Just like a game. The box was floating above head just like a game box. It could not be, could it?

Am I trapped inside a game?

Perhaps it was a game, and Lucian was a player. Then who was the man? Was he an NPC? NPCs do not interact like the man was, or maybe he was programmed like that? The more he thought about it, the more confused he became. After some time had passed, and the cage was nearing what seemed to be a giant castle, surrounded by pastures all around, Lucian turned to the man.

“You said before, about the stories of those villagers, that they were scared of the Nosferatu, right?” he asked.

The man nodded yes.

“Why were they scared of them? Who are the Nosferatu?” Lucian knew they could not be good people. That much was sure, but why were they so feared, to the point where suicide was the only path the villagers saw?

“I had figured you were not from here, or around these lands, but now I’m even more curious. You're telling me your people never heard about the Nosferatus?” he replied.

A nod no sent the man into a small chuckle. “You sure are strange, but I’ll tell you. They’re people just like us. They were at least.” He looked outside again, as the cage made a turn towards the castle. “When a plague had hit a town, the people there were dying, and famine struck with it. Everything was toxic because the plague infected not just people, but food. The only ones not impacted by this were cattle, and you know what they did?”

“They ate it?” Lucian answered.

“No. The plague stopped their appetite, and they couldn’t bite down even if they wanted to. The only way they thought they could survive was through the cattle’s blood.”

“Blood?”

“Yes. Blood. Now if all they had were the blood of the cattle, the story would end. But no, it doesn’t end there.” The man stopped, as if to recollect his thoughts, and continued. “The blood of the cattle killed some, but a lot survived. And the ones that did slowly got better, but you see, they became addicted to that taste, and the feeling it gave them. So they tried more animals. Lambs, chickens, fish, and even coyotes, but when they tasted the blood of something else, they became rabid and became just like the first lion that tasted human flesh. Slaves to it.”

“Are you saying they drink human blood?” Lucian knew what they were now. Vampires. But he had to be sure.

“Not just drink it, they bathe themselves in it, if legends are to be believed.” The man scooted near Lucian again. This time he did not flinch or move away.

“I don’t know about you, but I have things to do, and I want to live. The look in your eyes has changed a little, so do you want to hear my plan?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lucian struggled to think of how they could escape. They were bound to ropes, the people escorting them were a mystery, and vampires, or Nosferatus, as they were called here, are extremely powerful. Regardless, they had to try, and if this was a game, maybe by accepting the man’s idea, the quest’s goal was achievable, instead of accepting fate and failing it completely and utterly.

“First, what is your name?” Lucian requested.

“Abenor, son of Josef. And you?” he asked.

“Lucian. Lucian Auric.”

“Curious. Well anyways, Lucian, those bloodsuckers don’t do the dirty work themselves. They hire men to do it and bring it to them. When I give the signal, distract them, or fight. Anything at all. Can you do that?” Abenor asked urgently.

Of course, he could do that. Should he do that? He could just die sooner if he does, but then again, death comes anyway, so why not? Lucian mouthed yes. He wanted to know what the signal was, but Abenor simply told him that he would know.

The night was approaching, and cold air blew from every direction inside the cage. They were at the steps of the castle. A giant, gray structure, sanded from all sides to be perfectly even. The cage halted to a stop, and all the prisoners shriveled in fear, as noises could be heard outside. It was the sound of people talking, but it was hard to make out what was being said. When the talks died down, the cage rattled, and a man wearing a black robe, fully hooded, appeared outside. He opened the locks of the cage, and nudged his head to the prisoners. All of them stayed still, too tense to move. The figure made a “ssssk” sound with his mouth, as if to show annoyance, and reached into his pockets, where he uncoiled a thick black whip, and struck the air.

As the whip lashed out again, slicing through the air with a vicious crack, it landed on a man who sat near the entrance. Lucian winced in sympathy as the prisoner cried out in pain. The man nudged his head again, and this time everyone obeyed. Outside, more men like him waited for them, pushing them forward.

Lucian's gaze lingered on the imposing gray castle that loomed before them. Its walls rose up like ancient sentinels, looking down on the pastures as they were led towards its entrance. The sky above was dark as can be, and filled with stars, like sand grains on the beach.

As they crossed the threshold into the castle's interior, Lucian's senses were assaulted by a cacophony of sights and sounds from all directions. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and burning torches, while the sound of footsteps echoed loudly against the walls. They were led through a series of dimly lit corridors. Torches flickered in sconces along the walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed to come alive with every passing moment.

