Find me when you return.

He bolted awake, cold beads of sweat dripping down his face as he panted hard trying to catch his breath. His heart was racing. He could still feel the shock. The fear. The fall. He brought his hand to his chest. Holy shit, he thought to himself. Was that... a dream? How—

A cough ripped out his throat. Then another. Then again. They were spiteful. Angry. They tore at his sides, until the pain keeled him over and his hand flung to his mouth, as if that might keep his insides from spilling onto the floor of... actually, where the hell was he?

It was dark. Too dark to see. He reached out to the right until his hand pressed against a cold stone wall. Stone? He thought, Where would there be— he coughed again, then gasped, bracing for more... but they never came. He took a breath. At least that's done. He went to rub his eyes. Now where the hell— Shit! He hissed through his teeth. His left eye was sore. He flinched back as he tapped it again. Honestly, his whole face felt scarred. There were scabbed over cuts and tender spots everywhere he touched, but it wasn't just his face. Everything hurt.

He groaned as he pushed himself up on something hard and heard wood creak beneath him. A bed frame? He asked himself. He pushed down again. Then I guess this is a mattress. Straw poked and itched at his hand where the fabric was worn. An old one though. His eyes could barely make out its misshapen form, but it was getting clearer. Light had to be coming from somewhere.

He shifted himself over to the edge of the bed. Why was I asleep? When did I get hurt? He grabbed his chest. When did— he paused. What the hell am I wearing? In his hand, he felt the coarse fabric of a shirt he didn't remember putting on. In fact, after taking a closer look at it, he wasn't even sure it qualified as a shirt. It was heavily worn and littered with torn seams, odd patches of different fabrics, and dried stains of what he hoped wasn't blood. Of what he hoped wasn't his blood. His pants carried the same tattered theme as his shirt, all the way down to his bare, dirty feet.

He started to shake. What the fuck is going on? He clutched at his clothes, manic and afraid, as if some answers were sewn into the fabric. What the fuck is—

He coughed again and caught the outburst in his hand. He looked down at his palm. There was blood. This was more than just a rough cough. He was in bad shape and he knew it... but it didn't scare him. Somehow, he knew what to do.

He pulled up his shirt to get a closer look at the damage. It was hard to see in the dark, but he could still make out the black and purple splotches spread across his chest. He went to work gently moving his hands along the damaged skin, trying to feel for injuries.

Sharp pain following movement of the arms and torso with skin sensitive to the touch probably means rib fractures. Two, maybe three of them. This shortness of breath could just be from the force of some kind of impact... or worst case one of my lungs might have partially collap–

He froze.

What did I just say?

The words had just come out, but now they felt strange. Like they were foreign and familiar all at once. He knew he was right he just... he just....

Wait... how do I know all that?

The dream replayed in his mind again and again, but it wasn't helping. Nothing was. He couldn't remember a thing, not even— not even me.

Nerves bubbled in his gut. No, wait who... who am I?

His stomach dropped.

No, no this couldn't be real. It couldn't. But in the dream— It was just a dream! None of this was real! He knew who he was he just had to focus. To think! He tried to clear his mind. To summon the truth from his thoughts. He waited and waited. It's not working. No! He had to keep going. The truth was in his head somewhere and he had to get it out. He needed to know! Think! It's not working! Think! It's not working!

He let out a wild, desperate scream as he flung himself forward trying to escape, but his body wouldn't listen. His wounds lashed out with livid heat, as waves of dizziness and nausea ripped through him. His legs, still stiff, were slow to respond and he went toppling hard onto the floor.

Pain lashed out hot and angry where his skull met the stone. He grabbed his head, thrashing as his agony raged. This was it. No more, he couldn't take it. His body felt useless, his memories were gone, and all he had now was terror and pain.

"What's the matter clergy boy, you scared?" a hoarse voice called out to him. "You afraid to die for your sins?"

