CARNIS (English Version)

The hotel room was shrouded in an eerie silence. The night seemed to press down on the world, smothering even the distant hum of the highway outside.

Daytona slept, but her restless body refused any sense of calm. In her mind, a call echoed — not in words, but in pure sensation.

Something wanted to see her. Something… or someone.

Without realizing it, Daytona was pulled somewhere else.

When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in the room.

The sky above was a living, pulsating mass — raw flesh mixed with dark nebulae and titanic bones jutting across the horizon. The ground beneath her feet was dry and cracked, yet every so often, it breathed… as if the earth itself were alive.

"What… a disgusting place…", she muttered, wrinkling her nose and recoiling slightly.

The smell of ancient blood and rot was almost tangible.

The air was thick, heavy, demanding effort just to breathe.

A laugh reverberated around her — not only in her ears but deep within her mind.

From the shadows, Belzebub emerged.

He seemed even more immense than Daytona remembered.

The skull mask glowed under the grotesque light of that world, and his black cloak looked like it was made of the night itself, undulating as if it were alive.

"Welcome to my improvised training ground, Daytona," he said, his voice vibrating like contained thunder.

Daytona crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Training? Who said I needed that?"

Belzebub let out a deep, almost paternal laugh.

"Your pride is amusing. But… pride alone won't keep you alive."

Before she could respond, he lunged.

No warning, just a dark blur, brute force crashing forward like a tidal wave. Daytona barely had time to leap aside — and even then, the sheer pressure of the movement shoved her back like an invisible wall.

She hit the ground hard, scraping her skin on the living rock below.

Belzebub stopped a few meters away, arms crossed.

"Get up."

Daytona pushed herself up quickly, rubbing her shoulder.

"Old man… you're gonna regret this!"

Her body exploded with energy. Flesh rippled across her arms and legs, reinforcing her speed and regeneration.

Her eyes glowed red for an instant.

Belzebub tilted his head, intrigued.

"Good. Now show me. Don't think. Just attack."

Daytona charged.

Her movements were quick, fluid, predatory. She spun through the air, striking with ferocity, trying to catch Belzebub off guard.

But he dodged calmly, effortlessly.

She attacked in rapid sequences — punches, kicks, lunges — even mutating her flesh mid-strike to form crude blades.

Nothing landed properly.

With every missed strike, Daytona snarled.

"Stop dodging, you coward!"

Belzebub only laughed, slipping aside at the last moment from a blow that could have shattered a concrete wall.

"Do you think an enemy will just stand still for you, butcher?"

The taunt only fueled Daytona's rage.

She unleashed everything — tendrils, claws, stretching her limbs to widen her reach, trying it all.

At last, she managed to graze the edge of his cloak with one of her blades.

For an instant, the laughter stopped.

He glanced down at the tiny tear in the fabric.

"Finally."

And then, without warning, he countered.

The impact struck like thunder. Daytona was hurled backward, rolling for meters until she slammed against a bony structure jutting from the ground.

She coughed blood, the taste bitter in her mouth — but strangely, she smiled.

"So now you're gonna fight for real, huh?"

Belzebub strode toward her, his steps heavy and deliberate.

"Remember this, Daytona: you don't fight to impress. You fight to survive. To devour."

Those words echoed inside her, deeper than any lesson before.

Daytona rose again, more determined than ever.

Within seconds, she adjusted her approach.

She let the rage flow — but controlled its direction. She focused not on brute force, but precision.

She attacked again, but this time, with cunning.

Feints. Disguised strikes. Blows from multiple angles at once.

Belzebub smiled beneath his skull mask. She was beginning to understand.

The clash stretched on — minutes, maybe hours — in that realm where time had no meaning. Each strike sharper. Each dodge more deliberate.

Finally, when Daytona landed a double blow that forced Belzebub to actually step back — the first time he moved to avoid rather than simply dodge — he raised his hand.

"Enough."

Daytona, panting with exhaustion, dropped to her knees.

Sweat and blood mingled on her skin.

Belzebub stepped closer, and to her surprise, he gave a slight nod — a gesture of respect.

"You're better than you think, Daytona. But you're still young. What you lack isn't strength… it's purpose."

She wiped the blood from her lip and stared up at him, eyes blazing.

"Then… show me. If we're partners, you have to trust that I'll learn."

Belzebub stood before her, his shadow draping over Daytona like a living shroud.

"You're not my prisoner. Nor my soldier. You are my war partner."

The ground beneath Daytona's feet began to crack.

The living sky above them started to shatter into pieces.

Belzebub turned one last time before everything collapsed:

"Remember: devour. Or be devoured."

A burst of light swallowed her whole.

Daytona jolted awake with a gasp.

The room was still dark. The clock said only a few hours had passed.

She was breathing hard, her muscles aching as if she'd truly fought.

Instinctively, she closed her fist. She felt something new… a different awareness.

A strength inside her, tamed by her will.

She grinned.

Standing, she moved to the hotel mirror.

Her reflection showed her eyes — still human — but something deeper lurked behind them now.

Something feral. Something… free.

And she loved that feeling.

The Los Angeles dawn felt different that night.

