When Lennox regained awareness, he found himself in a dimly lit chamber. The air was thick with the stench of death, and his wrists and ankles were bound with chains to a cold stone slab.
"Where… where am I?" he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.
As his vision adjusted, his heart dropped. The other boys were there—or what was left of them. Their lifeless bodies lay scattered across the room, their faces frozen in expressions of terror and agony. Blood stained the stone floor, pooling in dark, congealed patches.
"No… no…" Lennox whimpered, his voice breaking. "This can't be real…"
From the shadows emerged a towering figure, its presence suffocating. The being's red skin was adorned with ritualistic scars and tattoos. Lennox's breath hitched as he realized what it was.
"An orc…" he whispered, his voice trembling.
But this was no ordinary orc. Its tattered robes and bone ornaments marked it as a shaman. Its yellow eyes glowed faintly, unnatural and piercing. The shaman began to chant in a guttural, alien language, its voice resonating through the chamber.
Lennox struggled against his bonds, panic surging through him. "Let me go! Please! I didn't do anything!"
The shaman ignored him, drawing a dagger etched with glowing runes. The blade shimmered with a sickly green light.
The chanting grew louder, the shaman's voice rising to a crescendo. It stood over Lennox, its eyes locking onto his.
Then the blade plunged downward.
Lennox screamed as the dagger pierced his chest, the pain blinding. But the shaman didn't stop. It began to carve into his flesh, its movements precise and methodical. Symbols and patterns were etched into his skin, each cut accompanied by a searing, burning pain.
"Stop!" Lennox cried, his voice hoarse. "Please, stop!"
The shaman's chanting never ceased, its rhythm syncing with the pulsing agony coursing through Lennox's body. Blood pooled beneath him, warm and sticky.
Lennox's vision blurred, his mind teetering on the edge of consciousness. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the shaman stepping back, its bloodied hands raised in a gesture of triumph, and the faint, ominous glow of the runes carved into his skin.
After some time
Lennox's eyes fluttered open. Pain wracked his body, a deep, searing ache that seemed to radiate from every inch of his skin. His breath was ragged, and his chest felt as though it were on fire.
He groaned, trying to move, but even the slightest shift sent waves of agony through him. He winced, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself up, the cold stone beneath him rough against his skin.
"What… happened to me?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
He glanced down and froze. Strange, intricate tattoos covered his hands, glowing faintly with an eerie red hue that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. His arms, his chest, even his legs were marked with the same symbols.
Lennox staggered to his feet, his body protesting with every movement. A faint shimmer in the corner of the chamber caught his eye, and he turned toward it.
A mirror.
The reflection that stared back at him wasn't the boy he remembered. His face was pale, his eyes sunken, but it was the tattoos that held his gaze. They seemed alive, writhing subtly under his skin as if they had a will of their own.
"What… what did they do to me?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
His hands trembled as he touched his chest, tracing the runes carved into his flesh. A surge of something unfamiliar coursed through him—power, raw and untamed.
Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber. Lennox's heart raced, and he instinctively looked around for a place to hide. Spotting a dark alcove near the wall, he stumbled toward it, wincing with every step. He pressed his back against the cold stone, his breaths shallow and quiet.
The creature he had seen before entered the room, its pale, angular face glinting in the faint light. Its black, soulless eyes scanned the chamber, its movements deliberate and predatory.
It stopped in the center of the room, its head tilting as it noticed the empty stone slab. A low, guttural growl escaped its lips as it began to search the chamber, its sharp claws clicking against the floor.
Lennox's pulse quickened. He pressed himself tighter against the wall, his mind racing. What do I do? What do I do?
The creature's movements grew more frantic, its frustration evident. It turned toward Lennox's hiding spot, and he froze, holding his breath as its footsteps drew closer.
Suddenly, something inside Lennox snapped. A fiery heat surged through his veins, and the tattoos on his arms flared to life, glowing a vibrant, blood-red hue.
Before he realized what he was doing, Lennox lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the creature's neck. It let out a choked snarl, clawing at him, but Lennox held on with a strength that shocked even himself.
The creature thrashed, its movements growing weaker as Lennox's grip tightened. The tattoos on his arms burned brighter, their glow illuminating the chamber.
With a final, gurgling sound, the creature went limp, collapsing to the ground. Lennox released it, stumbling backward and falling to his knees.
His chest heaved as he stared at the lifeless body, his mind a whirlwind of fear and disbelief.
"What… what am I?" he whispered, his voice shaking.
The glow of the tattoos faded, leaving only the faint red markings on his skin. Lennox looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. They felt… different. Stronger.
But there was no time to dwell. His gaze fell on a table in the corner of the chamber, where a leather-bound book rested amidst scattered tools and trinkets. He staggered to his feet, his legs trembling as he approached it.
The cover was adorned with more runes, similar to the ones on his body. Lennox hesitated, then reached out, his fingers brushing the rough surface.
As he opened the book, the text inside seemed to come alive, the runes shifting and rearranging themselves until he could understand them.
The title read: Morgt Rune.
Lennox's eyes widened as he turned the pages, the symbols and diagrams within filling his mind with questions and unease.
"I can… read this," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of awe and dread.
He clutched the book tightly, his mind racing. Whatever had been done to him, whatever he had become, he needed answers.
And this book might hold them.
The chamber was silent now, save for the sound of Lennox's breathing. He glanced back at the lifeless creature, then at the glowing tattoos on his arms.
"I have to get out of here," he muttered, his resolve hardening.
With the book tucked under his arm, Lennox took a deep breath and stepped toward the door, the faint glow of his tattoos lighting his path into the unknown.