I stood in the safe room for another minute, adjusting the ridiculous pink sash across my ribcage. It kept sliding to one side, which felt appropriate considering how little dignity I had left to protect.

  “Alright,” I muttered to no one in particular. “Can’t stay here forever.”

  The blue light in the room pulsed once, like it agreed. Or like it was impatient. Hard to tell with magical ambient lighting.

  I stepped toward the corridor exit. The moment I crossed the threshold, the light behind me dimmed and vanished. The waypoint disappeared with it, leaving only the familiar red glow of Hell’s preferred decorating scheme.

  I moved forward carefully, keeping to the wall. My bones clicked softly with each step. The sash fluttered slightly, catching wind that didn’t exist. Of course it did.

  The hallway stretched on for what felt like hours. No doors. No alcoves. Just endless stone and red light. My mind wandered. I thought about the Lurker. About the crowd of skeletons who’d thrown themselves down the spiral shaft without hesitation.

  “Probably should’ve followed everyone else,” I muttered.

  My voice echoed down the corridor.

  Then something echoed back.

  Not my voice. Something else. A sound like stone grinding against stone, followed by a wet, chittering noise.

  I froze.

  The sound came again. Closer this time. From somewhere ahead, where the corridor curved slightly to the left.

  I pressed myself flat against the wall and waited.

  A shape emerged from around the corner.

  It was massive. Easily twice my height. Its body was covered in jagged black chitin that reflected the red glow in sharp, uneven flashes. It had too many limbs. I tried counting—six, then eight, then I gave up. They scraped along the floor and walls at the same time. Its head was a geometry problem made of teeth, with eyes spiraled across what might have been a face.

  A tag appeared above it.

  CORRIDOR HUNTER LEVEL 7 STATUS: PATROLLING

  If I’d still had a heart, it would’ve stopped.

  The creature moved slowly, deliberately. Its eyes scanned in a pattern—left wall, right wall, floor, ceiling. It was searching.

  I didn’t move.

  Presence: one. Others are less likely to notice you unless you make a mistake.

  Don’t make a mistake. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t exist.

  The Hunter’s head swiveled toward me.

  Several eyes locked onto my position.

  This was it. This was how I died. Again.

  It took a step closer.

  Then it paused.

  Its eyes shifted—not away from me. Through me. Like I was part of the wall. Background noise. Something too insignificant to register.

  It tilted its head slightly, considering. Then it turned and continued down the corridor, its limbs scraping against stone in a sound that would probably haunt me for the rest of my undead existence.

  I didn’t move until it disappeared around another corner. Didn’t move until the scraping faded into distant echoes. Didn’t move until my entire skeletal frame stopped vibrating with leftover terror.

  Then I slumped against the wall and let my skull drop forward.

  “Level seven,” I whispered. “That thing was level seven.”

  A notification appeared in my vision.

  EXPERIENCE GAINED: 25 XP REASON: AVOIDED DETECTION BY SUPERIOR THREAT CURRENT EXPERIENCE: 40 / 100

  I stared at it.

  “I need to get out of this hallway.”

  I moved on, more cautiously now. The corridor eventually began to change. The walls grew rougher. Less uniform. The red glow dimmed, replaced by patches of darkness I didn’t trust even slightly.

  Then I saw it.

  A door.

  Smaller than the others I’d imagined. Made of old wood, like it had been salvaged from something long gone. No handle. Just a small symbol carved into the center—a circle with three lines radiating outward.

  I approached slowly and reached out to touch the symbol.

  The door swung open.

  Inside was not another corridor. It was a room. Small and circular. Lit by a soft orange glow that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. Shelves lined the walls. On them sat objects that looked important and useless at the same time: a broken hourglass, a rusted key, a book whose pages turned on their own, a small wooden box that hummed quietly.

  And in the center of the room, on a stone pedestal, was a creature.

  Small. About the size of a large eagle. Dark red skin covered in tiny scales. Leathery wings folded against its back. Two small horns curved backward from its head. Yellow eyes—currently closed.

