Cold stone pressed against his back.
Not painfully.
Not yet.
But persistently—like a reminder that comfort did not exist here.
Clinton Black sat upright inside the cell, breathing slowly. Each breath was measured, controlled, deliberate.
'Panic wastes energy.'
The thought surfaced naturally.
It was an old habit.
One formed long before this body—before pirates and prisons.
'Some instincts don't disappear.'
The screams came again.
Some distant.
Some close enough to feel.
They echoed through the corridors of Impel Down, blending into an indistinct chorus of pain and madness.
Clinton listened.
Then dismissed them.
'Fear narrows judgment.'
That lesson had cost him dearly in his previous life.
His thoughts drifted backward.
To Earth.
'I was a researcher.'
A chemical company employee.
No fame.
No headlines.
Just endless data, sterile labs, and procedures designed to prevent disasters.
Or analyse them after they happened.
'Exposure limits.''Toxicity thresholds.''Failure probabilities.'
He had studied how substances destroyed the human body.
How lungs failed.
How oxygen deprivation triggered panic.
How prolonged suffering accelerated death.
'Risk management.'
That had been his field.
And the irony was impossible to ignore.
'I died to the very thing I studied.'
The memory returned uninvited.
The ruptured valve.
The spreading vapor.
The way his lungs burned as if they were dissolving from the inside.
'The lungs collapsed first.'
The body followed.
The mind panicked.
Then silence.
'And now death is… conditional.'
That single truth reshaped everything.
He looked down at his hands again.
Strong.
Scarred.
Not his.
Clinton Black's body was built for endurance, not analysis.
'This body is more suitable for this world than mine ever was.'
But suitability didn't mean safety.
'This body already died once.'
Not in battle.
Not heroically.
It had simply been broken down—day by day—until nothing remained.
'If I do nothing, I will die again.'
The difference now was that death was no longer final.
But it still mattered.
'Every death has a cost.'
Memory.
Fear.
Pain.
His gaze sharpened.
'Which means every death must also have value.'
"System," he said quietly.
The blue interface appeared instantly.
[Undying Evolution System — Active]
"I want clarity," he said."No summaries."
[Request acknowledged]
"Explain strain," he said.
[Strain is defined as the total physical and psychological stress experienced by the host during the interval between one death and the next]
'Interval-based.'
"So strain only exists while I'm alive," he said.
[Correct]
"And at death?" he asked.
[At the moment of death, all recorded strain is analyzed][Evolution is triggered based on dominant stress factors]
His eyes narrowed.
'Dominant factors.'
"So multiple strains don't stack?" he asked.
[Strain does not accumulate across deaths][All recorded strain is reset after evolution]
A slow breath left him.
'Good.'
"So the evolution strengthens me against whatever caused the strain," he said.
[Correct]
"Define strengthen," he pressed."Resistance or immunity?"
[Adaptation increases tolerance and efficiency][Complete immunity is not guaranteed]
'Expected.'
Nothing absolute.
Nothing free.
"And pain?" he asked.
[Pain perception is not removed][Adapted stressors generate reduced strain response]
'It still hurts.'
'Just less… eventually.'
"What about mental strain?" he asked.
[Psychological stress is processed equivalently to physical stress][Adaptation increases emotional resilience and cognitive stability]
That mattered.
More than anything else.
'As long as my mind adapts, I won't lose myself.'
He leaned back against the wall, letting the information settle.
'This system isn't meant to torture.'
'It's meant to correct weaknesses.'
One at a time.
Impel Down's methods became clear to him.
Cold without relief.
Hunger without end.
Isolation without mercy.
'Against normal people, repetition breaks them.'
'Against me… repetition loses efficiency.'
Still, recklessness would be fatal.
Even if strain reset—
'Memory does not.'
Fear remembered was fear anticipated.
'Which means discipline matters more than courage.'
His eyes shifted toward the iron bars.
'Escaping Impel Down…'
Not yet.
Not now.
'First, adaptation.'
Cold resistance.
Metabolic efficiency.
Environmental tolerance.
'One death per variable.'
Anything more would dilute the result.
Anything less would be hesitation.
"Can evolution be influenced intentionally?" he asked.
[Host awareness may bias adaptive focus]
His jaw tightened.
'Intent matters.'
"So if I choose the circumstances of my death," he said slowly,"the evolution will follow."
[Probability of targeted adaptation increases]
Dangerous.
Precise.
'Death becomes a tool.'
'But only if used sparingly.'
The system faded.
The cell felt unchanged.
Yet everything had shifted.
'Clinton Black broke here.'
'I will not.'
He was a researcher.
A strategist.
Someone who understood systems because he had lived inside them.
'Impel Down is a system.'
And like all systems—
It had failure points.
'It assumes people don't return.'
A calm resolve settled in his chest.
'I will not waste my deaths.''I will not rush.''I will not let pain erase me.'
Each evolution would be deliberate.
Each weakness addressed in order.
Cold.
Hunger.
Environment.
Then—
Escape.
The screams echoed again.
This time, they no longer unsettled him.
'Impel Down erases people.'
A faint smile touched his lips.
'But it has no answer for someone who improves faster than it can kill.'
Clinton closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.
'Impel Down isn't a single prison,' he thought. 'It's a descent.'
Each level existed to strip something away, not through chaos but intent. The deeper one went, the less human they became.
Crimson Hell was the first reminder of that truth. Razor-edged trees and spiked ground punished movement itself, turning every step into pain. Blood loss there was slow but constant, meant to exhaust rather than kill.
'Pain as conditioning.'
Below it waited Wild Beast Hell.
Unrestrained predators. Endless fear. No safe rest.
The body survived by instinct alone, while the mind eroded under constant pressure.
'Chaos by design.'
Starvation Hell followed.
Dark.
Silent.
Empty.
Hunger became the weapon, gnawing away at strength and clarity alike. Days blurred together as the body consumed itself.
'Slow collapse.'
Blazing Hell was different.
Heat dominated everything. Air burned the lungs. Stone radiated fire.
Death came quickly there, often before hope had time to fade.
'A place that doesn't allow mistakes.'
Freezing Hell lay beneath it all.
Endless cold.
Air that stole warmth with every breath.
'This is where Clinton Black died.'
Not violently, but gradually, as hunger and cold worked together.
'Persistent strain.'
Hidden within that frozen depth was Newkama Land.
Warmth.
Food.
Voices.
A contradiction he couldn't rely on.
At the bottom waited Eternal Hell.
No environment.
Just silence and time.
Prisoners forgotten by the world, left to erode in isolation.
'This floor kills the self.'
Clinton opened his eyes.
'Impel Down breaks people in layers.'
Not all at once.
But inevitably.
His fists tightened.
'If I'm to survive, order matters.'
Preparation mattered.
He stared at the iron bars, expression calm.
'This prison assumes decay.'
A quiet certainty settled within him.
'That assumption is wrong.'