Chapter 5
Days turned into weeks in the confines of the prison, and the weight of his new reality threatened to break Alejandro. There were moments of fleeting resilience when he would rally his spirits, only for the stark walls and haunting memories to dash his hopes yet again. In this endless cycle of despair and contemplation, the drunkard was an enigmatic presence. He would disappear for days, leaving Alejandro to the torment of his thoughts, and then suddenly reappear with the morning sun, as unpredictable as ever.
When Alejandro sought answers, pressing the drunkard about his absences, he was met with evasive responses and half-hearted excuses. Alejandro's intuition, honed over the years of navigating merchant dealings and court intrigues, told him he was being fed lies. The sinking feeling in his stomach confirmed it; he had always trusted that instinctual pull.
Most days, Alejandro found himself consumed by retrospection — the tormenting 'what ifs' and replaying of memories. Alone in his cell, he craved an ally, someone to confide in. Yet, no guards visited, and his only connection to the world outside was the distant hum of the city and the hatch that delivered old stale bread. The sounds, instead of offering comfort, became a stark reminder of everything he had lost. Yet, beneath the layers of pain and desolation, a smoldering ember of anger began to glow. He yearned for freedom, not just to escape but to reclaim his life and seek retribution.
Alejandro found himself lost in thought, murmuring aloud to the empty cell around him. "I feel like a pawn, just now becoming aware of the board... What can a mere pawn achieve?" The unexpected sound of the cell door creaking open jolted him from his reverie. In sauntered the drunkard, wearing a mischievous grin and reeking of alcohol so strongly that Alejandro's nose wrinkled in distaste.
The drunkard burped, then declared, "Kill the king to... win the game," punctuating his words with hiccups.
Straightening up with surprise and a hint of disgust, Alejandro responded, "I won't be a part of any murder."
With a stumbling step forward and a lighthearted wave, the drunkard countered, "Nah, lad, killing's... hic... the easy part." Before Alejandro could pull away, the drunkard was beside him, surprisingly steady now, wrapping an arm around him and guiding him back down. Alejandro tried to resist but was caught off guard by the man's deceptive strength.
The drunkard leaned in, his boozy breath hot on Alejandro's cheek, causing him to recoil slightly. "If you've... burp... been wronged," the man began with a chuckle, "then just ending them isn't enough. Nah... Find your king. Watch him. Know everything. Then, slowly... hic... strip it all away. His pride, power, pals. Make him taste defeat, deep and bitter."
Concluding his rambling speech, the drunkard let out another burp and then a cackle, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the cell.
Alejandro's gaze remained fixed on the drunkard, trying to decipher if the words spoken were the ramblings of an inebriated man or the wisdom of someone who had seen the world's darkest corners. The prison's dim lighting cast eerie shadows across the drunkard's face, making his manic laughter all the more unsettling.
The drunkard, still gripping Alejandro tightly, leaned in closer, his breath heavy with the stench of stale ale. "Listen close, lad," he hissed, his eyes wild but clear. "In this wicked game of life, being the hunter or the hunted is a choice. The world outside? It's a giant chessboard. And the moment you learn how to play your moves, especially as a pawn, is the moment you start dictating the game."
Alejandro felt a strange mixture of dread and curiosity. He had seen the allure of power and the lengths people went to attain it, even his own friends. The drunkard's words, though shrouded in the fog of intoxication, hinted at a deep-seated understanding of vengeance and strategy. It made him wonder just who this enigmatic figure truly was and what his role would be in the game that was unfolding around Alejandro.
Alejandro, overwhelmed, grasped his head in his hands, tousling his own hair in frustration. He took a deep, steadying breath. "I could really use a walk right now... and some decent food," he muttered, his voice tinged with exasperation.
The drunkard let out a hearty laugh, his mirth filling the space. "A walk, eh? Of course, Your Highness!" he said, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. Without waiting for a response, he sauntered over to the gate and, to Alejandro's astonishment, effortlessly pushed it open.
He paused at the threshold, glancing over his shoulder. "Well? You coming, kid?" With that, he disappeared around the corner, leaving a still-shocked Alejandro to hurry after him.
As Alejandro made his way through the prison corridors, he was struck by the emptiness around him. The cells, open and void of occupants, stood in stark contrast to his prior confinement. His eyes darted around, trying to make sense of the absence. "Where is everyone?" he questioned aloud, his voice echoing slightly in the dim, torchlit stone passageways. The air was damp, the scent of urine strong, but oddly familiar now.
As they weaved through the labyrinthine layout, Alejandro realized his location — secluded, in the farthest reaches of the prison, with the drunkard as his sole roommate. The realization gave him a jolt of anxiety. He whispered, his voice tinged with apprehension, "We won't get in trouble, right?"
