"In hell, time doesn't flow.
It drips —
slowly, thickly, like blood from a rusted knife."
"I stopped counting the days.
But if my own mind isn't lying —
it's been one thousand, six hundred and eighty-seven years since I came here."
Some kind of monster is slowly devouring me —
bit by bit.
Fingers.
Bones.
Tendons.
And I just lie there, watching,
too broken to resist any longer.
— "Tch… annoying."
Strange, how pain stopped mattering after a while.
After endless, second-by-second torment, it became something ordinary.
Familiar.
Almost… natural.
Even after all this time,
memories from my past life still flicker through my mind.
Maybe that's the only thing that keeps me from going completely insane.
For as long as I can remember — my life was always a living hell.
When I was six, my mother died.
She was thirty-eight.
Disease took her away.
We had no money for treatment.
My father was rarely home.
Whenever he came back, he was either drunk or broke —
gambling and whoring his way through what little we had.
The only warmth in my life came from my brother and sister.
They protected me, took the beatings meant for me.
But fate took them, one by one.
When I turned twelve,
my brother was hit by a car on his way home from work.
He died instantly.
I never even got to say goodbye.
At his funeral, my sister and I cried for hours.
He really was a good man.
Two years later, my sister vanished.
They said she ran away —
looking for a better life.
I didn't blame her.
How could I?
With her gone, there was no one left.
No one worth staying for.
So I ran away too.
But I was weak.
Pathetic.
A useless kid with no purpose.
I slept wherever I could, ate whatever I found.
The only comfort I ever knew came from books —
torn, dirty things I scavenged from trash or bought with my last coins.
They helped me forget this world,
even if just for a moment.
I thought that would be my life —
a slow fade into nothingness.
Until that night.
One winter evening,
a strange window appeared before my eyes —
floating in midair, as if cut out of reality itself.
There was only one line written on it:
"If you had a chance to change everything… would you take it?"
Below were two options:
[ Yes ] / [ No ]
At first, I thought I was losing my mind.
I blinked. Looked away. Tried to ignore it.
But it didn't disappear.
In the end, I just chose "Yes."
My body froze.
My eyes rolled back.
Darkness swallowed everything.
When I came to, I was in a forest.
My knees sank into cold mud.
My mouth was sealed with duct tape.
My hands were tied.
There was blood on my clothes —
I couldn't even tell if it was mine.
Panic hit instantly.
I tried to scream, but all that came out was a hoarse gasp.
Then — footsteps.
Behind me.
Dry branches cracked under someone's weight.
I turned my head — and something struck me.
Pain exploded.
Blood poured from my nose.
Dirt filled my mouth.
I wanted to cry…
but my eyes were already doing it for me.
— "Turn him over."
The voice was low and rough,
as if spoken by someone without a throat.
Two figures grabbed me and flipped me onto my back.
That's when I saw them.
Distorted faces.
Crooked skulls.
Red stitches running from lips to ears.
Eyes — pale, dead, uneven in size.
A third one stepped out of the shadows.
His smile was too wide.
Too unnatural.
Jagged teeth jutted out at random angles.
— "Bring the axe."
One of them vanished into the dark.
He came back carrying a massive, rusted axe.
He handed it to the leader and stepped aside.
The leader approached.
His eyes gleamed with madness.
I thrashed, twisted, tried to break free.
My heart pounded like a trapped animal.
He just stared.
Then — raised the axe.
And brought it down.
The world exploded in pain.
It wasn't just pain —
it was pure agony, sharp and alive,
like a thousand shards of glass tearing through my veins.
The sound of bone cracking filled my ears.
My scream was strangled by the tape,
turning into a muffled, animalistic cry.
My chest convulsed;
my vision blurred red.
Each heartbeat sent another wave of molten fire through the severed stump.
Blood gushed out, hot and rhythmic —
a grotesque pulse of life escaping my body.
My skin burned.
Muscles twitched uncontrollably.
Every nerve screamed in raw defiance.
The monsters laughed.
Loud.
Crooked.
Insane.
The axe rose again.
Its edge flashed in the dim light —
then sank deep into my stomach.
I felt it tear through flesh.
Organs shifted.
Something warm spilled out and soaked the dirt beneath me.
Air burst from my lungs in a wet hiss.
The world spun, painted crimson.
Every strike ripped another piece of me away.
Every motion of the blade echoed through my skull,
ripping my consciousness apart bit by bit.
When the axe finally withdrew,
I heard a wet squelch —
and saw a fountain of blood spray into the air.
The third strike came fast.
Lower.
I couldn't fall — I was already lying there.
But the world drifted away, distant and cold.
I saw my legs… somewhere nearby.
Detached. Motionless.
— "Tear him apart."
Two of them lunged at me.
They tore into my flesh, snapped my bones, dug into my organs.
The sound of rending meat filled the night.
I could feel it all —
the pull, the rip, the wet crunch of my own body being undone.
My mind burned white.
The pain devoured everything: fear, reason, time itself.
For twenty endless seconds — I felt.
Then… nothing.
"That was my first death."