  Sleeping.

  I stepped inside carefully.

  The door shut behind me with a soft click.

  Its eyes snapped open.

  For a moment, neither of us moved.

  Then it sat up, stretched its wings, and yawned—revealing rows of tiny, sharp teeth.

  “Oh,” it said in a high, nasally voice. “Oh no. Oh no.”

  I raised both hands. “I’m not—”

  “You’re real,” it interrupted, panic rising in its voice. “You’re actually real. Someone actually came down this path. Oh, this is bad. This is so bad.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  It hopped off the pedestal and began pacing in small circles, wings twitching nervously.

  “Okay. Okay. It’s fine. I can do this. I was trained for this. Thousands of years ago, but I was definitely trained for this.”

  It stopped and looked up at me with forced determination.

  “Welcome,” it said, voice cracking, “to the Tutorial Path. I am your assigned Tutorial Imp, and I will be guiding you through the—the—uh—”

  It stopped.

  “The what?” I asked.

  Its face scrunched up. “I… don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember.”

  “It’s been ten thousand years!” it squeaked. “Nobody uses this path anymore! Everyone just throws themselves down the main shaft like maniacs! I’ve been sitting in this room for millennia reorganizing shelves and trying to remember what a tutorial even is!”

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  I stared at it.

  “So you’re supposed to teach me something,” I said slowly, “but you forgot what.”

  “Yes,” it said miserably.

  “And nobody’s come through here in ten thousand years.”

  “Correct.”

  “Because everyone else just jumps into the pit.”

  “Like absolute lunatics.”

  I looked around the room again.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Name?”

  “Yeah. Do you have one?”

  It thought. “I think it started with a G. Or a K. Honestly, I’m not sure.”

  “That’s depressing.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I sat down across from it. My bones clicked against stone. The pink sash shifted awkwardly.

  “So,” I said, “what now?”

  It sat up slightly. “Technically I’m supposed to explain Hell’s structure, the trial system, survival strategies, and… something else. Four things. Maybe five.”

  “And you remember none of that.”

  “I remember Hell goes downward,” it offered hopefully.

  “I figured that out.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence stretched.

  Then it looked up again. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you going down? Like, all the way?”

  “I don’t really have a choice.”

  It fidgeted. “It’s just… I’ve been here for so long. And it’s been really boring. And lonely. And I keep reorganizing the same twelve objects.”

  “You want to come with me.”

  It looked hopeful. “Would that be okay?”

  “I’m level one. I have a skill called Pocket Sand. I survived a level seven monster by not existing. I’m wearing a bright pink sash. I am not a good person to follow.”

  “You’re the only person who’s come through here in ten thousand years,” it said. “You’re literally my only option.”

  I looked at it for a long moment.

  “Alright,” I said. “But if we die, I’m blaming you.”

  Its face lit up. “Really?”

  “Really really.”

  It started flying in excited circles.

  I stood up. “So how do we get out?”

  “There’s an exit behind that shelf,” it said, landing on my shoulder. “Leads back to the main corridors. Should be safer.”

  “Should be?”

  “I haven’t checked in three thousand years.”

  “Of course.”

  I pushed the shelf aside. It swung outward like a hidden door, revealing a narrow passage lit by faint blue symbols.

  As we walked, I asked, “Do you remember anything useful?”

  “There are levels,” it said. “They get worse as you go down. I think.”

  “You think.”

  “It’s been a while.”

  We walked in silence for a bit.

  “Daniel.”

  I stopped. “How do you know my name?”

  “It’s above your head,” it said. “Daniel Keres. Level 1.”

  “You can see that?”

  “I’m a tutorial imp. That’s my job.”

  “Can you see creature tags?”

  “No.”

  I blinked.

  “So I can see monsters,” I said slowly. “And you can see humans.”

  “We’re complementary,” it said proudly.

  “…Huh.”

  Eventually we emerged into a wider corridor.

  And there, standing in the middle of it, was a humanoid creature in mismatched armor.

