Malrion Uroboros — First Person
Darkness.Not the peaceful kind, but the kind that feels alive.Breathing.Watching.
That's the first thing I became aware of after awakening in this new body — the darkness pressing against my skin like a cold hand.
I tried to inhale.
The air of the lower rings hit me like a punch.Stale. Metallic. Bitter — the taste of rusted regrets and burnt memories. My lungs spasmed, my throat tightening as if I were inhaling smoke from a fire I couldn't see.
I coughed until I bent over, my hands hitting stone.
Except… it wasn't stone.
The ground beneath me was warm.
And pulsing.
A faint heartbeat throbbed beneath the cracked, vein-like patterns running through the black surface. The lower rings of Hell — at least this section — were built on something living, or something pretending to be alive.
"So this… is Hell's underbelly," I whispered.
My voice came out hoarse, much younger than I expected.
I forced my eyes open.
The world around me sharpened through the haze — jagged cliffs stretching endlessly, bathed in dim red light coming from some unknown source above the clouds. The sky here wasn't really a sky — it was a thick ceiling of smoke and writhing shadow-tentacles drifting like charred ribbons.
Far in the distance, something screamed. Not a human scream. Something deeper. Something that once was a human, maybe centuries ago, but had long since forgotten the shape of its own throat.
I swallowed.
I was alone.
Weak.
And barely able to stand.
I pushed myself up, legs trembling like a newborn fawn. The new body felt… new. Too light. Too fragile. The strength I associated with Alastor — even the supernatural stability every demon possessed — was absent. I felt like I was made of glass.
Wind brushed my hair. White strands fluttered in front of my face — silvery, bright, almost glowing in this abyssal place. My skin looked pale, even in this bloody half-light. My clothes were neat: a burgundy vest, black shirt, slim trousers. Elegant, but practical. The style Alastor favored, yet less flamboyant.
It made me look like a well-dressed ghost.
"Look at you," a voice purred inside my mind. Smooth. Playful. Familiar.
Alastor.
"I must say," he continued, "you wear youth rather well. Though I suppose you are me, so I should be flattered."
I exhaled shakily."You're loud in my head."
"I do try," he laughed, warm static crackling in the corners of my thoughts. "Now, before you panic — yes, you're weak. Delicate. Barely a spark in the eyes of Hell."
I clenched my jaw. "Thanks for the encouragement."
"Oh, don't pout. I'm simply telling you the truth."A soft pause."That body is fragile. But the soul inside… that is potential incarnate."
I could feel him smiling.
"Welcome to your new beginning, Malrion."
I turned slowly, observing the landscape — cliffs that curved upward like rib bones, forests of twisted metal spires reeking of burning oil, rivers of black sludge bubbling with faint, dying echoes of demonic whispers.
Everything was wrong.Chaotic.Beautiful in a grotesque way.
This was nothing like the upper levels, which at least tried to imitate a city.Down here, Hell stopped pretending.
A shadow lunged.
I didn't even see it clearly — just motion and teeth. My legs froze. I couldn't move, couldn't react. Instinct screamed at me to run, but fear locked every joint.
"Malrion," Alastor said calmly. "To your left."
I snapped my head.
The creature was no larger than a hound, but its body was stretched unnaturally, like someone had pulled its limbs too far. Its mouth was a jagged maw of bone-like blades, dripping ash.
A Lesser Mawfiend — a scavenger demon.I recognized the species from… knowledge the previous soul carried?Or perhaps from Alastor's memories bleeding into mine.
Either way, I was defenseless.
Move!MOVE!
My body stumbled backward, boots scraping against the living stone. I could barely keep balance — I was so weak physically it felt like gravity itself wanted me dead.
The Mawfiend leapt—
—and a crimson burst of static exploded beside my head.
Not from me.
From a floating symbol — a red sigil of radio waves hovering in the air, crackling like a speaker warming up.
Alastor's voice filled the air:
"Down, boy."
The creature froze, whined, and collapsed as if its bones turned to liquid.
I gasped. "What… was that?!"
"My help," Alastor said cheerfully. "Think of it as a remote signal. I can't act directly here — Rosie's contract limits direct interference — but I can… bend the rules."
I looked at the dying creature.
"What do I do?"
"You survive," Alastor said softly. "And you learn."
I stared into the Mawfiend's dissolving body — shadow melting like spilled ink — and something strange happened.
I could see its energy.
Not visually. Not with eyes.But as a sensation — a resonance, a vibration.
A trembling frequency.
Alastor hummed."Ahh… your first glimpse. Echo Qi. Do you feel it?"
"Yes..."The frequency felt like static, trembling, unrefined. Raw sin, unshaped and chaotic."…but what do I do with it?"
"What you were born to do," he whispered.
I reached out instinctively.
The energy shivered, recoiled, then flowed toward me — thin wisps of dark red mist, vibrating like radio waves trapped in fog.
As it entered my palm, I felt a burning sting — then warmth — then a strange click, like tuning a dial into perfect alignment.
"Oh," I whispered, breath steaming. "It's… beautiful."
"It's power," Alastor corrected gently."Pain purified into progress. That is the essence of your path."
My knees trembled again, but not from fear this time — from the rush of Echo Qi settling into me.Into my soul.Into the body that felt too small for it.
The ground beneath my feet pulsed again, and for a moment I swayed.
"You need shelter," Alastor said. "A place to stabilize your first resonance. I arranged something for you."
"You arranged—? How? You're… up there."
"Never underestimate my connections. Or my influence."He chuckled. "Walk forward. You'll find the entrance soon enough."
I forced my legs to move.
Every step echoed on the living stone.Every breath tasted like rust and smoke.My muscles burned from the effort of simply walking.
But ahead — carved into the cliffside — was an archway.Tall. Dark.Decorated with symbols of broken soundwaves and coiling serpents.
"The Silent Maw," Alastor announced proudly."A forgotten ruin of an era when Hell experimented with sonic magic. Perfect for resonant cultivation."
I approached the entrance with shaky breath, running my fingers along the faintly vibrating stone.
"Why does it feel alive?"
"Because it is," Alastor answered. "Once upon a time, demons tried to shape their homes to amplify their power. The experiment failed. Violently. The ruins were sealed… until I arranged a little opening."
"And no one will find me here?"
"Not unless they want to be eaten by a sentient soundwave."A pause."That was a joke. Mostly."
I stepped inside.
The air shifted — colder, quieter, heavier.Sound died instantly, swallowed by the walls. Even my heartbeat faded.
For the first time since waking in this body—
I felt safe.
And small.And painfully aware of my own weakness.
My reflection shimmered faintly on a wall — distorted by the living stone.
White hair, falling to my jaw.Crimson eyes glowing softly.A youthful face, smooth, unfamiliar.A slim body in elegant, dark clothing.
A stranger who was me.
"Alastor… what am I supposed to become?"
A soft pause.Not mocking.Not playful.
Serious.
"I do not know," he said honestly. "And that is the thrilling part."
I closed my eyes.
The ruins around me pulsed gently, as if waiting.
As if listening.
The first step of cultivation…
"What do I do?" I whispered.
Alastor's voice softened.
"Sit. Breathe.Open yourself to the echoes of this place.Let the world speak."
"And then?"
"Then, my dear Malrion…
You devour."