Memories flooded his mind; he could hear the screams and wails of various voices. He held his head, feeling as if it might detach from his neck. The pounding was relentless as blurred visions continued. He saw himself coughing up blood and, in a flash, found himself in the middle of an ocean.
The visions cleared, and he collapsed abruptly onto the wet sand. Every part of his body ached terribly, making it impossible to move.
The sun, which had shone golden the day before, now turned crimson. The once crystal-clear sand now caused him sharp pain every second.
It was unfortunate to say, but he was now by the ocean—the same ocean he never wanted to leave. Now, he wasn't alone. He was a captive of fearsome creatures, their features visible but unrecognizable.
"Eleven," he heard one of the Grim Reapers whisper. With all his effort, he struggled to raise his head. His gaze fell on the gruesome creature. They had long, sharp nails like the talons of an eagle, and their cloaks covered every part of their bodies, including their faces.
Their faces looked unlike anything he had ever seen before—no eyes, nose, or mouth. Just dark fluids moving in a circular motion.
"Join the line," the Reaper commanded, and the young man exhaled loudly. He was the eleventh prisoner of the Reapers, the replacement of Vagnar, hence why they addressed him as Eleven. Coincidentally, his real name remained obscure to him, so he had to adapt to Eleven.
As he got to his feet, he realized his trousers had been stripped off, leaving him naked.
"Move," the Reaper whispered again, noticing his sudden pause.
"Where is my trouser, and why am I naked?" he questioned, creating a turmoil among the other captives. Who dared to question the authority of the Grim Reapers?
The young man, now known as Eleven, noticed the uproar among the captives. Before he could realize what was happening, a whip descended on his bare back, and he crashed onto the wet sand on his forelimbs and knees.
His cries pierced through the ears of Rose, who sat on a boat, blindfolded and surrounded by four Reapers. She heard his cries again and tried to remove her blindfold, but her hands were seized by a Reaper. She knew better than to confront this gruesome race, so she let go.
The pain Eleven felt was unbearable. His entire body ached, and his limbs were numb. He soon realized that the more he delayed, the more the whip descended. So, he pulled himself together and started crawling towards his fellow prisoners, who were waiting impatiently for him.
He crawled towards the first captive and tried to grab his legs for support, but the latter shifted away from him as if he were an abomination.
This act surprised Eleven; he hadn't expected such a reaction. He went to the second person, and it was the same. The third and fourth captives also shifted away from him.
He raised his head and saw them clearly. They were all naked, having humanoid figures like him but with differences. Unlike him, they were light-skinned with long ears and blue eyes, similar to Rose's, except theirs didn't shine.
Speaking of Rose, he hadn't seen her, and she wasn't in the line of captives. He struggled to get up, squinting to scan the environment. He was searching for Rose. He then saw her among the Reapers, blindfolded and sitting comfortably. Her ears were the same as the other captives'.
He overheard one of the Trollocs calling her an Elf. "Does it mean they're all Elves?" he pondered.
He advanced towards her, his manhood dangling between his legs. He hadn't taken two steps when a whip descended on his chest, causing him to collapse.
His cries filled the air as he held his chest. The sun's rays penetrated the mark on his chest, a mark drawn by the Reapers—two straight lines on his left chest, signifying he was the eleventh captive.
One of the prisoners advanced towards him, and Eleven quickly used him as support to get on his feet before another whip descended. He stood behind the captive, who had long brown hair, and held his portion of the wood.
The Reaper, who had been whipping him, bound his hands to the wood. Then, a whistle blew, and they started advancing into the ocean, heading towards the great clan of Loctrum, the clan of Arctic, the master of the Reapers.
"Are we going to pass through this ocean?" Eleven mumbled softly, but it was enough for the prisoner in front of him to hear.
"Yes, Black Boy. And from the tales I've heard, the wood must not get wet," the prisoner whispered, causing Eleven's heart to skip a beat.
.
.
👾 **Loctrum Clan - Palace of Arctic** 👾
The Palace of Arctic was dark and filled with eerie silence. The crimson sun couldn't penetrate it. Its jagged towers reached toward the sky, clawing at the heavens like the talons of a beast. The outer walls were adorned with dark runes and ancient symbols.
Skulls of ancient creatures mounted on the walls seemed to follow every movement with their hollow eye sockets. Obsidian statues of demonic beings stood guard, their expressions frozen in eternal snarls.
At the end of this palace sat Arctic, exuding an aura of supremacy. His eyes were dark, matching his skin, which was marked with dark tattoos snaking around his muscular figure. His hands, adorned with rings of dark stone, rested on the armrests of his throne, fingers tapping rhythmically.
