“Why would a person with such a low number need to train?” 468 said, standing back at my side. He had a peculiar look on his face. It was a look of scorn and distrust directed in the direction that 18 had disappeared.
“My parents always taught me that you are never too good to practice. My dad got mad once because he had made too much bread for the day. He then tried to create a new product from it. So, he cut up the bread, rebaked it, seasoned it, and then covered it in a melted chocolate drizzle. The chocolate drizzle bread crumbs were such a hit at the bakery that they continued to bake too much bread. Then they prepare those chocolates every night with the leftovers.”
“I didn’t know your family owned a bakery. My parents also ran a bakery out of a little storefront not twenty blocks from this fort.”
The way 468 said that set me off a bit. There was a duality in his face. Part of him showed grief, while the other looked back at that time with fondness. I tried to continue to lighten the mood, but I didn’t know if it would be at the cost of his feelings.
“Oh, it all makes sense now,” I said, giving 468 a wide smile.
“What makes sense?”
“Oh, another thing my father used to say.”
“What!” he cried out, sounding more annoyed.
“That you city bakers are lazy,” I cooed. “I haven’t seen you do any training since we got here. You haven’t even practiced a ritual or studied a book.”
“You’re right. I should be doing more training. Why don’t you be my target and stand still?” He said he gave me a healthy slug on the shoulder, “There I practiced my punching technique, happy?”
“Ow, I think it’s broken,” I cried, faking an injury on my arm. As I did, I sloughed downwards and into him. Without much effort, he laid an arm out to catch me.
“I heard heat treatment is good for broken bones,” he told me as he produced a black flame from his hands.
As the flames appeared, I could have sworn that I could hear the screaming of tormented souls. The flames danced in 468’s hand as they seemed to draw me into them.
“What’s up with your ability? It’s almost screaming evil obscenities at me,” I asked.
“Oh, that,” he said as he dismissed his flames, “That’s the imprisonment feature of my flames. I can lock the souls of the people I have killed inside my power. With each soul, I gather with my hellfire, strengthening me.”
“That’s a scary power. So, I take it you have killed people?”
“Yeah, I killed the inquisitors that tried to take me here,” he said with no sense of empathy. “My parents were not letting them take me. So, one inquisitor cut my father down where he stood and threatened my mother with his blade. I had to watch the entire thing. I couldn’t hold back the rage that was growing inside me, and I don’t know,” he paused for a moment and looked on the verge of a breakdown. “I killed all three of them. Afterward, I walked to the barracks district and turned myself over.”
I did not know what to say to 468, and it felt wrong to keep calling him that. “Devin,” I whispered, “My name is Devin, not 471.”
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He gave me a small smile and replied, “Marco.”
Marco and I headed back into the fort for the day. The gray bricks that lined the corridors gave an overarching sense of security. I looked to see a cobweb in one corner of the fort's many archways. One of the other types of wall ornaments the fort had was runes. There had been old runes scratched into the surface of the walls. They were everywhere, but for the most part, they looked inactive. Then all of a sudden, I felt Marco pull on my shoulder.
“Hey, the mess hall is over this way,” Marco said with a small amount of concern.
“Oh, yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about something,” I replied.
“Is it the spaghetti that they are serving for dinner? Because that is basically the only thing, they make well in this place.”
“No, I was only thinking about what this place could have been before they rounded us all up. The enchantment on this place seemed to be engraved into the walls themselves.”
“I heard that this place has always been a prison of sorts for demonic affinity users,” Marco said as he turned the last corner to the mess hall. The mess hall was busy as usual at this time of day. The loud chatter of our fellow prisoners drowned out our conversation as we approached the line.
“Do you want noodles with your sauce?” said the voice behind the serving line. We had mandatory cafeteria staff and service duty while at the fort. Something about how we could not trust one another to disperse food equally. So, we had to have a rotating staff to ensure that one person was not receiving more than their share.
“Yeah,” I said in a confused voice. Who would not have wanted noodles with the sauce? But the man simply slopped the noodles onto the tray as I continued through the line. After I grabbed a serving of everything I could want, Marco and I found a mostly empty table and sat down.
“So, like I was saying,” Marco began. “This place has always held demonic affinity users as prisoners. That is why there are many powerful enchantments on the walls here.”
“I guess that makes sense. But I have a hard time believing that we are all that powerful. I mean, from what I have seen in the courtyard, most of these people barely know how to use their abilities,” I replied. What I had said was true. Most of these people emitted less power than my father. My father was considered one of the weakest affinity users in the entire town. So, the fact that most of these people could not use more power than my father initially caught me by surprise.
“Well, that may be the case, but those among us, like 82 and 18, are truly monsters. They get such a low rank because of their aptitude for murder. Most people who manifest powers manifest nothing substantial. Surely you know that?”
“Yeah, I guess I did. I always assumed that we must be especially dangerous if they needed to keep us separate. If only a hundred of us they deem truly dangerous, then why go through all this effort?” I asked.
“I don’t know when you meet the king. Why don’t you ask him,” Marco joked. We both laughed quickly as we began scarfing down our food. Marco was right. The spaghetti here was not half bad. At least that is for food for the people they locked away from society.
As Marco and I cleaned up the last bits of food from our trays, I asked him, “So, does my cell remain locked at the end of the night?”
“No, that is only a formality they do to the newbies. From now on, we still sleep in a cell. But the door remains unlocked. At least, it usually is, unless you do something wrong during your time here. Then it can get locked again,” Marco said. Something wrong? What could you do in a place like this to receive additional punishment? Then I realized they had also locked Marco up when I arrived here.
“So, what did you do to deserve to have your cell locked up?” I asked.
“Well… I might have asked 82 if he only got his current job because he ate the last guy that held the position. To be honest, I thought he would have a better sense of humor, but he locked me up for three days there as punishment,” Marco said while letting out a sigh.
I only shook my head as I stood up to depart from the mess hall for the night. I had a good feeling that Marco and I would become quick friends. Having someone like him here would help me get through the worst that this society could throw at me. Not to mention his homely appearance was starting to grow on me. Maybe his face was more than only what a mother could love.