Weeks, Months, or even Years passed. The Antithetical's day-to-day life in the Penitent's Quarry, as the rotten hellhole was named, is a never-ending cycle of backbreaking labor and endless pain. He is forced to work deep in the mines, hacking away at the rock with nothing but a pickaxe and his bare hands. The mines are dark, damp, and filled with danger, as he is constantly on the lookout for cave-ins and other hazards. The work is grueling and exhausting, and the Antithetical is often left bruised and bloodied by the end of the day. Despite the hardship, the Antithetical never lost his will to survive. He knew that the key to freedom lay in his ability to endure the pain and suffering inflicted upon him by the Wardens. And so, he pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion, day after day, in the hopes of finding a way to escape this hellish mine. But one day, something unexpected happened. His pickaxe, worn and damaged from years of use, finally broke. Forced to spend the remainder of the day chipping away at the stone with his bare hands, the Antithetical felt a sense of despair wash over him. He feared that without a tool to aid him, he would never be able to break free. To his surprise, however, the next day he was presented with a new pickaxe. It was shiny, made of the finest steel, with a pattern similar to that of Damascus. The steel was etched with the same symbol that had been branded into his forehead. Yet, when he looked in the reflective surface, he could see no burn or scar on his skin. The Antithetical couldn't help but to wonder, how is this possible? Was it all a dream? He couldn't shake off the feeling that something sinister was going on.

Then, through the tunnels, the ringing of bells echoed. It wasn't the ordinary bell that marks the beginning of the workday, it was the bell that rang when every slave had to stand up and lay their hands on the stone walls. Usually it rang, when they got rearranged or in general moved to another place of the mine. So he did, as he had painfully learned to obey, and it only took a few minutes till two of the wardens came. One of them was the normal warden he used to see, with the leather mantle, stone hammer and lantern. The second one was one he had not once seen before. He was, like the other wardens, uniformly clothed and with roughly the same height. The difference was, that he held a huge crucifix, carved out of wood and etched with a huge array of symbols.

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“B'ǎd kpo yœ ĉhœd'u yœ ĉhœkpo. Ĉhœd'u!” said the keeper of the crucifix. The Antithetical's mind suddenly began to rumble. It was as if a snake had entered his brain. Excruciating pain tormented him, he writhed in pain and almost lost consciousness. All of a sudden, bold letters appeared in his mind. “…move him. Go!” These were some of the words the warden had said earlier. He was grabbed by the arm and the warden lifted him up without any effort. Then, they pushed him deep down the tunnel. On the way he saw several unbound shackles on the ground, places where previous slaves were held. Then, after a few minutes, they reached a wider open place, where the wardens gathered all the slaves. The Antithetical and the other slaves were brought deeper into the mine, their shackles clanking against the rocky ground as they were led through winding tunnels and narrow passageways. The air grew increasingly hot and dry as they descended, and the Antithetical could feel the sweat pouring down his face. They finally reached a place that the slaves called Inferno, a vast chamber deep within the mine where a rare ore vein had been discovered and small amounts of magma formed an oval-shaped hot steaming lake. The chamber had no need of torches. The heat was unbearable, and the Antithetical could see the other slaves panting and sweating as they were lined up in front of the ore vein. The Church Miners were overseeing them, their faces obscured by heavy shadows. The Antithetical held his pickaxe, and began hacking away at the rock, his muscles straining with the effort. The work was grueling and dangerous, but he knew that he had no choice but to continue, for the Wardens would show no mercy if he dared to stop. As he worked, he could not help but think about his escape from this hellish place. Suddenly, unexpected shapes formed in his head, they kept deforming and when they suddenly formed a word, A deep, grinding voice boomed in his head like a thousand drums.

ĉhœb'ǎ!