L2L - Death Code

A sharp, splitting pain shot through his skull.

He groaned, his fingers twitching against the rough, uneven ground. The coldness seeped into his skin, a damp, stale chill clinging to the air. His body felt heavy, sluggish, like he had just woken from a deep sleep.

"What… happened?"

He forced his eyes open, but the world remained pitch black.

Panic flickered in his chest. He blinked rapidly, waving a hand in front of his face. Nothing. He could feel the movement, but he couldn't see a damn thing.

"Have I become blind?"

His breath quickened. His hands shot up to his face, feeling over his eyelids, his nose, his lips. Everything seemed normal. Then why—

Wait. What was the last thing he remembered?

His mind was sluggish, like a fog was pressing against his thoughts. He struggled to pull the memories forward, like trying to grasp sand slipping through his fingers.

And then—it hit him.

He had been on his way home from work. His phone had been dead, and the streets were dimly lit. He had taken a shortcut through a narrow alley, same as always.

A car.

Headlights.

A sudden, blaring horn—too late.

A split second of panic, his muscles locking up, his feet rooted in place. And then—impact.

A violent, crushing force against his body.

Pain.

And then… nothing.

His blood ran cold.

He should be dead.

The realization sank in, creeping through his bones like ice. There was no way he could have survived that. No one walks away from being hit at full speed.

His breathing grew shallow. His hands trembled.

"Then where am I?"

A thick silence pressed against him, the kind that didn't belong to the world of the living. The air was stale, unmoving. He couldn't even hear the sound of his own breath echoing off any walls.

A thought crept in, unbidden.

Hell.

His chest tightened.

He had never been a religious person. He had never prayed, never thanked any god for his life—because what was there to be thankful for?

Every day had been a struggle. Working himself to the bone just to scrape by. He had lived the hardest of life. Many nights passed without a proper meal, many a times he had to sleep on railway stations,on footpaths only to be chased away by guards and other people who found him a nuisance, even though he had not done anything to trouble them in any way, they still didn't let go any chance to cause him, pain. He would have surely come to hate humans if not for his mother who showed that good humans do exist.

The hate that slowly build up inside due to constant unfair treatment, got directed towards what people called 'God'. He heard people sing his praises and celebrate him like some all- good entity but He knew how big of an asshole the 'God' was.

He had challenged god to throw all the troubles at him, all that he had left in store and he would beat God in this game of suffering and pain. He worked endlessly to tackle all the problems that came his way and overcame everything. He had finally managed to rent a proper house to live in and could afford three meals a day. He had defeated God in his own game, he had overcome all the trials and tribulations thrown at him.

And now? After all of that? He gets sent to hell?

A sharp, bitter laugh broke past his lips.

"Figures," he muttered hoarsely. "You bombarded me with all kinds of problems my whole life, and when overcame everything, you throw me into hell? Why? Because I didn't sing praises for you? Because I successfully tackled all your challenges without begging for your help?"

His voice echoed, lost in the void.

A surge of resentment bubbled in his chest. If some god was watching, laughing at his misery—they could go and fruit themselves.

No, if the gods really were causing him all these problems, then he would drag them down to hell and make them regret all their wrong doings.

Even if he was in hell, he wasn't going to kneel. He wasn't going to beg. He was going to make it through it, conquer the hell and challenge the bastards who sent him here.

From far it seems like the man has gone crazy, but his challenge to God has always been the factor that gave him the drive to do anything. His hate for God was so intense that if God had decided that it is impossible to life a mountain, he would have definitely lifted it. He unlocked his 200% whenever God was involved.

With his goal clear, his breathing steadied. He could finally use all he had to their maximum output, that's just the way he grew up, no matter what the problem, he had always triumphed.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself to his feet. His muscles ached, stiff from lying on the cold ground, but nothing felt broken. He reached out, his fingers brushing against rough, jagged stone. It felt… damp.

A cave?

He hesitated, then pressed a hand against the surface, slowly following it as he took careful steps forward.

The path was uneven, the rock twisting into narrow passages. Some sections forced him to crouch, others let him stand but at an awkward angle. It felt unnatural—like something carved rather than naturally formed.

He didn't know how long he walked. There was no light, no sense of time. Just the endless feeling of stone beneath his fingers and the sound of his own footsteps.

And then—he saw it.

A faint, eerie blue glow ahead.

His breath hitched. He hesitated. But after walking in complete darkness, anything was better than nothing.

He stepped forward—and the space around him opened up.

His eyes widened.

It was a massive cave, stretching in all directions. The ceiling was so high that it seemed impossible to reach it.

The walls were lined with strange, glowing veins of some unknown mineral, casting an eerie, flickering light across the space.

And then—he looked down.

And his blood froze.

Beneath him, stretching as far as his eyes could see

The ground was moving.