They slipped onto the eighth floor, undetected, but their luck almost ran out when a patrol guard caught sight of the faint glow from Eijay’s light spell. The guard was seconds away from raising the alarm when Rhyz reacted in a flash. He teleported behind the guard and delivered a sharp strike with the tip of his gun, knocking him out cold. The keys fell from the guard's hand, and Rhyz snatched them up. The boys exchanged quick thumbs-up, silently acknowledging Rhyz's quick thinking.

They moved deeper into the dungeon, descending toward the 9th floor. The corridor narrowed, dimly lit and rank with the stench of decay—a grim sign that some prisoners had been rotting away here for far too long. As they passed by cell after cell, Paul’s heart pounded in his chest. He peered into each darkened room, his eyes searching desperately for his parents.

"Mother, Father, where are you?" Paul’s voice was a whisper, barely audible, yet heavy with anxiety.

Eijay and Rhyz were equally focused, their eyes scanning the cells for any sign of their friend. Eijay continued casting small orbs of light into the shadows, revealing the gaunt faces of prisoners who stirred, their eyes pleading for salvation. A chorus of desperate voices filled the air, echoing down the corridor. Quickly, the boys hushed them, urging the prisoners to stay calm and quiet. With grim determination, they began unlocking each cell, freeing as many captives as they could.

“Hey, you guys made it,” a familiar voice cut through the tension, startling Eijay and Rhyz. They spun around to see Jeyel Lanos, looking gaunt and weak, as if he hadn’t been fed properly for days.

Jeyel, who was around their age, stood with short, dark blue hair and piercing blue eyes that still held a spark of life. Without a moment’s hesitation, Eijay and Rhyz embraced their friend, ignoring the foul stench clinging to him. The sheer relief of seeing a familiar face in this nightmare was overwhelming.

As they pulled back, Eijay wrinkled his nose and waved a hand in front of his face. "Okay, buddy, we’re thrilled to see you, but you smell like you’ve been marinating in a garbage heap."

Jeyel offered a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, I noticed."

Eijay smirked and said, "Hold still," before casting a quick spell. "Hygienous!" A soft light shimmered around Jeyel, and in an instant, the grime vanished from his skin, his clothes fresh and clean. The stench dissipated, replaced by a faint scent of lavender.

Jeyel looked down at himself, blinking in surprise. "Thanks... but they took my blade and locked it in the vault," he said, his voice tinged with both anger and sadness. His katana, his usual weapon, was missing—confiscated, no doubt. But his ability to wield ice, a power no prison could strip from him, remained intact.

Rhyz chuckled. "You smell better, but you’re still the same old Jeyel."

“However, we’ll deal with that later,” Rhyz added, his tone firm. “Right now, we need to focus on getting everyone out of here. Take this—" he handed Jeyel an extra knife—"It’ll have to do for now.”

Paul, meanwhile, scanned the faces of the prisoners milling about on the cellar floor, his desperation growing with each passing second. His parents weren’t among them. A knot of frustration and fear tightened in his chest. They had to be on another floor.

''I'm going to check the next floor," Paul announced, urgency lacing his voice as he began to move.

"Wait, who are you looking for?" Jeyel called after him.

"My parents," Paul replied, his voice trembling with the anguish he was trying to contain. "My mother has green eyes like mine, and my father has black hair. Have you seen them?"

Jeyel froze, his eyes widening in horror and disbelief. The past few days in the dark cellar had taken a heavy toll on him, and the atrocities he’d witnessed weighed heavily on his soul. The brutal treatment of the captives was something he desperately wished he could forget. He vividly recalled overhearing the bandits discussing a woman with green eyes who had arrived with a group of captives just weeks before him. This group had been particularly defiant, resisting their captors’ demands.

Jeyel's heart sank as he realized he couldn’t give Paul the answer he so desperately wanted. Overcome with profound sadness, he stood in silence, and Paul didn’t need to hear a word to understand the grim truth.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Without hesitation, Paul turned and descended the stairs alone, his friends hurrying to catch up with him. They instructed the civilians to stay put, remain silent, and wait for their return.

Paul moved swiftly down the dimly lit staircase, his heart pounding in his chest. He gripped his bow tightly, knowing danger could be lurking at any moment. But his thoughts were singular—he had to find his parents and make sure they were safe.

