“I’ve been able to make contact with others now; some similar to me. Many of them have been gifted with greater size than my own, but for some reason, I’ve been spared any harrying from them. I’m not sure if that is due to Father’s word or if I – unsettle them with my loud musings. Regardless, this solitude brings me a sense of peace; none of their terrible eyes and unending words drown me as if being submerged in mush and muck. Yes, the isolation within these walls of a hundred cracks. These very gray walls cowering behind the roots hanging lackadaisical or perhaps dead from these dirt ceilings. It is truly a blessing — almost as much as the Penumbra's captivation with the Dream – but I think I'm beginning to see it now; beginning to understand…

The remoteness allows me to think for a very long time. No jarring scoffs or bedevilments being hurled my way. Just me — and sometimes him – that disparaging, vacuous idiot. Does he think I need him to spill blood?! I've been spilling blood for years! He– he's just a nuisance! A parasite leeching off of me! Taking credit for my work! But Father knows this! He sympathizes with me – knows that he isn't anything but a trifler! And he rewards me! Only me! He doesn't reward him, just me! Because he knows who really is doing the work here! He knows who's the actual one to bring back whichever carcass he requests! He knows who will return with any tools or arms he so little as even be curious about! He has no doubt in whom he will choose to be his most monumental! Not those weeping, whining, puling little insects in their cages always crying away! Not those armored monsters walking in the skin of man! And most certainly not him. Why is that? That is because it is me! I am his greatest underling! I am his most exquisite, unparalleled exsanguinator! I am the one who will be bestowed a name from his grace! I am the one who shall usurp this terrible sea— no, this terrible world and assimilate it with the liberating shade of the Dream! But before I can call myself a usurper, I first must – I must be able to… Oh, the jeers...

The jeers come by again so violently - much sooner than before. Only one band of fetid creatures can be responsible: the imps, no surprise. Unrelenting with their vile mouths; they’ll screech and cackle about a plethora of grotesque acts they’ve seen performed by someone ‘just like me’ before. What are the odds of that? Oh, how they melt into gooey, disgustingly fervid messes whenever they speak of it as if ignited lecherous over such a terrible thing. But they do not only speak with devilish delight over these heinous acts — they find pleasure in jeering over the small amounts of hair growing above my lip. Scaly, winged hedons chose me of all the sacks of blood in this world to badger and exasperate. They jeer, and jeer, and jeer and they just keep jeering, never shutting up for even a single damn second! Their blood-boiling crowings are infinite; the maddening beat of their flimsy wings – everlasting! I just want to tear off my ears for even a single bit of silence, please! But thankfully, it seems the deepening of my tone can ward them off – at least sometimes. Perhaps this deepening bass of my voice is the Dream heeding my pleas.”

Spear-like metal bars sunk into the ground, and trespassing into my domain of solitude were those things I once thought were creatures of the supernatural so long ago. “Enough of your babbling,” the four guards boomed in unison, “Step out.”

They stood apart from one another and awaited my movement, forming a single path between them. I watched them from the darkness of my abode angrily by this interruption, shaking as the blood boiling within me vibrated my body. As if of one central mind, the four of them turned their iron helmet-cladded heads to me in synchronization and stomped their left foot. Reluctantly, I shuffled out from my comforting darkness and was stifled sheerly by their walling presence. As I crossed the two behind, the other two positioned ahead turned their backs to me. My eyes drifted behind, finding the remaining two now standing a small distance away from my back. “Eyes forward,” they commanded, startling me as the metal tip of their blades striking the rocky dirt ground created a slight clang. The wall torches were sporadically ignited – and some fallen to this dirt and stone floor. They took me through a corridor I had long forgotten – no longer dark, but vaguely familiar. I stared at shaken eyes imprisoned behind unfamiliar bars from those of equal, greater, or much less youth watching me. Those that paid the time to watch me were the familiar ones.

But most were bewildered and mortified. Angry, or blank. Perhaps a few had already expired in their cages... These were amongst the new faces. Before my empathy could accidentally leak from a vault long buried deep within, the dirt and stone catacomb-like prison hall of hell faded into a gray-bricked stairwell, spiraling upwards. The torches for some reason were ablaze in some deep crimson and spread far apart, bestowing faded red lighting to these seemingly infinitely rising stairs. My legs froze at this spectacle in wonder. Unfortunately, poking at my back was the edge of a blade from one of the ‘monsters.’ “Move forward, eyes up,” the stabber ordered.

