"My knees hurt..." One of the youngest and most petite prisoners, after Ikaris, began to sob uncontrollably again that afternoon, her cries echoing through the air for what seemed like the umpteenth time.
Back on Earth, her innocent, childlike face, eyes swollen and reddened from too much crying, and her slender waist would have likely attracted many glances. Her nakedness would have only drawn more attention. But here, in this otherworldly realm, she was met with nothing but utter indifference.
The day had stretched unbearably long for them. Forced to kneel in the mud under the relentless sun, deprived of food and water, it was a severe test of endurance for even the strongest of characters. Not to mention the ordeal of having donated a pint of blood each to fill a cursed bowl, voluntarily or otherwise.
As if to mock their plight, a large bowl brimming with their blood was left conspicuously a few meters in front of them. Under the sun's glare, it had begun to coagulate, emitting a rancid, metallic odor that filled their nostrils.
'I don't understand their intention.' This sentiment was visibly etched on each prisoner's face.
As the young woman, barely of age, broke down weeping yet again, Thomas and Anton, two of the more robust men, cast her annoyed glances. This wasn't her first time dissolving into tears.
"Will you please shut up?!" Thomas snapped at her, his expression contorted with exasperation.
His newfound resilience, thanks to the special attention from the young beauty leading these aboriginals, had restored his spirit. Despite his significant blood loss, he emanated a certain calmness.
Thomas, a muscular 28-year-old former truck driver and bodybuilding enthusiast, had observed the malnourished state of these villagers. He was confident that a leader with any sense would recognize his value and accord him proper treatment.
Standing nearly 2 meters tall, his imposing physique, the result of steroid therapy, surely dwarfed these primitive, famished barbarians. He believed they would be struck with awe and admiration at his sight.
A grotesque smile, laced with desire, slowly spread across his unshaven face as he entertained the thought of seducing the young leader, or at the very least, having an encounter with her. His hopeful disillusionment blinded him to the grim reality of their treatment so far.
Thomas wasn't alone in his optimism. Anton and four other physically fit men, though thirsty and uncomfortable, held onto hope that their situation would improve after this 'hazing' period.
The three elder men, tall and still vigorous, had not been selected for blood donation. They were mature and level-headed, not expecting much, yet they too harbored a flicker of hope that their lives wouldn't end in such a futile manner.
The two female prisoners, including the one who had alternated between complaints and sobs, were understandably less hopeful. While somewhat confident in their chances of survival, the fear of what awaited them was palpable. The lascivious gazes from some of the aboriginals sent chills down their spines.
With a soft, almost inaudible exhale, Ikaris let out a resigned sigh.
What a wretched day... He thought to himself.
The frail boy, arguably the most beleaguered of them all, had not once betrayed any distress on the surface, maintaining an unwavering stoic demeanor since his abrupt arrival in this surreal world. His sharp eyes swept over his surroundings, absorbing every minute detail of the village as if etching them into his memory.
He could almost read the minds of his fellow captives. Though not a man of many words, Ikaris possessed an uncanny ability to interpret body language. This trait, a curse and a blessing since his youth, was something he now chose to conceal.
These two women are more astute than Thomas and the rest, Ikaris observed quietly. They understand the grim fate that awaits us. For us men, a mere glance at the villagers reveals the miserable existence that lies ahead.
Thomas, Anton, and some of the other prisoners had hastily assumed the villagers' gaunt appearance was due to malnutrition. But Ikaris pondered a more sinister possibility: what if regular blood donations were also a factor? The thought was unsettling, but he dared not dismiss it.
As the others vacillated between hope and despair, Ikaris's mind was consumed by something else.
That Spark.
When I close my eyes, I see it. When I open them, it's still there. It draws my attention irresistibly, like a magnet.
Initially, it was mere curiosity, but as Ikaris fixated on the Spark, hours passed unnoticed, him lost in a trance, seeking relief from the unbearable pain of his untreated wounds.
The outburst from the tearful prisoner jolted him back to reality, just as the orange sun began to set, signaling the end of the day.
That was when his body betrayed him. Overcome with an inexplicable weakness and an intense hunger, as if he hadn't eaten for days, his vision blurred and then darkened. Gasping for air, he awoke, startled to find himself still alive.
Panic gripped him as he realized his incapacity to move if needed. However, noticing the near absence of pain in his wounds brought him a fleeting sense of relief.
Recalling a similar experience prior to his capture, a realization dawned on him. Taking a deep breath, he silently reminded himself,
That Spark, I must be cautious with it. A brief glance may be safe, but lingering too long could have unpredictable consequences.
Determined not to lose consciousness again, he forced himself to pay close attention to his surroundings, as he had been doing since his arrival. Slowly, the overwhelming weakness subsided, replaced by a persistent headache.
Hmm? Are the villagers returning to their tents?
Ikaris wasn't the only one to notice the change. After the day's ritual, the old shaman and the striking leader had retired to their hut, leaving the rest of the villagers to their business, completely ignoring the captives except for the few warriors assigned to guard them. Tuari, one of the barbarians who had captured Ikaris, was among these guards.
Now that communication was possible, several prisoners attempted to engage the guards in conversation, but they remained as cold and silent as ever, observing them with the same detachment a farmer shows his livestock.