At the bottom of the stairs, the scene was eerily similar to the floor above, but this time the cellars were empty, their walls stained with blood. Paul’s heart clenched with fear, his mind racing with terrible possibilities. He could only hope he wasn’t too late.

As the others caught up to him, they saw the worry etched on his face. He looked on the verge of breaking, but they intervened just in time, offering words of reassurance.

"Don’t lose hope, Paul," Zaell said, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. "I’m sure they’re okay. We just need to keep searching."

Paul met each of their gazes, conveying his gratitude with a simple nod. As they descended to the final floor, they tightened their formation, Jeyel now also positioned behind Zaell. At the bottom, they were met by a large, cluttered cellar filled with chests and scattered items—likely the vault the bandit had mentioned.

Jeyel's sharp eyes quickly zeroed in on his katana, but his excitement faded when he noticed the heavy door blocking it together with other piles of valuables. Without hesitation, Eijay stepped forward, extending his hand as he channeled his magical energy. The door responded to his spell, creaking open effortlessly. Jeyel wasted no time, darting inside to retrieve his beloved weapon.

Likewise, Zaell spotted his missing bag amidst the piles of valuables. But despite the allure of the riches around them, the group stayed focused on their mission, taking only what belonged to them and nothing more. They scoured the area thoroughly, knowing their true objective lay elsewhere.

Their search led them to a nearby room without a door. Inside, they found a fat man asleep, surrounded by a group of chained women who bore the unmistakable marks of enslavement. This had to be the leader of the slavers. The group exchanged a silent signal, ready to act.

Paul moved first, waking the man and drawing his bow, an arrow aimed directly at his heart. The others quietly roused the enslaved women, whispering reassurances that they meant no harm. They swiftly unchained each woman, instructing them to head up a few floors to join the rest of the freed captives.

As the women filed out of the room, Paul leaned in close to the overweight man, his voice low and menacing. "Tell me where the other captives are."

The man didn’t flinch, but something in Paul’s eyes caught his attention. Recognition flickered in the man's gaze—those eyes looked familiar. He remembered seeing them not long ago, here in this very camp. A memory surfaced: the wild confrontation he’d had with a woman just a few days earlier.

"Who the hell are you people, and why are you interrupting my sleep?" he demanded, his tone laced with irritation.

"Answer the question," Paul pressed, shoving the arrowhead harder against the man’s chest.

The man understood the stakes. The stranger in front of him was deadly serious, with no time for games. Yet he showed no fear, even as the arrow dug into his flesh, the pain reminding him of the gravity of the situation.

"Do you really think you can scare me?" the man sneered. "Could it be… you're related to that woman? Those people never did what they were told, not since the day they arrived." He smirked, the memory amusing him. "Do you know what we do with people like that?"

Paul pushed the arrow deeper, drawing a grunt of pain from the man. "I said answer me!"

The man coughed, blood staining his lips. "You little brat! You’re just like that black-haired man who thought he could play the hero. It all started with him." He laughed, blood speckling his teeth. "In fact, you look just like him. You must be his kid, huh? And those eyes... they're the same as that crazy woman with witch-like magic."

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO THEM?!" Paul’s voice erupted, his rage no longer containable. He yanked the arrow free and drove it into the man’s shoulder. "TELL ME!"

The man’s laughter turned to a wet, rattling sound as he coughed up more blood. "What a crazy family!" he spat out, his voice fading as death closed in. "Your father tried to kill me when I was about to have some fun with your bitch of a mother. I had no choice but to punish them— punish all of them— because they refused to obey. They fought back, those fools. I could have sold them for a fortune, but no… They had to resist. What a damn waste!.’’

Paul’s worst fears crystallized with every word, each one a dagger to his heart. His mind went blank as he stabbed the man again and again with an arrow, driven by blind, consuming fury. The fat man’s eyes drifted to the wide hole in the floor at the edge of the room, and even in death, a twisted smile lingered on his lips.

Paul followed his gaze and saw the gaping hole. He dropped the bloody arrow, his heart plummeting. Rushing to the edge, he was hit by the overwhelming stench of decaying flesh. Tears welled up as dread clawed at his insides.

Without a second thought, Paul plunged into the darkness of the pit. Eijay quickly cast a ball of light to guide his descent. The rest of the group could only watch in sorrow as Paul disappeared into the unknown depths below, swallowed by the shadows and the horrors they feared lay waiting.