The labor caravan turned out to have something of a misleading name. Certainly there were wagons involved, but only for the guards and their supplies. The laborers walked in long lines, chained together to keep them from escaping. It was slow and didn’t seem very efficient, but he supposed that wasn’t really the point anyway. This was more about punishment and deterrence.

Frankly, Gloe found it pretty boring, which is how the trouble started. “Prisoner, stop raising your hands like that!”

“No. I need to exercise so I’m nice and strong for the labor we’re marching towards.” There was a lot of misery here, so his regeneration was at capacity. The perfect opportunity to exercise. All his muscles and such started to rebuild stronger nearly as fast as he could break them down.

“AHA! I knew one of you pieces of human garbage would give me the perfect introduction!” The largest man Gloe had ever seen shuffled out from behind a wagon. He didn’t have much time to gawk though. The man closed the distance incredibly quickly and an enormous fist came hammering down on Gloe.

Everything went black, but there was so much emotion around that Gloe’s regeneration was able to keep him vaguely conscious. He just kept feeding and healing, and after a while his brain reset. He was lying crumpled on the ground in a very awkward position. He must have simply been smashed down. Everything hurt. There was still a roaring in his ears too.

“…because I am stronger, faster, tougher and smarter than all of you put together! You WILL serve your country and people, one way or another! If you don’t want to obey I’ll gut you and use you to fertilize the fields! But you will WANT to obey, believe me! Some of you might think you’re tough, but wait until I show you what real pain is!”

“Oho, sleeping beauty is waking up! You still want to run your mouth buttercup? I don’t want to hear another peep out of you! I don’t want you to even look at me! Get your disgusting face in the dirt right now or I’ll smash you again!”

“That’s lame. You’re lame.” Everything went black again. This time Gloe saw it coming, which was good. He barely had time to detach before his body went unconscious.

...

“What do you mean you can’t read his prisoner number? How stupid are you?”

“He doesn’t even have a brand visible anywhere!”

“That’s not possible. How would someone unbranded have slipped in here? We did all the transfers according to procedure. Check his paperwork.”

“How can I check his paperwork when I don’t know his prisoner number?”

“You…okay. Lars! Do you have a list of all the prisoners for this run?”

“No sir. The guards in charge of the transfer didn’t fill out all the paperwork correctly. I have sworn dispositions of the number transferred, but they didn’t itemize prisoner numbers.”

“Son of a bitch! Does anyone remember where we got this asshole? How did he avoid being branded?”

“He didn’t.” That deep voice sounded familiar. “Look at him, he’s healing. He healed his brand. That’s why he’s so cocky. He thinks I can’t do any permanent damage to him. But I’ll show him. I’ll show him how the soul learns from the body.”

“Tsoeus, are you certain about this?”

“Yes.” He sounded oddly anticipatory. A huge hand clamped around Gloe’s neck and began to drag him out of the wagon. “By the time we reach Tranche you won’t even hear a whimper out of him.”

...

“That makes one hundred and fifty-two. You were supposed to bring one hundred and fifty-three. Did you lose one?”

“Not exactly. He’s in this wagon.”

“Holy shit! What the fuck happened to him? How is he even still alive?”

“He mouthed off to Tsoeus, but he’s got some sort of healing aberration.”

“Fuck. He must have said just exactly the wrong thing.”

“Sort of. Every time he got taught a lesson he would just heal and smart off again. I lost track of how many times it happened. Towards the end Tsoeus just sort of snapped. The captain had to scream at him to back off.”

“Wow.” There was a long pause. “I’m not taking him if he’s crippled.”

“It’s not permanent. He’s regrown all his digits multiple times this trip. He’ll be in working condition in a couple weeks.”

“Yeah, but if he’s not going to work I still don’t want him.”

“We can’t keep him! You gotta take him.”

“No I don’t. He’s crippled right now. Even if he will heal later I don’t have to take that on faith.”

“What are we supposed to do with him?”

“Not my problem. Maybe you should have called off your monster sooner.”

“But…look…” his voice dropped. “He’ll work, okay? Don’t tell anyone, but Tsoeus overreacted. The guy won’t stop exercising while we march. Says he wants to be good and strong for when we arrive. Tsoeus was looking to make an example of him for disobedience, but when he wouldn’t give in Tsoeus just sort of…snapped.”

“That’s as may be, but it’s my neck if you’re wrong.”

“Look, you have to take him. Our contract will be downgraded if we don’t make full delivery. And if we have to transport him elsewhere Tsoeus will…we could lose our bond.” There was the sound of dirt being kicked. “Alright, we’ve always gotten along, haven’t we? What’s it going to take for you to accept delivery? I’ll compensate you for any docked pay that might arise, okay?”

“Interesting. I’m getting pretty thirsty out in this sun. Why don’t you buy me a drink and we’ll talk about that?” The voices faded away. Gloe couldn’t smile, because his jaw was broken. But he wanted to.

...

