Matthis found himself being ushered into a large communal room with the dregs of Vermasse.

He was furious.

His ankles were chained, his dignity snatched away. He had spent almost a week in a cell that stank with animal leavings and mildew and who knew what else.

He was furious that he had been beaten, left bloodied and bruised.

He was furious that his cellmate had died and it had taken the guards the best part of a day to remove the body.

He was furious that they fed him gruel to eat and rainwater to drink. The whole sorry situation had left him with blind hate.

But most of all he was furious that they had stripped away his fine clothes and left him with an itchy brown tunic and stockings that wouldn’t have been fit to house potatoes in any sophisticated society. To make matters worse, everybody else was wearing the same.

It was an affront to civilization and everything Matthis valued.

As he shuffled along, he vowed, not for the first time that morning, that everybody would pay.

Everybody.

I hear you still complaining about your clothes.

“I’m not talking to you!”

“Quiet!” A guard lashed out with a baton, catching Matthis on the shoulder.

He shot him a look that once would have sent the man running. Instead, the guard merely grinned, wide-mouthed and stupid, and waved his club again.

Matthis shuffled along.

You did that on purpose, he grumbled internally.

What?

Made me speak.

Believe it or not, I don’t enjoy seeing our body beaten.

It’s my body you arse. And if you hate it so much, where were you when they came for my clothes? When they poured buckets of water over me like a pig?

Silence.

Aye I thought so. You’ve been missing an awful lot recently. Stay that way. I prefer it.

No reply.

Matthis shuffled through wide doors into a room of cold stone and too high windows. There were a dozen other patients scattered around the room. Men and women Matthis had com to know more than he ever would have liked.

The pretty young Fazia, who giggled and swore in equal measure and had once tried to rip a guard’s throat out with her bear teeth sat next to the ever-silent, heavily-bearded Gud. Or at least Matthis assumed that was the man’s name. It was the only sound he’d ever heard the man make.

He looked around desperately for an empty table.

Of course there were none. He ran a hand through his hair and immediately regretted it. His hair had become greasy and clumped. He felt his anger rise once more.

“Gods I would kill for some lye soap!”

Nobody even bothered to look at him. He flexed the fingers and knuckles of both hands. His perceived insanity had always brought him a measure of attention. Here he was one among many.

Two empty seats. And I’m sure the man next to one of them has already soiled himself.

“Sweary and Gud it is then.” Matthis made his way towards the table, where he would then wait without eager for a heap of gruel and side of stale bread. On the first day, he had vowed a hunger strike. It had lasted only until the next day before his rumbling stomach won out.

Not you!” Matthis collided with the heavy arm of an even heavier guard and stumbled backwards.

“What in Pasht’s balls!” he exclaimed. This time many in the asylum did turn to face the attention he had drawn.

The guard, who still held his arm out blocking Matthis’s way merely stared him down. “I said, not you.”

“And why the Pasht not?”

“Lapis wants you,” the guard grunted.

“He and half the women in the land,” Matthis shot back. “If he wants me, he can come here.”

The guard rolled his eyes and lifted a club from the belt at his waist. He held out his left hand, patting the open palm with the club in what was probably supposed to be a menacing fashion.

Matthis slumped his shoulders, let his head fall.

And then struck the man. The guard stumbled, but Matthis was already following up with a second blow. It connected squarely on the man’s chin and he struck the floor heavily.

A chorus of hoots and guttural calls rocked the room as the other prisoners began to cheer and howl, throwing their food in excitement. Matthis jumped onto a nearby bench, climbing to the table — an action made infinitely more difficult with his feet chained. Raising himself to his full height he spread his arms and basked in the deranged adulation of a dozen broken minds. He bowed, turned, and bowed again. “My people!” he began. “For too long—”

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

You should have taken the guard’s keys.

“—What?”

Thud.

Something struck his legs and then the table fell away from him. He had a split second to anticipate the pain, when his back struck the hard floor. He twisted and groaned and then groaned some more, taking a deep breath of stale air to replace that which had just been knocked from his body.

There was a shout, and then something large and hairy was on top of him. Matthis felt the guard’s club dig into his side. Struggling, he made to knee the guard, forgot his legs were chained together and succeeded only in slicing the skin of both his ankles. Another figure appeared above him, blocking out the light. A heavy boot pressed down on his arm.

Suddenly that guard staggered forward. Behind the guard Matthis could just make out a small banshee biting and screeching and swearing as she attacked. Adjusting his arm, Matthis elbowed the first guard and was rewarded with a spray of blood. He elbowed, again and again, heard the panic in the man’s heavy breathing as the two of them scrambled in the dirt.

There was an “uh” sound and the man went limp, his full weight pinning Matthis. Twisting his head, Matthis got a good look at the carnage he had caused. Guards and prisoners alike were wrestling, food and human waste dripped from the walls.

Matthis smiled. Freeing a hand hand he stuck it in the air. “Kill them all!” He cried.

“Fucking cuntwagons!” Fazia called back.

“Fucking cuntwagons!” Matthis agreed.

Twisting and turning, he was able to wiggle out from under the obese guard and stagger to his feet, making sure to kick the unconscious man twice in the stomach for good measure. A strong pair of arms gripped him below the shoulders, a second hammered a fist into his face. Blood erupted from his lip.

Matthis snarled and lunged, slipped on his ankle chains, struck the ground heavily and faded into black.

