━━━ ❝ I pity the fool who wants to be a God. ❞
&
━━━ There is enough fire inside you to put
all of Hell to shame, but you are
pretending to be water, for someone
who is too afrai...
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CHAPTER I. welcome to hell...gate
Hellgate wasn't a prison, it was a simply a psychotic break for the weakest of all.
Leia Bennett awoke to the screams of her fellow companions. A hot rush of irritation replaced her grogginess, having half a heart to burn whoever's vocal cords were responsible for ripping her sweet dreams away.
That was until she noticed the absence of light in her cell. How long have I been asleep? It was still daylight when she closed her eyes. From the roaring madness outside her cell, she predicted it was almost halfway into night.
Panic flowed through her body, unnerved by the night. Her kind wasn't made for the darkness, they were vulnerable to the monsters there.
"Darkness is the demon's plaything," Selma would say. Her sister was wise, but underestimated the weight that her words would carry. More than once, Selma would jump on her in the dim corners of their house. It cultivated a habit for Leia to always stay in the light.
Perhaps Selma unintentionally instilled a new fear in Leia, but she grew to realise her sister was right. Monsters weren't folklores of childish imaginations, but real beings like her. Like Selma, waiting patiently in the dark for an opulent time to strike—but unlike her, they were filled with malice.
Sitting in the darkness of the cell, Leia finally understood. She basked greedily in the silver of moonlight that sneaked past the miniature window. With every second in the dark, disgust crawled on her skin. It felt like she was disrespecting Selma, draining her sister's wisdom.
Yet Leia yearned to see Selma's face if she knew the truth: that demons weren't scared of the light. That when you spend so much time defending against the dark, you'd be conceited with the comfort of the light.
Leia was impressed by her ability to sleep undisturbed for long. For once, her mind spared her from another episode of unsolved trauma. Pushing herself off the bed, her sight was still fixated on the tiny square at the top of her cell—decorated intricately in rusty iron-clad grips.
"Bennett!" A slam against her cell door warranted her glare. "Time to rise. It is your turn."
She sighed, feet already shuffling towards the now unlocked cell door. The prison guard, whose name she never bothered being acquainted with, fastened heavy chains on her—the sharp clatter of it attracted more pained groans, screams and other unheavenly screeches the other prisoners made. Together, they walked towards the direction of the arena.
When she first arrived, her revolting companions showered whistles as twisted, preying compliments. Not long later, their garrulous teases died down along with their sanity.