Finally, they descended a flight of worn stone steps that led deep into the bowels of the castle. The air grew colder and mustier with each passing moment, and Lucian felt a cold sensation run down his back as they reached the cellar.

It was a vast, cavernous space filled with row upon row of wooden barrels and crates.

Their men ushered them into a corner of the cellar, where chains hung from the ceiling like ornaments. There were others already grouped up there before Lucian and Abenor's group were thrown there. All of them looked the same, worn down, beaten, and at the point of exhaustion. They exchanged no words of solidarity or comfort, merely acknowledging the newcomers with tired glances.

Their escorts departed without ceremony, leaving the prisoners to themselves. Abenor used his shoulders to nudge Lucian to look all the way to the back of the group. He complied, and to his shock, saw another boy, blonde hair, but short cut unlike his. Their eyes met, and the boy's pupils dilated. Scooting his way to the front, almost pushing the other prisoners out of the way, he sat beside Lucian and Abenor.

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"Now I've seen it all, two odd strangers in the same place," Abenor joked. "You from the same town or something? Brothers?"

The boy was observing Lucian from head to toe. He scowled at Abenor, and said, "I am from a town, called France. You ever hear of that?"

Lucian gasped. The boy could see his expression and moved frantically closer to him, his bound hands resting atop Lucian's shoulders. "So you do know it!?"

"I knew I couldn't be the only one? Where are you from?" he excitedly asked.

"France," Lucian replied. "How did we end up here?"

"Dunno, but I suspect maybe a government experiment or something. My grandpa's always saying how crazy the parliament is." He smirked, and softly spoke into Lucian's ears, "I think they put us in a game, to test us."

Lucian gulped. It could be true, but how did he know?

"Why do you think so?" he questioned.

"Don't you see it too? The game box that appears randomly?" the boy answered, confused.

He sees it too! Maybe this is a game?

"Yes, I see it."

"I knew it!" the boy exclaimed, much to the prisoners' discomfort, and Abenor's puzzled look.

Abenor raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the conversation unfolding between Lucian and the boy, though he could not hear it.

The boy's name was Timothy. He told him everything that led to him being here. Apparently, he was in his dorms at college, and was passed out from partying, and woke up here. Before Lucian could tell his story, the door slammed opened, with the same man that was armed with the whip. This time, he was accompanied by a new figure - a tall, imposing man with a stern expression and piercing eyes. His hood covered most of his hair.

The man's gaze swept over the prisoners, his eyes lingering on Lucian and Timothy for a moment longer than the others. Then, with a curt nod, he motioned for the whip man to proceed.

"Secure them," he commanded, his voice cold and authoritative.

He wasted no time in obeying, moving swiftly to check if their ropes were still tightly bound. Lucian felt the rough fibers dig into his skin as he was being checked. As the last of the prisoners were secured, both men turned to leave. But before they disappeared through the door, the tall man cast one final glance back at Lucian and Timothy, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"Abenor, what will happen now?" Lucian nervously asked.

"I don't know, but be on guard. Remember the plan." He looked at Timothy and back to Lucian. "Don't get distracted."

Timothy appeared to have a disdain for the people. He said they reminded him of the savages that the French fought in Africa. Lucian already knew what type of upbringing he had from that. In the orphanage, people donated many books, most useless trash that the caregivers would pile up in the attic, but to a loner like him, they brought him away from the real world. He read about the wars of the world, the famous leaders, and warriors. Timothy was speaking like someone who had never been taught the true history of the world. The only desire he expressed was to return to his world and go back to his mother and father. Lucian thought about it. Returning to his world. If he could, would he? There was nothing there for him.

That was a big if.

The doors burst open once again. The tall man was accompanied by another short, stocky cloaked accomplice. He closed the door shut and walked over to where the prisoners huddled up. The short man looked to Lucian and Timothy, and looked back, shouting, "These ones first, right boss?"

The tall man answered yes.

"Sorry about this fellas, but it's either you or us. You understand right?" he said, grabbing Timothy by the neck and dragging him. Lucian moved to hold him back, but Abenor glued his hands down still.

Timothy stared back at them, and mouthed, "Don't worry, it's just a game. I'll go back to the real world," with a smile.