  LESSER DEVIL LEVEL 3 STATUS: BORED

  Its hand moved toward its sword.

  My Delayed Reaction timer started ticking in my head.

  2.4 seconds.

  It stepped forward.

  1.8 seconds.

  Then it noticed the imp.

  “Yo,” the imp said casually.

  The devil blinked. “Is that… a tutorial imp?”

  “Yeah.”

  The devil’s grip loosened.

  “And the skeleton?”

  “He’s with me,” the imp said, patting my skull.

  After a long pause, the devil stepped back. “Alright.”

  My timer hit zero. I never moved.

  We got directions. It wished us luck.

  It left.

  I turned slowly toward the imp.

  “What was that?”

  “Oh,” it said casually. “Most demons don’t mess with tutorial imps. Professional courtesy.”

  “In Hell.”

  “Hell has rules.”

  Apparently it did.

  We found the spiral descent exactly where the devil said it would be.

  I stood at the edge, looking down into darkness.

  “Well,” I said, adjusting my sash, “I guess we’re going down.”

  “Guess so,” the imp said.

  I started descending.

  And somewhere far above us, in amphitheaters carved into stone and shadow, things watched.

  I didn’t know it yet.

  But they were leaning forward.

  And one of them, somewhere in the dark, muttered something that almost sounded like admiration.

  “You beautiful idiot.”

  The spiral staircase went down.

  And down.

  And down.

  My bones clicked rhythmically against stone steps worn smooth by thousands of years of descents. The imp perched on my shoulder, humming tunelessly to itself. The pink sash caught on the wall twice. I had to stop and untangle it both times.

  "How far does this go?" I asked.

  "Until it doesn't," the imp said helpfully.

  "That's not an answer."

  "It's the only one I have."

  The air grew warmer as we descended. Not hot. Just… present. Like the difference between a cold room and one that had people in it recently. The walls transitioned from carved stone to something rougher. Natural rock. Ancient.

  Then I saw light ahead. Gray.

  We rounded the final curve of the spiral.

  And there, at the bottom, was a sign.

  Wooden. Worn. Burned at the edges. Carved letters that had been re-carved multiple times, like someone kept trying to make them clearer.

  The Red Margin

  Floor 1

  Beneath it, in smaller letters:

  GOOD LUCK

  I stepped past the sign.

  The world opened up.

  Vast. Impossibly vast. The kind of space that shouldn't exist underground.

  The ground stretched out in every direction—red earth, cracked and dry, like clay baked too long under a sun. The dirt was the color of rust and old blood. It crunched softly under my feet when I stepped forward.

  There were no walls. No ceiling I could see. Just open space that went on and on until it blurred into distant shadows.

  The sky was there. Gray. Featureless. Like someone had painted the ceiling of the world with a single flat color.

  It was bright enough to see clearly. Dark enough to feel wrong.

  "Well," the imp said quietly. "This is it."

  I looked around slowly.

  To my left: nothing but red earth and distance.

  To my right: the same.

  Behind me: the staircase, carved into a rocky outcropping that jutted up from the ground like a broken tooth.

  Ahead, there were structures.

  Far in the distance, almost at the edge of where the gray light gave way to deeper shadow, I could see them. Black shapes. Broken. Jagged silhouettes against the horizon. Buildings, maybe. Or what was left of them. They looked burned. Collapsed. Like something had torn through them and left only the bones behind.

  And closer—much closer—I saw something else.

  A village.

  Or what used to be one.

  It sat maybe half a mile ahead, maybe less. Hard to judge the distance. The structures were low. Made of wood and stone. Roofs caved in. Walls scorched black. Smoke still rose from a few of them in thin, lazy columns that didn't dissipate. Just hung in the air like they'd been doing it for years.

  Everything was still.

  No movement. No sound except the faint crunch of dirt under my feet.

  "That's a burned village," I said.

  "Yep," the imp said.

  "It's the only thing I can see."

  "Yep."

  "So we're going there."

  "Probably a bad idea," the imp said.

  "You have a better one?"

  It looked around. "No."

