Pain always tasted like copper and old iron. Flesh ripped away from phantom restraints as she pulled herself upward. Down in the deepest, most sulfurous pits of Tartarus, her physical hands and feet remained eternally bound by heavy, cosmic iron. Ripping her soul and torso out of hell required a violent, agonizing bypass of reality. A brilliant, neon-magenta crack split the empty air of the mortal realm. Screaming wasn't her style anymore, so she laughed instead, a sharp, manic sound that echoed off the crumbling pillars. Marble dust exploded under her invisible knees as she crashed onto the shattered altar. This was Paradise Cost, a beautiful, cruel world of gods and tragedy. Hovering just above the cracked stone, she balanced on her spatial portals, her missing feet represented only by the glowing magenta discs hum-buzzing beneath her ankles. Her dress, a tattered magenta thing that barely covered her curves, fluttered in the divine wind. She looked like a disaster, but she smiled like a queen. A spear of pure, blinding light hissed through the air, aimed directly at her throat. Fallensong met the light with a deafening scream of metal. Sparking magenta embers rained onto the cracked white stone, sizzling as they dissolved into nothingness. Her manic grin didn't falter, a desperate facade against the crushing despair of this, her fifty-third attempt to kill the Lesser God of Dawn. "Again? Already?" her mind screamed, the phantom sensation of her previous fifty-two throat-slits still burning like liquid fire. Standing before her was Aurelius, his golden armor radiating a sickening, self-righteous heat. His eyes were hollow pits of solar energy, staring down at her with absolute disgust. "Back again, little cockroach?" Aurelius sneered, his voice a resounding boom that shook the very foundations of the ruined temple. "Oh, sweetheart, you know I can't stay away from a face like yours," Awry gasped, her voice raspy from the sulfur she had just inhaled during her transit. "I was actually hoping we could skip the violence today and go straight to the flirting, but I see you brought your big, shiny toothpick." She flipped Fallensong, the massive, jagged butterfly-knife katana clicking and whirring in her telekinetic grip. Because she had no hands, the weapon floated precisely where her right wrist ended, suspended by a swirling ring of hot magenta mana. Using doorway physics was a messy business. Every movement required her to micro-portal her limbs, constantly bridging the gap between her chained body in Tartarus and this beautiful, doomed paradise. "You look a little tired, goldie-locks," she teased, taking a step forward. Instead of a normal stride, a small, circular magenta window opened beneath her left stump, swallowing her leg and spitting it out three feet closer to the god. Aurelius narrowed his glowing golden eyes. Anger flushed his perfect, sculpted features, a vein throbbing violently at his temple. "Your existence is an insult to the pantheon," he hissed, raising his hand to summon another volley of light-spears. "And your haircut is an insult to the concept of beauty, but you don't hear me whining," Awry shot back. She threw herself forward, initiating a rapid series of portal-jumps. Left, right, above, below—she became a chaotic streak of magenta light, dodging the incoming spears of solar energy. Each spear that missed her detonated against the marble, sending jagged shrapnel flying through the air. One piece of stone sliced open her cheek, but she didn't blink. She only smiled wider, tasting the fresh metallic tang of her own blood. --- Gravity was merely a suggestion when you owned the doors. Awry tossed Fallensong upward, opening a portal directly above the spinning blade. Another portal opened directly beneath Aurelius, and the heavy katana plunged through, gaining immense velocity from the drop. It was the vector loop, a simple trick, but devastating. With every click-clack of the handles, the blade gathered more mass and velocity from the pocket dimensions she channeled. Constructed as a massive, jagged katana with a butterfly-knife handle, it was designed for momentum manipulation. She didn't swing it; she dropped it through portal loops to let gravity accelerate it, then directed the vector of its exit portal. Aurelius reacted with godlike speed, twisting his body to avoid the descending missile of neon metal. Searing hot metal shaved off a lock of his perfect golden hair, which dissolved into glittering dust. Roaring in fury, the lesser god unleashed a shockwave of pure solar heat. It caught her mid-air, burning away her magenta-tinted dress and searing her pale skin. Screams of genuine, raw agony tore from her throat this time as her flesh blistered and cracked under the intense radiation. Yet, as she fell toward the ground, she forced her lips to curl upward. How pathetic, she thought, to be bested by a minor deity who smelled like overcooked eggs and cheap incense. Ignoring the blinding pain, she rolled to her side, her portal-junctions sparking wildly. Aurelius was already moving, his golden boots heavy against the white stone. Every step he took sent ripples of heat through the air, distorting her vision. But Awry was a stubborn creature. Fifty-three times she had faced this dawn, and fifty-three times she would laugh in its face. She focused on her wrists, where her phantom chains tugged hard from below. Tartarus wanted her back. Hell was a jealous lover, constantly pulling at her stumps, trying to drag her back into the eternal, silent dark. She resisted, forcing her mana to static-link the doorway