The pull came without warning.
Not the violent drag of summoning.
Not the ritual weight of a descent.
This was claim.
Jack Storm froze mid-step in an alley just outside the industrial district, violet flame flickering faintly at his knuckles as the infernal core in his chest tightened—not painfully, but insistently.
"Not now," Jack muttered.
The world around him dimmed anyway.
The alley stretched, warped, folded inward like a sheet being pulled through a crack.
And Hell took him.
THE PLATFORM OF FORCE
Jack landed standing.
No stumble this time.
No adjustment period.
His boots struck obsidian stone and held firm, even as pressure surged outward in concentric waves. The platform beneath him was different now—broader, thicker, reinforced by layers of sigils that pulsed in slow, deliberate rhythm.
This was not a place for negotiation.
It was a forge.
The Infernal Broker emerged immediately, no theatrics, no delay. Its form was more solid than before, fractures glowing brighter, eyes sharper.
"You have stabilized," it said.
Jack crossed his arms. "Barely."
"But enough," the Broker replied. "Enough to build."
Jack's gaze flicked instinctively inward—to the gold token lodged deep in his core. It burned warmer now, like it knew it was about to be used.
"I'm not here to browse," Jack said. "What are you pushing?"
The Broker smiled thinly.
"Force," it said.
The word landed heavier than any flame.
The air around the platform bent.
Not heat.
Not energy.
Pressure.
Symbols ignited—angular, brutal, stripped of elegance. These weren't upgrades meant to incinerate or overwhelm.
They were meant to impose.
THE FORCE TREE UNLOCKS
Jack felt it immediately: a new branch had opened, one that didn't exist before the gold tokens, before the fracture, before the stabilization.
This was not Hell's favorite path.
It was Hell's answer to resistance.
The first symbol flared:
Gravitic Force Manipulation — Tier I
Localized pressure amplification
Kinetic redirection
Physical dominance without elemental reliance
Jack frowned. "You're offering me physics."
The Broker chuckled. "We are offering you inevitability."
Jack studied the cost.
Cost: 2,800 Soul Points
He had more than enough.
"Do it," Jack said.
The symbols collapsed inward.
The sensation was immediate and nauseating.
Gravity didn't increase.
It obeyed.
Jack staggered as his perception recalibrated—felt the weight of the platform beneath his boots, the resistance of the air against his skin, the subtle pull of every mass within reach.
He clenched his fist.
The air compressed.
A sharp crack echoed as the space around his knuckles collapsed inward, releasing with a thunderclap.
Jack stared.
"…Okay."
The Broker nodded approvingly. "Force does not burn. It does not scream. It simply acts."
Jack exhaled slowly. "What else?"
The second symbol ignited—darker, heavier.
Force Guard — Tier I
Passive kinetic dampening
Reduces impact trauma
Converts excess force into internal reinforcement
Jack's eyes narrowed. "Durability."
"Correction," the Broker said softly. "Survivability."
Jack paid the cost without hesitation.
The upgrade sank into him like an invisible exoskeleton locking into place. His skin didn't harden. His muscles didn't swell.
But when he shifted his weight, he felt it.
Resistance.
Like the world now had to work to hurt him.
The gold token pulsed violently.
Jack swallowed.
The Broker raised a single claw.
"Now," it said, "we discuss permanence."
THE GOLD DECISION — STRENGTH EVOLUTION
The gold token tore free from Jack's core, hovering between them like a small, contained sun. Its surface shifted, symbols rearranging themselves in response to the unlocked force tree.
"This token no longer offers choice," the Broker said. "It offers direction."
Jack clenched his jaw. "Meaning?"
"Your strength," the Broker replied. "Not more of it. Better."
The symbols burned into clarity:
Gold Upgrade — Strength: Absolute Transmission
All generated force transfers with zero loss
No bleed, no inefficiency
Strikes deliver full intent regardless of medium
Jack's breath caught.
"This isn't just stronger punches," he said quietly.
"No," the Broker agreed. "This is truth through impact."
Jack thought of Crowe.
Of demons wearing cities like skins.
Of the boy he couldn't save.
He didn't hesitate.
"Do it."
The gold token slammed back into his chest.
Jack screamed.
Not in pain—
In compression.
His muscles locked, bones screaming as something fundamental rewrote itself. Power didn't flood outward.
It condensed.
Every motion now carried consequence.
When the sensation passed, Jack stood trembling, sweat dripping from his brow.
He clenched his fist slowly.
The platform beneath him cracked.
Not shattered.
Cracked.
The Broker watched with undisguised interest.
"Your strength is no longer about mass," it said. "It is about finality."
Jack flexed his fingers.
"…I need to test this."
The platform answered.
THE TEST — SHATTERING THE ROCK
The ground ahead of Jack split as a massive stone pillar erupted upward—thirty feet tall, dense, layered with hellstone reinforced against erasure, flame, and impact.
A training construct.
Jack rolled his shoulders, feeling the weight of his body, the resistance of the air, the subtle pull of gravity bending around him.
No flames.
No scream.
He stepped forward and punched.
The impact didn't explode.
It ended.
The pillar didn't crack—it ceased coherence. The rock collapsed inward on itself, folding into dust and fragments that rained down silently.
Jack stood frozen, fist extended.
"…Holy shit," he breathed.
The Broker laughed.
"Now," it said, "you are dangerous even when restrained."
The platform trembled.
Something else rose.
THE BOSS — THE IRON WARDEN
The construct that emerged was not demonic in shape—but it was Hell-made.
A massive armored figure stepped onto the platform, plated in black iron and sigil-etched stone. Its body was bulky, deliberate, its movements slow but heavy enough to warp the air around it.
In its chest burned a core of compressed force.
"I am the Iron Warden," it intoned. "Break me."
Jack cracked his neck. "Gladly."
The Warden moved.
Its fist slammed down with city-level force.
Jack raised one arm.
Force Guard engaged.
The impact drove him into the platform—but he didn't break. The energy dispersed through his body, redirected, contained.
Jack grinned.
"My turn."
He launched forward, speed and force combining into something brutal and efficient. His punch landed square in the Warden's chest.
The armor buckled.
Not shattered.
Buckled inward like soft metal.
The Warden retaliated with a sweeping backhand that would've flattened a building. Jack ducked under it, grabbed the arm, and twisted—force manipulation amplifying the torque beyond physics.
The arm tore free.
Jack didn't slow.
He drove his fist into the exposed core.
Absolute transmission.
The Warden froze.
Then collapsed—armor falling apart, core imploding into nothingness.
Silence.
Jack stood alone, breathing hard.
The infernal core pulsed—stronger, steadier than ever.
The Broker bowed its head slightly.
"Boss defeated," it said. "Rewards logged."
Jack didn't ask for numbers.
He already knew this was a turning point.
"Send me back," he said.
Hell hesitated.
Then obeyed.
EARTH — THE B-RANK EMERGES
Jack arrived to screaming.
Not close.
Distant.
The sky over the horizon glowed orange.
He stepped onto a hillside overlooking a town—and his stomach dropped.
Buildings were collapsing.
Not burning—crushing.
Something massive moved through the streets below, its presence warping reality around it. Every step collapsed structures inward, gravity bending violently toward its form.
A B-rank.
No subtlety.
No restraint.
Pure devastation.
Jack's eyes flared violet.
"…So that's the next level," he murmured.
His infernal core pulsed—eager, but wary.
This wasn't a hunt.
This was a war.
And Jack Storm stepped forward anyway.