His chest rose and fell fast, every breath too short for the air he needed. His mind was collapsing. Fifteen years? How could that be? The helicopter… the explosion… the darkness. To him, it had all happened in the blink of an eye.
But if what the woman said was true, the world had gone on without him. Fifteen years of absence. Fifteen years in which the people he knew, the ones he loved, had probably changed, grown old, forgotten.
A knot of fear and despair tightened around his throat.
He remembered his mother, her face in tears when he left for his first tour. His father's look, always stern, but for the first time showing pride. Friends, fans, his own life… all turned to dust.
And now… did the world still worship him? Did they exalt him as a god?
The irony was too cruel. Lennon knew better than anyone that there was nothing divine about him. Just a boy who once made the wrong pact, with the right man, at the wrong time.
A shiver ran down his spine.
If fifteen years had really passed, then was this the price? He was trapped, catalogued as a number, stripped of his identity. He was no longer Lennon Park. He was "Prisoner of Series 101046221."
And the idea of a "prison of the forgotten world"… echoed like a final verdict.
A place where even fame, even glory, even memory… would die.
Lennon was still trying to piece his mind back together when the woman's voice, dry and cold, sliced through the air like a blade:
"Prisoner 101046221, your forgotten identity will now be revealed."
He lifted his eyes slowly. Forgotten identity? What the hell did that mean?
The woman flipped through her ledger as if filling out routine reports and declared, without the slightest emotion:
"You are the Forgotten of Pride, no. 011224666."
The number fell on Lennon like a sentence. 666.
His heart almost leapt out of his chest.
In his memory, the echoes of churches, preachers, the faithful shouting about the "number of the beast," reverberated endlessly.
He stammered, incredulous:
"N-no… this has to be a joke… that number can't…"
The woman raised her black eyes to him, piercing as an abyss.
"Religion does not exist here, human. Here there are only domains. And you belong to the Domain of Pride."
Lennon's legs gave way. Pride.
The word hammered violently in his mind.
And it all made sense – his swollen ego, the feeling of being untouchable at the height of fame, the times he had looked at fans the way gods look at mortals.
Deep down, he knew. He had always known. But he had never wanted to admit it.
The guardian continued, reciting like a manual:
"From now on, you have no name. You are only Forgotten 666. And you are not the only one. Many bear the same number. Here, identity is nothing but useless weight."
Emptiness crushed his chest. Reduced to a number… and not even unique.
He was not Lennon Park. Not a star. Not a legend. Just one among thousands of 666s.
Her voice carried on, unwavering:
"Death does not exist in this place, only eternal torture."
"Your master is the sin of Pride. Everything you do, everything you suffer, will serve the delight of this domain."
"Your utility has been classified as Legendary, for even after generations your image remains alive in the human world."
Lennon's legs shook harder. "Legendary utility"…
Even after death, he was still being exploited. Not even eternity granted him freedom.
The guardian turned another page, bored:
"Your routine will be hellish. The greater the utility, the more terrible the punishment. You enjoyed too much in life, more than expected. That is why you were taken early. The cycle had to be cut before you went too far."
The ground seemed to vanish under Lennon's feet.
He remembered the pact, the promise, the meteoric glory. Yes… he had risen too fast. Maybe even too fast for hell itself.
Then the guardian raised a small book, its black cover engraved with letters in burning red:
"This is your "Prisoner's Guide." Memorize it. Here lie the rules, punishments, and conduct for surviving – or at least enduring."
Without waiting for a response, she threw the book at his feet.
The dry thud of the impact echoed, as if sealing his fate.
Then she pulled out a metal card and tossed it against Lennon's chest.
Cold. Heavy.
He held it with trembling hands and read:
Ticket – Forgotten Identity
Name: Forgotten 666
Series: 101046221
Prisoner: Domain of Pride
Utility: Legendary
Routine: Hellish
Item Given: Prisoner's Guide
The air seemed to vanish from his lungs.
It was official. An infernal bureaucracy. A prison where even suffering had stamps, codes, and survival manuals.
He didn't want to believe it. But with every word, every document thrown in his face, the weight of reality crushed him.
He was no longer Lennon Park.
He was only a number. A "Forgotten."
And hell had just registered him as property.
The book had barely touched his hands when the guardian's cutting voice resounded:
"Guardian! Take the prisoner."
A masked shadow appeared instantly, pulling the chains without allowing Lennon a chance to flip even a page.
Panting, he clutched the tome against his chest, slipped the ticket between the pages, and held it like the last anchor he had left.
Before he crossed the door, the guardian lifted her chin and delivered her final decree:
"Oh, one more thing… don't lose your book and ticket, if you want a routine that's less hellish."
She let out a low laugh, dry as bone, making Lennon's spine freeze.
He turned his face away, swallowing hard, unable to answer. All he could do was hold the book tighter, like a cornered animal clutching the last scrap of food.
The dark corridor swallowed him.
The echo of chains dragging on the floor was the only sound besides his ragged breath.
Suddenly, the guardian halted, motionless, as if struck by an invisible order.
Tension froze the air.
Then, with a harsh motion, he opened a side door.
From it blew a dense wind, almost solid, crushing Lennon's chest before he even crossed the threshold.
The guardian spoke, cold and impersonal:
"The high council demands entertainment."
Lennon barely had time to think what that meant.
The wind poured from that darkness like the breath of a colossal beast.
The door creaked wider, but what lay beyond was still hidden.
"I-I… – he tried to speak, but the chain was released all at once.
The overseer shoved him mercilessly, hurling him into the void.
"Let the spectacle begin."
Lennon's body was swallowed by darkness, falling without end, the book and ticket still clutched to his chest.