Damien’s consciousness stirred sluggishly, as if emerging from a deep, oppressive fog. The pain that had been searing through his body was gone, replaced with a numbness that left him feeling detached from his body.

He opened his eyes, trying to see where exactly he was, but the world remained dark. Panic flickered through his mind; Had he gone blind? Was this death?

No, it couldn't be. He could feel something smooth and hard pressing against his skin, enclosing him on all sides. He tried to move, but his movements were sluggish, awkward, as if they weren't his own. Placing his hands on the wall he began to slide them around, tracing the shape of the object he was in.

It felt incredibly similar to an egg, down to slow curvature. His breath became shallow, a pain tingling in his stomach. It was a deep, gnawing hunger that twisted in his gut, as if it was consuming itself. Damien had never felt this hungry before, even back when he was on that survivalist TV show.

Without warning he began bashing his fist against the side of the egg, trying to break free. Dull reverberations echoed through the confined space, fueling his need to escape. The shell held firm against his strikes, but Damien didn't stop.

With each blow, he could feel the egg weaken, cracks spreading like veins from where he struck. The pain in his stomach only grew, urging him to break free, to find something-anything- that could satisfy his hunger.

Finally, with a final, fierce strike, the shell cracked open, spewing him onto sand. Damien gasped for air, the hot salty air hitting his lungs like a furnace. Strangely, he found himself liking the air, his body seeming to not even care that he was in such a hot environment.

He wanted to take a moment to rest, to try and get his bearings, but the fierce hunger In his gut returned, five times worse than before, gnawing on him with an intensity that bordered on agony. It clouded his mind, driving his body to move despite the pain.

His sharp eyes darted around the sand, searching for anything to quench his hunger. That's when he noticed it, just a few feet away; another egg, slightly smaller than his.

Without thinking, Damien lunged toward the egg, his claws digging into the sand as he scrambled over to it. His mind was a blur, focused solely on the need to feed. He grabbed a jagged rock from the ground, its sharp edges biting into his palm, but he barely noticed the pain.

With a feral growl, he brought the rock down on the egg, smashing it with all his strength. The first strike sent spider webbing cracks across the shell, but it held firm. Damien snarled in frustration and struck again, harder this time, the cracks widening under the force of his blows.

The third strike did it. The shell crumbled under the rock with a wet crunch, revealing a writhing, vulnerable form of a newborn imp inside. The creature was smaller than him, it's skin pale and translucent, it's body weak and underdeveloped. It hadn’t even fully emerged from the yolk that sustained it.

But Damien didn’t care. All he saw was food.

The imp let out a feeble cry as Damien’s claws dug into its soft skin, tearing the flesh off of his bones. With a savage bite, Damien tore into the imp, the taste of flesh sending shivers of satisfaction through his stomach.

The hunger that had once tormented him slowly disappeared, replaced with satisfaction. As he continued to devour the imp, the fog of hunger began to lift, his thoughts becoming clearer. The primal instinct that had driven him began to recede, replaced with a chilling awareness of what he was doing. He was eating another creature, a being that had been just as helpless as he was.

Damien paused, the last bite of flesh just barely at his lips. The taste, once satisfying, now turning bitter on his tongue. The reality of what he had done crashed over him like a cold wave, and in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to take another bite. His hand faltered, and the piece of flesh slipped from his fingers, falling to the ground with a sickening thud.

He could only stare at what was left of the imp, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. He wanted to throw up, but his body betrayed him, fighting the urge to expel what he had just consumed. Damien collapsed onto the ground, his hand gripping the sand as he tried to steady himself. He couldn't afford to be weak, to give into his nausea. Throwing up would likely reignite his hunger, driving him to repeat the cycle again.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Damien’s mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions. On one hand, he was horrified by what he had done, the savage act of consuming another living being. But on the other hand, this was survival in its rawest form. He had always been strong, always doing what was necessary to propel himself further, no matter the cost.

But this… this was different. This wasn’t the calculated ruthlessness of the boardroom. He could either stand up and survive, or die like the imp he just ate. He chose the former.

