Dirga floated inside the translucent stasis bubble, body locked, breath frozen like he’d been subrged under ice.
Sasa poked the sphere with one finger. Pop.
Dirga inhaled like a man dragged up from deep water, gasping, eyes wide.
"Where is he?!" Dirga spun left, right, his body still trembling from the battle.
"Eidomos?" Sasa raised an eyebrow, still in his relaxed, human form. "The round’s over. I told you to survive, not to try and kill a primordial devil."
Dirga rubbed the bruises along his ribs, exhaling through clenched teeth. "Best defense is a good offense. Either he died or I did."
Sasa gave a slow grin. "That mindset? You’ll need it. Things only get bloodier from here."
Dirga sat up straighter. "So... what’s next?"
"You get three days off. Eat. Sleep. Heal. Because after that, we begin your final lesson before the tournant." Sasa grinned wider, almost gleeful now.
"...Fine."
—
Dirga returned to the penthouse. For three days, he lived like a human again — warm showers, hot als, long naps. He visited Naya, talked with Jane, and even shared movie nights with Lilith and Sasa, who — despite his form — cried at the end of every lodramatic soap opera.
But the fourth day arrived.
Dirga stood in the living room, hoodie zipped, Crimson Core floating beside him like a silent guardian.
"I’m ready," he said.
Sasa floated down, now fully transford into his rabbit-headed devil form — long ears, empty stare, and unsettling grin.
"Perfect." His voice was cheerful, but his grin stretched just a little too wide.
"There’s about two to three months left until the tournant. Your final lesson begins now." Sasa raised a finger.
"Which is?"
"Survival." And with that single word, Sasa snapped his fingers.
—
Flash.
Dirga found himself suspended mid-air — high in the sky, floating above a nightmare.
Beneath him stretched a vast, twisted forest.
Not Earth’s forest.
The sky above was not blue but a bleeding red-black, swirling like smoke and blood. High above, a massive, lidless eye stared down, unmoving. Watching.
The trees below writhed as if breathing — black bark, crimson leaves, long strands of mist trailing like ghostly fingers.
Dirga hovered, startled, instinctively scanning.
"Sasa! What the hell is this?" he shouted, voice echoing through the dead sky.
A ripple in the air — and Sasa appeared beside him, hovering lazily, back to his rabbit form.
"This..." Sasa gestured theatrically, "...is your classroom."
Dirga narrowed his eyes. "What kind of lesson is this?"
"Simple. Survive. You’ll make your way to the city marked on this map—" Sasa flicked his hand.
A parchnt materialized and slid into Dirga’s hoodie pocket.
"—and if you don’t die along the way, I’ll see you there."
Dirga’s heart dropped. "Wait—what?!"
Sasa winked. "Bye, my patron."
Snap.
Gravity reclaid him.
Dirga fell.
No warning. No cushion. Just freefall toward the horror below — into a living, breathing forest of shadows and blood.
As the wind howled around him, he gritted his teeth.
"...Yeah. Of course it ends like this."
And the final lesson began.
...
Dirga focused, channeling his telekinesis and gravity manipulation.
He twisted mid-air, eyes narrowed against the wind. With a sudden pulse of invisible force, he slowed his descent. Gravity wrapped around him like a sling, easing his landing.
Thump.
His boots touched the ground softly.
The mont he stood — the silence hit him.
A forest. But not one that belonged to Earth.
The leaves above were black, brittle like old ash. The soil beneath his feet was cracked and dark — not mud, not dirt — but sothing... ancient. Sothing wrong.
Above, the sky bled red and black, a swirling ss of smoke and stormclouds — and at its center, that eye. A massive, unblinking red eye stared down from the heavens like a god without rcy.
Dirga looked up, eyes narrowing. That eye — it wasn’t the first ti he’d seen it.
"...No way. This is Hell," he muttered.
He could feel it in his bones. The pressure. The watchful weight. Like every inch of this place wanted him to fail.
Then he rembered — the map.
Dirga reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled it out.
Unfolded it.
Paused.
"...FUCK."
It wasn’t a map.
It was a child’s doodle.
At best, a drunk’s mory scribbled at midnight.
In the corner, written in ssy ink:
A dark blob labeled forestA squiggly arrow pointing to sothing called Old CastleThen riverThen edge of forestAnd finally, City
That’s it.
No landmarks. No coordinates. No scale.
Just the word "CITY" in big, scratchy letters and a smiley face beside it.
"What the hell, man..." Dirga whispered, staring at the page like it had insulted his ancestors.
He folded the "map" back up, stuffing it into his pocket, and took a deep breath.
The forest groaned around him — leaves rustling though there was no wind. Branches shifting. Sothing in the dark moved.
"Okay," he muttered. "Final lesson, huh?"
He cracked his neck.
"Bring it."
First rule of survival: secure food and water.
Dirga glanced at the nearby trees. Gnarled branches sagged with bulbous black fruits. A small stream trickled in the distance, dark and slow.
But could he eat any of this?
Was it safe?
Probably not.
His transford body could endure without food longer than most — but not forever. Not in Hell.
Still, survival wasn’t just about feeding the stomach.
It was about information.
He needed a vantage point.
Sowhere high. Sowhere to see the lay of the land.
He scoffed at himself. "Why didn’t I scout from the air when I landed?"
Too late now.
So Dirga began walking — eyes scanning, body alert. Every leaf rustle made him pause. Every shadow in the twisted forest earned a second look.
Then he found it — a towering tree, thicker than a house, rising above the rest like a skeletal hand clawing at the sky.
Perfect.
Dirga stepped closer, looking up. Its bark was jagged, rough as obsidian, and its branches twisted like broken limbs.
He took a breath.
The Crimson Core flickered in the air beside him, responding to his intent.
"Bandage," Dirga whispered.
The dice shifted, morphing into tight crimson wraps around both his hands. He planted his feet and kicked off — a pulse of gravity launched him five ters straight up.
Whump—!
His hands gripped the next branch. The bandages tightened, anchoring.
Another pulse.
Five more ters.
Again.
And again.
Each jump — controlled, precise.
Each grip — firm, wrapped with red.
Ten tis.
Fifty ters.
Dirga finally reached the summit, crouched on a massive branch that creaked beneath him.
The wind bit cold at this height.
He looked out.
And for a mont — he saw nothing but forest.
Endless.
Left. Right. Front. Back.
A sea of black trees stretching to every horizon.
He clenched his jaw.
But then — just barely, past a distant ridge — he saw it.
A silhouette.
Sothing tall. Angular. Cracked stone. Reaching into the sky like broken fangs.
A castle.
Just the tip of it.
But it was there.
Dirga narrowed his eyes.
"At least I know where I’m going," he whispered.
Reviews
All reviews (0)