The moment they stepped out of the ancient castle and into the fleshlands, the stench hit like a divine punishment.
Noah gagged so hard his ribs nearly cracked.
"Oh my god. It's worse than I remembered. Did the meat-trees go rancid while we were gone? Is that even possible?"
Ahead of him, Abel stopped just long enough to glance over his shoulder. "You survived ghost maids and death knights, but now you're complaining about a smell."
"I'm allowed!" Noah clamped his sleeve over his nose. "It's like a butcher shop had sex with a compost bin. And then died."
The cursed world outside hadn't changed at all. If anything, it looked hungrier.
The sky—if it could even be called that—was just a tangle of sinew-covered roots that coiled overhead like a ceiling of veins. The "trees" were spires of glistening muscle, their surfaces twitching with slow, internal movement. The ground squelched beneath their boots, not soil, not stone—something in between, like damp tissue paper stretched over bone. Patches of exposed viscera pulsed near broken pillars and the skeletal remains of buildings long since devoured.
It was grotesque. It was overwhelming.
And it was familiar.
Noah let out a long breath. "Yep. Just like I left it. Can't wait to scrub this from my memory with bleach and therapy."
They stood in the same clearing where Noah had first fallen—half-dead, fully confused, and already regretting his life choices. Now, standing side by side with Abel, stronger, smarter, and very slightly less useless, he felt... different.
Still terrified. Still in over his head.
But not alone.
Abel was scanning the distance. "There. A hill." He pointed toward a rise far ahead—barely visible beyond the grotesque canopy of twitching vines. "It's solid. Maybe stone. We should head that way."
"A normal hill?" Noah squinted. "In this meat jungle? Are you sure it's not just a giant tumor?"
Abel didn't reply. Which Noah took as a sign that he wasn't sure either.
"Great. Mutant hill it is." Noah adjusted the strap of his bag. "Let's move before this place grows teeth."
They set off toward the distant rise, boots squelching through layers of decay. Behind them, the cursed castle loomed like a dying memory, its broken towers silhouetted against the pulsing red sky-veins. Ahead—only horror and uncertainty.
Noah had been many things in life.
God candidate. Tarot weirdo. Gay disaster.
Now?
Now he was a man with a mission.
Survive the meat world.
And maybe—just maybe—find a place not trying to eat his face.
The path wasn't a path.
It was more like a suggestion—twisted muscle-fibers pulled apart just enough to walk between, the ground sloshing with every step. Noah could feel it soaking through the soles of his boots. Whatever this stuff was, it wasn't mud. It was warmer. Stickier. Alive, maybe.
Disgust didn't even begin to cover it.
"Abel?" he asked after the third time he slipped on what he hoped wasn't a piece of intestine. "I know we're technically outside, but does it still count as fresh air if we're breathing in corpse vapor?"
Abel, trudging ahead like this was just another day in hell, said, "I think it counts as survival."
"You're so romantic."
A sound tore through the silence—wet and slopping, like something dragging its body across the pulsing ground.
Noah's body tensed before his brain could catch up. Abel already had his hand on the hilt of his sword.
From behind a bend in the red-veined wall, it oozed forward.
It didn't walk so much as... squelch.
A mass of meat and faces. At least six mouths stretched across its bulk, some screaming, some laughing, some gnawing on their own flesh. No eyes. No clear direction. Just hunger given form.
"Target practice," Noah muttered, flicking his wrist.
A card flashed into his hand.
He threw it without ceremony. The card sliced through the air and exploded with a meaty pop, shredding a chunk of the creature's flank.
It didn't even slow down.
"Oh come on."
Another followed, then another. Abel joined in—his blade cleaving through limbs and gaping mouths like they were made of wet paper. The monster wailed and convulsed, but by the time it collapsed, it looked more like soup than enemy.
Noah exhaled. "That was... disturbing."
"It wasn't even strong," Abel said, wiping ichor off his blade.
"Yeah, but emotionally? It was a ten out of ten nightmare."
They pressed on.
Two more fleshbeasts appeared within the hour—smaller, faster, more teeth than necessary. One managed to lunge for Noah's leg.
He didn't flinch.
Instead, he raised both hands. "Let's test this."
Two glowing ropes of thread-thin light erupted from his palms, cracking through the air like divine whips. They shimmered gold and violet, pulsing with something deeper than magic—something that belonged to him.
He lashed once.
The rope wrapped around the creature's torso and pulled—snapping it into the ground so hard it burst like rotten fruit.
Noah blinked.
"Oh. I like this."
The second whip lashed midair, catching another monster by the throat. With a tug, he flung it over Abel's head—straight into the path of his blade.
