An armored carriage with steel plates and bars wound its way along a path in the middle of a valley bathed in the faint moonlight. The driver nodded off, fighting against sleep, while the beast of burden pulled the heavy vehicle with effort.

With a sigh of boredom, the driver rested his cheek on his hand and raised a finger, trying to measure the distance on the horizon.

"From what I can see, it's forty minutes until we reach the prison," he muttered, clinging to the beast's reins.

He turned his head slightly to take a look inside the carriage. Thamuz and Korro lay chained hand and foot, dimly lit by the torch attached to the cart.

"You know, I've had these chains on my wrists so many times that it's easy to get out of them," Korro said smugly.

"Really? Why don't you try it now?" Thamuz questioned, with a clearly sarcastic tone.

"You don't believe me? Just watch," Korro replied, defiantly.

Korro tensed his muscles, bringing his arms together with great effort. The screeching sound of metal against metal filled the air as he struggled to free himself, determined to prove Thamuz wrong.

However, all his effort was in vain. The chains didn't yield a millimeter, provoking a laugh from the driver.

"Those are the new chains that the bishop's guards had made! They're very good, aren't they?" he exclaimed proudly.

"Yeah, whatever. When I get out of this carriage, I'm going to rip your eyes out," Korro growled, with evident annoyance in his voice.

"Sure, if you can get out," the driver replied, turning his attention back to the road.

Korro leaned back in his seat with a sigh of irritation, while thamuz maintained a serene and calm posture, his body leaning forward and his hands relaxed on his legs.

"Well, if only you hadn't crossed my territory, none of this would have happened," Korro complained. "You'd be in your rich man's house with Narek, while I'd still be with my gang, doing whatever I wanted."

"It would be best if your territory didn't cover a large part of the city. Besides, I was new here, I couldn't have known anything about that," Thamuz replied, his gaze fixed on the carriage ceiling.

"Yeah, whatever. Now we're both here, heading towards one of the largest prisons on this planet, where shit becomes even shittier," Korro said, with a bitter laugh.

"Have you ever been there?" Thamuz asked, intrigued by Korro's description.

"Yes, several times. I always escaped because the prison guards were the worst of the worst. You could show them the most dangerous criminal on this planet and they'd mistake him for a simple farmer," Korro replied, raising his chained hands slightly.

"Are the walls very strong?" Thamuz questioned.

"The walls? Well, they're made of a resistant material. They've been tested against giant explosions and only come out with a few scratches," Korro explained, simulating the sound of an explosion with his mouth.

"Then they're not that strong," Thamuz said, looking towards the driver.

"What? Do you have something hidden to bring them down?" Korro questioned, incredulous.

Thamuz raised his hands and closed his fists. The cracking of his knuckles sounded dry and impressive, making Korro shudder.

"Don't tell me you're thinking of knocking down the walls with your fists," Korro said, with a tone of disbelief.

"If necessary," Thamuz responded calmly.

"I don't believe you. I don't think you have the strength capable of doing that, nor do I think you'll have enough courage to survive a day in that prison. The big criminals will make mincemeat out of you or turn you into their personal toys!" Korro exclaimed, with great anger in his voice.

Thamuz listened to Korro's words and raised his hands again, this time clearly showing his chains. He exerted a colossal force and broke them in two, leaving his arms free.

"Do you want me to slowly rip your head off to prove to you that I have enough courage to survive in that prison?" Thamuz asked, in a deadly serious tone.

Korro watched as Thamuz's iris began to glow a crimson red, while his sclera turned black.

"No, I don't want that," Korro whispered, like a scolded child.

"Good, then don't talk about things you don't know," Thamuz decreed, lowering his hands and leaning back in his seat.

The driver had heard how Thamuz broke his chains, but he didn't dare turn around. Fear paralyzed him, knowing he was transporting a being capable of breaking the chains that the bishop's guards had specially designed to contain very powerful prisoners.

"So, what's your story?" Korro asked, his eyes shining with curiosity.

"Why would you want to know?" Thamuz replied, casting a furtive glance at Korro's face.

"Well, the road is long and it will be boring. Just to pass the time," Korro explained, sketching a small smile.

"Well, if you say so..." Thamuz said, placing his hands behind his head and closing his eyes, as if he were about to plunge into a deep sleep.