With a deep, steady breath, Damien forced himself to stand, his eyes looking across the ominous landscape that stretched before him. The sky above was dominated by a massive blood-red moon, casting an eerie crimson glow over everything. The waves of a dark, churning sea crashed against the shore, their foam tinted red as if the water itself was boiling with blood. Jagged, blackened peaks rose in the distance, their sharp silhouettes standing stark against the fiery sky.

He had never seen such a sight before, it looked straight out of a fantasy story, down to the smallest detail. “So… Me hell?” He muttered, confused at his voice. Despite thinking in full sentences, only fragments came out, rough and guttural. It was as if his vocal cords had been reshaped along with the rest of his body, reducing his speech to primitive sounds.

Running over to the water, Damien took a look at his form, his eyes widening in shock. The surface was dark and turbulent, reflecting the crimson sky above, but as he leaned in closer, his reflection slowly came into focus. The face staring back at him was only vaguely familiar. His once sharp, commanding features had been replaced by something far more sinister. His skin was a deep, unsettling shade of red, and his eyes now glowed faintly with an eerie yellow light. His jawline had become more angular, his teeth sharper, almost predatory. Two small black horns horns protruded from his forehead, completing his look.

“No…” he murmured, though the word came out as more of a growl. “What… are I? Who?”

He paused, remembering his last few moments before he died. Anger spewed from his chest, his eyes glaring into the water. “That… Fuck!” He roared, his voice echoing across the egg filled landscape. He punched the water, unable to control his anger. It was that demon, he must have set everything up. There was no way a hitman would have been able to get past his security. No, this was something much darker, much more sinister.

Without warning, Damien grabbed the rock that he had used to open the small imps egg and stood. If the demon had only killed him, maybe he wouldn’t have been so angry—death was a risk he had always known how to face. But the demon hadn’t just taken his life; it had taken the life of his only friend, the one person who had stood by him through everything. And that… that he couldn’t let stand.

“That demon… it’ll pay,” he growled, the words more coherent now, fueled by the raw emotion burning inside him. He could almost see the demon’s mocking grin, hear its taunting laughter echoing in his ears. The thought of it filled him with a dark determination, a need for vengeance that was stronger than anything he had ever felt before.

“What were its words? Balthazar... I'll be waiting?” Damien muttered, his mind racing as he recalled the demon’s parting words. The name echoed in his thoughts—Balthazar. He said it a few more times, the grin widening with each repetition.

“I like it,” he murmured, the words laced with confidence he had only felt when forcing the weak to compile with his demands. He would forge the name Balthazar into something feared, something that would haunt the demon just as its laughter now haunted him.

But those were just dreams, dreams without plans weren't worth his time. He needed to be smart, to use his knowledge that that demon hated to his advantage. His eyes scanned the landscape, the jagged peaks and crimson-lit sky offering no immediate solutions. The barren beach stretched out behind him, littered with broken eggs and the remains of the imp he had devoured.

Had there been other imps? Had he hatched later than the others? The thought struck him with a sense of urgency. If other imps had hatched before him, they already had a head start; gathering strength, learning the lay of the land, and possibly even banding together.

Given his own ruthless tendencies, he couldn’t assume that others wouldn’t be just as cutthroat. He needed to be cautious, but he also couldn’t afford to fall behind. As his gaze swept across the barren landscape, something caught his eye; a set of footprints on the ground, half-buried in the sand but still visible enough to trace.

They looked fresh, only a few hours old at most. If he followed the footsteps he would no doubt encounter other imps like him, but that wouldn't do him any good. Confronting others when he was still adjusting to his new form could be a fatal mistake. Instead, he needed to think strategically.

Shelter. If he was truly in hell, there was no telling what other monsters might inhabit this place. He needed a place to hide, a place to plan out his next moves.

Balthazar took one last glance at the footprints, committing their direction to memory. He could track them later if he needed to, but for now, his priority was survival. Gripping onto the rock in his hand, Balthazar began making his way toward the forest.