The bright sun blinded him as he groaned, struggling to sit up. A throbbing pain pulsed through his head. As his vision adjusted, he took in the unfamiliar landscape—an island? His tiny sailboat lay beached nearby, utterly wrecked.
“Well, shit,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling toward the boat. One look confirmed what he already suspected—it was beyond repair. He sighed.
“Looks like I’m stuck here.”
Resigning himself to the situation, he sat down, crossing his legs as he tried to think. But exhaustion was relentless.
“Maybe I’ll figure something out after a nap,” he murmured. Sleep came swiftly.
Even in unconsciousness, something felt off.
A strange sensation, like being dragged through the sand, tickled the edges of his awareness. When he finally woke the next morning, he stretched and yawned.
“Wow, I slept all night… wait, what?”
His eyes snapped open.
He wasn’t on the beach anymore. Instead, thick wooden bars surrounded him. A cage.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, rising to inspect his prison. Kicking the bars proved useless. He took a deep breath but immediately noticed something was off.
“Why is it so hard to breathe…Am I hurt?”
His hands ran over his body, searching for injuries, but found none.
Good. But where the hell was he?
A sudden creaking noise made him turn his head. A drawbridge lowered from a nearby tree, and two figures stepped out.
Monkeys.
Not just any monkeys—these ones wore clothes. They were massive, towering at least 7’2”, easily dwarfing his own 6’5” frame. Their presence radiated intelligence and purpose as they approached his cage.
He raised his hands in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner.
“Uh… thanks for freeing me?”
The monkeys exchanged glances before bursting into laughter. Then, without warning, one of them—a large male—swung a punch.
Instinct kicked in, and Harlow barely dodged.
The monkey dropped to all fours, assuming a stance reminiscent of a sumo wrestler.
“Look, we don’t need to—”
A fist connected with his face before he could finish the sentence. He hit the ground hard, blood dripping from his mouth.
“You’re strong… but not stronger than me,” he muttered, forcing himself to his feet.
The monkey charged again. This time, Harlow was ready. He managed to block the attack, his confidence rising for a brief moment.
“You know, you’re not so—”
Another punch sent him flying.
Groaning, he struggled to stand.
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“Okay! You win!” He raised his hands in surrender.
But the monkey didn’t stop.
The blows rained down, over and over, until the world around him faded to black.
The Colosseum of the Monkeys
Days blurred into weeks.
The beatings never stopped. Every day, new challengers emerged—massive monkeys, each stronger than the last. At first, Harlow’s body couldn’t withstand the relentless punishment. His muscles ached, his bones felt like they would shatter, and his skin was constantly bruised. But something inside him refused to break.
With every blow, he adapted. His reflexes sharpened, his endurance grew, and his pain tolerance skyrocketed. He studied their movements—the way they shifted their weight, the way they attacked. He copied them, learned from them, and soon, he fought back.
“Come on, you damn monkeys! Bring it on!” he roared one day, standing tall despite his battered body. A month had passed, and he had already taken down ten of them. His confidence soared. He was no longer just surviving—he was winning.
But his victories did not go unnoticed.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the monkeys came for him. This time, there were no fights. No training. No beatings. They dragged him from his cage and led him through the dense jungle, deeper than he had ever gone before.
Then he saw it.
A massive colosseum, carved from stone and wood, hidden in the heart of the island. Its towering walls cast long shadows in the moonlight, and the distant sound of cheers echoed within. Harlow felt a chill run down his spine.
One of the monkeys, larger than the rest, stepped forward and grunted in broken human language.
“You fight. You use monkey weapons.”
Before Harlow could respond, they threw him into a dark, cold cell beneath the arena. The door slammed shut behind him. He was alone.
Hours passed. Maybe ten. Maybe more. Then, without warning, the cell door creaked open. A monkey stepped in, carrying a bundle of weapons. Swords, axes, clubs—all crudely made, yet deadly.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with these?” Harlow muttered, staring at the pile.
The monkey didn’t answer. Instead, it calmly drew a katana from its back and pointed it at him.
“Human. Sit.”
Harlow hesitated but obeyed. He could feel the weight of something bigger happening—something he didn’t yet understand.
Then, the world around him faded.
A void.
Utter nothingness.
“One… two… three…”
A distant voice counted, its tone cold and precise.
“Four… five… six…” The voice grew sharper. Faster.
“Seven, eight, nine, ten—run!”
Harlow tried to move. He couldn’t. His body was frozen in place.
Then, silence.
A warmth wrapped around him, not comforting, but overwhelming. It seeped into his very bones, paralyzing him with its sheer presence.
And then… it all fell apart.
Visions flooded his mind—memories of deaths that weren’t his. He saw himself crushed beneath mountains, torn to pieces by tectonic plates, drowned beneath endless waves, devoured by unseen creatures, burned alive in the core of the planet. Over and over.
He died. Again. Again. Again.
Trillions of deaths. Trillions of lifetimes lost in an instant.
But why was death so… peaceful? So quiet? So beautiful?
He could feel himself slipping. Accepting it.
Then, the voice returned.
“Hey, loser. You still with me? Ugh, kid, wake up already.”
It was deep, rough—almost irritated.
“Yo, vessel, are you still in there?”
Harlow gasped, snapping back to awareness. He was still standing, still in the void. His body trembled as he collapsed to his knees, vomiting.
He coughed, wiped his mouth, and fell onto his back, staring at the endless darkness above.
“This is one messed-up dream,” he muttered.
The voice chuckled. A cold, amused sound.
“Vessel for my power. So tell me… why do you live? Because I could take your life right now if I wanted to…”
Harlow laughed, a deep, raw sound.
“You know, I never really thought about that.” He sat up, grinning despite the weight in his chest. “I guess… I live because I refuse to die, dumbass.” His voice was steady, filled with certainty. “Death itself will have to fight for my soul. So if you want to throw punches, I’m willing to—just give me a minute, okay?”
The voice burst into laughter.
“Fight for your soul? Hahaha! You’re hilarious. Vessel! Your soul, really? Listen up, idiot. This is your soul, dumbass.”
Light flooded the void.
And then, the voice took shape.
A small, floating girl hovered before him, still laughing.
“Dumb vessel. I am your soul. Babooshka.”
Harlow blinked. “You’re… a girl?”
She glared at him. “What? You think just because you’re a boy, you’re better?”
He shook his head. “No, I just didn’t expect the voice that made me experience trillions of deaths to be a tiny girl.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look at me. Still holding on to the dead…”
She crossed her arms. “One, I’m not tiny—I’m petite. Two, what are you muttering on about, dumbass? Three, what do you mean ‘deaths’? Death isn’t my power. I control the subject of Pride, not death.”
Harlow frowned. “Subject? Pride?”
Babooshka’s eyes widened. “Shit… I said too much.” She waved her hand, and dizziness overtook him.
“Vessel, remember… You truly are a warrior.”
His vision darkened.
“Leaving me already, huh?” he mumbled, his body growing heavy. He turned his head toward her, a lazy grin spreading across his face.
“I’m all yours, Babooshka.”
And then, everything faded.
Back in his soul, Babooshka flopped onto the floor, pouting.
“Stupid, stupid vessel! He was supposed to wait for me to say ‘ja ja’…”