The Seventy-Third. Hellborn, #1

In the Abyss, a man has no name. Only an inventory number and a brand seared into the skin. My warlock father deemed me a "defective unit" and sold me to the legion of demons for three lousy crossbows. My destiny was to rot in the camp mud, a hell where demon veterans show no mercy. You are either useful or you are meat. They stripped me of everything. Now, I am just a number - the Seventy-Third. To avoid the butcher's knife, I had to sink my teeth into the brutal military rules and prove that my mind cuts sharper than the overseers' axes.
Anyone can replace me; no one is indispensable here. But there are things that cannot be traded for crossbows. Things like cold, concentrated malice and the grit to survive where career soldiers drown in blood. As long as my calculations hold, I live. The rules of the game here change too fast and the price of a single misstep is the chopping block. Let's see who slips up first.