"According to my parents, I was born six years ago. They found me in a giant crater, crying and kicking as if I had fallen from the sky itself. They decided to adopt me, despite my peculiar appearance compared to them.

My mother taught me all the basics: talking, how take care of myself, walking, going to the bathroom, and all that.

My father, a retired warrior, prepared me as if I were a born fighter. He would take me to the field and teach me about the different creatures that inhabited our world, from the majestic mhonktan of the mountains to the elusive insects that hid in the rocks. He instructed me in survival methods and how to defend myself.

We lived a practically normal life until one day a boy who seemed to be my age arrived. His name was Shandam and his eyes reflected the terror of someone who has seen too much for his young age. He said he had escaped from the chambers of an evil king and came to my house asking for refuge. We would have taken him in if it hadn't been for a mark on his neck; my father was too frightened when he saw it.

It wasn't long before that evil king, Zarakel, appeared at our door. Shandam and I tried to hide while my parents talked to the tyrant, but it was in vain. The king found him and revealed the truth: Shandam was the toy of his morbid son, Gigantino, an idiot prince.

But fate had other plans. As soon as Zarakel learned that I was the son of Tawnylon, a legend in the world of shamonak, his eyes gleamed with malice. He challenged me to a shamonak tournament, where I would have to defeat different warriors until I faced his son. It was a trap, of course, but also my only chance to save Shandam.

So I set off for the city, leaving behind everything I knew. The first thing I did was enter the tournament. I defeated my first opponent with two moves. My second opponent gave me a great battle; I even thought I was going to die. But an unknown force made me get up stronger each time, I even developed some scales during that combat as if it were armor, and I managed to come out victorious.

And here I am now, in this city full of wonders and dangers. Narek, the son of a friend of my father, has been teaching me every new and beautiful thing this place has. I've learned about the ancient customs that flow through the streets and the secrets hidden in every corner. Until, well, you guys came along."

Korro listened attentively to every word Thamuz said, with his eyes wide open and his ears moving to the way Thamuz recounted each event. The story seemed to be taken from an ancient legend.

"Are you the challenger of shamonak to death?" he asked, with great amazement in his voice.

"Challenger? So you know me before our encounter," Thamuz replied, with a mixture of surprise and pride in his voice.

"Yes, when it was known that there was going to be a shamonak to death tournament so early, there was a big uproar. But everything changed when it was announced that there would only be five combats, with a single challenger who would have to go through those five deadly trials," Korro explained, crossing his hands nervously. "Some say it's suicide, others that it's destiny manifesting itself."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"I see. Zarakel spread the news of who I was throughout the city," Thamuz said, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "It seems the old tyrant wants to make this a great spectacle when I face off against his son."

"Does that bother you?" Korro asked, with a bit of concern in his voice.

"Actually, no," Thamuz responded with a defiant smile. "I want everyone to see my face, so they recognize me better when I have that Gigantino on the ground, begging me to stop hitting him. It will be a reminder that even the most powerful can fall."

"Wow, a lot of confidence on your part," Korro expressed, raising his head to get a better look at Thamuz.

"Fear has no place in my heart," Thamuz said seriously. "But anyway, I've told my story. What about yours, Korro? Something tells me you also have a fascinating story to tell."

Korro leaned back in his seat, his gaze lost in the ceiling. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering strength to unearth painful memories. When he opened them again, there was sadness in them. He took a breath and began to relate:

"I was born at the bottom of society, where hope is a luxury few can afford. My father, a shamonak fighter, died in a brutal fight. They broke his ribs and the bones stabbed his internal organs. He had a slow and painful death, his screams of agony still echo in my nightmares.

My mother was devastated by his death. The pain consumed her so much that she fell gravely ill, as if her body had decided to follow my father to the other world. I was just a child, but I understood that if I didn't do something, I would lose her too.

I did everything to get enough money for her medicines. I worked at the docks, carrying boxes until my hands bled. I cleaned stables, swallowing my pride and the stench. I even stole when necessary, desperation clouding my judgment.

In my desperation, I went to the great sanctuaries where they worshipped Azhamat, the god of life. I begged for help, offered my life in service, but none dared to help me. Their cold eyes and empty words about the 'divine plan' only fueled a fire of resentment within me.

