Rat stew was just one of the very few delicacies served to the finest dummy slaves in all of Little Wrath City. Jonas tried his best not to remember stories of the black plague as he downed his soup in one chunky gulp, and proceeded to nearly break his teeth while munching on the piece of stale bread.

After he was finished, Jonas gave the empty dishes a pitiful glance as he set them aside. There wasn’t much room in his cage, but he managed to spread himself uncomfortably across the rusty metal floor.

‘Back in a cage, woe is me,’ Jonas sighed as his mind wandered once again to the fact he had somehow managed to find himself back into slavery. There was a lingering pain that still stung his body, but at least the bleeding was finished.

“Most of the swelling and bruising will be gone by the morning,” Simon said as he watched Jonas gingerly prodding his own body, “Don’t get me wrong, the fighter slaves are total jerks, but Garth just so happens to be a special breed of asshole.”

“Of course, I get assigned to the biggest sadist in Sun City, luck has never been my strong suit. I wonder if that guy Brow wants me dead?”

“Nah,” Simon tried to reassure him, “He probably just wants to see what you’re made of, or perhaps he just wanted to scare you shitless into submission, as one day with Garth will do that to most folks. As long as you even show a hint of promise, I’m sure he’ll switch you to a fighter that he knows won’t kill you.”

“I hope you're right,” Jonas’ expression darkened as he lowered his head in thought, “I’m going to put my life on the line tomorrow, it’s my best and only chance at survival. I can’t afford to believe that Garth is afraid enough of Brow to not kill me. It won’t happen.”

“Make it count,” Simon nodded his head, and his expression was solemn, “Get as much sleep as you can, you’re going to need it for tomorrow,” and Jonas quite agreed as he nodded his head and slumped back down. After a few minutes, he managed to finally fall asleep.

Jonas next found himself standing in absolute darkness. Effortlessly, he moved his limbs as if strolling through dreamland was natural, but there was a splashing sound that grabbed his attention and looking down he noticed that he was standing in blood, so much blood that his feet could no longer be seen.

He should have been frightened, but this nightmare had yet to give him anything he hadn’t dealt with before. The darkness didn’t scare him, nor did the endless sea of blood, but he did feel a small growing sense of unease in his heart.

Jonas wasn’t aware that he was dreaming, and he seemed to be acting out on instinct. He squinted his eyes in the low light where he noticed a blackened hill in the distance, and atop the hill was a strange shape that he couldn’t quite make out. He needed to go there, it was calling to him.

With each step, blood splashed and splattered around, but nothing bad seemed to happen to him at all. Maybe it took a long time, or maybe it was no time at all, but Jonas reached the hill and realized that it was not made of dirt, but instead was constructed from small, dirty, yellowing bones. It was as if a million rats had been sacrificed to build this monument. Jonas knew he had to climb it.

Looking at the top of the bone mountain, Jonas saw a scene that gave him an intense spurt of anxiety. Growing from the top was a giant, blood-red crucifix, and what made the picture even worse was that there was someone attached to it.

An emaciated and bleeding man hung limply from the cross, his hands and feet had been brutally nailed and dried blood stained his extremities. He hung his head into the shadows, and Jonas could not make out his facial features from underneath the matted, oily hair, however, he did notice the figure was wearing a crown made from bramble thorns.

Jonas began climbing the bone hill, he could feel crunching with each step and it made him feel ill, but he needed to climb. He couldn’t speak, but if he could, he would have shouted that help was coming, for he wanted to help the man that had been so brutally crucified.

When he finally reached the top of the hill, Jonas no longer had only feelings of anxiety, it was pure, unfiltered dread that chilled his very skin and made his bones hurt. He couldn’t stop himself, he brought himself closer to the hanging man, he wanted to see his face.

Then he saw the face, as the hanging man lifted his head. His eyes were milky, gaunt, and lifeless, and Jonas began to scream as he came face to face with none other than himself. He could feel his breath quicken as he lost control of his lungs entirely, he felt like he was staring at something very evil, and very secret.

