The pressure pouring off the orange mimic felt like a thousand mountains pressing down on the Hellbound's shoulders. A weight so suffocating it bent the air, so absolute it crushed thought itself.
No Hellbound of the First Circle could have withstood it.
Even lifting a finger became a monumental task. Muscles refused to move, and breaths became shallow and ragged.
Damien and the Grey Monk tried to dodge, move, do anything to resist, but it was futile.
Slash after slash carved them open.
Steel screamed through flesh. Blood painted the dunes in wide, violent strokes.
The mimic's blade, once merely fast, now moved with such blinding speed that even light seemed too slow to follow. It danced through the air like a phantom, striking before a thought could form.
"AGHH—!"
Damien's scream tore from his throat as the katana slashed across his chest, splitting his black shirt and digging into his muscle. He dropped to one knee, breath wheezing in and out. Beside him, the Monk already lay broken, twisted in the sand, blood pouring from deep, jagged wounds.
Then came the pressure again, stronger this time, like the sky itself had fallen.
Damien's body buckled. His face hit the sand with a heavy thud. The grains were cold against his skin, but he couldn't move or even lift his head.
There were no thoughts.
No words.
Only laughter.
A manic, familiar laughter. The one he had sung many times.
It burrowed into his skull like a blade, driving him mad.
He gritted his teeth, every nerve alight with agony. He tried to rise, to lift his head, to scream. To do something.
But nothing moved.
The countless wounds across his body had bled him dry. His limbs were dead weight, and his strength was gone.
Death was coming to claim him once more.
'I'm going to die again…?'
The thought felt absurd to Damien.
Not long ago, he had been feared, worshipped in whispers. A devil in human skin. He'd slaughtered thousands, broken more, and not once had he ever truly believed death would come for him.
It was always something distant. Inevitable for others, but never for him.
He saw death every day and even laughed in its face.
But now, for the second time in a week, the blackness came for him.
A weak, broken laugh rasped from his throat. Blood bubbled from his lips, dribbling down his chin and soaking into the sand. The pressure ground his face into the earth, smearing the warm copper taste across his skin.
'Heh. Of course I'm going to die here.'
'No virtue and a sin ability, useless in combat. All the lies in the world, and not a single one can save me now. I was never meant to survive this trial. Redemption? That was never meant for someone like me.'
The word sat strangely in his mind—redemption.
He didn't want it. Had never wanted it.
He didn't crave forgiveness, didn't long for peace. All he wanted was to return to the Organization. To return to his life of manipulation and control.
And yet here he was… thinking of redemption like it mattered.
Then, without warning, he felt a sharp yank on his scalp. Fingers tangled in his hair, jerking his head up from the sand.
His bloodshot eyes met their reflection.
The mimic stared at him, grinning from ear to ear, pale eyes wide with joy. The firelight danced across its face, illuminating the glowing marks etched into its flesh. The brand pulsed brighter than its flames, crawling down its neck. The crown above its head, twisted, blackened thorns, burned with the same otherworldly radiance.
Damien squinted against the brilliance.
And in that moment, he accepted it.
Death.
Defeat.
Life in Purgatory.
Then, with a burst of manic laughter, the mimic plunged its glowing orange katana into Damien's back. The blade drove clean through his heart, tearing through flesh and bone in one smooth, merciless thrust.
Damien's breath caught in his throat. A cold stillness spread through his chest, and the strength drained from his limbs. Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, slow at first, then rapidly devouring everything.
He could feel it—death, undeniable and final, claiming him once again.
But just before the blackness took him completely, something flickered on the horizon. A faint light broke over the edge of the dunes, soft and golden. Morning was coming.
His eyes, already dimming, met the mimic's one final time. The creature stood above him, radiant and cruel, wearing his face and smiling like a child who'd just finished a game.
Then, with theatrical glee, the mimic raised a hand and gave Damien a slow, mocking wave.
Without a word, the mimic vanished. The katana disappeared with it, leaving nothing behind but the scent of blood and scorched sand.
And then the darkness swallowed Damien whole.
For a few moments, Damien did not exist. He was nothing.
But then, somehow, he heard an automated voice reverberate within him. "Damien Veyne, extra life granted."
His eyes shot open, the morning light of the desert was blinding. A strange feeling then washed over him, like his body was being renewed. It felt similar to when he had eaten the fruits from the garden.
Wounds stitched together, ribs reformed, and new blood circulating throughout his body. For a moment, Damien decided to lie on the sand under the bright sun and the overwhelming heat of hell.
'That's right, I forgot about my extra life. How did I gain that anyway?'
His thoughts then flickered to Jack, evoking a strange mix of emotions that he had never experienced before.
"Thank you." He whispered into the desert air. His shackle did not activate because, for the first time in Damiens' life, he was truly grateful.
He pictured the fat, gluttonous man, specifically, the words he mouthed to him right before he evaporated into nothingness.
'With this gift find redemption.'
It was a strange set of words that Damien had not had time to process. Jack's sacrifice was a confusion that made little sense to him.
'Find redemption? Why do you want that for me? I hardly knew you, and yet, you killed yourself so that I could find redemption?'
Anger swelled in Damiens' heart. He didn't care that Jack was dead, no, he had seen many people meet their end, killed most of them, and none had gained a flicker of genuine emotion from him.
The anger was not for Jack. 'Why don't I understand?'
He desperately wanted to understand Jack's sacrifice, why the fat bastard had given him an extra life, but no matter how hard he pondered the question, the answer eluded him.
'What does redemption even mean? Changing how I act, becoming a better person? I'm sorry, Jack, but that's just not possible.'
He then let out a bitter laugh. 'I'm the devil, and I'll always be the devil.'
A loud groan then filled the air, followed by a wet cough. To his left, Damien saw the grey monk, gasping for air, as blood flowed out of his body from his many wounds.
Further ahead, Jenna was still sprawled. She didn't move or make any sound resembling life, for all Damien knew, she was dead. However, as he looked closer, Jennas stomach rose and fell slowly.
'You're lucky I need you, stick.'
With a sigh, Damien rose from the sand and made his way to the Garden. Briefly, he stared at the green oasis, then he stepped into it. The ground did not grasp onto him as he walked to a fruit and plucked it.
'The oasis is a test of your greed, just like the trial. Jenna only got stuck because she greedily devoured many fruits. Since I am acting to save another's life, the oasis will allow me to walk freely.'
It was speculation, but luckily for Damien, it had turned out to be true. After plucking another fruit, he exited the garden and hurried back to Jenna and the grey monk.
Jenna was in a more dire situation, as she only had minutes left to live. So Damien treated her first by ripping off a chunk of the fruit and squeezing its juice into her mouth.
He repeated this until Jenna opened her eyes. Without letting her talk, he handed her the fruit and said. "Eat."
Then he made his way to the Grey Monk and repeated the process.
After a few minutes, both Grey Monk and Jenna had been fully healed, their wounds closed, and their limbs straightened.
The trio had survived.