It was pitch black beyond the door, as if Aziz had been thrust back into the pit. But unlike the pit, this darkness hid something unexpected—a forest. A vast, sprawling forest beneath the earth, its trees stretching impossibly high towards a ceiling that seemed miles above. Small fires dotted the landscape, their flickering flames casting long shadows across the forest floor. Aziz’s eyes, honed by his time in the abyss, could see it all.

How deep underground were they? he wondered, tilting his head back to study the cavern’s ceiling, a natural dome separating the earth above from this hidden world.

The sheer scale of it was overwhelming, almost incomprehensible.

A hiss from Mal jolted him from his thoughts. The little snake tensed, its body coiling tightly around Aziz’s neck. Aziz’s instincts sharpened, his body going still as he scanned the darkness for any sign of danger.

Whoosh.

Pain exploded in his neck before he could react. His muscles locked up, and he felt sharp jabs at various points along his body, paralyzing him. A cold, chilling voice whispered into his ear, its breath warm and unsettling.

“Who are you?” the voice rasped, the sound like gravel scraping against stone.

Curses, Aziz thought, as the aura of the man behind him washed over him—a suffocating, murderous intent that seemed to drown half the forest in its presence. Someone from the Order. And not just any assassin; this was someone far more dangerous, someone who could kill with barely a thought.

But the man had overlooked one crucial detail. From beneath the veil of hair, Mal, unnoticed by the attacker, struck out with fangs bared, aiming for the man’s jugular. A black-death did not tolerate threats to its territory, and no one touched its master.

Wretch.

The sound was sickening, a sharp, wet noise that echoed in the stillness. Aziz didn’t need to see it to know what had happened. Mal’s head rolled past him, coming to rest in front of his paralyzed body. The little snake’s tongue flickered faintly one last time before its eyes dulled, the light within them snuffed out.

Not again.

The world around him blurred as memories flooded back. He had failed again. Failed to protect Mal just as he had failed before. The emotions he had buried deep resurfaced with a vengeance, the sorrow quickly giving way to a burning, blinding rage. A red mist descended over his vision. This time, there would be no running. This time, he would fight—for Mal.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Aziz forced his energy through one of his pressure points, breaking the hold the martial artist had on him. His internal energy surged like a storm, tearing through his body, ripping through the paralysis. His muscles responded instantly, the killing intent he’d held back pouring out of him in a wave, his eyes blazing with a violet fire.

“Oh, look at that,” the man behind him chuckled, the sound mocking. “You’re no human, are you? More beast I would say.”

Aziz twisted his neck slightly, catching a glimpse of his attacker. The man was formidable, his aura suffocating, his presence alone enough to crush lesser men. But Aziz wasn’t a man—he was a snake, born in the dark and forged by the abyss. The assassin’s collar bore the name Trey, and the symbol etched into his uniform identified him as number three in the Order. The third strongest martial artist. Aziz could see the scar over the man’s missing eye, a stark reminder of the battles he had fought and won. His body was a weapon, every muscle trained to perfection.

Before Aziz could fully grasp what was happening, Trey disappeared, reappearing behind him in the blink of an eye.

“Scary,” Trey mused, his voice dripping with condescension. “I’ve never seen killing intent so toxic. That’s quite the gift, boy. But there’s a problem,” he continued, easily sidestepping Aziz’s desperate attempt to strike with his shadows. “Beasts aren’t as strong as you think. After all, there isn’t a single beast a human cannot hunt. And I’ve hunted them all.”

Aziz’s breath caught in his throat as blood spurted from his chest. Trey’s hand was buried deep where his heart should have been. The assassin leaned in close, his voice a whisper, “It’s a shame. You could have been useful. All you had to do was wait. But we have no use for those who don’t follow orders. I am curious, though, where you got such power. It seems the Grandmasters missed something.”

Aziz knew he was dying. Trey’s hand, covered in his blood, was a death sentence. The assassin’s strength was overwhelming, his precision lethal. Aziz’s body crumpled as Trey pulled his hand out, tossing him aside like a broken doll. He landed on the ground, head lolling to the side, his blurry vision fixed on Mal’s lifeless body. But instead of despair, a fit of laughter bubbled up from within him, splattering blood from his lips as his body convulsed.

Trey stood over him, one good eye observing Aziz with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, as if watching a specimen.

Aziz smiled, blood dripping from his mouth as he whispered his final words. “You’re just another wall.”

As darkness claimed him, Aziz heard Trey mutter something, but the words were lost to him as he faded into unconsciousness.

***

When he came to, the familiar sensation of cold stone beneath him confirmed what he already knew. He was alive. Back in the pit, once again thrown into the cycle of life and death. But something was wrong. Something was always wrong in the pit.

Aziz sat up slowly, his hand instinctively reaching for the spot where Trey had impaled him. Nothing. No wound, no blood—just the familiar, aching emptiness that came with every return to this hellish place. But this time, it was different. The pit felt different, as if the walls themselves were closing in on him.

Something had changed. Things weren't meant to change when he came back, but this time…