Chapter 1 – Hell

Monday. Because of course the world decided to end on a Monday.

One second Jake was holding his morning coffee, staring at his reflection in the microwave door while his breakfast spun inside. Butterflies had already formed in his stomach from the dread of the upcoming office commute. The warm mug was his only sanctuary, a temporary shield against the miserable routine of the week.

The next second, a screeching needle of sound drilled straight through his skull.

The physical shock dropped him instantly.

His favorite mug slipped from his fingers, shattering against the kitchen linoleum and splashing hot liquid across his bare ankles. Jake didn’t even register the burn. He was already on his stomach, driving the heels of his palms into his ears and pressing his forehead flat against the kitchen rug.

He forced a low, steady hum from his throat, desperately trying to drown out the piercing spike of noise drilling into his brain.

His eyes were clamped shut. It didn’t help.

Bright blue words burned directly through his eyelids, lighting up his retinas.

[SYSTEM INTEGRATION: ECOSYSTEM CALIBRATION PHASE 1]

Planetary mass expansion initiated.

Architectural distortion protocol: ENGAGED.

Physical law restructuring: 12.4% COMPLETE.

The floorboards groaned.

The kitchen walls slid backward, screeching as the room stretched and added empty square footage out of nowhere. Jake kept his eyes on the rug, counting the threads until his breathing slowed.

The piercing screech faded after three minutes, leaving a dull, heavy thrum that vibrated the window panes.

Designating difficulty for the selected area…

Difficulty selected—Hell

Area locked in: Hell Horizon

Jake stood up. He ignored the broken mug and opened the door.

The hallway was wrong. More doors than there should have been. More people. The screaming bounced off walls that hadn’t existed an hour ago.

He closed the door and sat on his couch.

A new prompt hung in his vision.

[CHOOSE YOUR INCEPTION WEAPON]

He read through the options. Swords, spears, halberds, staves. A shield listed as a weapon, which he found strange. He sat with it for a moment.

Something wrong had happened. That much was clear. What wasn’t clear was the nature of it, the scale of it, or what came next.

Why would he need a weapon?

He got up and opened the door again, this time properly. He scanned the hallway. Four feet wide, maybe five. People pressing against both walls. If something came through from one end, everyone in the middle would be useless. A few people had already chosen their weapons.

That was fast.

Most of them picked melee weapons, longswords, mostly. He didn’t blame them.

He closed the door.

A bow, then.

It would keep him away from danger, the mess. He didn’t really know how to use one, but how hard could it be?

He clicked it.

A long bow and quiver full of arrows materialised in his hand; the quiver on his waist. For a moment, his senses caught a kind of static that buzzed with life, or energy. It was gone the next.

Just what was that?

Magic?

The system text flickered and turned crimson.

[ANOMALY DETECTED]

Overclocking cognitive processing nodes…

Core Trait Awarded: [Absolute Perception (Unique)]

The filters came off all at once.

It wasn’t like gaining a sense. It was like every sense he already had had been running behind glass and the glass shattered simultaneously. He could hear individual particles shifting against the laminate. The draft under his front door carried the smell of old carpet, wet concrete, and something copper and wet that hadn’t been there before. Through the wall he could hear seven distinct breathing patterns, two of them crying, one of them hyperventilating.

He gripped the counter. His knees wanted to go again.

He forced a breath. Then another. The data kept arriving whether he was ready for it or not.

After a minute, he let go of the counter.

He opened the door for the third time.

A lot had changed in only seconds.

The corridor was elongated and widened. Was the system, or whatever, fucking with him? He’d just picked a bow.

Whatever, he thought, overstimulated.

Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed with a jagged rattle that made his retinas ache. He pinched his temples.

“Oh god, someone help! Arthur! Where is the police?!”

Mrs. Gable from room 712 sat flat on the carpet, her face bright red and wet with tears as her voice peaked at a high, shrill pitch.

Further down, Arthur stood in his doorway, holding a massive, metal kiteshield with hands that shook so violently the metal clattered against the wood frame.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Stay inside!” Arthur shouted, his voice cracking. “Everyone stay in your units! The emergency services are surely coming!”

Jake did not look at Arthur’s face, tracking the hairline cracks forming in the drywall where the shield scraped the paint instead.

A new sound caught his attention, a distinct schlick, schlick, schlick coming from the open concrete stairwell. He walked past Mrs. Gable with perfectly measured steps, swung open the door, then looked over the iron railing into the central atrium.

The building had hollowed out into a vertical abyss, revealing wide, jagged concrete tiers above. Below, a floor of black shadowy fog blocked everything underneath it. Something crawled out of it. Like it was scared of something below and was trying its best to run away.

Things climbed the walls.

They were hairless quadrupeds the size of wolves, their bodies made of matte-black shadow. They had no eyes, only long jaws filled with needle-sharp teeth.

Click. Click. Click.

Their multi-jointed claws sank into the brickwork with a loud crunch, dozens of them surging upward through the dark floor as their heads tilted toward the noise on Floor 7.

“They’re coming up,” Jake said, his voice flat and steady.