The drunkard responded by simply pulling out a bottle of ale, seemingly from thin air, and took a hearty gulp. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he laughed — a laugh that held a mischievous, almost sinister quality.
The further Alejandro ventured, the louder the cacophony became. Sounds of raucous cheering, the rhythmic clanging of metal, and boisterous laughter filtered through the enormous door they were approaching. With every step, his curiosity grew, but so did his anxiety. The colossal entrance loomed ahead, a stark contrast to the cell he had been confined in.
As the drunkard pushed the door open with a carefree bravado, it collided with someone on the other side. Alejandro braced himself for confrontation, but instead, the drunkard just looped an arm around the individual, a guard, and continued on, chattering away as if they were long-lost pals.
Stepping into the new area, Alejandro was greeted by a sight he hadn't expected. It was like a makeshift town square or a marketplace within the prison. Groups of people chatted animatedly, some bartered for goods, while others engaged in games of chance. There was an energy in the air, a communal camaraderie that Alejandro hadn't anticipated to find within prison walls. Was this still part of the prison, or had they walked into another realm altogether? The lines between prisoner and guard, friend and foe seemed blurred, and Alejandro tried to process where he had been led and what it all meant.
Peakin into a nearby cell, he caught the acrid scent of smoke. Ahead, he could see a cell slightly larger than the others. A group of prisoners were huddled inside, the faint orange glow of a lit pipe illuminating their faces. Among them, he recognized the wiry teen. Their eyes locked instantly, an electric charge filling the space between them.
The wiry teen took a long drag from his pipe, the ember brightening momentarily, illuminating a few fresh bruises on his face. Yet, his spirit seemed unbroken, his eyes burning with that same fierce intensity Alejandro had seen before. The teen's lips curled into a defiant smirk as smoke billowed around him.
Alejandro's eyes darted around and he moved along, his eyes the high-stakes games in the corners, and the cloaked figures negotiating in the shadows. And high above, the distant moon peeked through an opening, casting an eerie glow upon the spectacle below.
Alejandro's reverie was abruptly interrupted by the gruff voice of the drunkard. "Don't get lost in the stars now, boy," he said, an amused smirk playing on his lips. The man was leaning against a formidable set of doors, aged wood banded with iron, that seemed to lead further into the bowels of the earth. With a languid gesture that belied the keenness in his eyes, the drunkard beckoned Alejandro to follow.
Descending the stone stairs, Alejandro felt the weight of the earth above him, a pressing silence that was punctuated only by the creak of the drunkard's boots and the intermittent clank of the guard's armor. The stairwell twisted and turned, a spiral descent into uncertainty, the air growing cooler with each step. There was a palpable shift in the atmosphere, as if they were moving towards something ancient and undisturbed.
Finally, at the bottom, the narrow staircase gave way to a spacious chamber. The torches that lined the walls threw flickering shadows across the ragged carved stone walls, illuminating fragments of old murals and forgotten stories etched into the rock. The place had an aura of sacred secrecy, an underbelly of the prison that few would ever witness.
Alejandro's eyes widened in disbelief as he and the drunkard descended into an immense subterranean expanse that defied all expectations of a prison's bleakness. It was a gargantuan cavity carved into the very bowels of the earth, alive with an inconceivable hustle and bustle reminiscent of the busiest markets of the free world. Tier upon tier, the cavernous hole was lined with balconies and platforms, each teeming with its own swarm of activity. The central space was an extensive marketplace, aglow with lanterns and teeming with a wild assortment of stalls and shops.
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A myriad of pathways branched out like veins, leading to yet more levels of commerce and vice, each floor accessible by guarded staircases that spiraled down the edges of the cavernous void. The clatter and clang of commerce filled the air, a symphony of haggling voices, clinking coins, and the distant shouts of auctioneers. Guards, more akin to gatekeepers of a clandestine kingdom, were omnipresent, their armor catching the flickers of torchlight as they oversaw transactions and ensured the peace of this hidden economy.
As Alejandro followed the drunkard through the throngs, his senses were assaulted by the rich tapestry of scents and sounds. Here, far below the surface, a forbidden city thrived, pulsing with life. He witnessed exchanges of exotic spices for rare books, the trade of stolen jewelry for bolts of luxurious cloth, and all manner of contraband passing through eager hands. Overhead, on the higher floors, shadows moved against the glow of torches, hinting at other realms of trade and treachery, off-limits to those without the right coin or connections.
