It had been three years since he was dropped into the well. Two years since the last shred of hope in him died.
The boy who once begged for mercy was gone. What stood now was something else—shaped by hunger, sharpened by pain, carried forward only by hatred.
Every moment had been spent breaking his body against its own limits. Bones ached, muscles tore, but he kept going. Pain was nothing. He was driven by hate and revenge.
The snakes came only when he slept. At first their poison tore through him, leaving him half-dead on the stone. But now their fangs dug deep and the venom slid useless through his veins. His body had changed, adapted, until the poison itself was part of him. Now it was the snakes who died, choking on his blood. Venom for venom.
He didn't know how it happened. He only knew he liked it. The thought of their poison failing against him made his lips twist into something close to a smile. A bitter, broken thing.
The dark was no longer his enemy. It had become part of him. He noticed everything now—the scrape of scales, the cracks bleeding through the stone, even shadows that twitched when they shouldn't.
He caught a snake as it slid past his ankle and whipped it into the air. His hand came down flat, stiff like the blade he didn't have. One sharp strike, and the body fell apart, scattered into twitching pieces.
"Just you wait," he muttered, voice trembling with rage. "I'll burn the Kurohana clan to the ground."
He jabbed a nail into one of the still-living pieces, lifted it, and flicked it into his mouth.
The first year, he'd stumbled onto larger and deadlier snakes. Once, he almost got caught when the clan came to collect venom. The scare forced him deeper, away from the main nest. He carved out space lower in the well, tunneling through stone until it became a maze only he could navigate.
The next year, he taught himself silence. To move like a shadow, so even snakes slithering past never noticed him. For six months he lived that way—unseen, soundless—studying the well, but never finding a way out.
Over time, the snakes grew fewer. He'd been devouring too many, too fast, and they weren't breeding enough to keep up. Each hunt took longer, each meal smaller.
And something else bothered him. His clan had stopped coming down as often. Before, they'd show up to harvest venom, careless in their routines. Now their visits grew rare, as if they no longer needed the poison at all.
But whatever the case, he knew he couldn't stay much longer. He needed out.
After days of preparation, he tied his hair back with his own strands. What was once black now hung silver. In his hand, a rusted sword—pitted, brittle, but still a weapon. Still enough.
He returned to where they'd first thrown him down. The wall loomed high, mocking. He crouched, testing his legs, wondering if he could climb. But the shaft was sealed. Blocked. No way out.
So he followed the tunnels. Step after step until he found it—an opening. Small, but large enough for people to pass through. Faint light leaked from the cracks. Pale. White.
"What do we have here…"
His fingers brushed the edge. Cold scraped his skin, sharp enough to steal his breath. His chest locked, his body forgetting how to breathe fresh air.
Snakes slithered around his feet. One hissed, scales rasping, and in that hiss he thought he heard a word: Go.
Maybe he was losing it. Maybe he'd already lost it. But he stepped forward anyway, pushing himself through the crack.
Light stabbed his eyes. He raised an arm, blinking hard. Not sunlight. Torches. Dozens of them, flames clawing at the dark.
Ahead stood a massive black door. Voices carried from the other side—sharp, loud. His breath hitched. Clan? He crept closer, peering through a thin crack.
What he saw froze him.
Two men stood at the front. One carried a sleek longsword, armor light and minimal, built for speed. The other was his opposite—armor thick and heavy, a giant shield strapped to his arm, a hammer across his back.
Behind them were two women. One in a red robe, staff glowing faint in her grip. The other in white and gold, light pooling in her hand, steady and unnatural.
At the center stood another woman. Armor light, but protective. Styled like his clan's. Familiar.
And what they fought wasn't a snake.
It was a serpent.
Dark purple scales gleamed under the torchlight, thick as iron, its coils filling the chamber. He should have flinched. Instead, his mouth watered. After years eating snakes, all he thought was how many meals this one could make.
Then a voice boomed.
"Leave."
It rolled through the chamber like thunder. His heart stilled. He thought madness had finally taken him. But no.
The serpent had spoken.
"Damn you, humans. Leave us alone."
His eyes widened. A talking serpent. And not a lie—her voice was ragged, weak, desperate. She didn't want to fight. She was dying. But the swordsman pressed on, merciless.
The serpent's tail came down like a tree.
The shieldman stepped forward, took the blow head-on. Metal groaned, stone cracked beneath his boots, but he didn't fall. He shoved back, teeth clenched, holding the line.
The assassin vanished from the group and reappeared midair. Her dagger flashed as she drove it into the serpent's eye. The beast shrieked, thrashing so hard dust rained from the ceiling.
"Leave me alone!" the serpent cried, voice breaking.
The swordsman barked, "Boost me!"
The woman in white raised her hand. Blue light wrapped around him, his frame swelling, his sword blazing until it burned like fire itself.
The tail whipped again. The shieldman held.
The robed mage raised her staff high, flames swelling into a sphere that lit the whole chamber. She hurled it. The fireball exploded across the serpent's skull, fire crawling its scales as it screamed.
The beast bled. Begged. But the swordsman gave no time.
Light blazed around him. He vaulted high, blade swelling brighter, and brought it down in one brutal strike.
The sword ripped through scale and flesh.
The serpent split in half.
The ground split beneath its body, cracking wide. A hidden passage opened, stairs sinking deeper into the dark. The five hunters grinned, their faces lit with savage excitement, laughter trailing after them as they vanished below.
Only then did he move.
He stepped forward, closer to the corpse. A glow pulsed faint within its belly. He rubbed his eyes. Still there.
He jammed his rusted sword into the carcass, peeling scale and flesh aside until he found it.
An egg. Small. Pink, speckled white. Like a bird's, but heavier. Warmer. Something shifted inside. Alive.
His chest tightened. The serpent hadn't been fighting for herself. She'd been protecting this.
He lifted it into the torchlight. A tiny form stirred within.
The air shifted. Voices rose.
The hunters had returned.
"What are you doing here?" one shouted.
"How did you get here?" She added.
The egg slipped. Hit stone. His heart stopped. But it didn't break. The floor beneath cracked faintly instead.
He snatched it back fast. But the assassin's eyes caught him. Sharp. Unblinking.
"I think he found something."