Chapter 01: Despair

Dread. It had consumed me for all twenty years of my existence on this pitiful yet beautiful world. Now, I stand on a chair, the rope tied securely to the ceiling, a noose waiting for my head. Slowly, I place my head through the loop and glance at the piece of paper containing my final words, written just ten minutes ago.

I, Travis Ford, am a college student, unemployed, barely scraping by through fights in an underground club meant for the entertainment of the weak. I never lost a match; I was gifted with fighting skills but cursed with terrible luck. I've committed many sins, too many to atone for, and that's why I'm here. They'd all be happy if I did this, and that thought brings me a twisted sense of peace.

With my final breath, I kick the chair and begin to hang in my apartment, like a ticking clock. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.

Fifteen minutes pass before my life slips away. I can't feel my body, but I sense a light surrounding me. As I somehow open my eyes, I find myself lying on a cold, hard floor. The light is dim, flickering from torches mounted on stone walls. Panic grips me as I take in my surroundings—a medieval dungeon. Chains clink nearby, and the smell of damp straw and sweat fills the air.

Where am I? What kind of afterlife is this? My mind races, struggling to make sense of my new reality.

I look down at my hands. They are calloused and rough, but smaller than I remember. I struggle to my feet and catch sight of myself in a small, dirty mirror hanging on the wall. The face staring back at me is young, maybe in my late teens, with a thin frame and hollow eyes.

The sound of footsteps echoes through the dungeon. A heavy door creaks open, and a burly man with a whip strides in. "Up, slaves! Time to work," he barks, his voice cold and commanding.

I feel a sense of hopelessness wash over me, but it's tempered by an eerie calm. After all, what can death threaten me with now?

Days blur into weeks as I toil in the fields, the monotony of labor a dull ache against my unending despair. But amidst the relentless grind, a strange thing happens. My body grows stronger, muscles hardening from the constant exertion. I learn to fight again, this time not in the ring, but against the harsh reality of my new life.

One evening, as I lay on my straw mat in the slave quarters, a fellow slave whispers to me, "There's a way out, you know. The master's guard is weak, and there's a hidden tunnel in the forest."

I nod, the spark of rebellion igniting a flicker of interest within me. I have nothing to lose. Fear no longer holds any power over me.

Under the cover of darkness, we make our escape. The tunnel is damp and narrow, but it leads us to freedom. We emerge into the forest, breathless but alive. The other slaves scatter, eager to find their own paths. But for me, the journey is just beginning.

The forest is dense and unforgiving, a labyrinth of towering trees and thick underbrush. Each step is a struggle against nature itself. My body, though stronger, is still weak from years of malnutrition and harsh labor. But a grim determination drives me forward. I have no fear of death, only a burning desire to survive, to rise, and to seek revenge.

Days turn into weeks as I wander through the forest, battling the elements and my own despair. I scavenge for food, hunting small animals with makeshift traps and gathering edible plants. My hands grow skilled, my instincts sharper. The forest, once a menacing enemy, becomes a harsh teacher.

One day, I stumble upon a broken sword buried in the underbrush. The blade is rusted and the hilt worn, but it is a weapon. I take it as a sign, a tool for my rebirth. I spend hours honing the blade against a stone, shaping it into something deadly. It's crude, but it's mine.

With the sword in hand, I begin to train. Each swing is a release of pent-up anger, a catharsis for my tortured soul. I practice relentlessly, day and night, fighting against imaginary foes and the very real dangers of the forest. Wolves, bears, and other predators become my sparring partners, and each victory strengthens my resolve.

The forest whispers secrets to me, ancient knowledge of survival and combat. I craft a shelter from fallen branches and leaves, a sanctuary where I can rest and plan. The days blend together, a blur of training and survival, but I am no longer just enduring—I am thriving.

My body transforms, muscles growing lean and strong. My mind, once clouded by despair, sharpens with a single purpose: vengeance. The image of the burly man with the whip haunts my dreams, fueling my hatred. I will return to that dungeon, and I will make them pay for every lash, every insult, every moment of suffering.

The day finally comes when I feel ready. I leave my forest sanctuary, stepping into the world beyond with a newfound confidence. My journey is far from over, but I am no longer the broken man who sought escape through death. I am a warrior, forged by pain and driven by a dark, unyielding purpose.