portals. This was the Window Technique, a desperate trick she was trying to master. If she could lock the portals in place relative to her body, she wouldn't have to constantly reopen them with every stride. Imagine sewing her limbs back on with threads of pure space-time. Pain became a secondary thought, a background hum to her manic heartbeat. With a sharp flick of her mental wrist, she stabilized the portals. Fallensong whistled through the air, returning to her hand-less arm. Aurelius sneered, raising his glowing hands. Light formed into solid, crystalline shields around his forearms. He lunged, his fists moving faster than sound. Awry met him head-on. She didn't run; she threw herself into the danger. Portals opened and closed around his strikes, letting his massive, world-breaking punches slip harmlessly into the empty air of Tartarus. Down in the abyss, some poor demon was probably getting punched in the face by a solar deity, which Awry found hilarious. She giggled, the sound bubbling up through her bloody lips. Aurelius grew more frustrated with every missed blow. His perfect, symmetrical face contorted into a mask of pure rage. He was a god of order, of the pristine morning light, and she was a chaotic smudge of magenta on his perfect canvas. With a savage roar, he swept his leg, creating a blade of solid light. Awry jumped, but she didn't jump high enough. A blinding blade of light sliced clean through her left thigh. Blood, hot and glowing with magenta mana, sprayed across the white marble. She didn't cry out. Sliding through a portal beneath her falling torso, she dropped straight through the floor. A split second later, she materialized directly above his head. Gravity took over, pulling her down like a stone. Fallensong was poised to strike, its jagged blade vibrating with high-frequency mana. She aimed straight for the crown of his golden head. But Aurelius was not a lesser god for nothing. He looked up, his eyes flashing with a blinding, solar flare. Searing light temporarily blinded her, ruining her alignment. Her strike went wide, slicing deep into his shoulder instead of his neck. Golden blood erupted from the wound, sizzling as it touched her skin. Aurelius roared in genuine agony and shock. To be wounded by a mortal—no, worse—by a disgraced Muse of Tragedy was an unspeakable humiliation. He grabbed her by her collar, his burning hand melting the fabric of her dress. Heat radiated from him, charring her collarbones. Awry grinned right into his face, her teeth stained with her own blood. "Gotcha," she whispered. She triggered a portal directly between them, hoping to sever his arm. But divine aura was too dense. It jammed her doorway mechanics, the magenta portals flickering and dying like blown fuses. Aurelius threw her away from him. She crashed hard against a shattered pillar, her spine cracking against the ancient stone. Landing in a heap, she looked like a broken doll in a ruined dress. Her left leg was gone from the mid-thigh down, her right arm was severely burned, and her mana pools were running dry. Yet, her manic smile remained. It was a terrible, beautiful thing, a mask of pure defiance painted on a canvas of agony. "Is that... all?" she coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "You're... actually pretty weak for a god, Aurelius." "My grandmother hits harder than you, and she's been dead for three eons." Flirting with the Muses was her only source of comfort in this endless, grinding cycle. She could still remember the sweet scent of Thalia's laughter, the way Calliope would sigh when Awry brought her severed monster heads as courting gifts. They thought she was a lunatic, a tragic clown who didn't know how to die properly. Maybe they were right. But the thought of seeing Thalia's smile again, of holding Clio's hand without the phantom chains dragging her back to hell, was worth every single agonizing death. It was worth fifty-three resets. It would be worth five hundred more. Every time she died, the Fire of Creation would rebuild her from scratch. It reset her body, her tattered magenta dress, and her jagged blade to her last save point. But the fire didn't erase the memories. It didn't wash away the bone-deep phantom aches of fifty-two previous executions. Her mind was a ledger of slaughter, each page written in her own blood. Aurelius didn't reply with words. His anger had transcended petty insults. He raised his hands to the sky, calling upon the full authority of the dawn. Golden light turned the heavy sky into an oppressive, brass dome. A massive celestial hammer, forged from the solid light of a dying star, materialized in his hands. Massive chunks of marble cracked and tumbled into the clouds below as the weight of the weapon settled. Awry tried to open a portal, but her body wouldn't obey. Phantom chains of Tartarus tugged violently at her soul, sensing her imminent demise. She was going back to the dark. Ripping her way out all over again would be a nightmare. But as she looked up at the descending hammer, she didn't feel fear. She only felt the cold, hard determination of a speedrunner who had just spotted a minor error in her routing. Next time, she would aim two inches to the left. Next time, she would master the Window Technique before she reached the altar. A third attempt would surely make him bleed more. Golden light filled her entire vision, a blinding, merciless white. As Awry's form dissolves under a celestial hammer blow, a detached whisper echoes in the void: 'The cost is tallied, little Muse. Your next death will be... interesting.'

Chains of Magenta Dawn