Ahmed knew that Jonas was a physical freak. Before, he had been completely disillusioned by Jonas' thin pretty-boy appearance, and it wasn't until he had been tossed like a sack of potatoes that he was reminded appearances could be deceiving. The youth in front of him no longer looked dainty and fragile, and instead, he appeared toned, refined, and capable of handling intense pressure. Ahmed thought that he could see a glimmer of maturity behind Jonas' eyes, but he soon realized he had been wrong.

"You see something you like?" Jonas noticed Ahmed's deadpan stare and couldn't help but tease him. The old warrior immediately broke out of his thoughts and scowled.

"You were slacking on your last set," Ahmed lied as he quickly took his turn on the bench.

"I was?" Jonas wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to recall his last few repetitions but they seemed perfect in his memory. Perhaps Ahmed was just going senile.

No one bothered the two fighters as their workout became more intense, but then again, there weren’t many fighters in the Hurts gang who would start problems with Ahmed. Jonas had noticed Pete working out across the room, along with Wolf and their little gang, but Pete wouldn’t make eye contact with Jonas let alone bother him.

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about him anymore,” said Ahmed.

“I’m more worried about getting attacked in my sleep,” Jonas replied, his breathing seemed much too normal for a slave who had been working out for forty minutes. There was sweat dripping from his face, but that was more because the workout room was extremely humid.

“You know his Sin is Wrath, right?” Ahmed explained, “Men like us may be incredibly unlikeable and even downright evil, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a Berserker who lost a fight that badly and proceeded to try and pick a fight with that same opponent.”

“Seriously?” Jonas finished his set and began spotting for Ahmed, “Why?”

“Berserkers wish to unleash their wrath; their inner anger, violence, prejudice, and hate. They want nothing more than to dominate anyone in their way, weak or strong, and they never shy away from a battle once they’ve set their eyes on an opponent,” Ahmed explained, “That’s before a devastating loss, however, and once they’ve been humiliated by someone, they usually lose all interest in trying to fight them again."

“Sort of like wolves?” Jonas could see the parallels between the two.

“Exactly like wolves,” Ahmed nodded his head, “Once an alpha has been decided, it’s extremely rare for the beta wolf to try and take on his alpha once again unless that beta is either desperate or has a newfound source of confidence in their abilities.”

“I didn’t realize they had a nature channel in the medieval ages,” Jonas quipped as he began loading up heavy weights onto a curl bar.

“If you're talking about television,” said Ahmed, “Yes, I know what a television is,” he added after seeing a look of surprise on Jonas’ face, “I had to often deal with Arabian wolves during my youth. Although they are small, they can be extremely tricky to deal with, especially when they are hungry for goats.”

“Did you fight in the crusades?” Jonas asked, and for the first time since he met Ahmed, he took the initiative to delve into his past. For a moment, it appeared that Ahmed deliberated on answering, but eventually he gave in and decided to humor the question.

“I was a goat herder living on a small farm on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea,” began Ahmed, “My family consisted of my father, mother, and my three brothers, and we lived humble lives off the land while trying to avoid the conflict between the Saladin and the Christian armies. This life didn’t last long, as one day I left for a trip to the city, and when I returned I found my family slaughtered and brutalized,” and although his face was calm, like nothing he had said bothered him, Jonas could tell that there was a fire burning behind Ahmed’s eyes that could never die out.

“The crusaders?” Jonas asked.

“No,” said Ahmed, “My family was Jewish, not Muslim as you probably had assumed.”

“Sorry,” Jonas added, “I didn’t mean to assume.”

“No matter,” Ahmed said, “My father had refused to send his sons to fight for the Saladin who had just conquered Jerusalem, and in return, his sons were slaughtered in front of him, his wife raped and murdered in front of his eyes, and then he endured torture before being put to death,” Ahmed shook his head, “It wasn’t the white man bearing a cross that killed my family, it was an enemy that we hadn’t anticipated.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jonas, “I know it’s been a long time, but I’m sorry you had to go through that,” and he could never imagine Ahmed’s wrath when he returned home to find his family dead. He tried to imagine what he would feel like if someone had killed Drake, but he was hard-pressed to imagine this because his brother was just way too hardcore to kill.

“I appreciate your sentiments,” said Ahmed who smiled warmly at Jonas, “I was a foolish lad though, and in my anger, I pretended to be a Christian pilgrim, and I was conscripted by the crusaders to take back the holy city.”

“Incredible,” said Jonas, who was completely blown away.

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“Not really,” said Ahmed, “Once again I was betrayed by God. After the city had been retaken by the Christians, the Palestinian Jews became targets of looting and roguery. I tried to save them and ended up in a fight against my brothers in arms. They killed me,” and Jonas could see the unmistakable pain behind the warrior’s eyes.

“You’re a good man,” said Jonas. He imagined that Ahmed's experience would be a lot like being betrayed by his good friend Simon. If that had happened, Jonas wasn't sure he would even want revenge, he would just know sadness and regret.

“At first I had believed in the Holy Mission,” said Ahmed, “I wanted to liberate my people from the Saladin’s wrath, and I believed the Christian armies as my method to do so,” he added with a self-deprecating smirk, “I didn’t believe that the Muslims would slaughter my family, nor that the Christians would slaughter Jewish children, but it happened, and eventually I was slaughtered too.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Jonas.

