Deacon’s head felt like an over inflated balloon. His thoughts were bogged down in a fog and periodically he felt a spike of pain roll through his body. Having been immune to mundane damage types since arriving in this world, he’d almost forgotten what it meant to hurt. Deacon’s mortality came rushing back to him with that thought. His arms felt stretched out like he was stuck in a T pose. Dirt and grime were scrapping at his knees from below. Opening his eyes brought the image of a circular room with runes and arcane sigils pulsing with light. The runes covered every surface he could see. Upon checking his status, Deacon noticed his health was at thirty five percent. That shocked him since he could taste the remnants of a healing potion in his mouth.

The air in here was stale telling Deacon there were no entrances or windows nearby. He needed to get out of here. When looking to his left and his right he could see his arms were trapped between wooden planks. Those planks were chained to the floor and held up but iron rods. There were tubes running from the bottom set of planks into small jars. The fluid running through the six set of tubes, three in each arm, was thick and green. Upon closer inspection the needles that were shoved through his arm were composed of a familiar red crystal.

Deacon realized he was being bled. There was a table six feet away by his estimate, upon it lay his bag without a strap. He didn’t have any idea when it was separated from him. Deacon accessed his aura to drag his bag back to him before a sharp lance of pain rain through his body. He screamed as if someone was hooking a tow truck to his spine before slamming their foot on the gas. The pain lasted a full minute, and his throat was hoarse from all the screaming. He checked his soul energy bar to see if he had enough power to dash or obstruct the magics of this room. The bar was completely grayed out. He’d never seen that before. Deacon wondered if it meant he had no energy or that he was just locked out from it. That was when panic began to set in.

“I told you, a little bait across the room would get him to torture himself,” came the familiar voice of Efimeo.

“You are quite devilish, for a human,” said a more feminine voice from outside the door.

There was the sound of metal sliding and a lock disengaging before the door swung wide open. Standing in the doorway was one of Efimeo’s bodies. This one had no wings, but it did have black tail that ended in a sharpened spade. The tail whipped back in forth behind him like an excited dog. This body was shorter than the winged homunculus variants, but it still had that symbol written in blood on a cloth covering his face. Deacon noticed through bleary eyes that the cloth was strapped to his head with thick corded rope. Behind him strolled in a familiar Mulvarian female. Elder Ruby’s snout lifted high into the air as her lips peeled back in a grin. Something was moving behind her but was clearly hesitant about stepping into the room.

“The jars. If you are done with your game, give me the jars. I’m uncomfortable being this close to the hand of Hipag. He just lost a battle and he’ll eat anything he pleases. The jars, please,” complained a voice Deacon was unfamiliar with.

“The great Goblin Biomancer, scared of an oversized hand. I’ll get your blasted jars. What do you even want with this trash’s blood anyway?” asked Efimeo as he knelt closer to Deacon and began gathering the jars of blood.

“His blood has special properties. The Fates need at least four jars. I’ll use the rest to breed a new generation of stronger Goblins. Goblins with a link to tier three Arcanum from birth. We’re going to need it to survive our most recent losses to the damn dwarves,” responded the shadowy figure in the doorway.

“The Fates need his hair as well, chosen one. Cut it off at the base. That should be plenty,” commented Elder Ruby.

“Fuck all of you. When I get loose, I’m going to feed each of you to each—” was all Deacon got out before Efimeo booted him in the face.

The strike rocked Deacon back pulling his arms against the needles drilled through his arms. The pain was exceptional, causing him to see black spots in his vision. He just now realized his Soul Sight wasn’t working. His vision only extended as far as this room. Anything beyond the door was obscured.

“Now, now chosen one. We need him alive. His death will be public. The fates have promised to strip that blessing from him that allows resurrection. Then we will burn Chimera’s churches and shrines just like I promised you,” said Elder Ruby in sweet voice like someone speaking to a beloved pet.

“That’s the churches and every Adventurer’s guild hall, right?” asked Efimeo more for confirmation than anything else.

“You can’t do that!” yelled Deacon with more than a little desperation in his voice.

Efimeo handed the jars of blood over to the Goblin Biomancer before turning back to Deacon. His hands slid into his pockets on either side. They pulled out a pair of brass knuckles. Then Deacon got a better look as Efimeo stepped closer. They were reverse grip daggers with brass knuckle hand guards. Deacon instinctively knew they were enchanted, and he began to dread what came next.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“It’s a sham trial. He must be alive; he doesn’t have to be conscious,” said Efimeo before pulling back his right arm.

“True. Absolutely true. I’ll get his friend. Time to extract that family name. We still need another enchanter to gain access to his bag. The first one no longer has hands,” commented Elder Ruby before leaving.

Efimeo’s hand shot forward and Deacon winced in anticipation of the blow. No blow came. Instead Efimeo cut his braids off close to the scalp. He then walked over dumped his long grown white dreadlocks on the table. Then he turned back toward Deacon who, even though the cloth, could feel the feral grin on Efimeo’s face.