Yet, as the sun yielded to the moon – or rather, the twin moons – the guards callously abandoned their posts, retreating to their squalid tents like the rest. This in itself was surprising, but what was even more surreal was that they had actually removed the prisoners' bonds.
"Stay here or leave. The choice is yours," declared the barbarian Tuari ominously before he too retreated to his own tent.
What the hell is going on here? Ikaris narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he watched this peculiar scene unfold.
Once the village square became deserted and silent, one of the men cautiously glanced around, then, without any warning, sprinted towards the jungle bordering the village. Shortly after, two of the older men and the other woman hurried off in his wake.
Against all odds, the other prisoners remained stationary, including the woman who had done nothing but sob and complain until now. She sensed something amiss with this whole situation. Why bother tying them up all day only to untie them later? It seemed too illogical, even for a mere initiation test.
Then night fell.
Huff... Huff... Huff...
Ikaris and the remaining prisoners were plunged into darkness, hearing only the breaths of their neighbors and the frantic beating of their own hearts. Silence reigned from the direction of the tents.
The two silver moons hung as mere thin crescents in the sky, offering scant illumination. The prisoners could barely discern the shapes of their fellow captives, let alone the distant tents and thatched cottage.
"I-I'm scared!" whispered the only remaining female prisoner, her voice quivering.
"Give me your hand," Thomas offered gallantly, extending an arm like a true gentleman.
The young woman hesitated, recalling his imposing, gorilla-like build, but her fear eventually overrode her reluctance.
"How about we chat to pass the time?" suggested Thomas, chuckling lightly to ease the tension. "What did you do before ending up here?"
Anton was the first to respond.
"I'm a police officer in New York. I was directing traffic when some kind of... lightning struck me?"
"Me too!" exclaimed the young woman. "I was in my college restroom during a break when suddenly everything went dark. Next thing I knew, I was here. Oh, and I'm from Stockholm, by the way."
This explained her fair complexion and blonde hair.
Joining in, others shared their origins and what they were doing before their abrupt arrival in this world.
"I'm from Canberra. Was just smoking a cigarette outside," the last elderly man said succinctly, seeming to hold back more.
Ultimately, it was Thomas who dared articulate what the older man hesitated to admit:
"I was attacked by something. I was completing a delivery in Budapest when a burst of multicolored light blinded me. When I reopened my eyes, my truck had crashed into a tree. Trying to get out for help, I heard screams outside. Then I saw... something indescribably terrifying. It saw me and began crawling towards me. In a panic, I shut my eyes, and when I opened them again, I was in this damn jungle..."
A stunned silence enveloped the group.
Meanwhile, Ikaris, attentively listening to their conversation, struggled to find a weapon for defense. The monster story had unnerved him, but it was not their most pressing issue.
Somehow, he had made his way to the altar and, without any reverence for the sacred site, picked up one of the stones from the pile. As he was about to examine the wooden stele, the weeping woman suddenly asked a chilling question.
"Uh, Thomas, are you crying?"
"No, why?" responded Thomas, his tone tinged with annoyance.
"Then what's this warm liquid dripping down my shoulder?"
Silence.
At that exact moment, Ikaris accidentally kicked the bowl beneath the altar, but felt no splash of blood. Quickly, he dipped his finger into the bowl, only to find it empty.
The bowl is empty!
"AAAAAARRRGGH!" The horrified scream of the elderly Australian man followed, cut short by the sound of a neck snapping, then the flow of a liquid.
ROOOARRR!
"Holy shit!"
Footsteps scattered in all directions, proving that the newfound camaraderie among the prisoners was worthless in the face of death. Thomas released the student's hand without remorse.
"Thomas! Where are you?" she sobbed into the dark, her voice trembling.
No one responded.
"Please... don't leave me alone..."
She was left alone.
"AARRRGH! What the hell is that thing! It ate my arm!" Thomas' anguished cry echoed from the edge of the jungle.
The young woman froze, petrified with fear. She wouldn't have spoken even if paid.
Ikaris, from his hiding spot under the altar, had heard everything. Crouching, stone in hand, he was ready to strike anything or anyone who dared approach.
If only I could see better...
As the thought crossed his mind, his gaze inadvertently drifted to the Spark. Remembering the consequences from before, he bit his tongue hard, resisting the urge.
CLANG!
ROOOOARR!
In the darkness, sparks flew, followed by the clash of blades and claws. A muffled groan, the collapse of a tent, and then silence resumed.
Suddenly, Ikaris sensed movement towards him. The footsteps were soft but discernible. Slowly raising the stone, he prepared to crush his unseen assailant, potentially his final act.
As he braced to strike with all the force his exhausted body could muster, his wrist was seized by a cold, smooth hand, and two familiar orange eyes briefly glowed in the darkness before dimming to red.
The female figure with glowing eyes approached him slowly until he recognized her identity.
"Malia."
A red flame suddenly illuminated the altar and its surroundings, revealing a grisly scene.
All the prisoners who had knelt with him that day were dead, their bodies dismembered, never whole. Pools of blue blood surrounded them, but the creature's body was nowhere to be seen.
Malia, covered in blood, effortlessly carried the unconscious weeping woman, who had fainted from terror. With surprise in her eyes, the beautiful aborigine spoke in a weary voice,
"Well done for surviving. You are one of us now."