Time had lost all meaning in the white, sterile purgatory. The Architect’s voice, the hum of the lights, and the ceaseless, grinding pain in the arches of my feet were the only constants. My body, a vessel once brimming with divine power, was now just a canvas for his art of cruelty. It remained strong, a testament to its Amazonian design, but it was a strength that only prolonged the suffering. My skin, though still resilient, was a tapestry of faded yellow and purple bruises from lessons I could no longer distinguish. My muscles, starved of the gods’ fire, were perpetually sore, the lean, powerful lines softened by exhaustion and malnutrition.

Hope was a distant memory, a concept from another life. The betrayal of the world had hollowed me out, leaving nothing but a fragile shell of the woman I once was.

The door to my chamber hissed open. The Architect entered, his tailored suit immaculate, his presence a fresh wave of despair. The clamps on my feet tightened viciously, sending a jolt of agony through my system, a cruel demand for my attention. I didn’t even have the energy to gasp anymore, only to tremble.

“Good morning, specimen,” he said, consulting a tablet. “Excellent ratings from the last compliance session. The market for your suffering, it seems, is insatiable. Which brings us to the next phase of our enterprise.”

He gestured to a large wall panel that I hadn’t noticed before. It slid away, revealing a heavily reinforced gate.

“I have proven my thesis on the baseness of the common man,” he continued, his voice dripping with condescending pride. “Now, I cater to a more discerning clientele. Your former adversaries, the criminal underworld… they are willing to pay astronomical sums for a unique opportunity. The chance to fight, and defeat, a legend.”

My blood ran cold. He wasn’t just my tormentor anymore. He was my purveyor.

“Of course,” he added with a thin smile, “we must ensure a fair contest.” He tapped his tablet, and I felt the nanites in my system surge, a wave of profound weakness washing over me, bringing me to my knees. “Your power levels will be… adjusted accordingly. It wouldn’t do to have the clients feel cheated.”

The gate ground open. A hulking figure stepped through, and my heart, what was left of it, sank. It was Blockbuster. His brutish face was split by a sadistic grin, his massive, grotesquely muscled frame radiating malice. In my prime, he was a challenge, but a manageable one. In this state, he was a death sentence.

As if on cue, small, silent drones detached from the ceiling, their red recording lights blinking. The live stream. The world was watching again.

Blockbuster charged. I tried to move, to call upon the muscle memory of a thousand battles. My body responded sluggishly, my limbs feeling like lead. His first blow, a massive club-like fist, caught me in the ribs. The impact was sickening. I felt more than heard the crack of bone. The pain was sharp, blinding, stealing the air from my lungs. My body, which had once withstood the force of explosions, now broke under the fist of a common thug.

I crumpled to the floor, coughing, tasting blood. He kicked me in the stomach, rolling me over. The cameras zoomed in.

Let it end, a voice whispered in my mind. My own voice. Please, just let it be over.

He hauled me to my feet by my hair, my scalp screaming in protest. His fist smashed into my face. My head snapped back, and the world exploded in a flash of white light. I could feel the skin split over my cheekbone, the warm blood running down my face, mingling with tears I no longer tried to hold back. My body was a symphony of agony. The sharp, piercing pain of my broken ribs, the dull, throbbing torment in my feet, the fiery sting on my face, the deep, aching exhaustion in every muscle.

He hit me again. And again. I stopped trying to fight back. What was the point? Every defensive move only prolonged the beating. Every ounce of resistance only delayed the inevitable. Oblivion. That’s all I wanted. The sweet, silent darkness of the end. A final rest. The Elysian Fields felt so close, a peaceful shore after a lifetime of storms.

My inner monologue was no longer a warrior’s analysis. It was a prayer to Thanatos. Hephaestus forged my bracelets to deflect blows. Now I welcome them. Hermes gave me speed to evade my foes. Now I stand and wait for them. Athena gave me wisdom. And my only wisdom now is that this must end.

Blockbuster landed a final, devastating blow to my chest. I flew backwards, my magnificent, broken body hitting the far wall before slumping to the ground in a heap. The world began to fade to black around the edges. The jeering face of my opponent, the cold eyes of the Architect, the silent red lights of the drones… they all began to blur.

Yes, I thought, as the darkness rushed in to claim me. Finally. Peace.

Through the haze, I saw the Architect approach my prone form, checking his tablet. “Excellent,” he murmured, likely at the new flood of cryptocurrency to his accounts. “The audience appreciates verisimilitude.”

I lay in a pool of my own blood and shame, every nerve screaming, my body shattered. But for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a flicker of something other than despair touched me. It was the hope, not for rescue, not for victory, but for the sweet, final mercy of death. My breathing was shallow, my vision almost gone. My last conscious thought was a plea.

Let this be the end. Please… let me die.