What? He thought to himself. The pain was— he groaned— starting to fade, or at least it was manageable now, but that voice. He looked up, trying to find its source. His vision was still blurred from before and hitting his head hadn't helped. All he could see was a haze of darkness, broken only by two red dots hovering in front of him. He groaned, closing his eyes as another wave of dizziness came over him. There was some kind of... ringing in his head, muddying his focus. A moment later it passed, but when he opened his eyes the red dots had vanished. Straining his vision, he saw that hovering in their place was a pair of dark brown eyes. Their white hue flared in the darkness around them, catching bits of the wayward light nearby and giving their stare an ominous glow.

Every instinct he had told him they weren't safe but his desperation drove him more than his fear. After all, they were someone's eyes. Someone who could help him understand what was going on. Someone who could help him escape.

Too weak to stand back up he started crawling toward them, desperate for answers and relief.

"Help... me," he moaned, his voice filled with pain.

The eyes said nothing back, only holding their vicious gaze in response.

"Help me, please help me."

"Help you?" They said. Then they laughed. Laughed. "What makes you think I'd help you?"

Wha— what? he thought. He couldn't believe it. Here he was, struggling to survive and this person was laughing at him. Mocking him. Anger was the only thing that kept his despair in check. He clawed at the ground, crawling as hard as he could toward those eyes. He was going to figure out what was going on. He was going to get out of here.

That hoarse voice was still laughing "You can't be that stupid," it said. "What do you expect me to do from here?"

He was livid now. His mind driven only by rage and desperation. With more adrenaline than blood flowing through his veins he picked himself up, ignoring the pain and nausea. I will get out of here. His determination was boiling over, as the laughter pierced through his ears like jagged spikes of humiliation. I will get out of here. He looked up, his eyes filled with resentment, meeting that vicious gaze head on.

You will get me out of here.

He stumbled his way forward. Reaching out to grab whoever those eyes belonged to, but his hand stopped short. It grabbed something else instead. It was cold and hard in his hands, a dark blur until his vision refocused.

Are these... bars?

He reached out his other hand only to be met by more cold metal. His eyes went wild. Frantic. He flung out his arms, praying not to feel more rods blocking his path, but it was all in vain. His tantrum stopped. His trembling hands hung idly onto the bars, as the gravity of his situation forced him to his knees. He knew where he was. This was a cell and he was a prisoner.

"I tried to tell ya', I can't help you," the hoarse voice said, as its laughter died down.

He gritted his teeth, as his eyes burned with rage and despair. He had to face that glare one last time. To let whoever it was see his fury, to let them feel the heat of his anger in their bones. He tightened his grip on the bars.

"You," he snarled, hunting for the strength to stand. He looked up... and his face went pale.

The eyes glowing in the darkness belonged to a man in the cell in front of him. He was hovering above the ground, stripped down to a pair of torn, blood stained trousers. His kinky unkempt hair crowned the maze of cuts and bruises that littered his body. Some of them seemed years old, just dark lines across his brown skin, while others were still glossy and red, as if they'd been made only yesterday.

Along the inside of his arms and up his legs there were some peculiar marks though. Circular scars, each a few inches apart and no bigger than gold coins. The skin around them was bruised and deformed. They looked like the wounds had been opened too many times and the man's body had just given up on them ever healing normally.

Just looking on from here the wounds made him shudder. The mere thought of that pain haunted him, but even that was far from the worst horror.

It was hard to see at first, but the man was not floating. His hands and feet had been nailed to the wall behind him, mounting him up on the stone like a trophy. The only thing that made him even look alive were his eyes.

Beneath his scars and beaten frame, they pulsed with a mix of madness and strength. Daring him to come closer. Eager to make him bleed.

"In here," he said, smiling from ear to ear with his blood-stained teeth. "No one can save you."

———— ~ ————

He knelt on the stone floor, crumpled up and thrown against the iron bars locking him in. It felt like hours had gone by but, in this cage, he couldn't be sure. At this point he wasn't even sure he wanted to know. He'd lost so much in the dark already, keeping track of time there just felt offensive.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The man had stayed quiet for the most part, looking on from his nefarious perch. The constant staring had been annoying at first, but after a while, he just stopped caring. It's not like it really mattered. Nothing did anymore.