The chains that were attached to the roof were let loose, and he hastened it around Timothy, who seemed less calm now. His hands were now firmly chained. The short man reached into his hips, where he drew a small knife, and the man behind, moved to get a barrel with tubes attached to it.

With a steady hand, the smaller man reached out and grasped Timothy by the neck, his grip firm and unyielding.

Timothy's eyes widened in a mixture of fear and resignation as he stared down at the man, his breathing quickening with each passing moment. As the short man positioned the knife against Timothy's neck, there was a brief moment of hesitation. But then, with a swift motion, he drew the blade across Timothy's skin, leaving behind a thin trail of crimson in its wake.

Timothy winced at the sharp sting of the blade, his muscles tensing involuntarily as the first drops of blood welled up from the shallow wound. The short man worked quickly, his movements deft and practiced as he carefully guided the knife, drawing a steady stream of blood from Timothy's neck. The tube was connected to the wound made in his neck, which connected to the insides of the barrel.

The sight was chilling, the metallic scent of blood mingling with the musty air of the cellar as Timothy's life force was drained away. And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The short man stepped back, wiping the blade clean on a rag before moving to disconnect the tubes to the barrel, where Timothy's blood was collected. The body sagged down, motionless, and twisted in every direction when the man was unlocking the chains. The body hit the floor, face first, and all the prisoners gasped. Very loudly.

"Better to get it over with." The man told him, slowly pacing up to them. "You must be his brother, don't worry, it'll be quick, and you can meet him," he continued, looking at Lucian.

Just as he did with Timothy, he grabbed Lucian by the neck and dragged him close to the same chains. If this was a game, why did Timothy die so realistically? It made no sense for a player to experience that, instead of it ending right away, and him being sent away. It didn't matter if it was, or was not, anymore. The pain was real. That much was for sure. He was just waiting for the signal Abenor said would come.

KRULUUUUUUUUUU!

A screeching sound came from the huddle, and right at that moment, Lucian could tell it was from Abenor. The signal.

With every ounce of strength he had left in his body, he pushed the short man over. His eyes were on the knife the man held in his hand, making sure to keep the pressure on that arm. The tall man behind ran with a sword in his hand, but he was tackled down. Lucian could not properly see who it was, but he got his whole body weight on top of the stocky man, and when it felt like the man was getting up, and gaining strength to push Lucian away, a dagger went right into his neck. He bled out, but he gripped the wound and looked up, synchronizing with Lucian who saw Abenor with the dagger in his mouth. His hands were still bound, but the bloody dagger sat between his teeth. With a swift motion, he cut the ropes off of both him and Lucian.

"Quick! Get his keys, and get out!" he yelled. "Everyone, get out!"

All the prisoners, despite looking dejected the whole ordeal, from cage to now, looked full of life. They ran to the door, where Lucian opened it with the keys from the dead man's body. Abenor followed suit. The group frantically ran around the halls of the cellar, passing many doors filled with other prisoners. By the time they reached the stairway to the entrance, loud screams could be heard from the top.

"They're on to us. Give me them! The keys!" Abenor shouted.

Every single door that they passed was opened, and from it, hordes of people, all prisoners, ran for the stairs. Abenor motioned for Lucian to run up the stairs, while he flanked him. The guards, or whatever they were, halted them, not allowing them to pass, but it did not work for long. Through sheer number, they powered through, some dying in the process, while some took one or two guards down with them. Abenor took Lucian's hands and sprinted for the entrance of the castle, where they were brought in from. He ran and ran, and ran until they were almost past the pastures of the castle. He let Lucian go. Abenor was exhausted, and he signaled to keep running forward. Even though fatigue ran its course through his body, he was quite faster than Lucian, who lagged behind. Still, every few seconds he stopped to look back, making sure he was in sight. The pastures were slowly disappearing, and the valley with the dead villagers was in sight.

"Run! Behind you!" Abenor cried out.

Lucian kept running but turned back to see what he was talking about, and he saw a figure riding horseback, chasing them. On his hands was a whip. He recognized him; it was the man who forced them off the cage.

Damn it, damn it!

The man was getting closer to him, and closer, and Abenor further, and further. He disappeared out of view almost, and at that exact moment, Lucian fell. He tried to get up, but he was pulled by something. The whip was wrapped around his feet, and was dragging him back. Abenor was completely out of sight now, and the man unmounted, and jumped on top of Lucian, with a look of anger on his face.