The throne itself was a monstrosity of blackened steel and bone, adorned with dark tattoos and glowing sigils that pulsed with life. The high back of the throne was crowned with the horns of a great beast, and the armrests were shaped like dragon claws.
Seated before him were four of his most trusted chiefs. They were discussing a matter when the door suddenly burst open, revealing a Reaper.
He walked straight to his master and bowed immediately.
"My lord, your loyal servants bring news to your palace."
"We are already aware. The soldiers have returned with the captives. They will be advancing toward the palace soon," said Ugarth, one of the chiefs present in the palace.
The Reaper rose and almost immediately went back to his knees. "My lord, the captives consist of ten Elves and one unidentified being."
"Unidentified?" another chief asked rhetorically.
"His identity remains unknown to me," said the Reaper.
There was silence for a few minutes before Lord Arctic finally spoke.
"Rise. Go lead them to the tower," he commanded, his voice deep and authoritative.
The Reaper stood up immediately and started walking out of the palace. He suddenly stopped at the exit and bowed again.
"My lord, I sense the magical essence of a noble," he announced, forcing Lord Arctic to rise to his feet. The chiefs also rose at once.
"It's true. I can feel it," Lord Arctic said, inhaling deeply. "Let's go welcome the Elf Princess," he said to his chiefs. Without hesitation, he started heading out of the palace, sweeping the floor with his dark cloak.
.
.
.
The gate of the clan opened, revealing the Reapers with their captives. Lady Rose was led through another route by two Reapers. She was still blindfolded but could see her path—one of the elves' abilities.
The eleventh captive was led through the front route, which was crowded with the natives of the Loctrum clan. They gave way for the Reapers and their captives but not without throwing stones at the prisoners.
They cursed and wailed while throwing heavy stones, making it difficult for the prisoners to move forward with the log of wood over their heads.
One of the stones hit Eleven in his manhood, causing him to fall to his knees and disrupt the line.
"Rise up, Black Boy. Rise before a whip…" The tenth captive couldn't complete his statement as a whip descended on Eleven's back.
"Aargh!" he cried out, his voice resounding in the arena, silencing everyone.
The villagers and the Reapers paused. One of the Reapers tried to whip him again but was stopped by his comrade.
Everyone watched as Eleven struggled to get on his feet with the log of wood still on his shoulder. Every part of his body was marked and dripping with blood. Black marks complemented his dark skin.
It took more than an hour before they reached the tower, an open square. They were released from the log, which was taken into the palace, and forced to kneel horizontally before the tower.
They were not alone; the Reapers were present at every corner, and the high-ranked villagers were also present.
The Loctrum clan was not vast, with a population of 300 citizens. But when it came to military power, it remained hidden, known only to their clan leader, Lord Arctic. Only he knew the number of Reapers under his control.
Speaking of the devil, Lord Arctic appeared on the tower, dark magical essence leaking from his body.
Everyone in the vicinity bowed immediately, including the Reapers.
The captives were choked by his magical essence, but Eleven's consciousness was far from this province.
The pain he felt was unbearable, and the sun was also not helping matters. It burned every part of his body.
Suddenly, Eleven looked up. At that moment, Rose was dragged forward by one of the Reapers until she stood beside Lord Arctic. The cloth covering her eyes vanished, and she saw her kindred kneeling before the tower, awaiting their fate.
"What should be their fate, Lady Rose, Princess of the Elvarin Kingdom?" The scary voice of Lord Arctic sent chills down her spine as a tear rolled from her blue eyes.
The atmosphere was thick with tension as the crowd waited for her response. The captives' breaths were shallow, their eyes wide with fear and resignation.
Rose's voice trembled, but she managed to speak, "Please, spare their lives. They are innocent."
Lord Arctic's laugh echoed throughout the courtyard, a deep, sinister sound that made everyone's blood run cold. "Innocent? These creatures are nothing but pawns in a greater game between your Father and I. Their lives are meaningless."
"Please," Rose pleaded, her voice breaking. "They have done nothing to deserve this."
Arctic's eyes narrowed. "You plead for mercy, Princess, yet you forget your place. You are a captive here, just like them. Your pleas mean nothing."
He turned to address the Reapers. "Take them to the dungeon. I'll decide their fate in due time."
The Reapers moved to comply, dragging the prisoners to their feet. Eleven struggled to stand, his body weak and battered, but the fear of another whip strike spurred him on.
Rose watched helplessly as her fellow captives were led away. She felt a profound sense of despair wash over her.
As Eleven was pulled along with the others, he caught a glimpse of Rose. Their eyes met, and in that brief moment, everything seemed to pause. She recalled how he had released her from the chains, the taste of his lips on hers and hot tears streamed down her cheeks.
She already knew what their fate was. It was nothing but a death penalty.