Reborn to Devour: A Demonic LitRPG

I stared at the message for a long time. The grand reveal of my eternal fate was of little surprise to me. The pastors and preachers that taught me scripture as a boy said as much already. I remembered sitting on the wooden floor of a room that reeked of lemon-scented cleaner as Pastor Jeff lectured us of all the characters in the book. Up until the other day, I still went to Father Reynolds sermons in a barren concrete room that shared a scent with my childhood; Boss Raymond’s mandate.

Despite my actions, I did believe in God and sin and the afterlife. This divine punishment was the expectation. Even with all those warnings and cautions and lessons, I still managed to ceaselessly stray from the Lord’s light.

Putting all that to the side, this box was beginning to piss me off. When I blinked, it stayed on, illuminating the underneath of my eyelids with the same annoying bluish hues. I tried to lift my arm to brush the box away, but my limbs remained immobile; pinned down by invisible forces. All I could really do was curse at the nuisance and hope it went away on its own.

“Go away,” I commanded in a voice weakened by my descent.

Not only did the original message not disappear, a new box overlapped over top of it.

Tip: You have had the welcome message up for over five minutes. Think the command “close” to remove windows.

I frowned, displeased with the condescending nature of the message. I would love nothing more than to have a private conversation with its sender, further showing that I learned nothing in the face of this situation.

As my thoughts formed the commands, both boxes disappeared from my mind.

It was as though a cloth had been removed from my eyes and cotton pulled from my ears. It didn’t make sense, but the message seemed to have dampened my senses. Now, I could see that I was in a dimly lit enclosure of sharp, black rocks. Even the floor was jagged like thousands of spears. Their tips pressed against my skin, digging ever so slightly and slowly into my flesh. A thick metal gate sealed the only exit from the area.

Moving only caused my body to sink deeper into the spikes. Bursts of intense pain washed over me and I bit my lip hard before I tightened my muscles and ceased further writhing. The taste of blood coated my tongue as I groaned in regret. After that, I decided to remain limp for the time being.

From one cell to another. From one punishment to the next.

Screams of agony echoed down the hallway like an orchestra of anguish. I was not alone to my fate in this place. Other souls like me found themselves fileted by their cells like white fish at a sushi restaurant, eliciting howls and brays of indignation at their sentencing. They could not accept that they were deserving.

Analysis Complete: Generating Profile

Another red box. Another message. This one, however, hinted at greater clarity towards my situation.

Immediately after, a much larger box took up all of my visual space. I went red-blind as it felt like someone beat me in the face with a computer monitor.

Name: Damned Soul 9198131512

Title: One Who Interests the Aspect of Wrath

Passive Abilities: Taken in One’s Prime. They Don’t Make Them like They Used to (E).

Active Abilities: None

Transformation: Pending

Level 1 EXP: 0/100

HP: 51/56 MP: 9/9

Stats:

Strength: 13.51

Agility: 8.25

Magic: 7.41

Toughness: 13.21

Notoriety: Provincial Horror: You were a well-known killer within your region and small communities will remember you for a long time. But your actions did little to impress lasting damage in the wider world. +1 Transformation.

I stupidly closed my eyes to grant reprieve from the boxes just for them to chase me into the darkness. I could already feel a throbbing beginning in the front of my head from the torrent of information that assailed me like a fire hose at a riot. Numbers and phrases that meant very little took up every corner of my mind. I had to take a few deep breaths before I went over the information again.

Intuitively, I understood that I was looking at some sort of game system. It wasn’t a kind of game that I usually played, not like I’ve been able to play at all during my confinement. When I was younger, shooters were my shit. Many nights were spent staying up with guys like Jake or Tanner or Jimmy to try out the funniest weapon combinations possible. There was nothing better than topping a lobby and getting to hear the pissed off nasally voices of other middle schoolers with lax parents that should never have been allowed to play.

It was never satisfying enough to kill them, I wanted to know that I affected them personally. I wanted to hear them melt down and scream and call me slurs that never even applied to me. It was a badge of honor to get a private message typed with the venomous fingers of some screeching idiot with a keyboard attachment to their controller.

But, this was clearly no shooter. These numbers reminded me more of when Trevor played computer games or when he’d gather his other nerdy friends and play Dungeons and Dragons. Whenever I had to sit around Uncle Jared’s place, I would watch them occasionally during commercial breaks in the football game. To me, it just looked like they were playing pretend with sheets of paper. I couldn’t complain. At least someone always bought free pizza.