“Hey ho, hi ho, work-a-work a diddly-yo! We’re digging a trench, to go round Tranche, protect our bosses’ fat middly-yos! But the trench ain’t steep, and the trench ain’t deep, in fact it’s kind of piddly-yo! So we dig in the sun, and we ain’t never done, in fact this job’s kinda shitty-oh!” Gloe kept a steady rhythm with his mattock, swinging in time to his song. “Everybody!”

“Shut up” one of the other indentured said good-naturedly.

“What, you don’t like that one? I spent hours working on that song!”

“It’s awful, just like you.”

“I’m hurt. Deeply, grievously injured by your harsh words.”

“Just regenerate you piece of shit.” The tone was much less biting than the words. Gloe was more or less liked by most of the trench gang. He was good-natured most of the time, and did as much work as two or three other men. Maybe more.

More importantly, he didn’t compete for food, water or bandages. In fact he gave most of his share away. There was never enough of anything, but if you didn’t keep your body in working condition it was the beginning of the end. If you couldn’t meet your work quota your rations would be cut, and it became a death spiral.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Unless you could regenerate. Then you didn’t need to care. So Gloe affected a careless attitude. He wasn’t happy of course. This situation was not what he’d been seeking, but there was no way out at the moment, so there was no sense in adding to the general misery.

The other prisoners sometimes told stories of the famous Sky Sage, and it hadn’t been hard to ascertain who had captured him after that. Escape wasn’t really an option as long as he was in the kingdom. Gloe couldn’t outrun a flying cloud, nor could he dodge a lightning bolt. No one said anything about the Sky Sage having a method of tracking or finding people, but he must have one, either innate or borrowed. He’d certainly nailed Gloe right in the tree trunk.

Hard to think of a way of avoiding magical bullshit detection when you had no idea how said bullshit operated. So fleeing seemed like an exercise in futility. Staying here wasn’t doing him a lot of good either though.

He’d reached the limits of exercise gains months ago. His body simply refused to get any faster, stronger or tougher. Or bigger. Although he was still a prepubescent he looked like a young adult, albeit on the smallish size and without facial hair. Perhaps he was at the edge of human capability, which sounded better than it actually was. Most of the people he’d been attacked by recently had been enhanced by magic to be super-human, and he was nowhere near their capabilities, nor those of the magical beasts he’d once fled from on a regular basis. His newfound fitness was useful no doubt, but it wouldn’t get him where he wanted to go.

Most likely the problem was one of level. Although he’d bypassed the system codified by the gods perhaps it merely formalized a natural truth of this world. One that he couldn’t find a way around. So he was stuck, working and waiting for a chance.

...

The saying was that opportunity knocked, but when it came once again for Gloe he found it heralded by alarm bells from the watchtowers. “Form up! Form up!” the guards screamed, tension clear. No one bothered to relieve the prisoners of their tools as they rushed back towards the gate.

Cries began to issue from the guards already on the half-finished walls. “Run! Run! It’s demonlings! Hurry!”

The news shook the hustling guards, and in ones and twos they dropped the ends of the chains and fled, until the prisoners were all left behind. The long chains that bound them together kept them from getting to top speed, and every time one person fell their whole work team had to stop and pick them up. Only three work teams made it through the makeshift gate before it slammed shut. Gloe’s was not one of them.

A single look behind was enough to explain the guard’s hurry. A vast horde was swarming up towards the walls. They looked somewhat like oversized monkeys in leather armor, with weapon hilts protruding from chest sheaths. On all fours they were very fast, but a few more of the prisoners could have made it through. The guards must have reason to fear these creatures so much.

Chained up and without a real weapon it was unlikely Gloe could win a fight against even one or two of them, although there was a small chance he could survive one. Or heal up after being defeated. On the other hand…

“Try to form a closed wedge behind me, and watch each-others’ backs. Don’t move too aggressively or you’ll trip those around you. I’ll attempt to withstand their initial charge.”

“Are you crazy? We can’t fight demonlings! None of us can heal like you!”

“We can’t run, and they won’t let us take shelter. We’ll die either way, but some of you are aberrations, right? Use your abilities, and try to kill at least one. If a few of us can level up we might stand a small chance.”

Most of them were unconvinced, but it wasn’t as if they had much of a choice. Reluctantly they shuffled into a deformed circle. It wasn’t going to give them much of an advantage, but they were delayed by having to knock out and man-handle a couple of terrified members who wanted to try to flee around the wall. At least Gloe was still the closest to the oncoming horde.

He hefted his mattock as he drew near. It was crude, but very large and solid. After he’d broken several tools by working them too hard the guards had given up trying to punish him and just had thicker and heavier ones crafted for him. The extra progress they’d gotten for it had more than made up for the slight extra expense and effort, and they’d long ago realized that trying to deter him with beatings was a waste of time.

This particular one had lasted two months so far. The handle was starting to crack where it joined with the head, but he’d found a strip of partially shredded leather and wrapped it round and round to attempt to reinforce it. It was holding, for now.

