“What the hell is this place?” I whispered, breath ragged.
A wicked plan. I could feel it unfolding around me.
The Devil warned me there would be consequences. Of course he had. But I never listened.
Too stubborn. Too much Reaper in my blood. Too desperate to prove I didn’t belong here.
I wasn’t a prisoner.
I was a damn Reaper.
And my family needed me—whether they realized it or not.
Breathing through my nose, I clenched my teeth and slowly pushed myself upright. I couldn’t stand to my full height—my body wouldn’t let me. I was hunched, one arm clutched tightly over my stomach like I had aged seventy years in a second. The ache was unbearable, and the air in this place was worse.
I had to get out.
The dread pressing against my chest wasn’t just discomfort. It was suffocating, crushing me.
I summoned my scythe with a trembling hand. Relief flickered in my chest when it appeared. Good. Still with me. Still sharp.
Then, feeling desperate, I faded. Only to reappear in the exact same spot.
No way out.
I knew it wouldn’t work. Of course it wouldn’t. But the panic boiling in my blood had to try anyway. I was trapped. The Devil must’ve made this room a dead zone for power.
If I couldn’t escape it, I’d destroy whatever was holding me here. Demon. Spell. Whatever. My hands tightened on my scythe’s hilt.
The room looked empty—same as always in Hell. But the air was…wrong. Warped. Warping me.
Unless the Devil willed something into existence, maybe it didn’t exist at all in this place. A grim thought. But it fit.
My throat clenched. I swallowed hard, but it did nothing. The hunger clawed at me from the inside out, and it was no longer just hunger. It was need. Starvation. Despair. I was shaking. Not just from my curse. Something else. Something worse.
Then came the growl.
Low. Guttural. Echoing.
The green glow surrounding me suddenly blurred, shifting into the shapes of demons—hundreds of them, all crouched in wait.
I whipped around, scythe raised. Only to find emptiness.
Just flickering green. No creatures. No eyes. No breath.
My mind. Was it breaking?
A voice slithered into the room, high-pitched and wrong, like sound that had never passed through lungs. “You’re a Reaper.”
It wasn’t a question.
My skin prickled. “What is this place?” I rasped, rubbing my arms against the chill.
“You’re already in pain,” the voice whispered. “I can taste it. You’ll feed me for a long time, daughter of Grim.”
Ice coiled around my spine.
“I don’t plan on being food,” I snapped, tightening my grip on the scythe.