For a moment, Alejandro stood still, utterly captivated by the spectacle. The stark reality of his imprisonment clashed violently with the freedom and chaos of the market. He realized then that the prison was not merely a place of confinement but a complex world with its own rules, hierarchy, and opportunities. He was a part of it now, whether he wished to be or not.
The chaos of it all, the sounds, the sights — it was overwhelming and fascinating at the same time. "Where are we?" Alejandro whispered, more to himself than anyone else, a tone of wonder tinging his voice.
The guard, leaning casually against a rough-hewn pillar, smirked, "In a hole. No way to climb out either, so don't even think about it." He gestured lazily to the side, just as a man's scream punctured the ambient noise. A prisoner, it seemed, had just learned the hard way about the fall. He landed with a soft thud in a padded area, groaning in pain.
"Well, you could try," the guard continued, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But, as you've just witnessed, it's not exactly a recommended course of action."
The drunkard let out a hearty laugh, slapping the guard on the back in a camaraderie that seemed out of place in the bleak environment. "He's got a point, lad. Better to understand the rules of the game before you try to change them."
A sudden and unexpected punch to the gut from the drunkard winded Alejandro, making him double over in pain. "First, we teach you the rules," the drunkard declared ominously. Before Alejandro could respond or recover, a coarse linen bag was thrown over his head, obscuring his vision and suffocating him. Darkness consumed him, and he slipped into unconsciousness.
Awakening to the deafening roar of a crowd, Alejandro found himself amidst other disoriented individuals, all roused from their slumber in the center of what appeared to be an arena. Struggling to his feet, he looked up to see the drunkard perched above them, a grin stretched across his face.
WELCOME TO THE MARKET! the drunkard announced.
Alejandro swallowed hard, memories flooding back. He had heard whispered tales of The Market, tales spoken in hushed tones among the merchants and traders in the city. His father had always warned him of the dangers that lurked in the underworld, referring to it as the 'Black Market'. He had imagined it, of course, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality. That such a place could exist within the prison, hidden from the eyes of the city above, was beyond belief. Yet here it was, in all its chaotic glory.
Confused and alarmed, Alejandro gestured with outstretched hands, his body language screaming for an explanation. The drunkard's voice boomed, "This is a rite of passage. All newcomers to the market must face this trial: Fight or die!"
Now fully awake, Alejandro registered the presence of four others beside him. Alejandro's breathing became rapid, his heart thundering against his chest. He scanned the faces of the spectators around the arena — some seemed disinterested, having seen this spectacle countless times, while others watched with an intensity that spoke of a hidden hunger for violence.
"But... why?" Alejandro managed to stammer, his throat feeling dry, "What's the point of all this?"
The drunkard leaned down, his voice cold and sharp. "It's simple, boy. To survive here, you need to prove your mettle. You're not just another faceless prisoner. Here, in the arena, you become someone. Someone who can't be pushed around or ignored. Think of it as... establishing a reputation."
Alejandro swallowed hard, realizing that resistance might not be the best choice at this moment. But one thing was clear — he was about to face a trial unlike any other. And whether he wanted it or not, he had to prepare himself.
The drunkard, along with the crowd, erupted into laughter. With a menacing tone, he retorted, "Shall we begin." As he uttered these words, guards armed with long spears emerged, positioning themselves around the periphery of the arena, blocking any potential escape.
Chains clinked and echoed through the arena as a group of individuals were marched out, bound and leashed like animals. Their faces displayed a mix of fear, resignation, and defiance. It was clear that these were not willing participants, but rather prisoners forced into this cruel spectacle. Alejandro's heart raced as he recognized some of them, those who had been on the posters around the tunnels, faces he had briefly seen in passing.
They were pushed into the center of the arena, next to Alejandro and the others. The crowd's excitement grew, a feverish anticipation in the air. Whispers traveled amongst the newly assembled group, everyone wondering the same thing: What twisted game was this? And what did the drunkard have in store for them all?
The drunkard's boisterous laughter echoed in the arena, drawing all eyes toward him. As it tapered off, his demeanor shifted dramatically. His eyes, once filled with mischief, now bore down with icy intensity. "These men," he began, gesturing to the chained prisoners, "are on their last ropes. Condemned, waiting for the blade's cold kiss." The crowd's cheering heightened.
"But," he continued with a sly grin, "there's a twist. Should they manage to defeat all the newcomers," his hand swept toward Alejandro and the others, "and just one of the guards... They'll be free!" The crowd erupted in jeers and shouts, relishing the stakes.
The drunkard raised his hand for silence. As the arena quieted, he leaned in, voice dripping with malice. "Free from their execution, mind you. But still trapped within these walls. No one... and I mean no one, ever escapes this hellhole."