Going by that logic, I wondered if my stats were high or not. I was stronger than many, than most, that I knew. That, at least, must be good, right? And, if power was determined by the depth of sin, I felt certain that I did not lack there either. More importantly, for what purpose would these stats be used for?

Putting all that aside, what my eyes kept drifting back to, was my name. I could admit that whatever demon sent these messages had a sense of humor. Using the same logic that the tip provided, I managed to open up a new prompt.

Name: Enter Name

A peculiar feeling washed over me. As I thought about my own name, nothing came to mind. It felt like attempting to grab smoke, formless and immaterial. Inmate 9198131512 burned in my mind with sharp clarity, but I didn’t wish to be known by that designation any longer, nor did I wish to inherit the moniker Boss Raymond bestowed upon me. My earthly punishment had ended, there was no reason to continue that dehumanizing tradition into my new one.

The name that did rise to the forefront of my mind was one that I read often in the past weeks. Though Ahab was the character I was most attached to, I felt that I was making it too obvious that I had forgotten my name. Who would name their child after a man who perfectly encapsulated blind rage? No, I needed to pick a subtler name. One that would still fit in with my upbringing. The very first words of the novel.

Call me Ishmael.

Ishmael, the son that Abraham did not want. It felt fitting enough. When it sat at the top of the character window, it did not elicit bad feelings. It did not feel unnatural, which was all I could really hope for.

It was time to focus my attention back to the myriad descriptions on the main character screen. I moved to the titles and abilities. Unlike numbers, there was little context that I could glean from the words. But, as I focused, new blocks popped up to offer deeper insight.

Taken in One’s Prime: (Passive) Congratulations, unlike the cowards who wither away and die of old age, you were slain at the peak of your physical and mental prowess. Starting stats raised by 15%.

They Don’t Make Them like They Used to: (Passive Rank E) This new era of the damned does little to move the heart of the ancient beasts of anger. Guns, Bombs, and the Innovations of Man have removed the true weight of rage. You have killed with your hands. You know what it means to personally extinguish the lives of others. That has not gone unnoticed. All attacks do an extra 10% damage.

The only one that did not possess further explanation was the title. Only the word “pending” resided in the description. But, now that I claimed rudimentary mastery of the boxes, it would not be difficult to look the information up later.

With nothing else to do but wait and accept the divine punishment rendered upon me, I took measured breaths. Loud, blood curdling screams and desperate arrhythmic pounding could be heard outside of my cell, showing that many others could not manage even this much of a task. I could only imagine how it felt to struggle, to feel the tips of the rocks cleave muscle, scrape against bone, and pierce organs without relief. Even the slow digging into my own body made me want to squirm.

But then, another message. Another distraction.

Transformation Initiating.

I stared at the window in anticipation for further elaboration. I attempted to focus on the information to little avail. I was unsurprised that an unholy transformation awaited me here. God had given me His divine form and I ungratefully soiled it with my selfish impulses. It was only natural that I would lose the right to have that form. Though, it would have been nice to know what would happen next.

And then I felt it. Fresh pain. Intense pain.

Now I understood why the others failed to maintain their composure. An agony that I have never felt before gripped every fiber of my being and forced me to flail involuntarily as though I were possessed by a masochistic spirit. Skin flayed like confetti paper, showing bloody sinews beneath. Muscles burned from the exposure, feeling that someone had pressed it against a stovetop. My bones popped and snapped, bending me in odd directions. My organs felt as though a clown were twisting them into balloon animals. Reminiscent of a night-terror, my teeth began to fall free of my mouth; a waterfall of blood gushed from my ruined gums and a burning pain like gargling steak knives took their place. Horns pierced my forehead, dripping blood into my boiling eyes.

All the while, my flesh was skewered by the rocks below. It sliced into exposed muscle and twisted sinews, inflicting such sharp, ceaseless anguish that I started to heave.

Without realizing, my voice joined the chorus of screams. Acceptance of my fate did not make me immune to the suffering. I could not sagely accept the retribution wrought upon my flesh. Even someone who medically couldn’t feel pain wouldn’t be immune to this. I doubt that anyone could.

