The skin suits seemed to fit the new trio of terror perfectly, or so they believed.

Claude, a former crab but now under Rika’s control along with her five siblings, moved slower than usual. Despite possessing less weight and increased flexibility compared to when Claude was alive, their incessant bickering hampered their progress. Placing five girls, especially siblings, in close quarters was a recipe for conflict.

Inside a box and in a dungeon is another matter.

Uvrodon, formerly a snake now under Yanko’s command, needed frequent breaks due to his advanced age. With each pause, his stature diminished, and the hump on his back grew more pronounced as they moved away from Debbie. At his current height, Yanko carried Uvrodon’s head in his hand, with its tail stuffed in its mouth.

One needed a whip to keep them on course.

Bart, once a bat but now controlled by Wrilo, projected an air of confidence despite her reluctance to be there. Unlike the others, she maintained her composure and seemed to have her act together, even though she was the most opposed to their situation.

Their “practice round,” as Ric called it, involved the trio entering and exiting with no one the wiser, speaking only when absolutely necessary, and acclimating themselves to their new identities, because he had no use for their old ones.

“Yes,” Ric had informed them, “your lives until now were meant for the preparation, an initiation to inhabit these suits and serve my ambitions for greatness.”

They searched for the entrance Ravi had mentioned but never found the marking. They might have circled the wall twice if not for the guard stationed atop the wall.

“Hey, where are you going?” the burly man called out, his voice jolting the trio into formation, the echo of the whip’s crack still reverberating in their minds.

Their shoulders slumped as they realized the sound belonged only to a guard and not Ric, or worse, Debbie.

“Is this the entrance?” Wrilo inquired.

“Isn’t it?” The guard furrowed his brows.

“Where’s the door?” Rika’s sister muttered, yet her voice carried to the guard’s ears.

“Did you tell the zone brats to make one?”

“Shouldn’t they have?” Another sister chimed in.

“Why does everyone keep answering a question with a question?” a sister whispered.

“Isn’t that a question too?” teased another.

“Is it?” Yanko chimes in.

The cycle of questions continued until the arrival of the zone mages. The burly man, who changed his name to Foxy because his previous name sounded similar to Bart, stared at the trio, awaiting orders.

After a prolonged silence, Yano finally spoke up. “What?”

“Where is Ravi?”

“Enough with the questions,” a sister gasped, startling the guard.

Ric anticipated such inquiries and coached the group on common deception tactics, also providing them with an answer sheet for potential questions.

“He’s in that dump, preparing for what’s to come,” Yanko responded with an elongated face, trying to act smug.

“To him and them,” Rika added, jabbing at Yanko, who forgot the complete sentence.

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The young zone mage’s heart sank at the news, especially since they now had to move the artifact wall without Ravi’s assistance. Gathering their courage, they attempted their best but couldn’t separate a grain of sand.

Recalling Ric’s instruction to display impatience in all matters, Yanko spoke up. “How much longer?”

Foxy swayed between the mages and the trio before replying in a hushed tone, “Without Ravi, they can’t move this section of the wall,” punctuating his words with a knowing wink.

Though the trio found the guard’s behavior unsettling, they adhered to their instructions to be rude and downright cruel.

“Then move another section of the wall,” a sister interjected before the elders.

Foxy wanted to respond, but he understood the repercussions of keeping the trio waiting, so he complied, directing the mages to focus on a section two meters away. Shortly after, the wall opened up, allowing the trio to stride in and behold the Cathel’s vista for the first time.

In the lower regions of Cathel, nestled between the second and third walls, lies a stark contrast to the opulence and grandeur found within the city’s inner sanctum. Here, amidst the shadows of towering structures and the echoes of bustling activity, exists a world vastly different from the affluent streets above.

The air hangs heavy with the scent of decay and desperation, a stark reminder of the poverty and hardship endured by the inhabitants of this forgotten corner of Cathel, even more so than their town, as the thread of Hope still hung over these people.

Narrow alleyways wind their way through dilapidated buildings, their facades weathered and worn from years of neglect. Broken cobblestones pave the streets, where refuse and filth gather in stagnant pools, ignored by all but the most desperate scavengers.

In these lower regions, life is a constant struggle for survival.

The impoverished residents eke out a meager existence. Their homes were little more than ramshackle shanties cobbled together from salvaged materials. Yet they were leaps and bounds above their previous accommodations, which threatened to collapse at any given moment.

Clotheslines sag under the weight of tattered garments, while children play amidst the rubble, their laughter mingling with the distant sounds of the city above. While the hardship they faced should have banded them together in tight-knit communities, sharing what little they had and offering support to one another in times of need, they fought amongst themselves for survival.

Away from the watchful eyes of the city’s elite, crime and corruption thrive in the shadows. Gangs roam the streets, preying on the vulnerable and exploiting the weak. The rule of law is tenuous at best, with justice often meted out by those with the strength and cunning to enforce their will.

The younger zone mage’s eyes sparked with defiance, glaring daggers at the trio. Unlike the others, Yanko had been here before and learned the cruel ways of the world inside the walls the hard way, so before they uttered something foolish, he summoned a cold confidence and tapped into a ruthlessness he didn’t realize he possessed.

“Now make them open that section of the wall,” he ordered Foxy.

A toothy grin spread across Foxy’s face, almost splitting it in two as he whipped the kids into formation.

“What was that for?” a sister yelled, but a tear-filled glare silenced her before she drew too much attention.

They wandered about for a while, their objective simple: to locate the most opulent building in the dismal dump of Cathel. One might consider them the dump, but they would be wrong, for they were not even considered trash in Saint’s eyes. Trash still attains some use to someone while they didn’t.

The task was easier said than done. Of course, no one dared to raise this point when Ric briefed them about the scenario. Except for Yanko, none of them spotted a proper house, if one could even call a rundown pile of rock a home. Even he struggled to discern a decent dwelling among the rundown structures. He lost his touch since joining the nobodies of Hope.

Their search led them to peek into every crevice, often startling inhabitants in their private moments. Having four walls and a roof was deemed a luxury, with most having only half, staying between two questionable inclined walls. One hole within the shabby walls provided the group with a glimpse into the entire layout of each house, and they were always more than just the one. Another luxury only found in the rich households of the lower sector.

“Not this one either,” Yanko confirmed. “Why am I the only one checking?”

“Because I never want to relive…” Rika shuddered.

“Nor do I want to witness such… you know,” Yanko complained.

“Be grateful you’re getting any action, old man,” a sister taunted, earning a slap from Rika.

“You girls need to watch your tongues,” Rika scolded, her grip tightening on the crab’s legs.

“Is there a problem?” interjected a scrawny, yet muscular man.

They assumed him to be a farmer by his outfit. They were the rich folks of the lower sectors, owners of dwellings with no holes, and folk who ate once a day.

“Spot-checks,” a sister yelled, her mouth saving the group yet again.

The man bowed, his face still contorted in confusion as he departed. The group was equally puzzled, if not more so, than the stranger. They followed Ric’s instructions; none of them had ever owned anything that would interest authorities, so the term was as unfamiliar to them as it was to those around them.

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