The crowd's roar was thunderous, resonating through the cavernous space with a feverish intensity. Chants of "Hole! Hole! Hole!" rippled through the air, the collective voice of the spectators coalescing into a single, powerful entity. This was the heart of the underground market, a lawless pit known to its denizens simply as "The Hole," where the desperate and the depraved gathered to sate their appetites for vice and violence.
Alejandro's instincts, honed by Yusuf's daily tutelage and beatings, snapped into action. He quickly took in the scene — a frenzied ballet of violence and desperation unfolding before his eyes. "Three against five," he calculated silently, the odds tumbling through his mind like dice on a gambler's table.
As he assessed his surroundings, one of the men he had counted as an ally was struck down, the sickening sound of the chain bracelets connecting with flesh a grim soundtrack to his thoughts. Instinctively, Alejandro ducked, a narrow miss that left a chilling sensation on his scalp. The metal links, cold and unforgiving, whispered past, grazing the fine hairs atop his head.
Alejandro's focus snapped to the chain-wielding brute as the heavy links sliced through the air, a menacing chuckle trailing them. "Another Darwahi," the man bellowed, his grin a grotesque slash across his face, amusement glinting in his eyes as if he had been favored by some cruel deity. Alejandro, bewildered, barely registered the blur of another chain arcing toward him—only to be intercepted by the head of an assailant sneaking up behind him. The sickening crack of skull yielding to metal sent a visceral shock through Alejandro's body, a splatter of blood painting him a grim new visage.
"HE IS MINE," declared the brute, his claim taking ownership over Alejandro in this gruesome game. Yet his triumph was hollow, the metal shackle lodged irretrievably in the fallen prisoner's cranium, his life extinguished in a dark bloom.
Alejandro's heart hammered against his ribs, vision swimming as a crescendo of pain built within his skull. He steadied his voice, though it trembled with the effort of maintaining composure. "What do you mean—another Darwahi?" he demanded, though the power seemed to drain from him with the words.
The brute, towering and soaked in the thrill of the fight, sneered. He seemed to relish the confusion he'd sown within Alejandro. "You don’t even know what you are, do you? Fresh meat, ignorant and ripe for the kill," he taunted, his voice a low growl.
Alejandro understood that a head-on clash with the brute was a fool's gambit; the man's territory was sheer physical power, an arena in which Alejandro would be hopelessly outmatched. His mind was ablaze, not just with tactical thoughts, but with a searing pain that clawed at the edges of his consciousness.
The chaos of the moment—the splatter of blood, the cold touch of metal, the cacophony of the crowd—coalesced into a maelstrom that threatened to sweep him away. It was as if the grand curtains of the same dark theater were being drawn back, not to reveal a play of his father's death, no… but an abyss of impenetrable blackness.
No actors took the stage, no dialogue was spoken; there was only the void. And from that void, a whisper crept into his ears, a serpent's hiss that mocked his struggle: "You're too weak..."
Alejandro stood at the precipice of reality, the theater of his mind casting an illusory stage where shadows played at truth and deception. He was both actor and audience all of sudden, watching himself in a duality of existence.
"WHAT," the figure of Alejandro on the stage roared, the voice a cavernous echo that filled the dark auditorium where the seated Alejandro flinched, feeling the reverberation in his bones as the stage Alejandro dropped to one knee. There was no distinction; he was both the echo and the cry, a tormented symphony of confusion and demand.
"DO YOU," the stage-Alejandro continued, the words a relentless march, a solemn rhythm to the gruesome ballet unfolding before the spectator's eyes. With each syllable, Alejandro's hand, both on stage and in the seat, felt the cold kiss of the bloodied metal against his skin, his hand closing around the bloodied steel bracelet embedded in the skull before him
"MEAN?" The inquiry thundered through the theater of the mind, a resounding plea that transcended the boundaries between the two Alejandros. The spectator could only watch, heart pounding in his chest, as his counterpart on stage knelt—powerful, indignant, and bloodstained. With a deliberate motion, the stage-Alejandro extracted the bracelet, a metallic schlick that was felt more than heard, a visceral reminder of the brutality of his existence.
The seated Alejandro experienced it all from his place in the darkness—every gruesome detail of the chain's extraction, every spatter of blood that adorned his other self, every flicker of the furious flame in his eyes. He was the whisper in the dark and the shout in the light, a duality bound by a shared quest for elusive answers.
The curtains drew closed with a silent finality, the brief interlude of violent performance obscured as if it were never more than a figment of Alejandro's tortured imagination. His world, once again, was consumed by an impenetrable darkness, a void that seemed to swallow both the light of the stage and the echo of his anguished plea.