----------------------------------------

Wake up.

Wake up.

Wake up!

Matthis groaned and stirred.

Finally.

“Urgh.”

“Ah, our revolutionist stirs,” the voice was echoey but creepily familiar.

One eyelid opened. Then another. A room came into focus. A chair sat in its centre. Cold stone walls that leaked water and grew moss. Somewhere in the corner, a metal bucket collected dripping water.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

There was a sound of jingling metal. Something held him in place.

“What…?” he asked.

“The chains? A necessity. You’ll see why.”

Matthis arched his neck in the direction of the voice.

“Lapis,” he murmured through swollen lips.

“Doctor Lapis,” said the small man with the large moustache.

“How rude of me.”

The doctor laughed. “I wonder if you’ll still have that sense of humour when I’m done. Oh, isn’t science fascinating?”

Matthis’ attention was drawn by the heavy-looking implement in the man’s hand.

“What is that?”

Only then did Doctor Lapis turn to face him fully. One hand gripped a handle and he began to rotate it slowly. The drill bit at the end turned. And turned.

Matthis yanked at his chains, but they held him tight at his ankles and wrists. He leaned back against the cold wall, shuddering as a rogue drop of water found its way down his back.

“Come near me with that thing and I’ll rip your throat out!” The quiver in his voice took most of the threat from his words, the chains at his wrists stole the rest.

The doctor laughed then, a sound as cold and dead as the cells that made up most of this horrid place. With great care, he returned the drill to a small cart that contained an assortment of equally slashy-looking implements.

With a casual and obvious lack of speed, the doctor made his way over to Matthis. Sighing heavily, he bawled a fist and struck Matthis in the stomach.

Air left his body and he doubled over before righting himself. “A boxing match huh? Hardly seems fair. How about we loosen the chains and go at it?”

The doctor held his fist up before his face. “So primitive, don’t you think? Fists, I mean. Where is the artistry, the stateliness?”

“I’d be happy to show you,” Matthis replied, jingling his chains.

We have to go. There is danger close.

“Oh really? Well, why didn’t you tell me sooner,” Matthis said.

The doctor’s head jerked. “Who were you talking to?”

“Our lord and saviour, of course.”

Lapis tilted his head in a manner that reminded Matthis of a dog he’d once befriended. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

“God? Aye, it was him.”

Not the doctor. Something else. Something much worse.

“Worse than this psychopath?”

Standing on tiptoes, the doctor shoved his face into Matthis’, grabbing at Matthis’ jaw with surprising strength.

“If yooh wunt uh kiss I wunt dinnuh ferst,” Matthis mumbled. A difficult joke, given the doctor’s grip on his mouth, but worth it.

Lapis didn’t respond. Didn’t even move. His eyes were inches from Matthis’ own, drilling into them. Through them.

Matthis blinked. Whatever spell the doctor was under broke and the small man pulled away.

“Interesting. Interesting,” he mumbled, returning to his cart of tools.

Matthis clicked his jaw from side to side, stretching his mouth. “Thank you.”

“For a moment I almost believed there was someone else behind your eyes.” The doctor paused and shook his head. “Well, let’s see what really is inside that head of yours.” He picked dup that drill once ore.

Chains rattled again as Matthis lunged. Desperate. Angry. He flexed his hands, managed to get a foot flat against the wall and pushed with all his weight.

Nothing happened.

Nothing so much as moved.

Danger is coming. We have to leave now!

“Thank you. Very helpful!”

Give me control.

“No!”

The doctor approached.

Matthis struggled.

The rain continued to drip.

Smell of must and mould settled on the room.

Do it!

Lapis was upon him, he could hear the sound of the drill as it whirred and whirred.

Matthis gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes.

There was a heavy clang.

“Enough!” roared a new voice.

This is bad.

Matthis opened his eyes. The room’s door had been flung open, in its entrance stood a tall figure hidden in shadow.

“This patient is mine,” Lapis screeched.

“No, he is not.” Authority dripped from the stranger’s voice.

“You promised!” Matthis was surprised at the shrill, childlike tantrum from the same man who had moments ago radiated calm malevolence.

“Give him to me or I will give you and your guards to your patients, Lapis,” the man’s voice was low, but the threat could not have been more chilling if it had been screamed by a thousand wildlanders.

For a moment Matthis thought the small doctor would argue. Instead, he threw his toy the ground and stomped from the room.

Matthis watched it all happen in silence. Looked on as the shadowy stranger gestured and two red-cloaked soldiers entered the room.

Give me control!

The stranger looked at Matthis then, half a handsome face and a single deep grey eye breaking free of the dark shadow of his hood.

“Hello, old friend,” menace dripped from the tongue. With a horrifying revelation, Matthis realized the man was not talking to him. He was talking to the voice in his head.

Control!

Matthis was too shocked to argue. He fell into himself. Lost himself in his own flesh.

No! Not like this! Do not lose yourself! You must hand it over.

But Matthis sank. Deeper and deeper. He could feel the tendons and the tissue of his body, the steady rhythm of blood flowing in his veins and arteries.

No!

Something exploded within him. Darkness swarmed his awareness like tendrils. They surrounded him. Squeezed him. He wanted to cry out but no longer had the power of his own voice.

Deep inside he felt a huge surge of… something. Energy and power. Somewhere there was a deafening bang.

And then the black tendrils swallowed him.