We ascended these stairs for… some time. The walls tried to tell me stories along the way up, but my worries were focused more on the guardsmen ready to stab me again with their blades should I commit the sin of processing thought within their presence. The arbitrary placement between wooden and stone steps beneath my feet twisted my brain even more with the mismatched sounds. I fought to remain unworried, composed, and coherent-thinking. Then, to a dismaying step, my foot did not reach far enough— and I tripped. There were no reverberations of metallic footwear colliding with wood and stone. No jiggling and clanging of loose iron wares. Just dead, stifling silence. My throat tightened and my body followed suit. I fought it with all of the little strength I had left within my reservoir, but alas my eyes leaked. I failed my battle against tears and I sobbed almost silently between the four. Their bodies all turned to me and the dark pits in their helmets resembling some sort of void stared down at me. Of shame, fear, embarrassment, or a concoction of all three, I stood up slowly, uneagerly bringing up my gaze. As one unified voice they chanted, "When a ewe nettles the kettle, it shall reap red wool."

As I nearly reached full posture, my hair was grabbed and yanked upwards. A cold iron fist clenched on it hatefully, even ripping some from the roots. It swung me into the wall — inevitably ending up with my skull taking the brunt of the slam. I was then freed, left to the mercy of gravity. I collapsed onto the stairs and rolled down into the legs of the lower-positioned guard. Then a second ripping on my head came along, slamming my face into a wooden stair and following up with a colliding smash into the wall once more. A flurry of kicks from all directions rained upon me like an old house in a monsoon. It went dark; the cacophonies were overwhelming – yet I felt silence. I was drowned in reactions until my brain simply gave out and I balled fetally, laughing hysterically as the tears of demise ran down my face. Then those infernal imps came about jeering, and jeering, and jeering over my agonized cries until I could no longer feel the force of the iron boots’ stomps. And then I awoke before a wooden door. Not a cage, not some random wilderness, nor a random village to fulfill a kill – but a door.

I remained laying at the foot of this wooden entryway with a familiar thorny vine-wrapped rose symbol at its center. The lighting here was still that faded red and before my floor-level eyes were those mismatched stairs with red footsteps trailing down them. The bold crimson, boot-shaped pigment on the steps glistened some, signs of a fresh beating. As I attempted to stand, I was quickly reminded why I was ground-stricken when a searing pain delivered my memories lost in the vicious beating. It felt as if my back was splayed open, splattered with salt, and lashed a hundred cracks. Splinters just missing my right eye by mere centimeters were implanted just below it. My face was drenched in the cerise juice; a gut-wrenching sight. My arms were battered and bruised in their fruitless effort to defend myself against the assault. I felt another wave of weeping oncoming, but instead slammed my fist into the ground — accomplishing nothing in the fit but a hand of greater bleeding. Then shaking me, a creaking noise. The great door had opened, revealing a room of blinding light. But before it all, that lanky, tall figure. “Child?” he called, “What on Earth has occurred to you…”

I quivered on the ground like a pampered feline caught in the rain, trembling with my words, “I hate you… Father, please help me… Please help me kill you— I need your aid, Father, please… be properly expunged!”

For the first time in a decade, I’ve seen Father’s cold, solemn demeanor change. But it was not simply a change - he was visually unsettled. He reached his hand out cautiously and left it there. After some time, I turned to it and stretched out my arm, unable to extend it fully with the tightened muscles, joints, and overall aches restricting my maneuvers. He leaned forward and grabbed my hand, carefully helping me to my feet, but I could not stand. All my destroyed being could accomplish, were more shameful tears and weeps. Father almost brought about a second emotion but returned to his dead demeanor. “Bring him in,” he uttered aloud, triggering some hard steps to grow near me.

Carelessly, I was grabbed and dragged into a room. But not just any room — something of majesticism. The floor with its superb polishing was a reflectant grayish-veridian, a grand chandelier hung at the center from the ceiling, bookshelves ran at the west and east walls, and a window set behind a desk revealed some unnatural darkness behind its glass. Father made way behind the desk and sat in a chair with evergreen fabric at its back. With the acquiescent aid of some random men not hiding themselves in armor, I had been set on an old wooden chair before that desk, made to sit upright despite the excruciating pain radiating from my back. There were four of them fitted in some brown cloaks with the Penumbra Rose symbol at the center. They moved to Father’s side of the desk, dividing evenly on both sides of him.

“Child — why does misery use you as a canvas?” Father questioned.

My bones fought hard in restraining my nerves from overwhelming my muscles and lunging at the man. I watched him with a single eye only barely open through the swelling for the other was blackened entirely. Though physically unable to express it in my face, I was beaming at him with a hateful glare. He sat seemingly with patience judging by his hands set on one another, although his uninterested face uttered a different opinion. I spoke with clarity that even shook myself: “Why do you ask me questions that you already know the answer to?”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I felt my heart making a noose for itself right there, but I could not bring myself to care. The four standing were frozen with wide eyes. I watched him sternly, awaiting any response – even when I knew what consequences of such disobedient mouthing could result in. But to the curve of my expectations, he responded solemnly. “Because I wish to aid you.”