Double-checking his footing, Gloe planted his feet and gripped the handle one handswidth above the bottom, with his left hand only. During his period of one-handedness in the deep wyld he’d become necessarily proficient with his left, and due to continued training and regeneration he was now functionally ambidextrous. The majority of people in this world seemed to be right-handed, just like in his old one. Hopefully left-handed attacks would be a bit harder to deal with.

The monkey demons surged forward, slowing at the last minute as they drew wicked little knives and completed their charge on two legs. They were still fast, but for the first time in his life, (or at least this life,) Gloe discovered that he was just a bit faster. His first sweeping attack, intended just to keep them at bay, ended up striking the first three in front of him, smashing them to the side. They were light little buggers, or his strength had increased more than he realized. Perhaps a bit of both.

Surprise did not keep him from breathing in their essence as they fell, and he blinked in confusion. Poison? How did a monkey thing go about having some sort of poison in their nature? Then a tail snaked in from the side, and the stinging pain enlightened him.

They had stingers on the end of their tails. Venomous ones, apparently. As he flinched away from the attack a demonling in front of him slashed his right leg in two spots, and he collapsed to his left knee. The attacking wave washed over and past his little group, most demonlings intent on the prize up ahead. Only a few bothered to slash at the fallen as they rushed by.

Without new essences or kills Gloe hadn’t been able to power up any of his capabilities, but during his captivity there had been two constants- a glut of negative emotions in the area and almost continual inflictions of physical harm on his person. He had used his primary ability to a degree unparalleled since he’d managed to survive infancy. He couldn’t make it any more powerful, but he learned a degree of precision and control that previously had eluded him.

Ignoring his damaged leg he focused all regeneration on the havoc the venom was wreaking in his system. Pushing off with a hand and his working leg he leapt upright, balancing on one foot while letting his other dangle. He was strong enough for that now.

The rest of his team was down, so he swung his mattock out in great sweeping blows around him, continually switching hands so that he could cover all sides. He whipped it around in circling patterns, letting it build up momentum. His blows were enough to send demonlings flying, and as they fell backwards they impacted their fellows, causing them to stumble as well. In less than the minute the area immediately around him was clear.

The demonlings were not cowed, and sprang forward to strike him down, but they were uncoordinated, rushing forward in ones and twos. He kept the mattock spinning as much as possible, adjusting the height and timing of his swings to sweep aside the attackers. It used up a lot of energy, but the pace of his strikes made him difficult to approach. The demonlings were fast, but they had a reach disadvantage with their short little knives. Their tails were a little longer, but they were also, of necessity, located on their backsides. That meant that, unless they wanted to try to back into the fight, most of their body had to be in reach before their tails were.

After the first dozen or so rushers were struck down the others paused, looking for an opening. Gloe just refused to give them one. The mattock kept swinging. Once in a while one would take a chance, but knocking aside enemies in ones and twos was relatively easy. The rest waited for him to get tired, but he was too close to the walls. The guards were fighting a vigorous defense there, and it was evidently proving to be a traumatic experience, so he had plenty to eat.

The demonlings didn’t seem to quite know what to do about it. All of their more reckless members had already charged in, either at the walls or Gloe. They could have swarmed him over, but they would have taken heavy casualties. They chittered at each other for a few minutes, then adjusted their tactics.

Rather than going for a killing blow they tried to wear him down. They feinted, launched quick slashing attacks before rapidly retreating, and used their venom whenever possible. Smart tactics, but also quite possibly the only thing that could have given Gloe a chance to survive.

Using his regeneration in a form of triage, he only healed wounds that would slow or incapacitate him. Everything else he was getting from his primary ability he used to keep his energy levels up. He ate as much of his own pain as he could and ignored the rest. His world narrowed to just the five foot radius around him. He became incredibly focused, almost blind and deaf to everything else.

At one point an innovative demonling started bombarding him with rocks and knives like the dung-flinging creature it resembled. He completely missed the origin of the attacks, but he was keyed up enough to reflexively block or deflect most of them with his free hand. He took a good bit of damage, both to his hands and from the projectiles he missed, but he stayed in the fight.

They kept coming, and he kept driving them back. They were fast, but so was he, and he was bigger, tougher and stronger on an individual level. They outnumbered him, but their synergy was low. They didn’t seem to be able to coordinate their attacks except at the most basic level. Dodging and attacking tired them out, but the same wasn’t true of him.

There was no opportunity for him to attack of course. All he could do was defend, parry or counter. He couldn’t even take a step. He was completely surrounded, and on top of that he remained chained to the corpses of his work detail. Even turning completely was out, all he could do was pivot. At least his mattock was holding up, for now. The demonlings were light enough that striking them wasn’t straining the tool too much, and they couldn’t parry his blows at all.

All good things come to an end though. After an interminable period of combat the sun began to set. The fight turned into a more chaotic brawl, as neither side could see all that well in the gloaming. The blood spilled and body count both increased, but eventually a demonling got a lucky strike in. A blade right in the spine, partially severing it. Gloe immediately lost control of the lower half of his body. He couldn’t fight through that. He barely had time to detach himself before his brain shut down.