Chapter 39.1: The Weight of a Thousand Years

Chapter 39: The Weight of a Thousand Years

(Part 1 – The Struggle for Survival)

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The Darkness of the Cave

I don't know how long I've been sitting here.

Minutes? Hours? Days?

Time doesn't feel real anymore.

The cave is silent—too silent. Outside, Hell rages on—a wasteland of fire, screams, and things waiting to rip me apart. But in here? It's just me.

Me… and the hunger.

At first, I thought I could just wait it out—stay hidden, let my body adjust. But Hell doesn't care about what I want. It only cares about one thing.

Survival.

And I'm already at a disadvantage.

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The First Hunt

You ever go three days without food?

It messes with your head.

The emptiness in my stomach feels like a clawing void, twisting, gnawing, demanding to be filled. I feel weak, dizzy, slower.

I have to find food.

But what the hell am I supposed to eat in Hell?

I step out of the cave for the first time in days, eyes darting across the jagged landscape. My body is weak, but my mind is screaming at me to move, move, move.

Then I see it.

A corpse.

Half-eaten. Rotten. Something's already been at it.

I gag at the sight of the decayed flesh, but my stomach doesn't care. My body lunges forward on instinct, hands shaking as I tear off a piece. The moment it touches my tongue, I retch.

It's disgusting.

But I force it down.

Because if I don't? I die.

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Scavenging Like a Beast

The next few days are hell.

(Yeah, I get the irony.)

I move from one rotting carcass to another, picking at leftovers from bigger predators.

The meat is rancid. Full of maggots, filth, and disease. But it doesn't kill me.

Which means my body is adapting.

Slowly, painfully, I learn to stomach the filth.

But it's not enough.

I need to hunt.

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The First Kill

I never thought I'd be a killer.

Not like this.

Not like some wild animal, stalking, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But that's what I become.

The slimes are my first prey. Small, mindless blobs, pulsing with dark energy. At first, they're too fast. Too slippery.

But I watch them.

I learn their movements, their weaknesses.

And when the time comes—

I strike.

My fingers tear through the gelatinous flesh, ripping out whatever the hell passes as its core.

It writhes, lets out a sound like boiling tar, then stops moving.

For a moment, I just stare at the corpse.

Then I eat.

The taste is… nothing. No flavor. Just thick, rubbery flesh.

But it fills me.

And for the first time since arriving here, I feel alive.

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Becoming the Predator

The first kill is the hardest.

The next ones? Easier.

I craft a spear from sharp obsidian, using my own blood to bind the pieces together.

Each successful hunt makes me faster, stronger, more efficient.

At first, I only catch one slime a day.

Then it's two. Then three.

The hunger is still there, but it's not as crushing.

I don't just survive.

I start to live.

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Time Becomes Meaningless

Weeks pass. Months.

I stop counting the days.

There's no sunrise. No sunset. Just eternal red skies and endless suffering.

But something inside me is changing.

I don't feel hunger as often.

I don't feel as weak.

I look at my reflection in the blackened pools of water near my cave, and I barely recognize myself.

I'm leaner. Stronger. My eyes sharper.

Hell hasn't killed me.

It's remaking me.

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Hellhounds – The Next Challenge

Slimes aren't enough anymore.

I've outgrown them.

That's when I set my sights on hellhounds.

They're faster. Smarter. Meaner.

And they hunt in packs.

But I've been watching them.

Learning.

I know their patterns, their weaknesses.

And I know I can kill one.

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The First Hellhound Hunt

The attack is quick, brutal, and messy.

I lure one away from the pack, using my own scent to bait it.

It lunges—fangs dripping with venom.

I dodge.

Barely.

I stab straight into its throat, the obsidian spear piercing deep.

It thrashes, its dying snarls ripping through the air.

Then it collapses.

Dead.

I stand over the cooling corpse, blood dripping from my arms, chest heaving.

I did it.

I killed a real predator.

And when I take the first bite of hellhound meat—

I swear, I feel something change inside me.

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The Discovery of Shards

I keep killing.

More hellhounds.

More monsters.

And then I find them.

Shards.

They appear in the corpses, small, jagged pieces of glowing black crystal.

At first, I ignore them.

But then?

A hellhound nearly tears my arm off.

I'm bleeding out. Infection setting in.

I'm dying.

In a desperate move—

I swallow a shard.

And everything changes.

The pain vanishes.

The wound closes instantly.

And for the first time since I got here—

I realize Hell has more to offer than just suffering.

It has power.

And I'm going to take it.