Through my swollen, battered and bruised eyes and lips, I managed to appear as if a god had descended from the heavens before me — but I didn’t know why. This was not the first time he had uttered similar words to me. I had fallen for this same, empty line numerous times before… I was not going to do so again. In my silence he continued, “I wish to aid you — but I will not be holding your hand. I in fact am forbidden from doing so. Why do you believe your suffering has transpired so long?”

My next attempt at dialogue failed as my brewing rage choked my thoughts and let him in. “You imprison me— in a humble home— no! Y–you, kee-keep! You keep! Me! In a— a cell! Like a— like a prized… No! Not like a prized— not a prized thing – a creature! A fickle monster! A thing— An animal with no mind!”

The four standing beside Father had their eyes locked onto me with great unsettlement. He, too, seemed at least a bit uneased by me, making this only the second time I’ve seen his face express… emotion — In one day! “Do you have any inferences as to why that may be?” he queried.

“Amusement— over! My… screams at— the… The– the imps! The imps! The walls! Your monsters! All to torment… me! Why? I did – something? What have I done to warra— warrant…”

“To warrant such abysmal punishment? I do not know. Perhaps you can tell me that for I have not sent any such things your way — other than this very day did I dispatch the Warded Vultures to your holding abode so that you may be escorted here for this special occasion.”

“Warded… Vultures? Occass— occasion? What occasion?” I questioned curiously, my brain beginning to settle with wonder.

He reached beneath his desk and brought up some object in a brown leather sack and set it between us. He pulled the string from its top and pulled out a glowing white ingot-shaped object before setting it on the table once more. It was roughly the size of a large book and shined brightly even with this room’s lighting. “Observe this shimmering Arcanium. This here is the key to evolution, child. You are one of an infinitesimally small few who are worthy of this honor… A title — though you are unworthy of a title as of current for you still fail to protect your possessions, as demonstrated earlier.”

“Possessions?! I own… nothing! I have – no things!” I breathed, choking from the oncoming liquid grief in my eyes, “I own nothing! You all took them away from me! The only people I had left…”

Father eyed me dull. “You failed to protect them even with a blade handed to you. There are many people in this world who utilize no weapons other than the natural gifts they’ve been given and can take on brobdingnagian threats with little ruction. Yet you, even when provided an arm, failed to do even so little a scratch. And not only did you forfeit the lives of your loved ones, from what I can see, I must conjecture you do not believe yourself to be a possession of your own. Why is that?”

“I… can’t do anything to them! You put me against armored men with blades and leave me with— nothing! Then… think I should be able to defend myself when the last— the last meal. The… last! The last! Was far – ago? S-stop your screams of disobedience, idiotic boy! Stop that— I’m not strong enough to fight off things bigger than me! Things fitted in armor for war! Things armed with strength and abilities they can reap from nothingness! I cannot— my disobedience — I can’t do that!”

The cloaked ones all turned their eyes down to Father and watched him with great concern. The nearest one to his left leaned to his ear and whispered something. I was only able to catch a single questioning word: “...exorbitant?”

Father did not acknowledge the man’s message and instead continued his discussion with me. “If I believed you were nothing but one of those deemed Expendable, you would have never been provided with improved rooming. I would have never entrusted you with retrieval tasks as difficult as past-proven. I would have never taken the time to even allow you out of a cell for a chat when I could simply walk over there and converse with you through the bars. And I most certainly would have never let you into my quarters. Listen well, child. I know how you struggle — I know why you struggle. You can plan and layout — but you are flimsy. A worm with a strategic mind. Which is why I here, this instant, will advance you.

What do you call yourself? Lorenzo, was it? That certainly will not do — ‘L’ is such an ugly letter. ‘Lorenzo’ — a name with a timorous phonetic. No – you are one who strives for greatness, doing what needs to be done no matter the cost, even from your much more youthful days! No — you are a victor! But seeing as the letter ‘C’ is a lazy symbol of the alphabet, it will be… evolved to the prestigious ‘K”. I dub you, child: Viktor!”

Every last drop of rage and resentment evaporated from my blood and diffused in the air. I rejoiced internally, while my body simply froze awestruck. My eyes were illuminated with vibrant visions and prodigious dreams of the future. I felt a rewiring occurring within my mind – and it felt terrible. But the rest of my body could not be filled with anything but ecstasy and jubilation. Father, bringing great shock to me… grinned! “However,” he interjected, “hold onto your celebrations, Viktor. You have acted out with great disobedience very recently. Simply because you have been promoted does not mean you are free from disciplinary action,” Father’s face degraded back to his old long-jawed, disinterested demeanor. He opened his mouth and the words he uttered struck into my formerly exultant heart with a poisoned dagger. He said, “Dunk him.”

