He awoke in the dead of morning, a ghastly charcoal grey sky hanging overhead. The light of his oil lamp had dimmed, barely a glow cast onto the craggy rock surface underneath him.
A man with stark-black hair and wispy grey-blue eyes sat up, his back and side aching fiercely. He had thick burn scarring on the left of his face, stretching from underneath his eyelid to his left wrist, and a serrated scar that curled up from the right corner of his lips to his right earlobe.
He was a worn, patchwork man. His skin was coated in dirt and decay, and black circles underneath his eyelids were a permanent feature of his.
"Castrelle, do you think we might escape today?" A voice, spoken in a hushed whisper, called out from behind him.
The man, Castrelle, smiled pitifully. "The objective that locks that dream away is killing that Demon. You've seen the mark on him. It's a bit faded, yes, but it's clear. It's a Lower Demon. If a single Reaper team struggles to kill a Dweller, imagine how they would fare against a Lower… if only Looking Glass were here. We can definitely kill the Demon if we have his help."
"You speak of your team leader often, but to date he hasn't made a single attempt to rescue you. It's been two months. I doubt he will come at all…"
"No, Looking Glass will come. It's not a matter of if, but when. If it's taking this long for him to appear, it is only the case that his planning is that meticulous this time around. He will not allow for any oversight. That is just how he operates."
The man behind Castrelle leaned forward, appearing weary underneath the dim lamplight. It was a haggard middle-aged man. "And what if he fails? Do you imagine that the mighty Looking Glass would hesitate to sacrifice you? Will Castrelle Moreau be left to die alone once again?"
Castrelle let out an exhausted laugh. "Do you think that Looking Glass got to where he was by abandoning his comrades? Besides, even if that were the case, I do not fear death. If it is for the greater good, I will die a thousand times over. And even then, I will continue to crawl out of the grave and move forward, until that wretched Beast has died."
"I know that much." The haggard man let out a sigh. "It's quite lucky your forte allows you to escape death. I would never be scared of fighting that Demon if I had such an ability…"
"You know I can't confirm such a thing, Fare. Just as you cannot confirm that your ability is that strange metal manipulation. Do you want to die before we even have a chance to be saved?" Castrelle replied in passing, reaching for a metal canister that contained sparse oil, a substance that contained a minute ratio of oil mixed with other liquids that were far more common. It was most effective in oil lamps, seeing as how it could be easily produced.
After pouring the oil into the lamp's central chamber, he struck a piece of flint against the craggy stone, rich in iron flecks, causing a spark to alight the lamp and cast the area in a warm orange glow. Beside him, a small red stain on the stone became visible. It was dried blood.
'He was able to see my ability when I caught flame a month ago. Everyone saw it. Even though it is the case that I can revive after death, they will never be able to witness the trials I must face in order to do so. It is a torment I cannot speak of, and so I must face alone. Not even my own sister will ever know what I suffer. The Beast is a cruel monster. He certainly must die, before this pain can be allowed to fester...'
Suddenly, the stone underneath their feet began to tremble. It was light, like the resonance of a tree falling in the distance. Then, it was violent, like an earthquake threatening to tear away the stone underneath them.
"Damn it, isn't it earlier than normal? The sun hasn't yet risen!" Fare cursed underneath his breath.
They slept on a craggy hillside, with several naturally-formed stone platforms where others slept. In the middle of a massive quarry pit dug into the earth, dozens of Reapers had been kept captive by a Lower Demon named Gremory. They had come to know of his name because the crazed Demon had a tendency to mumble underneath his breath of incoherent things.
When it appeared, it sent a shiver down Castrelle's spine. It was five-times their size, with a bulbous stomach covered in massive boils that swirled with red-hot pus. It had five eyes positioned vertically in a row on its face, and thousands of needle-like teeth protruding from its lip-less mouth.
In its arms, it held dozens of coiled, rusted chains.
"The light… the light… I must… follow." It glanced at each individual person, throwing the heavy iron chains to the ground, directing them to chain themselves up. Each Reaper had been fitted with a tight iron harness around their waists, where they would attach the chains to themselves each morning, as well as two iron rings around their wrists. "You… you must rebuild… Tenebris."
Castrelle had come to know that 'Tenebris' referred to the city surrounding the giant Marble Palace in the center of the plains. Gremory, the Lower Demon, often rambled about its former glory in passing. However, no matter how much he spoke, no one had been able to pin down the meaning behind the 'light' that he spoke of.
Each Reaper stood up, weary from the previous day's work, and aching from sleeping on the stone. They attached the chains to their iron harness, and watched as the Lower Demon picked up the end of the chain, tugging violently forward to force them to start moving.
Gremory was obsessed with the idea of rebuilding the city, as if it hadn't already fallen. They could see that much, even from afar. The stone that they would mine each day- it was a fruitless endeavour. He was rebuilding a city for no one at all.
They walked along the narrow path of a cliffside that overlooked the quarry pit. It stretched far below into a treacherous dark abyss, only lit up by dim stone lanterns.
