The moment Zeke stepped through the gate, he was blinded by the bright sun above. He blinked, clearing his vision with every passing second. When he could finally see, he was more than a little surprised to find himself looking at an idyllic landscape. Rolling hills of green grass stretched as far as he could see, and a bright sun shone amidst blue skies high above.

  A gentle breeze tickled his naked skin, and he couldn’t help but bask in the warm air. He hadn’t really noticed it in the last Circle, but it had been bitingly cold. So, the mild temperature was a welcome change. He took a deep breath, reveling in a smell that reminded him of freshly cut grass.

  He sank to his knees and let his shoulders sag as he bunched his fingers in the turf. Even the journey from one circle to the next had been insufficient to truly undo the damage done in the Circle of Heresy. Sure, he’d recovered enough to move on, but the warm sun, gentle breeze, and green grass did what no amount of time could. It wasn’t healing, per se, but it wasn’t far off that mark, either.

  Zeke knelt there for longer than he cared to track. Hours, at the very least. He might’ve even stayed in place for days. The sun didn’t move, though, so it was difficult to track the passage of time. He may have wept. He might not have. Zeke didn’t have the mental energy to care one way or the other. Instead, he just enjoyed the time for what it was.

  Because he knew it wouldn’t last.

  Despite the idyllic landscape, he was still in Hell. And it would only be so long before the entire illusion was shattered and was once again thrust into another hellish scenario of torment and torture. So, he resolved to enjoy it while he could.

  Still, he flinched when he heard the first drumbeat. He recovered after only a moment, but the next still sent a shiver up his spine. By the time the next sounded, Zeke had steeled himself against what was coming. He didn’t know what shape it would take, but every experience he’d endured in Hell told him what to expect.

  Pain and suffering were in his near future.

  Before the fifth drumbeat echoed across the rolling hills, Zeke had pushed himself to his feet. He rolled his shoulders, then cracked his neck. Divine energy trickled through his body, empowering him.

  It didn’t seem that long ago that such a trickle would have felt like a flood, and it would have disintegrated his whole body. Now, it merely strengthened him.

  Then again, he’d endured centuries of torment. Perhaps his perception of time was wrong. Or maybe it moved differently in Hell than it did in the real world. But he’d felt every passing day, and he’d used that to inoculate himself against that caustic but incredibly powerful energy. Now, it seemed that his efforts were beginning to bear fruit, and he felt the strength suffusing him as the drumbeats continued to echo across the plains.

  Then, Zeke saw the first warrior arrive.

  The first crested a hill, then pulled to a stop. Armed with a spear and shield, he was naked and covered in swirling patterns painted with blue woad. He was soon joined by another warrior, this one carrying a war hammer. Another came after that. Soon enough, there were thousands of warriors arrayed across the hill.

  The drum continued to beat, though.

  Only a moment later, another figure appeared hundreds of yards away on the other side of the plain. This one looked strikingly similar to the first arrival from the other group, though instead of blue woad, his symbols were painted with what looked like charcoal. Like the other side, it wasn’t long before this set rivaled the first.

  And then, from the horizon marched another group. These were painted with red, though they otherwise looked no different from the others.

  The drumbeat continued, growing faster with every passing moment. Then, just as it reached a crescendo, the trio of groups let out a collective roar and charged at one another. The stampede of bare feet on grass shook the landscape as they raced toward one another.

  That’s when Zeke realized that he was right at the nexus of their respective paths.

  It seemed that his brief respite was over. After the surrender of the previous circle, he was back to something that felt far more comfortable – fight or die. He braced, ready to leverage his immense strength.

  Then, finally, they arrived.

  At first, the warriors ignored him as they clashed with one another. Blood sprayed in every direction as blades bit into flesh. Grunting men hammered one another with foots and fists, stabbed each other with swords and spears, and hacked one another apart with axes.

  It wasn’t until after that first clash that they noticed Zeke in their midst. And it was as if the fact that he was an outsider sent them into a collective frenzy. Seeing him, they simply couldn’t abide his presence any longer.

  Fortunately, Zeke was ready when they all attacked.

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  He ducked under one sword, grabbed another attacker’s wrist, and whipped his hips to throw the man at the others. A deft dive let him avoid another attack, and he rolled to his feet next to a dying warrior with a spear in his chest. Zeke ripped the weapon free, then set his feet.

  It wasn’t his preferred weapon, but his battle experience meant he’d become at least passingly familiar with most weapons. He set his feet and prepared to meet the charge. If his obvious skill intimidated his opponents, they didn’t show it. Instead, they rushed him without a hint of fear in their eyes, which was more than a little disconcerting.

  Zeke had fought a lot of men in his time, and none of them were completely without fear. But the battle-crazed expressions on the warriors’ faces were enough to turn even his stomach.

  He met the first man with a spear thrust that stopped him in his tacks. Even as the blade tore through the bottom of his chin and erupted from the back of his skull, Zeke was spinning to meet another attacker. He yanked the weapon free, though he wasn’t quite quick enough to avoid taking a scraping cut across his naked ribs.