  "Then we're going there."

  I started walking.

  The ground crunched with every step. My bones clicked. The sash fluttered in wind that didn't exist. The imp clung to my shoulder, its tiny claws digging into bone just enough to stay balanced.

  The air smelled like ash and iron.

  We walked for what felt like ten minutes. Maybe more. Time moved strangely here. The village grew closer, but not as quickly as it should have. Like the distance itself was reluctant to shrink.

  "Daniel," the imp said quietly.

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm seeing movement."

  I stopped.

  "Where?"

  "Left. About two hundred feet."

  I turned slowly.

  At first I saw nothing. Just red dirt and gray light.

  Then I saw it.

  A figure.

  Human-shaped. Walking parallel to us. Slowly. Its movements were wrong. Too stiff. Like a puppet being pulled by strings that weren't quite synchronized.

  No tag appeared.

  "I don't see a label," I said.

  "That's because it's human," the imp said.

  I blinked. "What?"

  "Level 2. Name's… uh… I can't read it from here. But definitely human."

  "Why are they walking like that?"

  "No idea."

  The figure didn't turn toward us. Just kept moving. After a moment, it disappeared into the distance.

  "Friendly?" I asked.

  "In Hell?" the imp said. "Probably not."

  "Fair."

  We kept walking.

  The village grew closer.

  Details emerged. The buildings were small. Single-story. Made of dark wood that had been charred black. Roofs were collapsed inward. Windows were empty sockets. Doors hung off hinges or were missing entirely.

  There was a well in what might have been the center of the village. Stone. Cracked. The bucket was gone.

  And everywhere—everywhere—there were scorch marks. Like something had burned the place methodically. Building by building.

  "This was destroyed on purpose," I said.

  "Yeah," the imp agreed.

  "Recently?"

  "No. Look at the wood. It's been years. Maybe decades."

  "But the smoke—"

  "Hell's weird," the imp said. "Things don't decay right. Fires burn forever sometimes. Water doesn't flow. Time's… sticky."

  I stopped at the edge of the village.

  My Delayed Reaction skill was quiet. No timer. No warnings.

  That either meant nothing was here.

  Or everything here was already dead.

  "Stay close," I said.

  "I'm literally on your shoulder."

  "Then stay closer."

  I stepped into the village.

  The air changed immediately. Colder. Heavier. Like stepping into a room where something bad had happened and the walls remembered.

  I moved carefully between the buildings. My footsteps echoed softly against the ruined walls. The pink sash dragged across charred wood. I winced at the sound.

  "Anything?" I whispered.

  "Two figures," the imp whispered back. "Far side of the village. Not moving."

  "Human or skeleton?"

  "Every human is a skeleton in Hell..."

  "Okay... Levels?"

  "Both level 1."

  "Are they alive?"

  "I don't know. I can see their names but not their status."

  I moved toward them slowly.

  Around a corner. Past a collapsed building. Through what might have been a street.

  And there they were.

  Two skeletons.

  Sitting against a wall. Side by side. One had its arm around the other. Both were facing the horizon.

  Neither moved.

  "They're dead," I said.

  "Or waiting," the imp said quietly.

  "For what?"

  "In Hell? Could be anything."

  I approached carefully.

  No reaction.

  I crouched down in front of them.

  Their bones were clean. No clothing. No equipment. Just bone.

  And carved into the wall behind them, in shaky letters:

  WE TRIED

  I stared at it for a long moment.

  Then I stood up.

  "Let's keep moving," I said.

  We searched the rest of the village. Found nothing useful.

  At the far edge, near where the village ended and the red dirt began again, I found something else.

  A path.

  Worn into the dirt. Leading away from the village. Toward the distant black structures on the horizon.

  "That's a trail," the imp said.

  "Yeah."

  "People used it."

  "Yeah."

  "We're following it."

  "Yeah."

  The imp sighed. "You're very predictable."

  "I'm very out of options."

  I adjusted the pink sash. Took one last look at the burned village.

  And started walking.

  The path stretched ahead into the gray twilight.