"What's your name?" the man asked suddenly.

He didn't respond. He wasn't in the mood to humor him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was it rude of me not to go first?" The man asked wryly. "Fair enough, I'm Amos."

Still no response.

"Well, if you're not gonna tell me your name then I'm just gonna keep calling you Clergy."

"Call me whatever you want," he muttered back.

"Ha! Clergy it is then," Amos said, obviously satisfied at getting Clergy to speak. He smirked as his triumph waded into another silence, although this one didn't last long.

"So, Clergy," Amos said. "I'm curious. After all that crying and screaming you just did, why haven't I seen you pray even once?"

Clergy scoffed at that. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"Well, I mean that's the whole deal with your church isn't it? 'Pray in your hour of darkness and wait for God's magic purple light to come save you, or something like that?"

"I—" Clergy began, but he gave up on the words, shaking his head as it sank into his hand. Then he started to laugh.

"Of course!" he said, throwing his hands up in disbelief. "You're insane! You're actually insane!"

"Oh? Really? I'm insane. You were begging me for help when I'm nailed to a wall, but I'm insane."

"That was different!" Clergy said, his cheeks burning. "I just... it was dark ok! I could only see—" then he shook his head. "You know what, why am I even explaining myself to you? Just go back to your magic purple light shows or whatever crazy bullshit you've got going on inside your head!"

Amos laughed at that. "Wow, 'crazy bullshit'? That's how you're gonna describe your own church? Man, how did they even let you in?"

"What are you talking about? What church? Why do you even think I'm in a church?"

"Well you are aren't you? Why else would you have a piety mark?"

"A piety what?"

"The tattoo. On your arm. What? Did you think I couldn't see it just cause 'it was dark'?"

"On my arm—" Clergy said as he turned his arms over, but he cut himself off as soon as he noticed it.

On the inside of his right forearm was a tattoo shaped almost like an infinity symbol. Two small shaded diamonds were connected to it's center and the outer circles, although they weren't exactly circles. Each of them were shaped like curved arrowheads. Inside both, four beams of light jutted out from their center, forming a cross in each of the arrowheads. It was an unusual pattern but somehow vaguely familiar. The only thing he'd seen so far that he almost recognized.

"You do know what that is don't you?"

Amos asked, after watching Clergy gaze at it for a while.

"I... I don't know," Clergy said still mesmerized.

Amos scoffed. "Come on, they wouldn't let you get the damn thing if you didn't even know what it was."

"No I..." Clergy began but his words drifted off. He turned his arm over again and again as a wave of nostalgia came over him. He knew what this was. The answer was lost somewhere in the back of his mind but he knew. Somehow it demanded all of his focus. It needed him to remember.

He lifted his other hand to graze along the design. To feel the texture of its allure on his fingertips. As his hands drew closer to it, tiny purple lights began to shine from the ink, like violet stars twinkling in the night sky.

It called to him, he could hear it now. Sweet voices whispering inside his mind. Murmurs tempting him to look, to stare, to remember.

To submit.

Suddenly a few of the lights started getting brighter. They went from purple, to white, to— shit! He winced as the lights flashed once and singed his arm. He waved it a few times to cope with the pain, then looked down and saw the tattoo was... burning.

Thin trails of smoke rose from his arm as red-orange lights, almost like embers, started to appear. They moved like a wave across the mark, consuming the violet lights in their path.

