decent side dish. If I'm going out, I might as well get a good meal out of it."
The camp erupted into chaos as everyone scrambled for cover, like extras in a poorly staged disaster movie. Slaves were diving behind whatever they could find, some of them tripping over their own feet in the process. In the midst of the pandemonium, Max found himself chuckling. "And to think, I used to complain about boring TV shows. At least now I have front-row seats to the universe's most absurd, unplanned disaster flick."
Max watched with a wry smile as the asteroid's shadow grew larger. "Who knew that Hell had such a flair for the dramatic? If I survive this, I'm definitely going to need a new hobby—like maybe becoming a professional disaster critic."
As the asteroid drew closer, Max took a deep breath, trying to savor the absurdity of it all. "Well, here's to hoping that whatever's coming will at least come with a decent side of cosmic humor."