“Sinner, be warned,” Jonas heard a distorted version of his voice, and it sounded like fingernails dragged across a chalkboard, “You will suffer, for all of eternity, Sinner,” and the voice began to cackle.

“I have already suffered,” Jonas summoned whatever courage he had left, “Whatever you are, let me help you, I’ll help you down,” and Jonas made towards the hanging undead doppelganger.

“Help me?” It cackled, “You must be mistaken, I’m here to warn you that if you accept this path, there is no salvation, no forgiveness, no penance, God will truly abandon you.”

“How can I be abandoned by someone who never actually took care of me?” There was a sad but firm resolution in Jonas’ blue eyes, “I’m ready.”

“Good, Jonas,” the crucified man crowed, “Now embrace me,” and the crucifix began to glow, and Jonas felt excruciating pain flood his body, he felt like he was on fire. He wanted to scream but the pain was too much, he flung himself forward and hugged the decrepit body, and almost at once the pain was gone.

A foul musty smell greeted his nose, and he could hear a whisper in his ear. Jonas opened his eyes and was greeted with the sight of iron bars, and a worried voice was speaking to him.

“Jonas, are you alright?” It was Simon. For a moment, Jonas tried to collect his thoughts and recall the dream he was having, but it was very foggy. He knew it had been a nightmare because he felt rather drained, and jumpy, “Jonas?” Simon called once more.

“I’m up,” Jonas took a deep breath and pushed his hair back, “Just had a nightmare.”

“I know,” Simon whispered, “You were twitching and mumbling. I thought you were having a seizure, you kind of freaked me out.”

“Sorry,” Jonas forced a smile, “Do you know what time it is?” and he changed the subject as soon as he could.

“It’s probably five in the morning right now, the rest of the slaves should be waking up soon.”

“What time does training start?”

“Very early,” said Simon, “Once you hear the crows of slaves, you’ll know your time has come,” and although Jonas thought his friend was just being clever, it wasn’t until much later that he truly understood.

It was like someone had kicked the shit out of a bunch of roosters, and as the slaves began to stir from their sleep, the room was filled with sounds of moaning, crowing, and crying.

“Jesus Christ,” and even Jonas was starting to grow annoyed with the noises, “It’s like the symphony of a pity party.”

“I appreciate your clever tongue,” Simon nodded, “You had that look about you, it’s the reason why I introduced myself.”

“What look?” Jonas gave him a silly expression, “Do you like handsome boys or something?”

“That’s Garth’s department,” Simon chuckled, “Me, I’m more into making friends with someone who has a dark sense of humor,” but before Jonas could reply, the doors of the slave room were pushed open and in came the pony-tailed, eagle-eyed gangster known as Brow.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Eat, shit, and get ready for training,” he barked across the room, and for good measure, he banged his iron rod across the metal bars of the nearest cage. It caused a painful metal sound to ring in everyone's ears. Behind him came a dozen guards carrying fresh buckets and trays of food.

Each slave was given food and a bucket, and when it was time for Jonas to receive his, Brow went out of his way to stop the nearest guard from dropping them off, “He’s not long for this world, don’t waste food on dead men,” and he gave a nasty smirk as he shooed the guard away.

Jonas peaked over at Simon’s cage and noticed a small bowl of white porridge that looked dry and cold, as well as a beat-up apple that had to be two weeks past expiration. If Brow thought Jonas was going to make a scene over missing a single meal, he was in for a rude awakening. Jonas returned the kindness with a warm, provoking smile, “You won’t be smiling for much longer,” said Brow, “Garth will see to that.”

“Oh, I’ll put Garth on his ass,” Jonas felt numb to reason, “Don’t you worry,” but this did nothing more than cause Brow and the other gang members to chuckle and shake their heads. As soon as they turned their backs, Simon offered his apple to Jonas but he turned it down.

Fifteen minutes later and their cages were being unlocked and battered slaves were forced to their doom. Jonas sighed as he watched his cage unlocked, and his shackles fell to the ground.