Deacon floated in a star less black void. His mind was numb from the subsequent beating he’d just been through. Every attempt to use an ability during the flurry of punches just wracked his body with even more pain. Eventually he passed out and ended up here. Floating in nothingness. He hoped his friends were fairing far better but deep within himself his anger was boiling over. They mentioned getting one of his friends. Had they found Amanda? Was she also a prisoner in this hell? He needed to find a way out.

Suddenly there was a flash of multicolored light. Seated before him on a golden throne was none other than future Deacon. He leaned forward, the wrappings up and down his arms falling slightly loose. He was wearing the same outfit that Mentalba had made for Deacon. His hair was long braided shafts of white and his pupils were cycling through multiple colors.

“Do not give up hope. The pain is necessary. You will grow stronger,” said future Deacon in that haiku cadence.

“I can’t escape. I don’t have any powers that’ll help me. I can’t even hear Sun Wu here. I’m totally fucked,” whined Deacon.

“Just quit your bitching. Use your fury to guide you. Escape by your hands,” replied future Deacon before the fan of power unfurled behind him and he vanished in a burst of light.

“What the hell did that mean? That’s a terrible haiku,” said Deacon.

Deacon stirred awake as the smell of horrid breath hit his nostrils. His left eye was swollen shut but his right eye focused on Efimeo’s cloth just a nose hair away from his face. He was trying to affix a slave collar around Deacon’s neck. Once he got the clasp to cinch it just turned to ash in his hands. He stood up in huff and stomped back over to the table.

“It happens every time. It’s like he’s protected from them. How are we going to force obedience from him without out?” Efimeo asked.

“It’ll be all over shortly. I think he’s waking up. You truly beat him senseless for a whole hour. I believe you missed your calling chosen one. Bring in the prisoner,” commanded Elder Ruby.

Once Efimeo left the table he noticed his hair was now gone. In its place was a large, curved saber. Next to the table was a wooden horse used in construction. The only glaring difference were the shackles affixed to the wooden structure. Deacon thought he heard someone yelling his name. It was very faint, almost a whisper. Then it was gone. In the next moment they dragged a nude body with a bag on its head into the room. The body was slumped over the horse and shackled face down on it. Efimeo moved to that side of the room while a hairless Dwarf Deacon didn’t recognize examined his bag.

“Sunshine, you’re going to want to see this. Don’t worry about my bag for now. This is more important,” chided Efimeo.

Deacon’s head swiveled to the right only to get a slap to the face from Efimeo’s tail. The flat end hit his face with a force Deacon couldn’t imagine such a thin appendage could muster. When it hit, he noticed the edges of the spade were razor sharp. If Efimeo wanted too, he could plunge that right through Deacon’s heart and end everything.

“Pay attention, meat. What is your family name?” Efimeo asked, in his hands was the saber Deacon had seen earlier.

“What are you talking about? You know my name shit stain,” said Deacon before another tail slap hit his face.

“Ooh, I love it when they push back. Means I get to hit them more. What is your family name?” asked Efimeo again. This time he pressed the blade to the back of the hooded figure.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You know I was born into this world without one. This seems like unnecessary cruelty. I’d like to speak to your manager—” this time Deacon was stopped by a kick to his stomach.

“His managers are already here. Answer the question, monster,” came three voices speaking in unison.

The Fates appeared as apparitions floating behind Efimeo. They gestured to sack on the prisoner’s head and Efimeo nodded in acquiesce. He pulled a draw string, and the sack came loose falling to the ground. Hani Al-Hamdani was barely recognizable. He attempted to lift his head higher before it slumped down again.

“I’m sorry Deacon,” rasped Hani, “they know about Alfred,” he sputtered out before getting a tail slap from Efimeo.

“No one said you could talk,” commanded Efimeo before lifting the sword.

“No don’t. Just tell me what you want. We can make deal. There is no reason to kill him for this. Hani just hang on,” pleaded Deacon, tears running down his face.

“Tell us your family name. From Earth,” said the three Fates.

“What? Why do you want to know that? Are you trying to send me back or something?” asked Deacon trying to buy some more time.

“We warned you,” said the Fates before looking down at Efimeo.

“Wait, wait, wait. I’ll tell you. It’s Burton. My name was Deacon Burton,” he blurted out.

“Delicious!” shouted all three Fates before sliding from behind Efimeo and disappearing through the doorway.

‘No! Don’t tell them!’ Sun Wu’s voice said crashing through the restrictions of the room and finally into Deacon’s mind.

“I really wish this was you,” Efimeo said as he brought the saber down cutting clean through Hani’s neck. The head rolled on the ground in front of Deacon face up. Hani’s eyes wide in horror.

“Hani! No!” screamed Deacon as a purple and yellow halo appeared behind him before rotating counterclockwise.

You have consumed energy from nine out of ten hells, New Class Specializations will be available to you at level twenty.