The man knew he was about to die, and he could not refuse.
Within the system of Pitfall Fire Hell, an upper echelon's orders were almost impossible to resist.
He had already entered the Ritual Space of Pitfall Fire Hell. The only choices left to him were to struggle and turn to ash, or to become some kind of "vessel" as required and heed the call of the "Fire Hell."
And then there was enjoying his last "feast" before death, within this ritual doomed to degradation and madness.
Amid the pain of his forehead being burned through flesh and skin, the man stared through the curling smoke at the woman before him, a woman of extraordinary beauty and exalted status.
He stared fixedly, and sound returned to his throat—a low growl of fear and greed.
On the other side of the smoke, the beautiful woman's expression grew blurred.
She seemed cold and cruel, using the burning incense stick, and the corresponding pain, to refuse his approach;
yet she also seemed to be tempting him—the incense stick was fragile to begin with, the pain could be endured, and the thin clothing and ambiguous lamplight seemed to be hinting at something.
He was going to die anyway, so what the hell was there to fear!
And so, with the incense stick on his head that was in fact not nearly so fragile, the man crawled forward on his belly.
Even when the burning tip of the incense stabbed into his flesh, even into his skull, he actually felt no pain, and gradually forgot his fear as well.
It was also at this moment that the originally faint Fire Seed inside him swelled, following the woman before him who seemed both stern and seductive, madly absorbing fuel and burning even more violently.
That