“Not you, Rhule,” said a guard while nodding to Simon, “Ahmed is skipping sparring today, you get a day off,” at first Simon looked pleased to hear this news, but recalling the fact he wouldn’t be able to see Jonas, his smile turned quickly into a frown.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” said Simon, “Try to survive.”

“Lucky you,” Jonas gave him a reassuring smile, “Even slaves get days off,” and Jonas hadn’t noticed before, but there were a few slaves in cages who also had been given the day off.

Not wanting Simon to see any fear on his face, Jonas turned around and was prodded out of the slave room and back into the large training area. He made his way to a sandy fight pit and locked eyes with the hulking figure of Garth. Slowly, he pulled off his prison top, revealing a toned, tanned body, completely unblemished by any damage.

“How was your rest?” Garth gave a bright smile, “You heal quite fast. I took it easy on you the first time around because I wanted to leave a good impression, but this time I’m going to hurt you, very badly.”

“How about you give me one more freebie, and in return, I’ll owe you a favor?” This statement caused Garth to laugh loudly as he stroked his large beard, contemplating the young man.

“No, sorry,” he said, “I need to hurt you, I need to Sin,” and Garth raised the back of his hands to eye level. At first, Jonas wasn’t sure what he was doing, but soon he was shocked to see that he could make out what looked like bright glowing red scars on the back of both massive hands. Jonas’ anxiety flared up when he noticed that the scars had the appearance of flames, which meant that Garth’s Cardinal Sin was Wrath.

‘Are you kidding me?’ thought Jonas as he recalled Old Louie’s explanation of how Berserkers were the most brutal warriors in all of Hell, “How long did it take for your Sin Scars to show up?” Jonas asked, which caused Garth to be momentarily taken aback. Although he had shown off his scars, he hadn’t thought that Jonas would recognize them.

“I’ve been in this gang for a couple of years now,” Garth began, “These scars appeared after my first kill, and they’ve only grown clearer ever since. I’m surprised you even recognized them, how clever of you.”

“So you’ve managed to figure out how to train your sin?”

“Of course,” Garth said, “I simply take all the hateful and violent thoughts inside my heart,” his knuckles sounded like firecrackers as he squeezed them tightly into balled fists, “And then I just take it all out on my victims,” and Garth charged so suddenly across the sandpit that Jonas barely had time to register what was happening.

Jonas’ heart leaped in his chest as he began running as fast as he could away from the onslaught of Garth who was laughing loudly while violently swinging his fists. Multiple times in a row Jonas was narrowly smashed but he managed to dodge out of the way just in time. A few minutes went by, but Garth had yet to land a single punch. He stared curiously at Jonas who was wiping sweat from his brow.

“Were you holding back, yesterday?” asked Garth.

“Of course not,” Jonas looked bewildered as he had not expected the big psycho to ask something like that, and Garth shrugged his massive shoulders and once again charged toward the young slave.

Jonas ducked once, weaved twice, and thought he was home free after dodging a nasty kick, but what he didn’t see was Garth leaping off of his planted foot and redirecting his body mid-air to send a devastating flying kick that crashed against Jonas’ shoulder, instantly dislocating it, shattering the bones, and sending him flying backward.

Jonas’ body slid through the sand and he couldn’t help but swallow a mouthful as he tried to both scream in pain and gasp for air. Unable to move his entire left arm, Jonas rolled onto his feet and quickly embraced himself for impact. Garth had already reached him and threw a massive fist that crashed painfully against the side of his cheek, but thankfully, Jonas had managed to cushion the blow with his right palm.

‘Fuck!’ Jonas was screaming internally as his entire body felt useless, and he quickly sidestepped another right hook that Garth had sent, ‘My entire left arm is useless and so is my right hand,’ he considered his options. It was a hard pill to swallow, but very quickly Jonas realized that he was not going to win the fight against Garth, so his next goal was simply to last a few minutes longer.

“You look like you’re in a lot of pain,” said Garth, “I’ll make you a deal though, and if you accept my deal, I’ll even take it easy on you for now on,” and Jonas knew instantly that whatever the deal was he wouldn’t be taking it.

