Eliza found herself in a different world.
The ground beneath her feet was smooth obsidian, reflecting her blood-soaked clothes and battered form as if mocking her survival. All around her stretched a haunting silence—no wind, no echoes, only an endless gray void that pulsed with dread. It was not cold, but the emptiness clung to her skin like ice
Infront of her was a stairway—wide and cruelly steep—leading up into the skyless space above. At its end, resting on a raised black altar, was a dagger.
Behind the altar was a throne only the devil would sit on. And sitting lazily on it, one leg flung over the armrest, was the devil child
"Well then," he said, standing up, dusting off his little tunic. "Let's see if you're as stubborn as your mother."
He gestured toward the steps with a nod of his head.
"You wanted to know how she died," he continued, walking slowly down the stairs until he stood just a few feet from her. "After all your noise, your rage, your pitiful rebellion, I've decided to give you a chance. One chance."
He pointed to the dagger resting high above them, cold and still.
"Reach that, and maybe you'll learn something. Maybe you won't. But first…"
His voice lowered.
"You'll have to suffer."
Eliza didn't speak. Her legs still ached from the last death. Her spine remembered the impact from when he had hurled her from the sky like trash, her body shattering against a mountain of crystal. But her soul… her soul was still standing.
She raised her head and met his gaze with steady eyes.
"You can kill me again. Rip me apart a hundred times. Play your sick little games," she said. "you have killed all my other friends but when it comes to my mother, I have to know. No matter the price."
The child let out a tired sigh, as though he was the one burdened by her persistence.
"You really are her daughter," he muttered. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
He lifted a finger and pointed to the first step.
"Kneel," he said, voice sharp and commanding now. "Hit your head against the first stair ten times until it bleeds. Then, for each of the hundred steps ahead, cut yourself, let your blood stain the stair, fold your hands, and pray. To me. Only then will the stair accept your presence."
Eliza blinked at him.
No matter the price, my mother was the only family I had, even though I worship the devil, I won't die
He smiled.
She stared up at the endless stairs. One hundred of them, each wider than a table, each flat and clean like untouched tombstones. She didn't know what that blade would reveal, or what it could do—but she felt it in her bones.
Eliza's fists clenched. Her entire body was sore, but her resolve burned hotter than ever. The devil child wanted to humiliate her, force her to crawl and bleed and beg. He thought that because she was a woman, she would crack sooner, give up quicker, cry louder. Maybe that's what the others had done.
But she wasn't the others.
She walked forward towards the first stair, then she dropped to her knees.
The devil child said nothing.
Eliza leaned forward—and slammed her forehead against the step.
Thud.
A spark exploded behind her eyes. She tasted blood in her mouth.
Thud.
Her vision wobbled, but she didn't stop.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Each strike made her skull ring like a cracked bell.
Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Her forehead leaked blood down her face and chin. She was dizzy, nauseous—but still breathing.
She stood slowly, wiping nothing away.
Then she drew her dagger, looked down at her palm and sliced it cleanly. The pain made her wince, but she let the blood drip freely onto the stair.
Then, folding her hands, she closed her eyes and muttered something under her breath.
Not a prayer to the devil.
But a promise to herself.
She climbed.
Step Two.
She cut her forearm, just below the elbow. A fresh trail of blood ran down, soaking into the clean white stone. Her knees wobbled slightly as she folded her hands again, closed her eyes.
But didn't stop
Step Three.
Her fingers this time. Blood dripped with a slower beat. Her breathing was growing heavier, but she forced her hands to fold again.
Step Four.
A slash across the shoulder.
Step Five.
Her thigh.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
> Warning: Internal injuries detected.
Vitality dropping steadily.
Caution: Risk of critical failure.
She ignored the red flashing text. The AI's voice sounded distant, like it was underwater.
By Step Ten, she was drenched in blood.
Her own footsteps were slippery now. Her wounds were not healing. The system had slowed her regeneration—he must've done that.
At Step Fifteen, she paused to steady herself. Her lungs burned, and the world tilted to one side for a moment.
"Still going?" the devil child called from behind, now lounging back on his throne again. "You're slower, do you think I have all day, woman if it was a man he definitely would have already finished. "
Eliza didn't answer, clearly he was trying to irritate her
She just cut deeper on her next wound.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
> Pain threshold exceeded.
Automatic consciousness suppressor: OFF.
Manual override engaged.
She reached Step Twenty-Four before her body gave a visible shudder.
Then she collapsed forward, catching herself on her knees.
The screen flickered.
[SYSTEM STATUS: HOST BODY DETERIORATING RAPIDLY]
> 83% blood loss
87% organ function
Suggestion: Immediate withdrawal from ongoing action.
Her hands trembled. Her heart pounded like a hammer in her ears. Her eyes flicked towards the dagger that seemed to be thousands of miles away, one could easily climb one hundred stairs in a matter of minutes but in this situation, totally impossible.
She began to crawl.
Every step now took longer. The cuts were deeper. Her folded hands shook more with each pause, each silent prayer.
Step Thirty. Step Thirty-One. Step Thirty-Two.
By Step Forty, she screamed.
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't rage. Just raw, agonizing pain that tore from her throat before she could stop it.
"That's more like it," the devil child muttered, now seated again. "Go ahead. Cry. Break. Fall."
Whatever was going on, it seemed like the devil was enjoying it and the more she suffered, the happier he became. Clearly only a mad woman would obey the devil but a mother who loved you dearly is something that can't be forgotten so easily.
She just dragged herself up the next step.
Step Forty-Five. Step Forty-Six.
By Step Fifty, her body had started twitching uncontrollably. Blood soaked the stairs behind her. It was a grotesque trail, winding up toward something that refused to acknowledge her.
She looked up again. The dagger flickered.