Within the Tangles, a thin, dirty man lay in the corner of an empty room, drawing a threadbare sheet against himself, shivering and occasionally sobbing.

His name was Biter. That was the name he had been given for how he defended himself against the thieves, the people who would beat him for fun, the people who would find him at night when he was trying to sleep and take what few possessions he had, for the sheer simple cruelty of it. It had been meant as an insult, to poke fun at him for how savage, how primitive and desperate he was, but he had taken the name for himself, because he actually liked Biter. It was so much better than the other names he had been given, like Scum, or Deadman, or Trash.

Of course, it wasn’t his real name. He couldn’t remember his real name.

Biter gave a racking cough and sobbed once more. He burned with fever, and he was worried that whatever sickness he had would kill him this time. His very bones ached, and his thoughts were blurry, as if the world around him were a dream. He wished he could sleep, but it was so cold. Normally, he slept in an alley behind Hell for Hell, since that building gave off a low residual heat from the ovens they used for cooking. Even long after it had closed, that odd, smooth stone that the building was made of retained it, and sleeping with your back to it was the most comfort he had found on the streets. But this night, two burly, tall men - he did not know who they were, other than that they seemed well-dressed - were meeting in the alley. And when they had realized he was there - he had been buried under a pile of trash - they had clearly wanted to kill him.

Biter had fled from the flashing glint of blades in the moonlight and the sound of their pounding footsteps as they chased him, and sought shelter in the Tangles. He was certain that they would have followed him, but no. For whatever reason, once he was in the Tangles they gave up the chase. Still, he didn’t dare go back outside yet, for fear that they’d be waiting for him…but the night air settled into the knotted hallways and branching rooms of the Tangles, and without any source of warmth it was too cold to sleep. He dreaded when the seasons would change - oh yes, this awful place had seasons. He thought he would likely die when winter came on.

But truth be told, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep tonight, no matter the circumstances. He had lain awake even in the comfort of Hell for Hell’s alley, too. He thought that even if he was totally healthy, even if he laid in an actual bed, he would be restless. He was simply too excited. He had heard of someone, someone like him.

Four years ago, he had awoken without any memory of who he was, within a silver, coffin-like contraption resting in a thick nest of tubes and wiring, naked and utterly lost. Upon stumbling out of the room had found himself in, windowless and lightless, he had found himself on the streets of the City of the Lost, surrounded by buildings that seemed made out of brass flutes and giant glass bubbles. They were the government buildings, he had learned that later. Where all the laws were made and the Forum meted out its justice. Only there had seemed to be no justice for him. The brass giants of the city had chased him and he had run for his life, only escaping by the skin of his teeth. They had wanted to kill him. He had never been back.

Since then, he had stolen to live. He had to, he had no other choice - without it he would have starved to death long ago. He had killed on occasion too, oh yes. He didn’t feel that bad about the stealing, but the killing he really didn’t like to think about.. The man he had murdered for his clothes had been too young, much too young. Not really a man, was he. Just a boy, really. But he had done what he thought he had to do to survive. Oh, is that so? You couldn’t have found another to steal from? You had to cut his throat to keep him quiet, you really had to? No other choice?

Biter forced that voice down into the depths of his mind. It would drive him mad one day, he knew it - if the illness he had didn’t kill him first. It was easier than it usually was, because he had something much more exciting to think about now. There was someone like him - someone just like him! Begging by Hell for Hell, he had overheard whispered conversations about a newcomer without any memory. Nobody bothered to keep their mouths shut around a beggar. Just like him.

He had peeked in through the door, before Mimeo had chased him away, and saw the man sitting down with two of Doza’s chits. Oh, the rumors had said he was some noble who had his head conked and his memories warped, but the second Biter had clapped eyes on him, he knew. It wasn’t even the dazed look in the man’s eyes, or the way he stared at everything around him with slight confusion. Biter had felt an immediate connection to him, an immediate link, like finding a long-lost twin.

Not that they actually looked much alike. Biter felt a surge of jealousy even now as he thought about it, lying on the cold, hard floor. The man was much more handsome than he was, it was true. And worse, when Biter had seen him,he had already been clothed, treated to a drink, and being led away by Doza’s crew. No wonder rumors had spread so fast about someone who was apparently fit to be treated like a king. Biter ground his teeth together. Where had been his clothing, given freely, when he had awoken? Where had been his attendants?