  Pain burned its way down his side, igniting his fury. He tried to use [Hand of Divinity], but it was useless. Something was blocking it.

  That was no problem. The more he fought, the less he cared about his own safety. Instead, he was wholly focused on his opponents. Or rather, dominating them and taking his rightful place as their unquestioned superior.

  Even as that thought crossed his mind, another blade raked across his hip, and his anger flared to compensate for the pain. He impaled the perpetrator on his spear, but the weapon shattered when he tried to twist it free. So, after ramming the splintered haft into another warrior’s eye, he wrested a mighty battleaxe from another fighter. Once he had the two-handed weapon in hand, Zeke became a whirlwind of blood and blade, hacking through enemies like a farmer scythed through wheat.

  But he was not the only superior fighter.

  Far from it.

  There were dozens of men who could rival his fury, and soon enough, the chaff had been discarded in their favor. That’s when they all faced off against one another. Ten men from each side, and then Zeke, bloody and with the axe still in hand.

  They rushed one another, leaping over the bodies of their fallen brethren. The first few fell quickly, dying to multiple wounds while the others focused on the remaining warriors. Zeke was one of them, and he laid about with his axe, cleaving people in two with single swings.

  Yet, he didn’t do so without consequence. He took wounds, largely because his fighting style had always depended on the ability to heal. He’d never needed to avoid minor attacks.

  That, in the end, was his downfall.

  He slowed incrementally with every injury until, at last, he took a sword to the neck. That wasn’t enough to kill him, but it did further slow him. And that decrease in ability spelled his doom.

  He fell to one of the leaders. The man looked at least as wounded as Zeke, but he still managed to bury his sword in Zeke’s chest, destroying his heart. Zeke clawed at the weapon, but his fingers had gone too numb to articulate. He fell to his knees without understanding what had happened.

  And then, someone ended his suffering with a swift axe stroke that severed his head. It rolled free, and for a moment, he maintained consciousness. Just before everything went black, he saw that only two fighters remained, and they were both gravely injured.

  He never saw who won, because he went out a second later, dying right there on the battlefield.

  Then, he awoke with a gasp.

  “Easy, brother!” came a shout. “You are no longer in danger!”

  Zeke looked around, wide-eyed and with wild thoughts rushing through his mind. His hand immediately found his neck, then his chest. He was intact. No longer naked, thankfully, and without a single wound.

  “W-what…”

  “You have reached Valhalla, warrior!” a man bellowed. Zeke glanced in that direction, only to see a warrior hefting a mug made of horn. It was filled with frothing beer that spilled onto the ground. “Rejoice, for today we go to war!”

  “Just like every day!” came a collective cheer.

  “What the hell?” Zeke muttered, looking around. They were inside what looked like a Viking longhouse, though the men were all of varying ethnicities. Food of every sort decorated the table, and the beer seemed to flow freely. Everyone there was wearing similar clothing to what clad Zeke’s body, meaning rough-spun loose shirts and simple trousers. No one wore any shoes.

  “They call it Hell,” the warrior said, nudging him with his elbow. “But for those of who are born for battle, it is more like heaven.”

  Then, he launched into an abbreviated explanation of what was going on. The basics boiled down to the fact that they would do battle each day, and when they inevitably fell, they would be reborn only to do it again.

  “So, it’s a life of endless battle?” Zeke asked.

  “Yes, brother! Heaven indeed!”

  Zeke definitely didn’t agree. As a battle-hardened warrior, he could appreciate the thrill of battle as much as the next man. However, he’d always fought with a purpose in mind. He needed a goal. So, the idea of endless battle definitely wasn’t appealing to him.

  However, he didn’t have a chance to think much of it before the infernal drums began, and all the man rushed outside. Before Zeke knew what was going on, they’d stripped down and an old crone had approached. She looked like she was on the verge of collapse, but her hands were steady as she painted each man with fanciful whorls.

  Zeke wanted to refuse, but he found himself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with all the rest and incapable of resisting when she painted his body.

  Apparently, he was on the blue team this time.

  Soon enough, he’d been handed a large axe, and he and the others were on their way marching across the landscape. The tension in every warrior was palpable, and the barely-restrained violence practically crackled the air. For his part, Zeke felt his own lust for battle rising with every step until, at last, they reached the rise and faced off against their enemies.

  That’s when Zeke lost control of himself.

  Or rather, the part of him that questioned what was happening retreated far into the back of his mind. Meanwhile, the warrior in him dominated his thoughts as the drum continued to beat.

  Faster and faster.

  Zeke tightened his grip on his axe.

  And then, with a collective roar, he and his brothers rushed down hill, ready to kill the enemy.

  Even as they clashed, Zeke felt a surge of exhilaration that infused his entire body with absolute elation. That only increased when he beheaded his first opponent. He rushed into battle, hacking and slashing his enemies with a roar on his lips. And eventually, he found himself once again among the elites, facing off against one another in what he hoped would be a great fight.

  They rushed, ready to kill one another.

  And never once did Zeke question why he was fighting.