Thomas stepped away from the Circle of Runes, claws scraping against jagged obsidian that jutted like teeth from the molten ground. Around him, the cries of the newly transformed demons echoed in the empty sky, a chorus of anguish and hunger. The plateau stretched endlessly, rivers of molten fire slicing through black stone, spires of obsidian jutting high, casting long, flickering shadows. The smell of sulfur was thick in the air, acrid and unrelenting, and the heat pressed against his chest like a solid weight.
"This place… it's endless," Thomas muttered, voice guttural, foreign to him now. The fragment of his human self whispered fear, but instinct—raw, feral—urged him forward. Survival demanded movement, observation, learning.
Beside him, Liora slithered, her serpentine body undulating with unnatural grace. Her eyes glimmered, reflecting the rivers of fire. "Endless, yes," she hissed, "but the Circle does not care. You will learn its bounds, or it will teach you in ways far worse than heat or hunger."
Eddric shuffled along behind them, long limbs flexing unnaturally with every step. He clutched a small pile of glowing fire crystals, fragments of molten rock that seemed to hum with memory. "The Circle's bounds are not the same for all," he said, voice like grinding stone. "Some die. Some rise. But it watches everyone."
Thomas's claws dug into the rock as he took in the terrain. Rivers of molten fire flowed like veins through the plateau, bubbles erupting with hiss and smoke. Spires of obsidian rose like jagged towers, sharp enough to impale a careless step. Patches of ash shifted underfoot, hiding fissures that could swallow a demon whole. The air shimmered with heat, and every inhalation burned slightly—not with flame, but with memory of sins, of lives left behind.
"First lesson," Liora said suddenly, her voice cutting through the roar of distant screaming. "Never step blindly. Always sense the ground, the air, the flow of fire. Hell is alive. It wants you to fail."
Thomas nodded, flexing his claws experimentally. His veins pulsed brightly as he tested his strength. Even movement alone demanded focus: balance on the jagged rocks, avoid the molten streams, anticipate the collapse of unstable obsidian spires. One misstep, and he could be incinerated—or worse, transformed permanently into a mindless shadow by the Circle's pull.
A shriek tore through the air, and Thomas spun. A demon, newly turned and grotesque, lunged at them from a nearby ridge. Its form was twisted, limbs bent at impossible angles, skin cracked and glowing faintly with molten veins. Hunger drove it, clawing and biting with animalistic instinct.
"Attack it!" Eddric hissed. "Do not let it learn to survive before you do!"
Thomas flexed his claws, feeling the heat of his veins surge through him. He dodged the first swipe, molten blood scattering across the jagged rocks. Liora struck simultaneously, her serpentine body wrapping around the demon, restraining it with unnatural strength. Together, they subdued the creature, forcing it back toward the Circle, where the runes would reclaim it.
Panting, Thomas realized that survival here required cooperation, cunning, and instinct. Alone, he would have been devoured in seconds. But alongside Liora and Eddric, he had a chance—not a guarantee, but a chance.
As they moved deeper into the plateau, the terrain shifted. Rivers of molten fire gave way to jagged fields of broken obsidian, where the ground itself seemed to pulse beneath their feet. Shadows moved unnaturally, whispering fragments of memory that clawed at Thomas's mind. Seraphine emerged from one of these shadows, crawling along the ground, eyes glowing faintly. "These are the echoes of those who fell before you," she murmured. "Listen, and learn. Ignore them, and be lost."
Thomas felt the fragments pressing at him: memories of his village, of his family, of petty arguments, moments of anger, pride, and selfishness. Each pulse of the ground, each shimmer of heat, seemed to call them forth. The Circle's influence stretched far beyond the immediate runes, and he understood that every step in hell was a test—not just of physical survival, but of moral and mental endurance.
They paused atop a high ridge, overlooking a river of molten fire that snaked through the plateau like a living vein. Across the river, a jagged spire jutted high into the empty sky, and figures moved along its base—other demons, some writhing, some stalking, some hunting. Each one was a reflection of sin made flesh. The sight was horrifying, yet Thomas felt a strange thrill. He was no longer human, but he was learning, adapting, growing.
"Do you see?" Liora hissed. "Each of them is a warning. Greed, lust, wrath, envy, pride. Each carries a fragment of what they were—and what they became. Survive here long enough, and you will understand yourself… or lose yourself completely."
Thomas flexed his claws, molten veins flaring with each pulse. He looked down at the river of fire and made a silent vow. He would survive. He would endure. And he would learn the Circle's rules, even if it killed him—or turned him into something unrecognizable in the process.
As they began to descend toward the river, Thomas noticed a faint shimmer near the molten edge—a small cluster of fire crystals, glowing softly. Eddric's eyes lit up, and he lunged for them. "These are fragments of memory," he said, voice trembling with excitement. "They hold what humans left behind… their greed, their knowledge, their sins. We can use them, if we're careful."
Thomas nodded, understanding the implications. In hell, power was not just physical—it was knowledge, cunning, and the ability to manipulate fragments of the fallen. Each fragment could make a demon stronger, or drive it mad. He had survived the fall; now he had to survive this.
The group continued, navigating the molten rivers, jagged spires, and ash fields. Along the way, they encountered more twisted forms: a man with skin like molten glass, running endlessly in circles, screaming; a woman whose body had fractured into dozens of shards, each shard crawling independently; and a boy who whispered secrets of his village that he barely remembered. Each encounter reminded Thomas of the Circle's reach and its power to reshape the living.
By nightfall—if night could exist in an empty sky—Thomas, Liora, and Eddric had traversed miles of hellish terrain. They paused atop another ridge, molten rivers reflecting the green glow of the distant Circle. Thomas's chest heaved, veins dimming slightly as his body recovered from exertion. He looked at his companions, recognizing the same mixture of fear and determination in their eyes.
"We live," Thomas said finally, voice rough and foreign. "We survive, and we learn."
Liora's eyes glimmered in agreement. "Yes," she hissed. "But surviving is only the first lesson. There is more ahead… and it will not wait for mercy."
Thomas flexed his claws again, molten veins burning brightly. He could feel the Circle watching, sensing his adaptation, his instinct, his fragments of humanity. Survival had become instinct, but instinct alone would not be enough. He had to learn, to understand, and to grow.
The hellscape stretched endlessly before him: molten rivers, jagged spires, ash plains, and shadows that whispered of sins past. He was no longer human, but he had survived the fall. And in this world of fire, shadow, and the endless pull of the Circle of Runes, survival was only the beginning of what he would have to endure.