“Go on,” Jonas said through gritted teeth, as the pain from his body began weighing him down.

“Just come over here, get on your knees and suck my cock,” said Garth, “If you do that, I promise that from now on I’ll take it easy on you and won’t break any bones when we spar.”

“Dude, what the fuck?” Jonas looked at him with a disgusted expression, “I’d rather just take the beating.”

“Even if there is a chance of you dying?” asked Garth.

“I have things that I want to do,” said Jonas, “However, I’m not a little cocksucker, unlike you,” and he flashed a provoking grin. Neither of them noticed that a slightly red mark had momentarily appeared on Jonas’ right hand, but that mark vanished as quickly as it had come.

Unfortunately, Jonas was faced with the fact that he had just thrown away his only chance out of the situation, as well as pissed off the one person he probably shouldn’t have, ‘This is going to hurt,’ he thought to himself, ‘But I want to nail him as hard as I possibly can before I get crushed,’ and Jonas suddenly recalled that moment when his brother had kicked Tommy Phillips so hard that people had thought his head might have been decapitated.

As he stared daggers at Garth, Jonas wondered if he too could put that much force behind a kick, and he tried to recall the memories of when Drake had taught him how.

Jonas temporarily threw away all his fear as he charged toward Garth, the only thought in his mind was successfully kicking his ugly head clean off his shoulders. ‘He’ll see it coming if I plant now,’ thought Jonas and he swung a right hook towards Garth’s face, who immediately reacted by parrying it with his forearm.

However, just as his massive forearm crossed in front of his face, Garth lost sight of Jonas for just a split second, but it was enough for Jonas to plant his weight on one leg, turn on the spot and swing his foot towards Garth’s chin with a force that resembled a lumberjack cutting wood.

It was impossible to tell from just watching, whose bones had broken from the impact; Garth’s jaw or Jonas’ foot. What the nearest spectators in the training room did know was that Garth had landed on his ass, holding his chin in disbelief, while Jonas was balanced on his one good leg and his kicking leg was cocked in front of him like a loaded shotgun, ‘Fuck,’ thought Jonas who was disappointed that the explosive kick hadn’t knocked his opponent unconscious. Jonas knew that since he failed he would be resigned to a fate worse than death.

“Good kick,” said Garth as he slowly rose to his feet. His expression, however, was much less complimentary when compared with his words. His eyes had a fire in them, his teeth bared, and his nostrils flared in anger.

“Not really,” replied Jonas, “I wanted to take your head off,” and Garth laughed.

“Well, let me show you how it’s done,” and then Jonas watched as the big man charged toward him in one fluid motion that was so quick Jonas had no time to react. Garth propelled his trunk-like leg forward and slid on one foot, perfectly demonstrating a sideways kick that hit Jonas in the sternum, shattering his rib cage and sending him flying backward.

Garth showed no mercy, and he didn’t even stop to consider that Jonas might have already been unconscious. He ran towards Jonas’ body and kicked him in the stomach, and the semi-conscious teen felt his belly and intestines ruptured from the sheer force of impact.

Jonas was sent crashing through the sand and he began violently puking blood all over. He wanted to move but the worst pain he had ever felt was spread through his body, and he cursed his pain tolerance that he hadn’t fully passed out yet, and he was unable to just fall asleep in peace. Jonas couldn’t move even if he wanted to, and that made everything worse as he felt Garth step on his back, cracking the ribs that were attached to his spine.

“Still awake?” asked Garth who was rather impressed, “Let’s see how many blows to the head you can take before you go nuh-night,” and he began clobbering the back and sides of Jonas’ head, it felt like someone was beating his skull with a hammer.

‘I don’t want to die,’ and he felt his head spin, his heart race, and his body go numb. He began to see streams of technicolor like someone had colored the back of his eyelids with rainbows, and then stars began to bloom, and those stars soon turned into red raindrops, which Jonas knew was his vision being clouded over by the blood that poured from his skull.

No one counted how many times Garth had smashed Jonas’ head, but they knew by looking at the bloody and mangled corpse in the sand that the once handsome boy was beyond repair.