Max lay still, staring blankly at the jagged ceiling of the cave.
He could barely breathe.
The pain had settled deep into his bones, but his body had grown numb to it. The agony no longer screamed—it simply lingered, whispering in the back of his mind.
His broken leg throbbed. His missing arm ached with phantom sensations. He was nothing more than a shattered corpse waiting for his inevitable end.
So when the shadows shifted at the cave's entrance—when a presence stirred in the suffocating darkness—Max didn't react.
He had no fight left in him.
If this was death, he welcomed it.
Then it emerged.
A towering creature, its obsidian-black fur glistening under the molten glow of Hell's infernal sky.
A lion—but not like any beast Max had ever seen.
Its massive wings extended behind it, feathers darker than the abyss. Its golden eyes burned with an intelligence both ancient and unforgiving.
Max didn't move.
He couldn't.
The lion stepped closer. Its movements were deliberate, controlled—like it wasn't a predator hunting prey, but a ruler surveying the wreckage before it.
The beast exhaled, the warmth of its breath brushing against Max's sweat-soaked skin.
Then, silence.
Max's lips parted. His voice was barely a whisper.
"Just… kill me."
The lion didn't answer.
Instead, it dropped something in front of him.
A hunk of flesh.
Max blinked.
It was meat—charred and steaming, oozing with something unnatural.
His stomach twisted violently at the scent.
He should be disgusted.
He was disgusted.
But hunger—pure, unrelenting starvation—overpowered every thought.
His body betrayed him.
His fingers twitched forward, gripping the meat with trembling hands.
He devoured it.
---
The taste was unlike anything he had ever known.
It was raw, bitter, almost metallic.
But the moment it slid down his throat, something changed.
Heat surged through his body—not pain, but something else.
His wounds throbbed, his muscles tightened, his mind sharpened.
He felt it—his body pulling the strength from the cursed meat, absorbing whatever power lingered within.
His breathing steadied.
His shattered leg no longer screamed in agony.
His vision cleared.
He was healing.
Max stared at his own shaking hands, disbelief flooding his mind.
"What… is this?"
The lion, who had been watching silently, finally spoke.
"Your salvation."
---
Days passed.
Max did not die.
He learned.
The lion—known only as Vaelis—was no ordinary creature. It was a being born from Hell's chaos, a predator forged in fire and blood.
But it did not kill Max.
Instead, it taught him.
Vaelis showed him how to grip a sword properly—even with only one arm. How to balance, how to strike, how to survive.
And Max listened.
Because he had no choice.
If he wanted to live, if he wanted even a sliver of hope—he had to fight.
---
One evening, as the molten rivers burned brightly beyond the cave, Vaelis paced before him, eyes sharp.
"You hesitate," it growled.
Max clenched his teeth. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his blade.
"I—"
The lion **lunged forward.
Instinct took over.
Max raised his sword—his only defense.
Steel met claw.
The impact sent a shock through his bones, but he did not fall.
Vaelis's golden eyes flickered with approval.
"Again."
---
The days blurred.
Each moment was spent fighting, bleeding, learning.
Max failed more than he succeeded. He stumbled, he lost his balance, he nearly died a dozen times over.
But he endured.
His strikes became sharper.
His reflexes quickened.
His mind strengthened.
And Vaelis watched it all, guiding him through the torment.
It was not kindness.
It was survival.
Max understood that now.
And he wasn't afraid anymore.
---
As the infernal winds howled beyond the cave, Max stood.
His sword rested in his grip—a weapon that now felt like an extension of himself.
His eyes, once filled with pain, now held resolve.
Vaelis regarded him carefully.
"You are ready."
Max exhaled.
For the first time since arriving in Hell, he believed it.