"That—that's impossible," Amos said, "How're you using—"

Clergy cut him off, screaming as suddenly all his wounds started burning. He threw himself against the bars, clutching his chest as the red-orange light glowed beneath his shirt. He tightened his grip on the iron, gritting his teeth, until another wave of heat forced him to stumble back onto the floor. A few moments later the episode died down, but as the light and heat subsided he realized he felt... better. His pain wasn't totally gone but it was definitely easier to breathe. He sat up. What the hell was—

Clergy nearly jumped out of his skin, as every instinct he had was suddenly screaming at him to run. Amos had done something. Clergy wasn't sure what but there was a tension in the air now that he couldn't escape. It was fear, but fear with weight, ubiquitous and dense. It clung to his breath like damp summer air. Thick, noxious, and filled with hate.

"Clergy," Amos said, his voice deep and grating. "No more games."

Clergy stared in horror, trembling as Amos transformed before his eyes. The man who had laughed through the blood and pain was gone. Bitterness almost seeped out of the pores on his face, covering his wicked, joyful expression with a callous mask filled with resentment. His face alone was terrifying enough but what made him truly frightening were his eyes. Their usual dark brown hue had turned into a deep blood red. His pupils were thin and feral, like a beast in the wild staring down his prey.

"Who are you?"

Clergy opened his mouth but no words came out. He tried to move but his body wouldn't listen. Fear was all he had, and it owned him now. Amos's glare was relentless. Its intensity kept growing, almost spreading through the room. Then Amos, his cell, the hallway between them, they all started to get... blurry, like he could only see that space from the corner of his eye. You're going to pass out, he thought to himself. That's all this was. That's all this could be. He was scared, he'd pass out, and then... and then the blurriness turned red.

Clergy's skin went pale as the red blur turned dense, building up until it looked like a wave of red smoke was emanating from Amos. A miasma of bloodlust oozing from his cell.

This can't be real.

The vision deepened, as smoke crept closer to his cell. He clutched his head, wincing as it started ringing again. This can't be real. The noise was growing more intense, drowning out his thoughts, pulsing through his bones. Stronger. Louder.

"This can't be real!" he said the words. He wanted them to be true, but as the smoke drifted into his cell doubt found its way in too. This can't be real... can it? Then he had his answer.

Screams.

They had a demonic voice, twisted and deformed. Cawed screeches echoing across the stone walls. Wailing. Screaming. He needed it to stop! He hated having to hear them. He hated being born! If this was what it led to it wasn't worth the pain! He'd rather be dead! No! He snapped in his mind, but his voice was winded. He struggled against the screams. That's not... me... that's not... who I am! The words stood out in his mind, like a beacon in the night. They let him hang on but the howls were still fierce, and they would have their way. They violated him, again and again, until his will felt beaten and broken and raw.

Through the smoke Clergy could see Amos, but his mouth was locked in a scowl. It didn't matter what he tried. He couldn't block them out. The screams were in his head.

"Look at me," Amos said.

Clergy didn't want to listen. He just wanted the screams to stop, but there was... something behind his words. A tension that made resisting almost painful. He reluctantly looked up, staring at Amos's blood red eyes pulsing in the smoke.

"Why are you here?"

"I... I don't know," Clergy said, struggling to speak over the screams.

"Tell me the truth!"

"I don't know!"

The tension held for a few moments longer, until all at once, the vision collapsed as Amos burst into laughter. Clergy held his hand up to his chest, gasping for air as he realized he'd been holding his breath.

"I really must be getting soft in here," Amos said as his eyes returned to their normal dark brown. "I don't know what it is but there's something about you. Something that makes me actually believe you."

He ignored Amos, letting the lingering beads of sweat dampen his clothes.

"Oh, come on, why are you looking at me like that? Don't tell me I scared you," he said, laughing again before starting to amuse himself with a few more quips and jeers, but Clergy wasn't listening.

He stayed silent, caught in some strange blend of disgust and disbelief. How can this guy still be laughing? What's wrong with him? He knew the answer. He could feel it deep in his gut. This guy was a monster. A demon. Something that deserved to be locked up. And you're here too. He'd been avoiding the thought this whole time, but he couldn't any longer.

