When Ashen's foot touched the first step of the Blood Stair, it felt like the ground itself opened its mouth and swallowed him.
No sound. No light. Only a violent tearing, as if his entire being was being pulled out of time.
A muffled scream tore through his chest—then everything vanished.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself standing in the middle of an endless plain.
But it wasn't ground—it was a massive mass of living flesh stretching to the horizon, breathing slowly.
Each breath of that land lifted his body slightly and then lowered it, like the chest of a giant gasping under his weight.
The air was warm—but not air. It was blood vapor rising from millions of pores that bled without end.
The smell of iron and rotting meat filled his nose until it felt like his lungs were burning from the inside.
He looked around and saw faint ripples moving beneath the surface, as if invisible veins pulsed under the flesh.
Every time he took a step, the ground let out a soft moan, like the voice of a corpse being buried alive.
He tried to take a deep breath, but the air entered like choking smoke.
His body suddenly grew heavy; he felt the blood in his veins being pulled toward his feet.
When he looked down, he saw that every footprint he left behind absorbed drops of his blood, slowly disappearing into the breathing ground.
"What… is this place?"
His words found no echo; they bounced back as a strange whisper.
Then he began to hear voices.
At first, they were faint, broken—like wind passing through bones.
But soon they grew clearer—familiar voices, overlapping murmurs, like the moans of the dead.
Each voice carried a tone he knew… faces formed in his mind without his will: his father, his mother, the people of his clan.
> "Come back to us, Ashen…"
"Our blood flows in you. Why do you leave us?"
"Revenge is not our path… come back before you are erased…"
He stepped back, but the ground clung to his feet.
It was as if the flesh had awakened, slowly swallowing him.
The ripples rose higher, like the breathing of a giant creature turning in its sleep.
Between each pulse, the plain released a sound that felt alive.
A faint scream came from deep below, followed by a wave of warm, sticky liquid rising to his knees.
He looked down and saw the flesh wrapping around his legs, trying to absorb him.
He pushed with all his strength to free himself, but the texture was soft and warm in a sickening way, gripping him again each time.
He tried to summon his power, but the air itself tightened around him, as if the savage intent in this place refused any resistance.
All energy inside him turned to cold ash.
His body grew heavy and weak, slowly being consumed by exhaustion.
Then he heard it—a single heartbeat beneath the ground.
Doom!
The whole plain shook, and crimson rays burst from below, piercing his body from foot to head.
There was no instant pain, only a smooth burning heat crawling through his bones.
His breath broke apart, his eyes turned completely red, and blood began to leak from his nose and ears.
> "Each step… blood from your blood."
The voice was inside his head this time, cold as a blade.
"Each pulse of the earth reminds you of what you lost… and what you will lose."
He tried to move, to run, but nothing changed.
The horizon was fixed—nothing but flesh and red mist.
Even time seemed frozen, yet he could feel himself aging with every moment.
Each second here was an eternity of pain.
---
After a time he couldn't measure, the true torment began.
The ground no longer just drank his blood—it began to move beneath him, trembling as if searching for something inside him.
Each time he lifted his foot, he heard a wet tearing sound, as if something invisible was being pulled out of his body.
With every step, he lost warmth, lost a piece of his sense of self.
As what felt like hours—or maybe days—passed, he noticed something worse:
his skin was changing.
Its color turned dark red, then grayish, like the flesh beneath him.
When he touched his arm, he felt it breathing slowly.
> "No… this is impossible…"
But the truth was clear.
His body was turning into the same living matter as the land he walked on.
Every cell in him was being rewritten to become part of this enormous being.
And yet, death was not an option.
Each time he fell to his knees, he rebuilt himself.
Each time he was partially swallowed, he reformed from the ashes of pain.
It was as if the trial itself refused to let him escape.
---
Time vanished.
He no longer knew how long he had been there—a day, a month, a century.
The sky—if it could be called that—never changed, always a mass of red mist breathing in the same rhythm as him.
Every pulse of the land produced new sounds: whispers, muffled laughter, sometimes a child's cry, sometimes a faint sob that sounded like his own.
In a moment of silence, when he stopped to rest, he heard himself whisper unconsciously:
> "Revenge… revenge… revenge…"
The word came out of him like another heartbeat, matching the rhythm of the land.
Little by little, he began to repeat it endlessly, his voice hollow and empty, but it was the only thing keeping him alive.
---
And with every repetition, he heard the earth whisper with him.
Each pulse echoed the same word—
> "Revenge… revenge…"
It was as if the entire plain was feeding on his resolve, returning his madness as a cosmic echo.
His eyes were completely red, his vision blurred.
He saw nothing but a pulsing red light before him.
Time became circular—
Each day repeated itself, each step repeated its pain, each voice repeated the same call.
Ashen walked, melted, rebuilt himself, and walked again.
With every heartbeat of the earth, something inside him was erased—but one word remained, burning deep within him like a mark of fire:
> Revenge.