The four cloaked figures at Father’s side pointed their fingers to the door and expelled a flow of some dark energy. The black matter sunk into the crevices of the door and a brief silence followed. Then, stampeding-mimicking steps roared up the stairs. I kicked off the chair and scurried over to Father like a frightened rodent, grabbing onto his attire. “Father, Father please! Father I’m sorry, Father, I meant no disrespect Father, please!”

My tearful pleas fell upon his apathetic ears and nonchalant eyes. The charging steps of sounds mimicking that of a dozen bulls crashed at the door and stopped. Once again, the grim silence arose. In my eyes, I watched it anxiously for a decade. Alas squeezing the blood from my heart was the violence swing of the door, and the metal faces of void eyes peering in. I grabbed onto Father tightly, shrieking with such great horror the glass would surely crack if I were not silenced. “Father, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Father! I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again Father, I’m sorry! The Dream, Father, I– I— Dre- Dream! The… Dream! I… Father, please!”

His eyes remained lifeless and did not do so little as even glance downward. “Warded Vultures — The need arises for a refreshing, and reminiscent, Dunk. Take him away,” he mouthed with a total lack of hesitation. The iron-clad beasts trotted aggressively to me and gripped my torn and worn shirt from the bloodied back. “No, I don’t want to go, no! Leave me alone, I’m sorry, Father! I’m sorry! Tell them to leave me alone, Father, please! I’m sorry!”

His cold eyes lowered to my tear-drenched face and he delayed for a moment. “His hands are gripping onto my robe,” he uttered.

The nearest of the four Warded Vultures, with his metal hands, struck each of my wrists once, causing me to be temporarily paralyzed with the sheer pain of the strike. The blow was so great, my brain could no longer brew pleas to spit. My body stiffened and eyes locked wide open. Even the jeering imps faded into nothingness. Now as if a rat in a hawk’s gullet, I was hauled off with wrists disjointed too far from the bone. My head hung dead-mimicking, with my lifeless eyes stuck on an apparent upside-down Father. His leg was set over the other and his hands still resting stacked. My fury for him burned like pyres of thousands of the tartarian-bound souls. But within another side of me, a massive plume of steam grew as it clashed with my newfound aspirations and gratefulness for the doors this same heart-hoodwinking deviant opened for me. I do not know where these dreams came from; I don’t know why these dreams formed. But in the end at the frame of Father’s door to his quarters, a callous left turn to the spiraling stairs resulted in my head smashing against the wood, drifting my world into darkness.

And then it was cold – nearly freezing. Slowly, my eyelids opened and a grim sloshing reverberated with a low, infinite echoing. That dripping, rusty, banged up metal box sat before me with its front ajar, beckoning me into its cold dark gullet. Behind it – a deep black pool, only hardly brightened by some weakly burning torches. “Growing conscious?” the airy voice of a Warded Vulture taunted, “Good — We had to make sure you were well rested before your descent.”

The other three stood back, using themselves to block off the lightless exit. A weak chortling could be heard within the nearest one’s helmet. His armored hand gripped the collar of my raggedy shirt, resulting in a rip of its fabric and my fall to the stone floor. “Please, please… I don’t– I don’t want to go in, I’m sorry…”

“I know,” he verbalized mirthlessly before gripping my neck and dragging my flailing body toward the death trap. The tiny prison quickly grew near as I used what little strength I could to keep myself from the confinement but alas, all efforts were fruitless. Upon arriving at the foot of the iron box, the Warded Vulture reeled back his arm and hurled me into the metal monster. Like a rat exposed from its hiding spot, I tried desperately to scurry free. “I said I’m sorry, please! I don’t want to go in, I don’t want to go into it, please! Please! Please! Please! Plea-” stunning me was what felt like an unnaturally powerful kick to my chest. The voided eyes of the Warded gazed over me, empty. On the contrary, another pack of red eyes from the arriving imps beamed with euphoria. Soon, all disappeared behind darkness – the blackness of the iron door slamming shut and nearly deafening me.

My battered arms pushed tightly against my body in this compact hell. Three holes on each of the four sides of this abhorrent, infernal, abysmal vault provided only a few fingers of space to see through. My attempts to stomp the flooring, kick the door or pound on the walls were to no avail with the incredibly tiny space rendering it impossible to generate enough momentum to cause significant sound. My last resorting pleas were my cries and shouts. And for the final nightmarish act, I began to feel a backwards falling motion. “Please, please, Auntia! Help me, Auntia please!” I screamed.

“Your silence will come soon,” he giggled, “if you are wise, you will cease your cries. Your air is limited after all,” he chuckled. A blare of guffaws and guttural laughs from the Warded Vultures and jeering imps were soon muffled by the water’s muffling sheet. The barely visible light I had once been able to see had now been removed entirely. Within this cage was only me, some blurry dream, eternal darkness, and the influx of frigid water eager to accompany me within this iron box.