The sky was buried under heavy clouds, the stars' light barely piercing the thick shroud of darkness.

Daytona stood on the balcony of the small hotel where she, Martin, and Huracán were staying, watching the world below. There was a restlessness in her chest. A hunger she knew well.

"Do you feel it, Daytona?" Belzebub's voice whispered in her mind, a warm breeze brushing her thoughts.

"This hunger… it's more than a desire. It's a calling."

She gripped the cold railing.

It wasn't just physical hunger — it was spiritual, as if her flesh and soul were both starving for more energy. Daytona took a deep breath, trying to ignore it. But her body was already responding on its own.

Martin and Huracán slept in their rooms.

She didn't want to worry them. Didn't want them to see how her self-control was slipping.

She pulled up her hood — the new black cloak that had become part of her identity — and slipped down the creaking stairs of the hotel silently, so light on her feet that not a single old step squeaked.

The city felt like a corpse, stagnant under the suffocating night.

Daytona walked the dark sidewalks, eyes sharp.

The streets were empty. Only the hum of the streetlights broke the silence. The smell of gasoline and scorched asphalt clung to the air, mixed with something subtler… something rotten.

Her stomach growled.

Belzebub chuckled low in her mind.

"You're hunting now, little one… And you're no longer human enough to be satisfied with scraps."

Daytona didn't answer. She knew. And in a way, she accepted it.

She turned into a narrow alley between two old buildings. The smell there was stronger, almost unbearable.

Then she saw it.

A creature, twisted and stumbling, emerged from the darkness. Its eyes, once human, were now just hollow pits. Flesh hung from its bones like rotting rags.

Daytona smiled.

Exactly what she needed.

She advanced with a predator's precision.

The creature, even in its corruption, felt the power radiating from her — and tried to flee.

But something strange happened.

As Daytona closed in, the creature ran toward a brick wall… and a portal tore open before it, ripping reality apart like paper.

On the other side, Daytona glimpsed a world both horrifying and beautiful.

Towers of twisted flesh, rivers of blood, and endless plains where deformed beings crawled under burning skies.

Setealem.

Home of the Demons. The true Hell.

Her heart pounded.

She could feel the place's power calling to her, like her blood recognized that cursed dimension.

"Careful, Daytona…", Belzebub murmured. "You're not ready yet."

The corrupted creature crossed the portal and vanished.

Daytona hesitated.

Every cell in her body screamed for her to follow. To explore.

The temptation was unbearable.

Before she could decide, the portal began to close.

On impulse, Daytona leaped — slipping through the rift at the final split second.

And fell.

The impact wasn't physical, but mental.

Gravity pulled her in every direction, tearing her apart and stitching her back together at once.

Finally, she landed on her knees on a surface soft and warm — like living flesh.

She rose slowly, looking around.

The Ring of Lust.

One of the seven Rings of Setealem.

The air was thick and sweet with cloying perfumes. The landscape was made of sensual, deformed, grotesque forms — a distorted paradise of carnal desires taken to the extreme.

Daytona felt a crushing pressure on her shoulders, as if the place itself was trying to subdue her.

"Be strong…" Belzebub spoke in her mind. "Here, even your thoughts can turn against you."

Then she saw it.

Atop a trembling hill of living flesh, a majestic being watched her.

Asmodeus.

The Demon of Lust.

He was unnaturally beautiful — perfect features, a sculpted body, but eyes that burned with an inhuman crimson light.

His wings were made of pulsing black veins, his long fingers ending in razor-sharp claws.

A chill ran down Daytona's spine.

Asmodeus smiled, like a predator recognizing its prey.

"A human in Setealem? No… something more…"

His voice echoed through the air.

"Interesting."

Without warning, he struck.

The ground split beneath his feet.

Daytona braced herself, power flaring instinctively.

For the first time, her body shifted:

Cells violently stirred, and in seconds, Daytona unleashed her form…

F1 Form.

Claws burst from her hands. Her eyes glowed pure red.

Her muscles expanded, her speed surging to hypersonic levels.

She roared — a feral scream that made the very space tremble — and lunged at Asmodeus.

The clash was brutal.

Daytona unleashed devastating strikes, each blow strong enough to demolish buildings.

But Asmodeus dodged with an elegant ease, as if she were just a breeze.

In a blink, he slipped past her guard and struck her abdomen.

Pain exploded inside her.

She was hurled backward like a cannonball, crashing through a living wall.

"You're promising…" Asmodeus murmured, strolling toward her. "But still so… immature."

Daytona tried to stand, but her muscles refused to obey.

Belzebub, even in her mind, seemed uneasy.

"Don't despair. This is only the beginning."

Asmodeus raised his hand for a final blow.

But before he could strike her down, the space around Daytona tore apart again — and she was ripped out of Setealem, expelled like an intruder.

The last thing she saw was Asmodeus's intrigued smile fading into the distance.

Daytona woke up sprawled on the cold pavement of Los Angeles, covered in blood and grime.

The sky was still overcast, but time had passed.

She coughed, tasting iron in her mouth, and struggled to stand.

Her body was battered, but alive.

And within her, a new flame burned.

She had touched Setealem.

She had faced one of the Kings.

And she had survived.

For now.