Chapter6 RewriteChapter 6: Bleed to Become

The silence was heavy in the air, suffocating, like the quiet before a storm that had already arrived. Ash stood alone in the obsidian hall of blades, her blood dripping down her bare fists, her breathing uneven, her legs trembling with strain. The walls were etched with symbols written in the forgotten tongues of the hells. She had been here for hours, maybe days—time had lost all meaning.

She could still hear the voice of her instructor, the twelfth servant of Lucifer: Ny'val Tharok, a demon without fear, born in a battlefield of collapsing stars. His words echoed in her skull like a cruel lullaby.

"Pain is the gateway. Bleed to become. Until your body forgets pain, you are nothing."

Ash tightened her fists, reopened scabs, and fell into the next stance. The training wasn't just physical. Ny'val had locked away her access to even the smallest bit of magic. No spells. No shortcuts. Just her flesh, her will, and the endless whisper of agony. That was how they trained the one meant to rule Hell. That was how Lucifer's daughter would be forged.

Across the stone floor lay the remnants of shattered weapons, broken bones, and her own blood. Every inch of the arena fought against her. Even the air had weight, thick with curses, burning her lungs with every breath.

The machines surrounding her watched without sympathy. AI scaling units recorded her vitals: durability, stamina, agility, combat speed, healing speed—everything was monitored. Each failure logged. Each success ignored.

She collapsed again.

Her body thudded against the cold floor. The stone grinned at her in silence.

From the shadows, Ny'val emerged. His presence made the very walls quake. He had trained armies. He had raised warlords. But none were given what she was being given.

"Get up. Or die."

Ash groaned. Her arms screamed. Her mind begged for rest. But something inside her refused to break. She rolled onto her side, forced herself up, one shaking limb at a time. Ny'val watched, unimpressed.

"You've bled. Good. Now bleed more. The body that bleeds learns. The soul that breaks builds."

Ash roared. She ran forward and attacked, unleashing a flurry of hand strikes, kicks, throws, and flips. But Ny'val didn't move. He was beyond her. He parried with a single finger, a twitch of disdain. He struck back—one blow.

She flew back, smashed into the wall, a rib cracking.

She got up again.

He smiled. "Finally. You hate me now, don't you? Good. Hate is a teacher. So is loyalty. Learn both."

She came again. This time her steps were silent. Her form sharper. She had learned to hide pain behind her smile, like Lucifer. She had learned to mask intent behind her eyes, like Nyra. But she was still Ash—stubborn and burning.

They fought.

She struck and blocked, dodged and countered. But every hit she landed was light, every hit she received was heavier. Her endurance was rising. Her reaction time tightening.

And then it happened. One punch. Real. Pure. She hit Ny'val.

His head tilted slightly.

"Not bad. But still weak."

And with that, he walked away, leaving her in blood and darkness. But she was smiling now, a cracked, half-mad grin.

Because she had bled. Because she had become.

And the machines recorded:

[AI Scaling Update: Durability +17 | Agility +21 | Healing Speed +9 | Combat Speed +13 | Mental Resistance +12 | Soul Endurance +4]

The stone beneath her began to shift. A symbol appeared, a triangle within a circle, glowing red with ancient fire.

Another test.

"Rest is for the broken," she whispered.

She stood up again. And walked into the fire.