Chained near the back of the line, Castrelle turned to Fare and smiled wearily.
"Just a bit more, alright Fare? Don't worry too much. If you need help today, I'll lift your stone for you. Just count on me today."
The corner of the bulky middle-aged man's lips twitched. He was quiet for a moment before replying, "thank you. You're an angel."
He looked forward towards the men ahead of him, calling out to them with a smile. "Did you all sleep well last night?"
As soon as they heard Castrelle's voice, their weary and downtrodden expressions dissipated.
"Yes! That suggestion of yours to gather the fallen straw from the wilted hillside, it was fantastic! That ache in my lower back has finally dissipated!" An elderly man spoke out, his warm smile washing over the other Reapers.
"Work slowly today. Preserve your strength. Let us talk no more, now. He is surely listening. He hears all." Castrelle reassured them, trying to preserve their mentalities.
It was not just young men and women that had chosen to take the Chance offered by the Beast. Elderly men and women, middle-aged men and women, and all others downtrodden and devoid of future prospects took the gamble with their life on the line.
Of course, it was a gamble without the expectation that one would end up in Hell. It wasn't something that the militarised church that controlled Humanity's final city would openly advertise. After all, Earth had grown strangely absurd. They allowed anyone to take that Chance, without warning that it would result in their execution, as if testing their will.
This meant that of the ten-thousand Reapers that had appeared in Limbo, many of them were not adept at fighting, or too weary of age to do so. So, the Meister, the leader of his Reaper team, Looking Glass, had arranged a camp outside of the plains where anyone could find it, Camp Deralise.
That was where the majority of solo Reapers and a few of the Reaper Teams chose to stay. If a Reaper didn't have an ability that was useful in combat, it was likely that it served other purposes. Camp Deralise had been established as a hub for trade and cooperation, serving the ultimate goal of reaching the marble palace.
The men ahead of Castrelle were ones that had grown insecure about their worth, and had volunteered for the scouting mission of the quarry. It was just an unlucky turn of fate that it had been a failure. No one anticipated the presence of a Lower Demon, Dweller Demons at most. If that were the case, it wouldn't have been a scouting mission, rather a raid.
They would have brought several Reaper Teams, despite their constant rivalry and animosity towards each other. Usually, it was the case that they could work towards the common goal of trying to clear Limbo. However, after an entire year of attempts, and so many deaths, they had grown to despise each other, a rift that seemed irreparable.
Still, because they had volunteered, Castrelle felt a bit guilty about the position they had ended up in. So, everyday he tried his best to comfort them and keep their spirits up. He knew that the rescue attempt from Looking Glass was an inevitability. He just needed to keep their wills intact until then.
When they had reached the bottom of the quarry an hour later, the Lower Demon dropped the lead chain to the ground, picking up a large iron nail. He positioned it above the chain, and with a swing of his fist, slammed it into the stone below. Splashes of crimson flew from his palm, and the ground underneath him cracked, but the Lower Demon showed no significant reaction to his wound.
The Demon was truly crazed.
For the majority of the day, the Reapers were forced to meticulously mine, carve, and carry stone around the quarry as the Demon watched over them like a taskmaster. The skin of their palms blistered, their feet calloused, and their backs aching.
When the sun set in the late evening, they were forced to walk all the way back to the resting area at the foremost height of the quarry, uphill this time. When they reached the resting area, they were allowed to undo their chains, and after gathering them up, the Lower Demon began his trek to the quarry floor far below once more.
Unfortunately, their resting area remained far below ground level, with no obvious way up the massive cliffside. So, they were forced to comply, taking their rest inside of various caverns lit up by dim lamplight.
Castrelle sat upon a stone beside the splash of dried blood he had created himself, the wound still fresh on his arm.
It was because he had hope that he did so, hope that word would soon arrive of the light that remained ahead.
Suddenly, Castrelle heard a coo ring out in the night. A large silhouette blotted out the bright moon, descending quickly towards the patchwork man. His eyes widened, and he immediately reached out his arm. Sharp, razor-like claws dug into his skin, causing blood to trickle down the length of his arm towards his fingertips, but he did not flinch.
His reaction wasn't surprise, rather elation.
"Gaelis!" Castrelle could barely mask the excitement in his hushed voice.
"What…? Is that a bird?" Fare questioned, a bit hesitant, having been sitting beside him.
"It's an owl. It's Looking Glass's owl! It's trained to detect the taste of blood on the wind, as long as it has consumed that person's blood! It's the reason I left the stain of mine beside me here!"
Castrelle immediately winced, his gaze shooting to the quarry floor far below. He could barely make out the hazy outline of the Lower Demon in the darkness. He was unmoving.
'I shouldn't have reacted like that. That Demon can hear us, always. I almost betrayed Looking Glass. Is there a note? Has he sent word of his oncoming plans? It must be soon!'
As he expected, there was a sheet of parchment coiled around the owl's leg, tied tight by frayed twine.
He unraveled the piece of paper attached to its leg, holding it under the glow of the oil lamp, reading its contents.
Soon. Hold tight.