As I writhed and screamed, the numbers on my screen rapidly changed. The HP value began to drop from 51 to 45 to 37 to 28. Each time I thrashed against the rocks, each time my body felt as though it were being ripped asunder by the transformation, the HP total lowered further and further. It would not be long before it was gone entirely. And so, I naturally began to wonder: what would happen if it reached 0?

Would this pain cease?

For the first time in existence, I wished to succumb. The siren call of this hypothetical lured me towards the promise of sweet release like a junkie to fentanyl-laced heroin. If I flailed more, it might all be over.

17 HP remained as my body began to spasm with what I hoped to be the final changes. I could not properly feel anything anymore, only a deep burning inside my soul that drowned out all other feelings.

However, a strong impulse seized my muscles, preventing the experiment from coming to fruition and allowing more rational judgments. Laugh as one might, I still had to be strong. Even if I did not understand the true intentions of the system forced upon me, I did know about Lucifer. I knew that this punishment was eternal. Something as simple as death would not overturn it and free me. If anything, failing the Devil’s first test was an invitation for only greater pain and punishment. It was something I was desperate not to experience.

12.

I just needed to endure. I just needed to grit my teeth and seize up. Even if I could not imagine greater pain than this, even if there was no guarantee that dying again would be worse, I was desperate to find any reason to cling to the remaining vestiges of life.

7.

Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold.

4.

My fingers squirmed in ways that the rest of my body could not. They must serve as the outlets for the rest of me. My intense focus on stillness made everything else fade away. Even the deafening screams from my own mouth and the others were drowned out by the sound of blood rushing behind my ears and the mantra that I repeated within my mind.

Then, I saw the message that I was hoping for and felt the release from the seemingly ceaseless pain.

Transformation: Reptilian (Stage 2) Completed

New Active Ability: Flaying Tail.

Flaying Tail - Active (Rank E)

-Strike the target with your bladed tail. Inflicts Bleed.

-Bleed deals a percentage of your target's maximum HP over 5 seconds.

I breathed a sigh of relief. The pain subsided and the HP number slowly began to climb up again. I touched my chest and felt coarse textures rub against each other as though I were wearing gloves made of plaster.

It was only then that I was able to appraise the full extent of the changes to my mortal form. Where once was skin, scales the color of obsidian took its place. The sharp rocks ground ineffectively against this new natural armor. Long claws protruded from the tips of my fingers and talons from my three-toed feet. Two rows of dagger-like teeth stabbed my tongue.

I had never been both more relieved and frustrated that I did not possess a mirror.

My prison jumper was shredded to near tatters, only leaving a convenient pair of orange shorts that covered the most important bits. Curiosity had gotten the better of me and I had to take an exploratory look inside to see what happened to my little friend.

The good news was that it was still intact. The bad news was that it had the same coarse texture as the rest of me along with a couple new spikes. I shuddered at the sort of woman I would attract with this nail-studded baseball bat.

Again, at least I still had one.

With that out of the way, I could focus on what was the most bizarre addition: the growth of a tail. It was the most confusing and foreign feeling of my new additions. At the current moment, it hung limp like roadkill stapled to my back.

I flexed my back muscles and the tail swished slightly, but did not offer any further clues as to how it could be used more effectively. I tried to explore and flex the new muscles that I felt when I flexed my back, but all I managed to do was make the new limb bounce around stupidly.

As I continued to test out the new appendage, the metal gate began to creak open under supernatural force. At long last, I could leave this wretched place. I nearly sprinted out of the room and into the hallway before whoever controlled that door decided that I had taken too long. I would not be the one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Fortunately, the ground here was made of smooth stone and my talons scraped against the surface. Metal gates flanked both sides of the hallway. Many were open, the trapped occupant already escaped from their imprisonment. The rest were still occupied, the intense screaming that came from the darkened rooms caused irritation in my new, more sensitive ears. Though I could not see them, I could feel their eyes on me.

I ignored their aimless cries for help and left them to their deserved punishment. But, I offered them a wave so they knew I was thinking of them. If they were meant to survive it, they would do so on their own.

The hallway terminated at a large iron door. I pressed my hand on the cool metallic surface and the heavy door swung open on its own, revealing a large pit with sandy floors. Numerous identical doors lined the rocky wall of the enclosure, hinting at the size of the compound I was interred in. Nobody occupied the pit, but the crimson puddles that accumulated all over the grounds told me all that was needed to be known about what kind of place this was.

As I took the first step into the arena, a new message appeared.

Initiating First Quest