But Biter bit down on the sour hatred he felt rising within him. That man was his brother, he knew it, he felt it, it had to be true, it just had to be. He might be going off with Doza’s fold now, but…surely, he would help? He would help poor, sick old Biter, wouldn’t he? He had to, he was his brother. Yes, yes, the man was his brother, he’d help, he’d help him off these streets, he had to, someone had to fucking help him, he was going to die…

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Another feverish cough ripped out of Biter’s body, and blood flecked his lips. He moaned. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow, I will go see Doza…he shuddered at that. No one just ‘went to see’ Doza. People came when Doza called. People threw themselves on his mercy. Or sometimes Doza came to see them, and then they were never seen again. But never did anyone go knocking on Doza’s door. But I have to. Doza wil see. He sees that man is special, and when I show up he’ll see I’m special too, he’ll see that we’re brothers, that that man, he is my brother, and…I’ll get some food, and…

As his mind lingered on the idea of food - he had not had a bite to eat in two days, and what food he did get his hands on was never enough - a low whisper filled his ears.

“Biiiiiiit-errrrr.”

Despite his fever, despite his aching muscles, despite the soreness in him that he knew signified something deeply wrong, Biter sat up immediately, fear coursing through his veins. What if the men with the knives had come back?

And there, in the doorway to the room, stood a figure. It was hard to make out their features in the low light, but whoever it was did not look like the men who had chased him. Indeed, they looked short, stooped and somewhat frail. Before Biter could see more than that, they stepped away from the door and disappeared down the hallway. Deeper into the Tangles.

Biter stood up slowly, clutching his sheet around him. Run, some part of him said. But the greater part of him was fascinated, curious. He had not felt threatened by this figure. Instead, a sense of calm had settled over him. Even his shivering had died down. Without really thinking, he walked forward.

He stepped out into the hallway. The figure was there, waiting for him, a few strides away. Biter could see now that it was an old man, with thin, sloping shoulders and a bit of a belly, his head covered with wisps of white hair. He wore a nice robe, dark blue, richly woven through with silver thread, but it was dirty - covered in various ink blotches. He stared at Biter with a small smile, his head wavering slightly.

“Who are you?” Biter asked, surprised at the sound of his own voice. It sounded so calm, so normal. He had never known his own voice when it did not have the bite of fear, or panic, or begging in it.

The old man didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything, for a few moments, in fact. “Biiiit-errr,” he whispered again, eventually. “Come on, Biter. I have some food for you.” And then he turned and walked away. Deeper into the Tangles. Again.

Something in Biter’s head was speaking louder now, telling him to run, that something was wrong. But it was dulled, suffocated, by that eerie sense of calm, and the primal promise of food to a starving man. And so Biter followed.

The old man led him deeper, ever deeper into the Tangles, downward, ever downward, and it grew darker, ever darker. The upper levels of the Tangles were lit by moonlight - though there was no moon to provide it here. But now, the further down they went - Biter had never been down so far - the light began to fade. But still he found he was able to follow, for the old man glowed with a faint light himself. Not unlike that of the moon, in fact.

Deeper, deeper, deeper they went, Biter lost as if in a daze or trance, thinking of nothing but the food, the promise of something to eat, to sate the hunger that gnawed at him. Darker. Darker. Darker and colder it became. After a while, Biter could see his breath, and his teeth were chattering. And the cold, at least for a moment, focused his mind. Cut through that strange fog of calm that had settled over him.

Biter paused, watching the old man descend a long staircase, not following this time. He shouldn’t be here. Wasn’t that right? No one should be this far down in the Tangles. It was dangerous. Why was he here? Had he really followed that old man for food? No food was worth coming down this deep. But he was so, so hungry...

Biter remained at the top, indecisive. The old man turned a corner at the bottom and disappeared, leaving him alone in complete inky blackness.

“Biiiiiit-errrr,” the old man’s soft whisper echoed up from the stairwell. “Come on. We’re almost there.”

“N-no,” Biter mumbled to himself, trying desperately to hold on to the clarity of thought he had found. “N-n-n-no. I…I need to leave…go back…”

There was silence in the dark for a long moment.

And then a warm breeze wafted up the stairs, carrying with it the scents of freshly cooked bread, hot meat, a panoply of spices, and the sounds of laughter and joy. Biter’s mouth watered, and tears sprang to his eyes.

“You’re almost there. We’re all waiting for you. Just a little bit more.”

Any sense of caution obliterated, Biter groped his way forward in the darkness, hastily, feeling out the stairwell before him, driven on by those smells, those delicious smells. He had to eat, he had to, he could not even ever remember once being warm and full. His body ached for it, his mind and soul ached for it. He was sobbing, crying, at the thought of once, just once, feeling sated.

He reached the bottom of the staircase and turned the corner. The old man was there.

The old man, and something else. Something that Biter could just barely glimpse in the old man’s light. Something pale and empty and hollow, something bleeding and crooked and broken, and so, so big. And then the old man disappeared, faded away, taking his light with him, and Biter was alone with the thing. In the dark.

“Hello, Biter,” it said, and when he heard its voice, his mind snapped.

Biter fell to the ground, shrieking, trying to scramble away, but the thing wrapped too-many, too-long limbs around him and carried him away into the deepest dark.