“Exactly,” said Ahmed, “I was probably one of the first Atheists in the Middle East. I never took up religion and had always focused on goat herding, but even as I got to Hell and realized that many of the religious stories about the afterlife had been true; I still refused to take up religion. The hate in my heart had never subsided over the thousand years that I have been in Hell, and I can guarantee you there will never be any extra room for a God, no matter what his name is.”

“After you got to Hell, did you think that God was real?” asked Jonas who had been wondering the same question since he had arrived at Hell.

“Do you know the name of the King?” asked Ahmed very quietly, “Let me give you a hint. The name isn’t Allah or Yahweh.”

“Satan?”

“Make sure that’s the last time you ever speak his name out loud,” said Ahmed more seriously than Jonas had ever seen him before, “Down here in Hell, the King is God, and God is the King. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” said Jonas, “I’m sorry, I just don’t understand much about Hell.”

“Me either,” said Ahmed, “And I’ve been here for nearly a thousand years.”

"I wonder if it's always been this way. What happened to Heaven?" This was another question that had been weighing on Jonas' mind. The fifth floor of Hell was called Little Heaven and it was full of angels, but was that the true Heaven?

"Hell is real, the King of Hell is real, God is probably real, Angels are real, I think we can safely assume that Heaven is real. We can also assume that we weren't invited, perhaps no one was," and Jonas nodded his head in agreement. Perhaps, God had decided that Heaven was too good for humans and had forsaken them for an eternity in Hell.

"How about you?" Ahmed asked, "What kind of tragic backstory does that great Jonas have?"

"Not too great," Jonas smirked, "I'm just an orphan from modern-day America. My older brother raised me through poverty, abuse, and hardship. I owe him my everything and it's my mission to find him and punch him in the face," and Ahmed scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.

"You wish to strike your brother? Is he in Hell?"

"We died together, in a… car crash," Jonas thought of the truth behind his demise, he didn't think it prudent to talk about the cloaked individual who had murdered him, "He was sent to the sixth floor and I wanted to go with him. He was so pissed that he beat me up in front of the demon Judge so that I couldn't ask to be sentenced alongside him."

"Sounds like a good brother," Ahmed nodded his head, "As a younger brother myself, I can appreciate that. I'm sorry he went to the sixth floor. The Underworld is not a place I would ever wish to be."

"Me either," Jonas shrugged his aching shoulders, "I just didn't want to be without Drake. I had no idea how cruel the world could be without him looking out for me."

"You might not want to hear this, but I think the separation could be good in some sick way. When I lost my family, I learned a lot about myself, perhaps you could do the same."

"To be honest, I think you might be right. I relied too much on Drake and my second enslavement is evidence of that. I don't know how to do anything on my own and I need to learn how to stand on my own two feet so I can look up to my big brother once more and punch him right in the face, to let him know that I can take care of myself."

"I'm not going to say that makes much sense," Ahmed smiled, "However, I can respect it."

Their conversation had died off on its own accord, as with every good conversation there was nothing left to say. Jonas could feel his arm muscles tearing at the seams, and he noticed that his body looked like someone had stuffed it, a far cry from the skinny youth who had entered Hell just over a month ago.

“We’ll continue focusing on building muscle,” said Ahmed as they finished their workout and began heading their separate ways, “Make sure you’re eating enough and try to replay our sparring sessions in your mind.”

“Got it, boss,” said Jonas who was feeling famished and ready for dinner, “Thanks for everything, Ahmed.”

“Don’t thank me,” the old warrior said, “I simply wish to see you succeed. You might not find me the most pleasant of people, but I truly wish to see where someone with your talent could end up. What is your limit?"

“My limit?" Jonas sighed, "Hopefully strong enough to kick some serious ass."

"I hope so too," Ahmed said, "I have a fight soon so I need the extra work. Prepare to earn that beer,” and then Jonas watched him march away to his private quarters. It was a few minutes later when he was back in his little prison cage, next to his two friends Simon, and Johnson.

“I’m starving,” Jonas said as they chatted about their sparring session from earlier.

“Starving?” asked Johnson with some disbelief, “You’re the only malnourished slave in the whole fucking world that could somehow be fatter than before he was a slave.”

“I can’t help it,” said Jonas, “Even though I’m probably still in a calorie deficit, I think that the Sin in the air and food have something to do with it. It's like a little extra juice in my body."

“Well aren’t you just fucking lucky,” Johnson groaned, however, he was nearly on his hands and knees in apology when dinner arrived, and Jonas split his food with him.

“Still have a problem with me gaining weight?” Jonas quipped as he watched Johnson dunk pieces of white bread into a much larger bowl of rat stew.

“I hope you grow to become very fat,” Johnson said as he washed his food down with a beer.

“Here, here,” and Simon clinked wooden cups with him as their cages were side by side. Jonas smiled at the two slaves, and although his stomach wasn’t nearly as full as it should’ve been, he felt good knowing that his friends weren’t starving.

“If I’m eating good,” said Jonas, “I want everyone to be eating good, and if I’m starving, I still want everyone to be eating good.”