It had been two months of constant struggle when I returned home one night, exhausted and empty-handed once again. The silence that greeted me was deafening. I found my mother dead in her bed, her body so thin it barely seemed to have shape. She had died of malnutrition and the disease I could never treat.

The image of her emaciated and decayed body haunts me to this day. I went crazy for a while, wandering the streets like a specter, feeding on my own rage and pain.

It was then that I had the idea that would change my life forever. What if I make a gang?, I asked myself. What if I surround myself with people like me, abandoned by society, and give them orders to do what I want? It was a way to channel my hatred towards all the people who turned their backs on me, to take control in a world that had taken everything from me.

And so I did. I started with a few desperate ones like me, offering them protection and purpose. Little by little, that gang became a large organization. Now we terrorize all those who dare to defy us or those who deny help to those in need, as they once denied it to me.

Some call me a criminal, others see me as an avenger. The truth is that I am the product of a society that abandons its own. Every act I commit, every order I give, is a reminder to those who live comfortably in their ivory towers: suffering has consequences, and I am that consequence."

Thamuz had his hands on his chin, with his gaze fixed ahead. He glanced around and gave a slight sigh, as if weighing the weight of Korro's words.

"Two such different stories, Korro," Thamuz said, trying to find a precise answer. "And yet, both shaped by pain and injustice."

The carriage stopped abruptly, interrupting their reflections. Korro looked through the bars and his expression darkened. They had arrived at the great prison, a monument to terror adorned with corpses hanging from ropes and bodies impaled on stakes. The air itself seemed charged with suffering.

"We're here," Korro said, returning to his seat with resignation in his voice.

The carriage doors opened with an ominous creak. Several soldiers with imposing armor and prominent horns on their foreheads stood outside, holding swords and what appeared to be long-range weapons. Their eyes, cold and emotionless, scrutinized the prisoners.

"You, come out," ordered a soldier, pointing at Korro with a metal-gloved finger.

"Just me?" Korro asked, pointing at himself with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

The soldier nodded dryly. Korro turned to Thamuz, raising his fist in a gesture of camaraderie and sketching a smile that seemed to defy death itself.

"Apparently they'll take you somewhere else. Until we meet again, comrade," Korro said, raising his fist even higher, as if wanting to engrave this moment in his memory.

"If you manage to escape, I'd like to meet up to talk a bit more," Thamuz expressed, raising his own fist and bumping it against Korro's.

The soldiers hurried Korro to get down, holding him firmly by the shoulders. They closed the door of the carriage where Thamuz was with a dry bang that resonated like a sentence. The driver, without wasting time, whipped his beast with a cruel lash, and the vehicle set off again.

The road became rocky and irregular, causing the carriage to shake violently. Thamuz remained calm, his gaze lost in the ceiling, observing how rays of light began to filter through the cracks, drawing changing patterns in the gloom.

"Where are we going now?" Thamuz asked, turning his head to look at the driver.

"Shut up! You're not allowed to speak for the entire journey!" shouted the driver, turning to give Thamuz a threatening look.

The response did not please Thamuz. With a quick and powerful movement, he hit the floor of the carriage with such force that his foot was embedded in the wood, instantly stopping the vehicle.

"What did you say?" Thamuz asked, his voice loaded with a barely veiled threat.

The driver began to tremble uncontrollably, looking discreetly back. His hands clung to the beast's reins as if they were a lifeline.

"We-we're going to a castle," he stuttered, his voice barely a trembling whisper.

"A castle? How interesting. Get there quickly, I want to see what it's like," Thamuz ordered, raising his foot and crossing his arms with an attitude that admitted no reply.

The driver, still trembling, obeyed without a word. He whipped the beast again, this time with more urgency than cruelty, and the carriage rushed at full speed towards its destination. Thamuz, satisfied, closed his eyes, allowing himself a brief rest.

When Thamuz woke up, the carriage had already stopped. He looked through the bars and was impressed. Before him stood a colossal castle, a fortress that looked more like a bastion of war than a residence.

The carriage door opened, but to Thamuz’s surprise, it was not armed soldiers who greeted him. Instead, a group of women with pale skin and short black hair awaited him. They wore long white robes, and each bore a distinctive scar on their eyes, a visible reminder of some unknown sacrifice or ritual.

"Come, please," said one of the women, extending her hand to Thamuz. Her voice was soft but firm, and her eyes, though marked, shone with sharp intelligence.

