It was dark. Not the kind of darkness that visits in nightmares. The darkness there had a familiar touch to it but here it was a mere lack of light and not the living terror which consumed him each night.
"Where am I this time?" he mused inwardly, trying to inject a hint of humor into the situation. His thoughts turned sarcastic as he pondered his predicament. The alternative—worrying about his circumstances—was not an option yet.
'Always trusting people…A prison…a lab…and now another prison…you only learn when it's too late.' Fear made his jibe. It was hard to keep it at bay in an unfamiliar situation.
Testing his body, Asher realized his arms were shackled by heavy iron chains that extended towards what seemed like a barricaded gate. The gate bore long claw marks, their jagged lines allowing faint light to seep through.
"I told you not to trust him…here we are bound by chains again." Regret quipped.
In an attempt to stand up his hands reached to the ground only to grab a fistful of sand. His cell was filled with sand.
'Just had to be sand…' Asher hated the grainy sensation of sand. It wouldn't warrant a reaction out of him but he needed something to focus on or else he'd think of how small this cell was. He hated tight spaces with a passion. They brought back bad memories.
He took a deep breath. Asher had trained for almost a year now. He was 13 and he had to act like it. He eventually stood up and examined his body.
There was no trace of his nightwear. He was wearing rags and a tattered cloak. A wooden mask was strapped to his face with a lock.
"Leave…LEAVE…LEAVE…ESCAPE!" Fear screamed. Asher didn't know if fear was also afraid of small spaces or if it was an extension of his own fear. The nuances of its existence escaped him at times like these.
At one point he read through some psychology books but knowing about a condition doesn't cure it…unless he wanted some experimental lobotomy or sorcery. The next best thing was…
'Hopefully they weren't thrown out…Clara would be angry.' Asher focused on something else.
He stood up and followed the length of the iron chains shackled to his arms. Just as he began to move, he stumbled and fell to the ground. He cursed and grabbed onto the thing that tripped him. It was round and rigid. He knew what it was but brought it to the light just to make sure.
'A skull…delightful.' It brought some worries, but he'd seen skulls before in Stephan's lab...and way before then. He gently placed it to the side…the dead deserved their respect after all. He resumed following the chain till he reached the gate.
Asher placed his ear against the iron gate, listening for any clues, but all he could hear were the dusty wisps of wind carrying low murmurs to his tiny cell. Claw marks dug deep into the gate, their jagged lines suggesting something strong and relentless, but he couldn't narrow down what type of beast it was.
"Charming." Ignoring the gate, he moved to the rest of the cell but there wasn't really anything to look at. Stone walls in all directions and a gaping hole in the ceiling. He was dropped from there he guessed.
With a sigh, Asher marched left and right across the small length of the cell. He knew it was probably better to conserve his energy but something about tiny spaces just made him jumpy. He felt somewhat better moving around…it sure made ignoring Fear and Regret easier.
His train of thought was cut short by the abrupt motion of his hands jerking to the right. The chains around his wrists began pulling him toward the iron gate. Asher tried to resist, but the harder he struggled, the stronger the pull became until it dragged his body through the sand and beyond the gate, which swung open just before he bashed his head against it.
As his eyes adjusted to the light, he found himself in a huge field of sand, lit by the most massive cluster of glammerstone he had ever seen. It hung from the ceiling of what he assumed was a large cave made into an arena of sorts.
The cavernous arena was ringed by high stone walls, topped with a chain-linked net to prevent escape. Bones and rusted weapons scattered across the sandy arena floor, relics of past challengers or captives. The chains around his arms unlocked on their own and swiftly disappeared beneath the sand.
Across the net, shadowy figures occupied stone bleachers and wooden chairs, their murmurs barely audible over the faint roar of the crowd. Asher felt a surge of unease at the sight of such a large gathering—crowds were another thing he dreaded.
'Always the spectacle...always failing when it mattered most.' Regret quipped.
He didn't have the time to express how he hated the sound of Regret's voice because his attention was drawn to another gate a distance away, where sickening snarls emanated. The snarls were replaced by repeated angry pounding on the gate that barely held together.
Asher would've loved to play 'guess the monster' but a man's shout echoed suddenly across the arena as some lights began together at a podium in the center of the bleachers.
"In the free plains of crime and chaos. Hhhhere in the paradise of sin, the Fangs bids you dishonorable guests the warmest of welcomes into the Ripper's Ring!" A voice called out from a moving iron podium. Gears moved it across the arena in a circular motion as glammerstone lights slowly pointed at it.
"Today is special! We start our bloody show with a newcomer…a wee short man seeking to end the blood feud, ooooor is he going to become food for the Barberian's Pets?" A tanned man with a red mohawk and leather clothes announced from a small podium amidst the bleachers, his words arousing the bored crowd into a chaotic frenzy.
"In one corner we have a shortie with a mask…A mystery in raaaags…The unfashionable underdog." He pointed at Asher but the crowd was only full of scoffs and laughter.
"On this side we haaavee….The crowd favorite…The Unnnndefeated champion…The Southerner who turns his exes into Ghoooouls…Boryx the Barbarian!" The entire ring cheered from the bleachers as the iron gate opened revealing three figures.
The first was a tall well-built man, dragging two chains behind him. His dusty caramel skin, decorated with intricate dark green tattoos, stood in stark contrast to the coarse wool blazer that revealed his muscular arms. Atop his head, he wore the skull of a beast, its twin horns curving menacingly, and around his neck hung a necklace of teeth, each one a grim trophy of past conquests that the tribes of the southern continent liked to display.
Boryx held two chains that extended behind him and another rolled around in his right hand with a sickle attached to its end. The two chains in his right were attached to disgusting monstrosities which Asher recognized...Ghouls.
From what Asher knew ghouls were made when someone extracts the seed of chaos from sentient beings deforming them into these thin skinless creatures.
Losing the seed means losing your identity. Without it, the ghouls would wander around aimlessly searching for what they lost. They'd murder and eat anything that got in their way in hopes of freeing themselves from their fate but in vain.
'What is lost…remains lost.' Asher centered himself. He hated the idea of ghouls. Stephan had bragged constantly that without his help and Malaize injections, he'd have turned into one which was a fate worse than death. He agreed on that, he'd rather die than become one.
Both ghouls were thin and deformed with no facial features as flesh grew to cover most of their humanity leaving the jaws filled with serrated teeth as well as the small slits for the nose. A mess of hair and blots of dried-up blood littered their skinless body. The exposed flesh was a mixture of pink and stark red.
The first ghoul, tall and ghastly, had very long nails that dragged behind it lazily. Its bare, skeletal breasts hung obscenely from its emaciated frame, swaying with each movement.
The second ghoul was a hulking brute, shorter but immensely broad, with bones protruding from its flesh like a grotesque second skin. Its entire body seemed to be a patchwork of exposed sinew and jagged bone.
Asher didn't pay attention to the crowd settling down nor the barbarian who scoffed as he stared at the short man in front of him. He was busy eyeing a pair of long knives…Kukris which were a few feet away at the center of the arena.
"NOOOW TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT TO SEE!" The announcer rioted the crowd who responded like a vile cacophony.
"BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!"
As the audience's fervor intensified, Boryx released his chains, casting a defiant gesture towards what seemed like a VIP section made of glass that stood above the bleachers. The Ghouls lunged towards Asher.
Taking a deep breath, Asher steeled himself.
'No better time to prove myself.'