The Underworld Tapestry: Survival and Sovereignty

Roxana had spent a full week marinating in the cruel joke that was her existence in the abyss—a week that forced her to acknowledge one unfortunate reality: she was nothing more than a fragile thread in an intricate web of predators, dangling helplessly at the very bottom of the food chain.

Her status panel made sure to remind her of this brutal truth:

{Hierarchy: Bottom of the low rank}

Not even just the bottom, but the bottom of the bottom. Fantastic.

Before arriving here, she had imagined the underworld as a vast, scorched wasteland of eternal night, its skies split with hellfire and its rivers bubbling with molten lava. The kind of place where demons lounged in the flames, sipping liquid suffering while cackling at the damned.

Reality? Far more complicated.

For one, there was a sky. And not just an endless void, but a celestial clock that dictated time in ways she had never imagined. The day bathed the land in a hazy, ethereal orange glow, while the night turned the sky into a canvas of deep purples, swallowing everything into shadow.

A full day in the underworld lasted approximately fifty hours, with twenty-four hours of twilight and twenty-six hours of pure, unrelenting darkness.

Fortunately, Roxana quickly discovered that her new demonic body came with built-in night vision, as though generations of evolutionary trial and error had finely tuned her to see through the abyss. Language, on the other hand, was another matter entirely.

She hadn't spoken to anyone yet—mostly because everything she encountered seemed more interested in biting her than chatting. But from her observations, demons had their own dialects. Some, particularly the more powerful ones, engaged in full-fledged conversations, showcasing not only their brute strength but their intelligence. Others communicated with snarls and hisses, like rabid animals barely aware of their own existence.

She had tried to speak to one of her victims once, mid-hunt. It had responded by lunging at her face. Communication, it seemed, was a privilege of the strong.

From a distance, she had seen the true giants of this world—demons three times her size, prowling the abyss with effortless dominance. It didn't take long to figure out the hierarchy. Infant demons like herself scraped the bottom, growing and evolving through various stages until they reached the pinnacle of the low ranks. Time, experience, and survival dictated their progress, their intelligence and strength developing in tandem with their longevity in this world.

And yet, Roxana was different. She had grasped the demonic language almost instantly. Whether it was a quirk of her reincarnation or an innate intelligence, she wasn't sure. But if she could cheat her way through learning, why not through strength?

If there was a shortcut to power, she would find it. And the key? Mastering her system.

Beyond mere survival, her time in the underworld was filled with unexpected wonders. This place was not just a land of nightmares; it had an ecosystem, thriving in the most bizarre ways.

During the long twilight hours, Silvertail Sparrows flitted about, their metallic feathers catching the light as they fed on the nectar of Flame Petals, flowers that only bloomed under the eerie glow. As night descended, the air became alive with the soft luminescence of Whisper Moths, insects that communicated through delicate patterns of light, flickering in a silent, ethereal dance.

The rivers here were not lava, but teeming with Azure Serpents, their iridescent scales reflecting the sky's violet hues, coiling just beneath the surface. In the bone-white forests, Shadow Fawns roamed, their antlers absorbing the light, rendering them nearly invisible in the darkness.

It was a world of survival, yes. But it was also a world of strange and haunting beauty.

As the dim glow of twilight faded into full night, Roxana prepared herself for the next challenge—the hunt. Tonight's target? The Whispering Vole, a creature prized for the experience it would provide.

She had tried to hunt a vole before on her second day in the abyss, but the creature was too fast. Its small frame allowed it to slip through the shadows with an uncanny grace, darting away before she could even get close. It had eluded her, mocking her lack of speed, her lack of power. But not tonight.

Hunting was more than survival; it was adaptation. Every hunt honed her instincts, every kill refined her movement, every fight strengthened her resolve. Power wasn't just about consuming souls—it was about learning how to survive. The creatures here were diverse, unpredictable, and deadly. Understanding them, understanding their weaknesses, was just as important as raw strength.

With the grace of a seasoned predator, she moved through the shadows, her steps silent, her every motion deliberate. She had honed her skills over countless hunts, and now, after a week of relentless practice, her movements were sharp, efficient, and instinctive. She activated her ability without hesitation, her form dissolving into the night for exactly fifteen seconds. The Whispering Vole twitched its ears, its sensitive whiskers quivering, sensing something amiss but unable to pinpoint the threat.

She crept closer, heart steady, muscles coiled like a spring. The vole let out a faint whisper-like chitter, its nervous energy betraying its growing suspicion. At the last second, just as the timer on her invisibility neared its end, Roxana lunged. She reappeared mid-strike, claws extended, fangs bared, the vole's eyes widening in an instant of terrified realization.

Too late.

Her strike was clean, precise. The Whispering Vole's body went limp in her grip, its song cut short. Another experience gained. Another lesson learned.

Her ability to vanish wasn't just a tool—it was a weapon. Used correctly, it could make her untouchable, a ghost that struck without warning. She grinned at the thought. If she could master this, she might just have a fighting chance in this world.

As she returned to her makeshift den, Roxana let her thoughts drift to the mysteries of her system. Strength and speed were straightforward enough, but Activity? A stat that dictated her stamina and vitality.

Magic Power, on the other hand, remained an untapped mystery, an unopened treasure chest waiting for its key. And then there was Charm, an attribute she found utterly baffling. In a world where beauty was as rare as kindness, it seemed to serve no purpose other than making her a target—for lust, envy, or worse.

"A lady's charm in the underworld," she muttered, smirking to herself, "is like wearing a crown of flowers in a swamp. Pretty, but entirely impractical. Unless, of course… one finds a way to weaponize it."

With her thoughts settled and another successful hunt behind her, Roxana knew it was time. Time to unlock her system, to harness the experiences she had gathered, and to claim her place in this brutal world.