Thamuz observed the extended hand for a moment, weighing his options. Finally, with a deliberate movement, he took the woman’s hand and stepped out of the carriage. As he did, his eyes scanned the imposing castle, noting every detail.

"Follow us, please," said one of the women with a melodious voice, extending her hand to the right in an elegant gesture inviting Thamuz to walk.

Thamuz advanced with some difficulty due to the chains on his feet, but his boldness was evident in every firm step he took. The women who accompanied him emanated an aura of mystery so dense it was almost palpable. Each seemed a reflection of the other, distinguished only by the position of their scars: some bore them on the eye, others near the mouth, like marks of an enigmatic past.

Their way of walking defied logic; they moved with supernatural grace, as if carried by invisible currents of air. The sound of their steps was nonexistent, increasing the sense of being in the presence of ethereal beings.

They entered the castle, their steps echoing in the stone corridors until they reached what seemed to be the central courtyard. The contrast was overwhelming: in the midst of the castle's dark atmosphere, a garden of blood-red flowers bloomed, giving the place a sinister beauty.

Thamuz constantly turned his head, his eager eyes absorbing every detail. He noticed the workers in charge of maintaining the courtyard, who, upon seeing him pass, stood and lowered their hats in a gesture that seemed more of funeral respect than courtesy.

The group entered a corridor flanked by guards as still as statues. They held spears and wore cloaks that hid the lower part of their bodies, adding an air of mystery to their threatening presence.

One of the women extracted a key from her robe’s sleeve with a fluid movement and knelt in front of Thamuz to free his feet. As she stood up to do the same with his hands, she was surprised to find the chains already broken.

"How did you break them?" she asked, her eyes shining with astonishment.

"I just used my strength," Thamuz replied with an enigmatic smile.

"So, you are strong? Well, that must be why 'he' brought you here specifically," said the woman, her smile taking on a macabre tint that sent a chill down Thamuz’s spine.

"'He'? Who is he?" Thamuz asked, his confusion mixing with a growing sense of unease.

The women, as if responding to an invisible signal, burst into laughter that echoed unnaturally in the corridor. They began to spin around Thamuz in a ghostly dance, their movements so fluid they seemed to merge with the air itself.

Thamuz, bewildered, tried to follow them with his eyes, but their forms blurred before him. For a moment, he had the impression that the castle walls were closing in on him, and the women’s laughter turned into ancient whispers in a language he couldn’t understand but somehow resonated deep within him.

When the strange phenomenon ceased as abruptly as it had begun, Thamuz found himself alone in the corridor, surrounded only by the immobile guards. The echo of the laughter still resonated in his ears.

"What was that?" Thamuz murmured to himself, his voice barely audible in the sudden silence that enveloped him.

Suddenly, as if the castle itself responded to his thoughts, a massive door materialized before him. It was a massive structure, carved with intricate designs that seemed to move if he looked at them too long. Thamuz resisted the urge to touch it, a feeling of caution taking root in his chest.

The guards, who until then had remained as still as statues, turned their heads in unison toward Thamuz. The movement, mechanical and unnatural, sent a chill down his spine. Their eyes, now visible under their helmets, shone with an unsettling light, as if they were mere windows to an unfathomable void.

Thamuz watched them closely, his muscles instinctively tensing, prepared for any threat. But the guards remained still, their gazes fixed on him as if waiting for him to make a decision.

The silence became almost tangible, broken only by the creak of Thamuz's muscles as he breathed. And then, a voice emerged from behind the door, a sound that seemed to come not just from the other side but from the very bowels of the castle.

"Enter..."

The word resonated in the corridor with an otherworldly tone, making the very air vibrate. Thamuz felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, but his determination did not waver.

With a deliberately slow movement, he extended his hand toward the door’s handle. The metal was cold to the touch, almost painfully icy. He turned the knob carefully, ready to face any danger that might lurk on the other side.

The door opened with a creak that sounded like a lament. Thamuz took a step forward, his eyes scanning the interior's darkness. And then, as if a veil lifted, the room was revealed before him.

Thamuz stood frozen in the threshold, surprise freezing every muscle in his body. There, seated on a throne that seemed made of solidified shadows, was him. The man who had been at the center of his thoughts since this odyssey began.

"At last, we meet face to face again..."

It was Zarakel.