As he paced the night wore on and day eventually began to bleed light slowly into the sky. A red world came into view, slowly turning a vibrant shade of orange and then at last to normalcy. The star above was normal. It was not oversized, nor was there more than one, and yet it was a cold day as the sun rose. It sapped Henry's strength even as he did not tire.
Instead, in the pit of his stomach, rose a hunger greater than anything he had ever felt before. This was not the sensation of lacking food. This was not the sensation of muscles aching in the wake of exertion. It was as though his very soul was empty and his body depleted of what little life it had once possessed. Even as his mind beamed with thoughts of what to do next his body had returned to complete lethargy and an exhaustion incurable by sleep.
And so he decided to wait, sitting on the ground for what felt like minutes as the sun continued to rise overhead. When he awoke it had nearly set. Henry did not even realize he had fallen asleep, but it seemed the fatigue had worn him away. He rubbed his eyes wearily, slowly returning to consciousness as a realization dawned that he had not slept in… several days? It was hard to tell.
Just as the thought arose it was immediately supplanted as his mind returned to full consciousness. He was no longer in a grassy field with deep scars carved into the landscape surrounded by a brilliant painting of red and orange in the sky. Instead the sky itself was darkened under the shadow of a great dome overhead. It blotted out the sun such that it was impossible to tell what time of day this was. Above and around him were a million tiny lights either loosely attached or floating just below the surface of the dome. He supposed it was night, as there would be little purpose to exerting whatever flavor of magical energy was required to power such a feat of whatever the equivalent of engineering was here. Magical civil engineering? He was unsure, but the question was hardly relevant either.
Then he noticed the guards surrounding him. A normal person would have seen them first, but then again, Henry was hardly normal. Given all that had happened and all his former anxieties it was unsurprising to him that he would be so oblivious to the nature of this situation, though it surprised even him that he had only just noticed the fact he was chained on his knees to the floor.
To Regulus, captain of the third company of The Triumvirate’s most powerful legion, this man was nothing but a worm. He did not possess strength. He had no sense of cunning. He lacked even the common decency to fall into one of the cracks torn in the world by his great master. This pathetic piece of scum was occupying time Reg could spend drilling his company, and yet the worm dared to impose moments of his brief and pathetic life on a unit as decorated as Reg’s own. It burned him up inside with rage, and yet his face remained as stoic as ever. For one such as himself to show even the slightest hint of emotion was a weakness none would tolerate within his legion. It would give insight into his mental state, and that would yield workable strategies for the enemy. Moreover, in this case the entirety of the mission at hand was to gather information on this utterly pathetic and useless worm. For Reg to allow emotion to be shown on his face at not even the slightest provocation would be a weakness best left untold and met with nothing less than the utmost punishment it deserved.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Before Henry stood the sublime ideal of a soldier. He stood perfectly straight, arms by his sides at perfect attention, all those around looking as though mere imitations of this specimen of the martial ideal. Though every one of the 12 soldiers standing in a circle around him were battle-hardened, none moved so much a millimeter as they stood in perfect stillness in something one unused to military command might read as fear of one so much stronger than themselves. To their center stood a man built like a brick shithouse, shoulders easily four or five feet wide and standing at least seven or eight feet tall. He wore battle attire made of an intricate blend of gems and what resembled ceramic tile beneath them. Henry was unsure why there were tiles of some inky blackish blue material within the armor, but could clearly make them out from the insides of pauldrons resembling wrecking balls more than shoulders. As to the practicality or clearly absurd expense of a suit of armor made of what seemed to be sapphire with ruby trim he could not guess. The only thing Henry knew for certain was that this man was not someone to play games with. And yet as the first question rang out into silence that hung in the air for several long seconds, Henry contemplated what lies to tell.
“You’re a godkin, yes? We put a sword through your chest before we carried you here but you didn’t seem to die.”
Reg took the silence as an answer in the affirmative and asked in a slightly more pointed tone,
“Which god is it?”
When Henry said nothing, anguish on his face, Reg understood completely.
“Ah, you don’t know, do you? Well good enough, we have those capable of finding out. Now, more importantly, do you wish to serve?”
Henry nodded with the understanding he wasn’t going to be given a choice, and in response a sapphire glove tore through the space between the brick shithouse and tiny worm of a man to slap the face of one whose only place was the dirt. It began to bleed profusely and Henry cried out in pain as Reg asked again,
“Do you wish to serve?”
Henry shouted at the top of his lungs,
“It would be an honor, sir!”
“Good. Take him to the Rite of Awakening” was the brief response that met him in an even tone as Reg turned and began to walk away.
Henry was dying to ask what this rite entailed, but an understanding hung in the air that if he so much as whispered a single word or pupils looked out of place toward their betters he would likely be savagely beaten. It wasn’t every day that a group of grizzled veterans encountered someone capable of taking a full-force beating from their blood-stained and calloused hands covered in gems awarded to them for their unrestrained depravity.
As all but two soldiers filed out behind their commander, Henry did not sigh in relief. Hunger still burned in his core and he yearned for nothing more than to eat a pool filled with a thousand 15-course meals stacked almost as liquid atop each other to fill it. Even then, he feared it would still not be enough. When they released him from the bondage of his knees, Henry said nothing and did not move. They silently picked him up by the shoulders as though he were weightless and carried him away deeper into the light of this magic city of diamond.