It didn't stand a chance.
When the fight ended, Noah was breathless, heart racing—not from fear. From exhilaration.
"Okay," he said, panting. "These things are awesome."
Abel just gave a faint nod. "You've improved."
"Say it again, but this time like you're proud of me."
"I am proud."
Noah stared. "Wow. Okay. That was weirdly hot."
Abel gave him a long look. "That's your standard now?"
"Abel," Noah said, gesturing to the landscape of flesh and gore, "this entire world is a meat dungeon. I need something to keep me going."
They laughed. Actually laughed.
The tension of endless curses and death knights had faded—just a little.
By the time they reached the base of the stone hill, the difference was immediate.
No more squelch. No pulsing ground. Just rock.
Real, solid rock.
Noah dropped to his knees and pressed both palms to the ground like it was sacred. "Oh my god. You feel that? It's dry. It's dead! I've never loved a mountain before but I'm rethinking my orientation."
Abel raised an eyebrow. "You really hate flesh."
"You don't?"
Noah stood, brushing off his hands, already breathing easier. The air here was cooler, less saturated with rot. The stone rose like a broken fang through the meat landscape, sharp and jagged, climbing into the skyless void like a promise.
They began the ascent.
It didn't take long for Noah's enthusiasm to die a sweaty, wheezing death.
Halfway up the incline, he was hunched over, panting like a chain-smoking squirrel. "I—gasp—hate—gasp—this hill."
Abel didn't even look winded. "You have decent agility. But your endurance still needs work."
"Gee, thanks, Coach."
They kept climbing.
Another few minutes passed before Noah finally muttered, "Okay, this is it. If I die, bury me here. Tell the world I went out nobly, scaling the only non-fleshy surface left in this godforsaken world."
Abel smirked. "If you ask nicely, I might carry you."
Noah froze mid-step. "Wait. Seriously?"
"If you behave."
"Abel."
"Hm?"
"I am a perfect gentleman."
"You just tried to seduce a rock."
"It was consensual."
Abel shook his head, laughing under his breath. "Come on, mountain seducer. We're almost at the top."
Noah followed, lungs screaming, legs on fire—but somehow lighter.
Somehow… happy.
The climb ended not with revelation, not with salvation, but with… more nothing.
Just a flattened stone plateau surrounded by skyless black. The only thing that changed was the wind—or rather, the illusion of it. A strange hush, like breath held between heartbeats. Like even the world had grown tired of this nightmare and wanted to rest.
Noah reached the top first.
And promptly collapsed.
He dropped face-first onto the blessedly solid ground with a groan that echoed into the abyss. "This is it. This is where I die. Tell my story. Tell it beautifully."
Abel stepped over him, looking unimpressed. "You've said that three times today."
"This time I mean it," Noah wheezed. "The air is heavier up here. I think the altitude's cursed."
"We're still underground."
"Exactly! It's underground altitude sickness. Very serious. Very rare."
Noah rolled onto his back, limbs splayed out like a drama queen laid to rest by exhaustion and sass. He stared up at the roof of the cavern above—the grotesque canopy of red, pulsing roots and thick flesh-trees that curved like ribs over the land, stretching beyond what his eyes could track.
There was no sky.
No sun.
Just the constant, wet glow of something that should not glow.
"God, this world is gross," he muttered.
Abel didn't reply immediately. He was standing near the edge, arms folded, eyes scanning the ruined valley below. His profile looked even sharper in the faint bioluminescence—like a statue carved to endure, not to feel.
Noah peeked up at him from the ground. "Sooo... now that we've heroically scaled Mount Hellflesh and found absolutely nothing, what's the plan? Scream? Cry? Eat the emergency ration of sour berries we stole from your dead court pantry?"
Abel was silent.
Then he pointed. "There."
Noah lifted his head and followed the gesture.
In the distance—far across the writhing landscape of red tendrils and bone-walls—a soft flicker broke through the dark. Faint. Warm. Fire.
Real fire.
Not magical. Not cursed. Not made of rot.
Just flame.
And with it, hope.
Noah sat up slowly, eyes wide. "Wait… is that a campfire? Like, a real campfire? As in, someone's alive out here? With fire and, like, logic and possibly soup?"
Abel didn't answer. He just watched it burn, that tiny, flickering signal.
A sign.
Proof.
They weren't alone.
And maybe—just maybe—that meant they weren't the last living beings crawling through this endless nightmare of flesh and curses.
Noah let out a long, trembling breath.
His muscles still ached. His heart was still hammering. But he smiled. Just a little.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Let's go meet whoever's dumb enough to still be alive in this place."