For the first time in what very well could have been days, the delicious smell of food tickled Lokus’ nose, causing his stomach to contract as it demanded to be sated.

His Domain swept through the building, finding it to be what one would expect of a mess hall, with four long tables that took up the majority of the space; a kitchen in the back for cooking, manned by ten busy-looking men and women darting about as they rushed to make more food; and dozens of people packed shoulder to shoulder as they scarfed down their food.

Like everywhere else in this endless cavern, the mess hall was noticeably devoid of light save for the fires of the stoves, but the precision with which everyone moved, especially the cooks, suggested that they all had a Domain just like he did.

He made his way to the kitchen in the back, catching the attention of one of the cooks, a harried man dripping with sweat as he manned the stove, with a tap on the counter.

“If you want food, serve yourself,” the man spat at Lokus, not even turning to him as he stirred whatever was in his pot. “We’re busy, you lazy lout.”

Lokus blinked at the hostility but thought nothing of it as he grabbed a bowl and a spoon and filled the former with an odd, chunky stew devoid of vegetables.

After a cursory glance at the mess hall, he realized he wouldn’t be able to sit down at a table and headed outside, dipping into the alley between a mess hall and another stone building.

As soon as he rounded the corner, his Domain spotted a hooded figure hunched over against the mess hall wall, a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other that continuously shoveled food into the figure’s hooded face.

He took a seat across from the figure, leaning against the wall of the building adjacent to the mess hall, all while taking care not to spill his food. He got comfortable, or as comfortable as he could be on the cold stone floor, and took off his mask and began to eat without another word.

‘A woman,’ Lokus thought, taking another bite of stew as his Domain inspected the figure across from him. ‘Is this one going to vanish when I look away too?’

If he had a coin for every mysterious hooded woman he had met since being banished to this hellhole, he’d have two coins. Which wasn’t very much, but considering it had been less than a week since his arrival, it was odd that it happened twice.

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

For obvious reasons, Lokus was unable to tell the colors of her hair, eyes, clothes, and everything else, but what he could make out was very intriguing.

First of all, there was her hooded robes which, based on the feel, were made of higher-end materials.

Hair spilled out from the folds of her hood, stopping just short of her collarbone. He could just barely feel the slight bumps along the trim of the robes, indicating some kind of embroidery or embossing, but other than that, it was rather plain.

Next, there was the pendant, hanging from her neck by a chord made of the same metal as the centerpiece. He noted the small clasp on the side of the aforementioned centerpiece, but like the cloak, it was otherwise unremarkable.

Her right hand was covered by a thin glove that extended up her arm and under her sleeve for an indeterminable length, and had a small, octagonal metal plate on the back. Curiously, her left hand was bare, just as her right eye was hidden behind her bangs, while her left wasn’t.

She finished her food shortly after his arrival, setting the bowl and spoon down beside her and finally looking up at Lokus.

“You’re new,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What gave it away?” Lokus asked, continuing to eat expressionlessly. “The lack of a shirt and shoes? The mask? Or just that you haven’t seen me before?”

“The blood and hair. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a Blackblood.”

Lokus raised a brow at that, looking up from his bowl. “You can see what color my hair is?”

“Of course.” Leaning forward, she pointed a gloved finger at Lokus’ many frozen wounds, palm up. “I suggest you go to the medical building to see if they can do something for you about that.”

“I don’t have much money,” Lokus replied after swallowing his bite of food. His eyes darted toward the bag of demon claws tied to his thigh.

“So long as you do your duty without asking anything in return, they will do theirs.” She abruptly grabbed her bowl and stood after saying that, walking off before he could respond and leaving him alone in the alley to wonder what she meant.

………

Lokus walked out of the medical building, fighting the urge not to scratch all of those insufferable itches as people silently passed him by.

By asking around, he had found the building the hooded woman had mentioned and went inside, whereupon they filled his bite marks with an unusual, clay-like substance and sent him on his way, but not before he talked them into giving him a bundle of bandages.

According to them, this “flesh clay” would eventually morph to become the flesh Lokus had lost, but until then he had to take care not to scratch or otherwise mess with it, lest it deform the clay and settle in an unusual shape.

Just like the woman had said, they didn’t even try to charge him, which made him seriously question what “duty” he was expected to carry out. He was beginning to suspect that he had roped himself into something unwittingly the moment he had taken food from the mess hall.

He could only hope that whatever was required of him, it wouldn’t be too absurd. He didn’t have faith in his ability to flee from this place now that he was inside its walls.

‘No point in dwelling on it,’ Lokus told himself. Until the time came, worrying would only cause needless stress. He glanced at where he knew Ibmund to be, hefting the bandages in his hands. ‘All right, let’s find somewhere secluded and get you patched up.’