He had drowned the boy who once begged for life. In its place rose someone carved by hunger, hardened by pain, and driven forward only by hatred.
And he made sure to squeeze out every bit of that unlimited hatred to push his body to its absolute limits. Training until his muscles tore and stitched themselves back together. Pain was a fact to be cataloged, but it was nothing compared to that day.
Hate kept him moving. Revenge kept him precise. And in that pit, he had endless flesh to feed on, enough to rebuild himself piece by piece.
The snakes only came when he slept, digging their fangs into him. At first, their poison tore through him, leaving him half-dead on the stone.
But he noticed his body was slowly adapting to the poison. Yes, he would vomit or wreck his entire immune system, but it only lasted a few minutes.
Soon, curiosity twisted into craving. He wanted to see how far he could push this weak body before it broke.
So he stopped resisting and let them feed on him again and again until it became a daily routine.
Then one day, a thin smile cut across his face. When one bit him, its body convulsed, red fluid spilling from its mouth before it crumpled at his feet.
Their poison no longer touched him. The dark was no longer his enemy. He saw everything with perfect clarity—every shadow, every movement. Days bled into months, months into years. And just like that, four years were gone, and he still didn't know how to escape.
He caught a snake as it slid past his ankle and snapped it into the air. His hand came down flat. One sharp strike, and the body split apart, scattering into four twitching pieces.
"Just you wait," he muttered, voice trembling with rage. "I'll burn the Kurohana clan to the ground."
'Yesss, we will tear them into pieces first, then burn them,' the voice in his head added.
"Yes, yes, that sounds even better," he replied, then jabbed a nail into one of the still-living pieces, lifted it, and flicked it into his mouth.
'C'mon, c'mon, let's get the hell out of here,' the voice muttered.
"Yeah, yeah," he shot back, lips twitching. "Don't rush me."
It wasn't like he hadn't tried to get out—it was just that he didn't know how. He'd been searching for over a year, though he hadn't tried earlier, too busy tearing himself down and building himself back up. To make things worse, his clan had stopped coming, which only made it harder.
He lifted himself up, tied his hair back with his own strands. What was once black now hung silver. In his hand, a rusted sword—pitted, brittle, but still a weapon.
'That's a shitty sword.'
He sighed. "Sadly. But it's better than nothing."
He returned to where they'd thrown him down. The wall loomed high, still mocking him.
'What the hell are you looking at, bastard?'
He crouched, testing his legs, wondering if he could climb up. But the shaft was sealed. Blocked.
Not seeing any other option, he followed the tunnels until he found something he knew had never been there before. A small entrance, large enough for a person to pass through. Faint light leaked from the cracks. Pale. White.
"What do we have here…"
'Freedom!' the voice shouted.
His fingers brushed the edge. Cold scraped his skin, sharp enough to steal his breath. His chest locked, his body forgetting how to breathe fresh air.
Snakes slithered around his feet. One hissed, scales rasping, and in that hiss he thought he heard a word: Go.
"Did you say something?" he asked.
'No… I thought you did. I'm scared… hold me,' the voice whispered.
He sighed, rubbing his temple. "Shut up… and stay quiet."
The light stabbed his eyes. He raised an arm, blinking once. It wasn't sunlight. Torches. Dozens of them, flames clawing at the dark.
Ahead stood a massive black door. Voices carried from the other side—sharp, loud. His breath hitched.
"Clan members?"
Cold sweat ran down his back as he moved forward, peering through a thin crack.
He staggered slightly at what he saw.
Two men stood at the front. One carried a sleek longsword, armor light and minimal, built for speed. The other was his opposite—armor thick and heavy, a giant shield strapped to his arm, a hammer across his back.
Behind them were two women. One in a red robe, staff glowing faint in her grip. The other in white and gold, light pooling in her hand, steady and unnatural.
At the center stood another woman. Armor light, but protective. Styled like his clan's. Familiar.
And what they fought wasn't a snake.
It was a serpent.
Dark purple scales gleamed under the torchlight, thick as iron, its coils filling the chamber. He should have flinched. Instead, his mouth watered. After years eating snakes, all he thought was how many meals this one could make.
Then a voice boomed.
"Leave."
"We can't leave, so stop yelling, you fool," he muttered at the voice in his head.
'That wasn't me. I'm pretty sure that was the snake. …Also, you might want to stop mouthing off to giant monsters. Just saying.'
"Leave now."
It rolled through the chamber like thunder. His heart stilled. He thought madness had finally taken him. But no.
'Yup, definitely the snake. Also, you're not mad, you're just mentally unstable.'
The serpent spoke again.
"Damn you, humans. Leave us alone."
His eyes widened. A talking serpent. And not a lie—her voice was ragged, weak, desperate. She didn't want to fight. She was dying. But the swordsman pressed on, merciless.
The serpent's tail came down like a tree.
The shieldman stepped forward, took the blow head-on like it was nothing. The ground cracked beneath his boots, but he didn't flinch. He shoved back, a cocky smirk on his face.
The assassin vanished and reappeared midair. She dove down, plunging her dagger into the serpent's eye. The beast shrieked, thrashing violently.
"Leave me alone!" the serpent cried, voice breaking.
The swordsman barked, "Boost me!"
The woman in white raised her hand. Blue light wrapped around him, his frame swelling, his sword blazing until it burned like fire itself.
The tail whipped again. The shieldman held.
The robed mage raised her staff high, flames swelling into a sphere that lit the whole chamber. She hurled it. The fireball exploded across the serpent's skull, fire crawling its scales as it screamed.
The beast bled. Begged. But the swordsman gave no time.
Light blazed around him. He vaulted high, blade swelling brighter, and brought it down in one brutal strike.
The sword ripped through its scales and flesh as if it were nothing more than a piece of paper.
The serpent split cleanly in half.
The ground split beneath its body, cracking wide.
A moment later a hidden passage opened, stairs sinking deeper into the dark.
The five hunters grinned wildly, their faces lit with savage excitement, laughter trailing after them as they vanished below.
Only then did he move.
He stepped forward, closer to the corpse. A glow pulsed faint within its belly. He rubbed his eyes. Still there.
He jammed his rusted sword into the carcass, peeling scale and flesh aside until he found it.
An egg. Small. Pink, speckled white. Like a bird's, but heavier. Warmer. And he could feel something shifting inside.
'That looks tasty. I call dibs.'
"Shut up. This is not food."
His chest tightened. The serpent hadn't been fighting for herself. She'd been protecting it.
He lifted it into the torchlight. A tiny form stirred within, brushing faintly against his warm fingertips.
The air shifted. Voices rose.
The hunters had returned.
"What are you doing here?" one shouted.
"How did you get here?" another added.
The egg slipped. Hit stone. His heart stopped. But it didn't break. The floor beneath cracked faintly instead.
He snatched it back fast. But the assassin's eyes caught him. Sharp. Unblinking.
"I think he found something," the woman in red muttered.
'No we didn't. You're all seeing things. Look behind you—run, run!'
"Damn it, shut up and let me handle this, stupid voice."