He sighed. "I-I killed someone... didn't I." What other explanation could there be? Why else would someone leave him in a cage to—

Amos started laughing... again. That same obnoxious, insulting, irritating laugh. Clergy started to glare. He'd been scared before but now something had snapped. He wasn't afraid anymore. Now he was angry.

"What is so funny?" Clergy roared, springing up and marching toward the bars. "Are you having a good time? Is it that much fun being nailed to a wall?"

Amos was still laughing. "Stop it, I'm in enough pain already."

"Then stop laughing and answer me!"

"I mean look at you. It's all over your face. 'Oh no. Oh gosh golly gee. How could this have possibly happened to me? I sure hope I didn't hurt anybody,'" Amos said in a mocking tone. "Like you have any idea why someone would end up in here. A couple deaths? Please, nobody gives a shit."

Clergy's glare darkened into a scowl. He held onto one of the bars as he felt his anger deepen, harden. He tightened his grip. There was a lot he didn't understand but he wouldn't, he couldn't accept that. "Murder is evil," he said. "I remember that."

Amos gave him a hard look. "People die. They're slaughtered everyday, and they always will be. That's the truth. They die so people like you can stay pretty and clean." His glare soured with disgust. "Look at you," he said. "Can't even wipe up your own shit." He coughed and spat out blood.

"You're pathetic."

This guy is insane. "You're wrong," Clergy said. Then he shook his head. "You deserve to be here."

Amos laughed and laughed, until Clergy heard the blood start to gurgle in his throat. "And so do you."

"You don't know that."

"But I do, see, cause you're here with me." Amos leaned in as he smiled. "Imma let you in on a secret. This isn't a jail. You see anyone else in here? Heard anyone else chime in? No? That's cause this whole floor is just for me, and you know what else? If they threw you in here with me. Let you see me. Talk to me, then you're not a prisoner. You're dead. Someone sent you here to die."

Clergy froze. "What..."

He barely had any time to process the news before he heard a metal door grating open nearby. The sound was deep and filled with rust, like an old man groaning as he struggles to stand. It was the kind of noise that let him know this place was ancient. So old that he knew his death was far from the first that would happen here, and it wouldn't be the last.

He heard the door begin to groan as it closed, until with a final tired grunt it slammed shut. Torchlight crept along the walls. The sound of boots and metal clanging together echoed down the hall. With each step he heard his heart sink deeper into his gut, until the fear almost made him nauseas. Beads of sweat began to roll down his face, moving slowly, like they were scared of being noticed.

He wasn't ready.

There was so much he didn't know, so many questions he needed answered. His eyes grew wide as he saw the dark outline of a man approach his cell.

He just needed more time.

The figure stepped closer. The subtle glow from the hallway revealed it to be a man dressed in worn leather armor with metal plates. His features were hardened and tired. He stared down at the door with dark, lifeless eyes as he took the key from his hip. His hand brushing past his sword. He unlocked the door. Clergy stared, wide eyed and helpless, as the cell door swung open and the man stepped in. He tried to back away but his body wouldn't listen, and he quickly lost his balance and fell back on the floor. He struggled to pick himself up as the man drew closer to him.

He wanted to beg for his life, for a second chance, for an explanation. Why? Why did he deserve this? Why did he have to die? Fear had taken full control of him, and despite all his questions and desperation he couldn't even muster the strength to scream. The solider was just a step away from him now.

"Please.... wait," Clergy said, the words barely audible over his panicked breaths. Instinct raised his arm. The last line of defense.

It didn't work.

The man moved quickly, kicking him hard in the head and sending him toppling face first onto the stone floor. Dizziness and nausea came into full affect, as the room started to spin, and whatever his last meal was spilled onto the floor. He felt the soldier's hands on his back, lifting him up and dragging him out of the cell. Another man holding a torch was waiting in the hallway. The second man placed a bag over Clergy's head, and together they hauled him down toward the large metal door.

"See you round," he heard Amos call out to him, but the words were muffled and distant. The room was still spinning as he felt himself get dragged further down the hall, before he heard the metal door groan shut behind him.